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drugsorgasmsandcheese · 28 days

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to kiss and to die | l. howlett

old man!logan howlett x fem!grim reaper!reader

description: in which death has never been so peaceful

warnings: logan’s death, angst, fluff, not beta read, pics used are not mine and were found on pinterest, the use of one latin word so if it’s badly translated i do apologise.

word count: 2084

he was used to people on the richer side of town booking his limousine service. it was a limousine service, after all. so logan didn't think much of anything when he pulls up outside of a penthouse building and a young woman steps into the car, giving her name to confirm she ordered the service.

when logan confirms, she smiles and closes the door behind her. she screams money, but old money. there's class about her and the way she holds herself. back straight as she sits, one leg crossed over the other and her head held up high. he can't help but take her in. he's never been one to care about the likeness of a lady a woman could be, but there is beauty that radiates off her, that is her, that logan can't seem to shake.

her head is turned to look out to the window, gazing upon the lights of the city that never sleeps. she seems observant in the way she looks, like not a single detail could be missed by her and she wouldn't allow it if it slipped by. logan's eyes slip down to the outfit she wears: a short black dress with a slit in its side, a pair of sheer black tights, black leather heeled boots that hugged her calves, and a black leather trench coat. she's slick, she's elegant, she holds herself high and with might.

as he drives, he approaches a red light. the woman takes the time to pull out a compact mirror, reapplying her lip liner followed by a clear gloss. when she's done, she smacks her lips and places the items away. "you're a hard man to find, logan howlett."

logan's eyes snap up into the rear-view mirror as he starts the limousine up again. his name on her lips is like honeyed venom, he can't quite decipher the emotion that lingers in him when she speaks of him like she knows him. his hands clench on the wheel as he drove, keeping the ride smooth as he turns a corner.

"who are you?" he asks, his voice gravelly and gruff just like his appearance, eyes flicking between hers and the road.

the woman smiles softly, an odd reassurance about it as she does so. "a mutant, just like you." she speaks, honeyed tone never dropping.

teeth snarl at her response. "that's not an answer." he's lived what feels like a thousand lifetimes, and he knows that even people like him aren't to be trusted.

"'the reaper.'" there's a knowing look on her face as she, the reaper, confirms her identity.

mutants knew her, the stories and legends that were a tale as old as time itself. a mutant that dealt the card of death, one who escorted mutants into the afterlife, who resurrected those she believed were not quite done with living. she was all four horsemen of the apocalypse, a woman that wielded so much power the world was her sandbox. nothing more to play with. to see her was like to see a ghost - blink and she's gone.

his jaw clenches tightly. "and what do you want from me?" logan all but growls out.

"you seek me out. why?" she questions with such poise in her character that it's hard for logan to differentiate between talking to death and indulging in his own delusions.

her questions hangs in the air for a moment or two, it's not like either one are keeping count. he can't find the words, he's never been good with them. he's harsh, he's a brute, a killing machine. when is there time to talk when you're killing yourself by killing another?

but there's a security in her presence. she's reassuring, it's peculiar. he's face to face with death and logan's never felt so settled. "i'm old, and i'm tired. there's nothing left for me here."

the way she smiles at him was a comfort in his own as he pulls up to her destination, the limousine coming to a stop. "there's plenty left for you, logan." she sits forward, and logan only notices how she never wore her seatbelt. he supposed she didn't have to. "just because you are at war, doesn't mean you can't find peace."

there's always the discussion of god being all-knowing, but what of death? what of the reaper who knows your story, who escorts you to the place you shall forever remain. death knows, she knows.

the woman pulls out a slick, black business card that's tucked between her pointer and middle finger, handing it to logan. he takes it so gently that he scares himself. he's a brute and yet he's gentle when the time comes. it appears to just be a simple black card, but even with his weakened vision, he can feel the indents in it. 'THE REAPER.'

"no one understands pain better than death." she says and logan's eyes are still fixated on the card.

death, such a simple term given the complexity and intensity of the situation. of him, of her. the words ring out in his head, no one understands pain better than death.

his gaze snaps up, his expression stoic but calm, like he's accepting whatever fate she'll grant him. he watches as she leans forward and places her hand on his cheek. he never expected death to be so warm.

"don't be what they made you." she whispers, and he lets out a sigh in content, in relief. the weight of his regrets and his lost humanity have hung on him heavily, his shoulders finally being lifted.

it's been a long time since logan's been touched. he doesn't even know if he's ever been held like this, cradled almost. to be looked at in such understanding. solitude and loneliness have kept him a shell. he chased it out, leaning into her touch, and it's like she can see him. the guilt, the regret, the pain.

"that's all i am. that's all i know." logan replies. his voice is strained, like the battle he's fought against himself, in his mind, has finally come to light.

her thumb runs across his cheek slowly, brushing against his grey beard. "if death is what you wish, logan, don't let it be a slow one. you've been tortured long enough." her eyes lock onto his. "good men don't deserve to be tortured, and you are a good man. you are a man, not the soldier, or the monster, or the weapon they forced you into being."

logan's expressions softens at her words. and, for the first time in his life, he's being given a choice. the choice to die. not as a weapon, a monster, a soldier, but as a man.

his hand reaches up, brushing over her own cheek. death is warm. there's an intimacy behind it that he's craved for so long that logan feels like he's falling apart from the inside out, and it's different from how he's felt before.

"you have my card, use it. death is everywhere, logan, and so am i."

the feeling of human connection. he craves it. being secluded and a shell of himself has made him overwhelmed as their skin touches. "death," he murmurs, his voice hoarse and gruff like it always is "and you."

she nods, her lips twitching. "take care of yourself, superstes, it's not your time just yet." she finishes and pulls away, stepping out of the limousine and leaving logan entrapped within his mind. not at war, but at peace.

—

the next time logan sees the reaper is at the funeral. it’s expected, mutant reaper or not she’s bound to turn up when one dies. but he also knows it’s because his fingers had subconsciously stroked the sleek business card in his pocket.

she lingers by his side and he feels himself reaching out, grasping onto her hand and she returns to the touch. death is warm. their fingers interlock, and it’s a reassurance that she gives him like she did last time. like she can read his thoughts.

it’s not your time just yet.

the thought makes him reach into his pocket, fingers itching to grace the adamantium bullet he’s carried like his guilt for years but he can’t find it. it’s then that he realises the weight that settles in between their hands and he looks at her.

she still wears that leather trench coat, and a part of logan wonders if that’s her very own black cloak. it suits her, if it is. the air of sophistication, of elegance still surrounds the reaper, and another part of logan wonders if she’s always been like this, or if there was a time when she succumbed to her powers and became a beast like he had.

the reaper’s gaze meets logan’s, that same soft smile gracing her lips. “not just yet.” she speaks and logan nods, hand squeezing hers. human connection.

she stays with logan when gabriela lopez approaches him, and a part of her seems to physically soften at the sight of the woman. when he questions her about it later, she only responds with a question of her own. “what did i tell you?”

it takes a few seconds to recall. he can’t tell if it’s from the old age so his brain has wore down, or if he was so focused on being touched and looked at like he was understood that he forgot her words, until it clicks. “death is everywhere, and so are you.”

and all the reaper does is nod, not another word spoken. but she was the one who pushed for logan to accept the job of escorting laura, and he didn’t know why. but there is something so alluring about death that he couldn’t say no.

the reaper stays by logan’s side awhile longer, her scythe hanging over him like a thread. there’s a time when her fingers trace the scars over his skin that his weakened healing has failed to take care of of, and the word is uttered from her lips again: “superstes.”

he’s not quite sure what it means, what language it is, but she looks into his eyes as she says it. not at the scars, but at him. and it touches his soul.

there’s another time in the kitchen. the couple who had graced them into their homes after the accident, where it’s just them. there’s the slow music in the kitchen, and if his old self remembers correctly, it’s ‘dream a little dream of me.’

logan’s leant against the counter as the reaper approaches, taking his hand in hers; an offer. he’s reluctant at first, he’s not really one for dancing, but death is so tempting. the weight of the adamantium bullet in his pocket, the way she follows him everywhere.

his calloused hand slips into hers, and it’s not really dancing. they sway on their feet, her clutched close to his chest and his chin rests on top of her head. death is warm, and this is the human connection he has longed for for so long. he wants it to linger, to last longer, he needs it like a beggar, and logan is willing to get on his knees if he has to.

but when x-24 arrives, she’s as good as gone.

—

he meets the reaper again, and it’s like a setback in time the way her hand is outstretched in front of her, and the words escape from her lips in a promised whisper: “it’s your time, superstes.”

logan looks down at her hand and he smiles. it’s genuine, just like the one in his final moments, and he takes the reaper’s hand without a single moment of hesitation.

even in death, she is a warm embrace.

he holds her close to his chest, and logan can’t help but sway like the lyrics are behind them, and the reaper chuckles, following his movements. his head dips down, nose brushing against hers and logan lets out a sob. peace, all he’s ever wanted, has finally settled down upon him. in his death as he held laura’s hand, he knew what it felt like. to be at peace, to be loved, to die.

now, as he places a gentle kiss on the reaper’s lips, he knew what it was like to be loved by death, to find peace with death, to be kissed by death.

death is warm. death is beautiful. death is peace. death is…all a man like logan has ever wanted.

#logan howlett x you #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #james howlett x you #james howlett x reader #james howlett #wolverine x fem!reader #wolverine x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine

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piratefishmama · 1 year

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Finders Givers | Part 3

To call them out of place would be an understatement.

Neither of the two in the lobby looked like they belonged there. Eddie in his ratty, torn at the knee jeans, rings, chains, band tee, and leather jacket, and Chrissy… well, Chrissy could probably look like she belonged if she’d dressed up a little, but she’d pulled her cosiest sweater over her head, a comfortable, cream coloured, crocheted sweater, a house warming gift from Mrs Jablonski next door when they’d moved in during a real cold snap a few winters back, and she’d wiggled her butt into a pair of Eddie’s old jeans.

The ones with the paint on them from when they’d painted Eddie’s room against Carl’s wishes.

Their reasoning was that Carl would never know. No matter how many times his greasy ass hinted at coming in for ‘coffee’, he was never invited in.

Her last pair of jeans were in the dirty laundry pile. She’d been meaning to force Eddie into helping her do laundry that day but alas, they were now not doing that. She didn’t think he knew he’d gotten himself out doing of laundry, but somehow it was still funny that he’d managed it again.

But it didn’t matter, there was nobody really there besides the secretary and she’d offered them coffee and pastries. Rather than looking at them strangely she’d offered hospitality and kindness, so now they had coffee and pastries, because Eddie was not about to turn down fancy free food from a kindly mother type.

It’d been twenty minutes already. Their pastries and coffees were done and gone.

Eddie was about to call it and leave, loud in his objection of being ignored by the high ups, when Chrissy sat up straighter, her eyes zeroing in on what would undoubtedly be a mini-boss in a video game.

Or maybe the ‘sudden Latin choir’ version of the main boss, and she walked through the double doors, both swinging open like Aragon shoving his way through the doors at Helms Deep and Chrissy was so very unprepared to witness her very own Aragon that early after student night shots.

Woman’s cheekbones alone could probably kill them both.

Eddie said nothing, he just gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder, he figured she’d appreciate that. She reached up and patted the hand he’d left there in support. She appreciated it.

“Mr and… Mrs—?”

“Ew no.”

And the hand atop his own was gone, pulled away, Chrissy’s awed expression replaced with one that read ‘I’m offended’ better than any angry white suburban mother of four with her minivan, concave cut, and bad dye job could possibly verbalise. “That was quick.”

“I’m gay what do you want from me?” Eddie looked up at the boss lady with what he hoped to be a disarming grin “Eddie Munson, this is Chrissy, Chrissy Cunningham, my single best friend, and platonic life partner.” He slipped that single in there so smoothly, gave himself a mental pat on the back for it, so smooth. He was gonna ignore Chrissy glaring at him. Boss lady just smiled, stormy eyes flicking between them as he introduced her. She seemed nice, a little mysterious. “We’re uhm, we’re here about thee uh—”

Eddie Immediately wanted to turn her into an NPC, or an actual boss. Maybe a powerful, kindly mage. An ancient druid or—

“The apartment block, right? Claudia gave us the heads up. My name is Robin Buckley I’m uh… well… I don’t really have an official title, but you can probably just call me Mr Harrington’s business partner I guess.” It was an apt title, ‘boss man’s best friend’, or ‘partner in crime’ didn’t seem nearly as professional. “Why don’t you both come with me to my office, and I can try and answer any questions you might have.” Professional yet welcoming.

Almost felt like she’d worked in customer service before.

They both rose to their feet and Robin turned back toward the door, nodding in greeting to the secretary as she walked by, both Chrissy and Eddie copying her as they hurried on through after her, through corridor after corridor, then one quick zip up the elevator and they were there, Robin once again opening both doors as she entered her office.

It was clearly a personal preference to be as dramatic as possible, it was working for her.

“Please, take a seat” They both quickly took the only two chairs on the ‘guest’ side of the desk, while Robin rounded it and took the larger chair behind it. The office was. Large. Large and full of knick-knacks. Framed pictures of actual people instead of vague ‘hotel-esque’ art, trophies, several book shelves filled with folders and thick books, a filing cabinet or two, a few plants, and huge floor to ceiling windows behind her that showed pretty much the entire city skyline. So this was how the other half lived. “Okay, I’m sure you have several questions, so… go ahead, I’ll answer what I can.”

Eddie shared a look with Chrissy, silently communicating that they probably should have come prepared with a list of things to ask but honestly neither believed they’d get this far.

They both kind of assumed they’d be told they’ve had all the information they’re getting and to just wait for more. Having a private meeting with… what was essentially the second in command of this entire company well…

“When are these renovations supposed to start and end?” Eddie asked first

“What can we expect from them?” Chrissy added

“And do we really just… not pay rent for the whole period? That’s okay?” Eddie finished. Basics, they had the basics memorized at least. The important questions.

“Ooh-ooh, will rent be the same after the renovations!? Or will this be like, a getting rid of the poor people situation?”

“Good question, Chriss”

“Thank you, I read this thing online the other day about the gentrification of poorer city spaces and—” Chrissy paused, her eyes shooting to Robin’s expectant face and then back to Eddie again “it’s not important.” She finished, she finished before she could start rambling and embarrass herself.

