#put them on the courting market but...maybe so

[alliluyevas]

one thing I keep finding in my polygamist-family-photos-hunting that intrigues me is that photographs of men with a large number of their daughters seem to actually be significantly more common than photos of men with their sons. In general, group photos of daughters (with or without parental accompaniment) seem to be more common than group photos of sons. example photos of what I’m talking about, in chronological order:

George A. Smith and four of his daughters, 1860s.

Hiram Clawson and daughters, c. 1880.

Joseph F. Smith and his oldest daughters, early 1890s. (Note: this is also a real girls-who-look-like-their-dads collective, isn’t it?)

Thomas Chamberlain and daughters, c. 1910. (Them all being lined up in height order reminds me of a more extreme version of those instagram fundie-lite mommybloggers who line their kids up in age order like stepstones. The more things change, I guess.)

For most of these families, I can’t find equivalent photographs featuring multiple sons. (The Clawsons are the only exception, there’s a photo taken around the same time of Hiram with several of his oldest sons, though the age range is not as wide as in the picture of the sisters. For the other families, there are family pictures with mixed-gender siblings and pictures with only girls, but none with only boys.)

I also noticed this when I was compiling photos of Brigham Young’s children: there are several photos of groups of daughters, both as adolescents and adults, but none to my knowledge that are only of sons. None of these photos include their father, so it’s a bit different from the above examples, but for reference:

First picture is 1860s, second is 1890s.

I have some thoughts about why this might be, especially because several of the pictures feature only adolescent daughters, so the pictures might have been sort of a coming-of-age commemoration. More pictures might have been taken of only girls because physical appearance and dress was considered more important for them than for their brothers. Also, in terms of adult daughters seemingly being more likely to pose for group photographs--these are all wealthy families where grown married daughters may have had more free time to get photographs taken compared to their brothers who were employed outside the home, women’s social circles may have been more limited to family members, and they also might have been more likely to still live close to their parents, enabling them to return home for photos like the one of Thomas Chamberlain and all of his daughters.

[teamatsumu]

compression. (sakusa kiyoomi x reader)

summary: atsumu is the perfect person to feed your obsession with kiyoomi’s arms.

word count: 1172

warnings: swearing, very mildly suggestive (if you squint), detailed descriptions of kiyoomi’s arms in compression sleeves so it’s not for the faint hearted

tags: @keiva1000 @kindnessspreads @msbyomimi

When you studied Marketing and Communications in university, you didn’t exactly anticipate that your future would include you managing a V League Division 1 sports team. But every day when you went into work, you thanked the gods above that this is where your career path had led you, because that meant you could ogle Sakusa Kiyoomi and his infamous compression sleeves all day.

Oftentimes you were certain Kiyoomi didn’t mean anything by them. For him, they were practical. They kept his arms taut and ready for the ball. They made his movements sharper. He received the ball better. He didn’t have to feel his bare skin on the dirty court. These were all reasons you had heard straight out of his mouth. When you heard him mention them so nonchalantly, it almost made you feel bad for the absolutely sinful- borderline deranged- thoughts you had in your head about the way those sleeves made his arms look.

You were well aware of the kind of thoughts Kiyoomi’s choice of athletic wear caused among his fans. To put it simply and bluntly, they went feral over it. There were whole Twitter accounts dedicated to just his arms, or his chest. And as someone who often managed social media profiles for some of the members, you got to see the most unhinged of these comments with your own two eyes. And you would be the first to (secretly) admit that you agreed with 90% of what was being said, because holy shit did those sleeves do something to you.

Most of the time during practice, you could feel your eyes drift back over to the man in question, wearing a black sports tee and those godforsaken sleeves, working up quite the set as they played set after set to prepare for their next game. As the hours passed, Kiyoomi would get more and more disheveled, curls becoming unruly enough that he would grab a towel, biceps flexing as he ran it over the nape of his neck and dipped into the collar of his shirt. Christ almighty.

You should’ve known that you would eventually get caught. But if it was anyone who would notice, you had expected it to be Meian or maybe Coach Foster. But the person who did bring it up to you happened to be the biggest nightmare in this scenario; Miya Atsumu.

“Ya should be a little less obvious ‘bout it.” He commented when he trudged over to the bench where you sat, grabbing a water bottle and beginning to chug. You tore your eyes from Kiyoomi who now had his back to you, the muscles under his shirt flexing with every movement. You raised an eyebrow at the blond, not yet correlating his words with your hidden obsession. He placed the bottle down and placed a hand on his hip, giving you a knowing smirk.

“A blind grandma could notice the way yer lookin’ at him.”

Your eyes widened and cheeks flamed when he nudged his head in Kiyoomi’s direction, and you knew you had been caught. You clenched your jaw hard.

“You say a single word-”

He threw his hands up as if in surrender, effectively silencing your threat in its tracks.

“I won’t, promise! But there is one thing…..”

You groaned loudly, throwing your head back. Of course, of fucking course he would blackmail you with this.

“What do you want?” You deadpanned, glaring at him and preparing for the worst.

Atsumu looked a bit affronted, as if the mere insinuation that he might want something was preposterous to him. You gave him another tired look, until he sighed and gave up, plopping down heavily on the bench next to you.

“A phone number. Ya know that cute girl who comes by once a month? From the Volleyball Association?”

“No.”

Atsumu’s mouth dropped like a child who just got slapped. “Hey c’mon! Ya didn’t even hear me out!”

You groaned and pinched the bridge of your nose, feeling a characteristic frontal headache begin to build, courtesy of Miya Atsumu. “I’m tired of setting you up with people, Tsumu! It won’t end well, as always-”

“I’ll get you a picture of Omi with his compression sleeves.”

You give him an unimpressed look. “I can get hundreds of those off the internet.”

“I’ll get you a picture of Omi with just his compression sleeves.”

That made you halt in your tracks. You searched Atsumu’s face for any form of mockery or lie, and you found none. Your eyebrows shot up when you realized he was being serious.

“In the locker room. I can get it for ya today.”

Oh my god. Instinctively, your eyes darted over to the man in question, who was talking to Hinata about something. It looked like volleyball tips since he had his arms before him in a receiving position, and Hinata was rapidly nodding to what he was saying.

“No.” You shook your head. “No, that’s wrong.”

“I’ll take a selfie with him, yeah? He will know there’s a photo. And I can send it in the groupchat.”

You look back at Atsumu, seriously contemplating his offer. He kept yapping, as per usual, thinking that the more he talked, the likelier it would be to convince you. And the bastard was right, it was working.

“No one else will bat an eye. We see each other in the lockers all the time. No big deal.”

You bit your lip in thought. The possibility of seeing Kiyoomi shirtless and only in compression sleeves had your pulse rising.

“And you just want her number in return?”

Atsumu nodded eagerly. You gave him a narrow-eyed glare.

“Send the picture. Then I will give you the number.”

His triumphant grin made it feel like he had already won. “Deal.”

That evening, when your phone pinged with a text notification, you nearly flew across the bed to grab it, opening the picture Atsumu sent in the groupchat with eager fingers and freezing as soon as you laid eyes on it.

Atsumu had held up his end of the bargain spectacularly.

He had taken the picture with Kiyoomi a little further in the background, so he could get the man’s full torso in it. He was facing slightly away from the camera, but his face was turned towards it, capturing the scowl between his eyebrows and the little pout of his mouth. He was gloriously shirtless, still a bit sweaty from practice, and he held his shirt in his hand, one arm flexed as he held it while the other was held carelessly by his side, compression sleeves hugging the cords of toned muscles just right.

There was another ping, pulling you out of your trance and making you realize just how dry your mouth had gotten. Atsumu had messaged you privately.

“My payment? ;)”

You rolled your eyes and sent him the number, immediately going back to the picture and starring it for future reference, a tiny smile quirking up the corner of your lip as you did so.

[chestharrington]

I Think We're Alone Now || Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: Set in the S3 Starcourt era... Steve develops a fixation on the shopgirl-next-door.

Couple: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Content Warnings: explicit smut || sexual fantasy (includes oral, f and m receiving, p in v sex) and solo masturbation, kind of a panty/lingerie fetish if u squint or even just stare

Word Count: 2.9k

Whoever was in charge of Starcourt Mall planning was a sadist. That was the only explanation as to why a lingerie store was situated directly next door to Scoops Ahoy. Really, what business did it have in a food court of all places?

It also didn’t help that Steve Harrington was in the sex drought of all sex droughts— caused not just because of his stupid uniform, but probably also owed a lot to the fact that he had no college prospects, had lost his proverbial crown to Billy Hargrove, and had been cheated on with Jonathan Byers. Nothing kills a reputation quite like that. 

So there he was— showing up to work every day, walking past scantily clad mannequins and shopgirls wearing tight miniskirts, none of whom gave him the time of day when he was dressed like that. Well, none of them except you. 

“Good morning, Steve!” You greeted, wearing a tight white button-up shirt with a black pencil skirt. Like a sexy librarian had just walked off the page of a centerfold and decided to work retail. You were lifting the gate from the front of the store and placing a sale sign right between your two shops as he passed.

“You’re opening again?” He asked, pausing in front of his stupid, sticky helljob. You blew a loose piece of hair from your bangs as you stood and nodded. 

“And closing. It’s our summer savings sale,” you explained. “You should probably expect a lot of rollover customers. Stop by if you’re in the market for anything. Maybe a nice gift for a girlfriend?” Before he could respond, you gave him a pretty smile as you disappeared into your dimly-lit storefront to finish opening. 

You’d gone to high school together, though he doubted you remembered him. You were, after all, a senior while he was just an annoying sophomore on JV Basketball. You were on homecoming court, voted most friendly for senior superlatives, and were probably the hottest girl in your class. He didn’t have a chance then, and he definitely didn’t now.

But you always said hello when he passed by, and you would stop by Scoops sometimes after work and buy a cone of the flavor of the month. He wanted to talk to you more— to actually get to know you beyond a schoolboy crush, but you were so far out of his league that he couldn’t bring himself to try. 

When he walked into Scoops, his boss, Allan, had already begun the process of opening. His task of vigorously polishing the glass case of ice cream felt pointless when it was about thirty minutes from being smudged with a toddler’s fingerprints. 

“Steven, you’re late,” He said firmly. 

Steve glanced towards the clock. “I’m five minutes early.”

Allan slung the rag he was cleaning with over his shoulder and sighed. “In my book, thirty minutes early is on time, and on time is late.”

Steve made a face as he refrained from telling Allan that payroll would disagree. Instead, he put on the stupid sailor hat and pinned on his nametag. And, just because he could, he clocked in early.

His morning was hectic. Like you’d said, there were countless rollover customers who wandered in after the sale next door, each clutching a bag of lingerie and giggling with their friends. His wrist was aching from scooping so much ice cream by the time lunchtime rolled around. He would’ve gone back for his fifteen, but there you were, your hair pulled back in a banana clip, fanning yourself as you stepped into the long line for ice cream. 

When you finally reached the counter, you smiled like the two of you shared a secret. “Busy day?” You asked as you fished cash out of your purse. 

“It’s been crazy. You?”

You peered up at him and laughed wryly. “God, you wouldn’t believe the number of women in this town who jump at the chance for discounted racy lingerie. I’m drowning in satin and lace today.”

He managed to smile without looking like a complete idiot as he scooped your ice cream, handing it across the counter as you looked at him with amusement. 

“You memorized my order? That’s so sweet, Steve.”  You handed him a few bills and coins across the counter. “Keep the change, alright? Hopefully I'll see you later.”

His cheeks burned hot. “Yeah, for sure.” He stared dumbly as you licked your ice cream and walked out into the food court. 

He needed to find an excuse to buy lingerie from you... if only to have a reason to see you again that day. 

———

It was late afternoon before he got his first break and darted into the lingerie store to the shock and horror of the women inside. He hip-checked a table displaying hosiery before he stopped in front of you, smiling expectantly. 

You put down the stockings you were folding and looked at him with amusement. “Steve! What can I help you with?”

“Oh, uh… just…” He floundered as he searched for a reason, then remembered your suggestion that morning— buying for a girlfriend. “My girlfriend.”

“Oh? What’s her name? Maybe I know her.”

Steve hesitated for a moment, before saying the first girl’s name to pop into his head. “Her name is Nancy.”

As soon as your brows furrowed, he knew he fucked up. “Oh, I heard you two broke up, or something.” 

He hesitated, mouth open as he tried to find words to dig himself out of the hole. “Oh… no, not that Nancy. It’s a different Nancy. You probably don’t know her.”

You raised your brows, but said nothing to suggest you doubted him. “I can help you find something. What were you thinking?”

He reached back and scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. He hadn’t thought this far. “Uh, what would you suggest?”

You considered it for a moment, looking at him carefully. “Well, that depends. Are you buying something she’d like to wear, or something you’d like to see her in?”

Steve blinked dumbly. “Both?”

You laughed lightly and walked towards a table displaying an array of underwear. “So, if you’re going for practical and sexy, I’d recommend panties.” You held up a lacy white pair and his mouth went dry. “A pair like these is pleasing to the eye, but totally invisible underneath clothes.” You stepped back and gave a tiny spin. “I’ve got them on now, and you’d think I wasn���t wearing any. Absolutely no lines at all.” 

Steve swallowed hard. Don’t picture it don’t picture it don’t picture it don’t— “Yeah, I’ll take those.” 

You chuckled and grinned. “Well, you’re an easy sell. Do you want the matching bra and garter belt to go with that?” You gestured to the mannequin atop the table. “The set is absolutely stunning when worn all together.”

He hesitated, knowing he had no use for any of this stuff. Still, the vision in his mind of you wearing the set was enough to make blood rush south and all rational thoughts leave his brain.

“I really can’t afford the full set,” he finally said after a synapse successfully fired in his brain. “I’ll just, uh, grab her size then.” You nodded and smiled. He had to pretend like he wasn’t thinking of you wearing this same pair, imagining what size would be closest to yours. He grabbed blindly at the folded pairs and retrieved the first ones his hands touched. 

“I’ll ring you up! I’ll even throw in our gift wrapping just because I like you so much.” You smiled and guided him towards the register, letting him cut the line of women waiting to pay. After he paid, you handed over a white box with a silky red bow and gave him a conspiratorial smile. “I hope you both enjoy.” 

————

The box sat on his bedside table— the proverbial elephant in the room. 

God, he thought. You probably thought he was a weird pervert who wanted to wear them or something. Well, he probably would if someone hot enough asked him to, but it wasn’t like he was seeking it out. 

His thoughts wandered as they usually did when it was late and he was home alone with nothing (or no one) to do. That night, though, his thoughts were focused solely on you. 

He thought about the professional pencil skirt you wore, of lace and stockings beneath. He yearned to peel them off of you with his teeth and bury his head between your thighs, tasting all you had to offer him. He wanted your manicured nails tugging on his hair, scratching his scalp as you cried out in pleasure above him.

He groaned, almost involuntarily reaching down to palm himself over his sweats. Talk about pathetic— even the tiniest mental image made him swell with desire. Fucking dry spell. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, bucking into his own grip. Just the lightest pressure made him groan and toss his head back, the expanse of his neck bared. He imagined your pretty mouth pressed against his throat, sucking bruises into his pale skin and felt his cock twitch beneath the confines of his pants.

He was quick to strip off the rest of his clothes, not wanting anything in the way. The dry glide of his hand along his hardening length made him hiss. With clumsy impatience, he reached for the bottle of lube inside of his bedside table, almost empty from solo use, sitting beside a mostly-full box of condoms.

