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hotvintagepoll · 2 months ago

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Trying to get more into old movies because of this blog (I only know about half of these people and feel like a poser) do you have good recommendations on where to start or is it just a situation where you watch stuff and find what you like as you go?

you are not a poser <3 i myself am just here for the hotties.

here is my quick and dirty list of fun films to start with if you're new to old movies. and of course if you like one of these, do try to find more stuff as you go! there's no bad way to try out old movies.

(this list is not official and is SUPER quick. i'm tagging for content warnings where I can, but if I forgot something let me know.)

"I want to watch something SILLY!"

The Court Jester (Danny Kaye, Angela Lansbury, Glynis Johns, Basil Rathbone)—everyone in this movie is hot. everyone is in fancy medieval dress, which makes them hotter. everyone here is very silly. You can stream this on Hoopla, last time i checked, so you might be able to stream it through your library!

Chitty-Chitty Bang-Bang (Dick Van Dyke, Sally Ann Howes, Lionel Jeffries, Gert Frobe)—some people hate this movie and to them I say What Is Wrong With You. dick van dyke is a hot absent minded inventor who lives in a windmill with his two adorable children, his gorgeous sheepdog, and a grandfather who is categorically useless. it feels like the two films mary poppins (1964) and willy wonka (1971) had a baby and that baby was born on roller skates singing an old broadway showtune. this one has been showing up in some odd places lately—I think you can catch it on Tubi or Hoopla? It's definitely around.

Seven Brides for Seven Brothers (Jane Powell, Julie Newmar, Howard Keel, Russ Tamblyn)—my problematic fave. everytime i watch this i change my mind whether it's a sexist pile of garbage or a feminist paean, and fellas, today we're on the feminist paean bandwagon!! jane powell's millie is truly the star of the movie, she is the hero she drives the plot the narrative is on her side, and besides all that there are seven very hot men dancing next to her and six beautiful ladies making me bisexual. (on Tubi last I checked.)

The Duke Is Tops (Lena Horne, Laurence Criner)—I get a huge kick out of watching Laurence Criner and Ralph Cooper swindle everybody while also trying to put on a show; there's just something silly and sincere here, plus you get a ~musical extravaganza~ at the end when all is right as rain again. Free on YouTube I think?

"I want to watch something DRAMATIC that may make me FEEL SOMETHING."

Witness for the Prosecution (Marlene Dietrich, Tyrone Power, Elsa Lanchester)—I love a campy twisty turny mystery, don't you? :) I'm not going to talk about this one much because it's better to go in blind, but if you like Agatha Christie stories you'll probably like this.

To Be Or Not To Be (Carole Lombard, Jack Benny)—always relevant, always makes me laugh, also makes me cry. this takes place in poland during wwii so big tw for nazi imagery and mentions. (don't worry. this movie fucking hates nazis.)

Seven Samurai (Toshiro Mifune)—this one is Great Cinema™™™™™™™™™™™ for a goddamned reason

"I want to watch some stuff with the scrungles in it!"

Mr. Washington Goes to Town (Mantan Moreland)—I've been checking out more of Mantan Moreland's stuff because every time I see him in something I think he's delightful, and I really enjoyed this silly-spooky comedy. Does this story have a brain cell? No. Are the special effects and goofy slapstick fun? Yes. This is a fun example of an all-Black cast in a film that was made for Black audiences, and is a striking counterpoint to the stereotypical representation Black actors were given in white-targeted films, showing the enormous amount of talent and artistry the racist studios missed out on by excluding these actors. This is not A Great Film™ but it's still A Fun Time,™ with a goofy Laurel and Hardy type vibe. (It's free on Youtube.)

The Red Shoes (Robert Helpmann, Leonide Massine, Marius Goring)—hey kid, you wanna watch something fucked up? This movie is so fucked up. It's about ballet, it's about art, it's about technicolor, it's about dance and toxic relationships and making theatre and nightmares and ambition and death. A lot of these recs tend on the silly side (because I tend on the silly side) but this one is actually Serious Film and will definitely help you chat up Martin Scorsese should you ever meet him. Big content warning if you can't handle dark themes right now—this movie's pretty dark, not in the gore way but in the Haunting Creepy Image way. (it's also free on Tubi and Kanopy most of the time.)

The Invisible Man (Claude Rains)—my favorite of the vintage horror flicks and a great introduction to Most Dunked On Hot Vintage Man of All Time, Claude Rains. (it helps that you barely ever see him!) Very very silly but the special effects are just plain fun. (I think this is on Internet Archive in full?)

"Can I just get more hot people please?"

Flower Drum Song (James Shigeta, Nancy Kwan, Miyoshi Umeki, Jack Soo)—there are so many unbelievably hot people in this movie which is somehow very good (thanks to its cast) and also incredibly, horrifically bad (thanks to its white team of writers, directors, and producers). on the one hand, it's a mostly Asian cast in a big budget, beautifully designed MGM style musical! there's dream sequences, lots of fun dancing, crooning Rogers & Hammerstein cabaret moments, and just charm galore. it is also freighted with so. many orientalist assumptions and stereotypes, absolutely ridiculous shit that the writers ABSOLUTELY should have known better about in the 60s and nonetheless carried into this. this is a hard one to recommend because I loved this cast, and I loved seeing them in a context beyond the usual stereotypical bit parts so many of them frequently were limited to—yet the movie itself perpetuates so many stereotypes on its own it can be a hard one to watch, and I totally understand if it does not work for most people. tl;dr watch for Shigeta, Kwan, Umeki, and the others, but content warnings galore for one (really bad) case of yellowface casting, orientalist tropes, extremely stereotypical character types, etc. (On Tubi/Kanopy last I checked.)