“Oh it’s super important to know about these things” Robin spoke up with a toothy smile, earning both Chrissy’s bashful smile and Eddie’s respect. She was subtly supportive of Chrissy’s rambling. Eddie liked her. “Not many people do, it’s a concept that only gets brought up when it’s happened and not when it’s happening right under your feet, and it’s rare people get the other side of the story, y’know the one from the people who’ve been displaced? That’s not what’s happening here though, I’ve not seen anything that’d suggest Mr Harrington’s intentions are to raise the existing costs.” She’d seen him blatantly say he hadn’t really thought about making them pay again.

“Do you think that could become his intention though?” Eddie pressed

“Nope. He has a personal interest in the building is all, the only thing I know for sure is that we’re looking to remove the negative presence from the building, it doesn’t have the best reputation, we’re aware of at least three drug dealers operating from within it.” Oh nooo, his weed, couldn’t all be sunshine and roses then. “We’re looking to remove them as soon as possible as they have blatantly broken the law and the terms of their rental agreements by engaging in illegal behaviour from within their apartments, so that will free up a few of those apartments for better tenants to move in.”

“Better tenants?”

“Law abiding ones.” Sort of. Argyle would have a cooler tenancy agreement.

“…What about ones that have history with the law?”

“We’re not here to be discriminatory, Mr Munson, this company… we believe in second chances.” Munson… Munson… where did she know that name from? She knew that name, and he did look… familiar. She shook her head, not important. “If you’ve had criminal charges in the past then you’ve had criminal charges in the past, that’s the past, it’s history, it doesn’t affect the now. But to put your mind at ease, you’re not on our list of offenders, or you’d have been served an eviction notice by now.”

Chrissy sat up straighter, as if a lightbulb went off in her head. “Everyone on the second floor is okay, right? We know Mick an Dottie in seven are a little sketchy but—”

“Second floor is okay, we’re not evicting anyone from the second floor, it’s mainly the fourth floor we’re concerned about.” She was so lucky she’d memorized half the shit she’d received that morning. Got just enough in the old brain to appear confident in what she was saying. “As for your other questions, we don’t… actually know when the renovations are due to begin, we’re in negotiations with a few contractors right now to get the work started, once we confirm that, we’ll have a more solid timeline to communicate with you, it’ll be full renovations, kitchens, bathrooms, bedrooms, electrics, plumbing, the whole shebang. But yeah, no, we don’t expect you to pay any rent for the whole period.”

“…I feel like that’s a trap.” Eddie finally spoke up, a small frown on his face that robin mirrored “shit like that just doesn’t happen, man. It doesn’t. Big companies like this, they don’t just forgive the little guys debts, they hold em over your head until you’re drowning, then they tie cement to your feet to hold you there in the deep end.”

At least she looked sympathetic, her expression softening, she wasn’t taking offense. It almost felt like she understood his hesitation. “I was a little stumped myself, it’s… not the best business decision. I’m gonna be honest with you, I advised against the rent forgiveness, it’s a lot of money to just throw away” And they were just throwing it away “—given we don’t know how long these renovations are going to take, but… it’s the one thing Steve stuck to. Wouldn’t budge on it. Said we were disrupting your lives so you should at least be able to treat yourselves during the chaos” Nancy’s words maybe, but Steve agreed with them “and unfortunately for our bank balance… the decision is ultimately Steve’s to make, his office is above mine.”

She could sass him all she liked, Steve was in charge. If he wanted to make decisions and mistakes based on a depressing wallet and a crush well, that was Steve’s choice, his was the name on the company logo.

“And the rent will stay the same at $595 after the renovations?”

“Ye—”

“Absolutely!” And the doors burst open, startling all three people within the office, revealing probably the most beautiful human being Eddie had ever seen in his life dressed in clothes that'd probably cost more than they'd ever paid in rent combined. Could have sworn he’d seen him before though. One does not just forget a face that pretty.

“Steve, I thought I told you to knock!”

“I own the building, I can do what I want. Hello! I’m—” frozen, he was frozen, eyes wide as they took in the two other occupants in the room. The two guests from the apartment block. It could have been anyone, anyone in that block. “… Steve Harrington.” But it was him. “It’s uhm… it’s nice to meet you” said directly to Eddie, and then as if he remembered Chrissy was there, quickly added “both. Nice to meet you both, hello, hi.” Robin’s palm met her forehead in an echoing splat. “What was I saying?”

Her head met the desk. It all becoming painfully clear. Eddie Munson, Edward Munson, Thee Edward Joseph Munson. Owner of the most depressing wallet in the history of wallets.

Part 5

#PirateWrites #FindersGiversFiclet #Steddie #Mob Boss Steve Harrington #No Upside Down AU #Shady!Steve #CW: light-hearted stalker vibes

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littlepuddingsworld · 2 months

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Okay, this is going to sound insane, but please hear me out.

In the 19th century, there were doctors who specialised in curing "female hysteria", which was often just misdiagnosed sexual frustration (Whenever women were too out of control for men to handle, it was diagnosed as hysteria. So it was basically anything, sexual frustration included...). The cure was fingering...yeah. It was relatively normalised to, as a doctor, finger someone's wife...quite a way to make a living. There was basically a handbook written in Latin about how you do it (oil up your hand, insert here, there will be muscle contraction, the lady in question will breathe heavily before ultimately having a hysteria paroxysm (this is a former medical term for orgasms btw)). Obviously, there were mixed opinions about giving another man's wife an orgasm, however, the Catholic doctors concluded that it cannot have been sexual, since there was no penetration. "It's our duty as doctors to cure these poor women of their hysteria, Sir 🫡"

FUN FACT: Since some doctors would experience wrist pain from the...hard manual labour, they invented a device that does it for them: The vibrator. When the vibrator was first used in pornography, the doctors said NOPE and left their profession behind. In 2011, there was a period romcom made about this called Hysteria. It's not even that bad, unironically. Oh and by the way, the name hysteria is derived from the Greek word hystera, meaning uterus, hence why only women were diagnosed with hysteria.

Anyway, getting to my point:

Imagine a yandere thinking that you're being incredibly hysterical, emotional, out of control and then proceeding to sit you down and curing you of your hysteria the old-fashioned way...

They either do it knowingly, or are just too oblivious to even realise that what they are doing is...not quite the correct solution for the problems they caused you in the first place...

Just wanted to share this with someone...take it as you will...

,,, to be honest, I knew about the hysteria, but I didn't know about the fact that a vibrator was created that way,,,, sexy big brain<3333 i love your words so much, mercury kissed you at birth,,,, very brainy, very many cerebral convolutions, I love it,,, come here to kith kith pretty pie—

𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

your husband is so sweet, so adorable — especially when he's on his knees in front of you, purring something about how he should help you, as if it's not his personal fault that you feel like this.

... ♡ unhealthy relationship, misconception of the century / time, hierarchical society, mild sexism? (more classism?), mild maledom elements, mention of religion, forced marriage implied, male pregnancy mentioned because no pregnant reader, unethical treatment methods?; doctor!noble!husband x darling!reader

dubious consent (dubcon) -> consensual sex, crying, mild sadism/masochism, mention of degradation (g.), hair pulling (g.), oral sex (r.), mild fingering (r.), praise (r.)

If THEODORE had been told that he was "mistreating his darling spouse", he would have

agreed.

It was logical: if he treated you well, then would you enter into a frenzy of emotions, scream and look as if you were about to faint before falling at a table made of pleasantly smelling wood, — Theodore knew that you love this variety; almost all tables, chairs and other wooden utensils was of this sort, — completely exhausted, unable even to drive away your narrow-minded husband, only waving a fragile palm in his direction, as if desperate, while he took your fan, straight from the hands of the best chinese craftsmen, and gently fanned you, letting you hang head? Of course not.

You, his breathtaking spouse, were so touching and gentle, full of spring charm and a few drops of exquisite, expensive coquetry, like the first flowers in spring — delicate, almost transparent, not at all like the luxury of scarlet roses that gardeners grow every season, or the exuberant scent of lilac and juniper, especially in July. Not at all. Your charm was subtle, unique, corresponding to the rumbling of the first rivers or the first drop falling from the roofs after the melting of the snow. You have never been a socialite — never; parents were rich enough to support you and your siblings, but not rich enough to live in idleness and not worry about money.

You were introduced at the first ball and attended others from time to time, but most of the time you couldn't afford to walk around with "old dresses", not wanting to be considered poor or shame family by not being able to buy new clothes. Theodore understood perfectly well — being from a not-so-rich family, somehow coping with this whole world, you simply could not afford to live bohemian, expensive and shameless out of fear that money was too little, as if you did not even think that you could just marry someone rich and sponsor with their help your family. Theodore didn't blame, having heard about you for the first time from the mouths of other dandies who follow every new "coquette fan", more than an eloquent sign of finding a partner, though; "too conscientious and didn't understand how this world works" or just a prude,

but now, he understands that you just knew your worth and waited for someone like

him.

After all, in a world where divorce can only happen after death, and infidelity is punished by an enraged spouse with a knife, how could you easily marry someone? You were so alluring, like ripe peaches filled with juice — naturally, not everyone can and should touch your delicate, perfumed hands and caress skin so soft that no overseas silk can compare.

Theodore was sure that there were words about you: "If the cost of their kiss was hell, // then I will kiss their lips, // so that in hell I can brag to the devils // that I was in heaven without even entering it." Because you were paradise, it didn't matter if you smiled, cried or screamed — or were "not a couple who deserved," but only because you could have become the monarch's spouse right away, but he found you earlier.

He had no doubt that you were special — definitely to him. Therefore, he did not think long before he came to your parents to take you to his estate, in the sweetly itchy haste of first and only love, kissing your hands and touching the slightly trembling fan with thin fingers while you looked down in frightened amazement, while your parents confusedly exchanged glances, not understanding why he came to "court you". Theodore did not ask if you had someone — after all, if you had, you would rather slit your throat than let another touch your thin fingers, because he would have done exactly the same in your place if he were still a dependent young man (now, of course, he was not — having studied at a very prestigious university, where his parents also studied, he was more than an enviable independent bachelor and knew it). And if earlier he was afraid that, what if!, was not "normal", then when saw you, he knew that he had been waiting for you all this time — and you were undoubtedly waiting for him too.

If, in order to be with you, he had to refuse the sky, the sun and the moon, he would do it without hesitation. This is love — Theodore had no doubt that you yourself understand this.

Your parents, however, soon dispelled his prejudices. You didn't just "didn't understand it" — you weren't like that, but Theodore, hesitating only for a few seconds, realized that you just weren't like everyone else. While others were blinded by love, like him, you couldn't be like that — you just didn't understand it, didn't feel like that, and your parents were only afraid that your "defect" in the marriage market would make you lonely for the rest of days.

Theodore, however, did not think so: you were the same age as him, he was childless, unmarried, rich and educated, had an estate with intelligent and trained servants, good sources of income, a lot of free time, did not have the habit of drinking a lot of alcohol or tobacco, — and the fact that you were allegedly "not sensual enough" was, of course, stupidity. He wasn't going to use the fact that you can't pick up a knife to kill an unfaithful spouse! And I wasn't going to cheat! He won't do any harm! Yes, you may be a little... very very little defective-ish, but isn't love blind? He will accept you at any cost, even with such a... 'setback'.

... Of course, it is wrong and even abnormal that you cannot kill someone who is cheating on you, and are not ready to die just to be with someone you love, and that it is wild for you to give up everything for your beloved... But Theodore understands that you are already too perfect, and it's okay to have flaws. He's not thirteen anymore.

As long as this is not passed on to children, everything will be fine, please, don't worry, ma joie, — he gently whispers to you, touching gloved fingers, stroking fingers gently, looking into your very happy face ? — I'll accept you for who you are, even with this. With everything. Because you and I, being whole by ourselves, become more than just "ourselves" together.

And it was true, don't get him wrong! His pedigree was good, he was, uh, "thoroughbred," and his family tree was beautiful, worthy of your hand. Theodore was not self-confident, but he was confident, buying everything you want, not walking through salons and entertainment houses and not being in any dubious circles, his entourage was only intelligent people who had an education and could both write and read, and not in two languages, and there was no one in his circle someone of the same gender, and he wasn't squeamish or suspicious. After all, what else can you worry about? But you were worried. Over time, it's even a little noisy.

You shouted, sometimes threw yourself, behaved strangely, as if he was not a refined learned man who was your shadow and wrote poetry to you, not forcing you to do anything even after your approved marriage, but a brute or an invader. Did he take you away without permission? Perhaps using his status in society to a little and influence your parents with children who have not yet appeared to the beau monde, and used a little influence to convince these people that he will help your siblings in the future to find a better match than they can now count on — but then why does he need it: status, influence, reputation, — if he can't even convince his love to stay with him? Otherwise, you can't blame—

... Oh wait.

You can.

Theodore realizes with annoyance, sitting hs office with a book in hands, writing notes in diary, and adjusts his glasses: he had completely forgotten — you're "not like that." You're different. Your parents told him. You understand love differently, you look at your partner differently, you cannot understand the concept of love itself... Theodore used to think that they just raised you wrong, but now he understands what they meant: that the feelings that ordinary people spend on a partner, you leave inside, letting them accumulate, and when you realize that you can no longer, you emotionally explode and behave as if something is wrong with him or you — it's obvious! You just can't do it any other way! Of course, why else would you be unhappy with your situation? After all, it's natural that your family hardly communicates with you or that you can't spend a lot of time outside the house — everyone lives like that, except the unmarried! You just don't understand it!

Because you are so emotional, so sensitive, so responsive, that, naturally, you need special care and care, and not a sidelong glance from your husband, who behaved so coldly, only supporting, but not helping you in any way! After all, he studied at the best university, was one of the best students, even had an internship and, of course, corresponded with his comrades, learning new ways to deal with diseases and disorders. After all, what kind of "good husband" is he if he can't even help his gentle, easily excitable spouse cope with their, he's not afraid of that word, illness?

You just don't understand...

“... Darling, we need to make one thing.”