Immediately, the slick sounds of him working his length filled the room— desperate and messy with need. Maybe he could’ve been patient— taken it slower, but he was overcome with lust and a desire for release.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Feels so good— don’t stop, keep goin’ just like that.”

As the words mindlessly slipped past his lips, he knew he was well and truly gone. It was an entirely new level of desperate and horny to dirty talk to the girl you were hot for when she wasn’t even there. 

His free hand was splayed across his chest, just resting against the thatch of chest hair where his heart was pounding just beneath his ribs. As his desperation grew, his hand wandered lower, fondling his balls as his other hand squeezed the base of his shaft. A desperate, feral noise escaped his mouth that he’d never even heard himself make before.

He closed his eyes and he could imagine you pulling him into a dressing room, a wanton look in your gaze as you pulled the thin curtain shut, the only semblance of privacy you could get. You’d smile as you stripped off your clothes, only clad in the skimpy lingerie you’d paid for with your employee discount. 

“You’re gonna have to be quiet for me, okay?” You’d say as you pulled down his stupid Scoops uniform shorts. “Don’t want to get caught, right?”

He could feel sweat beading at the base of his neck and around his forehead, on his chest, tummy, and thighs. His entire body was burning up as he touched himself, like he was on fire from the inside out. 

He’d waste no time kneeling before you— tugging your stockings and panties down and hiking up your skirt so he could slot himself between your legs and taste you. There were few things Steve loved more than eating pussy. There was something about the taste, smell, the sounds that he could elicit with a few deft movements of his tongue. You’d pull his hair and tilt your head back as moans escaped your lips. 

He worked his length quickly as he imagined eating you out. His head was thrown back, tongue lolling out of his mouth as short pants escaped him. The slick sounds of lube and the slap of his hand at the base of his cock were pornographically loud. He’d have been embarrassed had he not had the house to himself.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned. “Wanna make you cum so bad. Wanna taste you.”  He could only imagine the pretty sounds you’d make as you came, the way you’d tremble as your knees threatened to give out. He’d wait until you couldn’t take anymore before finally relenting, meeting you with a kiss.

Your hands would be soft. He knew this not just by looking at them, but also from the few times you’d put a hand on his arm when you passed by him in the service hallways. He liked thinking about your hands on him, squeezing him just the way he liked. 

“You’re so big, Steve,” you’d say from your knees, peering up at him with big doll eyes. Your hand would glide along his cock— slow, teasing. Your tongue would dart out, kitten-licking his tip before you took him into his mouth entirely.

“Mmm, fuck— feels so good,” Steve cried out, his chest heaving as he continued to work his hand along his cock. “Doin’ so good, taking it all for me. Just like that.”

Steve felt himself nearing his finish and slowed down, practically to a snail's pace to keep from busting early. What was the point of having a sexual fantasy if you finished before getting to the best part? 

He returned his attention to the image of you in his mind. How the drool at the corners of your mouth would drip messily, how your eyes would be wet and glossy as his cock bullied its way into your throat. Your free hand would move to cup his balls, heavy and full for you as you kneaded them in your palm. 

He’d bring you up to him and give you a kiss for good measure— slow and messy like you had all the time in the world. But he’d get impatient, like he was then to just give in and make himself cum. 

He’d press your back against the wall and lift your legs around his waist. You’d still be wet from his mouth, dripping with desire. You’d take him with no resistance at all, just a tight warmth like he belonged there. 

He needed more. Just jerking off wasn’t cutting it. He reached out clumsily with his free hand and grabbed the gift-wrapped box from the bedside table and tore at the silky red ribbon so he could knock the top of the box off. He grabbed the white lace panties from within and groaned at the sight.

“Ah!” He got a full-body shiver the moment he wrapped the lace panties around his cock, the fabric soft against his flushed length. They wrap around the head as he sets a fast pace, imagining that they’re yours— the same pair you’d been wearing that day. 

“Fuck,” he cried out, bucking up into his fist and the lace. “Holy shit, ‘m cumming. Fuck— fuck—“ He came with a shout, his spend soaking through the white lace, sticky on his hands and dripping down his shaft, pooling at the base. 

His breath came in soft pants as he came down, his cock still twitching weakly, rivulets of cum dripping from the slit. “Goddamn,” was all he could manage as he laid limp against his pillows. 

He’d made a mess, not just of himself, but of the lace panties he’d spent a day’s paycheck on. He grimaced at the sight of them, completely soiled from his exploits. With more effort than he even felt capable of, he sat up and tossed them into the hamper in the corner of his room. 

Afterward, he looked down at himself— the mess of cum and lube left behind. He stood and stretched on slightly weak legs and went to wash off. He’d deal with the shame of it all tomorrow.

————

You were smiling at customers when he came in for his shift the next day, feeling sensitive from the second round he’d put himself through in the shower the previous night… and the quick session he’d had in the morning. 

Part of him felt like a perv for thinking about you like that, but then you looked up, saw him, and smiled… and he felt the wariness wash away like it was nothing. 

At lunch, he walked into the store, which was far less crowded than it had been the day prior. You saw him and approached with a casual confidence that made him want to crumble to his knees. 

“Hi, Steve! Did Nancy like the gift you got her?”

His brow furrowed. “Nancy? We broke up last year.”

You laughed lightly and shook your head. “No, I meant your new girlfriend. The other Nancy.”

He swore internally as he nodded. “Right! Yes. She loved them, actually. She wants another pair.”

“Great, just meet me at the register when you’re done.” You smiled and departed. Steve couldn’t help but stare at your ass in that tight skirt as you walked away. 

He grabbed two more pairs— black and red— and approached the counter where you stood. You rang him up without further comment and smiled as you passed the bag and receipt over. 

“Come back soon, Steve,” you said with a grin before departing into the back of the store. 

That night as Steve was unpacking the bag, he found a small note written on blank receipt paper. 

“Steve, if you wanted to talk to me, you didn’t have to buy lingerie for a fake girlfriend to do it. XO” Beneath it, in clear print was your phone number circled twice. 

Steve grinned, running his thumb over the note. Maybe his dry spell was going to end sooner than he thought.

[fairydustblossom]

Hello! Can I request something with pre relationship fluff with Azriel? Maybe something where everyone else can see the attraction between them but they’re clueless or in denial?

Thanks! ❤️

I’m writing this as a blurb because I just had so many random ideas LOL. I hope this is okay! 

Okay Azriel would be smitten by you, and you by him, but like the entire IC could just see it because of the special treatment you got in every little thing and Azriel literally didn’t treat anyone else like this. Princess treatment fr without even officially being his princess. 

He would be so caring and kind to you, a complete gentlebat, holding doors open, pulling your chair out for you, will offer to carry whatever you are carrying for you, etc…

He would basically be your personal escort while visiting other courts, going out, or just while strolling through Velaris. He would always be beside you but he would purposefully slow his stride to fall back a bit, making sure he could look at all of your surroundings, sending glares to anyone who seemed like a threat. Even if the threat is literally just the butcher at the local meat market holding a knife that was casually pointed at you in conversation. Azriel gave the man a death stare behind you and you were left wondering why the conversation ended so abruptly…

It got to the point where even Rhys felt abandoned by his Spymaster. Azriel had always prioritized guarding his High Lord, his brother, but now he was giving all of his attention to you. (He would act mildly offended but didn’t really care he just thought it was funny because Azriel used to always be so attentive. And also Rhys adores you so it’s fine.)

Now, everyone in the IC, in fact, everyone in Velaris, knows that Azriel does not like to be touched. Like it takes a lot for him to be comfortable with someone touching him and he’ll tolerate it but you won’t ever see him going out of his way to touch someone unless absolutely necessary. However, when it comes to you, he finds any excuse to touch you or have you touch him. It’s like he wants to recover all the physical touch he’s avoided his whole life through you. He would never openly admit this, no, not until later on but something in him begs to feel your skin.

For example, when he puts his leathers on he’ll make some random ass excuse to get you to put your hands on him. “I think I’ve got all my buckles in place, could you double check for me?”. When Cass heard him say this he was about to burst laughing, because for mothers sake, Azriel had been buckling and unbuckling his leathers for centuries and had never asked anyone to double check, it was literally muscle memory at this point. Of course, Az sent Cass a death glare that dared him to say something so Cass held in his laugh, raised his hands and walked away. But he definitely told Nesta, and then Nesta told Feyre, and of course, Feyre told Rhys. Rhys told Mor, and soon everyone was overly aware of the excuses you guys made just to touch each other. When Azriel asked you to double check his leathers, you thought it was a great idea and asked him to do the same for you.

Azriel took this job very seriously, his gloved hands would roam your body, checking each and every pocket, lace, buckle, button. He would make sure everything was perfectly in place. He never groped and never overstepped his boundaries, just very diligently ran his hands through every part of your body. It would be hard to keep your cheeks from blushing and your belly from fluttering, it was also hard to cover up how much it turned you on to have him look after you. And oh gods, when he got to the holsters around your thigh….. Let’s just say thank the mother that Azriel was so concentrated in his task that he didn;t realize how visibly flustered you were. But everyone else definitely noticed.

It basically became a routine for you both before any mission to touch every inch of each other's body. So much so that Azriel now just couldn’t let you go on mission without doing an “inspection”, as he liked to call it, and he wouldn't leave on any until you checked him. You just really really cared about each other's gear being properly set., definitely wasn’t just an excuse to feel each other up. 

The whole IC truly found it hilarious and would talk about it behind y’alls back. It was just so obvious to everyone how infatuated you were with each other, so obvious to everyone except the two of you.

Azriel also kind of assigned himself your personal flyer. One time you asked Cass to fly you over to the house of wind and Azriel’s heart just about broke. You didn’t ask him because he was busy doing some work and Cass was just lounging around but he took it sooo personally. Of course he never told you that, instead he took it out on Cass by not speaking to him for a day LOL. From that day on he made sure to always ask you if you need a lift before waiting for you to ask. 

He was also playful around you, one might even say goofy, a rare sight for anyone that had known Azriel. If you were ever spaced out he would nudge you a bit with his wing, making you stumble a bit. You would send him a glare and he would have a smirk on his face. 

Or if you were super concentrated on a book or something and he wanted your attention he would flap his wings, sending a gust of wind to mess up the pages. You would huff in annoyance, shut the book, and look at him, only to find him reading his own book acting like he didn’t just do that. 

But you would also get him back, with the help of his shadows of course. Like when you were feeling playful, you would maybe take one of daggers or something and then you would run off and hide, a few of his shadows helping you find the darkest hiding spot and never snitching on you. That was another thing no one else had seen, his shadows fully listening to anyone other than him ?? Like hello ??? How did Azriel not realize what that meant ?? But he was just so blissfully comfortable around you and everything seemed so normal, that he never really gave it a second thought. He always knew the only reason he was a Shadowsinger was because the shadows allowed it so he just kind of accepted it. 

Most of all though, the IC was grateful for the friendship (soon to be more in their opinion) that you and Azriel had nurtured. They would abstain from teasing him because you were just so good for Azriel. It became a regular occurrence to find Azriel napping by you, or the both of you snoozing on the couch, your head or feet on his lap or maybe even his on yours, when Mor saw him sleeping on you that one time she audibly gasped. She was so giddy with excitement that she ran to tell the others. They all came one by one, so as to not spook the shadows, to take a peek and all their hearts melted a little more. 

He felt so relaxed around you that he just dozed off quite easily now. And they all saw the gradual disappearance of the bags under his eyes. Everyone knew Azriel barely slept but now he seemed to fall asleep so easily whenever he was near you. He just felt safe. You had always been a napper and he had finally caught on to the art of napping.

Another thing everyone started noticing was that Azriel was cooking a whole lot more than usual. He was always a good cook, Rhys and Cass would recall every now and then how they probably would have lived off beans and oatmeal during their younger years if it hadn’t been for Azriel’s cooking. His mom had always cooked him comforting meals, one of the few comforts she could afford her son given the environment he grew up in, so Azriel had always seen cooking as a way of showing someone he cared.

So even though Azriel would cook for everyone from time to time, he started doing it more frequently and everyone could see it was all for you. He would make enough food for everyone in the IC but in their opinion, it wasn’t a coincidence that he always asked you what you were craving, never asked them, always cooked your favorite meals, and always, always, prepared your plate first. 

He would always serve your plate the way you liked it, and would have you wait at the table while he brought it for you. He never served himself first, not even the High Lord or the High Lady. They found it incredibly amusing how he treated you like royalty and basically ignored them when you were around. (Not that they expected that treatment from him, but it was certainly funny to see Azriel go from overly observant of everything and everyone to basically having tunnel vision for you.)

And it wasn’t just big meals it was like anytime he was cooking for himself he would make you something too, a snack, a dessert, a juice, a tea literally he just started including you.

Now, he wasn’t the only one to do these sweet things for you, you definitely had your own ways of cluelessly showing your devotion for him. Like you would get him oils, and soaps, and salts to help him relax. “Okay AZ, this one’s for sleep, this one’s for sore muscles, this one’s to help you concentrate…” and you would make sure to jot down everything so he wouldn’t get them mixed up and could get the best use out of them. One time it even prompted Cass to ask Nesta where his smellies were after you had been out in the town with her and had picked up all the goodies… Now that caused a whole scene, meanwhile you and Az were in your own little world smelling all the tiny bottles.

You would also polish all his weapons whenever you had some down time. Or you would read a book and take little notes along the margins and then you would give it to him, sharing all the thoughts you wrote down in those pages. He would then write his own notes and give it back to you, because you were each other's confidants, best friends, crushes (still not time to admit that), and very obviously (to everyone excluding the both of you), mates. 

I could literally keep going LOL but I’ll stop now. Basically Azriel is just protective and caring and loving towards you and the rest of the IC notices everything he does for you and the effect you’ve had on him and they are patiently waiting for y’all to finally kiSS. Feyre and Cass have a bet going on when the bond will snap and who will feel it first.

[sitp-recs]

Favourite Drarry recs (long fics maybe? pretty please?) that are ideally to enjoy this Spring season ?

Hello again! That’s a great ask - I have a long fic rec list that you might find interesting, but this inspired me to do something more specific with Spring vibes feat house renovations, cooking as love language, gardening, domesticity, no angst romance etc etc etc. This is 100% based on my own perception of spring vibes btw, but I hope you’ll enjoy these as much as I did!

💐 Short fic:

magic in the making by @getawayfox (G, 2k)

I didn’t see Malfoy for a year after the trial. When Gin told me that, according to Pansy, he had opened a little posh bakery in Mayfair, I thought she was joking, so I went to see for myself.

Market Saturdays by @sorrybutblog (M, 3k)

In which Harry is an accidental part-time cheesemonger, Draco is an organic farmer and they fall in love. Not an AU.

The Long Fall by @tackytigerfic (M, 3.6k)

It's supposed to be a simple house renovation, and maybe it's just the paint fumes, but Harry is feeling dizzy around Draco Malfoy. And what's the real meaning of family, anyway?

Ice Snakes, Glow-worms and Wolverine Stew by khalulu (M, 8k)

Harry Potter apparently wants to talk to Draco about something, but odd events keep getting in the way of that conversation – and bringing them closer together. Featuring serpentine travels, misbehaving birds, dubious roofing projects, a gay beach, and an unexpected matchmaker.

Life goes not backward by @shealwaysreads (T, 9k)

Harry still isn’t used to gifts, but this one is different. A story of coming home, finding safe ground, and the wild courage of putting down roots.

