#Big Bubble Pop Fizz

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Big Bubble Pop Fizz is the SuperChargers counterpart of Pop Fizz in Skylanders: SuperChargers. His signature vehicle is the Soda Skimmer. He has a birthday counterpart called Birthday Bash Big Bubble Pop Fizz.

[yourlocaltoad]

Big Buggle Popfizz's voice lines are up!

[goldfades]

all my tomorrows | JOE BURROW⁹ [001]

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MASTERLIST

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 5.6k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | your wedding day - from start to (semi) finish. a night woven with love and laughter, where heartfelt speeches echo through the air. joe and y/n’s wedding glows with tenderness, from ja'marr’s playful tribute to y/n’s unshakable place in joe’s heart, to your best's teary words of lifelong friendship.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | fluff, mentions of drinking, emotional, ummmm pretty much nothing else! just tooth-rotting fluff!!

MAY 23RD, 2021

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐔𝐍 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐀𝐔𝐙𝐘 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒, painting the bridal suite in a soft, golden light. The air is alive with the hum of excitement, laughter bubbling over as your bridesmaids flit around the room. The scent of fresh coffee and the faint floral aroma from your bouquet mix with the sharp tang of hair spray.

Maisie, your maid of honor and partner-in-crime since middle school, perches on the edge of the vanity chair, scrolling through her phone. “Okay, ladies,” she announces, holding up a to-do list like it’s a sacred text. “We’ve got exactly three hours until we need to head down. Hair? Check. Makeup? In progress. Emotional stability?” She raises an eyebrow at you. “Questionable.”

“Excuse me,” you say, leaning back in your chair as one of the stylists curls another section of your hair. “I am perfectly stable.”

Maisie smirks. “Sure, sure. That’s why you’ve been bouncing your knee like a jackhammer since you sat down.”

You glance down at your leg, which is, indeed, in overdrive. With a sheepish laugh, you press a hand to your knee. “Okay, maybe a little nervous.”

“A little?” Olivia, one of your bridesmaids, arches a perfectly sculpted brow from her spot on the couch, where she’s applying a flawless coat of mascara. “Babe, you’re marrying Joe freaking Burrow. Nerves are allowed.”

“Not just allowed,” adds Camila, another bridesmaid, who’s currently rifling through a box of pastries. “Expected. Honestly, if you weren’t nervous, I’d be concerned.” She holds up a croissant. “Carb therapy?”

You laugh, waving her off. “Later. If I eat now, I’ll definitely spill it on the dress.”

From her seat by the window, Elena, your quiet but fiercely loyal bridesmaid, sips her coffee and smiles. “You’ll be stunning, no matter what.”

“Exactly,” Maisie says, setting her phone down and standing up with a dramatic flourish. “Now, let’s get down to business. Who’s ready for some champagne?”

There’s a collective cheer as Maisie grabs a bottle from the mini fridge and expertly pops the cork, sending a small shower of bubbly onto the floor.

“To Y/N,” Maisie says, raising her glass high. “The calmest, coolest bride in history. May your day be perfect, your vows unforgettable, and your dance moves questionable.”

You all burst into laughter as you clink glasses, the bubbles fizzing against your lips. It’s a moment of pure joy, a snapshot of the love and friendship that’s carried you to this day.

As you sip your champagne, Maisie sets her glass down and turns to the garment bag hanging on the door. “Alright, who’s ready to see the dress one more time before the big reveal?”

Your heart skips a beat as you watch her carefully unzip the bag, revealing the gown that feels like a dream. The room falls silent, the air thick with awe as your bridesmaids crowd around.

“Oh my God,” Olivia breathes. “It’s even more beautiful than I remember.”

“You’re going to take his breath away,” Elena whispers, her eyes shimmering.

Camila sniffs dramatically, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. “I’m not crying, you’re crying.”

Maisie steps back, hands on her hips, beaming with pride. “This is it, Y/N. Your moment.”

You stand, the nerves from earlier settling into a warm, steady excitement. Maisie reaches for your hand, squeezing it gently. “How are you feeling?”

You take a deep breath, your gaze flickering to the gown, then to the faces of your best friends. “Like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.”

Maisie grins. “Damn right you are.”

The rest of the morning unfolds in a flurry of final touches, shared memories, and stolen glances at the clock. With every passing minute, the reality sinks in deeper. In just a few hours, you’ll walk down the aisle, and at the end of it, Joe will be waiting.

The laughter and chatter around you start to blur, their voices melding into a soft, comforting hum. You watch the light bounce off the champagne flutes, the delicate lace of your wedding dress shimmering under the glow of the morning sun. Everything feels surreal, like you’re walking through a dream that somehow came to life.

This is really happening.

You close your eyes for a moment, letting the memories wash over you. The first time you saw Joe in that high school hallway, head buried in a playbook, hair a little too long, and a smile that made your heart stumble. The late-night phone calls during college, when the distance felt unbearable but his voice kept you tethered. The endless games, the victories and losses, the quiet moments when it was just the two of you against the world.

You think about LSU, that electric night when the stadium roared and confetti rained down like the universe was celebrating your love. Joe, on one knee, looking at you like you were the only person who mattered in the sea of screaming fans. And now, here you are, hours away from saying “I do” to the person who has been your anchor, your partner, your everything.

A soft voice breaks through your reverie. “You feeling it?”

You blink, returning to the present. The makeup artist, a kind-eyed woman named Grace, is watching you with a gentle smile, her brush paused mid-air.

You nod, swallowing the lump forming in your throat. “Yeah, I’m feeling it.”

And then, without warning, the weight of it all hits you. The love, the journey, the sheer magnitude of this moment—it’s overwhelming in the best way. Your eyes start to sting, the tears welling up faster than you can stop them.

Grace’s eyes widen in alarm. “Oh no, no, no,” she says quickly, setting down her brush and grabbing a tissue. “Not the tears, honey, not yet! Think dry thoughts! Puppies! Deserts! That scene in The Lion King where Mufasa—wait, no, not that.”

Maisie, ever the quick thinker, swoops in with a hand fan and starts fanning your face like her life depends on it. “Deep breaths, Y/N. In through your nose, out through your mouth. We are not letting you walk down the aisle with streaky mascara.”

Camila appears on your other side, holding a tiny bottle of setting spray like it’s a weapon. “I’ve got reinforcements. Don’t worry, we’ll seal it in if we have to.”

You laugh through the tears, shaking your head as you try to compose yourself. “I’m sorry,” you say, your voice wobbly. “It’s just… it’s a lot, you know? This is everything I’ve ever dreamed of, and it’s actually happening.”

Grace dabs at the corners of your eyes with the tissue, her touch light and practiced. “Of course, it’s a lot,” she says, her tone soft and understanding. “But that’s a good thing. It means you’re present. You’re feeling every bit of this moment, and that’s exactly how it should be.”

Maisie leans in, her fan still going strong. “And we’ll make sure you feel it after the ceremony too. Right now, though, we’re keeping that face flawless, okay?”

You nod, a watery smile spreading across your face. “Okay.”

Grace picks up her brush again, giving you a reassuring wink. “Alright, let’s get back to it. By the time I’m done, you’ll be glowing like the goddess you are.”

As the room falls back into its rhythm, you take another deep breath, letting the love and support of your friends steady you. This is it—the beginning of forever. And you’re ready.

┈┈┈

The low rumble of laughter echoes off the walls of the groom’s suite, mixing with the faint scent of cologne and the crisp aroma of freshly pressed suits. Joe adjusts the cufflinks on his shirt, his fingers moving with the kind of calm precision he usually reserves for pre-game rituals. Except today, he’s not suiting up for a game—he’s preparing for the most important moment of his life.

“You good, man?” Ja’Marr Chase, his best man and long-time teammate, asks from across the room. He’s lounging on the couch, one leg draped over the armrest, a glass of whiskey in his hand. His tie is still untied around his neck, but Ja’Marr never rushes.

Joe glances at him in the mirror, a faint smirk playing at his lips. “Yeah, I’m good.” He adjusts his collar, taking a step back to inspect himself. The suit fits like a glove—sharp, tailored to perfection—but it’s not the suit he cares about. It’s the moment waiting for him just a few hours away.

“Good?” Ja’Marr raises an eyebrow, sitting up a little straighter. “You’re about to marry the love of your life, bro. You better be more than good.”

Joe laughs, shaking his head. “Alright, fine. I’m better than good. Happy now?”

Ja’Marr grins, setting his glass down and standing up. “That’s what I like to hear.” He walks over, clapping a hand on Joe’s shoulder. “You nervous at all?”

Joe considers the question for a moment. “A little,” he admits. “But it’s a good kind of nervous. Like, the kind you get before a big game. You know what you’re doing, but it still hits you that it’s a huge deal.”

“Except this time,” Ja’Marr says, leaning against the dresser, “you’re not just playing for a win. You’re locking down your forever.”

Joe chuckles. “Exactly.”

The door swings open, and a few more of the guys—Sam, Tee, and Tyler—stroll in, already dressed and ready.

“Look at you,” Tee says, whistling as he takes in Joe’s suit. “Sharp as hell. Y/N’s gonna lose it when she sees you.”

Joe smirks. “That’s the plan.”

Sam drops into one of the chairs, pulling out his phone. “Alright, we’ve got time before we head down. Who’s up for a quick game of Madden?”

Tyler shakes his head, laughing. “You’re seriously trying to play video games right now?”

“Hey, it’s tradition,” Sam says with a shrug. “Pre-game warm-up, right?”

Ja’Marr rolls his eyes but grabs a controller anyway. “Fine. One game. But I’m playing as the Bengals, and if I win, Joe owes me a drink later.”

Joe leans against the wall, watching as they set up the game. It’s the kind of easy, familiar energy that’s followed them through years of locker rooms, road trips, and big games. And as much as he appreciates the distraction, his mind keeps drifting back to you.

He pictures you in your dress, walking down the aisle, the way your smile will light up the entire room. The thought sends a wave of anticipation and love crashing over him, so powerful it’s almost dizzying.

“You zoning out over there?” Ja’Marr asks, glancing over from the couch.

Joe snaps back to the present, his grin widening. “Just thinking about her.”

Ja’Marr nods, his expression softening. “Yeah, man. She’s something else.”

The game kicks off, and the room fills with shouts and laughter as the guys trash-talk and celebrate their plays. But through it all, Joe stays grounded in the reality that today, his life changes forever.

“Hey,” Ja’Marr says after scoring a touchdown, “just remember—when you’re standing up there, take a second to really take it all in. Don’t rush through it. That’s a moment you’ll wanna remember for the rest of your life.”

Joe meets his best friend’s gaze and nods. “I will.”

Because as much as this day is about promises and celebrations, it’s also about the journey that brought them here. And Joe’s ready to embrace every second of it.

┈┈┈

The sunlight streams gently through the wide windows of the bridal suite, filtering through gauzy curtains and casting a golden glow across the room. The air hums with quiet anticipation, the kind that wraps itself around every detail—the rustle of satin, the soft click of heels against polished wood, the faint notes of the string quartet warming up outside.

You stand before a full-length mirror, the lace and tulle of your wedding dress spilling elegantly around you. Every bead and stitch feels like a promise, every delicate detail a testament to the day you’ve dreamed about for so long.

Grace, the makeup artist, gives your hair one last fluff before stepping back. “Alright,” she says, her voice warm and steady. “You’re officially ready.”

You barely hear her. Your eyes are locked on your reflection, taking in the way the dress hugs and flows, the way the soft waves in your hair frame your face. It’s not just the look—it’s the weight of the moment that catches in your chest.

Maisie appears at your side, her own dress swishing as she moves. “You look perfect,” she says, her voice hushed, like speaking too loudly might break the spell.

You nod slowly, your hands brushing against the smooth fabric of your gown. “I can’t believe this is actually happening,” you whisper.

Maisie grins. “Believe it, babe. You’re about to marry Joe freaking Burrow.”

The mention of his name sends a flutter of excitement through you. You can almost picture him now—standing somewhere in the men’s suite, probably adjusting his tie for the hundredth time or cracking a joke with Ja’Marr.

As if reading your thoughts, Maisie nudges you playfully. “Think he’s as nervous as you are?”

You laugh softly. “If he is, he’s hiding it better.”

