#America's First Lady of the Air

[formulawolff]

america's princess - t.w.

pairing -> popstar!reader x toto wolff

word count -> 3.1k

warnings -> age gap relationship, cursing, slight angst (mostly online hate), toto is completely down bad and would do anything to make reader content, yadayadayada

a/n -> this fic was inspired by this ask! i hope you enjoy this one babe! <3 if you guys enjoy this one, i may consider expanding the au :p

"it appears that i have one more guest tonight. abel, would you please join me on the stage?"

in that moment, the sound that floods your ears is deafening.

abel tesfaye, also known as the weeknd, strolls onto the stage, bearing a dazzling grin as he approaches you. donning his signature sunnies, he pulls you in close, wrapping you tightly against his chest.

you can barely hear the words as the crowd roars. the flash from the phones is blinding, fans desperate to capture what was to come.

"i am so proud of you, pretty lady."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"th-hank you," your voice falters, threatening of tears as your head swivels, surveying the arena.

never in your life would you have predicted that you would be standing here, performing for a sold out crowd of tens of thousands of people.

people who banded together for one sole purpose.

to watch you perform.

and although you were on the verge of completely coming undone, the humility crashing over you like a tidal wave, you were well aware one thing.

the show must go on.

no matter what.

swiveling on your heel, your fingers curl around the microphone, bringing it to your plush lips, "i think you guys will like this one."

shooting a wink, you hold you breath as darkness swaths the stadium. all around, there are hushed murmurs, brimmed with anticipation. there are a few shouts here and there, but you remain still, your chest heaving as the adrenaline pumps in your veins.

a singular spotlight illuminates the stage, showering you with a silvery glow.

almost as if you were bathing in moonlight.

abel lingers to your left, remaining in place. in your peripheral, you catch him dipping his head, flashing a brief thumbs up.

this was it.

now or never.

as the notes begin, fans scream. in the first few rows, you can make out a band of girls of girls jumping in place, jostling with excitement. never in your life had you seen so many phones raised in the air, each of them pointed at the stage.

"i had a vision," your voice, oh so tantalizing, overcomes the stadium, the crowd growing silent. almost if as they were in a hypnosis, completely and utterly entranced by the scene unfolding before them.

"a vision of my nails in the kitchen. scratching counter tops, i was screaming. my back like arched a. my position couldn't stop you were hitting it

and i shouldn't cry, but i love it, star boy. and i shouldn't cry, but i love it, i love it, star boy."

as you move across the stage, twirling about, abel starts in, maintaining eye contact, raising an arm as he points.

"i just want so see you shine 'cause i know you are a star, girl."

inhaling a breath, you join in, the euphoria only growing more and more intense as it builds in the pit of your stomach.

"i just want to see you shine' cause i know you a star, girl."

with each note hit effortlessly, you finish the song, beaming as the stadium erupts. abel strides toward you, bringing you in for one final embrace before the lights dim. you feel his lips press against your cheek, and he murmurs something you can't quite decipher.

you wish you could make out what he said, you really did.

but you were too busy riding that high.

that feeling that left you buzzing, your fingers and toes trembling as you take a step forward, to the center of the stage. clearing your throat, you scramble to formulate a coherent sentence as the crowd chants, begging for just one more song.

"thank you, new york city. thank you for having me! madison square garden, you will forever be my favorite! from the bottom of my heart, thank you! be safe getting home! and remember to pick up after yourselves! goodnight!"

shifting your body, you begin to exit the stage. your crew flies forward, swarming you with congratulations as the stadium lights fill the venue, affirming the end of the show.

shaking your head, you graciously accept a bottle of water from your manager, nearly downing it. furrowing your brow, you can't help but notice the expression plaguing her features.

"come on hun, let's get you to the dressing room."

"what about abel?"

"we'll call him later," your manager waves a hand, almost dismissing the fact that you just performed with one of the largest artists in the world, "he let me know that he was on a tight schedule anyway. i'm sure he'll have some free time later on."

"are you--"

"i'm sure," she interjects, "come on now, let's go."

as she leads you down the maze of hallways, security in tow, you can't help but sense that there something slightly off. the energy all around was bursting with electricity. yet, it wasn't tense.

it was almost as if she was bursting with a secret she could no longer keep the way her cheeks were dusted pink. it didn't help her case that she was swaying slightly, almost fidgeting.

the walk to the dressing room felt like it was an eternity, the hallways never-ending. it was one turn after another, but you finally made it. however, before you can enter the room, your manager darts forward, her hand wrapping around the knob.

"allow me."

"is everything okay?" your heart is racing, thudding against your rib-cage as she nods, a little too fervently.

pushing the door, the two of you enter the room. however, your manager leaves the door propped open, rather than closing it shut. taking your hand, she almost tugs you toward the array of couches.

"okay! now close your eyes."

pursing your lips, you cock your head, "can you please tell me what the fuck is going on? you're acting really weird. are you sure everything is okay?"

"y-yes! there's just one last surprise for you! and i can't contain it anymore! i'msorrybutijust--"

"what is it?" you press, "you can't just say something like that and not--"

there's a tap on your shoulder, a brassy yet familiar voice rumbling from behind.

"some performance you put on tonight, miene liebe."

spinning on your heel, you nearly collapse at the sight before you.

toto wolff, team principal of mercedes amg petronas, and well, your boyfriend towers over you, an exquisite bouquet in his grasp.

a sob rises in your throat, and you can't help but melt into his arms. scooping you up into his embrace, he nearly crushes you against his chest, a hand cupping the back of your skull. nuzzling into his polo, you catch the scent of his cologne, tears streaming as strands of german roll of his tongue.

"h-how did you get here?"

a chuckle rumbles in his throat, "i pulled some strings. let's just say it was a work perk."

"i'll give you two some privacy," your manager clears her throat, "just text me in you need anything, hun. we'll let you know when it's time to board the bus."

as she darts out of the room, you raise your head, ensuring that the door was closed. toto hangs onto you, his hands beginning to roam. blinking, you almost study him, the realization that he was actually there starting to sink in.

tonight, he was clad in a dark leather jacket, a crisp white polo stretching across his toned chest. as always, he left the first two buttons undone, a chain glittering as it rested against his collarbone. khakis stretch down his legs, the team principal opting for a pair of loafers.

his brunette locks were swept up into their typical messy updo. he wore a silver watch on his wrist, the piece screaming luxury and wealth.

god, he always dressed so simple. but it was classy, put together. the look of a man with status yet graced with humility.

and that was the type of man toto was.

there was no elaborate story on how the two of you met.

you were introduced to toto wolff through a mutual friend.

and that mutual friend was none other than lewis hamilton.

it was a warm weekend in austin. a brand had invited you to attend the united states grand prix. at the time, you were on the uphill slope of your fame. you were a household name, an opener for the 1975. well-known but not large enough to sell out stadiums. it was a unique tour at the time, as your sound was a tad bit moodier, teetering on that line separating alternative and pop.

little did you know, that weekend would change the entire trajectory of your life.

at first, you were apprehensive about attending. you did like formula one, as your dad was a lifelong fan. yet, this was the first time in your life you were presented with the opportunity to not only watch a grand prix, but witness it from the paddock.

it was an offer you could not refuse.

so, naturally you accepted. the only stipulation was that the brand had to provide two more passes. one for not only your dad, but your mom too. they deserved to experience the weekend just as much as you did. after all, they were the reason you existed.

they were the ones who ignited your passion for music. they were the ones who supported you when you were just throwing together tracks in your bedroom.

so, the three of you flew out to austin. in the airport, you received a notification, from instagram. it was a message request. but not just any message request.

a message request from lewis hamilton.

in the message, he expressed his excitement that you were attending the grand prix, as he was a "big fan." he shared that he hoped to get a moment to introduce himself and show you around the mercedes paddock.

what sort of twenty-one year old would refuse that?

as fate would have it, you got your opportunity to meet with lewis. he showed you around the paddock, providing a full, in-depth tour of the garage as well. of course, you were a flustered, giggly mess.

never in your life would you have dreamed that you would be on lewis' arm, cracking jokes with the seven-time world champion.

and that is when you met toto wolff.

that weekend, he was a tad stressed. mercedes was not quite performing to their caliber, and the press was churning out headlines left and right. and with max verstappen completely dominating the track, the dream of another constructor's title was slipping away with each passing day.

the team principal was deeply invested in a conversation with his engineers when this giggle filled his ears. it was airy and light, reminiscent of a summer breeze. it only grew louder and louder, toto figuring that lewis was wooing another model.

however, as she came around the corner, toto realized that he was fucked.

completely and utterly fucked.

you were wearing a pair of light denim jeans, paired with a plain black short sleeve shirt. the material was smooth, hugging your frame in all of the right places. it was slightly cropped, as he could see the soft skin of your abdomen whenever you raised an arm or waved.

your hair was put together in a simple do, one for comfort and long-wear. from where he was, he could pick out the gleam of jewelry, with numerous rings on your fingers. you were wearing a plain pair of shoes, opting for comfort.

you were wearing makeup, the tones and hues accentuating your striking features.

and god, when you turned, facing him, toto swore he was done for.

however, it would be weeks before the team principal could even muster up the courage to ask lewis for your number. well, he had to do some eavesdropping at the grand prix to make sure lewis had your number in the first place. once that was knowledge was secured, he decided to act.

at first, the british driver was intrigued, confused on why his boss wanted his new friend's number. it didn't take very long for lewis to register what was happening. well, the way toto was stuttering and blushing did help.

however, across the ocean, you were working on an ep.

not just any ep.

an ep produced by the weeknd.

following austin, lewis was able to provide you with some connections. who knew that a formula one driver had so much access to the industry? regardless, you were extremely grateful for lewis' help.

and from there, the rest was history.

well, at least the fame.

coined america's princess, it was difficult for toto wolff to avoid you. he saw you nearly everywhere. on social media. in advertisements. at the paddock during race weekends.

since you were so close with lewis, you were starting to make more appearances in the mercedes garage.

which worked out in toto's favor.

although he did have your number saved in his phone, he wanted to get to know you first. the real you, in person. not over text. so whenever he was given the chance, he would strike up a conversation with you in the garage. sometimes he would take an early lunch just so he could catch you in hospitality.

then there was the night in brackley.

during a slight break in your tour, lewis invited you over to brackley for a weekend away in the countryside. you were a little burnt out, aching for some change in scenery. the nights on the bus were growing a little too long. the days were starting to blur together.

you ended up booking the quickest flight overseas, ready to just spend some time away from it all. it only took eleven hours and you were at the mercedes headquarters, laughing harder than you imagined possible. lewis introduced you to george, the two of you hitting it off instantly.

who knew that a popstar and two formula one drivers would be such a good mix?

before you knew it, lewis was suggesting drinks. george was on board, goading you to join them for a few rounds at a local pub about twenty minutes from the headquarters. it would just be a few shots, something to take your mind off things.

one thing lead to another, and you somehow ended up in the passenger seat of toto's luxurious coupe.

well, lewis and george were there too. the team principal did not expect to spend his night babysitting, but it was better than waking up to a tabloid headline in the morning. the team principal drove all three of you straight to his sprawling mansion. he ordered the boys to the guest rooms, while he helped you to his bed.

well, it was more like he carried you to his bed.

he maintained his distance, although every fiber of his being desperately wanted to touch you. to finally relish the softness of your skin. to hold you close. to feel you against him.

he maintained his composure. actually, he was quite proud of himself for keeping it together.

that was until you uttered those four words.

"stay with me, please."

it only took two steps until he was right there in that bed with you, burrowing under the covers so that you could nestle into chest. you fell asleep instantly, your lips parted ever so slightly.

and in that moment, toto had never seen anything so beautiful. so ethereal.

and that was how your relationship started. it was not an easy feat, as social media speculated. fans lurked, attempting to snap photos of you with your mystery man. the internet was full of sleuths, and they went to great lengths to puzzle the pieces together.

of course, there were a few moments in which you both slipped up.

every grand prix was excruciating. you couldn't even be in the same room as toto without the fans spreading wildfire. you had to be careful about what photos you posted. you had to dance around questions in interviews, the reporters desperate to divulge the truth. you were constantly hounded by the public on whether or not you were in a relationship.

who was he? what did he look like? how old was he? what did he do for work? was he in the industry? was it abel? or lewis? the two of you were pretty close. maybe it really was him all this time.

yet, you wouldn't share those private details. not until you were ready. there were people who knew, but it was only a select few. only those in your inner circle.

one day, the world would know who america's princess was dating.

sure, you were ready to share. you were chomping at the bit, actually. you wantd the world to know that you were dating toto wolff, team principal of amg petronas.

but were you ready for the storm that would follow? could you handle all of the press? the accusations on social media? the way people would talk about you?

would you lose your crown?

as you lay your head on his chest, toto's fingers dancing along your jawline, down to your neck, you can't help but shake this nagging sensation.

someone had to have seen toto at the show.

you didn't know who, but someone must have spotted him. there was no way you could miss him.

"something on your mind? you're rather quiet."

his voice breaks through the silence, grounding you back to earth. you shake your head, clearing your throat.

"i'm fine. just tired from the show, that's all. i'm not ready to leave you either."

"i know, my love," toto exhales, pressing a tender kiss to your temple, "we'll be together soon. only a few more weeks."

as the words fade in your ear, there's a ding on the table. licking your lips, you sit up, reaching for your phone. it was more than likely a text from your manager, or a message from your mom congratulating you on the concert.

however, as the screen lights up, your jaw goes slack, the phone nearly sliding out of your grasp.

it was a notification from X, several of them actually.

your fingers tremble as your eyes scan over the post. sensing your distress, toto straightens up, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

"what's going on? tell me what's -- oh fuck."

the post was a photo of the two of them. it was grainy, but it was no use. all of the evidence was there.

it was a photo of the two of you after a night out. a series, actually. you couldn't quite distinguish where you were, but you could make out that it was you. with him.

your bodies intertwined, back against the passenger door of his car. one hand was shoved underneath your shirt, the other wrapped around the base of your neck, the world crumbling away as your mouth found his.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[sanyu-thewitch05]

Yandere! Idol! group x F! Reader

Honey 🍯

TW: Buttplugs, kidnapping, noncon, food kink, throat fucking, gangbanging

Pt. 2

A/N: This idol group is entirely made up and not based off of any group in real life.

"Haneul, you've been staring at your phone for a while. Are you ok?" Sol, Haneul's groupmate, asks, tapping Haneul on the shoulder.

Haneul's beige skin shines in sunlight, his black hair blowing in the wind, and his cheeks blushing so heavily that there are two red dots. Haneul had been stalking you since he became a trainee. 

"Is it that coffee girl again?" Jason questions, leaning his head over the passenger's seat. "Dude, you've been stalking her since she was 15. We're both 22 now. Just ask her on a date already and make her ours. Besides, it would clear up the nasty rumor saying that she's a sasaeng."

"I suppose I should. We do have to write a love song for our album, right, Jason?" Haneul suggests showing Jason, Sol, and Honey a photo of you walking home.

"Driver, turn at this road," Sol says, looking at your location from the GPS tracker in your earrings.

"Yes, sir," The driver says, making a hard right.

"Stop next to the girl in black," Haneul says, seeing your earrings glimmer in the sunlight.

A black van screeches to a halt next to you, and suddenly, you're pulled inside. You try to scream for help, but a hand goes over your mouth, preventing any sound from leaving. 

"Shh, sweetheart~ You're ok now," Sol whispers, rubbing your head.

Haneul shuts the door and rubs circles into your thigh.

"How are you doing, sweetie?" Honey asks, buckling you and wrapping a tight arm around your waist.

"Who are you people?!" You scream, making Jason disappointed.

"How could you not recognize us? We've been around you since we were trainees. We even wrote several songs for you. How could you not notice us?" Sol rants, making you cling to Haneul's arm.

"Sol, stop it. You're scaring her!" Haneul scolds, holding you in his arms.

Sol's navy blue hair practically stands up, and he turns away from Haneul. 

"You brutes are all scaring her. I can't believe you guys couldn't get her in the van besides kidnapping her. Don't worry, baby, I'll keep you safe," Hani says, kissing your tear-stained cheek.

"Don't touch her like that! I saw her first!"

"Shut up, Sol! Does the word OURS mean nothing to you?!"

"I don't want to hear that from the punk who tried to ask her out!"

"Neither you nor Haneul can talk, Sol! Especially when one of you had plans to keep her chained up in your room!"

The idol's argument turns into a physical altercation, and soon enough, they're pulling hair and throwing punches. All you can do is cover your head and cower near the car door.

"ENOUGH!" The lady in the passenger seat screams, turning around to face the idols. "EITHER YOU SHARE Y/N, OR NOBODY HAS HER, AND I LET HER GO!"

There's an awkward silence in the van, and the idols slowly let go of each other.

"Yes, Manager Choi," The boys say, fixing themselves up.

"I knew letting you guys move to America was a mistake," She says, turning her head around. "Hey, stop crying. You might as well get used to them. You've become the fifth member of the group."

You cry harder and feel your heart sink.

~~~~~~~~

"Ta-dah! Welcome to the Hive!" Honey says, opening the door to their three-level house. "Upstairs is your and Haneul's room. To the left of yours is mine. Then, to the right are Sol and Jason's rooms. We have our own bathrooms, but feel free to come use ours if you want company."

You shuffle into the room and see the memorabilia from award shows and events. The air has a sickening sweet smell, almost like honey, that makes you nauseous. You feel the bile in your throat build up until you can't hold it anymore. You run to the nearest bathroom and vomit until your throat burns.

"Our queen is sick. I'll get her a spoonful of honey to make her feel better," Hani says, walking to their kitchen.

"Get it all out, sweetie. You'll be okay," Haneul says, rubbing your back and pushing your hair behind your ears.

Your face rests on the toilet seat, and Hanuel moves you so you're on his chest.

"Hani, hurry. Her face is turning pale!" Sol yells, running to your side. "Haneul, get her near the toilet again."

Your eyes roll into your skull, and your vision goes dark.

~~~~~~~~

"Mm," You groan, waking up to Hani rubbing your feet.

"Hello, my queen. Are you feeling better?" Jason asks, moving a piece of hair out of your face.

The smell of honey overwhelms you, and then you see the bee pajamas you're wearing. 

"Don't worry, we didn't do anything dirty. Sol only changed your clothes and brushed your teeth," Haneul says, kissing your left cheek while Jason kisses the right. "How does our queen feel?"

"Let me go!" You scream, only to have your limbs restrained by each group member.

"Aww, I think our Queen Bee needs a good fucking to calm her down?" Haneul says, climbing on top of you and unbuckling his pants.

"Stop it!" You scream, making Haneul silence you with a kiss.

Hani hands Haneul a honey jar, and the black haired member covers his cock in the golden sweet treat. He opens your mouth and sticks his dick into it. Haneul slowly thrusts and has to restrain himself from throat fucking your mouth off as he feels your tongue unconciously lick the honey off his cock. Drool goes down your chin as Haneul deep throats you, and the lustful male thrusts faster, hitting the back of your throat. He sends cum straight down your throat, and slids his dick out of your mouth.

"How cute. Our queen is all calm now that she has some honey in her," Hani says, wiping some cum off your mouth. 

The sweet taste stays on your tongue, and you stare into space, not noticing the other boys unbuckling their pants. Soon after, another cock enters your mouth, followed by another one. They move in synch as they thrust into your mouth. Sol and Jason grunt as the friction from your mouth and their dicks touching each other. Their hands wrap around each other's waists to steady their pace, and they thrust faster. 

