#shit I’m banker as well

[gabriels-golden-kazoo]

Gabriel and Dean being dragged out of the bar after causing a right scene when trying to do karaoke.

Gabriel trips and falls because he’s giggling so hard and Sam barely has time to catch him, so he now has to give his extremely drunk and injured boyfriend a piggyback because that was the only way to keep a close eye on him. (Sure it was, Sam.)

Dean is basically just hanging off of Cas and professing his love every chance he gets, as if him and his angel haven’t been dating for over a year at this point.

Cas is positively beaming, whilst Sam is trying to grumble at Gabriel and act grumpy but it’s really hard when Gabe is literally an adorable giggling mess and covering Sam’s face and neck in soft kisses that leave Sam blushing and utterly smitten.

[severalforraelee]

The Wedding: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Photo credit to the.shelby.followers on Instagram

Word count: 2,072

Written by raelee / Posted Sep 6

Masterlist

Peaky Blinders Masterlist

I stare at myself in the mirror, dabbing a bit more blush onto my cheek.

“Can’t you just say that you love me, Tommy?” The tears fall down my cheeks as I stare at him, desperation written all over my face. He just stares back at me with a blank expression. “You- you don’t even act like it.”

“What do you mean I don’t act like it, ay?” He asks, taking a step forward. His eyebrows furrow, showing anger, however it’s a hint of emotion. “I bought you that necklace you couldn’t stop staring at the other day.”

“Just buying me things isn’t the same thing as showing me that you love me, you use it as a way to shut me up every time this conversation occurs.” I throw my hands up in frustration.

I could repeat that a hundred times- in fact, I have, but Thomas Shelby is never going to understand what he doesn’t want to understand.

“You know what, I can’t do this anymore,” I stomp towards the door.

“Do what?”

“This, Tommy,” I shout, turning around to face him for the last time. “Be in a relationship with you. You’re too focused on your Peaky Blinders shit to ever pay attention to me, and I deserve more than that. Well, I’ll give you all of the time you need, because we’re done.”

I shake myself out of the memory, quietly cursing once I realize that I put on too much blush. My hand reaches for the brush to blend it in.

This is my wedding day. My wedding day to Oliver. Tommy is the last person that I should be thinking about.

Tommy and I had that passion and intimacy, everytime that I was near him he would reach for my hand to hold to rub his thumb on the back of, or wrap an arm around my waist to squeeze. I could always rely on Tommy to feel like I was protected.

But I can rely on Oliver to actually be protected. Tommy lived a dangerous life, head of one of Britain's biggest gangs, while Oliver is just a banker. But being just a banker is okay because I don’t have to worry about staying alive every single day.

I can go to school and teach without having my partner’s safety on the back of my mind all day, and then go home and spend my evening with him without having to go to the bar every other night.

A loud bang goes off on the other side of the door, followed by screams and shouts. I rise from the chair in front of the vanity, staring at the door with fear and curiosity.

Do I leave the room to find out what’s going on? Or do I stay in the safety of the room, waiting for the danger to find me?

Before I can make a decision, the screams and shouts stop and it’s dead quiet again. I still have a decision to make of when I leave this room. My feet turn me around and I’m staring back at myself in the vanity’s mirror.

My white dress is on, my hair is curled, my makeup is done, and my ring is on my finger. I’m ready to get married.

My heels click on the tiled floor as I make my way through the church to the great room. My father stands in front of the large wooden doors, facing them.

“Papa?” I call out softly.

He turns around and smiles lightly at the sight of me. That’s not what I’m focused on, though. I’m focused on his pale skin and the sweat covering his forehead.

“You look beautiful,” he compliments.

Despite it, I frown. I step closer to him, gripping the bouquet of daisies tighter in my hand. I don’t even like daisies, but Oliver’s mom grows them so they’re my bouquet.

“What’s wrong?” I ask him.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he stutters out.

“Are you sure? You just look… disheveled.”

“Everything will be alright, Y/N,” he tells me. 

His tone is reassuring, but it’s difficult to distinguish who he wants to reassure, himself or me. But why would he be trying to reassure me? What’s going on?

He holds his arm out and I lock mine in, both of us facing the dark wood now.

The doors open and the church music begins to play. My eyes are forward and a bashful smile is on my lips before it drops completely once I see who’s standing at the altar.

There’s not the familiar blonde hair or brown eyes of Oliver. There’s no shy smile that I’ve become accustomed too, or his tall, lanky frame. Nor the powder blue suit that we’ve been planning he would wear today for months.

Instead, I’m facing familiar brown hair and blue eyes. The cold, blank expression that he’s become known for is on his face- surprisingly, a cigarette isn’t hanging out of his mouth, but I’m sure in five minutes it will be. A full navy blue suit sports his frame, the chain that I got him for his birthday last year decorating his torso.

It’s Tommy Shelby.

“Papa, what’s going on?” I whisper softly, anxiety starting to flood through my veins as my eyes flit around the room.

My family and friends are still here- all seated on one side of the room and appearing petrified as they look back at me. On the other side, though, Oliver’s family is not to be seen. Instead it’s filled by Tommy’s friends and family and all of the Peaky Blinders.

My eyes return to Tommy and he gives me a small smile once he sees the gears in my head begin to shift.

“Just walk for now, darling, don’t think about it,” my dad’s words are reassuring but his voice breaks, telling me that whatever’s going on right now isn’t good. I could’ve guessed that by the way my stomach dropped as soon as I walked into the room.

I follow his advice, keeping my eyes on the cross behind Tommy as we walk down the aisle. I avoid eye contact with everyone, unsure of what’s going on and what everyone knows that I don’t.

“Tommy,” I whisper as we reach him and he reaches out for my hands. “What are you doing?”

“Let’s take that off,” he grabs my left hand, tugging off the gold band with a diamond on it, holding it behind him. “Arthur.” Arthur grabs the ring, throwing it on the ground and instantly stomping on it. My eyes widen at the action and I hear several gasps of shock from the people seated on my side of the aisle.

Tommy pulls a ring out of his suit jacket’s pocket, sliding the silver band with a much bigger diamond onto my finger.

Finally, he looks at me, smiling. “Marrying you.”

“Tommy, I-”I look around nervously, then speak quickly. “I’m supposed to be marrying Oliver, you and I broke up-””That doesn’t matter,” he harshly interrupts me.

I stare at him in shock, both from what’s occurring right now and the tone that he spoke to me in.

He clears his throat.

“None of it matters,” he speaks more smoothly now. “What matters is that we’re in love, we’re going to get married, and then we’re going to build a family and a life together.”

“I don’t know if I’m in love with you,” I confess gently.

His grip on my hands tightens then loosens. “What do you mean you don’t know if you’re in love with me?”

“It’s just, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you, Tommy. I mean, the last time we saw each other you couldn’t even say that you love me and now you want to marry me?”

His facial expression doesn’t change. “You’re right, I can’t say that I love you. But I can show it.”

I let out an exasperated sigh. “We’ve talked about this-””You’re right, we have. Fine. I love you. Is that what you want to hear?” He asks, anger lacing his tone.

“You shouldn’t have to be pressured into saying it,” I argue, “You should want to do it because it’s true and you want to tell me, not because we’re fighting about it.”

Like he read my prior thoughts, he pulls a box of cigarettes and a lighter out from his pocket, plucking one out and lighting it.

I’ve always hated it when he smoked, but I know that it’s a hard habit to break. He says that he smokes so much because he’s stressed all of the time- and I understand why this conversation is stressing him out.

But this conversation shouldn’t be happening in the first place. I’m supposed to be marrying Oliver today, god forbid he’s still alive, but Tommy says that I’m marrying him instead.

“I can’t marry you today, Tommy,” I confess.

He tilts his head, an unasked question.

“We have so many problems and a negative history. I’m supposed to be marrying Oliver,” I remind him.

His face darkens at the mention of Oliver. “Well, now you’re marrying me, love.”

“What if I don’t?” I whisper out.

His face darkens even more. “What if you don’t what?”

My breath quickens, unsure if I want the words to escape my lips. Tommy will definitely have a negative reaction, but just how bad I’m not sure of.

“Go on, speak up,” he encourages mockingly.

“What if I don’t marry you?”

His hand reaches out, gently caressing my jaw. Just by that soft action, I know how much I fucked up.

“Oh sweetie,” he talks softly, like he almost feels sorry for me. “I think we both know what will happen.”

And I do. I know that he would burn down my flat, get my father and brothers fired from their jobs, threaten the local grocery store into not selling to my mother, and have Peaky Blinders follow me around so that I’m constantly paranoid and checking over my shoulder.

In fact, I’m surprised that didn’t happen when I first broke up with him.

But I guess I didn’t matter that much until he found out that I was marrying another man.

“So what do you say? Do you want the priest to start the ceremony?”

A single tear rolls down my cheek as I stare back at the man that I once loved, his cruelty now controlling his personal life as well as his professional life.

“Yes.”

~

“I haven’t gotten the chance to tell you how beautiful you look tonight,” he whispers in my ear, arms wrapped around my waist. Mine are around his torso, resting my cheek against his chest as we sway slowly to the gentle romantic tune that I had picked out as Oliver and mine’s first dance song.

“Thank you,” I whisper back.

Thomas Shelby is a troubled man. He has dangerous enemies all around the globe trying to find out his weakness to use against him, hoping to gain power and control.

Thomas Shelby has never had a weakness. He’s physically in shape and active so his body’s not weak. He’s cunning and intelligent so his mind’s not weak. His family is just as tough as him so they’re not his weakness. 

His enemies have been waiting for years for him to get married, hoping that a potential spouse and children would be his weakness.

And I know we will be.

It makes me angry that Tommy put me in this situation where I have to always be looking around for someone who might end my life. I want to be able to walk to the coffee shop and meet a friend, or go for a walk around the local rose garden without looking over my shoulder or having a peaky blinder assist me.

But… he’s Tommy. And he’s been my Tommy since the day that I first laid eyes on him. His cold exterior is what drew me to him, the curiosity of what hardened him, keeping me hooked on him for a year before our break up.

It still draws me to him.

When he gives me that look that he reserves just for me, I know that there’s a sweet man inside who just wants to feel my love surround him.

And that’s why I lean up, kissing him on the lips in front of all of our friends and family.

[theywhowriteandknowthings]

The Princess and The Duke Chapter 1 - Homecoming

This blog is a 18+ space, Minors, do not engage. If you are under the age of 18 you are not welcome here. Please heed these warnings and the warnings put in place on each individual fic and chapter. Your reading and consumption of my work is your responsibility but I will endeavour to mitigate any discomfort for you, the reader, as possible. Once again, this is a 18+ space and minors should not interact. 

Specific Warnings: Daddy Kink, Sex Work, Cam work, Infidelity, Step-Cest, Dave York(he always needs his own warning), Men being sexist dicks on the internet, masturbation (m and f), mutual masturbation(unknowing). Let me know if I missed anything!

Graphic made by me, does not convey shape, race, or hair colour of reader, the panties just looked so good, no use of Y/N.

Thank you to @pastelnap and @wannab-urs for beta-ing for me, ilu so much.

Please consider checking out my ko-fi or patreon if you want to support me.

Masterlist | Next Chapter ->

She’s late. 

