#short-fuse-long-jacket

[logansdoll]

37

the fate of the entire world came down to a race against time, the future of all mutants resting on logan's shoulders... but a little detour wouldn't hurt, right?

CW: heavily suggestive, profanity, takes place during the events of Days Future Past, Logan was kind of an ass, reader is kinda that girl, angst if you squint, idk if i timed the timeline right or not so whatevs, etc.

"I'm sorry... what are we doing here, again?" Hank asked, confused, as the three men marched through the hallway of an apartment complex.

"I need to find someone," Logan answered, curtly, eyes scanning over the numbers on each door.

'37... 37... 37...'

Charles let out a dry chuckle, pinching the bridge of his nose, "See, that's so funny because last I checked you said we were in a crunch for time."

He stopped in his tracks, Hank pausing mid-walk to turn to him, while Logan came to a standstill just ahead.

"If we have time to take detours, then I'm starting to believe the situation isn't as dire as you described."

Hank swallowed thickly, turning to Logan in expectation of some sort of blowout.

Despite having only known the man for a few of hours, he could tell he had a dangerously short fuse, and wouldn't take kindly to Charles's attitude.

And he'd be right.

Whipping around, Logan stormed over and grabbed the telepath by the collar, brows furrowed as he roughly yanked him closer.

"I just got sent back in the past fifty-fucking-years... And before I do another goddamn thing, there is someone I have to see," he growled, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument. "Do you got a problem with that, bub?"

Charles paused a moment, eyes scanning over the man before him.

In that instant, he wanted nothing more than to read his mind—to see what was going on in that complicated head of his.

But, alas, he couldn't, so for the sake of everyone, he settled for the safer option.

"Fine with me," he raised his hands in surrender, letting out a sigh as Logan abruptly let him go, turning to go back to his search. "And if I'm not mistaken... thirty-seven would be about five doors down to your right."

Logan glanced back at him, his expression a cross between annoyed and less annoyed.

He'd deal with him later.

But in the meantime, he sped past the next five doors as fast as he could, turning to his right to see what played the setting to some of his best dreams.

A red door, with paint chipping near the hinges, and a crooked 37 and poorly covered claw marks from when he stumbled in drunk one night.

'Just like I left it...'

It wasn't long before the memories came rolling back, reminding him of what he was coming back to.

"You sure you have to go?" you hummed, gathering the sheets to cover your chest and sitting up in the bed, watching as he put on some pants.

Logan nodded, moving to grab his wife-beater, "Yeah, I got some things to take care of... I should be back in a few days."

Turning toward the bed, he smirked at your sleepy form, your bed-head and tired eyes insanely sexy.

"You know what to do while I'm gone, right?"

"Check the peephole before I open, and aim for the nuts," you recited with a yawn.

He smiled, snatching his leather jacket off your chair before striding toward the bed, placing a quick peck on your lips

"I'll be back soon," he promised, swiping a stray stand of hair out your face.

You smiled, looking up at him through your lashes with your beautiful, (e/c) eyes, "I'll be waiting."

When Logan snapped himself out of it, he was still standing in front of the door, the chunk of wood the only thing keeping you two apart.

He was about to knock, but stopped mid-way, hesitant.

What if you'd moved on? Forgotten him in the meantime...

"I'll be waiting," your words echoed in his head.

He sighed, steeling his nerves, before quickly knocking.

There was a moment of silence before the lock clicked, the knob turning and door swinging open to reveal you.

The air caught in Logan's throat as he got a good look at you, his eyes raking up and down your body.

You looked even more beautiful than he remembered.

'That was too quick...'

"You didn't check the peephole," he stated, unable to come up with anything else to say.

Without warning, the sound of a particularly harsh slap echoed throughout the hallway, Charles and Hank flinching at the noise.

"Okay, I deserve that."

"You absolute fucking asshole!" you spat, voice disbelieving of the sight in front of you. "Who the hell do you think you are?!"

Because of your mutation you aged like he did, so you weren't exactly younger looking per se, but you had a youthful vibrance to you.

Your hair was sensually tousled—most likely from just waking up—your skin glowing in the mid-morning sunlight, and your silk robe coming up extra high on your legs, along with hanging extra low on your chest.

You looked sexier than any lingerie model out there.

A fact the other two quite agreed with at the moment.

"Hel-lo," Charles smiled, shamelessly, Hank just silently staring.

"Watch it," Logan threatened, venom dripping from his tone as he shifted to stand in front of you, blocking your body from their view.

"You have no business being here," your brows furrowed as you grabbed the door, attempting to shut it. "Get lost."

"(n/n), I came to see you," Logan grunted, shoving his foot between the door and the frame. "Let me in."

"No!" you scoffed, pushing against the door to try and shut him out. "You don't get to do that! You don't get to leave for eight months and then waltz right back in my life like nothing happened!"

"I got into some shit, alright? Some really bad shit... I couldn't bring that back here."

"Then call! Or... Or write! Fuck! I would've been happy with a goddamn carrier pigeon!"

"I didn't have any of that crap—" "For eight months?!"

With a groan, he rolled his shoulder, giving the door a quick blow and knocking it open, forcing you back and allowing him in.

Quickly, you reached your hand out toward your philodendron, sprouting large vines and using them to grab Logan's wrists, holding him in place.

"(y/n), I don't have a lotta time," he grunted, struggling against their hold, to no avail, "Let me go..."

"For eight months," you started, voice small as you approached him, "I thought you were dead."

Logan halted his thrashing, turning to you with a softened look.

Your expression was now one of hurt rather than rage.

"I know the work you do... and after three months of nothing I started thinking the worst..."

You stopped in front of him, turning to the large array of plants carefully placed around the room, making the apartment look more like a greenhouse than anything.

"I used every damn plant in my range to try and find you... and when I got nothing, I knew that you were gone."

Suddenly, you poked a finger into his chest, eyes glazed with relief as you looked upon his face.

A face you'd never thought you'd see again.

"So no... you do not get to come back after all this time just to see me."

Slowly, your hold on his wrists began to loosen, and he lowered his hands, stepping forward to stand right in your space.

"You're a selfish... narcissistic... cocky son of a bitch, and—"

Logan suddenly snaked an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

"And?"

You swallowed thickly, staring up at him with your glassy, doe eyes.

"And I hate you."

He chuckled, leaning down to ghost his lips over your cheek, sending shivers down your spine.

"I love you, too, dollface."

And before you could even retort, his lips were on yours, roping you right back into him.

The kiss was hungry... passionate. Like he'd been waiting a lifetime to get his hands on you again.

And he had.

Never in his wildest dreams did Logan ever believe he'd be able to kiss you again... to have you in his arms.

It was worth the detour and more.

Honestly, even if he didn't manage to save the world, he'd die a happy man.

With a gasp, you both broke away from the kiss, your chest heaving as you looked up at the man—who was looking down at you like you'd just hung the sun in the sky.

Slowly, his calloused hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb smoothing over your cheekbone.

"(n/n)... I'm gonna tell you some instructions, and you gotta trust me and follow them to the letter,, alright?" Logan started, seriously.

"What? Logan, what are you—?"

"Please," he pleaded. "I know you don't deserve the shit I put you through, but believe me when I tell you that you need to listen to what I have to say..."

Letting out a slow sigh, you agreed, nodding for him to continue.

"In a month, I want you to pack up your things. Your cloths, your plants, all of it, and travel up to Westchester County, New York," he explained, pulling a crumpled card out his jacket pocket. "Go to this address, and you'll find these guys."

He turned to point at Charles and Hank, who were still standing in the doorway, awkwardly.

"Hello," Hank waved, sweetly.

"They have a huge mansion... and you gotta stay there until I can find my way back."

"Find your way back?" you asked, confused, as you took the card from his hand. "Logan, I don't understand... I don't even know who these guys are..."

"You just have to trust me, doll," he assured, his free hand carding through your hair. "Besides, I don't like you bein' in the city by yourself, anyway—" "We really should be going now," Charles chimed, clearing his throat.

Logan let out a sigh, turning back to you and scanning over your face a final time.

God, you were so beautiful.

"Wait for me a little longer?" he asked, nervous.

But to his surprise, you smiled, your hand sliding down to hold his, smoothing your thumb over his knuckles.

"Against my better judgement..." you sighed, lightheartedly. "You better come back to me, Logan."

He cracked a grin, placing a feather-light kiss on your hairline.

"I always do."

bonus !! The three men didn't even make it halfway down the hallway before Logan turned to the two, his hardened expression a complete contrast from the smile he flashed you before he left.

"Listen up," he started, voice dangerously low. "Either of you try to make moves on my girl while I'm gone, I will personally come back and mount your head on a spike. Consequences be damned."

Quickly, Charles used what little power he had to scan over Logan's mind, checking to see if he truly meant what he said.

And he did.

In fact, he was so dead serious about the threat that it actually scared Charles quite a bit.

"Got it?"

Charles and Hank turned to each other, sharing the same knowing look.

"Yup."

"Absolutely."

[theillustraitor]

My human Dan design! Plus some ghost Dan to practice drawing him.

I'll explain more in depth below the cut for those who are curious, but the basic ideas for why he looks this way is that his human half is a mix of Danny and Dan(with a small sprinkle of Vlad). It was supposed to eventually match his ghost form more, but things had to be cut short on that path so he got kinda stuck with a middle of the road body(he's roughly late teens).

I'm desperate for him to not look exactly like Danny, but I also had this funny idea that he would somehow end up attending Casper High after he is decently redeemed(so his human body had to be younger than his ghost form). Like just imagine the interactions. Dan would *definitely* get revenge on Dash lol

More detailed explanation:

The clone Dan was stuck in was pretty much constantly destabilizing post AGIT. This was due to the imperfect nature of them, Dan's high power, and the physical difference between the two forms. Vlad and Danny kept it from totally falling apart by using the ecto-dejecto. They had to use it *a lot* though.

Vlad tweaked the clone to be able to be shaped by Dan's ghost(to fix the incongruence of the bodies, and to possibly make it so the body could handle Dan's power better). This is what led to the mixing of Dan and Danny; the body was going from Danny to Dan in terms of appearance. It was taking some time though and they were definitely going to run out of the ecto-dejecto, *especially* since Dani also needs it(I like to think that the ecto-dejecto wasn't a permanent fix, so she has to use it on occasion. There's also no way Danny would give a mid-morph sample at this point cause he and Dani are still pretty distrustful of Vlad.)

Since Jack had originally made the ecto-dejecto Vlad could not figure out how tf to replicate it. Jack had also forgotten how he made it because, I mean, it’s Jack(nevermind that he wouldn’t even have a reason to remember how to make something that’d help ghosts/was a failed version of an experiment)

Vlad then developed a way to convert the ectoplasmic nature of the clones to good ol’ human meat(aka permanent stabilization for Dan). Vlad ended up having to do that to Dan before his human form could completely match his ghost form, hence the mix and being physically younger than his ghost form(a note: the bodies not matching remains a problem, but not a crippling/kill him kind of one. Dan is usually in pain after going ghost, especially if he used his powers a lot, but it fades relatively fast. Additionally, he(unrelated to body stuff) cannot be ghostly for too long because the ghost half will destabilize(not goopy, time/reality)).

I also had this idea that the ghost catcher could be used to permanently fuse Dan's ghost to the human body. I doubt he's fused with the clone body in AGIT, and this would continue to be a problem with my idea; Dan is basically just puppeting/overshadowing the bodies. The catcher has a merge side, sooooo

Finally, some design stuff(and a bit about him going to Casper). As mentioned Dan looks younger, which means he is capable of attending Casper High, and he does so because he never actually finished school(and he would be able to stalk/keep an eye on Danny and the others better. By this point he no longer wants to kill them, and is instead paranoid about the possibility of them dying, so yup, stalking). He'd be put in the same grade as Jazz so they could hang out and what not.

Vlad is also glad to have any time away from Dan because they fight a lot lol

But once at Casper due to his Vlad half he plays football(Vlad fusion aside, it’s a sport where he can be violent w/o problem). Dan got a letterman jacket from that, but he still hates the popular kids so he had Sam dye it black.

The hair streak is also from Vlad, but Dan's hair style is just his ghost form's minus the whole fire thing.

His clothing style is a mix of Vlad and Danny’s(except the jacket). Shirt is from Danny, pants from Vlad, then sneakers + dress shoes = boots.

Finally, it’s a bit subtle but he has heterochromia; one eye is Danny's color, the other Vlad’s.

[sinsandsweetness]

hi my love <3

do you think you could do a rick grimes fluff where it’s an established relationship where he’s got a short fuse for everyone else but her and he’s super soft and gentle to her

or rick with a sleepy reader who he just lets fall asleep on his lap as he strokes her hair when he’s in the middle of discussing something important with someone else

ok I'm currently painting my toenails baby pink and got me thinking about rickyl with hyperfeminine!reader. (I know u said rick but this is what my brain said so...enjoy?)

It’s way too late but you can’t really help that you’re a night owl. And besides, the boys are still up, lights on in the living room, the two of them talking strategy for some hoard the group has been tracking for a few weeks. The conversation seems really important so you don’t want to interrupt but you also can’t see all that well since your glasses broke on that run last week and you’ve yet to find any new ones… so you were really hoping someone would help you out.

With your bottle of nail polish in hand, you stand in the doorway, fighting an internal battle of if you should go in or not. So in doubt, you hover, putting a few dishes away in the kitchen. Grabbing some water. Checking the fridge. All while the glass bottle of pink polish becomes warm in your hand. Bare feet padding against the cool hardwood as you finally decide to just go back to bed. The safety of the community is undoubtably more important than your damn toes.

“You alright, angel?” Ricks voice is soft as it travels to your spot on the stairs, swiveling around to see both men eyeing you down. Gaze travveling up your bare legs to your tiny little boy shorts and the oversized sweater with a stretched out collar and way too many holes in it.

“Mhm.” You quip, flashing a candy sweet smile.

“You’re pacin’. What’s up?” Daryl isn’t convinced as he looks you in the eyes, elbows leaned onto his knees. Still in his work clothes. Jacket, vest and jeans. Even his boots are still laced up.

“I just-" you look down at your bare toes. All prepped for paint, cut and filed and screaming at you to give them some colour. “Can one of you help me paint my toes?”

The way both of their faces soften at your answer gives you butterflies. They’re always way too worried. Too on edge. Especially when it comes to you. Wanting to protect you. Keep you safe and healthy and happy. So that’s why when they notice you pacing in the kitchen at half past midnight, they jump to their own little conclusions about what might be wrong. About what could possibly be going on in that beautiful mind of yours.

“C’mhere.” Rick pats a hand on the couch cushion next to him which you happily take. Practically skipping over and plopping down, ass on the cushion and feet in his lap.

He takes the bottle and gives it a little shake before continuing his conversation with Daryl, who doesn’t seem to be listening as attentively as he was before. With you laying on the couch, long legs sprawled out and a sleepy smile on your pretty face, you’ve become quite the distraction.

Ricks hands are warm as he holds your feet, carefully painting each nail, all while he stays talking. You hear snippets like, “- well if we do that, then they’ll just be headed for Oceanside. We need to find a route that makes sense for everyone, even if it means-” but you aren’t really listening. You’re more focused on making heart eyes with Daryl and playing with a loose string on the hem of your sweater. Eyes growing heavy with each coat of paint. The intoxicating, chemical smell that you've weirdly enough grown to love, fills the room and your feet tickle when rick blows cool air on them. Closing the bottle and popping it back into your hand while he leans back and asks Daryl something off topic about a run with Aaron. thumb running over your foot, hand traveling up your calf and gently massaging the muscle there. You sink even further into the couch, all warm and tired and cozier then ever. The combination of Ricks touch sending tingles up your spine, and the drawl of both their voices, act in accordance to lull you right to sleep.