You are gentle, soft, not submissive — both in clothes and under them, and although you may consider him a little pathetic when he whispers it to you, burying cold nose in your thigh like a lost dog, but after shouting and throwing things, you are no longer so full of destructive energy. Holding him tightly by the hair, you look down with pursed lips, but do not answer anything — and in expensive clothes, with jewelry, sleek and clearly not deprived of the love and affection of a bohemian husband, you look like a deity that descended from heaven.

Theodore knows that he must decontaminate for sure, but what can a spouse hide from a spouse, right? After all, you are more than a "single whole", especially when he is sitting on his lap, no problem as long as you are sitting on a chair made of your favorite wood, soft and comfortable enough, allowing him to carefully get rid of excess clothes without disgrace, looking at how thin lips touch your skin in a respectfully pious way.

Even your heavy breathing from the outburst of emotions sounds like music that should be played in the church if they want the heavenly ambassadors to descend.

Is he too "sugary"?

No, he's just a realist.

“Darling, please...”

You don't push away even when fingers gently touch your thighs like feathers, just frowning a little harder. But not by pushing it away. You are smart, you always have been, and, of course, you yourself understand that you are sick, and only he, as your husband and doctor, can help you. It's natural. Why do you need another men- or women- another doctor? How dare someone else touch you? Only you can touch him and only he can touch you. He's yours — a husband, a doctor, anyone. As soon as you become healthier, he will definitely be your lover — and maybe one day you will take a child or will he carry it. After all, how dare he sleep with you and use you, so gentle and airy, like a messenger from heaven, while you are so deeply ill, not even really knowing what love is and how to react to it?

“Darling... It's just a little help. Just say the word and we'll stop anytime. I don't want to harm my spouse, you know... Besides, you can always stop me by force.”

You yourself spread your warm, soft, almost plush thighs while he meekly looks up from the bottom, trying to unobtrusively encourage you to let him just look a little. Theodore was not an expert on issues related to sex life or the influence of genitals on human behavior, — although, undoubtedly!, it was important, but he preferred less dirty things, — but now, kneeling in front of you on a soft carpet, stroking your skin, it did not seem something vile or dirty, animal, but for some reason pleasant and... airy-natural; the very sight made him want not to wince and turn away, but not to look away, even when you pull his hair harder, frowning, clearly not too willing to continue this, but it's better than if he drags you to someone else.

You knew yourself that your husband sometimes got too involved with the human body in a not too, uh, "harmless" sense, but it was never dangerous or illegal, unless against the law of god, so you let him correspond with 'friends' and 'colleagues', studying new diseases and learning more about experience and practice. But if you knew that one day you would be the subject of research, you would definitely throw his ink and letters into the fireplace — along with other things.

“Mi único... I want to help... Do you know what hysteria is? This is when a darling behaves very much... emotionally because of the internal tension. And so we have recently come up with a... new way to deal with similar diseases. It can help our marriage... Te quaeso?”

Theodore is not an idiot; rather, he feels like a trainer or a tamer, gently pushing and touching, without making any sudden movements while you look at him, gradually relaxing the tense body, letting his fingers, slightly slippery from oil and disinfectants, touch the delicate skin of the inner thigh, massaging and stroking, not hurrying. He doesn't have much experience — practically none, you never shared a bed even after the "wedding night", — but there is enough theory and ideas how to use it, especially when thin, slightly cool fingers slowly touch the skin under stomach, stroke as lightly as possible along a sensitive line, kissing with warmed lips the skin. If he could, he'd love to just open his mouth and eat you, or at least nibble — but he's not the type who eats his darling and then walks around saddened widowers and widows without the opportunity to remarry, he's a more sophisticated type and definitely not that creepy, even if the way you are you pull his hair as fingers gently circle around, rubbing and stroking, using precum for better contact, makes his eyes water and his mouth open slightly, breathing, feeling too ambiguous even for a "husband", let alone the role of the "doctor" in which he was.

“Please... d-darling...” He chirps something slightly hoarsely, stroking, caressing, breathing every other time, as if you are holding not by the hair, but by the throat; when his fingers tremble slightly, you hiss, making him blush slightly shamefacedly, as if from your swearing, — but he tries not to break the rhythm, ignoring, as befits a refined well-mannered husband. Do well-mannered husbands use their fingers on their spouses? Theodore doesn't have that much experience to respond, especially when you flinch slightly, curling your toes, — and he wants to bite just to remove this strange shameful, almost perverted feeling of a mixture of lust and guilt inside, clearly not too approved by religion, but when you start breathing shallowly and harder, closing your eyes, Theodore moves his fingers faster, watching your face.

Is that right? You don't hold him so tightly, but don't take your hand away, and his fingers are so slippery and wet that he's almost ashamed, as if it's all his juices, and he definitely should at least look away, but this is scientific curiosity, just curiosity, even when he changes his position, sinking lower shamelessly, feeling himself for a moment, it really was some kind of fallen man from entertainment houses, with an implicit gurgling feeling in the lower abdomen, listening only to your breathing and slightly squelching sounds. Theodore hardly breathes, looking at his fingers, trying for a moment to distract himself with the fleeting thought "good that cut nails" — but when your... your bare foot touches his shoulder, it seems so perversely seeing your calves that he does not know where to look — freezing for a moment, his eyes are drawn only to you, even if it looks so... sweetly vulgar, completely wrong, — but you're already married, so it's okay even if you're not like that, right? It's okay when he sees something below your neck and bare arms, it's okay when you squeeze his hair tightly again, it's okay when he hears your hot, loud breathing, as if you're breathing directly into his red ears, although he can't even look up from the way you're holding him.

Your fingers are strong, dexterous, squeezing his strands so hard that he can't move anywhere, but for some reason he is too pleased with this than he should be, even when Theodore feels like you are pushing him even closer shamelessly, as if he is not your, actually, noble and high-minded husband, who is now plays the role of your doctor, helping you with your "hysteria", but some kind of fun boy!

Outrageous!

“D-darl-!~”

You hiss something, almost growl — and pull too hard, forcing Theodore to briefly let out a distant sigh without resistance — and obediently open his mouth, hastily removing his fingers so as not to interfere before he finds a new, more comfortable place. His eyes are slightly watering from the mild pain, but when he does not see a shadow of the old irritation or anger in your face, he obediently sticks out the tip of his red tongue, not trying to shirk his doctoral duties — or is this already a marital duty? Theodore doesn't know, he's not sure, — especially when you hold him even tighter, not listening to what he says, knowing that if he really was "against it", he would have already got out, and not looked at you like a fawn at a hunter, as if it wasn't because of him that you were here, with legs spread apart and heavy breathing from the heaviness in the lower abdomen.

Is this really what he was taught at university?

A boy for fun.

The corners of your husband's eyes turn red, but he does not try to say anything or justify himself, — why should he? — making inarticulate sounds, but only moving his head, hesitantly holding your hips as much as he could do it respectfully and unobtrusively; after all, he is a learned man, even if he was kneeling like some kind of animal or a slave.

When Theodore awkwardly, clumsily moves his tongue, trying to make sure that you feel good, for some reason the world feels much brighter and sharper, — especially when the heat gets stronger, making you tremble slightly, feeling a wide tongue and thin flexible fingers, as if they are perfect only for this, but there is less air in your lungs than you need to continue dirty deservedly whisper to him how low he has sunk, from his 'writing letters to the best doctors he studied with' to kneeling in front of his spouse.

It's not that you're going to stop him or let him change his position, of course, but just force him to continue doing what he's good for, while he's almost meowing, almost purring, not trying to pull away anymore.

... It's not that he's wrong, though.

You definitely feel better after a little therapy.

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the-mandawhor1an · 2 months

Text

Europa (Frankie Morales x afab!Reader)

ausa est quoque regia virgo nescia, quem premeret, tergo considere tauri, cum deus a terra siccoque a litore sensim falsa pedum primis vestigia ponit in undis;

the regal maiden even dared to climb atop the bull's back unaware of who she mounted, the god first from land and then from shore set treacherous footsteps toward the waves, then he goes further and carries his prize across the wide ocean

Summary: One of your friend’s bachelorette trip takes a sudden turn when a stranger makes advances at you. Prepare to be swept off your feet like in the old tales of the ancient world.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: 18+ content, MDNI! No one has a name but Frankie; Slightly dubcon; abduction but make it sexy; the cap stays on; non-explicit descriptions of sexual acts (it’s Frankie, you know what he’s known for); oral (f recieving); fingering; overstim; piv (be responsible and use protection!)

A/N: This is my part for the Pedro Pantheon event hosted by @beskarandblasters – Kel has since left Tumblr but I finally found inspiration to write this, so I’m still publishing it. My ‘prompt’ was Frankie as Zeus and I relatively quickly settled on the abduction of Europa. (The other idea was maybe writing about Hermes’s parents but that would be another Maia, haha) Idk, it felt like a nice story to ‘modernize’ and put Frankie in there. I’ve not specified if he actually is the god Zeus, but it can be interpreted, I guess.

It’s my first time actually narrating sex, so be gentle in your criticism. It’s not proper smut, because I still struggle with being super explicit. Feels vulgar and every fiber of my being hates being vulgar. (more power to you if you can write that shit because you can bet your butts love reading it)

The jetski… I guess I have to blame YSD by @swiftispunk for that one

The Latin part on top is from Ovid’s Metamorphoses. The translation is not completely mine, unfortunately my Latin is close to nonexistent these days.

divider made by @saradika-graphics

and the biggest smooches to @janaispunk for beta'ing for me 💜💜💜💜

It's days like this that make you appreciate not having any ties that weigh you down. Sure, being single can be lonely, but at least you don't have to justify going on a 3 day Bachelorette trip with your friends to anyone. And you'll be the only one who doesn't have to worry about falling for a stranger at the beach.

The four of you, all dressed in light, flowy dresses to cover your bikinis, arrive at the beach. The white sand is warm underneath your feet, sinking in with every step towards the beach bar. The air is fresh and filled with laughter as you approach the bar, the blue of the ocean slowly merging with the changing sky. Sundown is approaching, although you’ll probably have an hour or so of sunlight left. The bride to be orders the first round of drinks, colorful cocktails. The others talk about their relationships, what their partners are doing while you are out here in literal paradise. You drown out most of the noise, not wanting their discussion to ruin your mood, not interfering with their dialogue either. Part of you can't help feeling jealous, but the thought doesn't linger for too long, as a good looking stranger appears.

He wears a light shirt and cream colored shorts, the only unusual sight is the navy blue cap that hides most of his what you assume to be dark brown hair. He is very tan, his skin speckled with freckles. A smile is plastered on his lips and you can't help but feel a little flustered when his brown eyes meet yours for a moment. He is gorgeous, like the gods had sculpted him with the utmost care to not make a single flaw. His eyes are dark, his nose prominent and his lips look plump and soft. His beard is well groomed, although one spot on his jawline is missing hair. Weirdly enough, the bald spot almost looks like a heart.

“Looks like you’re having fun here, ladies. Any chance I can join?” he asks as he leans on the bar with one arm, facing your group. It should be obvious with your friend in all white, but she is willing to let the stranger in on the secret.

“I’m getting married soon and I wanted to take a little trip with my friends.” She raises her hand to present her engagement ring, a relatively big diamond that sparkles in the slowly setting sun.

“Oh, congratulations,” he replies with a genuine smile. “I hope he knows he’s a lucky guy.” His gaze wanders between all of the women, finally resting on you for just a moment too long to be accidental. “And your partners are fine with you girls going out for multiple days?” Again, his gaze is fixed on the bride, who gives off group leader vibes right now. And that’s when a mischievous grin forms on a few faces and suddenly all of them look at you.

“Some of us didn’t need to talk to anyone about leaving for a few days,” your best friend says, giving the man incentive to flirt with you rather than her. You dart her a disapproving look, but now the handsome stranger fixates his attention to you. So much so that he actually switches his place to be closer to you.

“Nice friends you got there, huh? I’m Frankie,” he takes a sip of his drink. His smile sure is contagious, having you practically beaming at him when you state your name.

“They are the best. I was the first to start the ‘single forever’ jokes, I don’t mind the teasing,” you explain and take a sip of your cocktail. “What about you? You’re at the beach all by yourself.” He chuckles, a deep rumble that you can barely pick up audibly, but you feel the vibrations.

“Waiting for my next victim, possibly.” You furrow your brows the same moment when he lifts his hands apologetically. “Sorry, it’s a joke. I live in the area and I just enjoy being here, especially around sunset. Maybe it’s a little rude of me to just approach a group of women clearly enjoying their time but I couldn’t help it.” His index circles the rim of his drink. It almost seems like he is in deep thought, or perhaps just nervous?

You smile. Part of you wants to think he is nervous because of you. His interest in you is obvious. “How long have you been single?”

“It’s been a while. I mean, I sometimes miss it, but … I enjoy not having to justify anything. I’m independent and I guess that’s what’s off-putting to so many men in the first place.” You shrug, it’s not like you miss your ex or anything. Sometimes it’s lonelier, yes, but, over all? You’re happy.

“Sounds more like you’ve met the wrong men. If you ask me, that is.” Frankie takes another sip and mirrors your shrug. As much as you don’t want to agree, it does sound like he’s on to something there.

“You’re probably right,” you finally confess with a sigh. Your friends never complain about their partners either, so maybe you’re just unlucky with your choice of men.

“The sun is setting,” the bride interferes, just as you're about to ask Frankie if he'd be the right kind of man. You shoot him an apologetic look as the girls detach from the bar to head down to the shore. He smiles back at you and nods. You feel his gaze linger on you once again as you tread towards where the waves softly caress the light sand rhythmically. The setting sun paints the sky in the most beautiful shades of pink and orange and shifts to purple where it reflects on the water. It really feels like you’re in paradise, an otherworldly escape to mark the beginning of a new chapter in your friend’s life.

“Thank you for taking us here,” you start, resting one hand on her shoulder. The others join in until all of you are intertwined.

“Of course,” she replies. ”All of you have been in my life for years. I wanted to make sure you know that I appreciate it. And I love y'all. So much. I know times were tough sometimes, and they might be when I turn into bridezilla,” she laughs, “but I know you'll always be there for me. All of you are my best friends and the best bridesmaids I could ever wish for.” A quiet sob escapes her lips as the whole group envelops her in a big hug. You exchange ‘I love you's and stay like this for a good minute.

