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itsuki-minamy · 2 years

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"SIDE GOLD"

CHAPTER 2: UNNO YUTAKA (PART 2/2)

* List of Chapters

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia

There is a normal private brothel and gambling house at the back of the so-called Yokocho (the sign is "Kagirohi Business Association", and the name of the remaining place is "Kagirohi Yokocho"), which opens the entrance of the townhouse in the main street. Relatively speaking with the police... Kagirohi-gumi wasn't too enthusiastic about those things that were easily noticed by the superiors and the occupying forces, but still existed to a lesser degree than necessary.

When the early winter sun goes down and the market is packed with customers coming home from work, the little joint opens up in secret. For some reason, there was a thick plaque with just the name of the store, "Yakumo", written in large letters on the dilapidated shack that stood out from the others. Known only to those in the know, it is the fortress of Kagirohi-gumi.

Now he was receiving an early visit from a rare visitor.

A building with no play in its structure turns into a covered fire pit as soon as you walk through the entrance. Normally, the amusement park, where the bloody-eyed patrons would be excited, shouting "one way, half way" centered on that white cloth, was silently enveloped by a strange visitor. However, the place was not cold.

Rather, it was boiling with a heat that almost burned the skin.

The seats were unusually arranged with the cloth tray in the middle.

A rude visitor sat at the entrance. All of them were a group of people wearing soft hats, suits, and coats, and each of them was wrapped in furoshiki cloth. There was a gloomy composure without madness or ferocity, which was clearly different from the brats running in and out of the group.

In the center of the group, an American sat cross-legged.

He was a dubious man with round eyes and a deep wrinkled smile, neither middle-aged nor young.

It was said by a man from Kagirohi-gumi, who was bending his slender torso completely.

"Thomas Colt... you said that, brother of the Occupation Army, Ani-san."

Rather, that was a strong-looking young man who had a deep voice, a thick torso, thick arms, and thick legs when he sat upright, and whoever saw him could not misunderstand him. The perforated eyes that filled the entire body, the presence of an enormous weight, suppressed the outburst of the young people behind.

Colt nodded with a smile that hid his emotions.

"Yes, Okuma Tamataro-san."

His fluent Japanese gave off a sense of suspicion rather than familiarity.

"According to his family record, he is 25 years old. The only son of the Kanto Okuma group that hired him as a janitor. Through repeated fights, he became a bad friend. After the death of his father, Sayataro, he handed over control of the group to him, and together they became Kagirohi-gumi. Commonly known as "Onikuma"."

Okuma's thick eyebrows twitched. As he felt the excitement of the youths, he calmly returned it.

"You seem to know a lot about it. And what are you looking for?"

"Yes, of course, I'd like to ask him to see me. It's a loss for you too."

"Go home."

As soon as he gave up, Okuma stepped on the tray and slammed his fist into his opponent's face. With a one knee stance, a thick fist thrown as naturally as walking.

"......!"

But it didn't make it to Colt.

A translucent barrier that appeared in front of him blocked the blow.

Colt added a small amount of teasing and deepened his smile.

"Wow. Just like information, you're fast."

"......"

Okuma silently ignited his fist as he continued to press against the barrier.

In the center of the dimly lit playing hall, an unlikely light lit both fields red. A group of coats reached for a furoshiki wrap, while the Kagirohi-gumi youths raised a dagger or a long wakizashi dosu.

They almost exceeded their limits in a matter of seconds.

"Enough, Okuma."

The woman who was poking her chin out at the back counter stopped him with a loose voice.

"What a great psychic. Isn't that unusual for the Occupation Army?"

Saying so, the woman stared at Colt's power through his round black glasses.

As for Colt, his wrinkled smile didn't break.

"I wouldn't say it's rare... as long as you live in this place... It's common, isn't it, Todokoro Suwako-san?"

"I see; you know me well."

Suwako stood up, tall and slender, approached. Her peculiar outfit, with ill-fitting hair and a worn kosode and long haori, swayed with every step.

Placing Okuma's fiery fist in front of him, Colt continued without hesitation.

"I know many other things. According to the family record, she is 23 years old. Her family died in an air raid. The owner of the restaurant where she first worked in this town. A lover who always accompanies him and who handles the administrative affairs of Kagirohi-gumi, commonly known as "Hanakumo"."

"Are you saying that on purpose to make me angry?"

Despite the atmosphere, the youthful beauty of hers smiled like a blooming flower.

It wasn't glee or affection; it was an expression of anger that burned slowly.

Before he even noticed it, many red threads that burned the air spread out from the tip of her hair.

Okuma suddenly realized and raised his fist.

"Bastards, they're coming!"

As he yelled at the youths, he himself collapsed to the ground.

A countless number of red threads were dancing wildly at high speed. Several youths who failed to escape were shot down, and even the "Yakumo" arcade was smashed by a ferocious blow from inside. A thick, tough nameplate rose into the sky.

Though a cry of surprise erupted from the depths of the market.

"What?! "Yakumo" exploded?!"

"Is she in and out again?"

"Who is it this time, boss Unno?"

"Okay, big sister! Find out if there's a fire!"

He didn't see enough of a stir to cause a panic. It was a common occurrence there.

First-time visitors were amazed. If the barrier hadn't covered all of them, it would have been more than amazing. Feeling cold sweat on his cheeks, Colt kept smiling.

"So this violence is as reported."

Saying that, he sharply raised his right hand.

In response, the group of coats unwrapped the cloth that wrapped them. From within, automatic rifles and heavy weapons three times as severe as Okuma imagined appeared. They aimed their tubes at "Yakumo", which had turned into rubble.

Before long, Okuma was the first to pull his thick body out of the rubble. In both arms was a young man who had been run over and passed out. As he took a deep breath, he asked next to him with a serious face.

"Don't do that, Suwako. What part of the earlier tease annoyed you?"

"They call me lover. If you can do that, no one will have a hard time..."

Standing calmly alone on the spot, Suwako muttered with her mouth pouting.

Colt ignored that.

(It was a little different than planned, but I don't mind.)

His target was a single man who should have dated if he had a dispute with his henchmen.

"Geeh, geeh!"

Somewhere in the rubble, a young man coughed.

"Damn, people are sleeping comfortably, why all the fuss?"

Colt was attentive and focused on the person raising the voice.

Someone kicked the galvanized board away and it righted itself. He brushed the dust off the jacket that appeared to be a leaked article.

"Ah! Did you do it again?!"

His physique was unexpectedly small, but his fearless gaze as he looked around him had an extraordinary attraction. A majestic atmosphere that makes you feel that things are different filled his whole body and overwhelmed the viewer.

Not intimidated by him, Suwako blurted out her own words as she did so.

"Shut up, bastard! More than that, he's a customer."

"A guest?"

He searched for a foreign object among the rubble.

Colt, who should have met the attack with determination and strength, felt a slight sensation of dread as his eyes turned to him. He came to mind, unpleasantly, the metaphor of a rat versus a bird of prey.

As expected, his eyes went to the group that was targeting them.

"Okay, let's do it."

As soon as he learned that the customer was his enemy, Unno Yutaka made a quick decision and willingly agreed.

In preparation, he wrapped the white silk scarf that he dug out of the rubble around his neck.

Near the collapsed "Yakumo", there was a vacant lot unofficially managed by Kagirohi-gumi. It was a forced evacuation area established before the war to prevent the spread of air raids.

They used it as a battlefield when they went in and out of other places. Even today, Okuma and Suwako were on Unno's left and right, and behind them, there were a dozen youths, and they were intimidating the opponent with his usual disposition.

Today's opponent did not respond by threatening to face each other like a mirror match. In the center of the group carrying sword-swallowing firearms, Colt with a doubtful smile began a sleepy story.

Under the night, voices came and went through the unlit streetlights.

"Once again, I would like to express my greetings to you, Third King, Unno Yutaka."

"What are you saying?"

Even if he was fluent in Japanese, he couldn't understand unfamiliar words. With a doubtful look on his face, Unno's childish face looked even more childish.

Colt obediently added an explanation.

"Third, the one who has the power of the King... In other words, it is a word that legally defines "King". Our country does not have a royal family, so please forgive me for using such a formal phrase."

It was a long talk based on the speculation that it would not be a bad idea to appeal that it was a party that would be forced to cooperate from now on, and that it was different from the group that started a conflict.

However, Unno's understanding was at a stage well before such speculation.

"Why, am I the third?"

"It's just the order in which the existence was confirmed, don't worry about it."

Colt continued patiently, though he was dismayed at his childishness.

"Actually, the Occupation Forces have been aware of your movements since last year. The Strain used in the conflicts in the neighborhood... in other words, like those with the "red power" who defeated the geisha."

The explanation was mixed with subtle falsehoods.

The detection was true, but the information was held within the Nanakamado intelligence agency, and was not reported to its superior organization, Headquarters. Research into essential "red power" was also intentionally neglected.

That's because they have ambitions to extend their power as an armed group. More than anything else, they hated the fact that by carelessly mentioning the "King", the situation would progress and the job of secretly collecting Strains that could be used in battle would be hampered.

"Tokijikuin", who cannot be hated, even if they hate them, launched the "Fourth Legislative Affairs Office of the Ministry of Justice" and began to directly interfere, such as arresting its officials. Situation scenes that had no choice but to move to keep pressing.

Of course, they also had no intention of rushing recklessly.

The strongest ability in American Strain, "Stone Wall" Thomas Colt (a pseudonym), which generates extremely strong barriers, and those who specialize in combat, are obtained through a unique route that bypasses the Headquarters. They gave them the weapons they needed and launched them into that operation. They calculated that they could compete well with the battle record of the "Demon" in Chofu.

On the other hand, Kagirohi-gumi had no intentions.

The fight that was sold was purchased at the asking price.

That was the only rule that was not even necessary to establish.

Even now, Unno was empty-minded... If he were to express the actual situation, he would get bored listening to the explanation.

He doesn't stop once a fight starts, but he's quiet until it starts. The reason he doesn't step in and cut the conversation short is because of the bully's way of thinking that it's easier for the other person to just say what he wants.

Then he suddenly realized it.

"Hmm? That's tall... I've seen it somewhere."

A group of people in coats, one of whom had a hat and collar covering his face, shrugged at him.

Okuma also stared at the slightly looming face, and an idea occurred to him.

"A geisha employed by the Agata group, "Ebisu no Kunizo"."

"Ah, you beat me to death... Yes, you switched sides to the Occupation Army."

"......"

He returned the casual greeting with silence, but Unno took no offense.

It was quite common for the world to reject people for awakening to their power, for them to have no choice but to use that power as a food source, or change the river bank depending on whether they won or lost.

Therefore, Unno can only think that the current boss is strict.

"You came to hit me again, it's the guts that I admire."

"......"

The silence returned again.

Before he knew it, Colt had stopped explaining and had his mouth shut.

Thinking that he really couldn't apologize, Unno apologized.

"Oops, sorry. Shall we keep talking?"

"Yes, good."

Colt responded with a sour face, but he actually got a good impression of that boy's nonchalance from the start. Realizing that, he quickly brushed it off and said, "That's the "King's" magic power."

"Let's get down to business."

He dared to speak matter-of-factly with a calm voice, but secretly wishing for success, he began.

"Would you like to join forces with us? You will use the power of the "King" to create a large number of geisha, and we will show you exactly where to use them. If we cooperate, we should be able to obtain even this country."

Although it was a picture from the future that was in mint condition and neglected, Nanakamado took it seriously. It can be said that they were left with only a bet of one or eight.

"Make a geisha?"

Unable to understand the use of the words, Unno tilted his head.

Instead, Suwako guessed and told him in an easy to understand way.

"In short, it's our "Sakazuki Fire Cup"."

"Oh I see."

Unno clapped.

In the Kagirohi-gumi, the introductory sake cup is filled with the fire of the "Red King". Only those who were prepared to drink from that much hotter fire could join the family and be empowered along the way. By the way, Unno always drinks the same as the boss.

"Very well, then, do you want to scatter our "cups of fire"?"

"That's how it is."

Colt involuntarily leaned forward in response to Unno's conviction.

"Then it's impossible."

He received a firm refusal. The fact that he still held back from the answer that he should have expected more than half the time was due to his liking and regret.

"Why?!"

Unno looked left, right, and behind him.

"These weird trees are, well, a bunch of troublesome people."

With a troubled and embarrassed face, he showed pride.

"I chose them; they are my family. You can't make Strains for horse bones here."

"Well, that's how it is."

"Why do you say such embarrassing things?"

Okuma responded with a smile, while Suwako relaxed and cursed. The youths in the back also showed their affection for the boss in any way they could.

Just like that family, Colt concluded as he felt obvious jealousy.

"As I thought, it was impossible to persuade you... In that case, I would like you to be prepared for a certain amount of injury."

"It's still rude of you to say it, Colt-san. It's just a matter of doing it or not, right?"

Until the break, Unno urged war to break out.

Without any specifications, Colt raised his right hand.

"Yes, he's out of control."

The group of people in coats raised their mouthpieces at the same time.

Unno, who was standing at the reception, had a twinkle in his eyes,

"Okay, let's do it!"

Okuma, Suwako and the youth were full of fighting spirit.

There was no time for a tense confrontation.

"Come on!"

Immediately, Unno clenched his fist and erupted with bright red power.

Colt reflexively created a barrier and burst open from the front.

"Eh?!"

Before he knew it, Unno's heavy fist smashed into his face and he went flying, jumping to the ground twice before coming to a stop.

With Colt erecting a barrier, Colt's group waited for an opportunity to fire. The moment he waited, he was surprised to learn that the enemy boss had jumped to the place where the commander was. At that astonishing moment, "Ebisu no Kunizo", who was about to turn around the tip of the tube, received Okuma's fiery fist in the middle of his stomach.

Suwako tied a red string to the firearm that fell from Kunizo's hand and pulled the trigger without hesitation. A flurry of shots tore through the crowd in the court, and they scattered in all directions while eating up the foam. Young men ran there, slashing with long doses of wakizashi or hitting with beams to crush them all at once.

In the end, the exchange took less than 20 seconds.

Unno stared at his fist that had no lingering impression and let out a disappointed sigh.

"As I thought, these guys... well... hey..."

Looking curiously at the groaning group of people around him, and at the youths who fell one by one after being attacked in an instant, he gave the following instructions:

"Sorry to interrupt your evening drink, but I'll take care of you at the clinic. Even the brothers in the Occupation Army."

On the way, he noticed that something was flying.

The ten surrounding the open space were not bullets.

It was an anti-tank rocket projecting with a thin column of white smoke behind it.

(This is my favorite!)

His dazzling eyes took in the situation and his thoughts flashed like sparks.

He was probably shot after the two sides collided. The original plan must have been to protect the group with Colt's barrier, leaving only Kagirohi-gumi to suffer. Unable to comprehend the situation due to the night fight, went off as planned.

"Hey, look it up!"

"......!"

Not mistaking his intentions, Suwako stretched countless red threads around her.

At the same time, Unno jumped into the sky. Along the way, he twisted his body and gathered strength.

(Don't you have to be prepared for some fires?)

He couldn't afford to adjust the power.

He just let it go.

"Ohhhhhhhhhh!"

Red flames swirled and circled in the sky near the market.

The interlocking rockets in the searing heat caused one explosion after another.

A roaring sound rushed in from all directions, and those who were in the open space cringed in place. They were saved, but many large pieces of sparks rained down on the night market.

Okuma was the first to get back to his feet, but his expression clouded over at the uproar that had begun to spread out of the vacant lot.

"This is bad."

On top of that, Suwako, who was still crouching down, uttered her voice with a single red thread.

At the end of the thread, Unno in heaven received the voice.

"On the rooftop!"

"I understand!"

From the night sky, he could see the location of whoever fired rockets into the city. On top of the dark thatched roof, there were many duos displaying moves like holding the launcher, loading the next round, and preparing to retreat.

(Hey, it's hard to do.)

Strangely, Unno didn't know what to do.

His attack ripped through the rooftop and burned down the store.

However, if he cleared one set at a time, he would buy them time to load the next bullet.

As expected, Nanakamado was not incompetent either. Although they miscalculated his attack, they had come up with their own plan to fight a disgusting and formidable enemy.

After thinking carefully for more than a second, Unno came to a decision.

(Hey, in this case, just clean up before the fire spreads!)

He kept in close contact with Suwako, had Okuma surprise him from afar, and began to stage a battle, but his voice reached him again. A voice panicked with a sense of danger.

"Yutaka-chan! My strings got blown... Somehow, they're coming!"

"Eh?"

A strange sight was reflected in Unno's field of vision while he was in free fall.

A large number of fireballs fell, creating an uproar throughout the market.

Someone climbed onto the roof and hit the duo.

Or rather, he was suppressing them.

The appearance of wielding a long wakizashi with a terrifyingly elegant movement. He was clearly not a young member of the Kagirohi-gumi. He wasn't alone either. Two, three, more.

(Who...? No, what?)

A mysterious group crossed through the rooftop and overwhelmed the collapsing duo one after another.

(Well, if you catch someone, you'll understand.)

Thinking about it, he was aiming for the landing.

"What?!"

Suddenly, a dazzling radiance spread out like ripples. Crystals that were built in an orderly manner covered the surface of the earth, houses, and even people at a terrifying speed.

Seeing that for the first time, Unno's breath took a deep breath.

The glass covering everything suddenly shattered with a pleasant high-pitched sound and disappeared.

When Unno landed in the original vacant lot, the Kagirohi-gumi members gathered around him. All of them, to a greater or lesser extent, were scared and suspicious at the approach of something mysterious.

The one who was most scared was Suwako, who had all the red strings blown away.

The one who was the most cautious was Okuma, who was showing an unusually nervous look.