A knock at the door pulls your attention, and your mom steps in, her eyes already glistening with tears. “Sweetheart,” she says, her voice catching. “You look… oh, my goodness.”

Her reaction sends another wave of emotion crashing over you, and you have to blink back tears to keep your makeup intact. She walks over, taking your hands in hers, her smile warm and full of love. “You’re radiant.”

“Thank you, Mom.”

Grace, ever vigilant, gives a soft warning from the corner. “No tears yet, ladies. We’re too close to mess up perfection.”

The room dissolves into light laughter, the tension easing just a bit. Your bridesmaids begin gathering their bouquets, Maisie organizing everyone with the efficiency of a seasoned event planner.

Meanwhile, across the country club, Joe is standing in front of another mirror, adjusting his tie for what must be the fifth time in as many minutes.

“Man, you’ve got it,” Ja’Marr says from behind him, lounging in a chair with a relaxed grin. “Your tie’s fine. You’re fine. Stop messing with it before you undo all of Grace’s hard work.”

Joe huffs a quiet laugh but lets his hands fall to his sides. He steps back, taking in the full picture—charcoal gray suit, crisp white shirt, tie perfectly aligned. It’s a look he’s worn before, but today it feels different. He looks like a groom. He looks like someone about to marry the love of his life.

Ja’Marr gets up, straightening his own jacket before patting Joe on the back. “You ready for this?”

Joe meets his best friend’s eyes in the mirror, and for a moment, the usual swagger softens. “Yeah,” he says, his voice steady. “I’ve been ready.”

The groomsmen begin to gather, straightening lapels and exchanging last-minute words of encouragement. There’s a knock at the door, and the wedding coordinator peeks in. “Five minutes, gentlemen.”

Joe nods, the weight of the moment settling in. He takes a deep breath, letting it anchor him. Then, with one last glance in the mirror, he turns to Ja’Marr. “Let’s do this.”

Back in the bridal suite, the final touches are being made. Maisie adjusts the hem of your dress, while Camila ensures your veil is perfectly in place. The air buzzes with quiet excitement, but as the minutes tick down, a hush falls over the room.

Your heart pounds as the wedding coordinator steps in, her clipboard clutched to her chest. “It’s time,” she says with a smile.

Your bridesmaids file out first, their dresses swaying softly as they move down the hall. Maisie lingers for a moment, giving your hand a quick squeeze. “I’ll see you out there,” she says, her eyes shining.

Finally, it’s just you and your dad. He steps forward, offering his arm with a look that says everything he doesn’t need to.

“Ready?” he asks softly.

You nod, your heart full. “Ready.”

Together, you step into the hallway, the sound of the string quartet growing louder with each step. The doors to the ceremony space are just ahead, and beyond them—Joe.

As you pause at the threshold, waiting for the doors to open, you take a deep breath, grounding yourself in the moment. This is it. The beginning of forever.

The double doors swing open with a soft creak, revealing the grand expanse of the ceremony space. The world narrows, and for a moment, all you hear is the soft hum of the string quartet, transitioning seamlessly into Canon in D. The light spills in golden rays through the tall windows, catching on the polished wood of the pews, the delicate floral arrangements lining the aisle, and the beaming faces of friends and family.

But none of that matters, not really. Your eyes find him instantly.

Joe stands at the end of the aisle, a picture of calm and quiet strength in his charcoal gray suit. His hands are clasped in front of him, but even from here, you can see his fingers fidgeting just slightly. His lips are curved in a soft smile, but his eyes—those clear blue eyes—are what hold you. They shine with an emotion so raw, so overwhelming, that it catches in your throat.

And then, just as you take your first step forward, you see it. His smile falters for a second, his jaw tightens, and he blinks rapidly, a single tear slipping free and tracing a line down his cheek. You feel your own breath hitch, your chest tight with a swell of love so profound it feels like it could lift you off the ground.

Your father tightens his hold on your arm, his silent support grounding you. Together, you walk down the aisle, each step measured and deliberate, as if savoring every second leading up to this moment. The murmurs of the crowd fade, the music becomes a soft, distant melody, and it’s just you and Joe, two halves of a whole, moving closer with every heartbeat.

When you finally reach him, your father gently lifts your veil, pressing a kiss to your temple. He steps back, his eyes glassy, and places your hand in Joe’s. The warmth of Joe’s touch sends a comforting rush through you, anchoring you in the present.

The officiant begins, his voice calm and steady, weaving words of love and commitment. But it’s hard to focus on anything beyond Joe—his steady breathing, the way his thumb brushes over the back of your hand, the way he looks at you like you’re the only person in the world.

Then, it’s time for the vows.

Joe goes first. He clears his throat, his fingers tightening around yours as he begins.

“I was sixteen when I first knew I wanted to spend my life with you. You were standing in the bleachers, cheering me on like you always do, and I remember thinking that nothing else mattered as long as I could keep seeing that smile.”

His voice catches slightly, and he pauses, taking a steadying breath. “You’ve been my biggest supporter, my best friend, my home. Through every victory and every loss, you’ve been there, steady and unwavering. Today, I promise to be that for you. I promise to love you unconditionally, to stand by your side in every challenge and every joy, to be your partner in all things. You’ve given me a life I never dreamed possible, and I will spend everyday making sure you know how deeply you are loved.”

You’re barely holding it together by the time he finishes. Your heart is a mess of emotions, tears pooling in your eyes, but you manage a small, watery smile.

It’s your turn. You squeeze Joe’s hand lightly, drawing strength from his steady presence as you begin.

“Joe, from the moment we met, you’ve been my safe place. You’ve seen me at my best and my worst, and through it all, you’ve loved me without hesitation. You’ve shown me what it means to be truly known and deeply loved.”

Your voice wavers, and you pause for a moment, blinking back tears. “You’ve given me so much—your love, your dreams, your heart—and today, I vow to give you all of me. I promise to stand by your side through every adventure, every challenge, and every quiet, ordinary day. I promise to support your dreams, to cheer you on, to be your rock, your home, your everything. You are my greatest love, my greatest joy, and I can’t wait to build a life with you.”

The silence that follows is filled with the quiet rustle of tissues and soft sniffles from the crowd. Joe’s eyes glisten, and his grip on your hands tightens ever so slightly, as if to say I’m here, always.

The officiant smiles warmly. “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Joe, you may kiss your bride.”

Time seems to slow as Joe steps closer, his hands coming up to gently frame your face. His touch is tender, reverent, as if he’s holding the most precious thing in the world. He leans in, and when his lips meet yours, it’s like the world tilts on its axis. The kiss is soft, unhurried, a perfect melding of love and promise, and the crowd erupts in cheers and applause around you.

When you finally pull back, your foreheads rest together, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you, basking in the glow of a love that feels infinite.

“Hi, Mrs. Burrow,” Joe whispers, his voice filled with a mix of awe and joy.

You laugh softly, your heart full. “Hi, Mr. Burrow.”

As the applause swells around you, Joe flashes that signature grin—the one that’s a little mischievous, a little playful, and entirely him. Before you can register what’s happening, he scoops you up effortlessly, one arm under your knees and the other around your back.

A collective cheer erupts from the crowd, and you let out a surprised laugh, your hands instinctively wrapping around his neck.

“Joe!” you exclaim, your face flushing with joy and a hint of embarrassment. “What are you doing?”

“Carrying my bride into forever,” he says, his voice low and warm, eyes sparkling with pride and love. “Figured I’d start now.”

The guests eat it up, laughter and whoops echoing throughout the grand hall. Your bridesmaids are clapping and cheering, Maisie yelling, “That’s right, Joe! Set the standard high!” Jamarr, Joe’s best man, is laughing so hard he’s doubled over, while the rest of the groomsmen slap each other on the back.

Joe walks down the aisle, steady and sure, carrying you like you weigh nothing, as if this is the most natural thing in the world. The light from the chandeliers above casts a golden glow on the scene, making everything feel almost dreamlike.

You lean in close, your forehead brushing against his temple. “You know you’re setting a pretty high bar for the rest of the night,” you murmur, your lips curling into a soft smile.

He glances down at you, his grin widening. “Good. I want this day to be perfect, just like you.”

You feel your heart swell, your chest tight with emotion. How did you get so lucky? To have this man—this steadfast, loving, utterly wonderful man—as your partner for life feels almost too good to be true.

As you reach the end of the aisle, Joe gently sets you down, but not before placing a lingering kiss on your forehead. The two of you stand there for a moment, hand in hand, soaking in the love and energy radiating from your friends and family.

The officiant steps forward, raising his hands to quiet the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is my great honor to present to you, for the very first time, Mr. and Mrs. Joe Burrow!”

The applause erupts once more, and this time it feels like the sound of a thousand well-wishes, all wrapped up in joy and celebration. You and Joe raise your joined hands in triumph, sharing a laugh as you begin your walk—together—toward the next chapter of your lives.

But Joe, ever the showman, has one more trick up his sleeve. Just before you step out of the grand hall, he pauses, turns to face the crowd, and dips you dramatically, pressing a quick, playful kiss to your lips. The guests erupt in laughter and cheers, and you can’t help but laugh with them.

“Always gotta go out with a bang,” he whispers as he pulls you upright again.

“You’re impossible,” you reply, but your eyes are shining with love.

“And you’re mine,” he says simply, guiding you toward the door, where a new adventure awaits.

┈┈┈

The reception hall is bathed in a soft, romantic glow, the kind that makes everything feel like a scene out of a dream. Fairy lights are strung across the ceiling, casting a warm shimmer over the room, while candles flicker on every table, their golden light reflected in the delicate crystal glasses and polished silverware. The gentle hum of laughter and conversation fills the air, mingling with the soft clinking of glasses.

But now, the room falls quiet. The band begins to play the familiar, soulful opening chords of Tennessee Whiskey, and a hush settles over the crowd. All eyes are on you and Joe as he takes your hand, his touch warm and steady. The two of you step onto the dance floor, the world around you fading away until it’s just the two of you and the music.

Joe pulls you close, his hand settling at the small of your back, while your free hand rests lightly on his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath your fingertips, a grounding rhythm that anchors you in the moment. He leans in, his forehead brushing against yours, and you can feel the soft, slow exhale of his breath.

The lyrics begin, the singer’s rich, velvety voice filling the room.

“Used to spend my nights out in a barroom…”

Joe’s voice is low, almost a whisper. “This is it,” he says, his eyes never leaving yours. “Our first dance as husband and wife.”

You smile, your throat tight with emotion. “I can’t believe we’re here,” you reply softly. “It feels like a dream.”

He tilts his head slightly, his lips quirking into that familiar, heart-melting grin. “If it is, I don’t ever want to wake up.”

The two of you begin to sway, the movement slow and intimate, as if the music is a secret meant only for you. His hand tightens slightly at your back, pulling you just a bit closer, and you let yourself melt into him, your head resting against his chest. The deep timbre of his voice as he hums along to the song vibrates through you, a comforting resonance that feels like home.

“But when you poured out your heart, I didn’t waste it…”

The lyrics seem to speak directly to your souls, each word a reflection of the journey that’s brought you to this moment. From high school hallways and Friday night lights to the bright glare of championship stadiums, every step has been a testament to the love you share, a love that’s only grown stronger with time.

As the chorus swells, you lift your head to look at him, your eyes meeting his. Joe’s gaze is soft but intense, filled with an unspoken promise, a silent declaration of just how much you mean to him. His hand moves from your back to cup your cheek, his thumb gently brushing away a stray tear that’s escaped down your cheek.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, his voice full of tenderness.

You nod, your smile trembling. “I’m just… so happy.”

He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Me too,” he murmurs, his lips lingering for a moment before he pulls back. “More than I can ever say.”

Around you, the room fades into a blur of soft light and smiling faces, but you barely notice. You’re lost in the moment, in the feel of his arms around you, in the weight of everything this dance represents. Every twirl, every step feels like a promise: of love, of partnership, of a future filled with shared dreams and unwavering support.

“You’re as smooth as Tennessee whiskey…”

The song reaches its final chorus, the music swelling with a quiet power that mirrors the emotions building in your chest. You close your eyes for a moment, letting the melody wash over you, and when you open them, Joe is still watching you, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

“I love you,” he says, his voice barely audible over the music but carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken words.

“I love you too,” you reply, your voice steady despite the lump in your throat.