"Come on, Jason, Sol. Your cocks need to fill up our queens mouth," Hani says, spanking Jason and Sol's asses. "Come on, cum like the mindless sperm drones you are!"

The two members twitch in pleasure, and they cum from your mouth. A pool of cum forms in your mouth, and you swallow it. Hani hands Jason, Sol, and Haneul a stinger butt plug, and they cum, putting it in as it goes further. Hani does the same, and his cum spills out of his pants.

"Us busy bees need to get to work creating more honey," Hani says, leading the boys away as they try to mess with the butt plug for another round of cum.

[elizabethsnuts]

NEED A PART TWO OF THAT ONE WINTERWIDOW KID WITH UNCLE CLINT ONGOMGOMG

I'm thinking playing with Clint's kid, got too excited and accidently hurting/fall/injured

(idk girl ur the writer, u can pick anything)

Bandaids and Boo-Boos

WinterWidow x Daughter!Reader

Summary: You scraped your knee while playing with Clint’s kids but your Mamas there to make it better.

———

Natasha and Bucky were finally back from their mission and were spending time with the Barton family. The serene and secluded farmhouse was a welcome change from the constant chaos of their usual lives as Avengers. You, full of your boundless energy, were running around the spacious yard, giggling and playing a game of tag with Lila, Cooper, and Nathaniel.

The farmhouse buzzed with the laughter of children as you eagerly ran around, giggling as you were being chased. Your tiny hands clutching your stuffed giraffe, making sure you didn’t drop it. The parents watched fondly from the porch, enjoying the tranquillity of the moment.

"Looks like she's having a blast," Bucky remarked, a soft smile gracing his features as he leaned against the railing.

Clint watched as you outran all the kids with your speedy little legs. “She sure is fast. Look at those little legs go!”

Natasha nodded, her eyes filled with maternal pride. "She's a handful, that's for sure."

As the afternoon sun painted the sky with hues of orange and yellow, the children's laughter reached a crescendo, echoing through the fields. But among the joyous commotion, a sudden cry pierced the air, drawing Natasha and Bucky's attention.

You lay on the grass, your tiny form crumpled as tears welled in your eyes. Natasha's heart clenched with worry as she rushed to your side, Bucky following close behind.

"What happened, sweetheart?" Natasha's voice was laced with concern as she gently lifted you into her arms. "It's okay, baby," Natasha said softly, cradling you against her chest. "You're okay."

You sniffled, your bottom lip quivering as you pointed to your scraped knee. "Owie, Mommy."

Natasha's heart sank at the sight of the small scrape marring your tiny knee. She knew it was more the shock of the fall than the injury itself that had upset you. With tender care, she wiped away your tears and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

Bucky knelt beside them, gently inspecting your scraped knee. It was a minor injury, but the sight of blood made Natasha's heartache. You whimpered as Bucky examined the scrape, your little hand wiping your nose.

"It's okay, sweetheart. Mommy's here," Natasha murmured soothingly, her voice a comforting melody.

Clint joined the commotion and crouched beside you, his expression filled with concern. "Is she okay?"

Bucky nodded, a reassuring smile gracing his lips. "Just a little scrape, she’s a tough little lady."

You sniffled again, your tear-streaked face looking up at Natasha with wide, watery eyes. "Kiss it, Mommy?"

Natasha's heart melted at the request, and she pressed a tender kiss to the top of your scraped knee. "Better?"

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Better."

Laura came over with a first aid box and a wet cloth. She gently applied the water to the scrape, making sure it was clean and free of dirt and grass. She reached into the first aid box and pulled out a pack of Avengers-themed band-aids, much to your delight.

“Look what I have!” Laura said we a gentle smile. She held up the Avengers bandaids and smiled. “Which one would you like? Captain America or Iron Man?”

You thought for a moment, this was a tough decision for a toddler. “Uhm… Uncle Stevie!” You pointed to the Captain America bandaid with a small smile tugging at your lips.

Laura nodded with a smile and put the Iron Man bandaid back in the box, unwrapping the Captain America one instead. With careful precision, she applied the band-aid over the scrape, the sight of your Uncle Steve bringing a smile to your face.

"There, all better now. You’re such a brave girl." Natasha said, her voice filled with warmth as she wrapped you in a comforting hug. “Says ‘Thanks Aunty Laura!’”

You looked up at Laura, a smile on your face. “Thanks, Aunty Laura.”

You snuggled against Natasha, feeling safe and secure in your mother's embrace. The scrape on your knee already forgotten, you gazed up at Natasha with adoration, your eyes sparkling with love.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm golden glow over the farmhouse, You sat in Bucky's lap on the porch along with the other adults. You watched the other children play while Bucky slowly stroked your hair. Natasha and Bucky smiled at each other, they felt a sense of peace and contentment that they rarely experienced in their lives as Avengers.

They were thankful for Clint and his family. Natasha having been through thick and thin with Clint, was grateful that she could share moments with her own family with his family too.

They sat quietly watching as the sun set and the children kept running around. The soothing strokes of Bucky's hand in your hair and the sound of crickets lulled you into a peaceful sleep, ready for more playing and excitement that would arrive tomorrow.

[threetrenchcoatsinatrenchcoat]

NOW LEARN SOMETHIN

aka the real Warriors, the real truce, the real Cyruses, and their real legacy

in the 70s there was not one figure named Cyrus calling for peace and engineering a truce between gangs. because in some ways, there were hundreds. let's set the scene. in the 17th century a swedish settler's house hosted a conference where the dutch and Lenape signed peace treaties. the settler's name was bronck. no one knows who put a frickin X in it, but eventually bronck's land twisted into The Bronx. more of his name stayed intact than any of those treaties.

in 1971, street violence and arson in the south Bronx were inescapable. the Ghetto Brothers named one Black Benjie to the position usually referred to as "warlord", the officer in charge of holding turf borders. except they used a different term, "peace counselor". the Ghetto Brothers were one of the biggest gangs in new york city, but they were also a band, and they had a version of the Black Panthers' free children's breakfast program (which had developed while Angela Davis was with the Panthers), and they advocated for healthcare, and Black Benjie in particular stood up for staying clean and keeping his neighborhood kids in school.

on december 2, 1971, several other gangs were found attacking kids on Ghetto Brothers corners, and they sent their peace ambassador to cool them off. Black Benjie, determined to talk peace, arrived to be told "peace, shit" before a lead pipe and machete were pulled on him. he told his brothers to run. Black Benjie never came home.

one of the street's strongest voices of harmony was killed. and for nothing. blood was on the air. Lorine Padilla, former first lady of the Savage Skulls, recalled, “i knew we were going to war." the Ghetto Brothers put together an armory and grabbed members of the Mongols and Seven Immortals, brutally beating one. (he may have been innocent, and no one was ever convicted for Black Benjie's killing.) several other gangs promised to help take down any gang involved in the killing, just waiting on word from the Ghetto Brothers. everyone knew an all-out turf war was just a matter of time. but before that word went out, another Ghetto Brother and another Benjy, Benjy Melendez, suggested they talk to Black Benjie's mother, Gwendolyn Benjamin, before they commit to that path.

as remembered by Padilla, Gwendolyn just said, “I don’t [want] war. I want peace. My son died for peace."

peace seemed impossible. listening to the end of Warriors can feel pretty bleak. cause who would show up to another peace meeting unarmed after peace's biggest proponent was just killed on their own blocks? right? but here's the truth. they decided to try. within days, the Ghetto Brothers sent out a different message than the city was waiting for. they brought over 150 representatives from over 40 crews to meet at neutral territory, the Hoe Avenue Boys Club of America. this included exactly two women, the leaders of two all female gangs, who were made to sit in back. cops' snipers and reporters waited outside, hungry for blood. Melendez remembers constantly scanning everyone for weapons that might have snuck in. it was tense. and it was slow. they talked of blame. and justice. and then infrastructure. and the lack of social services in the south bronx. and the root causes of gangs. and in the tapes of the meeting: "the whitey don’t come down here man and have no heat in the fucking winter time. we gotta make it a better place to live.” and it turned out hundreds of people had been thinking the same thing. and Melendez told the conclave they weren't gangs anymore, they were an organization looking forward and building something. and then the gang leaders shook hands.

and they signed a treaty.

on december 7, 1971, with Black Benjie's body five days cold, the Hoe Avenue Peace Treaty dictated: groups must respect each other and their women, disputes must be settled by talking or, if needs must, 1-on-1 gladiator-style, "each member clique of the Family will be able to wear their colors in other member cliques’ turf without being bothered", and "PEACE BETWEEN ALL GANGS AND A POWERFUL UNITY.”

the play used to be, crews rocking colors on others' turf would be forced to hand over those clothes. then often, that crew would come back angry and try to get them back, and a war could start. (side note, this is part of what's going on in Orphantown, and i think having one of the circles be unaware of the hit out and following yesterday's etiquette is a really clean, efficient way of establishing the world and stakes.)

but now, the streets were open world. it wasn't perfect and wasn't always followed and still allowed for some violence, but the truce held well enough that Kool Herc could DJ a party in 1973--one and a half years and two and a half miles from the Hoe Avenue peace summit--scratching and emceeing while the crowd b-boyed and sprayed graffiti. musical and cultural ideas could spread from his own jamaican rhythms to Afrika Bambaataa further east and Grandmaster Flash who was now bouncing all around the Bronx.

the spark of decades of tension turned toward creation caught, via parties and cassettes. amidst a borough its own landlords were trying to burn down for the money, this sound became the voice of a culture fighting to keep being heard. over half a century later, hip-hop is celebrated in museums and on every radio, new york city is a tourism capitol of the world, and we get Warriors the album. music scholars call that party in '73 the birth of hip-hop, and many agree that party and its effects wouldn't have been possible without the Hoe Avenue Peace Treaty.

and that summit only happened because a grieving mother set down retribution and called out for peace.

bibliography https://ny.curbed.com/2019/5/3/18525908/south-bronx-fires-decade-of-fire-vivian-vazquez-documentary https://backstoryradio.org/blog/a-bronx-peace/ https://www.thecity.nyc/2023/06/03/black-benjie-ghetto-brothers-gangs-hoe-avenue-peace-treaty-south-bronx-longwood/ https://www.mentalfloss.com/article/651933/why-its-called-the-bronx https://history.hiphop/dj-kool-herc-clive-campbell/ https://rockthebells.com/articles/dj-kool-herc-rec-room-party/

thank you for reading! i get this isn't typically what normal fandom is about, but i'm into history and i think to meet a piece like this halfway, we gotta try caring about the stuff Eisa cares about. i'm writing this in a terrifying moment in my country's history, and it is nourishing to learn the practicalities of how beauty has sprung from hopelessness. it's happened before.

[pileofmush]

don't crush the wings

pairing ➸ luffy x fem!reader

details ➸ tags: modern au! humor & spice! gratuitous use of the f-bomb // cw: no smut, but a little suggestive; drinking. everyone's at least 20 & this doesn't take place in america; reader wears a dress & is called a girl at one point // wc: 2k

a/n ➸ happy halloween! 🎃 muahahaha

“We are gonna get fucked up tonight,” Nami sings into your ear with a sharp giggle. She’s sitting on your lap, turned towards you with a long bottle in her dainty, manicured hand. Fishnets run up her thighs, up, up, up into her short black miniskirt, and the fabric rides up farther as she wiggles in your lap. 

“Or just fucked,” you mutter, side-eyeing your friend. You know for a fact that Nami has goals she plans to achieve by the end of the night, and they probably have something to do with a pretty girl whose name starts with ‘V’ and ends with ‘ivi’. 

It’s Halloweekend, a Friday night, and you’re pregaming in the shoddy little apartment you share with Nami and Usopp. Nami’s dressed to kill as an alluring vampire vixen, and Usopp’s fiddling with the zipper of his Party City superhero costume. Knowing your friends, you expect for a little mayhem to occur tonight. Especially considering the party you’ll be attending: hosted by none other than the ASL brothers. 

If there’s one things you can trust the ASL brothers to do, it’s to wreak havoc on society. If there’s a second thing you can trust the ASL brothers to do, it’s to throw a decent party. 

Nami swats your thigh at your remark and thrusts the bottle into your hands. “Drink more,” she orders. “You’re not nearly drunk enough.” You fumble for your Hello Kitty shot glass and pour liquor into your glass.

“Just drink from the bottle,” Nami chides, fingers curling around the hem of your dress. You take this in stride; sink into the spotty old couch Usopp salvaged from a flea market with a sigh. Nami’s a flirty drinker: you know this. Get a couple drinks in her and she’ll get touchy and bossy—or, bossier than she already is. The girl cocks her chin up at you in challenge. “Don’t be a pussy.” She’ll also get mouthy.

You reject her protests with a minute shake of your head. “No way.” Usopp trots over from across the room with a matching Hello Kitty glass, and you tip the bottleneck until vodka pours out, to Nami’s displeasure. “I’m not a fucking heathen.” 

“Cheers to that,” Usopp says, then clinks his glass with yours—Hello Kitty to Hello Kitty. He throws his drink back and immediately starts coughing. 

You smile at your friend’s pathetic demonstration, raise your glass, and toss the drink to the back of your throat. It goes down a little smoother than your first had, but still lights a fire in your chest, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. 

A loud knock has your head swiveling to the front door. “The calvary is here!” Someone from the other side shouts. 

You say Usopp’s name, and he rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says and shuffles toward the door, probably resenting the day he signed a six-month lease with two bossy girls. He quickly unlocks the door, swinging it wide open. A boy springs through the entrance with a loud whoop, arms in the air. Behind him struts the moss-headed Zoro, who heads straight for the kitchen, determined to find the booze and drink you out of house and home, you’re sure. Hovering by the entrance lingers Sanji, who towers over Usopp.

“Are you seriously dressed as Batman?” You hear him ask.

Usopp’s pitch raises unnaturally as he defends himself. “The ladies love Batman!”

Sanji snorts. “What do you know about ladies?” He asks, stepping around the Walmart Superhero. Suddenly, he halts, gaze locking on you and Nami like a fucking aim-bot. 

“Nami-Swaaaaaaan!~” He croons.

Nami grabs the bottle from your hands and takes a giant swig. 

“And you must be an angel,” the blond appears at your side, sighing dreamily. A crown rests atop his head; his hair shines like spun gold. Blegh.

“A fairy, actually.” You reply, jab your thumb at the iridescent wings strapped to your back. 

He nods reverently. “Ah, but of course. You’re made of faith and trust, magic and whimsy, my ethereal little pixie.” 

You blink once, twice. Wonder if this loon pregamed the pregame, or if he’s just naturally this ridiculous. Nami takes another shot of vodka, and Sanji’s eyes track the curve of Nami’s neck as she gulps and sighs.

Damn it all to hell. You debate stealing the bottle and drinking from it like a heathen. Nami was right. You are most certainly not drunk enough for this. 

Nami and Usopp’s friends are… Well. They’re something, alright. You met the duo in college and fell in love with their snarky energy, but their non-college friends? You pan your head from Sanji and Zoro, who are halfway to beating each other’s faces in in the middle of your kitchen, to their springy friend Luffy, who’s quite literally bouncing off the walls. Yeah… You try to avoid them when you can.

But. Tonight’s Halloween. The one day you’re legally required to make bad decisions. 

So, more alcohol. You tug the bottle from Nami’s death-grip and take a healthy swig. “What happened to ‘not being a fucking heathen?’” She quotes, mirth bubbling in her voice. 

You open your mouth to say something unbelievable witty and dry, but are interrupted. “Who’s fucking heathens?” Someone behind you asks. Both you and Nami turn to face Luffy, who’s leaning over the back of your couch, upside down. 

“Nami,” you deadpan, at the same time she intones your name. 

Luffy laughs, boyish, but also… Not. His hair’s pulled towards the ground, black curls pulled back to reveal thin brows and half-lidded eyes, and the expression is a little… Sexy. Somehow. Impossibly. Kinda lazy-like, with a shit-eating grin, and it’s... 

You clear your throat, feeling a bit warm. 

“Shouldn’t you be with your brothers? Y’know. Hosting a party right now?” You ask. Luffy chortles. In your peripherals you can see Nami considering you, undoubtedly smelling blood in the water. 

“Nah. Ace n’Sabo threw me out ta stop me from eating all the snacks,” he says. His words aren’t quite slurred, but come out as a drawl, low and intoxicating. You have no idea how this man did a complete 180 in the span of 30 seconds. It’s giving you serious whiplash.

The front door opens once more, and Nami lets out a little squeak. Ah, that’s probably Vivi and co. Hmm. Dimmed lights, a sultry voice warbling over the speakers, intermingling with the occasional drunken shout… This is turning out to be a successful pregame. 

Nami jumps off your lap, stealing the bottle from your hands one last time. Her limbs tremble before she inhales deeply, steeling her nerves.

“Have fun,” you say, shooting her a look. 

“Oh, bite me,” the vampire snaps, then stalks off to go flirt with Vivi. You silently wish her luck (the amount of times you’ve had to listen to her hopelessly pine is staggering) and turn back to face Luffy again, a twinge of uncertainty in your gut.

He’s dressed like a football player, you realize. It’s a good look on him. His jersey is neon yellow and trimmed in green, but the color’s not as obtrusive as it might be in brighter lighting. And it shows off his lean figure, which is. Nice.

Appreciative as you are of his frame, you’re thinking up exit strategies by the minute. This is uncharted territory. You can count the number of times you’ve had a one-on-one conversation with the man on a single hand, and, don’t really feel like stumbling your way through small talk.

“You’re glowing,” Luffy notes. “S’pretty.”

Never mind. This is cool.

“Thanks,” you say, sheepish. “It’s the body shimmer. I’m a fairy.”

“A pretty one.”

Ah, fuck. 

You don’t really feel the alcohol all that much, but there’s a pleasant buzz floating through your body, and it’s making you a little more… susceptible. To simple compliments like that. It has your heart stuttering, but in a good way. You want him to say it again.

“What, that you’re pretty? ‘Cause you are.” He nods. “So pretty,” he concludes; dark eyes sweeping over your frame. 

Did you say that aloud? 

You blink. Rack your brain for something coy to say. “You’re, um. Yeah. You’re pretty, too.”

Fuck.

Luffy laughs at that, and you’re grateful, because you are totally off your game tonight. But he doesn’t seem to mind, just leans in closer, still upside down, and it gives you an open view of the column of his throat. Golden brown skin, taut and firm until he swallows. You tense and back up a little to see his whole face.

He’s close, incredibly close. You can smell the Corona on his breath as he exhales. And you don’t really kiss random people at hangouts after only like, two compliments, but your brain is starting to consider him the exception. 

You pull in your bottom lip reflexively, and his eyes dip to your mouth, tracking the motion. His pupils dilate. He looks, he looks hungry.

Fuck fuck fuck—

The door opens again and more people trickle into the apartment, pulling you out of whatever weird ass trance you were in, and you curse. Is this a pregame or a party of its own? The fuck. 

You lean back, hands seeking purchase on the couch cushion to support you, but maybe you’re a little more drunk than you think you are, because you completely overshoot it, body tipping toward the floor. Your head spins as you realize in real-time that you’re about to eat shit, squeezing your eyes shut before impact.

Somehow, quick hands race up your body and flip you so that instead of falling on your back, you’re braced on top of something, cushioning your fall. Your eyes open. Luffy grins from beneath you.