A Truth Universally Acknowledged by @sorrybutblog (M, 17k)

A year out from the war, Harry agrees to accompany Hermione on a historical walking tour of Pride and Prejudice. Not in the itinerary: running into Draco Malfoy, setting off a summer of stately homes, lavish parties, resentful shagging, and maybe, falling in love.

amid this warm and steady sweetness, orphaned (E, 21k)

Harry is not living in a period drama, no matter what his friends or his new house or Malfoy’s sudden affinity for horse-riding might suggest, and if one more person uses the word courting, he’s going to start hexing people.

💐 Long fic

Moldova's Magical Tea by @aibidil (E, 32k)

Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, and—to everyone’s surprise—Draco Malfoy are opening a magical tea shop to revive wizarding tea culture and, hopefully, to bring the community together after the war. Harry, who is unemployed and trying to find his way in post-war society, wants to help his friends with their new business—but that means spending a lot of time around Malfoy.

Clouds That Veil the Midnight Moon by @drarrytrash (E, 36k)

According to Harry’s personal narrative regarding the incident, he’d hooked up with Draco Malfoy for purely self-destructive reasons, or out of convenience, or by some unlucky accident. Looking at him, sprawled in the moonlight, Harry is devastated to recall that he’d hooked up with Draco Malfoy because he’s hot.

Follow the Water by @xanthippe74 (T, 40k)

Harry Potter’s life is fine. Maybe a little dull and predictable, but he shouldn’t complain about that, right? When he unexpectedly finds himself at Luna’s house one afternoon, Harry gets invited to join the secret wonderland that she’s creating with a surprising group of friends. Maybe a summer outdoors is just what a former hero needs to bring some zest back into his life.

Through the May Air, Over the Ocean by tsauergrass (T, 45k)

Draco Malfoy never expected to find himself in Scotland or being stuck in a cottage with Potter—but wonders never cease. A story about warmth, a story about falling back in love. A story about a flock of sheep in the distant fells of Scotland.

Our Objective Remains Unchanged by @citrusses (E, 46k) - Muggle AU

Harry Potter, returning member of the Oxford University Boat Club, has two goals for the spring of 2005: beat Cambridge, and beat Draco Malfoy. Perhaps not in that order.

Sweeten to Taste by @saintgarbanzo, @babooshkart (E, 51k)

It starts with Draco's buckwheat crepes with honeyed oranges. Or maybe it starts with his porridge with toasted walnuts and homemade apple butter. Or perhaps it starts with the cinnamon buns Draco made from scratch with mascarpone icing. Harry just knows he's hungry for more.

Against All Odds by momatu (E, 54k)

Beauxbatons is hosting the first ever Quidditch Summer School for children from all over Europe, and Harry has promised to enroll Teddy as his birthday present. Meanwhile, Draco is stuck in his office, putting together the first ever Quidditch Summer School for children from all over Europe during, when he should be enjoying summer holidays.

What Branches Grow by @the-fools-errand (M, 55k)

When a run-of-the-mill investigation turns up evidence that the Death Eaters may be resurfacing, Harry seems to be the only one who believes Malfoy has anything to do with it. Yet according to official records, he’s been the poster child for the Ministry’s post-war Rehabilitation program, living in a small muggle town in Wales.

Meet Me at Midnight by @the-starryknight (T, 57k)

Harry was beginning to wonder if he’d ever make anything again when Malfoy stormed through the door of Harry’s furniture shop. Now Harry’s got an impossible Ministry commission to finish, and even less energy than ever to deal with his elusive muse. That is, until he stumbles upon the surreal and beautiful world of a mysterious fae creature…

Stately Homes of Wiltshire by waspabi (E, 58k)

Malfoy Manor has mould, dry rot and an infestation of unusually historical poltergeists. Harry Potter is on the case.

The Promise of Summer by Omi_Ohmy (M, 66k)

How was Harry supposed to know that coming back for eighth year would be so confusing? Everything is the same, and yet not the same. And nowhere is this more obvious than with Draco Malfoy. Harry finds himself once more watching and following Malfoy, trying to work him out. When they are drawn together to heal the castle, Harry doesn’t just find Malfoy - he also finds himself.

Home Truths by @skeptiquewrites and @fantalfart (E, 67k)

In the off-season Harry decided to fix up Grimmauld Place and found that Draco Malfoy was the only person who could help him. A demanding career and unrelenting press scrutiny were enough to deal with before Harry added a house with a mind of its own, family history, and a tense, flirty, complicated relationship with his childhood nemesis to the mix.

The Claiming of Grimmauld Place by @bixgirl1 (E, 74k)

When Grimmauld Place begins fighting against Harry’s ownership of it, he decides he needs help to train the historic home — but little does he expect that it’ll be Malfoy who’s most suitable for the challenge. However, as Malfoy and Harry get closer, Harry comes to understand that expectations aren’t always the best path by which to guide his heart — and in the process learns just what is needed to make a house a home.

Knead by laughingd0g (E, 83k)

This is not a story about Harry renovating Grimmauld Place. This is a story about coffee shops and brewpubs, about Ginny and Luna on a farm with creatures, about magical Oregon, coastal road trips, flying, friendship, and Draco Malfoy's lean arms.

Wild, orphaned (E, 92k)

“No,” Harry said, by way of greeting. Malfoy’s blonde head rose slowly, carelessly. “Get out.” “I feel as though we’ve already established this, Potter,” Malfoy responded. “And I feel that what we established was that you telling me to get out of places really doesn’t make me more likely to vacate them.”

Little Deaths and How to Avoid Them (or Draco Malfoy's Guide to Stop Dying and Start Living Instead) by nerakrose, dustmouth (T, 96k)

Malfoy is way too interested in coroner reports for somebody who's definitely not looking for ways to die, Harry wants to be friends with him, and Ginny wants to break up with Harry.

The Liars Department by @dorthyanndrarry (T, 103k)

This is a story about Harry meeting up with Draco Malfoy four years after the war. And a story about Harry, well, not hating his job per say, but it's not like he has much to compare it to and it seemed fine. His whole life seemed fine. Then Malfoy came along with and his flashy suits and fast car making everything seem dull in comparison, and Harry... Harry couldn't just leave well enough alone.

Any Instrument by @dictacontrion (E, 131k)

Draco Malfoy wouldn't go back to England for anything less than an exceptional case. Being asked to figure out why Harry Potter can't control his magic might be exceptional enough to qualify.

[wonkawinka]

we’ll meet again

“we’ll meet again… don’t know where, don’t know when…”

alastor x angel!daughter!reader

CHAPTER TWO: smile like you mean it!

— — CHAPTER THREE: weak ankles!

warnings/notes: EPISODE 6 SPOILERS! not proof read, no use of y/n, used she/her pronouns, reader is on the fem side, maybe vaggie x reader and maybe emily x reader if you squint but its all platonic

chère- french for dear

remercier dieu- french for thank god

court reporter- someone who transcribes everything said during a court meeting

wc: 2336

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

ROLLER skates. flashy lights. bursting colors. street jazz at every corner. twists and turns.

NEW ORLEANS had it all. all you could need in your heart. soft, live jazz rung through the tiny diner that everyone got their morning coffee from. skating through the diner, you tipped your hat from one couple to another. there was the occasional (and by occasional you mean somewhat often) jerk who flirts with you, a teenager, but you brush it off.

ever since the stock market crash of 1929, people have been living off the hook ‘round these parts. you were lucky enough to snag a job, let alone have a father that's able to put food on the table for you.

the bell of the door rings exactly at 9:01 am, you don’t even need to turn around to check who it is.

“good mornin’ ladies! fine morning today, isn’t it?” alastor’s voice rang through the diner, sound waves bouncing the walls and into your ears. his presence was certainly not something anyone would miss. your coworkers nodded in agreement, saying their tiny welcomes, the occasional giggle for one of them.

pouring out straight black coffee into a medium sized cup, you skated towards the counter and slipped your dad a napkin and his cup.

“mornin’ papa.” you said with a smile, taking his coins and filing it into the register.

“good morning, my dear!” he said with his chipper smile, one that made the men grumble and ladies swoon, but it just made you happy to see your father happy. “day treating you well, i hope.”

he took the coffee and took a sip. a sound of satisfaction left his lips “perfection! you know me so well, chère.”

“pa, you drink the blackest coffee on earth. it’s not hard to mess up, dontcha think?”

“ah, don’t sass me now, little miss. i’ll have you know this is the best coffee i’ve had since yesterday mornin’!”

“i made that coffee yesterday morning.”

“hmmm, did you now? seems i dont remember…” he grinned teasingly, pushing up his glasses in ‘thought’.

“yeah, course ya’ dont, ya old man.” teasing back, slipping him a slice of pie “i know you didnt eat, pops, cant have ya flopping dead during your morning show. who knows, maybe the cannibal will getcha. then i’ll have to take over the show.”

he smirked at her words, ha, if only she knew.

“well, aren’t you the sweetest little thing?” he said, taking the to-go box from her hands.

“well, you raised me, so you tell me.” you smiled brightly

his laughter rang through the diner, and soon yours as their vocals mixed together in a medley of sounds. they nearly mixed together perfectly. nearly.

some people looked at you weirdly, but you both never really minded. everyone in town knew you were his daughter and everyone in town knew he was your father. the talk of the town, especially when people found out your father of all people adopted you all those years ago.

he smiled at you wholeheartedly, something you only get to receive from him. “thats my girl.” his hand cupped your face, thumb brushing against the skin.

you placed your hand on top of his and smiled. “love ya’, pa.”

“love you more, my dear.”

you patted his hand, signing him to let go. “now shoo, before you’re actually late. you got an audience waiting for you all ‘round the area. can’t have them sitting for too long, hm?”

with a tip of his head, he bidded you and the ladies of the diner farewell, grabbing his coffee and pie, slipping out the door.

one of your coworkers called out your name “hunny, you better help a girl out! is your fatha’ up for grabs?” she giggled, winking at you.

“oh hush, lonnie! that's my dad..!”

——————— PRESENT.

“OH, don’t worry, it’s really not that hard! you just flip the book and let them in! see? simple.” st. peter directed you to the golden podium of the pearly white gates.

“are you sure i’m even allowed to do this? look.. i’m happy to help. i just don’t wantcha to get in trouble with the Seraphims.” you floated down onto the podium, scanning the big book of entries.

“it wouldn’t be for long! thank you so much, by the way. you really are heaven’s little helper, huh?” he elbowed you and gave that big smile he had. it was almost blinding. literally.

“haha, yeahhh… if you say so.” you turned and flipped through the pages for what seemed to endlessly go on.

“who names their kid breakfast?”

“now, now, we dont go and judge what those humans name their offspring!” he placed his two hands on your shoulders in reassurance. you cock an eyebrow at his word choice, but next thing you know hes already flying off to do who knows what. ‘saintly duties.’

“huh.” you continued to flip through the pages to examine the very odd name choices, nodding at some and… skipping through others.

minutes, maybe even hours went by until sudden echoes from down the golden pathway filled your ears. they shoot up in reaction to the newfound sound.

“uhhh, heelloooo? helloooo!” the blonde hair girl called out

“hiya!,” you call out , “how may i help ya’? well, getting into heaven i guess, huh?” you laughed at yourself, watching the girl’s nerves calm down a bit. behind her was a recognizable individual. you know, it nearly looked like vagg—

“OH— uh, uh, uh— hello! my name is charlie morningstar. heh.”

“alright, lets see…” you flipped through the alphabetized record only to find every name known to man BUT a charlie morningstar.

panic fills your core when you cant find it, scanning the page over and over and over again to no avail.

“uhhhh, you see, slight problem, hun...” you start, throwing in a name to ease her name. “i, uhm, can’t find your name… but you know! the trek all the way to the uh, other place, is a long way. maybe i can like… sneak ya’ in—”

“OH, no, no, THAT won’t be necessary. uh— see, my dad got me this meeting, so maybe try lucifer… morningstar..”

THAT CERTAINLY RANG A BELL.

“OH, uh.. uhuh.” you nod “i see.” you nod quicker. your eyes darted to the gray haired girl who looked at you with the same tense expression.

“i think there may have been a, um..” you put your hands together “mishap… but i am SURE it is a just BIG misunderstanding, haha!”

a mighty voice called out to you, one that could shake all of heaven’s foundation.

“remercier dieu…” you say, quite literally.

“don’t worry, we can take it from here.” sera’s voice reassured, the normal call smile present on her face. you bowed your head in respect which she kindly returns.

behind her was an excited emily which shot you an ecstatic wave. her smile was about to explode with happiness which only grew more as she approached charlie, the princess of hell.

st. peter pops out of nowhere and of course, starts singing his welcome song.

see, you didnt think it was bad, it was quite good, but hearing it over and over again for the past century really takes a toll on your ears.

after his musical number, em is basically ready to explode into a pile of rainbows and sparkles. “oh, oh! i gotta show you! the zoo, the petting zoo, the aquarium, the- the EVERYTHING!”

her and charlie jump for joy as they start running off.

“oh come on, do we need to ru— yEUP okay.” you’re dragged along the crossfire, em tugging on your wrist.

you catch a glimpse of adam and lute. they did not seem… very ecstatic.

hm.

“em. emily. emmy. e.” you bring her to the stop. her happiness was contagious, a sickness, her happiness basically flooding into your veins.

“i know you’re excited, sugar,” you start, “but maybe, i show them their room first. how's that sound?”

with some reluctance, emily allows you to guide the two girls to their temporary room.

“here, let me get that—” with an easy spell you learned, you pick up their bags weightlessly.

“follow me, i’ll show ya your room.”

— — — — — — — — — — — —

on the way there, you’re bombarded with questions from the princess. not that you were complaining of course, you found it quite endearing.

“wow, your sprinkles have RAINBOWS in them?!”

“yup, those are just rainbow sprinkles,” you chuckle lightly at her innocent excitement, “so.. about this hazbin hotel you were talkin’ about, mrs. morningstar…”

“oh, please, call me charlie!”

“charlie,” you smiled ,”i really do love the idea. quite innovative! you have my support. do you already have people staying?”

“oh, we only have.. two residents. but we do have lovelt staff! we have a maid.. nifty, she’s harmless, most of the time.. and a bar-tender, husker, he’s great, grumpy, but great! vaggie, my lovely girlfriend keeps the hotel safe,” she smiles brightly at her partner, “oh, and our host, alastor! he’s uh.. the radio demon, BUT HE MEANS WELL! i think.”

the name rung in your mind, bouncing off the walls and causing them to shoot jolts through your head. it was like a migraine, but worse. radio demon. it was strikingly familiar resemblance to your father (father?), but who knows! there are probably many alastors that loved radio.

“i see,” you nod, “well i wish you luck on the growth of your hotel.” you opened the entrance of there room and landed their bags perfectly in the corner.

“wow, okay, i LOVE heaven! everythings so clean and nice! AHH, and emilys going to bring me to a zoo where everythings fluffy and soft!” you zone out the rest of their conversation before charlie bids her goodbye.

“safe travels, charlie.” you bow your head in respect, earning a giggle from the princess.

“thank you sososososo much for your help! heh, alright SEE YOU LATER!”

silence filled the room.

“vaggie.” you started, not bothering to around and fully face her. “knew that was you, cant hide from me under all that hair. looks good, though.”

“uhhhhhhhhhhh—” she says your name in a frantic manner, causing you to cock your eyebrow “ah, fuck, i can’t think of an excuse.”

“look, vaggie, i dont know.” you sigh “you disappear for your ‘yearly outing’ to god knows where then you go missing for years, now you come back to be dating lucifer’s daughter.”

“i know, i’m so—“

“no no, don’t apologize. i get it. im happy for ya, vags, but damn, years. i dont know what you do on that one day, but adam and lute didnt seem very happy when they saw ya today.” pinching the bridge of your nose, you turned to her.