As the final notes of the song fade into the air, Joe twirls you gently one last time before pulling you back into his arms. The room erupts in applause, but it feels distant, like the sound of waves crashing far off on the shore. All you can focus on is him, the love in his eyes, and the way his arms feel like the safest place in the world.

For a moment, the two of you stand there, holding each other as the world moves around you, and you know, without a doubt, that this is just the beginning of a lifetime of dances, each one more beautiful than the last.

The first dance gives way to the gentle hum of conversation and the soft clinking of cutlery. Dinner is served: a beautifully plated meal that looks almost too good to eat. Almost. You and Joe laugh as he insists on stealing a bite from your plate, claiming, “What’s yours is mine, right?” You retaliate by snagging a forkful of his mashed potatoes, and soon the two of you are sharing more food than you expected, all while sneaking adoring glances at each other.

As the last plates are cleared and the sound of laughter echoes from every table, the evening’s next act begins. Joe’s best man, Ja’Marr, stands and taps his champagne glass, the sharp ting ting ting drawing everyone’s attention.

“Alright, alright, listen up!” Ja’Marr’s grin is wide, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he adjusts his tie. “First off, I want to say how honored I am to stand here as Joe’s best man. It’s a big job, but hey, someone’s gotta keep this guy in line, right?”

Laughter ripples through the room, and Joe shakes his head with a chuckle, leaning back in his chair with an easy confidence.

Ja’Marr continues, his tone light but sincere. “Joe and I have been through a lot together. We’ve shared victories, defeats, endless practices, and even more late-night fast food runs than I care to admit. But what’s always stood out about Joe is his drive—not just on the field but in every part of his life. And that includes how he loves Y/N.”

He pauses, his expression softening as he looks at you. “Y/N, I gotta tell you, this guy…he’s been head over heels for you since day one. You’ve been his biggest cheerleader, his rock, and the love of his life. And if anyone ever doubted how much he loves you, well, they weren’t around for that time he turned down a post-game party just to FaceTime you for three hours.”

The crowd bursts into laughter, and you cover your face, laughing as Joe groans, muttering, “Thanks, Ja’Marr.”

“But seriously,” Ja’Marr adds, his tone shifting to something deeper, “what you two have is rare. It’s the kind of love that inspires everyone around you, and I’m lucky to witness it up close. Here’s to a lifetime of happiness, love, and, knowing Joe, a whole lot of competitive board games.”

He raises his glass. “To Joe and Y/N!”

“To Joe and Y/N!” the guests echo, glasses clinking and laughter bubbling up once again.

Next, Maisie rises, her expression a mix of excitement and nerves. She smooths down her dress and clears her throat, giving you a wink.

“Okay, I’m not great at public speaking, but for my best friend, I’ll give it a shot,” Maisie begins, her voice warm and steady. “Y/N and I have been friends since middle school, back when braces and awkward school dances were our biggest worries. From the moment we met, I knew she was someone special—kind, fiercely loyal, and with a laugh that could brighten anyone’s day.”

Maisie pauses, her eyes glimmering with fondness. “And then Joe came along. At first, I was skeptical—football star, all the confidence in the world. I thought, ‘Great, here comes the cliché.’” She smirks, and the guests laugh knowingly. “But then I saw the way he looked at her, like she was the only person in the room. And it wasn’t long before I realized he wasn’t just the star quarterback. He was the guy who would drive hours just to surprise her, who’d send her good morning texts every single day, and who always made her laugh, even when she didn’t feel like smiling.”

Maisie’s voice catches slightly, and she takes a moment to compose herself. “Joe, you’ve made my best friend so incredibly happy, and for that, I’ll always be grateful. And Y/N…you’ve found the kind of love people write songs about, the kind that lasts a lifetime.”

She raises her glass, her smile radiant. “To Joe and Y/N, and to a love that’s as smooth as Tennessee whiskey.”

The room erupts into cheers and applause, and you feel a tear slip down your cheek. Joe squeezes your hand under the table, his thumb brushing against your skin in a silent gesture of love and reassurance.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[lokisgoodgirl]

All I Need [Loki x Fem. Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: There's only one way to end a night on the town with Loki. (w/c 2.1k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Heavy smut. Dirty talk. Drunk Loki (reader not specified) A/N: Thank you to @earlgreydreamreplies for popping the mental image of club bathroom shenanigans with L in my Askbox and gave me the green light to run with it :) You're wonderful. I hope this further fuels your daydreams.

Every beat of the bass shook your chest. Strobe lights pulsed behind your eyelids as your face turned to the ceiling. The DJ slipped into a new sound, euphoria bubbling beneath your skin as you let your head fall back to Loki’s chest.

All I need, is your love tonight…

He was looming, waxy curls wafting against your forehead. You knew the look that would be swimming in his eyes. The fire. The need. Completely entranced in the hedonism of the night.

All I need, is your love tonight...

The god’s hands balanced on your hips, grinding you deeper against him. Against the insatiable demon that lay in wait, concealed in luxurious fabric and impeccable tailoring. His hips moving against your spine so close that you were sure his buckle would bruise.

All I need, is your love tonight...

He swayed back and forth, guiding you. Fingertips dug into the dip of your hips, thrusting against the curves. More strands of his hair fell against your cheek as he skimmed his skin to yours.

All I need, is your love tonight...

The beat dropped, just as Loki’s parted lips fastened to your neck. His tongue swathed across your skin in messy circles, ravenous. Teeth scraping against moist skin. Licking.

He was drunk. On you. On liquor. On everything.

Your hand raked past his temple, combing through sweat-damp hair which stuck to your fingertips. Pressing him closer to the curve of your neck, you felt the vibrations of his growl through tight shirt cotton. His cologne stung your nostrils, warm cedarwood that had been overrun by the tang of cheap vodka and second-hand smoke. Heat from his skin pulsed against your neck, a thin sheen of sweat coating his own as he worked his lips over yours in a swallowing kiss.

Bodies shifted all around you as one.

It was tight. And hot. Loud.

But when he spoke. There was only you.

“I want you,” he rumbled hot and wet in your ear. Loki dragged your hips to the side, colliding against the thick cock snaking against his thigh. Hard, of course.

All I need, is your love tonight…

An unseen smile tugged your lip as you slid your hand over his delicious cheekbones, spinning to face him. You wrapped your arms around his waist, tugging with a jolt. It shrugged him forwards, catching him off balance, perfectly timed as you leaned in to his ear. “Come on then big boy,” you hissed playfully. There were barely a pause as your fingers intertwined with his, leading him the well-trodden route of your youth to the bathrooms.

God, this place was a fucking dump.

You smouldered back to him as the music thumped, bodies parting like smoke to let you and your god through. Even intoxicated, even dishevelled and sweaty and mute and flushed; Loki Laufeyson was a titan among men. Your stomach fizzed as you watched each set of eyes in the heaving mass track his approach, and his departure.

They devoured him hungrily, from the endless depths of his transfixed stare, to cut of his jawline under the strobes, to the open buttons of his shirt, to the pull of cotton against taut flesh as he followed your lead. Black spindles stuck to his cheekbones, curls winding down his neck and cast over his shoulders. They spread against the white shirt like splattered ink.

They all wanted him.

Every single fucking one of them.

There was no need for pretence in a place like this. Better to be bold. And tonight...who cared. Loki’s free hand wandered to your ass as you emerged from the crowd, grasping needily beneath the hem of your dress as you walked with purpose towards the bathrooms. The approach was littered with loo roll and discarded cups, your heels sticking more with each step.

His arm shot out in front of your face, pushing the door ajar.

Smeared lipstick kisses coated the mirror, the smell of cheap perfume and fake tan. The place was windowless, tiny; a set of four cubicles that had seen far too much lined against the wall. Music from the main room seemed to shake the air.

The hand holding Loki’s was suddenly yanked backwards, pulling you to his chest. And then, he was upon you.

The god’s palms cupped your jawline firmly, pressing your lips to his. His tongue invaded your mouth, uneven pants and murmurs of desire sliding down your throat as he walked you backwards into the end stall. The door flew closed, locking of its own accord.

“You look so fucking...uhm, incandescent? Uh,..g-gods, in that dress I cannot,” Loki slurred between kisses as your fingers grappled with his belt.

He released your face, starting to undo shirt buttons.

“Don’t take your shirt off!” you giggled, as Loki’s eyebrows rose apologetically. “Wha- I’ve never done thish before,” he scoffed, fumbling with a button. A lazy smile flexed the corners of his mouth, eyes sparkling with life.

It was too much.

You launched at him, pressing him against the wall. Fingers tangled in hair, a violent hurricane of tongue and teeth clashing. With a gasp, the flat of your back pressed to the tile as he switched your places.

Loki’s forearm was flush above you. His brows knitted together, piercing you with the trademark smouldering eroticism that made your thighs tremble. “This place is filthy,” Loki growled, lowering his zip with painful slowness, “but darling, we’re filthier,” he winked. It was slower than usual.

He slid you up the wall, making sure that the ascent of his hands caught every curve of your body in that tight dress he loved so much. His fingers worked beneath the fabric, snapping the band of your underwear.

You sank down, the walls of your adrenaline-soaked pussy gaping for him. All of him. The tip of his furiously hard cock squeezed inside, making you wrap your legs tight around his hips. He bottomed out as wide palms held your ass tight, spreading your cheeks. Sometimes with Loki, all there was to do was hang on. So you slid your fingers over his shoulders, dug in, and did just that.

Loki threw his head back, ruined curls falling away as his face scrunched to the ceiling in pained pleasure. “Ah...f-fuck,” he gaped, “Norn-s, urghhsh...feelsh so good,”

There was something primal about this. Something that drilled right down to your core; past your pussy and your feelings and Loki’s pretty words and your fragile little future hopes and dreams.

Something dirty, filthy. Something animal.

Raw.

His stumbling curses of approval rang around the empty bathroom, your soft little moans that he adored spurring him on in the haze. Like a dog, inflamed by the dying cries of a rabbit. His open buckle clanged with every messy thrust, sopping cock squelching deep inside your little cunt.

“Why..does t-this feel so..good,” he slurred into your open mouth, half-lidded eyes boring into yours. “Because-we- shouldn’t-be-doing- it,” you replied though winded breaths.

“Ohhhh...thas it,” Loki chuckled, before another groan ripped from the back of his throat. You ran a hand through his hair, gathering a clutch in your fist. “Yeah, that’s it...fuck me baby;” you moaned; bucking against him, “fuck me like... an a-animal, all I need...yes...yes...f-fuck me, King-”

Loki’s grip tightened on your thighs, bruising tips sinking into hot flesh. You tugged his hair, a wet snarl erupting from his lips. His breaths were ragged, eyes flashing dangerously. There was no blue in them. No green, either. Just wide, lust-soaked darkness.

Beads of sweat had gathered at his hairline, his hot breath misting against your cheek as he took his pleasure. And yours.

“You’re mine, aren’t you-” he murmured, punctuating the rhetorical question with a wicked smile. You gasped, feeling stars begin to blossom in your centre. “Mmmm,” you managed, tightening your grip of his hair. “And you’re mine,” you hissed.

Loki’s lazy smirk of approval almost sent you over the edge. You were surprised you even heard the gaggle of women stumble through the bathroom door over the blood thundering in your ears.

Immediately, Loki’s palm pressed against your mouth. He winked again, even slower than before. You clenched around his cock in response, a soft ooo wisping from his lips as his eyes narrowed. He stepped in closer, torso pressed tight against your own. You heard the stick of his shoes against the grimy floor, the smacking of toilet cubicles and locks and laughter making you dizzy.

And then, slowly, he began to thrust.

It was shallow. Tight. Devastating. His public hair scratched against yours as he took you deep with shallow rolls of his hips. Sharp, jagged inhales and exhales through your nostrils were all Loki would allow as he fucked you deeper against the wall. His fingertips sank into the curves of your thighs. Hair fell around his face, sticking to his forehead in tangled threads.

He was panting.

So soft and low and wet.

“Uhh-h-h,” he gasped, catching in his throat as his lashes fluttered closed.

The fingers of the hand holding your body to his pulsed against your skin, spasming with the pleasure building inside him. Over the girlish chaos now filling the bathroom, you hear the increasing speed of Loki’s balls slapping against your wetness, the slurp of your arousal welling against his cock with every buck of his hips as he got faster. Greedier. His eyes rolled back, mouth hanging open. He began to moan softly to the ceiling.