Charade (Cary Grant, Audrey Hepburn, James Coburn)—this movie feels like a Hitchcock movie except I had a ton of fun watching it, which I can't always say for a Hitch film. (I told you my taste was bad.) This one is free on YouTube and thank god because Audrey wears a lot of Givenchy, Cary Grant wears spectacles and keeps almost dying, it's very exciting and thrilling and funny and sexy. I don't think there are any content warnings but it's been a minute since I watched it. (I should go watch it right now.)

The Big Sleep (Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall)—they're so hot askjdljhjghladkghjksahkhgslkahgshskjhgsalhgsahgjh. i like this one a lot :)

[this is NOT A FULL LIST of all the hot vintage movies to start with but it might give you some starting places! i banged this out as quick as I could at 2 am, so apologies that it's sloppy and not perfect.]

#recs #asks #coffee night #me 10 seconds after posting: oh fuck wings why didn't i mention wings. oh fuck sherlock jr. ohhh little women. oh CASABLANCA oh NO

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eyesxxyou · 6 months ago

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❝ sweet lips ❞ (rough hands pt.2)

｡ﾟ･ ¡ content. rival bands hobie x FTM!reader, conflicting emotions, a lot of sexual tension, light exhibition, lots of kissing, humping, pussyjob, accidental penetration, save a horse ride a cowboy, no orgasm (womp womp). you and Hobie agree, nothing can happen between you two, feelings would make things too complicated. but when you go further than expected, you find that you two like each other far more than you realize.

wc: 3.7k

↳ pt.1 / pt.2 / pt.3

“They make me sick.” Your guitarist grumbled under her breath as you and The Mutts lounge on a mangy, beat-up couch backstage of a shared venue. You all watch, glaring at the Mary Janes as they pass by. They don't spare their own glowering gazes at your Mutts, like two packs of dogs growling and snapping at each other where territories meet.

You catch the leader of the Mary Janes’ gaze. His eyes flicker at you and yours narrow with a biting hatred you've always had. Hobie Brown curls his lip up at you and turns away as his band rounds the corner to make their way to a separate lounging area backstage. Your own secret language, two birds and their indecipherable mating rituals.

It’s easy to pretend you still hate each other, between quick glances and lingering touches. A charade of band rivalry made to keep up the act for your respective bandmates. They’d never understand the way you always find him before or after performing and let him touch you in ways that would bring shame to the lot of them.

“Why Hobie Brown?” They'd say. “He’s the worst.” “I thought you hated him.” “He’s a fucking dickhead.” All of which are true. He is the worst. You do hate him. And he’s the biggest dickhead on this planet and the next. An arrogant, cocky, insufferable asshole with lips that taste like mint and beer and fingers that reach places inside you that you never even knew existed.

“There’s that battle of the bands competition coming up.” Your drummer chuckled snidely. “Wouldn't it be great to show them up? Fuckin’ posers.”

You got up from the couch, murmuring something about going to find a bathroom in this labyrinth of a venue. Your bandmates didn't question it, telling you to hurry back as you guys would be performing soon. You waved them off. “Yeah yeah, lemme go piss in peace.”

Your boots thudded against the old rickety floors of the venue, your eyes shooting from side to side looking to see if anyone would bear witness to your sin. Hobie told you to meet him just beyond the dressing rooms after he was done performing. He always needed a way to let off some of that built up adrenaline afterwards and you needed to rid yourself of your anxieties. It was a mutually beneficial relationship.

It was simple really. No strings attached, not emotions, no sappy, meaningless feelings to get in the way. And most importantly, no actual intercourse. It was too messy, too intimate, it meant too many things. Because if this all went to shit, it would be easy to transition back into hating each other without missing the way each other's body felt on the inside.

Hobie was hiding from you, lingering in a dark corner, while you looked aimlessly for his lanky figure. For a moment you wondered if he stood you up and was all together ready to write him off as the asshole you always believed him to be and go back to your bandmates.

You turned your back to him and he stepped out of hiding to grab you by the waist, turning you around to press his lips to yours and back you against a wall. You didn't kiss him back, instead you punched him in the shoulder and pushed his face away. “Asshole!” You tried not to be too loud. “I hate you.”

Hobie’s lips curled up into a grin as he snickered. “If ya hated me ya wouldn't be ova here, would’ja?” He laughed as you pushed against him again, forcing him to release you as he stumbled back. “Fine, I won't be here then.” You wouldn't entertain his jokes, if he wouldn't help with your stage jitters then you didn't need to be here in the first place.

But as you expected, as you wanted, Hobie took you hand and pulled you back to him. “Hey, hey, hey, I was jus’ messin’ ‘round. Stop bein’ such a prissy, stuck up bitch, eh.” He trapped you in his arms again, your back against the wall, bodies flush against each other with just your clothes to keep you apart. His pants were tight, you could feel his bulge against your tummy. A useless appendage, never to feel the gummy insides of your cunt.

You turned away from him. “Fuck you.” You grunt. His hand snaked up your front, feeling up your chest and your throat before grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him. “You wish, don’cha?” He chuckled, leaning in to kiss you once more. You don't resist this time.

