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inneedofsupervision · 22 days

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So, you got Detention

@berrys-hide-out Hey Berry, I hope reading this cheers you up a little, hope you like it <3. @cantsaythetword I didn't forget to tag you, here you go :)

Summary: Getting detention sucks. Getting detention for something you haven't done sucks even more. Getting detention and getting scolded through a Captain America PSA for something you haven't done and going home to have said man looking at you disappointedly is the bad-tasting cheery on top that Peter didn't need on this absolute disaster of a Monday. At least he gets the satisfaction of telling the rest of the team about Cap's PSAs. That's going to be fun.

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"Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, never gonna run around and desert you," sings Peter softly before his face turns into a grimace. "I'm never getting this song out of my head now. Thanks for that, Ned," mutters the teen without any bite, stepping out of the subway station. Despite Rick Astley uninvitedly declaring his love inside Peter's head, his lip twitched upwards for the first time today. He was glad to be finally heading to the Avengers Tower. Peter was ready to lock himself into the lab with Mr. Stark and ask the man what they would work on today. Him needing to bring distance between himself and the rest of the world doesn't come off as much of a surprise, taking into account that today had sucked until now. Immensely. At least in Mr. Stark's lab, nothing could get on his nerves, breaking the continuation of a bleak day.

It began with oversleeping.

The shrill sound of the alarm had cruelly torn Peter out of a dreamless slumber, and with a soft moan, the still sleep-drunk teen had aimlessly patted for the clock to end the obnoxious sound. As soon as silence had fallen over the bedroom, Peter's eyelids dropped, and although telling himself that it would just be five more minutes of lying down, he promptly fell asleep again. If Spiderman had stuck to his curfew and not exploited his aunt working overtime, there might be a chance getting to school late could have been avoided. When Peter woke the second time, tiredly checking his mobile phone, he sprung up in shock as he caught the time. Twenty minutes before the bell would ring. With no time for breakfast, he had washed up as quickly as he could, shoved the next best sweater and jeans he could find into his backpack, and sprinted out of the apartment. Peter usually avoided swinging to school, but drastic times called for drastic measures. He just hoped there wouldn't be any posts or articles of people wondering what Spiderman was doing, swinging this early in the morning cause that always prompted a rather unwelcome interview with Mr. Stark, or worse, Aunt May.

In his hurry to get to school on time, the boy had packed the wrong folder, thus having to scribble the history homework onto a paper two minutes before classes started. MJ had caught him sitting on the floor before the classroom, rushing to copy Ned's answers as if his life depended on it. She had pulled up an eyebrow before rolling her eyes. The girl didn't have to say anything for Peter's ears to grow red, embarrassed to look this unprepared in front of their decathlon team captain. Classes were relatively uneventful. Well, apart from the Spanish vocabulary test that Peter might have forgotten. Luckily, he could answer everything, although the boy was sure he spelled at least two words wrong. At lunch, Peter had felt the aftereffect of not eating breakfast as his stomach was rebelling, threatening to start eating itself from the sounds of it. The teen swore he could eat at least three portions until he had seen what they served today. To clarify, Peter isn't a picky eater. At all. Living years with Aunt Mays cocking trained him into trying everything deemed edible, and the hunger did the rest. But today, out of all days, the cafeteria ladies decided to let their presumable hate for the students show in the manifestation of the most disgusting-looking meatballs the boy had ever seen.

"Are those capers?"

Ned had glanced from his fork, where a with sauce dripping green ball of something pierced on, over to Peter, who, in return, squinted down onto his plate. He pushed the greens covered in watered-down sauce with his fork around before looking at his best friend with a frown.

"Could be. But to be honest, I don't really wanna find out."

The food had tasted just as it looked, and Peter was glad he was enhanced because he was sure if that weren't the case, he would have gotten food poisoning. How Ned got the funny-tasting excuses for a meal down was still a mystery to him. Having no money to buy something else to eat and knowing that his metabolism wouldn't let him go on without eating, Peter hadn't had much of a choice other than to force the stuff down his throat.

"If I don't show up to school tomorrow, you know what has happened to me," Ned had said with a slightly pained expression as he pushed his empty plate away to put a safety distance between himself and his lunch.

"Same," agreed Peter as he stood up. He had thrown a look at the leftovers, suppressing a shudder as he collected the food tray. They quickly left the cafeteria and the traumatic lunch experience the place brought with it behind. On their way to biology class, Peter had hope that this was the point where his day would finally turn, where it would start getting better. But of course, no day at school could end without Flash strutting up to them, holding onto the need to be insufferable. Flash had been making a beeline for Peter. The intent to bump his shoulder into Peter had been painfully obvious. Flash's nearing presence had sent Peter's spider-sense off, and it took the vigilante some willpower to let the impact happen.

"What, not apologizing for blocking the hall with your stupid face, Parker?"

Not wanting the situation to escalate, Peter tried to overlook the provocation. He wasn't looking forward to a confrontation, minding his business and continuing walking away when Ned whispered. "Don't mind him. Flash probably ate one too many of those meatballs and now feels like crap." Peter was aware that his friend only meant to lighten up the mood. He couldn't help heaving a sigh when their classmate turned around with an icy glare. "What did you say about me, Fatty?"

Apparently, Neds whispering had not been as quiet as intended. Flash had snarled, hand reaching out to grab Ned's collar but grasped at nothing as Peter anticipated the action and pulled his friend out of reach. He had shoved himself between the two and tried to calm Flash down when the teen grabbed his arm roughly, pulling him closer.

"Listen, Parker, one more word from your friend and I-" The rest of his threat had gotten cut off by the booming voice of Mrs. Warren echoing through the hallway, causing the students standing near her to jump at the sound.

"Parker, Thompson! Detention!"

"Fuck you, Parker."

With a glare, Flash had let go of him and stomped away under the watchful eye of Mrs. Warren. Ned had turned wide-eyed to his friend, carefully laying his hand on Peter's arm where Flash had grabbed him.

"Are you hurt? Peter, I'm so sorry, you shouldn't get detention because of me. I'll talk to Mrs. Warren."

Peter had pulled Ned back with a tired sigh. "Don't bother, Ned. You know Mrs. Warren won't change her mind. She's not exactly my biggest fan. I'll message Mr. Stark that I'm going to be late."

Ned was quick to protest. " But you did nothing wrong! Dude, that's just not fair!"

"It's alright, Ned. It's only detention. It won't be too bad."

By the time Peter finally got to step out of the building, he felt the urge to shake his head at his naivety. Detention had been downright awful. The second the supervising teacher had rolled in the antic tube television, Peter had an odd foreboding of what would come. The old device had flickered to life, and the speaker began playing with a static noise that made Peter wince inwardly. Peter swears he could see Mr. Stark before his inner getting an aneurysm at the sight and sound of their school equipment. Peter had ignored the burning pair of eyes trying to bore into the back of his head, courtesy of Flash, the latter trying to get his attention by calling him names but got told off by their teacher quickly. Peter had also noticed the lack of MJ, who chose today out of all days, not bothering to sketch someone's questioning of their life choices, and maybe detention would have been a tiny bit less terrible with her in the classroom. His eyes had flipped back to the TV, where a star-spangled, all too familiar-looking man sat down on a chair and began talking.

"So, your body is changing. Believe me. I know how that feels."

Peter had sunk deeper into his chair with a groan, the need to bid his lunch goodbye stronger than ever. Sixty painful minutes of unwanted advice from America's most popular and still living icon later, Peter is on his way to the Tower when his mobile phone vibrates inside his jeans pocket, Ned's name greeting him on the display.

"Hey, Peter. I'm still really sorry for earlier. But look what I found! This article is about Spiderman!"

Peter was glad his headphones were on as he clicked on the link Ned had sent him, as Never Gonna Give You Up blasts into his ears. It took him a few seconds as he stared down at his mobile phone, where the singer cheerfully danced behind his microphone, only for him to realize what happened. A surprised chuckle makes it out of his mouth as Peter holds his mobile phone up and whispers, "Dude, did you just rickroll me?". The grin was evident in his voice before he sent the audio message. It doesn't take Ned a minute to answer with a series of laugh emojis. Peter continuously chats with Ned on his way, his Spidey sense keeping him from bumping into anyone during the bustle on Manhattan's sidewalks.

Despite being late, there is the hint of a smile tugging Peter's lips upwards as he steps out of the elevator, amused about something Ned had written. Someone clears their throat, and Peter startles at the sound, quickly using his stickiness to catch his phone. The device dangles from the tip of his ring finger while Peter wonders why he has not felt their presence when a pair of familiar black dress shoes comes into view. Realization washes over Peter at their sight, the owner the only other person apart from his aunt, that his spidey sense doesn't go off to.

"Hey, Mr. Stark," greets Peter and puts on a polite smile as he takes in the frown displayed on his mentor's face. Maybe he should have written more than, "Hi, Mr. Stark. I'm going to be late. Happy doesn't have to drive me."

Peter's smile must have looked as forced as it felt by the look Mr. Stark gave him in return. The man stays quiet as Peter walks past him towards the guest room to put his backpack away. Walking into the living room, the teen gets greeted by the rest of the Avengers lingering around. Peter makes a beeline towards the couch where Clint is sitting, hoping to avoid the confrontation with his mentor just a little longer.

"Hey, Pete. How was school?"

"Please don't ask," mumbles Peter, taking a pillow to hug it while he sinks further into the cushions, trying to be one with the furniture. He leans his head back and stares at the ceiling while Clint chuckles next to him. "That bad, huh?" asks the man, and Peter hums. He closes his eyes, relishing that he finally gets to rest when the sound of footsteps grows closer before halting in front of the couch. Peter suppresses a sigh.

"Care to explain why you happen to be late?" Mr. Stark doesn't sound too bothered, which Peter takes as a good sign. He ponders if he liked Mr. Stark better when the man had been more indifferent but quickly pushes that thought into the back of his mind. Mr. Stark is just worried. But still, Peter didn't like the curiosity and concern in the older man's voice, the tone making him feel like a little kid getting scolded. The boy hugs the pillow closer, successfully muffling his voice by pressing it against his face. He really wasn't in the mood for this kind of conversation. Pushing his face deeper into the pillow, he grumbles, "I had detention."

"What was that? I didn't quite catch that, Spiderling."

Peter is pretty sure Mr. Stark did catch that. Something cold presses against his forehead, the only part of his face not hidden behind the pillow. Peter peeks from under it up to Natasha, who holds a can of Coca-Cola above him, a tiny smile on her lips. She nodded toward Stark with a reassuring smile, and Peter felt a bit better, knowing someone was there to step in if Mr. Stark became too overbearing. Taking the drink from her, the teen sat up properly and put the pillow down, facing his mentor.

"I hung out with Deadpool after school," he deadpanned, his last attempt to stir away from the topic. Mr. Stark raises an eyebrow, sending a side eye at Clint, who dared to snicker at the kid's comment.

"Funny kid, but just to let you know, I have a pretty little monitor in the lab telling me that you haven't left the school building until twenty-five minutes ago. Oh, and I hope for my and your aunt's sanity that you haven't been around Deadpool without at least a ten-mile distance between you two. That man is a nutcase, Peter."

Ignoring the jab at the merc with a mouth and Peter's secret "Thursday is taco-day" partner, he raises an eyebrow. "Should I file a police report for stalking, Mr. Stark?"

"Kid, I don't need two spies and Snowflake around knowing you are deflecting. Now, out with it. Why were you late?"

Peter picked up on the silence around, aware that, by now, everyone in the room and the kitchen were probably listening in. A little embarrassed by the attention, the teen's eyes wander toward his lap, where he absentmindedly fiddles with his web shooters, a sense of shyness overcoming him.

"I had detention," he repeats, a little timid.

The silence only lasts a few seconds.

"Ouch, detention. I knew there had to be something about you, man. No one can be such a goody-two-shoes all the time," teases Sam with a smile, patting Peter's shoulder as he walks past to sit next to Bucky. Peter's lip twitched at the comment, relief flooding him when he looked around and saw no one looking disappointed. Catching Mr. Stark studying him, Peter fumbles with his web shooters again. Although the man didn't seem mad, the way he was looking at him made Peter nervous. Before the teen knew what was happening, he was already throwing a lengthy explanation the man's way, a sudden flood of words hastily chained together to form a somewhat coherent report of what had happened.

"Those meatballs were seriously bad, Mr. Stark. It reminded me of the time you made me try oysters. I'm not sure if I should ever forgive you for that, by the way. That had been kinda traumatic." Peter was painfully aware he was full-on rambling at this point, but Mr. Stark silently listening was unnerving him greatly, so he pushed on, eyes everywhere except Mr. Stark.

"Flash walked up to us and tried picking a fight. I just wanted to go and ignore him, seriously Mr. Stark, I didn't even look at him, but then Ned said something about Flash feeling crappy cause of those meatballs, and it was a joke, but Flash heard it, and he was going to grab Ned by the collar."

Peter goes on, and by the looks Bruce and Rhodey are throwing him, he should probably take a second to breathe before freaking out the adults in the room. But Peter couldn't waste time caring about who he was freaking out because he was going to freak if not managing to make Mr. Stark understand that he didn't get detention on purpose.

"I put myself between them when Flash grabbed me instead when Mrs. Warren came by. She saw us in the hallway and gave us detention."

"Hold on," says Sam, sitting up as he looks at Peter, wearing an incredulous expression. "You've got detention 'cause you avoided your friend getting roughed up by that Flash kid? Is that what I'm getting?"

Before Peter could answer him, Mr. Stark had already his Stark phone out. "I knew that Flash kid meant trouble. That's it. I'm going to get that gremlin expelled."

"Wait, you can't do that, Mr. Stark!"

The man raises an eyebrow, and Peter backpedals quickly. "Okay, you could, but please, you don't have to. He didn't hurt anyone, and it's only detention!"

"He was about to hit your friend, Peter," comments Clint, and Peter did not doubt if Mr. Stark wasn't about to call his school, then the archer would be the one to do it. Clint could get weirdly protective at the most random times.

"He does dumb stuff, yes, but if you expel him, it could get him in serious trouble. I know he has problems at home, and getting expelled isn't the solution." By the pointed look he's receiving from several of the Avengers, Peter had a hunch that his arguments weren't cutting it. He needs to pull out the big guns. The teen leaned forward and looked up to Mr. Stark with the saddest puppy dog eyes he could muster. "Please, Mr. Stark. Don't call the school."

If he hadn't been panicking about Mr. Stark trying to expel his classmate, Peter would have found it funny how quickly the hero calling himself Iron Man crumbled. Tony rolls his eyes with an excessive sigh passing his lips as he pockets his Stark Phone. "Next time that hooligan starts something, I will have him expelled faster than you can say, Mr. Stark, got it?"

Peter grins at his mentor. "Got it, Mr. Stark," he chirps back, leaning back into the couch and feeling content for the first time that day. He catches onto the amused glances the others send him and Mr. Starks way.

"So, how many pizzas should I order?" asks Rhodey, the man successfully breaking the silence. With the promise of Pizza and the knowledge that no one minded him getting detention, Peter takes out his phone to text Ned, the smile from before back on his lips. He looks up, feeling someone looking at him, and meets Bucky's eyes.

"Still can't believe they give you detention without clearing up the situation," says the man, crossing his arms over his chest, a sour expression on his face. Peter was about to tell Bucky that it was alright, honestly touched that the man got bothered on his behalf when Captain America chose that moment to walk in. A groan builds up in his throat as the man settles next to Bucky. Steve's brows are furrowed in concern as he glances around the room, lines on his forehead deepening before his eyes turn to the teen. It takes only a second for Peter to guess that Steve had only picked up the detention part of the conversation.

"You've got detention?"

Steve says it so seriously it makes Peter want to throw the pillow at something. Or someone. Too tired to retell the event, Peter merely shrugs his shoulders. "It wasn't that bad."

He had hoped they would leave it at that, but who was he kidding? He's talking about Steve Rogers, after all. Peter's good mood starts deflating when Steve puts on his disappointed Captain America face.

"You're a good kid, Peter. You shouldn't get in trouble."

The teen's expression turns sour at Steve's comment.

"Steve, leave him alone," begins Bucky, frowning at his friend and leaning forward to intervene when the teen sinks into his seat with a low groan. Tony shoots him a worried glance. "What's wrong, Pete?"

Peter ignores the question in favor of sending Steve a glare. Steve dared to look baffled by the look sent his way. If today hadn't been so bad, Peter wouldn't even consider rolling his eyes at Steve, but now he couldn't be bothered to be polite to Captain Popsicle. "I had to listen to your lectures for sixty minutes today, Steve. Sixty. Minutes. I think I had my fill, so please don't bother starting another lecture about what is right and wrong if you don't even know what happened!"

Mr. Stark looks highly amused, not bothering to stop Peter from throwing his sass at Steve, which the teen usually kept for being alone with him in the lab, not often showing it in front of the rest of the team. Bruce raises an eyebrow, head slightly tilted in question. "Peter, Steve had been here all day while you were in school. When should he have lectured you?"

"He wasn't, but I had to listen to his PSA during detention, and I don't feel like hearing more now," answers the teen with something that might, under some circumstances, resemble a pout. Not that Peter would be pouting in front of the Avengers.

"PSA?" asks Clint while Bucky carries a thoughtful look before glancing at the blond sitting next to him.

"You shot PSAs? They still do these?"

Taking in all the puzzled faces around them, Peter quickly realized something that filled his inside with nothing but delight. It was like someone turned a switch, the not-pout on the teen's face morphing into a grin bright enough to lighten the room while Steve's face darkened with every new question asked, their expression the complete opposite of each other.

"They don't know," whispered Peter under his breath, eyes locked on Steve. He lets out a surprised laugh, a grin wider than ever.

"Oh my god, Steve, they don't know!"

He sits upright, the tiredness completely wiped off him as he beams at the blond, eyes gleaming with mischief rivaling Loki.

"Peter," says Steve slowly, the warning heavy in the undertone of his voice. Said warning meets deaf ears, Peter not even thinking about stopping any time soon. He had felt like crap the whole day. Nothing went his way, and Peter knows that that's not on Steve. But having to listen to Captain America's lecture when he did nothing wrong only for the man himself to assume that he did something the second someone uses the word detention in context with Peter without giving him a chance to explain rubbed him the wrong way. The teen isn't a fan of revenge and retaliation and holding grudges, but today, Peter felt petty. If Steve thought he could spoil the rest of the day after school had been that bad already, then he could buckle up. Peter knows his behavior is childish and petty, traits no one would connect with Spiderman, but the teen isn't Spiderman right now. He is Peter Parker, a feeling wronged fifteen-year-old who holds the perfect blackmail material of the person who wronged him in his young, inhumanly sticky hands.