Unno also felt a strange and unpleasant tickle deep in his chest. Reaching out with both hands, shoving everyone else back a step, he turned toward a certain wide alley.

Beyond the light of the streetlamps, the footsteps of a large but regular march resounded. Among them, especially sharp footsteps were mixed.

(This guy.)

Unno was convinced of what that guy was.

Just the sound of footsteps overflowed with a feeling that should be called a fundamental discrepancy.

Then, finally, the owner of the steps appeared under the dim light.

A tall, slender man wearing a cap, a waterproof cloak, a uniform, and a saber. The atmosphere was calm and the subordinates that followed him were all dressed in blue.

Unno experienced the expression "all the creeps."

He couldn't read the blue man's emotions. He just waved calmly.

"Good night, "Red King", Unno Yutaka."

"You are..."

Unno felt that he had found what he was looking for.

The warmth that had faded in his daily life revived.

His soul exploded violently.

"TRAILER"

1 2 3 4 5 6...

The end of the ambition sustained by the secret intelligence organization.

Attack the monsters that lurk in post-war Tokyo.

The real threat that is coming and the shadow of the catastrophe.

Roaring in the storm, the clash of the "King" and the "King"

Director of the GoRA writing group.

Exciting entertainment giant.

In the next chapter of "K SIDE: GOLD":

Ootono Benji, the Sixth King, the "Grey King".

The Fifth King, Tsunugui Iku, the "Green King", appears.

Coming soon.

#k #k project #k side gold

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steampunkforever · 1 year

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The worst part of Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny is the name. Indiana Jones titles are always pulp and corny, but something about the title for the 5th smacks more of a magic treehouse derivative work than of George Lucas’ OTHER nostalgic tribute to his childhood. No, not American Graffiti. The OTHER OTHER one.

I’ll be honest here, I went in expecting to hate it. I love James Mangold, but I was ready to hate anything that wasn’t a Steven and George joint. The wrong sort of people going ape about lines dealing with “you stole those from other cultures” didn’t give me much hope for what a modern take on the Indiana Jones franchise would look like. Especially since the last attempt, almost 15 years ago, did an especially bad job at updating Indy for modernity and setting up a successor to the hat.

I didn’t hate it! Its on par with or slightly worse than the Temple of Doom and Definitely better than Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. That’s praise enough for Mangold, who knows how to bid farewell to a beloved but aging character. Sure, there was more CGI than needed, but Harrison Ford isn’t a young man anymore, and the CGI-young Harrison was an acceptable compromise between actually casting an actor as younger Indy (the ideal) and keeping Harrison as his younger self (his voice definitely sounds like an older man in a young body).

The lighting, overall tone, and cinematography was all in line with that of the Indiana Jones movies. Was some of the political messaging on the nose? Yes. But we all know that the best Indiana Jones movies are the ones where he’s fighting Nazis. It really hit all the right notes, with few missteps and only the necessary deviations from the classic Jones tone we all love. Also they put Toby Jones in a little german boy costume.

The three biggest missteps of the film were still pretty nominal. First being the runtime of the movie. This isn’t a short one, and while not all Indiana Jones films are short, usually they’re pretty tight affairs with little bloat, something this could’ve used trimming on.

Related to that is the amount of time we spend with the villains. Indy villains are like Wes Anderson side characters, where you figure what they’re about and they stay pretty one dimensional after that. Maybe you get a character monologue or two before they die brutally of their own hubris. That should be it, and this movie stretched things much further than it should have in getting to know the villains. Not that this was necessarily bad, but it certainly wasn’t very joneslike of the movie.

Lastly, my complaint was how they handled the McGuffin. The tried and true way to handle mystical artifacts is for Jones to finally get to them, have the bad guys activate them, and then they die gruesomely in front of Indy from the hubris of the whole affair. Though the bad guys die, we spent way too long with the artifact in this one, to the point that it felt overexplained and no longer as mystical or special as it should be. I wasn’t handled badly, but it certainly lost the spark that even the Crystal Skull had comparatively.

One of the shining parts of the movie for me was how they handled Helena Shaw as the successor to the Jones adventuring line. there was no “look I’m more capable and more progressive than you are” the way that literally every genderswap recast tumblr pitch for this movie has been for the past ten years. Nor was she done in the same way that countless “bland young man with stubble” counterrecasts have gone.

She’s her own character, charming and engaging in her own ways, and in this film she captures audience hearts through Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s performance and great character writing. She’s not an annoying sidekick, nor is she a pale imitation. She’s a strong female character with a roguishness of her own that imitates no one and provides the perfect successor to an Indy. When she walk’s into the sunset at the end, its wearing a hat of her own, a more modern leather jacket, and the confidence of a character meant as a continuation, not a replacement. That’s all I can ask for, and they handled it elegantly.

Good thing too. The last guy they had usurp the hat was so bad that this movie kills Shia Lebouf offscreen in ‘Nam.

#indiana jones #indiana jones and the dial of destiny #dial of destiny #filmposting #film

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meanwhileinstasiville · 1 year

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Starthistle apartment complex, a story about malo management, where latino and company town meet.

A scary thing; Kirk of a low corner apartment who variously *stockpiled* and also *fabricated* weapons. A schizophrenic, or so I was told.

A "sane" man; Andrew of crushing obsessive compulsive disorder, or so I was told. Seeming to be flatline, I mistook him for a sociopath, joking that "your garden is coming in really nice this year" after he complained of a row with "the manager" Heather. *Quizzical look* "he's saying you killed the manager and buried her in the garden" said mom to clear it up. A certain faculty for agitating Kirk that we'll come back to.

A sort of normal disabled guy; Larry, also gay, not significant to his condition or the story.

A self-hating Jew; Steve, a boyfriend of Larry, also gay and with significance to his comorbid condition.

A recovering drug addict sex fiend around her concert days; Venerable, because she was a multitool of sorts (First name withheld for privacy). An enabler and also girlfriend, "crazy women are hot in bed" said mom of their relationship.

Daddy's little monster; mom, trying to composite a makeshift family *with some redeeming quality whatsoever* out of yet another Arkham asylum. She once checked into "2N" the psych ward because she didn't want to be alone on Thanksgiving. "She's a whore" thought Andrew, "She's a drug addict" thought Venerable. "She's the unknown" Thought Kirk. "A nazi from money and somehow also a jew from money" thought Steve (who lended me some very good if heavily homo biased books on philosophy, not relevant to the story per se). "A sociopath trying to run the complex from her apartment" thought Heather.

Some two churches bordered the place, at that time.

A manager; Heather, trying to sort herself out and also boarding her boyfriend in her onsite apartment, struggling with a group of people more dangerous than crazy when taken alone. Stacked up neurotically like a house of cards.

So what happened? What's "malo" management?

Andrew, well on the antisocial spectrum or so I believed, was a classmate of my former boss's son. Coincidence, it happens. Econometrics degree, vs his son's econ in general. Was in a core curriculum class *with me* when I flirted with the college. So I picked a class out of a hat, women and minorities in the media, for the next term and you'd never guess who was also in there. Stirring the soup, I would call it, what latinos do when managing a society without "the mappo" we'll say.

And yes, the city showed up again and again for Kirk. Even the chief after a while. As it expected of schizophrenics so far as the media paints them. Andrew's "button pushing", completely unnoticed preceded most each and every Kirk "outburst". We'll call Kirk "the malo" in this case; keeping the peace while also keeping the complex appropriately terrorized. Not the least of means, acting out *the exact amount necessary* to summon officers on a whim. (Really it's Andrew, who is so cold as not to disturb Kirk, but affable enough to make suggestions to him all the same) A guy who goes and puts a hat on a bear now and again, we'll say.

Where *IS* Andrew during these outbursts? Why, in Venerable's apartment, of course. His crippling OCD has it that he needs to "conservative every resource" having gone so far as to turn his electricity off *at the breaker* (his pipes may have been capped, for all I know).

(Agencies like the fbi and other enforcement groups are aunts, uncles, mothers, fathers, and grandparents, to latinos; a bear was the "law" of native american society, and why depart from nature when you have the best object lesson and example *right in front of you* "Wouldn't want a bear to turn up where you recreate, work, live, now would you?")

Where's Venerable? She's cashiering for my former boss.

(When I really needed to know what was going on there, and this should make something I said to Bijou years ago *crystal clear* to her, I had Andrew "teach me to drive" actual and in point of fact *the 4th person* fifth if you count my aunt Sue, to teach me. What happened was, "pay attention to stop signs" along side a button pushing exercise of seeking mine out; and you know, I guess he did well because the park department picked him up, crippling OCD and all afterward)

A stability problem with her relationship kept the manager in line. Andrew's OCD crippled him in isolation and that kept him in line, tethered to Venerable. Mom's paranoia and tendency to exaggerate situations to the level *she was accustomed to dealing with* in her prime, kept her in line.

And Kirk, the bear, was best left alone. Where even his severe schizophrenia dialed down where he wasn't agitated.

What about Larry???

Larry kept Steve in line by normalizing his homosexuality and supporting it emotionally.

Keeping Steve from upsetting Andrew enough to go to Kirk. Enough support even to keep Steve's inane complains "the food is terrible and there's not enough of it" (my example not what he was doing) from destabilizing Heather's relationship.

Keeping Kirk nonthreatened by at least one other person. Enough not to trigger a Venerable relapse.Latinos have the most advanced social system on the face of the earth, so when any of these "defund this decommission that" campaigns actually work, malos are what we're going to get.

This is where I should point out that my old boss and I have the same personality cluster; he has an empathy deficit he "treated" by using a journalist friend of his son's as "an interface". I have a sympathy deficit, where I can't relate to neurosis or the basis for it. Put another way, "Remember to set your clocks ahead one hour...'oh man!'" the store bulletin board posting went. He being hyper sympathetic to people as a sort of racial characteristic, thought the posting would eliminate the problem. Lacking empathy, he failed to notice the time change posting was next to such informative postings as, "cash money for bling", and "can't stop wont stop 228" and down below "anything you want is free" "plus you get fired". So he couldn't understand why they were late. I wouldn't think to put up the posting; I'd call fifty some people starting at six am.

I should also point out that I shored up my deficiency with a sort of literary prodigy who talked like reading a Stephen King novel. Before I realized what sort of person I was turning into. Not a good look.

When I was working there, he went with "do what you have to do" as a byline for self-generated situations with his employees as often as not. Empathy matters.

When I was in situations with employees and sometimes even customers, I'd caution them with "it's not that I don't care; it's that I can't care" Leading to an odd experience where, "you don't care at all!?!" resulted from a customer complaining about how a product (which was not medical in nature) made them feel. After I had explained that. Sympathy matters.

Why is a store connected to an insane asylum masquerading as a senior and disability complex? Why are empathy and sympathy important as well as the distinction between them? The worst kind of nepotism.

(And yeah, a "heather" was also boarding my aunt, who is disfigured, a town over at the time; ie mom must be ugly because heather is someone else's landlord; always with the complementary and supplementary social angles on things with that system)

And you can't make this stuff up. Seems like it caught on fire a couple times, too.

The latinos? Star this L.

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ledenews · 1 year

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Ask a Teacher - Part I: Resources and Best Practices

Teaching is not just a profession, but a calling. Across the country, young men and women enter the career field, hoping to make a positive impact in the lives of their students, not only as learners but also as people. Applying what they learned during their own education, plus the tried and true method of trial and error, these educators constantly evaluate and model their teaching styles to best fit their students. But what have they learned? What do they feel works best and what could be better? What isn't being taught that should be and how might they approach/look at things differently with fewer restraints and restrictions? Detractors of the education system bemoan that school systems, and in turn teachers, teach to the test. They learn how to regurgitate facts and figures, but not how to think. And yes, much emphasis is placed upon the results of standardized testing, forcing teachers to not only help their students master the material to be found on said tests, but also to incorporate knowledge outside of those tests that is necessary to function in the real world. And they must do so in 45-50 minute time spans, 7-8 times per day (depending on period number and length). This must be done amidst growing class sizes as well as varying learning styles and strengths and weaknesses of the students found within. LedeNews sought out the opinions of a few area teachers and solicit their opinions on a myriad of topics impacting their lives as educators, and those of their students. Two of Ohio County School's best answered the call and were willing to provide their insight, a peak behind the curtain if you will, into today's classrooms. The first is Hayden Cook, a special education instructor at Wheeling Middle School. A Wheeling native, Cook is a man of many hats. He's a teacher, a coach, a father of three, and a growing leader in the community. He's an active member of the Men of Change group in Wheeling and started his own foundation, the Grand View Corporation, a group whose mission is to empower disadvantaged youth by helping them to gain the tools necessary to succeed. Cook is investing in today's youth extends far beyond his classroom. The same can be said of the other responder. Bridge Street Middle School Langauge Arts teacher Shawna Safreed also elected to offer her thoughts on a number of questions. Like Cook, Safreed is a Wheeling native. She started her career with Ohio County Schools back in 2009 and last fall was named the school district's Teacher of the Year as well as a Top 10 Finalist for West Virginia Teacher of the Year. Safreed also works to extend her reach beyond the classroom, helping to run her school's Leo Club, a youth arm of the Lions Club service organization. She also organizes a book club through the school and is always looking for ways to offer additional opportunities for her students to learn. Hayden Cook is a teacher, coach, father, and youth leader in the greater Wheeling community Shawna Safreed was named the Ohio County Schools' Teacher of the Year for 2022-23 What Single Thing Would Make Your In-Class Life Easier? Support and trust- from all stakeholders- ie. parents, principals, and administration. This isn't necessarily a wish for where I am now because I do feel trusted and valued, but more so in the past. -- Cook Overall, the single thing that would make class life easier would definitely be class size. When you are able to work with a smaller amount of students, you can differentiate the lessons and strategies to fit the needs of a smaller group better, and, as the teacher, you can provide more direct support. -- Safreed Overall, What Would Make Your Life as a Teacher Easier? Currently, I would still say trust and support from all areas. -- Cook Overall, in a perfect world, if every student was reading closer to grade level that would make a significant impact on class life. I teach 7th grade, and there are students I have that are reading on a first-grade level. I am required to teach 7th-grade reading skills to students that read below grade level. It is very challenging. -- Safreed What Are Your Thoughts On How the Curriculum and Test Prep Affects How You Go About Educating Your Students on a Day-to-Day Basis? Because I am in special education, there is less emphasis on standardized testing scores. However, in the general education environment, there is a lot of pressure on teachers to show growth and high achievement in their students and it dictates much of what they are able to do/cover. -- Cook I think every teacher would agree that the curriculum taught is very much correlated to having the students achieve higher stat test results. The test impacts a lot of what we do in the classroom because there is great emphasis placed on the results. Students are tiered for their ability and the test is used for that, which puts pressure on me as the teacher to ensure all standards are taught and students are mastering the material. This does add a lot of stress. -- Safreed How or Would You Change Your Instruction Methods/Topics Without Any Restrictions From the Board or State? Would You Place a Greater Emphasis on Different Subject Matter, or Go About Teaching Differently? I would establish very basic standards that are important and relevant to what kids actually need to know- both in life and in future education. The objectives for each grade level have become so intense and complicated that we focus on such unimportant details and often miss the bigger picture. -- Cook My focus in the classroom is truly doing what is best for my students. Each day, I do spend about 3-5 minutes out of a 45-minute class period doing warm-up questions that they may see on the GSA test. Overall, though I still do very hands-on, engaging lessons in the classroom to ensure my students are mastering the material but also having fun! It is very important that my students see learning as fun, and I strive for that each day. -- Safreed How Best Can Parents Help Their Students Become Better Prepared for Your Classroom and Their Children’s Education Overall? To establish with their child that home and school are a team with the same goals in mind and to not put additional pressure on students- their attitude about school and learning often has a lot to do with how school is discussed outside the classroom. And always always always tell their child they are smart and capable. -- Cook Reading with their child at home. The positive impact of this cannot be stressed enough. -- Safreed What Isn’t Being Taught Currently in Schools That You Believe Should Be? Life skills- at every age and grade level/content area. Again, so much focus is spent on very detailed objectives and grade level expectations that we miss the most important things we can offer a child- making learning fun, positive attitudes, resiliency, and grit, collaboration with peers, etc. -- Cook Money management is a very important skill that I think needs to be taught in middle school. Also, because our state test does not cover narrative writing, it is not taught in depth. It makes me wonder what our future looks like with the creation of more authors and such. -- Safreed What Would You Like the School as a Whole Place More Emphasis On, or at Minimum, at Least Introduce to the Students’ Daily Lives from an Instructional Standpoint? The whole student as a human instead of the student as just a learner. They are not a test score or a grade on a report card. -- Cook Character skills—I tell my students all the time that it means more to me that my students are good people than straight-A students. They need to understand empathy and kindness because in a successful society, I think that is most important. -- Safreed Read the full article

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inhidingxoxo3637 · 3 years

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Storm Stacey walking around in his fucky ugly stupid absolutely useless worthless piece of shit top hat

#i will say though if the fact hes a man named Storm didnt already grab him enough attention #the fact hes almost always wearing a top hat would #bsb #british superbikes #Bennetts british Superbikes #storm stacey #yes the amount of names for the hat is necessary

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eldritch-spouse · 2 years

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Patches knocking the Admin’s office door and hears Krulu and Admin having “quality time” with each other

[Rsrsrs, pervy little voyeur wishes it was that simple... Female Admin.]

(Minors dni)

Where are you?

Patches has sent you several texts already to drop by the lab floor. The dullahan is swarmed with problem bobbles today, and the horrid little things are wreaking havoc upon his work place. If Admin could just drop by and take at least a fifth of them off his hands, back to the other floors, things would be so much smoother.

He has deadlines, for fuck's sake! Orders that Nebul just dumped on his desk, fat stacks of them. There's no reason he should be babysitting these pesky little things more time than necessary. It's not even that Patches hates the toys, no no, he partially designed them himself- Of course he likes them. In small doses. That being said, it's about time the fixed ones leave and you're the one in charge of taking them away.