Your kisses are feverish, urgent. You'd never call them passionate. Passionate is for lovers, for people who care about each other beyond the fling you two have going on. Your kisses demand each other's full, undivided attention. It asks, always, “will we go there today?” The answer is always “no”.

No fucking, nothing too intimate.

But your kiss is deep, his lips are sweet, and his hands are swiftly unbuckling your belt to get into your pants. He knows you want his fingers, long and skillful and pretty, readied with the intimate knowledge of what makes you tick, what makes you shudder and roll your hips into his palm, what makes you curse his name while kissing him all the same.

You’re panting breaths into each other's mouths, the essence of your beings on each other’s tongues. Your mind grows dizzy with the taste of him, delightful and tangy. You want to savor him on your tongue between your sloppy kisses.

“Hobie,” you sighed into his mouth as his hand snuck beyond the waistline of your pants and dove into your underwear to touch you where you ached most for him. And just as his fingers began to rub between your wet folds, you heard someone call out for Hobie.

Quickly, you two retreated from one another in fear of being caught in such a compromising position. Hobie snatched his hands from you and you swiftly began to make yourself decent once again. You glanced at each other, knowing this was not done. You'd have to come to his boat later in the night when you were both away from your bandmates. It was the only semblance of privacy you two had.

Without a word, you two went your opposite ways with the mutual understanding that you’d come to his boat later and happily sit on his fingers and drag orgasm after orgasm out of your pants up body.

But you couldn't help but glance over your shoulder at his retreating frame, only to find he was looking at you already, walking backwards. When he noticed he was caught, he raised his hand as if to concede he had been found out and smiled, winking at you.

You rolled your eyes at his and turned back around, only to nip at your bottom lip which where the taste of him still lingered like a ghost.

You performed with a hazy mind and wet between the legs, every motion reminding you of how you had been left needy and desperate. You hated feeling desperate. The sweat lingering on your forehead, the way your lips kiss the mic as you had kissed him, pushing yourself against the stand like it was his body. You needed him, bad.

You went to his boat that night with a single thing on your mind. Cumming until you forgot your name. Hobie was keenly skilled at that, teased you relentlessly for it when your dazed gaze comes back into focus and you look as though you don't know where you are.

Hobie was on the deck of his houseboat when you arrived, strumbing at chords on his guitar while scribbling down on the notepad beside him. He had left the plank down so that you could board on your own. He was keenly aware of your presence as soon as you arrived, only pretending that he wasn’t to ensure he didn’t seem too eager to see you.

You came up behind him, squatting down to look over his shoulder at his lyric book. “Writing lyrics about me?” You teased. Hobie snapped his book closed before you could any good grasp on his indecipherable handwriting. He looked back at you, a bit nervous but playing it off well. “Tryna steal ma ideas, now? ‘Specially wit’ tha’ battle of the bands comin’ up.”

Little did you know, he was writing about you. The chords he strummed on his stickered guitar were taken from the sheet music of his heart. He’s been trying to fight it, the feelings he had for you. You both agreed there would be none of your sticky, bloody heartstrings exposed for one another. And he was determined to keep it. It made everything much, much easier.

You pushed his head lightly and stood up, looking down upon him with a rather unimpressed expression. “I wouldn’t want your lyrics if you wrote the next “God Save the Queen”. I’ve got my own stuff. We’re gonna put you in the ground.” You really hadn’t come to talk about your competition.

Hobie stood up to a height that made you stagger. He was shirtless. His lean body on display for you to admire. He was close to you, so close you could smell his musky body wash and a faded whiff of his cologne. He smiled at you and reached to tap your chin. So pretty you could have dropped dead right then and there, your breath stolen away from you, your heart beating loudly in your ears.

Sometimes you wished Hobie wasn’t so nice to look at. It would make things a whole lot easier for you.

“Le’s go inside, yeah?” Hobie nudged you, grabbing his guitar and his lyric book and walking through the door he had left open that led into his home, a place you have learned to know all too well. You followed him inside and immediately made yourself comfortable. You kicked off your boots by the door and made your way over to his bed.

This was all just formalities. Going through the motions of your usual niceties of snide remarks and biting laughter at the other’s expense. The ‘hello, how are you’s before you two get down to the gritty stuff. You learned to enjoy this moment. The suspense of “when” made it all the nicer when one of you would eventually have enough of it and walk over to kiss the other.

You sat on his bed, messily made in some haphazard attempt to make it seem like he had a morning routine outside of walk up and go out on the deck for a cig to clear his head of the dreams he’s been having of you. He’d dig the heels of his palms into his eyes and groan at the thought of you lingering behind his eyes.

Hobie wasn’t sure if he’d be comforted with the fact that you’ve been having dreams of him too. Touching you, kissing you, pushing into you with his lips mouthing words of praise against your neck. You’d wake up flustered, face hot with the idea, heart palpitating in your chest. You’d be a little meaner to him that day just to balance out the way the thought of him made you feel things that you were forced to call “want”.

You watched Hobie as he put his guitar back on its stand and tossed his lyric book down on a small couch he had to the side. His pants hung low on his hips, the dimples kissing his low back are something you’ve never noticed before. You wanted to press your fingers there, kiss them even. You shut the idea down before you even had the chance to linger on it.

Hobie went into his fridge and pulled out two beers. He used one to pop the other open and then did the same with the other, the beer frothing in their bottles as he came and handed one to you.