You know that even if you do fall asleep here on the couch, it's no big deal. They'd carry you to bed in a heartbeat. They have before. So you let your eyes flutter shut under the comforting fact that you’re sure to wake up in clean, warm covers with a man on either side of you and two big arms wrapped around your waist.

[luveline]

Congrats on 40k Jade! Also hi, I hope you're having a great day (I'm really nervous this is my first time sending in a request I'm so sorry if I sound weird)

𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝'𝐬 𝐨𝐤 —send me a hurt/comfort request for any reader and any character and I'll write a ficlet, 2k or less

Can I request a reader that has a bit of a temper and got told that no one would like her because of it so she's a bit insecure about herself? My favourite character is James so maybe with him or with Remus whichever you prefer (and they reassure her and it's awesome because your writing is just so awesome)

Congrats again <3

luveline's 40k party ☆ thank you so much, you didn't sound weird at all dw ♡ fem!reader

The day has been long, your feet dragging up the steps to Remus' flat. His door sticks and the only radiator that doesn't need bleeding is the one in his bedroom, so it's cold, and you're irked. You kick out of your pinching shoes and hang your jacket up, which falls on the floor. You pick it up and it falls again. Huffing, you put it on the sideboard and trudge down the hallway to Remus bedroom. 

"Hello, my lovely," he says without looking up. 

There's a notebook in his lap. He's wearing his reading glasses. If you were in a better mood you'd try to distract him by laying across his thighs. As it stands, you're fucking exhausted. You flop down in his bed and curl towards him where he's sitting against the headboard. 

"Tired?" he asks. 

"Mm." Tired isn't the right word, but the right word makes people cringe at you. 

Today has been awful and you hate the part of you that wants to rail about it. You can't help how you feel; this anger glows molten. It makes you hate yourself, which irks you worse. You grab one of his pillows and pull it against your chest to squeeze it until your arms hurt. 

"Bad day?" he asks, pen scratching.

You exhale. "A bit," you say into the pillowcase. 

"Sorry, dovey," he says. There's the sound of paper leaves catching against one another and the clink of a pen put away. "What did you say? I needed to finish writing that edit down before I forgot."

You're not mad at him in particular but your voice comes out tightly strung anyhow, "I said it was a bit of a bad day."

Remus hears your tone and refuses to skirt around the issue. Not from a want to be confrontational, but a direct way of going about things. "What, are you mad at me?" 

"No," you say, turning away from him. 

"You seem mad." 

"I think I am." 

"Well, now you don't sound mad," he says, dipping down to talk into the back of your neck. "Now you sound upset. Have I upset you?" 

"No, Remus," you say. Mad to sad to mad again, your shoulder and spine ache with rigidity. 

All his questions didn't make you mad, but you were mad to begin with, and so what might usually be very normal turns to irritating. In the moment, you've no hope of controlling it, and, not wanting to further subject Remus to any misdirected annoyance, you shuffle out of his reach. "I just need a minute," you say. 

Remus is used to your temper, though you often worry he'll grow tired of you and your big moods and throw in the towel. You count useless numbers in your head and curl your fists into balls until your bones feel like they're too big for your skin, wanting to deal with it alone. 

A minute or two later and Remus reaches for your side. "I was trying to lighten the mood, and it wasn't my best work," he says, tip of his thumb drawing semi circles into your shirt. 

Remus taking the blame for your emotions has you frowning, rabbit-holing into twisting thoughts. He's always been good for you and good to you, accepting of your short fuse. He's not always sunshine and lollipops himself. But, he's not angry half as often as you are. Does that bother him? People have said to you before that your temper will be the ruining of a good thing, that Remus won't want to deal with it. And it makes sense. 

You don't want to deal with it either. You don't really feel like you have much choice when it comes to being mad. 

"Sorry," you mumble. 

Mattress springs groan as he leverages himself closer to you. Familiar, his hand sneaks under your shirt to tickle the soft roll of your stomach. He draws a slow and winding line with no end nor goal in mind, uncaring of the pouch you get laying down. Remus doesn't really care about anything that could be marked superficial. It's one of the many reasons that he's markedly the best person you know; he loves everything that you hate about yourself without hesitation. Like your anger. 

"Do you want to set a rule?" he asks. 

"Pardon?"

"Humour me. Let's make a condition before we have this conversation." Remus stops drawing to slide his hand between your hip and the mattress, hugging you to him. "I'll assume you're not mad at me even if you sound angry, and you can assume I don't mind." 

"Do you mind?" you ask. 

"Well, I don't love when you're angry, but I know it isn't at me so it won't matter." 

Reassured enough to face him, you meet his eyes. 

"I know I have a tendency to make it sound like I'm angry at you when I'm really mad at someone else," you say. 

"That's not true. And I ask, don't I? If I think you're mad at me?" Remus' already dulcet voice drops to a murmur, words said slowly and with as much care as a person can put into words alone, "I don't know why you feel like you're such a bad person for being angry." 

"Because it's all the time," you say. Your throat burns with the effort that it takes to stay intelligible. 

"It's not all the time." 

"It's often, and it's not fair to you." 

"It's not fair to take it out on other people, and I promise you I'd let you know if you were doing that. So… could you just tell me why you're mad? Without worrying I'll take it personally." 

"It's not about taking it personally, I don't want you to take it personally, but it's just– it's just ugly, isn't it?" 

Remus frowns. "Honestly? I don't think so. You have to be angry sometimes. Everyone gets angry and those feelings need somewhere to go, or it'll eat you up inside and make you bitter instead. Like… okay, he'll forgive me for telling you this, but Sirius used to get into these awful angry tirades where he'd shout at nothing, you know? And I hated seeing him do it, but I wasn't sitting there thinking he was ugly for it. I just kind of hated that something was able to occupy him so heavily. And that's how I feel about it when it happens to you, dove." 

"He used to?" you ask, the bridge of your nose flat to his knee. 

"Yeah, he did." Remus pushes your shoulder flat to the bed beneath you and leans in to give you a kiss. The corner of your mouth takes the brunt of it. 

"Did you kiss him like this, or–" 

Remus laughs and hugs you, "A discussion for another day," he murmurs. He gives you a last kiss and squeeze and then sits up. "So shout at me." 

"I don't want to shout at you." 

"You know what I mean. Tell me what pissed you off today." 

"Are you sure?" you ask. 

"Yeah, I'm sure, I like the way your eyes look anyways, when you get riled up." Remus finds your hand to hold. "Tell me, dove. I'll be angry with you."

[101maverick]

prompt request: preteen Dick and Jason are stuck babysitting little Tim.

a/n: i decided on some fluffy shenanigan with mild angst. Tim has just come to the manor, he’s 7, and 6 years younger than Dick instead of 9 (so Dick is 13). Jason is 11.

Word count: 1151 words

Babysitting Hell

Bruce hated them.

That, according to Jason, was the only possible reason for why he had assigned him and Dick to a day-long torture.

“Jay, Dick, you are getting bigger and I trust you with this responsibility, plus it’s not something worth of disturbing Alfred’s vacation.” Is what Bruce had said to justify it.

Jason agreed with the fact that Alfred didn’t need to be disrupted from his rest by anything less than a death in the family of the ending of the world, but that didn’t in any way mean he agreed to being left with his brother to take care of the snot-nosed brat Bruce had brought home.

It’s not that Jason disliked the kid per-se, it’s that the kid actively didn’t want to be there. And that just meant he was gonna make this day a hell for Jason and Dick both.

And even more so for Jason himself than his brother! Because Jason was more than aware of his brother’s short fuse and knew how to not trigger it, but the new kid didn’t. And that meant Jason was gonna have to scramble to make sure his brother didn’t pop a blood vessel or strangle the kid, before the kid could do something stupidly reckless like trying to run away by jumping through the window or setting the kitchen on fire to gain enough of a head-start to steal the bat-mobile and run off. Or, anyways, whatever creepy seven-year-olds who stalked vigilantes on rooftops in the middle of the night usually do to get out of places they don’t wanna be.

And don’t get him wrong, Jason understands the feeling of being thrust in a new environment where you suddenly don’t have yourself only to rely on can be disorienting and unsettling, it happened to him too when he first got to the Manor.

But the thing is the kid isn’t happy with Batman wanting to take care of him, while simultaneously adoring him, acting as if he hung the frickin sun in the sky. It was that dichotomy Jason didn’t understand.

And he didn’t really care about understanding it anyways, since the more pressing matter at hand was finding the brat and making sure Bruce didn’t break his precious no-kill rule upon learning Jason had taken his eyes off of him for a few seconds too long.

As Dick searched the kitchen and foyer he headed for the library, head swishing from side to side while his eyes raked over the hallway.

Opening the door to the library he heard whispered cursing and the barely-there rustling of clothes. Bingo.

He fully entered the room and shut the door behind him before quickly darting around one of the bigger couches, snatching the kid by the collar of the jacket before he could run off.

“There you are!” He said, an exasperated huff in his voice as he hauled the kid up and steadied him on his feet, hands coming up to set them on his shoulders. “Kid, i understand you don’t really want to be here, but please make this as painless of an experience as possible for me and you both and try not to set Dick off. I know he seems very friendly and kind- and he is, almost painfully so- but you really don’t want to find out how easy it is to anger him. Trust me, i was there for his a good part of his grief-stricken rampage and it was not pretty.”

After he finished talking, the kid just stared at him, slightly bewildered and analysing eyes staring into his own determined and wide ones.

The semi-intense stare off was ended by the kid, an indignant inclination to his voice. “It’d be a lot easier if you just trusted me to take care of myself and let me go home! I’m not stupid!” Hi eyes had turned wide, a hint of fear barely visible through the angry and annoyed fire in them.

That gave Jason pause. Specifically, one little word.

“Trust?” He started, kinda bewildered. “Kiddo, you’re seven. It’s not so much about trust, as the simple fact that your house has not burnt down and you’re still in one piece proves you’re more than capable of being the perfect latchkey kid.” He explained, holding Tim’s gaze steadily with his to get the message across, “the thing is that you shouldn’t have to. Because, again, you’re seven. And I’m not stressing your age to imply you’re somehow stupid, but because seven year olds like yourself should be able to be stress-free and not worry about managing every single bit of their life and house-keeping.”

“Then,” Tim started, unsureness creeping into his big eyes, “…then, how am I supposed to show that I’m good enough?”

Jason’s eyes became comically wide at that, he was sure he looked like a cartoon character. “Good enough for what exactly, kid?”

“Good enough to be here! With Batman and Robin! Both Robins! Good enough to see all the cool gadgets and the cases and the mementos and trophies! How do I show I’m capable of being around all of that and not break anything or tell stuff I’m not supposed to tell, if I can’t take care of myself? There’s not much more responsible than that, and I want to show I’m responsible enough for all of this!” By the end of his tirade Tim was slightly panting, hands still in midair from his animated gesticulating.

And with this explanation it all clicked for Jason, he finally understood why the kid was so against being taken care of by Bruce. He explained the misunderstanding away. “Kid, Bruce doesn’t want to care for you because he thinks you’re not responsible enough. In case you hadn’t noticed, he’s kinda got a thing for strays. Think of it more as you taking care of him, ‘cause trust me when I say that if he knew you were alone in your big, empty manor he’d have an aneurysm or like, pop a blood vessel or somethin’.” There, simple as that. Laid bare on the table in words honest enough they would hopefully get through to an overly-independent and angry seven year old.

“Oh.” Tim said. “I guess i never thought about it like that.” A beat of silence, then, “I guess it makes sense. I can make do with that.”

Jason felt his shoulders sag in relief, just in time for Dick to come bounding through the door, no doubt having listened to at least the last of their conversation.

“There you are!” He started, bright show smile lighting up his face. “Now that we’re all together, who wants to play Cluedo?”

And as they settled on the couch and he took his first turn as Ms. Scarlett, Jason thought that maybe Bruce didn’t really hate them, and that babysitting the brat wouldn’t be that much of a torture after all.

[ozziethegreat]

hue makes an appearance again.. if any of yall know me from tiktok and saw my first post about him ily

don’t mind me @toffeebrew @howlsofbloodhounds

Yapping below \/

So initially he didn’t have much of a story because I’m not very creative and I blank out whenever I try to make something original so yeah.

basically, if Color were ever to get error-d, I think he would be on a hike, probably in some random AU that had nice scenery or something. He’s wearing a rain jacket because it was raining at the place he was, and he he just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, and Error or some other entity was destroying it or something. As for how he got into the anti void,,, yall can use ur imagination 😭

(That’s the best explanation I can give, kill me)

I was more focused on the actual character than his backstory, so I’ll just explain my ideas of how he would act and such..

I called him Static Hue, or just Hue for short. (It’s a synonym of color I’m very creative guys)

I think whatever caused the error in his code amalgamated the human souls, and kind of made them fuse together, so Hue can never understand what they are saying because they speak over each other all the time. The different traits overlap and he feels mixed emotions all the time, along with intense mood swings and anxiety attacks. His flames also change color at a much faster rate, so people with epilepsy will stay FAR away from him 😭😭😭😭

Fun fact: he’s also blind. The only thing he can actually see is the color of his flames (which change all the time), and it tends to give him headaches and nausea. His grabblings are always out and just attached to his back so he can use them to move around.

As for the strings, they are very hot to the touch and leave burn marks on however he uses them on. They burn himself as well but he doesn’t pay any attention to it.

Hue’s memory is very jumbled, he didn’t necessarily forget about everything, but he doesn’t remember why exactly he does things. He knows he needs to help killer and protect him at all costs, but he isn’t sure why. He knows he hates Nightmare and REALLY wants that guy dead, but he doesn’t know where that hatred came from. And of course he naturally feels safer near the epic trio, and nervous staying in the same places for too long.

hue’s pretty obsessive over Killer for this reason. His need to help killer was multiplied by a gazillion, and he tends to just.. kidnap Killer and take him random places to keep him close. Sometimes he accidentally hurts him, but he doesn’t realize it, the only thing he can think about is keeping him safe and close to himself. On the contrary, he gets super aggressive and defensive at the mention of Nightmare, and if he were to see him face to face he would attack without hesitation. He knows his job is to keep Killer safe and away from Nightmare, and that’s really his only motive. He just doesn’t know where it came from.

Similarly to most errors, he has trouble speaking because of stuttering and glitches. He also can’t form very clear thoughts because the souls are constantly influencing his behavior. He has trouble explaining his thoughts and feelings, he tends to speak more in actions (as in he would crush you to death in a hug to show affection.)

anyway. If anyone wants to add onto this or share thoughts I’d appreciate it..

Here’s some older drawings of him LMAO

[darkdemeter]

— PREVIEW — THE CONVICT WOLF

Material is featured as a preview/loose prelude for the upcoming project and is subject to potential alterations for narrative purposes.

A/N: just as a word of warning (this will be mentioned in the reader discretion as well) that this series as a whole is intended for 18+ readers due to very strong and sensitive content that will be featured in it, as it takes a more gritty, angsty and darker approach. This preview serves a little more as an introduction to reader and a little bit of a loose prelude before the actual first and “official” column of the series.

Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf! GN/Female/Male Reader

— READER DISCRETION —

Depictions of death and gore/violence (description of consumption of human flesh by werewolf) — depictions of graveyard/deceased desecration (grave digging) — dark!reader — strong narrative (adult) language — overall this preview and the series as a whole is intended for 18+ readers!

Enjoy the preview!