The green monster understands today is a busy work day, a very prestigious wendigo has ordered a large party floor for himself and an absurd amount of what Patches guesses must either be friends or coworkers, he has no idea. You're probably helping everyone else get food and drinks in there, handing out bobbles like candy for the sickfucks. But come on now, it's been hours, and Patches needs a merciful break. Besides, you always text him warnings when you're late. Or when you can't show up at the lab. What if something happened?

What the fuck are you talking about Patches?! The human has a god in her, she's as safe as she'll ever be!

But still... Who knows? Well, you have to be somewhere. It's about time the dullahan gets off his ass and goes sniffing. It's when a pencil case goes flying across the room hard enough to knock his hat off that Patches erupts.

" ENOUGH! " He bellows, sockets extinguished in fury. The commotion of small pitch black bodies halts immediately. Some of them fall off the desks in shock. " You're going to stay stock still until I come back or else I'll call Vinnel here and let him flay you all. "

That gets them quiet. Collective, desperate nodding ensues. And with that, the monster picks up his hat before leaving.

His best bet is the party floor. Most of the staff is there, by all means, you might be too. But it's overcrowded. It's loud, and stuffed and the rave lights will blind him, probably filthy too by now- Patches can feel the headache forming and swiftly avoids that button on the elevator. No... The monster's other option is to go directly all the way to the lowest floor, where his boss lies. It's generally a terrible idea to bother Krulu without good reason. But, even if it sounds lazy, not being able to contact his vessel probably counts as a good enough reason to keep his head on his shoulders and not have to enter the party floor.

Yes, good enough. It'll do.

With that, Patches presses the very last button available on the elevator's long selection of destinations. Said button only reacts to the press of very specific staff members, himself included. A few moments of processing pass before the structure begins its swift descent. Patches is unbothered by the jarring speeds by now, but he does still think it's quite poetic. It's as if he's descending to the lowest ring of Hell, some real Dante's Inferno shit. The dullahan wonders if the higher did that on purpose, to staunchly contradict everything his kin stands for- Aiming low as opposed to reaching for the sky. Krulu loves symbolism, his mockery is in the details after all...

It takes a while before the elevator doors open, which the green monster finds odd- Especially when there's no characteristic *ding* to announce his arrival. Huh... Whatever. This floor is constantly changing layout, at the will of its creator of course. Sometimes it is a featureless pit devoid of light, other times it's a jungle of red and purple and black writhing masses he has no name for. Today, it's a long hall with a door at the end. Surprisingly consistent for his master. Sure, there's a bit of a tilt to the floor here and there, but it's the most normal state this floor has ever adopted. With that very ominous note in mind, Patches walks across the thin hall, hearing his own boots clink on the tiled ground. This could just be a tactic to create suspense in visitors, he wouldn't put it past the entity. It's effective.

However, any and all dread creeping up the dullahan's spine ceases when he hears something very peculiar. A high-pitched, breathy noise. Girly, not really distress or shock, and certainly not a noise his higher would make. There's only one female that can enter these grounds, and it's you. You're with Krulu. There, mystery solved, he found you and you're busy. Patches should now go back up to his floor and wait.

But he doesn't want to.

In the back of his head, he already knows damn well what you're up to. That the longer he stays here the more he's sliding his neck on the chopping block. But Patches has always been a bit of a creep, a bit of a freak- Someone that likes pushing his luck if it means getting to be a depraved fuck. And so he gulps, keeps walking towards the mockingly small door at the end of the hall. Something Krulu himself could not walk through, made for his vessel exclusively to push past more than likely. The dullahan's footsteps are muted and his breathing controlled as he reaches the dark wooden door, graced by another erotic whining cry from beyond it.

Fuck, you make the sweetest noises.

He wonders if he should turn the knob. If he's going to reach that far and sink that low, to voyeuristically watch his own boss fuck his coworker. Disgusting. A shudder of pleasure races up Patches' spine at his own degenerate position and his cock jumps in his pants at the images that his mind conjures. Is he going to turn that knob? Yes, yes he is. Will he regret it? Probably.

By the grace of whatever is looking down upon him at this moment, certainly not Krulu who is very much busy right now, the door doesn't creak as it parts. And Patches gets to peek inside unhindered.

This new room has more light in it. It's smaller, for sure. The walls are made of brick and adorned with dark sigils from which several gifts and offerings lie upon. There's shelves containing vials with labels he cannot discern and small containment apparatuses for things he has no words to describe. Patches has never seen this odd room, and he has very little time to study it, because his sight is immediately drawn to the middle of it, where a marbled gray altar lies. Upon it are you and his higher, locked in a lustful stupor.

The monster is given a partial sideways view of Krulu lying down upon its surface, upper set of arms crossed behind his head as the middle one finds purchase in the stone, leaving large indents upon it, and his last one rests possessively on the doughy thighs of his vessel as she rides him slow and sensual. You're not in a rush to get anywhere, hips rolling in mystifying patterns over the higher's engorged cock, mouth parted in a perpetual pleasured expression as you seem to draw intense waves of pleasure. Patches gazes upon the pronounced bump of Krulu's member on your abdomen and throbs, breathing hitching when another one of your soft angelic moans slips out. Briefly tossing a cursory glance at the higher's face, the dullahan sees Krulu with his eyes closed and teeth bared in pleasure, the tip of his yellowish tongue flirting with said sharpened weapons as he hums lowly and applies pressure to sink you further down his cock.

The fat root of him pops inside your already stretched out cunt, ripping a mighty piston from the superior lifeform now buried within you. The scream of animal delight that erupts from you is enough to have Patches lean against the doorframe with bated breath, filthy hand pushing clothing away as he fishes his weeping cock from his tight pants and gives in, curling a sloppy fist around it. You've always been so hot, so frenzied for your higher's cock, Patches knows you're a wild fuck when you want to be- He dreams about having your plump cunt all for himself one day.

Who knows, maybe if the dullahan works hard enough, he thinks while he chokes his own cock like a flustered pervert, his boss may just reward him with your body one day. Krulu certainly likes flaunting you anyway. He dresses you in short skirts and inviting silks, tells you whose buttons to press and how to charm them into compliance.

" Beg me to fill your worthless womb, human. "

Patches jolts at the baritone of the higher's voice. It roars through the entire floor and seeps under his skin, rising waves of heat surely only meant for you. Nonetheless, it still causes the monster to have to swallow down an unflattering keen while his shaft twitches in his grasp. You're not holding up any better.

With one set of hands securing you by the abdomen and another one forcing your legs up as you're bounced like fuckmeat on the higher's slick rod, Patches can only imagine it must be hard to do anything other than drool and spasm hopelessly. Such perfect tits you have.

" Guhh- Please! I- M-More- My worship- My lord! " Every piston rips a plea out of you, Patches' eye-lights follow the lurid back and forth, the dawning of an intense orgasm nearing.

" You want more do you, filthy little lamb? " Krulu snarls out loud at what Patches guesses must have been your walls fluttering around him. The next time he speaks, he sounds much more winded. " Greedy thing. Never once has a lesser hugged my cock tighter than you and your perfect little fucking holes. Your god wants you to take all his seed. You will not disappoint now, will you? "

There's tears running down your cheeks at this point.

" Never! N-Never- Fuck- I need it- Ahn- P-Please my worship! "

And with a force that Patches struggles to understand doesn't break you, Krulu has arched his dark hips and pulled your legs straight down to impale you on his glowing, spurting beast of a cock. The way you sob, scream and mewl with ecstasy has Patches' sockets widening, fixated on the bloat of your tiny body while his god floods you hard enough to almost burst. A blessing in your eyes, the dullahan is sure of it. The way you still seek to keep every drop of the higher's offering inside you, clenching desperately while he brings you both down from the arched pose, is mind-numbingly erotic to the green voyeur.

Even more depraved is seeing Krulu stroke your now plumper belly, pressing down on it slow but hard, this foul grin on his charred face as he makes his poor fleshlight of a vessel grunt and flail- Globs of thick, reflective cum steadily coating both your thighs. Seeing the powerful entity make a couple of sloppy thrusts just to force more out of your shaking form is what sends Patches over the edge.

" Nnhgh-! " The dullahan has to bite his own glove to stifle the gross noise, eye-lights fading completely as his own cock jerks in his hand and his legs tremble. Fuck, he wishes he could have been the one inside you. Part of it, something- Shit, even just getting to touch you while Krulu ruins your insides would be good enough.

Patches huffs and blinks, cheeks burning emerald at the sight of his own cum-soaked fingers, pants ruined as well. Ugh, great, he got the show he wanted like the shameless pervert he is. Better just carefully close the door again and fuck right off before he's cau-

" Dullahan... "

Oh God oh fuck oh shit this is it holy mother of-

An unseen force shoves Patches inside the room mid-panic. The flustered monster quickly fumbles to get his clothes in order and hide his hand, halted by the sound of your amused laughter. He glances up shyly, the lewd look of consideration on your disheveled form makes his already spent dick jump anew. He doesn't even have the mind to start begging for forgiveness as he should be doing right now.

The massive eldritch entity gently lifts your exhausted body off his slowly softening length, Patches can't help but gasp at the way your stretched entrance gapes and twitches, strings of seed still connecting you two. Krulu makes sure he's looking as they shove two bony fingers in your soaked cunt and lick their teeth. A spare claw beckons him.

" Today, you are on cleaning duty. "

Patches can't tell if this is punishment or a reward.

#Patches oc #Krulu oc #monster x reader #terato #so maybe I liked this ask a lil' too much

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lyrabythelake · 3 years

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A Time of Giving (And Taking)

I wanted to do a festive fic, but I couldn’t decide what to do, so I put all the boys’ names in a random Secret Santa generator and created a fluffy (cheesy) fic around that lol.

I know this time can be difficult for some, but I wish you all the best festive season possible!

(A big thank you to the people who helped me with Wind-related gifts! <3)

“I’ll go first!”

The nine Links sit in a circle around the campfire, warm mugs of spiced apple in hand, their noses filled with the smell of cooking venison. The sky is a clear, icy blue and the air is frigid, determined to bite the tips of their ears and fingers despite the flames. The sun has not yet set, though it soon will, the shortest day of the year marking both darkness and their cause for celebration.

Sky had been the first to suggest a day off to celebrate the Winter Solstice. Apparently, it’s a big affair in Skyloft where the parties would be in full swing by now and would continue on through the night. Four had been the one to suggest they exchange gifts, and Warriors—ever practical—had amended their plan to ensure they each need only give one present rather than eight by picking names from a hat.

Thus began their gift exchange.

Time nods in response to Wind’s enthusiasm. “Go ahead, Sailor.”

Wind brings out a distinctively shaped package wrapped in cloth and extortionate amounts of string that sloshes slightly as he holds it out eagerly in the middle of the circle.

“Is that—” begins Hyrule, but he’s cut off by Wind’s exclamation of, “Twilight!”

Twilight hesitantly takes the offered package and begins the task of untangling the length of heavily knotted string wrapped around the circumference.

“Was this really necessary?” he mumbles, resorting to using sheer force to snap the package free.

“Hurry up!” Wind urges, practically bouncing where he sits.

“I’m trying, I’m trying—there.” Finally the package rolls free and the material comes away to reveal a circular glass bottle full of a dark amber liquid. Twilight holds it by its neck and brings it up to eye level.

“Rum,” he concludes.

“Good rum,” Wind corrects. “The finest my Hyrule has to offer, in fact. Made with the waters of The Great Sea itself. Linebeck swears by it. I picked it up when we were there the other week.”

Warriors, who is sitting beside Twilight, leans over to peer at it suspiciously. “It’s been opened already, look, the seals broken.”

Wind turns a faint pink at that. “Well, I had to try it. Just to make sure the quality was up to scratch, you know. Sometimes merchants try to trick people into buying the watered-down stuff, and I thought ‘No! Twilight only deserves the very best, even if he did tell me last out of everyone about his furry little secret and made me look like an idiot.’ So I had to make doubly—even triply—sure. So… you’re welcome.”

“He can’t have drunk that much, at least,” Sky points out. “It’s still full almost to the brim.”

“Ah, yes. Well, of course after that, I couldn’t very well give you a bottle of rum that was only three quarters full, so I did add a little water to it. Just to top it up. It’ll taste the exact same though, I’m certain.”

Twilight chuckles, shaking his head. “Thanks, Sailor. I’m sure it’ll go down a treat.”

“And, Wind,” Time adds, and Wind suddenly tenses at the obvious disapproval in his singular eye, “if I ever see you drinking anything other than water or potions for the rest of this trip, I will confiscate all your belongings for a week.”

Wind opens his mouth to retort, before deciding against it and turning back to the circle at large.

“Next!” he exclaims hurriedly, “Twilight, who did you get?”

Twilight sets his present to the side and rummages in his own bag. He pulls out a smaller package wrapped in crumpled, brown paper.

“Legend,” he says, passing it over, “this is for you.”

Legend carefully peels away the paper so as not to rip it and pulls out yet another glass bottle. This one is rectangular in shape, smaller than the bottle of rum and holds a dark liquid that glimmers pink in the sunlight.

Legend squints his eyes at the handwritten label and reads aloud, “Hylian hair dye in the colour… pink.” He says the last word with a glare in Twilight’s direction and Warriors chortles heartily.

Twilight grins widely. “Your roots are showing. Thought they could do with a touch up.”

“I don’t want pink hair,” he says through gritted teeth, “and it’s your fault it’s even this colour in the first place.”

Hyrule perks up. “Are we finally going to hear how it happened?”

“No,” Legend shoots back.

“I really wouldn’t use that if I were you, Legend,” Wild tells him seriously. “Once, I bought some blue hair dye from a travelling merchant and when I tried it, it went all green and patchy and some of my hair fell out. It took ages to get back to normal.”

Warriors wrinkles his nose. “Why would you want blue hair in the first place.”

“Why would I not want blue hair?” Wild asks, genuinely perplexed.

“I wasn’t going to use it anyway,” Legend mutters. “But you never know, maybe it’ll find its way into a certain farm boy’s shampoo.”

Twilight blanches, but before he can protest, Legend pulls something small from his pocket.

“Wild,” he says, and with a small clink he flicks the object into the air, where it arcs, glinting in the sunlight for a moment, before falling into Wild’s outstretched palm. He takes one look at it and gasps.

“It’s one of your rings! What does it do?”

Set seamlessly into the gold band is a small blue charm shaped like one of Legend’s bombs, and Wild decides he loves it already, whatever its properties.

“Increases blast damage against your enemies,” Legend says. “It should work with those blue explosives from your slate. Oh, don’t look at me like that, Old Man, you lot are way too protective over him. He’s an agent of chaos and we should utilise him.”

“Just… be careful,” Time tells Wild wearily.

“I love it, Legend,” Wild says genuinely, blatantly ignoring Time. “Thank you.”

Legend shrugs slightly bashfully. “I have, like, three anyway,” he mutters, though Wild’s grin doesn’t relent.

“Who did you get, Wild?” Wind asks impatiently.

“Oh, right!” Wild unhooks his slate from his belt and taps the screen a few times. In a flurry of light blue particles, a cake appears in front of him. “I got Four,” Wild says, handing it over. “It’s fruitcake because I know you like the food I make with berries and sweeter ingredients.”

Four’s face immediately lights up, taking in his carefully iced gift in both hands. It’s split into four different colours: red, green, violet and blue, with gold piping at the edges in a perfect replication of the embroidery on Four’s tunic.

“It looks amazing!”

Wild, who had been watching him nervously as he studied it, brightens. “You like it?”

“Of course! I love cake,” Four grins.

“Sky helped me with the piping. I’m not very good at drawing or anything like that.”

“I barely did anything,” Sky assures him.

“Can I try some later?” Wind asks.

Four raises an eyebrow. “If I don’t eat it all first. But I do have something else for you.”

Wind lets out an interested “Ooh!” as he digs through his bag. This gift is long and thin and wrapped in dark velvet, even the packaging itself showing signs of his thoughtful workmanship. Four holds it carefully as he passes it to Wind who takes it with boyish eagerness, unwrapping it without hesitation. However, he slows in his excitement when he realises what lies within.

“Is this—” he begins, his voice ever so slightly higher in pitch than usual, and he brings out a red and gold telescope, two dancing seagulls painted on the side.

“It took a while, but once I collected the right parts, it wasn’t too difficult to mend,” Four tells him.

“I thought it was broken forever,” Wind whispers, blinking the beginnings of tears from his eyes as he looks at Aryll’s beloved telescope he broke weeks ago during battle. It has been a great source of pain for him since it happened, and he has been dreading going back home and breaking the news to Aryll. Of everything he owns, this telescope is one of the most precious.

“It looks even better than before,” he sniffs, noticing the way the gold trims gleam a little more and the seagull design, previously faded, looks newly painted.

“I gave it a polish and a new paint job while I was at it.”

Wind’s face crumples and he places the telescope on the ground before launching himself at Four in a tearful, full-bodied hug.

“Thank you.”

“It was no problem, really!” Four exclaims, his words muffled against Wind’s tunic.

It takes a few moments for Wind to remove himself from Four and make his way back to his place in the circle, wiping his eyes on his sleeve and peering at the others self-consciously.

“I’m not crying, by the way,” he says, despite the evidence stating otherwise. “My eyes just leak sometimes.”

“Sure, Sailor,” says Warriors, ruffling his hair and shooting an approving glance at Four.

“So, who’s next?” asks Wild, partly to take their attention away from Wind’s ‘leaking eyes’ and partly because his stomach is beginning to feel uncomfortably empty, drawing his mind to the meal they will have once they all have their gifts.