As the sun draws closer to the horizon, the saturation of the scenery changes drastically. You never thought you’d see a sunset like this ever, but here you are.

“All that’s left is for our nun to find a man now,” Bestie intercepts, poking your side with her index. With your middle finger raised, you stick your tongue out towards her. “Frankie looked interested,” she adds. Of course she eavesdropped on your little conversation. Despite what you had told yourself before this trip, you can’t help it – you think about his soft smile, how his cheeks show a little shadow where dimples form.

Your gaze scans over the horizon. Birds fly high in the sky and far in the distance are little spots moving on the water. You assume these to be boats, maybe even yachts, when a noise draws closer. At first it is low, almost like a mosquito whirr, just deeper, but as it gets louder you can identify it as an engine. A white jet ski appears in your peripheral. “Well, speak of the devil,” you hum as you recognize that same navy blue cap.

“The beach is so large and yet you decide to come back and interrupt us once again,” you roll your eyes at him, a sheepish smile plastered on his face. How could anyone be mad at him? Somehow, he is like personified sunshine. Just… making you smile even if you didn’t want to.

“I’m really sorry. But I have my reasons. No one this pretty should shed tears on one of the most beautiful beaches on this planet. It destroys the magic.” He grins as he dismounts from the jet ski. With an outstretched hand, he offers the girls to take little spins.

No one accepts the offer at first. That is until your best friend sits on the machine and draws small circles on the water, revving the engine whenever the back of the jet ski is pointed away from the group. The water that gets kicked up paints a rainbow against the colorful sky. Frankie stands beside you, taking the sight in just like you are.

“Looks fun, huh?” he leans over and asks. You nod, but don’t turn your head away from the water.

“It does.”

“You should try it.”

“I can’t. I’m … I’ve never been on one.”

“It’s not that hard. Wouldn’t say like riding a bike but you’ll get used to it quickly.” Now you turn your head and watch him bite his lower lip, practically gnawing on it until he realizes you’re looking at him. “If you want to, you can hop on while I drive you around.”

Originally you want to decline the offer, but you’ve never been one to make the best choices. “Alright. But don’t rev the engine like that. I will jump off,” you finally say with a nod towards your best friend, who has the time of her life. Something in the pit of your stomach warns you to be careful, but those warm, deep brown puppy eyes make you forget any walls you had put up.

It's your turn and despite his offer, you sit in front. Frankie has no issue practically welding himself to your back to be able to touch the handlebar. The girls cheer from the shore as the engine starts and you slowly glide over the water. Maybe you should worry about not wearing a life jacket, but then again, you are in shallow water.

Right?

You're distracted by the sensation of him pressing into you, your back melting into his chest. The water is nice and just the right temperature, not too cold on your skin whenever a few drops land there after a turn. “See, it's not that bad,” Frankie hums from behind you, taking one of his hands from the handle to glide over your thigh. A shiver goes down your spine and you inhale audibly.

As you turn back, a grin is plastered on his lips. You mirror the expression. “You were right. Not bad at all.” Your gaze lingers on his lips. He's so close, all you'd have to do is lean in and…

“You want to go a little faster?” he asks, interrupting the mental image that had just formed in your mind. Soft lips on yours, his scruff scratching your skin gently. Burying your fingers in his hair. Fuck. Part of you wants to go all the way with him.

With a nod you give him permission, holding onto the handle as well, just to make sure you won't fall off. Frankie shows you how to steer and accelerate, allowing you to try for yourself. His arms wrap around you while you take a few turns. It might be your mind playing tricks on you but you're almost certain he is grinding into you. Plus, you can't deny that you enjoy the sensation.

“Feels good, doesn't it?” he whispers in your ear and leans down, placing a kiss on your shoulder. A little groan escapes him as he once again rolls his hips against your butt.

“Frankie,” you hiss, but as one of his palms brushes over your thigh again, you turn silent.

“Let's get out of the water, huh?” The purr in his words drives you mad, an ache forms in your core.

Fueled by your reaction, Frankie continues to place soft kisses along your neck and shoulder. Completely distracted by the sensation of his lips on your skin, you don’t pay much attention to where you are going.

It is, in fact, your friends’ voices calling your name that pull you back to reality, barely louder than a whisper over the roar of the engine underneath you. You turn your head, the shore behind you is so far away you can barely make out your friends in the distance. Not only that, the distance is increasing. You face Frankie as best as you can without completely letting go of the handle.

“Frankie, what the actual fuck? This isn’t funny!” you scream at him. A normal conversation was off the table the moment he decided to take you out on the open ocean. The jet ski slows, the engine’s roar dying down to a low hum as you glide over the water with the leftover momentum.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. His eyes avoid your death-stare, but as you try and dismount from the machine, he wraps both arms around your torso, effectively locking you into place. “Hey, relax. If you jump off you’re out in the open. Shore’s too far away for you to swim. I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.”

“That’s very comforting while you’re pressing me into your chest.” You try to push away from him, to no avail. “Just take me back. Please.”

“Can I show you something first?”

Part of you wants to spit a ‘Fuck no’ into his stupid, pretty face but it’s like you’ve suddenly forgotten how to say no. Something in the softness of his gaze convinces you to at least try. If he wanted to hurt you, he would just do it, right?

Right?

“You better make this worth the almost-heart attack I just had,” you finally grumble, your face turned forward. He places more kisses on your neck as the journey continues.

A short travel later, you end up on another beach. The sand looks cleaner than the beach next to the bar, and it is suspiciously quiet. The sun has set, only the orange tint on the horizon remains. Frankie is not even an after thought as you walk over the beach towards the forest that presumably separates you from civilization.

There, in the shade of large palm trees, you find a small hut. Fairy lights are attached to the roof, giving off soft, colorful light, inviting you to come closer. The door is open, so you set one foot inside. “Hello?” you call out and wait for an answer. Carefully you walk inside further and look around.

The inside is dimly lit, warm yellow lightbulbs create an overly cozy atmosphere. The hut barely has more than a bed, a small bathroom and a tiny cooking corner. It shows no signs of any recent tenants, the bed looks freshly made, though. You see no phone to maybe figure out how to get back.

You’ve wasted all your time being in awe of the little getaway house, as now Frankie appears in the doorway again. “I’m sorry for scaring you,” he apologizes. You scoff and cross your arms in front of your chest. That’s not enough. You shake your head. “You’ve abducted me, Frankie. What the actual fuck, are you going to murder me now?”

Frankie tries to come closer, but you take a step back. He looks heartbroken at the realization that you are, in fact, scared of him. A little.

“I don’t want to do anything,” he again pleads. A hand reaches out to you, touches your arm and you let it happen. “I will not hurt you. I might be an idiot but I’m not an asshole. I wanted to be alone with you and thought the jet ski would impress you.”

“And what an idiot you are. A normal person would just ask to be alone with someone, not kidnap them.” And he knows you’re right. Although the jet ski left an impression. It’s hard to deny that.

“Would you have abandoned your friends for a stranger?”

“Well, you’ll never find out.”

He sighs in defeat. You let your guard down, even as he draws in closer until you’re standing chest to chest. Slowly you start to believe him not wanting to hurt you. “Do you want me to take you back?” he asks. His eyes are darting between your eyes and your lips. Your heart rate picks up. The sensation of his lips on your skin still drives you wild.

“Yes, please.” You look up to him, into the chocolatey brown eyes of his. His lips curl up into a smile as a thought seems to materialize.

“What?”

“It’s such a shame.”

“What is?”

Now both of his hands are on your arms, the top of his fingers barely graze over your skin and cause goosebumps to form. “You have such beautiful eyes. It is a shame that all they’re full of right now is the anger you feel for me. It’s a shame that your soft and warm skin is covered in goosebumps due to my touch. And the biggest shame of all is that your lips quiver with rage when all I want to do is kiss them to show you how sorry I am.”

That hits you like lightning.

Your eyes widen but before you can properly react to anything he said, you feel the same soft lips you had felt on your neck, now on your own lips. He’s soft and careful at first, but as soon as your arms wrap around him, any regards are thrown out the window. A soft, breathy moan escapes your lips as he pulls you in closer, allowing you to feel the muscles underneath his shirt.

“Allow me to make it up to you, beautiful,” he purrs against your lips. How could anyone resist?

How can you?

Instead of an answer, you catch his lips once again. Frankie takes that as a clear yes and pushes you into the wall behind you. Now that you're pinned, he lifts one of your legs by the knee. The kisses turn more heated as he grinds his pelvis into yours.

The softest little curses escape his lips whenever they let go of yours. He's rock hard when he grinds against you. Fuck. The feeling drives you insane, even though you're still separated by various layers of fabric. Your body may not show it externally, but you feel the heat traveling to your core. Every little whine and moan that echoes in your ears makes your muscles contract, practically screaming for relief. It would pull you to your knees if you weren't pinned to the wall.

Does he know what he does to you? How badly you suddenly crave him?

Something sparkles in his eyes as they meet yours. His pupils are blown out, nothing more than pure darkness. And still there is this sparkle.

Some time later you find yourself on the bed. The mattress is so soft it practically envelops you in a hug, as if you are embedded in a cloud. Your dress and bikini have long been discarded when Frankie kissed nearly every inch of the skin he exposed. Right now you should feel vulnerable, naked in a stranger's bed, but you don't.

Perhaps you're incapable to see the situation for what it could have been, because the same man that took you here is currently deeply immersed in between your legs. How can you think straight when his grip is unmoving around your hips and he drinks you up like a man close to death from dehydration. The moans that vibrate against your core send shivers through your entire body. He ravishes in the sweetness of you, undeniably turned on by the noises he elicits from you.

One thing bothers you, though. When you look down, hoping to meet his eyes, all you see is the visor of his cap. It is downright rude of him to obstruct your view like this. As you reach out to take the cap off of him, he protests with a low growl and pulls away. Again, the vibrations of his voice on your skin make you writhe, but he holds you where you are. “Frankie,” you whine. With a sigh he adjusts the cap so you can see his face, smiling at you softly. His skin glistens in the low, warm light. Without breaking eye contact, he dives back in, but this time a finger joins in in hopes to coax more noises out of you. He cocks an eyebrow when you moan softly. His eyes are completely dark with lust when he dares to try a second finger.

It is too much.

Your head falls back and your eyes roll into the back of your skull as you feel pleasure take over and you revel in pure ecstasy. There’s only one word on your tongue, his name over and over, like a prayer. You ride out the waves of your high as best as you can, but Frankie continues to touch you, feel you, taste you, and it is too much to handle. Before you can feel another orgasm build up, you grab hold of the arm that still pins you to the bed.

“Frankie, please. That’s enough,” you plead with him. You look down to see him watching you intently. With one last kiss to your inner thigh, he lets go of you and crawls upward until he’s eye to eye. Half of his face sparkles, but now that little spark in his eyes is missing and the warmth has returned. The cap gets pulled down into its correct position and he plants soft kisses on your cheek.

“If you want me to do something else, you’ll have to tell me.” He continues to pepper kisses all over your face. He lowers his body onto yours, allowing you to feel his weight and also how painfully hard he still is, turned on by your pleasure. “Tell me what you want, baby,” he purrs into your ear.

“Fuck, Frankie, fuck me,” you gasp.

And fuck you he does. Hours upon hours you two are one. Sometimes it’s you on top, but most of the time he hovers over you, relentlessly snapping into you while his lips capture yours. He whispers the filthiest things into your ears to drive you mad. “You feel so fucking good.” “You’re all mine.” “Just look at how beautiful you are when I fuck you.” “You’re so gorgeous when you cum, fuck.”

When he is finally done, the sun is about to rise. The sky is changing colors once again when he plops down on the bed beside you. Both of you are spent, out of breath and sweaty, but nonetheless he pulls you into his chest and places soft kisses on your forehead. “Fuck,” he whispers and you can’t help it, you chuckle. “Would you have come with me if I asked you?” he wonders. As if that is of any importance now.

“I don’t know,” you reply and kiss his jaw, specifically the little patch that looks like a heart. “All I know is that you won’t have to abduct me next time.”

Gently, he catches your lips with his and kisses you again. “Next time?” There is hope in his voice and his eyes once again remind you of a puppy all of a sudden.

“Stop pretending you don’t know that I enjoyed that,” you reply. Now it’s you who kisses him and places one hand on the back of his head.

“Me too,” he whispers in return.

“Where even are we?” you ask and turn around to look outside of the little hut, press your back and butt into him. The beach is close by and besides you and Frankie there was no sign of life all night long. “Doesn’t have a name… yet,” he says with a shrug. So this is his island but it doesn’t have a name?

“It doesn’t have a name? Why not?”

“Haven’t found one I liked.” Kisses are planted along your shoulder and neck. “Your name would be quite fitting, I think,” he adds. Either it’s the kisses or the night you two shared, but you like the idea.

“Can’t deny that it sounded good when you said it over and over again.” Now you shrug and turn your head to look at him again.

“Guess it’s official then,” he finally says with a wink.

#wolke schreibt #triple frontier frankie #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #francisco catfish morales #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #frankie morales fanfiction #francisco morales #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x you #afab reader #female reader #beskarandblasters #pedro pantheon

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florencetypemaniacs · 3 months

Note

If your okay with spicy asks, How do you think the RO's would react to the MC giving them bedroom eyes from across a room, maybe at a meeting/ party?

Relationship Stage: Couple

Very Mild NSFW (just in case)

💛 Marcel

Marcel feels his eyes on him and turns to find you looking at him with that look. That look made him completely forget about the conversation he was having with the person in front of him.

How could he focus when you were looking at him like that?

With a smile, he politely exited and went over to you, kissing you ever so softly.

"Is there something you need?" Marcel asked, his voice light, even if his eyes were full of lust. The lust in his eyes darkened when you gave him a coy smile.

"No, can't I just look at my boyfriend?" You asked too innocently, and Marcel fought the urge to take you into his arms.

Marcel cursed a little in old Latin and softly held your hand, helping you stand.

"I...desire you," Marcel whispered in your ear, making you gasp. No coy remarks. Instead, it's just a blunt need. The silent question was in his eyes, and you answered by pulling him up the stairs into your bedroom.