—- not my gifs, credit to original posters! -—

𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟔𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟖𝟖𝟖 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐘𝐨𝐫𝐤

Muddy cobbles slosh beneath the heel of your boots, scuffed from their long and working age. New York, the prize-to-be-metropolis, was no better than Boston - in your professionally critical opinion. For talk of progressive schemes, New York remained the shithole it had always been. The only thing they did only pissed you off: more law. 

But muddy puddles and a law infested nest of humans were the least of your troubles. 

Silently, amidst the shroud of fog, you slide one last bullet into the cylinder of your revolver. The fog parts as you step through it to continue tailing your target. The barking of stray dogs fills the dark and empty streets of New York, a fine indicator that you may have a moment of peace in your hunt. If there was something on this green earth to top the greater nuisance than civilian intervention whilst you worked, you were unconvinced of its existence to prove you wrong. 

Nothing made your fuse burn out faster than folk who didn’t know to not scramble into the way of your path. 

Your eyes take in the shadowed alley you pass through, a hidden filter for scum to flush out into the streets and become inconspicuous with the crowd. That was during the day, however, not at night. That trick of aversion may have worked with petty criminals and the law, but not with you. 

With you, nothing got away.

Something clatters in the distance up ahead and you turn your sights to it. Your bounty was sloppy, not very good at covering his tracks to ensure his survival. It took you no longer than three days to track him down. Of course, your handler had a knack for picking up leads fairly quickly, resources and old debts of favours went a long way when in your time of need. 

You pick up your pace, your bounty well aware they were being followed, your jacket kicked up when a winter breeze breathed down the throat of the dimly lit street. 

The bottom of your long, dark coat kicks up as you surge forward with purpose, hand bearing one of your firearms as the other pulls the second twin from its holster. You have him cornered now. 

You come to slow down at the end of the short strip next to the occupying building. Some wealthy man’s brick estate no doubt. Sheets of white obscure most of the way, hanging from the wash lines above, but you could make out his silhouette. A large, towering and muscular physique covered in coarse fur. His tail sits in the mud to only further his savage and beastly appearance, ears folded back as his maw ripped into whatever meal he found. A maid. 

Blood covered her from chin to chest. Her throat torn out but she remains on the cusp of life with shredded vocal cords whimpering in her demise. 

She is beyond saving. You’d learnt that much long ago. 

Through her lidded eyes she sees you and her blood covered hand stretches out. Your eyes move down the wet crimson fingers to her pleading, fading eyes in the dark before they land on the beast engrossed in his meal to know the danger behind him. At first.

With a final plea for help, she tries to scream for you until she grows quiet completely in his arms. He becomes still and the fur along his back and shoulders bristle, ears perked up in awareness. Now he knows. Slowly he turns his large head to stare at you with blaring, amber eyes that intend to scorn you for your intrusion. You match his stare with as much disdain as he. 

“I smell your past sins, vânător de rude.” He points at you with an accusing, claw tipped finger. “You have no jurisdiction to judge me.” 

Your shoulders move up in a shrugging motion. “If only those words actually meant something to me.”

Your arms swiftly have risen up as the hammers flick to unlock the safe fire. The barrels of your twin revolvers blink white as you take the shot. The cracking of bullets meeting muscle and flesh is enough evidence to prove you hit him, blood splatters bleeding into the murky puddles and onto the street. 

With a grunt you push yourself up from the dirt and pursue him over steel enforced fences and more white sheets left to air out. They only serve as canvases to a blood smeared trail of your quarry. 

New York had made its progression into the modern world. From landscape and brick buildings, the city excelled more than a few schematics; onward and upward they always say. To this day that same nuisance stuck with you. Civilians and a plethora of them swarmed the streets alongside the line up of traffic. Busy. 

New York is constantly busy. And it tends to make your work harder to conceal when your targets flee into the open. Finding them within the crowd is never really the problem, but it’s the excessive bodies that don’t know to stay out of your way. 

Your bounty is simple, dare you say it, cliché it feels. You’ve played this narrative time and time again. This dance of execution one they try to escape by treading on your toes and running only to have you loop them back into the waltz of the hunt. 

Countless times you’ve seen the eyes of your prey widen when they realise there is no escape. 

You don’t get yourselves involved in the sob stories of the client or intended quarry, you were after the money that keeps you in that safe spot. All you dug up on your target is that they’re an ex-Hydra agent gone down the path of righteousness and betterment. Someone who finds peace in the work they’re involved in, cares for the people around them. A real advocate for being a humble hero. 

‘Alright.’

They venture down the stairs into the subways below. Oh, this is going to be a treat, you’re sure of it. A tight spot. Many witnesses. Hands clenching at your sides as you swagger after them, people knew to avoid bumping into you. Hidden beneath the thick layer of your coat, the one you’ve worn all this time, were your holstered twins. New York is unaware for the time being. 

Give it time, they would know. Your eyes of scarlet red would be plastered all over and your visage identified as the nightmare parchment and ink always captured you to be. Give it some time and it would be all over the news: The Convict Wolf strikes again. 

“Six bodies,” you grunt with a heave of the shovel. Your handler is quick to duck out of the way, a gas lantern in her grasp illuminating you several feet in the resting place of a half eaten merchant. Not even three days cold in his grave and the fiend had taken to him like flies on shit. 

Your handler’s other hand presses a clean, bright yellow handkerchief to her nose. But the smell filtered through given the glassy fog in her eyes. The smell of death rendered her weak in the gut and in constant battle with the bile that climbed her throat for release. 

“Wh-what does th-this mean?” She coughs into her handkerchief, bile and spittle at the edge of her tongue, you were sure of it. You shake your head rigorously akin to a dog shaking off water. Dirt falls from your hair in small forms of clouds. Your eyes find your handler’s uncertain gaze as she stares down at you; unnerved by the calmness you exude whilst standing in a grave. 

Any passers-by would suspect nefarious acts against the dead. Grave robbers and worse. 

“It means, my dear handler, that he is probably desperate for food and is too shy to make a move on living humans.” You hoist yourself up with a deep grunt, your handler bows down to loop a hand around the crook in your arm to pull. “Will he…” 

You hear your handler gulp the remainder of her sentence. You raise your brows in a knowing fashion. “It’s only a matter of time. Dead flesh doesn’t satisfy the shy for long.”

“Then we must hurry,” she says with great urgency to rid the city of this parasite. You pull something from a pouch on your belt. You hold the small box up in offering to your handler who only shakes her head fervently in horror. You shrug with a huff. “Suit yourself.”

You and your handler glance down at the corpse as you raise the flame-tipped match to burn the end of your cigarette. A father of two and husband to a meek, gentle tailor. The same one who’d fixed up the patches in your coat just a day ago. 

If only he could have afforded to be buried in the mausoleum. 

The lighting is shoddy at best down below in the subway, the mechanic hissing and howl of the train fast approaching indicates that you have maybe a minute at most to locate them. With a shallow breath you inhale their scent. 

Kin. 

It seems your nature as a hunter of your own never outgrew you. 

‘Is this a nasty habit?’

You don’t let it eat away at your conscience. You have a job to do and a client to satisfy. They’re waiting on the platform, hands tucked into the pockets of their jacket and chin forced down. You knew that scent that rolled along the back of your tongue with another inhale. 

Fear. 

Their heart rate picks up as you make to move after them just as the train rolls to a stop and the doors open. Your shoulders move in tandem with the power of your strut. Focus on your target leaves little regard to the rest of the world around you. Oftentimes you have shoved others aside, stopped traffic to downright mauling interlopers who had no right to involve themselves in your affairs; but thought themselves the hero. 

How well that turned out for them, their next of kin and nosey investigators could ask the medical records or the tombstones. 

They board the train in a hurry with the crowd around them. They won’t lose you that quickly. As you head for one of the doors down the train cart to avoid giving away your position, you bump into something. 

“Watch it,” you growl lowly as your arm sweeps around her waist to catch her against you before she is knocked off balance. 

She’s smaller than you. Dressed in a baggy, tan coloured zip up jacket and dark blue skinny jeans. Her hair is brushed back and her eyes take a moment to look at you from under the black cap. 

“Sorry, I–” You’ve already let her go. You don’t give her the chance to memorise your features to use as a testimony against you when your next killing goes public. You dare to peek over your shoulder at her, catching her eyes as she stares at you. The doors close behind you just in time as you board the train. 

With a roll of your eyes, you discard the clumsy girl to the back of your mind. Your eyes wander down the narrow path of the train cart. There they were. Your target. Another wolf. You always charge extra for these bounties. 

Their nervous eyes meet yours and the corner of your lips quirk up. The scent of their fear pollutes the train, it masks over the humans. Unaware, unsuspecting humans. You reach a hand to unholster one of your revolvers, thumb caressing the hammer as you calculate the right moment. 

Mother Nature had always been just as cruel as she was kind. Even to her finest killers. It was the beauty of her, really. 

In the world your kind lives in, a chain of command exists. Even if it will further taint your already sullied name, all will know it. That clumsy girl with the bright green eyes whose smaller body you held pinned against your solid front. She will know your sullied name.

The Convict Wolf strikes again.

You think about that girl again and you see eyes once filled with fear turn to anger. They glow a bright scarlet, just as yours do. As they always do. There was no use hiding what you really were. 

Because in the world werewolves live in, there is a hierarchy; and you’ve always preferred to be on top. 

(◕ ᴥ x)

TREEHOUSE TAGLIST —

@alexawynters

[ghostinthez0nes]

Kobra Kid Headcanons lets go

Likes tight clothing, makes him feel more secure and safe.

Will teach you karate if you bribe him enough, but it takes a’lot of bribing.

Doesn’t really care about gender or pronouns, but likes xe/xer pronouns because they sound cool.

Touch his hair and he’ll bite your hand.

Motorbike stunts for days.

A short fuse but a master at keeping cool. When he’s really pissed tho someone will get their teeth knocked in.

Doesn’t admit it but relies heavily on Party to keep his head above water.

Prefers driving around at night when it’s quieter and less bright.

Loves sweet and spicy food, bonus points if its both.

Becomes aggressive when overwhelmed and scared.

Loves sunrises. He will sometimes stay up all night just so he can watch the sun come up early in the morning.

Party helped make his helmet, they’re to thank for the paint job.

Keeps a little dino keychain in his pocket at all times.

Has horrible tan lines from wearing his sunglasses too long in the sun.

Flappy hands and stompy feet when excited.

Light sensitive, thus the sunglasses. Wears them indoors and at night too.

The most anxious around injuries, he doesn’t like blood.

Snorts when he laughs.

Loves the desert and the freedom that comes with it.

Has a very keen sense of smell and is very good at figuring out where the smell is coming from.

Knows sign language and uses it instead of speaking to communicate sometimes.

Absolutely HATES powerpup but forces himself to eat it if theres nothing else even if it makes him sick. Party tries really hard to look for other kinds of food when going on supply runs so his poor brother can eat.

Chews on the straps of his leather gloves when anxious.

Really likes bubbles.

Sleeps in his jacket for security.

A troublemaker with Ghoul and always finds ways to pull off stupid shit with him.

Likes Michael Bay movies.

Hardly ever cries, but when he does it’s cathartic. The others need to intervene because he chokes up while he’s heaving.

Prefers comics over books, he likes looking at pictures better.

Only the girl is allowed to doodle on his bike, if the others try he will deck them.

Most terrified of being captured by Bli, he doesn’t ever want to go back to the city.

Can play the harmonica really well.

Loves old and broken technology because he thinks its cool and likes to fix things.

Teaches the others to read, especially Jet and Ghoul. Ghoul can read but has dyslexia, Jet never really learned how to read properly at all.

Will try to pet any reptile he sees, even if its venomous or poisonous.

Can sleep sitting up, the others sometimes need to do a double take and check if he’s awake or not since he always wears sunglasses.

Obsessed with VHS tapes and has a collection of them with god knows what on them.

Freezes when panicking, will stay in shock at something until someone needs to move him.

Likes close range combat so he can show off his karate skills.

Instead of cussing in an argument he’ll just look at someone like they’re stupid.

Makes action figures for the girl out of spare parts, responsible for all of her robot toys.

Takes AGES to do his hair, hence why he wants no one to touch it.

If he’s not in his room at night, he’s on the diner roof watching the stars.

When the girl was a toddler, she would call him Kobi instead of Kobra.

Has a wide vocabulary due to being educated in the city, but refuses to use it.

Lost a tooth after an accident on the crash track, he gave it to Ghoul who turned it into a pendant.

[vulpisnocturna]

Can you write a obito x female reader. Fucking🥰

reaaaal hard.

Please?

Hey anon, it took me a while, but here it is! I hope you like it :)

Warnings: NSFW, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Tags: modern au, fake dating, jealousy, possessiveness, dom Obito Uchiha, afab reader, dirty talk (degradation kink-ish), slight breeding kink that comes with the Uchiha package, fingering, oral sex, vaginal sex, praise kink, angry sex (ish), bratting

Word count: 3k

It wasn’t as though you didn’t like Obito. He was nice and funny, but you two were just friends. And because you were good friends, you thought you could ask him for a favour. Your ex  had been sleeping with other people even though it had only been a month since you two had broken up. It might have been petty, but you did not want to look lame or as though you were still hung up on your relationship with him. Obito had accepted to act like he was your boyfriend, but you thought he was taking the jealousy a little too far. 

His hand never left the small of your back, you were practically dragged on his lap every time you wanted to sit down, and his eyes were furious every time he saw your ex looking at you. He had insisted on doing several shots, and the more he drank, the more possessive he got. 

When he went to the bathroom, you decided to get some air. You didn’t want to admit that Obito’s behaviour was making you question your friendship with him. His hands on your waist, the scent of his cologne, his strong arms holding you tightly were getting to your head. At the same time, you found him to be stifling. Wasn’t this supposed to be a ruse? He was supposed to be easy-going as he always was, not a guard dog.

You leaned against the railing of the balcony, sighing. It was quite cold for a September night, and you wished you’d worn something a little warmer, but you had wanted to look good. In hindsight, it was stupid. Why were you so bothered if he did sleep around? You’d been the one to break up with him. 

‘Your new boyfriend has a short fuse’ 

That was the last voice you wanted to hear.

‘He’s just protective’ you said, and your ex stood next to you, a little too close for your liking.

‘Worried I might get you back?’ he taunted, voice syrupy. You sneered, grinding your teeth.

‘He has nothing to worry about’ you hissed. If he thought he could get you in his bed and use you again, he was sorely mistaken. 

When he got closer, you started to straighten up and step back, and his mouth almost brushed yours. Before you could even begin to unravel what had happened, the sickening sound of a fist colliding with bone made you wince. He stumbled into a potted palm, almost smashing it before he regained his balance and cradled his jaw.

‘What the fuck-‘ he started to shout, but Obito stepped in front of you, harshly pulling you against him.

‘Do that again and you’ll have to get plastic surgery for your nose’ he snarled, his fingers tightening around your waist, almost hurting you.

‘You’re insane’ your ex gritted his teeth, but he did not try to retaliate. Obito scoffed darkly, tilting his head. You swallowed, unsure what you should do.

‘You have no idea. We’re leaving’ he said, giving him a last look of revulsion before he dragged you inside and snatched your jacket. 

‘Obito, wait-‘ you said, pulling on his arms. He glanced at you, his eyes hard and unwavering, the deepest black burning with the kind of look that made you squirm and stop protesting. You weren’t worried at all he might hurt you, but what he’d done… it was way too far. He was taking the theatrics too far, and you were pissed that he would make a scene. 

He dragged you down the stairs, and you struggled to keep up with his long legs, and despite the fact that he looked furious, he still opened the car door for you.

‘Obito- that was too far’ you said, crossing your arms. He looked down at you, his expression unwavering before he jerked his head towards the passenger seat.