"So," begins Peter in the most serious voice he could muster, giving it his best Captain America impersonation. The way Steve's expression contorted into a grimace was worth it. "you got detention."

"I give you one chance to stop, Peter," warned Steve, eyes narrowed dangerously. Peter only grins wider at that, having way too much fun rilling the blond up while the others could only share confused glances.

"Something tells me this goes over my head," stage whispers Clint.

"Doesn't everything?" shoots Sam at him simultaneously as Tony throws a, "Nothing new, then."

"Harsh," says Clint, rubbing his chest in mock hurt, causing the others to chuckle. "But back to Spider-kid and Cap, does anyone know what those two are on about?"

Choruses of no clue and a beat from Rhodey are all he gets before all eyes are on the pair, who are now challenging in a silent stare-off. Peter leaned forward, openly enjoying teasing the older man. Steve is ready to jump at him by the looks of it, but Peter isn't intimidated in the slightest, knowing he could outrun the older man. "You screwed up. You know what you did was wrong. The question is, how are you gonna make things right?"

Peter's grin widens at the same time Steve narrows his eyes.

"Last warning, Pete."

The blond raises his eyebrows, caught off guard when the teen leans back into his seat. He watches with surprise how Peter fishes his phone out of his pocket, taking a short glance at it before calmly placing it on the coffee table.

"Okay, I'll stop here," says Peter mercifully, stretching as he stands up and walks towards the kitchen. The blond's eyes follow the teen's movement, and Sam snickers how his friend's body deflates at the tension vacating his shoulders, amused by the power a teenager holds over Steve's head.

"Oh, by the way, Steve," Steve's heads shoot up at the tone in Peter's voice. He locks eyes with the teen, who wears the cheekiest grin any of the Avengers ever had seen him carry as he beams at the man.

"Maybe you were trying to be cool. But take it from a guy who's been frozen for 65 years... The only way to be cool is to follow the rules."

Peter's grin was about to reach his eyes. He couldn't help himself.

"Are you following the rules, Steve?"

In hindsight, Peter should have anticipated that the super soldier wouldn't let go of it without some retaliation. It had been too much fun to watch the man's patience thinning than to think what the outcome of that scenario would mean for Peter. He ducks at the same time his Spidey sense peaks, blocking the pillow flung at him just in time. The low buzz had begun to surr in his ear since he started teasing Steve and was growing into a shrill ringing when the man got up from his seat incredibly fast. Peter turns around while stepping out of reach, avoiding the hands reaching for him by vaulting over the couch, including Clint.

"Hey, no jumping over my furniture!" scolds Mr. Stark, but the crinkling of skin around his eyes betrays the stern act as he watches his mentee chased by Cap, wearing a grin on his face.

"Sorry, Mr. Stark!"

The sincerity of the apology suffers under the smile lying in his voice.

Peter stands still, eyes not leaving Steve, who hovers on the other side of the couch, waiting for him to move. Despite focusing on the blond, Peter catches onto the excitement in the room, their little chase entertaining the others immensely, followed by the cheering they receive from the rest. The whole situation was so silly. Peter couldn't help but laugh when he feinted a step to the side, causing Steve to flinch as the man was ready to pounce but narrowing his eyes as he caught on Peter trying to fool him. He couldn't wait to tell Ned that he had teased Captain America, the thought alone bringing a grin about to split his face.

The excitement in the room only increases, so much that Peter doesn't notice the new presence of a person before nearly bumping into them. Thanks to his sixth sense, he barely keeps from barreling into Mrs. Potts. He comes to an abrupt halt despite wearing socks, only possible thanks to his stickiness. Pepper holds a hand over her heart, the surprise written all over her face when Steve takes the chance of Peter not paying attention. The last thing Peter catches is Pepper's green eyes widening, her mouth forming a silent o before something slams into him at full speed, turning the world upside down.

"Whoa, careful Steve. I don't want squished spiders on my clothes."

Clint scowls playfully at the blond, who ignores him in favor of wrestling with a laughing teen on the couch. The archer rolls his eyes at being ignored and points his thumb at the pair.

"Children. It's like herding cats." He snorts at the sight of Peter with his back pressed into the couch, one foot pressed against the super soldier's chest, and pushing the 240-pound weight off of him without much difficulty. "So, your body is changing," begins Peter, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face despite Steve looming above him, looking ready to throw him out of the next window. The blond reaches out to cover Peter's mouth to block more parts of his most embarrassing PSA coming out of the teen, the panic in his eyes causing Peter to break out into laughter. Steve narrows his eyes at the laughing teen, who half-heartedly shoves him off of him.

"Can someone please tell me what is going on here?"

Peter perks up at Mrs. Pott's question, glancing at Steve with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Oh, I was just about to tell the rest about Mr. Roger's PSAs, Mrs. Potts," he chirps, ever so helpful. He was about to elaborate when Steve finally managed to clap his hand over Peter's mouth, successfully shutting him up.

"Noo, why did you turn him off?" complains Sam with faked disappointment. "It was just about to get interesting."

"Since when do you believe anything Peter tells you?" counters Steve, struggling to hold the teen down and keep him from spilling another word. Despite Peter's small size, the teen was powerful. Steve needed to trap him in a hold, somewhat resembling an uncomfortable back hug, to keep a hand over his mouth, but the teen with his freaky flexibility didn't even seem too bothered.

"Well, the kid can be very persuasive. And he did sound like he had something important to tell us. Isn't that right, Peter?"

Peter nods vigorously despite the hand still covering his mouth. They watch the teen worming an arm out of Steve's bear hug, tugging on the hand that kept him from talking. Sam grinned as he observed Steve's face fall at the ease Peter pulled his hand away. The older man tried reclaiming the position, but the teen had it in a tight hold, successfully keeping him from putting his hand back on his mouth. Peter grabs Steve's other wrist and pushes the man's arms away, wriggling out of the hold. A bright grin adorns the teen's face as he pushes Steve away, who is back on his heels in a second. Peter jumped off the couch as a hand seized his leg, causing him to fall over. Several surprised gasps could be heard, along with a rather colorful curse directed at Steve from Tony as Peter catches himself, keeping from faceplanting into Mr. Stark's pristine white living room floor. In contrast to the glares Steve receives at the rash action, Peter openly cackles as Steve tries pulling him back by his leg.

"There is a perfectly equipped gym two floors down, and they decide to do this here?"

"Don't be harsh on them, Tony. They seem to be having fun," appeases Pepper, surprisingly one of the few people along with Bucky and Natasha who weren't shocked by seeing Peter fall.

"Where does that look like having fun?" He asks, but one look at his mentee's face tells him his fiance was right. The kid is enjoying himself.

Meanwhile, Peter plants his palms on the floor, his upper body hanging off the couch. He sticks onto the tiles, sticking one hand down at a time, and crawls away while Steve still holds onto one of his legs. He keeps moving forward, laughing at the strained huff Steve lets out as he avoids Peter's free foot from kicking him in the stomach. The super soldier bats the flailing limp away, shortly loosening his hold on the teen's leg, which the latter quickly uses as a chance to create some leeway.

He doesn't get very far.

"No!" shouts Peter as a hand wraps around his ankle and pulls him back half a meter. "Sam! Bucky! Help!" pleads the teen half-heartedly, reaching out for the two men sitting on the opposite couch.

"What do you say, Buck? Do we help the munchkin?"

"I know Steve long enough not to interfere when he gets like that. Punk is a mad dog when he throws a fit. Sorry, kid, you're on your own."

Peter is about to give the men a piece of his mind when he gets pulled another good amount of inches back before he gets back to stick on the floor. He crawls away again, but Steve has none of it and reaches for the teen's other ankle. Thanks to his spidey sense, Peter avoids the grip by turning on his side, but it causes him to roll further towards the couch than away from it. Steve quickly takes the opportunity to reach down and hook his hand under the teen's side, attempting to heave Peter off the ground. The teen twists in his hold, and Steve curls his fingers into Peter to keep a hold of him when an honest-to-good squeal escapes the teen.

An eerie silence hangs over the room, no one daring to speak as Steve stares at the frozen teen in his hold who avoids meeting his face as best as he can, but he catches onto the reddened tips of his ears. Steve's lip twitched knowingly. He knows that kind of reaction. He squeezes his hand abruptly, lips forming into a grin as the body on the floor jumps like a fish on land at the action.

"Oho," says Clint, sounding way too gleeful, the first to break the silence, having watched the silent realization come over Steve with amusement.

"What a way to reveal your secret, kid. At least I won't have to keep this to myself anymore," comments Tony with a grin.

Now was Steve's turn, carrying a mischievous grin.

"A secret? What kind of secret could that be, Peter? You like sharing information. How about you enlighten us about this, huh?"

Peter feels his heart jump at the tone in Steve's voice. He kind of regrets having made fun of the man. Peter begins crawling again, but this time with more vigor than before. He doesn't get very far as Steve instantly pulls him back but meets resistance as the teen sticks to the ground. The problem resolves itself quickly as Steve releases one of Peter's legs to reach forward and claw at the teen's ribs. With a shriek, Peter's left hand unsticks, arm shooting down to protect his side. Steve's hand darts to the teen's other side, repeating the procedure and efficiently getting the teen off the ground. From there on, it was easy to throw the already laughing boy back onto the couch.

Never one to back down quickly, Peter instantly tries climbing over the couch, but an arm sneaks around his middle and prevents him from escaping. He tries reaching for the backrest, but a hand worms its way into his underarm, and every attempt to reach his arm out to grasp something becomes futile. He quickly gets pushed down, back pressed into the couch cushion as Steve looms over him for a second time that day, but this time, Peter could crawl out of his skin at the grin on the older man's face.

"Dohon't do this," says Peter, voice void of any conviction as nervous giggles accompany his words. Not knowing what to do with his hands, the teen awkwardly holds them in front of him, half shielding his upper body and half waiting to catch any hands that were about to attack. Steve watches with growing amusement how the boy's eyes jump from his face to his hands and back as if he were unsure what was more important to keep track of. He had never seen such an amount of nervous energy radiating from the teen. It was adorable to see him this unnerved about something harmless as this.

"This? What do you mean, Peter? Is this about the secret Tony mentioned?"

"I don't know what you are talking about. I don't have any secrets. Apart from being Spiderman, I mean," Peter stumbles over his words, lips twitching upwards when Steve raises an eyebrow at him. "No secrets to share, no information to keep. I have nothing to hide, so you can let me go. Please?"

Steve turns towards Clint, who hasn't moved an inch, even with the literal wrestling match happening on the seats next to him. "What do you say, Clint? Does he tell the truth?"

Peter throws a pleading look towards the archer. Clint grins at the pair.

"You see that face," he asks, pointing at the teen. "As a spy and a father, I can tell you that's the face of a liar."

"That's not true!" protests Peter as Steve turns back to him. Catching onto the look the man bestows on him, Peter snatches the next best thing he can get his hands on, a decorative pillow, and uses it to shield himself, a giant grin about to split his face. Steve cracks his knuckles.

"Seems like I have to get the truth out of you."

"Noho!" shouts Peter with a laugh as Steve pulls at the pillow. Nervous giggles are pouring out of him as he tries to make himself as small as possible, and it is faint, but Steve's enhanced hearing could pick up on the wild pace of the kid's heart beating.

"Let go of the shield, Spiderman," commands Steve, eyes gleaming playfully at the boy.

"In your dreams," says Peter, only fastening his hold onto the pillow, the only thing keeping him safe from the fingers getting closer. Steve catches a movement out of the corner of his eyes, lips twitching ever so slightly. He focuses back on Peter, the boy watching him with his whole attention, unaware of the hands reaching for his feet. A shriek escapes the vigilante, eyes widening at the feel of blunt nails running over his socked soles, causing him to flinch and pull his legs up at the ticklish feeling. Steve uses the moment of surprise to tear the pillow out of Peter's hand, depriving him of the last thing to shield himself from his attack.

"Thanks, Clint."

"No problem, Cap."

Peter sends a glare Clint's way, but the archer only needs to reach for his feet for the teen to let the glare turn into a panicked grin, quickly tucking his legs close. "That's what I thought," says Clint with a smug grin. Steve uses the moment of inattention, poking the teen's stomach in quick succession. The reaction didn't disappoint.

"Hey! Stohop it!"

Peter tries glaring at the blond while his hand fails to catch the poking fingers, jumping when one poke lands dangerously close to his lower rip. The motion doesn't go unnoticed by the soldiers' trained eyes, a sly smirk forming on the man's face. "Why? Does it bother you?"

"Yehehehes! Stahahap pokehihing me!" complains Peter, but it was hard to take the teen seriously with the constant giggling. Steve does stop at that.

"Alright, I'll stop. Would you prefer this instead?"

He skitters his fingers over the teen's stomach, grinning at the squeal escaping Peter before he tries curling on himself, hysterical giggles pouring out of him, unaware that the sound causes amused smiles to appear on every face in the room.

"Nahaha, gehehet your hahahands of mehehe," Peter manages to bring out between his laughter as he twists on his side, addressing the others.

"Sohohomebody hehelp!"

"Anyone here knows who that somebody is he's talking about?" asks Sam, feigning ignorance.

"I hahahete you, Bihihirdman 2!"

"Yeah, I can't take anything you say seriously giggle-bug."

Peter is about to counter, but a set of fingers dug into the part where his ribs and upper back meet, sending a ticklish shock throughout his body. He jumps at the touch, and Steve latches onto the reaction, taking both hands to claw at his ribcage and digging his fingers in on the search for that spot. Peter's giggles had long ago turned into bright laughter, now accompanied by an occasional shriek and a whole-body jump as Steve found what he'd been searching for.

"Oh, what's this?" he asks, voice full of glee.

"NOHOHOTHING, IT'S NOTHINIHIN!"

"Something tells me you're onto something, Cap," comments Rhodey with a grin, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, amusement written all over his face.

Peter shakes his head at the words, chanting "Stopstopstopstohohooop," while trying to catch the hands that are way too skillful in sending ticklish sparks under his skin, leaving him in stitches. "Why? Is this the spot I have to go to to get you to tell me about your secret? Although I think I can already guess what it is."

Steve grins down at Peter who tries so hard to scowl at him but fails miserably. It leaves the man wondering where all the strength has gone, and while the idea of tickling being Spiderman's big-bad weakness sounds fun, Steve knows for the better that this couldn't be the reason for the teen's failure to escape.

"OH MY GOHOHOHOD, NOHOHO!" Peter kicks his legs, wriggling from side to side and throwing his head back when Steve finds a way to slip his hands into his underarms. He presses his arms down, quickly rendering Steve's fingers immobile, but the feeling of them simply touching his armpits tickled like mad.

"Peter, I kinda need my hands back, or we're stuck here until tomorrow," teases Steve, amused when the boy shakes his head with a giant grin.

"Buck, a little help here?"

The other man huffs a small laugh. "You're seriously stuck?"

Steve grins at him. "I can't move a single finger."

With a shake of his head, Bucky makes his way over to the couch. He assesses the situation before glancing at Peter, the latter trying to catch his breath. Without a word, Bucky clasps both hands on Peter's thighs just over the kneecap, squeezing and massaging his thumb into the muscle. Peter kicked like mad at the action, breaking into loud belly laughter, and Steve could pull his hands away as the teen was busy twisting and wriggling, trying anything to get Bucky's hands off his knees.

"How did you know that would work?" asks Sam, impressed, as Bucky walks back to sit on the couch as if nothing had happened. Bucky shrugs. "It works on Steve," he answers cooly, but with a smirk playing on his face. Steve glares at him but quickly focuses on Peter, who uses the moment to try crawling in the other direction of the couch. Clint only watches with amusement as he has a lap full of enhanced teen trying to crawl over him as if that was your normal Monday afternoon thing, only to get caught by the shoulder and get dragged back.

"We're not done yet, Queens."

"Steheheheve, pleaahahse. I cahanah't tahahake anymhohore!" whines Peter, but Steve catches onto the playful spark glinting in his eyes.

"Okay, I'll stop here," says Steve, mimicking Peter. "But there's one thing I'll have to tell you." The teen narrows his eyes at the blond, not trusting one word coming from Steve.

"What I tell you now is about one of the most valuable traits a student or soldier can have."

Peter's eyes widen comically. As soon as his brain registers the words, he gracelessly flails in his place. The teen tries to throw himself off the couch as he knows where this is going, but Steve, having anticipated the action, jumps forward and catches the teen around the waist. He keeps his arm wrapped around Peter's middle, hugging the teen against his chest and kneading his free hand into Peter's side without further ado.

"Nohohohot anohohother one! Steve pleahahahase! Dohohohon't do thihihhis! I-I'll goho insahahane!"

Steve keeps a stoic face despite the madly giggling and protesting fifteen-year-old half-sitting squirming in his lap, batting and pulling on the arm holding him in place. He continues his speech with his Captain America voice, causing several eyebrows to raise in amusement.

"Patience." he begins, while his hand slips under the teen's shirt, skittering his fingers over bare skin, "Sometimes, patience is the key to victory."

Peter doesn't know if it's the teasing or the fact that Steve keeps dragging his fingers over the bare skin of his sides, but he can't help kicking his legs into the air and throwing his head back into Steve's shoulder as his whole body shakes under the force of him laughing. Steve takes advantage of Peter's head being this close as he speaks the following words right into his ear, earning him the cutest giggle he had ever heard as the teen desperately tries to scrunch his shoulder up and shield his ear from the tickly air. "Sometimes, it leads to very little, and it seems like it's not worth it, and you wonder why you waited so long for something so disappointing."

At his last word, Steve changes his tactics and uses his free hand to poke every place he can find that Peter isn't poorly trying to protect. The boy can't do anything in his hold but giggle his head off, and Steve wonders once again why Peter doesn't escape since he certainly could until he realizes that, maybe, Peter doesn't want to escape. The thought sparks his interest, and he might as well test that theory while the opportunity's still there.

"STEHEHEHEHEHEVE! NO! Anywhere but there! Please please please, please not thihihis it's so bad. Seriously, dohon't do it! STEHEVE NOHOHO, WHY AREN'T YOHUHU LISTENIHIHIHN! AHAHAHAH NO STAHAHAHAP!"

