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jellyfishsthings · 1 year

Text

Warnings: minors do not interact, smut, male!masturbating, fem!character no use of y/n, remus being a simp

Remus sighed as he closed the door and left his keys on the table along with his towel. His eyes fell on a message that was left in the refrigerator.

Hi Rem,

A new lead was found in the case I am working on. I will come home late. Don't wait for me.

Love,

Dad

Great, another day at home alone, he thought bitterly. Sure his father tried his best to be home early and since his mum died he had to work twice as hard to make ends meet, but he missed having someone to share his dinner with. He took a long calming breath and his mind wandered to today's travel at the beach.

His cock was aching so hard. Just remembering how good she looked in the navy blue bikini that hugged her curves perfectly. He shook his head, trying to chase away that thought. He opened the refrigerator reaching for a frozen pizza and put it in the oven. I should take a bath. A cold shower to be specific.

Going up the stairs he started rummaging for new clothes as a text notification sounds from his phone. Thanks for coming with me to the beach. I really liked it, I hope we will go again sometime. Say hi to your dad for me! He liked the message and opened his camera roll. New pictures of the two of them filling all his phone screen. And… there she was, a smile lighting up her face, sunglasses adorning her somewhat sunburned face that was being framed by her windblown wet from the sea hair. She was wearing that white towel around her shoulders hiding some parts of her beautiful frame along with that navy blue bikini that was in stark contrast with her skin and seemed to mock him.

If he knew that he had to drive the two of them to the beach for one hour just to see her happy, he would do it again a hundred times in a heartbeat without second thoughts. That's what friends did right? Oh God, who was he kidding? He hasn't been thinking about her that way for a long time. Regaining her trust and reforming their friendship that has been violated by all the hurtful stuff they said to each other while they argued on account of their academic rivalry, was the best decision he ever made. Just the fact that she had been complaining to him about the scorching weather and convinced him to get their swimsuits to go to the beach was enough to prove that point. She wanted to spend time with him and felt comfortable to be around him only in that damned bikini that has been haunting his thoughts for the past few hours.

He removed his swim trunk and sprayed himself with freezing water, hoping to get rid of that painful boner but to no avail. He turned up its temperature and put the shower head in its hold, which was installed high in the shower wall. He got a hold of his cock and started teasing himself with his fingers trying to put an end to his torture. But instead images of her floated in his mind. Her lounging in her towel under the umbrella away from the sun while reading her book. Turning her head at him and looking pleadingly with a slight pout to convince him to take a dive with her.

His hand sped up its movement as he drifted back to that exact moment, to how happy she looked when he made to get up, how she grabbed his arm and dragged him into the sea. The way her body moved as they splashed each other with the cold water and how she started wrestling him after he pushed her into the water. After they had gotten cold they headed towards the shower, he let her shower first, a gentleman as always, unable though to remove his eyes from her. Staring as droplets of water run down her form. How they made her top stuck even more to her breasts leaving next to nothing to his imagination.

His movements now were even harsher. Rougher and faster, hips buckling, grinding in his hand, as soft moans along with grunts left his mouth due to the memory that played out in his mind's eye. She kissed his cheek after she was done and ran back to their umbrella to get her towel. Watching her from behind as her ass bounced, he decided to chase after her. Running at full speed he caught up to her in seconds. Wrapping his arms around her, his left hand accidentally resting in her right breast while the other held her hip in place drawing her even closer as she struggled to get free of his grip on her, while her laughter along with whines of his name left her mouth.

He threw his head back and his mouth opened as loud moans escaped and filled the tiny bathroom. Eyes permanently closed, losing himself in the pleasure of his own hands, trying to trick himself into thinking that he was deep inside her. Fucking her good, only a few days before the full moon, like now, chasing one orgasm after the other. Penetrating her in all positions for hours to no end and filling her with his cum until it ran down her thighs. He wondered…Would she be tight? Would she scream his name at the top of her lungs or whisper it, the way she did when he applied sunscreen, per her request, in her back and massaged it afterwards, as she scrunched her face in pleasure and said his name in such a hushed tone, like a dirty secret, falling asleep afterwards, because she felt so content? How heavy and full her perky breasts and her round ass would feel cupped in his hands? How would she taste? In how many ways could he make her cum? How many times? How would she look when she did? How would she like to be fucked? He was so close now.

He tried to steady his body by resting his free hand on the shower wall. He bit his lip to contain some of the sounds he was emitting as he came, but the sound of her name with many profanities accompanied echoed in the empty house.

"Fuck" there has no denying it any more. He was attracted and so impossibly in love with his best friend. He was in for a long torture, with his trusted hand and his occupied mind from the thoughts of her in such seductive and inappropriate ways.

Bip bip

Food's ready, thank God. He was starving.

word count: 1.118

#remus lupin x reader #remus x reader #remus x you #remus lupin smut #remus lupin #remus lupin x fem!reader

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callsignthirsty · 3 months

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Stuck at the Navy Ball

So… I decided I wasn’t done playin’ with the boys.

As this is a continuation of the original Stuck in the Middle fic, I highly recommend that you read through that before diving into this. Could you dive headfirst into this? Yes. There might be a little confusion, though.

Inspired by a comment someone left on SitM over on AO3.

Pairing: Tom “Iceman” Kazansky x F!Reader x Ron “Slider” Kerner Summary: You, Ice, and Sli haven’t lost that loving feeling. So when the flyboys are reunited at the 1986 Navy Ball, it's only natural that they bring a bit of chaos with them. Word Count: 4200 Warnings: Smut, bets and wagers, under-negotiated situations (but everyone involved is fine), fingering Chapter: 1/4 Minors DNI

gif originally posted by neuromancer1888

Chapter 1: Under the Table

The invitation arrives early in September, printed on thick cardstock and addressed to your brother. But if Viper’s words are to be believed—and you’ve yet to hear of a situation in which they aren’t—Pete’s attendance isn’t exactly optional. So the summons finds its way from the trash onto the fridge, rough edges taped back together.

Please Join Us For the 211th Navy Ball. Monday, October 13th Washington D.C.

Cocktail Hour 1700 | Ceremony Begins 1800 Live Music. Food. Dancing.

The same invitation has Carole positively giddy. Born and raised in Virginia, she’s been looking for an excuse to fly east to visit her parents. And for a party? Isn’t that swell! Arrangements are made for Bradley to sleep at his grandparents on the night of the ball before Goose—whose PT-mandated wheelchair has landed him desk duty—is home from work.

Which is how, roughly one month later, you find yourself in Goose’s room at the Hyatt Regency on Capitol Hill, sharing precious mirror space with Carole. Breathing in Aqua Net while putting the finishing touches on your looks.

The hotel calls the four of you a taxi, Goose’s wheelchair is stuffed into the trunk, and then you’re off to meet your date.

Singular.

There hadn’t been a question of if you’d attend or whose arm you’d decorate once Pete’s invite arrived. Officially, you’re at the ball with Ice. After Layton, Ice had made it a point to be seen with you while he was off-duty. Your relationship, which you’d tried to keep on the down-low, was worth showing off publicly after he and your brother had dropped their rivalry in favor of mutual respect. Friendship.

But the other half of your relationship was still very much under wraps.

That fact hadn’t stopped you from nodding eagerly when Ice pulled you close to ask you to attend the Navy Ball with him. Ice wants to climb the ladder, and earning stars is more than clambering into the cockpit every morning or disappearing on a carrier for the better part of a year at a time. It’s politics. It’s achieving perceived milestones on or ahead of schedule. And in October, for Lieutenant Tom “Iceman” Kazansky, naval aviator and promotion hopeful, it’s attending the Navy Ball with a woman on his arm.

Pete wrestles the wheelchair out of the trunk while Goose pays the cab driver. As you step into the crisp October evening, you marvel at the palatial, white-stone building that is to be the backdrop of your night. A steady flow of servicemen and women crossing beneath grand archways with their dates for the promise of a good night.

You aren’t left alone to gawk for long before you catch sight of them chatting with someone or another: decked in their whites, Slider leaning against the wrought iron rail and Ice to his side. Ice’s gaze flicks to you instantaneously, as if he’d felt your eyes land on him. The natural pout of his lips morphs into a grin as he excuses himself from the conversation and moves toward you against the flow of the crowd. Slider follows close behind, ultimately making his way to Goose, Carole, and your brother. But you catch the hesitation in his step. The course-correct.

Events like these will be challenging for the three of you—that had been a foregone conclusion—but this knowledge doesn’t make it any easier. It feels all sorts of wrong to have Slider keep himself at such a purposeful distance when you’re used to his proximity. Even at the O Club, he manages to stand close. Doesn’t shy away.

Before your mood can be irreparably embittered, Ice takes your hand in his and coaxes you into a slow spin. “You’re beautiful,” he coos as he kisses your cheek, and a delicate smile lights your lips.

The dress had been a surprise. Something you’d insisted on buying yourself despite Ice and Slider offering to pool their money for something truly extravagant. But after years spent in the foster system, even the thought of spending money on something so frivolous left a bad taste in your mouth. Instead, you’d taken Carole, your more comfortable budget, and found an old gala dress at a thrift shop. The sleek, black velvet gown up to your collarbones with the slightest sparkle as the fabric shifted beneath the store’s old lights ticked all your self-imposed boxes. A dress fit for an aspirational young officer’s date, even after Carole added a slit up the left side to show a little leg and “bring the dress into this decade.”

“Look who’s talking,” you say, squeezing Ice’s arm as it’s offered to you. Typically, the change of season calls for blues, but the Navy Ball is an exception to the rule. You wonder whose wife you have to thank for that because although your boys look damn fine in both, you have a not-so-hidden preference. “And Kerner didn’t clean up so bad, either,” you shoot in Slider’s direction with a playful grin.

“Surprised?” Slider asks, brow raised. You shrug because, no, you’re not surprised, but you aren’t sure what to say that will fly under the radar. And that’s the name of the night’s game. That doesn’t stop Pete from rolling his eyes as he passes you with Goose and Carole on their way to the building’s ramp.

The closest you ever got to a ball before tonight was prom—not yours; you’d been on staff at the venue. Frankly, you’d half expected you and Pete to have been blacklisted, given your father’s ill-gotten reputation, but they let you in without issue. You wonder if Pete’s face appearing on the front page of every magazine in the English-speaking world has anything to do with it, but you keep that to yourself while Ice, ever the gentleman, escorts you further into the event.