You’re straddling him, you realize. Make to get off him, but his hands tighten on your waist and then loosen. A suggestion. 

You stay. 

Everyone’s eyes are on you, searing into your skin, but they’re nothing compared to the hot hands sliding down, palming your thighs. You don’t know whether to be mortified or grateful that you chose such a short dress. Luffy hums appreciatively.

Grateful it is.

Time to do some damage control.

“Mind your own business,” you hiss, looking up at the room. Everyone returns to their previous occupations, albeit reluctantly, sneaking glances out of the corner of their eyes.

You turn your gaze back to the man underneath you. “How the hell did you do that?” You accuse. It should be humanly impossible for someone to perform such complicated maneuvers—while inebriated, mind you!

He just shrugs. “Didn’t wanna hurt your fairy wings, did ya?”

That is. Ridiculously sweet. 

“Fuck,” you say. It just slips out. 

Luffy’s eyes sharpen. “Yeah?”

“What?” Your breath hitches. God, you sound wrecked. 

Luffy waits a beat. Runs calloused hands up and down your thighs, and you just barely contain yourself from shuddering in his grasp. But it may be for naught, because you’re melting like putty in his hands. 

He yawns, then licks his lips. “Wanna make out?” He asks abruptly. 

It’s at this moment that you wonder exactly how you wound up here. What choices did you make in your life to end up like this? Splayed out on your apartment floor, surrounded by tipsy acquaintances, straddling the most bizarre man you’ve ever had the misfortune to come across? Fucking Halloween, man. This might just be the most humiliating thing you’ve ever experienced. 

...

You say yes.

In the end, you don’t end up making it to that party. 

[youaintnothinbuta]

Could you write something about reader being Scotty’s cousin from Europe. Reader and Elvis start dating in secret ?

“Is everyone where you’re from this pretty?” — Elvis Presley x reader

Summary: you are Scotty’s cousin but develop an interest in Elvis, and the two of you date secretly.

Pairing: Elvis or Austin!Elvis x fem!reader

Word count: 2.5K OOPS I’m so sorry if you wanted it shorter </3

Warnings: none! Fluff!! Possible typos, sorry sometimes they’re hard to catch <3

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The summer air was thick as you stepped off the plane. It was your first time in the States, and you had been excited to see what it was all about, especially when Scotty, your cousin, invited you to stay with him in Memphis for the summer. You’d always been close to him, despite the distance between your homes— all the way across an ocean. He was five years your senior, so as an only child, he was the closest thing you had to an older brother. Growing up, you’d heard stories about life in America, but now you were about to experience it firsthand.

Scotty was waiting for you at the airport, his familiar smile breaking into a wide grin when he saw you. He looked exactly as you remembered him—tall, lanky, and his face hadn’t changed a bit since you’d seen him last.

“Well, well, look who finally made it across the pond!” he teased as he pulled you into a hug.

“Scotty!” you laughed, hugging him back tightly. “It’s so good to see you!”

After a short drive, you arrived at Scotty’s house, which was cozy yet full of character. You marveled at the differences between here and back home, from the architecture to the accents you heard in the neighborhood. Scotty had promised you before you came that you’d get to meet some of his friends, who were doing pretty well in the music business. He had been vague on the details, but you could sense he was excited to introduce you.

He let you take the afternoon to recover from your flight, just the two of you chatting and reminiscing in his living room. That evening, Scotty invited you to come along to a rehearsal with his band, where you’d finally meet these friends of his. When you arrived at the studio, it was buzzing with activity—people moving equipment, adjusting microphones, and tuning instruments. But all that chaos faded into the background when you caught sight of a figure you recognised from photographs and news stories. A figure you were rather fond of.

Elvis Presley.

Scotty had mentioned his name in passing, but you hadn’t realised that this was the same Elvis who was quickly becoming a sensation. He was laughing with some of the guys, his presence commanding attention even though he wasn’t trying to.

“Elvis!” Scotty called out, waving him over. Elvis turned, his smile broadening when he saw him, and he made his way over to the two of you.

“Scotty! Who’s this little lady?” Elvis asked, his eyes landing on you with a curious glint.

“This is my cousin, Y/N, fresh in from Europe,” Scotty said, placing a hand on your shoulder, gently. “She’s stayin’ with me for a bit.”

Elvis’ gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, his smile widening. “Well, ain’t that somethin’? Welcome to Memphis.”

“Thank you,” you replied, trying to keep your composure, but feeling a bit starstruck by his presence. “I’m already liking what I see.”

The rehearsal went on, and you found yourself fascinated not just by the music, but by the way Elvis moved and interacted with everyone. There was an undeniable energy about him, something magnetic that drew people in. And as the evening progressed, you noticed that he kept stealing glances your way, his eyes locking with yours every so often. It made your heart race, though you tried not to read too much into it.

When the session wrapped up, Scotty invited everyone back to his place for drinks. The group was lively, sharing stories and laughs, but you couldn’t help but notice that Elvis had gravitated towards you again. He was effortlessly charming, asking you about life in Europe and what you thought of the States so far.

“It’s different,” you admitted with a smile. “But in a good way. I think I could get used to it.”

“Well, I hope you do,” Elvis said, his tone more serious now, his gaze intense as he looked at you.

The night stretched on, and as people started to leave, you found yourself alone with Elvis in the kitchen. Scotty had gone outside to see some friends off, leaving you two in a quiet moment that felt oddly intimate.

“So tell me,” Elvis said, his voice low, “is everyone where you’re from this pretty?”

You felt your cheeks warm under his gaze. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Elvis stepped closer, his hand brushing against yours as he leaned against the counter. “I don’t wanna make things complicated, with you bein’ Scotty’s family and all, but… I’d like to see ya again. Just the two of us.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the idea of dating Elvis Presley both thrilling and terrifying.

“Elvis,” you sighed, “Scotty and you are so close, and I don’t know if he’d want—“

“What do you want?” He interrupted, his hand now resting over yours. You inhaled sharply at the purposeful contact. Something about him made it impossible to say no. And you did really want to.

“I’d like that,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

The kitchen door suddenly swung open. Scotty walked in, a broad smile on his face as he entered the room, completely oblivious to the charged atmosphere between you and Elvis.

“Hey, what’re y’all doin’ in here?” Scotty asked, his tone light and playful.

Elvis immediately stepped back, putting some distance between the two of you. You could see the flash of nerves in his eyes, but he quickly masked it with a casual grin.

“Oh, just chattin’,” Elvis said smoothly. “Y/N here was tellin’ me all about the music scene back home. We gotta tour there, man.”

Scotty nodded, “Oh, wouldn’t that be great? You gotta get the colonel on that, Elvis.”

“Hey,” Elvis suddenly said, his voice a bit louder as if trying to draw attention. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen, and tore some paper off a blank notepad magnetised to the fridge. “You mentioned earlier that one of your friends back home is a fan, right? Let me give you an autograph to take her.”

“Oh, right, thank you,” you replied, catching on quickly. You watched as Elvis scribbled something on the paper. He handed it to you with a small smile.

Elvis gave you one last look before he straightened up and flashed a charming smile at your cousin.

“Well, I should probably get goin’,” Elvis announced, stepping away from the counter. “It was very nice meeting you.”

“Alright, man,” Scotty said, clapping Elvis on the back. “Take care. We’ll see ya ‘round.”

He walked out of the kitchen, leaving you alone with Scotty. Your cousin turned to you, completely oblivious to the unspoken conversation that had just taken place.

“Glad you’re gettin’ along with everyone,” he said.

“Yeah, everyone is very nice,” you replied, your heart still racing.

Later that night, when you were alone in your room, you pulled out the piece of paper Elvis had given you. His number was scrawled beneath a hastily written message, “Keep this safe. - Elvis.”

A few days later, Scotty had invited you along to the studio again, excited to show you more of the work he was doing with the band.

You quickly spotted Elvis, sitting at the piano. His eyes flicked up as soon as you entered, locking with yours for a brief moment. A subtle smile played on his lips, and you could feel your heart skip a beat.

Scotty led you over to a group of the guys’ girlfriends who were gathered off to the side, chatting and laughing amongst themselves. They welcomed you with warm smiles, and soon you found yourself involved in their conversation, though you couldn’t help but keep glancing over at Elvis.

A couple of hours passed, and the rehearsal was winding down. Scotty walked over to you, wiping sweat from his brow. “Well, looks like we’re about done for the night. You ready to head out?”

Before you could respond, Elvis spoke up from across the room. “Hey, Scotty, how about letting her stay with the girls a bit longer? I can give her a ride home when she’s ready.”

Scotty looked at Elvis, a bit surprised by the offer. He then turned to you, raising an eyebrow. “You alright with that?”

You glanced over at Elvis, who was watching you intently, and nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

Scotty smiled and gave you a quick hug. “Alright, I’ll see you later then. Thanks, man,” he said, nodding to Elvis before heading out the door.

Once Scotty was gone, the atmosphere in the room shifted. The other musicians began packing up their gear, and the few remaining girlfriends started to trickle out, leaving you and Elvis with just a few others. Elvis walked over to you, his expression softer now that Scotty was gone.

“Wanna get outta here?” he asked, his voice low and inviting.

You nodded, a mix of curiosity and excitement bubbling up inside you. “Sure.”

Elvis led you out of the studio, his hand lightly resting on the small of your back as he guided you to his car.

“I would take ya out,” Elvis said as he drove, “but I can’t be sure we won’t get pictured, and I can’t have you ending up in the papers. ‘Specially not without Scotty knowing.”

“I get it.” You said softly. Instead, he took you to his house. Elvis parked the car and walked around to open the door for you, his hand gently guiding you out.

Elvis pushed open the front door, and you were immediately greeted by the comforting smell of home-cooked food. The house was cozy and welcoming, it felt built from love. As you stepped inside, a woman’s voice called out from the other room.

“Elvis? Is that you, honey?”

“Yeah, Mama, it’s me,” Elvis replied, guiding you toward the living room.

You entered the room to find a woman and a man sitting on a couch, their faces lighting up when they saw Elvis. The woman, whom you quickly recognized as his mother, got up and walked over to you with a warm smile.

“Well, aren’t you a pretty thing!” she said, her voice full of warmth as she pulled you into a gentle hug. “I’m Gladys, and this here’s Vernon, Elvis’ daddy.”

“It’s so nice to meet you both,” you replied, feeling instantly at ease in their presence.

Vernon stood up, offering you a kind smile and a handshake. “Any friend of Elvis’ is welcome here.”

Elvis stood by, watching the interaction with a soft smile. “Mama, Daddy, this is Scotty’s cousin, Y/N. She’s visitin’ from Europe.”

Gladys’s eyes lit up with interest. “Well, how excitin’! You must have some stories to tell.”

Elvis gently guided you toward the couch, sitting down beside you. The living room was cozy, with soft lighting and a few of Elvis’s records scattered on a table nearby. After a few minutes of chatting with his parents, Gladys excused herself, offering to get the two of you something to drink, which you both declined. Vernon followed her, leaving you and Elvis alone in the living room. You spent the night talking, telling stories, getting to know each other, singing (or at least, on Elvis’ part) and just hanging out, but as the night continued, it was soon time to head back to Scotty’s house.

Gladys smiled, her eyes twinkling with affection. “You take care, honey. And you,” she held Elvis’ arm, “make sure she gets home safe?”

“Don’t worry, Mama,” Elvis assured her. “I got it.”

You said your goodbyes to his parents, taking a liking to them already. They were kind and welcoming, and you could see where Elvis got his warmth and charm.

As you approached Scotty’s house, Elvis slowed the car, pulling up a little way down the street, wanting a moment with you that wasn’t directly in front of Scotty’s property line. He cut the engine and turned to you, his gaze soft and contemplative.

“Did you have a good time tonight?” he asked, his voice low, almost as if he were afraid of breaking the quiet intimacy that had settled over you both.

You smiled, reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from his forehead. “I had a wonderful time, Elvis. Thank you.”

He hesitated for a moment, as if considering something, then leaned in closer. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, one that made your heart race and your cheeks flush.

“I’ll figure somethin’ out,” he promised. “Somewhere we can go, I mean.”

You nodded, still a bit breathless from the kiss. “I can’t wait.”

With a final, tender look, Elvis gently squeezed your hand before turning back to the wheel. He pulled up in front of Scotty’s house and turned to you again.

With a sense of reluctance, you both got out of the car. Elvis walked around to your side, offering his arm as you approached the front door of Scotty’s house. The night air was cool, and the street was quiet, with only the soft chirping of crickets breaking the silence.

As you reached the front door, Elvis hesitated for a moment, then gently knocked on the door. You could tell he was trying to be respectful, even though he probably wanted nothing more than to steal another kiss before saying goodnight.

You stood beside him, your heart pounding as you waited for Scotty to answer. The door creaked open, and there was Scotty, his expression shifting from mild curiosity to recognition as he saw the two of you standing there together.

“Well, look who it is,” Scotty said with a grin, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Elvis nodded, a slightly sheepish smile on his face. “Didn’t wake you, did we?”

Scotty chuckled and shook his head. He stepped aside, holding the door open for you.

“Thanks for bringing her home, Elvis,” Scotty said, his tone friendly but with an underlying hint of curiosity. “Hope she wasn’t too much trouble.”

Elvis laughed, shaking his head. “Nah, she’s a good girl.”

You blushed slightly at the exchange, feeling the warmth in the room despite the teasing.

With one last, lingering glance, Elvis leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. “Goodnight, Y/N’.”

“Goodnight, Elvis,” you replied, your heart fluttering at the tenderness in his voice.

“Night, EP,” Scotty said, closing the door. You pulled your coat off, hanging it up, smiling as you caught a whiff of Elvis’ smell, realising some of his cologne had rubbed off onto you.

“Had a good time?” Scotty asked.

“Yeah, the girls are all lovely.” You reply, heading up the stairs to go to bed. You didn’t love lying to him, but you didn’t love the thought of not seeing Elvis even less.

—————

A/N: thank you so much for this request, I had so much fun writing it!! if you want part two where you tell Scotty/Scotty finds out, just drop another request and lmk how you want him to react!! (Happy, been knowing, surprised, upset, etc) <3

Also, just wanted to mention! As this was a request, I wanted to stay as true to what you asked for and so that’s why reader is from “Europe” and not any specific country but I promise you as an Aussie, I do know that Europe has tons of different diverse countries and cultures <3

[gh0st-author]

mastermind.

Pairing: William James Moriarty x Reader

Summary: What you needed was a chance— an opening. A cause to draw him out, to approach him. But that would be easier said than achieved. Impossible even.

Tags: fluff, a little bit suggestive but nothing much, Liam is a softie

A/N: so i was listening to mastermind by taylor swift and i just realized how much it fits liam, so this brainrot you see here was born. also this is set in america somewhere in those 2.5 years after the billy incident but before they return to london. my thought process was that liam and sherlock were doing some undercover work at this ball. additionally i decided to have Liam keep his eye here man's been through enough...

The moment was like something straight out of a fairy tale. An instant that you can't quite place; a dream that would unravel and slip from your grasp and glide through your fingers if you only tried to look too close at it. Gentle candlelight tracing abstract patterns over the entire hall, making the entire scene seem magical. Delicate music from numerous hidden instruments filling the air with yearning, so beautiful it could make your heart ache. The muffled sounds of secret whispers and the rustling of numerous exotic fabrics joining the cacophony of sounds, not to overpower but to add to the overall mystique and intricacy of the night. And him. Him— this radiant and golden being, akin to an angel, luring you in, stealing your coherence.

Your eyes were on him as soon as he'd entered the room, followed by another dark-haired man who you couldn't make yourself glance at for the life of you. Because doing that would mean taking your eyes off him. Elegant frame gliding through the mass of people, pale golden strands swaying with the movement, awakening an urge in you to trace your hands through them, to find out if they were as soft as they looked.

This feeling washing over you, filling your every cell, clouding your mind more than the glass of expensive wine in your hand, was new. Completely and irrevocably unfamiliar. And that terrified you tremendously. How could one person have such an effect on you, before you'd even exchanged so much as courteous greeting?

He must've felt your attention on him— how could he not when you were burning holes in the back of his head— and his head turned towards your hiding place, the little nook you slotted yourself in as to avoid unnecessary prattle of the ladies around you.

Oh...

You felt as if all of the air had been leached out of the room in that one moment, then instantaneously rushed back in leaving you light-headed. Bewitching. That was the only word adequate enough to describe his face, his eyes. His features were timeless, elegant, touched by the innocence of youth but also impossibly wise at the same time. And when his sharp scarlet gaze connected with your own, what little thoughts you had— however trifle they might've been— evaporated into mist and smoke. Those were eyes that never missed anything, that appeared to gaze directly through your flesh and blood and straight into your soul, seeing every detail, every dirty little secret. Yes, this man was absolutely breathtaking; utterly captivating.

You averted your gaze, feeling exposed and not wanting to stare too hard. This night had just become infinitely more interesting to you. But, despite all of the stars aligning and conspiring to place you in the same room with such a magnetic and compelling presence, you had no conceivable way of conversing with him. In truth, you were only here in the first place because of your cousin, and this ball was nothing more than just a chore to you who was supposed to be her chaperone. You had no connections and no reason to seek him out, no matter how much your heart yearned for it. Even now, you could see his outline floating in the corner of your vision, surrounded by numerous important individuals.

You sighed, and deciding against hiding for now, you smoothed out your gown and abandoned your little nook. It was due time to try to mingle with the dense crowd.

Like his shadow, a phantom, you traced his steps around the room, trying to find an opportune moment to etch just a little bit closer. Wherever you went you glimpsed him from the corner of your eye, always near, but always just out of reach. As soon as one group had finished with him, he was already onto the next. He was everywhere—  anywhere you looked— making your desperation rise. It was a known fact that our psyche worked in contradictory ways; the more one tried not to gaze at something or think of something, the more the mind made them a prisoner of exactly those thoughts. The echo of his silhouette followed you around, always just a tad bit too far away.

Positively exhausted by the constant ongoing battle between your mind and your heart, you retracted back to the faraway corner of the room, choosing instead to behold the art and numerous artifacts nestled there. What you needed was a chance— an opening. A cause to draw him out, to approach him. But that would be easier said than achieved. Impossible even.

Deep in thought, one painting caught your attention. It was a magnificent piece, truly, but you were not able to decipher what exactly about it ensnared you so. It appeared no more extravagant than any other painting in the room, yet you couldn't look away from it. It felt as if it was pulling you in, calling to you.

"Captivating work, is it not?"

The sudden voice to your right made you startle, and you were forcefully ripped away from your mussings. You almost didn’t need to look to know who the person who'd just spoken was. After all, your body was tingling in his mere presence, every cell coming alive simultaneously, vibrating with hope now that he was the one who sought you out first. Unable to resist the magnetic pull, you pivoted to regard the stranger. "I'm sorry?"

"That painting." He flashed you a gentle smile, his unusual-colored eyes regarding you with interest as he approached to stand beside you. "It's a true masterpiece. The artist uses patterns and geometry to create a most aesthetically pleasing piece, painting illusions to trick the viewer into thinking they can actually step into a two-dimensional space. It's rather extraordinary."

His voice was soft and melodic, slightly amused. Your eyes caught at the slight upturning of the corners of his lips as he spoke, unable to look away. It was either that or get lost in his knowing gaze. "Are you an artist?"