“You think I want your shitty beer?” You took it anyway. Hobie stood over you, taking a swing of it all while keeping his eyes trained on you. With a sigh, he said, “No, I think ya want my tongue on yer cunt but I figured ya wasn' gonna ou’ ‘n say tha’ much.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks. You hated that he made you get so flustered. You hated his crudeness. You hated that he leaned down and held your chin so gently and kissed you with his mint and beer stained lips and you so blissfully let him. He’s sweet to the senses, sweet on your tongue as you press yours to his.

Then he pulled away, a string of saliva connecting you, panting. “Drink.” He guides your hand to press the rim of your bottle to your lips. You do drink, you hope that at the bottom you might find your will to leave before things get too heated. You know you won't. You’re too addicted to the way he moves, his rough hands and sweet lips.

You drink the whole bottle and he does the same and after you two kiss again. Hobie takes your bottle from you and sets both of them down on the floor beside his bed. Doing this, he parts your lips once more. And you cry a little. “Just fucking kiss me, you asshole.”

“Aww,” He poked at you. “Needy aren’cha?”

You grab him by the shoulders, pull him in, and kiss him viciously, like you’re trying to eat him whole. Consume him and make him one with your body. Hobie chuckled at this, his smile wide against your lips as he rubbed soft circles into the plush of your thighs. Your tongues find each other in the mess of teeth, lips, and piercings. Noses mashing against the other as you press your faces into each other. You desire to melt into him. He wants to mold your body with his hands.

“We should try somethin’ different t’day.” Hobie purred against your tongue that licked at the seam of his lips so thoughtfully asked permission. He let you in, let you explore every tantalizing crevice of his tender mouth. You hummed mindlessly, still kissing. “What’s that?”

Hobie snickered softly at his idea and broke your kiss into a string of thin saliva that held you two together. It broke apart when Hobie leaned back and lied flat on his bed. You you were still on top of him, his pulsing cock before you, aching with a few small jumps. It was a pretty thing for sure, with veins like the stems of flowers and a tip that was slightly bigger than the rest of the shaft. It curved slightly and for some reason you liked it. It never did anything for you. You never allowed it to enter your body.

Hobie pulled your hips forward until you were sitting on top of it, leaking pussy pressing down on the warm length of his dick. Immediately, you pulled away. “Hobie, we said–”

“Jus’ calm down, luv. We’re no’ goin’ there. I’s jus’ a lil’ humpin’.” Hobie assured you, pulling you back down to sit on top of him. His fingers rubbed your thighs and hips in a comforting manner. ”Come on, we’re both grown men. We can ‘ave some self control.” You settled down. You assured yourself nothing more would happen. Hobie seemed confident of the same.

With permission, Hobie tightened his hold on your hips and began to guide your movements. His length was trapped between your pussy lips which rubbed him up and down while your clit caught on his tip. You both let out fluttering moans, occasionally looking at each other but mostly focusing on the pussyjob you were giving him.

“I hate you.” You muttered between soft moans, your hips rutting on their own now. You watched Hobie smirk and let a deep chuckle pass his succulent, kiss-swollen lips. “Ya say i’ so much I almos’ tink ya like me.”

Oh, how right he was. You had barely even known it yourself, the way you overcompensated for the way you long to be near him by telling him constantly how thoroughly you despise him. You were startled by how accurately he read you. You hated being an open book.

You snarled at him, pressing your hips down harder, rocking your hips faster. “Fuck you.”

Hobie let out a shaky sigh. His cock leaked out pre into his hairy navel. “So close, baby.” Your pussy was dripping on him, the sticky wetness between your legs making your path along the tail of his cock slippery. You were playing a dangerous game and you both adored it beyond reason.

Hobie looked up as you rolled your head back, exposing the chaste flesh on your throat. He admired you, your broad shoulders, your pretty waist, the crescent scars along the underside of your chest. His hand caresses your thighs, up your hips and your sides. Your skin was soft and supple under his rough touch, God, to be like this was like having Heaven in his hold.

You were so eager, so zealous, so daring with your movements. Neither of you noticed how far you had gone forwards, further than normal. You felt his wet tip against your entrance and before you could stop your momentum, you rocked back into it and let him plunge himself into your love.

Immediately, both of your eyes snapped to each other and you paused. He was inside of you, raw. Never before had you trekked into this territory, too fearful of what it may mean. But you were here now, his cock snuggled nicely between your walls that you involuntarily massaging him.

You stared at each other for a long time. Your gazes melting from fear to something far, far more terrifying. Without a word, you two agreed. You’d do this once. Only once. And it would mean nothing. With the slightest nod, you agreed that you two wouldn't become addicted to the feeling of him stretching your entrance open and he wouldn't find himself thinking about how soft and wet you were.

You stared him in his heterochromatic eyes as you sat fully in his lap, your fingers splayed out over his chest. His hands gripped your hips as you rolled them timidly into his and let out a soft cry as the feeling of him filling you, stretching you out, molding you.

Hobie sat up. Your chests touched. Your hands settled on his shoulders to brace yourself as you sat up. This was your chance to stop this, you both know where this road leads. But instead of completely coming off of him, you came back down on his length. You both moaned something guttural past your tender lips.

Hobie felt his mind grow dizzy with the feeling of your soft, wet walls gripping him like a vice, and addiction he just can’t shake. For a moment, he thought that your rough exterior — your crude cursing and biting hatred — was all an act to hide the fact that you were so tender and beautiful on the inside.