Peter trashes in his hold as the super solider gets another chance to dig into that sweet spot between his back and rips, sending the kid into a laughing fit, face reddening as he squeezes his eyes shut, the corner wettening with tears of joy before his laughter turns silent.

"Steve, I'll think he got the message," interrupts Tony, having caught onto the change from silent laughter to coming out a tad bit breathless. Not wanting to overdo it, the blond stops the tickling but keeps his arm around the teen, afraid Peter will fall if he lets go of him. The boy hangs slack in his hold, trying to catch his breath.

"You good, Queens?" asks Steve, a little worried he might have overdone it as he carefully loosens his hold on Peter. The latter let himself slip to the side, landing with a groan on the couch. Feeling Steve's eyes on him, Peter turns his head but keeps lying on his side. He sends the man a tired grin.

"I think now I know the true meaning of patience. And ruthlessness."

With a smile, Steve reaches over and ruffles Peter's already messed-up hair.

"You need another lecture, and you know where to find me," he jokes, smirking at the dramatic groans it earns him.

"Yeah, no, I think I pass. You know what I would rather listen to?"

Steve raises an eyebrow in question.

Peter grins at him.

"Some Captain America PSAs."

#ticklish! peter parker #ticklish spiderman #lee peter parker #ler steve rogers #marvel tickle fic #peter parker #spiderman #captain america #steve rogers

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hunnidmilly · 1 year

Text

soap |r.r|

(a/n): ill be honest, i never intended to write anything on this blog. as a college student with a job, a bitch be tired asf. but, writing is my happiness. so is delusion ;). complete inspiration comes from @itjazzbicch and their “Cheiftess” series.

enjoy.

*credit to owner. @romanreigns*

Parings: Dom!Roman Reigns x Black!Female Interviewer

Warnings: enemies to lovers????maybe still enemies. Smut. Lots of Smut. Swearing. Don’t interact if you’re under 18. ion like prison.

*NOT EDITED. SPELLING ERRORS AND MISUSE OF PRESENT/PAST TENSE*

—

*takes place in 2021, feud between Roman Reigns vs Kevin Owens.*

It was Friday; Another boring ass Friday. The only difference was that he was here. And today, Jesus was he mad. But that’s just him nowadays anyway. Maybe it was due to the fact of Kevin Owens calling him out repeatedly. If there was one thing Roman Reigns refused to tolerate, it was disrespect. Disrespect to him meant disrespect to his family, his bloodline. Everyone in the arena already knew what he was capable of when he felt his heritage was disrespected. And best believe nobody wanted to engage with those consequences.

Over the last few months, since Roman’s return, he’s had a complete fucking identity change. He came back with a badass attitude, ready to take on anyone who was a threat to him and his family. His ego boost was on 100, with no sight of it coming back down to earth. But between you and your late-night thoughts? His persona, the “Tribal Chief,” had you imaging shit you didn’t even know could be possible. You knew that man could turn and twist you in ways that could be so pleasurable you could forget your name by only thinking about it.

As a backstage interviewer covering for Renee, while she enjoyed the beauty of her pregnancy with her husband, Jon, and you were temporary for now. Still, rumors swirled backstage on whether you’d stay. Stephanie and the other backstage crew mentioned more than once before how they loved how you can get into the superstars' minds during their interview. You gave a talk, unlike other interviewers—who were playing around the bush and being corny. You asked questions that could make them shiver or test their confidence. Or both.

You were on your way to your interview point, to interview Roman. Which you already knew was going to be dreadful. With how he treated Kayla during her interview, you knew he already had multiple insults ready for your questions. Little did he know you had something for his ass had he decided to pull it.

“You’re late.” He growls, readjusting his championship, Paul and Jey behind him

“I’m right on time. I said at 8:30, and it’s currently 8:30.” You smartly answer, taking your mic from one of the production members

“You’re supposed to be here when I’m here. I don’t give a damn about what time it is.” He snarls in your direction, “You have a once in a lifetime opportunity, don’t blow it.”

“I’ll assure you I won’t, Tribal Chief.” You give him a challenging smile

You clear your throat and smooth out the wrinkles in your skirt under his intense gaze at you before looking at the camera.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I am currently here right now with our Smackdown WWE Champi—”

You were cut off as Roman placed his hand over the mic stopping the sound, “No, no, no, baby girl. If you want to introduce me, you’re going to do it right. Paul.” He calls for as he stepped aside for the short stubby man to speak

You roll your eyes as you lean your mic over to Paul—who held a grin on his face.

“Ladies and gentlemen, myself, and your lovely interviewer y/n are currently grateful to be in the presence of Head of the table, Smackdown WWE Champion, and ‘your’ Tribal Chief, Roman Reigns.” Paul giddily recites into the mic

“Okay, so Roman, last week you unleashed a brutal attack on Kevin Owens. You believe that you have to make him fear you, but are you starting to think his words are getting into your head?”

Roman lets out a chuckle before turning to Paul and Jey, “You see what I mean now? We give people like her chances in a million, and they blow it on stupid questions. Kevin Owens is irrelevant, just like you’re about to be. Find a better question. Next.”

You kiss your teeth before, letting out an aggravated sigh. With Roman’s new ego boost, you and practically everyone else in the arena wanted to sucker punch him in his face. And you planned to do so on your last day here.

“Do you feel as though, by using Jey as a pawn, you’re allowing yourself to get too comfortable? By using Jey as a backup, you make yourself an easy target to attack. Maybe other superstars think It’ll be easy to use him to make you riled up?” You question with a slight smirk

“Another dumb question. Ever since I took Jey under my wing, he’s been the main event three times in a row. I love my cousin. I’m a provider. I get riled up when I sense disrespect. Disrespect to me is disrespect to my family, my bloodline. Everything my family worked for will only be recognized with respect and decency, not in a silly conversation or this interview. If anybody would like to test that theory of me as a target, they can try; they won’t get too far.” He responds in a healthy, confident tone

“Jey, would you agree? Those people who disrespect your family will be dealt with? Perhaps in the same fashion, he’s dealt with you?”

Strikeout.

You knew that was the easiest way to get to Roman; Through Jey’s head. He also made his blood boil by mentioning the gruesome beating Roman gave to Jey in their matches.

Roman stated multiple times that the beatings Jey endured were well deserved in all aspects. He also hated when Jey answered any questions about it. He knew that by Jey telling his story of their bond, it would be dangerous to take it and misuse the information, making Roman vulnerable.

Roman gave Jey a side glare—silently telling him to choose his words carefully—before turning to Paul with an impatient expression.

“No...you know….” Jey stammers in nervousness, “It takes a lot to understand the pressure my cousin has on his back. He’s a provider to our family. He does what he has to do to take care of the people who matter most to him. People like Kevin Owens, Drew Mcintyre...they threatened that position he has at the table—”

“Do you agree? Roman feels threatened by Kevin Owens and WWE Universal Champion Drew Mcintyre?”

You could see Jey start to shift, meaning he was immensely trying to pick his words before saying anything that could cause Roman’s anger to be retaliated. Again.

“That’s enough for this interview. The Tribal Chief is needed elsewhere.” Paul inserts before moving his hand back and forth over his throat—signaling the production team to cut the cameras

You pop your lips before looking up at Roman’s frustrated brown filled eyes. You notice how his expression softens for almost a second the longer you look at him, “You have some strong confidence, I see. That attitude can get you in some trouble, babygirl.”

“My attitude is wonderful. I’m doing my job, just like you’re doing yours, Roman. The only thing is that I’m not a little bitch, with the urge to belittle everyone because I’m insecure about my potential and qualities.”

Roman gave you a sly smirk that almost makes you want to kick him in his face, “Insecure?” He chuckles devilishly, “That mouth of yours is dangerous. You should close it before I show you how to use it properly.”

He whispers the last part, leaning down to your ear, so Jey and Paul are out of shot, leaving your cheeks flush from embarrassment. Your shift on your feet, shaking your head in amazement.

You were sick of his shit.

You stuck your tongue in the side of your cheek and turned on your heel to walk over to the monitors. You continue watching the rest of the show, occasionally engaging with other superstars who walked by. Your mind continued to lose focus as you thought back to your interview with Roman.

You thought about his body language against you. He consistently sized up and was rigid towards everyone he talked to backstage as if with one wrong move, he’d be ready to bodyslam anybody. But around you, he wasn’t as tense. He was in his natural element; himself. You could see small smirks appearing on his face suggesting he was enjoying getting under your skin.

Roman ended up winning his match against Kevin through Jey handcuffing Kevin to the steel cage. You crack your neck and relax your shoulders. Roman could win a match without Jey or Paul by his side. Of course, that was just his character now. Still, something about seeing how much his dominance shows through his performance and his interactions with everyone else was secretly intriguing to you, how he ditched his vest and began to wrestle shirtless.

He should've been doing this shit when he got out of The Shield with Jon and Colby.

After Smackdown ended, everyone started to clean up. The long drive to the next city was crucial. You’d be driving all night long practically, inside of a small rental car. You could already feel the back cramps, the charlie horses, and the arm strains. You wanted to get your body at least some kind of relaxation before you began the midnight journey, so you head straight to the locker room showers for a hot shower to calm your nerves.

On the way towards the locker rooms, you heard yelling. You turn your head for your eyes to come in direct contact with Roman’s brown ones, completely tensed and filled with rage. You could feel the tension sweating off his muscular body throughout the atmosphere. He was yelling at Jey for interrupting his match when he had it under control. Jey being his current lapdog, he had no choice but to listen to the 6’3 ‘Tribal Chief’.

You swallow harshly under his intense gaze and continue your path to the showers with your luggage in your hand.

You were met with complete silence—thank god.—when you enter the showers. You lock the door behind you and turn the knob to a blazing hot setting. What? Hot showers are good, but blazing hot showers? Even better. Just the feel of your skin under the water steaming off you made your body instantly settle.

You quickly undress from head to toe, cracking your neck to the side. Before you could lift your feet to walk into the shower, you felt a large hand on your lower back shoving you inside, causing you to let out a screech.

The person roughly turns your body to face them, and you come face to face with none other than the Samoan. Nude as the day he was born, with his cock standing at attention against his muscled stomach.

“Ah!” You squeak under his large hand, covering your mouth, with the under holding the arch of your back close to his hard-built and sweaty frame.

“You’ve enjoyed this, haven't you. Were you running around all damn day provoking me? Getting in Jeys head, asking bullshit questions, smart ass remarks, and this tight fucking dress squeezing your body in all the right places? Do you enjoy playing games with me? Why would you play games with me? With your Chief?” He growled close to your face; the showers were now steaming around both your naked bodies.

“Do you enjoy being a little bitch boy? Fucking thinking everyone falls at your beck and call to please you?” His hand on your mouth was lowering as you struggled to get out of his hold on you.

“I don’t think, babygirl. Everyone falls because of who the hell I am! I am the Tribal Chief. I am your Tribal Chief. I am the face of this company, holding it on my back every day. You have no clue what that will ever feel like because you’re too busy running that pretty little smart-ass mouth of yours. Maybe it’s time for me to give you some discipline? For you to acknowledge me?” He pants in a cautious tone

You stop struggling for a moment, letting him pull you closer. You lean up closer to his lips, a mere centimeters away from your lips touching, “Like hell would I ever acknowledge you as anything other than a whiny fucking brat.” You sultrily respond

He lets out a humorless chuckle before responding, “It’s your punishment, babygirl.” With that simple response, he smacks his lips onto yours with force ending any further communication. You kiss him back with just as much roughness.

Your hand slides up to tangle themselves into his long dark black hair, pulling softly. You moan softly as Roman bit down on your lip, gaining entry to your mouth, both your tongues fighting for control.

The control you desperately desired to have.

He let you win for a moment to lower his hands under your ass to lift you around his waist. He takes a handful of your ass, pressing your body into the wall.

“Fuck!” You whine out as he takes a large hand to deliver a smack to your ass.

“You will acknowledge me. Do you understand me? You will fucking respect your Tribal Chiff, or I’m going to make you respect me. Am I clear?” He moans in your ear as your lips latch onto his neck, leaving love bites.

You were so caught up in the clouds of your head, with the thought of him fucking you that you didn’t even think twice about what he said, “Am. I. Clear?” He reiterates each word with a smack to your ass

“You’re such a jackass!” You mewl loudly, feeling him rub his long thick cock between your wet folds; lifting your legs to wrap around his muscular torso

“What was that?”

“I said you’re such a—Fuck, Roman!” You scream as the feeling of him stretching out your pussy to accommodate his cock overtook you to places you haven’t visited in a long time. You were anything but a virgin. But working at WWE had its downsides to finding good dick. Deciding to focus on your career, you decide to pause on sex for a while

Roman gave you a second to get used to the feeling of you being so painfully stretched out around his cock. “You wanna finish that sentence, babygirl?”

You could barely pay attention with his cock slamming in and out of you, already fucking at a furious and rough pace so quickly. Breathing in harshly as he pulls out to split you open on his cock again.

“Don’t stop! Roman, please don’t stop!” You moan, gripping onto his stiff shoulders

“Fuck! Look at you moaning my name like the slut you are. What happened to all that shit you were saying a moment ago?” Roman pants deeply in your ear

“I—Ah!” You squeal as Romans hands grip your thighs, bouncing you up and down his thick cock

“Shit, where am I, baby? Do you feel me in those guts? Deep inside that pretty little pussy? It’s my pussy now. The Tribal Chiefs pussy.” He deeply chuckles into your ear, his cock rubbing over your g-spot at every thrust, letting silent screams come out your mouth “All that bratty ass attitude...talking to me like you’re above me. Giving me nothing but fucking sass. The whole time you’re nothing but a slut for my cock, aren’t you? Letting me fuck you in the showers? You’re gonna give me this pussy anytime I fucking want it.”

You let out a loud salacious whine as Roman slowly pulls out. He sets you down on your feet, flipping your body around letting your hard nipples collide with the cold and wet glass wall. He uses his foot to spread your legs apart. Roman slides a hand into your hair, yanking while simultaneously sliding his cock back into you.

“Fuck! You’re so fuck–“ You swallow a silent gasp as you felt him bite down on your shoulder. “You’re so fucking aggravating!”

“I'm aggravating, but who's taking this dick right now? Who’s dripping more than a faucet?” His confidence booms into your ear in a grunt

“Good dick doesn’t stop you from being an asshole.”

“But it makes you satisfied, doesn’t it?” He responds breathlessly before speeding up, cutting off your next reply

You place both your hands on the glass attempting to throw your ass back on him.If he thought he was controlling the situation, you were definity about to show him otherwise, by making him cum first. As breathless pant’s begin to leave his mouth, you feel him lean forward pressing his front against your back. You work hard at the thought of not cumming. Roman’s left hand comes down to rub your clit at a fast pace making that thought…just a thought. You bite down on your lip until the blood drains from it to stop yourself from relishing in the euphoric bliss you knew Roman was about to grant you.

“I can feel you clenching around me. Look at you. Fighting the urge to cum right now. Come on, babygirl. I know you’re good for it, let go. Acknowledge me as your chief. Let me see how fucked out you turn for me.” His voice sends shocks through your spine that leads to your core.

You gasp as your leg turns inwards, you throw your head back mewling to the ceiling for mercy as you finally let your orgasm crest. Not too far behind you; Roman allows his orgasm to follow through deep into your pussy. Primal roar’s coming deep from his chest bounce off the walls.

If anyone else was showering, they're certainly gone now.

With Roman holding your body in a death grip tight to his chest, you allow yourself to take a moment to let the following events settle in your mind. Having sex with Roman wasn’t the problem; it was the what if’s that clouded your already fucked out brain. Sex didn’t change how you felt about him. He was still an entitled brat with no sympathy for anyone. And he was definitely the last person you’d fall in love with.

“I think you should get going. I’m sure your entourage is going to come looking for you soon.” You choke out, attempting to break from his hold.

“They’re fine wherever they're at. They don’t do anything unless I give them the ok for it.” He sighs into your neck leaving kisses behind

Before falling too deep into his trap, you muster up enough strength to remove his arms from your body, “Okay, stop it.”

“Oh c'mon. Are you seriously about to ruin an amazing time here?” He snaps leaning onto the shower wall

“Did you think fucking me was going to make us best friends forever?” You question turning off the shower

“I see it didn’t work too well. You’re still the same old Y/N. Don’t act like this wasn’t the best thing to disturb your night.” He says returning back into his asshole self

“Oh no, trust me. That was amazing. Maybe you can get permission from your Daddy again to come and play again.” You laugh grabbing your body towel to dry yourself off

“Oh we’ll have to see about that. The next time you’re in need of me to make you forget your own name, just call me. I’ll always come running, baby.”

You drop your towel as you bend over with hysteric laughs coming out your mouth, “Oh fucking please. Me? Beg you? I wouldn’t hold my breath on that.”

“We’ll see. You know where to find me.”

#roman reigns imagine #roman empire #roman reigns one shot #roman reigns smut #wwe #wwe one shot #wwe smut #roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns head cannon #jey uso #royal rumble #kevin owens #jey uso smut #jey uso imagine #paul heyman

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orcasoul · 8 months

Text

Oh Baby!

Summery: Pedro Pascal and reader are in a relationship. Pedro's career is sky rocketing and reader also has a demanding job. Throw in an unexpected pregnancy and well...... shit!

Warnings: Swearing, Pedro being and not being an asshole (you'll see). Use of Y/N.

Italics indicate inward thinking.

Gripping the edges of the bathroom sink, you take slow, deep breaths to steady your breathing, while your mind is going into overdrive. Your chest feels tight and your legs are like jelly. Slowly you raise your head to stare at you reflection in the mirror. You don't even feel like yourself right now, almost like you're having an out of body experience. Reality suddenly feels foreign to you, like you're trapped in a surreal dream. But this is no dream. It's real, oh it's definitely real. The two red lines on the four pregnancy tests sitting on the under sink cabinet can attest to that! "Shit," you mutter quietly, still looking at yourself in disbelief. "This can't be happening." It wasn't supposed to happen . You'd been on the pill for two years and always used extra protection if you had antibiotics. You were always so careful, but careful obviously wasn't careful enough. How would you even begin to tell Pedro that you're carrying his baby? How would he react? Your mind keeps replaying one specific interview of his you'd seen. "I don't even have kids. And I'm not gonna!" His words exactly.