"A mathematician, more accurately." You heard a wistful note in his voice. "I used to teach at a university in England, but sadly, I don't anymore." He gave you another smile, this one a little dimmer than his last one. "Some circumstances got in the way. But that is neither here nor there. I take it you are someone's chaperone tonight. If I had to guess, the young lady's over there."

You followed his gaze and saw your cousin a little further away, engaged in a conversation with some friends. How did he know that?  "I am. Thank you for your insightful deduction Mr.–"

"Liam. Call me Liam."

"Liam..." You whispered his name like a prayer on your lips, tasting how it felt on your tongue. "No title? Is it short for something?"

"No... just Liam. Classes and titles mean nothing to me." You couldn't quite read the emotion in his voice as he said that, layers of something more— perhaps dejection— intertwined beneath a calm reply. "And what shall I call you, Miss–"

"Y/N" You held out your hand to him, and Liam, never breaking his eye contact with you, raised it gently to his lips, leaving just a breath of a kiss there.

"Y/N..." He too sounded like he was sounding out your name, familiarising himself with it as if he planned to continue saying it many times more. "The pleasure is mine."

That one touch, that one kiss against your gloved hand, was enough to light a fuse within you. You felt flushed all over, both too hot and wrecked with chills at the same time. You needed to know more about this man. He was like a Venus fly trap, a mystery you wanted to solve, an equation you wanted to assess. "Did you come here alone tonight?"

"I am accompanying my good friend on some business tonight. He is the black-haired individual currently giving us the burning stare." And sure enough, when you followed his gaze, you spied the gentleman in question, the one who followed Liam when he first entered the room, giving you both suspicious glances. Looking at him now, no longer blinded by the brilliance of the mysterious mathematician, he was a handsome individual, tall and all angular features, but that was overshadowed by the arrogant eyebrow he raised at you as if contemplating to terminate your further involvement with his friend.

"Have I done something to upset him?" You haven't even met him, yet he seemed to not be pleased with you.

"No, he's just paranoid. Unnecessarily." Liam narrowed his gaze at him, and they appeared to be exchanging a wordless string of arguments between them, after which the man shrugged his shoulders and flashed you both a sheepish smile, putting his hands in his pockets and turning away to talk to some other nearby attendant. Liam's attention was back on you now. "Excuse his behaviour, he has a lot on his mind tonight."

You, too, had a lot on your mind tonight— mainly, how to slip away somewhere where you could be alone with him, away from the eyes of everyone so you could continue your conversation uninterrupted. Suddenly, a thought permeated the fog in your brain. It wiggled through and lodged itself right in the forefront. An opportunity to get him alone... This was it. If you could use this to your advantage, you could make an unfortunate situation into something worth remembering. "Don't worry. I don't mind—"

You cut your sentence off, bumping into him purposely. Your glass almost slid out of your hand, deep burgundy splashing over his coat. He caught you, a true gentleman, as you widened your eyes and flew into a flurry of apologies, as you quickly set down your— now empty— glass. "Oh my God, I am so sorry! I don't know what happened, I must've been more inebriated than I thought. I'm so sorry!"

Liam was a picture-perfect opposite to your hysteria of movement. He calmly grabbed his coat and slid it off. The dark burgundy stain had bleed through the outer layer onto his white shirt beneath, and he let out a chuckle as he inspected his coat and the stain on his chest for the damage. "Don't worry, it was an accident. Such things happen." He sighed at the coat. "Although, I suppose I can't show myself in front of our business partner tonight like this."

"Please let me do something!" You pleaded, doing your best to show him how remorseful you were. It wasn't all for show, you did feel kind of awful for staining his clothes. "I have a handkerchief, I can help you. Please, follow me." If you fail to plan, you plan to fail— or so they said. Life was about making the most out of unexpected situations, and you were not about to waste this opportunity that had been given to you. You grabbed his arm and tugged him along with you as you slinked by the walls and made your way out of the hall.

You entered the first room you saw— a study, it appeared— and pulled him with you to sit down on the couch. Quickly taking out the handkerchief, you grabbed the coat from his hand and started dabbing the stain. Luckily, his coat was dark, so it wouldn't be too noticeable in the candlelight. All the while, Liam said nothing and just observed you with an unreadable gaze.

"I expected you to be more cross with me," you said after some time, finally daring to glance in his direction. You hoped he wasn't, otherwise, this plan was all for nothing.

That gave him a pause, and he blinked at you, as if you said something unexpected. "I am afraid I don't understand. This was just an accident that could happen to anyone. There is no reason for me to be cross. Were you, perhaps, afraid I would be?" He smiled at your frown, and you averted your gaze back to the task at hand. A contradictory enigma. This coat was of very expensive material, yet he made no complaints. Chose kindness, instead of anger. You were definitely right to get this mysterious man alone, even now you felt the inescapable draw of his presence.

"It is better to be feared than loved, if you cannot be both," you murmured absentmindedly while still gently dabbing away on the stain, doing your utmost to try to get rid of it.

"Oh, you are familiar with Machiavelli's works?" He leaned back, placing his arm on the armrest of the couch and resting his jaw on the back of his hand.

"I've read some here and there. Why? Are you an enjoyer of his books?" You raised the coat up to the light and observed it. This had to do for now until he could get it cleaned.

"I too have read them here and there." His gaze was sharper now, both cunning and amused. It made you shiver— but not unpleasantly, you realized with a start. "I find his takes on the authority and aristocracy most fascinating."

Laying the coat aside, you scooted closer to him, the couch making you all the more aware of your proximity, the dim lights making it all seem more intimate. This close you could even smell a faint tinge of his cologne, mixed with the sharp tang of alcohol you spilled. This turned out to be a perfect excuse to touch him, to feel him. Everything went precisely by design.

Dizzy from the heat of his body, now so close to you, you slowly started to dab at the stain on his shirt. "You truly are an enigma, Mr. Liam, are you aware?" He only continued to observe you with his slight smile, the rising of his eyebrow the only indication that he was listening. Taking that as an invitation, you prattled on. "You seem like someone of noble birth, yet you appear to disprove of the class system and disregard any titles. You seem awfully intelligent, and yet I have not seen your name in any field of research, not even math." You took this opportunity to smooth out his collar, fingers gently grazing the skin of his collarbone. "And you approached me, and were able to accurately ascertain things about me I gave you no indication of." You looked up at him through your lashes, then quickly glanced down again, resuming your attempts at trying to clean up the wine.

You felt him let out a little contemplative hum, as he leaned closer to you. "You are an enigma as well, Miss Y/N. You have followed my every move since I appeared here, yet refused to approach me the entire night. You still don't seem to trust my words, but you have not yet inquired into anything I've said. It is almost as if you enjoy this little game." He raised his hand, and you watched with bated breath as he caught a strand of your hair and twirled it around his finger. "Tell me, is it fun trying to uncover my secrets?"

Hands falling into your lap, the stain and handkerchief long forgotten, you felt light‐headed again. Like a snake dancing to the magic flute, both your body and your mind were charmed, following his every move. This little plan of yours might be working better than you anticipated. If you actually survived until the end of this game, of course, because if he kept looking at you like that, giving you his undivided scrutiny, you doubt you could last. "You followed me here without question as well." You managed to whisper out. "Did you perhaps have some ulterior motives with me too, Mr. Liam?"

He gave a little tug at the lock of hair wrapped around his digit. "I wonder..." His sharp eyes were now unfocused and thoughtful as if he himself couldn't really understand his actions. "Whatever compelled me to do that?"

You glanced at his eyes, then his lips, wondering if this was such a smart idea now. Maybe you shouldn't even be here, shouldn't entertain your wicked thoughts. Your draw to him was too powerful, dangerous even. It felt like too much and too little at the same time as if you could ignite and burn and blaze down to smithereens with a single word from him, drown with a single touch.

At that moment, the door slammed open with a loud creak, cutting off your train of thought. Both of you reflexively jerked back from your compromising position, the moment gone and magic ruined. The room now felt infinitely colder without his proximity, the couch impossibly wide. Your startled gaze fell on the culprit who had barged in so suddenly, finally able to breathe without Liam's cologne tampering with your thoughts. It was him, the man Liam introduced as his friend earlier. He glanced sharply at you both, eyes staying on you for a heartbeat longer than necessary, studying you. Contemplating. You could see the same mysterious intellect you saw in Liam in him, the same razor-sharp mind, the same murky and vague past. His eyes widened imperceptibly as if taken aback by your inspection, then filled with something akin to grudging understanding. Then he swiveled towards Liam and pointed behind him. "Liam we have to go. Work's calling."

A sigh, no louder than a disturbance of air left him, and he rose, giving you a remorseful look. "Sorry, dear. Seems like our time is up. Hopefully, I will see you again one day, under more fortunate circumstances." He quickly donned his coat, adjusting it to best cover up the stain, then with a hurried gait followed his friend out the door.

"I am sure you will." You whispered, as you watched him leave, him only turning back once to shoot you a conspiratorial grin. As if saying to keep what happened here a secret.

Checkmate, you thought. You will be seeing him again, you were sure of that. There was just something about him that sang to you, some kind of kindred warm flame, like fire burning in a hearth. But in his calm gaze, you also caught a glimpse of something else beneath, another fire, blazing hot, ardent, and dangerous. All of it made you even more curious, made you crave him more. You had to arrange a meeting with him again.

You couldn't lose.

Truly, nothing moved faster than time. It was outstanding, mind-boggling, how it seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. And now, two years later, you found yourself with the hard wood of the door of digging harshly into your back as you leaned back to let Liam deepen the kiss. The soft rustling of clothes and your quick breathing were the only sounds permeating the room of Liam's and Sherlock's shared apartment in Brooklyn. Barely any light illuminated your two silhouettes, only the moonlight and a rare street light outside of the window providing any illumination.

Gasping for breath, his lips still chasing yours, you attempted to put some distance between you. "Wait, what about  Sh—"

"Do not worry." He whispered, still eager to continue. "Sherlock is already on his way to London as we speak. So is Billy. No one will bother us."

"That means we have to leave for London soon, too." You gripped his shirt in your hand, raising on the tips of your toes to whisper in his ear. "How convenient that we are free to spend our last night here as we wish." Pulling back, you looked back at him, face full of mirth, lips splitting into a cheeky grin.

Cupping the back of your neck, he gave you one last kiss before leaning away. "Call me an opportunist."

Gently, his hand slid down to your waist as he moved you from the door and laid you achingly slowly on the bed. Your own hands moved from their position on his chest to intertwine in his hair. Soft and exactly as silky as you thought it would be two years ago. On that magical night. A night so much like this. His gaze was soft, and melancholy, as if he too was remembering that time. Most days, you were scarcely able to wrap your head around the fact that so much time has passed and that you've won the affections of such an ethereal being. That you yourself were able to set the wind to your sails that first night, to not just play the role of a pawn, but to be the king instead.

He regarded you in silence for quite some time, fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on your waist, your hips. His face was unreadable, haunted. "I would ask what you're thinking about, but I'm terrified to know."

He let out a quiet chuckle and rested his forehead against yours. "Oftentimes, I think night is purer than day; it is better for thinking, loving, and dreaming. Maybe I was always meant to dwell in the night, to plot. At night everything is more intense, more true."

"Enough of your philosophy." You grumbled. "If you wish to scheme and think you can do that with Sherlock." Using your hands in his hair, pulled his face closer to yours, your lips barely brushing. "I think, currently, your mouth could be much better occupied."

He gave you a deep kiss, making you forget how to breathe, then bit your lower lip teasingly. "I never scheme. You must be confusing me for someone else" So saying, he chuckled. "But I must admit, I enjoy seeing you so flustered for me."

Well, two could play that game. When his lips traced a path from your kiss-swollen ones downwards to your neck to shower it with countless marks you'll surely have to cover up tomorrow, you decided to entertain yourself as well. "What if I told you that none of this was accidental?" It was nothing more but a breathless whisper, a silky melody in the darkness of the room. His ministrations didn't stop, but you continued, eager to fluster him at least once, even if it meant sharing your biggest secret— a secret that you had sworn you would take to your grave. "Were you aware that the first night I saw you I decided that nothing was going to prevent me from getting closer to you? You were like a blazing flame and me but a simple moth drawn to your brilliance. So I conspired to get you alone." It was getting harder and harder to form coherent thoughts when his kisses felt so hot, almost burning and branding your skin wherever they landed, but you persevered, tightening your hold on his hair and enjoying his slight shudder. "I... purposely spilled wine on you that night." You swallowed against a sudden lump in your throat. "I knew I had to lay down the groundwork if I wanted to catch your attention, knew I had to set it all up like dominoes." A sudden nibble on the junction of your neck and shoulder made you gasp.

"I was aware."

You were so thoroughly distracted by the feeling of his lips on the skin of your neck that it took a few seconds for his words to register, and when they did your whole body froze. "Wait... You knew?!"

You felt his lips pull into a smirk against your skin and he slowly pulled away, his eyes dancing with barely concealed mirth. "Darling, I knew the entire time."

You were rendered speechless. Shock. Disbelief. The feeling of the world freezing in its tracks. That's all you felt as you stared wide-eyed at the man above you. Your body felt weightless and stone-heavy at the same time. What does he mean: "He knew the entire time?"  Every encounter that you two had raced through your mind as you tried to remember if he ever showed any indication of being aware of your little game. There were none. "You're lying," you stuttered out through your suddenly dry throat.

His smirk was downright devious now. "On the contrary, dear. Not only was I aware of your schemes— I was the one who orchestrated them. From the very start, this has been a chain reaction of countermoves on both sides."

"But then-" Every world felt like sandpaper as you tried to make sense of the situation.

"Steering Sherly in your direction under the guise of talking to some aristocrats the first time I saw you, just so I could be in your field of vision the entire night. Purposely asking around about that painting I knew nothing about to start a conversation with you, then letting you bump into me so you could have an excuse to talk with me in private. Accidental meetings. All actions of a desperate man, who had been completely and utterly enamored ever since he first laid eyes on you." Each sentence was followed up with a kiss— to your neck, to your cheek, to the corner of your lips. One of his hands slowly made its way upwards towards your face from its place around your waist. Still in shock, all you could do was lean into his hand when he gently cupped your jaw. "But it was incredibly enjoyable, this little game of ours. I never believed that there would be someone who would go to such lengths for my affections." His gaze softened and he traced your cheek with his thumb. "My sweet, vicious mastermind."

You felt your chest squeeze under the crushing wave of pure love that washed over you. This man— this brilliant, extraordinary, incredible, magnificent, breathtaking man— he was yours. And he had been from the beginning. Or, more accurately, you'd been his. For you weren't the one who had been setting everything up since your first encounter– you were the one being strung all along. Happy tears prickled at the corners of your vision and you couldn't help but beam up at him. "I guess this is checkmate. It's my loss."

With a matching smile of his own, the hand on your cheek then slowly moved down to your chin, and he pulled you into another kiss. You closed your eyes and melted into it. It was painfully sweet— maybe the sweetest kiss you two have ever shared.

Looks like you were no match for the former Lord of  Crime after all.

[kaleidodreams]

Updated 100 Memorable Skating Programs

Back in 2018, I created the original version of this list. (You can find the master post here.) Since 2024 marks my 30th year as an official fan of figure skating and there have been some more great programs created since the last time, I thought it was about time to update the list in honor of World Ice Skating Day. Same rules apply as last time:

Only senior competitive programs starting from the 1993-1994 season are eligible, since that's the first season I really started watching figure skating.

Each skater may only be listed once, unless a partner/discipline switch is involved.

Choice of music may also not be repeated. (Yes, there are two James Bond programs on the list, but Yuna and Wakaba use different music for the most part, so I'm letting it slide.)

I debated long and hard about whether or not I should still include programs from skaters who have proven themselves to be not so great people. I'm someone who has little difficulty separating the art from the artist, so in the end, I decided to keep them listed (although most of them got knocked down a few pegs). This list is more about the choreography than the skater anyway, although there are certainly some problematic choreographers out there, too. (Looking at you especially, Morozov!) So, just because a skater is listed doesn't mean that I'm a fan of them or that I condone their actions! I just think certain programs are still great regardless of the skaters' terrible behavior off the ice.

Choreographers are noted if known. If you know who choreographed the programs without a choreographer named, please let me know!

I've also created a handy playlist on YouTube if you don't want to click on all these links.

Ashley Wagner - Moulin Rouge (Shae-Lynn Bourne) 2016 Worlds

Jason Brown - Melancholy (Rohene Ward) 2023 Nationals

Patrick Chan - Phantom of the Opera (Lori Nichol) 2011 Canadian Nationals

Kaitlyn Weaver/Andrew Poje -Je suis malade (Pasquale Camerlengo) 2012 Worlds

Meryl Davis/Charlie White - Kajra Re/Silsila Ye Chahat Ka/Dola Re Dola (Marina Zueva, Igor Shpilband, and Anuja Rajendra) 2010 Olympics

Mao Asada - Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No. 2 (Tatiana Tarasova) 2014 Olympics

Sui/Han - Rain, In Your Black Eyes (Lori Nichol) 2019 Worlds

Marina Anissina/Gwendal Peizerat - Romeo & Juliet 1998 Olympics

Cain/LeDuc - W.E. (Pasquale Camerlengo) 2022 US Nationals

Daisuke Takahashi - Blues for Klook (Pasquale Camerlengo) 2012 Worlds

Kurt Browning - Casablanca (Sandra Bezic) 1994 Olympics

Michelle Kwan - Salome (Lori Nichol) 1996 Worlds

Alexei Yagudin - Winter (Tatiana Tarasova and Nikolai Morosov) 2002 Olympics

Jamie Sale/David Pelletier - Love Story (Lori Nichol) 2002 Olympics

Jeremy Abbott - Exogenesis (Jeremy Abbott and Yuka Sato) Nationals 2012

Oksana Grishuk/Evgeni Platov - The Feeling Begins 1997 Worlds

Yuzuru Hanyu - Seimei (Shae-Lynn Bourne) 2015 Grand Prix Final

Chock/Bates - Egyptian Snake Dance (Marie-France Dubreuil, Ginette Cournoyer, and Sam Chouinard) 2019 Grand Prix Final

Javier Fernandez - Guys and Dolls (David Wilson) 2016 Worlds

Vanessa James/Morgan Cipres - Sound of Silence (John Kerr and Silvia Fontana) 2017 Euros

Evgenia Medvedeva - Anna Karenina (Daniil Gleichengauz) 2018 Olympics

Nathan Chen - Philip Glass medley (Shae-Lynn Bourne) 2021 Worlds

Gabriella Papadakis/Guilliame Cizeron - Elegie (Saxon Fraser and Marie-France Dubreuil) 2022 Olympics

Aljona Savchenko/Bruno Massot - La terre vue du ciel (Christopher Dean) 2018 Olympics

Kevin Aymoz - Bolero (Brice Mousset and Kevin Aymoz) 2023 Skate America

Julia Lipnitskaya - Schindler’s List (Ilia Averbukh) 2014 Olympics

Elena Berezhnaya/Anton Sikharulidze - Lady Caliph 2002 Olympics

Yu-na Kim - James Bond medley (David Wilson) 2010 Olympics

Shoma Uno - Buenos Aires Hora Cero (Mihoko Higuchi) 2016 Grand Prix Final

Michal Brezina - The Way You Look Tonight (Jeffrey Buttle) 2016 Skate Canada

Shae-Lynn Bourne/Victor Kraatz - Riverdance 1998 Olympics

Adam Rippon - O/Fly On (Benji Schwimmer) 2016 Trophee de France

Jeffrey Buttle - Bells of Moscow (David Wilson) 2005 Worlds

Piper Gilles/Paul Poirier - Vincent (Carol Lane and Juris Razgulajevs) 2019 Canadian Nationals