“look, adam tried recruiting me to god knows what when you went missing. said i got good aim or something. im just telling ya to be smart. i got no idea what he was trying to do with me, so im telling ya’ to not give in to that prick. i’ll be at todays meeting; i work as the court reporter.”

she pondered your statement for a bit, snapping out of her thoughts once you handed her the room key. you offered her a smile, which she hesitantly returned.

“ah, come on, smile like you mean it! though a smile may not mean everything, you’re never fully dressed without one.” that phrase rang in vaggie’s ears. that was oddly familiar.

a little too familiar.

it was your time to bid farewell, but before you did, she called out to you.

“thank you.”

“ah, don’t mention it. we’re friends, arent we?”

and with that you shut the door.

— — — — — — — — — — —

SCRIBBLING. writing. swirls of ink as you titled the paper in preparation. COURT ISSUE 36789127. it made you think, whos counting all these issues?

“WHAT’S UUUP, BA-BY!” the annoying ring of adam’s voice filled the court room. he was like a toddler, ironic as he is the oldest human soul known to mankind. he was mankind. a sick joke for it too.

every little thing he said you were required to write down, even if it was a dumb, immature response.

“we are gathered here today to determine whether or not a soul in Hell, can be redeemed into heavenly realm by the means of this Hazbin Hotel… Princess Morningstar?”

the blonde takes a stand and clears her throat,

“Webster’s Dictionary defined redemption as—”

you scribbled that down.

“..incredible progress..”

scribble.

“… the porn demon …!”

scribble.

“well, if you know so much, what do you think it takes to get into Heaven?”

that puts a halt in the discussion, causing you to lift your head and wait for an answer. she had a point. how did you get here in the first place?

a copy of adam’s terms were presented to your table: act selfless, don’t steal, stick it to the man.

well damn, if those were the terms, even your father (father?) would be in heaven, right now.

evidence was presented, words have been thrown, objections were made. the endless back and forth of right and wrong being thrown around the courtroom. not even the written word could convey the thick tension lathering the walls of the heavenly court.

all the evidence weights to charlie’s side, and yet, the judges say otherwise.

“wait, none of you know what gets someone into Heaven?”

this sparks a musical entrance from emily which you would say was surprising, but you would be lying to yourself.

good thing i took band and choir you thought. perfect pitch came in handy as you noted every chord and pitch in your work.

at this point, you were ready to combust. it was clear who won but the rulers of heaven seemed adamant to keep it from happening. it was suspicious, ironic even.

“..don’t you care, sera…”

scribble.

“..just because someone was dead..”

scribble.

“he blew the shot like the cocks in his…”

scribble.

“..come down and exterminate you..”

your quill snaps in half as you look up from your paper. extermination.

murder.

genocide.

from heaven itself.

[withgreatpowercomesmyfuckingdick]

Hi! Imma do something rare and actually make content, but its 11 at night and i just had a brain worm

for those of you that don’t know, i work at an accounting office. we do taxes. it is tax season. and now im thinking abt how AGSZC does taxes and what their papers are like and im inflicting it on the rest of you even if its gibberish

Angeal: A godsend. Keeps his forms in order and filed properly, calculates everything else himself like a good man. Papers honestly aren’t too bad, maybe 10-12 just because of his career/insurance plus his doubtless donations to charity, but aside from that. straightforward and done at his kitchen table

Genesis: A fucking NIGHTMARE. no doubt pays someone else to do it. and for fucks sake, i know he invests. constantly and consistently and probably in anything he thinks stands the slightest chance against shinra on the market. his 1099-B is a mess and definitely Not Totaled, so his is the bullshit you have to insert one. investment. at. a time. He’s the type that keeps fucking calling too, I can just tell. but, aside from the 1099-B, he’s probably got simple stuff as well. probably several 1099-INTs from several different bank accounts, maybe a couple 1098s floating around from vacation houses or some shit.

Sephiroth: Does his own. In ridiculously early. Makes almost no personal purchases so hardly has anything to pay. I can’t imagine not having a last name or not knowing his birthday doesn’t end up a legal problem somehow, so he likely has to walk directly into a damn tax office to say hey this is me and this is my shit no, someone isn’t stealing my identity. has one singular document and it’s his W-2. Which is. Fucking astronomical. Like, the number doesn’t even look right. His paycheck as a SOLDIER isn’t taxed, so he doesn’t really get much back on his refund. The only first without a healthcare /insurance form because why tf would Sephiroth have healthcare? What’s he gonna do, get sick?

not getting into how doing his own taxes was definitely a fight between him and Hojo at some point and ended up getting hashed out in a board room. Hojo didn’t like him having the autonomy of filing for himself instead of being claimed ad Hojo’s ‘dependent’. Sephiroth deadass threatened to go to court abt it. The President told Hojo to suck it up so they didn’t have to deal with scandal, Hojo wouldn’t tell Seph his birthday to be difficult, and here we are

Zack: Panicking. Late. Doesn’t know if his forms came in the mail, doesn’t know where he put them most of the time. Scrambles around for a fuck ton of receipts, ultimately has to request Shinra send him his shit again. DEFINITELY pays someone else to do it. W-2, 1095-A, 1099-C(s)(he has several debts i can feel it i love him but he screams bad financial decisions), probably some shit for his bike too. He customs it so I can see him listing some parts he buys for it as work expenses. Jokingly puts some money he gave aerith for flowers and what he spent to make her wagon as donations to charity and it actually goes through because the church is still considered a legal entity. Definitely has to pay late fees.

Cloud: Pays Tifa to do it. Filing for both of them is a nightmare cause all their shit burnt in Nibelheim, so once Edge gets right with the WRO they have to do all their paperwork from scratch and get reassigned SSNs. He genuinely has a fuckton of paperwork from doing the Strife Delivery Service. Luckily, only ‘employee’ he has is Tifa, and even then she doesn’t do things regularly aside from pick up the phone. Doesn’t make his business an LLC until he’s literally forced to due to his number of clients and someone trying to sue him for damages. 1099-NEC for TIfa for sure, then once he’s an LLC, some yearly maintenance to keep legal. Mileage and gas expenses go CRAZY on his self employment form, I fucking bet. I bet Cloud’s handwriting is shit tho. Tifa’s at her desk counting up his gains and losses for fucking ages because his fives look too similar to sixes. Eventually she wrangles him into installing some shit on his phone that counts it up, if only to cure her headache. Funnily enough, he does get veteran benefits from what’s left of Shinra’s shit, reparations of sorts, but he doesn’t keep it. All goes to charity, so that ends up in the books too.

alright, that was unnecessarily in depth and way longer than i planned. good night LMAO

[valyrfia]

I am VERY skeptical about the RBR Charles thing but they (see: Charles, RBR personell of all kinds) keep being SO WEIRD AND SUSPICIOUS about it

Yep yep yep. I go through cycles of being completely convinced and then calling myself delusional, but the fact remains that Max changed his tune on being teammates with Charles recently, Charles keeps talking about Max in interviews praising BOTH his performance and the car, Christian Horner is posting Max and Charles on Instagram as is the RBR account. I genuinely believe Red Bull are at LEAST trying to seriously poach him.

I'm still unsure as to whether they're working towards 2024 or 2025 (as Red Bull have proven with the recent talks with Lando, they're more than happy to buy out someone's contract), but I am leaning more towards 2025, and I believe that Charles at RBR is a real, serious possibility in 2025. Let me explain why.

First, Checo still has a contract through 2024 and while Red Bull aren't always great with honouring contracts, I think the recent popularity and love they've witnessed first-hand for Checo in Texas and Mexico might change their mind on letting him go early. Ultimately, Red Bull Racing is marketing for Red Bull, and Checo obviously brings in sales in North America, and them mistreating Checo might lead to a sales dip in that region. This is why I think, despite the media frenzy, RBR are highly unlikely to drop Checo for 2024. There is no way that RBR is renewing Checo's contract, but at least he can see it out and they can part ways without much damage to either of them at the end of the F1 2024 Season.

Charles's current contract with Ferrari is also up at the end of the 2024 season. Again, even though 2023 has been absolute dogshit for Charles and Ferrari, I don't see that contract ending early. For one, Charles has apparently been promised that the 2024 car will be developed according to his needs and preferences, and it is ridiculous to leave a team who has made you that promise, even if that team is as flakey as Ferrari. I think Charles is waiting to see if the team does change in 2024 before he pushes for contract renewal. It's important to note here that contrary to popular opinion, I believe the ball is completely in Charles's court here when it comes to renewal. He is the Ferrari golden prince, he is Ferrari in a way that no driver really ever has been before, I think it was evident in Monza this year most of all. Carlos drives for Ferrari, and Charles is Ferrari and you could see it in the way that the tifosi treated them. They love Carlos, they adore and worship Charles. This is how Charles managed to convince them to build a car for him in 2024, and it's how I believe Charles is putting off the contract negotiations. This is a key point. Carlos's extended media team and family have complained several times about Carlos not being able to begin contract negotiations because of Charles in some way and Ferrari unwilling to negotiate with Carlos until they've settled Charles (I think this is due to the fact that they only intend to keep one of them and they'd like it to be Charles, but that's an essay for another day). So Charles has himself in a position where he doesn't have to commit to the team unless he sees that it is going to grow in the way he wants it to.

To quote Charles, "I view it in a way that whenever I won’t believe in the project anymore, that probably will be the time when I’ll have to go away. Because it’s in these kinds of situations that you don’t get the best out of yourself, that you don’t help the team as much as it needs to be helped. But this is definitely not the case at the moment. I believe in the project as much as I’ve ever believed in the project before. Especially since Fred arrived. So for now it’s clear. Then it’s also clear that I want to win. But I believe in this project and I’m sure we are working in the right direction.”

So maybe 2024 happens and Ferrari brings a championship-contender car, in which case Charles signs with Ferrari, they get rid of Carlos and probably bring in Alex Albon as a n2.

But I'm not interested in that outcome, I'm interested in what is (in my mind anyway) the far more likely outcome, sheerly due to money and Ferrari internal politics (which again, whole other essay!) which is that nothing really changes for the better at Ferrari. Maybe Charles gets a win by sheer luck and a slightly better car, but overall the strategy continues to not favour him, and Charles in general loses faith in what he refers to as the project. And we know from Charles himself that when this happens, this is when he goes away.

So I've presented an argument for why Red Bull are going to let Checo see out his contract, I've presented a strong possibility for why Charles might be looking to leave Ferrari at the end of 2024. Now I'm going to try and convince you of why out of all the options it'll be Charles joining Red Bull.

First of all, from Charles's point of view regarding teams. I'm going to rule out Alpha Tauri, Haas, Williams, Alfa Romeo, and Alpine, either because they're junior teams or I don't see them willing to fork over huge amounts of money to get Charles onboard. This leaves Mercedes, McLaren, Aston Martin, and Red Bull.

Out of all the non RBR options, I'd say that Mercedes is the most likely, but both their drivers are signed until 2025. There is always a possibility that Lewis Hamilton decides its time to leave the sport and buys himself out of his own contract, but I think that's not likely to happen next year.

Similar to Mercedes, both McLaren drivers are signed until at least 2025 and both look likely to honour that contract. Red Bull have tried to poach Lando multiple times, and Lando doesn't seem too keen on it yet, so we can assume that he intends to at least see his current contract out. Aston Martin is slightly trickier because I see them as being willing to fork over the millions needed to get Charles Leclerc to drive for them, but on the other hand they don't look close to producing a championship car, and Charles Leclerc is not switching away from Ferrari to not win a championship.

So, this leaves RBR as Charles's best destination for 2025 were he to leave Ferrari. Not only do they have a seat opening up, but they also have shown themselves capable of constructing recent championship-winning cars, and outclass every other team almost every weekend on strategy at the moment. Now that we've established that Charles's team of choice would be RBR, the final point of the argument has to be establishing why Charles would be RBR's driver of choice over let's say, Lando or Daniel.

To me the answer is simple, as so eloquently illustrated by my great friend and scholar Nat (@tsarinablogs) in her The PR of Lestappen in 2023 Essay (also known as Lestappen Gate 2023), Charles is not just good at PR, he's brilliant, and Red Bull isn't a racing company, it's a marketing venture. Having Charles on board would be their greatest asset and Charles has done much to make himself desirable, from being personable in almost all fan interactions to building a solid digital following, to being sometimes sneaky and subliminal with his sponsorship messaging (him always putting on APM Monaco immediately after a race, even before the podium and interviews, hell even Charles and Privateplanegate yesterday), to signing with a literal US entertainment agency. I cannot stress enough how the timing of the WME signing is not accidental, this is Charles making himself be seen as a highly desirable PR asset. Charles has the second highest following on social media out of any current driver, second to only 7 TIME WDC WINNER LEWIS HAMILTON. That sort of audience, and the kind of exposure it can bring to your team and your brand is insane.

Also, as an addendum to Nat's essay using something she herself brought up to me yesterday: any PR for RBR is good PR because it means that Red Bull as a concept is sticking around in people's heads, which means they're more likely to notice and buy the drinks off the shelves. Extrapolating from this we can see that Red Bull signing Charles would ultimately be better marketing than Red Bull signing Lando just because of the absolute uproar it would cause. Whether you think that Red Bull saved Charles from Ferrari, or Charles betrayed Ferrari for Red Bull, or Charles saved himself from Ferrari, or Red Bull as the Big Evil Team poached the Prince of Ferrari, there's a compelling narrative in there and people will talk about it for years to come.

Finally, not to talk about the driving aspect of motorsports, but Charles is the best fit for Red Bull driving-wise as well. Him and Max have spoken in the past about how they both prefer very similar types of car (ie. strong oversteer, borderline undriveable to anyone else) which would make car development much easier for the team. Christian Horner has also been pretty candid about wanting two n1 drivers à la Lewis and Nico (although without the toxicity), and whether you believe that Charles matches Max in equal machinery or not, Charles's racing record is a lot stronger than Lando's or Dan's (the two other possible competitors for the RBR seat). Charles fits the bill, driver-profile-wise, of the complement to Max that Christian Horner is looking for.

So, long story short, I am watching Ferrari VERY closely these next few months. If the SF-24 doesn't make Charles happy, I am going to make a bold claim that we will see Charles Leclerc driving for Red Bull in 2025.

[centuryberry]

Shadowiceflower Adventures

Otherwise known as "Macaque's Extended Bachelor Party" or "What Happened While Wukong and Yue Were Away"

A Brief Summary: For once, Macaque doesn't just sit and wait for Wukong to come back home. Instead, he goes out with Shanzha and RinRin to make some memories and maybe leave a mark on the world.

Macaque, Shanzha, and RinRin last about one (1) week without Wukong and Yue before they break down and cry. They just miss them so much.

After a night of getting completely hammered together, RinRin gets the bright idea of going on an adventure - just the three of them. Macaque is reluctant to leave FFM but eventually agrees.

The three start small: They visit the Demon Bull Family first.

Everything is pretty chill until Red Son starts to lose control of his Samahdi Fire. Shanzha manages to ease the flames with her ice powers and buy Macaque and RinRin some time as they search for a specific flower known to help manage and repress demon powers.

Red Son is (temporarily) saved though the event makes PIF and DBK consider asking for celestial help since their son's abilities mostly come from the celestial side of the family.

The trio move on. They stop by a Demon Night Market so they can buy rare wares and trinkets for Yue and themselves.

RinRin meets an unpleasant Owl yaoguai and decides to steal their lantern so she can gift it to Macaque. This sets off a chain of events that gets the trio into trouble. They somehow get out of the ordeal intact and alive. Shanzha is upset at RinRin's riskiness but Macaque is moved by the gift.