‘Get in’ he ordered, voice more authoritative than you’d ever imagined would be possible.

‘You don’t tell me what to do’ you said out of spite, even though you wanted to leave the party now that he’d caused a scene and he was your only way home.

‘Get in, y/n. We will talk after’ he barked, though his voice was low and dangerous. You wondered what the hell had happened to your easygoing best friend.

‘You can’t drive like this’ you said. His eyes were boring into yours, and he looked stern. 

‘I’m fine. I won’t repeat myself’ he said, and you huffed and got in, just because you were starting to get cold and you were tired of arguing. He closed the door and walked around, sitting down behind the wheel and leaning over you to put your seatbelt on. It pissed you off that he was treating you like a child. He put on his seatbelt and started the car, driving off. 

The car ride was silent, but you noticed that his fingers were tight around the steering wheel. So tight his knuckles were turning white. His hair was messy, as though he had ran his fingers through it in a bout of anger, and his mouth was set in a hard line.

You crossed your legs away from him, looking out the window and crossing your arms. If he wanted to act like a prick, you’d beat him at his own game. 

He parked in front of his house and you undid your seatbelt and got out, stomping over to the door. He opened it, and as soon as he closed it behind you, his mask slipped. But you were quicker than him.

‘What the fuck was that about?’ you snapped in the dimly lit hallway, and he grimaced, kicking off his shoes. You followed him through the kitchen, where he grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge and took a swig. His expression was dark and ominous, and his fingers were tight around the bottle.

‘Was this all a ploy to make your ex jealous? That’s low’ he said gruffly, ‘you kissed him? Liked making me look like a clown?’

‘What? I didn’t kiss him- he tried to kiss me, but you punched him in the face. What the hell got over you?’ you said, spreading your arms to illustrate your point. Obito laughed darkly. 

‘You felt bad for him?’ he asked, swirling his beer in the bottle before he took another sip. 

‘Can you stop the interrogation? You’re being ridiculous’ you huffed. Obito straightened up and put the bottle on the countertop, striding over to you until he was inches away from your face and you had to strain your neck to look at him. 

‘Ridiculous? I’m not your second choice. I’m not a toy, and I’m not stupid either. I saw the way you looked at me all night. You think you’re so slick and subtle, but I can tell you want me. The question is, do you want me or him more? Because I’m tired of playing games’ he said, voice hard but strained. You inhaled sharply, your heart hammering in your ears, deafening you. 

‘I don’t want him’ you said through gritted teeth, staring up at him. He swallowed heavily before his lips clashed with yours, sending a surge of electricity through your whole body. Your stomach dropped, and when his fingers tangled in your hair and his lips sought yours out with rage mingled with passion, you were wholly undone. You answered in kind, pouring your frustration and desire into pulling at his short black hair, biting his lower lip, sucking it until he let out a low moan. But he didn’t seem to want to give you too much freedom to get aggressive, because he pushed you against the wall, lifting you up until you had to hook your legs around his hips. He pushed his tongue against your lips, almost demanding you to let him slip it into your mouth, and you let him, although you were just as ravenous as he was when the kiss got deeper. 

He didn’t say anything as his mouth trailed down to your throat and he started sucking, but you pulled on his hair, conflicted between the pleasure and the anger at the fact that he was marking you.

‘Maybe you need a reminder not to flirt with other people. And they need a reminder that you belong to me’ he said in your ear, his fingertips squeezing your ass. 

‘I wasn’t flirting’ you hissed, going to his neck and nipping at the curve of his shoulder, sucking harshly. Two could play that game, and you weren’t going to let him win. 

‘I always knew you’d be stubborn’ he groaned, carrying you to his bedroom and landing a sharp smack on your ass that made you yelp.

You’d never have thought Obito could have this side about him. Jealous, yes. But harsh, demeaning and possessive? You had had no idea. And the fact that it was making you wet was thrilling and humiliating at the same time.

He lowered you onto the bed, going back to kissing your mouth as if he were a starved man. You clung onto his back as he gripped your thigh and pressed his erection between your legs, making you gasp softly at the friction. 

‘After this, you’re only going to be thinking about me. I’ll make damn sure of it. Just like I always think about you’ he said, lifting himself up to take off his white hoodie. You had always known Obito had a nice silhouette, but he was really attractive, all slim hips, faint abs and strong, nicely curved biceps. His collarbones were slightly jutting, giving him a graceful look. You ran your hands down his arms, holding onto them, feeling the rippling muscles as he propped himself on his elbows and tugged at the zipper of your dress. He clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, staring at you with burning, lustful eyes.

‘Dressing like a little slut… were you craving attention so badly? Wriggling on my lap, making me feel your ass on my cock like it was nothing- do you have any idea what you do to me? Or maybe you do, and you just enjoy behaving like a slut’ he crooned, voice sweet as he pulled down your dress and tossed it on the floor.

‘That’s not true’ you breathed, but your voice came out needy and lewd as he licked your nipples through the lace of your bra and pushed his cock against your cunt, making your hips twitch.

‘God you sound so fucking needy, darling. All for me, yeah?’ he mocked, lifting your back and unhooking your bra. His eyes roamed your chest, his hands palming your breasts, his mouth latching onto a stiffening nipple to suck and tease it with his tongue.

‘Obito-‘ you moaned, rutting against him, deranged with pleasure already. He was driving you insane with every movement, and it seemed he was far from done, because his hand slipped under your panties, middle finger stroking circles around your clit.

‘So wet. It’s not true, huh? Why are you drenched for me, then? Who knew a brat like you would enjoy being put in her place’ he said, sucking hickeys on your tits and flicking your clit with his strong, slender fingers. You moaned, arching your back into his touch.

‘More’ you moaned, gasping softly, your eyes closing. Obito laughed softly, yanking your underwear down swiftly and spreading your legs.

‘More, mh? I can give you more’ he drawled, a wicked smirk on his lips as he lowered his head to leave a trail of kisses down your stomach and on your thighs. You inhaled sharply, mewling when he dragged the flat of his tongue up your cunt, tensing it and flicking your clit as he got to the top. Your hands shot to his hair, and he moaned, pulling one of your thighs on his shoulder and starting to lick your clit up and down, one of his hands kneading your ass and the other sliding between your legs to push two fingers inside you.

‘God- ‘bito- too much’ you whined, squirming when he curled his fingers and wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking gently. 

‘I thought you wanted more. Take it like a good girl’ he said, his eyes on you as he twirled his tongue around your clit, making you moan loudly and roll your hips into him, painfully close to an orgasm.

‘I’m close- gonna cum’ your legs tensed up, and you bit your lip hard, your moans increasing along with the pumping of his fingers against your g-spot and his tongue on your clit.

‘Cum for me, needy slut’ he said against your cunt, sending you spiralling when he hummed softly as he sucked on your clit. You came with a drawn-out whine, and Obito moaned, continuing to lick and fuck you with his fingers through the aftershocks that rocked your body and made your clit throb.

‘That’s my good girl’ he cooed as he lifted his face, licking his lips and wiping his damp chin.

You were too dazed and fucked out to even move or speak, but Obito was clearly not finished with you. He took off his trousers and black boxers, and his cock sprang out, fully hard and slightly curved upward. He was thick and quite lengthy, and you watched, entranced, as he stroked himself with the hand that was wet with your slick, groaning softly.

‘Are you on birth control?’ he asked, giving you a glance. You nodded, and he smirked, looking satisfied as he flipped you onto your stomach and pulled your hair, his breath fanning your ear.

‘This is for pulling that stunt and being such a dirty little slut. You can take it rough, can’t you, darling? I want to hear you beg for my cock’ he said, rubbing his cock along your labia. You pushed your ass against him, wanting him to just slide in and feel that fullness that you could only imagine… 

‘Answer me, brat’ he said, pinching your nipple. You moaned, eyes screwed shut tightly.

‘Shut up and follow through, Obito’ you groaned, wanting to push his buttons. You didn’t want him to have it easy. He groaned, smacking your ass and thrusting without any care inside you. You moaned filthily, feeling him everywhere, the upward tilt of his cock pressing right against your g-spot, making you see stars.

‘That’s what I thought. You’re so fucking tight, little slut’ he moaned, fisting your hair and straightening up, his hand gripping your hip as he started giving shallow, lazy thrusts inside you that kept brushing against your g-spot and stimulating your clit from the inside.

‘Fuck- you’re so fucking perfect’ he breathed, twitching inside you. Your mouth was agape with every shallow, taunting thrust, until you couldn’t take it anymore. You needed him to be rougher. Needed him to lose control and just fuck you with reckless abandon.

‘Harder’ you panted, fisting the sheets. Obito hummed tauntingly, slowing down even more. 

‘Not good enough’ he said. You whined, gritting your teeth, uncaring of how needy you might sound. It was way too much. 

‘Please- fuck me harder’ you keened. Obito bottomed out and buried himself to the hilt inside you with a grunt, the hand that was on your hair wrapping around your throat, making your mind foggy and your body hypersensitive.

‘Good girl’ he said, setting an unrelenting pace that left you clawing at the sheets and gasping with every thrust. His hand pressed on your lower stomach, and you let out a loud whine and a string of pleas and curses.

‘That’s it. Cum around my cock. So fucking needy. So pretty. Anyone ever made you feel like this? Anyone get you this needy, begging to be fucked?’ he groaned, pairing every sentence with a harsher thrust, until you were a moaning mess, tears streaming down the bridge of your nose, your lower stomach tight.

‘No- just you. Only you- Obito…’ you moaned incoherently, and his fingers had barely touched your clit when you came around him so hard your field of vision was white for a moment. 

‘Fuck… that’s it. That’s it. I’m close. Gonna cum inside you, fill you with my cum, make you mine’ he moaned, holding both of your hips and fucking you so roughly your head was spinning. 

His low moans and groans were music to your ears, and you pushed your ass against him with every thrust, getting him even closer to the edge, until he let out a long moan and came deep inside you. 

He was panting, pushing inside you lazily a few times before he slipped out of you and slumped next to you.

You didn’t speak for a few minutes, catching your breath, both of you exhausted from the wild fucking you’d been engaged in for what had felt like hours.

‘I got carried away. Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?’ he whispered, turning to face you, stroking your hair much more gently than the way he’d been doing it earlier. You smiled slightly. You’d clearly both needed the release, but you couldn’t deny that there was something more to it. Something deeper, more meaningful. You didn’t really want to unravel the repercussions of fucking with your best friend so possessively just yet.

‘It was good- better than that, Obito’ you said tiredly, and he chuckled, holding your hand and kissing your knuckles.

‘I- I want you to know I didn’t do this out of spite or lust- I mean, of course I want you, but- I wanted to do this. For the longest time. I… I have always loved you’ he said, his eyes slightly wide and uncertain. 

‘I… love you too, Obito’ you said, your heart full. It was easier than you’d thought to realise that. It didn’t feel like you were being vulnerable, it felt like you were both bared, body and soul, and the feeling that had been concealed and denied for so long had finally bloomed in your heart.  

[jagawriterr]

Pairing: Celtic x (fem! Assasin) Reader Word count: 4545 Warnings: Violence, blood, NSFW (+18 only), unprotected sex, pregnant. A/N: Thank you the request @reiketsunomizunomegami I really like your idea and I tried my best to meets your expectations. Masterlist

You adjusted your swords, gleaming in the sunlight, for the last time, zipped up all possible fasteners on your jacket, and took your first steps on the frozen ground of Antarctica. Realm of eternal ice.

Amidst the harsh winds and heavy snowfalls, one shape lurked slowly across the wasteland. You were walking in heavy snow boots, but the trace of them almost disappeared after a short while. The march continued and you were surrounded only by frost and the whistle of the wind.

Alone.

In a dead world, in a sliding march, step by step. You've studied the map so much that even if you had it with you, it wouldn't do any good in such a wasteland. You don't know how long you marched like that, in silence, you didn't count it, because it didn't matter much. Your energy grew with each step. The feeling of endless emptiness and the sound of the wind in your ears caused your instinct to slowly open up to the surroundings. He gave the impression that he would soon be useful for something. It will put you into a state of numbness, or the desire to chase an unknown threat that you will eventually find.

The toil made no impression on you, because you knew you were close. The closest you've ever come to discovering what you were really called to do. You were a killer, the best at your trade, there was only one reason for being here in this endless icy desert. Killing. It was your only satisfaction, the only way to finally be yourself. You adjusted your swords again, you could feel the snow tearing through them and the whistle of the wind that was blowing hard through your bare, jet-black hair.

The road you took to your destination was arduous. In the land of the eternal day, time lost its meaning. The snow crackled underfoot like the sound of broken bones, and the wind howled like the damned. From time to time you looked around this endless desert covered with eternal snow and did not believe that this journey could be so long and arduous. The sun seemed to shine with redoubled power.

The snow reflected the light, and the wind had no protection against it, and you couldn't really see anything but what you could see right in front of you. You squinted your eyes as you felt the snow invading your eyes, making itself in every crevice of the exposed skin of your face. Despite all this, you had to keep walking. You had to wade through this endless disorder and chaos to finally reach the Ancient Pyramid, which was your goal from the very beginning of your journey.

You were in the middle of the white wasteland, the wind had stopped, the snow glistened reflecting the light of the sun that emerged from behind the storm clouds. The storm had subsided, and only the furious red sun remained on the horizon. It warmed the patches of your face, enveloping you with its light.

Night has come. The gale returned with it, and again the ice crystals stormed every crevice of your costume. The howling came back and became even more twisted, surrounding you on all sides and getting closer all the time. You felt like it was playing with you. An indescribable clatter of primal instinct fused into a powerful parody of something beyond the human imagination.

It couldn't be the cry of an entity known to nature, the whistles of the whipping wind only reinforced the unreal feeling that drove you insane. The awareness that it was close made your vigilance increased. You snapped out of your body's numbness and reached for your swords. The whistle of the wind joined with the whistling of sword blades that cut the space like razor blades. The snow was falling gently on the hilts of the swords you held tightly in your gloved hands.

It spun around as if trying to sense the prey and at the same time trying to surround it. You were stung by that howl, but you didn't buckle under the pressure of different sounds, growls, moans and whistles of the wind rushing into your ears. You were balancing between reason and instinct.

It's that simple. Bend the knees, straighten the blades of the swords, and strike. You were replaying the sequence in your head when you heard the swish again, but closer this time. You felt a tingle on your skin, the blade of one of your swords trembled, you knew that in a moment, he would attack. Your attitude changed, you were alert, despite the gusting wind, the whistle in your ears and the snow falling into your eyes, your instinct sharpened, and your imagination suggested all sorts of shapes of this something that was swirling behind the curtain of snow and ice falling on the frosty ground.

You curled your toes, tightened your grip on the blades of your swords. Your eyes and hearing followed the sounds of the creature that tossed between you and the thickly falling snow. There was a sudden silence, the wind stopped and your body went numb with the cold. You wandered again where consciousness mixed with imagination, for just one moment. And it only took a moment.

He hit you hard. You didn't have time to dodge when his body pressed against you and sent you falling into a snowdrift. You screamed, but in this dark white desert no one can hear you scream. It's just you and him. The only guests in this icy darkness.

Snow fell into your eyes, you felt an impenetrable cold that was unlike anything you had felt before. You stood up quickly, feeling this was your only chance to finally attack. You were closer to his meaty body than you really thought. You could feel his heavy breathing, the snow bending under his feet. His steps betrayed him, and even though the wind and snow kept you apart, you knew he was there.