If the outside of the building is beautiful, then the inside is magnificent: all barrel vaulted ceilings decorated with Romanesque gold leafing and warm mahogany. A vast hall that steadily fills as guests arrive for cocktail hour and to mingle before the evening officially kicks off.

Slider spots Carole’s shock of blonde hair by a table with easy access for Goose and herds Ice in her direction. They aren’t alone at the table. “Merlin,” Slider barks, bounding over to shake his fellow RIO’s hand. “I thought you were stationed over the Atlantic. What’re you doing here?”

“Turned out to be an exercise. Over and back in sixty-two days.”

“And just in time for the party,” the woman at his side chips in, and Merlin wraps an arm around her to pull her close.

“Oh! Tom Kazansky, Ron Kerner, my wife, Laura.” Ice takes the opportunity to introduce you in turn. The conversation is easy-going, Ice and Slider filling Merlin in on their time instructing at Miramar.

Slider gets in several quips about Ice having a list of officers whose asses he needs to kiss to speed up a promotion when Ice spies one of said officers. He gently tugs you in the right direction so you can play the part of the doting girlfriend. The officer—a captain—quickly introduces you to his wife before he and Ice talk shop.

You manage to pluck a champagne flute from a waiter’s tray, sipping daintily and nodding along with the captain’s wife. Considering most of your knowledge concerning the Navy revolves around the planes your brother flies and the stunts he’s pulled in them, the conversation goes in one ear and out the other.

Not that it matters. Your role tonight—thankfully—is just to follow Ice around and look pretty.

The captain’s wife finishes her champagne in record time, and though you’re hesitant at first, you aren’t too far behind her. It is at this point, glass empty, that Slider appears like your guardian angel. “Captain,” he nods. “Ice.”

“Captain Reid, have you met my RIO?” Ice asks, knowing full well that Slider has no interest in schmoozing. Much like your brother, Slider is there because it is expected of him. Unlike Pete, Ice doesn’t need his friend’s emotional support or commiseration to make it through such events, mandatory or otherwise. Every opportunity like this is one Ice can use to his advantage.

Slider offers the captain a firm handshake. “Lieutenant Ron Kerner, sir.”

“Your RIO? I thought you were stationed at Miramar?”

“The perks of winning the trophy, sir,” pride leaks through as Slider says it. He and Ice worked damn hard to finish at the top of their class. “We’ve been together since flight school. When Ice took a teaching position at TOPGUN, I followed.”

“And how does a man of your stature fit in the cockpit, lieutenant?” the captain’s wife asks from beneath heavily painted lashes.

The grin Slider offers her is loose. “It’s a bit of a squeeze, but no complaints so far.” The minute narrowing of Ice’s eyes says behave. You nearly avoid snorting, hiding the unladylike compulsion behind the rim of your empty flute, a reflection off the crystal drawing Slider’s eye.

“Actually,” Slider says, hand twitching as if he’s had to stop himself from resting it against your back, “I noticed your glass is empty.” Sli nods toward the bar, an invitation to refill your glass. You look up at him with a grin—a genuine one, not the soft smile that’s grown stale throughout Ice’s conversation—acceptance on your lips when–

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Ice’s brow wrinkles, noticing for the first time that you’ve finished your drink.

”I didn’t want to interrupt,” is your bashful answer.

”Don’t be ridiculous,” Ice says. “I’ll come with you.”

”You don’t have to leave.” Slider will take care of me, you don’t say.

Ice picks up on the silent part but blatantly ignores it. His eyes take on that warm, charmed look, tongue peeking out before his lips curl into that honeyed smile you love so much. “You’re too good for me,” he says as if it’s a secret meant only for you. There’s no doubt he means it, but something about the way he’s playing the sentiment up for the brass makes it feel different in a way you’re not entirely comfortable with. No mistakes. “If you’ll excuse us, sir. Ma’am.”

Captain Reid is already turning to walk the room with his wife when Ice’s eyes narrow into what can only be described as a glare at Slider, his arm cementing itself around your waist in a way that probably looks far more relaxed than it feels.

”What?” Slider asks, shooting for casual, but now you’re not sure you’re buying it, either. “I’m just trying to do my part so you can talk to everyone on your list.” The subconscious flex of Ice’s jaw, as if he wishes he could chew out his frustration on the butt of a cig or some gum, doesn’t go unnoticed, but it does go unheeded. “Admiral Benjamin is on your list, right?” You perk up. As in Penny Benjamin? “I think I saw him by the corner with wife number three and Commander Johnson.”

“You know,” Ice says, his grin glacial, “it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if you rubbed elbows at an event like this.”

Slider scoffs, though it’s affectionate. “Why bother? We both know my military career ends when you take a desk job. Besides, I think my time is much better spent keeping your date’s cup full.” You’ve all agreed to go to the bar, but no one is moving. The tension between Ice and Slider is palpable.

”Okay,” you interrupt. There’s something off about their banter tonight. You’ve seen Ice stare down many a handful of people since landing in Miramar, but never Slider. It’s enough to raise a sculpted brow. “What am I missing?”

Slider senses blood in the water. Sees the smoke in the air. The grin he gives you is far tighter than the one he gave the captain’s wife. He opens his mouth, but Ice beats him to the punch. “You said something about grabbing my date a drink.”

Slider’s jaw clicks shut, but his grin isn’t so easily wiped away. “More champagne?” When you nod, Slider picks his way toward the bar while Ice escorts you to the side of the room where there’s more room to breathe and a lesser likelihood that someone will overhear when he presses close. “Sli’s upset that you’re with me tonight.”

That’s it? You hadn’t thought the arrangement would bother Slider so much. The three of you had discussed it and mutually concluded that you should go with Ice. That you had to go with Ice. Was Slider having second thoughts?

“Well, not upset,” Ice concedes at the concern that drags your lips down. “But he was talking a big game.”

Color you curious. “What’d he say?”

“Well,” Ice pulls you closer so his breath tickles your ear and you can smell the mint on his breath, “he thinks he can get you off before we leave the building. Steal you away while you’re being my pretty little girlfriend for the brass.” You gulp. Where is Slider with that drink?

”Oh.”

Ice chuckles. “Yeah. Oh. But I’m not worried.” Two fingers find their way under your chin and lift until your eyes meet Ice’s. “I know you’ll be good for me.”

“What’s the winner get?”

”Bragging rights.”

”And?”

It’s impossible to miss the way Ice’s eyes flit to your lips and linger there because he can. Those are the perks of being your date out in the light of day. “Can’t that be it?”

“Could be,” you breathe and slowly wet your bottom lip with your tongue, delighting in the way gray-blue eyes track the movement, “but it isn’t.”

Ice double-checks that no one is eavesdropping on your conversation. “You remember what got delivered the other day?” Your breath hitches. Yeah. You remember the catalog order you’d put in for a remote-controlled toy. The excitement and disappointment that had come with unfortunate delivery schedules. “Single-night, exclusive access once we’re all home.”

”That’s quite a lot on the line.”

”It would be,” Ice concedes, one large hand spanning the small of your back, warming you and holding you close enough you can breathe in his cologne, “but you can be good for me, right, baby? I’ll make it worth your while.” You nod, a little dumb as you inhale teakwood, sage, and sea salt.

It’s sure to be a profoundly satisfying night as long as you can stick to the script.

“I’m not going to make it easy on you,” Slider promises, appearing by Ice’s shoulder.

”Wouldn’t be fun if you did.” Ice’s smirk is all cocky confidence, cracking only when he notices Slider has only fetched two flutes of champagne.

”Only got two hands, Tommy,” Slider says with a toothy grin, “but I’ll keep her company while you grab yourself a glass.” The crystal buzzes with the steady fizz of bubbles, your fingers brushing Sli’s ever so slightly before Ice pulls you back into the throng.

The room becomes more difficult to navigate with each new attendee, but Ice only seems more in his element as cocktail hour drags on. He introduces you to a flurry of officers and their wives whose jewel-tone dresses all start to blend together, brushing shoulders with the men who ultimately control his upward trajectory.

On his arm, you smile and nod, interjecting where appropriate because, despite the smattering of female officers present, the Navy remains very much a boy’s club.

Still, it’s nice to be shown off so publicly. To delight in the knowledge that Ice’s attention never strays far from you despite his planned schmoozing. You preen each time he introduces you to someone new with a tender look—there are many things tonight that may be manufactured, but that look isn’t one of them.

An ache blooms in the ball of your foot as Ice delivers on the same script over and over to increasingly dismal company. The throbbing is nothing compared to the pinpricks in your cheeks, though. Beauty pageant smiles are their own form of torture. But this is important.

It’s all for a good cause.

Tonight is important to Ice, so it’s important to you.

You’d do anything for your boys: ignore every sour expression at your last name, force a pleasant laugh along with each rear admiral’s wife, stifle a relieved sigh when everyone is invited to find their seats for dinner.

The flyboys have claimed three closely clustered tables during your absence, forcing others to walk around them as they spill into the spaces between each table, leaning close to make up for the distance forced by post-graduation reassignments. Viper is curiously absent, or perhaps Jester had pulled the short straw and been stuck with babysitting duties.

But there’s someone you don’t recognize at your table, sat between Merlin and Slider, a stranger in your midst. A smile splits Ice’s face when he spots him. “Cougar?” The man stands and pulls Ice into a quick embrace, Ice’s hand on the man’s—Cougar’s—shoulder. Ice makes quick work of introducing you to Bill Cortell and his wife, Maria. “Cougar and I were like brothers in flight school,” Ice beams. “We were supposed to meet up at TOPGUN, but–”

”It turned out for the best,” Cougar cuts Ice off goodnaturedly with a quick nod toward Pete. “Besides, desk life isn’t so bad.” Ice raises a brow at the assertion while Goose lets out a ‘bullshit!’ “Okay,” he cedes, “it’s pretty bad, but I wouldn’t give up being at home with Maria and the kids for the world.” Maria, who is heavily pregnant, rests her hand over her bundle of joy.

The lights choose that moment to dim, commanding stragglers to find their seats, but neither man moves. Slider stands up. “Here,” he offers Ice his seat on Cougar’s left because the two clearly have some catching up to do. Ice takes the seat while you slide over to stay seated next to him, and Slider takes your spot as the lights come up on the stage for the opening ceremony.

By the time everyone is seated and some speaker makes his way to center stage, Ice is only half paying attention to the night’s program. He and Cougar have a lot to catch up on in appropriately hushed whispers. You’re about to zone out when you’re yanked back to the present by a hand on your knee.