You found a steady rhythm. Each plunge of his length into you dragging out moans from you both. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him close with your eyes closed. You couldn't bear to look at him. You knew that if you looked at him, looking him in his pretty eyes, he might snatch your soul from you and never return it.

Hobie terrified you. Every moment you spent in his presence was a moment that you found yourself enjoying despite all your grunts and groans at his expense. You liked him and that horrified you. Now you were here, taking the best dick you’ve ever gotten in your life. His dulcet moans echoing in your ears as his hands pull you ever closer.

His tip kissed your cervix with each bounce and your back arched into him at the feeling. Your chest were rubbing, your bodies moving and melding together. It was intimate, too intimate for your liking.

You were about to tell him you hated him again, to crush this feeling you had blooming within the bloody, stringy workings of your heart, but as you opened your eyes to do so, you found that Hobie was already looking at you, his eyes rather soft for comfort.

You couldn't. You couldn't do this. Your heart was beating too fast, your pupils were dilating, you could feel an orgasm quickly approaching. You couldn't do this. It was too much too fast. Too many feelings all at once that you were sure you weren't ready to handle.

You got up swiftly, so fast you almost toppled over. You were quick to start collecting your clothes and slipping them back on. “I– I can't do this.”

“You ‘ave feelin’ fo’ me ‘n yer too scared t’admit i'.” Hobie bit at you, watching you pull on a shirt that wasn't yours in your haste to leave. You shook your head, fingers trembling, the ache of him still pulsing between your legs. “No, no, shut up! You don't know anything about me!” Your voice quivered. You couldn't bear to bring your eyes to look at him because you know if you did you’d crumble. You had to leave.

Hobie didn't bother to convince you to stay. If you were set in leaving, who was he to stop you? Maybe he wasn't ready to confront his feelings either. You were two sides of the same coin, neither ready to handle these soft emotions you’ve grown callous to.

You left into the night without looking back at him and he slammed the door behind you on your way out, tears swelling in your eyes as you let out a sob and kicked the door. “Fuck you, Hobie! I hope you rot in hell!”

“I'll meet ya there, arsehole!” He sneered back through the door. Weeks of your tumultuous affair gone down the drain all in one fell swoop.

Your heartstrings torn as you bleed all over each other.

#across the spiderverse #atsv #spiderman atsv #hobie brown #spiderman #spider punk #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x ftm!reader #hobie brown smut #hobie smut #atsv hobie smut #spiderpunk smut #spiderpunk x reader smut #spiderpunk x reader #spirderpunk x ftm!reader #hobie brown x trans!reader #spiderpunk x trans!reader

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thechaoticdruid · 11 months ago

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🍿Watching movies with Astarion Headcanons!🍿

(Because I literally put this in a chapter of 'This Bites'.)

Astarion's favorite genre would obviously be horror movies.

All the gore and carnage really gets him excited.

He WILL give you a hard time for showing any fear.

"Really darling? After everything we've been through this is what reduces you to a shivering kitten. It's rather embarrassing sweetie."

He'll roll his eyes and pull you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you. "I suppose I'll just have to keep you safe then. You poor sweet pitiful thing."

Of course if the horror movie has clowns anywhere in it he's the one acting like a terrified kitten.

But he won't admit it. "I was NOT afraid. I'm a vampire! I'm far more frightening than some makeup caked fool!"

Refuses to let you comfort him and just sits there, paranoidly looking over his shoulders.

Alien horror movies (especially the weird grotesque slimy alien ones) are also not recommended as they make him very nauseous.

You may end up having to clean blood off the carpet.

Vampire movies annoy him. Too many inaccuracies and some of the tropes don't make sense to him.

Especially the brooding male vampire lead who's so tormented because he has to kill people.

"Oh boo hoo you murdered a bunch of villains. Get over it. Killing is the best part of being a vampire! Fucking poser."

He'll hate watch some of the shitty vampire flicks with you tho

Lives for drama filled flicks. The more chaos the better.

Any comedy movie with meanspirited or immature humor is a win, it'll keep him entertained as long as it's not too stupid.

He doesn't get into nerdy fantasy movies too much. The man literally lives in a medieval fantasy world so he's seen a lot of the Lord of the rings type stuff first hand.

He'll watch them with you at least once tho.

Gets annoyed if you watch a nerdy flick with Gale because the wizard won't shut up about if what is going on in the movie is actually possible/realistic and keeps listing random geeky facts about his favorite films.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP GALE!"

Secretly likes mushy romance movies, but you'll never get him to admit it.

Only openly enjoys them if they have a lot of sex scenes.

Of course he's gonna tease you if you're the type to get embarrassed during those scenes.

Very subtly runs his hand over your thigh without even looking at you.

Has a smug smirk on his face while he does it too.

May or may not be interested in some as the kids say 'netflix and chill'.

Depends on his mood really.

Drinks a little bit of your blood while watching if you offer it to him.

Will ugly cry if a loveable dog or cat dies at the end of the movie.

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child0feden · 5 months ago

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A DARK DREAM

øystein “ euronymous ” aarseth x reader

♡ general dating headcanons for øystein!

୨୧ my second headcanon request, eek! i hope you like it anon! øystein was such a cutie <3

♡ requested by anon | view my metal masterlist here

reading music recommendations: parasite by venom - poser killer by death grips

♡ unlike a relationship with varg, your relationship with øystein is not complicated in the slightest!