“I’ll go,” Time says, bringing out a package from behind his back wrapped in the same crumpled brown paper that Twilight had wrapped his in. “Captain, this is for you. I wanted to get you something I knew for certain you’d like.”

Warriors takes the present and slowly pulls the paper apart. As he catches a glimpse of what’s inside, his expression turns from curiosity to bemusement.

“You little shit,” he says with a huff.

“What is it?”

Warriors pulls a length of very familiar blue material from his lap.

“Wait,” says Wind as Twilight snorts with laughter. “Time gave you your scarf? Which you already own?!”

“Now that,” says Legend, “is genius.”

“I’ve been looking for this all morning,” Warriors tells Time irately over the steadily growing laughter from the rest of the camp. “You know how much it means to me!”

“And what greater gift is there than the inexplicable return of your most treasured possession?” Time points out with a cool smile.

“You’re awful,” says Warriors, though there’s a hint of humour in his glare now, no matter how he tries to hide it. “And I’m going to show you what a good gift is. Hyrule,” he proclaims, pulling out a large, parchment envelope with a flourish, “this is for you.”

Hyrule reaches over the fire and takes it with two hands, running his fingers over the parchment, finer quality than he has ever held in his life. It’s sealed with the familiar Hyrulean crest which seems to be more-or-less consistent between all their lands.

He frowns, wondering what could be inside.

“Oh, open it already,” says Legend impatiently with an air of expectancy that suggests he knows exactly what it is.

Hyrule takes the small knife he carries on his belt and skilfully cuts the wax so that it comes away from the paper cleanly, unbroken. Inside is another sheet of parchment, thicker than that which the envelope is made of. It has a glittering, gold leaf crest at the top above several paragraphs of neatly printed script.

Among other things, Legend has been teaching him letters after he expressed his interest a couple of weeks ago, but the writing here is still beyond him. He can recognise the shape of his own name at the top ‘Link’, next to the words ‘Hero of Hyrule,’ and there is a large, looping signature at the bottom.

“I—I can’t read it,” he admits ashamedly.

“It’s okay,” says Warriors. “You don’t need to. Remember when you told me you weren’t good enough to be a Knight? It was one of the first things you said to me actually, and I remembered it because it struck me how untrue it was. Well, I pulled a few strings, sent a couple of letters to my Zelda, and proved you wrong. You’re now officially an honorary Knight of Hyrule.”

Hyrule’s eyes widen and he looks back to the certificate in front of him. “What?”

“Only in my Hyrule, of course,” Warriors continues. “But the princess was very eager to sign off on it when I told her of all you had done to save your kingdom and how good you are on the battlefield. She said she’ll do the proper knighting ceremony next time we visit.”

Hyrule’s mouth gapes as he looks from the paper to Warriors, mouth agape. “Really?” he asks disbelievingly.

“Really,” Warriors confirms.

“Wow. I can’t believe—thank you, Wars, this is a wonderful gift.”

“You don’t need a certificate to attest your worth to us, but I thought it would finally prove it to yourself, at least.”

Hyrule smiles bashfully, his eyes alight with something new.

“So that’s who you were writing to,” said Time. “I was convinced it was some secret love affair.”

“I’m wounded, Old Man. I’m not that shallow.”

“You’re definitely that shallow,” Legend says. “But I have to admit, you did good on this one, Pretty Boy.”

Legend watches with fondness as his protégée looks at the certificate one last time in amazement before reluctantly putting it back in the envelope and pulling another gift out of his bag.

“Well, I don’t really think I can top that, but here. Sky, this is yours.”

Sky’s present is a small package, neatly wrapped in thin, brown cloth and decorated with festive, but suspiciously poisonous-looking, red berries.

“Don’t eat those,” Hyrule warns redundantly as Sky begins to unwrap it.

Inside is a second piece of material, wrapped up and tied with ribbon. Unfolding it reveals an image made of gold and crimson thread, a Skyloft mid-flight. It’s a little rough around the edges��the eye and one of the wings are a little wonky–but Sky lights up as if it’s the most beautiful thing in the world.

“You made this?” he asks.

Hyrule chuckles nervously. “Yeah. Legend’s been teaching me embroidery and that’s the first proper thing I’ve made. I know it’s not the best—maybe later I can make you a better one when I’ve improved.”

“It’s perfect, ‘Rule, thank you. I’ll hang it up on my wall as soon as I get back to my dorm at the Knight’s Academy.”

Hyrule blushes as Sky wraps his arms around him in one of his famous, soft hugs.

“You’re welcome,” he says quietly.

“And, I think that leaves just one more,” says Warriors after Hyrule collects himself.

“Good, I’m getting hungry.” Wild looks towards his cooking pot longingly.

“I’ll make it quick then,” says Sky. “Here, Time, this is for you.”

Sky drops a small pouch into his hand which he takes with a nod of thanks. He unknots the string tying it together and pulls out a small, elegant wood carving. When he realises what it is, the corners of his eyes crinkle in a knowing smile.

“It’s beautiful, Sky. Truly.”

“What is it?” asks Wind.

Time holds the carving out for all of them to see, balanced on his palm. It’s a horse, mid gallop, the carvings intricacies reaching as far as individual hairs in its flowing mane and tail.

“It’s Epona,” Time tells him. “I don’t think I’ve seen a finer depiction in my life.”

Sky scoffs in embarrassment. “That’s nice of you to say.”

“These have been the best presents ever,” Wind exclaims.

“Speak for yourself,” Warriors mumbles, to which Legend nods agreeably.

“They’ve been great,” Wild says. “But can we please eat now?”

“Dish it up, Cook,” Warriors says. “But first, I think a toast is in order.” He holds his cup of spiced apple up in the air and announces, “To family! It’s an honour to be spending this Winter Solstice with you all. No matter where our paths may take us, I’ll look back on this time with much fondness. There’s no one else I would rather have by my side in our triumph over darkness.”

The others lift their cups up in accordance and clink them together.

“To family!”

#lyra writes #linked universe #linkeduniverse #tw alcohol #(as a gift)#found family

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loversandantiheroes · 3 years

Note

Okay my whiskey fantasy. It’s a holiday, anniversary, I dunno. But he comes home. You’re in lingerie, teddy, the garter belt, the thigh high tights (I am having an absolute brain fart and can not remember the name), the high heels. you’re cooking him dinner in it. Somethin real texas for dinner. He wants to immediately fuck yiu, BUT NO he has to WAIT bc its dinner time and you worked hard. He’s waiting, and he’s watching you, you’re bending over at the stove, all that. Dinner is served, you —-

You lounge on the table to eat like a decadent and gorgeous pain in the ass, so he can see you’re whole body while he eats, forced to be patient. You’re being an absolute menace. He’s running his mouth the whole time OBVIOUSLY. Then he fucking wrecks you

No Candles Necessary

As I am a bonafide yeehonk foole (and I have the t-shirt to prove it), I could hardly resist this idea. Nonny, I hope like hell I did you proud.💗

Shameless Whiskey/F!Reader smut (18+ and yes that means you), 5.3k+ words (they just wouldn’t shut up), mildly beta’d and lightly edited.

Warnings: established relationship, unsafe food preparation practices, light foodplay (it only goes in appropriate places I swear), egregious dirty talk, improper use of a dining table, Switch!Whiskey returns, Switch!Reader by extension, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), deepthroating, PIV sex, unprotected sex (do as I say, not as I fictionalize), cream pie (bc I’m lazy quite frankly), actual pie (peach!), a little soft schmoop in between the smut just because I can.

Permatag: @missredherring @dovesnroses @astroboots @magpierhymes @alienprincesspoop @aasimarr @maythxthirstbxwithyou @recklesswit

Pedro Permatag: @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa (sorry bab, more yeehonk) @corvueros @thirstworldproblemss @littleferal @krissology @frannyzooey @forallthstarsinthesky @princess76179 @keeper0fthestars @venusandromedadjarin

Cooking your boyfriend a birthday dinner in lingerie is probably not the best idea you've ever had. The man isn’t even home yet to witness the trouble you’ve gone to, still wrapping up a day’s work at HQ after closing out another mission. So you didn’t jump right into cooking in your frillies. No, you did the bulk of the work in sweats and a t-shirt, only stopping to change once you were down to the last stretch and the steaks had come off to rest. You've got sense enough at least to put on an apron, not wanting to risk getting hot grease on the delicate fabric or the vast amounts of bare skin the thing doesn't cover, and while you've already donned the garter belt and stockings you've left your heels up against the island counter so you can slip them on quickly when you hear the door. Still you can't quite help but feel less sexy and more silly as you stand there carving up a pair of garlic butter basted steaks while your forehead prickles with sweat and your ass, covered by neither the teddy or the apron, feels ice cold.

The things I do for love of a goddamn cowboy, you think with a shake of your head. Your whole plan is honestly on the high end of ridiculous. But then Jack is a ridiculous man, and he always seems to drag you headlong into absurdity with him. Some days it's his only saving grace - the boyish playfulness that tempers his arrogance into something charming rather than infuriating. It seems only right to be a little ridiculous for the occasion.

Once the carving’s done you give yourself a second to go over the spread and make sure everything's ready to go. It's early yet, but you're expecting to hear Jack's key in the front door any minute. He's made no mention of returning home early, of course, but he is every bit the sort that would try to surprise you on his birthday, and you’ve developed an uncanny ability to anticipate his moves ahead of time.

As it turns out, you have just enough time to slip on your heels before you hear the front door open and Jack calls out your name. You allow yourself a moment of satisfaction - you do love being right when it comes to this sort of thing - and slip into your heels.

“In here, baby,” you call back, stepping out to lean against the door frame.

“Somethin’ smells like heaven,” Jack says, rounding the corner into the dining room. He stops dead when he gets a look at you, mouth falling open in surprise. He’s hung his hat at the door, his hair already flopping over in a revolt against the slicked-back way he styles it in the morning, his suit jacket still on and buttoned. “Looks like it, too,” he finishes, the corner of his mouth curling into a grin. “I feel overdressed all of a sudden.”

You can’t help but answer that grin. “Happy birthday, cowboy,” you tell him, beckoning him over.

He all but rushes across the room to slide up against you, hands curling around your hips and playing with the tie to the apron. “Sure as hell is now,” he mutters. His palms slide down, cupping your ass to pull you in close. You bite back a hiss at the warmth, and he gives a low approving hum at the expanse of cool, bare skin. “Looks like I don’t even need to unwrap my present.”

“Patience,” you insist, pushing his shoulders back and grazing your lips over the tip of his nose as you evade the kiss he tries to pull you into. “No dessert until after dinner.”

“Dinner can wait-”

“No it cannot. I did not just spend the afternoon trying to keep hot butter off my tits so you could get impatient and let your supper get cold.” He traces a finger across your cleavage as you talk, tugging at the top of the apron to get a better look at the skin underneath. You feel the quip coming before he even opens his mouth, so you take the opportunity to give him a little push and show him just what he’s in for tonight. You bring up your hand, fingers curling under his wrist, turning his hand away and using it to pull him flush to you, the line of your thigh landing against the covered denim crotch of his jeans with just enough force to make him jolt.

“Be a good boy, Jack,” you say against his open, breathless mouth, “or you won’t get any dessert at all.”

Whiskey pouts, but his eyes have that dark glint that says he knows he’s in for trouble and he is just as pleased as punch about it. “You mean to torture a man on his birthday, honeybee?”

The smirk you give him makes his heartbeat kick up a little faster - you can feel the quickening of it in the pulse point against your fingertips. “Absolutely.” You stretch up enough for one brief, warm kiss and then step back, jerking your chin towards the dining table where there’s already two glasses of wine poured at the ready. “Sit. I’ll bring out dinner.”

He nods, tongue rolling slowly against his bottom lip. “Yes ma’am.”

His gaze is a heavy weight on your body as you walk away, raking down across so much exposed skin. You hear him groan at the sight, low and appreciative. He’s always been fond of seeing you wrapped up in lingerie, even more fond of tearing up the expensive scraps just to get you bare for him. You’d chided him about it the first time - the bodysuit he’d ripped clean in half from gusset to tit hadn’t been cheap, even though that little display had thrilled you far more than you’d ever want to admit - but he always replaced what he ruined without fail.

When you come back, divested of the apron with plates in hand, Whiskey is sitting just as instructed, elbow on the table, chin resting on his knuckles. He tracks every move you make, every sway of your hips, a playful smile hiding the effort of his restraint as you set his dinner in front of him. He barely spares the food a glance when you elect to forego your own chair and simply hop up onto the table, setting your plate near his and dragging over your glass of wine.

“You’ve outdone yourself, honeybee,” Whiskey rumbles, sliding a hand up your knee to your thigh, and he could not be talking less about the food.

You only smile, taking an unhurried sip. “Somehow I thought you’d prefer this to a new tie. How old are you now, anyway?” you tease.

“Sweet sixteen,” he says dryly, hiking an eyebrow while he squeezes your thigh for your cheek.

You chuckle. “Uh-huh, and I’m Mother Theresa.” You lean in, spearing a slice of steak on his plate with your fork and holding it out for him. “Now, I worked very hard on this, and I am going to be very disappointed if you try to skip dinner on me just ‘cause you can’t quit eyeballing your dessert. Open.”

He tips you a wink before dutifully opening his mouth, letting you feed him. The soft, indulgent moan that leaves him as his eyes slip closed is too subdued to be anything but real. “Honeybee that is gorgeous. My compliments to the chef.”

“The chef is glad to hear it.” You swipe your thumb over his lip, collecting the sheen of juice and garlicky butter and bringing it to your own mouth, delicately sucking it off. “Could’ve used a bit more rosemary.”

Whiskey shakes his head. “Mm-mm. This is perfection on a plate, baby. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

The smile that earns him is genuine, and you bend to give him a quick kiss. He presses it, just a little, a swipe of his tongue that you open for just enough to nip at before pulling away. “Eat.” You gesture meaningfully at his plate.

All told, there isn’t actually much on it. Steak, roasted new potatoes, and asparagus with hollandaise sauce. You’ve only served up maybe half of what you’d usually set in front of him for dinner, opting for more reserved portions. It’s a favor to you both - his patience wouldn’t last through a full meal without the need for physical restraints. There’s more in the kitchen, of course, and an actual pie for dessert if you happen to get that far. You’re both bound to be hungry again after.

Whiskey tucks in, fork in his left hand while his right stays comfortably curled around your thigh, slowly creeping higher and higher until he’s playing with the lacy top of your stocking. You give him a warning tilt of your head, your own fork poised halfway to your mouth. All you get in return is those plaintive, innocent puppy dog eyes of his, but his hand doesn’t advance further.

All in all you’re rather proud of his restraint, at least until one spear of asparagus manages to drip hollandaise down onto your cleavage. Suddenly that quietly repressed hunger cracks and he’s surging up towards you, mouth half-open and tongue peaking out, ready to clean you up.

But that won’t do. Not yet. Your reflexes might not be as good as his, but they’re nothing to balk at, either. You brace yourself back on one hand, leaning away and planting one of your high heels against his shoulder to shove him back into his seat. The look on his face is priceless; mouth agape and pupils blown.

Slowly you shake your head. “You know better, Jack.”

His eyes track up the inside of your thigh to the crotch of your bodysuit - or rather, the lack thereof - and the split strips of lace that don’t cover your mound, but frame it prettily for him. “Fuck, honeybee,” he mutters breathlessly.

Dinner and a show was always the plan. So you take your time, dipping your finger and swiping up the stripe of creamy yellow and holding it out to him. Whiskey stares you down as he takes the tip of your finger into his mouth and sucks dutifully, his tongue plush and soft and working against the pad of your finger the same way he worries it over your clit. A rush of heat rockets through you, leaving your belly warm and a sweet tingle tripping down your spine in its wake.

Biting your lip hard to rein in the impulse to just slide into his lap, you drag your finger out of his mouth. It’s what he wants; to make you break first, to make you lose at your own game. And where’s the fun in that?

“It is your birthday, so I’m going to cut you a little bit of slack, but if you can’t mind your manners and do as you’re fucking told, you’re gonna get a lot worse than a birthday spanking, pretty boy. Now, I told you: no dessert until you finish your dinner.” There’s precious little left on his plate; a few scraps of steak, a couple potatoes, one lone spear of asparagus. You stab this last with your fork and hold it out to him. “Last chance, baby. You open your mouth for me and be a good boy, and you can have me any way you want.”

Whiskey looks dazed; seething and starved and love-struck all at once. You don’t even need to look down to know he’s hard. But he hesitates just for a moment, whether it’s deliberate or accidental you’re not really sure - sometimes the man just really wants to be punished - but in that space you see his body jerk, hunching slightly as his abdominal muscles contract involuntarily. You follow the movement with your eyes and sure enough, there he is. Full mast and straining hard against thick denim.

Smiling sweetly, you wave the fork at him. “Your choice, Jack.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he says, and the roughshod timbre of his voice says it’d be a fine way to go.

Whiskey opens his mouth and takes what you give him.

You’re slow about it. Careful. Admonishing him when he tries to chew a little too quickly. Whiskey stares you down with eyes like coal seconds away from ignition. He holds your gaze while you slip another bite of food into his mouth, then lets his eyes slip down until they fix firmly on your half-exposed and already glistening cunt, and you know the moment you give him an inch he’s going to wreck the hell out of you for this.

When the last bite passes his lips he curls his hand around your ankle, squeezing. Always pushing his luck, this man of yours. You set his plate aside, glancing away like it’s no effort at all as he very methodically wipes his mouth with his napkin.

“Now can I have my dessert?” Impatience roughens the low gravel of his voice into something dangerously sharp.

You smile, leaning back on one hand. “There’s peach pie in the kitchen.”