Above the table, for prying eyes, Slider doesn’t give anything away. Attention seemingly focused on the stage. Below the table’s skirt, however, you press your thighs together as Slider’s hand massages the skin exposed by the modified slit in your dress. Familiar callouses drawing senseless patterns above your knee. His hand stays there, occasionally giving you a comforting squeeze, like he knows you crave reassurance through gentle touches after being dragged so far out of your comfort zone. It’s nice. Before long, between the buzz of quiet conversation and each soothing caress, you relax back into your chair.

Polite applause fills the room as the admiral gives the podium to the next presenter. Pete and Carole chuckle at something Goose murmurs. Wolfman yawns. Someone coughs. A waiter comes around to top off champagne.

You wrap your fingers around the delicate stem of your flute, raising it to your lips in the same instant that Slider’s palm shifts so it’s wedged between your thighs. Your sharp breath is lost in the crowd as nimble fingers creep higher, never once pausing their massage.

The corner of Slider’s lip tugs the slightest bit up. Smug bastard. When you’re sure no one is paying attention, you give his wrist a tug, but instead of retreating, Slider brushes a finger against the flimsy fabric of your panties.

Your heart jumps into your throat as you become hyper-aware of how loud your breathing is, and your brain kicks into overdrive. Can anyone hear you over the clink of glasses? Your nails dig into the meat of Slider’s wrist in surprise, but you’re fairly confident that the rest of you looks normal—suddenly, you’re not sure what that means.

Is this the way a normal person’s mouth rests? The way a normal person sits in their chair? You need to leave, but you can’t. Being good for Ice, among other things, means not causing a scene. Not fleeing the room in the middle of a presentation. Not letting anyone know that while your boyfriend dutifully splits his time between the podium and his colleague, his RIO is pushing your underwear to the side for better access to your cunt. How you’re responding to his touch.

“Hey.” Pete’s giving you a strange look from across the table. “You okay?” From the way he’s pulled a face, you missed the bar for normal, and now Goose and Carole are also looking your way.

“I’m fine,” you hiss. “I-” need a distraction. You mentally stumble as Slider continues to stroke up and down your slit, his fingers spreading the wetness until they glide effortlessly through your lips.

The universe grants your wish when the crowd bursts into polite applause and the mic is turned over to the next speaker. “Isn’t that Admiral Benjamin?”

“As in Penny Benjamin?” Carole perks up, sitting tall in an attempt to get a better look at the stage while Pete bangs his head onto the table. Probably. You’re admittedly not paying attention.

Pleasure zings up your spine as thick fingers nudge your clit. A reward for redirecting the eyes on you. It’s everything you can do not to press your hips into the pressure or let your head loll back with a gasp. And with Penny’s father keeping attention off of you, Slider hooks an ankle around yours to encourage your legs further apart.

You shouldn’t, but Slider has always been convincing.

Ice won’t be particularly pleased with how promptly you gave into Slider’s suggestions, how readily your legs fall open, but that’s barely a blip on your radar as firm circles rub into your clit. The devil on your shoulder whispers that if Ice had really wanted to win, he shouldn’t have allowed himself to be so easily distracted.

None of that matters nearly as much as it should when your heart pulses between your legs.

A hand lands on your velvet-covered thigh. Ice. “Sweetheart.” You whip your head around too quickly for the move to be anything but suspicious. Like you’ve been caught with your hand—or someone else’s—in the cookie jar. You try to focus on the cool, grounding pressure of his touch. It’s working, you think, but your leg is still trembling from the effort it takes to keep still. Keen eyes move from your face to your leg, trembling under his touch, to your lap, and then to Slider, where they narrow almost imperceptibly. “You alright?”

With a nod, you reach past your champagne for water to wet your dry throat. “Just taking it all in.”

A poor choice of words. Ever the opportunist, Slider presses a finger into your hole, the stretch delicious and unexpected enough that you almost choke. If anyone catches the color on your cheeks, you hope they’ll blame your earlier drinks.

“I was just saying I didn’t know Maverick had a sister,” Cougar says, this time loud enough for the table to hear him.

“He doesn’t talk about me much.”

“Yeah,” Pete scoffs, “because when people find out about you, this–” he gestures between you and Ice “–happens.”

“You got any other sisters, Mav?” Chipper’s question from the next table over prompts Pete to load a pomegranate seed onto this salad fork. He’s ready to launch, but a disapproving look from Jester dissuades him. Goose flips Chipper the bird in a show of solidarity.

“So when did this happen?” Cougar asks, eyes flitting from you to the blonde on your right.

Slider chuckles and leans into the conversation at the same time as he crooks his fingers. You bite the inside of your cheek. The circles Ice is rubbing into your knee aren’t as distracting as either of you wants them to be. “He hasn’t been able to keep his hands off of her since we made it to Miramar.”

Hypocrite. You clear your throat. “About five months?”

“Aw,” Maria sighs in that way so many in long-term relationships do. You try and fail to focus on that as a second finger prods at your opening before pushing in slowly. “You’re still in the honeymoon phase.” Thankfully, Ice steps in with a reply because all you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears when Slider rubs his fingers against your sweet spot, thumb applying steady pressure to your clit. Your nails dig crescent moons into Ice’s wrist in a last-ditch attempt to ground yourself because if Slider keeps this up, it’s going to take a miracle to keep you from causing a scene.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Viper’s unapologetic quip appears from seemingly nowhere. Your own personal savior. “I need to borrow Iceman and Slider, Maverick and Merlin, Hollywood and Wolfman.”

You shiver at the abrupt emptiness. Slider wipes his fingers, dripping with arousal, off on the tablecloth, eyes locked on Ice.

Next Chapter

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tzaraat · 4 months

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[image ID: an oil painting of two wrestlers grappling on a dark red mat. the colours are quite vivid, complemented by dramatic light and shadows.

on the left, a figure lies on its side, facing right. its left leg stretches in the same direction, while its right is folded at the knee and rests close to the body. both its hands are raised and frame its face, crossing each other. the left hand is tangled with the other figure's right arm. it is dressed in black trunks and boots, as well as knee pads. the figure is painted quite realistically, with opaque layers of paint. its face is masked by shadows, and completely blacked out.

on the right, the second figure sits, facing left. its left leg is extended, covering the other's chest and pinning it down. its right leg goes behind the other figure's body, folded at the knee. its left hand is by its side, pressing on the first figure's leg. its right, tangled with the other figures' crossed arms, rests over its own left thigh. the figure is dressed in blue tights and boots, also wearing kick-pads. the graphic layer shows through, as it is painted as a few semi-transparent glazes, with no opaque base. its face is heavily shadowed, and largely covered by hair, such that few distinct features are visible.

the top-left and bottom-right parts of the painting each contain a rectangular panel, which has been left white. the panels intersect with the figures' bodies. the figures themselves are drawn, in black-pen, as anatomical diagrams - revealing the muscles and tendons. next to the diagrams, also in black-pen, is a schematic rendering depicting sections of Lou Thesz' NWA belt (also known as the tiny Takada belt). the belt sections are covered by a layer of vellum paper, which blurs them out. /.End ID]

my full piece for @moonsaultzine! i'm very proud of all we managed to achieve, and am thankful to have been able to participate. my piece was created while thinking about the symbolic collapse of persons into bodies in motion, and that collapse's relationship to the procedure of pro-wrestling and the artifice of all performances. it was referenced from multiple shoot-style matches (as well as allegedly fixed MMA fights) of the late 90s, particularly ones from UWF-I and RINGS.

#oil painting #moonsault zine #zine #pro wrestling

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karniss-bg3 · 7 months

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Hi! I love your writing. As a request, can we get Tav helping/comforting kar'niss through a bad mental episode? I love fics out there that comfort him and help him, but I feel like sometimes people forget that progress doesn't always move in a straight line. Thanks!

Tav managed to drift off after a long day of travel, falling into peaceful slumber. This moment of repose would be interrupted by the heavy sound of pacing nearby, frantic stamping that seemed to increase in speed with time. They opened their eyes, vision still blurred, rolling over enough to see the darkened silhouette of the drider near the tree line. Tav crawled out of their sleeping bag to approach Kar’niss, observing the bizarre behavior with a frown. He was walking back and forth, his clawed hands clutching either side of his head while mindlessly muttering to himself.

“S-Silent, they must be silent! Be still damn you!” Kar’niss growled while clawing at his scalp.

Tav’s brows knit with concern, taking a cautious step closer to the agitated beast. “Shh Kar’niss, it’s alright.” They held up their hands defensively, not allowing themselves to bridge the gap too quickly.

Kar’niss didn’t seem to hear them, or perhaps he simply could not in this state. To him, Tav’s voice was just another of many vying for his attention and he couldn’t hone in on it. His legs bore into the dirt beneath him while he panted profusely, walking back and forth with no signs of slowing down.

“Stop, just stop! We are tired. Please, Majesty. Allow us rest. Too many speaking, cannot focus on an...an answer.”

Tav had seen this before since they pulled Kar’niss from the hold of the Absolute, one too many times. The artifact did well to block the Absolute’s influence but it could do nothing for the many voices that occupied his broken mind. They tormented him, followed him everywhere, and while some days he could block them out others were a hard won battle. They stood by and watched as he devolved into a fit of sobbing, his entire body dropping to the ground while legs scraped helplessly at the dirt.

“RAH! We cannot endure more! It’s agony, I beg you.” Kar’niss whined, his tear stained cheeks glistening in the moonlight. He began to dig his claws into his tender scalp, digging into the flesh which stained his white roots red.

Tav grimaced and rushed over to Kar’niss’ side, reaching up to grab at his arms in an effort to pull them away. “You’re hurting yourself, don’t!”

But he didn’t hear them, actively fighting against their hold in an effort to keep his head clutched. Tav continued to wrestle with the drider whose episode put them in high alert, adrenaline surging through his veins. He’d use his shoulder to shove Tav away with such force it made them stagger and fall onto their backside. Kar’niss snarled and raked his claws down his face nearly puncturing one of the eyes on his forehead leaving a trail of red lines in his wake. He’d lift himself and back-up at a rapid pace, his round abdomen crashing against a heavy tree trunk. A soul ripping screech ripped from his throat which echoed throughout the forest and beyond, a heartbreaking sound of anguish. He couldn’t hear or see anything else, consumed by the hallucinations dominating his perception.

They sucked in a sharp breath as they witnessed the display, devastated by the harm Kar’niss was doing to himself. Tav knew that they couldn’t get through to them with words alone while he was like this. They needed something else, something to break through the endless mantra which played in his head non-stop. They bolted away from him back to the camp where the commotion had stirred the others. Tav shook his head toward them to show that they had this under control, furiously digging through their bag until they found what they wanted. With item in hand Tav bolted back to Kar’niss, practically tripping over themselves along the way.