🧡 Margaret

I don't think she would understand right away, but when she does, she is a blushing mess. She felt something inside flutter, and she felt a deep desire. Whoever she is talking to will see that her face is as red as a tomato, and she would have to leave the room out of embarrassment, not noticing that you were following her.

"Margaret!"

When her name was called, Margaret spun around to see you walking towards her, worry on your face.

"Are you okay?" Those were the first words out of your mouth when you stopped in front of her.

Margaret shook her head, and her hands went to rest on her cheeks; they were warm to the touch.

"Everything is fine. I just got a little overwhelmed." She said it meekly.

You frowned. "Margaret..." You sighed. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable-"

"You didn't!" Margaret's hand grabbed your own, making you look into Margaret's eyes.

Margaret felt herself shutter in want and looked down at the ground in embarrassment. "I'm not uncomfortable. I just..." Margaret's words trailed off.

You gave Margaret's hand a gentle squeeze in support. Margaret swallowed and looked into your eyes, not breaking the intensity.

"I just really wanted you."

❤️ Owen

He would stare with a raised eyebrow. Owen would let you know with his eyes exactly what was going to happen before walking over to you with all the confidence in the world. Owen's eyes roamed your figure as he helped you up and out of the chair.

"If we weren't in public, lass/duck/lad, I would carry you out here."

You felt your breath quicken as you stepped even closer to him. "What's stopping you?"

Owen tilted his head, seeming to think for a moment before grinning at you.

"Nothing." He whispered in your ear before he started to drag you out of the room.

You both made it to the door until you heard the sound of a throat clearing behind you.

"Ahem."

Owen and you turned to Aunt Zinnia, a hand on her hips and eyes dark. You could feel Owen sag beside you in defeat.

"Shit."

💙 Rosemary

People's eyes are usually on her every time she walks into the room. So what made this different? You. The minute Rosemary noticed that look on your face, she couldn't help but be pleased with herself. Your eyes were the ones that she wanted on you, and the need to be near you would be so strong as she swayed over to your side, a smirk on her face.

"Dollface/Angelface/Handsome if you keep looking at me like that, people might think you're not so well-behaved."

"Who said I was well-behaved?" You whispered close, and Rosemary just gave you a coy smile.

"Do I have to teach it to you?" Rosemary raised an eyebrow. "How can a lady think when you're looking at her like that?"

Rosemary didn't comment when your arms wrapped around her waist.

"How about we don't think for a while?" You said, a teasing tone in her ear, and Rosemary grinned.

🩵 Tai

All you would see was a blank stare before Tai would turn back to what he was doing. But on the inside, Tai would be having a mental battle to not drag you to the bedroom.

Did you know what you were doing to him?

All his thoughts had already consumed you, and now you were giving him this look?

Tai breathed in and out, knowing that you two would have a private moment alone sooner or later where he could properly have you with sweet words and tender touches.

Good things happen to those who wait.

💚 Zane

The moment Zane saw the look on your face, he felt himself grin from ear to ear. Desire was deep in his eyes as he gave you the same look right back.

Although he was hungrier, he was more animalistic, like a snake ready to swallow his prey.

No matter what Zane was doing, he was coming to you, a gasp escaping your lips when he kissed you.

Long and deep, full of promises and love that he never thought he would feel.

When you both came up for breath, you could feel eyes on you, and then Zane's lips were on your skin again, tender and then hungry, until your head hit the wall behind you in bliss.

"Do you think you can look at me like that and not have a consequence for your actions? " Zane whispered against your skin.

A shiver went down your spine, and Zane laughed. "It isn't a consequence, hm? It's more of a reward." Before you know it, Zane has picked you up from the floor, your legs around his waist.

"Isn't that right, little lion?"

#my inner sins #interactive fiction #twine interactive fiction #ask #answered ask #MIS-Ask #MIS-Answered Ask #rosemary #tai #marcel #owen #zane #Margaret #MIS-RO:Rosemary #MIS-RO:Tai #MIS-RO:Marcel #MIS-RO:Owen #MIS-RO:Zane #MIS-RO:Margaret

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doraambrose · 7 months

Text

So, I know there's a lot of discourse in the Fandom about whether jason is white or Hispanic or whatever and I wanted to give insight based solely on canonical evidence. This is not to shame anyone's headcannons or anything, I'm just giving my own opinion based on facts I've seen in comics (but I know DC flip flops things all the time)

1. Jason being Mexican or Hispanic

There is no evidence to support jason being Latino or Hispanic in any way. Canonically, he is described as a pale guy with dark hair and blue eyes. His biological mother is a blonde woman with blue eyes named Sheila haywood. His father, though probably not fully white, does not have any canonical evidence of any Latin heritage. The last name "Todd" is northern English and Scottish. "Haywood" comes from minor areas of old England. Jason has been seen a couple of times speaking Spanish or Portuguese. However, he's canonically a polygot from during his time in the league and has been seen speaking Russian just as much.

2. Jason is asian

While there's also no real evidence to support this in canon and his canonical description does discredit this headcannon, it does seem more logical than other headcannons. Willis Todd's appearance has been consistent with more asian like features (I'm not sure that sounds right, but I hope you understand what I mean) . Though, he does also appear with pale blue eyes.

Though, with his last name, it's more likely that his mother was of a different race, but his father was white.

Another reason people use is lady Shiva in his contact book. Here's how I see it. When Jason and Bruce went to look for jasons biological mother, they weren't paying attention to appearance of the woken they sought out, they were going solely based on the s names in his dad's book. Why is lady Shiva in his book, idk.

3. Jason is afrolatino

No. Just no. See reasons above

4. Catherine Todd is Hispanic so jason was raised in a Latin household

Catherine todd does not have any canonical evidence of being Hispanic or Latina in any way. Her description states that she's a blonde/redhead pale lady with green eyes. Her maiden name is Johnson, which is middle English and Scottish. She has never been seen speaking any languages other than white and there have been no allusions to her heritage that suggest Hispanic heritage.

In conclusion, canonically, it's safe to say Jason is probably you're standard white boy. The other possibility is slight percentage of Asian or indigenous heritage from his father's side, but his whole family is mainly white and possibly from England or Scotland.

And I know I said I wasn't going to shame anyone's personal preferences, but why is Jason the one that's so widely considered Latino? And why is he being made a different race to fawn over instead of giving actual Hispanic comic book characters the love they deserve? This is done alot too. Instead of acknowledging comic book POC comic book characters and their own stories, struggles, and badassness, people are turning white characters into poc characters and it doesnt make sense to me. I feel like there's some deep rooted racism there that the only robin from "the ghetto" is the robin who "can't possibly be white". And that point is backed up by the fact that there is no evidence to suggest that jason is Hispanic or Latino in any way, so I have no idea how this headcannon came to be.

#jason todd #batfam #red hood #batman #dc comics #dc universe #dcu #bruce wayne #dick grayson #nightwing #latino jason todd

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copperbadge · 2 years

Text

strictly-script

Hey can you backwards engineer some gender neutral version of sir/ma'am

I can! And I will. But I’m going to walk you through it because you guys can do this too. I have no special skills other than having taken Latin 20 years ago. :D

Bit of a plug first: this is a technique that I am using to de-gender a number of royal ranks in my books -- for example, the retired king has declared his nonbinary partner “Caez”, shortened from Caesar, to replace king/queen. In a book not yet published, his granddaughter is offered prince, princess, or the gender-neutral princeps when she’s adopted, and although she identifies as female, she chooses princeps because she doesn’t like the word princess. Ledan came about because I was trying to decide what one character, a duke known for his irreverence, might call a person at the rank of lord or lady if he wanted to make fun of himself a bit for not knowing their gender.

Okay, now that I’ve got the obligatory “Hey look, queer romance novels” out of the way, let’s dive in...

So, what you want to know is the origins of the words Sir and Madam. With Lord and Lady they came from the same general place -- Old English derived from the Germanic -- so it was easy to just go “Bread watcher? Bread maker? Sure let’s find something else you can do with bread” and go from there. This will not always be the case, and it isn’t here, but that makes things extra-interesting.

What you’re going to do is go to Wiktionary.org and search the terms you want to work backward from. In this case we want to search Sir, and we also want to search Madam, which is what Ma’am comes from.

On the page for Sir, we click “etymology” under English or scroll down to it, and we get the history of the word. How far back you go in this history can vary by what kind of word you’d like to use. In this case we know the history goes sir > sire > French Sire (master, sir, lord) > Latin senior (elder) > Latin Senex (old). I like to go all the way back to the Latin, but let’s hold that thought.

Now that we have Sir identified, we’ll check out Madam, from which we get the history ma’am > madam > madame > Old French madame (”my” and “lady”) > post-classical Latin mea domina, which also means generally “my lady” although it has a more specific meaning we’ll get to shortly.

So we have a couple of options!

We can take “Senex” which is more closely related to the masculine “Sir” but is in itself generally neutral, and come up with “Sen”, which has no meaning in Latin on its own but we’re not speaking Latin, we’re speaking English, which shortens everything anyway.

We can also look at “ma domina” and take that apart -- domina and dominus concern the home, the physical building, using the same root we get “domicile” and “domain”. So you could click through from domina to dominus to domus, and go with “ma domus”, since domus has connotations of household, family, etc. Ma Domus might shorten to M’us. It could also shorten to “ma’do”, but that’s two syllables and I like to retain the syllable count of the original words. And also M’us or even just Mus sounds like you’re saying Moose. Which, Moose is a pretty cool name to call a nonbinary friend, but may be taken amiss by strangers. It strikes me that M’us could be used as a term of respect specifically for someone in your family -- a parent or grandparent, a cousin or zaza. There’s a hint of familiarity there.

We could go one step further and look at the implications of the word origins -- both are addressing a superior in rank, but “sir” emphasizes age, while “ma’am” emphasizes economic power. Now, if we want to break away from both of those we could decide that instead we want to respect a different kind of power -- say, the power of a teacher we trust and look up to. Wiktionary tells us that teacher derives from the verb “teach”, and at the etymology of teach we find several variants including techen, taecan, taikijan, taikijana, and deyk (as a prefix). I rather like Deyk, because a) it shortens nicely to Dey, b) if you’re talking to someone you respect it’s sincere but if you’re talking to someone you don’t respect it’s easily sarcastic, and c) if you’re talking to someone you don’t respect you can throw a little k in, so that it sounds like you’re calling them Dey but you’re actually calling them Dick.

Of these options I really do prefer Sen. It sounds nice, it’s not a homophone for anything weird, and it implies respect for the person’s experience. If I were writing a novel with a nonbinary honorific I might go with Dey just because there’s more scope for wordplay and nuance, but in actual life I think Sen’s quite nice.

So yeah it’s fun and interesting and you get to learn the weird-ass histories of weird-ass words. I encourage everyone to make their own!

#strictly-script #gender

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babybluebex · 2 years

Text

𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐥𝐫𝐚𝐬 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your latin tutor is one of those revolutionaries that your father despises and, after he invites you to a citizen’s meeting, his true intentions are revealed. 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: enjolras (BBC les miserables) x fem!reader 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: canon divergence, mentions of drinking, kissing, forbidden romance, names (mon cher = my darling, mon amour = my love, mon ange = my angel) 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: omg alright it's happening everyone stay calm (also pls lmk if this is all glitchy bc my tumblr has been acting weird lately so like. grr.) ((and yes, there will be a part 2 hehe...))

“Well, mademoiselle,” Enjolras started, shutting his textbooks as he looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s that time again.”

You groaned, hating that your lesson had come to an end. Ever since you had turned eighteen, you had been begging your father to let you go to university, just like your brother had gone, but he had forbidden you from even entertaining the idea of university. It was no place for a lady, he told you, and you had pouted and stamped your foot and demanded to be allowed to go. The middle ground for your father were private tutors, just as you had had when you were growing up, but for sophisticated topics. You chose to learn Latin, and your father had hired the perfect Latin tutor for you.

Tall and thin, short caramel curls and dark eyes and plush lips, mustache and thin beard. His name was Enjolras, one of angels in the original Latin, as he had told you. He was handsome and a good laugh, and, even if you got frustrated with the language, he soothed you with a gentle hand on your arm and soft words of encouragement. “You can do it, mon cher,” he said. “Just think about it for a moment.” He always called you sweet names as well, names that made you blush and avoid his eye to keep from exploding.

“Oh, no, Enjolras,” you begged him, reaching out and taking his arm in your hand. “Please don’t go, please stay!”

“Oh, mon cher, I have to,” Enjolras bemoaned. “I have somewhere to be.”

“But can’t you stay long enough for tea?” you asked quickly. “It’s rather cold outside, I’d hate to send you out into the cold without something warm to drink first.”

“Mon cher,” Enjolras said softly, putting his hand over yours. His hand was warm, his fingertips stained with days-old ink, and you wondered how it would feel for him to touch your bare skin. You often had dreams about your Latin tutor, less than ladylike dreams about the things you wished he would do to you. Just last night, you had dreamt of him taking you against your desk, pulling up your dress and making love to you, and you had hardly been able to meet Enjolras’s eye during your lessons. “I just can’t.”

“What do you have to do?” you asked. “Where do you have to be?”

“So curious,” Enjolras chuckled with narrowed eyes. “Why do you want me to stay so badly?”

“I just—“ you started shyly. “I like talking to you. You’re the only one who treats me like an equal as opposed to someone lesser.”

“Yes, well,” Enjolras started, shuffling around the papers on your desk as he tried to tidy and pack up. “The revolution preaches equality amongst all men, and women are included in that.”

That bloody revolution of his. Enjolras brought it up every so often, equality and friendship among all, the abolition of kings and monarchies, and, while he never went very in depth about it, you knew that it was a cause that was dear to his heart. You didn’t know if he had a woman in his life or not (the very thought of it made your heart drop in despair), but he spoke about his revolution as if it were his only love.

“Equality among all,” you scoffed. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

Enjolras regarded you with those narrowed eyes again, his pupils the color of dark, bitter chocolate, and he said, “Is it that hard to believe that you could be treated as I am?”

“Only because I’ve never been treated that way,” you said gently.

“I treat you that way,” Enjolras said. “I treat you and speak to you as any one of my friends.”

“Are we friends?” you asked. “Or do you tolerate me because my father pays you?”