Rudy Galindo - Swan Lake (Sharlene Franke) 1996 US Nationals

Sasha Cohen - Malaguena (Tatiana Tarasova) 2004 Worlds

Aljona Savchenko/Robin Szolkowy - Pina (Ingo Steur) 2011 Grand Prix Final

Samantha Cesario - Carmen (Inese Budevica) 2013 Trophee Eric Bompard

Tatsuki Machida - East of Eden (Phillip Mills) 2014 Worlds

Xue Shen/Hongbo Zhao - Turandot (Lea Ann Miller, Renee Roca, and Gorsha Sur) 2003 Worlds

Kaitlin Hawayek/Jean-Luc Baker - Liebestraume (Pasquale Camerlengo) 2018 Nationals

Olga Mikutina - My Nocturnal Serenade (Rostislav Sinicyn) 2023 Europeans

Lu Chen - The Last Emperor (Toller Cranston) 1995 Worlds

Giada Russo - Red Violin (Edoardo de Bernardis) 2016 Europeans

Junhwan Cha - Fate of the Clockmaker/Cloak and Dagger (Shae-Lynn Bourne) 2022 Olympics

Han Yan - La La Land (Yuka Sato and Kurt Browning) 2019 Chinese Interclub League

Wakaba Higuchi - Skyfall (Shae-Lynn Bourne) 2018 Worlds

Kazuki Tomono - Die Fledermaus (Misha Ge) 2022 Japanese Nationals

Yuma Kagiyama - Believer (Shae-Lynn Bourne) 2024 Worlds

Karen Chen - On Golden Pond (Karen Chen) 2017 Nationals

Maia Shibutani/Alex Shibutani - Coppelia (Marina Zueva and Cheryl Yeager) 2016 Nationals

Yuko Kavaguti/Alexander Smirov - Manfred Symphony (Peter Tchernyshev) 2014 Skate America

Philippe Candeloro - The Three Musketeers (Natacha Dabadie) 1998 Olympics

Alexander Abt - Songs from the Victorious City 1998 Nations Cup

Tessa Virtue/Scott Moir - Prince medley 2017 Worlds

Ekaterina Gordeeva/Sergei Grinkov - Moonlight Sonata (Marina Zueva) 1994 Olympics

Satoko Miyahara - Madama Butterfly (Tom Dickson) 2017 Japanese Nationals

Marjorie Lajoie/Zachary Lagha - The White Crow (Romain Haguenauer and Ginette Cournoyer) 2023 Four Continents

Anjelika Krylova/Oleg Ovsiannikov - Masquerade Waltz 1997 Worlds

Alena Kostornaia - The Departure, November (Daniil Gleikhengauz) 2019 Grand Prix Final

Nelli Zhiganshina/Alexander Gazsi - Two from the Grave (Ilia Averbukh) 2013 Worlds

Ksenia Stolbova/Fedor Klimov - The Man and The Shadow (Nikolai Morozov) 2015 Grand Prix Final

Stephanie Rosenthal - Rockit (Stewart and Christi Sturgeon) 2006 Nationals

Madison Hubbell/Zachary Donohue - Across the Sky, Caught Out In The Rain (Marie-France Dubreuil) 2018 Nationals

Mikhail Kolyada - The Nutcracker (Ilia Averbukh) 2021 Gran Premio d'Italia

Sinead Kerr/John Kerr - The Landing/Turn Around/Gravity of Love (Evgeni Platov) 2008 Worlds

Kaetlyn Osmond - Sous le ciel de Paris, Milord (Lance Vipond) 2016 Grand Prix Final

Carolina Kostner - Ave Maria (Lori Nichol) 2014 Olympics

Karina Manta/Joe Johnson - Sweet Dreams (Christopher Dean) 2019 Nationals

Gracie Gold - Firebird (Lori Nichol) 2016 Nationals

Charlene Guignard/Marco Fabbri - Atonement/Song For A Little Sparrow (Barbara Fusar-Poli and Corrado Giordani) 2022 Europeans

Keegan Messing - Singing in the Rain (Lance Vipond) 2018 Worlds

Elizabeth Punsalan/Jerod Swallow - Astor Piazolla medley (Igor Shpilband) 1998 Olympics

Rika Kihira - A Beautiful Storm (Tom Dickson) 2018 NHK Trophy

Mariah Bell - Chicago (Rohene Ward) 2016 Skate America

Brian Joubert - Rise (Evgeni Platov) 2009 Europeans

Stephane Lambiel - Poeta (Antonio Najarro) 2007 Worlds

Kaori Sakamoto - The Matrix (Benoit Richaud) 2020 NHK Trophy

Akiko Suzuki - O (Pasquale Camerlengo) 2012 NHK Trophy

Qing Pang/Jian Tong - The Impossible Dream (Shae-Lynn Bourne and David Wilson) 2010 Olympics

Takahito Kozuka - Io ci saro (Lori Nichol) 2014 Japanese National

Smart/Diaz - Mask of Zorro 2022 Europeans

Matt Savoie - Ennio Morricone medley (Tom Dickson) 2006 Nationals

Deniss Vasiljevs - Puttin’ On The Ritz (Benoit Richaud) 2016 Worlds

Caroline Green/Michael Parsons - Violin Concerto No.1 Eso Concerto, Clouds, The Mind on the Wind (Elena Novak and Alexei Kiliakov) 2022 Four Continents

Tara Lipinski - The Rainbow (Sandra Bezic) 1998 Olympics

Denis Ten - SOS d'un terrien en détresse (David Wilson) 2017 Shanghai Trophy

Valentina Marchei/Ondrej Hotarek - Tu Vuo Fa L'Americano (Massimo Scali) 2018 Europeans

Krisztina Czako - The Addams Family (Igor Bobrin) 1997 Europeans

Cheng Peng/Yang Jin - My Drag (Lori Nichol) 2016 GPF

Bradie Tennell - Mechanisms, Chronos (Benoit Richaud) 2020 4CC

Evgeny Plushenko - Tribute to Nijinsky 2004 Russian Nationals

Vanessa Gusmeroli - Rats D'Hotel 1999 Worlds

Julianne Seguin/Charlie Bilodeau - Monde Inverse (Shae-Lynn Bourne and Shae Zukiwsky) 2015 Skate America

Isabeau Levito - Dulcea Și Tandra Mea Fiară (Yulia Kuznetsova) 2022 MK John Wilson Trophy

Elizaveta Tuktamysheva - Batwannis Beek/Sandstorm (Tatiana Prokofieva) 2015 Europeans

Kana Muramoto/Daisuke Takahashi - Soran Bushi (Marina Zoueva, Ilia Tkachenko, and Koyo Yanai) 2021 NHK Trophy

Amber Glenn - This Time (Kaitlyn Weaver and Randi Strong) 2024 Lombardia Trophy

Ivan Righini - You Raise Me Up (Ivan Righini) 2016 Europeans

Anna Cappellini/Luca Lanotte - Life is Beautiful (Liudmila Vlasova) 2017 NHK Trophy

[imagines-to-quench-thirst]

Speak in Flowers

Flowers speak their own words and show their actions. And your man loves to speak it out loud.

Includes: Victor Creed (Sabertooth), Loki, Thor, Steve Rogers (Captian America), Bucky Barnes (Winter Solider), Bruce Wayne (Batman), Clark Kent (Superman), Arthur Curry (Aquaman), Orm Marius, Joker, Duncan Vizla (Polar)

All my knowledge about the flowers I found on this link

Enjoy this little fluff piece!

Victor Creed (SABERTOOTH)

PINK CAMELLIA: Longing for you

Victor lives his long life with little to no memories, as most are filled with shocking trauma and events. As years passed and you met him, he was emotionally stunned, fearing what to say and show. The relationship was blooming and bubbling into a fresh memory Victor did not want to miss, but his life did not build him that way. Books helped a lot to him, for him to communicate in ways he needed to express to you his love, his devotion, and his happiness.

You keep every single post-it note, notes in your books, phone, and bathroom mirror he has left. Victor wished to show more of himself in small ways. And therefore, he went for a long walk around the city trying to find a token he could present to you with pride. And then he stopped in front of a flower shop, not looking at all the roses it had on display but at the daintiest petals—pink Camellia. An older lady approaches him, saying.

"Their meanings are Longing For You."

Victor's mind clicks, "I'll buy it."

Returning home, he presents the flowers to you with a slightly spoken tone "I thought of you when I saw them."

Loki

HONEYSUCKLE: Bonds of Love

Ever since Loki decided to take the position as Thor's right hand in governing New Asgard, he inescapably made date nights a fantasy to have. Seeing him several times a month and a few weekly calls doesn't leave much to it. It was as heavy for Loki as for you. Two lovers from different realms trying to make it work. With that, the distance made Loki a nuisance to your delivery man. Every day at 11 am, at your door with a package in hand. At this point in time, you are on a first-name basis.

"Morning, Y/n. Back again."

"Morning, Stephen. Thanks again. Have a cookie."

Loki sent small things that could be delivered easier and faster so you could feel his presence somehow. Most of the packages held a few popular treats, accompanied by letters from him depicting how his day was and always, at the end, writing how much he misses you and cannot wait to have you in his arms. In a new package from today, this one was the most fascinating. Opening the brown box, Hologram butterflies exited the box flying around the room, glowing slightly green as they dispersed into thin air. Looking down, you see delicate branches colored with pink and orange petals, each branching out in their own direction, forming a halo-like shape. Opening your phone, you snap a picture and google search for its name

"Honeysuckles? Hmm...Thanks, Wikipedia. Now let us see the meaning."

Bonds of love.

"Oh, how I miss you, Loki."

Thor

MARJORAM: Joy and happiness

Thor was in a tight position. He was now leading New Asgard on Earth and managed to convince you to try and live in this new area so you could be with him. Not ready to fully move there, you decided to live there for the next 3 months, taking a well-deserved break from work. Living there was a new experience, and you were there to witness the city's first town meeting, first competitions, first restaurant openings, and, as of this moment, the first festival with Thor in hand. Even Loki was there looking somewhat happy but primarily absent.

"You good, Loki?"

"A bit. Seeing the Asgardian people happy makes me joyous, but I miss my lover."

"When are you seeing them?"

"In a few days. They do not know. It will be a surprise."

You looked at him, offering a comforting hug as the people walked around enjoying themself. The sky rumbled, announcing Thor's imminent arrival. Thor's step continued to rumble, and Loki stepped away from you, joining the crowd. Thor was now in front of you, smile beaming and hands full of... green leaves?

"MY DARLING!!" Thor shouted

"Thor...no need to shout. I am in front of you."

"Excuse me! Here you go!"

Thor offers the bouquet of green leaves to you. You accept, sniffing the faint smell of herbs.

"Are these used for... cooking?"

"Yes, I mean, no. Well, the nice lady in the flower shop told me they complement any meat, fish, or vegetable."

"Thanks, I guess..."

"That is not the point of those flowers. Their meanings are Joy and Happiness. Which I feel those feelings when I am with you."

Thor explained nervously, glancing at you with hearty eyes, hoping you would like them as much as he loves you.

"I love you... and the flowers." you replied

Bucky Barnes (Winter Solider)

BLUE AND RED SALVIA: I think of you/ Forever mine

Bucky loves love. Because of you. He cherished the moments he got to experience in this new modern life when he thought it would be a throw-away line. He adored each of those love-filled moments and loved making them even more. Bucky had a small notebook at all times with him where he wrote each moment he did with you, keeping an excellent timeline as well as future notes on what he should do next time. While looking at his notebook, he noticed the lack of gift-giving, especially flowers. Flowers for Bucky where a personalized and live-like message for your lover. And therefore, he decided to find flowers that were the definition of BUCKY. Walking to market place, Bucky walked among the fresh fruits and produce, looking and thinking until his gaze was filled with so many flowers. Stopping at the sight, Bucky hears a thoughtful voice inquiring

"Looking for a unique flower?"

"Yes, for my partner. Something that would depict me as a flower, if there is a flower like that." Bucky speaks self-doubt lacing his voice

"Of course there is; flowers speak many languages."

Bucky nodded, looking at the flowers stopping at two different versions of the same densely packed tubular flowers with velvety leaves. Red and blue.

"Those are Salvia. The red ones mean 'Forever Mine', and the blue ones mean 'I Think Of You'. Hummingbirds and butterflies love them."

"I do call Y/n hummingbird from time to time." Bucky whispered while taking out his wallet to pay, "I'll take them both."

Arriving in a better mood back home, Bucky found his love lounging on the couch. Walking to you with light ninja steps, he placed the flowers in front of you.

"Suprise!"

Steve Rogers (Captian America)

HOLLY: Defense, Domestic Happiness

Steve was on many missions, which were given with his work/lifestyle. So he relished in it when he was home with you. His housewife kink was really showing (if you know what I mean *wink wink*). He adored it when he was doing the laundry with you, doing the dishes, decorating the room the way you like, and planting new herbs and vegetables in your garden. Steve was sold on the whole fantasy he has with you. And he wanted you to show you that. Everyday. Every second.

With that, Steve went on a hunt to find flowers he knew would communicate that. Steve hopped onto a public train in his best 'don't look at me, I know I am famous' disguise, glimpsing at the passing city inching closer to the town center and hopping off his stop going towards a flower shop as he goes cautiously to the lady

"Good day, ma'am. The name is Frank Castle, and I am looking for a flower that would communicate that I love my home and my partner." Steve said, trying not to be suspicious of his 'real name.'

"That name rings a bell, but you don't seem familiar from the photos I have seen of 'Frank.'" The lady says with a hint of suspicion in her voice, looking at the tall blonde up and down. But he wasn't the only one who appeared in front of her with a fake name, and she was a pro at sniffing out a fake. Nonetheless, she wasn't going to put the man in a tight spot.

"Is there a flower you like? Any flower that speaks to you?" She asked. Steve, I mean Frank, looks at the flowers, seeing all kinds of colors and textures in an ecstasy of nature's artistic expression. Finding a dainty four-petal flower so tiny and minuscule an untrained eye would not catch its beauty.

"That is a Holly. They mean 'Defense' and 'Domestic Happiness'." Steve smiled at the flowers that were the size of a pin, smiling gleefully, "I'll take them."

Walking back home with a bouquet in hand, steve opens the door seeing Y/n making dinner. "Y/n? Turn around." Turning around, steve smiles at your surprised smile, appearing in a second when seeing the flowers.

"A little something so you know what I feel when I am with you."

Bruce Wayne (Batman)

IRIS: Faith, Trust, Wisdom, Hope, Valor

Bruce knew he had it good with you. Really good. You were so, so SO understanding of him, his actions, and his double life. Not even once doubting him but being there with him. Bruce wanted you to know how much he loves you for that, and there were so many ways he could show you that. Trips, gifts, new adventures in new parts of the world, you name it, he will give it to you in seconds. But Bruce remembered that the smallest things mean the most, something he learned from his father when he saw him give his mother flowers every single day when returning from work. As Bruce was in his 'day' office, he called up a number of the oldest flower shop in Gotham, knowing the owner quite well.

"Mr. Wayne. Good to hear from you." The lady said happily

"Mrs. Flowerbottom. Always good to hear from you as well. I would need your expertise. I have been with my lover for a few months now, and I would like some flowers that describe them."

"Of course. And how would you describe your lover, Mr. Wayne?" "They are smart, brave, trust me, and I trust them, and quite simply, they are my hope for a better future." The lady chuckles at the honey-covered words from the billionaire former playboy looking at flowers that describe y/n to the bone.

"I am looking at them right now. Would you like to add a note?" "Yes, it would be: "Thank you for being yourself. I love you with all my strength and heart. Yours always, Bruce.""

Hanging up and finishing up the day, Bruce entered his car smiling, knowing that in a few hours, his lover will a unique surprise back in their shared home. Arriving back at Wayne manor. Bruce looks at the enormous bouquet of Hydrangeas standing proudly in the middle of the living room, a small note with a definition of irises at the bottom of the bouquet

IRIS: Faith, Trust, Wisdom, Hope, Valor

The keys jingle again as you enter, seeing Bruce standing next to the bouquet, saying softly

"These are for you."

Clark Kent (Superman)

YARROW: Everlasting love

Clark was a Boy Scout. Everyone called him that; the man was a boy at heart personified. His smile never dropped, he was always ready to help others, and he was a lovesick puppy at heart. So lovesick. Clark breathed you. His demeanor changed completely when he was with you. He was and still is diving head-first into the relationship. Telling you about his plans with you having a house, having kids, and an all-around perfect life. He wanted it with you.

Clark made it his everlasting task to bring you home flowers every day after work. To show you that he loves you to the ends of the universe and back. One day when he was going to his usual flower shop he saw new flowers, flowers that weren't there yesterday. And those flowers beckoned him to come closer, sniff them, and be entranced in their intoxicating smell. "They are called Yarrow." the lady said, smiling at the glasses-wearing dork. "They mean Everlasting Love."

Clark smiles at the yellow droplet-like flowers taking them in hand and smelling the sweet and tangy fragrance. Waving the lady goodbye, promising to arrive again tomorrow as he heads home to his love. Hearing the door open, you walk towards Clark, ready to give him his welcome home kiss, but before you can do that, Clark shows you yellow flowers with the tangiest smell.

"For my everlasting love."

Arthur Curry (Aquaman)

ASTER: Symbol of Love and Daintiness

Arthur loved to scare and surprise you. He loved to go behind the couch to scare you and then present you with a small gift to make you not angry at him. Trinkets such as seashells, funny coffee mugs, or even t-shirts were out of context and confusing. It was funny, really. And sometimes Arthur can go overboard with the scares to the point where you get mad at him and make him sleep on the couch. Like today, Arthur woke up with a stiff neck and aching back while you were well-slept and making yourself your morning tea. Arthur messed up big time, and he was on a mission to make it better by the end of the day. Running like a headless chicken to town, Arthur zoomed past people startling them along the way. Halting to a stop, he sees his salvation, a flower shop. Walking inside, he is greeted by a lady seeing him disheveled and out of breath.

"Please, help me. I messed up with my dove, and I need your best flowers." He pleaded

"Look around the store and see what flower catches your attention." Looking around the room, Arthur spins a few times around, his mind starting to blur, dizziness taking over his decision process. Slowing down, his body turns to a corner of the room with purple-colored daisy flowers.

"The daisies!" Arthur exclaimed, pointing at them like a 3-year-old kid. The lady chuckles as she walks over to them, taking them out of the vase. "They are called Asters. They mean Symbol of Love and Daintiness."

"Well, my dove is dainty and my symbol of love. I'll take them." You watch from the window as Arthur walks back home with flowers in hand, a big smile on his face. The door unlocks, and you make yourself busy by staring blankly at your book as Arthur inches closer, extending his hand which held the flowers. Looking at him, uninterested, he says

"They are called Asters. They are symbols of Love and Daintiness. And to me, you are both. And I am sorry to scare you so much, and I love you."

"....fine. I accept your apologies.Dumbass."