They’d return to find Kar’niss hovered over a nearby boulder scraping the side of his face against it as if that would somehow clear out the mental intruders. All the while he wept and contorted his body at an uncomfortable angle, slamming his fist in the side of the rock out of frustration.

“Fuck!” Tav hissed.

Tav couldn’t spare a moment more. They pulled out their flute, the same they had lulled Kar’niss with at Moonrise. With the instrument aligned with their lips they started to play a soft, gentle melody. They made sure it was loud enough for Kar’niss to hear but not so sharp as to compound an already fragile issue. They ventured close without invading his space, their gaze locked on him to judge if this would help or hurt him more.

At first it seemed as if the music had no effect. The drider shuffled his legs to push his torso against the boulder with more force which scraped what skin wasn’t protected by the chitin plating. A moment would pass and he seemed to ease up on the struggle, his eyes opening, startled. He grew uncomfortably still, his gaze searching the area as if confused, unsure. The music seemed to overpower the nagging chatter giving him something to focus on, something that wasn’t a voice. His upper lip curled, stained with crimson, his body steadily relaxing. He’d lean back and peel his upper body from the rough rocky surface, finally able to see Tav, truly see them. His hair was matted and bloody, his body scratched and marked, but all of it was damage that would heal.

Tav didn’t stop playing even when it seemed Kar’niss was coming around, knowing that the voices could return if given ample time to do so. Instead they opted to approach him, inching closer little by little, until they were at his side. Tav made eye contact with Kar’niss and he could see the well of emotion in their eyes. Both the relief that he’d ceased hurting himself as well as the fear of what would’ve happened if he didn’t. Kar’niss took in a ragged breath, still sitting on his belly, putting his attention on the music and little else.

“Yes...we hear them. What sweet melodies they play,” he rumbled, his muscles growing lax.

Tav nodded, their fingers hard at work to strike the right notes, keeping the sound soft but profound. This went on for several minutes allowing Kar’niss time to calm down and find his center once more, or as much of a center as his fragmented mind could maintain. He began to grow weary both from days without adequate rest and the number he’d done to himself during the violent episode. He leaned back over the boulder to give his torso proper support, lulled toward a relaxed enough state to fall into a trance. His eyes closed and with a shaken exhale Kar’niss drifted off.

They watched carefully, continuing to play for a bit after to make sure he was resting. Once they stopped they’d clamp a hand to their forehead, their body shaking and on edge. It had been a harrowing thing to experience much less be directly involved in. They needed their own time to decompress, a growing worry still churning within their belly. Approaching Kar’niss hesitantly they’d look over his body and see the damage done, frowning due to the carnage he caused himself.

“Oh Kar’niss…” Tav whispered.

They reached over and ran their palm over his blood stained locks in a gentle caress, deeply concerned for his well being. They wished to clean him up but also didn’t want to risk disturbing him now that he’d finally found respite. Instead they returned to camp to put their flute away and collect something else. They returned with a blanket and a pillow. With a cautious ease they lifted Kar’niss’ head, slipping the pillow beneath it so he’d not rest it on such a rough surface. They then draped the blanket over his back and shoulders to keep him warm. Tav leaned in and ghosted a kiss to his forehead, the drider shifting with a tired rumble to follow.

“I’ll help you through this, whatever it takes,” they murmured.

Tav then backed away and returned Kar’niss’ space to him, retreating to camp. After reassuring the others that all was well and to go back to sleep Tav found it was difficult to take their own advice. Even as they climbed back into their bedroll the harrowing scene they’d witnessed replayed in their mind without end. It was all they could think about, what could’ve been done differently, what could’ve gone wrong and how such episodes caused Kar’niss eternal grief. Tav wouldn’t be deterred, they wouldn’t abandon him like so many have. He would be taken care of like he deserved to be and loved in equal measure.

They’d make sure of that.

#baldur's gate 3 #kar'niss #bg3 #drider #karniss #baldurs gate 3 #answered #my writing #tw: mental illness #tw: self harm #tw: psychotic break #kar'niss fanfic #bg3 fanfic #kar'niss x tav #gender neutral tav

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whinlatter · 1 year

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think (harry/ginny) | a microfic

day 13 of @hinnymicrofic | prompt: think

He showers quick, tries to scrub the train off him. Snorts at the sight of Vernon’s large bottle of hair-thickening shampoo. Having stared at his uncle’s head all the way back from London, he reckons Vernon’s due a refund.

There's some lurid deodorant of Dudley's - hair gel, too, looks cheap and shit. He feels a stab of pity for whichever poor girl his cousin’s trying to scrub up for these days. Dudley trying to pull, he thinks with a laugh, Christ. But thoughts of pulling lead to thoughts of girls, which lead, inevitably, to thoughts of Ginny.

He shoves the hair gel back on the shelf. Adds Dudley pulling to the don’t think about it list he’d started making on the train, somewhere around the Cumbrian border, when Ron had offered him a Caramel Kappa, Ginny’s favourite, and he’d wanted to throw up all over the chess board.

The Dursleys had waited all of two seconds after he’d slammed the car boot shut before speeding off to dinner at some miserable gastropub off the M3. Suits him fine, wants to be alone. He stabs a fork through the plastic film of his ready-meal, makes sure to puncture the yellow reduced sticker Petunia's left on for his benefit, and watches the bright white of the mashed potato atop the shepherd’s pie whirling around in the microwave.

You know, it’s made from real shepherd, he’d said to Ginny once. That’s such a dad joke, she’d said, and he’d said I wouldn’t know and she’d said Potter you get one dead dad joke a day and you already used today’s up at breakfast. Shepherd’s pie is on the don’t think about it list, then, he thinks, just before he burns his fingers sliding the ready meal onto a tray. Probably best add cottage pie, too, same idea. Maybe all savoury pies, play it safe.

He flops down on the sofa, feet up on the coffee table, eats straight from the hot plastic as he flicks through channels. The nine o'clock news is all budget this, Hong Kong that, Tim Henman out at Wimbledon. The nine o’clock news is not Dumbledore's dead, Snape murdered him, there’s a war on, Harry Potter's dropped out of school to go hunt bits of Voldemort's dismembered soul.

Dropped out of school, he thinks. Scandalous, delinquent. What d'you reckon? he asks the Ginny in his head. Harry Potter, troubled dropout? Do anything for you? The Ginny in his head laughs. It’d be fun if she were here, he thinks, curled up next to him on this ugly sofa, taking the piss out of Petunia’s cushion covers and Dudley’s wrestling trophies. Imagines taking her up to his bedroom, pointing out the lamp Dobby whacked himself around the head with. But then the Ginny in his head looks at him and says I never really gave up on you and I knew this would happen in the end, and it all bursts, shatters into a hundred dusty pieces.

He chucks the rest of the meal in the bin, adds dropping out of school to the stupid list. Might as well add the budget, Hong Kong and Tim Henman, why not.

Turns off the telly, goes upstairs and lies on his bed, fully-clothed, staring up at the ceiling, because on the walk from the living room to his bedroom the list has expanded to include his trunk (train, Hogwarts, Ginny), his jumper (still smells a bit like her on the left arm, pathetic), and Hedwig (how does it feel knowing your owl prefers me, Potter?).

He stares out of the window for a while, eyes next door's new extension, which sort of works - ugly nothing suburbia - until he remembers the twins and Ron at the window in a flying Ford Anglia, zooming him off to the Burrow where a little red headed girl is blushing and sticking her elbow in the butter dish and god, this really is shit, isn't it, they weren't lying. She knew then, of course she did. He's never been good at thinking of nothing, has he, and he's thought about her as he falls asleep every day since about October, so what chance does he have now?

He's dreading the dreams the most, knows they'll be unbearable. Almost hopes he dreams of lockets and green light and dead headmasters. Can't be worse than bright brown eyes, freckles on a bottom lip (how do you even get freckles on your bottom lip, Gin? Don't be jealous of my freckles, Potter, just because your skin's so boring), the smell of her hair (what do you mean my hair smells? What is that supposed to mean? Why are you laughing?) and the sound of her laugh and her gasps and the sound of her breathing, soft, lying beside him under the cloak on the lakeshore. Looking down under the table at dinner, seeing her thigh next to his on the bench, hand on his knee, body drawn to his, magnets, magic.

When he wakes groggily the next day - crick in his neck, still in his jeans - his first thought is: he's overslept. He’s missed Ginny on her way down to breakfast, going to be late for Potions, fucked it.

But no, of course not. There’s no Ginny, no breakfast, no Potions. Might still have fucked it, though, who's to say. Don't, he tells himself, as he heads for the bathroom to scrub the night off him, just don't think about it.

now up on AO3 here | ask me anything

#look i’m sorry #i had hinny microfic fomo #couldn’t resist #missed writing harry pov too much #hinny microfic #hinny #writing #fic #ginny weasley #harry potter #harry x ginny #big 1997 mood #tim henman cameo for the tennis fans #microfic

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thecrystalquill · 2 months

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A/N: Chapter Fourteen! How exciting! What do you think to the mood board? More Addams shenanigans in upcoming parts!!!

Don’t forget to like when you’re done!

Masterlist Series Masterlist Introduction Your First Year Letter

Chapter Fourteen ~ The Book

The carriages were lined up in their dozens, loaded with passengers and their luggage. Some had already started their route down the snowy road that lead from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade Station, walking themselves effortlessly down the hill.

(Y/N) had spent the morning watching her roommates pack whatever they intended to bring home for the holidays, and occasionally pointing out a missing object. Millicent had spent the last twenty minutes trying to wrestle Mouse into her carrier, with Saoirse’s help they managed it on the fifth attempt.

“Are you sure about staying?” Bridgit asked as she checked the buckles on her trunk, where it sat securely on the back of the carriage.

“I appreciate the concern, but I’m perfectly fine here.” (Y/N) replied with a blank stare as she rubbed away a rogue snowflake that dared touch her nose. “My parents will be staying at the Hog’s Head tomorrow, anyway.”

A few more carriages rolled away as the girls began to step into their own, eager to shut in some warmth but wanting to talk with her for a while longer. The grounds keeper was making his rounds somewhere a short distance away, making sure everyone was ready and hurrying them along to the station; it wasn’t long before the train was due to leave.

“Won’t you be lonely?” Millicent asked from under her two scarves. “You’ll be here all alone.”