You’re hardly surprised, your mom has never been what anyone could ever describe as punctual, but you are annoyed. Is this punishment for quitting your lucrative position at the law firm? For not telling her, only so she could find out on the rumour mill? No, your mom is petty, but this would be low even for her. She’s probably just drunk and forgot. Even if it is only two in the afternoon.

You sigh as you open the Uber app on your phone, the estimated wait is another twenty minutes. You sigh as you book one anyway, looking around for somewhere to sit. You look up to see a vaguely familiar man exit a flashy looking Mustang, the dark textured racing stripes on cherry red catching your attention as he races into the arrivals short-stay bay. 

He’s dressed in dark grey slacks and a pale dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looks like an investment banker, or some other scummy Wall Street type. The handsome man scans the crowd with purpose. His broad, tense, shoulders flex as he moves, his brow is deeply furrowed as he turns to you. His eyes are impossibly dark, deep amber bleeding into black. You blink rapidly as you hear your name roll from his plush lips and you cock your head to the side with a confused grimace on your face. 

“Do I know you?” 

The near-stranger’s face contorts as he hurries over to you.

“I’m Dave, your mom’s husband? Weren’t you at the wedding?” 

“Oh shit. Yeah hi, sorry I’m really jetlagged and some kid was kicking my seat the whole flight.” You scramble, horrified that you clearly forgot what your new stepdad was called, let alone what he looks like. It feels weird, using such a term at your age, surely the idea of stepparents was well beyond you, but here you are. 

“It’s no problem, let me take your bags.” 

He doesn’t wait for you to answer, grabbing your two enormous suitcases before you can move, leaving you with your carryon and rucksack. You follow Dave, intrigued by the strangely friendly nature of your mother’s current husband. 

“I could have got those.” 

You say as you round the vehicle, dumping your bags in the oddly spacious trunk. Dave looks at you with a grimace as he runs his hand through his short hair. You don’t know why but he’s tense. You try not to let it get to you as you brush past him to reach the passenger side door. You slide in without a word as you watch Dave manoeuvre into his seat. 

“It’s nothing, least I could do seeing as I’m late.” 

You try and ignore the way your eyes rove over his body, he’s way too hot for your mom, and fuck, he can’t be a day over forty, ten years older than you at best. The engine roars to life and you hear the distortion from the exhaust, telling you the car has been modded.

“What exhaust did you get added in?” 

Dave doesn’t take his eyes off the road but you note the twitch of his plush lips as he smiles. 

“You know cars?” 

“Maybe,” You shrug as you watch the freeway peel around you at the speed Dave is driving, “Just know that drone,” You gesture over your shoulder with a smile, “Happens when you take too many silencers out. You compensating for something Dave?” 

He exhales through his nose in a short huffing noise, something like a laugh; and your chest flutters at the look he gives you through the rear-view mirror. His eyes crinkle a little at the corners and his dark eyes dance with light as his lips twitch upwards into a smile that makes his cheeks dimple. 

“Your mom warned me about that smart mouth of yours, just didn’t expect such a sharp tongue.” 

You don’t know why but the light scolding from your stepfather makes your pussy clench. You break eye contact and opt to stare out of the window for the rest of the drive. You put it down to jet lag, or sleep deprivation, but every time you catch a whiff of his cologne mixed with his fresh perspiration it sends your mind into overdrive. 

You catch glimpses of him, his thick forearms as he changes gears, as he pulls in and out of traffic and you cannot believe that this man is married to your mother of all people. You pull out your phone and start looking at your schedule for the week, you’re going to be giving your viewers a show tonight, even if you didn’t have a livestream booked in, you think you can make an exception tonight. 

~*~

Lost in thought, you don’t notice the way Dave is also sneaking looks at you, taking you in. And all the while he’s trying to expel the thoughts of you from his mind. But one thing he can’t ignore, that already has him transfixed, is the way you’re clearly the polar opposite of your mother. You’re smart, worldly, and interested in something more than yoga, mani-pedis, or the bottom of a wine bottle. 

He keeps telling himself that he’s stealing glances to size you up, get a feel for the kind of person you are. As if he’s analysing you like a hit. He didn’t miss the way your pupils dilated as he scolded you, nor the way your chest heaved as your breathing picked up. The app on your phone looked identical to the one he uses to organise his work schedule. He couldn’t get a clear look, but it surprised him to see that you weren’t scrolling through social media or texting friends. He files that away for later as he forces himself to stop looking at you. 

With every passing second his gaze is less analytical and there’s a hunger to the way his eyes travel over your body. He tries to quash the selfish desire roiling in his belly as he focuses back on the road. 

~*~

You must have fallen asleep at some point, the rumble of the V8 engine somehow lulling you off to sleep. A broad hand jostles your bare shoulder, and you hum softly as you come around. You look up to see Dave’s dark eyes staring into your own. His jaw is tight, and his plush lips pursed as his palm lingers on the swell of your shoulder. 

“We’re here.” 

Is all he says before he slides out of the seat, slamming the door behind him as he makes his way to the trunk. He grabs all of your bags this time, not giving you a chance to protest as he exits the garage through a side door you can only assume leads into the house. 

The garage is huge, bigger than your entire apartment in New York and you raise an eyebrow at the meticulous organisation of the space. The floors are swept and polished, the dark linoleum flooring practically shining in contrast to the bright white walls. Tool benches and cabinets line the far wall, sandwiching a large work bench between them. 

You notice that your mom’s escalade is absent from the garage, she must be out as she would never park on the driveway. You hear Dave call your name from inside the house and hurry through the door. 

You recognise the marble countertops and wood floors from the many video calls with your mom when she’s drunk and feeling sentimental. What you hadn’t realised is how goddamn big the kitchen was. 

“Fu-uck.” 

Dave looks at you with a raised brow for a mere second before he realises you’re marvelling at his kitchen. He winces a little before his right hand rubs against the back of his neck as he tries to find the right thing to say. 

“It’s a lot, right?” 

There’s a nervous chuckle lacing his tone and you look up with an equally stunned expression as you realise he’s humble. The thought is jarring as you see the bashful flush across his cheeks. 

“’Sounds like you didn’t have much of a choice in it?” 

You volley back at him, still in minor-shock from the utter opulence of the house. You knew Dave had money, but this was something else. 

“Your mom picked the house; I just paid the bill.” 

He laughs, but it sounds hollow, rehearsed even. 

“Didn’t think mom had it in her.” You mutter under your breath as you remorsefully commend your mother for landing someone with looks and money. 

“Have what in her?” Dave asks as he scoffs before leaning against one of the marble countertops. 

“Nothing, sorry I’m just exhausted could you show me where I’ll be staying?” 

“Follow me.” Dave shrugs, the whimsy leaving his face in a flash as he seems to shake himself mentally. 

You do as you’re told and traipse after him. The whole house is a shade of beige, white, or wood textures. It reeks of your mom and her obsession for everything Scandinavian or minimalist. 

Sad beige houses for sad beige housewives.

You think to yourself, imagining Werner Herzog speaking the words like in that TikTok video about sad beige children. 

Dave shows you to your room and leaves you to unpack and get comfortable. The room is huge, you look around at the sad beige interior design choices and immediately get out your iPad, jotting down notes and making a vague floor plan of the room. 

The furniture, though boring, is low priority, clearly never used. The desk to the right of the door lines up perfectly with the base of the bed, perfect. There are two doors on the far-right wall, and you hum to yourself with curiosity as you open the first door. You gawp at the huge ensuite, there’s a walk-in shower big enough for an orgy, with a bench built into the one wall. A rainfall shower head is fixed to the wall opposite the bench and a detachable showerhead hangs above the bench. 

“Shit, this is unreal.” 

You mutter to yourself as you note the freestanding modern tub in the centre of the room and the double marble countertop sink, all glossy creams and greys. You let out a low whistle as you re-enter the bedroom to open the other door. 

You laugh maniacally as you see a full walk-in wardrobe, with a display stand and shoe rack in the middle. You don’t think you even own enough clothes to fill the space. 

“I should have given up the lawyer gig sooner.” 

You busy yourself with unpacking and getting your filming setup working. Your tower PC and dual monitors set up like a gaming streamer, the perfect cover for any prying eyes. You stow away your box of props under the bed. Multiple masquerade masks, whips, flails, dildos and butt plugs of all shapes and sizes. 

Once you’re settled in, you take a few test videos, not happy with the way the light bleeds through the thin blinds. You make a note to add blackout curtains to the list of changes you want to make to the room. You weren’t planning on staying more than a few weeks, but something about the move, the fatigue of crossing the country to settle here in Texas makes you weary. You don’t want to have to move again so soon, so you might as well make the most of this new found opulence. 

And it doesn’t hurt that your stepdad is hot. 

The thought comes to you and you feel like you should be grossed out, or ashamed for thinking such things, but you realise it has the opposite effect. Thinking about Dave like that is taboo, forbidden, and that only makes it all that more arousing. 

~*~

Dave locks the door behind him as he retreats into the basement room he calls his office. The computer desk wedged against the wall to the right, his double bed freshly made from the morning. He strips off his dress shirt and slacks, pulling on an old green USMC hoodie and grey sweatpants. Your mother hates it when he dresses like this, calling it ghetto, or some other derogatory term. But she’s clearly out with her flavour of the month boytoy, Bryce. Dave knows that’s where she goes on nights like this. 

If it weren’t the need to keep his cover, he would have left her months ago. Now, he’s faced with the very obvious problem of you. 

He slumps down at his desk and turns on his VPN before logging in to his Cam Dolls account. His favourite streamer doesn’t go live on Fridays but he’s sure he can find someone else to scratch the itch. 

He’s three pages in, bored by the other prospects, about to give up and just watch standard porn on another site when the notification pops up much to his delight. 

Princess Luna has started a live stream. 

“Fucking A.” Dave grunts to himself as he shimmies down his sweatpants, already half-hard just at the thought of seeing Luna. But he’s left disappointed, the screen is blank as he clicks through onto the stream. 

Other men, he guesses they’re all men, are bombarding the comments on the stream with angry little messages. 

Badboy78!:  Cockteasing whore, where are you? 

GoliathBalls: So what, you just milking us for cash without even showing your tits? Lame. 

RedMask$2: Come on Luna, get that pretty little cunt out to play. 

The messages keep coming as Luna’s voice lilts through Dave’s speakers and he groans as he squeezes his foreskin over his weeping tip at the sound. 

“Aww boys I’m sorry, I’m having some technical difficulties tonight, but I was just way too horny not to come online and speak with my favourite boys.” 

Luna takes the whole thing in her stride, her sultry purr seemingly disaffected by the abusive comments. 

But it makes Dave furious, he hates the entitlement of the bastards that frequent this site. He pauses in his ministrations on his cock to click through the tip interface. Usually, he keeps it to a modest fifty dollars, enough to be generous but not feel like he’s buying Princess Luna’s attention. It’s delusional he knows, but he usually wants to keep some illusion of decency about his consumption of her work. 

Anonymous user left a tip. 

Flashes up in the chat box as an excited squeal plays through the speakers and Dave’s cock twitches at the sound of Luna’s exclamation. 

“Which one of you boys was so kind as to leave such a generous tip? Don’t be shy, I won’t bite, unless you want me to.” 