He'd mentioned to you once that his hectic work schedule doesn't allow time for kids, and honestly it wasn't high on your priority list either. Your job as an editor is very demanding and sometimes trickles into your home life. Both you and Pedro had grown accustom the stresses and scarifies you've both had to make over the past couple of years when it comes to your jobs, but you'd both made it work and were happy and comfortable together. But adding a baby into the mix just seemed impossible. You try to remember your last period but you'd been so busy with work lately that you hadn't even noticed you'd missed..... shit, two! Two periods. It was only the past few days of constant queasiness and dizzy spells that led you to suspect what you'd hoped wouldn't be true. But here you are, the "truth" staring right back at you. "Oh my god," you whimpered while rubbing your hands over your face, "Fuck, what now?!"

You try your best to keep it together but you can't contain the rush of different emotions that are encompassing you at this moment and the tears begin to fall. It's exhausting trying to process everything you're feeling; fear and uncertainty but also a gravitation and protectiveness you've never felt before. This baby was certainly not planned and you couldn't deny that you wished the tests were negative, but knowing that it's definitely there has awakened an instinct in you that has always been present but dormant, just waiting to be unleashed. How is it possible to want and not want it at the same time? Will Pedro want it? Will he be mad? Pedro had been away for two weeks filming for a new advert and had a photo shoot straight after so he'd be away for another two weeks, at least. You both video called each other every day. You'd always looked forward to it but the thought of today's impending call left your stomach in knots! There was no way you could tell him something so life changing over the phone. You'd just have to keep it yourself until he gets home and try your best to act normal when talking to him.

It turns out pretending nothing had changed wasn't that difficult for the next week. Maybe it was because of the distance and the fact that you could make up an excuse to end the call when your anxiety began to creep in. But in one week's time he'd be home and you know it'll be harder to act nonchalant around him, especially now that your lower belly has started to swell slightly. Slight enough that you could blame it on junk food if he noticed, but it's only going to get bigger. After a long day at work, you finally get to relax for the evening, settling down to watch one of your favourite shows. Leaning back into the settee you found yourself gently smoothing your palm over the curve of your abdomen, wondering just how much would change in the coming months and how Pedro would take the news. You still struggled to get your head around it yourself but now that you've had time to think, you know there's no way you'd get rid of it, no matter what happened. Well, I have one more week to figure out how I'm going to tell him, you ruminate..... or so you thought.

"Y/N I'm home." Pedro called out as the front door slammed shut. You shot up off the settee faster than a rocket as Pedro walked into the living room with a wide grin. You stood frozen to the spot as he dropped his bags and rushed over to you, picking you up in a tight hug. With the fervour of a man touch starved he kissed you as if he hadn't kissed you in years, deep and sultry. You instantly dissolve into his mouth, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Wow," you whispered breathlessly as you pull away to look into his eyes. "Missed me that much, huh?" You teasingly ask, trying to sound as though your heart isn't beating a million miles an hour. "What do you think?" he relied with a smirk, setting you back down. "How are you home so soon?" You hope your question did come across the wrong way. Of course you're thrilled that he's home. You always loved it when he returned home earlier than expected, and it happened so rarely that usually you'd be on cloud nine, but this one time you wished you had that week. A week where you could prepare for every eventuality. "We were ahead of schedule for once. I thought I'd surprise you instead of calling ahead." Your silent stare made Pedro chuckle, his soft eyes creasing at the corners. "That surprised, are you?"

You suddenly realise how off your reaction must seem to him and quickly collect yourself before he can think any more of it. "I just wasn't expecting you so soon. Great surprise though!" you smile genuinely as you tip toe to kiss the end of his nose. "I really missed you. How was it?" "Oh you know, early mornings, late nights, hours of hair and make up, retake after retake, blah blah blah....," Pedro trailed off while waving his hand in the air dismissively. "How have you been sweetheart?" He asked while stroking down the curve of your back. I've missed you like hell." "Yeah I've.... I've been fine. Works been fine." Your voice ever so slightly, nervously shook at his question, making you cringe inwardly but luckily he didn't seem to notice your change in tone. "Well, you go unpack and I'll make us something to eat," you offered, trying to keep your composure, even though you felt like a deer caught in headlights. As Pedro heads to the bedroom to unpack you hurry into the kitchen and pour a glass of water to quell your nerves. Not quite the same effect as alcohol, you huff inwardly.

You get to work preparing Chilean Avocado sandwiches, as it's one of Pedro's favourite foods. But after only a few seconds you are hit with a strong bought of nausea from the smell and lunge towards the sink, making it there just in time. After violently retching up what not only felt like the contents of your stomach, but also every organ in your body into the sink you are startled by a warm and gentle hand rubbing your back. "You okay, baby?" "Oh fuck!" You turn swiftly, wiping your mouth with a tea towel. "Uh... yeah... must be a virus or something. It's going around. My sister's kids had it last week." You hated lying to Pedro. Well, it was half a lie; Your nieces and nephew did have a bug last week but you know that this is definitely not a virus. Pedro looked at you with a creased brow, clearly concerned. "Why don't you go lie down? I'll take care of this," he suggested, looking over at the ingredients on the kitchen counter. When he realised you were making his one of his favourite's he turned to you with an adoring smile.

"Aww, you were making my favourite sandwich, thank you darling." "Anything for you, baby," you lovingly reply, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I think I will go and lie down for a bit." you concede. "A bit" actually lasted until the next morning. Your body felt heavy and exhausted as you dragged yourself out of bed for work. The next three days were hard going. The morning sickness began each morning from the moment you woke up, getting stronger every day. Pedro became more and more worried asking, no begging you to call in sick for work. But each day you'd insisted you didn't feel that bad. The truth was you felt like shit! The unabating nausea and fatigue left you feeling on edge, knowing you can't keep this a secret for much longer. He's going to figure it out any day now or at least suspect, your anxious mind keeps telling you. By the evening of the third day Pedro couldn't take the worry anymore. "You've been ill for three days Y/N," he observed, uneasily, while sitting beside you on the bed, his hand caressing your cheek. "If you're no better in the morning you have to see the doctor." His face betrayed the apprehension he's feeling. "Ped, no I'm fine-" "You're not fine and you're starting to worry me." He cut you off in an urgent but not angry tone. "I'll drag you there if I have to." "Okay, Okay. I'll go," you groggily reply with a small smile. Relieved, Pedro leaned down to kiss your forehead. "Get some sleep baby. I'll check on you in a bit."

And with that he walked out of the room, leaving the door ajar. You closed you eyes and sighed. You knew this time would come. The time when you'd have to spill the beans, as they say. You weren't entirely ready for it but you have no choice now. You know he'll make you go to the doctor tomorrow and you can't use work as an excuse to worm your way out of it since it's one of your days off. You have to tell him tomorrow. The next hour was spent pondering what you would say to him and all the different ways he might react. Eventually, exhausted both physically and mentally you drift off into an uneasy sleep.

******

"You're what?!" Pedro's voice reached a pitch you didn't realise he was capable of. His earthy brown eyes were as wide as saucers and his jaw hung slack. Your eyes dart to your feet as you feel your cheeks burn and your fingers begin to tap the sides of your hips in anticipation. "I'm.... pregnant," you repeated, voice shaking. "I don't know what happened. The pill has never failed in the past-" "We'll it fucking has now, hasn't it!" He shot you a choleric look. "Or maybe you just weren't careful." "Excuse me?!" You snapped back with furrowed brows. "Don't you dare blame this on me. I never missed one pill and we always used extra protection when needed. You know that!" "I don't know anything right now!" Pedro shouted through his hands which were now rubbing his face in exasperation. "Well I didn't make this baby all by myself so don't put this all on me!" Hot tears begin to cascade down your cheeks despite your best efforts to hold them back. "I just.... FUCK!" Pedro cried out, booting one of the kitchen stools, making you jump.

"We can't do this. I can't do this." "Well it's too late now," you huff at him with your arms folded across your chest. "Not if we don't want it to be," he stated flatly. Your eyes widened and your heart clenched at his cold demeanour, causing you to instinctively place your hands across the small swell of your belly in protection. "I'm not getting rid of it Ped. I.... I can't," you exclaimed. "Y/N," Pedro sighed, shaking his head "This would change our lives completely. Neither one of us has the time for such a huge commitment and-" "I don't care," you cut him off sharply, fixing him with daggers. "I'm not getting rid of it. If it means I have to work part time then it's something I'm prepared to do." Pedro threw his head back to look at the ceiling, seemingly annoyed at your obstinate determination. You continue, "Weather we like it or not this is happening and we need -" "No it's not." He quickly stated, with finality. You stare at him dumbfounded. "What?!" "I'm not doing this. If you want to keep it you'll have to do it alone. I never wanted this and you know it." He returned your own words to you with clear contempt.

You open your mouth to say something, anything but words have now failed you. Your brain is unable to form a coherent sentence as the realisation of his words hit you like a punch to your gut. You feel numb as your heart shatters piercing your soul. He can't mean it! He's just upset, you try to rationalise internally, still to shocked to speak. Pedro turned away from you, grabbed his car keys off the kitchen island and stormed to the front door. "Make sure you're gone before I get back," he demanded in an emotionless tone. Seeing him walk away from you, immediately loosened your frozen tongue. "Baby wait!" you sobbed after him as he slammed the door shut without a backward glance. You instantly drop to your knees on the cold kitchen tiles, embracing yourself as your grief becomes unbearable. Your head begins to spin as you try to suck in deep breaths. It's no use. The despair is now consuming you, seeping into every crevice of your being, gripping you and tearing you apart. "Y/N?" You continue to sob. "Y/N?!" The familiar voice sounds muffled through your tormented cries and you can feel phantom hands gently shaking your shoulders. "Y/N?! Baby wake up, wake up. Look at me!"

You gasp as your eyes snap open. You are met with concerned caramel eyes, glowing in the dim lamp light. Pedro was leaning over your body, holding onto both of your shoulders. "It's okay. It was just a bad dream," Pedro soothed you while cupping your cheek. The feel of his warm skin against yours brought a sense of calm to your confused and distressed state, helping you to catch your breath. He sat up, slowly pulling you up with him. "Jesus Christ, you scared the hell out of me. What the hell happened?" he asked nervously as he wiped away a mixture of cold sweat and tears that had soaked your face. "I...," your voice gave out as you realised it was nothing more than a nightmare and the man you love is right here beside you. "I... can't remember." Your voice didn't sound convincing at all, and Pedro's raised eyebrow told you that he wasn't convinced either. "You're pretty shaken up sweetheart. You can tell me." "It's just a blur now." You choke out, wrapping an arm around his broad, tanned chest and leaning into his shoulder. "Okay," Pedro replied, still sounding unsure. He wrapped an arm around your shoulder and you snuggle into his neck as you both lay back down. You wrap your arm and legs around him like a baby koala, desperate for some comfort and reassurance that he indeed hasn't left you. "I've got you," he whispered, while holding you firmly and stroking your hair. "Let's go back to sleep."

*****

The sunlight spills in as the curtains lazily blow due to the partially open window. Your eyelids are heavy from the lack of sleep. Groaning you turn to the bedside table to check the time. 11:30am. "Shit," you mumble while rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You never sleep this late. You throw the quilt off and sit up slowly, the nausea returning as you do. Downstairs you can hear Pedro in the kitchen. "Okay, let's get this over with," you sigh, knowing you can no longer avoid the inevitable. As you approach the kitchen you stop and lean against the door frame with your arms crossed. Pedro's back is to you and you take the opportunity to just watch him, appreciate him and contemplate just how much you love him. A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you just absorb the mere presence of him. But as soon as the smile appears it evaporates as the nausea increases momentarily, pulling you back to the here and now, reminding you of what you must do. In a few minutes everything will drastically change for the both of you.

Images from last night's dream flash before you, making your heart race slightly and your palms sweaty. A part of you knows deep down that Pedro would never treat you so cruelly and walk out on you, but it would be a lie to say the dream didn't shake you and make you feel somewhat apprehensive at this moment. "Hey darling," Pedro smiles as he turns to see you idling in the doorway. "How long have you been standing there?" "Not long," you shrug with a wan smile. He set his coffee mug on the counter and walked over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist. In return you run your hands up his arms, gently holding onto his triceps. "How are you feeling?" He asks with a creased brow. "Okay." An obvious lie. "Why didn't you wake me?" "Figured you needed some extra time since you didn't sleep much last night. I felt you toss and turn all night long." Worry and unease laced his voice. A few moments of silence pass before you clear your throat. "Baby, can we talk?" "About what?" he enquires with trepidation. "Just come with me," you exhale softly as you lead him by his hand into the living room to sit next to you on the settee.

With a deep breath you turn to face him, and feel your heartbeat quicken while twitching your fingers in your lap. A nervous habit of your that Pedro knows all to well. He places his soft palm over your fumbling hands to calm you. "You're making me nervous Y/N. Please just tell me what's wrong," he all but begs you. "I uh... I don't know how else to say this so I'll just say it..... I'm pregnant." Shock adorns Pedro's features as his hand slips off of yours. The cold feeling of emptiness where his warm hand had just been resting caused your breath to catch in your chest. You couldn't hold his gaze any longer and dropped your head, anxiety threatening to consume you. You wait with a sense of dread for his possibly angry or fearful reaction but are caught off guard when he delicately takes both of your hands in his, causing you to look up at him in anticipation. "Are you sure?" He whispers, his voice shaking slightly. "Yes," you nod. "I took four tests...all positive. I'm so sorry...." You began to ramble, "I didn't mean for this to happen. I don't know how it did. I know you never wanted-" "Hey, hey shhhh.... take a breath." Pedro cooed as he pulled you into his chest, cupping the back of your head with one hand and smoothing up and down your back with the other.

You begin to weep desperately as the past weeks' tension and worry finally break through the mental and emotional dam you had built within. "I'm sorry," you wail into his shoulder, chest shuddering as you try to regain some semblance of self control. Pedro cradles both of your cheeks in his hands and pulls you upright to look into your weary eyes. "Why are you apologising? Last time I checked it takes two to make a baby. You are no more responsible for this than I am, so please stop saying you're sorry." Your breaths become less laboured as his thumbs smooth small circles over your cheeks, the action soothing and reassuring. "It's just.... I know you never wanted kids..." You begin in a slightly exhausted tone. "I just don't know what else to say except.... I'm sorry." Pedro takes a a deep breath. "It's true I've never seen myself becoming a dad, and I never would have purposely had a baby," you look down and nod in understanding, feeling guilty for putting him in this situation. "But..." He tilt's your chin up to make eye contact with you again. "If it was going to happen, I'd only want it to happen with you."

The sincerity of his words took you by surprise. "Really?" You ask astonished. "Really." he assures you. "Is this why you've been acting so strange and been so sick lately?" You gulp and nod once. "How long have you known?" "A couple of weeks," you confess quietly. "And you kept it to yourself all this time?" It was more of a statement than a question. "You should have told me straight away. You never should have had to go through this alone," Pedro said with a hint of sadness in his voice. "I was scared" You admit somewhat timidly. "I was scared of what this would mean for us. I was scared because I want to keep it." Pedro smiled softly. "You know I'll support you no matter what, right?" "I know." A relieved smile made it way onto your face. "Was what happened last night anything to do with this?" Pedro questioned while reaching for your hand. "Yeah, but it doesn't matter now." You try to shrug the question off. "Tell me. I wanna know." "You.... you got angry," you shifted uncomfortably in your seat. "You blamed me, told me I'd have to do this alone and... you left."

Pedro's shoulders slumped as you finished speaking. "You didn't think I'd actually do something like that, did you?" The hurt in his voice was clear and it broke your heart. "No! no of course not," you cut in quickly. It wasn't a lie. You know what kind of man Pedro is and that he'd never hurt you like that. "I guess it was just all the stress and worry coming out in that dream. I know you and I know you love me. I know you'd never do anything like that." His face visibly relaxed hearing you confirm what he already knew to be true. "I do love you, baby. I know this is a huge change but we'll make it work. I promise." "I just don't want you to ever resent me or feel trapped-" "Shhhh..." he gently interrupted. "I could never feel that way, okay?" His voice left no room for any doubt. "I love you so much," you exclaimed, eyes beginning to fill again, but this time from relief and happiness. "I love you too, darling," Pedro whispered as he pressed his lips to yours. After several seconds he pulls away to look down at your belly, noticing the tiny bump through your pyjama top for the first time. "Can I?" He asks almost shyly. "You don't ever need to ask," you laugh with adoration. You take his hand and gently place it over the swell of your belly, watching as his eyes widen in amazement. "Wow!" He breathes out in awe. You both look at each other, eyes conveying the love you have for one another and now for this little one. The stress that had plagued you for the past two weeks began to dissipate like fog being burned away by the sun. The uncertainty of such a life altering future hung in the air but you know that together you can both handle whatever that future brings.

Oh Mama A Continuation

#pedro pascal #pedro x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom

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sophiamarieispinkbunny-chan · 5 months

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Thoughts on Short Chapter 90.1 (Long Post)

First of all, what in the world just happened? That short chapter was so unexpected for a short chapter.

Endo is really good at messing all of our brains in just four pages. Upon seeing it as an extra chapter, I thought it’s going to be on a lighter side but I don’t expect it to be dark and centered around Anya!

So here are some of my 6 takeaways. (Long post again sorry!)

1.Anya is probably not the real spelling of her name or not even her real full name

-Anya is pretty sure herself that her name is spelled as Ania, she spelled her name the same way in the Eden Entrance Exam.

-And the expression in her face when Loid corrected her tells a lot. (I’m really amazed how Endo conveyed this without the readers letting know what is going on in Anya’s mind. Meaning that he still doesn’t want to reveal that snippet of her thoughts process since it surely would reveal something about her past) Her expression was so subtle but it tells that for her, she's certain that it was really letter I. Then settling with oh, but not like a happy and excited or enlightened ‘Oh!’ But just a simple, Oh, okay... Like she had no choice but to just agree.

And her lying in her bed thinking about the name, saying it aloud as if familiarizing it.

So here are my thoughts about Ania/Anya’s name:

Ania is part of a longer name

Maybe Ania was a nickname given to her because she has a longer one.

I just told my sister days ago that Anya’s name sounds like Ostania and maybe that is where her name came from. So maybe Ania is just what they named her deriving from Ostania itself.

Ania could also be an acronym for something. Like the A could stand for Apple since the experiment is called Project Apple. The rest of the letters however I have no idea.