Controlling the subconscious act of rolling one’s eyes was quite the challenge, but (Y/N) managed a slow blink instead. Why would these girls even care about any of that? “I’m not alone, I’m by myself. Which is how I enjoy it - I’ll finally have some complete solitude.”

The last of the carriages were beginning to leave and the half-giant was calling for them to say their goodbyes, when (before (Y/N) could do anything about it) Saoirse launched herself at the startled young Addams, wrapping her arms around her neck in an embrace that was stiffly received. “Have a nice Christmas, (Y/N), I left Jinx a lolly for the big day.” She said, then pulled back and got into the carriage before there was room to complain. “See ya next year!” Saoirse exclaimed with a grin, which only doubled when (Y/N) finally rolled her eyes (with tenfold the usual amount of exasperation).

(Y/N) observed as the cart pulled away with her roommates waving through the window, watching as they joined the others that walked the path to Hogsmeade, an ant trail of black dots marching in the white snow.

Grey clouds had formed over Hogwarts that morning, promising more snow to come than the few that flitted down at the moment, and (Y/N) decided to re-enter the castle for a late breakfast before a storm decided to slow her down.

When she seated herself at the Slytherin table, along with a handful of older students, (Y/N) played a couple of crumpets smothered in butter and let her eyes wander as she ate. For the first time in quite a while, (Y/N) was sitting alone in the Great Hall. Let’s not go as far as to say that she missed having company at all (because wouldn’t that be just ridiculous?), but there were no conversations to be listening to, no opinions to be shared, and not even anything to roll her eyes at. But for the next meal, she made note to perhaps bring a book with her.

There were a few faces around the hall that she vaguely recognised, and many more that she didn’t; what she did notice is that most of them seemed to be perfectly solemn. And with that, it was hard to miss the joyful faces sitting at the Gryffindor table. (Y/N) wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Harry smile quite so much, but he certainly seemed far from as miserable as everyone else staying at school for the holidays. Ron was sat beside him, talking away with expressive hands, one holding a buttery bacon sandwich. She had decided a while ago that she ought not be bitter about those boys any longer, that she needed to let go of that months-old hurt; it was only then that she felt that she truly had. (Y/N) had new friends - better friends - who accepted her as she was and didn’t judge her for her differences l. She was glad, and glad for them too. All that mattered now was that she would see her family tomorrow, and find whatever she was asked to uncover, and everything would go back to how it should be.

It was three in the afternoon when (Y/N) finally made it to the library; dinner would be served at half-past five, and curfew was at nine; that left her an estimated five hours to find what she had been looking for.

Madame Pince was nowhere in sight as (Y/N) walked straight to her usual spot near the back of the library, counting the rows in the Divination section. When she reached the fifth row of shelves, she dropped her bag on the floor to begin her search with newfound determination. During her last visit she had made it to the first row of M’s, so now she only had one letter left. The only problem was yet again just how many there were.

The library shelves were enormous, each one as long as the giant squid and as tall as nearly the height of the room. Checking the name and title of every book starting from two thirds up the ladder took her over two hours, and by the time the M’s finished, the last shelf had ran out and (Y/N) had to cope with the fact that she’d wasted so much time climbing up the wrong side of the shelves.

When she finally ascended the ladder (on the right row, this time), (Y/N) had to squint her eyes slightly to read the titles. It was so dark and shadowed in the Divination section already, but now she was in a high corner at the back of the room and there was hardly a stream of light to make the books visible. Winter clouds had darkened the sky and snow blocked out any early-evening sun, and the candles and torches that usually lit the library simply didn’t reach her. It was all terribly inconvenient.

Again, for much longer than she would have liked, (Y/N) scanned the titles on the shelf; Basics of Narcomancy by Natalia Manteia, The Divine Nature of Dreams by Horus Duermus, Secrets of the Subconscious by Selestia Soothe; but they weren’t what she was looking for. “Necromancy, come on… it must be somewhere…” she muttered to herself, feeling almost frenzied with frustration and desperation, but she simply couldn’t give up when she felt so close.

Forget Narcomancy - where the Styx was Necromancy?

Using her hands to pull her body along, she rolled the ladder further to the right, brushing aside cobwebs and blowing away dust. She thought the library was always so clean and taken care of, but Merlin did Pince not care to dust this high up. But who could blame her, really? Who ever came to collect from all the way up the highest shelves, in the Divination section no less?

Nyphomancy, Necyomancy, but still no Necromancy. Again, she pulled herself along further to the right, and took a deep breath through the nose to collect herself. “This is all so stupid…” she mumbled in her frustration, feeling a tingle in her nose. She wiped away more cobwebs to read another title, disturbing the long-settled dust into the air and her nose tingled again.

Oh no.

Oh dear.

Holding her nose, (Y/N) quickly rolled further along with the ladder in hopes of breathing some clearer air, but only seemed to make things worse as more dust was blown about her. It was too late - there was nothing more she could do.

The tingle grew and (Y/N) pulled her arm up to muffle the noise as her head jolted backwards with the sneeze, not realising her fatal mistake as her balance was thrown off. She reached both arms forward quickly, grabbing onto the stable wood of the shelf tightly, until she was sure she wouldn’t fall.

By now, she was almost completely in the corner, just a couple of feet away from the wall. She read the titles in front of her. Natimancy, Nephomancy, Necromancy!

There, just slightly to her right, was exactly the book she needed. (Y/N) grabbed at it with a sense of pride, brushing off cobwebs and leaving a clearing in the dust in front of it. Finally, in her hands, was a little hope.

The book was a good size, a heavy hardback with a black cover and simple silver lettering. Necromancy - printed in bold just higher than the centre, by Morbius E. Shelly.

(Y/N) had never climbed down a ladder so quickly. The second her feet touched the floor she was sitting with her back to the ridiculously tall shelves, not soaring a single thought to the cold of the hardwood floor on her behind. With bated breath, she sat the book on her knees and turned back over.

“Miss Addams, is that you?”

(Y/N) almost leapt out of her skin at the skins of the librarian’s voice from the other end of the row - and that was really quite the feat, for I wasn’t often that someone could sneak up on her.

Thinking fast, (Y/N) removed her coat and hid the book in its thick black fabric, not wishing to be caught reading about such an unsavoury topic in a dark part of the library. Hades knows that’s all her reputation needed.

She stood with it hidden well in her arms, still half-saved by the shadows as the librarian and she added her scarf to the pile in her arms. “Yes, Madam Pince, it’s me.” She answered with a stiffness that almost would have given her away.

“Lunch is starting, go and join the others,” Pince said with a gesture of her arms, “off you go. Do you have a book to check out?”

(Y/N) decided to taker her chance while the shadows were working in her favour, to slide past with her things pulled to her side. “N, not today, thank you.” She answered politely, then hurried to fetch her bag and take her leave before Pince could get a good look in the light.

Sitting through lunch with her bag at her side was absolute torture. The food was as good as usual, Dumbkrdore made a little speech before they ate, and there was chatter all about; but (Y/N) could only think about how long she would have to wait before she could go back to her dorm and open the book that felt like the key to solving her problems.

She picked at her food distractedly as the presence of the book looked over her like a thrillingly life-draining dark energy; it was ever so difficult to act as if she had nothing better to be doing. Snow fell from the enchanted ceiling, mirroring the storm that grew outside, and giving the warm room a sense of cold winter, and (Y/N) decided to direct her focus to that. If only she had time for a stroll.

When she had finished her meal and a few people began to leave, (Y/N) snatched up her satchel and made her way through the castle towards her common room. She passed maybe a handful of students on her way to the frosty Dungeons, nodding to a couple of nosy portraits as she went, before she finally came to the entrance and recited the password. “Dulce Venenum.”

The Slytherin common room was entirely empty, and as far as she was aware, she was the only occupant - much to her appreciation. The fire was burning hot enough to ward off the comforting chill, and she wondered if she could ask Snape if there was something that could be done about that - and if he didn’t prove to be of any use, the. She’d have to ask someone with a little more competence, like McGonnagal.

The dark leather sofas were finally free, and it was her first opportunity to sit in them; they were springier than she’d imagined. With the book placed cautiously on the table, as if it would explode with some terrible curse if it was mistreated at all, (Y/N) gathered herself up to open it. She had built up this moment in her head so much, that she felt it needed the right respect to savour it.

She studied its sleek appearance as it stared back up at her, tapping the heap of her black Mary-Jane and fiddling with the black lace on the hem of her sleeves as she prepared herself. With great care, (Y/N) reached out and lifted the heavy cover.

A note from Morbius E. Shelly ~

The topics presented in this book are of a restricted nature, therefore, the information pertaining to these practices are intended for strictly educational purposes only. The British Ministry of Magic has approved any and all information disclosed. Readers are warned that the majority of these rituals and practices are considered taboo at the very least, and crimes of immoral nature at most. It is advised that these are not to be performed unless by professionals with express permission from the Ministry of Magic. The author takes no responsibility beyond this point. Read with care.

Well, things were certainly off to an interesting start.

An hour had passed before she knew it and the grand clock above the fireplace rang out to inform her that it was already ten o’clock, and that she ought to be in bed if she wanted to make it to Hogsmeade in time. She looked at the wriggling silver snakes pointing their heads to the time for only a moment, before she dove right back into the book. If she hadn’t felt there was a clue to her Message hidden in these pages, (Y/N) could still have certainly been reading it with just as much interest.

She was also fairly sure that this book had originally belonged to the Restricted Section.

Though her ambitions were strong, her eyes were heavy, and (Y/N) was disappointed to have to admit defeat for the night. Sinking back against the plump sofa, she let her eyes rest from hours of focus, drifting off into thoughts of the next day. What presents did her parents get her? Did Grandmama bring any home-bakes? Would Wednesday make time for a good duel?

Before she could fall asleep, (Y/N) yawned and stretched, and stood up to head to bed. A draft blew through the room and rustled the pages as she went to collect the book. How much more did she have to read through? Finding her place again, she flicked through the chapters to see what topics awaited her; dead-raising; scrying; possessions; crystal balls. Chapter Twenty-Two caught her eye: Séances. A practical yet unpredictable ritual of dead-communication, simple and versatile. The chapter began with a beautiful line-sketch of a tastefully nude coven performing the ritual and calling forth a ghastly spirit from a supernatural smoke at the centre - and if that hadn’t caught her eye, then the folded browning piece of parchment tucked into the pages certainly had.

In that moment, (Y/N) was aware of nothing but the note - taking it in her hands, not daring ti open it so quickly; if she opened it to find nothing there, there would be no words in her vocabulary ti express her frustration and disappointment.