୨୧ øystein is extremely open about how much he is absolutely beyond in love with you, no matter who is around and watching the two of you…

♡ he really could not care any less, he will make out with you and love up on you in front of anyone and everyone

୨୧ øystein cannot get enough of showing you off to his friends and even completely random people at concerts, always introducing you as “ my girlfriend ” before your name

♡ if he ever sees people ogling you, he just smirks knowingly because yeah, you are hot as hell alright but you are with him and he has no problem telling them

୨୧ when you first started dating, øystein was kind of a hardass when it came to being romantic but after a couple weeks, his walls quickly crumble away and he reveals his incredibly cheesy side

♡ when it comes to dates, øystein will never say no to taking you on a good old movie date!

୨୧ he will take you to see a horror movie anytime, buying any overpriced snack your heart desires, so long as you let him get a little down and dirty with you far in the back row, that is…

♡ if øystein sees something in a store that really reminds him of you like a plushie or a piece of jewellery, he will buy it with no hesitation but will glare and frown at the cashier if they look at him weird for buying a plushie… you try to tell him to hold back on the gift giving due to you knowing helvete really is not doing all that great and the rent is way too high for what he gets back but he never does, he lives just to spoil you

୨୧ before a concert, øystein basically needs to make out with you for at least five minutes before going on stage

♡ you will do his corpse paint all nice and neat for him whilst sitting comfortably on his lap then when you are done and admiring your work, he is pulling your head right down to him, quickly connecting your lips and mumbling a “ thank you ” against your lips… he is super grabby and handsy during make out sessions, his hands cannot be idle, he has to be squeezing your ass or groping your boobs or at least just running his hands up and down your hips

୨୧ after a concert, øystein is always so beyond hyped up and energetic, damn near running over to where you are standing backstage before taking you into a deep, sloppy open mouthed kiss and wrapping his arms around you, twirling you around as you giggle against his mouth and bring your hands up to tangle in his messy dyed black hair

“ fuck! y’see how many people were in the audience, vakkar? holy shit, i was good, right? ” ( he is very confident in his playing but he loves getting compliments from you, he eats them up like a starved man )

♡ you always gladly help him dye his hair, pointing out when he needs a re-dye and making lighthearted jokes at how his natural blonde colour is showing through really bad

୨୧ he will glare at you whenever you point it out but does make a mental note to pick up some hair dye later… and he does prefer when you dye it for him, he likes the feeling of your hands massaging his hair and you make much less of a mess in the bathroom

♡ a personal little headcanon of mine about him is that i think he would have a little button pin machine at home! he has absolutely taken a picture of your boobs or ass and made it into a pin before… giggling like a dumb teenager seeing a body for the first time whilst making it

“ look! it looks good, no? i think it looks good, god, you have amazing tits… ” ( he genuinely goes to put the pin on his jacket and your eyes nearly bulge out of your head as you yell at him, he’s so pouty when you tell him that no, you do not want your boobs on show on a pin on his jacket )

୨୧ i will say it, i think øystein is a major bath person instead of a shower person

♡ he just absolutely loves taking baths with you! having you leaned back and relaxed into his chest as you chat about your day, one of his arms hanging over the edge holding a cigarette in his hand

୨୧ øystein will act like he is just so annoyed by the bubbles caused by all the bubble bath you poured into the warm water but you can tell he actually likes them

♡ you think they might take him back to his childhood a little, back to easier times when bubble baths were just awesome and he had no worries about money or the future

୨୧ he will always scowl when you give him a little bubble beard or bubble mountain on top of his head before it turns into a cheeky smile and he begins softly splashing your face with the warm water

“ oh, you don’t like it? no? quit it with the bubbles, vakker ” ( that nickname? and in the bath no less? yeah, it takes less than a minute for you to jump his bones, even more water splashing to the floor as you bounce on him, steam coating the mirrors and his cigarette long forgotten on the tiled ground )

♡ if you are not from norway, øystein would definitely have your home country flag on the little flag wall in helvete!

୨୧ hey, why would he not want to celebrate the country that gave him his beauty?

♡ speaking of helvete, you probably become kind of close with bård and occultus with them working there so often and all!

୨୧ bård is pretty quiet and does not talk all that much but if you ever ask him about what horror movie he is watching, he will definitely give you a couple quick facts about the production of said movie! he thinks you are pretty and øystein is very aware of that, always cracking sly jokes towards the younger boy whenever you are around him which causes bård to blush like a madman before shaking his head

♡ this man is always playing his guitar for you and if you do not know how to play, he is always trying to teach you

୨୧ he is just super passionate about playing the guitar and loves that you really listen to him when he talks about playing and how you actually try to learn to play yourself

♡ you adore when he wears his glasses, always smothering him in kisses and baby talking him about how cute he looks as he grumbles and tells you to fuck off but the beaming smile on his face tells a different story

୨୧ he will never admit it but he loves being loved on by you

♡ øystein will never get over how good he thinks you look when wearing his leather jacket…

୨୧ you do not even need to mention that you feel cold for him to offer his jacket to you, he would honestly rather you wear it than him

“ look so pretty in my jacket, vakkar… y’wanna keep it tonight? ” ( as if he would ever try to take it back from you )

♡ if you are like me and cheap kebab food is a comfort food for you, øystein is all over that