From there, the trio decides to visit Macaque's homeland. The lands were ruined and ransacked and were a sad sight to see.

Macaque, Shanzha, and RinRin stay in the Macaque Spirit Clan's castle overnight and discover that it's haunted. Or, more like, RinRin is painfully aware that it's haunted while Macaque (part of the bloodline) and Shanzha (a shrine maiden) are oblivious until RinRin decides to deal with the ghosts.

Instead of putting them to rest, Macaque uses his new lantern to give the ghosts shadow forms. They now guard the lands, keeping outsiders out. They also acknowledge him as the current Macaque Spirit King.

Since the Spirit Macaque Clan territory is located between FFM and LoES, they use the land to gather all of the FFM soldiers and generals willing to throw down with some snow monkeys for sending a child bride.

Macaque, RinRin, and Shanzha enter the territory first to gather information and stir up some shit. RinRin and Shanzha give Macaque a makeover and sit back and laugh as LoES falls over themselves to impress and court Macaque.

Macaque gets the ego boost of his life. While he really doesn't have to do anything, he takes the initiative to learn from RinRin how to flirt and seduce. He also learns from Shanzha all the underhanded tricks that the residents of LoES might pull on him. He flourishes during his time there.

Though, in their information-gathering, the trio slowly realizes that there's a conspiracy afoot. They dig a bit too deep and are imprisoned by a clan leader who isn't as moved by Macaque's looks (unfortunately).

Enter: Nezha, who had been scouring everywhere to find the three so he could bring them up to Heaven. He breaks them out of jail and ends up getting tangled as the monkeys continue to unravel a concerning thread of thralls and followers of a Bone Demon.

Nezha was insistent that they come with him at first but then he saw the state of LoES firsthand and witnessed children's lives being threatened daily.

LoES child: "There's a God that Protects Children?"

Nezha: (devastated at their disbelief)

Nezha was onboard with helping after that. He was the one who would evacuate the children whenever the scheming trio upended a clan and dethroned its thralled leaders. Eventually, he was the one who led the charge against the Zodiac Monkey Clan when civil war broke out.

There's this one moment when Macaque enters the compound and finds the room Yue used to live in with Shanzha and RinRin. It was so small and bare and it broke his heart seeing it.

LBD's influence over the clan made it more hellish than it already was. Many of the clan members were all too happy to back Shanzha as the new heir and leader. Anything to escape LBD and Yishan's rule.

Shanzha and Yishan (the Thrall) engage in a one-on-one inheritance battle. Shanzha nearly takes his arm off with her arrows. Yishan nearly takes an eye out but scars her instead. The fight ends up as a draw because of Erlang Shen's entrance, forcing Yishan and LBD to flee.

Erlang Shen takes an exhausted Nezha and the Scheming Trio up to Heaven where they are reunited with Yue and Wukong.

[inkwolvesandcoffee]

Bakery Love Story Headcanons w/ Papa Solomons

And a wee bit of a CoD crossover

TH Masterlist

He knows you hate closing shifts, but asks you to work them regardless if he’s on them too.

Truth be told, you don’t mind when it’s just you two because you get on surprisingly well in spite of your differences.

Alfie keeps you out of the bakery’s kitchen as much as possible. Partially because he doesn’t want you around the ovens lest you burn yourself. It’s fine for bread to burn, but your skin?

ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOT!

So you stay out front or only venture there to help Alfie carry bread or pastries or prepare sandwiches. Otherwise, you’re in the front as a barista.

He only trusts Ollie with your company.

Takes you with him when he goes ingredient shopping. He’ll pick you up at the crack of dawn to go to Borough Market with him.

However, those morning ventures aren’t solely about food. Various recent reviews have mentioned the wee bouquets dotted around the place, which has helped increase business. So he also needs your help with choosing this week’s flowers.

Although, it’s better to say they’re your responsibility since you’re the one who offered the golden idea. The price tag doesn’t matter, he’ll pay since your word is gospel to him.

He makes you breakfast when you have to open as well. It’s rare for you to work so early in the morning, but if you do it’s with Alfie. He doesn’t mind having to leave the house a little earlier to pick you up. After all, even at dawn and especially during the first hours of a winter morning, London isn’t safe.

What boss lets his female employee take such risk?

That’s the angle Alfie forces himself to take. Yet, despite the effort and struggle he hides because of it, it’s not a perspective he can maintain. Henceforth, he often finds himself following the train of thought he can’t shake off.

What king puts his queen in danger? What absolutely fucking sodden bastard leaves his girl to her own devices amongst predators and shadows?

NOT the King of Camden.

He likes how you hum or quietly sing along to Ed Sheeran’s songs. Alfie absolutely still doesn’t like the style nor genre, but he does if it’s you providing the vocals. In fact, he likes it so much he occasionally catches himself blatantly staring at you, utterly mesmerized by your presence.

Regardless of whether you’ve had your allotted breaks, as soon as he notices a dip in your energy, he’ll kindly coerce you to take one. Alfie especially likes the ones when it’s you two leaning against the counter, observing the customers while having a cuppa.

And the customers like to keep an eye on you two as well. The latest hot gossip is all about “the bird and the King” and how “there’ll perhaps be a gentler reign of the borough”.

Maybe there will be. Alfie tries to reign himself in when he’s around you, finds serenity in the feeling of your hand on his shoulder to signal to pipe down or let you take over lest things get out of control.

Lately he’s been into hugs. Like, he’ll pick you up and the first thing your groggy head has to deal with is a bear hug and sometimes being lifted into the air.

He can’t stop replaying the moment you compared hands. Can’t stop thinking about the confirmation of the size difference between you, yours much smaller than his. Ever since, Alfie sometimes allows to indulge himself by holding hands.

Out of sight of the other men, of course! Can’t have them tattering on like elderly ladies during afternoon high tea.

But his dreaming always gets rudely interrupted when a particular customer comes in. It doesn’t take long for Alfie to figure out who the stranger is because he needs “to know who comes in and out of me bloody kingdom” and the King has plenty of ears in the streets. So it doesn’t take long for him to acquire a name and the man’s background.

John Price, a captain in the British Army who went through enough to drive any man insane. Saw Hell itself.

Damaged beyond repair like him.

Yet a good man who’s trying to court his secret favourite dove.

A good man who can offer her more than an old gang boss can.

Nonetheless, there’s the toxic burn of jealousy mixed with seething rage whenever he sees you two talk. Sees how well you get along.

Alfie has to force himself to walk away, to rampage in the background among the men when he sees how Price makes you smile and blush. Fortunately, there’s soundproofing in the building. Otherwise, the customers and you would find out his anger is even more white hot than the ovens.

And he reaches the boiling point more often from the day the captain’s cologne becomes more noticeable on you. It’s an unfair trigger to pull on an honourable man. Or so he keeps grumbling and effin and blindin about despite knowing better.

Despite knowing he’s simply too late.

He hates how you’re inconsolable when John’s sent out on a mission. Doesn’t matter how long or short it is.

Now, the King of Camden is a master when it comes to the art of masks so the front you try to put up is nothing but a crumbling act to him. Dips in energy, distant gazes, little eating, they’re all tell-tale signs you miss your captain. Nonetheless, being an opportunist, Alfie uses the circumstances to his advantage by cooking and cleaning for you. Sometimes he even stays the night, but only when you ask him to. To others it may sound odd, asking your boss to stay with you, but to you it doesn’t because Alfie isn’t simply your boss.

He’s a very dear friend.

(And your protector, your “guardian fucking golem”)

Alfie doesn’t ask about your dates, but will occasionally indulge you when he notices you’re afraid to talk about them even though you really want to.

“‘Ow was your date?” he asks on such a morning while cleaning up the dishes of your impromptu breakfast. That small moment during which you shared the food he prepared. Those few minutes in which it was just you two. Together.

“It was really nice. We got coffee and walked around Kensington Gardens and Hyde Park for a bit.” As per usual, you don’t dare meet his gaze because you fear your happiness and excitement will wear him down. It’s part of the reason you avoid using John’s name. After all, the badly concealed frown hasn’t gone unnoticed.

“I ‘ope ‘e’s the one who paid.”

“He did.”

“‘E treating you well?”

“Yeah, he does.”

“Good. That’s good.”

“Alfie, alright?”

“Yeah, just… just in me own noggin. You know me. I’m glad you ‘ad a good time. Otherwise I’d ban ‘im from the bakery. The whole fucking borough. ‘E’d be-“

“Thank you.”

Alfie’s surprised you cut him off. Had it been anyone else, they’d likely be face flat on the ground and a wiser person for it, but if it’s you he doesn’t mind. In fact, when the conversation turns towards your love life and John, he’s glad you shut him up. After all, what do you care for his feelings? They’re unreciprocated anyways. “For what?”

“For letting me talk about him. I… I got the impression you didn’t want me to.”

“You let me talk about whatever, so why wouldn’t I return the favour? But enough chit chat. Come on, we got work to do.”

If only to forget about the plot he might have for a new Edna Specter novel.

The Tragedy of Alfie Solomons.

The Baker with a broken heart.

Bonus:

Oh gods, imagine Alfie and Price having a stare-off when Alfie picks you up at your place and John stayed the night. To make matters worse, the captain knows about the King’s feelings for you.🙀

P.S: I’m sorry, but I have to include more Barry Sloane because this man has me in an ABSOLUTE CHOKEHOLD🥵😻

Tag list: @zablife @vir-tual @dreamlandcreations @rose-like-the-phoenix @hecatemoon87 @potter-solomons @liliac-dreamer @mollybegger-blog @hoodeddreams13 @babaohhhriley

[writingforatwistedworld]

Hi there! Uh can i request for a gn player(in the self aware au, player is already in twisted wonderland) who's really good at making cosmetics? Like really high quality make up and or skin care(since we have a talented tailor what about a cosmetic chemist genius?) And can make a business out of it if they want?(they need money afterall and they're in a whole new world) With vil, lilia and azul? (Separately) Thank you!!😊

Self-aware au

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, obsession, imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, poison, beheading, death

Azul Ashengrotto/Vil Schoenheit/Lilia Vanrouge-Player who can make high quality cosmetics

How interesting

Usually Azul would make a deal so that you would produce the stuff for him for the rest of your life so he can sell it

But how could he do that with you?

I mean, you are the Overseer, the figure he had been looking up to his entire life

There is no exploitation, no backstabbing and most of all, no contracts

Or rather, no contracts forcing you to work (that freedom thingy is another subject)

But if you ever want to start a business then he is always there for you (and that freedom contract thingy but we don't talk about that... yet...)

If you ever were to give him skincare or cosmetics for free then he would tear up

You know how important appearances are for him so it's no wonder

What is a wonder though is that octopuses are apparently capable of making cat sounds

Ok, no they aren't but the second Floyd once touched a bottle of your stuff he was literally hissing at the eel

If you ever insist on rubbing the stuff onto his face you will have to deal with a blue screening dorm leader

He is trying to use as little as possible every time he uses the products

Wouldn't want to waste a single bit you know?

But if you ever give someone else also your products... oh dear Hades...

Suddenly he is forcing you into a contract which basically forbids contact with people that aren't him

But at least he will get you whatever you need for more skincare and cosmetic produce

Vil lives and breathes cosmetics and skincare products

So one day he is just talking to them and, would you look at that, they are giving him high quality stuff

This would already be enough to make the model fall to his knees and thank you

But then you tell him you made these yourself

Please check his pulse. I'm not sure if he is still alive

If you don't understand why he is reacting this way: here is everything a bit more explained

At first, he was thinking that perfection themselves were somewhat thinking of him, probably having put that into their shopping cart when they were out getting groceries

But then you made them yourself! You made something for him! HIM!!!

Can't... did he hear something odd just now?

Rook fell out of the tree he was sitting on, watching you two

He is thanking you without stop

And maybe you want to start a business?

Vil knows how hard it is in the beauty and fashion market and that you have little to no chance without contacts

So let him be yours! He will make sure that you will have very good deals with luxury brands

And that would also mean that you could finally move out of that... house...

But do not gift someone else your products. Apples can be poisonous you know?

Lilia just fell

Ok, I can see the confusion on your face so let me explain

He was just dangling from a tree, being the bat that he is

And then the Overseer taps on his back

Don't ask me how he didn't notice you earlier

And there we have it, a Fae on the floor

Has he done something wrong? Why are you here? Was his prayer last night not long enough? Should he cut off his head as a way of asking for forgiveness??!

No Lilia, they don't like heads as an apology

But then you help him up and oh, he has fallen even more for you

Please don't give him what you made for him! Why? Well...

You know, Fae curt, right?

And their courting is pretty materialistic, right?

So I'm asking you, what do you think what kind of signals you are sending him if you give him something you made yourself?

Say bye to Ramshackle and hi to a mansion in the middle of the woods

No way he will let you set foot into the outside world ever again

Don't you worry darling! He knows you are rather poor at the moment so he will graciously accept this little gift of yours! In return he will give you his heart. Literally if you wish so...

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

how do the m6 act when they're feeling petty??? and how does mc deal with it?

The Arcana HCs: M6 being petty

~ how do I begin to say how much I love writing about these lovely characters being typically human? Thanks for the prompt anon, enjoy! - brainrot ~

Julian

He acts petty about the smaller things as a way of being silly. He can hold onto a hurt, but he prefers to deal with that stuff more directly

You see it come out the most with his younger sister Pasha

She'll be rolling her eyes at him, telling him he's an idiot and she doesn't need his help

He'll be cleaning up after dinner with her and put everything away on the top shelves

She'll get annoyed and start telling him to pull them back down for her: "I know you know what you're doing wrong, Ilya!"

"What's that? I'm just your idiot older brother, Pasha, since when do I know what I'm doing?"

"I mean it! Take them down for me now, you know I can't reach up there!"

"I thought you didn't need my help."

He'll be giving her his usual rogueish grin, casually dodging her swipes at his kneecaps as he pulls everything back down

He wants to get his point across though, so he'll use the opportunity to reorganize her kitchen while she's distracted

Now the dish towels are in the oven and the sugar and salt are mixed up. He might even dose Pepi with some catnip on the way out

Asra

For someone with such a chillaxed approach to life, they are surprisingly easy to annoy

And yes, he gets petty when he's irritated

It rarely happens with you (usually when you're trying to annoy them on purpose), and then his petty retaliation prank is just for show (or to make a gentle point)

But if it's someone being genuinely maddening, maybe a Karen in the market place or a self-important jerk cutting in line?

Barely detectable spells designed to make them question reality in a decidedly unpleasant, but harmless way

The Karen screaming about the pumpkin bread being overbaked is suddenly under a 30 minute enchantment that makes her say the opposite of what she intends to

You've never heard anyone serve compliments so angrily: "Exceptional service! This bread is flawless! You're not being unreasonable, I am!" All while slowly turning purple with rage

And oh no, look at that, the guy who shouldered his way in front of you moments ago just made a beeline for the public lavatory, almost like he has sudden diarrhea

"Oh no, MC," Asra whispers quietly in your ear, dimples dancing, "Oh nooo ..."

Nadia

She gets petty when she feels like she's been insulted or underestimated

It's not her best look, but she has a lot of pent-up resentment about feeling constantly humiliated by her older sisters

So of course, that's what she does to the unfortunate nobleman who tries to mansplain his way out of taking care of his tenants in front of her court

She'll pull out the file of information she's gathered and grill him with no mercy: "You currently own 4 properties valued at ____, correct? And you charge your tenants ____ per month?"