“I do like you, mon cher,” Enjolras smiled. “Genuinely. Perhaps if things were different, I’d offer to…” He hesitated for a moment, a bit of restraint that you had never seen from him before, and he finally mumbled, “I’d offer to bring you with me to my meeting tonight.”

“Meeting?” you echoed. “What sort of meeting?”

“A citizens’ meeting,” Enjolras said. “Me and my friends, and revolutionaries all over Paris, we come together weekly to discuss ideas. I look forward to it every week, almost as much as I look forward to our lessons.”

“Oh, that sounds lovely!” you smiled, and you clutched his arm tightly. “Please take me with you, Enjolras, please!”

“I can’t do that,” Enjolras told you firmly. “Believe me, I wish I could. But if your father found out—“

“My father,” you scoffed. “So what if he found out?”

“He would fire me,” Enjolras said. “No more Latin lessons, mon cher. Your father, he’s an aristocrat, the revolution does not benefit him, so he’s against it. If he knew you went to a citizens’ meeting, he might even disown you.”

“He could never,” you mumbled, leaning back and crossing your arms over your chest. “He loves me too much.”

“People don’t like their politics to be challenged,” Enjolras said. “He would punish you, and that likely would come at my expense. Like I said, no more Latin lessons, I would never be permitted to see you.”

“I don’t want that,” you said quickly. “I like you too much. Erm, your lessons, I mean. I don’t want to find another tutor.”

“I didn’t think so,” Enjolras said with a coy smile. “I’d hate to see you punished, so I won’t invite you to the meeting. In fact, on very certain terms, I am telling you not to come.”

“Alright, alright, I understand,” you grumbled. “No meeting.”

“Don’t be cross with me, mon cher,” Enjolras begged, taking your hand in his. He squeezed your hand and gave you a tight smile, and he dropped your hand as he spoke again. “I’d hate to make you upset with me before I leave for my meeting.”

“Rub it in, why don’t you?” you huffed, and Enjolras set his eyes on his papers and books, looking at you quickly before looking back down at the papers. You took his hint and looked at the paper, and your eyes widened as you saw that his own neat script covered the paper. Even though you saw it upside-down, you could see a date and an address.

“Remember,” Enjolras said, passing the paper to you. “I told you not to come. But, if I left this and you wanted to return it to me, you know where to find me.”

“Oh, Enjolras,” you said softly. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Enjolras asked. “Denying you to come to a meeting? I should think I’m hurting your feelings.”

“Oh,” you said quickly, catching onto his game. Enjolras was wonderfully playful, and this was only proof of that. “Yes, yes, it hurts my feelings so much. In fact, I might think twice about returning your paper to you.”

“But you’re a good girl,” Enjolras said. “You’ll return it to me hastily, just as soon as I’m gone and you’ve noticed I left it.”

“Of course, of course,” you said passively, and your stomach shrank behind your stays. He had called you a good girl. Did he know the effect his words had? “Anything for you.”

“Alright,” Enjolras said. “I really must be leaving. Have a good evening, mademoiselle.”

“You as well, monsieur,” you told him, and you stayed seated at your desk and lazily tidied up your things as Enjolras left. Your heart hammered inside your chest at the prospect of seeing Enjolras again, outside of your lessons, at this revolutionary meeting. Would he treat you as a friend, or like some girl that had hopelessly fallen in love with him and followed him?

About an hour after Enjolras left (because you definitely weren’t paying too much attention to the clock), you crumpled the paper up in your hand and went to the front foyer, tying your cloak around your neck. You hoped that maybe you could slip out of the house unnoticed, but the creak of the stairs made your heart stop.

“Are you going out?” your father asked you, and you sighed.

“Just for a moment,” you said. “My Latin tutor left something of his, and I’m going to return it.”

“You can’t wait to give it back next week?” your father asked, and you shook your head, looking up at the stairs to see him. Enjolras’s words swam in your head, about how your father’s politics were better left unchallenged, how angry he would be if he knew the truth, but the promise of seeing Enjolras was too great for you to back down now.

“It looks important,” you said, looking down at the paper in your hand. “Doesn’t he work as a copier? This looks like an unfinished piece of his work. I don’t want him to get into any trouble.”

“I can deliver it,” your father offered, and you shook your head.

“I’d rather do it,” you said. “I’ve been inside all day, I’d like to go out for a moment.”

“If you say so,” your father said. “Just be back before dinnertime.”

“Yes, sir,” you told him, and you quickly left the house before he could ask any more questions. The air was cold against your cheeks as you began your walk to the small pub that Enjolras’s flyer indicated, and your heart was beating quicker with every avenue and rue that you turned down. Eventually, you heard the chatter of a pub as you turned onto a street, and you steadied yourself as you pushed open the door. The air inside was warm and smelled like ale, but you weren’t focused on that. Your eyes were instantly drawn to the back corner where, on a raised stage-like area, your Latin tutor sat. He looked incredibly laid-back and handsome, his jacket slung across the back of his chair and exposing his vest and chemise, and you had to keep yourself from shouting his name to catch his attention.

Luckily for you, his attention was captured by your mere presence. His eyes found you instantly, and a smile crossed his face as he swept his arm towards him and the other men at the table. He beckoned you over several times before your feet finally started to move, and you crumpled the flyer in your hand as you made your way to the back corner.

“I know you’d come,” Enjolras beamed. “Come, sit, would you like a drink?”

“Oh, umm,” you started, eyeing the other men at the table. Any friend of Enjolras’s was a friend of yours, but you didn’t miss the odd ways that they stared at you, like they were seeing some fantastical being for the first time; almost like Enjolras had spoken of you and they didn’t expect to actually meet you. “Not now, but maybe later.”

“Of course,” Enjolras said, and he tugged a seat over the table, where sheaths of cards laid out, in the middle of a game. “Here, you can sit here—“

“Uh, Enjolras?” one of the men asked. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to the lady?”

“Hardly a lady,” you quipped before you could stop yourself. “I-I mean, why am I a lady if that title comes with consequences? Why am I not just one of his friends?”

“Ah,” the man said. “So you’re the girl he’s been tutoring. Corrupting, as it were.” He reached over and jostled Enjolras’s arm, and your tutor rolled his eyes. “Tell me, how often does he speak about revolution during your lessons?”

“Not often,” you said, and you playfully bit your lip as you considered your next words. “But enough for it to be a bother.”

Enjolras gaped at you, his game still afoot, and he turned his nose up. “See, I told you that you shouldn’t have come,” he said. “I would only bore you with more revolution speak.” He took the cards back up in his hands and carefully began to shuffle them, and you took notice of the way his ink-stained fingers shook a little. Was he nervous? Surely not as much as you.

“What if I wanted to come?” you asked softly. “To see you?”

Enjolras smiled gently, and he carefully touched your hand, taking your fingers in his grip. “Well, that’s the best reason,” he said. “Because I also get to see you.”

“I thought for sure you’d hate seeing me,” you told him. The conversation at the table had resumed, leaving you and the handsome older man to your own devices, and Enjolras shook his head. “That-That you wouldn’t want me around…”

“I can hardly get enough of you,” Enjolras told you. “I hope you enjoy the meeting. Speak up if you have something to say.” With that, Enjolras stood from his chair and began to bang his fist on the table in front of you, startling you into a jump. His compatriots started to do the same, and it flooded the pub until you yourself were compelled to slam your hand into the table with them. The sense of camaraderie was astounding, and you laughed as Enjolras started to hush the crowd.

“Citizens,” he started, and the eager crowd silenced themselves to listen to him. You had learned from him that equality among all meant no leaders, nobody with a higher standing or rank than any other person, but you could instantly tell that Enjolras was their leader. Everyone looked at him with bated breath, awaiting his words, and a shiver ran down your back at his authority.

“General Lamarck lays dying,” Enjolras announced. “He is a supporter of the revolution, one of our first and strongest supporters. As soon as he dies, we need to do something. Paris is a powder keg, yes? And Lamarck’s death needs to symbolize something, it needs to symbolize everything. It is the spark that we need to make the whole of Paris go up in flames.”

“Hear, hear!” one of Enjolras’s friends said, banging his fist on the table again, and a giddy excitement filled your chest. You looked up at him from where he stood, and you found Enjolras looking down at you, the hint of a smile on his face.

“Take this woman!” Enjolras began, brandishing a hand out to you. Your face went cold then before flooding hot with blush, and you shook your head.

“Mon ange, please, no,” you protested. “Not in front of everyone—“

“Strip her of her aristocratic clothes and what do you have?” Enjolras asked. “You have a woman. A woman with wishes, dreams, hopes! And there is no better way to ensure her success in the world than with…” He trailed off, looking to you, and you gulped, knowing what he wanted from you.

“La révolution!” you squeaked, wholly unsure of yourself, but Enjolras clapped his hand down on your shoulder as the pub exploded with cheers and cries. You grinned at him as he squeezed your shoulder, and he leaned down to nestle his mouth right next to your ear, speaking so that only you could hear him.

“How do you like it?” he asked.

“I…” you started, and you reached up to gently touch his cheek, the rough stubble under your fingers. His hand went to cover yours, his eyes big as he watched you, and, under the commotion in the pub, you said, “I think you should kiss me.”

He didn’t hesitate at all, reaching to capture your cheek in his hand, and he pressed his mouth to yours. Fireworks exploded in your chest as you held him close, your eyes fluttering shut to enjoy the kiss. You had never kissed a man before, and Enjolras was a good first kiss; his lips were soft, his mouth gentle, his grip soothing on your jaw.

When you drew away, the din of the pub still raging as Enjolras’s friend spoke now, Enjolras suddenly looked forlorn, his eyebrows furrowing as he bit his bottom lip. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he said softly, and he tore himself away from you, grabbing his jacket from off the back of his chair. “I shouldn’t have—“

“Mon ange, wait,” you told him, and you grabbed at his hand as he started to walk away from the table. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“I shouldn’t have just kissed you,” Enjolras told you. “That was a mistake.”

“But why?” you asked. “I asked for it, and I liked it! I didn’t—“

“Because there’s no room for love in this,” Enjolras said, grabbing his hand away from you. He stepped away from you, and turned to the room, and he hesitated for a moment before he quickly scaled down the steps and made to leave the pub.

“Wait!” you exclaimed, grabbing your cloak, and you chased after him, threading through the crowd. You finally caught up with him outside the pub in the cold air, and you grabbed his hand again and tugged him back to you. “Mon ange, wait just a moment, please!”

“Stop it, don’t call me that,” Enjolras said quickly. He turned to you and you saw his cheeks red, his eyes aflame, but not with anger. He truly regretted kissing you, and your heart sank into your stomach. “I’m not your angel, as much as you wish.”

“Don’t be mean!” you exclaimed. “What’s the matter? You said there’s no love in this? What is ‘this’?”

“The revolution,” Enjolras answered. “Love means that one person matters more than others, there is no love in revolution, everyone is equal in everyone’s hearts—“

“But!” you huffed. “Why did you kiss me then? Just to play with me? I thought you were better than that.”

“Because I wanted to kiss you,” he told you. “I want nothing more than to kiss you, to have you be mine and mine alone, but I can’t just abandon all I’ve worked for for you. Falling in love is not what I’m supposed to do—“

“So don’t call it love,” you told him. “Don’t call it anything. We are… Citizens, comrades, yes? There’s no sense in being upset over something that doesn’t truly exist. If you can decide that I’m not high born and decide that I’m just a woman, then you can just as easily decide to not love me.”

“But I do love you,” Enjolras said.

“Just don’t call it love,” you said back. “Call it anything other than that.”

In an instant, Enjolras stood closer to you, throwing his arms around your middle, and he tugged your body right on top of his. His hands explored your body, gripping your hips and feeling up your sides, and he pressed his forehead to yours. “How can I resist you?” he whispered. “My sweet girl, mon amour…”

“Mon ange,” you whispered, brushing your nose against his. “Kiss me, my angel.”

“I’ll regret it,” Enjolras warned you, and you shook your head.

“Only if you let yourself regret it,” you told him. “Kiss me, please—”

His hands cupped your jaw as he kissed you, his lips plush against yours again, and you clutched his jacket tightly to keep him from leaving you again. You could never let him go again, not as long as you lived. Enjolras held you tightly as well, equally as passionate about keeping you, and he broke the kiss with a gasp. “Mon amour,” he whispered. “You had an awfully hard time at your lessons today. I might need to come back tomorrow and give you some extra lessons.”

“Yes, please,” you said quickly. “Yes, tomorrow, yes.”

“So eager,” Enjolras chuckled. “Go home, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“What if I want to stay for the meeting?” you asked.

“Do you really want to?” Enjolras asked with playfully narrowed eyes. “Or do you just want to spend time with me?”

“Maybe both,” you teased him, and Enjolras smiled.

“Go home, mon amour,” Enjolras told you. “I’ll see you as soon as possible. I’ll dream of you.”

“I’ll dream of you as well.”

#bbc!enjolras x reader #bbc!enjolras #bbc les mis #bbc les miserables #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #*my writing

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that-irishman-fan · 8 months

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night at the museum jedtavius as dads to a daughter headcanons!

[ Full credit to the owners of the GIF and Night At The Museum, none of these characters are mine in any way! ]

FANDOM: Night At The Museum, 2006

GENRE: Headcanons, parenting au, LGBTQIA+, and fluff!

SYNOPSIS: What's its like being the daughter of Jedidiah and Octavius!

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Female coded reader, angst at some parts, and minor swearing, this is meant to be fluffy!

Notes: I started these headcanons with a daughter/female reader in mind, since that's how the idea popped into my head—but I am already planning out two other parts for a son/male coded reader and for a gender neutral set in the future. I realize it would be unfair to not follow up with similar ones, since I understand my audience is absolutely not exclusively women. So, keep a watch for parts two and three to come soon!

I also want to note quickly that there will be some worldbuilding sections I've included—just adding in some extra exhibits we don't see in the first movie as a sort of behind the scenes slash for plot thing. With that said, let's dive right in!

• Let's start by establishing your role in this situation. You'd be one of the full sized models on display, much like Teddy Roosevelt and Sacagawea ( take your choice as to what historical period, it doesn't really make a difference ). You arrived a while ago as a part of a brand new exhibit meant to reignite interest in the museum. Discombobulated, frightened, and frankly lonely, you searched for friends in this strange new place. It ended up being Jedidiah, the cowboy, and Octavius, the Roman general. Both were already lovers when you came around.