He presses forward, left hand sliding big and warm up the inside of your thigh. The motion presses the leg you’ve used to pin him to his chair back until your knee is nearly flush with your chest, opening you up wider, the rush of air between your legs now shockingly cold against the wetness that had gathered there.

“Woman, the only pie I want a piece of is the one sitting right in front of me.”

The stretch along the back of your thigh burns, so you shift, hooking your leg over his shoulder instead. “I haven’t finished my dinner yet,” you protest cooly, reaching down to snag a strip of steak off your still half-full plate and popping it into your mouth.

Whiskey’s hands slip higher, and this time you don’t stop him, too busy sucking the buttery juices off your fingers. When the very very tips of his fingers brush the spread lace at the crux of your thighs he freezes, waiting for the rebuke, for fingers around his neck or your other heel to plant square in his chest. You consider it, sure; it’s certainly not a prospect without its merits. A man that enjoys being under your thumb is satisfying in a way that few things in life ever fully measure up to.

But honestly, you’ve worked hard enough tonight. Time to let him put in a little effort.

A tilt of your head and a curl of your foot against his shoulder is permission enough; slipping off the leash by way of a gesture, and the low smolder in his eyes blooms to a full burn. Whiskey stands to his full height, looming close enough for you to feel the heat bake off him as he shrugs off his jacket and unbuttons the cuffs on his dress shirt, rolling them up with a few quick turns of his wrists.

“Can’t let my girl go hungry now,” he hums in a voice like burnt molasses. “Lemme give you a hand there, honeybee.”

Smirking, Whiskey wraps an arm around you, brushing the tip of his nose against yours as you wriggle against solid heat of his body. His left hand wanders out of sight on the table as his lips meet yours, teasing your mouth open with the barest brush of his tongue, while his right hand trails warm and slow around your side and down and down to cup your mound.

It’s hard to believe you ever felt cold. You’re burning up now, skin flushed hot as his mouth grazes yours and breathes out: “Open up for me.”

And just like magic, you do. No input needed on your behalf; your mouth simply drops open and your legs shift wider in accommodation for him. There’s a clink of silverware and then he’s waving a fork at you, a strip of steak speared on the end. Whiskey’s eyes glitter as he pushes it into your waiting mouth. Each bite he feeds you is accompanied by a teasing dip of his fingers into your core, feeding you with his left hand while he touches you with his right. Your slickened folds part smooth and easy as he pushes his fingers inside you, a welcome but all too brief intrusion, before they trail up again to stroke at your clit. Again and again you rock your hips up, trying to encourage him to slip into you deeper, to give you a taste of the fullness and pressure of his cock, but every time his touch retreats.

You whine; a strange mix of frustration and pleasure. “Tease.”

“Takes one to know one,” he coos, the hand between your legs working faster. Heat builds quickly under his fingertips, a friction far more appetizing than anything else you’ve set on the table tonight. “You made the rules, honeybee. No dessert until after you finish supper. You do want your dessert, don’t you?”

He brings the next bite up, holds it tantalizingly close. You stretch out and he draws it back, and suddenly his fingers are rubbing a firm, determined circle on your clit. Your whole body jolts, gasping air with a pitiful little whine. There’s nothing but mischief on his face as he watches you, tongue sweeping against his bottom lip. He slows his fingers, brings the fork down again, closer this time. The food brushes your bottom lip before he pulls it away, fingers quickening again.

“Jesus,” you all but squeak. “Jack, don’t be mean.”

Whiskey gives you a considering hum, leaning forward to suck the sheen of butter off your bottom lip. “Oh darlin’ I would never,” he insists, punctuating the sentiment with a kiss that’s tender enough to be very nearly sincere if it weren’t for the fact that the motion of his hand never slows. A sweet, bright heat begins to build under his fingertips. “How could I be mean to my girl when she worked so hard for me, hm? I’m just paying that back in kind is all. You wanna come on my fingers, baby, you can do that all you like. I’ll make you come ‘til those pretty little legs can’t do much more than shimmy. You know I can. But you ain’t gettin’ nothin’ else until you clean your plate like a good girl.”

“H-ha-ah, fuck-how much more?”

He grins devilishly. “Just this last bite.”

“Oh you f-fucking jackass!”

Whiskey laughs. “Guilty as charged. Open up, baby, take what I got for you.”

He pushes the last bite past your lips and immediately delves his fingers into your warm and waiting cunt. The breath shudders out of you, fingers digging into the tablecloth as you try to hang onto enough composure to remember to chew and swallow. He’s slow for a moment, pumping and curling his fingers gently while he watches you eat. There’s a clink of silverware as he discards the fork and puts his arm around you, pressing his lips against your forehead.

“Good girl,” he murmurs sweetly.

Mouth empty now, you nudge your nose against his chin, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Jack-”

And then his grip becomes determined. The fingers inside you flex, the heel of his hand pressing hard against your clit and all you can do is cry out against the soft skin of his neck and hang on for dear life while he works you up and over the edge with shocking speed.

Trembling, you lock your legs around him as you come down, dragging his collar aside to bite lazily into the place where his neck and shoulder meet.

“Fuck,” he groans, hips rutting up against the back of his hand between your legs. “How do you want me, honeybee?”

That earns him a breathless laugh, goosebumps raising along his neck. “It’s your birthday, Jack. What do you want?”

Whiskey’s eyes drop to your mouth and he makes a considering sound, pulling back to suck you delicately off his fingers. “I think I want your mouth. And then I think I want to fuck you right here on this table until that divinely sweet little pussy wrings me fucking dry. Sound good to you, honeybee?”

“That can be arranged.” His eyelids flutter as you reach down to his zipper, not even bothering with his belt before you reach inside his jeans and the button fly of his boxers to tug his cock free, cupping your fingers to draw his balls out, too.

You move to stand and he shakes his head, caging you in. “No. Not on your knees, baby. On the table. I wanna see you all spread out for me. My pretty little present.”

He helps you. Sweeps your hair back as you lie flat on the dining table, scooting back to let your head hang just a bit. It’s not exactly comfortable. The edge of the table digs into your neck a bit, and the way the blood rushes to your head is not entirely pleasant either. But you watch Whiskey pace around you to take his place in front of your waiting mouth, cock bobbing and just barely beginning to leak for you, and you feel a gorgeous rush of heat at the sight.

Whiskey slides his palm up your stomach to cup one barely-covered breast. “Gorgeous,” he mutters, squeezing. “Absolutely beautiful.”

“Jack.”

“I know, darlin’, I know. But my God you’re a picture.” He cups your cheek, absently brushes the corner of your mouth with his thumb before sliding his hand back to give your head a little support. “Open up for me, angel.”

And once again, you open up for what he gives you. The angle makes it strange, the topography of Jack’s body less familiar as he slips into your mouth, your tongue dragging wet and slow over foreign terrain. The taste of him, hot skin and the tang of bitter salt, that you know well enough. You close your eyes at it, bring your hands up to his hips to tug him slowly forward and listen to the way he moans.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers, breathless and a little awe-struck. “Jesus fucking Christ. You spoil me, baby. Sweet as fucking honey, my god.”

A light touch against your breast makes you shiver, goosebumps raising as it draws lightly over your skin. A single fingertip, sliding the lace of the bodysuit aside to bare your breasts to the chill of the room and the warmth of Whiskey’s hands.

He mutters sweet things as he begins to move; sweet, tender, unconscionably filthy things. All the things you do to him. Do for him. The rocking of his hips is gentle at first, feeding you his cock inch by cautious inch. When he hits the back of your throat he pulls back on reflex, but the light scrape of your teeth and the sudden tightness of your grip on the plush meat of his ass sends him forward again. The angle eases the motion, and you relax into the pressure as he pushes in and in and...oh.

You feel the resistance at the back of your throat give gently; strange, but not uncomfortable. Above you, Whiskey lets out a pained groan.

“Shit. Oh shit yes, honeybee. Take it. Ohhh s-shit. Take all of it. Every goddamn inch. Fuck.”

And then his hips are flush with your mouth, the soft skin of his balls pressed up against your nose. Panting, he wraps a hand around the stretched column of your throat, swearing breathlessly. He moves, a small, careful thrust, and you can feel the tremor that ripples through him at the feeling.

“Just a little more baby,” he mumbles, pulling back until just the head of his cock rests within the warmth of your mouth. You suckle at it, working it eagerly with your lips and tongue while you breathe raggedly through your nose. Your hips jut up into thin air on their own accord, just as eager for him as your mouth is.

“I got you, honeybee.” The hand at your neck slips down, skimming over skin and lace until he finds your clit. The first touch jolts you, your cry stifled on his cock as you shudder up against him. “Good girl. I got you, baby. Jack’s got you. Keep going. Just a little more. Just a little more and then I’ll fill you right on up. Fuck my sweet girl’s brains right out of her head. Prettiest fuckin’ thing I ever fuckin seen, baby, holy fuck.”

You moan something against him - pleasure, acquiescence, god only knows - but the sound of it is lost as his cock slides steadily back into your mouth. The pressure in your head is distracting, tears prickling your eyes when he pushes in deep, but the stroking of his fingers and the feel of him in your mouth, sliding hard and slick and effortlessly down your throat is far more consuming than the discomfort.

He rocks into you. Fucks into you. Moans and gasping praises falling thick and fast from his lips as he moves. You don’t need to feel the way his balls draw up tight to know how close he is, how tight he’s riding the line between what he wants to do and what his body wants to do. You’re lost in it all the same; his pleasure and the fraying thread of his restraint. Your own pleasure, building quick and low and locking down the muscles in your thighs until they tremble. You float in it, overwhelmed and dizzy, until, very suddenly, you break.

Whiskey curses, pulling back to listen to you cry out, to let you curl up and clutch at him as he pants above you, muttering broken, desperate please of: “yes god yes honeybee all of it, gimme all of it, every last bit.”

You’re a wreck in the aftermath; pliant and limp, face teary and slick with spit and precome. He draws you up, wiping your face with a clean napkin before pulling you into a kiss that steals away whatever remained of your breath. He gathers you up, turns you until you can wrap your still-tingling limbs around him. Nudges his hips against yours, his wet cock dragging against slick skin and fragile lace.

“You okay, baby?” he asks, trailing soft kisses over your face.

You have to clear your throat before you can respond, the sound of it harsh and ragged like an engine turning over. “Y-yeah. Yeah I’m good. Dizzy, but good.”

“You ain’t the only one, honeybee. Almost didn’t make it in time. Wanted to fill up that pretty mouth so bad. You just about did me in.”

He laughs and you join him, breathing ragged joy into each other’s lungs.

“Still want me to fuck you?” The question should be coarse, but somehow isn’t. Not with his sweat-slick forehead pressed to yours and his lips ghosting kisses against your mouth with every breath.

“So sweet,” you mutter, combing your hands through his hair.

“LIke hell,” he scoffs, holding you tight to his chest. “I ain’t and you know it.”

“You are to me,” you insist, pressing a kiss against the tip of his nose. He smiles, softens everywhere but that place that throbs with impatient heat against you. “Now fuck me, pretty boy.”

A flash of a grin is the only warning you get before he’s hooking his arms under your knees and pulling you to the edge of the table. “Yes ma’am,” he says obligingly, planting a hand between your breasts to push you back against the table as he lines himself up, sliding into you with one smooth, achingly deep stroke.

You moan, knees drawing up as his hips meet yours and he fills the space inside you that’s been aching for him all day. Whiskey lets out a groaning sigh, leaning into you like he wants to bury himself whole inside you. He hoists one of your legs up against his chest, nuzzles the inside of your knee while he tries to find his breath again. The length of him inside you is rigid as steel and blindingly hot, still so close to his own end that he has to wait, worrying his teeth over your skin, until the urge to just rut against you like an animal until he comes finally passes.

And when it does, when he opens his eyes at last, he looks down at you with a dazed, hungry smile. He presses a kiss to the tip of his finger and brings it down to your lips.

“Love you, honeybee.”

Heavy-lidded and so wonderfully full, you kiss his finger and arch your back. “Love you, too, cowboy.”

And that’s the last intelligent thing you manage to say. Finally - finally! - Whiskey fucks you, each pounding swing of his hips making the china rattle like nervous teeth. Your arms strike out, curling and flailing, trying to find something to grab onto as he fucks you. The heel of your hand strikes one of the wine glasses and sends it tumbling to the floor where it shatters. The breath leaves your body in tiny bursts with each impact; little monosyllabic cries punctuating each one.

“Fuck, that’s my girl,” Whiskey murmurs. He cups your breasts, thumbing the pebbled sharpness of your nipples before his hands slide lower, finding the deep notch of the bodysuit between them. “Wrapped up so pretty for me.”

The lace tears away like it’s nothing, a clean rip down the center. Oh well. He’ll buy you another.

Whiskey folds over you, pulling you down closer so he can get an arm under your back, his hand grasping the back of your neck and pulling you up to meet his mouth. He’s still wearing his tie, the drape of fabric laying cool against your chest. Blessedly he’s not wearing his usual belt buckle. Foresight or oversight you’re not quite sure, but you’re grateful all the same as he grinds into you, a press of cold metal and leather against your belly.

He’s not going to last long, but it hardly matters. You’re too worked up, two orgasms down already, cunt so swollen and sensitive it’s hardly an effort to get you there again. But the feeling of him inside you turns that bright burn into something lower, deeper. Something that makes your muscles lock and tremble, straining up against him and gasping into his mouth.

“Jaaaack,” you whine, arms locked around his neck.

“Yes, baby,” he groans, voice quivering with every thrust. “Fuck yes I’m right there too, c’mon. Come with me, honeybee, come with me.”

His rhythm falters, grinding deeper and deeper, and all that strained tension in your body snaps like a rubberband. You sob, grabbing fistfuls of his dress shirt, twisting and jerking as you come apart under him.

All Whiskey can do is growl as you bear down on him, gritting a litany of “yes, yes, fuck yes, god yes, that’s my girl that’s my girl that’s my fucking girl.” And then he’s gone, too, driving into you with a sudden jolt and crying out against the side of your neck as he comes.

You’re holding him too tight, clutching him to you as you both lie there, panting and shuddering, a spreading stain of red wine pooling next to your head.

“Jesus,” he whispers, tries to shift up to find your mouth, but even that amount of drag on his oversensitive cock is enough to make him hiss and jerk. “Fuck.”

“Mm-hm,” you agreed dumbly.

Whiskey lets out a growling hum, smoothing your hair. “You good, honeybee?”

You trail kisses up to his ear, still breathless. “What do you think?”

He wheezes a laugh. “I think I gotta replace a lot more than your frillies this time.” The laugh turns giddy, and Whiskey presses his forehead against your temple. “And I think I’m hungry.”

“Pie in the kitchen,” you mumble, too drowsy to do much more than nuzzle into the damp tangle of Whiskey’s hair.

“What kind?”

“Peach.”

He hums, smiling drowsily. “My favorite.”

You give a slow nod. “I know. Happy birthday, Jack.”

He kisses you, slow and sweet. “Best I ever had,” he murmurs.

#Anonymous #agent whiskey #jack whiskey daniels #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fic #citrus variations

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somewhatgreatexpectations · 4 years

Text

Wouldn’t It Be Nice? (Wanda Maximoff/ Reader)

Hello! May I present you all with part 2 of the "Love Goes” sequel. I’m still trying to decide on the name for it, but I’m really appreciating all the suggestions so feel free to keep sending them. A fair amount of dialogue from Wandavision is still used since it was necessary, but less than the first part for sure since the story is developing.

Songs used are “Wouldn’t It Be Nice?” by The Beach Boys (1966) and “This Magic Moment” by The Drifters (1968). Hope you all enjoy!

Summary: As Y/n and Wanda attempt to settle into 1960s Westview, what shenanigans will they encounter? Will they be able to fit in?

“You’re a mystery around here, you know?”

Glancing up from your desk, you noticed the familiar figure of your partner leaning against the entryway of your office with a friendly smile on her face. “A mystery you say?” You questioned in amusement.

Instead of answering right away, she moved further into the office and took a seat in one of your chairs. “Yes. We’ve been partners for weeks and I barely know anything about you besides the information that everyone already knows because you were an Avenger.”

You shrugged and leaned back in your chair. “Maybe that’s how I want it.” Was your cryptic response.

“If you say so.” The woman rested her head on her palm thoughtfully. “One day you’re going to have to let someone in.”

“Maybe I already have. Maybe I’ve learned better.” You raised an eyebrow in challenge.

For a moment she just stared at you, analyzing you. “So, you regret it then? Letting someone in?”

“I could never regret it.” You replied quickly, easily.

She leaned forward with interest. “Does the reason for your mystery have a name?”

There was hesitation in your voice as you responded. “Wanda.” If you were going to be partners, it was only a matter of time until she found out anyway.

Her eyebrows raised slightly in recognition, everyone who worked there knew who Wanda was. “Hmm.” She hummed, her expression neutral. “I actually came in here to ask if you wanted to get dinner together? Maybe lift the shroud of mystery a bit more.” Her tone was teasing.

A soft chuckle escaped your lips. “Sure…” A name followed the word, but it was muffled. Almost as though you couldn’t remember it even in dreams.

“Y/n.” The women said as you looked up at her with furrowed eyebrows. “Y/n. Y/n. Y/n.”

With a jolt, you sat up in bed, relaxing slightly when you realized you were in your shared room with your wife. “Y/n.” You heard again. Turning your head, your eyes landed on Wanda who was looking back at you with wide eyes.

“Yes, my love?” You answered groggily through a yawn.

Her expression became shy as she fiddled with the sheets. “I think I heard something at the window.”

Glancing towards the window you heard nothing but silence. “I’m sure it’s nothing, sweetheart.” You said reassuringly but got up when you saw her expression remained the same. “Allow me to put your mind at ease.”

Pushing aside the curtains, you glanced outside and saw nothing but the picturesque garden Wanda had lovingly put so much effort into. “What do you see?” She probed tentatively.