You watch him go pale and gulp, "er, yes, Countess. But with the rain, building costs-"

"Your maintenance to date is estimated at costing you ____, leaving over 50 separate complaints unaddressed, some of which are several years old. If my numbers are correct, (and they are always correct, nobleman) you still have _____ in profits. That should easily cover the estimated ____ required to restore acceptable living conditions. I expect to receive a glowing report from your tenants next quarter. Will there be any issues?"

She usually feels guilty afterwards, but you can't blame her. It's just so gratifying

Muriel

He can hold a grudge, but his brand of petty is hard to notice until you get to know him better

It'll only happen with people he trusts, when they do something he disapproves of

For example, the time Asra visited and decided to feed the chickens some breadcrumbs soaked in mead. Just for fun

Watching tipsy poultry stagger and drunkenly cluck around your front yard was hilarious, but also a little sad

And Muriel doesn't appreciate it when someone disrespects nature. Even Asra

He'll sulk. It's a little comedic to watch a full grown man give someone the cold shoulder and huff and stomp his way around the hut, but it's surprisingly effective

Especially when Inanna joins in, skulking by his side and shooting the occasional disdainful glare

Asra crumbles when Faust sides with them, riding on Inanna's back and blepping at her master reproachfully

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry! I shouldn't have -" *giggle* "I shouldn't have intoxicated your chickens! It was very rude of me."

Really the apology is all Muriel wants, he'll stop sulking and maybe laugh about it later

Portia

She gets petty when someone comments on an insecurity of hers without meaning to

Being the younger sister of a charismatic older brother means that she *hates* being compared to him

She'll be enjoying drinks with you one evening at the Rowdy Raven, and one of the local regulars will make the wrong comment

"Hey, it's Devorak's little sister! Look at you carrying all those drinks, I bet you can hold your liquor almost as well as he can."

Uh oh. It's on.

She'll turn, smiling sweetly, and challenge him to a drinking contest in front of the whole tavern. He'll need help getting home

She won't stop there, either. After that it's arm wrestling, darts, even an insult war in which you hear some of the most creative roasts you've ever come across

All as her Nevivon accent gets thicker and thicker, curls flying and eyes sparking with triumph as she demolishes poor fool after poor fool

She'll be embarrassed about getting so carried away the next morning while she's nursing her hangover

It's worth it because Julian is now known at the Raven as "Miss Portia's older brother"

Lucio

In the same way that he only throws his tantrums cathartically, his pettiness is his other method of handling his short temper

On one hand, you're proud of him. It's a big improvement from ordering someone's execution because he didn't like what they said about him

On the other hand, it's hard to take him seriously when his response to an unwelcome comment is to mimick it back in their faces because he can't come up with a witty comeback

He'll be passing back by a merchant he tried to haggle with earlier when their shop assistant makes a friendly jab at him

"Hey, Mr Adventurer! You back for that deal, or is it still too much?"

He'll barely miss a beat spluttering before he whirls around and responds in a squeaky mocking voice at the top of his lungs:

"Hey shopkeep! You back for that deal, or am I still too much?"

Apparently, the teenaged assistant in question is gifted in both good humor and snark. There's a crowd gathering for the free entertainment and it's fueling both of them

Neither of them seem afraid of being immature in public so you wait it out at the nearby tea stand until they're satisfied

(If you liked Lucio's part, I highly recommend the meme my lovely mutual sent me based off of it here)

[flying-thing]

Poly Headcanons with Ballistar and Ambrosious

Second request!

CW: Smut (at the end and not graphic), possibly OOC characters

Word Count: 1190

-------------------------------------------------------

How you guys met:

You work at one of the shops in the market

You met Nimona before Ballistar and Ambrosious

She was the one who actually introduced you guys

Both of them were happy to meet you. You seemed like you would be a very good friend.

When they fell for you:

You and Nimona really enjoy playing pranks on the guys

Whether it be hiding one of their socks or making them get soaked by the river, it's really fun for you two

For Ballistar, it was the way you'd hide your smile or laugh with your hand in front of your mouth

When he saw your smile for the first time, he couldn't help but do the same

It's so contagious

He especially enjoys when he's the one who makes you happy

For Ambrosious, he thought your humour and the general way you expressed yourself was extraordinary

He respected that you always spoke your mind

When they asked you out:

Ballistar was the first of the two to tell Ambrosious that he was in love with you too

He felt like a bad partner for wanting another person

He talked to Nimona before talking to Ambrosious and she said that relationships such as this exist and thrive

With new confidence, he told his husband (because I said so) and he said that he felt the same as he did

They both agreed that if you would take them, they would be happy to have you

They visited your store one day, which wasn't out of the ordinary, and asked when you would be able to close up shop

You give them the time and ask why, but they just say that they have a surprise for you

When you get out, they walk on either side of you along the river

They thought this would be the perfect place to ask you out because the temperature is good and the view is breathtaking. Especially when on the cliff that they were walking you to

You try and ask them what the surprise is and they just slide off your questions and tell you to wait and have patience

Ambrosious is the one who asks you

"Bal and I have come together to ask if you would join our relationship. We have both fallen for your charms and are fully prepared to court you first if you would wish."

Your face lit up before falling again

"What if I mess up? I don't want to possibly ruin your relationship."

Bal just put his hand on your cheek and asked you not to worry

"You do not need to agree or say yes. We will not pressure you. Just please do not have such thoughts. You will not mess anything up or ruin it."

A big smile places itself on your lips and you say that you would love to be with them

First kisses:

Ambrosious: you guys were baking together and you ended up getting chocolate on your cheek

He brings up his hand and wipes it away

Before putting his hand down though, he brings his thumb to your lips

It was an impulsive thought and he didn't think anything of it until you licked off the chocolate

A teasing smirk comes onto your face

"Maybe you want a taste too?"

His eyes widen slightly and he puts his other hand on your other cheek and pulls you in for a kiss

It's not sloppy or heat-ridden by any means, but he still manages to actually get chocolate in his mouth

Afterwards, you guys were giggling like little kids

Ballistar: you two were taking a walk in the outskirts of town while holding hands

You don't even remember what you guys were talking about before-

"Can I kiss you?"

You pause momentarily and stare up at him

"I'm sorry, was that too forward?"

You smile and shake your head

You pull him down by his shirt to kiss him and you see a flash of a camera

Looking over, you guys see Nimona with a camera grinning like a maniac

You chase them around but never get the picture

He ended up giving it to Ambrosious and he put it on the fridge

[This is where the smut hcs are so if you do not want to read, please skip this, thank you. There is nothing happening after the smut, I promise]

First time:

When you guys had talked about sex, you were a little shy

You were a virgin and had little to no idea what to do

They did not tease you for it and both happily agreed to teach you

You guys' first time was slow and sweet

You were properly opened up so they wouldn't hurt you, for which you later appreciated

The feeling was new, but not unwelcome

For my tops, they showed you how to do all the things they like and they were pleasantly surprised with how quickly you caught on

General HCs:

Ambrosious blushes a lot when getting head. He never knows where to put his hands and tries so hard to not fuck into your mouth

He is a whiner and his moans are so sweet when he's bottoming

When he tops, he's very in control. Listen to him or get punished for it

He makes you look at him when he eats you out or gives you head

Ballistar is a munch. Don't lie, we all thought about it

His favourite thing is oral

He teaches you how to use your tounge so you can have mouth magic too

When he tops, he is such a big praiser

He holds your hips still while he fucks you like there's no tomorrow while praising you at how well you take him

When he bottoms, he hides his face a lot

Very blushy baby

His moans are so sweet though, you can never get enough

They both have long fingers and every time they finger you open, it always leaves you gasping and desperate for more. They know how to use them, trust me on that

And the way the jerk you off? Soul is gone

They'll make you cum at least twice before they fuck you properly and that's if the feel merciful

Bal, I think, definitely likes to mark what is his. You've had people ask you about the bruises on your neck several times and it's as equally embarrassing as it was the first time

Ambrosious definitely grips your hips and thighs though. He has bruises of his fingers imprinted there basically

They will tease the ever-loving shit out of you just because they can

Aftercare:

No matter how rough or soft they are, they always make sure to clean you up properly and get you water

Sometimes bath time happens and it's so nice

The tub is big enough for the three of you because knights are rich and have nice things

You guys wash each other and relax in the warmth of the water

Cuddles cuddles cuddles cuddles cuddles

Did I mention cuddles?

They are so sweet.

We love these guys

[chronic-ghost]

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

rating: M (just for language)

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

word count: 5619

summary: you're a human lie detector-- so you tell the handsome man at the Jim Bo’s Burger Barn at 3AM. Too bad you're too drunk to catch up to his lies.

warnings: language, references to drugs/cartels, drinking, smoking, this one is pretty tame, no use of y/n

a/n: this is my Poker Face adjacent fic and inspired by the scene where Javi so innocently flirts with that american wife in the lounge. might become a series but not quite sure yet. lemme know which direction I should take this, if I should take it anywhere at all!

🤍Series Masterlist | Next

🤍AO3 Link

You attract trouble.

You attract trouble like you put on your nicest dress, did your hair, fixed up your tits, and doused yourself in trouble-pheromones. Like you found trouble curled up on the side of the road, sad and alone like a lost dog, and you gave it a cookie and now it swings around your ankles, always moments away from knocking you on your ass. Except it’s not a dog, it’s a chimpanzee that’s finally snapped and it’s pissed–  it’s beating on the bars of its cage, it’s yowling, howling, it’s coming after you to eat off your goddamn face and–

Okay, back up a bit. 

You have a thing that gets you into trouble. No, not like a self-destructive habit or a weird twitch. It’s not drugs or alcohol or even a dumbass ex. It’s this thing you’ve always been able to do, always known, and because of your big mouth, it’s always gotten you into hot water with the wrong people.

You know when someone is lying. Don’t ask how. It’s a thing. But you know, without a shadow of a doubt, if what’s coming out of someone’s mouth is the God’s honest truth or total and utter bullshit.

You know when someone is lying and generally, folks don’t really appreciate it when you a) catch them on a lie and b) call them out on it. You and your big mouth.

Okay, that’s two things that get you into trouble, but it’s primarily the lying thing and the mouth thing is more or less a fun bonus. Used for good or evil, or whatever. 

The point – the point is – you know when someone is lying. Every single time. So, sure, the audience may say, it’s a weird quirk, kinda bizarre, may or may not be difficult to prove, but trouble? Real actual trouble? How could you possibly get into chimpanzee-face-eating trouble with just this little thing?

Well, rather easy actually. If you don’t have any particular skills, that is. If you barely finished high school, and street smarts was the only kind of smarts they were selling the day your mom smacked you on the ass and told you to find your way in the world. It was hard keeping a job too. Minimum wage living is terrible, especially when the customers lie to you, or to each other, or to their children. Even worse when management lies about why there’s no cash payout this month or why they’re late with this month’s checks. Getting by is fucking hard as shit, but when you know there’s something wrong being done and you’ve got this big fucking mouth, well, you’ve never been one to not court trouble. 

Maybe trouble is easier to find because you like to wave and flirt with it when you drive by. Give a little wink.

You work here, you work there. Nothing serious. Always temporary. And then, one day, during your shift as a maid at the Economy 99 on route 10, the elderly night guard asks if you’ve ever played poker. 

Nah, you say. Go Fish, that’s really your game. 

So he offers to teach you, along with a few of the other maids and staff waiting around for someone to blow chunks in the swimming pool because you always managed to find the really classy places. 

Okay, so you barely finished high school, you don’t have real marketable skills, you’ve got a big mouth and you’re not afraid to use it and –

– and –

You’re really fucking good at poker. 

And who here would like to venture a guess as to why?

You always know when someone is lying and what is poker if not Advance Bullshit for Adults? Fuckin’ Astronomical Physics for Liars and Dumbasses. Hell, you gotta fuckin’ PhD in Bovine Excrement and it’s time you graduated to the big leagues. Sayonara community college, hello Stanford for Assholes.

Okay, maybe that’s just regular Stanford. 

You learn to hustle too. Lose a few rounds so they don’t catch onto you and can’t accuse you of anything as you wipe their clocks clean. You change your name too, in different towns, in different back alley poker halls, because unfortunately the poker and casino community in this place is too small.

This place being all of the United States. 

You can’t exactly go online and work your literal magic– you gotta at least see or hear the person to know if they’re lying. Bluffing over pixels just isn’t the same. Isn’t sexy enough. 

So, with your big mouth and exceptional poker skills, you go hunting off the coast. It was an invite only poker tournament in Florida. You hadn’t managed to burn your ‘Marlene Green’ identify just yet and she was fucking crushing it up and down the east coast. You barely blinked at the ten grand buy-in– baby money, suckers ducks, little Tikes casino royale.

This was also the last one, you told yourself. One for all the marbles. 

Because the thing about disreputable poker halls, they tend to be filled with unpleasant, disreputable, very angry characters that, like a chimpanzee, will rip your face off and eat it if they think they’ve been cheated. 

Exit strategy. Mama always said you gotta have an exit strategy. Well, Mama said a lot of things and the actual literal exit strategy was Monterey Marina with a gorgeous trawler for sale. Older than shit, but damn that baby could purr. You were gonna take the money, offer up stone-cold cash (no questions asked), and sail off into the sunset. Or, well, sunrise because you were definitely getting the fuck out of Florida. 

But here it comes, the real kick in the goddamn teeth, the real screw in the rack. This is where your mouth and your talent– gift, power, is this a fucking superhero movie?– whatever– tended to get all mishmashed with one other thing that always– and you mean always– got you in the hot seat. Got you in Trouble, with a capital T, that rhymes with P and stands for pool hall – breathing down your neck. 

You alway had shitdumb, bad, fucking luck. 

So it’s not some lowtime, grumpy townies you piss off when you win the pot, it turns out its members of a goddamn drug cartel! And they are PISSED.

P-I-S-S-E-D

You don’t wanna ask the barrel of their guns if they’re going to kill you because you don’t actually want to be sure of their answer, so you’ve got your hands up, thinking this is definitely it– I’ve played my last hand, I’ve sunk my last boat, I’ve cursed my last fuck– when police sirens go off. It’s not a relief, but a distraction.

You’ve got a big mouth, wacky abilities, and reflexes like someone who’s been running their whole life. You smash a bottle against the back of the head of the blonde one closest to you, flip the table– chips and bullets go flying– and with the case holding the winnings still in your hands, you sprint out the back door. 

To your lovely Chevy Camaro waiting for you. 

And you drive.

“And I drive and I drive and I drive, all the way down to this lovely little diner in . . .” 

You swivel on the red seat, nearly knocking over the five little plastic bottles of Crown Royal on the counter that is making your head thick and puffy. You squint at the sign that boasts the best burgers in – “Texas, yes, thank you, Texas! Lone Star State. The most hated state, of all fifty of them, for Wile E Coyote. His nemesis. His haunting. His apocalypse now . . .” 

The man seated next to you, the same man who’s been there for an hour, quietly listening to you drunkenly ramble at the counter of Jim Bo’s Burger Barn, smirks. His mustache twitches.

“Why is it the Wile E Coyote’s least favorite state?”

Your mouth drops at him. You slouch as though indignant about his very question. “Roadrunner, duh, state bird of the Lone Star State. That and blue bonnets. I mean, the flower. Blue bonnets are the state bird and the road runner is the state flower of the Looney Star State . . . wait . . .”

He laughs, softly, his elbows under him as he leans forward on the counter, his brown jacket looking like it smells amazing. Drunker than you meant to be, you eye him from his classic cowboy boots, up his hips, and to the edges of that lovely brown jacket as it hangs around his waist. He has the prettiest eyes. 

“You were saying something about driving here?” He asks, very much aware of your shameless staring. “Do you still have that money?”