“Wo-ki…” you chided, muffled by his hand. He focused back on you, pupils blown wide. In a flash, the world changed again as he gracefully moved you from the wall with the force of a gust, spinning your body. Your hands flew out, gripping the cistern as the toilet lid slammed shut. A gasp rattled the air. You didn’t know if it was you or him as he sheathed himself to the hilt.

Fingers gripped the porcelain, rattling suspiciously with each mind-bending fuck that sent shock-waves to your depths. The orgasm bubbling inside you reared with renewed intensity as you realised Loki’s fingers had slid from the back of your neck to rest over your lips again. He curled against your back, shirt buttons cool against the flushed heat of your shoulders.

“Quiet, my temptress of the night…” he growled with a silent chuckle, powering his thighs up into another squelching thrust. Brushing your hair aside, his tongue slathered against the back of your neck. Saliva pooled, his drooling panting animalism taking over as modesty was forgotten. His dishevelled, quiet groans of desperation.

Seizing the opportunity, you captured one of his fingers between your lips. Loki shuddered against your ass. He let the finger slide on your tongue, the thick digit following the path his cock always took to the back of your throat.

“F-ffuck,” he slurred, the utterance no more than a whisper.

Another finger joined it.

And then, you began to suck.

Saliva welled at the creases of your mouth as he brought you closer to the edge, his free hand grasping in lazy handfuls of flesh. Your ass, your thighs. Yanking at the dangling sides of your dress and the pathetic last vestiges of your underwear. He was needy. Groaning in huffing exhales and shallow breaths as the ridges of his fingertips traced the point of your tongue.

“Gonna-ing to- cum,” he moaned wetly against your back.

You heard the scuffle of his dress shoes on the floor as he tried to get his bearings, the appendages dripping inside the heat of your mouth and the tight of your cunt too much for him to bear. You felt his glistening forehead rest against the slippery nape of your neck, damp hair mingling in sluttish waves with your own.

His mouth was open, saliva strands sizzling against the skillet of your skin as he tumbled over the edge with a broken cry of ecstasy. Your arms collapsed against the cistern, the weight of the god bottoming out inside you all you ever needed to feel whole.

“Nornsh…” he grunted quietly. There was a bang on the door, followed by a raucous round of laughter.

“You okay love?” an inebriated voice announced, “need anything?”

More laughter.

Loki shook his head against your back, nuzzling the skin with a shaking sigh. “I’m fine,” you said; far more composed than you felt. “Thank you.”

The gaggle of clicking of heels and sudden blast of music signalled their departure.

Loki drew up to his full height, sliding his cock out with an obscene slurp. Cum immediately began to drip in thick rivulets down your inner thighs. Usually you would clean it up. But not tonight.

You spun to face him, stepping out of your ruined underwear and pulling the dress down your hips with a mischievous smile. The underwear disappeared from the floor in a flash of green.

Loki winked, patting his heart twice with a shocking lack of characteristic rhythm. “A memento,” he explained with a flourish of his hand. A beautifully dreamy grin had begun to spread across his face.

“Home, my queen?” he postured, beginning to re-tuck his shirt and doing an incredibly bad job of it. You zipped up his fly, pausing to inhale against his collar. Faint traces of cologne wafted in tendrils up your nostrils, masked by the heavy smell of sex and the night’s vices.

“One more dance,” you purred, intertwining your fingers with his. You guided Loki’s hand to the mess coating your inner thighs, dragging a digit lightly through your plump folds, soaking with him. And you.

Loki smiled. “Filthy,” he growled, before he bringing the fingers to his lips with a gentle suck.

Tags @meowmeow-motherfucker @gigglingtiggerv2 @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @lokischambermaid @thedistractedagglomeration @loopsisloops @glitchquake @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @xorpsbane @peacefulpianist @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfmoonmusic @brittbax @smolvenger @liminalpebble @joyful-enchantress @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @presidentlokis-hornyhelmet @thenotoriouserg @fandxmslxt69 @unlucky-number-13 @use-your-telescope

[bigwishes]

A Night at The Club

[Trade for: @bribri66]

It was a Friday night and Frank had just gotten off late from work and was driving down mainstreet out of the city. He saw a bright glowing neon sign coming up right before his turn. He'd never remembered it being there and he drove this way home every single night. The sign shone brightly "Men's Milk Bar" written in bright pink letters with the neon shape of a man in a cowboy hat under it.

Frank was slowly approaching the turn off to get on the road to go home or to turn into the car park of the new gay bar that had seemingly popped up in the middle of the day. Frank flicked his indicator on and turned off into the carpark of the gay bar almost without even realising.

Frank got out of his car and walked towards the building, he could hear the music pounding outside and could almost feel it through the ground as he got close, lights shined out of the windows and pinks and greens flashed around inside. Frank walked up to the front and saw an enormous muscular man blocking the door and next to him a long line of men. The giant man turned to Frank,

"What do you want Jelly Man?"

The bouncer laughed at Frank as he pocked his large fat stomach and dusted crumbs off his flannelette shirt.

Frank stared blankly at the door and the bouncer chuckled

"sure buddy, don't get lost in there"

The bouncer opened the door and a roar of moans erupted from the lines as Frank cut straight through. Light shot out of the open doors and the heavy thumping of music spilled out onto the streets and called Frank inside like a siren song. The large grizzled man clumsily stumbled inside almost like he was drunk.

Immediately walking through the door Frank was saw two dancers standing before him.

the two men were built like bulls and flaunted it with every movement they made. The both of them approached Frank.

"Well hi big boy" the first said rubbing Frank's shoulders

"We don't get many guys like you in here" the second said patting Frank's fat belly

Frank blushed embarrassed trying to get the words out as the two dancers paraded themselves around him and rubbed up against him. Frank became more and more flustered as the two ripped men toyed and teased with him, slight comments about his guy, his hairy face, his stained and worn out work clothes. Frank wanted to react to being borderline bullied but he couldn't focus as he felt his dick desperately try to uncurl against the tightness of his jeans.

"I don't think our friend hear likes how loud it is Georgie"

"I think you're right Joey"

The two dancers smiled at each other as they ran their hands down Frank's arms, taking his hands in theirs. The two lead Frank through the crowds of men dancing to the music to a large pink stained glass heart shaped door. There was a small neon sign above it the read "Love Factory". The sign pulsed like a heart beat. The two dancers opened the doors and took Frank inside. As the doors closed the music almost completely shut out like the room was sound proof.

Frank walked over to a heart shaped bar stool and sat down, it squeaked and moaned clearly not built for a man of his size.

Georgie walked over to Frank and leant his arms against his lap making the chair squeak even more. Frank's face turned a deep red as he was eye to eye with the almost naked man leaning on him.

"I know you wanna be with us big guy" said Georgie poking his tongue in his cheek

"and I know you wanna be like us big guy" Joey smirked as he pulled something out of a small fridge tucked in the corner.

"Should we Joey?"

"I think we should Georgie"

The two devilishly smiled at one another as Joey placed a glass pint full of ice cold strawberry milk in Frank's hands

"All you need to do big guy is have a drink"

"and we're all yours"

Frank looked down at the milk, slowly brining it up to his lips, his gaze meeting the two dancers as he started to drink. It tasted like strawberries mixed with something with a slight spicy tang, like paprika. It fizzed and bubbled in his mouth and in his throat.

The two dancers began rubbing themselves against Frank, gentle touches slowly turning into groping and kissing. Frank couldn't focus on anything, he tried his best to entertain the the advances of the two dancers but there was only so much of him to go around, and he couldn't focus as there was a strange feeling in his stomach and an terrible itching spreading across his body.

Frank desperately tried to keep up with the two men whilst taking breaks to scratch and itch. He tried to ease the annoyance but whenever to began to itch his face or under his shirt the dancers quickly distracted him pulling his hands away, but every now and again, when he got the chance he felt different. The deep black hair on his face and across his body was getting light and lighter, thinning up, the chunky weight and layer of fat on his gut, chest and arms started to feel tighter and tighter. Even his raspy voice sounded slightly lighter as he moaned.

A few moments later and Frank began to feel dizzy, the tang and bubbling that took place in his throat and mouth had made its way to his brain, it felt like tiny fireworks were going off in his head. Frank slumped slightly on the stool as his dirty flannel work shirt slipped off his arms and back onto the floor. Frank tied to speak but instead of words coming out his mouth simply fell open and bubbly giggles came out instead.

Georgie was standing in front of Frank holding his wallet.

"Looks like his name was Frank, Joey"

"Hmmm he doesn't look like a Frank now"

Frank mindlessly rubbed his face which now felt baby smooth

"What about Frankie?" asked Georgie

"Oh I like that, what do you think Frankie" Joey asked the man formerly known as Frank

He just sat there slack jawed struggling to comprehend what was going on. His hands, once leathery and thick now smooth and strong found their ways creeping up his naked torso, rubbing his new abs and grabbing his pecs as he moaned.

"I think he likes it"

Frankie just sat there admiring his new body and worshipping himself.

-------

A few days had gone by and nobody had seen Frank, a missing persons report was called it but it mysteriously got marked as solved when two cops came into the club and got a free hour alone with the new hottest dancer.

Frank, the big chubby lazy officer worker was gone,

But lucky Frankie, the horny himbo slut was there to fill his place...

[idkwhatimdoinghere1655]

8/9/19 - Charles Leclerc

<word count - 2869>

You were sat in your seat in the stands, and you had literally paid your last cent to be there. The week before, Charles Leclerc had won in Spa, and you had booked a plane ticket, a hotel room and a seat at the Italian Grand Prix in Monza as soon as you turned the TV off.

Yes, it was only his first year with Ferrari, but you knew Charles was special, and so was this weekend. You knew he was going to do great things, and you thought this weekend was going to be one of them.

He had the whole Tifosi behind him, and the stands were like a sea of scarlet. On the formation lap, he waved to the crowd and you couldn't believe that you were actually there. Excitement fizzed in your veins and anticipation was bubbling in your chest.

They were off before you knew it, and you saw as Mercedes constantly trying to overtake him. Lewis and Valtteri were on his tail constantly, and they didn't want him anywhere near the front of the pack.

But your thoughts about him were right, he was special, and he did everything perfectly. Every move, every turn, every break and acceleration were pulled off immaculately, and having the crowd around you added to the magic even more.

They cheered every time Charles defended his position, and they were just as on edge as you were. Here they came, hurtling down the main straight, and there was silence until everyone's eyes simultaneously turned to the scoreboard, the checkered flag popping up to his name first, then Lewis and Valtteri.

Everyone jumped to their feet, screaming and cheering. The girl next to you pulled you into a hug and you had never even talked to her for the whole time you had been here. You hopped in each other's arms, unable to articulate how you truly felt.

You all had the same idea as you scrambled out of your seats and sprinted to the podium. You and the girl were holding hands as you ran there, needing to be front and center as Charles collected his trophy.

You had gotten pretty close to the front with her, and you were even more excited for this than you were for the race. Then finally, they announced your top three drivers, and Charles stood proudly on his top podium position.

The big, beaming smile on his face was priceless, and you wanted to freeze time and stay there forever. All you could see around you was the striking red of the Scuderia, and you were all desperate for the Monegasque and Italian anthems to be over.

He was handed his trophy, and he hoisted it in the air as you screamed and clapped as loud as you physically could. Your cheeks hurt from smiling so much, and you could already feel your voice going hoarse.

Seeing him up there, shining in the sun of glory, just felt so right. It was like a King addressing his loyal people, and that was what you were. Seeing the red on the top spot of the podium was something you desperately wanted to get used to.

They were allowed to open their champagne after a while, and you were just close enough that you felt a few droplets of it splash on your face. There was confetti and champagne falling from the sky, and you could have swore you made eye contact with him for a split second.

It was just a second, not even that, but there was no mistaking those dazzling green eyes looking at you with all the joy in the world. It wasn't for you, but it might as well have been. This was officially the best day of your life, and you would remember this for the rest of your life.

Once Charles had retreated back inside, the fans were still buzzing and took a while to move with their flags and signs, giving you chance to talk to the girl who you had been holding onto for dear life for a while.