Dave remains silent as the desperate men in the comments clamber over one another to claim the tip. The schadenfreude of it all only brings Dave closer to the edge as he starts jacking off in earnest. Thinking about being cuckolded by your mother with that pathetic waif of a man Bryce. 

“Oh baby I’m going to treat myself to something pretty to wear for you, whoever you are, thank you so much.” 

Soft huffs echo through the speakers as Luna starts to put on a show, there’s something intimate about it that has Dave flustered. 

“Touching my little pussy thinking about you baby, rolling my aching clit between my fingers as I imagine you here with me.” 

“Yeah, fuck yeah that’s it.” Dave grunts under his breath as he closes his eyes, the sound of wet squelching as Luna fingers herself echoing around the room. He’s incensed, uncaring about how the sound might carry if you happened to step out of your room. 

Little does he know there’s no risk of that at all. You’re spread across the foot of your bed, fucking yourself with your fingers as you make sure your microphone is positioned just right so your lewd, wet sounds are broadcast over the stream. 

“Fuck baby, I’m gonna come, wishing you were here, wishing it were your thick meaty fingers stuffed up in my pretty little pussy.”  

“Same baby, wanna treat you right, fuck my come deep inside you until it spills out.” Dave whispers as he feels his balls tighten, he’s going to come any second. 

“Yes, that’s it, daddy yes!” 

Dave practically roars as the word daddy spills from Luna’s lips, he comes in thick, milky ropes across his fist as he breathes heavily through his nose. His hoodie is covered in it and he huffs out a short chuckle as he hears Luna whine and moan as her release finds her. 

“Thanks boys, that was exactly what I needed, I’ll see you on Sunday.” 

The stream ends and Dave sits there with a pleased grin on his face as he feels his spend cooling on his hand. His mind drifts to you, and how the little gasp you made in the car won’t stop playing on repeat in his mind. 

This could be a problem.

He thinks to himself as his dick twitches at the memory, already getting hard again at just the thought of you.

A real fucking problem. 

He reiterates as he coaxes his cock back up with his come smeared fist before imagining you bouncing on his lap. 

~*~

You roll awake with a sated smile on your lips, you’d kept going after the stream ended, making yourself come all over your sheets until you whimpered and trembled from overstimulation. You may have even breathed Dave’s name a few times, but you won’t admit that to yourself, not in the bright light of day in Southern Texas. 

You take a long shower, making sure to scrub all evidence of your marathon orgasm session from your body before lathering copious amounts of expensive coconut body butter over your skin and fixing your hair up and out of the way. 

You pick up your purse and make sure you have everything you need before practically skipping down the stairs. 

“Morning.” 

You yelp as you round the corner into the kitchen to see Dave reading a newspaper, coffee in one hand and fork in the other as he looks at you with a raised eyebrow. He looks glorious and you try and ignore the painful ache that rocks through your core. He’s in a navy blue hoodie with bold white lettering spelling out “USMC” on it. The sleeves are pushed up to reveal a simple silver watch and his tan forearms. 

There’s a plate of eggs and bacon, as well as a pot of coffee and a white mug placed opposite him on the breakfast island. There’s sugar, honey, and milk set to the side and you feel heat bloom in your chest from the thoughtfulness he’d shown. 

“Morning, mom not home yet?” 

You ask as you round to sit, you pour the coffee, adding nothing to it and you groan as the rich liquid coats your tongue. You note the small twitch of Dave’s lips as he silently approves of how you take your coffee.  

“Nah she’ll probably be out tonight too.” 

You tilt your head as you chew your food slowly, trying to decipher the look on Dave’s face. It’s closed off, but not cold, like he’s hiding something. But you don’t press, it’s none of your damn business. 

“I see, was hoping to borrow her car.” 

You drain your coffee before filling it up again, gesturing with the pot to ask Dave if he wants a refill. He nods and pushes his mug over for you to reach. It’s oddly domestic but natural as you play house with your stepdad. 

“Can borrow mine, I’m going to be home all day so don’t need it.” 

Your eyes go wide as your mouth hangs open at the offer. Excitement humming through your veins at the prospect of driving the Mustang. 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah, just don’t wrap her round a tree, but I bet you can handle her.” 

“I’ll be good to her, I promise!” 

You down the rest of your coffee just in time for Dave to throw the key fob at you. You catch it with ease and grin at him. 

“Alright, I’ll be back just after noon, you want me to pick up anything for lunch?” 

“Sure, surprise me.” 

You get up from the stool and clear the plates, loading up the dish washer as you hum happily to yourself. You’re about to head out when Dave calls your name over your shoulder. 

“Oh no vegan food, I ain’t no rabbit.” 

“Alright Dave, your secret’s safe with me.” You roll your eyes at him playfully before heading out, extensive shopping list in hand as you finally feel some optimism for staying here. You text your mom before pulling out of the garage. You don’t expect a response for some time, seeing as she hadn’t bothered to even check you made it to Dave’s house, her house, in one piece. 

You roar down the drive, giving it some gas as you turn onto the main street. You panic for a second as the back end flies out, but you correct the steering with ease and the grin plastered on your face makes your cheeks burn. 

Little did you know Dave watched the whole thing, and his smile was a perfect mirror of your own. He leans against the sofa in the front room as you race off into the city, you really are going to be a problem, but if he’s honest with himself, he doesn’t care. 

And that terrifies him. 

Masterlist | Next Chapter ->

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[topguncortez]

Ice Cold, No Mistakes - T. Kazansky

pairing: Tom "Iceman" Kazansky x Female!Reader warnings: death, grief, sadness, angst, TOPGUN shit word count: 1.6k Iceman Masterlist | Main Masterlist

 “Ice, why are you so cold?” 

It was the age old question that everyone dared to ask. What made Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky so cold? People over the years had speculated what caused him to be so closed off and fly with the precision that he did. 

Some suggested it was daddy issues. His old man must’ve been a hardass and instilled that Ice could only be the best. That his dad was mentally abusive, calling Ice names when he was anything less than perfect or had too much feeling. Some even suggested that Ice’s dad was living vicariously through him, which made him work even harder because letting him down would be the last thing that Ice would want. 

The other rumor was that it was his mom. That his mom was some sort of leech, maybe a drunk or a druggie that constantly needed money. That he grew up poor because his mother was spending every dime on vodka and coke. So Ice worked hard to get himself through the academy, and into flight school and then ultimately into TopGun. And with all the money that Ice was making, he sent some of it back home to pay his mother’s bills and keep a roof over her head, and to help her survive on her addiction problems. 

But both the family rumors turned out to be just that. . . rumors. Goose had met Iceman’s parents at their graduation, and it promptly shut down those bad/toxic parenting stories. Ice’s parents were nothing like him, they were warm, caring individuals from a small town on the east coast. His mother was a school teacher and his father a banker. Some of the questions on Ice’s cold personality were answered, but not all of them. 

So what made Tom Kazansky so cold? 

Well, that could be answered with a simple explanation: it was her. 

No one had asked questions about the picture of the girl in his locker. It wasn’t uncommon for the pilots to stick pictures of their families inside their lockers. It was a reminder of their loved ones and who they had waiting on them at home. No asked. . . until one day Maverick did. 

“So, who’s the girl, Kazansky?” Maverick asked, shucking off of his flight suit. Slider froze next to his pilot, waiting for Ice to come off his rocker. The last time someone asked about the photo, Ice had ripped them a new one, and everyone in their last squadron knew not to ask about the girl in the picture. 

Iceman’s blue eyes looked over at the polaroid that was taped to the door. Her bright smile always made him feel warm, and the little girl next to her eyes were bright and filled with love. Iceman clenched his jaw and shut his locker slowly. 

“No one.” Ice mumbled and walked out of the locker room. 

“Ice, I’m-” 

“Do yourself a favor, Mitchell,” Slider said, “Don’t ask about the girl in the picture.” 

Maverick nodded and watched as Slider went after his pilot. Maverick knew that his curiosity should end right then and there. That he shouldn’t pry into the life of his competition, but he couldn’t just let it be. If this was a chance to get a one up on Iceman, then he was going to take it. He knew that there was one person, besides Slider, that new Iceman well enough to possibly know about the girl in the picture. 

“No, I’m not telling you,” Goose said, ignoring his pilot. 

“You need to, it’s life or death.” 

Goose gave Maverick a look. 

“Okay, not life or death but still.” 

Goose sighed and leaned back in his chair, “No one talks about the girl in the picture. It’s just. . . it’s just never talked about. All you need to know is that he takes that picture everywhere. He had it back at the academy, he had it in flight school, hell I think if his house caught on fire the one thing he’d rush into save, is that picture.” 

Maverick nodded, the gears turning in his head. He looked up at his RIO and gave him a smirk, “Thank you, Goose.” 

“Hey, I don’t like that look, Mav!” Goose pointed, sitting up straight, “What are you going to do?”

“Nothing,” Maverick said, but Goose knew better than to trust him. 

And Goose should’ve stopped him, but he didn’t think that his pilot would go as far as breaking into Ice’s locker and taking the picture until the next day when Ice stormed into the classroom, anger and fury in his eyes. 

“Where the fuck is Mitchell?” Ice yelled and Maverick slowly turned around, a smirk on his face which was quickly wiped off by Ice’s fist to his jaw. 

“What the fuck!” 

“Where’s my fucking picture!?” Ice yelled, grabbing Maverick by the collar and slamming him up against the wall. Other pilots quickly scrambled to try and break up the fight waiting to happen. 

“Kazansky!” Jester yelled. 

“I know you fucking have it,” Ice seethed, “Give it back.” 

“Why Kazansky? What’s got you so fucking tense about a goddamn picture?” Maverick jeered, hoping to get a rise out of him. They both knew that if a fight broke out, they would be kicked out of the program. 

“Kazansky,” Jester said again, taking a step closer. Ice’s jaw was clenched so tightly, it was a miracle he wasn’t breaking teeth. 

Ice looked down for a moment, weighing his options, before letting go of Maverick’s tan button up, and walking away. Slider glared at Maverick, before chasing after his pilot. And the look in Goose’s eyes was one Maverick had never seen before, the look of pure disappointment. 

“I’m not sure what happened,” Jester said, “But return Kazansky’s belongings as soon as possible or you’ll both be tossed out.” 

It was the last thing he wanted to do, but Maverick didn’t want to run the risk and get kicked out of the program he dreamed of going to. So later that night, he swallowed his pride and walked towards Iceman’s room, the picture in his hand. Maverick sighed as he knocked on the door. He jumped back a bit when it was ripped open, a half naked Tom Kazansky standing in front of him in just his boxers. Ice’s hair was a mess, his blue eyes red and so was his nose. This wasn’t like him at all. 

“I brought-” Maverick held up the picture, and Iceman quickly ripped it out of his hands. 

“Don’t ever touch my stuff again,” Iceman seethed, “Or the next time, I won’t stop because Jester says so.” 

Maverick nodded and Ice turned to shut the door, but he held his hand out stopping him. Ice sighed and faced him. 

“What, Mitchell,” Ice demanded. 

“Why is that picture so important to you that you’d throw everything away?” Maverick asked. 