It was old - flat and faded enough for her ti be sure that it had been hidden in that book for a very long time. Delicately, (Y/N) unfolded it and unfolded it again, until she was revealed to the brown ink of handwriting not exposed to the world in a very long time - longer, surely, than she had been alive. It was not neat, but a strange swirling italic - the handwriting of someone who had to try very hard to make their writing look tidy and legible, with little wobbles when their fingers shook. She’d expected it ti contain a message that would rid her of her burden and set everything into place, but was only let down once more, and left with no more than frustration and confusion.

It is hidden where you may not venture.

(Y/N) may have assumed that she’d gotten it all wrong - that this was an elaborate prank to play on the Addams-girl, or that this was left for someone else - if it weren’t for the obvious age if the parchment, and the Addams crest stamped at the bottom, waiting only for her to recognise it.

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undielyfe · 8 months

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This poor stud was fighting for his life. He wore his signature white trunks and decided to sport a white G String underneath. Being completely outmatched he slowly gets stripped of his trunks. Soon after the goon attempts to strip him of hisG String. Complete and utter humiliation. He may never wrestle again.

Does anyone kmow the wrestler in whites name?

#pantsed

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homomenhommes · 4 months

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THIS DAY IN GAY HISTORY

based on: The White Crane Institute's 'Gay Wisdom', Gay Birthdays, Gay For Today, Famous GLBT, glbt-Gay Encylopedia, Today in Gay History, Wikipedia, and more … January 19

1863 – Ogden Codman, Jr. was an American architect and interior decorator in the Beaux-Arts styles, and co-author with Edith Wharton of The Decoration of Houses (1897).

Codman spent his youth from 1875 to 1884 at Dinard, an American resort colony in France, and on returning to America in 1884, studied at the MIT. Wharton became one of his first Newport clients for her home there, Land's End. Subsequently she introduced Codman to Cornelius Vanderbilt II, who hired him to design the second and third floor rooms of his Newport summer home, The Breakers.

In 1907, Codman built the Codman-Davis House in Washington, D.C. for his cousin Martha Codman, one of the few intact homes that he designed. This included a carriage house, now the Apex Night Club, ironically a gay club.

Although a noted homosexual, on 8 October, 1904, Codman married one of his commissioners, Leila Griswold Webb, widow of railroad magnate H. Walter Webb, who died unexpectedly in 1910.

In 1920, Codman left New York to return to France, where he spent the rest of his life at the Château de Grégy, wintering at Villa Leopolda in Villefranche-sur-Mer: it is his masterpiece, the fullest surviving expression of his esthetic.

1897 – The Missouri Supreme Court upholds a conviction for assault to commit sodomy of a St. Louis police officer who attempted sodomy with another male after threatening to arrest him unless he accompanied him to a lumber yard, where the attempt was made.

1900 – An Ohio newspaper reports that a man was arrested for sex with his 13-year-old male companion. Both claim that the younger partner's mother "gave" him to the other.

Ray Stevens & Pat Paterson (R)

1941 – Born: Pierre Clermont, better known by his ring name Pat Patterson, was a Canadian former professional wrestler (d.2020). Pat was 17 when he started wrestling. He soon became one of the biggest names in the sixties and seventies. He worked for WWE as a creative consultant. He was inducted into the WWE Hall of Fame in 1996.

Outside of the wrestling ring, Pat was really timid and shy. He was soft-spoken, with a cute French accent. Surprisingly, Pat was a former altar boy and candidate for the priesthood. He was a deeply religious man.

Pat Patterson debuted in Montreal, Quebec in 1958 as "Pretty Boy" Pat Patterson, an effeminate wrestler who wore red lipstick and pink trunks and was accompanied by his pet Poodle.

A Young Pat Patterson

Patterson wrestled frequently for affiliates of the National Wrestling Alliance throughout the 1960s, and was a ten time tag team champion in San Francisco with a variety of partners. His most famous pairing was with Ray Stevens, the two of them forming the heel tag team, the Blond Bombers.

Patterson was openly gay, although he had never stated so. It is rumored that Pat and Gerald Brisco, another of his wrestling partners, were lovers. In 1992, Patterson was accused of sexual harassment by former ring announcer Murray Hodgson and released from the company until the charges were dropped, when he was promptly rehired. After dropping the charges, Hodgson's attorney referred to Hodgson as "a lifelong con man."

In August 2006, Patterson underwent emergency heart surgery. In October, Patterson recovered from his operation and was released from the hospital.

On June 12, 2014, Patterson officially "came out" on TV. The video link is below:

youtube

Although Patterson was openly gay, having come out in the 1970s, his sexual orientation was never directly acknowledged on television until 2014 when he spoke about it on a WWE-produced reality TV show.

Louie Dondero, Patterson's longtime partner of 40 years, died of a heart attack in 1998. Patterson himself died in December 2020.

1950 – Randy Price is a television newscaster with WCVB-TV in Boston, Massachusetts, after being the lead anchor at WHDH-TV from 1998 to 2009. He is considered the U.S.'s first openly gay newscaster.

Born in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, Price attended Louisiana State University, where he began his broadcasting career in college radio, which continued with a stint in the U.S. Air Force, with Price working for the Armed Forces Radio and Television Service.

He worked in television in Bakersfield, California (KERO-TV) and Toledo, Ohio (WTVG), before moving to Boston's WBZ-TV in 1983 where he anchored for 12 years. He left WBZ in 1995 due to alcohol problems which included a drunk driving conviction.

Price joined WHDH-TV in 1996 as a freelance reporter, and in 1997 was made a full-time anchor. He moved into the morning anchor chair and then was promoted to anchor the 5, 6 and 11 p.m. newscasts. On February 6, 2009, Price was let go from WHDH-TV. His last newscast was on Wednesday, February 4, 2009. On February 7, 2009 The Boston Globe quoted Price that station owner, Edmund Ansin, had told him "we need to move in different directions."

On June 2, 2009, Price was named morning anchor at WCVB-TV, Channel 5 in Boston.

Price is openly gay and on January 3, 2007 he married longtime partner Mark Steffen in a ceremony on the steps of the Massachusetts State House in Boston, Massachusetts. They live in Kittery, Maine.

The Johns Committee in session

1959 – On this date investigators summoned the University of Florida Geography professor Sigmund Diettrich to the Manor Motel in Gainesville, Florida for "interviewing". Soon after, he was fired from his job and lost the life he loved as a beloved teacher and dean. He attempted suicide the same day he was let go from U.F. Hundreds of other professors and students across the state were also terminated or expelled because of their sexuality. Many people are familiar with the McCarthy hearings but do not realize that Florida had its own committee designed to weed out communism and homosexual activity. State Senator Charley Johns started the investigations to "protect Florida's children."

The Johns Committee pursued people in academic institutions, courthouse bathrooms and bus stations. The committee's investigators went so far as tapping phones in motels, interrogating children as young as 10, and breaking up a teenage girl's slumber party looking for evidence of moral misconduct. In 1993 more than 30,000 pages of secret documents became public, including a University of Florida administrator's statement that there was no way to prevent Gay men from lingering in university bathrooms "unless you pour sulfuric acid on the floor to make people go fast."

1982 – Pete Buttigieg is an American politician and candidate for the Democratic nomination in the 2020 United States presidential election. He is the first openly gay person to seek the Democratic nomination, and has built his campaign around the idea of generational change. He launched his campaign on April 14, 2019, after forming an exploratory committee in January. Initially considered a long shot, he gained significant momentum in mid-2019 when he participated in several town halls, forums, and debates. As of December 2019, several media outlets consider him one of four "top-tier candidates".

Buttigieg served as the 32nd mayor of South Bend, Indiana from January 2012 to January 2020. Before running for office, he worked on the political campaigns of Democrats Jill Long Thompson, Joe Donnelly, and John Kerry. He was defeated in the 2010 election for Indiana State Treasurer before being elected mayor of South Bend, Indiana the following year, becoming the youngest mayor of a city with a population of over 100,000. In 2015, Buttigieg publicly came out as gay. Later that year, he was reelected with over 80% of the vote. In 2017, he ran for chair of the Democratic National Committee.

From 2009 to 2017, he served as a naval intelligence officer in the United States Navy Reserve, attaining the rank of lieutenant. In 2014, he was deployed to Afghanistan for seven months and was awarded the Joint Service Commendation Medal and the Joint Meritorious Unit Award. From 2007 to 2010, he worked as a consultant at management consulting firm McKinsey & Company. Buttigieg is a graduate of Harvard College and Oxford University. He attended the latter on a Rhodes Scholarship.

In a June 2015 piece in the South Bend Tribune, Buttigieg came out as gay. By coming out, Buttigieg became Indiana's first openly gay elected executive. He was the first elected official in Indiana to come out while in office, and the highest elected official in Indiana to come out. Buttigieg is also the first openly gay Democratic presidential candidate, and the second overall, after Republican Fred Karger, who ran in 2012.

In December 2017, Buttigieg announced his engagement to Chasten Glezman, a junior high school teacher. They had been dating since August 2015 after meeting on the dating app Hinge. They were married on June 16, 2018, in a private ceremony at the Episcopalian Cathedral of St. James. As of April 2019 Chasten uses his husband's surname, Buttigieg.

Buttigieg announced that he and his husband had become parents on August 17, 2021. Buttigieg announced that they had adopted two newborn fraternal twins on September 4, 2021.

In June 2019, to mark the 50th anniversary of the Stonewall riots, a watershed moment in the LGBTQ rights movement, Queerty named him one of its "Pride50" people identified as "trailblazing individuals who actively ensure society remains moving towards equality, acceptance and dignity for all queer people."

President-elect Biden named Buttigieg as his nominee for Secretary of Transportation in December 2020. His nomination was confirmed on February 2, 2021, by a vote of 86–13, making him the first openly gay Cabinet secretary in U.S. history. Nominated at age 38, he is also the youngest Cabinet member in the Biden administration and the youngest person ever to serve as Secretary of Transportation.

2004 – Ian Iqbal Rashid releases his movie Touch of Pink. Multi-talented Rashid is a poet, screenwriter and filmmaker known in particular for his volumes of poetry, for the BBC TV series This Life and the feature films Touch of Pink and How She Move.

Of Indian ancestry and Ismaili Muslim religion, Rashid's family lived in colonial East Africa for generations. Ian was born in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania. Different years of birth are given for Rashid in different sources, but academic work gives the year as 1968. In 1970, his family was forced to leave Tanzania. After failing to secure asylum in the UK and US, they settled in Toronto.