“Only your lovely rose bushes.” You answered as you scanned the yard once more. When you were satisfied, you closed the curtains and turned back to face Wanda who still looked skeptical. “I assure you, I saw nothing amiss. You have no reason to be frighten-”

A bang against the window interrupted your sentence as you let out a squeak and dove into your bed to seek safety. You pulled your covers up to your chin.

Wanda stared at you with an unamused expression as the disembodied voices laughed. “You were saying?”

“You know, I was reading an article in the newspaper about suspicious activity that’s been recently occurring in the neighborhood.” You mumbled defensively from behind your sheets. “Who knows what that could mean. Robbing house, vandalizing property-”

“Manipulating the earth, moving objects without touching them?” Wanda cut you off sarcastically.

You tilted your head curiously. “You think they were referring to us?” Before Wanda could respond another thud against the window startled you both. You gasped and Wanda magically pulled the beds together. “One of us should really determine the source of that sound.” You suggested meekly.

Wanda set her lips in a line and shook her head at your antics. “Yes, one of us should.” She grumbled sarcastically. Another thud tapped against the window, making you both jump again. “Oh, this is getting ridiculous. I’m going to take a look.”

You grimaced as you both turned towards the window. Wanda waved her hand to open the curtains, only to find that the source of the sound came from a tree branch tapping against the window from the wind.

There was an awkward moment of silence as you both merely stared at the true source of the sound. “Well… I think we handled that well.” Wanda said lightly with a playful smile.

You turned on your side to face Wanda with a smile to match hers. “Yes, I’m very proud of us. All the trees in the neighborhood will know not to disturb us from now on.” You said teasingly. You glanced down at the bed with a smirk. “I’m even more pleased with the way you’ve seized the opportunity to redecorate.”

Wanda grinned suggestively. “This is better, isn’t it?” She questioned as she waved her hand. Immediately the two separate beds transformed into a one large bed.

“Wanda, darling.”

Her eyes twinkled mischievously. “Yes, dear?”

You shifted closer. “Get the lights.” Wanda waved her hand to turn off the light as she pulled the covers over both your heads. As soon as the covers were over you both, you could feel her eagerly climb on top of you and connect your lips fervently. The disembodied voices gasped scandalously.

“You know, I’m beginning to think I should have been the assistant, darling.” You called out as you adjusted the hat that was placed precariously on your head.

There was a short pause before Wanda shouted her reply, “Just say the line!”

Sighing at her response, you turned back so you were facing out into the room. You took a moment to close your eyes and take a deep breath as you got into character. If you were going to do this, you were going to do it right.

“Ladies and gentlemen, for my final trick, I bring you…” You paused for dramatic effect. “The cabinet of mysteries.”

You gestured out into the open air where Wanda should have been, rubbing a hand down your face in amusement when she didn’t respond. “Darling. That’s your cue.”

“Did you say cabinet of mysteries?” She called from the hallway.

Stepping back, you gestured dramatically to the open space once again. “I said… Cabinet of mysteries!” You repeated even more theatrically.

“Oh. That’s my cue.” Wanda said cutely as you could hear her struggle to push the large box into the room.

Quickly rushing over to help her, you huffed at the weight of the object as you pulled it. “Doesn’t this seem like a bit… much?” You asked hesitantly.

Wanda waved her hand dismissively. “You should hear about what some of the others are planning. Let’s keep going.” She urged, her eyes shining brightly with excitement.

When she looked at you like that, you were unable to deny her anything she wanted. You would have given her the moon and all the stars if she asked for them.

You quickly got back into character. “Yes, okay. Where was I?” you mumbled to yourself. “Ah, yes! Watch closely as I, Terra, make my captivating assistant, Glamour… disappear!” You bit back laughter as Wanda posed dramatically.

In unison, you opened the doors as Wanda stepped in, her eyes locked on yours adoringly. “You really are very stunning.”

A blush spread across your cheeks as you smiled bashfully back at her. “Thank you, darling.” You stood with your hand resting against the doors. “Fear not, Glamour. I vow to bring you back exactly as you were.” Again, you had to bite back laughter at Wanda’s expression.

A overly dramatic gasped escaped your wife’s lips as you closed the door. “Abracadabra!” You exclaimed as you tapped the box three times with the plastic wand. After a beat you opened the door once again to reveal the empty box. “Ta-da!”

Wanda began clapping as she stepped out from behind the trick door, a delighted smile on her face. “That was amazing!” When she received no response from you, her brows drew together apprehensively. “What’s wrong?”

“It still seems a little much.” You admitted sheepishly. “Plus, I think you’re a better fit for the magician than I am. Your powers are more aligned.”

Wanda stepped out of the box and made her way over to you. “Darling, it’s fine. In a real magic act everything is fake.” She reassured you “The talent show fundraiser is the most important event of the season. It’s our neighborly duty to participate… And our chance to appear as normal as possible while doing so.”

“We are the very definition of normal, dear.” You replied teasingly as you allowed yourself to float for a moment to emphasize your point before settling back to the floor.

That’s new, you thought to yourself.

If Wanda was surprised by your actions, she didn’t show it as she gently took your hands in her own and pulled you closer. “This is our home now. I want us to fit in.” There was vulnerability in her eyes which immediately put a stop to your joking.

Tenderly, you stroked the back of her hand with your thumb. “Oh, Wanda… We do. We will. I’ll make sure of it. And we’ll be the best act out there.” You promised her earnestly. Once again, you’d do anything for her.

Wanda leaned forward and placed a short kiss on your lips in appreciation.

“Especially with you wearing this.” You added with a wiggle of your eyebrows as you picked up her stage outfit and held it in front of her.

Wanda shook her head in amusement. “That’s actually the rest of your costume.” She quipped teasingly.

With a shrug, you held the costume against yourself. “I did say I would be better off as your assistant…” You trailed off as the disembodied laughter once again drifted into the air.

With a light hit to your shoulder Wanda took the costume back in her hands. “There will be no backing out now, Y/n.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” You pressed a soft kiss to her temple.

Briefly Wanda glanced down at her watch. “Well, I better get going if I want to make the planning committee meeting.”

Reaching over, you grabbed your cardigan off the couch and began pulling it over your blouse. “I should be off as well. I have a meeting with Ellie.” At the mention of your publisher’s daughter, Wanda’s eyed you, an uneasy expression on her face.

“Why are you meeting with her, darling?” Wanda questioned with a tense smile.

Occupied by the buttons on your cardigan, you missed her expression. “It seems she takes after her father as she is the chief publisher of the town’s newspaper. After last night’s scare, I want to make sure the town is informed and prepared for any potential dangers.” You said seriously.

The tension in her shoulders melted away at your response as Wanda affectionately tugged you forward by the cardigan. “That’s a swell idea. You make sure you let all the tree branches in town know who’s boss.” She pulled you even closer and pecked your lips.

When you pulled away she adjusted your cardigan. “Would you look at us? Fitting right into Westview. Who would’ve thought?” You teased with a wink.

A short laugh escaped her lips as she looked at you fondly. “I’ll see you at curtain call.” She announced as she moved into the kitchen. You chuckled and departed through the front the door.

Shortly after you left a loud thud caught Wanda’s attention. When she stepped outside a vibrant object in the bushes stood out easily against the monotonous tones that surrounded it. She looked around nervously. When she plucked the object out of the bush, she stared at it for a moment. The confusion in her eyes was clear as she held the object as though it was a threat.

The vibrant red helicopter was clearly out of place.

“Look, it’s the star of the show!”

Wanda jumped at the sudden voice as she dropped the toy back into the bush. “Agnes,” She gasped out as she clutched at her chest. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Agnes’ smile never faltered as she raised the cage in her hand. “Oh, I brought my pet rabbit for your magic act.”

“Yes, of course! Thank you, Agnes.” Wanda said appreciatively as she took the cage from her and began walking in the direction of the house again. “We will take good care of him.”

With a proud smile, Agnes called after Wanda, “Señor Scratchy just loves the stage. He played baby Jesus in last year’s Christmas pageant!”

Unsure of what to say to her comment, Wanda turned and laughed awkwardly as she placed the rabbit inside. ___________ When you arrived at the Westview tribune, you found Ellie’s office easily, except she seemed preoccupied by the papers in hands. The soft sound of music drifted quietly from the radio at her desk.

Maybe if we think and wish and hope and pray, it might come true. Baby, then there wouldn't be a single thing we couldn't do. Oh, we could be married and then we'd be happy. Oh, wouldn't it be nice?

The music distracted you temporarily as your thoughts wandered – essentially entranced by the unfamiliar tune. Static over the song cut into your thoughts as what sounded like muffled speaking rolled over the instruments. Ellie didn’t react to the change in sound, almost as though she chose not to hear it. You figured she was just engrossed in her work. The muffled sounds lingered for a second longer before fading into the music once again. With a shake of your head, you remembered why you were there.

To get Ellie’s attention you knocked softly on the entryway, smiling politely when she looked up. “Hi, sorry to interrupt. Is now still a good time to discuss the neighborhood safety article?”

“Y/n. You’re not interrupting at all.” Ellie said dismissively as she leaned back in her chair and waved you in. “Lay it on me.”

You took a seat in one of her chairs. “Well, I was recently reading an article in the tribune about suspicious activity in the neighborhood and I thought it might be relevant to feature an additional article discussing safety protocols and tips.” You pitched enthusiastically.

A minute passed without a word. “I think that’s a swell idea, Y/n.” She finally said with a smile.

An excited smile crossed your features as you attempted to contain yourself. “My wife said the same thing.” You admitted bashfully.

With an amused smile, Ellie rested her head against her palm as she scrutinized you. “Well, it’s clear she has excellent taste.” She paused briefly. “She is married to you after all.”

Unsure of how to respond to the comment, you decided to ignore it entirely.

Hesitantly, you stood up and offered her a hand which she easily took. “Thank you for meeting with me today, but I really should be going. I want to get to the talent show location early to get everything ready for Wanda. Today means a lot to her.”

Ellie stood with you and stepped around her desk. “The talent show isn’t for a good while. Stay and chat. Maybe lift the shroud of mystery a bit more.” She said playfully.

Her words caused you to recoil as remnants of your dream from the night before flashed through your mind. “Sure… Ellie.” You responded unsurely.

“Are you alright, Y/n?” Ellie’s eyebrows knitted together in concern as she took a hold of your elbow.

For some reason, you couldn’t help but feel something familiar in the action. It wasn’t flirtatious, it was comforting. Like the touch of an old friend. “I’m fine.” You paused as you attempted to gather your thoughts. “Just déjà vu.” You insisted.

There was still hesitance in Ellie’s eyes as she released her hold of your elbow. “If you say so.” Suddenly, she snapped her fingers, which caused you to jump slightly. “Maybe you can get into the neighborhood watch committee.”

You nodded eagerly, relieved her focus was back to the article. “I can do that.”

“Between you and me, I think it’s just an excuse for the men in the neighborhood to eat pastries.” She whispered in a mock-conspirator voice.

A short laugh escaped your lips. “Even more of a reason to join.” Once again, you glanced down at your watch. “I really should be going now though.”

Ellie nodded, knowing there would be no convincing you otherwise. “Before you go, do you mind helping me get a box of books down from my bookshelf?” She gestured to the box on a shelf slightly above your height, but just out of Ellie’s own reach.

“Sure thing.” You made your over the shelf and began sliding the box off the shelf, so you could get a better hold of it.

Just as the box was teetering precariously along the edge of the shelf the static on the radio flared as a single word slipped through clearly. “Y/n.” The sudden appearance of your name startled you as the box fell off the shelf and knocked you in the head, causing you to fall.

A surprised gasp escaped Ellie’s lips as she rushed over to kneel by your side. “Are you okay?”

When you looked up, there were three different versions of the woman before you swimming in your vision. “’m fine.” You mumbled out as you rubbed the side of your head.

Cautiously Ellie helped you up, her eyes skeptical. “If you say so. Here, at least take this pain reliever.” She quickly walked over to her desk and grabbed the medicine before handing it to you.

To appease her you took the medicine. “Have a nice... work time.” You said unsurely as the thoughts in your head became muddled. On unsteady feet you made your way out of the office and began your trek to the location of the talent show, not wanting to keep Wanda waiting. ____________________ Hurriedly, you rushed up the steps to the gazebo where your wife was waiting anxiously. On the last step you stumbled and fell on your side. An amused chuckle escaping your lips. “Wanda,” You said unsteadily with a crooked smile when your wife came into your view. “You look breathtaking.”

“Where were you? Did something happen?” Wanda rushed over and helped you up, her brows knit together in worry.

Her question fell on deaf ears as you leaned heavily against her. Your eyes settled on the women who was on your other side seemingly ready to catch you if you fell again. “Well, hello there.” You said with a goofy grin. “Have we met? I apologize if we have, I don’t even know the name of my desk mate. My name is Y/n Y/ln… or is it Maximoff? We never discussed the logistics.”

Much to Wanda’s relief the woman seemed amused by your antics. “We have not. I’m Geraldine.” The women replied, offering you a hand which you shook rapidly. With an awkward smile she stepped back. “I’ll be over there checking on the other acts.”

Geraldine walked away, and you continued leaning into Wanda. “Where were you?” she repeated, her eyes still wide with worry.

“Was just at the tribune. I might have gotten lost on the way here. I heard the loveliest song.” You rambled deliriously with a wave of your hand.

Ignoring your words, Wanda tried to get you to stand on your own. When you were properly upright, she took your hand in hers, her expression serious. “Listen, something strange happened today, Y/n. It’s hard to explain.”

Your eyes widened in an overdramatic fashion. “Did the man in the radio try to talk to you too?” you said in a poorly executed whisper.

“Man in the radio? What? Y/n, no. What is going on?” Wanda questioned, her concern growing.

Geraldine rushed over, interrupting the conversation. “You are!”

Indistinctly you could feel Wanda adjust the hat on your head as she rushed away. You began fiddling with the ring on your finger as your mind wandered. “Hey! Hey! You’re up!” Geraldine whispered urgently as she ushered you out onto the stage.

When stepped onto the stage, you felt as though the floor below you shifted which caused you to stumble into a post. “Pardon me, I’m sorry.” You mumbled as you staggered down the steps. “Hello, Westview!” You shouted dramatically. “Good afternoon, it’s lovely to be here! I’m Terra, Glamour’s assistant!” you declared confidently.

“What she means is I’m Glamour, her assistant and she’s terra the illusionist.” Wanda corrected with a dramatic wave of her hands.

“Yeah… what she said.” You turned towards the audience with wide arms and a deliriously bright smile. “Today, we will lie to you and you will believe us!” You shouted boldly as Wanda’s smile faltered slightly. “Because you are all naïve and easily amused by simple slights of hand. And fooled by basic illusions due to how little you’ve seen! Flourish!”

The strained smile on Wanda’s face remained as you wandered over to the opposite side of the stage. “You just do it, you don’t say it out loud, honey.”

You waved a hand dismissively as you attempted to search through your muddled mind for the rest of the act. “Now, my wife and I will delight in your dumbstruck little faces. Flourish!” You repeated as you allowed yourself to float into the air.

Thinking quickly Wanda waved her fingers and a rope attached itself to you as the crowd chattered excitedly. You turned sideways in the air from the rope as Wanda maneuvered it to lift you higher. You felt your head spin even more than it was before. “Wanda! Darling, let me down! I’m feeling dizzy!” You shouted indignantly.

Thankfully Wanda let you down moments later, her concerned expression breaking through her show façade.

You attempted to recall the next portion of the act, but eventually gave up when you spotted a car parked just off stage. Metal. Perfect. “How about a fantastical feat of strength?” You maneuvered your fingertips so that they were barely resting on the bottom of the car. With a quick wink to the audience, you turned to focus on the car again.

With a slight wiggle of your fingers the car began to float just above your hand, so it looked like you were picking it up.

“Illusions!” Wanda shouted nervously and made her way over to you after she wiggled her fingers. “Terra is the master of illusions! Allow me.” She took the now cardboard car from your hands, making sure the audience saw that it was indeed cardboard.

When she turned she winked at the audience. “Whoops! You weren’t supposed to see how we did that trick.”

Feeling yourself getting sleepy, you decided to jump forward to the final part of the act. A portion that you actually felt you remembered. “Ladies and gentlemen, for our grand finale, I bring you the box of… magic?” You shouted semi-confidently, unable to think of the name you had practiced just that morning.

Wanda took the hint and began wheeling out the box. “The cabinet of mysteries!” She corrected.

“Yeah, yeah. What she said.” You pulled open the doors to show the box was empty inside. “I will now make my wife disappear!”

“Are you sure you don’t want an audience volunteer named my husband Ralph?” Agnes called out from the audience.

You forced a chuckle along with the audience, “Haha- no.” You mumbled flatly as you closed the doors to the cabinet. “Abracadabra!” you weakly hit the box with the plastic wand, proud of yourself for remembering that step.

Wanda looked around nervously. “Uh, sweetheart?”

“Yeah?”

“Hi.”

“Oh.” You said, realizing you forgot the most important step. The crowd quickly started chanting what’s in the box.

Both you and Wanda exchanged timid glances as Wanda’s smile became strained. Her body language showing her obvious discomfort with the situation. Subtly, she wiggled her fingers once more.

With hesitant hands, you pulled open the doors with Wanda to reveal a very confused Geraldine.

The crowd cheered enthusiastically. All three of you took hands and bowed. “Flourish.” You muttered sheepishly for the final time. “Let’s get out of here.” You mumbled to Wanda as you ran off stage.

When you were safely backstage, you turned towards Wanda with a guilty look on your face. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m so stupid.” You cried as you sat yourself on the floor and covered your face in shame.