Your mind was clear now. You knew exactly where to hit, in the stomach area. It passed through the snow and frost like a shadow, perfectly adapting to its surroundings, testing you, your skills and even your wits and strategy. You didn't betray yourself, with one move your swords passed through the fleshy body, which stopped right in front of you for a split second.

You looked at him, a little in shock maybe a little in disbelief, but you were aware that he was not of this world and that's why you are here. It was your mission that led you to this icy wasteland they call Antarctica. The search finally brought the first harvest. Impaled by your two swords, the xenomorph writhed in agony. The sound of wind and snow was interrupted by a loud clatter from the mouth of the black monster. His jaw moved one last time before giving up the ghost.

***

You were making your way through a hill covered with snow and ice. You stood on a ridge where the glow of the pyramid you were looking for shimmered in iridescent reflections of light. This artifact left by the Ancients saw many things and held many secrets and creatures like the one you fought two days ago.

The feeling that it was all just beginning still haunted you and despite your discipline, you felt a lump in your throat. The sunlight was hitting your eyes with all its force. Despite the cold, you could feel the excitement spreading through your body the closer you got to your goal. The closer you got to the Pyramid, the more agitated you felt and thirsted for more blood. Adrenaline in your body began to buzz, circulate in your veins, your heart began to beat faster, and you breathed faster. You were walking along the fissure towards one of the shores of the stone Pyramid. In the depths of the desert white plain, you saw nothing but a white fluff that gently floated as the wind pressed against it. You shivered as you reached the entrance to the building.

***

It was damp and warm inside, the stone-clad walls took on a dark depth of the room that made you feel uncomfortable. Huge statues flanked the entrance, holding torches that gently illuminated the room. The cold entering the large hall stopped you for a moment. You shivered as you felt someone's presence. You knew that there were more of these creatures and you were aware that they could attack again. You were impressed by them, you didn't think that fighting them would be so exciting and that's why you wanted more of it. More of that adrenaline that was still pounding in your veins. And you even stopped being bothered by the unbearable cold that covered your whole body, from your toes to the very top of your head.

***

Walking along the forked corridors, you remembered the plans of the building, thanks to which you could explore the secrets of underground passages and corridors that led to the deepest places of the pyramid. You heard the murmurs, moans of the whipping wind in the cracks of the icy walls, the howl you heard two days ago was back, it was soft, but with every step you took it came closer and closer to you. They already knew you were here. They felt your presence, the softness of your body, its warmth and vibration.

You felt the ground tremble with each step you took. You reached for your swords, your hands gripping the hilts tightly. At first, you heard only the steady thud of your boots, but with each step you took, you felt that you were falling right into the middle of the battlefield. You saw a bunch of xenomorphs that invariably attacked the powerful stranger.

It was the second the black creature hit you in the side, it was enough to make you tense like a string. Being here, you joined the group of warriors who fought against monsters that wanted to occupy the entire pyramid area, and maybe even spread to the entire continent, or even worse, the entire planet. You've realized this is a war you're already a part of. Your swords did their duty, cutting the fleshy flesh of your enemies to pieces, and yellow gore and guts began to fill the stone floor.

You clenched your jaw and let out a breath. You hit one of them, the clamor spread around, steam billowed from its jaws, and its body and tail thrashed relentlessly as you impaled it on one of your swords. You pressed against him, finally pinning him against the icy wall. With nothing to lose, you struck the final blow that killed the monster.

***

This time it hit him, he doubled over from the hit in the stomach, finally moved and staggered around the hall. He didn't have time to realize that the xenomorph wrapped its tail around his leg and threw it hard on the ground. It clattered against his back, the armor around his chest protecting him. He rolled onto his stomach, knelt, then got up and was knocked to the ground again. With clumsy movements, he got up, but again the monster knocked him to the ground. It took him off the ground a few meters and he fell with a clatter to the cold floor of the hall. The xenomorph's cry of triumph came from his throat, crashing into him with such force that Yautja shot air from the mouth, which was tightly covered by the mask. He tried to roll onto his stomach, he felt pain and cold, and just when he thought it was over, he saw a woman rushing at the monster that wanted to deal the finishing blow. He heard the crack and knew she had snapped him in the middle, saw her kill him in cold blood as she turned to him and stared at him with her unreadable gaze, searching them for some of the empathy that was so characteristic of the human race. He saw nothing in them but emptiness and an icy stare. Again, he felt something grab him by the ankle, as if a steel cable had wrapped around his leg and he was being pulled upward. Then he heard a crack and wondered if it was his bones or if the ground was cracking from being tossed around like a rag doll. He was able to see only the arm, and actually the entire torso, and soon after he lost consciousness.

***

You saw the long tail writhing under the Predator's feet, which finally picked it up and started tossing it around like a doll, you heard the crack of breaking bones. The sight made you open your eyes wide, but not sparing a moment, you ran towards the enemy and hit him with your shoulder, so that he could lose his balance and he fell to the ground. You pressed against him even though he was resisting. You saw the Predator, who lay lifeless on the ground, you felt it was necessary, finally you managed to overcome the thrill of excitement and gave him a fatal blow to the head. There was silence, moans and howls ceased, and the xenomorph's head hit the floor to become your next trophy. "Fuck," you said to yourself as you saw the Predator lying motionless, battered and bruised, bright green blood flowing from his wounds. This time you had no idea what to do, but you certainly wouldn't leave him to his fate

You tried to get him off the ground, but you weren't strong enough to do it. His body was limp, he slowly regained consciousness when you wanted to take his mask off your face out of curiosity. He took your hands in yours, you sucked air into your mouth as you saw him remove the mask from his face by himself to get rid of unnecessary ballast. After a moment you saw him, the little spikes on his lower jaws arranged neatly in a row, from smallest to largest. His small eyes looked at you with a curiosity that has never been as strong as now. Your face was shrouded in a light mist of dew and the steam you exhaled made him see you out of focus, but he was captivated by your beauty. The flawless red of your cheeks, strands of hair unruly coming out from under the hat and jacket.

You helped him up, his body was giving him a hard time. The wounds hurt like hell, but he had to get up to at least try to move. He fell. You supported him, you helped him as best you could, and wanting to help him, you decided to find shelter so that you could heal him. You always had a bandage kit in your jacket pockets that you might be able to cover his wounds with.

After carefully considering which way you needed to go, and finding your way to safety in your memory, you took his arm again and walked slowly towards the nearest fork in the tunnels. Another turn, then right, then left, and right again, and you were finally there. Nobody will find you here.

With each passing minute he felt worse and worse, but you reassured him that you would be able to heal him. You took care of him the best you could. You laid him gently on the ground, leaning against the cold stone wall. His jaws slowly moved to different sounds that you couldn't quite decipher. You looked at his wounds, which were oozing more and more blood. You pulled out all the medical kit you had and began to slowly bandage his wounds.

You gripped his ankle gently, dousing it with hydrogen peroxide and bandaging it, as you do with every other wound on his body. This is the first time you've seen such a strange creature. You'd mistake him for a human in stature, but upon closer inspection his skin was completely different. Strong, thick and brown, slightly mottled in places. At the most sensitive areas of the body, the spots were larger and brighter. His chest moved slowly in time with his heartbeat. He shivered when he felt your hands on his belly. It was velvety to the touch, those parts of his body more delicate than the rest. You took off his shoulder pads, shin guards, plasma cannon, and the remnants of his breastplate. From his mouth seemed to hear a slight scratching, moaning. Despite the fire that was smoldering around you, he was damn cold. You covered him with your thick, down jacket.

Time passed, day after day, and only the moving sun clearly announced the process. A storm was raging outside, the moans and whistling of the wind reaching your ears, tearing through the cracks in the thick walls that shielded you from the world. In the distance, you heard a howl, a steady rumble, moans of slaughtered animals and a loud roar of a plane taking off. You walked to the crack in the wall and looked at the sky, among the blowing frosty wind and snow, you managed to see only white lights shining in the dark sky, shrouded in storm clouds. Their brilliance blinded you, made you feel uncomfortable, and when you looked at your companion you realized that they were his brothers. They gone. They flew off with a boom of unimaginably high notes that made your ears ring. Blood swelled at your temples and you felt a headache. You sat next to him, shrouded in the light glow of a dream that slowly nestled in your mind. You closed your eyes, trying hard not to fall asleep but finally gave up.

You woke up very early, checked his wounds while he was still asleep. You carefully studied his face covered in wrinkles and small spikes. His mandibles moved calmly, his eyes half-closed moved with sleep. And then you saw something more in him. Something special that made you feel incredibly blissful and peaceful. Your senses were failing you in his presence, the awareness that he was here was dizzying. It made you drown in your dreams of him and you knew he felt it too. You saw him open his eyes slowly, look at you and see you take off your thick sweatshirt. Your nipples, slightly purple in their protrusion from the cold, invaded his memory, his eyes flashed. You saw fireflies in his irises, and his pupils dilated quickly, he jumped up suddenly, hissed under the pain that hit him. He saw your breasts so velvety, so perfect, he took them in his hands. You felt the cold of the room and the warmth of his fingers penetrating your folds. Your euphoric body screamed and more, craved that touch.

Moans of the wind mixed with your breath, shrouded in a haze of pleasure and desire for more. More of those caresses, more of his hands caressing your breasts, his liquid thick skin that made you shiver. He snuggled his head into your bare breasts, slipped his tongue out of his jaws and slowly began to lick your nipples hardened with cold and excitement. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing. You felt his whole body as his tongue roamed your wet and naked skin. A wave of heat took over your whole body, you moaned with pleasure staring at his fleshy tongue leaving wet traces on your naked skin.

This fire consumed you completely, dragged you into the depths of euphoria and lust. He grabbed you by the waist, exhaling air from his mouth, looked at your ecstatic face and slowly took off the rest of the clothes that remained on your body. You knew it was going to end like this, the atmosphere in the room was getting so thick you could cut it with a knife, and you and he slowly felt the irresistible need to get to know each other. Your feelings changed for him, and the tenderness he greeted you in his arms was like coming home. His calm and steady breathing soothed you, and you were still engulfed by the fire that was forming in your intestines and driving you crazy.

You were naked when he took off the codpiece and the rest of his armor that covered his hips. You looked at him, sitting in front of you and inviting you into a world of pleasure. You sat astride it, your body felt the impenetrable cold that enveloped you all awakening you from the stupor. You leaned against his chest, grabbed his cock and felt a huge wave of excitement as he entered you all. Finally, your body tense like a string let go, you curled your toes, tightened your buttocks and began to move to the tune of your hearts. The wind did not stop whistling between the cracks, and individual snowflakes fell into the room, to melt after a while on the ground or your hot skin.

Your movements slowly got faster, he gripped your buttocks hard and you felt him penetrating you hard with his big and swollen cock. His face expressed it all, light wrinkles accentuating his ecstasy, a soft clicking turned into a loud growl and wheezing. He tightened his grip on your buttocks and began to slowly take the initiative, moving your hips faster and faster. A loud moan escaped your lips and an explosion of euphoria made you feel your folds bursting with the feeling that you were about to explode. Your pussy tightens around his circumference, causing him to thrust into you with increasing force. Tension alternately comes and goes, sweat breaks through the folds of your body and heat spreads all over your insides. Hish's claws dig deeper into your buttocks, you feel the tension build up in your gut and slowly trickle down towards your temple. Your breathing quickens again, the energetic hip movements slow down, become sloppy, and you feel your core fill with ecstasy. You know that this is the moment, this force that is not worth fighting with, but surrender without a fight and stay in this feeling even though you want even more. You feel the orgasm fill your core as your pussy tightens around its circumference, feel the walls of it as it enters and exits without remorse as it finally loses its grip and tightens its grip on your waist, squeezing your body tighter. Leaning against his chest, you feel him filling you with his life-giving juice. The energy slowly leaves you, sits on it, exhaling hot air from your mouth, steam settles on the stone walls of the room, forming small droplets of water.

The fire was dying out and the sun was already over the horizon. You heard a sudden bang and thud, you quickly got up from the ground, dressed and ran out of the room. You didn't expect to find what you saw there, and it was a huge ship that landed near the pyramid, and from it emerged creatures unknown to you. You looked at them more closely as Hish, still slightly limping, approached you. Celtic mumbled something under his breath, pointing at the ship with his finger. He approached one of his kinsmen to report everything that had happened after the last ship left the planet. The Alien Predator looked at you with disapproval, the Other Predators looked at you with contempt in their eyes, and you, adjusting your swords on your back, felt that you had to be careful. They also did not welcome your Predator with enthusiasm, they even rejected it. They were stunned when they discovered what really happened in the pyramid. How much Celtic felt despised and abandoned by his own people could be seen from his very attitude. The helmet hid his face, but you could feel the fumes of resentment towards his companions.

He decided to take you with him and, sparing no time, he dragged you on board the ship, which you flew above the clouds and flew to his home planet. Celtic knew perfectly well that when he really told everything about you and how you killed all the xenomorphs, he would regain the trust of his tribe. In this way, he will regain the respect of his clan, and you will be able to join him by becoming his companion.

You felt subconsciously that what you were doing was not easy, but making Celtic happy was your dream. You've fallen in love with him since you met, you felt like it wasn't possible, but it was, that feeling of emptiness that still haunted you was gone. All that's left is the euphoria of that close-up and the memory you'll never get rid of. The sight of him, when he stunned you, his every move made you feel shivers on your skin. The other you are gone, cold, emotionless, now you are a completely different woman. Just as strong and powerful, but with more feelings and emotions that made you love everything on Celtic's home planet.

You've been here for a year. Your life looks completely different than the one you led on Earth. Here your life was much simpler, you proved yourself worthy of belonging to the clan and you were bound to it. You loved each other more than anything else, and your journeys to distant lands delighted you. You saw the star-studded sky, the nebulae tearing through the void of space, and his hot and naked body making waves of excitement ripple through you.

***

Your big belly has been visible since he left the stack after the last mission. He walked over to you, snuggling into your velvety body. A soft moan escaped his jaws, touched your belly, and looked up at your beaming smile. He knew you were happy, he was so proud of you for proving yourself to the great council, and he loved you like no one else had ever loved before.

The day of the birth was coming. All you could hear in the area was your screams and moans, which shattered the silence to pieces. You were lying on the bed, in front of you was a Yautja woman medic. Your sweaty and wrinkled face was reddened by the intense cramps and fatigue that had let you down suddenly and without warning. You sighed as she told you to push again. The sheets on the bed turned red, your pain was all you felt, and her hands held the head of the slowly emerging baby. Giving birth was the biggest challenge of your life and nothing was like the pain that tore you apart as the babies slowly came out of you one by one. There were four of them. Little bundles that screamed beyond their strength when Di'dta finally placed them next to you. Three gorgeous boys and one beautiful girl were your whole world and you never expected it all to lead to this place. Celtic moved closer to you, your body sticky with sweat, cupped your face and kissed your forehead gently. He looked at your children and smiled at them.

You were family.

[davesbigwhirlwind]

My uncle made me into a nerd

I just wasn't that academic I used to tell my mum - she disagreed - she thought I was just lazy. She was probably right.

I was 16 and leaving school and I didn't have any plans. So my mum announced that she'd spoken to my uncle, who had kindly offered to give me a job as the office junior at the firm he owned. As he lived and worked far away, it had been agreed that I would live with him.

The following Sunday I got the 2 hour train to my uncle's, where he met me at the station.

My uncle was quite a traditional man - he had a fully, neatly trimmed beard, fairly short coiffured hair, and generally wore tweed jackets and cardigans, and was seldom seen without a tie, and loved to smoke a pipe. He was a serious man, and definitely not one to have a joke - he could also have something of a short fuse, and could be a man of few words. Despite this, we had a good chat, and he seemed genuinely pleased that I was going to be working for him - he said that he felt I had great potential, and that he was sure I would do well - I just needed to follow his instruction and do my best.