“Sure, sure,” you mutter and turn back to your chocolate milkshake that’s pretty much just chocolate soup at this point. You snatch up a remaining fry from your long gone burger and swirl it in the soup. “Got the keys and the money locked up tight. I worry more about someone fucking with my baby more than the money, you know. Lots of sentimental value in that car. ‘Is where I lost my virginity.”

At that, the man sputters on his coffee, his third of the night. Black, almost as dark as his hair. 

You sigh, frowning into your lumpy, ice-creamy soup. “So hard to get laid when you’re running for your life.” 

You swivel back to him as he’s patting his jacket dry of coffee. “Wait. You.”

“Me what?” You think his cheeks warm pink for a moment.

“What the hell are you doing out here at 3AM, listening to me babble endlessly? You don’t look shifty, but maybe you are.” 

He smirks again and tosses his napkins into the now empty coffee mug. 

“I’m Javi,” he says in a deep, soothing voice as he extends his hand across to you. You take it, with the proper amount of trepidation. “And I’m on my way to see my niece in Flagstaff.” 

You click your tongue and withdraw your hand, disappointed. “Bullshit.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“I mean, your name is definitely Javi.” You pick up your own coffee mug and see that it’s unfortunately empty. You pick out some fleck that’s fallen into it. “Well, almost – is that short for something? – but you are definitely not on your way to see your niece in Flagstaff. Does she not live in Flagstaff or . . . do you not even have a niece?” You gasp, mouth agape. He has the decency to look uneasy. His eyes narrow at you. You scoff. “That is fucked up, hombre. Starting off a conversation with a lie is not a good way to make a friend.” 

“Why do you think I’m lying?” 

You roll your eyes, the coffee cup dangling loosely in your fingers. “We’ve been over this, my dude. See the court documents. Jeez, how hard is it to order a refill at three in the morning? Paragraph B, Subsection I’m really fucking good at poker. I don’t think, I know. I have this thing, always had, and when people lie to me, I . . . wriggle. Squirm. Not exactly ‘spoiled lunch meat’ but not ‘just clocked a hottie from across the bar and I like their vibes’ either.” 

He watches as the waitress, glaring, comes over and refills your mug. You immediately dive into five packets of sugar, shredding them like a racoon with a bag of popcorn. 

“But I don’t take it too personally,” you continue, flicking the sugar packet to make sure every single crystal falls into the cup. “People lie all the time. About stupid shit too. I don’t think they even mean to do it. It just happens.”

“Does it bother you? That people lie?” 

“Eh. Once upon a time. But fuck, if you could hear the bullshit firehose that comes outta people’s mouths on the daily, you’d stop shaking it off too, if you know what I mean.” Satisfied that you’d be able to see through both time and space with your sugar high, you take a sip. Needs milk. You reach across his plate, wobbling on the edge of the seat, his chest inches from your forearm, and snag the little tin milk pitcher. Your cup becomes more milk than coffee. “People lie for the best of reasons, mostly. Or at least, best for them. Either to save hurting someone else's feelings or their own. We humans don’t like pain, generally, as a rule. But rules are meant to be broken, I suppose.”

Javi, or as close to his real name as you’re going to get, is quiet. That tends to be more of his natural state, given that he had barely said two words while you recounted the past few weeks to him whether he wanted it or not. You sip your coffee again, delighted to have found the right balance of sugar, milk, and burnt coffee, when he taps the rim of his mug with his nail. 

 “I do have a niece, but she lives in Austin. Haven’t seen her in a while, actually, but I want to.” 

“Oh, yeah?” That was all true. You bend forward, eyes trying to watch him as you sip the delicate, hovering brown line that threatens to spill over the edge of the cup. “What’s stopping you from seeing her?” 

“Work.” 

Well, that was fucking ominous. 

“Wait. Fuck. What do you do for a living?” 

Javi slides off the seat and turns those slim hips towards you and, like a fucking idiot, you just now register the bulk at his waist. 

You whimper. Of course the one nice person who wanted to spare you a second glance was from the cartel. They found you. Somehow they tracked you down to the middle of nowhere, which was exactly what you wanted when you still had your life ahead of you. But now it seemed like a terrible fucking idea because there was no one around to at least make sure Baby Girl Camaro went to a good home. 

“Ah, fuck. Fuck! That’s a gun. Fuck, you’re gonna kill me right here in this goddamn diner,” you whine and put your head on the counter, hands covering the back as if you were preparing for a tornado. 

He sighs. “I’m not going to kill you.” 

Truth. 

“Then what do you want with me?” You glare at him, bleary-eyed. “Because the whole cover as a kindly stranger with baby cow eyes is officially fucking blown, my guy.” 

“Let’s go outside and – wait, what? Baby cow eyes? What the hell does that mean?” 

“What? You’ve never watched Dr. Pole? TV veterinarian?” You unwind from your prone position and frown at him. “He takes care of those little baby cows, lookin’ up at their mama with those big, sweet, gentle, loving brown eyes. Cutest thing in the world. Almost made me wanna give up beef for a whole two minutes. But seriously, dude, there’s this hamburger joint in Miami that makes you just wanna lick the juices right off your fingers– hey!” 

He grabs you by the upper arms and, as casually as a kidnapping can go, hauls you out of the diner. The bell above the door rings joyfully as he pulls you through. 

The reality of your situation hits you like a sixteen-wheeler truck and tears spring up in your eyes as panic bites into your spine. His grip is like iron around your bicep. 

“Dude, I’m so sorry I rambled on like that but I swear I didn’t know who you were. Please, please don’t kill me – o-o-or hurt me. Please don’t take me back to the cartel. You can have the money, I swear, j-j-just take it–,”

His eyes widen and immediately lets you go. The neon sign and lights of the diner behind him blur his face in shadow. You wipe at your eyes. 

“Lady, look, if you’re gonna survive on the run from the Cali Cartel, you can’t be telling your whole life story to anyone who asks.” He’s got his hands on his hips as if disappointed with you. You pout with your bottom lip out.

“Wasn’t telling just anyone. Was telling you.” You cross your arms and sniff, suddenly rather embarrassed to be crying in front of a man so genuinely hot it makes you go a little cross-eyed. Well, it was either him or the whiskey. TBD. “Not that I’m encouraging you or anything, but if you don’t kill me, aren’t your cartel bosses gonna be pissed?” 

“I don’t work for the cartel. I work for the DEA.” 

If crying was embarrassing, you are going to be fucking traumatized if you puked all over his cowboy boots.

“Aw shit. Shitshitshitshitshit.” You press your knuckles into your eyes, groaning. You wander backwards. Your head starts to spin and so do you. “The fucking government is after me? Holy shit, this is not good.” 

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

You frown and spin back around. He looks exasperated. 

“Well, how many words does it take to read me my Miranda rights?” You tick off the words on your fingers as you speak them aloud. “You. Have. The. Right. To. Remain. Silent. Anything – is that one word or two? – You. Say–,”

“Jesus Christ–,” He claps his wide hand over yours, squishing your tally between his palms. “Are you always like this or just because you’re drunk?” 

“I’m a delight, pal, okay?” You scowl up at him. “I am a barrel full of monkeys at all times. I am a waterslide with chocolate and whipped cream, okay? I am a–,”

His hands leap to your shoulders. His touch is gentle like he knows he shouldn’t scare you but he’s considering throwing you into oncoming traffic. 

“Just . . . show me the case of money you stole,” he begs with his baby cow eyes, “alright? Let’s start there.”

Your eyes narrow at him. “If I do, what’s to keep you from knocking me out and throwing me in the trunk?” 

“I’m not going to do that.”

No tingle. You purse your lips and wiggle out from under his palms. “Say it. Say, I’m not going to knock you out and throw you in the trunk and steal all of your money.” 

“It’s not exactly your money, is it?”

“Say it!”

“Fine!” He says, throwing his hands in the air. “I’m not going to knock you out and throw you in the trunk and steal all of your money.” 

Still nothing. No tingle. Well, no tingle about him lying anyway. 

“You passed the test. Now come here.” 

Hesitantly, he nudges towards you, those thick eyebrows dipping down as if expecting you to pull a bazooka out of your bra.

“C’mere, c’mere. Good.” You clap a hand on his shoulder and lean into him. You shift your weight onto one leg and wiggle off your other boot. You get a whiff of his cologne – dark, woodsy, a little too much, as if to cover for a lack of deodorant. “Now, as you so annoyingly identified earlier, I have had a little, insy-tintsy bit to drink, and if I tried to take off my shoe by myself, I would, as the kids say, eat shit. And once you’ve fallen on your ass in front of one cop, you’ve fallen on your ass in front of them all.”

His warm hands find your waist, steadying you, just as you pop your heel out of your boot. “I’m not a cop,” he grumbles.

“And I’m not a walking lie detector.” You shake your boot and your car keys tinkle as they hit the dirt. “Ah, ha! Got ‘em.”

You shake them in front of his baby cow eyes, grinning, before spinning back to your car and popping the trunk, hopping as you went to slide your boot back on. 

“Do you work out?” You ask as he rounds the edge. Half of you is buried in the trunk, feet in the air. 

“Uh, yeah, when I can. Why?”

“What do you bench?”

“256. Why?” 

“Oh, then this should be easy for you.”

You groan, struggling with something and he dives to help you – and his knees buckle. 

“Why the hell do you have a tire for a sixteen wheeler in your trunk?”

“Same reason you’re sweating, toots. Heavy as fuck and hard to move. But now that we have . . .”

You pull out a slim silver case. You pop the handles and sigh.

You haven’t moved a single bill since that night. You haven’t even breathed on it, as if doing so would set off a series of alarms, bells, and whistles.

“So small for so much trouble,” you whisper as he crowds in next to you. “Fifty thousand dollars. Make or break a life. Well, at least, a life like mine.” 

Javi makes a face. “Should be one hundred, but those fuckers switched it out.” 

“Wait, how do you know that?” 

He sighs and slams the lid of the trunk shut. You snatch up the case before he does and hold it tight to your chest. Javi stands there for a moment, with his hand on Baby’s trunk, head down, thinking.

“Look, I want to help you . . . and I can. But you’ve gotta start being honest with me. How did you really get into that poker game?”

“What do you mean?”

He crosses his arms, frowning. “That little party trick you do. The human lie detector thing. What is it? How did you know Veracruz had that shit hand?”

“Uh, because I asked him and he said he didn’t have a shit hand, and I knew he was lying.” 

“Yeah, that. How did you know he was lying?”

“I just did.”

“Bullshit.” 

“That’s my line!” You glare up at him, very much aware of his height and very much aware how hot he is. “I’m not lying to you. I just know when people are lying. If you believe it, I’ll know.” 

Javi rolls his eyes. “That’s not a real thing people can do. Have you done forensic work before? Studied body language somewhere?” 

You scoff and step back, showing off your black fringe vest, dirty jeans, and combat boots. “Do I look like I’ve studied anything anywhere ever? Where would I even have gotten the money to go study somewhere? Oh right, the forensic fairy, just beating the shit outta people with a bag of cash.” 

He puts his hands on his hips and you match him because you can do the scary cop thing too. It’s not that hard. 

“I broke my arm when I was seven on a bike ride.” 

“True.” 

“I had a dog named Benji.” 

“Dog’s right, but not named Benji.” You grin, rubbing your hands together, then putting them on your thighs. “C’mon, gimme something you’ve never told anyone. This is exciting. Your mustache does this little twitch thing when I’m right.” 

“When I was twelve, I cheated off my friend’s math test.” 

You frown, dropping your shoulders. “That’s your big secret? Whoof, buddy, and here I thought the big scary man gunning for me was mean and lean, when he’s actually just an All-American—,”

“I need your help to arrest the men who are trying to kill you.” 

Your mouth snaps shut so fast your teeth click.

“That’s what all of this is about.” He crosses his arms and leans against Baby. “Aren’t you curious how I found you so fast? Faster than the cartel who's been on your ass for two weeks now?” 

“I’d like to think it was just kismet that we found each other,” you grumble. “Serendipity. Movie magic. Lady Luck doing me a fuckin’ solid for once.”

“That case has a tracker in it. We had a plant in that game who was supposed to win, but not before he could distribute the cash out in the pot. We’d be able to follow them back to their stashes and track their movements.” He bit his lip, disapprovingly. “And then you showed up. Cleaned their fucking clocks like it was nothing. Had their goddamn numbers from minute one and none of us could figure it out. Steve was probably relieved when you knocked him out with that bottle.”

“Oh, shit, the blonde was your partner?” You grimace. “My bad, dude, my bad. Is he, uh, okay?”

Javi nods, eyes distant, as if subtly trying to work something out in his brain. Like testing to see if you could read minds or something. “He’ll be fine. His wife Connie is thrilled to have him home for a few weeks.” 

“Ah. And that means you pulled the shit straw to go after the girl who ran off with all your government money . . .” It was finally all coming together. “Shit, should I add your wife to the list of people I’ve pissed off? I can’t imagine she’s thrilled about any of this.”

His jaw works, as if he was chewing on something, eyes dark, before he pulls a packet of cigarettes out of the pocket of his jacket. He holds one out to you.

You stay where you are, hesitant. 

“C’mon, don’t tell me you’re not a smoker.” He spins an unlit cigarette between his fingers. “I don’t bite.”

You scowl and trudge forward. You snatch the cigarette from his thick fingers and wait your turn for the lighter.

“What gave it away? I haven’t had a smoke in hours.” 

The shadow of the flame flickered in his palm as he held out the lighter close to your lips, his hand blocking the wind. His brown eyes looked black in the absence of light. 

“Chain-smoking and playing poker with idiots is a combo deal. Two vices for the price of one.”

“Ha. Ha.”

You match his lean against Baby’s trunk, the pair of you watching the occasional car or truck go by on the interstate in the distance. The paper crinkles when you suck in the smoke. God, there really is nothing like the first bite of a cigarette. 

“So, what’s the play here?” You ask, after a moment. “You have the money. Why do you need me?” 

“You won’t have to worry about kindly strangers with baby cow eyes for starters.” You scowl at him. Maybe it’s the orange light of the flame, but you swear you see a twinkle in his eyes. “But you tell me. You seem smart. What would the government want with you?”

He likes a chase, you realize. He likes to play, to tease. He likes to be in control. Something inside you knots up, threatening goosebumps on your skin, but you shake it back. Down, girl. 

You take a sip from your cigarette, thinking. 

There is nothing else around except the highway and this diner. Seemed like such a good idea at the time. Who’d ever find your ass all the way out here? You lick the bottom of your lip before pulling it between your teeth.

“I’m your only witness to the mountains of coke being produced out in the open when they brought us in. Everyone else at that table was cartel or DEA. You want me to testify. 

He nods slowly. If he was impressed, he didn’t show it.

“We didn’t know who the hell you were when you showed up and planned to arrest you before everything went tits up.” He taps the ash onto the gray dirt and you watch his fingers. “If you do this, you’re out from under the cartel. We can give you a new identity, and you can start grifting again across America. All of this’ll be a bad dream.”

He flicks the butt of his cigarette into the dark, just at the edge of the light from the neon sign. You follow suit a second later. The keys to Baby are still in your pocket. 

“And if I don’t? If I don’t do this, then what?” 

His answer is a single arched eyebrow.

You dart to the left, trying to get around him, but he’s there first, arms outstretched like he’s guarding a goal. He frowns at you. Seriously? 

You lunge again, this time to the right, and he’s again in front. 

Your brow sweating, you hook your foot onto Baby’s trunk, desperately trying to scramble over the top. You get about halfway up before those annoyingly large hands snatch you around the waist and haul you off the car.