Wanda hastily made her way over to you and delicately placed her hands on your cheeks as she tried to get you to look at her. “Y/n. Y/n, it’s alright. Hey, it’s okay.” She reassured you as she attempted to urge your eyes up to meet hers. “But what is going on with you?”

You threw your hands up in frustration. “I don’t know! It all started when all of Ellie’s books fell on my head and then she gave me medicine that made me feel worse.” You whimpered.

Wanda’s eyes softened. “Oh, sweetheart. Let’s get you home, so you can sleep it off.” She gently coaxed you up. “And before Dottie and the planning committee can string us up for ruining the show.

Wordlessly you agreed with her plan and took her by the hand as you both attempted to sneak passed the audience.

“You two! Stop right there.” Wanda’s hand tensed in your own as you both turned to face Dottie who was on stage. “Nothing like what you two did has ever happened in the history of our talent show.”

You squeezed Wanda’s hands comfortingly as you stared down at the floor in shame. “Dottie,” Wanda began fearfully. “We are so-“

“Hilarious!” The woman interrupted Wanda. You both shared a look of surprise. “That was the most hilarious act we have ever seen. Wouldn’t you all agree?” The crowd cheered.

Dottie gestured you both on stage which you both uncomfortably complied with. “On behalf of the planning committee I would like to award you with the inaugural comedy performance of the year.” Wanda beamed proudly as she took the offered trophy. The look on her face made everything worth it to you.

You smiled deliriously at the sight as you rubbed your head which was still spinning.

As the crowd cheered you gestured Geraldine forward into your final bow, everything after blurring together so much that you couldn’t remember it. _______________ When you came to again, you were on the couch at home. Your head resting in Wanda’s lap as she stroked your hair soothingly. “Hi, sweetheart. How are you feeling?” She asked softly when she noticed your eyes flutter open.

You sat up and blinked a few times. “Much better, my love. Heads all clear again.” You answered as you knocked lightly on the side of your head. “Though I don’t remember everything that happened.”

Wanda chuckled softly and pecked your cheek. “I think it’s better you don’t, darling. While you were amusing in your delirious state, nothing can beat the Y/n I know and love.” Wanda leaned into your side as you wrapped an arm around her. “I don’t know what I was so worried about. It wasn’t so hard to fit in after all.” She admitted.

You rubbed your hand up and down her arm tenderly. “And all we had to do was be ourselves.”

“With a few modifications.” Wanda added with an amused smile.

For a moment you both just settled in the comfort of the moment before you stood up and made your way over to the radio, turning it on. “Let’s celebrate.” You suggested as you fiddled with the knobs.

Sweeter than wine, softer than the summer night. Everything I want I have, whenever I hold you tight. This magic moment, while your lips are close to mine, will last forever. Forever ‘til the end of time.

Satisfied with the music, you turned back to Wanda and offered her your hand. “I was wondering if I may have this dance, my love?”

Wanda stared up at you with loving eyes as she took your offered hand and stood up. “You certainly may.”

Gently, you pulled her closer. Your arms wrapped securely around her waist as hers rested over your shoulders. The feeling was comforting and familiar. Everything either of you ever needed. Wanda’s eyes stayed on yours, glimmering with pure love and happiness, the look mirrored in your own expression. For a moment you both just swayed in place to the rhythm of the song, your heads pressed gently together as you cherished being there in that moment.

The moment was short-lived as static rolled over the music playing much like it did earlier in the day. Both you and Wanda pulled away to stare at the radio.

Once again, the muffled speaking began, this time much stronger than before. “Wanda.” The voice called out clearly, this time addressing your wife. You didn’t know why but you knew that you recognized the voice. You just couldn’t place a name to the voice. “Wanda. Can you hear me? What happening, Wanda?”

You turned to look at Wanda, unease in your eyes. “What’s going on?” you questioned, but her eyes remained locked on the radio.

Before Wanda could say anything, a loud thud outside caught your attention. The abruptness of the sound making you jump and effectively distracting you both from the radio. “If it’s the damn tree again, I’m going to rip it up by the roots.” You announced as you stormed outside, the radio forgotten as Wanda followed closely behind you.

You walked to the edge of the yard, looking around as Wanda stopped beside you. “I don’t see anything.” She said lightly.

Almost as soon as the words left her lips, a mysterious figure came out of the drain cover. “Wanda. What is that?” you stepped protectively over to her, your arm wrapping around her from behind.

The figure turned their head in your direction. “No.” Wanda said sharply.

Satisfied with the music, you turned back to Wanda and offered her your hand. “I was wondering if I may have this dance, my love?”

Wanda stared up at you with loving eyes as she took your offered hand. “You certainly may.”

You froze slightly when Wanda stood up. “Um. Wanda.”

“Hmm, what?” She questioned with a cute tilt of her head. Your eyes fell to her abdomen which had become round with the signs of pregnancy. You delicately placed your hand on her stomach as she gasped. “Y/n… is this really happening?” The smile she gave you was so bright that it could have rivaled the sun.

You brought her hand up to your lips and pressed a soft kiss to the palm of her hand. “Yes, my love. It’s really happening.”

Lovingly Wanda leaned forward and connected your lips in a sweet kiss as the disembodied voices cooed at the action. When you pulled away Wanda cupped your cheek, a surprised look in her eyes when she looked at you. “Y/n.”

You both looked around in awe as the home around you became rich with vibrant colors. Like magnets you were drawn back together as you both met in a loving kiss. . . . . . . . . The group once again watched you and Wanda share a sweet kiss as the credits rolled on the screen before them. A moment of tense silence hung in the air as they attempted to process what they just saw.

“You got her pregnant!” Natasha finally shouted at Steve, smacking him in the back of the head.

Darcy tried to choke back a laugh at the sudden comment as she fumbled with the technology, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire. “I don’t think that’s how pregnancy works.” She mumbled to herself.

Steve rubbed the back of his head with a frown. “I didn’t get her pregnant, Nat.” He huffed in annoyance. “And I might not be a scientist, but I know Y/n couldn’t impregnate her either. I’m pretty sure Wanda got herself pregnant.”

“Yeah, well, one minute they’re dancing and then you try and talk to them and suddenly Wanda’s pregnant. I blame you.” Natasha countered with a roll of her eyes. “Which, by the way, while Y/n was lifting heavy objects over her head? Really?”

Darcy’s eyes widened in amusement as she tried to keep her expression neutral.

“That… wasn’t my finest moment.” Steve admitted shamefully as he rubbed his temples in embarrassment.

As the two Avengers were arguing Fury shut off the television. “What’s done is done. Now that we have Monica in there under the guise of working for S.W.O.R.D. we can potentially receive some intel. Even though she seems deeply immersed in her character. And,” He waved a file in his hand. “I know who Ellie Hart is. You two might want to hear this.”

Part 2! I will admit I had slight trouble writing this since it was still fairly restricted by Wandavision because it’s necessary to set up the story still. Well, as always, I hope you all enjoyed! And let me know your thoughts, remember they are always welcome! :)

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andypantsx3 · 4 years

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if i could keep cool | 4

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 20,322 words / 6 chapters

summary: A villain attacks Shouto Todoroki’s apartment and kidnaps what he apparently believes to be Todoroki’s secret lover. The bad news—for both you and the villain in question—is that you’re just there to clean the place. That’s how it starts.

tags: romance, reader-insert, accidental sugar daddy shouto, misunderstandings

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut

There was no other word for it. Todoroki was a menace.

Though his schedule seemed to return to something approximating normal, he was still in the apartment often enough that you began to anticipate him being there. Even when he wasn’t, however, he made life difficult enough for you by leaving behind gifts, with progressively more disappointed notes if you didn’t take them. You didn’t know how it was possible to convey that flat tone in the shape of his letters, but you could practically hear it as you read them over.

Worse, he seemed to know exactly which of your weak points to exploit to get you to want the gifts--leaving you several more books, a bag of the really nice coffee beans from the coffee shop you’d told him about, and a sinfully soft scarf as the weather turned colder. When you continued to ignore the insane amount of money he seemed to think passed for a tip, fresh vegetables started cropping up on the countertops with notes that said things like I’m not going to eat these, if you don’t take them they will be wasted to guilt you into compliance.

A month into it, an entire grocery order started showing up every Thursday shift. My refrigerator is full so don’t try to stuff any of this in there, his note commanded.

He was a master of manipulation, it seemed, and to what end you didn’t know. You made mental notes to not mention any further likes during your conversations, but when he was there, Todoroki’s conversation was so easy and so natural, he continued to pull all the details out of you with ease.

So things you really, really liked kept turning up. And as you talked to him, Todoroki was turning into a thing that you really, really liked as well.

It was overwhelming.

The final straw was a Friday afternoon when you hit up the fancy coffee shop just outside campus. You walked in with the extra money you’d saved up not buying your own groceries, and the vague idea that you would get a head start on an upcoming paper. And then, the barista very obviously glanced between you and a sheet of paper taped to a corner of the register, and refused to let you pay for your order.

“Your order is free!” she chirped cheerfully.

You stared. “What?”

“It’s already taken care of!” she said, and immediately, a cloud of suspicion settled over you.

“What’s the occasion?” you asked.

She smiled. “The occasion is someone already paid for you!”

You glanced around the coffee shop, but you could find nothing but a few unfamiliar students purusing books or churning out work on their respective laptops. You turned back to her.

“And if I were to walk into this coffee shop tomorrow, would the occasion also be that someone already paid for me?”

She nodded. “Yes! All your future orders are paid for, please come as often as you like!”

You gaped at her, and she cheerfully stuffed your coffee into your hands. Then you glared down at the white paper cup accusingly, and it stared back at you, looking like one half of a certain menace’s hair color.

Oh, he was in for it.

You stalked over to a table and whipped out your cell phone, shooting off a message so fast your fingers practically burned.

todoroki what the hell

To your surprise, you received a reply almost immediately.

It’s Shouto.

Like hell it was.

first names are for friends, not psychopaths. did you really pay for all of my future orders at the coffee shop?

Is this your first time there this month? he answered. Where do you usually go?

You stared at your phone. He’d done this a month ago? Also, no way you were telling him your budget spot where you picked up lukewarm bean water when you couldn’t afford four dollar americanos. The last thing you needed was for him to buy them out, too.

You got to your feet, marching back over to the barista.

She smiled. “Back for something else?”

“Yeah, how do I cancel the all my orders are paid for thing?” you asked. “Can you just delete whatever info he left you and charge me from now on?”

She looked you up and down. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

She stared, then leaned in to whisper. “You do know who paid for all your orders, right? Are you actually sure you want to cancel?”

A migraine started in your temples. Had Todoroki actually come in here himself to give his information? Was he trying to get you caught up in the secret lover bullshit that was still swirling in the media?

“I’m extra sure,” you smiled, then went back to your table, satisfied.

No sooner than you had dug out your laptop, though, when your phone buzzed. You looked down at the name on the screen and paled. Todoroki was way easier to deal with via text when you couldn’t hear that low, smooth tone directly in your ear. His face and his voice were absolutely fucking mind-melting, and it would be hard to maintain your stubborn stance even in the face of just one.

Still, though, this was the last straw.

“How many times do I have to tell you that friendship is free?” you hissed quietly as you picked up.

“They told me you tried to cancel,” he said flatly, and your head whipped up to glare at the barista accusingly. She smiled.

“Todoroki--”

“Shouto,” he said.

“Fine, Shouto,” you said, “It’s been a month and maybe I let you get the wrong idea by accepting all of the vegetables and everything, but this ends here. I told you that it doesn’t cost anything to be friends with me, and you had better stop apologizing. It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, but--”

“Then do,” he said simply.

“What?”

“Then just appreciate it,” he answered. His voice was somehow even lower on the phone and a shiver went down your spine, despite your frustration with him. “Just accept them. Why is it so bad if a friend gives you things?”

God, he was such a rich boy, wasn’t he?

“Shouto, I do appreciate it,” you said. “But I don’t need any of that. And I know that you know this isn’t necessary--I highly doubt that you are buying Midoriya all of his weekly coffees or draping Bakugou in soft scarves. All you need to be friends with me is to just hang out, the same way you do them.”

Shouto was quiet a moment. “Hang out,” he finally said, slowly, like he was tasting the words in his mouth. Then, “Are you free right now?”

“W-what?” you managed.

“You don’t have class right now, right? Your last lecture just let out.”

You were surprised that he remembered your class schedule. Just how much had you told him?

“Uh, yeah?” you asked.

“Good, stay where you are. We’re hanging out,” he pronounced the words like they were foreign on his tongue, then hung up.

You stared down at your phone in shock. He wanted to hang out with you? Like, outside of his apartment?

There was no arguing the two of you got along relatively well, now that the threat of your crazy fandom and the weight of his mistake no longer hung over your relationship. You talked easily enough the one or two times you saw him during any given week. But so far your interactions had been somewhat limited, confined to the familiar space of his apartment and limited to the time that you had to be there. You texted a little outside of that, but you’d never just casually hung out.

Then the weight of his words really hit you. He was coming here? To the coffee shop? In full view of your entire campus? Was he insane?

You ran through a mental checklist of things in your bag that could be used to disguise him but came up short. You didn’t know exactly what he planned to look like when he put in an appearance here, but you were not interested in fanning the flames of the secret lover garbage that was still all over twitter and splashed across the glossy pages of the magazines at the grocery store.

You shot to your feet and threw your bag over your shoulder, then ran out the door, dashing for the campus shop that sat just outside the student center. You blew through the door and dove straight for the apparel section, grabbing the least heinous hat that looked like it would cover most of Shouto’s distinctive hairstyle while also drawing the least amount of attention to its wearer. You also helped yourself to a plain pair of sunglasses that would probably be kind of inappropriate in the fall weather, but would go a long way in hiding his eyes and that scar.

Why did he insist on having so many distinguishing features? Would it kill him to have dark hair and dark eyes like most of the rest of the earth’s population?

You threw the items and a wad of bills down on the register counter, then paused. A few small, slightly-wilted looking bouquets of flowers sprouted from buckets just beside the register in the colors of your university. You didn’t know what the colors or type of the flowers were supposed to mean, and they probably didn’t give off exactly the message you wanted to send, but Shouto had gotten you flowers as the first gift he’d ever given you…

You grabbed the least wilted looking bunch and threw them on top of the other items.

The cashier rang you up with all the urgency of a sloth, and you tapped your foot nervously as you waited. How was Shouto getting here? How long would it take him? Would he be at the coffee shop already?

You stuffed the flowers into your bag, then launched yourself out of the campus shop like a rocket, catching that mop of red and white hair just outside the entrance to the coffee shop. You put on a burst of speed and managed to jam the baseball cap down over his head before he pulled open the door. He turned to you in surprise.

“Y/N,” he said.

“Yes, hi, hello,” you managed while also trying to ram the sunglasses onto his face.

He let out a small huff of amusement. “What are you doing?”

“What you should have done before coming here, you absolute wackjob,” you said, finally managing to slip the shades over his high-bridged nose without poking his eyes out.

Shouto let you manhandle him to your liking, until his face and hair were mostly hidden under your university merchandise.

“Okay, you should be good now,” you said, looking him over. He still stood out, honestly, too tall and outrageously handsome, even covered up as he was. The sweater and well-fitting jeans he’d chosen would still draw anyone’s gaze straight to his trim figure, but it would have to do.

“We can’t go inside, though, you’ll look too shady with the cap and glasses,” you said. “We need to go somewhere outdoors.”

He stared down at you, one eyebrow lifted over the top of his sunglasses. “It’s fall.”

You thought for a moment.

“How do you feel about izakaya?” you asked. “There’s a street-side one not far from here that’s mostly outdoors. They’re good, and I think they’re still open.”

He nodded. “Do you go there often?”

You eyed him. “Oh no. If I tell you places I go, you apparently buy them out. The whole point of you being here is to prove that buying me things is stupid when we can just hang out.”

The corner of his mouth twitched like he was being told a joke you couldn’t hear. “Lead the way, then,” he said evenly.

You pulled him down a few blocks, expertly navigating your way through the winding city streets. You would never admit as much to him, but this place was one of your faves for good beer and cheap yakitori, and you could probably easily find your way both blindfolded and drunk. Shouto followed you easily, a tall, silent warmth at your back.

There were few people at the izakaya when you arrived, considering it was still a little early for dinner, and no one gave the two of you a second glance when you pulled back the curtains and helped yourselves to pair of stools in the corner of the stall.

“Okay, you have to get a beer and yakitori first," you said. "You can do whatever you want after, but the first round has to be that. Just trust me.”

“No vegetables?” Shouto asked.

You laughed. “I know that’s my brand. And there are good veggie side dishes. But there is nothing like fresh, warm, cheap yakitori and a really good beer, especially on a cool fall day like this. I know what I’m talking about.”

A soft smile pulled at his mouth. “So you do come here often.”

You stared up at him accusingly. “If you dare throw a single dollar at them, you’re in huge trouble. I know where you live.”

He smiled down at you. It was easier to notice how boyish his grin was when the rest of his face was hidden by his sunglasses, and heat flared in your cheeks. He was just so damn good looking.

It suddenly dawned on you how forward you’d been with him, sending him sassy texts and putting your hands all over him when you were attempting to stuff him into your university swag. Your relationship had progressed somewhat since that first book he’d bribed you with, but honestly, this was completely new ground for you.

Your face burned hotter. You’d been so, so inexcusably forward. Had you lost your mind?

Shouto seemed to be thinking about the hat as well. “So, do I look like a student at your university?”

You looked him up and down. Aside from your school’s name emblazoned across his baseball cap, he looked nothing like a student, too put together in his dark sweater and jeans that probably cost more than your monthly rent. You wondered if he’d even been within ten feet of an instant ramen cup in his entire life.

“Uh, no,” you said. “You look like someone forced you to wear a hat they panic purchased and it just so happened to be the least horrible one available.”