• Jedidiah and Octavius wanted to try their hand at raising kids together. But because of their plight of being tiny models, they'd given up on it. Your arrival was a dream come true. You three quickly had a found family dynamic, and sure enough they took you in as their daughter. You are perfect in their eyes in every way, an answer to all their prayers.

• They'd be your gay dads, with Teddy as a grandfather, Ahkmenrah an older brother, Sacagawea a mother figure, Attila the cool uncle, and all the others your friends. Soon, you found your place amongst the others.

• Both have their own pet names for you. Jedidiah calls you little lady, missy, and pumpkin. Octavius calls you mea columba ( my dove in Latin, since I have two years of it under my belt ), darling, and my princess. You call them by their actual names, or 'daddy' for Jed and 'father' for Octavius.

• I like to think they'd put emphasis on immersing you in their respective cultures. Giving you the best of both worlds, the Wild West and the Roman Empire.

• Jedidiah would show you all the classic cowboy staples— gunfights, rodeo, catching robbers, and playing songs by the campfire. You love it when he dazzles you with stories of outlaws, broncos, and especially cowgirls.

• Octavius would let you watch his army train, teaching you military strategy; not only that, but also attending senate meetings, participating in banquets, and telling you Roman myths and legends. If you gave your best shot at any of it, they'd be so proud of you. Just having your interest is reward enough, but if you actually did it yourself? They might just die of happiness right on the spot.

• Your dads love to hear about anything and everything that you're passionate about too! Please talk to them about whatever makes you excited, and they'll be as enthusiastic as you. They make a point to be interested since you try so hard for them.

• I get the vibe that Jedtavius are more free range parents in the sense that you're allowed to go anywhere in the museum you like. Outside is off limits, of course, which you understand. However, they are old fashioned. Not to the point of chaperoning, but cautious regardless. Jedidiah and Octavius are believers in women being treated with the utmost respect, they're very chivalrous. As such, they'll be on top of things to make sure you don't get hurt. With that said, they trust you to be responsible in your own right. They're just protective, you're their sweet baby girl after all. And God forbid anyone dare to lay a finger on you the wrong way.

• When morning comes, its hard for you to return to your place. You feel empty, almost lost, knowing you'll be gawked at come daylight. By yourself without them there. Sometimes, this can bubble up into small episodes. You'll feel resentful, crying bitter tears at times or just angry on others. Jedidiah and Octavius wouldn't leave your side until you were calm, both comforting you without a hint of judgment.

• " Aw, pumpkin, don't cry. S'alright, yer Daddy ain't goin' nowhere. We'll be right back where ya found us, ya hear? " Jedidiah would coo to you.

• " No more tears, fear not. It will pass once again as it always does. Our brave girl, my little princess. " Octavius would add on, gentle as his husband.

• Every night, the minute you'd come to life, you'd run as fast as you could to the Diorama Room to be reunited with them. They're your haven, your home, your safety net. After long days of noisy crowds and superficial cares, you're revitalized in their presence. And Jedidiah and Octavius are delighted to see you again, the hole in their hearts filled when your face appears.

• On to happier things now. Jedtavius are always ready to shower you in affection. I feel Jedidiah is the gruff type, his love language being praise, affirmations, and encouragement over physical gestures. Octavius is the opposite, being very tactile. For him, it's offering you hugs, soft touches, and gentle kisses. It's really ironic considering these guys are warriors in their own ways. Two macho men who are such softies for you.

• If you don't like physical contact, though, they respect that boundary completely. They're both so loving and supportive that you never have to worry about feeling neglected.

• The size difference poses an issue. You three have learned to work around it through trial and error. They may be small, but they have big hearts and an endless amount of love to give. You're definitely their soft spots, one could say weaknesses, but they have no shame over it. Not when it's you.

• I can imagine them being saddened by your insecurities, not able to understand why you don't see how special you are. It's not disappointment at you, rather pity for you. And they're quick to reassure you, genuine in every possible sense of the word.

• " Why's our precious lil' Y/N so down in the dumps? Ya know I hate seein' a frown on that dad gum pretty face of yers. Talk to us, why're ya beatin' up on yerself so hard? " Jedidiah would say, sitting you down in front of his diorama. At your shoulder level, he'd stand next to you, putting a tiny hand on your cheek.

• And you'd tell them everything on your mind. All the things bothering you. Neither of them would interrupt you once, letting you speak. Nor would they try to discount any of your feelings. But it does pain them to see you so sad.

• " We would not lie to you, daughter. When I say you are fairer than Venus, cleverer than Minerva, and braver than Diana, I mean it. For you are beautiful, you are intelligent, and you are strong. Most of all, you are you, as you are meant to be. " Octavius would tell you, his dark eyes adoring. His lips would touch your hand as if to further make his point.

• " And yer our girl no matter what. Yer daddy and yer father love ya, missy, even when ya go gettin' yerself into trouble. We wouldn't want nobody else as our daughter, yer all we could ever ask for. " Jedidiah would grin, patting you on your shoulder.

• Okay, now onto the stuff relatively separate from Jedtavius. In your free time when you're not hanging out with your dads, you get into plenty of mischief on your own with your fellow museum residents.

• Playing with Dexter and Rex in the Hall of African Mammals, surrounded by the jungle setting. The lions, elephant, gazelles, ostrich, and zebras don't mind you for some reason, and they're quite tame around you. You like to climb the display trees, cuddling with the snakes or swinging around with the monkeys. And playing fetch with Rex in the front lobby is always fun too.

• Teddy would take you on hunts, throwing you on the back of his horse. If you really wanted to, he'd even teach you to ride. Jedidiah was enormously proud when you showed up in the Diorama Room like an equestrian show rider.

• Sacagawea and you communicate through sign language. She likes to tell you many stories of her travels with Lewis and Clark, as well as legends from her own culture. You intently listen to each one, always raptured by the brilliant way she breathes life into the old tales.

• One time you tried to help the Neanderthals light their fire. It wasn't successful, but they welcomed you as a member of their family. You don't understand most of what they say, though you're always kind to them.

• Attila would teach you swordfighting, passing down all his wisdom as a master warrior. You two love to spar, often quite viciously to the point that Larry Daley has to tell you two to knock it off before you lop off each other's heads. Both you and Attila would be fascinated by magic tricks too, eager for Larry to show you a new one every shift he takes.

• Before he released Ahkmenrah from his sarcophagus prison, you made an effort to visit the pharaoh so he wasn't lonely. You two chatted well into the night about whatever came to mind; but you had a penchant for stories of his past in Ancient Egypt. You two have a platonic relationship characterized by him being wiser, more experienced, and far more worldly than you, your big brother who you've got wrapped around your finger.

• You also like to hang out in the other exhibits too. Watching the blue whale float idly in the Marine Room, singing its beautiful songs and you doing the same for it. You've danced to many a sea shanty with the model pirates, the favorite of Captain Blackbeard. The Kushite kings, Babylonian priests, Celtic bards, noble samurai, and Viking chieftains also enjoy your company, fascinated by your wits and amicable nature.

• I headcanon that the models can hear and see their surroundings during the day, they just can't interact with them in their frozen states. You've seen thousands of faces before in all your years in the museum, but the one you always like to see is that of Dr. McPhee, the curator. He's fussy, arrogant, and pompous from what you've heard, but you couldn't help your crush on him. You wished to get to know him more. For him to see you.

• Overall, life is fantastic for you in the museum. You've got Jedidiah and Octavius, all your friends, and a great big world in one small place to call your own.

Well, that's all I've got for right now! I hope I've done this justice. It was such a cool idea, and I couldn't resist dropping everything to jot down my thoughts on it. Once again, I am planning two other parts so as to be more inclusive to my fellow menfolk and out of the binary peeps! If you want to be included in a tag list for anything Night At The Museum or my other content, please drop a comment, and I'll add you from now on! Please have a fantastic rest of your week, and thank you SO much for all your likes, reblogs, comments, and interactions. It means the world to me!

#night at the museum franchise #night at the museum #jedediah natm #octavius natm #jedtavius #natm jedtavius #jedediah and octavius #jedidiah x octavius #night at the museum fanfic #night at the museum headcanons #my writing

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simpyshrimpy · 1 year

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New draconia family tree just dropped. some chap 7 spoilers, some are ocs still

i do not know how three generations of women mommy dragon ladies ended in a boy honestly i feel like that means its rigged. anyways-

Maldra Draconia - Big red dragon old as time itself, this is where the Draconia's get their pretty green eyes from. Also though, just like all of the Draconia's in canon twisted wonderland. she's an absolute horror. I'm talking country destroyer to the point that if Tenebris hadn't somehow accidentally seduced her- the world probably would have ended. and it only got worse from there, because.... both her and Tenebris were strong af so Maleficia came out even stronger...

Rex Tenebrarum - that's just his title technically. I just translated king of darkness into latin smh. Tenebris is his nickname. Fae names are power guys. He's so anal about it even his own wife doesn't know his true name. Which isn't to say that he doesn't love her, but just that he takes every measure necessary to protect himself and in turn, his family. Somehow he accidentally seduced Maldra and then she actually forced him to marry her- but don't worry- he was totally into it.

Maleficia Draconia- Somehow even stronger than both of her parents. Terrifying. Her dad kept her more mellow than her mother thankfully, but she's still horrible and her mother lets her cause havok anyways. Dad has to come in and stop her halfway but by then some citys are still gone....

Dante Draconia- He'll come up in the future, so i haven't decided much on him, but i do want it to be a theme where the draconia women just strong arm these men who accidentally seduce them into marrying them. Poor guy. He probably mellows out grandmommy draconia though.

Other than that, things will be close to the canon universe. Lilia, Mallenoa, and Raven will all still be childhood friends, although Lilia will be doing fieldtrips to Kumiko's mountain to train. Maybe for summer vacation! And of course, Mallenoa will not allow him to have fun without her- Which also means Raven comes too.

Grim, Kumiko and the reader will be like summer camp counselors with a world destroyer dragon fae, bratty little future hardcore general lilia, and also a bird who probably cries whenever he makes eye contact with kumiko.

Also no- i do not subscribe to the Crowley is Raven theory guys. C'mon. I wouldn't want any future where Mallenoa died tragically while Raven was still alive. I'd like to think he'd go to hell before he ever leaves her high and dry.

Also we'll probably try to prevent them from dying in this world. I haven't worked out the specifics yet. Maybe it ends up being their fate to die- or maybe I'll decide that since we hold some sort of power over this world, that we can defy even fate itself. It's the same problem I'll have to think over with Ortho. Since the original ortho is dead and the one we all know and love is just a recreation of a dead kid...

Welp. That's a problem for future Shrimpy. Not me. goodnight and please remember that i love malleus-

#twisted wonderland #twst demon fox au #twstdemonfoxau #demon fox!reader #kumiko #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #malleus i love you bby #malleus draconia x reader #twst chapter 7 #twst spoilers #twist chapter 7 spoilers

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ghostismybbygorl · 2 years

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Alright more headcannons

Pt.1

Ale-ale-jandro

Actually hates the song alejandro by lady gaga. If rudy is mad at him he'll play the song in the car full blast to piss him off

He's 38

Hes got a BIG family. He has 7 siblings he's the oldest out if all if them

hes got a brother (36) with two daughters (6) (8)

A sister (32) with a son (10)

Twin brothers (25) one of them has a daughter (3)

A sister (20) who has a 1 year old girl

A brother (12)

A baby sister (7)

Hes roman catholic and goes to mass regularly with his family

His patron saint is St. Jude Thaddius

Him and soap will go to mass together

He's got a necklace of Guadalupe that his abuelita gave him before she passed. Every time he goes into battle he kisses the necklace and prays to his abuelita for protection

He has a tabby cat named diablo that he rescued off the streets. The cat's a total asshole to everyone but rudy.

Him and rudy are married but no one knows except for his family

This man can salsa dance like nobody's business. Dont get him near tequila or youll be learning how to dance the tango, salsa, square dance everything from him

He's a happy flirty drunk

When he's mad he'll forget how to say english words so he'll just stand there snapping his fingers trying to explain what he's trying to say but getting even more pissed because he can't remember the word.

Accidentally got high off of heroine one time. He was on a mission and somehow a bag of heroine opened up in his face causing him to inhale some. He said it was the best high he's experienced but swore to himself to never do any type of drugs after that experience in fear of getting addicted

Casually pops his neck and it'll crack LOUD

Takes a nap at 3:00 sharp. If he doesn't take his nap he will be bitchy for the rest of the day

He listens to latin r&b when he's relaxing and bad bunny when him and Rudy are alone together.

Being the oldest of the family hes a very nurturing person. When you're sick hes by your side with sopa de fideo, vics cream, and some medicinal tea

This man can and WILL cook. He used to cook with his mom and abuelita when he was younger

He loves to make tamales it reminds him of home

His family goes all out for Christmas everyone has stockings, they all get hella gifts, they sing, dance, bring over homemade food. They all will go to midnight mass and then open presents afterwords when they get home

He's always the best gift giver

His house looks like this and he still lives with his whole family (click the numbers i also have a link to the Pinterest boards if u wanna see more)

1, 2, 3

He has those candies that Abuelas give out

Rudy rudy

Hes actually savage af. He'll absolutely roast the shit out of you and hell say it in the most casual tone

Loves bad bunny

Hes 30

Hes a only child

He has the most obscene slippers

He drinks coffee religiously. He's a regular at starbucks. His favorite starbucks drink is the java chip Frappuccino with two extra shots of espresso and coconut milk

He loves del rosa cookies snd can open them without breaking them. He gets really upset if he does. It happened one time before and he was close to tears

he loves diablo like its his own child.

He was the one to propose to Alejandro. They where sitting on a couch watching tv when he just pops the question "you want to get married?"

He's scared of anything supernatural. Dont even get him started on horror movies he will legit start praying the hail mary

He gives great massages

He's hella lactose intolerant like reenacting world war 3 in the bathroom intolerant.

since he doesn't have a big family rudy and his family will celebrate Christmas together with Alejandros family.

He absolutely loves the cheesy telenovas

He has a iguana named pakko.