୨୧ oh you are awake at 1 am, feeling kind of bad because you are on your period or just in a kind of bad mood? he is placing a soft kiss on your head before grabbing his leather jacket and going to grab you some kebab food from your regular place

♡ it has absolutely gotten to a point where the owners of the kebab place know him by name and always know exactly what he orders for you and sometimes something for himself

୨୧ he just walks in, does not even need to say a word before they ask if he wants his usual and he gives a “ yep ” before placing the money on the counter and walking out to have a quick smoke…

♡ you will eat the food together on the couch, cuddled up in a comfortable silence, øystein holding a coke bottle in his hand and leaning down to take any bites you offer him, eyes glued to the tv as a horror movie you have already seen multiple times plays through his vhs player <3

#requested ✩#oystein aarseth x reader #euronymous x reader #mayhem x reader #mayhem headcanons #dating headcanons

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vivwritesfics · 1 year ago

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Rich Kids Club

Chapter One

Half Monégasque, half English, twenty two year old Y/N L/N leads a rich life style. She has her own horses, her own staff to take care of them, and a father obsessed with Formula One.

With the promise of a new horse, Y/N joins her father at a few of the races. But F1 is hard not to fall in love with. It's hard not to fall in love with the people involved, either.

Charles Leclerc x reader

Lando Norris x reader

??? x reader

1.8K

Guess who's getting an F1 tattoo soon? This gal! Aka, I keep having breakdowns and this is how I'm dealing with it.

The Monaco Grand Prix.

Even though she'd lived in Monaco her entire life, Y/N L/N had never gone to the grand prix. She was always busy on the show jumping circuit, sending her two horses flying over the jumps. But here she was, in a dress designed to look like a shirt with a chunky belt cinching her waist. On her feet she wore chunky, black, heeled boots, making her feel taller than she was.

Competing was in her blood. Her mother had done it before her. She was the whole reason Y/N had so much love for the sport. It was her father who loved watching fast cars go around the track again and again and again.

When he could, Mr L/N tried to get Y/N to go to the grand prix with him. Being the wealthy man that he was, he tried to follow the sport all around the world. Of course that meant leaving his wife and children behind when Y/N was younger.

Now Y/N was older and she had her own horses, she also had her own people to take care of them and exercise them for her. She was finally able to join her father at the grand prix.

Living in Monaco meant that Y/N knew a couple of the drivers. She knew Max and Daniel through her fathers relationship with Christian Horner. She knew Charles and Arthur through her father, as well, although she knew Arthur just that little bit better.

Before racing took over Arthurs life and show jumping took over Y/N's they were friends. They ran in the same social circles in Monaco, going to the same school and partying together.

There were benefits to being friends with Arthur. Not that Y/N was looking for perks when it came to having friends. But Arthur had attractive brothers. Arthur himself was attractive, as was his eldest brother Lorenzo. Attractive, but not what Y/N was looking for.

And then there was Charles. He was... something else. There wasn't often Y/N got to see Charles, only when she was joining her father at the grand prix.

"There she is!" Shouted Daniel as she walked through the paddock. He wasn't driving this year, but he was still present at every race.

The Australian opened his arms wide and pulled Y/N in. He tucked her under his arm and turned to her father. "Mr L/N, always good to see you," he said, holding out his hand.

Mr L/N took Daniels hand and shook it. "You too, Daniel. Will we be seeing you back in a car this year?"

Y/N wanted the ground to swallow her whole. She'd discussed this with her father before they'd left their house. It was gorgeous, a 107 year old French villa that screamed wealth. Their conversation had been in angry French, probably disturbing the entire neighbourhood.

"Papa, tu ne peux pas poser des questions à Danny sur son siège, d'accord?" She said as they put on their shoes. (Dad, you can't ask Danny about his seat, okay?)

Her father shook his head. "Ne t'inquiète pas, ma chérie. Je ne lui dirai rien. Mais je demanderai peut-être à Christian." (don't worry, sweetheart. I won't mention anything to him. I may ask Christian, though)

"Non, papa. Ne demande pas à Christian. N'en parle pas." (No, dad. Don't ask Christian. Don't mention anything about it.)

"Détends-toi, ma chérie. Je ne demanderai pas à Daniel ou à Christian cette fois. Mais pour la prochaine course, quand tu ne seras plus là pour m'arrêter?" He answered and pulled open the front door.(relax, darling. I won't ask Daniel or Christian this time. But what about on the next race, when you're not there to stop me?)

"Papa." Y/N shot her father a glare from her space under Daniels arm. "De quoi avons-nous discuté?" (What did we discuss?)

Daniel squeezed his arm around Y/N and released her. "How are the horses?" He asked her.

Grabbing Daniels Red Bull hat from his head, Y/N placed it on her own. "They're good. Beau and I are going to try our hand at Cross Country next week and Crème is having a little holiday," she answered.

Beau and Crème de la Crème, Y/N's two horses. Beau was a dark brown horse and Crème was white.

"Does that mean you'll be able to come to the race next weekend?"

Y/N gave him a look. Yes, she wanted to go to the Spanish grand prix, but she had horses to train and low level competitions to enter. "Sorry, Danny," she said. "I've just got far too much to do."

"Si tu me rejoins à quelques courses supplémentaires, je t'achèterai un autre cheval," her father suddenly announced. (if you join me at a few more of the races I will buy you another horse.)