A smile played about his mouth again. “What were the other options?”

You grinned. “It was this one or a proud dad of a college grad cap.”

He let out a small huff of amusement. You smiled, then leaned forward as the man at the counter came over to take your order, making sure to cut Shouto off before he could attempt any rich boy tricks. You put in an order for two beers and what was probably a concerning amount of yakitori, then turned back to Shouto and almost fell off your stool when he was much closer than you’d expected.

“Do you have a teleportation quirk I don’t know about?” you asked, internally panicking at his proximity. He was close enough now that you could feel the heat of him and catch the scent of his cologne, light and fresh and disturbingly good.

He smiled that boyish smile again and your heart suddenly forgot how to do its job, freezing in your chest. “It’s cold.”

You rolled your eyes. “You have a fire quirk.”

You felt the air grow a little warmer around the two of you. “I meant for you,” he said.

You were torn between relaxing into the sudden warmth and freezing up in embarrassment. It was beginning to dawn on you just how attentive and thoughtful he always was, and you wondered vaguely if the gift giving was actually just a really extreme manifestation of that personality trait. Maybe being an awkward rich boy with a weird way of making friends was just part of the issue.

Your heartbeat suddenly kicked into overdrive. He was already so overwhelming to look at, incredibly brave, such a good listener, and way too easy to talk to. You did not need to pile on other endearing qualities to the frankly alarming number of things feeding into what was quickly becoming the fattest crush of your lifetime. Did he have to be so good all the time?

A hand suddenly reached out, pulling you closer so that you were practically fused to his left side. You stiffened, resisting the urge to curl into the warmth pouring off of him in thick waves.

Not good, this was so not good.

“Uh, you don’t have to do that,” you said, tongue thick, like you were speaking through a mouthful of applesauce. “I’m wearing the scarf you got me.”

Shouto tilted his head, and though you couldn’t see his expression behind the sunglasses, something like satisfaction curled the corner of his mouth. “Good,” he said in his deep tone, “but this will help too.”

“Really, you’re my friend not my personal space heater,” you insisted, trying to squirm away from him. “You don’t need to do this.”

He flared hotter, and a strong arm went around the back of your chair, halting your escape. “I don’t mind,” he said.

God it was like he didn’t even know what effect he had on people. People, of course, being cleaning ladies with twitters full of zoomed in pictures of his abs. It was not good for your health to be this close to him, couldn’t he just let you sit ten thousand miles away from him where both of you would be a little safer?

The izakaya owner interrupted this train of thought, pushing two beers and a plateful of yakitori between the two of you.

You instantly seized on the distraction, bringing a beer to your mouth to give you a couple moments for your brain to turn on again. It was refreshingly cold, and the flavor was nostalgic, tasting like breaks after class with friends and late nights stumbling back after several rounds of karaoke and drinking. You wondered now if, in the future, you would taste it and think back to the one time you’d hung out with Shouto Todoroki.

“It’s good,” Shouto said, looking at you over the rim of his own beer.

You smiled. “I told you.”

Then you shoved a stick of yakitori at him. “Now eat this and tell me I was right about it too.”

His fingers slid along yours as he took the stick from you, calloused and warm. “...You were right about this too,” he said after managing a bite.

You felt yourself puff up. “Of course I was.”

He smiled and helped himself to the rest. With the food and drink absorbing some of your attention, you were able to calm down somewhat, and the conversation returned to normal, you doing your best to forget about the sinfully warm arm curled around your back.

Here, too, Shouto was absurdly easy to talk to, the new venue doing nothing to dull his charm or the easy way that he pulled information out of you with a few, short, well-placed questions. Over the course of a few hours, you worked your way through a few beers and several more side dishes, the conversation never letting up. Shouto was just as intelligent and thoughtful as ever, and he made you laugh with a couple of unexpectedly short tempered comments. Even the discovery that he was not as princely as he usually seemed just fanned the flames of your crush.

It was only when the people around you began to shuffle off of their stools and pack up that you realized how late it had grown, and that you’d spent the entire evening hanging out and talking.

Shouto helped you off your stool when you stumbled a little, the number of beers you’d consumed suddenly making themselves known. “You’re more of a lightweight than I would have guessed by the conversation,” he teased.

You looked up into his face, realizing that he’d shed the sunglasses at some point during your conversation and you hadn’t noticed. Had anyone else noticed? No one had come over asking for an autograph. Maybe he was so unexpected at a place like this that the hat had been enough of a disguise.

You blinked, realized you’d been staring. “Nonsense, I’m a pro. I’ve put in many more beers at this place.”

Then your eyes narrowed at the slow movement his hand was making along the counter, what looked suspiciously like a stack of bills underneath. That little shit.

“Are you trying to distract me?” you demanded, grabbing his hand and stuffing the money back into it. “This is on me. I haven’t paid for groceries in weeks, thanks to somebody.”

Shouto smirked, looking strangely pleased with himself. His hand curled around yours, and his other came up to take your free hand. It was only when he’d transferred both of your wrists into one large palm that you realized what he was doing, plopping down a handful of bills on the counter quickly with his free hand, then pulling your backpack over your shoulder and tugging you away from the izakaya before you could make a scene. You’d been thoroughly outmaneuvered.

“I’ll take you home,” he said, steering you back out into the street. “Give me your address.”

“Shouto,” you whined, “this whole evening was supposed to be about proving you don’t need to spend money to be my friend. We were supposed to hang out.”

“We did hang out,” he pointed out, looking down at you from under the rim of that ridiculous baseball cap. “Your point was very much made.”

It was a testament to how tipsy you were, probably, that this warmed you. You forgot your annoyance with him almost immediately. “Really?”

He huffed a laugh. “Really. Now give me your address so I can take you home.”

You did and he plugged it into his phone. Then he led you along with one hand curled around yours. You spent the whole walk musing on how warm his fingers were in yours, how much larger his hands seemed than yours. Why was even his stupid hand so nice?

It was only as Shouto walked you to the door of your apartment that you remembered the last thing you’d gotten for him in the campus store. You quickly unzipped your backpack, shoving the bouquet of flowers at him.

“For you,” you said, pressing them into his chest. “You got me those flowers. These ones aren’t as nice, but I thought that you should have some too.”

He stared down at you, something strange glinting in his eyes. “You got me flowers.”

“Do you not like them?” you asked nervously. Was it weird to give a guy flowers? It was probably weird…

“I like them,” he declared, and a genuine smile flickered across his mouth. His eyes looked a little brighter, and his gaze was growing more intent by the second. “Now, you should probably get inside before I forget my manners.”

Forget his manners? You stared up at him in confusion.

He looked down at you for a long moment, and then he was suddenly very close, his face dipping down to yours.

“Get inside,” he said quietly, voice deeper than you’d ever heard it. “Please.”

You nodded, swallowing. You had just enough presence of mind to turn and unlock your door. Shouto guided you gently inside with a hand on your back, and then stepped back outside, smiling.

“I’ll see you on Tuesday,” he said.

You waved. “See you on Tuesday.”

You watched him make his way back down the street, only closing your door when you saw him turn the corner and disappear out of sight. Then you sank down against the door frame, heart feeling like it was going to beat straight out of your chest.

Shouto was the most overwhelming man on this earth. You were in such big trouble.

#shouto todoroki x reader #bnha #todoroki x reader #fanfic #boku no hero academia #bnha x reader #shouto todoroki

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cidnangarlond · 2 years

Text

okay here's my non-comprehensive list of black and white movies I like whether because I genuinely enjoy them, they have a good amount of cultural relevance decades later, so on. if any titles sound good based on the title alone lmk and I can give a brief description of the movie :] Citizen Kane isn't on here because I can't stand that bitch. most are in english from the hollywood studio era but others are in japanese, swedish, russian, french. silent movies I've also noted as such. if it's silent and in another language I've noted that, but if it just says "Silent" it's in english

- Mr Smith Goes to Washington (1939)

- Intermezzo (1939)

- The Seventh Seal (1957) - Swedish (also Latin)

- The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920) - Silent + German, intertiles are in German but subtitles translate

- Metropolis (1927) - Silent + German, intertiles are in German but subtitles translate

- M (1931) - German

- Astaire and Rogers literally pick one formulaic yes but it works and if it ain't broke don't fix it. But Top Hat (1935) and Shall We Dance (1937) I personally recommend. Also Swing Time (1936) has blackface in it

- 12 Angry Men (1957)

- Bringing Up Baby (1938)

- Casablanca (1942)

- Dr. Strangelove (1964)

- The Ghost and Mrs Muir (1947)

- A Star Is Born (1938)

- Smilin' Through (1932)

- Roman Holiday (1953)

- Spellbound (1945)

- Limelight (1952)

- All Quiet on the Western Front (1930) - There's a couple different versions as it was filmed with two cameras side by side, so there's a silent version and a sound version, but both are in English

- Persona (1966) - French

- Breathless (1960) - French

- The Artist (2011) - Silent, mostly

- It Happened One Night (1934)

- A Raisin in the Sun (1961)

- Lilies of the Field (1963)

- The Philadelphia Story (1940)

- His Girl Friday (1940)

- The Maltese Falcon (1941)

- The Third Man (1949)

- All About Eve (1950)

- Sunset Boulevard (1950)

- Tokyo Story (1953) - Japanese

- Rashomon (1950) - Japanese

- Seven Samurai (1954) - Japanese

- Touch of Evil (1957)

- Night of the Hunter (1955)

- What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? (1962)

- Diabolique (1955) - French

- Battleship Potemkin (1925) - Russian

- A Face in the Crowd (1957)

- Safety Last! (1923) - Silent

- Ugetsu (1953) - Japanese

- Rififi (1955) - French

- The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928) - French

- Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans (1927)

- Judgment at Nuremberg (1961) - English and German

- The Cranes Are Flying (1957) - Russian

- The Kid (1920) - Silent

- Double Indemnity (1944)

- Paths of Glory (1957)

- City Lights (1931) - Silent

- The Great Dictator (1940)

- Ivan's Childhood (1962) - Russian

Content/Trigger Warning Notes:

"Judgment at Nuremberg" is about the Nuremberg judges trial following World War II and does include footage from the Holocaust, talk of it, forced sterilization, antisemitism. Do proceed with caution.

"The Great Dictator" is a Chaplin satire and parody of Nazi Germany and denounces them wholly but I wanted to mention it regardless if that is something you are sensitive to so approach with caution if you are.

"Rashomon" is about four different accounts of a rape and murder so also approach with caution.

"12 Angry Men" is about jurors in a jury room following a trial deciding the fate of the boy on trial and racism is discussed/a fairly prominent topic.

"Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?" deals with an abusive relationship between two sisters, there is also animal death.

"A Raisin in the Sun" also deals with racism.

I'm definitely missing a few but be sure to look up content warnings for the movies before just in case, as old movies aren't necessarily like, free of potentially triggering things. These were a few I could name off the top of my head and felt necessary to point out and mention.

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theshadowsong · 3 years

Text

Ordinary evening

Yes I wrote something stupid xD My OC Diya is the assistant of Archibald and clearly annoyed of his behavior lol (with a fluffy ending)

I really tried to translate all the names of people and places right, because they differ from the German version. Sorry when something is wrong though

It was a typical ordinary evening in Clairdelune and Archibald was once again celebrating one of his parties. People of the nobility, especially of the Illusionists and the Web gathered, laughed artificially, danced and drank. And none of them wasted even a thought that someone might want to concentrate here.

Wearing a simple purple dress, Diya sat in one of the many side rooms of the mansion, trying to think. Her long hair, lighter on top than underneath, fell silky smooth into her face. Annoyed, she wiped a strand out of her field of vision and immediately regretted it a moment later. As soon as she touched her hair, it was electrified by the cold, dry air of the pole. Even the best illusion couldn‘t change that, her hair had always been very sensitive.

„Ah the little assistant.“ Diya looked up from her notes and groaned inwardly. Standing before her was the director of the Nibelungen. One of the most unpleasant people she had ever met. She tried to ignore the disparaging tone and put on a fake smile.

„What can I do for you?“ She couldn‘t help but sound a little annoyed, especially since the director had been getting on her nerves terribly for quite a while.

„Regarding the request, I assume the Ambassador has already been informed?“

Diya raised an eyebrow, „Your application has only been on file for two days, Director.“

„It is of the utmost importance that...“

„I will present the application to the Ambassador after I read it.“ She interrupted him, conspicuously emphasizing the word „after.“

The man opposite her gasped indignantly.

„I see manners have not been taught to you in any case, cook.“ Dyia looked skeptically at the director. Indeed she had been a cook before becoming Archibald‘s assistant, but she was such a miserable cook that it almost bordered on poisoning. In a way, the ambassador had probably saved her from the arduous life of a servant.

It was also to be expected that the nobility of the Pole was not very enthusiastic about showing a servant a certain amount of respect. Even if she was officially no longer one. In addition, she wasn‘t even from the Pole. Which is also not entirely true, because she was indeed born here. But because of the unequal darker skin tone, the Polians were all pale and light blond, with the sandy brown hair and the green eyes, everybody noticed immediately that she was of a different descent. Her mother came from Al Ondaltus, as a visitor to Pol. From her, she also had her family power, which she hid as well as she could.

Diya could sense and alter the emotions of others, which might not be a popular gift at the Pole. Her father had been a page who died before she was born. Her mother disappeared. But left her in the care of a nasty old woman who liked nothing better than to mend old socks over a bottle of whiskey.

„Are you being molested?“ Archibald‘s blond curly head appeared in the doorway. He was beaming as usual. His gaze lingered on the director, who grimaced.

„You should control your employees better, I already made a request two days ago...“ Archibald‘s bright laughter interrupted him and Diya just hoped for this conversation to end soon. The director of the Nibelungen scowled even more.

„But, but... do you know how many applications and documents come in here every day, I guess you‘ll have to be patient.“ Archibald fluted cheerfully and winked at Diya.

She had nothing to add.

Outraged, the director whirled around and stormed out of the room.

„Well that was interesting.“

„No it wasn‘t.“ Diya‘s headache increased, as it always does when there are too many people in one spot. Too many feelings all at once. Add to that the ever-present sensations of the family spirit she was always aware of. She would have to leave the pole just to escape Farouk‘s confused aura.

„You should really have some fun for once,“ Archibald laughed, eyeing himself over the table of documents, his breath sweet, having already had a drink or two.

„And who’s going to do all your work then?“ Diya gave the ambassador a playfully reproachful look. „Apart from that, neither the alcohol nor the presence of all these people help with my headache.“

Archibald was one of the few who knew about her powers. Diya tried to tune them out as much as possible. Diving into the feelings of others was already very personal, but on the other hand, it wasn‘t equally easy to read everyone. Many hid their true feelings from themselves, others were so open that they practically threw their feelings in her face.

Archibald‘s smile became more tentative, and he straightened up again.

„At least promise me to eat something.“ Out of nowhere, probably having held it in his hand all along, he whipped out a plate of cake.

„Ah? I guess cake counts as a full meal with you guys, huh?“ teased Diya, accepting the plate. „Sure, especially with strawberries.“

They heard some groping footsteps and then a high-pitched, definitely drunk voice of a woman, „Ohh Archi!!? Where are you?“

„Well, I’m being summoned.“ The one addressed raised his hat and gave a deliberately exaggerated bow to his assistant, who just rolled her eyes and poured herself a glass of water.

A few hours passed until the people slowly dwindled and Diya‘s headache disappeared. Sighing, she got up, the music had been off for a while, instead the sound of a piano key kept repeating.

Diya walked down a corridor past a small fountain, which she was convinced was an illusion. In the room she entered afterwards, there were several sofas, armchairs and tables. There was also a piano on which a figure was playing the same key, half lying down.

Archibald‘s curls were even more tangled than usual and his face was slightly red.

„Archibald?“

He didn‘t respond at all.

Diya looked at him for a few seconds, then sat down next to him.

„Archibald, look at me.“ gingerly, she lifted his chin and forced him to look her in the face. „Dude how much did you drink?“ reproachfully, she looked at the ambassador, but the addressed one only laughed inanely and tried to stand up. He failed miserably, staggered and almost fell down if Diya had not supported him. Without thinking about whether he might have been too heavy to be carried by his assistant, he leaned his entire weight against her.

„Thisss is... well, not... how late isss it...?“ he slurred, laughing again.

„To late.“ hissed Diya, who had to muster all her concentration not to fall down. With difficulty, she hoisted him onto a sofa, where he plopped down at an odd angle. He was still giggling stupidly to himself. She couldn‘t possibly leave him alone like that.

„You’re really making more work for me than necessary,“ she reprimanded Archibald, settling down on the sofa next to him. Archibald had stopped giggling and looked at her with wide eyes. „Are you mad at me?“

Surprised, she looked at him, sounding seriously concerned. The way he was lying next to her on the sofa, he almost seemed like a child. „No, of course not.“

Diya was just dog-tired, nevertheless she would wait until Archibald fell asleep. She grabbed a book from the side table and started flipping through it randomly, she was way too tired to concentrate.

After 10 minutes of nursing, she thought he had fallen asleep, but suddenly he put his head on her lap. Irritated, she looked at the ambassador, with his worn clothes, unshaven face and tangled hair, he had more similarities with a bum than with a nobleman. Still, one could not help but find him attractive. Sighing, Diya closed the book and put it aside.

Gently, she placed her hand on his head. She would not find sleep in that position, but Archibald was already blissfully slumbering. Her fingers played with the surprisingly soft curls. A little helplessly, she shook her head.

„Idiot.“ whispered Diya, but could not hide a smile.

#the mirror visitor #mirror visitor #oc #Die spiegelreisende #spiegelreisende #the missing of clairdelune #clairdelune #a winters promise #Archibald #la passe miroir #christelle dabos

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