Ice let out a sigh as he looked down at the picture in his hand. Neither one of them would want him acting like this, so eager to throw in the towel just to be with them. 

“Y/N, She was my wingman,” Ice said, his voice filled with sadness, “She was my wingman before I was even a pilot. She was going to fly with me, be my backseater. She was determined to be the first woman in the program, and I think she would’ve done it.” 

“And the little girl?” 

Ice looked up at Maverick, tears rolling down his cheeks, “My daughter.” He looked back down at the picture and sniffed, “We had her in high school. Everyone said it was a mistake, but she wasn’t. . . she was the best thing that ever happened to me.” 

“What happened?” Maverick’s voice was barely above a whisper. 

“Graduation weekend,” Ice answered, “We had been at a small party my family was hosting. It just happened to be Lydia’s second birthday. God, she was so excited to be two,” Ice smiled at the brief memory of how happy he had been that whole weekend. Not only had Y/N and Ice both graduated high school and were taking steps to start the next chapter in their lives, and Ice got to celebrate yet another year of being a father. Sure he was young, but to him that didn’t mean anything. Lydia was perfect, she had been the best baby ever, but she was becoming the best toddler ever, hitting every single milestone and then some. She was so smart, something that she had gotten from her mother, and sassy, something she had gotten from her father. 

“It happened so quick,” Ice’s voice cracked, “One minute, we were on top of the world, singing along to that damn Queen song and then. . . the car came out of nowhere.” 

Maverick watched as the cold, tough exterior of his enemy came crashing down. The picture fluttered out of Ice’s hand as he covered his face and cried. Sobs racked his body, and Maverick bent down to pick up the picture, gingerly handing it back to Ice. 

“He took them both,” Ice whispered, and wiped his face on his arm, “Y/N was killed instantly, he hit on her side. Lydia. . . she fought hard for three days, but her little body couldn’t handle the injuries. I buried them both on the same day.” 

“Ice, I am so-” 

“I fly the way I do because I can’t afford to make mistakes,” Ice said, and turned to face Maverick, “Because that’s what he did. He made the mistake of getting in his car that night and it cost me everything. I refuse to be the reason why someone has to bury the people that they love. I refuse to make mistakes because it kills people.” 

Maverick nodded, now understanding a whole new side of Tom “Iceman” Kazansky. 

“Again, I’m sorry for your loss, Tom,” Maverick said, and took a step back.

“Thank you, Pete,” Ice responded, and closed the door. He leaned his back against the door and slowly slid down to the ground, clutching the picture to his chest.

note: I'm back bitches

[seat-safety-switch]

A couple years ago, I was at this museum. The reason why I was at the museum isn’t what you think, but that’s all I’ll say. Please stop asking about it. While I was there, though, I saw this amazing thing. There was a big glass orb, with a bunch of plants inside. The little plaque next to the orb said that the plants inside had been living in their own ecosystem for well over a hundred years, in perfect balance.

This got me thinking. The earth’s in a lot of trouble. A bunch of assholes made a ton of money (but probably still not enough) fucking up everything for the rest of us. We could build these fancy terrariums, just like the ones in the museum, and have perfect – if perhaps different – ecosystems inside them, maybe forever. Everything we value could be protected from all the Bad Shit going on outside. This is an idea whose time has come, and I told my local city councillor so. He told me never to hide in the backseat of his car again.

Sometimes people need a little bit of help before they can see that an idea is really worthwhile. They need a prop. In times like these, the real innovators go out and make a scale-model prototype of their idea. Then, once everyone can see it, nobody has to imagine how it works. They get excited, and then hand out some cash to “do the same thing, but make it bigger.” That’s what I was hoping for, but as soon as I revealed my scale prototype, all the assembled dignitaries and hangers-on started to scream and get all upset.

You know an idea is good when the haters are actively trying to get you locked up for it, as they did that fateful afternoon at the Ramada Airport Springs conference room B. Now, I’m not saying that my idea is perfect. For one thing, I could have done more research before I sealed that banker inside. I probably should have gone on the web and asked “where does air come from?” That’s why it’s a prototype, people.

[crowinthewoods]

A bunch of incorrect quotes just cuz I'm bored and these are funny. I might have went over board and no I'm not sorry.

Jon: I am an expert at identifying birds.

Gerry: Okay, what about those ones flying over there?

Jon: Yeah, they're all birds.

Gerry: What’s up with you?

Jon: What do you mean?

Gerry: You’ve been nice and helpful and considerate all day. What’s your game?

Gerry: *makes Mike a cup of tea but puts salt in it*

Mike: *sips tea*

Gerry:

Mike: *finishes tea*

Gerry: Didn't it taste bad?

Mike: Yeah, but I didn't want to hurt your feelings so I drank it all.

Gerry, tearing up: Oh, okay.

Tim, carrying a box: What would you say if- if I, hypothetically, came home with 7 kittens one day?

Gerry: …

Gerry: What’s in the box?

Tim: What woul-

Gerry: Tim, what’s in the box?

Tim: I think you know.

Jon: What did you two do?

Mike:

Tim:

Jon: You’re not in trouble, I just need to know if I have to lie to the police again or not.

Gerry: Why would I flip my shit about that?

Tim: Because you flip your shit about everything.

Gerry: Well, will you look at this. Here is my shit, and yet it remains unflipped. Just sitting there on the skillet, getting burned on one side. It’s a miracle.

Jon: Mike, we're hungry!

Gerry: Mike! What's for dinner?

Tim: We're hungry, Mike!

Mike, frying a bottle of ketchup over the stove: *screams*

Tim, tearing up the room: Where are they?

Tim, looking under a pillow: Who moved them? Who moved my children?

Tim: Somebody moved my M&M's, and now I am going to start killing.

Jon: If you water water, it grows.

Mike: ...What.

Tim: They've got a point.

Jon: What are you two arguing about this time?

Mike: They’re always using common phrases incorrectly!

Gerry: Cry me a table, Mike.

Jon: *Locks Mike in the car.* Act like a child, get treated like a child.

Mike: What? Isn't it illegal to leave a child locked in a car?

Jon: Onion rings are vegetable donuts.

Mike, used to Jon being dumb: Sure...

Jon: Your stomach thinks all potatoes are mashed.

Mike: Okay?

Jon: Lasagna is spaghetti flavored cake.

Mike:

Jon: Lobsters are mermaid scorpio-

Mike: Jesus, that one is a little-

Gerry, interested: No, no, Jon, keep going.

Tim: Gerry? What are you doing here?

Gerry, wearing a hawaiian shirt, sunglasses and holding a gatorade: My best.

Jon, texting Tim: I’m a theif.

Tim: Thief.

Jon: Theif.

Tim: I before E except after C.

Jon: Thceif.

Tim: NO.

Mike, slamming pots and pans together to the rhythm of "Give it to me, I'm worth it": I didn't get no sleep cause a' y'all! Y'all never gonna sleep cause a' me!

Jon: Sometimes I get so caught up on being gay that I forget I’m actually bi.

*at a zoo*

Daisy: What are they in for?

Not Sasha: Daisy, this isn't prison.

Daisy: So they can leave?

Not Sasha: No, but-

Daisy, pointing at a meerkat: I bet that one murdered someone.

Daisy: When I said you should try being friendlier this isn't what I meant.

Kevin, stirring a cup of tea aggressively: Oh, so now I'm TOO friendly? There's no pleasing you.

Not Sasha, who broke into their house an hour ago: Two sugars please.

Kevin: Coming right up.

Daisy: As you know I keep a list of all my friends in order of how likely they are to betray me.

Mike: Where am I on the list?

Daisy: Well I can’t tell you that because then you’ll quickly move up or down depending on your reaction.

Daisy: When I first met you, I thought you were weird and annoying.

Not Sasha: And?

Daisy: And you are.

Kevin: A banker? Me?

Melanie: Yes, Kevin.

Kevin: But I don’t know anything about running a bank!

Melanie: Good. No preconceived ideas.

Kevin: I’ve robbed banks!

Melanie: Capital! Just reverse your thinking. The money should be on the inside.

Tim: Guys, there’s a monster under my bed and it’s really ugly.

Mike, on the bottom bunk: Honestly, fuck you.

Gerry: Awww, why don't you like cats, Daisy? They're just snuggly buddies! They have toe beans! They make a little blep! What's not to love??

Daisy: I don't know Gerry, I just prefer to be conscious instead of dead on the floor.

Gerry:

Daisy: I'm ALLERGIC.

Tim: Made you all playlists!

Tim: Gerry, yours has only heavy metal, and is dark like your soul.

Tim: Kevin, yours has sad songs and blues to pair with your crippling depression.

Tim: And Melanie has the ABBA Gold album.

Not Sasha, excitedly: Heeyy!!

Daisy: Hey, someone's excited.

Melanie, deadpan: Yeah, and it's making me sick.

Daisy: Who else is hiding in the laundry room trying to listen to Martin and Jon's convo?

Gerry: Me. I'm in the laundry basket.

Tim: I'm in the washing machine.

Mike: I'm in the closet.

Gerry: We accept you Mike. <3

Mike: No I'm literally in the closet.

Gerry: Love is love. <3

Kevin: Who hurt you?

Not Sasha: *snorting* What, do you want a list?

Kevin: ...Yes, actually.

Melanie: This can’t get any worse. Can it?

Tim: Sure it can - just give me a minute.

Helen: Hey, Sasha, where are you going?

Sasha: Well, it depends. When I die, probably hell.

Sasha: But right now I’m going to McDonald’s.

Gerry: Mike said its my turn with the brain cell.

Sasha: Square up.

Kevin: Sometimes I like to place my hands on someone’s cheeks, look into their eyes...

Kevin: ...And violently jerk their head until it snaps.

Basira: ...That took an unexpected turn.

Melanie: So did their neck.

Sasha: If I say yes am I joining a cult?

Jon: Possibly.

Sasha: I’m in.

Martin: I think this might be a bad idea...

Tim: Don't start thinking on me now!

Melanie: Basira, I know you love Helen. I mean, we all do, they’re a very nice person and I respect them immensely.

Melanie: But I think they might be a fucking idiot.

Basira: *cooking*

Melanie: *kicks down door*

Melanie: *grabs knife from Basira's hand*

Melanie: WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT DESTRUCTIVE BEHAVIOR?

Basira:

Basira: What.

Martin: They're trying to tell you they want to cook.

Sasha: Kevin and I were crossing the street, and this man drove by and honked at us.

Michael: What did you do?

Sasha: They chased him to the next red light, and reached into his window, and-

Kevin: *walking in* Who wants a steering wheel?

[buckysred]

Monopoly

Sierra Six x Fem!Reader

Summary: It’s game night and Claire’s chosen Monopoly. But it seems either you, Claire, or Six are cheating. 

Warnings: Almost completely all fluff but with a little angst if you squint, cursing, this is kinda a crack fic whoops, BAD EDITING

Word Count: 1,296

A/N: I just whipped this up today for fun. This was purely self indulgent. I hope you enjoy despite this only being lightly edited. <3 (also I have no idea how to do a tag list so I’m tagging you here @medievalfangirl​ )

“This is such bullshit.”

You and Claire laughed loudly at the indignation in Six’s voice.