"Well hello," you smiled at her, but then immediately feared she didn't speak English. Your Italian wouldn't be enough to get by. "Hi, how are you?" she breathlessly said, taking a moment to compose herself after the madness that had just unfolded.

"I am brilliant, how are you?" you said, not releasing her hand from yours.

"I'm great, what's your name?" she smiled. She was stunning, with deep brown eyes and the most rich, chocolatey brown hair. "I'm Y/N, what about you?"

"I'm Adriana, I flew from Spain just to watch the race and it has paid off amazingly!" she giggled as the crowd slowly started to move towards the exit. "I flew from home to be here too! And I am so glad I did," you gushed, and you were still holding hands as you walked.

"I think today was the best day of my life," you muttered, everything that had happened was slowly sinking in. "Yeah, so do I," she agreed as your legs carried you aimlessly around the paddock. "Do you want to go out tonight to celebrate?" she asked, eyes wide.

"Yeah, I think that'd be great," you said, glad to have someone to celebrate this momentous occasion with you. "I know the best places around here, I come every year," she told you.

"Where's your hotel?" You asked.

"It is just around the corner, you can come back with me, you look like the same size as me," she gushed, and you already felt like you had found a close friend while you were here. "Sounds great," you smiled, completely ignoring everything you had been told about stranger danger in the past.

You walked into Adriana's hotel room, and it was bigger than yours and had plenty of space for the two of you to get ready in. "The closet is there, pick out whatever you want," she smiled, "I'm going to do my hair," she said, retreating into the bathroom.

Adriana's clothes were beautiful, and it was hard for you to pick just one thing to wear tonight. You ended up with a curve hugging, sequin covered gold dress that made you stand out from a mile away. And that was exactly what you wanted.

"And I thought that dress looked awful on everyone, turns out I was wronger than wrong," Adriana complimented, coming out of the bathroom with her hair and makeup already done. "Thanks, your clothes are stunning,"

"I try, I try. Can I do your hair? Please," she said, gently tugging you towards the vanity mirror that had a seat in front of it. "Sure," you said, sitting down at the mirror and looking at yourself. "OK, I have an idea," she said, softly teasing your hair out of the bobble that held it in place and grabbing two pieces from the front.

She braided them and brought them together behind your head. "Can I do your makeup too?" she asked, putting her hands on your shoulders. "As long as I get to pick what you wear," you bargained, and a smile formed on her face. "Deal," she said, lunging for the makeup on the table.

Adriana didn't hold back on the gold glitter over your eyes, and a gold shimmer on top of the soft blush on your cheeks. You both opted for the red lipstick as a homage to Ferrari from your day, and you were all done.

"Dress time!" You laughed, striding over to the wardrobe and scanning your eyes over the garments that she had in there. There was only one option, and you pulled it off the hanger and threw it at her.

It was a lot like yours, but in blue and green that twisted and mixed around her body. It really suited her skin tone and darker features, and she had already done her eyes in a light blue anyway, so the dress matched perfectly.

After some time, you were both ready and she lead you to the club you'd be celebrating at. The strobe lights fazed across the room as they moved over the grinding bodies of people dancing to the loud music.

"Dance with me chica!" Adriana yelled, dragging you into the mass of bodies and pulling you against her. Eventually, you had danced to the other side of the crowd and were on the edge of the dancefloor.

You couldn't help but feel a pair of eyes tracing up and down your figure as you swayed your hips to the music. You turned, but all you could see was the red rope that forbade people from going into the VIP section without access.

"I'm going to get a drink!" You yelled to Adriana, untangling yourself from the hoarde and making your way to the bar. Just as you could finally catch one of the bartenders eyes, the other bartender handed you what looked like a mojito.

"Sorry, I didn't order this," you said, pushing it back towards him.

"From the gentleman over there," he said, pointing you in the direction of a guy at the other end of the bar. He waved as you looked at him, but you couldn't make out his features. You held your glass up as a cheers, before taking a sip. You pointed over to the corner so that he knew where you'd be, and you went to sit down for a second.

You could already feel your skin feeling sticky with sweat as the club was boiling. Loads of bodies mashed together, respiring to keep going. Someone sat down in front of you, and you were slightly disappointed to see Adriana, a drink in her hand. "Let's raise a glass to Ferrari on three Y/N!" She shouted, getting ready to cheers. "3,2,1,"

"He won in Spa, he wins in Monza!" You both chanted, people casting you glances of confusion. Yet again, you felt a pair of eyes lingering on you, but you turned to see nothing but the shadowy figures in the VIP section. One of them raised a hand and sent a wave towards you, and the figure was the same one as at the bar.

You waved back, and this caught Adriana's attention. "Oooh, someone caught your eye?" She smirked.

"Just some guy who bought me a drink, he's through there somewhere," you said, pointing over to the VIP section.

"You wanna dance again? He might come to see you," she giggled, finishing off her drink as she stood from her seat. You nodded, finishing off your mojito as you shot a cheeky wink into the VIP section, having a feeling that he was watching you.

You danced with Adriana, laughing as you playfully grabbed each others hips. You had only known her for a few hours, but it felt like you had known her for years. Suddenly, she stopped moving completely and her eyes grew wide in surprise.

You felt a pair of hands firmly grip your waist and pull you back against the owner's chest. "Give yourself a minute, because I think you'll die," Adriana leant forward and whisper-shouted in your ear. She danced away through the crowd as you carried on swaying with the stranger.

The suspense would kill you if you waited any longer, so you turned around in the stranger's grip. You couldn't believe your eyes and your heart stopped thumping in your chest, the only vibrations pulsing through you being the drum of the bass in the music.

"You do like mojitos, right?" He smirked that dazzling smile and gazed at you with those emerald eyes you had seen directly in yours for a millisecond earlier that day. You opened your mouth to speak but no words came out. "Yeah, I do," you spluttered, tentatively placing your hand on either shoulder.

"What's your name, pretty girl?" He asked, pulling your arms over his shoulders so your forearms rested on his shoulders. This felt more natural as you felt his hands slightly shift on your waist. You could feel the warmth of him through the fabric of your dress. "I'm Y/N," you stuttered, trying to snap out of the stupor that was convincing you that he was stood here, dancing with you.

"Well Y/N, I'm Charles and you are absolutely stunning," he smiled, pulling you as close as you could. "What would you say if I asked you and your friend to come and spend some time with me and my friends?" He asked, and you could tell he was just asking. It didn't feel like he was trying to pressure you, and he wouldn't take it personally if you said no.

There was no chance in hell that you were saying no.

"Yeah, sounds great. I'll go get her," you said, and you saw that smile again. And you had put that on his face. You had. And that feeling was unlike anything else.

"OK, come straight through, we're the only ones in there. They guys will let you in. We'll see you in a bit,"  he said, winking at you. You nearly melted on the spot and you still couldn't believe it was happening. "Oh my fucking god Y/N!" Adriana screamed, shaking your shoulders, "That was Charles Leclerc! He just danced with you,"

"And we're going to the VIP section with him and his friends!" You screamed, the two of you squealing and jumping up and down. You grabbed her hand and dragged her through to the red rope. "Sorry ladies, no passes, no entry," the burly bouncer said, stepping in your way. Adriana looked at you in panic, but you had already spotted your knight in shining armour coming to your rescue.

"Hey, they're with me," Charles said, unclipping the rope and standing aside for you. "Ladies first," he said, letting you through.

"Thank you," you smiled, walking through as he slung an arm around your shoulder. There was a dance floor in the VIP section, but it only had a few of Charles' friends on it. "Can I get a drink for you lovely ladies?" One of Charles' friends came over to you.

"I'll come with you," Adriana said, latching onto the blonde guy's arm.

"I'll get you a drink in a bit, but do you want to dance?" Charles asked, moving his arm from your shoulder to your waist. His touch was like electricity and there were sparks every time his fingertips brushed over your skin. "You think I'm going to say no?" You laughed, taking his hand and pulling him there quicker.

"I hoped you wouldn't," he said, pulling you in close again. His fingers trailed over your waist and down to your hips as they roamed your body. The music was quieter here, so it allowed you to think better.

You had seen him earlier, celebrating a win that would go down in the history books as one of the greatest, and now you were here, dancing with him with his hands on you. "Could I just," he started, leaning down. 

He didn't need to finish his request, you already knew what he wanted, and you were happy to give it to him. You closed the gap between your lips, and his were soft, gentle. You wanted to pinch yourself, just to make sure this wasn't some dream.

But when you pulled back and saw the look in his eyes, you knew you weren't dreaming. It was like your hearts beat to the same drum. His eyes flitted around your face, searching for any sign of discomfort or unwillingness.

Instead, he was met with a huge, insuppressible grin. He dove back in again, with more hunger, with more passion as you tangled your fingers in his hair. "Come back with me?" He asked, and it sounded more like he was pleading with you. 

"Let me tell Adriana I'm going, OK?" You nodded, and he let you go without a second thought. It had only just dawned on his where he recognised you from. He had seen you at the race. That meant you already knew who he was.

Well, he should have guessed that by the reaction he received from you when you first saw him. It was something about the bright scarlet on your lips that made him crazy. 

"Hey Adriana? I'm going back with Charles now," you told her, finding her draped over Charles' blonde friend. She had a dazed look on her face, and you could tell they were both drunk out of their minds. "I'll text you tomorrow, alright?"

"Yeah, enjoy," she giggled, winking at you. "Hey, Y/N, what day is it?" she slurred, obviously not in the state of mind to be asking normal questions. You glanced over to the door, where you saw Charles. 

He was leant against the wall, his crisp shirt slightly wrinkled and his jacket slung over his shoulder. You still couldn't believe he was there, and you were going home with him. He smiled that smile that could melt your heart in an instant, and you thanked your lucky stars.

Someone was certainly watching out for you that night. 

You pulled your phone out of your bag, and you couldn't help but smile as you saw the 8/9/19 at the top. "This is the best day of my life,"

A/N - Mercedes threw everything at him, Charles Leclerc has coped brilliantly! HE WON IN SPA, HE WINS IN MONZA! CHARLES LECLERC HAS WON THE 2019 ITALIAN GRAND PRIX!

Yes, that was the best day of my life.

(P.S Suggestions are open 💖)

|masterlist|

[extrajigs]

The FOOD POST!! Or well the build up to it. I figured before I could get started I need to first clarify some staple crops for Mirum. Not including most fruits cause hoo boy. These are crops of the floodplains, aka most populated areas of Mirum.

Big ass infodump to be found below!

First to be explained the flood plains have FIVE distinct growing 'zones' which are classified by how likely they are to be subject to flooding, as well as the associated fire risks. ZONE 5: Never Floods These areas will as stated, remain above water for all but the most record breaking seasonal flooding. Hilltops and highlands basically, this also means that they are at risk of tinder buildup and highest likelyhood for fire so watch out! ZONE 4: Occasionally Floods These areas are most of the time dry, maybe underwater at the peak of the season or if it was particularly heavy rain or maybe not at all! This level is also were most settlements will be built around, with some overlap into the areas before and after it. ZONE 3: Always Floods/Drains This is the majority of land in the Mirum Floodplain, these places will be sunk for minimum of 3 months of the year but above water the rest of the time. Plants that reside here have no way of not dealing with the flooding and this is also where we flip from Flooding to Draining! ZONE 2: Occasionally Drains The rivers of Mirum, these areas will most likely remain flooded for the entirety of the year. Only maybe draining out during the height of fire season, but even then its not super common. ZONE 1: Never Drains These are the deep bellies of Mirum's rivers and lakes. Where only years of lack luster rain and drought will drain them, a once in a century catastrophe! But typically they will remain filled with a substantial amount of water year round.

NOW PLANTS TIME! 1. Twin Leaf- These plants are grown in Zone 5 mainly for their fibrous stalk and leaves. The stalk is useful for making rope and all that jazz while young leaves are snipped off to be snacked on. Mature leaves are waxy and inedible once split, but young leaves are similar in texture to cabbage. 2. Dwarf Oak- Actually not related to oak at all but moreso named for the similarities in the nuts from the two plants. Here though the 'acorns' are filled with a milky substance that makes a pretty good butter substitute. 3. Funion- Yeah this is an onion, but like a fancy fantasy themed one. If I could just slap an onion in there I would. 4. Brittle Palm- This palm is covered in woody remnants of its old leaves, to get to the good bits you have to peel it down to the center. Ever had heart of palm? Same thing, only a bit saltier.