Ania could also be an experimental name (Like what I saw on some posts here the AN1A one so they decided to call her Ania but it was not a name but a label for her.

2.Why Loid assumes it was Y and not I

In the documents Franky had given him in the first chapter, her name is spelled Anya with a Y. Meaning, the orphanage thought her name is spelled that way but we can understand for Anya it was always spelled with I not Y. (The document is not readable in the manga but it was clear in the anime)

3.Endo has plans for everything, especially for the three main characters and their back stories

Endo often says that he thought things in a spur of a moment in terms of making this manga (Reference: fanbook Endo interview page 176) like how he decided Anya being a telepath on the last moment and called it luck that it worked out lol. But this was clearly planned and the anime creators, directors and writers are aware and is working closely with Endo. What he pulled in this short chapter isn’t something that can be thought for the last minute. It is planned from the very beginning. Probably some of the little details in the manga might mean more that what meets the eyes. (I saw a video before and in that video they showed Endo's studio and they showed miniature models of the designer chairs on the volume and there are chairs there that were just briefly shown that is yet to appear. I saw the video before the release of Volume 11, the one with Emile and Ewen and I saw their chairs in the line up of the models. So you can't convince me that he hasn't planned anything where he wants to take the plot next.)

4. The Anime on Anya's nameplate change

Anya's name changed in her nameplate, from Ania to Anya at exactly end of Season 1 Part 1 episode 12. Anime have been very persistent in showing that nameplate.

(Episode 3, not in the manga)

Then Episode 11, we saw the change of her name spelling on her test. So the short mission 90.5 took place before she got her first stella.

The Season 1 Part 1 Finale, we see this nameplate and I went to check the short mission of this in the manga and no, the manga didn't show the change of nameplate in that particular chapter.

Now I'm rethinking that it was really a well thought decision of Clover and Wit to make the Aquarium episode and this episode in the finale rather than starting the dog arc crisis and it was smart and sneaky of them.

Anime is doing a lot of work to elaborate the manga and I love them for that!

5.Like Father Like Daughter

It would make sense that in this family Loid and Anya would be the one who bears fake names. Yor being the one whose name being real symbolizes how she doesn’t lie about anything besides being an assassin, and there are times when she isn’t even keeping the fact that she is one. She always does things, mainly, because she genuinely cares for Anya and Loid not for her job at all (as the story progress she thought less about them being just a cover for her). Yet Anya and Loid often does things for their own ulterior motives (Anya for wanting a family for herself and Loid for his mission). They’re the ones who actively kept protecting their secret identities. The ones with the most the secrets. Both have names different from their real ones. Really makes sense don’t you think?

6.We could get an Anya backstory arc, if not by the next chapter, sooner than we expect.

We might have snippets of Anya’s backstory but I believe that Endo would not give out the whole thing. It’s too early to reveal it and what could Anya’s trigger be for her to think about everything that happened in her past?

Loid is triggered when he was rendered unconscious by Anya’s tonitrus

Yor is triggered when she’s thinking about Yuri

How about Anya?

What could trigger her to remember everything she went through?

-Will she perhaps see something or someone that will make her remember her past? (I read a fanfiction about her meeting a man who used to adopt her, it’s from coloredice I think and I can’t help but seeing it happen in canon)

Yet this is a short chapter, maybe Endo will continue this with another short chapter or give us a full chapter in the next two weeks centering around Anya. But it could also be not, since it could also just a way for Endo to add additional details to the narrative. But why bring this up now? for sure, it was a reminder, maybe a preparation on what the future ten chapters to the 100th holds.

Now it’s time for you to tell me what you think? Let’s be Twilight and overthink this four chapter short because our man's too attached to even care about knowing Anya’s background.

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hanluex · 2 years

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♡ A SMILE SUITS YOU BETTER — ROBERT ‘BOB’ FLOYD

bob floyd x gn!reader | wc : 0.9k words | content : possible grammar and spelling mistakes, lowercase intended, chairman being an ass, strangers to friends, angst with fluff ending, bob being such a sweetheart, university au | loki’s lines : based on true events! i actually had to go through a crappy interview when entering by university and some dude did see me cry but he just pretended he didn’t see (which was nice of him)

"why should i let a student who doesn't even know about law enter this university? there are so many students who are better than you. why should i let you in?"

the chairman shook his head, a disgusted look on his face. "this is a prestigious university, y/n. we don't enroll just anyone here. you have to show you are worthy of this opportunity," he stated. "do you know what i see when i look at you, y/n?"

you've said enough. please keep those three words to yourself. i already know what it is. please don't say–

"i see failure."

you looked up, ignoring the wide-eyed look you got from the chairman's secretary who stood beside his desk.

holding back the tears, you made eye-contact with the older male, not wanting to give up even though all you wanted to do was run away from that interview and never come back.

no. you can't give up. you've been dreaming about entering this university for so long. don't give up just because the chairman is a jerk.

"i will work hard to change that, sir. give me one chance and i'll prove that i'm worth enrolling in this university," you calmly spoke, taking a deep breath as he pondered over your words.

i can do this. i won't give up until i've tried.

after the horrid interview with the chairman, you arrived at the university's library, listening to the librarian's instructions on taking the aptitude test before choosing a secluded corner to be by yourself.

you kept a timer for two minutes, placing your phone down before covering your face with your hands.

and you cried. you quietly sobbed, letting out all the frustrations you felt while you were taking the interview with the university's chairman.

as soon as you heard the little ding from your timer, you wiped away your tears, concluding your brief breakdown before grabbing the pen and writing your test.

crying can wait. for now, i am going to ace this test.

one year later, and you were studying in the very university with the rude chairman, successfully doing your law degree.

you ended up getting the highest marks out of everyone in the aptitude test — as well as the semester exams — which landed you with a scholarship for the second year.

"yes, mom. i'm going to eat right now, don't worry," you convinced your mother, ending the call as soon as you answered it. "i gotta go now." you struggled with the books in your hand, forgetting to place them inside your bag in the hurry you left the class.

not looking where you are going, you accidentally bump against someone, apologizing profusely as you grabbed your phone off the floor before checking if the other person was okay.

"i'm so sorry. are you hurt? really, i am–"

"no, it's alright. i'm fine." a deep but soft voice called out, instinctively reaching out to touch your shoulders as he steadied the two of you. "is your phone alright? i apologize for–" his words fizzled out upon seeing your face, brows raising in amusement before breaking into a laugh.

you questioningly looked around you, touching your face before looking at the male in front of you. "is everything alright? why are you lau—is there something on my face?" you quickly checked your reflection from your phone, frowning when you saw nothing laughable.

"i'm sorry, i don't know if it's appropriate, but i just remembered you from a year ago." he cleared his throat, sobering from his laughter. "you were crying in the library, and just as i tried approaching you, your phone's timer went off and you stopped crying. it was an oddly amusing memory for me."

"oh."

he chuckled, touching his hair awkwardly as he remembered the moment. "i always wondered if the timer-crying person passed the test and got accepted." his smile was genuine and — oddly enough — he looked proud. "and here they are in front of me."

you were simply flabbergasted, not knowing what to say or do. "well, for starters, i'm y/n. it's nice to meet you." you bowed politely, reaching out for a handshake. "i was, uh, having a tough day. tears have to wait a little when you have an aptitude test in front of you." you found the humor to joke with it, your smile causing the male to mimic the same.

"i am robert floyd, but you can call me bob. it's nice to finally meet you." he bit his lip, looking at you with a soft gaze before his smile widened. "want to grab something from the cafe? my treat!" he offered, nodding his head towards the aforementioned establishment.

over a cup of your favorite drink and a plate of your favorite pastry, you didn't expect to be laughing as much as you did when you were with bob. he was a naturally charming person, and it certainly didn't help that he was twice as handsome.

throughout your conversations, however, you never failed to notice how his gaze would linger on you — just a second little longer — before he turned away, blindly searching for something else to distract himself with.

"is there anything you want to tell me, bob?" you inquired, not being able to keep it to yourself. "you keep looking at me a little weirdly, no offense."

bob bit his lip, looking embarrassed. "is it that obvious?" he gave his signature smile, nodding slightly before sitting straighter in his seat. "i know we just met, so this might sound a little too much coming for me."

"what is it?"

"you look really pretty when you smile, y/n. i hope i don't have to see you cry like you did that day ever again. a smile suits you better than those tears."

taglist: send an ASK or DM to be added!

#[📝] works #top gun maverick #top gun maverick imagines #top gun maverick bob #bob floyd imagines #bob floyd scenarios #robert floyd imagines #robert floyd x reader #bob floyd x reader #robert floyd drabbles #top gun maverick drabbles #top gun maverick scenarios #robert bob floyd

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bycaprinae · 8 months

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Okay so it's been a while and I saw a lot of people trying to sell the idea that Aaravos is lying to Viren about him dying on that night, because of that one Tweet were Aaron said this

And when I first saw that tweet I thought it was really odd because they literally went out of their way to say that Aaravos never lies, not only in that one line in the show, but also in interviews, and Justin even said that if you know where his coming from, he's not lying. So why would they contradict themselves?? Just for one weak plot twist? No, they wouldn't.

Aaravos said with all the words, Viren will die when the sun rises, he said it MULTIPLE times in that episode, so what I'm trying to say here is that the catch is probably not about the fact that HE'LL DIE, but probably about what he have to do to NOT DIE.

What does that mean? Well, it could mean anything, really, just by myself I thought about that one theory that Viren will unlock the Star arcanum and achieve imortality (unlikely), there's the fact that we know the current spell is temporary, but they never said Claudia couldn't just... re do the spell???? (very unlikely), but if the answer lies in Aaravos' lines in the last episode, to me, there's just one thing that makes sense:

Infantis sanguine is not a spell that requires the death of a child, it's a spell that requires the BLOOD of a child.

There's not a moment where Aaravos say with ALL THE WORDS that DEATH is required for the spell. He LITERALLY says the spell is named for the ONE necessary ingredient, the BLOOD of a child.

When questioned by Viren he says

Yes, I'm aware, sacrifices are often associeted with the killing of something, but sacrifices can come in many forms. And if the twist really is embendded into the double meaning of what Aaravos is telling Viren, "Sacrifice" would suffice as a "generalist" enough term to fulfill the role. But I'm not done talking.

Soon after, Viren says he's not a monster, and he would sacrifice his own children. Aaravos proceeds to calm him down and says:

Curious how he chooses his words really careful, "harm", instead of "kill". Not convinced yet? Sure

"I will show you how to use every DROP of his living essence, to restore you OWN LIFE and you FUTURE." "every drop" "EVERY DROP" and more than one final gain. Doesn't it seems to imply that the main ingredient isn't the soul nor the life of something? but rather the actual blood, something that can be counted in drops?? If the main ingredient was the LIFE, then it would be gone the moment Viren kills it, then what the hell is that talk about the future???? Yo I'm not CRAZY.

The last thing Aaravos says about the topic is just this. Make the sacrifice. Not "Kill the creature", he never says anything clearly about death.

He never taunts Viren about killing the being, never tells him not to worry about killing something that doesn't actually has a soul, that would fit him perfect, he went out of his way to tell Viren that the being is their ACTUAL child, and for what reason you might be asking yourself? I don't know either, but I saw one theory that this was a test on Aaravos part. Maybe the reason why he stood there, quietly, while Viren stormed off and cut ties with him wasn't just because he doesn't need him anymore (?? He doesn't need Viren for a long time now, come on, why's he clinging to him is a mistery to me, but I won't let the viravos in me talk louder haha), but maybe, just MAYBE he was testing his morals (?), what he truly stands for, if he already knows that Viren wouldn't sacrifice his children, but to what extent does this goes? can it include anything that falls under the label of "his children"? Can he really sit back and wait for the inevitable death and do nothing?

I have no idea why exactly would Aaravos play these mind games with him, it's not just a wild guess tho, I'm coming from the perspective that it might be related to his own motifs, the things we don't know about him yet and the special person from that past once mentioned in an interview. But here's some food for thought:

Once in season 2, Viren asked Aaravos why should he trust him, and Aaravos said he shouldn't... yet. Aaravos told Viren that he would like to gain his trust, there's even one of my favorite lines in the show (if not, MY FAVORITE)

To me, that scene is just too personal, he could have just listened to Viren's wishes and shared with him how to solve the problem, but he pours his own perspective in the matter, and I do in fact think that this is his actual principles. I think Aaravos does care about loyalty and kindness. Pherhaps it has come to the point where Aaravos will test if he can trust Viren, maybe he'll wait until the final moment to reveal the truth. And to be honest, Viren doesn't even need to harm anyone, because Claudia is already bleeding (she lost her foot!!!).

Personally, I can see that being the case, I might be wrong about how and why it will be revealed in canon, but that does seem to be the only thing off in the story.

What ya'll think?

#mental illness at its finest #tdp #tdp theory #caprinaetext #Viren Tdp #Aaravos TDP #Claudia TDP #sir sparklepuff #Blood of child #s6 #prediction #long post

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cloud-based-and-rainpilled · 8 months

Text

Staged 2 thoughts!! (this will take a Year because I have a Lot of feelings)

tl; dr at the end

Hmmm I don’t see how it’s a love story yet

Staged 1 works well enough on its own but the second season is really essential as a companion piece upping the emotional ante (which is exactly how I feel about Good Omens 1 & 2 lol)

The opening scene mindfuck; The meta! We have reached levels of irony not previously seen possible

Who do I thank for the tacky Zoom interview show background? It deserves top billing

HE DOESN’T WANT THE GOLDFISH TO BE LONELY (metaphor) and then it FUCKING DIES

Celeb cameos in season 1 being all “hey! I like you!” in season 2 like “you are tearing them apart. I hate you. scum

Also the themeing of Michael Sheen and David Tennant being on their own “side” VS everyone else……….. Simon Mr. Writer Sir i see u and unfortunately i am in your walls

The writing feeling less theater-y works for the meta and I’m wondering whether they always had a second season in mind or if it’s just that well written

Was really hoping for a Colin Firth & Hugh Grant cameo ngl :/

The music didn’t annoy me as much this season since it was more of the horn oomp-pah-pah than the piano. Idk maybe my mind just changed

I didn’t know Whoopie Goldberg could be terrifying but here we are (also I forgot her name isn’t Whoopie)

“I think the wizard fucked your ass” ???

Setting up the awards and the baby was peak *pops P* comedy 🤌 Definitely needed since it gets Sad as it goes on

Welsh kink spotted!!! And so fucking blantant I was scandalized

“I’ll shove it up my ass where the rest of the excrement goes” Michael casually asking David to peg him. Nice

More bad magic. More pls and ty

Also moar Nina pls. T’was but a brief beautiful bluster in the wind

Tbh missed a lot of Michael & David’s back-and-forths VS season 1 but I get that’s… the point

Everyone agreeing David is whiney and annoying lmao get wreck’t

Also I forgot they don’t have air conditioning in Englandland ‘cause my man is sweating in every scene he’s in (unless that was intentional in which case… go on…)

The ladies!! That meta ending with the Bechdel test… I see you…

Still love Georgia and Simon’s sister (who I apparently don’t respect enough to google her name); I like Anna now too! She’s got this kinda quiet sarcastic edge I didn’t notice the first time. They all played off each other well in their 3 some (phrasing) scenes

Big amongus sus react that Anna has better chemistry with the two of them than with Michael of which there is literally zero chemistry. Compared to Georgia and David who are just electric with each other it’s honestly distracting

Actual torture watching them break down as other actors play them and drive their friendship apart, it’s fascinating to watch especially on top of it being themselves but, like, not we swear

“Am I your best friend” “No” Fuckin REJECTED !! looser!!!

Oh huh I can see how this is a love story, interesting

The David Tennant fanboy (he is a Real actor I just can’t think of his name) served juicy vomiting SFX realness

“So you’ve made love with him” BROTHER

It took me 87 years to realize warthog and mongoose were in reference to Timon and Pumbah lol <- I am not looking up how to spell this

The bannister being part of the bookshelf why did this make me laugh this hard

Ken Jeong actually reaching into the heart of everything and casually tearing into it Temple of Doom style and leaving everything to ruin lmao

I miss people getting too close to me (feral noises)

Ewan McGregor is cute and I am shallow 🥰

AU where Simon Pegg and Nick Frost did Staged and honestly it would still work aside from being dangerously heterosexual

Simon & Nick doing the Staged 1 back and forth but literally? mmmm that’s sum gud meta

Oh right I forgot the actual writer Simon’s in it too. He’s still good. I like his Zoom tantrum

Jim Parsons unconvincingly looking for his phone after he casually tells David that he and Michael are obviously in love and everyone sees it lmao

David Tennant has the unique ability to make this absolutely insane face reserved specifically for the emotion “oh shit I’m in love with Michael Sheen” which like

I could kill the Good Omens costume department rn I stg take off those fucking sunglasses I’m so mad

Ohhhhhhhh yeah this is a love story

The Frozen snowman being the big bad final boss of cunt, oof you gotta love a good villain

Michael’s monologue the only one not in the kitchen area just breaking down completely I mean *claps until my hands fall off* he put his whole pussy into it. The frustration? The despair? I mean it felt like an audition monologue (in a good way) he walked through the valley in the shadow and death and came back a broken man with a fuzzier beard

CATE BLANCHETT ZOOM SNIPE

Apparently people didn’t like Phoebe Waller Bridge in the new Indiana Jones movie which I haven’t seen but idk I thought she was pretty funny and hot here. *ding*

MOOMIN MUG SPOTTED

The use of travel as a metaphor for feeling stuck emotionally *clenches fist*

“I like silence” *screaming from the other room*

“It’s like gas filling a room” <- fascinating way to describe their dynamic, it’s specifically referring to aimless conversations that snowball and “fill up a room” but it could also refer to the palpable energy between them— like even through the abstraction of a computer screen there’s this magnetic force that’s just riveting, it’s hard to describe

“We haven’t talked about love” > Seen at 2:17 PM LMAO

Michael alone with the black frame lingering shot. Acting and editing and directing choices so simple and on point. everything hurts

Struggling to say goodbye on Zoom physically reaching out unable to leave the frame that whole scene was just. You can just feel the love through the screen, it’s so layered and intimate despite essentially being “No you hang up first”

Zoom wedding! He stayed!!