He narrowed his eyes at both of you. “I don't know what you both think is so funny. I certainly don’t find cheating funny.” Six reached down and tapped the board game in emphasis.

It was currently game night. Every Friday evening, Claire eagerly picked out a game for the three of you to play. Tonight, she chose Monopoly. And Six was losing. Bad.

You scoffed at his accusation and turned to Claire, squishing her cheeks together, and shaking her head back in forth at Six. “Does this look like a cheating face to you? I don't think so.”

Six shook his head at your display. “No, I don’t think Claire is the cheater. But you, on the other hand, I wouldn’t put past persuading her into it.”

You bugged your eyes out dramatically and placed your hand on your chest. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing! You think I would do something like this? Never.”

You looked to Claire for backup. “Isn’t that right, Claire?”

With a huge shit-eating grin plastered across her face, she shrugged her shoulders. “Don’t ask me. Like Six said, I’m the innocent one.”

“Now that you’re so eager to call yourself innocent, I’m starting to think you’re the cheater, Miss. Banker.” Your eyes narrowed at her playfully and then sent Six a knowing look, willing him to play along.

Six nodded, immediately picking up on what you were setting up. “You’re right, Y/n. Claire does look suspicious now.”

Claire scrunched her eyebrows together, confused with how the accusing fingers had been flipped onto her. “What?! You just said I was innocent. Since you changed your mind so fast, I think you’re the cheater, Six.”

Six’s face was totally blank, his poker face firmly intact. His voice rang arrogantly, “I’ve got more skill than that. If I was cheating, you’d never guess it.”

Claire nodded her head, his words confirming her suspicions, and turned to look at you. She leaned in close and put her hand to her mouth, making it look like she was sharing a secret. “Yup he’s the perp, for sure. What should we do about it?”

But little did Claire know, while she was so focused on telling you her secret, Six was stealing cash from her banker box and slipping it under the table into your awaiting hands.

You tried to suppress your smirk. Claire may have had Six’s heart in her hands, but so did you. A pouty lip and some love-soaked kisses later, Six was putty in your hands.

You shrugged your shoulders at her, acting unsure. “Not sure. That’s up to you.”

Six eyed you both skeptically. “What are you both scheming over there?”

Claire picked up the lone dice and started to roll her next turn. “Nothing, nothing. Just lady talk, you know how it is.”

Six’s playful demeanor dropped immediately, his cheek twitched up in a faint grimace. “Oh,” He uttered lowly.

You rolled your eyes. Men. The brief mention of periods, and all of a sudden, they were clamming up like you just accidentally flashed them.

“Okay, cmon Claire, roll something good, so we can continue to kick Six’s ass.”  

Six-pointed at you in accusation. “That’s cheating. No double teaming.”

You shook your head slowly, “I’m just trying to give her some encouragement.”

Claire was dramatically shaking the dice in between her two palms. She paused to blow into the pocket before letting the dice loose. She rolled a 6 and landed herself in jail.

“Well, isn’t that ironic,” Six grunted.

Claire ruefully smiled at him, and you grabbed one of his feet between your own under the table in an attempt to lull the pain you know raged under the surface.

You tried to bring the light energy back. “Irony is all about perception. I like the name Six, it rolls off the tongue nicely. And it’s an even number that's the best kind.”

Six shot you an incredulous look. “Really? That’s what you have to say? That even numbers are the best?”

You just shrugged innocently and reached across the table to peck his cheek.

Claire snorted, humor-laced all across her features. “I mean, Six couldn’t have been your given name, right?”

Game nights were always the best. It was a time when you and Claire and Six could be all together. It was always when you saw Six the most relaxed. He talked more, laughed more. But you knew Claire’s curious question would have him retreating back into his shell.

Six’s face hardened into its normal edginess. He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders at Claire. “Yeah, I guess.”

Claire cocked her head and wiggled her fingers at Six eerily. “Gonna share what it is?”

You wanted to intervene, to try and change the subject, but when you opened your mouth, Six sent you a look that had you closing your mouth.

He averted his gaze down to his Monopoly money, which only consisted of a few 10s and 50s, and then looked back up to Claire. His face was earnest but closed off when he revealed, “It’s Courtland. That’s my name.”

You couldn’t help the surprised look your face formed into. You hadn’t even known what it was until now.

Claire’s nose scrunched up in distaste. “That sounds like a street name. First 6 and now a street name. What’s up with that?”

You froze up a bit, waiting for Six’s reaction. You expected him to shrug it off and remain stoic, but the laughter that bubbled out of his mouth had you taken aback even more than you already were.

Six smiled, it was gentle with a hint of strength hidden behind it. “Yeah, it kinda does sound like a street name.”

Claire reached out and patted his hand, “I’m gonna stick with Six. At least that one sounds badass.”

His relationship with Claire warmed your heart. This man who’d been through literal hell and back had the softest spot for this young girl.

Six nodded at Claire, “Sounds good.” His eyes swung back to you next, searching for your reaction.

You eagerly got out of your seat and slipped into Six’s lap. “Courtland, huh?” You leaned into him til the tips of your noses touched. “I think I like that.”

Six’s eyebrows twitched upwards, and the corner of his mouth hitched up higher. “Yeah?”

You kissed his cheek and pulled away to let your eyes communicate what you couldn’t say in front of Claire, that you really fucking loved him. “Yeah, I really do.”

Claire rolled her eyes and popped your shared bubble by waving her hands in the air, making gagging noises. “Okay. Okay, enough. God, innocent, impressionable eyes over here.”

You turned away from Six to shoot Claire a not-so-apologetic glance, but before you could, Claire was reaching under the table and picking up a few scattered 500 Monopoly money.

She gasped audibly and sent you both wild eyes, “It was both of you! You cheaters!”

Claire dramatically jumped out of her seat and flipped the game board lightly onto the floor.

“Hey!” You protested, but Claire was already heading off to her room with a shake of her head and a suppressed grin trying not to form across her face.

Six nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck. “That was out of character,” he mumbled.

You narrow your eyes. “You did that last week when we were playing SORRY. I think I know where she gets it.”

Six gave you his best innocent look. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh-huh, sure you don’t.”  You turned to fully face him, and finally, let your mouth mold against his in a heated kiss.

[octuscle]

I need some help. It’s been going on for a few days now. My boyfriend thought it would be funny if I got a tattoo, but like a small one. I’m in finance and if the older guys at my company knew I had a tattoo, they wouldn’t be happy. But anyway, I go to one of these new tattoo shops where they use chronivac to add a tattoo painlessly. The guy doing it kept laughing and saying that no one is ever satisfied with just one tattoo and that it’s a slippery slope, but I thought nothing of it. Well now I can barely stop thinking about the shop and getting more tattoos. And maybe a body and attitude to match. Shit… see what I’m saying? I shouldn’t be thinking like this!

You know the decision is stupid, but you have to have another tattoo. And you need to have a tattoo that is visible, maybe not in the office, but in your free time. The tattoo artist grins when you show up the next day. And he says goodbye with "See you tomorrow" when your right upper arm is done. You love the motif. Looks like bad boy. Not hipster art. More like something you'd expect to see on a street fighter. But maybe you need the right muscles for that. The fellow at the front desk of the tattoo parlor hands you your workout bag. Fuck, you almost forgot. You have to go to the gym.

In the locker room, something happens that shouldn't happen: one of your most important customers is working out here, too. And sees your tattoo. And asks whether this is now common practice in your company. In his day, it would only have been done by dockworkers. But not among investment bankers.

Normally you would get a red head and stammer apologies. But you just grin and think that maybe that's the way it is. And this isn't the office. This is you two buddies working out. And you give him a fistbump. He's too surprised not to give you a fist bump, too. Your fists touch. There's something like a little electric shock.

You two are the best training partners imaginable. Yes, your client may be a few years older than you, but you're both in the same training phase. Gaining Mass. Definition comes later. Your hair gets shorter and shorter during the two hours you spend in the gym until all that's left is stubble. Your buddy has a thick three-day beard. And tattoos on both upper arms that don't look like they were recently inked. Your two full-sleaves already extend to the backs of your hands. After the training you say goodbye with a bruh handshake. Shower? For wimps.

The next morning you are in the office for just five minutes when you are already summoned to your boss. He yells at you whether you've forgotten the dress code rules. Your black shirt is rolled up to your upper arms. And the top three buttons are open. Showing your mighty chain and your inked neck. You think it's cool. Your boss's secretary knocks and stammers that a customer is asking to speak with you. Your buddy enters the office. Leather pants, band shirt, leather vest. Gives you a bruh hug and your boss a fistbump. Tells you that he is planning to buy the music rights of a number of heavy metal bands and wants to take over a record label. Transaction volume so two to three billion dollars. He asks your boss if he can support you in this. You'll probably need a PMO. Your boss stares at you. Your buddy gestures with his head that you should leave.

You are a professional. The deal has gone through cleanly. You left your shitty company and are now the CFO of the record label. Even if most people think the CEO and you are just some roadies. It's always better to be underestimated.

CEO and CFO pictured @zakucavanje

[remiratboi]

Hello Friends :)

So apparently I’m a monsterfucking blog now 🤷🏼

I’ve been super absent, and this post doesn’t change that. Im still not here actually.

Im writing this fluffy smutty lil monsterfucking piece to try to work on sharing my writing as my dream is to be a novelist but im terrified of being published. Or… you know… writing. Anyway 😅 so I’m practicing by sharing this here. I’ll be posting in chapters, but again, I’m not present on here rn other than these chapters.

The TW covers the entire thing but all things are not necessarily in every chapter. This is a fantasy, consent is required, read at your own risk.

Oh also (sorry we are almost there) I’m making up my own rules about creatures/nonhumanraces and shit here ok? Anything’s possible.

Cernis Sulxan - He/Him - AMAB

Ellory Broadmoore - He/They - AFAB (post top surgery and testosterone)

TW - Anxiety, OCD, OCPD, Autism, Minor Hoarding (like hoarding but it’s all paper no dangerous hoarding), some body image issues more related to gender dysphoria but also very vaguely ED related. Lots of dark sex stuff. Borderline noncon, but kinda cnc. Forced heats kinda, monster fucking, anal, masturbation, choking, incubus, dragon dick, size kink, bdsm, overstim, denial, edging, toys, public sex, impact play, probably more, I dno yet. But lots of dark sex so

Chapter One - Cernis

Cernis Sulxan was a simple man, who lead a simple life. He had founded his law firm in his late 20s, and now at 36, it was thriving. He handled non criminal cases. Menial things about property, and debt. Boring cases with hours and hours of research and paperwork. He loved it.

Some Dragonborn love treasure. Ok most Dragonborn love treasure. And he guessed, in a way, he did too. Only his “treasure” didn’t look the same as other Dragonborn hoards. His treasure was information. He collected records and documents like others collected jewels and coins. His office, and his home although he’d never admit it, were both piled high with boxes full of meaningless papers. He knew they were meaningless. But he loved every, single, one.

His problem was, though, that after almost 10 years, he had collected quite the hoard. The other two lawyers in his firm, as well as their paralegals, interns, and even the receptionist had all complained to him that the space had become suffocating.