I knew my uncle would want me to be fairly smart for the office, so I'd brought my old school trousers and shirts to wear in the week. I mentioned this to him, and he said we'd sort everything in the morning.

I settled into the spare room, which was a big, comfortable room with a double bed, chest of drawers, TV and big wardrobe which was currently half full of all sorts of stuff, such as an old computer, boxes of paperwork and some old clothes.

Monday morning came, and when I got out of the shower and there was a multi-packet of briefs and white vests on my bed. My uncle passed my room and said to put on the underwear and then he would be back - I explained I already had underwear that was fine to wear, but he said it made sense that I wore what he had got for me as it was new, and could I just do it please.

I did as he asked, to save starting off on the wrong foot, and then my uncle came in "Right, we'd better get you ready for your first day at work! Are you excited?" I assured him I was, and was ready to get stuck in. He said he had sorted some clothes for me to wear, but I reminded him that I had already brought some trousers and white shirts with me. "Oh no, you don't want to be wearing your school uniform! You're an adult now, so it's only right that you look the part. Now, I've looked out some clothes I don't use that will be perfect, given that we're a similar size - and you're welcome to keep them." I said I could buy anything that I needed, but he said that wasn't necessary, and I should save my money, and he was only too happy for me to make full use of these things that had just sat in his wardrobe. This was clearly an instruction rather than an offer. 

I looked at what my uncle was wearing - a pair of bluey-grey wool trousers and a pale grey check shirt, with a dark grey tie with cream stripes through it - he always looked a very washed out, as he generally only wore shades of grey or bluey-grey, with only his brown shoes adding any colour, and everything always looked very old fashioned. I could only hope that the clothes he was offering had been rejected by him for being too casual or colourful.

He went over to the dresser and opened the top drawer and pulled out a pair of chocolate brown socks which he passed to me. I looked a bit confused. "Put them on" he said - I genuinely hadn't understood, as I could believe that anyone would think that a 16 year old boy would wear brown. I slipped the socks on, and he instructed me to pull them up. I did so. He then went to the wardrobe and pulled out a shirt that was very similar to his - a cream colour with a check running through it. I buttoned it up. It seemed very baggy and long in the body, but my uncle assured me that was the style. Next, he pulled out the most horrible pair of flannel trousers. They were a mid-brown colour, made with thick wool and tailored loosely - again, I said I'd just wear my own trousers, but this time he was clear "put them on." I grudgingly took the trousers from him. They were very rough texture and surprisingly heavy. I slipped them on and as I pulled them up my legs I could feel the coarse material rubbing against my leg. It felt horrible. I pulled them up and on buttoning them up I found they fitted my waist perfectly. The twin pleats meant there was extra fabric which then made for a wider trouser than the normally skinny jeans I'd normally wear. Sharp creases ran down the middle of each leg and then a turnup at the bottom gave extra weight which anchored the trousers which then hid part of my foot, due to being wider than I was used to. 

I was then told to do up my top button. I did so but it was really tight! I was then passed a brown tie with beige stripes. I tied it and my uncle then clipped on a solid tie bar about a third of the way down which attached to the shirt - very similar to one he was wearing. "You'll always want to wear one of these as it stops your tie getting in the way"

"Now, shoes," he said digging into the bottom of the wardrobe. "I bought this pair but they were too big for me, so I bought another pair in the size smaller, so I'm thinking these will fit you perfectly. He then presented a pair of highly polished tan brogues. They were covered in intricate stitching and decorative small holes in the leather and with a row of very fine laces running up the middle. I recognised them. They were identical to the pair my uncle was wearing. I said something about hard leather not being good for my feet, but he assured me I would soon get used to them. He pushed them onto my feet and then tied the laces tightly. What between the collar cutting into my neck and now the shoes restricting my ancles, I was not feeling so good, and that was before the horror of the suggestion of having to wear this outfit out of the house!

My uncle had one last surprise up his sleeve, as he showed me a tweed blazer in a light tan colour, wide lapels, and a longer, boxy fit. it was again heavy and felt too big. My uncle did up the top button of the two on the front and declared it perfect. I was then shepherded downstairs to be paraded in front of my aunt, who declared me to look very handsome, and that the colours really suited me. 

My uncle explained that he had tried wearing shades of brown for a short time, but he felt grey suited him better, so he relegated those clothes to the back of his wardrobe. I thought back to when I'd looked in the wardrobe and the various being brown, fawn, cream colours in the wardrobe - it now dawned on me that these weren't just random clothes that had been put there for storage....

There was a big mirror in the hallway, and I stopped to stare. I looked ridiculous. If you chopped my head off you'd think I was a middle-aged man (or older!) as no-one under 50 would wear any of these clothes, or in any of these colours. And this look definitely didn't suit me, and nor did it go with my lovely hair which flowed freely to just below my shoulders and with the gently tussled look that I had perfected after getting out of the shower. At least my hair was there to express my personality.

"Right, will we go then?" my uncle said. I nodded grudgingly. He opened the front door and gestured for me to walk in front of him to head to the car on the drive. I took one step 'clack.' And another 'clack.' I then walked closer to the car 'clack. clack. clack.' I lifted one of my feet and looked at the sole, fitted with metal plates. I then remembered you can also hear my uncle coming a mile off. I'm used to it now, but it always used to take me by surprise, as, on any hard surface you would hear his shoes clacking as he walked. People would look up and stare. Now this was me too. Though, to be honest people would stare anyway given what a 16 year old boy was wearing, but this would mean they'd get an audible alert.

We travelled in silence to the office. I was reflecting to the last half hour. It was really bad. the only saving grace was there was no-one I knew was there to see me.

We arrived. I got out the car. I took a couple of steps, still trying to get used to both the slippery soles of my shoes and the noise they made. My uncle strided off towards the door. I followed him into the office, both off us clattering down the polished wood floors in our polished brogue shoes. Everyone instinctively looked up. With that racket, who could blame them, and also I guess in heralded the arrival of the boss. Many pairs of eyeballs stared at me.

We reached the corner and he pointed to a desk as part of a group of 4 "this is yours, take a seat" now this is Sally, Daniel and Mark. And this is Alexander" I said hi to each of them. Sally was probably 60 and I knew to be my uncles secretary. Daniel was around my uncles age and I found out was office manager, while Mark was a graduate who had joined the firm the previous summer. 

"Make yourself comfortable, and we'll talk through your induction shortly" I sat down, and Mark sat next to me did a bit of small talk, and we got onto the fact I'd just left school. "was it public school? by any chance?" Mark asked. I said no and asked why he'd said that. "Well, it's just based on your outfit, I can only imagine that someone from public school might have clobber like that!" I explained that my uncle had had a guiding hand in the outfit. "Ahh, that explains it - I'm surprised you got away with that hair in that case" I queried this "well he made me get my hair cut shorter because he said it looked too messy." I looked at Mark's hair it wasn't long but it just about reached the collar of the shirt he was wearing, and just above his eyebrows, brushed to the side. He looked a bit surfer-like. "I love my hair, so there's no way I'm cutting it" I said.

The morning went quite quickly. Everyone was friendly. I took my jacket off as soon as I could, as all the other men were just wearing open shirts, so I felt over dressed (as well as being downed in a sea of turd-coloured clothing).

It got to 12.30 and my uncle said "right, grab your jacket, we're going out." I grabbed it and clicked along behind him. He turned round "well put your jacket on then" which I did while trying to keep up with him as we headed to the car. 

We parked up and headed to an open doorway, and I found myself in a barbershop. My uncle had a few words of greeting and then pointed to me "This is Alexander. He needs smartening up, as we discussed" I was told to take my jacket off and sit straight in the chair. 

I said I just wanted a light trim, as I was being caped up, but the barber patted me on the shoulder and told me to just relax, as my uncle had already sorted everything.

My hair was about a maximum of about 10 inches long at the front, and maybe 4 or 5 inches at the back - it was all swept back in quite a loose, bohemian style that I loved. I really didn't want to loose that style.

Before I could say another word the barber had his clippers in his hand and with a comb he was pulling out my hair from the side of my head about an inch or so and then cutting off the remaining hair. Massive long stands of hair were falling to the ground. This was years' of growth. "I really want to keep the length on top" I blurted out. The barber just smiled vaguely. This combing and clipping continued round the back and to the other side of my head, so that the hair on the sides was now drastically shorter, though still a little bit shaggy, and just nestled on the top of my ears. It was already way shorter than I would like. He then started on the top though this time leaving maybe 3-4 inches of length. I was devastated. He then dragged the comb down my head causing a slight pain on my head, and leaving a very precise parting down the left side of my head, as he combed the hair carefully to each side.

This done, he now turned back to the sides and using his comb, he now angled it downwards and swiped more hair off the side of my head. This time about half an inch of hair fell, and I could soon see that he was leaving shorter hair of only about an eighth of an inch at the bottom and blending upwards to maybe half an inch higher up, and progressing round my head once more. He then took a smaller razor and went round my ears and then also cut a line across the top of my sideburns, and I could feel him carving a line across the back of my head.

On the side of the brand new part he then continued with clipper and comb taking the length of all of the hair to the part line progressively longer, but the maximum length still only being about three quarters of an inch. Then across the top of my head he did some snipping with the scissors but with only very small specks of hair flying off. He then went around the upper sides blending the shorter sides with the longer length. This was all looking very short.

Finally, he then brushed down the long hair at the front and cut across my forehead at a diagonal, leaving long hair by the part which hung just above my eyebrow and finishing near the top of my head on the right side of my face. 

Suddenly the chair was tilted back and shaving foam slapped on my face. My little facial hair was quickly removed, and I could feel him shaving off my entire sideburns. On being returned upright, I could see that my face looked very pale following the removal of my attempts at facial hair - while the hair on my head made me look like some sort of preppy American Highschooler with the side part hanging loosely over my forehead. The barber took some gel in his hands and ran it through my hair working outwards from the part line. He then took the hair at the front of my head and flicked it upwards and to the side creating a small ridge. 

"Done" he announced proudly. My uncle stood up "excellent, now Alexander looks like a man you'd be proud to walk beside. Excellent work."

The barber showed me the back, which was a short blocked taper, where less than an hour before had been my beautiful mane. My neck was so pale! I saw what was a very standard business man's haircut. I guess it's exactly what my uncle would choose. In fact, it was just a shorter version of his haircut really. We definitely had matching side partings now. It was too grim for words. But he was the boss.

Back at the office, I felt even more embarrassment and we both clacked through the office, and me - not just a vision in brown, but now with my short business man's haircut. On sitting down, Mark whistled "that's some haircut you got there. Thought there was no way you were cutting it?" "Well my uncle made me realise that shorter hair is easier to manage when you've got a job." Neither of us bought that - it was blatantly obvious from the style of what was on my head that only one person had had any input into my new conservative haircut, and my new outfit, and it wasn't me.

Back at the house, my aunt was thrilled with my cut, and said how I looked like my uncle when he was younger!

I took my jacket off and sat down. I undid my top button, and started untying my shoes as my uncle jumped in - "we don't take out ties or shoes off until we retire to bed", he admonished me. I grudgingly re-tied. 

"Now, I've a treat for you - as a working man, you deserve a treat, and I'd like you to join me in a pipe." Now, he smoked regularly, but I had no interested - and in fact, I hated even the smell. I'd never smoked, and didn't want to. I politely declined.

He opened his drawer next to his seat and took out two pipes. One was newly boxed, he passed that one to me. I unwrapped it. He showed me how to roll tobacco and pack a pipe. He gave me a tobacco pouch, and lighter. Mine to keep he said. He then lit my pipe for me and put it in my mouth "now breath it" I tried not to breath in much, but even the little I did made me cough. "and again" I tried and coughed more. We continued this for about 20 minutes until the nicotine was making me feel faint. It certainly wasn't a treat.

By the end of week one I was hating it. The daily outfit remained identical, other than alternating between tweed blazers, shirts and ties, all in earthy shades. And he kept making me persevere with the pipe. I was coughing less but really didn't like it, and I now stank of tobacco.

I'd been getting on well with Mark - I think he felt sorry for me, and invited me out on Saturday with my mates. My uncle was happy to agree. I explained I'd like to wear my own clothes, but my uncle couldn't understand it - if you have good quality smart clothes available, why would you want to wear lesser clothes. And also all my old clothes had mysteriously disappeared. This wasn't a new work wardrobe. This was my only wardrobe.

Mark smirked when I entered the pub - "do you ever not dress like a grandad" he said.

We had a company away day which included some drinks afterwards. A couple of the guys said they were going for a cigarette, and my uncle said we'd join them. He got his pipe out and nodded to me. I shook my head, but he gave me THE look. I grudgingly got my pipe out. We lit up. Mark looked at me with disbelief. I could understand it. Here I was dressed in brown tweed, with the geekiest haircut and smoking a pipe. I was a lost cause.

[tenaciousjalapeno]

Testing the Cat Lady, Part 4

4/?

Pairing: LA Buggy the Clown x Reader

Summary: The captain asks if you'd like for him to show you around one of his territories. You're happy to oblige, but a little less happy when there's a small misunderstanding with the mayor.

Warnings: language, sexual innuendo

Word Count: 2400

A/N: I feel like the further I get into this, the more I combine anime and LA Buggy (based on the few anime episodes I've seen) so I'm starting to think it can be read either way?

“Territories,” you say flatly. “You have territories.” On the way to his quarters, Captain Buggy popped his head into your room to inform you that the ship would later be docking at a town owned by none other than the genius jester himself. It caught you off guard learning that he had not just one, but several territories throughout the East Blue.

Upon first meeting him, he had stated that his crew was one of the most dreaded in the sea, but you had dismissed it as empty boasting. In your short time on the ship, he had proved to be more than capable as a captain. Cruel at times, but good at his job nonetheless. None of his actions thus far, though, had led you to believe that he was a conqueror as well.   

Buggy narrows his seafoam eyes at you. “Yeah. Is that so hard to believe?” He crosses his arms and leans against your doorframe, not once dropping the scrutinizing gaze. The tense man has been in one of his “moods” today, so it feels like one wrong word could send him into a frenzy. Admittedly, there’s something about this teetering mood of his that always pulls you in and makes you want to poke the bear. Never having been on the receiving end of one of his tantrums – as a crew member, at least, – you had always been curious of how far you could push his limits. And of what he would do the day you decide to cross those lines.

However, he had already threatened to stab two people this afternoon, so today was not that day.

“Ah, sorry,” you reply sheepishly. You set the book he had pulled you from on your desk and shift in the wooden chair to face him better, trying to gain a few extra seconds to carefully choose your next words. “It’s not. You just have even more influence than I realized. It’s impressive.” At your compliment, his shoulders relax. Crisis averted, you let out a small sigh of relief.

He looks down at you with bored eyes, barely interested in the conversation now that the fuse has been snuffed out. “There are some decent places to shop and eat, if you’d like me to show you around.”

“Yeah, I would love that.” You give a warm smile. It feels like it’s been ages since you had any sort of outing. And that’s probably because it has been. The only stop that had been made since you were dragged aboard was for business, not pleasure. In and out, staying just long enough to stock up on supplies. Not only that, but the one-on-one time with Buggy might be nice. Save for the brief visits like this one, he’s typically got several crewmates hanging around him at any given time. Despite the lack of privacy, you still enjoy daily chit chat with him and have even started to look forward to it. The combination of his quick wit and a mutual gentle bullying sparks a pull that you can’t seem to get enough of.