5. Bubble Grass- This grain spends all year waiting for the flood waters to come in, where it has two distinct seeds awaiting. Light air filled seeds to ride the current inland and heavier seeds to sink down with the receding water. It is named for the fact that these heavier seeds fizz and bubble on the way down. 6. Water-Tato- Listen potatoes are also ESSENTIAL to any world. How about these guys grow big ole tubers to last through the flood? Once they get sunk underwater the leaves die off and it waits out the flooding. Then it uses stored energy to pop right on up again! 7. Never Sleep- This plant reacts to the flood season by letting it's outer wood and leaves rot away, regrowing itself from the inside out! However the chemicals it produces to stave off bacteria and decay are quite potent stimulants. Thus it has become quite popular with chimera looking to get a rush at the expense of their overall health! 8. Stone Flower- These fruits grow on tall stalks until their weight eventually sends them down into the waters below. They float along thanks to sweet, spongey tissues carrying along a big ole seed in the center. Taste like a savory strawberry.

9. Chew- A fun, underwater grass with tough outer stalks and soft, sweet insides. You could go through the trouble of peeling it or always just chew and spit it out once you give up! 10. Rubber Weed- A seaweed, or well waterweed? Not really in the ocean. A waterweed who is actually seaweed and is treated as such! Would be very good dried and salted.

11. Tile- Named because a big patch of these can hide the water below completely, they are big ass water lilies farmed mainly for the soft fleshy lumps grown on the underside of their leaf. Though there are a bunch of thorns scattered in there. I wanna imagine that they taste of mild artichoke. 12. WATER-TATO DELUXE- I want to say this one is more similar to turnip, but its still there baby.

13. Oil Leak- These are underwater flowers. They bloom during the flood season and rely on poor creatures swimming through the clouds of oily pollen they spit up and sinking into the flower patch below, slowly suffocating as their writing only furthers the cycle of death. Also if you get it on you then you'll be feeling sticky for weeks after. Fun to smear on your friends!

[dearlymrme]

Okay-okay-okay. Just listen to me...

Papa Secondo continues to fuck you, even after his next orgasm. He himself has already lost count, of how many times he has finished, he has even stopped counting your orgasms. He's already in pain, he's already empty, but he keeps hammering into you, like a frenzy. He may have a heart attack from such overstimulation, but he does not stop. He can almost not even see you under him, there are only sharp, white sensations in front of his eyes, but he remembers, how beautiful you are. The blood is throbbing loudly into ears, but your sweet moans, dear cry, are also audible, albeit muffled. Secondo has nothing to cum with, but he continues to push into you. It hurts, but it's so good.

Everyone should know, that you are his. That the child in your womb is his. And if it doesn't work out today, you have a lot of time ahead.

You can't do this to me at 4AM. This is illegal.

Papa Secondo is getting absolutely target locked onto you after popping a pill. He thought to himself, 'Surely this thing Primo made isn't that big a deal?' and now he's got your hips in a vice and in a full nelson as he gives sloppy and uneven thrusts with his hips.

Fuck. Yeah. I can work this.

If It Lasts For More Than Two Hours (Secondo x Reader)

Secondo x Reader, Papa Emeritus II x Reader, Creampie, Marathon Sex.

It's another negative. The both of you had eagerly waited in the bathroom for the results, and the third time is the charm, but it still comes out negative. You were frustrated. You told him that you were starting to feel like a failure, as both his wife and his Prime Mover, but he quickly dashed away those insecurities with a hug and sweet kiss.

"Just mean we need to keep trying, mia tesoro."

He goes to Primo because, of course, he does. His father figure brother was his go-to when asking for a damned miracle.

Primo had hummed and smiled at him before fishing through his apocathary cabinet and pulling out a small bottle of hand pressed pills.

"Take one of these before. If this doesn't knock her up, I don't know what will."

And he waits for the mood. A full moon and lavish dinner, and he has you back into your shared room, leading butterfly kisses down your neck. He had subtly taken the pill during dinner, a sour thing that left fur on his tongue, and now... now he was starting to feel hot. There was a bubbly fizz in his loins, and his dick very quickly stood erect, he could feel his heart beating through his cock as the rush of blood had it painfully pressing against the seam of his jeans, yet with every shift it brought sparks of pleasure.

You didn't know about the medicine. Too lost in his soft touches as he guides you out of your clothes.

Then he gets on his knees, pulls at your labia with his thumbs, and gets to work. The man pops his jaw with how wide he opens his mouth to encompass your quim. Kissing your pussy until you were a wet and begging mess. Then he shoves in his tongue. He flexes it. Corkscrews it. Closes his mouth around your entrance and sucks, causes sounds so utterly obscene. His thumbs pry your lips apart so he can all the more devour you.

He wrangles your thighs around his head. Lips work sloppily over your pussy as he lashes his tongue relentlessly. He sets a speed record for how quickly he gets you to come. Then he licks it all up. Every. Last. Drop. Eating you out like tonguing the cream out of a snack cake. You squirmed, holding onto his ears as you moaned loud enough to reach across and wake the whole damn Abbey, shuddering like you had caught a cold and stood in Arctic winds.

Then he fucks you like your unbreakable. An obnoxiously hard and fast dicking, turns into a wrecked and painful hyperfixation that wraps his brain, switches off common sense and turns him into a baser animal with only the need to breed.

Several long strokes that reach deep inside of you as he makes you shake and shake, body wracking with sobs as you're overwhelmed and filled.

He groans, pressing his lips to the back of your neck and inhaling the finest scent of your soap and shampoo, your sweat, just simply you. Your back and his chest stick together in sweat, and your legs hoisted in the air under his arms as he wraps his fingers together just on the back of your head. It takes him everything not to dig his nails in. There's accidental nick here and there, and shallow scratches that'll take a week to heal.

Your trapped with no way to move other than to bow your head forward and accept his brutal assault on your pussy.

He's losing control of himself. Mindless of everything that isn't driving his cock as deep into your pussy as possible and as often as possible. His heels dug into the mattress as he slices his hips up and his balls clench. Fuck, he can pratically feel his blood in his dick, fat and swollen. It's nearly painful and only the rapid cuts of his dick pounding into your cunt is enough to satisfy it.

You're so obscenely wet that the room echoes with the sounds of squelching and smells of musk, sweat, and sloppy sex.

Secondo licks his mouth and needs to wipe the trail of drool going down his chin because he can't stop salivating. He's thirsty for more than just water. You next orgasm, your cunt strangling him, the prospect of seeing you pregnant. No matter how many times it takes. He'll do it. He can't wait to see you round and swollen with his kid, that was there is no room for arguement. You're his. If that ring around your finger wasn't proof enough. Those bitemarks on your neck. No one will be able to look at you without seeing his shadow looming over you. You're his. HIS.

He's fucking you hard enough to make your guts gurgle. Long since have you started to cry, loud sobs and tears track down your ruddy red cheeks. You can't shift, you can't move, any kind of fight would have him slipping out of you and you can't... You're so close. Bordering on a fourth and rapidly approaching the next little death.

He had shuddered as his second orgasm gums the inside of your cunt, splashing your walls and womb with his watery white seed.

His lashes fluttered from that first hit if relief. But the endorphins flared, turning his blood to the boiling point, and he didn't... He could keep going. He needed to keep going.

He can't help the growl, almost demonic, as your nails dig into his hot skin, and he works your thoughts on the lashes of another orgasm.

He's running a fever, has to be with how cold and clammy he suddenly feels, and the roller coaster sensation of his legs falling from underneath him. But he can't stop. Won't stop. He needs to make sure it takes even if it kills him. Needs you swollen with his children. Needs to coax another moan from you. Need to make you tremble again. He needs to pull one more orgasm.

He's gulping air like it's water in a desert. His sticky skin clings to yours as he rolls his hips hastily, pounding into you with delirium. Chasing after the high as though it's his last orgasm as a free man.

His dick twitches inside of you. He can't see it all sticky and swollen with the amount of orasgms he's given you. And the froth, the white bubbly cum he's stirred into you that filled over and coats your lips and the shaft of his cock like a white wedding band. In a half-minded haze he considers in investing in a mirror to see your wrecked and cock dumb visage.

Heat roars into an inferno in his stomach doused with kerosene. A hard knot behind his navel that corkscrews his intestines into a revolting kind of pleasure. It's horrid. A melting gooey warmth in his already hot and feverish insides that's hardly even felt.

He pounds into you with hiccuped shambles. What started strong has deteriorated into half thrusts but nevertheless desperate and manic. His dirty talk has dilapidated into hoarse groans and growls like a monster. His promises of fucking a baby into you has him now whispering for a mercy he denies himself. He doesn't have to keep going. He has to keep going. His balls long since draining dry and with every follow-up dry contraction of his dick nearly painful as he twists a knife into his loins, and still he keeps going.

"Nng. Hha-haa." He groans as though someone had just murdered him. Your walls tighten around him again, miniscule, the smallest flutter of your muscles that tells him he's managed to get you to come a fourth time.

Finally, finally he's given all he has. His cock sore and nerves frayed that with that with his last dry oragsm there is no point. He's spent all he has into you and has no more left to give you. He groans, stilling, and catching his breath.

He doesn't whimper when he pulls himself out, unplugging the dense load of creamy hot cum. He feels far away. His skin is oversensative, and as he finally releases you from his grip, his finger pops at how hard he had been holding you in place. He slides the pad of his fingers over your flesh, stunned and amazed and just how soft your skin feels.

He sets you aside and turns over to give you a scan and watch his copious and nearly ridiculous amount of seed as it oozes down your lips. Dribbling down your inner thigh. A gob of it fallen and stains the already wet sheets underneath you.

Secondo watches with heavy eyes. His breathing hard enough to split metal. His whole body hurts but his cock thankfully going soft.

He curls his arms around you in a hug and holds on as he tries to catch his breath and pants into the crown on your head. He traces his thumbs against your cheeks, catching your tears and sighing contently.

One of you should clean up and drink some water, but he can't move. He can barely ask you in your okay before falling asleep, and a loud snore vibrates from his throat.

You're not far behind him.

You can clean up and complain tomorrow, on top of taking another test.

[viceconnor21]

Fizzy-Pop Aka Skizzleman

Hopefully this reads as Skizz. I was struggling with the colors. Plus I also wanted to reference the boogyman with the purple. IDK. Maybe I'll redesign it but not anytime soon.

Personality Traits (short version): - People person - Fun-loving - Earth pony (w/ Pegasus magic) - descended from the goddess of love - Vagabond before setting in Hermit Town - “Roommates” with Voltage - Pinkie pie-like personality - Infectious sense of humor - Very presence brings the best out in others - Spreads love and cheer

Background: Fizzy Pop has always loved people. He enjoys making creatures smile, spreading love and cheer in any way he can. The problem was that Fizzy never really felt at home. Of course, the people were always friendly. They always welcome him and most were never unkind. However, no matter where he went or how long he stayed, he never felt like he belonged. So he traveled. He concluded that he would always be a vagabond, a wanderer, and nomad. Maybe this was his purpose. He would always be destined to drift from place to place and spread love wherever he could. That was fine, he didn’t mind. But it sure was lonely. His only respite from the outcast of his own design was the occasional letters he received from his childhood best friend. They shared everything. His friend would talk about his next big project, like Fizz knew what he was talking about, and Fizz would tell him all about the wonderful things he saw on his travels. With that being said, it was only until Fizzy had a run in with a not so nice griffon that Fizzy’s resolve broke and he poured his soul out to his friend. He explained how he was lonely in a crowded room. He explained how even though he loved traveling he wished he had somewhere to call his home. While his friend was empathic towards his struggles, the answer seemed obvious to him. Fizzy Pop should come live with him in Hermit Town. Even if Fizzy wanted to continue to travel, there would always be a place for him with his best friend. Why had this never occurred to Fizz? It made perfect sense. The one pony he had always felt at home with was Voltage. He left for Hermit before the sun rose.