He sat in his office and stewed while watching the pretty, heart faced man directing a number of their employees around the office. Sulxan Legal Offices had a stylish modern look, with walls made of glass and furniture of a pale, tan wood. Little pops of color accented the space wherever they could, crammed between stacks of papers, and bankers boxes with even more.

Cernis hadn’t wanted to hire the peppy, frustratingly positive man and his team, but the other partners had threatened to leave the practice if he didn’t do something about the papers. So, there Cernis was, hunched over his desk, hulking like a gargoyle, giving the evil eye to a practical stranger just doing their job. He growled at himself and tried to focus on his work.

About one minute passed before Cernis was staring at the man again. Ellory Broadmoore, of Broadmoore Designs, a local organization and workplace efficiency firm, was directing his staff to move boxes to and from various locations. Cernis thought it looked like a whole lot of nothing for a job that didn’t even, really, need doing. He tapped his long fingers on his desk, the sharp claws making tiny scratches on top of hundreds of other tiny scratches that already covered the desktop.

Cernis flushed and quickly dropped his gaze as Ellory turned to look at him through the glass. The man walked up and, politely, knocked on the door to Cernis’ office.

Cernis panicked for a moment and stared at the man through the glass. Finally he managed to nod slightly, Ellory thankfully understanding this was a sign to enter.

“Sorry to bother you Sir,” Ellory started. Cernis’ nose twitched slightly at the use of “Sir” from such a pretty, innocent looking man. He tried to focus on what they were saying. “I’ve had a chance to really look into your situation here,” they continued. Ellory entered the room while speaking, and gently shut the door behind himself. “I think it’s really a lot more manageable than what was portrayed to me in my consultation with your partners.” The man walked forward and sunk gracefully into one of the two chairs opposite Cernis at his desk.

“I think it’s likely they felt overwhelmed by the current circumstances, but I’m confident in my ability to make this workspace more accessible, while keeping it true to the lived in feel you seem to be drawn to.” The man spoke smoothly, but in a confident knowledgeable way, not in the prim, self-righteous way Cernis had expected. He still didn’t like them though.

“I think” Cernis replied, a hint of mockery slipping out, “that the office is fine the way it is.” He folded his arms on his wide chest and leaned back. “And I also think, all this about ‘energies’ and ‘feelings’ is complete bullshit. If I hadn’t been threatened, you wouldn’t be here.” Cernis smiled inwardly, self satisfied with his little outburst.

Until, that is, Ellory burst out laughing. A beautiful, peeling bell sound, rolling over and around itself. Like a bubbling brook made of chimes. Cernis’ heart thudded hard in his chest. He was shocked. Both by his immediate reaction to the man’s laughter, but also that he felt anything at all.

Cernis was well past his prime. The years when an Incubus is mature and fertile. The time when their innate drive to breed becomes overwhelming, and all encompassing. He was many years past that foolishness, and he was content with his solitary life. He had no desire for romance, or partnership. He wasn’t sure if that was normal for an Incubus, but it had always been how he was.

Then again, he was only a half Incubus. Half sex demon, half Dragonborn. Luckily his Dragonborn genetics from his mother had been much stronger than the Incubus genetics from his long absent, deadbeat father. He had never known his father, and his mother had never known another Incubus. In fact, they were relatively rare in this realm. So Cernis had always struggled to find any literature or information on them. He had the basics, but as his heart thudded in his chest now, he wondered if maybe he had it wrong.

No.

He thought firmly to himself.

I’m just over stressed, and this stupid man surprised me. That’s all it is.

Ellory recovered himself while Cernis had his private crisis. Wiping a tear from their eye, or at least pretending to, Ellory replied “Ah, Mr. Sulxan, I’m sorry for laughing. You just looked so precious with your big crossed arms and angry glare.” Cernis growled lowly, but the man seemed to either not notice, or not care.

Ellory clasped their hands in front of them. A wide smile was on their face. “If you’d like to end our contract early, by all means, I can just charge a consulting fee and the few hours of labour from today. I really think I can help you, but if you’re not ready to take this step, I understand. No hard feelings.” Ellory shrugged and looked expectantly at Cernis.

The large Dragonborn man narrowed his eyes at Ellory in a very reptilian way. “That’s it? I can just end this?” Cernis queried.

“Of course!” Ellory exclaimed. They turned to motion to their workers in the rest of the office still moving boxes around. “You say the word and they stop what they are doing.” He turns back to Cernis, a sly smile on their face. “I’m not the one who threatened you. I don’t think you’re the kind of man I’d want on my bad side.” The pretty man winked at Cernis and his heart thudded hard once again.

“Stop flirting with me.” Cernis sputtered out, eyes still narrowed and squinting. The other man smiled widely in response, a knowing twinkle in his eye.

“No,” Cernis responded after a long pause, and finally relaxed his face back to normal, “don’t stop.” He sighed. “Yet, at least.” Cernis couldn’t believe he was hearing his own words as he spoke. Two parts of him warred within. His desire to keep his hoard the way it was, and the desire to keep this man around. Ellory’s grin widened and Cernis glared at them. “Go away, and do” Cernis waggled his long fingers at the other workers “whatever it is you’re doing.”

Ellory nodded respectfully and stood up. He walked to the door of the little office and went to open it. “W-wait.” Cernis said, standing up behind his desk. Ellory turned to look back at the large Dragonborn, their eyes wide and curious. This time Cernis felt something other than his nose, or heart pulse. His head swam slightly. He didn’t know what was happening. He felt, almost intoxicated.

“Uh…” he ran a hand over his head and down the back of his neck, trying to think of something to say. “Sorry, uh, for being rude earlier. I just…” he trailed off.

“Don’t believe in feelings.” Ellory finished, matter of factually. “That’s ok, we will be working with eachother a lot over the next while. Hopefully I can convince you to believe.” Ellory winked again, a smirk on their lips as they opened the door and stepped out. They shut the door softly behind them, not looking at Cernis again.

Chapter 2! vvv

[firefly-sky]

dude i hate the chubby kyle headcanon so much like i really hate it and it’s not because i have anything against chubby headcanons in general (i hc stan, butters, clyde, and sometimes bebe as being chubby) it just does NOT make any sense to me based on his actual character. he’s canonically very athletic. and as for the diabetes thing some of these people actually have no idea how diabetes works. he has TYPE 1 DIABETES and people with t1 diabetes are more often than not thin/underweight because they don’t produce insulin which converts glucose to energy and they can’t regulate blood sugar levels so instead their bodies burn fat and muscle rapidly for energy instead. also overweight people with t1 diabetes are at higher risk of developing serious heart issues and double diabetes, so i don’t think sheila would feed and spoil him to that point. little science lesson for you all. but lately i’m realizing i think the real reason i hate it so much because makes him look like and have the vibes of kyle schwartz who’s entire existence serves as an over the top stereotype meant to be a foil to kyle who is not a stereotype. why is chubby kyle is always fucking portrayed with some gayass sweatervest on. if people really desperately want their chubby, nerdy, IBS-having, sweatervest wearing, investment banker jewish boy kyle s. is RIGHT THERE. there’s also a million other jewish characters in media that are canonically portrayed that way so can we please just have this one. kyle s. even refers to kyle as a redneck jock!! which he isn’t of course but obviously it would seem that way to kyle s, who is everything this fandom tries to force kyle to be. god sorry for ranting, i’m lowkey expecting to get flamed in the notes but we ball

…honestly yeah. me as well.

i’m a bit of a biology nerd myself. it’s a special interest of mine. i have family with diabetes (albeit type 2) and my father is a diabetes specialist. so i believe i’m qualified to talk on behalf of the diabetes aspect. not only does it make more sense for kyle to be underweight but it’s also spreading the false narrative that everyone with diabetes is overweight when that isn’t the case. apologies for the upcoming ramble. but t1 diabetes is typically childhood exclusive. it’s diagnosed at a young age for the most part, especially as seen with kyle. type 1 means that no insulin is formed at all. like…none. like anon said. and don’t think i’m regurgitating what they said. i could literally write up a whole ass essay on how to write kyle’s diabetes and i will if you guys want. i think many people think of type 2 diabetes when writing kyle. the difference between type 1 and type 2 is that people with type 2 diabetes can actually make insulin. but it isn’t enough to fully cancel out the sugar levels in the body. type 2 is also more often than not a somewhat curable disease. you can get rid of type 2 in some cases. you can’t get rid of type 1. and yeah. like anon said. i think sheila cares more about kyle’s health than she does about spoiling him with food.

and yeah. i guess the argument that ‘Ph BuT hEs OnLy 7 lBs lIgHtEr tHaN cArTmAn’ but you can really only say that he’s overweight if you know his height too. they look to be the same height. but you don’t know his exact height therefore you can’t make a case for or against it. like comparing someone who’s 5’6’’ and 120 lbs and someone who’s 5’1’’ and 127 lbs has a BMI difference of more than 6 units. cartman could be shorter. it’s hard to say. but yes. i agree with anon. i hate the chubby kyle headcanon. flame me in the notes. i don’t care. leave anon alone though. shit on my behalf. not theirs.

also yeah . it’s stereotypical as fuck. it’s kinda gross at some point. i agree with anon tho about chubby butters and clyde. maybe stan too because his father insists on feeding him ‘rich kid food’ but yeah. they’re right about kyle s. too. kyle s. is right there. or there’s mort from family guy. go slap your based hdcs on them ig. leave kyle b. out of it. the stereotype that all nerds are chubby and weak is overdone especially when it’s done to the only jewish kid in the show (kyle s doesn’t exist in fanon clearly.

[ceilingfan5]

Setting Z would be really funny for Barry Bluejeans

“Hurry up and figure things out, before I get fired from a second morgue. Please?” Barry Bluejeans is near tears, or violence. Or maybe just sitting on the floor. The buttons are all very close to each other on his mental keyboard.

“The please is a nice touch,” Kravitz acknowledges pleasantly. “I don’t think it’ll work, but I appreciated it.” 

“Hush your vibes,” Taako says, putting his hands to his temples and cocking an eyebrow intensely. “I’m getting a message from the afterlife.”

“Taako, you don’t have to do the act for us,” Barry complains. “We know you aren’t psychic.” 

“Says who! I’m offended. Let me at ‘em. I’ll prove it with my hands tied behind my back!”

“Use your hands to solve the murder, maybe,” Kravitz suggests wryly. He leans against the metal of the Fridge and jumps, probably because it’s cold as fuck. Barry makes that mistake like three times a day. 

“Or don’t, don’t touch the body, I swan to John, Taako, I know I owe Lup a favor but-”

“More than just a favor, mon ami!” 

“Not bad enough to get fired and arrested in the same day!” Barry starts pacing again, you know, so he doesn’t have to spin that violence/tears/floor roulette wheel. What a variety of options he has for himself! “Your stupid act may have the cops fooled, but I’m-”

“What, a genius?” Taako puts his hands on his hips. “Look at this man.”

“Ex-man,” Kravitz suggests.  

“Oh yeah? Good for h- oh you mean dead.”

“Taako, Robbie is going to be back any minute. I can’t just have people in here! Especially,” he gives Taako a Very Serious Look Tee Em. “If they aren’t being helpful.” 

“I’m so helpful. Notice, in fact,” he gestures like he’s about to do some woo-woo psychic bullshit, but thinks better of it. “That he has been frozen.” 