For a second, you swear the corners of his mouth tilted upward, if only just a little. Satisfied with the conversation, he lets out a grunt and continues on to his room. Equally satisfied, you settle back into the chair and return to your book. After a beat, a dismembered hand flies into your room, flips a jacket hanging on your coat rack to the floor, then slams the door shut behind it as it returns to the neighboring room. “Hey!”

Buggy smirks to himself as his hand reattaches to his arm.

You’re sure that ths clown is going to send you to an early grave.

The ship finally docks late in the afternoon. Shortly thereafter, you impatiently wait at the ship’s loading ramp for your captain to escort you on land. The date outing has finally given you an excuse to wear some of your nicer clothes that you swore were going to rot on the bottom of the dresser drawer had they been stuck there any longer. It catches the eyes of several of the other crew members, but they disperse as soon as they see Buggy sauntering over. By the same token, he’s dressed sharply in his signature coat and hat, and sports a fresh face of makeup. Having a chance to stretch his legs on dry land puts him in a much better mood than he was earlier. He looks you over, a small grin forming on his face. The other eyes on you moments ago were nothing, but being the center of your captain’s attention makes you feel self-conscious – like you’re being stripped down to your bare ass in front of an audience, but somehow even more nerve-racking. Before you can become too insecure, he interrupts your thoughts. “Cute,” he says, still grinning. “Ready, songbird?” He offers his arm, which you take eagerly with a nod.

 The town isn’t huge, but what it lacks in size, it makes up for in liveliness. The arrival of the Buggy pirates sends the town buzzing with excitement. Instead of fearing the pirates, the residents seem… friendly towards them. You look up at your captain with confusion. No clarification is needed on his part. “Some little crew of nobodies had this place under lock and key. We were just going to head back out, until some shithead said something about my nose. Stabbed him and threw him into the sea. Turned out to be the captain. You can probably piece together the rest.” He smiles widely as he tells the story, thinking back fondly to the look on the other guy’s face as he flew out to the water. The cheering of the townspeople was music to his ears, and their admiration inflated his ego to a god-tier. Pieces clicking together in your mind, you realize that it wasn’t that he was a conqueror. It’s that he got lucky while picking a fight. You decide to shrug it off. Either way, a victory is a victory.

Savory smells waft through the air, making your stomach growl. “You said there were some good restaurants, right,” you ask. Earlier in the day, you opted out of lunch to get caught up on your work, and up until you smelled food, you didn’t realize how hungry you were. At this point it doesn’t matter what it was. You had about twenty minutes to get some food in you before you turn into a hangry witch that even a sea king wouldn’t dare cross paths with. “Something that won’t take too long,” you add for good measure.

“Yeah, you hungry? There’s a street vendor ahead that I always stop at if you want something quick. It’s a hot dog stand run by some old guy.” You wouldn’t have marked Buggy as a hot dog guy. From what you’d seen so far, most of what was served on the Big Top was basic meals that could be made in large quantities. Feeding three dozen people didn’t allow much room for five-star meals. Or really anything that had a lot of flavor. It makes you wonder if that’s why the captain is so crabby all the time. Maybe the man just needs a decent snack.

In your youth, it was ingrained in you that some foods were more refined than others, and your parents didn’t want to taint the family’s image by eating cheap meats. Deep down, you now know it was a load of crap, but it was so heavily imbedded in you that you can’t help being reluctant. With all the social rules you’d managed to shake yourself free from, you feel silly to be nervous about such a simple, inconsequential matter. “I don’t know. I’ve never actually had a hot dog before. My parents wouldn’t let me eat that kind of stuff when I was still living with them.”

Buggy stops dead in his tracks. The captain is thoroughly unimpressed with your answer, and his response is thick with sass to drive that fact home. His face twists from a look of disapproval to one of distaste. “Alright, so first of all, your parents sound like old windbags with sticks so far up their asses that they’re basically human kabobs. Secondly, either you come willingly, or I carry you.” Your eyes go wide at his threat. Being carried down the street like a sack of potatoes sounds humiliating, and the thought is even more terrifying knowing that he can, and he will. Quickly nodding in agreeance, you continue the direction in which you were headed. A pleased smile settles on his face. “That’s what I thought.” He’s happy to have gotten his way, but on some level was hoping that you’d refuse. Dragging you kicking and screaming to force feed you hot dogs was exactly his brand of torment for you.

After stopping at the stand and purchasing the food, you take a seat together on a nearby bench. Buggy digs right in, taking care to not smudge his makeup. With how brutish the blue-haired clown is, you regularly forget that he likes to stay clean and presentable. The thought crosses your mind that if it weren’t for the whole being-a-pirate-and-killing-people thing, he’s the type of person that probably would have thrived in the high society that you grew up in. Maybe even the type that your parents would’ve tried to marry you off to. Two bites in, he notices that you haven’t touched your own food. “Eat it, or I’ll make you,” he threatens flatly.

You eye up the hot dog one last time before finally taking a bite. And it’s absolutely delicious. “Oh my gods!” you exclaim. “That’s so good.” Internally, you curse your parents for their stupid dietary rules. Already nearing the end of his own snack, Buggy watches as you inhale yours, being careful to not drip any toppings onto yourself.

A mischievous grin spreads across his face. “Y’know, for someone who’s never had one before, you sure do know how to handle a sausage.” Having a mouthful of food, all you can do is shoot him a dirty look.

After chewing and swallowing, you turn to look your captain dead in the eye. “Have you ever gone a day in your life without being an asshole?” You know he’s actively trying to get you fired up, so it’d be best to ignore him, but a gross comment like that isn’t about to go unchecked. There are a few things that he knows really push your buttons, and the implication of you being a “sausage guzzler” is one of them. Several times before, he’s made the joke knowing that it would become a face-off that’d give him a chance to blow off some steam.

“Oh, come on, songbird. I’m just saying that you look like you’re enjoying the food,” he says, feigning innocence. It’s impossible to tell what’s more annoying: the initial comment or him denying it.

“Even if I believed that, it still wouldn’t change the fact that you’re an asshole,” you snap back. You’re raring to fight, but the voice of an approaching woman has you backing down for now.

“Captain Buggy! I heard that you were docking for a quick stay. It’s always so nice to see you, dear.” An elderly woman looking to be in her 60’s strolls up to the two of you with a friendly smile. She looks well put together, sporting a dress and matching sash.

“The pleasure is all mine, Mayor Whitney.” Buggy rises to great her. You take note of the sudden change in his demeanor. From asshat to charmer in a matter of seconds.

“Oh, no need to stand up for little old me. I just wanted to stop by and welcome you back.” Shifting her attention, she eyes you up and down before smiling even wider. “And you have a partner now! That makes me so happy. You know how I worry about you being alone out at sea.”

Your stomach does somersaults at the mere notion of being involved with Buggy that way. Sure, he’s handsome and charismatic, even captivating some- No, stop that, you squash your own thoughts. The idea had never crossed your mind, but it seemed ridiculous to think that he’d ever be interested in a relationship with you. It’s best to clear things up right away, you decide. “N-no, we’re not-.”

The clown pulls you close to his side with a huge grin and cuts you off. “That’s right! We’ve been seeing each other for a while now. From the moment I met my little show-stopper, I just knew I had to have them by my side.” His blatant lying is annoying, but the mayor seems so happy for the two of you that you don’t have it in you to break her high spirits. However, once she’s gone, you might break something else. Maybe something red and round. Playing along, you smile back and introduce yourself.

“What a lovely name! Well, like the captain here said, I’m Mayor Whitney. Any friend of his is a friend of mine, so don’t be shy in exploring our town. Anyway, I’ll let you two get back to your date. Bye now!” The two of you bid her farewell and she makes her way down the street, turning into a building.

As soon as she’s out of sight, you smack Buggy in the arm. “What the hell was that?” you hiss.

“Weren’t you listening? That was the mayor,” he replies, rubbing his arm. “Y’know, anyone else would be flat on their ass by now for hitting me like that.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean.”

He lets out a sigh. “Look, she’s been on my case for years now, saying I need to find someone. Every time we dock here, she’s got someone or another that she tries to set me up with. This’ll keep her satisfied for a while. How about, after you finish your food, I take you to a couple of shops to make up for it? I’ll get you anything you want. Nothing is too good for my main squeeze.” There he goes again trying to irk you. The offer is genuine, though, so you agree with a huff.

“Fine, but I’m picking out the most expensive thing I can find.”

Beaming now, he buckles down. “Like I said. Nothing’s too good for you, darling.”

Ugh.

[cryptidcorners]

Fire's Your Friend ~ — Billy Burn x GN!Reader

Description: You meet your boyfriend Billy after weeks of radio silence. Luckily, he's still the bastard you know and love.

# No Request

# A.N: I wrote this before I watched the film and it's been rotting in my notes LOL!!! enjoy

Media: Burn [ 2019 ]

Character: Billy Burn

Tags: Events Take After Burn, Established Relationship, Slightly Suggestive? If You Squint, Flirting, Fluff, Kissing, Sweet Talk + Reader is !GN.

Warnings: Mentions of Blood/Injury, Smoking

TOS. Billy Burn Master List {TBW}

The sunset was red in the clouds and cold, ill air was sinking into the emptying lot, while a few silent pedestrians roamed to watch the light flee, it was still lonley in your eyes. 

Billy's lighter was busy in your hands, as you found mindless entertainment in flicking the steel trap and running your fingertips in it's maze-like design. Though, toying with a relic from a phantom wasn't widowing away your impatience.

You cupped your face reluncantly due to the ice trailing on your cheeks as nighttime brimmed into the silent square. The wild, warm colors from buzzing advertisements and wasping vehicles flickering like holiday lights on a street a few yards away (which were walled with barbed wire) hadn't even distracted you, since your cocky companion was fresh in your mind. 

You set the lighter ablaze, eyes fixed on the fire. It reminded you of your life, reminded you of the outside, reminded you of Billy. He was so dangerous, yet you found yourself on his porch every night enjoying his company. Though, you hadn't entirely gotten used to his trips. He'd pack nothing but a few dollars for gas, a firearm and some fake ID from God knows where. You prayed he'd come back in one piece, hopefully not with mobs on his tail. 

"Don't you know it's dangerous to put fire so close to your face?" A voice said with a wry chuckle. "Or, is it nothing you've felt before?" Billy, with a great sigh, sat next to you. He looked breathless, as if he had ran a marathon, twice. Relief filled your bones and you felt weak already, "Billy." 

Then, your eyes flickered wildly. 

He turned his head, revealing his scarlet soaked side glittering under the moonlight. 

"Oh, my God. Is that blood? Billy—" Your concern was icy. Billy immediately tensed and shook his head, 

"It's nothing. It doesn't hurt, it's just . . . there." He assured with a sloppy attempt to grap your shoulder. "It's been a while." 

You knew he had a short fuse, and he looked tired enough. You bit back another pester, "Yeah, it has." 

Billy's warm grasp shock your fingertips as he gently took his lighter back, purposely caressing your hand just to tease. To your annoyment (and his amusement), it had worked and you felt your face warm. Billy sighed and eyed a pack of cigarettes slipping out your pocket. He then shook his lighter in front of you, "Mind giving me a smoke?" 

You laughed softly. "Really? You want me to do it for you—again?" Billy groaned playfully, throwing his head back lightly with a low giggle. He then teased, "It's been a long night. And I'm just so tired, you can give me some hospitality, can't you?" Billy added. "I know you're soft for me." 

"Careful now." You ruffled his hair affectionately, "I'm just lighting a cigarette." You set the cigarette between his curved lips and you lightly pushed him upwards, nails trailing down blue jacket. He chuckled again, gaze softening. "Don't leave me waiting."

"You've left me waiting for a week." You remarked with a waving the lighter in circles. "I can go as slow as I want to, but I won't—at least not tonight anyway." and you began sparking flashes of firelight on the edge of the coffin nail. 

He held back another chuckle behind the smoke, already melting into your touch and leaning more foward than he needed to. Smoke filled the air, and after a long inhale, you pulled the cigarette back and let him flood his pent out exhaustion with the most fragile exhale you've ever heard in your life. You flared as he brought himself dangerously close, "I missed that. Smoking didn't feel worth it without you when I was away, I couldn't bring myself to do it." 

"Were you feeling sendamental or do you not know how to light a cig anymore?" You quizzed. His cheeks flushed with another cocky smile. You ran your fingers across his red face, which had earned a massive flinch. Your pressure eased and you reeled your fingertips down to his chin.

Billy sighed, speaking between the smoke as his eyes domesticated into something soft. "You know, fire isn't so bad. Hot, dangerous, pretty." 

"Are you seriously talking about yourself?" You couldn't help but giggle, tucking his slick locks between his ears as you melted into his gaze. 

"Am I wrong?" He teased and you felt his fingertips lightly trace across your cheek. Billy signaled you to take the cigarette back, and he blew a cloud into your face with a devious chuckle. You coughed, "Dick." 

He rubbed his neck, "Sorry, I couldn't resist. It's funny seeing your face get all sour like that." and he planted a sweet kiss on your forehead — delicate and short as it was, it still made you feel all fuzzy. Billy noticed, "I'm sorry I've been so absent. There's been so much on my ass and . . . God, I'm sorry." 

"Look, look it's okay." You hushed. "I'm just glad you came back in one piece," Then, you mumbled, "But, you seriously need to tell me what happened to you." 

He said slowly, "Gas station." 

"A gas station? Is that—all you're going to tell me." 

"If you light me another, I'll give you three more words for context." He offered. And you didn't even think about resisting.

[neonponders]

Part 19 for @wrecked-fuse ‘s pocketverse 🦇

Part 18

( pt. 7′s art 🎩 ) ( pt. 9′s art 👀 ) ( pt. 14′s art 💨 )

~ on ao3 ~

• • •

Eddie looked up at the house’s towering facade. His trailer could fit in Harrington’s living room, he was sure of it. He fidgeted inside his jacket pockets as he looked down the street, waiting for someone to call him out. He said as much, “I don’t belong here, man.”

“What, in the light of day?” Billy retorted before he glanced back at him and scolded, “Would you stop bouncing? You look like an addict.”

He ignored Eddie’s indignant grumbles as he knocked on the double red doors. The bell would have been better, but by now, Steve and the littles knew the rhythm he pounded on the doors.

“This is a bad idea,” Eddie hissed. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into trusting Steve Harrington.”

However, Eddie’s anxiety turned into a curious frown when Steve opened the doors and blossomed at Billy - and just as quickly receded when he realized who stood behind him. “Munson?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Long time, Harrington.”

“Yeah,” Steve returned thoughtfully, clearly looking to Billy to take his cues.

He got them. “We need to talk to you.”

Steve’s eyes hardened. “Can I have a second to clean up?”

“You don’t need to. There’s more.”

Steve’s brows furrowed. “More?”

Billy nodded, but Steve took a long second to process this and came out with, “Huh?”

Eddie rubbed his forehead and barked, “Are we doing this or what?”

Billy waved a hand as if to swat that approach away. “Can we come inside? It’s important. He can meet them.”

Eddie’s brows twitched at the word, them, but he watched in silence as some kind of unspoken exchange moved between Billy and Steve. Eddie really hadn’t expected these two to be friends, but something a lot like trust moved between their eyes as Steve slowly backed away, allowing Billy to step over the threshold.

Eddie stepped inside and Billy locked the doors behind him as he exhaled, “The Taj Mahal of Hawkins. Wow.”

“Be civil,” Billy warned.

“Tell him to be civil,” Eddie snapped, nodding his head in the direction Steve had already disappeared to.

Billy pointed his eyes at Eddie’s clothes. “Is there vomit in there from your bouncing?”