Orm Marius

CALLA LILY : Beauty

Orm had a first relationship with a human. A surface dweller. Someone he held no positive emotions, and yet...he was smitten. So much so that he decided to live with them a few days a week as a start. Orm felt himself stumble into a new world, a world where some souls expressed themself with care, actions, words, or even presents, the most popular being flowers. As Orm walked around town with his chosen love, he saw a flower shop looking at the offers they had. Letting go of Y/n's hand, he walks over using the given time while Y/n's distracted by the fountain waterworks. Stepping closer, he stops at tubular shape flowers.

"They are Calla Lilly. They are extraordinary flowers." the lady working speaks to Orm. "Why are they special?" Orm asks, looking confused at the white flowers.

"They mean beauty. In their own language," she explained.

"The flowers have their own language?"

"Yes, in a way. The flowers you give to your loved ones can be interpreted in a special way beyond the aesthetic." Orm thought for a second before taking out 5 dollars." I have one paper on this currency. Is that enough to cover the whole store?"

The lady laughed at his bluntness as she took the bill and handed him 3 Lillies. "No, but it gives you 3 calla lilies."Orm grunts at his failure but nonetheless smiles as he walks back to Y/n, handing the Lillies.

"These are for you, my beauty."

Joker

YELLOW JASMINE: Grace and Elegance

J tried to keep his job away from you. he tried to divide his "job" away from your eyes, ears, and hands. But it was not something he had complete control over it. Most of the time, he arrived bruised and bloodied while you played nurse. And he wanted to show you in his own way what you mean to him. So he took you in his purple Lamborghini towards the end of the city, a place that would not be considered part of Gotham, a shrouded place, abandoned houses, people looking at you like with a predator-like gaze. Joker held your hand as you walked towards a tiny restaurant you would surely miss if you did not see the small sign at the bottom of the floor spelling out 'Eat in, not out'.

Entering the place, you and J sit next to each other, and you start to ask questions. This wasn't the place where you two would usually go. No glitz and glamour, expensive tiny dishes that would cost an arm and leg, views that would depict the whole Gotham feeling as if you were running the town. It was all swapped with a one-room-sized restaurant without photos, calendars showing the year 2012, and an elderly woman standing in front of you

"Good to see you, J." She spoke her voice gravely, but her perfume was flowery intoxicating

"And you as well, Mrs. Flowerbottom. For tonight I brought my special person here, and I would like your best dish combo."

Mrs. Flowerbottom smiled lovely at you moving back into the kitchen, and you felt just more question bubble in you.

"You come here often?" You asked, looking at him with more question marks in your eyes.

"I was living here at one point. When I had no money when I was younger, I slept on the floor where we are. This place means a lot to me."

While J spoke, Mrs. Flowerbottom brought out chicken soup on a tray, the bowls big enough for 3 people. And next to the food on J's side, she puts flowers with the same sweet perfume Mrs. Flowerbottom was shrouded in. The small clusters of starry, pure-white petals with rich green leaves. J takes them giving them to you.

"I know that I am not good with words, but I have learned that yellow jasmines mean grace and elegance. And I will give you that. By opening myself up and my history with you."

Kissing his lips, you reply, "I would love that."

Duncan Vizla (Polar)

LOTUS FLOWER: Purity, Enlightenment, Self-regeneration, and Rebirth

Duncan felt his way of life changed because of you. You two lived in his cabin next to the lake, shrouded in snow, away from people, enjoying nature's ambiance, feeling thankful for the experience you are sharing with your Donut. Duncan felt himself being happy. He enjoys chopping wood outside in the freezing cold, knowing that he is chopping them for a fire where he will sit behind you, telling his stories about when he was 'working' back in the day. But Duncan wasn't too much of a gift-giver. He was still finding himself in this relationship. And while Duncan was chopping wood, he saw you peaking outside the window, a blanket on your shoulder looking so cozy and inviting him in. Seeing you wave and then moving back in the room, Duncan stopped his actions and walked behind the house and behind a few trees into the woods, seeing the small Polly dom he made no bigger than a 1-meter squared cube. Removing the shrouded small man-made pond was holding his hard work. He managed to grow louts flowers in this weather and in this land. But thanks to the guidance of a sweet lady, he did a good job.

"Thank you, Mrs. Flowerbottom." He said into the cold wind. Taking his flowers and putting them in a basket, he walks into his home. The warm ambiance melted off his cold shake. And you see Duncan with a small grin, and you know he did something he shouldn't

"If you killed someone and buried them in the back, I do not want to know, Duncan." Duncan laughs as he hands you the cloth-covered basket.

"I didn't kill anyone, but I did something for you." With a puzzled look, you remove the cloth seeing pink lotus flowers, the fragrance filling your nose."

"When did you buy them?" You asked, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "I didn't. I planted them a few months ago."

"Why louts? They are so hard to grow here."

Duncan sits down, looking at you with a warm smile as he holds your hands, rubbing small circles of comfort.

"Because I learned they mean Purity, Enlightenment, Self-regeneration, and Rebirth... which reminds me of you. And a bit of me as well. More so, the rebirth. I feel like a new man with you, with a new life."

Feeling eyes prickle in your eyes, you say with a soft chuckle, "You really know how to make me ugly cry, Donut."

Hope you liked it! Tell me what you think.-V

[ckret2]

👀 I want to hear more about this Bill AU

You were the very first person to send me an ask about the Bill AU, and it was an open-ended question, so I've been saving your ask special for... a fanfic. IDK how often or how much I'm gonna write actual full fic for this AU but for now, here: the first half of Bill's reunion with the Pines family. (Attempted murder included.)

(Edited 7/28/2024 - now compatible with TBOB!)

####

February 25, 2013

The vengeful demon standing in the door of the Mystery Shack possessed only four items in the universe:

Two safety pins.

A time tape tied around his waist like a belt.

And a tunic he'd fashioned himself in the style of an ancient Greek Doric chiton, folded and pinned so perfectly that the wearer must have seen them thousands of years ago when they were at the height of fashion.

Soos couldn't identify an authentic Doric chiton. All he knew was that the tourist who'd just come in looked like a short fat lady with brown skin, curly golden hair, weirdly skinny arms, bulging jaundiced eyes, and a toga made out of a bright purple children's Pony Heist bedsheet.

Soos laughed, flashing the tourist a double thumbs up. "Hey! Awesome toga. That should really be like a thing. Imagine if we all wore togas. We could just wake up, roll our bedsheets around us like a burrito, and go out!"

"Watch out, you can't tell when Big Fashion is listening in." 

"Haha. Who?"

The tourist hadn't looked at Soos once; instead, her gaze was darting around the shop restlessly.

"Are you shopping for something specific?" Soos asked with his best customer service voice. "Post cards? Snow globes? Weird taxidermy thingamajigs? Pants?"

"Where are the Pines?" the tourist asked, casting a sharp look at the "employees only" door, then the vending machine.

"Oh, Mr. Pines! The original Mr. Mystery! Heh—he actually retired a few months ago. The Mystery Shack's under new management!" Soos planted his fists on his hips and puffed up his chest. "It's me, I'm the new management."

"But where are they?" the tourist pressed.

"Uhh, he and his bro are somewhere in South America, I think? Hey, if you wanna meet him in person, his last letter said he might visit for spring break if the family can make it. First week in April."

"First week in April," the tourist muttered. She glanced over her shoulder toward the door, thoughtfully fiddling with the time tape wrapped around her waist.

"Oh, dude! I've tried to use a tape measure as a belt too! Haha! It worked great, until I bumped the button and it retracted. Yeesh. Hey, do you want a fur belt? We sell fur belts now." Soos turned away, rummaging through the new display next to the t-shirts. "They're all sustainably, ethically harvested! I bought a bunch of old rugs from the Northwest Manor to slice up."

Soos grabbed up a fuzzy pink belt. "Check it, I think this is unicorn hide or something. Bet it'd go so good with that Pony Heist toga..."

The tourist had seemingly vanished in thin air. Soos looked around. "Huh." He shrugged and stuck the belt on a shelf beneath the cash register in case she came back and decided she wanted it later.

Once all the other visitors had left for the day, and Soos was left alone to clean up, he thought back to that togaed tourist whose yellowish eyes had never stopped moving—the way she'd looked toward the door as though worried someone was following her. Soos glanced around the shop nervously. "Is anyone there?" He lifted his broom like a samurai sword. "Hello? Big Fashion?"

Nothing answered. He shrugged and kept sweeping.

###

April 1, 2013

A vengeful demon who possessed nothing but two safety pins, a time tape belt, and a purple Pony Heist bedsheet chiton stood in the center of the Mystery Shack gift shop.

Which was weird, because Soos didn't hear the door and she totally hadn't been standing there a moment ago.

"Oh hey! Toga Lady!" Soos turned to Wendy, who was picking up a few bucks working spring break while Melody visited her family. "It's Toga Lady. She came in like a month ago. The toga's cool, right? I think it's cool."

Wendy glanced up, choked back a laugh, and scrambled to grab her phone for a picture.

"So, where are the Pines?" Toga Lady asked, with an edge of impatience.

"Oh, dude, did you come all the way back here to meet them? Sorry, the Mr. Pineses couldn't make it. They couldn't get a flight out of Atlanta." Soos stopped, frowned, and pulled a water-stained letter from his pocket to double check. "Sorry, Atlantis. Something about a giant lobster attack?"

"Daryll would pick now to invade," Toga Lady muttered. "I suppose the children aren't here."

How did she know about the children? Maybe she'd visited last summer and remembered them? Like, early summer, before Pony Heist came out. Soos would have remembered the toga. "Naw, heh. They went to Roswell."

"Oh, cool," Wendy said distractedly, busy texting a picture of Toga Lady to everyone she knew. "Checking out the competition."

"Yeah, Dipper's sending me like a billion pictures of the alien museum."

"Well," Toga Lady said impatiently, "when are they showing up?"

Soos was beginning to get the impression that Toga Lady was less an admiring fan, and more one of those customers. The kind that used speaking to the manager as a threat. All the same, he said, "June first, for sure. That's when the kids get here for summer break so the Mr. Pineses are coming too. Definitely. Promise."

She rolled her eyes—one of them twitched, like she'd gotten something in it and was struggling to keep it open—but said, "All right, fine! June. What's the difference? I've waited this long." She leaned next to the door by the snow globe shelves, fiddling with her belt, as if she was settling in to wait right there for the next two months.

Soos frowned—she might drive off tourists, blocking the door like that—but said, "Oh! While you're here, I thought you might be interested in this belt." He reached past Wendy to grab it from beneath the cash register. "I didn't get a chance to show you last time before—"

He looked toward the door. She was gone. "Huh. Did you see Toga Lady leave?"

Wendy shrugged. "Wasn't looking."

"Huh." Soos replaced the belt. At least he knew when he'd see her next.

###

June 1, 2013

"What's with the belt?" Stan asked.

"Oh! It's for a regular." Soos pointed with both hands at the fuzzy pink belt peeking beneath his suit jacket. "I think she's comin' today. She wanted to meet the original Mr. Mystery."

"Hey, an admirer." Stan's chest puffed out and his grin widened. "Is she cute?"

"Uh... if you like bedsheet togas?"

"Ooh, a party girl."

"These are new," Ford said, inspecting a jar with an alien fetus floating in green goo.

"Oh, yeah!" Soos said, following as Stan joined Ford at the glass display case. "Dipper sent me like, a billion keychains of these little alien guys from Roswell. So I started filling Abuelita's empty spice jars with aliens and green jello. Cool, huh? It looks like we stole them from a secret government lab or something."

Stan laughed, slinging an arm around Soos. "Listen to this! Brilliant! I knew I put the right guy in charge."

Soos grinned goofily. "Aw, gee, Mr. Pines..."

A flash of purple caught the corner of his eye. Toga Lady was leaning next to the door by the snow globe shelves, fiddling with her belt.

Here was a chance to show off his great business instincts with Stan watching. Time to make a sale. "Oh, hey, Toga Lady! I didn't hear you come in! Still rockin' Pony Heist, huh? Hey, I've been trying to show you this belt I think you'll like..."

But she wasn't listening to him. Her gaze was fixed on the Pines twins' backs. As Soos watched, her expression darkened, and her grin widened.

The vengeful demon reached past the snow globes, seized a heavy "mysterious green crystal cluster ($250)" made of glue and broken glass, and heaved it up over his head. "Hey, Sixer!" Face contorted in a snarl of a smile, he turned the cluster over, sharp shards pointing downward. "Welcome home!"

Bill Cipher swung the glass weight down toward Ford's head.

(If you wanna keep reading, all chapters are on tumblr right here!)

[canarydarity]

(Happy Team Rancher week!! :D this is for today, the last day, AU fest. this is an au that I've had on the back burner for a while, but its for a ya book series I read in middle school and absolutely adore, and so I'm really glad I was able to finish this scene up and get it out here for the event!! The very basic premise is that Tango, Impulse, Skizz, and Etho are students at a teenage spy school. On their first ever field training mission, Tango meets Jimmy. Exceedingly, exceptionally normal Jimmy. Enjoy :) <3)

Hermitville looked as if every store-front was painted neatly on wooden slats and propped up from behind by a 2-by-4, its display perfectly weathered and distressed to look as if you could turn the cardboard handle and walk through the door of a family-run business, 75 years strong. But the fact was that you actually could do that—these were real stores in a real town, no matter how striking their resemblance to the set of every small-town-America movie in the world, ready to be broken down and disposed of to make room for the next.

The phenomenon was always made worse by how little Tango actually entered the town despite living 12 miles down the road from it. Its existence was just close enough to feel, parsable from the air like the scent of rain off asphalt, and simultaneously far enough to be alien to him, made all that much weirder by its small town charm, suffocatingly mundane and unconditionally normal. No strings, no contingencies, no Christmas dinners interrupted by last minute covert missions to foreign embassies. 

There were string-lights hanging between the lamp-posts, it was cute. Tango felt unbelievably itchy. 

The comm in his ear crackled. “How ya doing up there, Legacy?” 

Skizz sounded like he was enjoying himself entirely too much. It made Tango grumble a little under his breath, not caring if it was loud enough for the comm to pick up or not. Maybe if he was lucky, the others would attribute it to static. 

Or maybe they’d attribute it to Etho, giving he whined back, “I hate that code name.”

“Okay, Prodigy.” Tango cut in, knowing Etho would hate that one equally as much if not more. What could he say, he gets bitchier when he’s grumpy, and wandering around in the cold stuck in the state of perpetually failing his first CoveOps mission was certainly doing it for him. 

“Tang—”

Maybe he went a little too hard, though, if he got Etho to break protocol and use his real name over what technically counted as a confidential communications outlet. Oops.

“Tango,” Impulse interrupted—not overly-peeved enough at his friend to use his real name, just equally as hopeless when it came to CoveOps to the point he likely forgot they were supposed to be using code names in the first place. “Where are you, I lost you again.” 

Tango didn’t have to turn around and face the direction he’d last seen Impulse to be able to picture the frown that he absolutely wore. Besides, that would give up his cover, and staying hidden—unmemorable, ignorable, unnoticeable, any of those were fine—was just about the only field trait Tango had. 

“Over by the bank, Impy.”

“Well, wave your arms or something.”

Tango nodded at an old lady who was walking down the sidewalk in the opposite direction of him, glaring like they were in a store and Tango was sweating carrying too large and heavy a bag as he suspiciously made his way toward the door. She glared harder at his attempt of being polite and turned her head away as they passed one another by. Tango just really couldn’t get enough of that small town charm. 

When she was behind him he dropped the grin and responded, “That kind of defeats the purpose, now doesn’t it?” 

What could’ve been a break of static but was probably Impulse groaning cut through the comm and Tango winced. At least he was good at getting passed by, he imagined Impulse was failing to do even that at the moment. “Well, how am I supposed to follow you following Doc if—”

“He’s flipping,” Etho cut in, and Tango didn’t glance to the left at the park where Doc—their certifiably batshit insane countries of the world professor—was currently using every trick he’d ever been taught on how to lose a tail; not that he knew he was being tailed, he was just that vigilant. Constantly. Cause that was how every normal and well-adjusted person lived their life. 

Instead, Tango kept walking the way he’d been going, stopped to look both directions before crossing the street, approached the closest vendor and bought himself the first thing on the menu without stopping to look at what it was. 

Why on Earth Professor Beef thought the best way to ease them into the field of Covert Operations was to assign them to tail their most paranoid and least sane staff member was beyond him. He could imagine what Beef would say if Tango dared question this decision of his out loud: well you don’t have to get it, you just have to do it. Yipee, he was so glad to be taking this course. 

He couldn’t look for Doc, so he looked for Etho instead. He scanned the street, the sidewalk—hell, even the rooftops—but there was no sign of him. He was that good. 

Show-off, Tango thought as the vendor whistled to get his attention and he turned back with a smile and a thanks accepting a corndog. Nice. 

Tango headed off again, this time towards the park, the direction Doc had been going in, presumably, before he’d flipped. He saw Skizz amidst a sea of letterman jackets, smiling and laughing and miming throwing something with his hands; the crowd he’d accrued laughed with him, boys of all shapes and sizes slapping each other on the arm and guffawing over a guy they would all swear later that they’d had to have had a class with at some point. 

Their methods were different, but it was undeniable—mission one, and Skizz and Etho were good at this. They’d all known they would be. 

Tango wandered around for a while longer, ate his corndog and listened to the chatter of his fellow operatives over the comms, always keeping their updates on Doc’s position in mind and staying busy as he steered clear enough as to not get noticed but close enough he could keep his options open should an opportunity arise. 

In theory, the mission was simple: what soft drink did Professor Doc like to drink with his funnel cake at the Hermitville fall carnival? In practice, it was a lot harder than it looked. They’d all been students of Doc’s for almost 5 years, and while this meant they might know him well enough to predict his patterns in what was maybe a reasonable way, it also meant he knew them well enough to call out their first and last name if he spotted them—and to skip the questioning portion of the interrogation in favor of going directly into doling out detentions. 

This was their professor who used a trusted—and highly confidential—surgeon to give him a new face before the start of every school year for the sake of avoiding some long list of threats still interested in apprehending him that he constantly alludes to but never explains. And Beef wanted them to tail him. It’s not like they had any chance to succeed. And Tango was missing Below Deck for this.

The carnival was beginning to thin out, slowly, by the time anything interesting had begun to happen—at least to Tango. The square had one of those large metal things that looked like a lamp-post but actually had a giant clock in the center, and based on the last time he’d seen it and his impeccable internal clock, it could only be nine-fifteen p.m. It was like this place couldn’t get any more boring if it tried. Tango couldn’t stand it. Tango was jealous. 

He was cutting through the alley behind the town’s lonely diner, heading towards Skizz’s last known location, and was about to throw a line out over the almost eerily empty silence of his comm when Skizz spoke first. Something about the sound of his voice nagged at Tango, and it occurred to him before he opened his mouth to respond that he’d heard Skizz speak out loud, not directly in his ear. 

A second later, and it wasn’t just Skizz. At the first raise of Doc’s voice, Tango stopped walking and leaned as hard as he could into the brick. “I don’t even want to know how you got out and—actually, how did you get out?”

Tango only spent a moment questioning whether or not he was about to make a mistake before he leaned towards the edge of the alley until he could get enough of a picture of what was going on. Doc’s back was to him—thank god—but Skizz and Impulse were done for, the two of them sitting on a bench before their increasingly irate professor. Skizz was at his most diplomatic, sitting still and face severe with the kind of look that said I am listening to you and I understand. Impulse was cringing so hard at the having-been-caught that his left eye looked swollen shut.