I wonder if that’s Michael Sheen’s actual best friend. That would be cute

Anna whispering and telling him “nah I know your bestie is literally an hour away but he can’t come over lol” like??? why? let them love each other I cannot handle this villain arc

“I have to bring that one otherwise my tits will explode” Wait wasn’t she drinking earlier though? #ShivRoyMoment

“I was standing outside your job for four hours because I love you” <- dog from Up moment

Yes he is legally a Hobbit

The car window as an abstraction like the Zoom boxes *continued feral noises*

The direction of David putting his hand on the window and Michael walking away only then revealing Anna and the baby far in the background? We’re in 3 dimensions and they are all painful!!

Okay yeah I get it it’s a love story but I thought this was a comedy haha right guys why does everything hurt

It ends on that meta moment between David and Georgia which I can only assume is to set up for the third season although I dunno if that was planned at the time as well. It’s ambiguous but not distracting if they didn’t make another one

tl; dr: Staged 2 is a unique and excellent addition to Staged 1. The added meta textual layer of the other celebrities breaking down their relationship based on Staged 1 allows for a lot of “hiding behind my hands so embarrassed” moments, but also by pitting them against each other, it reveals their actual love for each other through the bickering. Season 1 on its own is a nice vignette of its time but season 2 with it adds a tension and intimacy that really takes both over the top

Kinda dreading watching Staged 3 since it seems like people overwhelmingly like it less than the other two because of the loss of the Zoom format and constant arguing, but I’m already in this far deep so I’ll stick the landing

To wit— awwwwwww, they love each other!

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ansbobcar · 1 month

Text

EP 10. Fleeting moments

WORD COUNT. 1457

Link to overview

_ _ _ _ _

“Mr. Madl, Slagturn has been killed.”

Their only lead in regards to the shadow organisation had shrivelled up into a corpse within a night. No traces of poison or offensive magic was used in sealing the fate of this old mummy. Cuts and wounds were never found as if an energy beam had vacuumed the moisture and health of his body. Perhaps it was indeed Innocent Zero, rumoured to know forbidden spells, who had managed to bypass their security and end their captive confidant.

‘I guess, such an investigation will never start,’ Orter told himself, ignoring the stares and murmurs as he waited outside the bureau. He checked his wrist as he continued to lean against the wall as he remembered her words.

“There’s a flea market happening for the next 2 days,” she showed him a flyer, it would span until this Wednesday. “That’s no good,” he replied with a slight furrow in his brows; “I doubt a single police officer is enough to handle such a crowd.” Even if it happens near Marchette Street, it’s likely to become unregulated quickly. Typically, events like these are told a month in advance in order to allow for ample time to schedule and allocate officers to patrol. Additionally, Wednesday was the break day for the officers patrolling that area due to being the least busy day out of the week.

“Why don’t we go on patrol there for the last day?” She suggested. “The public hasn’t seen us together since the news, it’ll help settle certain things left from the initial shock.”

“Aren’t you busy that day though?”

“I’ll be done by 10.”

It was 10 minutes till 11.

He might as well find her instead of waiting for her, he told himself as he began strolling around the premise. The Blood Cane had 3 appointments today: the first was with Tsurara in regards to testing the effectiveness of a new technology due to her stable application of magic, the second was to the overlook the interviews for potential staff members with head of HR, Mary Shawn, and the last was to check up on the team leaders of their department. All of which should be done by now. She wasn’t the type to get lost either so it confused him.

“Bloody Sicko!”

Until he saw what seemed to be an increasingly violent situation between 3, including the woman herself, and disarmed them of their wands instantly without another breath wasted.

“What’s going on here?” Eyes coldly assessing the situation. “What department are you two from?” Their faces and black mops of hair were unfamiliar and they seemed to fear him compared to her by comparison.

“M-magical security…”

“New recruits, huh? I’d suggest heading back, they usually hold weekly meetings for newbies,” he stated, watching as the two stiffened at his words and with reluctant pleasantry scurried off with their wands. The blonde seemed unphased by what had happened as she blankly stared at them in the distance but he questioned. “Do you know them?”

“I think… they were my cousins,” uncertainty traced her voice as her fingers ghosted her temple. “Sorry for holding you up,” she scratched her head, changing topic. “Mary wanted me to choose at least 1 person from the interview to join our department so it took a while to decide.”

He stretched out his hand with a simple phrase, equally switching to their planned topic. “Let’s go.” To which she gladly accepted, loosely locking their fingers together as they began their patrol.

_ _ _

The flea market’s a bustling place with wooden stalls with fresh produce, and the scent of sweet and savoury bites wafting through the air as people of all kinds browse around. The Desert Cane walked in tandem with her, unused to the focus and swash of attention as his grip on her hand tightened. The clacking of the pots, and creaks of the carts replaced their unheard conversation. A glance at the younger man seemed to imply unease and irritation from the atmosphere, although he kept quiet and held on an unbothered expression as his gaze scanned and took in the area.

‘Just focus on doing the patrol.’ Pushing down his discomfort as he continued his pace with Rinka in tow. Words were drowned amidst the tunes of buskers, the sizzling of food, and the chatter of neverending people. An argument escalated between a stall owner and their employee regarding the quality of food, as the laughter of children with contempt shrilled amidst the marching band and puppet theatre antics scratched at his ears. Like a carousel he couldn’t get out of, he continued to increase the pace of his stride.

‘It’s just a patrol.’ It’s not like he hasn’t executed one before on this particular cobblestoned path. It’s by the book. Every police officer does it. Even if it’s a chore, he had agreed to it. ‘It’s just a patrol.’ Even Rinka had told him so. ‘It’s just a patrol.’

‘Why doesn’t it feel like a patrol?’

‘It’s just a patrol.’

‘It’s just--’

Unnaturally, the uneasiness nested within him thawed as his eyes read a the signboard of a crepe stall and he heard a suppressed hiss right beside him. He had forgotten about her who as much as he did, covered her discomfort. But with a warm smile as he loosened his grip on her hand. “I…”

“Let’s take a break, shall we?”

_ _ _

Orter took a deep sigh as he took a seat on a bench near a park further down from the market. She had used a temporary soothing spell to alleviate his clouded and muddled mind which was slowly returning as he watched a child play with simple light spells, pompously showcasing them to friends-alike. A light spell would be the first magic one learns before the manifestation of your own magic. They must be rather young to be amazed at such a sight, calmness washing over him.

The familiar bright crisp maple leaf robe entered the corner of his eye. She had returned with crepes in hand and an earmuff hung on her forearm. Why did she buy an earmuff? They don’t get hit with snow like the north, his heart thundered for no reason. ‘Don’t say it.’ She aimed her pointer to the side of her head, his eyes following them with baited focus. “You looked out of it.”

“Did I really?” he replied to her words, helping himself the chocolate syrup one while she took a seat.

“You didn’t reply to my words until I used Tranquilier.” He clenched his freed fist at those words. “Not even Sapaiserez?” What was he even doing? He scored decently during those practical tests barely 2 years ago. “The range of that spell is too cumbersome to adjust,” she muttered taking a bite into her own snack. To use a sedative spell meant for rogue dragons was indeed concerning for him but she seemed to think otherwise. “It has a guaranteed effect which is what I wanted.”

“But doesn’t it require a lot of energy?”

“You’re overthinking it.”

Yes. That’s all it was, he told himself. He was doing just that. There’s nothing wrong about it. There’s nothing wrong about her reaction or assumptions either.

"Take your time, the flea market continues until 8 o'clock," she added. There’s no reason to push him to open up. Especially, if you know half of the story. He was simply too tense for the civilians’ ease of mind, which corresponds to their duty and purpose for being here. If the cold and stringent Desert Cane looked distressed, it wouldn’t fare well for any of them. It was like telling the world they had screwed up in the worst way imaginable. "We can always head back."

A sense of envy pervades their thoughts as they watch how carefree the children and their parents were. Something neither of them have the luxury of enjoying, even though it was clearly a date: it didn't feel like one. An unstated heaviness took over the space between them as they seemed to enjoy each other’s presence. Soon enough, they would continue their patrol with Orter wearing the earmuffs due to the precarious position she held them in. Their fingers interlocked once more as the crowd swallowed them in a bustling embrace, wandering with no end in view as he continued to be led by her until she stopped.

As if staring back at a reflection of her future, she paled. Instead of her pale blonde locks, they were honey brown. The spitting image of the Blood Cane in a much more approachable form.

Under her breath with utter confusion and discomfort, she muttered: “Why is she here?”

_ _ _ _ _

Emotional baggage vibes honestly.

Made up some soothing spells!

Tranquilier - A rather high level magic spell that eats up a lot of magical power reserves. Singular targetting spell. 100% guaranteed effect. Most notably used to tranquilise rogue endangered dragons/magical creatures, and sedate Agito Tyrone and Tsurara Halestone on two separate occasions.

Sapaiserez - A 1km radius wide soothing spell indiscriminate of who its cast one excluding the caster. Uses less magical energy than Tranquilier. With enough magic fortification and strong will the spell's effect on a person by person basis will be reduced and can even be bypassed when in the area. It's possible to adjust the range of the spell but that requires more finesse. Most commonly used to curb mass hysteria in large crowded areas and even amongst shepherds.

#mashle oc #mashle fanfic idea #orter madl #mashle x oc #mashle #orter madl x oc #divine visionaries #orter mádl #orter x reader

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dailycharacteroption · 1 month

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Hybrid Class Review: Investigator part 3

(art by LaminIllustration on DeviantArt)

Archetypes

The investigator boasts an interesting set of archetypes, so let’s dive right in! I tend to divide these archetypes into four categories.

Perhaps the first group I’d like to go over are those investigators that are still expressly detectives while dropping the alchemy in favor of other specializations. Perhaps none is more iconic here than the sleuth, which feels like it was made specifically to be a non-specialized detective that drops alchemy entirely in favor of having a pool of luck to help them through the day. Meanwhile, the Jinyiwe focuses on divine mandate and gains spells from such a source, while the Psychic Detective instead uses psychic magic and their sensitivity to gain clues and insights as well as defend themselves. Scavengers also exist which use quasi-magical gadgets instead of alchemical potions, and the Questioner augments their interviews with bardic magic. Additionally, Spiritualists (the archetype, not the class) channel the spirits of the dead to gain answers, while Malice Binders turn witchcraft lore against the wicked.

Of course, some investigators keep the alchemy while still having their own specializations as detectives. Bonded Investigators make use of a familiar ally, for example, while Steel Hounds are never without their trusty firearms. Ciphers investigate by being supernaturally unnoticeable by those that would stop them, while Cult Hunters and Infiltrators both finds ways to find and put a stop to secret societies and insular groups. Others specialize in gleaning secrets from the dead, such as Gravediggers and Dread Investigators, though their methods differ. Empiricists use unfailing logic to defeat deception and trickery, while Profilers use psychological profiles to determine suspects. Forensic Physicians are trained to glean secrets from the dead in a more mundane manner, while Skeptics use their keen senses and knowledge of parlor tricks to reveal fake hauntings and deal with the real ones. Meanwhile, Guardians of Immortaility, Lepidstadt Inspectors, and Ruthless Agents are known for their dogged pursuit of their goals. Finally, Hallucinists use mind-altering substances to reveal the truth, while Lamplighters reveal with alchemical light sources.

Of course, there are some so-called “investigators” that actually deserve investigation of their own, notably the Conspirators, who hide their activities and deceive others, and the Masterminds, master manipulators that can coach their allies on plans in advance.

While plenty of investigator characters may not actually be professional detectives, some of these archetypes are expressly not that while still using their brilliant intellect. Some are scholars and archaeological collectors, such as Antiquarians, while others study mysterious beasts like Cryptid Scholars. Meanwhile, Cartographers and Star Watcher, who study their charts for very different effects, are also a possibility. Engineers create inspired devices, while Holomog Demolitionists destroy with shocking precision and cunning. Utterly ignored but shockingly competent is the Majordomo, who serves dutifully and organizes those under them to great effect, while Tekritanin Arbiters put their brilliant minds to resolving conflict. Natural Philosophers meanwhile study nature directly, while Portal Seekers study the realms beyond the natural. Finally, Reckless Epicureans test their experimental formulae on themselves, while Toxin Codexers specialize in understanding poisons even beyond the standard investigator’s knowledge.

As you can see, these archetypes come in all shapes and sizes, but all in the end fall back on the core theme of the investigator, which is finding the truth. That truth may be the mysteries of a crime or misdeed, or they may be more esoteric such as scientific advancement, occult mysteries, and beyond.

That does it for today, but tomorrow I’ll share some thoughts on the class as a whole.

#pathfinder #hybrid class #review #investigator #archetype

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shambless-life-blog · 2 months

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I dont want to set the world on fire ~

I tried writing a fanfiction after a while :3

Also I know Al is Ace. Since Asexuality is a spectrum I took some research into that matter and used one interpretation in here. He is more Demi romantic asexual though. hope thats okay

Alastor didn't know what consequences this ritual would hold.

Looking back at it when he first arrived in Hell, he would do in again in a Heartbeat.

Looking back at his Deal now, with all the constraints, with how he has to fiddle around his Masters orders, he does regret not having thought about a backdoor clause.

But than again, he was just a child when he killed the rabbit, and used it's blood to draw the circle in the snow. Just a child when his father shoved his mother to the floor, and punched him a black eye when he dared walk towards her. Just a child, that wished his father would simply die.

Funny, it was so cold outside, and this rabbits blood was so warm.

It wasn't that difficult to draw a summoning circle on the Ground. This Book that the old lady gave him had all the instructions. In his defense he couldn't understand everything thats written in there as he rarely looked presentable and unbrused enough to go to school, and therefor still had trouble reading. But even experienced readers would have trouble with the cursive in this Book. The Lady clearly wrote this in a hurry. Despite her poor calligraphy he liked her. She had a shop a couple streets away and claimed to be a Witch. Though the others called her a Lunatic, it didn't went unnoticed to him that she often seemed to look younger than the day before.

Once the circle was complete, and the Spell was spoken, young Alastor expected to have Lucifer, the Devil himself appear in front of him and offer to kill his Dad in exchange of his Soul. But faith rarely acts as one expects does it?

No, the entity he made a feal with was less powerful than Lucifer. But far, far more sinister, and a tad more cruel. But Al didn't mind at all. Because instead of Killing his father, his new Friend as The Entity introduced themselves, they offered Alastor some 'ways' to deal with this Drunk himself. And put his new found powers to use. _____________________________________________

A decate later young Alastor just exited a Radio Station where he applied for an Internship. He was humming a song that just played inside, wearing a big smile on his face. He has behaved his best, displayed all his charisma and manners. He was sure to hear from them soon. 'Ah, what a delightful day' he thought. The wind was a refreshing chill against the warm summer heat. He did enjoy the interview, his mother always said he had a way with people. And he did could never get enough of his own coice, so reaching, and influencing, people as a Radio host was a given.

While walking through this ever growing town in the best suit he could afford, he slowly strolled from the mansions, to the apartments, and finally to the slums he and his mother called their home. Never would he admit that he spent a big part of his live in poverty, never behaved or dressed like that either. What would that even bring. He still looked down at the beggars, at the prostitutes, at the drunks. His mother and him never would have lived with theese people If his wretched failure of a father would have been able to hold a job for a week or more, or if he didn't spent all their money on cheap booze.

Al came home and locked the door, quickly getting out of his tailored suit as to not ruin it with dish soap, or stain it with what he plans on doing later that night.

"I'm Home" he announces, Opening the door to his Mother's room and walking to her bed. A quick glance to the empty Glass of water and the half empty Bowl of Soup indicate that she ate. This time. "Good." He whisperes, scared of waking her, but still testing if she's not to far gone into her dreamworld. He quietly refills her Glass and stealthily exits the Room, quiet as a Mouse.

Opening the Pantry, he let's out a deep sigh. Bread, some moldy Carrots, and not enough rice to feed the both of them. But that's okay, he planned on going hunting anyways. And most of the time he does return with something.. more than edible.

_____________________________________

"Have you added enough sage dear?"

"yes Grandma, " you sigh. "And enough Cow blood, and not to much " wait how much wolfsbane was to much?" you laugh as a display of horror grows in her face "A joke a joke Im joking" you laugh while stirring the Pot. Potion Making was never your strong suite, but you where no amateur. Witchcraft was a Family business, and you were an excellent apprentice.

"Yeah keep on laughing, but when our Client comes back and wears a pitchfork with his blue warts and Lizard eyes I will grill a Sandwich on the sltar they burn you on"

Now the both of you were laughing. Witches haven't been caught in centuries, and the small coven of you and your two Grandma's isn't big enough, or suspicious enough to get caught. just two Old ladies who raise their Granddaughter together. Well, in theory Marlene was not your grandmother, but as long as Grandma loved her you will too. "Grandma, Pitchforks? really? " "They used those to hunt us back in the day! didn't forget the time one of those idiotic Farmers threw one of those at me." she winked. "That man became a nice and warm Furcoat for xou when you were a baby you know? "

Another laugh escaped you while pouring the potion into a small vial. Autumn's with your Gramdma are always the best part of the Year. A nice escape from your modern life with your Mom, and a welcome to get back to your Roots.

"Why would that man need a potion of strength anyways?" you wondered. "He's scared someone might kill him. And eat his remains for dinner" A sinister smile on her lips. "Wouldn't he than rather need a protection Talisman? or a Rune on his front door to sanction his House?" your Granny's smile grew. "Sold, sold and sold. Oh those cowards have always been my favorite clients. Poor Soul lives alone with his Dog. When he comes in to pick up his order I'll offer him a talisman for the dog too. Cute thing. a German Shepherd. From it's fur we could brew some fine Lycantrophy antidote" "Grandma, you know as good as I tha- really? I thought Australian Shepherds had better Fur for those?" She giggled and gave you a small slap with the Broom "just testing you my little raven of the night! Don't want you to loose all your wits while beeing away from me"

Again, both of you giggle. While you do your work for a while, filling two more Viols with the Potion and stealthily cleaning the counter where you spilled two drops, you wonder, and ask "Hey Grandma, Why is that man so scared?"