That made Eddie’s chin tuck down so he could move his jacket and see inside his denim vest, breast pocket. When he looked up, Billy was already striding into the living room. He jogged through the foyer as if he’d get left behind, and his sneakers squeaked -

Both Billy and Steve twisted to look at him with war in their eyes. Steve exclaimed, “Shoes, man! Come on!”

Eddie held up his hands defensively, mumbling, “Jesus Christ,” as he retreated and toed off his shoes. Feeling weirdly defenseless, he slumped into the living room...and realized that the voices he was hearing weren’t just on the television...

“Weft! Weft! Wight! Wight! You got it, Stevie!”

Eddie’s gaze drifted down over the coffee table and saw a tiny Steve bubbling with laughter. “Dancing, Biwwy! Wight! Weft!”

Eddie’s jaw went slack as he dumbly pieced together the jazzercise on the television and the small Billy and Steve exercising together. He slowly sank onto the couch, absorbing the pink leggings and shorts on the small, shirtless Billy, and the tank top, shorts, and pink headband on the little Steve.

Big Steve caught him looking and said, “Guys, do you want to finish or meet Eddie?”

“Don’ bweak our wrhythm!” little Billy yelled.

Eddie’s brows lifted, something behind his face relaxing -

“No-” he blurted when he realized the tiny weight landing on his stomach wasn’t his clothes settling around him. Billy and Steve watched, awestruck at a small Eddie running down big Eddie’s body like a hill, across his thigh, and leaping onto the table.

“Hey!”

Small Billy and Steve whirled around, Billy losing his balance and getting caught on big Steve’s soft palm. Little Steve rushed in front of his defenseless Billy and shouted, “Who’wre you?”

“I’m Eddie!” he said...while hovering over the tabletop. He wore a basketball shirt from some NBA doll, which allowed his dark bat-like wings to move freely, but it hung over him like a dress.

Little Billy scrambled off big Steve’s hand and accused, “Why do you have wings?”

“Cuz I’m not weaving ‘em at home!” Eddie retorted.

Attention turned to big Billy offering, “I’ll get you some different clothes. We don’t want you tripping around.”

“Heh, I don’ twip.”

“It’s polite to stand on their level,” Billy cornered.

The wings folded in on themselves and he landed on the table with a wilting demeanor. Billy looked to Steve, who informed, “The pink Barbie wardrobe beside my bed. You can’t miss it.”

Billy refrained from teasing him about that, and left to jog up the stairs. In the meantime, Steve introduced, “So, uh, Eddie. This is Steve and Billy.”

Little Billy looked equally dubious and hopeful. Small Steve took his hand and towed him forward to get a better look at this new Eddie, as well as the bigger one. “You wook like a wock starw.”

Big Eddie grinned with a toss of his hair off his shoulder. “Thank you. I grew it myself.”

Little Steve giggled and touched his Billy’s hair. “You’wre fwuffy too.”

Above them, big Steve ventured, “Am I allowed to ask about the wings?”

“No - ow!”

Billy knocked the back of his head as he passed by and sat on the floor with a small pair of jeans, black shorts, and a baseball long-sleeve shirt. “Take your pick.

Little Steve offered, “You can use our woom to change.”

“You got a room? WOAH!” little Eddie cried as he took his new clothes and ran through the cutout doors of the shoebox.

Steve and Billy looked at Eddie, who rapidly defended, “My room is his room! He’s got a bed and everything... A smaller option is a good idea, though.”

“It would’ve helped me from finding him,” Billy sassed.

Steve intercepted, “How’d you find him?”

Eddie swallowed, reticent until he admitted, “I don’t know. He showed up like a dream.”

Steve’s brows furrowed. “A dream?”

“Yeah. You know, like how you land in the middle of a dream? One second it was just me, and then...”

His words petered off, causing Steve and Billy to look at one another. Steve reminded, “Why would Hopper find ours instead of us?”

Billy shook his head. “I’m more of tomorrow, not yesterday, kind of thinker.”

Steve nodded enough for his hair to bob over his face. “That’s helpful. Really nice.”

Small Eddie burst out of the box in his new pants and shirt. Steve scrutinized the back and realized, “You cut holes for his wings?”

“Problem?” Billy asked.

“No,” he retreated. “My guys, you’re due for a bath. To the kitchen.”

They answered his summons and Eddie watched them ride on his hand with no shortage of jealously. “Wow. He’s got them squared away, huh?”

Steve countered from the kitchen, “What were you doing at the store last night?”

Eddie sighed over crossed arms and shook his head. Only to lurch when Billy kicked his leg. “Ow-jeez. I was...I was just trying to buy some cereal. Is that all right?”

“I’m not patronizing you,” Steve defended, “but most people don’t take out the whole shelf while they shop.”

“They might, if a tiny version is dead set on Coco Puffs.”

Billy asked, “What’s the deal with Coco Puffs?”

Eddie struggled to answer to that, like he was realizing this wasn’t as obvious to them as to himself. “Wha- Well. I mean, chocolate is bad for dogs...right?”

A slow smile crawled onto Billy’s face. “Right. But are you allergic to chocolate?”

“Don’t make me feel like an idiot.”

Steve approached for some clean clothes left behind in the littles’ bedroom. “You’re not. Hopper already did the dirty work for us. Chocolate’s fine. Fruit is a harder battle to win.”

Eddie visibly didn’t understand that one. “What’s the matter with fruit?”

Steve pointed a lifted brow at Billy. “Picky eaters. Don’t do carbonated beverages, though.”

Eddie silently filed that away for later. When Billy stood up to go to the kitchen, though, his eyes darted around and he stood up with his littler Eddie in tow. “So...is this what we do? Just live our lives and help them do the same on a tinier level?”

Small Eddie floated down to the countertop and ran to peek into the teacup bath. Despite the privacy of changing clothes, he stripped and used his wings to give him a boost, and tumbled into the water.

Large Steve answered, “Pretty much.”

A smile flashed on Eddie’s face but his tone contradicted it. “Okay. Cool. I guess I’m the only one feeling supremely out of place, here, because the last time I checked...none of us were friends. 'Cept me and Hargrove, maybe.”

“When your prices are reasonable,” he both teased and warned.

Steve said, “Listen, it’s not really about us. It’s about them. They seem to be doing great. I think we can too.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet, Steve - If you hit me one more time, I swear.”

“I told you to be civil,” Billy threatened.

“Well, excuse me if I’m defensive in good old King Steve’s palace.”

“I haven’t been King Steve in, like, a year and a half, dude,” Steve reminded bluntly. “Where have you been?”

“Smoking in my van.”

Billy’s eyes lolled at this ridiculous standoff between the two of them and murmured, “Are you gonna show him or what?”

“Why should this be up to him?” Eddie hissed.

“I’m right here,” Steve countered. “What is there to show me? Guys, is the water too hot?”

“Water’s gweat,” small Eddie sighed, blissfully floating like a starfish while Billy and Steve spun him around.

Eddie’s eyes hung heavily in his skull as he watched his littler self getting comfortable so fast. He lifted his gaze for one final pleading look at Billy, who lifted his brows. “We both know her better than you do.”

Eddie inhaled deeply and his exhalation trembled. Steve ventured, “Her?”

Eddie’s eyes hardened on him before he opened his jacket and spoke softly into its shadows. Steve looked to Billy, who simply waited.

The flap of Eddie’s denim pocket lifted to reveal a dark strawberry-blonde head. Steve’s lips parted as he watched Billy’s hand cross in front of Eddie, catching her as she climbed out. She gazed up at Eddie and Billy until her big eyes turned at the sound of her name.

“Chrissy?”

[zmediaoutlet]

happy wincest wednesday!! you used a crowley gif so ..what did he hear in 5x20 that convinced him they were together?

Absented from the playing field he may be, but Crowley sees no reason not to keep the radio tuned to the broadcast. As it were. The morons really are blundering their way to the apocalypse but he thinks, hopes, prays (or whatever passes in his crippled heart as praying) that they manage to pull through. He really has zero interest in finding out what fresh sort of torture Lucifer may invent if he wins; Michael's victory, so far as he can imagine, won't be much more pleasant. His imagination, unfortunately, is rather good.

The morons manage not to give up the Michael sword to heaven. Barely. Crowley's on the run from half of hell and isn't terribly impressed. A charming bungalow in the Seychelles, cheerily bright for tourists, is his most recent hideout, and he closes his eyes against the sunlight and holds the charmed coin between his hands and his mind flows across oceans and continents to -- good heavens, a stretch of abandoned highway not far from Van Nuys, California, where it's a dark midnight and that ridiculous beast of a car is parked under a tree, hidden even from the stars, and he hears:

Seriously, you okay? // Stop asking. // Just checking in, man. I mean, I don't know if your lungs bleeding is a weekly thing for you but it seems, you know. Not great. // Dean, I'm fine.

Typical. Talking about their feelings, per tedious usual. Very little makes Crowley more relieved to be a demon than hearing humans go on about their bleeding little hearts.

What are we going to do? // I don't know. Going out with a bang was pretty much my only play. Don't suppose Lucifer'd be cool with deciding the whole apocalypse thing over a game of checkers. // Dean-- // Or, I don't know. Yatzhee.

A laugh. Very short.

I was so... pissed at you. // I know. // Like, really. Like, if Cas hadn't done it for me I might've tried to pound your face in. You've just... // I've what? // I don't know. Not like you don't got every right, but... you've been scaring me, man. How you haven't been...

A longer pause. Hasn't been what, Crowley wonders. Dancing? Practicing his Estonian? A rustle, and then a sharp hiss of breath, and then this scratching noise. Stubble.

Been a long time, Sam. // You remember? The last... // Before I went down. 'Course I do. In Colorado Springs, that motel with the... cowpoke motif. A/C was busted and I think you were trying to fuse with my back, or something. Woke up welded together, practically. // I know it's -- it's screwed up, man, and I know I haven't -- if you didn't want -- // Sammy-- // I'm just saying I miss it. Miss you. Feels like -- I don't know. If it all falls apart I don't want to regret this. // This isn't a 'let's screw before the world ends' speech, is it? Because, Sammy -- // I mean it. I'm sorry. But I really do. // I know you do.

Stubble, again, and -- ah. Mouths, tongues. Wet. Love, or whatever passes for it. Crowley can't see but he can imagine -- both big men, clinched there on the seat of that absurd car, gripping and grasping and pulling at each other's jackets, and shirts, and now -- yes, belts, jeans. Et cetera. Not exactly a surprise, considering everything else about them that he's ever seen or heard or known, but a bit bold to commit incestuous buggery when all of heaven and hell are looking to chew them apart. He'll give them this: it has panache.

[inamindfarfaraway]

My Wreck-It Ralph Sugar Rush OCs

Name

Bicky Chocrisp.

Gender

Female.

Appearance

She has brown skin and dark brown eyes. Her kinky hair is black with light brown streaks, in box braids and woven into a shoulder-length ponytail with a red band that imitates a plaited pastry. She wears a glossy chocolate-brown leather jacket with a gold zip over a white T-shirt with a red heart symbol in the middle. She also has fawn leggings and dark brown shoes with red laces. Her white helmet is modelled after a chocolate-drizzled meringue.

Theme

Biscuits, sandwich biscuits in particular, pastries and meringues.

Kart

The Tartful Dodger. It has an eclair body, Oreo-esque wheels, a chocolate tart steering wheel, and the seat is two halves of a chocolate sandwich biscuit with cream cushions.

Fans

Chocolate wafers.

Catchphrase

"It's crunch time!"

Bio

Bicky Chocrisp: Smart cookie.

What Bicky Chocrisp lacks in raw power, she makes up for in control and cunning. She’s a master of timing, boosts, powerups, and all the other racing tricks that technically aren’t cheating - even if they may feel like it to those she overtakes. She’s clever, creative and sweet. But she can put up brittle walls of bravado to hide her soft, gooey centre and sometimes worries about being good enough. She likes to watch and analyse races and conversations as much as participate in them.

***

Name

Roxy Fizzlepop.

Gender

Female.

Appearance

She has fair skin, cyan eyes and dusty purple hair in a choppy, spiky pixie cut dotted with sparkly cyan crystals. She wears a sleeveless dark blue puffer jacket over a purple top with short, spiky ripped sleeves, a shiny cyan foil skirt, and dark blue boots with silver laces and cyan crystalline studs. Her helmet is dark blue, smooth and has a purple fuse on the top.

Theme

Popping candy and fizzy sweets and drinks.

Kart

The Tangnado. Its body is a soft drink bottle of purple glass containing tubes of cyan sherbet, its wheels are cyan fizzy tablet sweets with purple jelly ring tyres, its seat is dark blue and its steering wheel is a silver bottle cap.

Fans

Gummy bears.

Catchphrase

“Shake it up!”

Bio

Roxy Fizzlepop: Lift your spirits.

Roxy Fizzlepop is bubbly, buoyant and bold. She loves the thrill of the race. Win or lose, no outcome will deflate her overflowing cheer as long as she’s done her best, and she always does. Her strategy in everything is charging hard and fast ahead. She’s eccentric, easily distracted but tending to notice details others don’t. She feels all her feelings very intensely. If you manage to set her off by being mean, you’ll find that her temper can be explosive.

***

Name

Juicica Tutti-Frutti.

Gender

Female.

Appearance

She has tan skin, silky jet-black hair in pigtails with bands that imitate pineapple rings and green eyes. She wears a yellow T-shirt with brown seed prints, a translucent pink sweet wrapper skirt, yellow and green striped knee-length shorts and pink shoes. Her helmet resembles a raspberry and matches her shoes.

Theme

Snacks and desserts containing fruit.

Kart

The Boltberry. Its body is a slice of fruitcake. It has pineapple rings wheels, a steering wheel made of a caramelised apple slice and an orange segment spoiler. Green markings of star fruit cross sections decorate the bonnet and sides.

Fans

Toffee apples.

Catchphrase

“Zest wishes!”

Bio

Juicica Tuttifrutti: Fruits of labour.

An apple a day keeps the rivals away in Juicica Tuttifrutti’s book. This athletic health nut can be slightly overbearing, but she has her friends’ best interests at heart and dedicated diligence is how she shows she cares. Her spirit is patient and resilient, full of positive energy. She holds herself to high standards and would never grab the low-hanging fruit. She believes that practice makes perfect. It certainly makes her a great racer!

***

Name

Scoffia Confectionaire.

Gender

Female.

Appearance

She has fair skin and blue eyes. Her wavy white hair is styled in a chin-length bob that alludes to a popcorn flake. She wears a boxy jacket and trousers with thick vertical red and white stripes like a popcorn carton and gold buttons shaped like pretzels, and a golden shirt underneath. She also wears black patent leather shoes with gold buckles. Her helmet is gold and encrusted with glittering salt crystals.

Theme

Salty snacks like popcorn, nuts and pretzels that are often found at public venues and eaten while watching movies.

Kart

The Crackerjack. Its body is a normal kart shape, mostly red with white stripes. It has salted nut cluster tyres supported by straight pretzel spokes and popcorn flake hubs, a pretzel steering wheel and a seat made of golden-brown crackers with white cheese cushions. An exhaust pipe and rocket booster at the back are fitted into popcorn flakes.

Fans

Breadsticks.

Catchphrase

"It’s showtime!”

Bio

Scoffia Confectionaire: Worth her salt.

Scoffia Confectionaire claims that she isn’t here to make friends, and the only challenge more intimidating than overtaking her seems to be winning her over. She’s proud, sharp-tongued and loves to be the star of the show. But her integrity will always outweigh her ego. She would never lie or play dirty and doesn’t mean any real harm; she just thinks a compelling racing story needs a little drama. Earn her respect and you’ll find that her grit really enhances her subtle sweetness.