“Would you stop it?” He plops you down between his solid chest and the car door. This close to him, air temporarily leaves your lungs. “I’m being honest when I say I’m here to help you.” 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“Am I lying?” Again, that beautiful eyebrow of disapproval. 

“No, but I’ve officially decided you’re shifty.” 

He shakes his head and steps back, allowing blood flow to return to your brain. 

“Is this what you want for your life? Driving from small town to small town, picking up bullshit jobs, sleeping in shit beds, when there’s so much more you could do? You’re smart, resourceful, funny, weirdly agile . . . but you wanna spend your life hiding from the world.” 

There’s something hot and sharp in your throat.

“It’s what I’m good at,” you croak. 

His expression softens. The gravel crackles beneath his boots as he comes closer. Javi, the DEA officer, has temporarily left the building. In his place, this Javi is smoothed out, dulled, not all jagged edges and razor burns. Maybe tastes sweeter than day-old coffee and stale cigarettes. You want to tell him there’s nothing wrong with either– you happily take both– but seeing him unguarded, even for a moment, threatens to topple you over. There’s a light in his eyes when he takes in your face. Your eyes. Your nose. Your mouth. 

He looks . . . hopeful. 

One hesitant finger brushes away a stray strand of hair from your forehead.

Do not tremble. Do not tremble. Do not do it, I swear, ladies, keep it together!

“I bet you are,” he says softly. Jesus Christ, his hands are so big up close. “I bet you are good at a lot of things. You seem like the type who could genuinely surprise me. And I think you might surprise yourself one day.” 

You grimace, deeply, deeply regretful. 

“Yeah,” you mutter glumly. “I do surprise people a lot, actually. Unfortunately, you didn’t seem to be listening.”

“Wha–,”

From your other pocket in your vest, you yank out a one-time-use stun gun and stab his thigh through his jeans. Fifty-thousand volts lights up his entire body, arched, and tensed, before the grown man collapses at your feet. 

Unconscious, Javi hits the ground so hard you squeal, landing on his face and no doubt earning a nasty bruise. 

“Exit strategy, dude! Always gotta have an exit strategy. But I’m so, so sorry!” Grabbing his deadweight shoulder, you roll him onto his back and try to get him in a comfortable position. There’s dust in his mustache. .You fold his hands onto his chest like he was casually napping. 

Then because you were in fact the nicest or stupidest person on the planet, you dig your arms under his and pull him out of the parking lot. It would be a true sin if he got run over and anything happened to that beautiful face. Huffing, you drop him off by the bike rack. “I’m sorry. You are so gorgeous but I gotta get outta here and I can’t have you following me. This hurts me way more than it hurts you.”

You bend down and rifle through his jacket. You find what you’re looking for and take his phone out of his pocket. Old, probably a burner. With a shake, you crack off the battery and throw it on the ground. The crunch is loud beneath your heel. That should give you some more time. Can’t haul you back to HeadQuarters if he can’t call them.

This close to him, you can see the bags beneath his eyes. You remember he didn’t eat the entire time he sat with you in the diner. He didn’t respond to your question about a wife. Guilt clangs into your ribs. Slowly, you loosely brush your fingers through his hair. It’s soft, curls around his neck and ears. He looks like he needs sleep. 

You had been blasting across state lines, hardly eating, barely sleeping, restless and fearful. Maybe he had been too.  

“God, I am such a fucking idiot.” You grimace as you see a ripe purple bump growing on his cheek. “I am so sorry and I am so going to hell for this.”

Over the road to the highway, the dawn rises, purple and pink and heavy.

Baby purrs, when you start the engine, welcoming and warm. Where to today, Mama?

Jim Croce’s twang eases out of the radio as you adjust your mirror and see his long legs still out by the concrete. Somebody would find him soon enough.

Uptown got its hustlers

The bowery got it's bums

42nd street got big Jim Walker

He's a pool shootin' son of a gun

Yeah, he big and dumb as a man can come

But he stronger than a country hoss

You shake your head, guilt gnawing at your gut. Baby roars as you pull out onto the road and up onto the highway. Into the burning dawn.

What was it that he said? 

And when the bad folks all get together at night

You know they all call big Jim boss, just because

He called you funny. Resourceful. Full of potential. And smart. He thought you were smart.

Liar, liar. 

And they say

You don't tug on superman's cape

You don't spit into the wind

You don't pull the mask off that old lone ranger

And you don't mess around with Jim

[wordsbymae]

"They ain't lap dogs you know, they're working dogs and you spoil em too much" but mousey is for sure his lap dog lmao

so now farmer finally has them. what now? would he propose, not like in the the other AU when he is older? or would he just start going around the town telling people about his little wife/husband/spouse? because, what is little mouse supposed to do? they just can't say no to the only person that is so nice to them, the only person that takes care and protect them (or so the farmer say). mousey must return the favour.

I literally was going to answer about an hour ago but got completely distracted by making a mood board for the farmer's two dogs cause you reminded me of them. whoops!

Anyway!

Oh for sure!!!! He doesn't need his boys to be his lap dogs when he has the prettiest thing all to himself.

There is no way on God's green earth he will ever actually propose. Don't get me wrong, he wants nothing more than to marry his little mouse and put a ring on it. But actually courting them? Actually having to be vulnerable and open himself up to rejection?

Never ever going to happen.

I can see this going really two ways, there is a third secret option but that's for later.

The first way is he just starts acting like you're married. Tells everyone in town he can't stay too long or the missus/ his partner will be getting worried. Gushes about your cooking to anyone who will listen makes it clear that he's got a sweet little thing waiting all for him back at home. Carries a Polaroid picture of you hugging Pancho, with a big wide smile and while Lefty sooks in the corner. He'll show it off whenever he has the chance, talking about you and your boys.

Those who watched you two that day at the farmers' market just nod their heads with smiles and wish him all the best. He probably starts even wearing a plain gold band. Proud to show it off.

Meanwhile, the reader is confused when the very rare times they leave the farm everyone wishes them congratulations (and asks if any kids will be coming).

Mouse brings it up to the farmer and tells them they don't want people getting the wrong idea. They're just friends. The farmer just laughs at this.

"It's a bit too late to stop them from getting the wrong idea Mouse"

He practically gaslights them, I mean what's the big problem? Who cares if a few town folks think they got hitched. They are living together. You do act like a homemaker. You can't blame anyone for thinking you two had been married for years. The only thing stopping you two from actually being seen as truly married is the lack of a ring on your finger and you not being in his bed.

And would it really be so bad? Being his?

He's been so good to you. So kind. Like how a real husband would act. He looks after you and protects you. Buys you the prettiest things and asks nothing in return.

But now he is. Now he's asking for payment. Be his little homemaker in law as well and he'll take care of you like he always has.

You can't say no. You quit your job when your cottage burned down, just as the farmer told you to.

"I'll look after you mouse. Until you get back on your feet of course"

No one is hiring in town and even if you did get a job you wouldn't be able to buy or even rent a house. There was nowhere to go. There was taking the chance on living on the streets but wouldn't it just be easier to just say yes?

He was kinda right. You've already practically been his stay-at-home sweetheart, how bad would it be if you put a ring on your finger. This is everything you've ever wanted. To be his pretty spouse, him all to yourself.

So why did it feel so wrong?

The second is mostly fem reader but he would not be against baby trapping. If for even one moment he thought you would say no to being his wife, he would resort to baby trapping. I always view this fic set in the 60s or 70s (maybe even 50s) so there would be no way you could leave him with a babe in your belly. You would have no husband and no support. So of course you don't really have a choice. You're already on thin ice living with a single man, but that was something you could cover by explaining why. But a baby? That can't be hidden, can't be explained away. So as soon as you knew, the farmer would have a priest ready and waiting.

Tag list: @floraroselaughter

[whinlatter]

So I am obsessed with Beasts. And specifically I cannot stop thinking about Ginny and Hermione getting ready for the NYE party. It made me start wondering if Hermione has ever felt jealous of Ginny? Like they grew up together and Ginny was the younger girl, who was excluded from the “Harry/Hermione/Ron club” so she’s obviously felt a little jealous and left out there (which you explore so well!! Agh the telling Harry it’s fine, and maybe he’d rather hang out with them than her, and pretending to herself she doesn’t care!! But I digress). But now I’m wondering if Hermione has ever felt the same about Ginny and if you will explore this more in this work or a later one? Because Ginny is cool. She’s Hot, she’s sexy, she’s popular. She pulls off that Union Jack dress perfectly and has got everyone looking at her. She’s many things that Hermione is not (or hasn’t chosen to be). While Ginny has had lines of boys wanting to go out with her, Hermione has had Harry and Ron who are her best friends.. but Harry’s not an option (for either of them) and Ron has been pretty pigheaded and oblivious through a lot of their relationship (and her as well lol). And we don’t see a lot of evidence in canon that she has many other friends. People see her as the know-it-all, kinda awkward, sometimes ruthless (rip Marietta) girl. But i guess my point is, Hermione isn’t seen as hot, sexy, popular, cool like Ginny is. The Yule ball was her one big moment really. So her putting on that little black dress and letting herself be hot… idk it gets me feeling some type of way. Like yes you go girl! And I want to know Hermiones feelings here in regards to Ginny. Like I imagine she’s happy for her, but I wonder did she ever feel sort of left out of that part of girlhood/coming into womanhood that Ginny had just so naturally embraced?

THANK YOU for reading and for the beasts love, you legend 🫶

so i have been thinking about this question a lot! no-one will be surprised to discover that i find hermione and ginny's relationship in canon so so interesting. it's neither the relationship of natural besties, but nor does it seem to be a relationship of pure convenience: there's genuine love and warmth there, the swapping of confidences, meaningful advice, emotional support in moments of distress, and more than a little boy scheming (taylor swift wrote mastermind about hermione and ginny, change my mind). i tend to think of them as sisters, though very much with hermione as the big sister, and ginny as the little.

i say this because i think my answer is no, i don't think hermione would be jealous of ginny as a hot popular girl, in canon or after the war as i imagine it in beasts. but i do think that there might be reasons for different kinds of insecurity and jealousy from hermione towards ginny, especially after the war. full reasoning and minor beasts spoilers below the cut!

one of the funniest things about hermione is that, by her mid-teens, she's reasonably self-assured about her social position and her place on the dreaded teen romance market. after she's made some mates and sorted her teeth out (something she clearly was insecure about), she's pretty content. she doesn't feel especially upset about the absence of a large circle of friends or crave the approval of the other girls in her year, parvati and lavender. she has harry and ron's friendship for a lot of her emotional needs (and, beginning in GoF, ginny, for the one's that they can't meet). when it comes to boys, hermione consistently really backs herself (as she should). when krum's interested in her, she's flattered but not astonished that this international quidditch player would want to ask her out, and the ball's mostly in her court throughout their courtship (ok penpals!) when she wants to make ron jealous, she backs herself to be able to bag both cormac and zacharias and to have her pick of them (icon). she enjoys a nice dress up - the yule ball, the wedding - and knows she scrubs up well. and while she's tapped into the public mood/gossip mill (romilda vane's love potions, harry's growing fanciability, cho's quidditch fortunes), she's not especially interested in popularity herself. she'd rather be thought of as clever than she would hot or popular, for better or worse. i think we should take hermione's encouragement that ginny tap into the growing number of boys who fancy the pants off her to help get over harry in good faith. in her mind, ginny's her little sister, and hermione gets a lot out of trying to steer her towards things that might make her happy. (she disdains fleur for her obsession with appearance and seeming desire for male attention, but she thinks of ginny as her ally in being opposed to such things, not another rival).

(that doesn't mean i think hermione doesn't ever feel insecure or even feel humiliated socially, but that her insecurities are more about her feelings for specific people (read: ronald bilius weasley) than they are about the approval of her peers. when ron takes the piss out of her in HBP, for instance, she's less upset that parvati and lavender laugh at her than she is that ron, who she fancies, is mocking her and the other girl who fancies him, lavender, is laughing at her. for the most part, hermione in canon is happy as she is)

that said... i do think that hermione might have complicated, or even jealous feelings towards ginny in other contexts. in canon, the tensions in hermione and ginny's relationship are the moments where the big sister/little sister dynamic is most visible, or else when ginny tries to reject hermione's big sisterly approach and assert herself as hermione's equal. in OotP, when hermione becomes a prefect and ginny spends the prefect party laughing with tonks and sirius about behaving badly, we see hermione's big sistery approach on display, as well as her teetering with a desire to get involved with the troublemakers while also remaining pretty committed to being well-behaved in her bones. we see elsewhere that while hermione advises ginny, we have no evidence that that happens the other way around, or at least that hermione takes any of ginny's advice (it seems to hard to imagine ginny approving the cormac/zacharias plan, for one). their fight in HBP over sectumsempra isn't ginny calling hermione on not being involved in quidditch because she's not cool enough, it's the suggestion from ginny that hermione is wrong about harry's best interests, doing up i-told-you-so, being too wrapped up in her own ego over the prince's book, and then trying to manipulate ginny by bringing up quidditch in the first place (which causes ginny to go for the jugular and bring hermione's intellect, and lack of understanding on quidditch, into it). hermione's disdain for how much time harry and ginny are spending together during exam szn is also plainly big sistery, and, as it bothers harry, i think we can assume it's also something that ginny would grate against too.

in the post-war world (as i see it in beasts) i think these dynamics would be more visible than ever. ginny's lived a certain kind of war that's made her less happy to be patronised or dismissed as a little sister figure rather than an equal: she's also a symbol of the world hermione feels increasingly lost in. hermione is head girl of a student body she feels extremely removed from, while ginny is widely respected as a resistance leader among the other students, and especially admired within the DA. her conflict with ginny is really an extension of hermione's post-war conflict in general, which is about her place in the wizarding world at large: where does she fit in, in this post-war world that's both so different but also (in lots of troubling ways) very much the same, full of many of the same prejudices and problems that defined wizarding society in the interwar years. another of hermione’s big postwar conflicts, in my mind, and in fanon more generally, is about hermione's relationship with her self - as a former soldier now trying to go back to normal young adulthood - and her relationship with her family. the reason i wanted hermione in that little black dress looking fit was partly to have her try and reach out to her pre-war self who did enjoy getting dolled up and stunting on the hoes (even if maybe not in a dress quite so short, slay), but also to have her play with the idea of being allowed to do something so frivolous like look fit to turn her boyfriend on (real slay), and to have her start to publicly wrestle with a different set of external expectations, not from her peers, but perhaps from a parent she recognises she doesn’t really know:

Hermione tries for a smile, sad eyes tracing the dress’ low neckline. ‘My mum would hate it,’ she mutters. ‘She - ’ She shakes her head, throws up her hands. ‘I don’t know. Maybe she wouldn’t. I don’t know.’

i always think about that scene early in PoA where hermione and ginny are laughing with mrs weasley about love potions. it's such a cute moment - really the first hermione and ginny friendship moment in the series - and i'm very struck that it's a moment of real fun and levity that happens with this mother figure present (especially when hermione has just ditched hers to go hang out with the weasleys for what will be the first of many times). i don’t want to say too much for where things are going in beasts, but just that i think it’s significant that hermione and ginny’s first real girly friendship moment happens in the presence of a warm maternal figure who adores her daughter, imbuing hermione and ginny’s relationship with a sisterly-ness but also bringing into the dynamic the example of mothers and intergenerational female relationships. ginny has a very specific relationship with her mum; i imagine hermione has a very different one with hers, and i think that matters for who hermione is but also her relationship with ginny, just a bit.

loved thinking about this one, thank you so much!