Rashid began his career as an arts journalist and critic and events programmer, particularly focussed on South Asian diasporic, Muslim and LGBTQ cultural work.

In the early 1990s, Rashid returned to London, Britain, where he lives today with his partner, the writer, curator, and academic Peter Ride.

In the late 1980s, Rashid was a regular contributor to the Canadian LGBT magazine Rites. Rashid published his first poetry collection, Black Markets, White Boyfriends and Other Acts of Elision, in 1991. Two more followed: the chapbook Song of Sabu in 1993 and The Heat Yesterday in 1995.

His poems "Another Country", "Could Have Danced All Night", "Hot Property" and "Early Dinner, Weekend Away" appear in John Barton and Billeh Nickerson's 2007 anthology Seminal: The Anthology of Canada's Gay Male Poets, and others were included in the 2009 anthology Forbidden Sex, Forbidden Texts: New India's Gay Poets.

Self-taught as a film-maker, in 1991, Rashid made the short film Bolo Bolo! with Kaspar Saxena. The film, part of an HIV/AIDS cable access series called Toronto Living With AIDS, resulted in the series being pulled from Rogers Television after complaints about sexually suggestive content, though it had a long and healthy life at film festivals.

Rashid went on to write two award-winning short films, Surviving Sabu (1999), and Stag (2001).

Touch of Pink, Rashid's first feature film, spent 12 years in development. In 2003, he finally had the chance to direct the project as a Canada-UK co-production. It premiered at the 2004 Sundance Film Festival to great acclaim, a bidding war, and eventually, a sale to Sony Picture Classics. The film has attracted extensive scholarly commentary.

How She Move received a similar reception at Sundance Film Festival. Directed by Rashid in 2007, the film is set in the world of step dancing. It was nominated for a Sundance World Cinema Grand Jury Prize and purchased by Paramount Vantage. The film opened to positive reviews and strong box office.

Rashid began working as a writer in UK television in the late 1990s. His credits include the soap London Bridge (Carlton Television for ITV) and the cult hit BBC2 series This Life, for which he received the Writer's Guild of England award.

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madhatterbri · 3 months

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First Valentines Day | A.C.

Summary: Can I have Valentine's Day prompt 3 with Adam Cole?

One of them have never celebrated Valentines Day, so their partner tries to make it the best ever.

Requested by: @adamcolesbaybay

Your dread came to a pleasant surprise the moment he asked you to accompany him to the show in Texas. Of course, you agreed. Any time you can soak up with him would be worth it.

You were dreading the fact that Valentine's Day happened to fall on a Wednesday. This was supposed to be your first real Valentine’s Day celebration. You have had boyfriends in the past, but this one was just more serious. This was an unfortunate reality of dating a wrestler.

Adam was a hot commodity after he betrayed his best friend, MJF, at World's End. The fans ate up the betrayal, and he was enjoying every second of it. Little did you know he was still thinking of surprising you.

During his segment on Dynamite, he constantly caught your eye and winked at you. His big cheesy grin plastered for the world to see. He tried to pass it off like he was happy with what was going on in the ring. You blushed, often looking away from him.

"Did you enjoy the shows?" He asked you as the two of you made it to the car.

"I'm still getting used to you in a wheelchair," you laughed. You were used to him in the crutches that he had been using to move around in for months now. "Did Roddy allow you to use that?"

"I saw the way you looked at me in the wheelchair. You were digging it," he winked. You helped him place his suitcase in the trunk of the car. He placed his crutches in the backseat and hopped to the passenger seat.

The drive to the hotel was filled with talks about the newest video games coming out. Once you parked the car at the hotel, you helped him out. A couple of fans asked for autographs in the lobby. He happily obliged. You continued towards the room, yet he called for you to wait.

A little suspicious, you waited for him to finish up with his fans. He normally allowed you to go to the room without him. The fans didn't take too much of his time. They must have been tired from the three hours of wrestling. Once they were out of ear shot, you spoke to him.

"You didn't let me go to the room without you. Do you have a surprise for me or something?" You asked and placed the room key to the lock. The lock beeped and turned green. Adam remained silent as you walked in the door.

Different colors of heart-shaped balloons took up space on the ceiling. Tea light candles lay on the floor, creating a path towards the bed. You slowly followed the path, unsure of how the man could pull all of this off.

Rose petals surrounded the bed. On the bed, roses spelled out love. Towels were shaped like swans to show them together. Two vases full of red and white roses had been placed on the nightstands. A wine chiller with your favorite wine and two crystal champagne flutes sat by one of the vases.

"I know we couldn't do much this year with my injury and work, but I wanted to spoil you," he spoke. "Happy Valentine’s Day, and thank you for everything,"

"This is beautiful," you whispered. Tears begged to fall from your eyes. "No one has ever done anything like this for me before. Thank you, Adam. I love you,"

He kissed you softly. His hands cupped your cheeks. "I'm glad you love it,"

#fanfiction #aew fanfiction #adam cole x reader #adam cole x you #adam cole x y/n #valentines day prompts

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meztliel · 2 months

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Day 4: Rain/Umbrella

For: @dbshipsweek

Pair: Truten

Rated: Teen+

***

Goten and Trunks have shared many things throughout their lifelong history.

Toys and weapons, friends and enemies, laughter and anger… even the same body. An umbrella had not been one of them until today.

“Gotta protect your stupidly expensive suit.”

Goten, looking ridiculous (and adorable) in a hooded, green waterproof poncho, dutifully holds an umbrella up and over Trunks’s head, exceeding his role as a newly-hired executive assistant to an almost annoying degree.

“I'll just buy another if it gets ruined,” Trunks says, his blasé tone undermining his appreciation of the chivalrous gesture.

They were coming back from their lunch break at their favorite spot when the trickle happened, lasting just long enough for Goten to pull out his rain gear before the rain really started hitting.

His best friend, now turned employee, had warned Trunks about the likelihood of rain, despite the skies being blue and the clouds mostly white moments before the downpour.

His friend has always had a stronger sense of intuition when it comes to all things living and natural. A keen insight of people and animals, of monsters, gods, and aliens. Of nature and, of course, the weather.

Meanwhile Trunks has, much like his grandfather, relied more on strategy rather than instinct; on finding ways to succeed in both a battle and in business through methodical means over “gut feelings.”

Not that either one of the men is devoid of one quality to make room for the other; Goten doesn't jump into a fight without first assessing the risks and advantages he has over an opponent, and Trunks can read energy –or ki – without needing to hone in using his elevated Saiyan senses.

They work well together because of their innate, complementary qualities, combining forces to make an almost perfectly balanced whole. His Yin to his Yan. His other half.

Trunks fists a hand above Goten’s grip on the metallic stem of the umbrella, wrapping the other arm to pull Goten into and under the dome along with him, the patter of raindrops drowning the heartbeat– Goten’s heartbeat– drumming in his ears as they walk shoulder-to-shoulder to the Capsule Corp building looming just up the street.

They've been physically close numerous times. Besides joining bodies to become one single entity, they've fallen asleep on the couch together, have wrestled on the ground, bathed fully naked in hot springs. But the closeness that was once normal and regular between them has somewhat recently transformed into something that feels more…intimate, more personal. A layer of intimacy that isn't quite tangible, defined. Beyond physical.

“There's no point in us both being under an umbrella if you’re gonna get wet,” Goten says. Despite his words, he doesn't make an effort to separate from Trunks, his wet poncho cold against the blended material of Trunks's designer suit.

The two men shake off what wetness remains stuck to them and dry off with towels handed to them by an intern, making their way up the polished steps and matching their pace with one another, appearing more as business partners than an employer and employee. In a way, they are, though their professional relation is only one aspect of a deeper, infinitely more meaningful bond.

Goten runs his fingers along his dark, damp hair one more time, a simple act of grooming that has Trunks staring in, he realizes, appraisal. He stares even longer as he takes in how Goten's business-appropriate hairstyle has resumed to its natural, tousled and spiky state. Trunks prefers this hairstyle on him, however, in a professional setting, it unfortunately won't do.

Without further thought, Trunks whips out a comb and restyles Goten's thick, incongruously silky spikes to something like a business-casual pompadour, setting it with a salon-grade hair pomade he keeps in his briefcase in case of, well, rainy days.

“Lookin’ sharp,” Trunks declares, “You're welcome.”

With a roll of his eyes, Goten swipes the comb from his hand and does the same for him, tidying up his parted, indigo hair. Trunks suppresses the urge to contently sigh at the sensation of his scalp being scraped by the teeth of the comb, wishing for an unbidden, fleeting moment that it was Goten's fingers running through his hair instead.

Lately, he's been craving frequent physical contact from another person, and Trunks thought he could satiate that need by getting a girlfriend he hardly likes but is extremely attracted to. Nice, but ultimately unfulfilling.

What he really wants is not something he's ready to say out loud, to accept fully and openly, outb of fear it may ruin what they do have, what has always been and has always worked. Over and over he has rationalized that what he really wants will imbalance and disrupt their connection, will create an upheaval he's not prepared to fix and resolve the way he fixes and resolves problems that arise in the company, in battle and in lesser personal relationships.

“Your hair is getting long. You should let it grow,” Goten says, evaluating his work with a ponderous expression.

He hasn't given too much thought about his hair. Too busy, all the time. If not with work, with other thoughts.

“So schedule me an appointment with Ferrer.” Ferrer is the only hairstylist he trusts. Ferrer also hits on him on every visit, but Trunks doesn't mind because Ferrer is also super hot, though their flirtatious exchanges have never crossed professional boundaries. As it should be.

“You got it, boss,” Goten says with a salute, a minimal amount of sarcasm behind his words and gesture.

Sometimes it feels weird that he's technically his childhood best friend's boss, but as he often is in other aspects in life, Goten isn't bothered by being second rank to anyone. When your father is the savior of the world, of multiple friggin universes even, and your older brother saved the Earth once when he'd been almost a decade old, then you kind of learn to accept you're not the best of the best, but you're still pretty great on your own. Goten is more than great, really.

Before they separate to go to their individual offices, Trunks pauses.

“And schedule a training sesh with you for later today.”

The smile that tends to be perpetually stamped on Goten's boyish face widens, bright as the sun parting the clouds.

“Where at? The gravity chamber? A barren, neighboring planet?”

“Have your dad take us somewhere unexpected. Somewhere it's not raining.”