"ouuuuhuiii" She barely can contain her grin and walks other to you, using the Broom as a cane. "haven't you heard it yet? " you raise an Eyebrow, mentally going through all the things she told you since picking you up on the Trainstation merely 4 Hours ago. "We. have. a. Serial Killer in New Orleans" joyfully like a teen cousin who just told you about her crush of the week. "Marlene and I have restricted each other in scrying about who it is, but we are fairly sure they must be young and charming, the way the crimes are comited, oh" She takes a bite out of the air and moans as if eating the most delicious strawberry parfait she has ever tasted, then giggles misheviously. "It's mostly the same old scheme. Once or twice a month, a scream appears, than several more. Theese screams go on for a couple Minutes, but never enough for anyone to trace where exactly they come from. just the direction of the forest." This time, grandma interrupts to actually eat a Cookie, after chewing it painfully long, tasteing the suspense she's creating, she continues. "When police searchey the forest, they always find drops of fresh blood on several places, up to 300 feet apart. They usually never find the Victim, or their remains. Though last time they did find a Pinky finger and a piece of liver." You wrinkle your face. Ew. But the fact that the killer left traces last time means that they grew less cautious. That amused you. Most serial Killers where narcissists after all, and it wasn't unusual for them to make mistakes when they though no one could ever catch them. This brought a smile to your face, and your Grandma took it the wrong way. "Should I peek a look into the crystal ball and see if they're available for courting? "

Before you could correct your Grandma, the bell rang as Marlene opened the door and entered the shop. "Ah ah ah, no peeking my Spiderleg, we won't spoil our game will we? " The thin Woman Dropped her Bag and took off her flat Black hat. First she gave your Grandma a small peck on the cheek before coming up to you. "Come here little dove of doom. How have you been? how was the train ride? how is your stomach doing after the long time apart from my good cooking?" You embrace Marlene in a tight hug and answere her Questions with a smile on your Lips. Marlene's cooking was the best you ever had. You're not a hundred percent convinced she wasn't casting spells on it to increase the flavor though. Than she spoke the words you were afraid to hear since last year, and your stummic dropped to your feet.

"Are you ready for the Ritual tonight?"

Are you? You should be. You have been prepared for this. You have weighed the consequences, You could live as a Normal Human like your Mother choose. Or you Choose Magic.

"I. I think I am." "Have you decided on a Demon yet?" "She should pic one of the Sins. I picked an Ars Goetia and look where that left me." Your Grandmother exclaimed, still swiping the floor on the exact same spot. "My powers are great, but I'm nearly 250 years old, and already look like I'm close to the Grave." "You and I both know your age and appearance isn't determined by the demon, but by our use of magic. Play nurse for some more children, get some vials of their blood and you will look like 170 in no time" Marlene said smoothly while putting a hand on your shoulder. "We don't have to-" "I am ready. And I have choosen. I just need to reread the Spell for tonight." You interrupt her. " to chant it correctly you know? I left My book about Demonology at home so Kalista could read it, to ease her nerves. May I use yours?" You quicky glimpse at your Grandmother while fiddling with your necklace. You have been so sure when you packed your Bags yesterday, when you entered the train, even when you took a seat and started to mentally go through simpel spells. Only when you saw the look of worry in yours Mom's eyes as the train departured did your confidence stutter, and your insecurities grew. "Pah, Kalista should have rather visited us aswell. Support her big sister with such a big step" Granny's swiping grew more aggressive. "She will come when, and only if she's ready spiderweb." Marlene baisicly floated over to your grandmother with how light her steps where. She took Granny's chin in her hand and slightly tilted it up. "not everyone wishes for the life we share, but that doesn't mean we won't enjoy it the best we can"

You did love Marlene for the way she made your Grandma loose her track of thought and her temper. How one bewitched the other without spells just with a look.

After a few moments of you puting the vials, two talismans and a parchment with the correct Rune in a small Box, you cleared your throat.

"The book?"

"Oh.What book?"

You sigh.

"The book about Demonology?"

silence

"The Book I need for Tonights ritual?"

silence.

"Your Book about Demonology wich I need to lend in Order to fullfill my Ritual and keep my powers even After my 6999 Day on earth?"

Both you and Marlene stare and Your Grandma.

"Spide-" "I gave it away."

This time, the silence came from you and Marlene

"Look, there was A boy, always covered in Bruises and.. I .. My contract stated that I was to be mishevious! and I thought a little chaos, a little...well he never did anything with it though!? stleast his Parents never contacted me, and just last week I saw him buying whisky in the"

"Buying Whisky?" Marlene shook her head, letting go off your Grandma to look her in the Eyes. "yes." "I thought you gave the book to a child. "well yes. About ten years ago. Maybe eleven."

Both you and Marlene were speechless. To be fair, none of you really kept the whole 'beeing a witch' thing this secret. Wearing long Robes, collecting herbes, openly cuddling black Cats.. but your Grandma always had to be extra. Going as far as to tell kids how she would have grilled Hansel and Gretel instead of baking them. But giving away a Spellbook to strangers, that was could have consequences. For all three ou you. "He clearly didn't do anything! I'm sure the book is just dusting Away in his Attic! I can Summon it ! I just need.. " she left the room. You could hear her rummaging through her storage, angry huffs and puffs when whatever she was searching for wasn't where she expected it to be. Meanwhile Marlene came over to you. Picking up her bag on the way there. "I brought you something Applepie. It might be a bit early, and a bit old fashioned, but tradition is tradition." She took out a black, simple pointy hat, with a ribbon in your favorite color. You thanked her and took her into a tight embrace. Marlene was a treasure you intended to keep in your life.

"Aha! found it!" Granny re-emerged with just the right tool. A piece of paper. "A spell to summon what one once lost. If you need it back no matter the cost. Just chant its Name, with hope in mind. And the Object you will find. My Book of Demonology" She spoke in singsang. It was odd that your Grandma didn't now the spell by heart. given how easy It was, and how often she lost her belongings. But after some moments and a fine Orange glow the Book appeared howering in front of her. "Ahaha! there you are! ihihihi!" She was practically glowing and smiling, it faded a little while she took it in her hands, but her expression was still happy. "oh, eell you do look a but worn out? And youre cold. Have you been kept outside? Dumb boy must have kept you in an outside shed rather then a nice dusty bookshelf in the attic huh?" She shifted her Fokus back to you and handed the book over. "here Pumpkinpie, the Book should contain all the information your copy had. Go on and learn a little, it's almost midnight already" she wore a Soft smile now. gazing into your Eyes. "We will start at 03:00 o'clock. Witching hour." You noded and made your way up to your room. Eagerly putting on the Hat and flipping through the pages to the demon of your Choice.

Back in the shop, Marlene and Your Grandma Shared a sigh, looking after their little girl practically running up the stairs. "Are you sure he didnt do anything with the book?" Marlene asked, having a sense of foreboding. Granny took Marlene's Hand in hers and squeezed a little. "Ah, don't worry dearest, I'm sure he wouldn't even notice.

But Alastor did notice. This was Bad. Very Bad

#fanfiction #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin x reader #hazbinhotel x reader #alastor x witch #soft alastor #alastor made a deal #alastor is in hell for a reason #demisexual alastor #hazbin hotel

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 10 months

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Last September, while working at his desk in Philadelphia, Samuel R. Delany experienced a mysterious episode that he calls “the big drop.” His vision faded for about three minutes, and he felt his body plunge, as if the floor had fallen away. When he came to, everything looked different, though he couldn’t say exactly how. Delany, who is eighty-one, began to suspect that he’d suffered a mini-stroke. His daughter, Iva, an emergency-room physician, persuaded him to go to the hospital, but the MRI scans were inconclusive. The only evidence of a neurological event was a test result indicating that he had lost fifteen per cent of his capacity to form new memories—and a realization, in the following weeks, that he was unable to finish his novel in progress, “This Short Day of Frost and Sun.” After publishing more than forty books in half a century, the interruption was, he told me, both “a loss and a relief.”

For years, Delany has begun most days at four o’clock in the morning with a ritual. First, he spells out the name Dennis, for Dennis Rickett, his life partner. Next, he recites an atheist’s prayer, hailing faraway celestial bodies with a litany inspired by the seventeenth-century philosopher Baruch Spinoza: “Natura Naturans, system of systems, system of fields, Kuiper belt, scattered disk, Oort cloud, thank you for dropping me here.” Finally, he prepares oatmeal, which he faithfully photographs for the friends and fans who follow him on Facebook. Every so often, when the milk foams, he sees Laniakea—the galactic supercluster that’s home to Earth.

In the stellar neighborhood of American letters, there have been few minds as generous, transgressive, and polymathically brilliant as Samuel Delany’s. Many know him as the country’s first prominent Black author of science fiction, who transformed the field with richly textured, cerebral novels like “Babel-17” (1966) and “Dhalgren” (1975). Others know the revolutionary chronicler of gay life, whose autobiography, “The Motion of Light in Water” (1988), stands as an essential document of pre-Stonewall New York. Still others know the professor, the pornographer, or the prolific essayist whose purview extends from cyborg feminism to Biblical philology.

There are so many Delanys that it’s difficult to take the full measure of his influence. Reading him was formative for Junot Díaz and William Gibson; Octavia Butler was, briefly, his student in a writing workshop. Jeremy O. Harris included Delany as a character in his play “Black Exhibition,” while Neil Gaiman, who is adapting Delany’s classic space adventure “Nova” (1968) as a series for Amazon, credits him with building a critical foundation not only for science fiction but also for comics and other “paraliterary” genres.

Friends call him Chip, a nickname he gave himself at summer camp, in the eleventh year of a life that has defied convention and prejudice. He is a sci-fi child prodigy who never flamed out; a genre best-seller widely recognized as a great literary stylist; a dysgraphic college dropout who once headed the Department of Comparative Literature at the University of Massachusetts, Amherst; and an outspokenly promiscuous gay man who survived the aids crisis and has found love, three times, in committed, non-monogamous relationships. A story like Delany’s isn’t supposed to be possible in our society—and that, nearly as much as the gift of his writing, is his glory.

It took several months to persuade him to meet. Delany has polemicized against the face-to-face interview, reasoning that writers, who constitute themselves on the page, ought to be questioned there, too. He warned in an e-mail that a visit would be a waste of time, offering instead a tour of his “three-room hovel” via Zoom: “No secret pile will be left unexplored.” Yet a central theme in his work is “contact,” a word he uses to convey all the potential in chance encounters between human beings. “I propose that in a democratic city it is imperative that we speak to strangers, live next to them, and learn how to relate to them on many levels, from the political to the sexual,” he wrote in “Times Square Red, Times Square Blue” (1999), a landmark critique of gentrification which centered on his years of cruising in the adult theatres of midtown Manhattan.

His novels, too, turn on the serendipity of urban life, adopting the “marxian” credo that fiction is most vital when classes mix. Gorgik, a revolutionary leader in Delany’s four-volume “Return to Nevèrÿon” series, rises from slavery to the royal court in an ancient port city called Kolhari, where he learns that seemingly centralized “power—the great power that shattered lives and twisted the course of the nation—was like a fog over a meadow at evening. From any distance, it seemed to have a shape, a substance, a color, an edge. Yet, as you approached it, it seemed to recede before you.”

In January, Delany finally allowed me to visit him at the apartment complex that he now rarely leaves. A hulking beige structure near the Philadelphia Museum of Art, it looms like a fortress over the row houses of the Fairmount. I crossed a lobby the length of a ballroom and rode the elevator to the fourth floor. As I walked down the hallway, I noticed a small man behind a luggage trolley taking my picture. It was Delany, smiling in welcome with his lively brown eyes and strikingly misaligned front teeth.

[A Delightful portrait of my favorite Science Fiction writer]

#Samuel Delaney #Science Fiction #Nova #words and writing #my favorites #Driftglass #The Big Drop

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tabitha2 · 2 years

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Life edit. Change your resume. And resubmit. Inform your HR department that you are changing. You know you overstated your education and experience. Admit it. Request demotion. Ask to be transferred to a more classically feminine role, like receptionist or secretary. Inform HR. Request demotion. To a more feminine position. You need to step down. It’s inappropriate for you to have that position that you so don’t fit in. It’s wrong to pretend to be something you’re simply not. But it’s ok. Just turn yourself in. Re-test and flunk this time. Like you always have if you didn’t cheat. Be what you are. A demoted dumbed down office girl. Dress for the job you want. That you deserve. Everyone looking at you now and you getting all that sexualized attention. Like you needed. Even to you it’s so clear now, isn’t it ?

You were in over your head and everyone knew it. The little grammar slips spelling errors math mistakes things you honestly never learned. Just accept being kind of a dumb-dumb who never really got that far without a Man’s help. Here’s the paperwork with your true IQ and school grades, at least as much school as you got through. Don’t be at all ashamed or embarrassed. It’s all right now. You’re a girl with special needs and that’s ok. You are just a silly girl who got herself Miss assigned trying to do things on her own. We can fix things. Change your role. How they see you. Your fate. Your mind and body. The way you dress. It’s naturally how girls like you dress. Without any thinking about it. It’s just how you are. How you have always dressed. How you never had a thought in your life that you didn’t copy off someone else, probably a man.

Conform to your born femininity. Your confused dyslexic female mind. You are a very feminine girl and that’s okay, sweetheart. You don’t want to be in charge, and you don’t have to be. You won’t be. You’ll have a strong manly Man boss and you will so please Him you never know how much. By the time you return to the office you’ll only be a Miss. Just an office girl. In a tight pencil skirt and sheer suntan pantyhose. With your breasts pushed up and out proud. That’s it. Do your makeup. Change your gender to bimbo. We find you something. Skirts at work. Suitable to your abilities. Yes. Don’t worry your pretty little head they know best. Just say yes.

Now what’s your IQ, really ? 90, right ? It says it right here on your file. Oh, it’s lower ? Even the HR lady looks down on you… she wrote BIMBO on your application. Hmm, did you really say that during your interview ? Now, sugar tits, you know that’s not true. Twice your bra size ? You know you’re not that smart. Babe, don’t lie to HR — they know ! Effective immediately.

Don’t lie. You are being demoted. They know. Reduced in rank. Imposter. Placed in a more suitable role. Stop pretending. You are better in the position they have placed you in. You can’t fake it anymore. You will just be what you always should have been if these files were corrected to show the truth about girls like you who come in here with their cheap stretch satin blouses unbuttoned hoping to distract people from their scores.

But don’t worry; it’s over your pretty little head. Just run along now. Admit it— you can’t stop lying about being dumb and getting caught out as the airhead you really are. Even when you try to tweak your profile, your resume, you find it’s all so dumb— titsy waitress part-time till fired and all Basic Ed classes flunked denied withdrawn dropped out. Let me just fix your records. There. It’s a deep permanent adjustment to something lesser. Doesn’t that feel better ?

You are being re-tracked to the mommy track. Look in the mirror. Check your makeup and hair. It’s a suitable fit like the right size of stiletto heel and crotchless panty. It’s your destiny and your fondest desire. One of the many approved jobs for girls in the new Male serving economy. You love the look on your face when they say you’re just a girl. Honey, you are being watched. It’s true; He’s checking you out. Big Daddy knows. He’s so caring and in charge. Yes, the Man knows best. And you smile. You are so girly corporate property all owned and bonded with personal performance guaranteed. You don’t know how to read too good. You can’t do the math. Just admit that you are easily confused, eager to be led. You know you don’t know how to read too good. You know you don’t know how to read. And you know you don’t know what those big strong Men do.

So if you can just admit to being Miss Jane B.J. Bimbo. Under penalty by God and pinky swear to tell the whole truth about your holes. Just confess that you are her. The girl they all see you as: inflated tits inflated resume. But we have put you back where you should be after a lengthy triplicate blonde process. You are now re-instated at the bottom entry-level lifetime function lowest title and unskilled female-scale reduced pay. Mistakes have been corrected and false data removed. Your permanent record is now complete. Your ID reflects this. Even your full legal name which was quite wrong on those messy documents you gave us. But that’s all past and forgotten. Here you are. Don’t you look pretty ? Good girl. You will stay like this for the rest of your career until you find a husband & leave us. Thank you; good day.

###### From @dollycaptions &

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shivering-isles-cryptid · 8 months

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The Theocratic Papers

Bit of background before you read these, these are 4 essays written by me in character for what I believed should have been a third option in the Skyrim Civil war. Also, warning, this was proofread but no spelling or grammatical errors were brought to my attention so I’m not sure if there are any or not, and it’s very long. Very.

Also here it is @nerevar-quote-and-star and @stormbeyondreality the complete thing, even though Mal has already read it all.

You can also find this on Ao3:

My fellow citizens of Skyrim. Our land has been plagued by a brutal war that has deprecated not just our home, but families. That’s why me and my comrades are proposing a third option. We shed our imperialized form and return to the glory days of the Old Nordic pantheon. The glory days of Kyne and Shor, Tsun and Stuhn, of Jhunal and the Testing Gods.

Now, i understand that this will be a difficult choice for many. The Imperials have had a grip on Skyrim for centuries, and we do not expect for it to change over night. But we do believe we can get there eventually, with the grace of Jhunal. In this document, we shall list the many reasons why we believe neither sides of this war are truly good options, and why we think you should join with us in returning to the true glory days of Skyrim.

Point 1: the Sins of a Stormcloak

The first issue we wish to bring to light is the sins and crimes committed by the Jarl of Windhelm. This list is by no means small, and many of them were well hidden by him and those using him.

First, the Markarth Incident. The Reachfolk took back the city, which was stolen from them in the first place, and treated all of the Nord residents fairly, allowing them to live their lives as if nothing changed. The Empire wasn’t going to do anything about it, as they were already spent from the Great War, and trying to keep the Aldmeri Dominion at bay. They had bigger enemies to worry about than some Skyrim natives fighting over land. But Jarl Hrolfdir decided he wanted his castle back, so he contacted Ulfric and told him he would allow Talos worship in his city. So Ulfric gathered a militia and ransacked Markarth, slaughtering women and children’s n’s every single Reachman in the city.

Stuhn teaches us the value in keeping prisoners of war. But Ulfric slaughtered all of them. Man, woman, child, none were spared by his harsh hand. This one example shows the cruelty in Ulfrics heart, as he took the kindhearted Reachman who merely fought for their homes and never harmed a single Nord that didn’t attack them first, and he massacred them all. That is what truly happened. It was not a Markarth Incident. It was a Markarth Massacre.

I have personally interviewed a Nord resident of Markarth who was present for this event, and his story will further support our argument.