Fizzy Pop is a bubbly earth pony with pegasus magic. The wings he bears, while flesh and blood, and not part of his physical body. While a part of him, he can summon his wings at will. This is because he is a direct descendant of the current love goddess. If he were to trace his bloodline back, he’d find her to be a great, great grandmother. While a lot of ponies can track their lineage somewhere connected to a power being of some sort, most are distant cousins, however, being so close in blood, he did have special abilities. However, most of his life, this just made them a freak. When he was a young colt, despite being an earth pony, his pegasus was unpredictable and he struggled to hide his two sets of odd wings. The adults in his small town on the outskirts of the crystal empire told him that he was special but the other colts and fillies had other ideas. The only good thing was he met the other classroom outcast. A bulky little unicorn with two horns instead of one. He also had a talent for electric magic with little control. This made him less than popular with the others. They grew up together, but eventually went separate ways, but still always kept in contact. After years of traveling, Fizz moved in with Voltage in the small close-knit community of Hermit.

Fizz is still new to the town, but for the first time he feels at home. The town is full of castouts and misfits that found their home in the valley. Fizzy could see that each creature used their talents to expand and improve the little town. From creatures who excelled in creating structures and machines, to talented magic users to creatures who seemingly controlled the very land beneath them. Sometimes Fizzy feels bad about not having a practical talent like everyone else. He wasn’t a builder, he didn’t understand magic besides his limited pegasus magic, and even though he is getting better, he doesn’t understand color pallets. His talent is in spreading positivity and love. He can lift the mood of creatures around him. He was like a walking cup of caffeine for creatures around him. Sure that does sound nice but what else could he do.

That’s when his “roomate”, Voltage, set him straight. Fizzy Pop wasn’t just a walking mood enhancer but his very presence brings the best out in others, and this has nothing to do with any magic. It was just who Fizzy was. He was the guy that sees the bright side and good things in everyone. He brightens the atmosphere with his humor and his joy for life. People want him around because the day is better when you get to spend time with Fizzy Pop. So what if he is not the best builder in Hermit. Given time his skills will be honed like everyone else here. Fizzy brings a new life to Hermit. A light that everyone can see. A light that Hermit embraces wholeheartedly.

[kaydreamer]

It Never Changes

By some merciful providence, Hope awoke the next morning with a far milder headache than she had any right to. She’d lost track of the amount of liquor she’d knocked back by the time she and Hancock had stumbled out of the Third Rail, yelling drunken revolutionary chants at the night sky and giggling like children whenever someone on the street echoed one back. He’d walked her across Goodneighbor, stepping back once they reached her door and sweeping off his hat with a ridiculous bow which nearly sent him toppling to the pavement.

It had taken every ounce of self-control she had not to grab him by the coat and pull him into the elevator with her.

She played out that fantasy in her imagination later, phantom lips dragging along her neck in the shower, his body pressed against hers as she slipped into bed.

It was just the liquor, she lied to herself.

The sun was just beginning to stain the clouds a pale pink through the morning fog as she checked and double-checked her backpack, folded Daisy’s dress neatly, freshened herself up one last time, then descended with Dogmeat in the little elevator to meet Hancock at the gate. He was already waiting for her, leaning against the barricade with Fahrenheit and smoking a cigarette. He waved as she approached. Hope returned the wave, ducking behind the curtain into Daisy’s store to quietly deposit her dress on the counter, a note of gratitude folded on top. When she emerged, he was stooping down to lift his pack onto his shoulders. Hope had assumed he’d be the type to travel light - to take a gun and a chem stash and not much else - but not only was his backpack much larger than hers, he also had an empty duffel bag rolled up and strapped to the side.

“Have you packed half the chems in Goodneighbor into that thing?” asked Hope.

Hancock chuckled. “I’d need a way bigger bag for that.” He gave the straps a tug. “More like a brahmin. Or a herd of ‘em. Nah, this is just shit for the road. With a bit of the fun stuff to spice it up,” he added, with a wink.

“Sounds exciting,” said Hope, grinning. “You ready to go?”

“Sure am.” He nodded to Fahrenheit. “Try not to let this place burn down while I’m out, yeah?”

“Less chance of that with you gone.” She pulled a shotgun slug from her pocket and tossed it at him. He caught it deftly.

“In case you need it,” she said, walking away. “See ya ‘round.”

“See ya round,” he replied, tucking the slug into an inner pocket. He turned to Hope. “Well, then. Let’s get this freak show on the road.”

“What’s the story with that bullet?” asked Hope, as the neon sign of Goodneighbor receded into the dawn fog. They were heading northwest to Oberland Station, taking the riverside route out of Boston at Hancock’s suggestion, skirting the city along the bank where it was easier to spot a potential ambush from a distance.

“This one?” Hancock withdrew the slug from his pocket, flicking it into the air and catching it with a flourish before tucking it back away. “Ya know, I’ve never asked. Bet if I did, she’d spin some bullshit about me turnin’ feral, but we both know that ain’t what it is.” He smiled. “Don’t need to be said, really.”

Hope recalled a rough hand reaching down to her with a lit cigarette. The same hand which had drooped lazily from a couch to scratch Dogmeat behind the ears, right where he liked it.

“She seems a lot sweeter than she lets on.”

“She is, but don’t let her hear ya say that,” said Hancock, leaning into Hope like he was telling her a secret. “She likes bein’ big and scary.”

Hancock popped open a tin of Mentats as they walked, taking two before holding it out for Hope. She took one, enjoying the salty-sweet flavour as it fizzed on her tongue, each bubble tingling her awake as the chem entered her bloodstream. A sense of alert clarity washed over her, tuning her ears to each metallic groan of the buildings, along with distant voices and more-distant gunshots.

A few minutes after they reached the riverbank, Dogmeat stopped dead in the road, his hackles rising with a low growl. Hancock threw out a hand in front of Hope, pausing to squint through the fog at the outline of a footbridge ahead of them. He motioned her over to the shadow of a building. Hope followed, unslinging her rifle and peering down the scope. Large, hulking shapes were moving through the mist.

“Super mutants,” she said, lowering the rifle. Hancock withdrew a shotgun from a holster tucked somewhere beneath his coat.

“How do ya wanna play this?” he asked.

“I’ve got a revolver for close quarters, but when I’ve got cover and range,” Hope patted her rifle, “I like to snipe.”

“Great, ‘cause I like doin’ the exact opposite.” Hancock grinned, a slightly fierce edge to his expression as the adrenaline of combat began to hit them both. “I’ll go cause some chaos with the pup up close, you pick ‘em off.”

“Sounds perfect.”

When Hancock said chaos, Hope realised - as she knelt in the shadow of a building, picking off the silhouettes of mutants between shotgun blasts and the flash of grenades - he meant it. The brutes were so distracted they didn’t seem to realise bullets were hitting them from more than one direction. Hancock’s much smaller shadow wove through the fog and the hulking figures as Hope aimed for headshots, dropping any which seemed to be coming at him from behind. She was so focused on that, and on keeping count of how many she’d taken out, she failed to notice the one running at her until he was almost on top of her.

“Shit!”

The brute had a huge bat with rusted nails poking from it in all directions. She rolled to the side as he swung it down, dropping her rifle and reaching for her pistol as he hefted the bat again with a roar. She sucked in a breath, scrambling back - then the mutant’s vast chest exploded in a spray of blood and viscera. The creature fell to the side, revealing Hancock, shotgun raised and a wild grin on his face. He strode toward Hope, tucking the gun away.

“Now that was fun!” He extended a hand, pulling her to her feet. “Damn, you were poppin’ em off so fast, I could barely get a shot in.”

“From where I’m standing, you just saved my ass,” she said.

“Nah, I shouldn’t have let him get that close in the first place. Slipped the net.” Hancock kicked at a great, green arm with the toe of his boot. “If you’re snipin’, it’s my job to keep ‘em off ya. But hey, we’re both still breathin’.” 

“We’re both breathing, and we made a pile of dead super mutants,” said Hope. “And the sun’s barely even up.”

Hancock laughed. “That’s what I’d call a damn good start to the day. Come on, let’s book it before the chaos attracts anythin’ else. Super Mutants never have good loot.”

He turned to look at where Dogmeat was tearing at the exposed flesh of one dead mutant, his muzzle stained red, and laughed under his breath.

“Unless you’re real hungry, I guess.”

The fog had cleared by the time they reached the outskirts of Boston City, the denser city making way for trees and a cluster of ruined houses. Hope had just suggested picking through them for anything the settlers at Oberland might find useful when the teeth-tingling clatter of a Vertibird reached their ears, growing louder at surprising speed.

“Fuck! Brotherhood!”

Hancock dragged her into the side of a building as the machine swooped overhead, filling the air with a horrendous clamour which set Hope’s nerves on edge immediately.

Even before the bombs, Vertibirds rarely meant anything good.

Especially before the bombs.

Hancock usually wore his billowy white shirt open at the chest, but now he was frantically buttoning it up as high as it would go. Then he pulled off his hat and swept his hair forward to cover more of his face, before placing it back on his head, tilted low. Hope heard the heavy clang of the Vertibird depositing someone wearing power armour, then voices moving through the wrecked houses as the aircraft retreated. She put a hand in the bristles of Dogmeat’s fur as he growled softly.

“Do you think they’ll attack us?” she said.

“You? Nah. Me? Flip a cap.” Hancock grimaced. “They don’t always murder us on sight, but they sure as hell ain’t fond of ghouls.”

Hope clenched her fists, her jaw tensing. Some things were apparently perennial, apocalypse or not, and it infuriated her that stupid, violent prejudice was one of them. She motioned for Hancock to stay put, then peered around the building they were crouched behind.

“There are three of them,” she said, pulling back. “One in power armour, two in some kind of uniform. They’re just picking through the houses.”

Hancock breathed out sharply through his nose. “They’re no better than scavvers and raiders, for all their fuckin’ airs,” he said. “Think we can sneak past ‘em?”

“I think so,” said Hope. “They’re moving further into the houses. Let’s just walk. Stay behind me. You don’t look very… ghoul-y from a distance, and if we pretend to be harmless travellers, maybe they won’t pay us any attention. There’s an empty little shack just down the road, we can bunker up there until they’re gone.”

Hancock nodded, rising to his feet with Hope and staying one step behind her as they passed by the group. As predicted, they were too far away and too occupied with their task to pay more than a cursory glance toward a pair of travellers and a dog. The moment they were out of sight, Hope picked up the pace, making for a small shack with stands of dried, long-since-rotted vegetables out the front. She waved Hancock through.

“Used to know the guy who ran this place,” he said as he entered. “Guess he ain’t around anymore.”

“Oh…” Hope paused, unsure of what to say. “I’m sorry.”

Hancock toyed with a cigarette box, his eyes downcast. “It’s alright. He was old. Got more years than most. Still… gonna miss droppin’ in when I pass by.” He took a cigarette and lit it, then walked over to a locked door at the back and fished a bobby pin from his pocket. “He told me once that if he dropped off the perch, I should take whatever I wanted from back here.”

The door clicked open to reveal a small chem lab tucked behind the vegetable stall. Hope joined Hancock in fishing through drawers filled with a variety of raw materials, liquids and rotting fungi. She had to muffle a shout of excitement when she pulled open one to find a dozen glass jars filled with Daytripper.

“Ooooh, jackpot!” Hancock leaned over her shoulder to take a bottle, shaking it. “These are homebrew, but ol’ Doug was damn good at it. I know some pre-war ghouls who swear it’s as good as the original.”

“I’d be surprised if the pre-war stuff could even get you high after two-hundred years,” said Hope. “They’d lose potency if you so much as left them in a hot car.”

“Which is exactly why these are better,” said Hancock, winking at her. “You don’t have to eat the whole fuckin’ bottle. Let’s take ‘em all. Waste not, want not.” He opened his bag and began packing the little bottles into it. An idea occurred to Hope, dangerous and enticing.

“Hey, Hancock. I followed the train line down from Tenpines to Oberland. Same route we’re taking back up. Aside from a few wild dogs and some feral ghouls, it was pretty quiet and actually kinda scenic. Be a nice route for some Daytripper.”

The smile which spread across Hancock’s face could light a city. “You’re speakin’ my language, sunshine,” he said, his voice low and warm. “I’m keen. Word to the wise, don’t take too much on the road. Gotta have your wits about ya… just in case.”

“Oh, I’m well practiced where Daytripper’s concerned,” said Hope, grinning.

“Well then,” rumbled Hancock. “I’m lookin’ forward to it.”