Though, Trunks thinks, it could be fun sparring in the rain, their clothes wet and clinging to their bodies, the wet sound of flesh hitting flesh, Goten panting and soaking… removing his top to unburden himself from its weight, his bare chest heaving as rain mixes with his sweat, slickening his taut skin…

“He's gonna want to spar with us and end up kicking our asses as per usual.”

“I'll ask Bulla to ask my dad to keep him busy.” Vegeta only ever listens to his little princess, and occasionally but not always, Bulma, his wife and Trunks's mom.

“It's a date,” Goten says and, upon catching on to how that could be misinterpreted as something unprofessional to the colleagues around them, he quickly adds, “You know what I mean.”

‘It's a date’ … Well, it could be, if Trunks stopped being a coward and closed in on the tension that's been brewing between them in the last couple of years since entering adulthood.

“Actually, Goten,” Trunks calls out from behind him, prompting Goten to halfway turn mid-walk. “Let's train at my place.”

In his family's vast sprawling land. In the rain.

#truten #son goten #trunks briefs #mlm #fanfiction #oneshot #Dbsshipsweek

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artsyjesseblue · 9 months

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Lotura Week, Day 3: "Beach Day Bliss”

The trip to Earth had been smooth and fast, since Pidge had worked with her Garrison fellows on stabilizing the wormhole technology.

Aruba welcomed them with many, many smiles: at the airport, at the hotel, in the restaurants, and, of course, as soon as their toes sank into the smooth sands of their luxury resort beach.

“Oh, Lifegivers, this is so beautiful!” she gasped, admiring the azure water and the pristine sand.

Lotor’s eyes glimmered with awe. He’d seen such marvelous places on other planets, but he rarely had the chance to actually relax and enjoy the wonderful gifts of the universe. His father’s endless conquers always loomed large over everything. One way or another, each of these immaculate gems would soon fall under his Komar plunders.

But not anymore.

He inhaled with renewed vitality, smelling the salty air and the warm ocean breeze.

“Allura, we did it,” he turned to her, and, as if reading his mind, she smiled back.

“We did it together,” she took his hand, ignoring the curious peeps of the humans lounging on the beach.

Their tote bags thudded into the sand, and without waiting a second longer, they peeled their clothes off, revealing their newly purchased swimsuits, glinting in the summer sunlight of the Caribbeans. Allura wore a blue and emerald two-piece bathing suit, the cool colors complementing the warmth of her amber skin. Lotor’s khaki swimming trunks made a nice contrast to his lavender skin, which, despite its reputation for being awfully sensitive to sunlight, was actually quite resistant due to his Altean genes.

“Come!” she rushed him towards the water, without hesitation. “Let’s swim!”

Their white tresses billowed behind them in the wind, as they splashed their way into the gentle waves, like children ready for a new day of aquatic adventures.

“Let’s see who swims longer underwater!” she giggled and disappeared under a wave.

“Challenge accepted!” he followed her after a deep breath, then he dove under.

A few paparazzi peeked their heads from behind some cliffs in the distance. “Where did they go?”

A couple of minutes passed and no sign of the two royals.

“Alteans can go a long time under water,” said a green-skinned Dalterian.

“Galrans even longer,” replied a Taujeerian. “I think I see something. Over there.”

Allura poked her head out of the waves, for a quick breath, then dove back inside. The freedom she felt was exhilarating. Where was he? Maybe ahead of her? Maybe behind? Curiosity pulled her out again, thinking he got tired just like her.

“Aah!” she released a sharp cry, as a powerful grip tugged at her hips, and she found herself submerging into the azure waves again. His large hands conquered her waist, and she playfully wrestled with him underwater.

“You monster!” she emerged after a minute, giggling, splashing and kicking into his wide chest.

“Sea monster, haha!” he tightened his grip, watching her with unbridled pleasure as she continued to pretend to want to escape his arms.

“You scared me!” she whined with the most enticing voice.

“I was trying hard not to,” he pouted slyly, “but I just can’t help being the monster I am.”

“My monster,” she wrapped her arms around his neck, and the connection in their gazes grew with each second.

She closed her eyes…

“Yess… Kiss, babies, kiss…” the Dalterian cheered as he snapped many, many shots. “That’s right, perfect, juust… perrfect. Blissful.”

@loturaweek2023

#lotura #loturaweek2023 #lotor #allura #voltron legendary defender #voltron #vld #hehe they’re wearing the swimsuits they bought at the mall on day 1 #except you can't see their bathing suits oops #jesseblue draws

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dumbwhoreprincess2 · 9 days

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Fantasy: Turn me into a bimbo against my will 💕

Rough draft - excuse errors etc. pls like/reblog if you enjoy.

I’m walking down the street late at night. It’s quiet. No one is around. Except you. You’ve been watching me take my nightly walk for weeks and decided you just have to have me for your collection of fuck toys. I’m already blonde and dress like a slut. You see my potential. You’ve planned and scheduled my whole transformation. All that’s left is to kidnap me. You follow me silently from the shadows waiting for your chance.

I stop at a crosswalk and pull out my phone checking my IG notifications. You laugh to yourself “Dumb vapid whore. You’ll love being my living blow up doll.”

You see your opportunity and you take it. A bag goes over my head and tightens at the neck. I scream and flail out blindly as you quickly handcuff my wrists and wrestle me to the ground. I squirm underneath you and feel a pinch in my arm. The sedative won’t take long now. You cuff my ankles and stand me back up.

“It’s okay toy don’t be scared. I’m going to take care of you.” you whisper as you drag me down the street my screams quieter and quieter. I go limp in your arms and you carry me over your shoulders to your car and toss me in. I fit perfectly in the trunk.

You take me home and lay me on your bed unconscious. Remove the restraints and pull off my clothes. You notice a wet spot on my panties “Silly slut. You loved being captured huh?” You grope me and examine my body. And of course, pull out your cock and make my wet pussy useful.

The next few weeks? Months? Are a blur. I barely remember any of it. In and out of consciousness. Sometimes I have a moment of clarity and scream and beg you to let me go. You just pat my head and tell me not to worry. I remember bits and pieces of doctors offices and voices.

“This has to be the last one. If I get caught I’m going to lose my license.”

“I’ll pay you double than what you charged last time.”

“Fine.”

I gather you have lots of money. Enough to pay off surgeons to help you fulfill your fantasies. I still have no idea what you’re doing to me. Sometimes I’m afraid. Sometimes I feel you rub my clit and I give myself over to it. I hear voices, I assume they’re recordings, convincing me to turn my brain off. To accept my purpose as a whore. They tell me I’m dumb. I’m just holes. I should obey whatever you say. I’m starting to believe them.

You decide I’ve healed enough and there’s no need for the sedatives. It’s time for my reveal. You dress me in a hot pink g string thong and matching barely there bra. You slide pink pleasers onto my feet and fasten a pink studded collar around my neck and hook a leash to it. My hair and make up are done by professionals as I slowly start to wake up.

I open my eyes wake as reality starts to sink in. I’ve been kidnapped! Drugged! Raped! I lock eyes with you.

“Who the fuck are you?!” I demand, the words seemingly muffled.

“What is this! Let me go!” It doesn’t sound right. It’s hard to talk.

“Shhhh.” You press you fingers to my lips.

“Don’t you want to see what a pretty doll you are?”

“What do you mean?”

You stand me up and use the leash to pull me over to a full length mirror. I gasp in horror.

My tits are fucking huge. Each one nearly bigger than my head. The biggest implants that could possibly fit on my body. My lips are so full of filler I can barely close them.

“Don’t worry. They will be even bigger one day. We’ll swap the implants out for expanders and the filler will need replenished periodically. It’s up to me how many syringes you will get.”

“What have you done to me?!” I yell tears welling in my eyes.

“Don’t cry whore.” You snap, yanking the leash.

“You’ll ruin your pretty make up.”

I glance back in the mirror. My blonde hair is now platinum with curled extensions down to my waist. Nearly white against my freshly spray tanned skin. My make up is perfect but the sultry smoky eyes make me look like a slut. My ass has been altered too but not as dramatically.

“A small BBL for now. Have to leave room for progress or I might get bored of you.” You wink.

My waist is smaller and I observe small lipo scars. Above my ass is a tramp stamp that reads: Property Of (Y/N) along with a barcode.

“It pulls up an Amazon listing for a plastic blow up doll. Clever right? $25.99. Fucking wish you were that cheap you dumb whore.”

You pull the leash forcing me to follow you down the hall. I stumble trying to walk in the pleasers.

“Time to meet the others, bimbo. You’ll be hypnotized and trained until you’re as brainless as them in no time.”

You unbolt a door and take me down a set of stairs. Around the corner everything turns pink. Pink carpet. Pink walls. Pink furniture. There are life size Barbie boxes lined up against the wall. I gasp as I realize what’s inside them. 5 women who look just like me! Huge tits. Duck lips. BBLS and tiny waists. All dressed in various pink outfits. They’re tied inside the boxes their wrists pinned as if they were twist tied into the packaging. They’re all moaning and have a Hitachi magic wand tied between their thighs.

“Morning orgasm time.” You state.

“Time for you to earn yours slut.”

You unzip your pants and pull out your huge cock. You push me to my knees and grab my hair like pig tails on either side of my head.

“Suck it cunt!”

I can’t stop myself. My pussy starts to drip and I eagerly take your cock in my mouth. A switch turns off in my brain. I’m a bimbo slut. A doll. A toy. A puppet. Soon enough I’m gagging and choking on your cock my drool dripping onto my giant fake tits.

“Welcome home dolly.” You say as you force your cum down my throat.

Hope you enjoyed. I humped my pillow while writing this and made my panties all wet. Wish I was sucking cock as a pretty big titty bimbo rn 💕

—

BONUS ending:

As you cum down my throat I see something from the corner of my eye. A 6th girl separate from the rest. She’s like the rest of us with big tits and lips but she’s pale and her hair is dyed dark. She’s caged, naked, and wearing a plastic pig nose on her face. Along with a pig tail and ear head band. My eyes go wide and I try to push you off.

“What’s the matter doll? Don’t you want to play?”

I point behind you.

“Who is that?”

You laugh.

“Oh dolly that’s just piggy.”

You grab my cheeks together and squeeze my face. Getting up in my face as you whisper in my ear.

“Don’t disappoint me doll. Disobey enough times and you’ll be my disgusting fuck pig instead.”

#my post #cnc free use #dumb slvt #dumb wh0re #cnc k!nk #cnc kidnapping #cnc somno #r@pe fantasy #r@pe play #r@petoy #bimboification #bimbo doll #r@pedoll #r@pe threats #r@pesleeve

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