He lives in Alejandro house with his family

He gets really out going when hes drunk he'll start singing and dancing

Price

Religiously plays wordle

He'll bring his bearded dragon into work ever so often. It always creeped ghost out for a while but eventually grew used to it.

He like to put little costumes on his bearded dragon

HE HAS A FAMILY PHOTO OF HIM, HIS BOYFRIEND, DOG AND DRAGON IN MATCHING CHRISTMAS SWEATERS. (He paid ghost big money to make the sweaters)

He doesn't shave his beard at all during november and his beard will get hella long. He usually does this because he dresses up as santa for christmas and goes to children shelter to give children christmas gifts.

He's like hella good with kids, babies especially. If he sees a baby crying he can instantly make it stop crying its like magic dad vibes.

When hes drunk he'll reminisce about the past and tell the same stories over and over. He also gets really nostalgic with laswell

He's the one to throw the christmas parties he takes it hella serious its a requirement that everyone wears a christmas sweater

His house looks like this

1, 2, 3

He has those LOUD sneezes

He takes dad naps. He'll just say he's resting his eyes and then just knock the fuck out.

He saws logs when he naps

Has a squatty potty

Ghost

Knows how to sew and can pretty much make anything. Every year he makes little plushies for everyone for Christmas

He keeps it a top secret but he has a 7 year old daughter that he adopted. Her name is Samantha

When the team first met her they nicknamed her ghoul and she loved it

She has her own little ghost mask and she wears it around the base when ghost brings her to work

Price absolutely adores her and will often volunteer to babysit if ghost is busy with a mission same with laswell

He plays animal crossing in his free time. He says its relaxing or that hes "taking care of the kids island"

His house looks like this

1, 2 3 bonus his daughters room 4

You know the scene in parks and rec when ron swanson was drunk off of snake juice...yeah thats him drunk

He'll face time his daughter when he's away every day

He has chronic insomnia so he'll stay up days on end until hes tired and then he'll pass out on his bed and sleep for a whole day.

He lets his daughter pain his nails. He came in one day with hot pink nails 💅🏼

He has a tattoo of one of his daughters drawing and a tattoo on his ribs of his daughter's handwriting saying "i love you daddy"

His nipples are pierced

He's giving his daughter a puppy for Christmas

Laswell

Her and her wife have a daughter who's 10

She made price her maid (or i guess man of honor?). He was so thrilled and of course sobbed when he saw her walk down the isle

She met price at a football game in london

Shes 40

When shes talking to her wife she'll refer the task as her kids. "Hey do you want to come to dinner with the kids?"

She wears scarfs all the time

Laswells daughter and Samantha are best friends and they will often schedule play dates and sleep over

She gives out the most heartfelt presents. If you talk about something you want 5 months ago she'll buy it and give it to you on Christmas.

Her house

1, 2 3

When theres a party with the boys she, her wife, price, and his boyfriend will watch all the stupid shit they would do and laugh at them

She has a Pomeranian named Annabelle

She does yoga with her wife

She gets sleepy when she's drunk and will probably fall asleep on prices sholder

She loves the smell of rosemary

Soap

He has a apartment which looks like this

1 2 3

He has a girl roommate who keeps the apartment tidy and clean while he's gone. (he very much appreciates her and always cooks and does the dishes for her). She likes to roast the shit out if him when he's home.

He has chronic pain in his right knee which causes him to wear a knee brace occasionally

Hes smokes the elf bars vapes. His favorite flavor is the rainbow candy

He got a tattoo of a heart on his butt cheek. He has absolutely no clue when he got it

He loves tequila drinks

Hes a cocktail type of bitch. The boys will be sipping on bourbon and soap will be over here with like a lemon drop martini or some fancy cocktail.

He wears jockstrap underwear. He says it makes his ass look great but he also wears those funny briefs like the ones that has emojis or cereal theme

When he's nervous he'll start rubbing his stubble

As a April fools prank he grew his beard out and cut it like price's beard. He then proceeded to walk around with his hat and a cigar and act like him for the whole day. He later convinced everyone to do it the next year. Ghost somehow sewed a beard to his mask for this.

He snorts when he laughs hard

He will do any dare someone tells him to do. Gaz jokingly dared soap to snort smarties thinking that he wouldnt do it....he did it......he still smells smarties from time to time.

Ghost and him have matching tattoos if skeletons dancing

He likes to listen to indie alternative music his favorite artist is steve lacy

When soaps drunk he gets all lovey dovey to everyone and he'll start singing sea shanties and pop songs.

He has a snack stash. Everyone will be debriefing and he'll just randomly pull out a snack and start eating

Hes always hungry and eating. His favorite snacks are gummies, oreos, and Takis

He will eat ANYTHING i mean ANYTHING. He's tried the weirdest foods out of curiosity and from dares.

Absolutely love's Christmas he wears ungly Christmas sweaters the whole month of december. He has a whole closet full of them

He loves candy canes and will go through multiple boxes of them throughout the month

Hes a nail biter

He's the god father of ghosts daughter.

He has a shower beer after work (a/n: its when you drink beer while you shower very life changing highly suggest it)

Hes really good at soccer

He sleeps in the most random spots and funniest positions. Ghost has a whole folder of all the weird places soap has slept. Everyone will fuck with him in his sleep and do random shit to him here's a few photos of what he would sleep like and what they do

Gazzy

He gets chronic migraines

He is a very VERY emotional drunk. He'll be happy and dancing and next he'll be crying over his goldfish that died 7 years ago

When he's mad his atlanta accent will kick in.

He's very sensitive to certain textures he loves sof blankets and has them littered around his apartment

He's a Very picky eater like the pallate of a 5 year old

He LOVES auntie annes mac and cheese and will eat that on the daily (its his comfort food)

He's allergic to bee's

Loves foo fighters

He can play cello

He's has ocd and will freak out if things dont go his way. Price usually has ti calm him down if he has a freak attack

His favorite anime is darling in the franxxs

He has a whole squishmellow collection on his bed

He really likes to paint him and soap will often chill out in the common room and just do artsy shit together

He loves sending reaction memes

He taught price the woah and now throw the woah at him

If he sees soap the both will look at each other and then do the biggest most dramatic way of the whip

He makes secret handshakes with everyone. Hes still trying to get ghost to do one

He arranges the secret santa and he always gives the most ridiculous presents

He loves to do yoga with laswell and her wife

His apartment looks like this

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kwisatzworld · 1 year

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“The other thing that takes a lot of time is the girls! There are always a lot of girls at every Grand Prix, but a lot of really young girl fans come to see me in Italy, 12 and 13-year-olds. I prefer older girls who are real fans of me as a racer – not teeny-boppers.” (Italian GP 1998)

“I have to say I don’t like leaving home to go racing at this time of year - there are too many beautiful girls around where I live, and they don’t wear so many clothes during the summer.” (British GP 1998)

Even back in his 125 and 250 days his infectious enthusiasm was breaking the sport to whole new audiences, amongst them the Valenteenyboppers, gangs of Italian schoolgirls drawn to racetracks by their heartthrob's pretty blue eyes. Valentino doesn't appreciate that kind of attention because he's a bit of a biking purist. “They're not fans of Rossi the motorcycle racer, but just because I've got blue eyes, I don't like,” he says with faint exasperation after years spent fleeing these seething ranks of moist, pubescent Latin lovelies. “It's good to have one or two nice girls chasing you, but not one thousand.” That's what he says, but you wonder if he really means it once you've been inside his motorhome, watching him and constant companion Uccio Salucci giggling madly as they field lewd text messages from female admirers.

Mat Oxley: It was Imola ‘97 that I realised he’d become a superstar – his fans covered half the hillside on the pit straight, so he was already more popular than Doohan and Biaggi. You’d go to his motorhome and there’d be 20 teenage girls hanging around outside, even though he had a girlfriend at the time. Uccio: We really enjoyed having so many girls around! Maybe some top riders or superstars worry “Is this girl coming to see me because I’m famous or does she really like me?”, but Valentino didn’t think like that, he always said “I don’t care why she’s coming, I’m just happy that she is coming!”

Of course, with the late nights came the girls, and Valentino was getting through them at a rate. One of the few big-name riders to count himself ‘single’, he had finally copped onto the fact that he’s young, rich and the ladies love him, so, why on earth would he want to go steady just yet? As Italian MotoGP mover and shaker Carlo Pernat says: “I've never seen so many girls around a rider, maybe Barry Sheene or Marco Lucchinelli (500 world champ in 1981) but never so many. Valentino doesn't like to stay with a girl more than two or three months. He still lives like a kid now, with the same friends, the same way of life. After the racing is finished it's impossible to find him, no one knows where he goes, maybe he's in London, maybe he's in a disco with some friends he's known since he was a boy. He never changes, he doesn't want to be famous, he doesn't want a movie star girlfriend, he doesn't want to be in the papers with famous people.”

Valentino excuses himself by insisting that long-term girlfriends don't fit the GP lifestyle. “I brought a girlfriend to the Barcelona race but now is finished,” he said midway through 2003. When you make this life is very difficult to have a girl. If you bring her to a GP maybe she's bored, so I stay alone at races, is better. Then when you stay one week at a racetrack, you come back home and you have some power to use, you need to have fun, go out with friends, go to the disco, but your girlfriend has just stayed one week doing all this kind of stuff, so when I come home, she say ‘can we see a movie?'. So is difficult.”

Q: Did the life of a boyfriend change him? Graziano: I don't think so, he keeps going dancing, but with his girlfriend.

Who would the MotoGP rider Valentino Rossi invite at dinner from the sports world? The Italian answered this question in an interview with Blick. “That's where I would call Roger Federer. We already had this pleasure in Portugal in 2006, but it was a long time ago. I do not know Cristiano Ronaldo and Lionel Messi on a personal basis, even if I would be interested at those two. Outside the world of sports, I would prefer a beautiful woman! When I was younger, I was loving the actress Angelina Jolie so much. But now she is old, like me (laughter). So I'd pick Scarlett Johansson. Having a nice woman next to me would be better than Roger!”, he said laughing.

“The first ride with the M1 was like going on a date with a new girlfriend: it's more exciting than having ice cream with a new girlfriend than having sex with one you've been dating for years!”

#by mat oxley #mostly #reading

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marcussour · 1 year

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Sadly, yesterday chilean music icon Cecilia passed away at 79 years old after a sudden illness, and I wanted to take a moment to write something regarding what an important figure she was to chilean music and culture in general.

Mireya Cecilia Ramona Pantoja Levi, known just as Cecilia -nicknamed “la incomparable” (the unmatched)- was a jewish chilean singer. Even though she started her career in the 50′s in her hometown of Tomé, she rose to prominence and stardom in the early 60′s as part of a movement that was known as the chilean “new wave”, that was basically a bunch of artists that took the rock n roll and twist anthems of the 50′s and 60′s and made versions in spanish (often more softened or “tame” versions of the most sugestive songs), that was part of a bigger movement of the same name that happened in almost all of Spain and Latin America.

But Cecilia was special because she always distanced herself from her peers, first by making her own music, and second, by singing songs made famous by spanish and italian artists, instead of usamerican or british ones. Those songs were also more romantic and sad than was the norm back then, to the point that now she’s known as an icon of the “cebolla” music (”onion music”, basically sad songs that made you cry).

She was also special because of her looks: she had shorter hair and she mostly wore pants or suits similar to the ones Elvis wore in the 60′s and 70′s, all of this at a time when chilean society was even more conservative than today, to the point that her looks and her onstage dancing (that included her signature move, called “beso de taquito”, where she basically sent a kiss flying by doing a move similar to a football heel kick) brought her outrage and criticism from chilean society (there’s a well known episode where she performed at the Viña del Mar’s festival, the most famous music event of Chile, and they tried to censor her).

The things she did and the music she sang kinda made her an outlier between the more tame artists on the chilean new wave. But it was also what made her stand out, not only as a musical icon, but as a feminist and countercultural one: she was friends with some of Chile’s musical legends like folklorist Violeta Parra and singer/theater director Victor Jara (she even made covers of popular songs of both artists). She also founded her own record label during Allende’s government.

Sadly, with the US backed coup of 1973 and the arrival of Pinochet’s dictatorship, Cecilia had to move to a more underground life, partly due to her perceived political sympathies (it’s a well known fact that in the 80′s she was accused of fraud and spent time in jail as part of a political prosecution by the dictatorship because she was seen as “a communist” due to her having a cover of Violeta Parra’s legendary song “Gracias a la Vida”, even though she always referred to herself as an “apolitical” figure). It’s also worth noting that most of the chilean new wave artists were figures that aligned themselves with Pinochet’s dictatorship, either by conviction or convenience, and she was one of the few that refused, which is one of the reasons why she was removed from public eye.

When Chile’s buoyant night life disappeared under curfews and the perils of the dictatorship, Cecilia moved to perform in underground nightclubs, where she became an icon and a cult figure for other audiences: queer people and sex workers (in one of her last interviews, she said she was “the queen of the gays and the ladies of the night”).

With the return of democracy, her figure grew in stature not only among older generations, but also the newer ones, who not only saw in her a music legend, but a feminist icon and an important ally of the LGBTQIA+ community (besides her express support for queer people, there has been speculation for years regarding her sexual orientation due to the fact that she never married, never had a public romance or partner, nor did she had children; even when asked about her sexual orientation, she always kept it hidden due to wanting to have a private life -she once said that even if she was a lesbian, that’s part of her privacy and not something for the public to know-).

Well known chilean artists like Mon Laferte (with whom she recorded a duet), Anita Thijoux, Álvaro Henríquez, Los Bunkers and Javiera Mena always expressed admiration towards her figure. She also received in 2016 the presidential music award, the official award where the chilean government recognizes musicians for their contributions to chilean society.

Even now in death, thousands of people have come to her wake to say their final goodbyes to a musical legend, usually by singing along their songs. It’s a fitting tribute, after all, she stated that one of her final wishes was that, after she died, she wanted to be remembered and celebrated like a party.

Here are some of her most well known songs:

Tango de las Rosas

youtube

Puré de Papas

youtube

Baño de Mar a Medianoche

youtube

Un Compromiso

youtube

#chile #music #cecilia #cecilia pantoja #cecilia la incomparable #latin music

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