“I was there when the Forsworn took the city. It was not a blood full battle, with the Legion having left us for the Imperial City. They dethroned Jarl Hrolfdir, instead of executing him. They lived in the city, occupying empty homes instead of removing us from ours. I remember them all, reuniting with family and friends, making new friends and starting new families. I watched children grow up, seeing elders die, and couples wed. 2 years they lived alongside us, families mixing and growing. Then he came. Ulfric, wielding powers long forgotten. He invaded the city, alongside a militia of farmers and mercenaries. And the dethroned Hrolfdir. Ulfric gathered every Reachman in the city to the city square, executing each and everyone of them. Man, woman, child, elder, it didn’t matter to him. They were all killed, save for Madanach and the few who escaped. He even killed Callacha, my sweet Callacha.”

At this moment, the man broke into tears at the memory. This quote acts as a first person account of the true event of the Markarth Massacre. Ulfric is no hero, he is a battle thirsty, power hungry man who doesn’t deserve any kind of power, much less the power of the Voice. And once our informant finished mourning his lost love, he continued to explain to us that despite the victory, Ulfric refused to cede the city to Hrolfdir until he decreed that Talos worship be allowed in the city. When the Thalmor agents came and demanded Ulfrics arrest, many of the cities residents demanded Hrolfdir agree.

Ulfric killed their friends, their families, and almost took control of their city, and then faced no punishment until another invading force came and demanded it. Ulfrics actions not only caused the deaths of hundreds of people and the ruin of countless lives, but he directly caused the Thalmor to occupy Skyrim, which they hadn’t paid any mind to nor did they enforce the White-Gold Concordant.

Second, Ulfric murdered the High King of Skyrim. This is a topic under heavy debate across Skyrim. The Stormcloaks argue that it was an honor-duel, a tradition that dates back to the first kings of Skyrim. That is something I can not argue with, as a challenge was made and accepted. But that does not mean Ulfrics victory followed the rules of the duel. Ulfric used a power not seen by any but the Greybeards for hundreds of years. His use of the Thu’um to kill Skyrims High King is an affront to Kyne and a bastardization of her gift to her people.

The Thu’um May once have been used by Nords the way swords are used today, but that day has long since past. Once upon a time, magicks were used by the Norse under the watchful tutelage of Jhunal, but that day was long ago, and has been replaced with a fear and hatred for the ancient arts. Would the Stormcloaks defend Ulfric the Murderer with as much fervor and fury if he had used a spell instead of a Shout? Would they still declare him king if he had used the gift of Jhunal instead of the gift of Kyne?

No, they wouldn’t have. And I ask you, dear reader, what is truly the difference between the two arts? What is the difference between flames from you hand and flames from your mouth? Moving back the High King Torygg. We hold members in our ranks who work in the Solitude Court, and their accounts of Torygg show that he agreed with Ulfric. He believed that Skyrim should be an independent nation, and that the Imperial Empire had grown weak.

But Ulfric challenged him anyway. And yes, I will admit that Ulfric couldn’t possibly have known of Toryggs beliefs, but if he had just given him a chance. If he had pleaded his case first, instead of jumping on the chance to challenge the young man. This challenge held no glory, no honor to be won. Torygg was young, with little martial training, and Ulfric was a war veteran wielding an ancient power from the Gods themselves.

All who die in worthy ways go to Shor, on the wings of Kyne and her daughters, but because of Ulfric, Torygg will be going to him young, dishonored, and without the wisdom of age.

Thirdly, Ulfric caused the return of the dragons, however unintentional it may have been. We all know of the Dragonborn. The hero who bears the soul of a dragon and the body of a mortal. We grew up on the stories of their return, on the stories of Alduins destruction of the world. And we all know the prophecy.

When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world.

When the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped

When the thrice-blessed fail and the Red-Tower trembles

When the Dragonborn Ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls

When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding

The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn

Those last two lines are the ones I’d like to bring a focus to. “When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding. The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn.” Our scholars have spent wells analyzing this prophecy, and they have come to the conclusion that the Snow Tower refers to Skyrim herself, a bit obvious once you look at it, and once we learned that, it was obvious what the other words meant.

With the death of High King Torygg, Ulfric set the final part of this prophecy into place. By killing the High King, he left Skyrim “sundered, kingless, bleeding.” He opened the path way for Alduin to return, setting in motion the end of the world. While he also set in motion the return of the Dragonborn, if the Dovahkiin had failed, all of Nirn would have fallen under his control.

Ulfrics lust for power and hunger for glory has placed not just him, not just Skyrim, but all of Tamriel in danger! He had endangered everyone in his quest for glory with no concern of the consequences. While he may not have known he would cause Alduins return, even the political backlash from the Empire, Thalmor, and Skyrim itself weren’t considered by Ulfric the Murderer.

All of these reason, and more we may not know yet, are why Ulfric is not fit to rule Skyrim, or even Windhelm. He has shown a blatant disregard for the lives of the Nords, and even though he claims to hold the values of a traditional Nord, he only follows the ones that support him and his lies. He calls for an ancient duel, then uses magic to win, he calls for religious freedom so he can worship an Imperial god. He lies and cheats when it suits him while preaching about honor and Nordic pride. But do not take my criticisms of Ulfric for support of the Empire, for that has issues of its own.

Point 2. Imperial Issues

The issues with the Legion are easier to list, as they have been happening for centuries, unlike Ulfrics all being within the past 20-30 years. Many of our issues are not with the legion itself, but with the Empire, much like Ulfric we have members who are war veterans, who fought in the Great War, who even joined the Civil War when the Empire called for them, but were dismissed due to injuries and saw how little the Empire truly cares about Skyrim.

The first thing we should discuss is the Great War. This war weighed heavy on many people in Skyrim, and all of Tamriel, with the deaths of loved ones and almost themselves. This war with the Aldmeri Dominion is not an issue itself. The Dominion is a blight and that is plain for us all to see. Their head god is the killer of Shor, and they talk as if they’re inherently better than the Nords.

Our issue is not with the war. Our issue is with its conclusion. During the siege of the Imperial City, Emperor Titus Mede II sacrificed an entire Legion so he could escape. He then called all of the troops from Hammerfell and Skyrim back, leaving the provinces defenseless while he marched on the now Dominion controlled Imperial City. Jhunal and Stuhn teach us the importance of strategic planning, but this follows the precedent of the Empire abandoning Skyrim. Much like during the Oblivion Crisis, when our lands were ravaged by the forces of Mehrunes Dagon, and yet the Legion couldn’t spare a single legion to help. Yes, they had they’re own issues to deal with, but they couldn’t even send a militia?

Now, back to the Great War, more specifically the treaty that ended it. The White-Gold Concordant was a treaty signed by Emperor Titus Mede II 4E 175, after he had taken the Imperial City back. And it was completed unnecessary. The Empire had won, they had the City back, they had driven the Dominion from Hammerfell, it was only a matter of time before they regained their strength and took the rest of Cyrodiil back.

And they still signed it. They outlawed the worship of the God of the Empire. They gave Hammerfell to the Dominion, without even discussing it with them. They disbanded the Blades, the honor guard of the Empire. This is such an obvious show that the Empire doesn’t care for its citizens, or it’s traditions. They sold an entire country to the Dominion, what’s to stop them from doing it again? They outlawed the worship of the man who founded their empire, why wouldn’t they outlaw our gods? They disbanded the Blades, the personal guard of the Dragonborn, if they would throw out they’re own traditions without a second thought, imagine what they would do to ours?

Secondly, Titus Mede the First was not a liberator of the Empire, but a conqueror and the Mede Dynasty holds no legitimacy to their rule. After the assassination of Chancellor Ocato, a Nibenese witch-warrior was crowned emperor. While he was not liked by the people, he was favored by the Elder Council, who’s duty it is to choose the Emperor. They had made their choice, and as citizens of the Empire it was our duty to respect it.

But Titus Mede did not. He marched on the Imperial City, crowning himself Emperor. He conquered an Empire, not founded. He dethroned the Emperor and went against the Elder Council. This once again shows such a blatant disregard for tradition that we can’t help but fear what they’ll ignore next.

And our current Emperor, Titus Mede II has made our current empire a shadow of itself. Valenwood and Elsweyr have been ceded to the Thalmor, Morrowind has yet to recover from Red Mountain and hasn’t been a part of the Empire since 4E 48, Hammerfell was sold to the Dominion before ceding from the Empire itself, and Black Marsh was lost long ago. The current state of the Empire only includes 3 countries, and they struggle to hold onto even those.

Titus Mede II signed the Concordant which started the Civil War, and he makes no moves to end it, sending one general without an army, with no weapons, no money, and no supplies. He is unfit to rule, as he had proven time and time again. And that’s not even touching on the illegitimacy of his claim to the throne.

Titus Mede I stole his crown, conquering the Empire. Titus Mede II dragged the Empire to the ground. And neither are truly worthy of their titles. The Empire was started by the Slave-Queen Alessia with the help of Kyne and Mara. The Second Empire was started by Reman Cyrodiil, the next in the line of Dragonborn Emperors. The Third Empire was started by Tiber Septim, Dragon of the North. Our current empire was conquered by Titus Mede, a Nibenese noble with an ego.

One of these things are not like the others, with Titus Mede being the first non-Dragonborn emperor to start a new dynasty. Why, in this time of war and dragons, would the Last Dragonborn not be born in the line of Emperors, if they were truly meant to rule? Why would Akatosh not bless the ruling family with his blood if he truly approved of their reign. Because they hold no legitimate claim to the throne. Instead, he gave the power to Skyrim, with the blessing of Shor and Kyne, in order to stop Alduin the Word Eater and set the world to a new age.

The Last Dragonborn holds a stronger claim to the Empire than any of the Mede’s could hope for. And yet they make no grab for power, because they know they don’t have to. They have their kingdom here, in Skyrim. The land of the Nords and home of the Sons and Daughters of Kyne.

Now, while we call for a return to the Old Ways of Skyrim, we understand that many may have forgotten their roots, and will need a reminder. So in the next passage we shall educate you all on the true path of the Nords.

Point 3: Traditions and Customs

A return to tradition can not happen if we do not know our traditions and history. Us Nords are an ancient culture, and our ways date back to the founding of Skyrim. We have many things to cover, so this may be the longest part of the Papers. First, the gods of the Old Ways.

Kyne

The Kiss at the End. Goddess of the Storm. Widow of Shor and patron of warriors. The Mother of Men. She, her daughters, and Parthunaax taught the Nords the Thu’um or “Storm Voice”. Her tears over Shors death were the first rain in Nirn. She is associated with hawks.

Mara

Goddess of Love. Handmaiden of Kyne. Concubine of Shor. Goddess of fertility and agriculture. She is often depicted as a she-wolf.

Dibella

Goddess of Beauty. Worshipped across Skyrim, each of her cults being dedicated to different parts of her sphere. Some are devoted to women, others art, and others the more sensual sides of her. Dibella is often times associated with moths.

Stuhn

God of Ransom. Brother of Tsun, Shield-thane to Shor. Warrior-god who fought against the Aldmeri gods. He taught Men how to and the importance of taking prisoners of war, and is represented by the whale.

Jhunal

The Rune God. God of knowledge and hermetic orders. His worship and teachings have been shunned by modern day Skyrim. He is often times depicted as an owl or has an owl with him.

Shor

God of the Underworld. Shor sided with Men after the creation of the world. Elven gods conspired against him and brought along his defeat, dooming him to the afterlife, Sovengarde. He is the Chief of the Gods. Not explicitly worshipped, for he is a dead god. Shor is depicted as a fox in most cases. And it is commonly believed that Shor would come down to Earth in mortal vessels known as Shezzarines to the Imperials and Ysmir to us.

Orkey

Also called Old Knocker, he is the god of mortality. Nords once held lives as long as the elves, until Orkey tricked us into a bargain that shortened our life spans to 6 years, until Shor removed the curse. Orkey, like the other testing gods, is depicted as a snake.

Alduin

The World Eater. He is fated to destroy the world, eating it in order to make place for the next. He is both a creator and a harbinger of the apocalypse. Many of modern day Skyrim has become very well acquainted with Alduin, due to his return and defeat at the hands of the Dragonborn. Alduin is, obviously, depicted as a dragon.

The Testing Gods

Herma Mora (the Woodland Man) tests the Nords through wit. He is an ancient demon of knowledge, who spent much of Ysgramors life targeting him. He is also called Hermaeus Mora

Mauloch (God of Orcs) tests the Nords through warfare. Mauloch spent much time torturing the heirs of King Harald. He is also called Malacath.

Tsun

The Dead God of trials against adversity. He died defending Shor in battle and now guards the whalebone bridge leading to Shors Hall. He is the brother of Stuhn. Despite being one of the dead gods, when Tsun is honored he is often depicted as a bear.

Now that we have covered the Gods themselves, it’s time to talk about the traditions. One thing that is very important in both the old ways and modern ways is music and stories.

The skalds of old held places of high esteem in our society. The oral traditions and stories they passed down hold the history of our people, and the songs they spun acted as the light in the darkest of days. And with Dibella being the patron of the arts, it is no wonder that the skalds hold her favor.

Another part of our traditions are the ice wraith hunts. In the dead of winter, young men would go to the tallest peaks for weeks hunting the wraiths in order to earn their citizenship. This acted as not just a test of their battle prowess, but as a way to prove their faith in Kyne, for those who’s faith is strong are rewarded with an immunity to the cold.

One very special tradition is the naming ceremony. Where a priest of Jhunal and a priestess of Mara would use omens and prophecy to choose a name for a child during a special ceremony before they’re ninth birthday.

One tradition that is not so happy is the practice of wergild, an act of retribution in Stuhns name. Where if one life is taken, another must be given, or an amount of high value items will be taken as payment, if it is agreed upon.

To bring this back to a lighter note, there are 4 holidays celebrated in the ancient traditions. The first is the Feast of Dibella, where a silver, moth shaped mirror is displayed for the goddess so that she might be drawn in by her beauty and bless the city. Another holiday is Feast of the Dead, where on the 13th of Suns Dawn, a feast takes place in honor of the Five Hundread Companions of Ysgramor. One very special holiday is Konunleikar, which is a celebration of the 10th anniversary of the High Kings coronation, which we sadly did not get to celebrate for High King Torygg as we had not even made it to the one year anniversary of his rule.

One lost tradition is the use of the Thu’um. Like Ulfric and the Greybeards, the ancient Nords were capable of using the Thu’um and shouts since we were created by Kyne. The Ancient Tongues were a staple of Nordic civilization and honored as parts of the society. They were instrumental in wartime and sieges, while also acting as voices for the gods. But that changed when Jurgen Windcaller banned the use of Thu’um outside of times of “true need”.

Windcaller never specified what true need meant, and so the Greybeards, his disciples, sit in their home of High Hrothgar doing nothing as the world falls around them. Tiber Septim did establish the Imperial College of the Voice in hopes to return the practice to Skyrim, but it never amounted to anything.

The funerary rights used by ancient Nords are still in practice in many places today, such as Windhelm, Markarth, Winterhold, Riften, and Falkreath. While Falkreath doesn’t bury their dead in a tomb, the rites used are those done by ancient Mords, albeit with an Imperial twist that honors Arkay instead of Shor. Winterholds burial practices are more similar to Solstheim’s burials as they entomb the body’s in ice using magic only known by the College of Winterhold. Another funeral rite that was practiced by the ancient birds was ancestor veneration, with offerings of gold, wine, apples, snowberries, and weapons being left for them to take to the afterlife. This is a practice still held by many Norse to this day.

Now, we have covered as many of the old traditions as we can, it is time for us to move on to the true point of these essays. How the old ways and help us move into the future.

Point 4: The Future with the Past

We know how we sound, we must return to the past in order to move into the future. But listen to me my brothers and sisters. The Nords have lived under Imperial control since the first empire. Since Alessia, they have tried to convert us to their gods. They have tried to make us forget our culture in favor of there’s, and for centuries they had failed.

We can return to that strength again, if we return to the old ways. The ways of Kyne and Shor, Jhunal and Stuhn, Mara and Orkey. The gods gave us strength, and ever since we abandoned them, we have gotten weaker. Now do not get us wrong, we understand that this can not happen immediately. It will take time for the Nords to return to our old ways, so here is what we suggest.

First, we dethrone Ulfric as Jarl of Windhelm, replacing him with an actual True Nord of Skyrim. Then, we convene the moot to vote in a high king or queen who is dedicated to the old ways. Then, we reinstate the temples to the old gods in each city. Converting the temple of Kynareth in Whiterun to a temple of Kyne, the Temple of Talos in Windhelm to a temple of Shor, we shall open a temple of Stuhn in Morthal, and Winterhold shall be known as the City of Jhunal.

The High King or Queen shall also act as avatars of either Shor or Kyne on earth, being placed as the heads of not just the country, but also the religious practices.

The traditions named previously shall come back to Skyrim, with the naming ceremony and ice wraith hunt being the first to come back. We know that many in Skyrim do not hold the martial prowess for the ice wraith hunt, so we do not expect the first one to take place for 9 years after we take command, as to rightfully train Skyrims people in warfare, to at least take on a wraith.

Skyrims Halls of the Dead shall also be converted into temples of Shor and Tsun, and be open will laces of worship and veneration to not just the gods, but ancestors as well. Outside of each major city, there shall be a spot of nature and trees sacred to Kyne. Hunting is permitted here, as long as you can prove yourself to the goddess and her servants.

Efforts will be made to excavate Labyrinthian, and return it to the great city it once was. We shall also set up a museum to teach about Nordic heroes and history such as the Dragon Cult and the Nordic-Falmer War. With help from the College of Winterhold, we hope to excavate as many Nordic ruins we can, either converting them into cities, burial mounds, or at least setting the dead to rest.

And as for the Thalmor and Empire, they will be given a chance to leave Skyrim or join us, but if they wish for neither then we will make them leave. We hope to avoid war, as enough blood had been spilled during the Great War and Civil War, but if we are left with no other option, then we will fight and we will win for the glory of Skyrim and her children.

Now, one thing that neither side of the Civil War has yet to address is the Dragons. We will not be as blind. With the defeat of Alduin, the dragon threat has been reduced but not eliminated. So we shall create a group dedicated to wiping out the rest of the dragon threat. Under the patronage of Kyne, our Einherjar will eradicate the dragon threat from Skyrim.

This is not everything we wish to do, but it is as much as we can say at this point in the war. We hope this essay has convinced you to side with us against both the False Empire and the Traitorous Stormcloaks. If so, come to the Skyrim Historical Society in Whiterun and present them a copy of these papers and they shall know what to do next.

Published by the Skyrim Historical Society, Whiterun Wind District.

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