Skizz raised one of his hands to halt Doc’s tirade—a risky move, but if anyone could pull it off it was Skizz. “Professor, if you’d just let me explain—”

“Explain what!” Tango winced with his friends in solidarity, even though he wasn’t the one getting reamed. “You’ve been following me for thirty minutes, which means you have to be—wait,” Doc said, as if a thought had suddenly occurred to him. “Wait a minute—where’s Beef?”

Tango watched as Skizz and Impulse—spies in training, yes, but still teenage boys at heart—shared a look with each other that gave away exactly what Doc needed to know. Skizz said: “Why I don’t know what you could mean, Professor, we were just—”

“Oh you—” From behind, Tango watched Doc shake his head to cut Skizz off, and then he did something kind of miraculous: he turned and tossed something—something shining and made of brown glass, something suspiciously bottle shaped—into the closest trash can. “Go on, now. Back, back to where you came from.” 

Tango stared at the garbage that couldn’t be more than twenty feet from him, even as Doc herded two of his best friends off of the bench and on into the night, the vague direction of the mansion; in his peripheral Skizz turned to glance at Doc and open his mouth, one more attempt at reason, before Doc departed one more and I’ll be giving you an extra credit assignment to really complain about. 

Tango honestly wasn’t even sure they were out of sight by the time he left the wall and the relative safety of the alleyway, not even considering the risk as somewhere inside he reeled at the thought it couldn't possibly be this easy. As he crossed the street, half of him expected to get scruffed by the back of his shirt and dragged all the way to his dorm, the other half expected to look inside and find the bottle to already be gone, even though his eyes hadn’t left the can, and for Etho to wander out of some shadow with it already in his hand. But the street was blessedly, amazingly quiet the whole time Tango made his way over. 

The garbage can was mostly empty even though the town had just had a carnival—because of course it was, towns like this probably didn’t produce any trash at all, Tango should’ve goddamn known—meaning Tango had to brace one of his arms on the lip of the metal can and hop slightly with his other arm outstretched to grab the bottle and pull it safely out of the trash. 

The condensation had made the paper labeling start to peel away in places, but the brand was still, for the most part, entirely legible—their mission was complete, and by Tango no less. He couldn’t wait to get back and rub it in Etho’s face. 

Tango tossed the bottle in the air and caught it, mood turning around for the first time all night—not even the 12 mile walk home in the dark could daunt him now. 

He turned around to begin his trek and found himself instead frozen immediately to the spot. 

There was a boy. 

Across the street, paused in the middle of the sidewalk and staring right at him, was a boy. And he’d seen Tango. 

Tango, whose only natural talent in CoveOps was going unnoticed. Tango, whose codename was cipher, after a joke Impulse made about his tendency for hiding in plain sight. Tango, who’d just rooted around in the garbage for someone else’s trash. 

The boy stopped to look both ways before crossing the street, even though it was now almost 9:30 pm and seemingly passed town curfew by how empty it’d gotten. There were no cars by sight nor by sound on this road or any of the surrounding blocks, but the boy looked to his right, then his left, then his right again before stepping off the concrete and onto the asphalt. There was even a moment of pause when his foot touched down on the road, and a slight furrow to his brow that had Tango imagining him thinking but there’s no crosswalk here! 

A better spy might’ve done something else—found the closest out, used the perfect excuse or expertly timed joke—but Tango just stood there, and watched the boy approach. 

“Hi there,” he said, a slight Virginia twang to his words that really drove home the all-American look about him, the swoopy blonde hair and lithe but athletic build—perfect for winning throws at football games or moral-gathering posters of government propaganda. 

“Do you….dig through trash cans often?” The prom king illusion shattered immediately as the boy cringed and shook his head, descriptive adjectives like polished becoming more awkward, perfect turning into endearing. “No—that sounded rude, I’m so sorry, I meant it as more of a joke, really…an unfunny one, I guess.” The rounder part of his cheeks pooled, filled deeply with blush. 

Tango opened his mouth, unsure what he planned to say, but then the boy went, “Oh my gosh, not that I judge that—or, well, maybe a little. But I—I’m sorry, and I shouldn’t, that’s wrong and, and—“ he paused abruptly, his head clearly moving faster than his mouth, the level of disaster that was this conversation running away from him and seeming far worse than it was when it’d started. 

“There are nicer trash cans, even,” He said when he opened his mouth again, and Tango nearly lost his mind, turned his laugh into a cough and wondered if all exceedingly normal people were so…cute. “Closer to the center of town. I can…show you where those are instead, if you prefer?” 

Tango couldn’t help his smirk. “You offering to take me on a tour of the nicer trash cans in town?” 

“I—“ Tango watched the boy's face buffer as all the things he just said caught up to him, and he looked down, bashful. After a moment, he smoothed out the embarrassment like wrinkles on fresh sheets and looked back up at Tango confidence renewed. “That or a milkshake, maybe?” 

The boat had stopped rocking, they’d made it to solid land, and the conversation righted itself and worked its way towards something normal—or at least, what Tango thought normal was supposed to look like. He’d never been asked something so simple as would he like to get a milkshake with a cute and utterly mundane boy. 

Things that Tango most definitely was not. His cover, on the other hand…

Right, his cover. In a logical and completely sane move, Tango blurted out, “I have a cat.” 

The boy blinked a blink that pushed his whole head back an inch from its force. “Ex…cuse me?” 

“I have a cat,” Tango repeated, begging his brain to fill him in on the rest of the reasoning behind why he said this particular thing at this particular moment. Were cats deathly allergic to milkshakes, or something? Well, screw his imaginary cat, Tango wasn’t! 

He said: “She…likes to play with bottles. I kinda grab them whenever I can.”

“Etho!” He added, and then mentally slapped himself upside the head. This was precisely why he wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near field work. “That’s my cat’s name, yup! Mhm, so, I’d take you up on that, but—“

“But you have to get back to your cat?” The boy said, his cheek bunched under one of his eyes like he wanted to believe that but had heard one-too-many a ridiculous excuse before and wasn’t quite sure. 

“Exactly.” Tango let out a breath. Jesus Christmas this was hard—where the hell was Skizz when Tango needed him? Oh, right. This was not at all how the night was supposed to go.

Conversation lapsed, but Tango failed to notice his opportunity for an out. The spy in him knew deep down that this was his chance to leave, to apologize for the lack of a milkshake and laugh off the fumble that was their interaction and begin his long walk back to school, knowing by the time the boy god home he’d forget all about having met Tango at all; the teenager in him stared at the freckle at the inner corner of the boys left eye. 

“Sorry, you’re new around here, aren’t you?” 

Tango continued staring. This was the third time the boy had apologized. 

“What makes you say that?”

“I’ve lived here…all my life?” His voice lilted higher at the end, almost like he was posing a question rather than making his case. “Everyone here has lived here all their life and I’ve…never seen you before.”

Tango has too, in a way. Home was a complicated concept for a spy; he may not be one yet, but his parents were—he knew enough to understand. It wasn’t like his childhood went untouched from the transient nature of spy work, a suitcase and go-bag always ready by the door. Even if he was the one being left and not the one doing the leaving, Tango knew flexible, he knew inconsistent. 

For years his most stable constant had been school, his mom in the headmasters office, Skizz Impulse and Etho. Where was home but here? 

He couldn’t say that, that wasn’t the cover. After years of being told I’ll be back soon with no indication of when soon was and little clarification of back from where and absolutely zero certainty that was something that could be promised, Tango resented lying. He wasn’t meant to be forming covers—he was meant to be locked in a lab somewhere, but one term of CoveOps at the start of sophomore year was a requirement. A requirement Tango would have to get through. 

Tango had never seen the boy before either. He didn’t know how to respond. 

“But, hey, I guess I’ll be seeing you around? At school?”

“No!”

The word was short and sweet, one syllable, something if the rampant apologizing was any indication the boy had not insignificant experience hearing. But his head tilted on the axis of his chin, lilting higher into the air and away from the middle of his chest—the dog that thought it’d heard a word it knew and was trying to determine if it was of the good or bad variety. “���No?”

Tango cringed. Probably visibly. “I’m…homeschooled,” was the lie, this time. 

“Oh, alright,” Tango hoped the drop in his tone was disappointment and not disbelief. He hoped the boy blessedly naive of the ways Tango was being false and not incorrectly assuming him indifferent to their chance encounter. 

Unwilling to bet on the chance and deeply reluctant to do what he knew a good spy should—remembering too many holidays gone remiss, and birthdays of the ill-get-you-next-year variety—Tango said, “I’ll be around, though.” 

The boy brightened, one of those artificial lamps that mimics sunlight where sunlight doesn’t reach, from darkness to light in mere seconds—like it was simple, easy. Ill so readily forgotten. 

“Good,” the word was delivered with an amicable nod. “Better get home to Etho, then.”

There was a moment of pause as Tango prepared to exclaim Etho?!? Suddenly in fear that he’d somehow found the one normal boy who wasn’t normal at all and was actually some sort of enemy spy, Tango accidentally blubbering his way through giving up national secrets he didn’t even know he knew—and then he remembered what he named his fake cat. 

“Right! Etho, yes…right, gotta get back to,” —had he given his fake cat pronouns?!— “yup! Okay, bye then.” 

Tango turned with great effort, his eyes shut and the rational part of his brain begging him to get a grip, his hands clasped tightly around the slightly icky with condensation bottle of soda that he’d come here to claim and by some miracle had. He hadn’t gotten more than a step or two away before the boy called, “Hey, what’s your name?” 

And Tango made possibly the stupidest decision of the night—despite all the competition, that’s pretty impressive, he knows—and called back, “Tango.”

“It was nice to meet you Tango!”

Tango smiled over his shoulder at the boy, walking backwards down the road he’d been so cautious to cross before, wanton joy on his face and something Tango didn’t dare to name, hands in his pockets. “You too,” Tango laughed. 

“My name’s Jimmy, by the way!”

The comm in his ear crackled to life after too long staying suspiciously silent before Tango could do anything about that, and he heard what he knew to be Etho saying, “Cipher, meet me at the corner of Pine and Cherry.” 

The sobering bucket of ice water dumped on your head after a particularly rough all-nighter, Tango felt his nerves wake up one by one; his spine was suddenly straighter and everything a little more on edge than it’d been a few minutes ago. He resisted the urge to scan the roofs and the streets and the shadows. He ignored the shame that said he just got caught doing something he shouldn’t have been; he kind of already knew that, but something in him also wished this had just been for him. Bye Jimmy, Tango thought in reply before saying, “Yeah man, on my way.”

Forget milkshakes and normal boys, Tango had some bragging to do. Other than to resent lying, if there was anything being the child of spies taught him, it was how to mask disappointment. 

He turned the corner toward Etho without looking back. 

[austinslounge]

Here's a Topic for You Ladies Here at Austin's Lounge ☕️....

Question: Do you think that Austin suffers from "Pretty Boy Prejudice"? 🤔

You know, after reading some of these asks lately and rumors online about the whole Austin/Zoe cheating rumors (when there's no proof), or the countless claims about Austin "cheating" on Vanessa as being the reason for their breakup (when there's yet again, zero proof), and the whole "Elvis voice" bullying thing for over two years, etc. -- I now have a theory. 🤔

I think Austin probably suffers from "Pretty Boy Prejudice". Be patient with me here, please, as I try to explain myself lol.

First of all - *Disclaimer* I am in no way shape or form trying to claim that Austin has it oh-so-hard in life, or that the things that I've mentioned are in any way near the level of real prejudice that people of color or of different races face in life on a daily basis at all. Not in the least. Austin is still a white, (I assume) heterosexual, male in America. He's automatically privileged in various ways, and he knows this and has already publicly acknowledged this lol.

But what I'm talking about is something different, and I've coined the term "Pretty Boy Prejudice".

I think people just want to pin something bad on Austin honestly.

You know how pretty girls get "Pretty Privilege"? Well, I think that these days, super good-looking men a lot of times get the OPPOSITE of that. In other words, it seems like a lot of women these days don't really trust good-looking guys. They especially don't trust extremely good-looking guys. Maybe they've been hurt by a lot of them or something in the past, idk. But it's definitely a trend that I've been noticing.

Now days, it seems like women go more for the nerdy guys, or the guys who are average in looks, or even downright ugly lol, and so, they feel more comfortable with those types of guys because they think they will be nicer, won't cheat, won't break their hearts, etc. Good-looking guys are now looked at with distrust... maybe even disgust/disdain now days by some women. I'm just noticing that trend.

The funny thing is though, I've known plenty of ugly and even nerdy guys who were straight up players, and it's even more insidious, because you're not even expecting them to be like that. So, even an average or ugly looking guy can be a player or do you wrong lol.

This theory for Austin just popped into my head, but it would explain a lot, actually.

It would explain why people were calling him "pretentious" during the Elvis press tour interviews, when he's never been anything like that at all. He's just a nerd lol... 😅 Painfully shy (especially growing up) ... Maybe even a little socially awkward, which, again, he's already admitted to all of this himself.

It would also explain the relentless "Elvis voice" jokes [eyeroll]

It would explain all of the "cheating" allegations made out of thin air when there's zero proof whatsoever 🙄 The thought being: "A guy that good-looking can't possibly be faithful to you!!"

It would also explain why some people have this weird urge to dislike him for no good reason (they even admit this!) even though Austin has been nothing but kind, sweet, down to earth, and respectful of everyone he meets

It's almost as if people can't imagine that a guy that good-looking can actually be a nice and decent human being or something. 🥴

It's almost like they want to find something really wrong or horrible about him so badly! Otherwise, it just doesn't compute in their heads.

I think that Austin suffers from "Pretty Boy Prejudice". That's my theory at least.

What do you ladies think? I've been wondering for a while what it was, and it just all of a sudden hit me.

Would love to read your thoughts, either in the comments section, or in an ask.

[cardiac-agreste]

I suppose today was the straw that broke the camel's back, where I once again saw someone (recently!) say Zoë is just a "nice Chloe," and friends, I am befuddled. Bewildered and baffled, even! DYEL (Do You Even Ladybug), bro?

I am here today to tell you that not only is Zoë Lee her own, unique character related to Chloe only by blood (unless she's a sentibeing!), but Zoe Lee is also the third or fourth most worthy holder in the entire bouquet of Miraculous characters (Marinette, Adrien, and Alix are the other three).

First let's talk about whether Zoë is a Chlone (did the Chloe/clone pun work?).

What do we know about Chloe?

French

entitled

bully

handsy

quick to anger

wants to please a mother who abandoned her

father wants to please her

can't remember names

has a "friend" do homework for her

makes the best pun in the entire show

willing to be akumatized

probably wants to make out with Marinette Dupain-Cheng (okay fine, this isn't strictly canon)

when she gets a Miraculous, she brags about it and shares her identity publicly because for her it's all about the glory

racist

behavior all seems to arise out of the expectation that everyone exists to please her (because she's modeling herself after her mother) twinned by a need to be acknowledged by her mother

What do we know about Zoe?

American

shy

unperturbed by rejection

used to be fake

decided to be her authentic self even though she'd be rejected by her peers, which leads us to

LGBTAF

had no parents in her life because she was at boarding school

tender

brave

humble

definitely wants to make out with Marinette Dupain-Cheng

maybe a sentibeing (otherwise her mother got pregnant, like, a couple months after giving birth to Chloe, and where is her dad in all this?! did he died!)

does NOT think wealth and power are all that and a bag of potato chips (blows off that Diamond Ball thing, refers to that type of person as a "zombie")

has held two different Miraculous and both of them she took because fate required it

artsy!!!!

I can kind of understand right after her debut feeling like this: she is in Paris (like Chloe), shows up with blonde hair (like Chloe) and the body of a girl (like Chloe) and uses a girl's voice (like Chloe) to speak to Marinette (like Chloe) nicely (not so much like Chloe), and we see her trying to gain family acceptance in Soul Crusher.

But then she rapidly diverges from Chloeness.

Finally, we get to season five, which finished airing over a year ago (thank goodness we get S6 soon!), and Plagg ghosts Adrien to find a new holder.

Let's consider Adrien getting Plagg the first time: he's sad, lonely, stuck in his room all day, has no friends, and has no idea that he's going to suffer by becoming a superhero. And he becomes Chat Noir, gets to chill with this beautiful lady he crushes on, and his enemy is an inexperienced villain who fumblefucks through his powers being an idiot of himself as the two of them and Ladybug gradually all gain skill and experience wielding their powers.

So you're Zoe Lee, you see all kinds of crazy shit in America, and these French heroes come to your city (New York) and fight a dude who pops off with a dozen NUKES all over the place ready to do some damage, and WHEW they save the day with the United Heroez of America.

You move to France, and your first day there, a gross old man slithers into your brain, emotionally manipulating you until you give in and allow him to use your body to hurt people and destroy property. And then, when you're finally rescued, you're publicly humiliated as the "villain" despite not remembering anything you did. And then you probably watch videos of yourself doing horrible things later, in your room by yourself, maybe as your half-sister yells at you for being a monster or something.

The person who manipulated you is a villain in your new city (did I mention you're living in the house of someone who isn't even your real dad?? without your mother present??), regularly causes billions of dollars in damage and mass casualties, and currently has control over almost all the Miraculous. He's SCARY, VICIOUS, and his power level is INSANE. He's got the heroes on the ropes. He's had a long time to get stronger. There are news articles about how he's a very. bad. dude.

And then the heroes DISAPPEAR. Paris is FUCKED.

And a tiny little cat shows up and is like "hey, kid, you are needed."

Any normal person would be like NO. NO NO NO.

But Zoë?

"Claws out."

Who cares that she's probably gonna die? Who cares that she's probably going to fight alone? Who cares that her enemy is terrifying and has already very specifically victimized you once before?

NOT ZOË LEE.

And that is why Zoë is not a "nice version of Chloe" and also is one of the most worthy holders in the universe. Alix is the only one who gives her a run for her money, and IME that's an essay for another day (but tl;dr being the Rabbit Holder would mentally break any normal person).

🚀

UPDATE: I welcome reasoned disagreement. But if you're going to insult me, I will delete your comment and block you.

[homeofthelonelywriter]

Drawn to you | Pt. 7

(A/N) Okay, writing alive!Alastor is a lot of fun. Also, I'll already put out a warning for the next part. It will be a though one.

Pairing: Alastor x bunny demon!Reader (no Y/N)

Warnings: some more murder, foreshadowing, kisses

Synopsis: He remembers you. Finally.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Alastor couldn’t deny that he was somewhat nervous. After all, he had just killed his boss. No matter how much he tried to concentrate on his work and script for tonight, he kept seeing the bloodied body of the man in front of him. And it made him smile. The rush he had felt…was addicting and in his mind, he was already choosing his next victim.

But before he could do that, he had a show to deliver. And knowing that you were among the listeners gave him the boost he needed to finish his script and slowly get ready. While he was in is office, doing vocal warm-up exercises, he thought of you, how you were probably on the bus at the moment, on your way to the tiny apartment that you called home.

If only you’d let him, he could offer you so much more. A house, with a nice backyard where you could plant your favorite flowers. He would build a swing for the two of you and maybe you could get a dog. Something to protect you while he was gone. You could finally quit your job here and escape this thankless, misogynistic place.

He would put the prettiest, little ring on your finger and wear his own with pride. He would take you to his mama and introduce you, sure she’d love you just as much as he did. He would brag to anyone who’d listen that you're his. His best friend. His lover. His wife. The mother of his children. Children…he would put as many in you as you’d allow. And he’d be a better father than his own ever was.