“Like a corpsicle,” Kravitz suggests. 

“Kravitz,” Barry says, strained. “You’ve gotta stop. I’m going to get an ulcer.”

“Fuck you man, Kravitz is patently amusing.” Taako points a finger with intent at Barry. 

“Well, I’m about to be hilarious. Find out why our corpsicle is freezer burnt, or you’re fucking out of here.” 

“Ooh, he said fucking,” Taako whispers behind his hand to Kravitz. Kravitz snickers. Barry grips the table and gets ready to lose it, it either being his patience or his livelihood, when Taako gasps. 

“What,” Barry asks, so tersely it doesn’t deserve a question mark. 

“Peas!”

“Peas?”

“Peas.” Kravitz nods like he knows about the peas. In fact it appears that the only guy out of the legume loop. 

“E-lab-or-ate.” 

“This guy worked for the frozen food factory,” Taako says, all in a rush, bouncing now that he’s figured it out. “Oh my god, call that bitch of a cop, I’ve figured it out.”

“Tell me now! You can do your goddamn Sherlock reveal later!” 

“Oh my god,” Kravitz says. “He worked in the chicken nugget area, but he was found in the frozen peas.”

“So this could only mean one thing!”

Barry glowers at these two idiots, not least because he very much wants to be in on their Sherlock Bullcrap. 

“What?” Taako snickers. “You didn’t figure it out?” 

“You know, I do a lot for you two wingdings,” Barry starts. “After all this time, you’d think- Wait. Hang on.”

“He’s getting it,” Taako whispers to Kravitz. 

“This is great,” Kravitz says behind his hand, entirely audible. “Way better than pharmaceuticals.” 

“Hang on, fuck, hang on. This isn’t the chicken nugget guy. This man is a twin.”

“Bingo.” 

“The banker twin?”

“The banker twin.” 

“Oh my god.”

“Bingo bango, even.” 

“He froze the peas guy’s assets–”

“And the peas guy froze him.” 

“Jesus fursuit wearing Christ,” Barry says, deciding to finally sit on the floor. He can’t control the words that start streaming out of him. “You- you guys know that most deaths that come in here aren’t like, fun little mysteries? Like you’re aware it’s mostly heart attacks and shit? Like, this is entirely unrealistic, and honestly since you two have started doing this-”

“Shh, Barry,” Taako says, getting out his phone. “We’ve got a scene to pull. For fame and glory.” 

“And about a hundred fifty bucks each,” Kravitz adds. 

“Oh, it’s one hundred now,” Barry says, pulling it together enough to flash them a bitchy smile. “You want my help, you’re paying for it.” 

“Aw, damn it,” Taako mumbles. “You were right, Krav.” 

[sanctum-of-ramshackle]

“You got a name?” “Deadeye…”

[TWST AU]: In this timeline, there’s an MC/Yuu who is from the Valorant universe.

[Synopsis]: Agent!MC/Yuu is part of the Valorant Protocol and for some twisted reason, they get stuck in a world where magic actually exists.

[Gender Neutral MC/Yuu]

[TW]: Guns, near death experiences, only one death, and the use of Google Translate (because I never took French classes; I’m sorry in advanced for inaccurate translations).

[(A/N)]: I mentioned before that I already fell into the Valorant rabbit hole. I have also been listening to Odd Banker - Orch Compression on loop and it’s the same music used for the Chamber trailer. It fits his character so well!

[(A/N #2)]: For the alias I used in this AU came from a concept art before Chamber was announced and he originally was supposed to be Deadeye. Also I need to clarify their age is between 16-18 (Yes, that young for an agent).

MC/Yuu Fabron, a.k.a. Agent Deadeye, is another agent for the Valorant Protocol and is related to Chamber as they’re siblings. MC/Yuu is in their early-to-late teen years, and already they want to follow their brother’s footsteps as an agent and weapon designer.

Although the Fabron duo are great assets to the Protocol.

It was a tragedy for Agent Deadeye.

They were taken out during a mission gone wrong, but thanks to Sage, they are slowly recovering. Though there’s a problem: they’re in a comatose state.

It seems the young agent is out of commission until time would tell.

…

Now MC/Yuu Fabron, in their subconscious mind, fell somewhere and somehow got trapped into a weird world where magic actually exists.

The first time MC/Yuu came to Twisted Wonderland was when they almost shot Grim after being released from the confines of a coffin they were trapped inside.

Next, they shot at Crowley, nearly missing him by passing his ear.

Then after, both Crowley and Grim start running away from MC/Yuu.

Agent!MC/Yuu: *Chasing after the headmaster and Grim* I’m going to kill you for deceiving me! I know you Omega agents trapped me in a simulation to break me for intel!

Crowley: What are they talking about?!

Grim: How should I know?!!

When the two got to the ceremony, Crowley barely lock the doors but a card flies through the crack and incomes MC/Yuu teleporting inside the Mirror Chamber.

Everyone was surprised by the furious young agent.

Once they revealed themselves holding their Headhunter out, shit may go down.

Crowley: No no! Don’t shoot!

Agent!MC/Yuu: *Points their gun at Crowley* Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t. Ten seconds. Dix…Neuf…Huit…Sept…

Rook: Attendez un moment!

Agent!MC/Yuu: Huh? Tu parles français?

Rook: Oui. Please put your weapon down.

Agent!MC/Yuu: Why? I cannot trust anything here as it seems the enemies took me hostage and attempts to break me for sensitive information.

Rook: Enemies?

Agent!MC/Yuu: …You’re not the agents from the Omega Earth?

Rook: Omega Earth? What is this place you’re asking?

Agent!MC/Yuu: *Realization hits them hard* Oh, my god…

After the shenanigans calmed down and the ceremony continued smoothly, MC/Yuu was taken to Crowley’s office.

Inside of the room, the agent explains they’re part of a protocol with other agents like them and their goal is to prevent the Omega Earth and its doubles from stealing a material called Radianite.

Then it’s Crowley’s turn to explain they’re in Twisted Wonderland and they’re in Night Raven College, an All Boy’s school for magical academics.

Now that everything clears up, it seems Agent Deadeye has another mission: surviving back to school.

Also imagine these:

Rook and Deadeye are speaking French to each other!

Azul and Deadeye speaking Business to each other!

Vil/Cater and Deadeye speaking Good Taste/Insane Drip to each other!

[Chapter 3]

[The trio got anemones after signing contracts with the Octavinelle Dorm Leader.]

Agent!MC/Yuu: *Polishing their Headhunter*

Ace, Deuce, and Grim: MC/Yuu!!!

Agent!MC/Yuu: Merde! What happened to you three?

Deuce: We got dragged into a contract just to pass the exam.

Ace: Then these things popped out of nowhere.

Grim: Nyah! This is annoying! MC/Yuu, help us!

Agent!MC/Yuu: I refuse to help you, imbéciles. You brought this upon yourselves without knowing how business works and not studying beforehand. Even I passed without “magical knowledge.”

Grim: I sold our dorm too!

Agent!MC/Yuu: YOU WHAT?!!! How could you do such…*Groans in frustration* Keep it together, MC/Yuu. Remember what Vincent taught you. *Clears their throat* Where is this dealer who you signed contracts with?

Ace: The Octavinelle Dorm.

Deuce: We’re really sorry, MC/Yuu. We’ll pay for your Pain au chocolat as apologies.

Agent!MC/Yuu: Pour l'amour de...Fine, I’ll deal with that slimy businessman.

~

[Octavinelle Dorm]

[Monstro Lounge]

Agent!MC/Yuu: *Summons their card out and throws it to the room*

[It zips across the main dining hall through the crack of the double doors of the office. It was good as the Tweels didn’t notice.]

[Azul’s office]

Agent!MC/Yuu: *Teleports inside in front of Azul* Bonjour~

[(A/N): Don’t mind the gifs. I only used them to help visualize what actions MC/Yuu does.]

Azul: *Startled by their presence* Huh?!

Agent!MC/Yuu: Are you perhaps Azul Ashengrotto?

Azul: *Keeping his composure* I am. Who you may be?

Agent!MC/Yuu: Deadeye. *Taps their forearm, activating their markings to summon their sniper rifle* *Points it at Azul*

Azul: What the-?!! *Freaks out and falls back on his chair*

Agent!MC/Yuu: Say hello to Tour de Force 2.0. I need those contracts you scammed with the idiots from earlier.

Azul: *Freaking out* P-Put the gun down!

Agent!MC/Yuu: Don’t worry. I don’t waste my bullets on opportunists like you. Well, depending if you cross me.

Azul: What is it that you want?

Agent!MC/Yuu: I told you earlier: the contracts. Now that I have your attention, let’s talk about actual business.

[SPOILER: They actually got their idiot trio out of the contracts, which upsets Azul and still leads him to Overblot.]

[Pomefiore]

Vil: Your ink work and sense of fashion clash together.

Agent!MC/Yuu: Well I have good taste in everything~ Also these “tattoos” have functionalities that help me.

Vil: Is that so?

Agent!MC/Yuu: *Summons their Headhunter*

Vil: *Steps away*

Agent!MC/Yuu: Do not panic. The safety is on.

Vil: You need to be more careful pulling your weapons out.

Agent!MC/Yuu: Do not worry, my friend. I’m responsible of my possessions. Also, have you seen my Tour de Force 2.0?

[A bullet shattered a window and zips passed the two. In instinct, MC/Yuu got defensive and releases the safety off their Headhunter.]

Agent!MC/Yuu: Vil, get down now! Révèle-toi!

Rook: *Peeks through the broken window* Bonjour, Mon Trickster!

Agent!MC/Yuu: Rook? Put my sniper rifle down, now! That is not a toy you mess with! Do you know how much work I put into my beauty? Nobody touches my stuff!

[Chapter 6]

[S.T.Y.X.]

Agent!MC/Yuu: Oh, you want to play? Let’s play~ *Summons their Headhunter out and shoots at a Charon dead*

Epel: What the fuck?! You killed somebody!

Agent!MC/Yuu: It’s not my first time. Did you forget I’m an agent? Qualified to shoot?

Epel: NOT HERE!

Agent!MC/Yuu: Merde…Lets just get the boys, and I’ll face the one for kidnapping Grim.

Epel: What are ya gonna do?

Agent!MC/Yuu: Envoi de mes salutations à sa famille. *Reloads with more ammunition*

Rook: *Gasps* Mon Trickster!

I like to think that after everything Deadeye has gone through, they’re able to return to their home world.

Which is actually waking up from their comatose state.

Agent!MC/Yuu: Ow, my chest…Guys? Vincent?

You can imagine a sophisticated grown-ass man crying with relief after being notified that his little sibling woke up from recovery.

Chamber: MC/Yuu…You’re okay…

Agent!MC/Yuu: I’m alive. It’s just…I had the weirdest dream during my slumber.

As the young agent still has days to recover, they decided to return back to France for the time being.

It felt relaxing for them to stroll through the famous city of Love with many people filling the streets.

Then out of nowhere, someone bumps into them by accident.

???: Oh! I’m truly sorry for bumping into you.

Agent!MC/Yuu: No worries. Paris is a huge city-

They see a familiar face with bangs.

Agent!MC/Yuu: Rook?