The clanging of power armour had receded far enough into the distance that Hope and Hancock were both keen to move on rather than use the shack, its air musty from the rot of the vegetables, as a lunch stop. Hancock lingered quietly at the threshold for a moment, hat held in his hands.

“Rest in peace buddy. Thanks for the gift.”

They walked a little ways further into the forest, stopping at the rail bridge where the road met the train line. Hope dug through her bag, withdrawing some jerky and a jar of what seemed to be tato chutney. Hancock contributed some sharp brahmin cheese and a tin full of crackers - made from razorgrain, apparently - to dip in it. If Hope squinted a little, their lunch was almost like a charcuterie board.

Almost.

“Can you tell me much about these ‘Brotherhood of Steel’ people?” Hope asked, between mouthfuls. ”Nick seemed to think they were bad news as well.”

“Yeah, he would… they’d scrap him for parts. They’re bad news for pretty much everyone, and worse news if you’re not human.” Hancock paused to shove a chutney-laden cracker in his mouth. “They ain’t been seen in the Commonwealth for decades - not in force, at least - but travellers bring news and none of it’s great. From what I’ve heard, they’re some kinda… religious military cult obsessed with collectin’ pre-war tech. If that means rippin’ it outta vaults or settlements, well… too fuckin’ bad for those folk. They say they’re gonna to use it to rebuild civilisation, but everyone knows that’s a load of bull. They’re out for power.”

Hope’s appetite abandoned her.

“You’re saying they could attack settlements?”

“Maybe not attack ‘em, but they’ll expect to be ‘given’ whatever the fuck they ask for.” The look on his face told Hope this ‘giving’ was not likely to be optional. 

“You mentioned they hate ghouls…” she said, darkly.

“They hate all non-humans. Ghouls included.” Hancock pulled a face. “Not like that’s anything new. Ghouls ain’t exactly welcome in a lot of places.”

“For fucks sake, why?” Hope threw her head back. “It never changes, it’s always something. It’s the colour of your skin, or the shape of your eyes, or your fucking political beliefs.” She sighed. “Every ghoul I’ve met - well, aside from Bobbi - every ghoul I’ve met has been perfectly nice.”

“You’ve met feral ghouls, haven’t ya?” Hancock’s voice was quiet.

“Yeah, but-”

“That’s why.” He turned to Hope, meeting her blue eyes with his black ones. There was a deep pain haunting them, and when he spoke, his voice was heavy. “A lot of folk see a ghoul, and all they see is a monster that could turn feral any second. It’s fear. It’s also a load of bullshit - ghouls don’t turn feral all of a sudden, it’s a process - but it’s still what plenty of folk believe. At least, it’s what they say they believe.” He laughed, bitterly. “Some people just like hatin’ everyone that’s different.”

Hope was quiet for a long while. There was steel in her voice when she broke the silence.

“I need to get the warning out, make sure every Minutemen settlement has somewhere safe for ghouls to hide if the Brotherhood show up.”

Hancock’s brows shot up. “Wait, you have ghouls in your settlements?”

Hope nodded. “It’s part of the agreement. Any settlement that wants ongoing Minutemen protection is obliged to offer safe harbour to anyone who needs it, and a home for anyone willing to pitch in and help. That includes ghouls.”

Hancock was very still for a moment, wearing an expression of wonderment. “...I could kiss you.” His voice was wobbling. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in years.”

“Much as I’d love to take you up on that,” said Hope, with a flirtatious smile, “it was Preston’s idea. I hadn’t even met a ghoul yet, feral or otherwise. You’ll have to kiss him.”

“Shame, doubt he’s as hot as you,” Hancock chuckled. “Think he’ll settle for a thank-you bouquet?”

A vision of Preston’s baffled panic at a bouquet-carrying Hancock attempting to land a kiss on him flashed into Hope’s imagination, and she snorted with laughter.

“Yeah, I think he’ll settle for that.”

First Chapter

Chapter 6

Chapter 8: COMING SOON

[unofskylanderspages]

Did you know? In the Skylanders Academy episode, Pop Rocks, Pop Fizz uses an weapon instrument similar to Big Bubble Pop Fizz's.

[yourlocaltoad]

PopFizzs spanish lines are now up!

[drpeppertummy]

Love all the little stories you write! Don't know if you take these but here's a prompt I thought was interesting. Dan going on a long road trip with friends and constantly drinking the whole, just as there about to arrive they hit a rough patch of road full of potholes and all the bumps only makes Dan bloat even worse

uouuoou thank youuuuuu i tried its really tiny

[post-stuffing, bloating, tummy rubs]

"Hey, how long 'til we get back?"

"About fifteen minutes," said Laurie.

"Ugh, thank god," said Dan, rubbing their belly. "I can't wait to get this seatbelt off." Carrie reached out and patted their tummy. It made a tight thumping sound, like patting a melon, and sloshed uncomfortably as they forced up a burp. Dan had spent the entire ride snacking and going through mini cans of soda, and after a few hours of that, their little round belly looked about ready to pop. It poked out far over the seatbelt, straining with each breath and sloshing with each movement.

Suddenly, the minivan hit a pothole so hard it jolted everybody inside, and the GPS sprung from its mount and went careening across the dashboard. Dan's stomach groaned at the sudden jostling, and they held it with both hands.

"Jesus H. Christ, Laurie," exclaimed Sunny, scrambling to retrieve the GPS. "You only got one hubcap left, let's try not to lose it!"

"Fuck off, Sunny!"

While the two friends started up their usual bickering in the front seat, the road only grew bumpier, and the shaky ride dislodged another much-needed burp from Dan. The pressure wasn't relieved, though; it only seemed to be building as the decrepit road shook their tummy up like a can of soda. A tiny moan escaped them as their stomach fizzed and bloated, pushing out even further and stretching tighter under their hands.

"Hey, easy on the potholes, will ya? I think Dan's about to explode," Carrie chuckled, reaching out and giving her friend's belly a gentle rub. "Sheesh, that's tight. You okay?"

"I'm f-urp-fine," said Dan, although they could feel their tummy bubbling away. They could hear it, too, and so could Carrie, sloshing and rumbling loudly enough to be heard even over the bickering from the front seat.

"Sunny, would you get that goddamn GPS back on the thing?"

"What the hell for? We're home, you know where you're goin'!"

"I don't want it getting lost!"

"How does it go?"

"Look, you just stick it on there--"

"Hey, lovebirds, try not to crash the car," Carrie teased, still rubbing Dan's belly. Laurie flipped her off, and Dan broke out into laughter, their bulging tummy trembling under Carrie's hand as they giggled. It wasn't helping the bloating; in fact, it only agitated their already-taut stomach even more, and they let out another big burp.

"And you, settle down or you're gonna pop," chuckled Carrie.

[silken-threads-bah]

would u be ok doing a marvel subsys of a team of your choice? doesn’t have to be a big subsys!

I kind have no idea how to make subsystems so here's just a couple x-men fictives, I hope you enjoy!!! - Wade

Name: Cyclops, Scott, Harley

Age: mid 30s

Pronouns: he/they

Gender(s): male

Orientation: bisexual and polyamorous

Source(s): x-men

Role: academic, anxiety holder

Personality: kind of uptight, easily gets stressed out and takes over situations in order to maintain control. He's kind of "boring" at times, his favorite activities include making lists and making sure work gets done on time.

Interests: making lists, reading Wikipedia pages, trying to be productive.

Faceclaims:

Name: jubilee, jubilation, gemma

Age: 18

Pronouns: she/fizz/pop

Gender(s): female, fizzalius

Orientation: pansexual

Source(s): x-men

Role: mood booster

Personality: she's very peppy, bubbly, and upbeat. Fizz is pretty optimistic and enjoys being around people as much as possible.

Interests: chemistry, the science behind fireworks, her source

Faceclaims:

Name: logan, james, wolverine

Age: 100+

Pronouns: he/him

Gender(s): male

Orientation: bisexual and polyamorous

Source(s): x-men

Role: protector

Personality: he's grumpy and gruff, but has a secret soft side that he only shows people that he's close to. He'll groan about being asked to help with things only to put a lot of effort into it.

Interests: history, old technology, cars and motorcycles

Faceclaims:

Name: kurt, nightcrawler, gabriel

Age: late 20s

Pronouns: he/they

Gender(s): demiboy

Orientation: bisexual

Source(s): x-men

Role: caretaker

Personality: he seems wise beyond his years, often taking upset headmates or friends under his metaphorical wing and helping them feel better. He's incredibly patient, listening to everyone's problems in full detail before providing solutions and comfort. In addition, he's fairly goofy and has on multiple occasions challenged people to dance battles (and won).

Interests: christianty, their source, theology in general

Faceclaims:

[starwitch777]

Cleansing Space and Circle Casting

A ritual to cleanse your space of all negative energy and create a sacred circle of protection before spell casting, performing rituals or communicating with spirits. You can cleanse your space just before casting the circle both in the same ritual. It’s efficient and easy and you know the space and energy within your sacred circle is cleansed and fizzing with magic. Think of this as a bubble of protection you put around yourself before you go on to do further magic making, you wouldn’t want to “trap” negative energy inside it. This ritual is compatible with any other rituals, spells, and spreads and is easy to customize to many deities/pantheons/belief systems that you may work with.

Materials:

Your favorite incense stick

Black candle

Matches/lighter

The Ritual:

Light your candle and then use this to burn your incense stick with your non-dominant hand.

Take your incense and follow the diagram to create the sign of the pentagram lightly over your body.

Start at your forehead and glide down to your left hip as you say “Earth,” imagine the smell of rich soil grounding you.

Come back up to your right shoulder as you pronounce the first syllable of water “wa—” imagine the feeling of water cleansing your skin.

Pop on over to your left shoulder on the second syllable of water “—ter.”

Down to your right hip as you say “fire” imagine a powerful warmth filling and energizing you from your heart space

Then sweep back up to your forehead to complete the five-pointed star as you say “air” and imagine a gust of wind sweeping into you, clearing your mind.

Lastly sweep a big circle anti-clockwise, completing the pentagram as you say, “Energy of the Ether” (you can customize this to any word choice to better serve your belief system).

Come down to your heart as you start to draw the left half of an infinity symbol on its side and say “protect me.”

Draw the right half of the infinity symbol as you say, “for an infinity.”

Now walk around your space (a 7 ft circle is the tradition, but if you’re in a small space you can just turn around on the spot) clockwise drawing it with your incense as you say “cleanse and make sacred this space for my magical workings. Banish all negative energy and allow only positive energies through this circle to aid.”

You are done!

[hollythius]

hey soo i know it’s not NY’s any more but i have an idea :D

how do the one piece guys open a bottle of champagne?

dw! my requests are still open. i did headcannons for this, hope it’s okay :) not sure who you wanted, or if you wanted there to be a reader-insert, so if i did something wrong please tell me! feel free to send another ask if you want something else <3

includes; luffy, zoro, sanji, ace, sabo, shanks.

tldr; how the one piece guys open champagne.

LUFFY

- horrible horrible horrible

- doesn’t even drink, but he likes how it fizzes when sanji opens it.

- he tries to open it like sanji, fails, and promptly gets mad at it and throws it.

- most of the time someone catches it, and then scolds luffy because…obviously he just threw an expensive bottle of champagne!

ZORO

- zoro pops it open normally, and then tries to chug the whole thing.

- sanji gets suuuper mad at him for wasting it, so zoro puts in extra effort to drink it (even though it’s not his favorite).

- zoro isn’t a fan of the lighter drinks, but seeing sanji get pissy about it makes it taste a hell of a lot better.

SANJI

- most normal one here, probably.

- uses a bottle opener and makes a big show of it.

- he thinks he’s so cool because he can get the champagne to fizz up, but no one really cares.

- luffy gets a kick out of watching the bubbles, which annoys sanji since he scares away girls.

ACE

- doesn’t know how

- tries to open it with his teeth, and then gets scolded by marco.

- watches intently as thatch opens it properly, and all the bubbles fizz up.

SABO

- he would probably shake it up on accident, and then it would explode after someone tried to open it correctly.

- he doesn’t realize it was his doing and laughs at them, to which he gets yelled at by koala.

SHANKS

- knows how to open a bottle of alcohol, no matter what type.

- he could probably do it behind his back and with his eyes closed.

- pours it into cups afterwards, and he and the crew have a pleasant drink.