He could see it clear as day, his life with you.

“Al? You have two minutes until you’re on air?”

The voice of the radio host’s assistant brought him back to reality and he jumped slightly in surprise.

“Oh, of course, my apologies.”

With quick steps, Alastor rushed to the booth he was hosting from and quickly got settled, just in time for the red light above the door to turn on and the music to end.

“Welcome ladies and gentlemen to today’s late show. I’m your host, as usual, Alastor! What a lovely evening folks, gotta say, I’m kind of jealous that I’m in here, while ya’ll can enjoy the outside.”

He took a practiced pause before continuing his spiel, talking about some nonsense before he started the first song. As soon as his microphone was muted, he took a deep, relaxing breath and glanced out the large window into the room, where the assistant was supervising the show and taking phone calls from listeners. He gave him a thumbs-up to signal that everything was going smoothly and he nodded in return.

After the song was over, Alastor took the time to talk about the 19th amendment, knowing that you’d have to go to bed soon and he wanted you to hear him talk about it.

“All in all, it’s an important step in America’s history folks, and all I can do is hope that everyone in Congress sees reason and votes in favor. If not…well that’s just proof that this country is ruled by old, fat, ignorant men. And if you don’t agree with me, there is this handy little dial on your radio, you can use to switch to a different channel.”

He knew that he’d get in trouble for that little stab at his listeners, but the image of you giggling about the comment made it worth it. His own smile grew into a smirk that stayed on for the rest of the night until another host took his spot and Alastor could finally go home. On his way out of the building, he noticed the police presence. The body had finally been found.

Acting confused, he joined a small group of coworkers who were whispering to each other in the lobby. They nodded in greeting but continued with their hushed conversation until Alastor spoke.

“Do any of you know what’s going on?”

“Al…it’s your boss. He was found behind the building, dead.”

As if in shock, Alastor took a step back as his eyes widened. He even dropped his jacket which he had been carrying. He whispered his boss’s name, for once, no smile on his face.

“Are you sure? I just saw him a few hours ago. He…he can’t…”

The entire group nodded in confirmation that it was indeed his boss and Alastor blinked a few times while looking at the ground. He soon excused himself, keeping the act up until he was a few blocks away from the building. Even as he was walking away, he felt their concerned gazes on his back. If radio host doesn’t work out, he should consider becoming an actor. Or so he told himself.

On his way home, he felt his fingers itch, his eyes scanning every creature he came across, debating if he could kill them. But no, he had to be patient. After all, he already knew who his next victim would be. Maybe it was a bad idea to kill two people so closely connected, but he had wished death upon your boss from the moment he met you. The only thing he had to figure out was how to do it. But that could wait…for now.

Hell - now

“-stor? Alastor?”

You had woken up a few moments ago, confused for a second as to where you were, but as soon as you noticed Alastor next to you, you relaxed. At least until you noticed that he wasn’t moving. Or even blinking. He just stared ahead, eyes blown wide, his smile as low as you’d ever seen it. He looked…haunted.

You carefully sat up and reached for him. For once you didn’t wait for his permission before you touched him, instead just placing your hand on his shoulder and shaking him slightly. You began to whisper his name, getting louder when you noticed that he didn’t react to any of it. Close to panicking, you placed your other hand on his shoulder and started to shake him with more vigor. At least until his eyes snapped up to you.

With movements so quick it took you a second to realize what had even happened, he pulled you into a tight hug, pressing you against himself and whispering your name. No…it wasn’t your name. It was a nickname he used when you were both still alive. Tears gathered in your eyes at the realization.

“You remember.”

Alastor pulled you impossibly closer, just continuing to whisper your name. Your body started to shake as quiet sobs escaped your lips. You buried your face in his neck, wetting his fur with your tears, but at that moment, neither of you cared.

The demon continued to hold you, slowly shifting you so you were sitting on his lap while he still worked through everything he just relived. How could he ever forget you? The love of his life? His best friend? His girl?

Earth - 1920s

“Well, what can I say ladies and gentlemen, the killing spree continues as another victim was found earlier today. My source in the police department reports that there are still no leads to the identity of the killer, so I urge you: to stay in after dark and stay in groups. No one is safe when it comes to that one.”

Alastor took a breath and glanced towards the window, where the radio host’s assistant once sat. But now, there was you. It’s only been a few months since he had gotten you the promotion, but the excitement of seeing you there never subsided. After all, he’d never tire of seeing you. Especially not after you finally allowed him to court you.

You had said yes shortly after Alastor had killed your boss, not that you knew about any of that back then. But the stress relief it brought you, finally allowed you to even think about dating. And after Alastor asked you out, all you could do was say yes. It started with Alastor insisting on accompanying you home after he was switched to host the afternoon show, meaning that both of you got off at the same time. After all, how could he let you walk home alone when a dangerous serial killer was roaming the streets? Especially because back then everyone was still thinking that he was specifically after people who worked at the radio station.

Him bringing you home turned into you inviting him into your apartment for a cup of coffee, into the two of you getting dinner before going home, into the two of you going to a jazz club. And one night, after you had both gotten at the very least tipsy and you complained about your old boss and the misogyny at work, Alastor was so close to confessing. Instead, he admitted that he envied whoever did it, how he would’ve loved nothing more than to do it himself. And in that moment you kissed him.

You pulled him down and pressed your lips against his in a gentle kiss. The fact that he would kill for you made warmth spread through you. You truly loved this man. But you would never know that truth. At least not in this life.

The shy smile on your lips pulled Alastor from his thoughts. He had been staring at you through the whole song and it was almost over. Usually, he would pause to talk some more, but instead, he decided to just let another one play. You raised an eyebrow as you noticed the switch in behavior, but Alastor just waved for you to join him. So you did.

You entered the room and he extended a hand towards you, pulling you onto his lap once you were close enough. You giggled as you fell against him, feeling his chest vibrate as he chuckled.

“How are you doing, my love?”

You hummed, a coy smile on your lips as you gazed up at him.

“A little tired, the usual lately.”

That made Alastor frown. He had noticed that you seemed to have less energy recently, but he chalked it up to stress. With a worried look on his face, he pulled back and properly looked at you, and he quickly realized that you had lost weight. A lot of it.

How could he miss that?

“Love, I think you need to go to the doctor.”

You shook your head and started to talk about how that was too expensive, but he quickly cut you off, assuring you that he would take care of that. After a bit of bickering, you agreed to make an appointment as soon as you were back at your desk.

After one more kiss, Alastor let you go and returned to host the show, while you walked back to your desk and picked up the phone, scheduling an appointment for the next day.

Neither of you had been prepared for what you were going to find out.

@impulsivethoughtsat2am @fanficwriter5 @wonderlandangelsposts @mo-0-o @xalygatorx @fairyv-ice @nixie189

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Hazbin Hotel - Masterlist

Master-Masterlist

[fandomfluffandfuck]

https://www.tumblr.com/fandomfluffandfuck/755736737466253312

first time ive noticed the logo on his sleeve, lol who is the intern ordering his shirts for him?? those have got to chafe right, like on an ordinary guy that would probably be uncomfortable but the serum heals those quickly so maybe he just doesn't notice? 🤔

if he takes off his shirt after a workout would his underarms be suspiciously pink and sensitive.. hmmm this is my thot of the day

related to this

(also)

I don't know if you want cute, ticklish Steve thoughts or maybe softer, more emotional feelings of Steve getting used to his new body in the new century but, listen, I have so many degenerate thoughts (as always, but that's beside the point, lmao).

I have thoughts about Steve being into armpits.

Further, I have thoughts about Bucky pushing and shoving Steve into the locker rooms post-workout to go full jock and ending up face first in Steve's sweaty pit while he pounds him, manhandling Steve, leaving more bruises than their bare-knuckle boxing even left, and growling about how he was made for this and, "takes it like a goddamn, champ."

So. Yeah.

Just picture it...

Rough sex under the cut, some feminization at the same time that they're just, like, two hulking men? I don't know how that happened, lmao. But. Sure. Why not 😮‍💨

Every sound that comes out of Steve is higher and more breathy than the last. It's getting to the point where he sounds so pathetic. If anyone were to walk in on them, they wouldn't think it was a supersoldier being pounded, they'd think it was some tiny little lady having her pussy ruined. Brutalized. Steve's sensitive enough he might as well have a tight, wet pussy, though. His voice is so whiny and pitchy with his face pinched up, too. His eyebrows are drawn together so there's this cute little scrunch between them. His eyes are squeezed shut. He can't bear it. He's so deep in pleasure that it reads as pain, painted filthily across his face in full technicolor. Blushing. His cheeks are flushed hot and his sizzling color is spreading all the way up to the shells of his ears at the same time that it bleeds down below his stupidly hanging open mouth, candy red, to his throat and strangled chest.

Just like you wouldn't know it's Steve--big, strong Captain America--being fucked, you wouldn't know what his face is doing, though. Not when Bucky's pushing him hard. He's fucking him into, and knocking him up against, his metal locker. That poor locker is painted a deep navy blue, starkly contrasting his heated, sweat-soaked skin. His face is squished, pressed, and forced up against it, making his expression hardly readable. Bucky knows what his face is doing, though. He knows that wet dream of a face anywhere. Anytime. But he especially knows it when Steve is drowning in pleasure and it's obscene.

Every precious, whorish little sound that Steve makes comes with a puff of heated, humid air that fogs up the body-hot metal he's pressed into.

He's rattled up against the locker. They're denting it, the weight of them, Bucky the hammerhead and Steve just a needy little nail. Steve's hard, peaked nipples unforgivingly rub against it every time Bucky rushes out and shoves back in making his blood burn hotter.

Their blood is so hot. It isn't just Steve. Of course, not. It never is. They're fucking trouble together.

"Ah! AH! AH!" His sweet, measly sounds bounce around the locker room walls with every back-thrown-into-it thrust Bucky gives him. It's too fucking much--being fucked is too fucking much for Steve but it's also too much not to end up like this after sparring for hours. Wrapped around each other. Bruising each other. Going in hard on each other. Challenging each other like no one else who's not a supersoldier can. And today was good, fighting it out for enough time to loosen up and get a good sweat going. Slick skin, heaving chests, messed-up hair, sneering smiles, shit-talking, technique getting sloppy as they tired--their muscles burning. The air around them in the gym was humid with their sweat and the testosterone and adrenaline practically leaking from their pours, enough to taste in their open mouths.

They were cracking apart on the mats, especially brittle with Steve getting Bucky into a pin that mostly just involved his dick shoved against Bucky's ass through their soaked boxer briefs. They started in sweats and t-shirts but quickly got too fucking hot. It was just them, so what was the problem bare-knuckling it in boxers (Bucky) or boxers and a t-shirt (Steve)? Then, though, it was all made worse--crumbling apart that much faster--when Bucky managed to snare some leverage and flipped Steve to land with a smack against the mats, on his back, crawling all over him, and getting him into a chokehold.

Jesus.

Bucky's huge, naked, heaving chest to Steve's still-clothed sweat-sticky back and, just, guh, his armpit was right there when Steve started to wiggle and writhe, getting out of the hold. He went in nose-first and that was the real end of Steve. His fucking death. His nerves were already frayed by that point, tactically planning how to pin Bucky down and grind against him more than considering how to best fight him, playing dirty, but that was the final nail in the coffin. The last thread to snap. Lungfulls of Bucky's fucking musk and, oh, god, he's weak at the knees, he's whimpering, and he's twisting not to free himself but to get chest-to-chest with Bucky and grab his shoulders and squeeze at his waist to make sure he stays right there so Steve can fuck his dick against his hard, thick, very naked thigh while breathing in needy gasps of the smell of him alternating with burying his face between his pecs.

Jesus Christ.

Bucky had better plans, though, slamming Steve bodily back to the floor and tearing him out of his shirt for... some plan he had with his bare chest and probably really just his oversensitive, pink, pretty nipples, but actually just ending up zeroing in with a growl on Steve's own armpits. And finding in a rutting, groaning haze that the regulation dri-fit, skin-tight shirt Steve had been wearing with just his underwear, no pants, had rubbed him raw--some errant stitching or something about the seams at the armpit being unforgiving.

Jesus Fucking Christ.

Steve didn't even know. Like with everything. Bucky knows. Bucky knows him so much better and drives him crazy, using his knowledge to his advantage and being fuckin' evil about it. Steve was focused on other things until he wasn't, his legs instinctively wrapping around Bucky's stocky, muscled waist, feeling his abs flex and tense as he hauled him up and took him to the locker room to have his way with him.

Steve didn't put up any fight to that.

He's not fighting now, either. He's wilted and weak. He's just a warm, wet hole for Bucky to use with his overwhelmed body denting the fucking locker, his teeth feeling like they're rattling in his skull, and all of these high, shrill sounds being fucked. out. of. him. with every thrust because Bucky has his face in his armpit as he ravishes him, worrying that little patch of pink, raw skin with his tongue and teeth and lips and stubble and it's agonizing.

He's raw.

Only exposed nerves and desperate cries.

Too much pleasure.

He doesn't know what to do with it. All that fucking pleasure. Overdosing on it. Clenching on Bucky's big fucking cock fucking so hard into him that he's losing it. He isn't sure if he's laughing because it tickles, if he's crying because it fucking hurts, tender and sore, or if he's groaning with his whole chest, deep, because he can smell Bucky and he knows Bucky can absolutely smell him too. Hard work. Sweat. Testosterone. The fucking locker room. It's kind of really disgusting. Steve should be revolted. He should feel ashamed and dirty, no, filthy but, but--

"--buh-uh, uh, ah! Buckyyy!"

He just feels pleasure, whining so much higher and harder that it makes his throat ache. It's just white-hot pleasure at being fucking rawed by his man in the middle of the team locker room, treated exactly like the tough slab of muscle he is, able to take it, but somehow still reduced to this pathetic, whimpering puddle of slick sweat and pre-cum and tears--weeping like a pussy in heat. If Bucky gets any rougher, if he reaches around to pinch his nipples, if he slaps his ass, or, Jesus Christ, if he slaps his face, if he spits on him and calls him what he is, a little fairy taking a big cock like it's his job, Steve will never come back. He'll die. He's already dead, not breathing with Bucky shoved so deep in his pussy that he feels it in his throat. But he'll die all over again.

Please.

[maythevoidnotscreamback]

My outrage given voice: The Shittenou were done so dirty!

It's very damn annoying to me and I hate it! Why the hell were the Shittenou not given a chance for a 'normal' life like Usagi wished for in the 90's anime; especially with the implication of the time of the first season repeating for the second and thus meant that they hadn't been nabbed for Beryl's/Metallia's purposes? Or even in the manga/reboot rather than kept as the stones they became after their deaths?

Like, what thoughts went into that? Why were the various relationships of the Shittenou changed so drastically, and not just between each other but their Prince and their Love Interests too? Especially when Mamo got a, technically, third chance to be with Usa after the first season's finale. The girls themselves have other love interests, I know, but you'd think that they'd at least be given the option to see if they were still compatible and part (hopefully) amicably if they weren't, rather than just have the view that they'll never have love or even a family. And, no, I don't count the "Parallel" world of the manga because it seems that they're right proper clones of their mothers rather than their own persons with thoughts, feelings and dreams like Chibi is. Yes, she's annoying and a frickin' Obnoxious Brat, but at least with that we know she's not Usa's clone just with pink hair and red eyes.

I remember watching the show growing up and never, not once, thinking they used to be love interests of the Senshi during the SilMil. Just that they were at the front of the invading army once that episode aired. Not to mention how my perceptions were fucked with beforehand because two of the four were in a relationship with each other (after one of them had been 'gender-bent'. Just...why?!) and a third was romancing a side character that had disappeared after the one episode she was in during the third season. Hell, the only reason I found out Sen/Shi was a Thing was due to the internet a while after watching the 'last' (for the North America viewing audience) episode of the fourth season. That pissed me right the fuck off.

I believe that shouldn't have happened. They could've done so much foreshadowing, maybe even a bit of character development, about the tragedy that would've been the Shittenou being killed off as the season went on once the SilMil's Last Day came about.

Like, think about it.

With Jad's constant disguises and schemes, it could've been that Rei, being a trained Miko, always seemed to find and flirt with him, because he was cute no matter his disguises, and then get mad about it because why?! is it always him?! she does that with?! The fuck?! And Jad's just like, 'How the hell does she keep doing this?!' before putting together that she must be an informer to the Senshi with the way they always show up when she does so he tries to keep her distracted in one form or another so his youma can do its job because she's too passionate and fiery to want to hurt or drain despite getting in his way so much. Beryl actually kills him off after his showdown with the Senshi, not listening when he says how he knows who they are, instead of being iced for his constant failures. (I never did get why he was singled out like that.)

With Neph's civilian identity of Sanjoin Masato, instead of Naru being the 'victim' of his 'manipulations', Makoto could've been brought in earlier and get to experience being treated like the young woman she is despite how other guys were put off by her strength and stature and just discovered she could transform just as or after he died. He still dies to Zoi's schemes but it's because, due to being around his Lady so much more than Jad was with Rei, he's starting to question what once he hadn't, especially if some dormant memories he hadn't known about break loose from their shadowy bonds, and so Beryl made out that he was defecting or losing sight of their goals so she didn't have to get her hands dirty.

With Zoi, 'cause I found it real annoying that only he could extract the Nijizuishou when the Moon Wand could also track them down but not get them out, Ami could've used her palmtop to scan whatever residue might've been left on the Wand, to also help look for the Carriers as Zoi did the same with his own tracking crystal. It could go that, because she does take her duties as a Senshi seriously and she's not all about school/studying despite her grades and work ethic and she's gonna prove it, she might get in trouble for 'stalking' while Zoi's just wondering what this cute but annoying brat is doing following him where she could get hurt - the Great Demon he awoke might very well kill her! - when in all reality she's trying to get close to the Carrier but this jerk-wad with the beautiful blond waves, because those are not curls as far as I'm concerned, in a ponytail keeps getting in her way! Shenanigans are had where they try to outsmart, trick or distract each other to get to the Nijizuishou first without outing themselves or her comrades. Zoi's killed by Beryl because when Ren's revealed and Zoi takes that hit with the Ginzuishou it purified him and left him unconscious, like Mamo is later in the season, and so taken to be "healed". I was thinking of how she seemed to be the one most hovering over Mamo while he was being converted to their side. She heard Zoi's fevered ramblings after being purified of the DK's taint, heard him talk about how 'This is wrong. We're loyal to Dymi, not Beryl. We serve a Prince, not a Queen. Where is he?' and made plans because she'd rather lose the General than waste the energy re-brainwashing him while Mamo is also being brainwashed. Kunzite's not a witness, just told in the aftermath that Zoi died due to complications of whatever the newly revealed Princess had done to him to leave him weakened and "delusional". That way Kunz is kept low-key scared of what the Princess might be able to do to him if she caught him in a moment of weakness, distraction or off guard. So that he never stuck around long enough or kept far to the back so that he wasn't healed even accidentally.

With Kunz, well... we all kinda-sorta saw how many times Minako seemed to fall into his traps meant to nab Usa, not to mention their own history while she was in London. And he's killed as in canon because he would not be tricked by the images and lies the Witches from the Sky tried to force into his head, an unintended side-effect of how the SilMil's Last Day was shown, especially regarding her (Venus), into betraying his Liege; completely unknowing that he, technically, already has!