✨[Reblogs helps creators and creates for more content]💫

[honorhearted]

@ycllowhaired​

As a reverend’s son, Ben had always been taught that retaining ill will towards another person was wrong. One mustn’t covet, nor begrudge another man’s actions, and yet in this instance, Ben liked to believe God would forgive him -- nay, agree that his yearning for revenge was completely justified.

In a cruel twist of fate, his brother, Samuel had been arrested on a trip to London. He’d merely been speaking his mind in a tavern -- oh, Heaven forbid -- and the judge presiding over this trial had condemned him to prison...a prison where Samuel withered away, grew sick, and ultimately died a dog’s death. That sort of oversight could never be forgiven; not when this Turpin monster lived more than heartily in a mansion, while meanwhile everyone else starved and pleaded for crumbs. 

Ben wished to reverse his fortune. So now, leaning against the wrought-iron fence across from Turpin’s grand home, he pretended to read the book in his hand, occasionally glancing over at the small boy he’d hired to pose as a distraction. At long last, he could hear a commotion. The little boy was waving his hands, speaking loudly about an investment -- one that the judge had made, of course -- going “up in flames,” and that he’d been sent by “some nice banker” to come fetch him. Turpin, in all his greed, couldn’t resist this ploy, and immediately fetched his hat and coat before accompanying the child out into the street.

Miserable old miser.

Watching until the two had disappeared, Ben quickly rushed across the street and jogged up to the front door. In Turpin’s haste, the damned fool had forgotten to lock up, and with a breathy laugh of disbelief, Ben showed himself inside and quickly shut the door behind him. He didn’t know what he was looking for, exactly -- something, anything that could prove what a monster this man was -- so he took his time as he searched through the large house.

Before long, Ben became incredibly frustrated. None of Turpin’s desks nor potential hiding spots revealed anything of import -- not even a ruinous letter. Sourly, he headed for the final room in the upstairs hall (his last chance) and immediately froze once he realized it was locked. Oh... Well, surely this was a room of interest! No man with nothing to hide would lock a door, after all.

Giddy, Ben set to work on picking the lock. After a handful of unsuccessful attempts, the lock finally sprung open, and he pushed his way into the room, pleased with himself until he realized that...well...he wasn’t alone. A pretty young blonde was seated in the far corner, embroidering quietly. Shit. Shit, shit, shit!

Pale and wide-eyed, he opened and closed his mouth a few times before spluttering, “Oh, uh...I-I’m so sorry, I...I thought...” Quickly. Come up with something, damn you! “Er, I am a carpenter. I was called in to fix a wobbly table leg. The judge isn’t presently here, so...I suppose I miscalculated the room. Apologies.” Though just as Ben turned to leave, it suddenly dawned on him that this woman had been locked inside this room -- that she was a prisoner of sorts -- so slowly, he halted his trek and turned again to regard her. “Are you all right, Miss?” This time, he didn’t bother disguising his American accent. Somehow, he had a feeling they might be on the same side...

[starshideyourfics]

You Are Here - part 1

September 11, 2001 — Gander, Newfoundland, Canada

“Sorry, is this seat open?”

Eddie’s head snaps up, putting aside his book. They’ve been sitting on the tarmac in the middle of nowhere for hours, long enough that the sun has set, with no one explaining exactly why, and it’s not like he has much of his book left. It was supposed to last well-past when he landed in Chicago, but that wasn’t gonna happen, so he’s not that irritated at being interrupted.

He’s even less irritated when he sees that the question asker is the most beautiful man he’s even seen: golden skin dotted with moles, thick chestnut hair highlighted by the summer sun, a pointed Roman nose supporting wire-rimmed glasses, all wrapped up in charcoal slacks and a periwinkle button-down.

After his brain finishes short-circuiting, Eddie snaps his dangling mouth shut, composes himself, and says, “Sorry, can you repeat that? It’s been a weird day,” Eddie asks.

The man gives a weak chuckle. “It really has. Sorry, it’s just that after they started giving out free booze, things have gotten rowdy in the back and I’ve got case files I need to go over.” To emphasize his point, he holds up a briefcase and shrugs.

“Yeah, sure, go ahead,” Eddie says, moving his bag out of the empty seat next to him. He feels like an idiot, but at least Jeff and Frankie are sleeping behind him and unable to witness his flailing. And he’s pretty sure Gareth is one of the loud drunks at the back if their most recent singalong is anything to go by—it explains the short Iron Maiden interlude. But it means his bandmates aren’t giving him shit for his brain turning to mush in the face of this beautiful normie.

“Thanks,” the guy says, slipping into the seat and holding out his hand, “I’m Steve, by the way.”

“Eddie. Glad I could offer you refuge in this trying time.” His heart jumps when Steve full-on giggles at his lame joke.

But Steve sobers pretty quickly. “I just wish someone would tell us what’s happening. I’ve got my cellphone, and a handful of international minutes left, but I’d guess we’re too far away from any cell towers out here anyway… Have you heard anything up here in business class?” And isn’t that the real kick in the head? Eddie Munson is sitting in Business Class on an international flight after his band went on their first European tour, wearing ripped black jeans and a ratty old hoodie since he always gets cold when he flies, and Steve is clearly some kind of lawyer or banker or something sitting back in economy. And yet, here they are.

“The flight attendants have been whispering together, and the pilots have been out of the cockpit a couple times, but they’re doing a really good job keeping it all hush-hush. It’s not like there’s much we can do being stranded out here with a bunch of other planes. I’m sure you won’t get in trouble with your boss,” Eddie says, testing the waters and fishing for information.

“Oh, no, I’m not worried about that. I don’t have any court dates too soon.” Yes, totally right about the lawyer thing, Eddie thinks. “It’s just, my partner was flying today, too, back home from Boston. I hope she’s not all tangled up in this.” And he’s straight and in a relationship, of course, Eddie adds, because there’s no way a guy as good-looking as Steve isn’t pinned down. That doesn’t stop Eddie from checking his left hand and finding no ring.

“Sorry, that sucks. Everyone I know flying today is on this plane with me,” Eddie says softly with a gesture over his shoulder at his sleeping friends. “Our manager is probably freaking out right now, so hopefully we get back in the air soon. Or they let us off, and we can work together to track down a phone.”

“I’d like that,” Steve says with a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes.

Just then, a flight attendant comes over the intercom and says, “Ladies and Gentlemen, we have finally been cleared to deplane. You may take your carryon items; checked luggage will remain in the hold. The flight crew will be handing out blankets and pillows as you exit the plane.”

Eddie and Steve turn to each other with wide eyes. “Guess it’s time to track down that phone,” Steve says, worry and hope warring in his expression.

And Eddie can’t help it—hates seeing that worry, knows it all too well from growing up in an unstable home—and he takes Steve’s hand and says, “It’ll be okay. There’s gotta be a bank of pay phones in there. And maybe someone will finally tell us what’s going on.” He squeezes Steve’s fingers.

Steve squeezes back.

part 2

[bonyassfish]

You know, at first I could chalk up the antisemitism of the goblins in the books and movies as accidental residue from the deep deep well of antisemitism which exists all throughout European folklore. It’s antisemitic, sure, but I am not sure it was intentional. At least, that’s how I engaged with it as a teenager before jk rowling became a full blown terf But now with the extremely overt antisemitism of the new hogwarts game (which seems quite intentional), I’ve started to re-think about how I feel about the original series in terms of antisemitism. Long post ahead 

Goblins aside (though it’s a real yikes!!!!), one thing that bothers me on reflection is if I think about the context of voldemort being a clear stand in for hitler. It’s obvious that rowling thinks about ww2 in the way a lot of British white non-Jews think about it, which is to say that the Jews (and Roma as well) are sort of an afterthought, that our near total slaughter in Europe is less important than how some vague notion of “good” triumphed over “evil” 

And that vagueness of good and evil, with no address to the victims of genocide, or even a desire to change the systems of oppression leading to a fascist genocidal dictator, is reflected in the original harry potter books. Harry and co never really seek to change the strict racial hierarchy of the wizarding world, except maybe to be a bit nicer to people like hermione. In fact, the oppressed classes of the wizarding world are either working with voldemort (werewolves, except for 2) or neutral to it (elves, except for 2) or use war for their own profit (Jews, oh my bad, (((goblins))) ) 

It’s a reflection of a country where most children learn about the holocaust through shit like the “the boy in striped pajamas”. Victims of genocide are vague, hollow people who are only there to relieve you that you wouldn’t be part of their genocide. And now, with this new game…it’s so much more blatant and overt than I could ever imagine. And I hate being told I’m imagining it, that I’m the real antisemite for noticing antisemitic canards. Like yeah, obviously I don’t think the goblins look like Jews. I think they look like antisemitic caricatures of Jews. I’m not imagining it. We’re not imagining it. The short, big-nosed, oppressed greedy bankers are kidnapping good Christian (oops I mean wizard!) children? Oh, and they blow a horn? Don’t think about the fact that it looks suspiciously like a shofar. 

And even like, people who are saying they won’t play the game are mostly talking about the antisemitism as an afterthought, if at all. why does it always feel like we’re an afterthought? like yes of course we need to talk about jk rowling’s transphobia, but in the context of this game specifically, you can’t blame us for wanting everyone to pay a little more attention to the antisemitism

[helenofsimblr]

Kane: Great night tonight DC. Here, lemme get that for you. 

DC: Thanks. 

Kane: Got a whole host of these branded lighters, if you want one, help yourself.

DC: ‘preciate it!

Kane: So… is there any chance I could get you working the poles too?

DC: Don’t think so boss. I’m good at the bar raking in the tips. 

Kane: Well… Sometimes, you can’t blame a motherfucker for asking!

DC: Heh, see ya later boss.

****

Elita: DC headed off her usual way, it was getting lighter and lighter earlier in the mornings. Theoretically making it safer to go home. Believe me, it isn’t safe for a woman to be out at night alone in this District. That’s not sexist, that’s a fact. Women are smaller, generally weaker than men, less likely to fight back. All things that the scumbags like and look for in a potential victim. I’ve laid out a few punks in my time who thought I was easy pickings. I mean, hell if you’re a normal human woman, and you go off alone like this… that’s on you. Yes it shouldn’t be that way, but it is, criminals don’t believe in equal opportunities or gender equality or any of that other socio-political shit. Anyway, I digress…

****

Elita: DC met a group of unsavory folks. There was a gang that existed in all territories where Vampires were, they called themselves “The Ghouls.” Truth is, Vampires cultivated and used this gang to be a scapegoat for their presence. Van Duson and his Order absolutely cracked down on “The Ghouls” making it harder and harder for them to operate. And Apex of course before Guy accidentally killed him, killed a lot of vampires and werewolves and fae, and pretty much ANYTHING supernatural, so the fact The Ghouls were coming back was not a good sign, but anyway…

Fat Mowhawk: Hey darlin’ nice night for a walk hey?

DC: What’s left of it. You want something, chubs? Cos, I’m in a bit of a hurry. 

Skinny Mowhawk: She doesn’t talk friendly.

Tat Thug: We’re… representatives of the bank of San Myshuno, and we’re here to get a deposit from you.

DC:  Bankers huh? I doubt any of you could even spell “interest rate”