"Tu ne peux pas me corrompre, papa." (you can't bribe me, dad)

"Ta mère m'a dit que tu voulais un cheval de dressage," he temped. (your mother told me you want a dressage horse). "Deux semaines séparent le grand prix d'Espagne du grand prix du Canada. Je t'emmènerai acheter un nouveau cheval à ce moment-là." (There is two weeks between the Spanish grand prix and the Canadian grand prix. I will take you shopping for a new horse then).

"Un cheval de niveau olympique?" (An Olympic level horse?)

"Uh, what am I missing here?" Asked Daniel, looking between the two Monégasques.

Grinning, Y/N gave him his hat back. "Nothing, Danny. I'll be coming to a couple of the grand prix this year. I just haven't decided which ones."

"Can't wait," said Daniel.

With obligations to attend to, Daniel said goodbye to Y/N and her father and left them to it as they walked through the garage.

"Allons-nous dire bonjour à Charles?" Asked Mr L/N as they approached the Ferrari garage. (Shall we go and say hello to Charles?)

Y/N nodded her head. Together, she and her father walked towards the Ferrari garage. Charles was stood outside, identifiable by the sixteen printed onto the back of his red shirt. He was there with his teammate, with cameras around them.

Before Y/N's father could approach him, she pulled him back. "Que faites-vous?" (What are you doing?) He asked, his eyebrows scrunched up.

"Charles réalise une interview avec Carlos. Nous ne pouvons pas l'interrompre," she said (Charles id doing an interview with Carlos. We can't interrupt.)

Y/N and her father stood around, saying hello to the people they knew while they waited for Charles and Carlos to finish up. Being from Monaco, Charles was Mr L/N's favourite driver. If he could have afforded it, he would have sponsored Charles. But he was already sponsoring his daughters horse riding career and couldn't find the money to sponsor the driver as well.

Finishing up with the interview, Charles and Carlos turned again.

Mr L/N was quick to rush forward towards the Monégasque. "Bonjour, Charles! C'est un plaisir de vous revoir!" He shouted (Hello Charles! It is good to see you again!)

Turning around, Charles looked at the L/Ns with a red face. "Monsieur L/N, comment allez-vous aujourd'hui?" (Mr L/N, how are you today?) he asked and turned towards Y/N. "Hello, Y/N."

When Y/N and Arthur had first become friends and Charles was on the karting circuit, he had insisted that Y/N spoke in English whenever they conversed. With her mother being English, Y/N was fluent, which helped Charles to practice speaking the language. Ten years later and the habit hadn't died.

Charles had a conversation with Y/N's father in French. It was a long conversation, one Y/N tried to pay attention to. But she was concentrating on her fathers promise of a new horse. What colour would she look for? How big would it be? Would she finally get a mare or another boy? She couldn't wait.

"How is Crème de la Crème and Beau?" Asked Charles, turning his attention to the show jumper. With the way he was looking at her, it was hard for Y/N not to feel bashful.

"They're good. If Beau has gotten a bit bigger since the last time you saw him."

When they were younger, Y/N had invited Arthur to meet her horses a couple of times. Charles had picked Arthur up once and had the chance to meet the horses. Beau was a baby then, just a year old. Y/N hadn't started his training yet.

"You could come and see him in summer break, if you'd like."

Let the ground swallow her up now.

But it didn't deter Charles. He kept talking, asking her questions that Y/N happily answered. She tried to ask him, but it was easy to get tongue tied around Charles.

As they spoke, Charles' teammate walked behind them. He said a quick hello but continued on. Charles suddenly laid his hand on Y/N's shoulder and pushed her after the Spaniard. "Carlos! Have you met Y/N L/N yet?" He asked.

Carlos turned around.

Y/N had seen him before through social media. He was at the last race she attended, but he was in Renault then. Y/N didn't get to meet him, and then she had to stop coming to the races all together.

"You are Mr L/N's daughter?" He asked, pointing back to Y/N's father.

She nodded her head. "Oui, yes. He's finally dragged me along to our home race." She laughed awkwardly, and Carlos was polite enough to laugh with her.

"How are you finding it so far?" He asked.

Y/N didn't think the conversation was go any further than it had, not with how awkward she was being. But she couldn't help it. Carlos was an attractive man and attractive people made her nervous. But, then again, who doesn't get nervous around people they find attractive.

"I am enjoying it. I'm looking forward to seeing you boys race," she answered.

"Have you always been a Ferrari fan?"

Y/N had. But, as Sebastian Vettel had once said, everybody is a Ferrari fan.

"Y/N, chérie, allons chercher nos sièges!" (Y/N, honey, lets go and find our seats) Her father shouted, pulling her attention away from the boys in red.

Y/N nodded to her father and turned back to them. "It was lovely to meet you," said Carlos. He took her hand and kissed the back of her palm.

Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, Charles walked back to her father. "Perhaps I could see you after the qualifying," he said as he walked her over.

"Of course, Charles. I'd like that very much."

Y/N's Instagram:

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idiotcurls · 1 year ago

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IMAGINE THIS! Eddie is a musician, Steve is studying to become a teacher. Right before Steve's exams, he goes to a cafe to study. The Band arrives to play a gig and Eddie knocks over a glass of water with his guitar case.

Eddie has a up and coming band, they are playing small gigs all around the country. Even though they gathered up quite a following, they still haven't signed to any major label yet. Because they are not posers or whatever. The fans love Corroded Coffin, for the hard sounds with the clever thoughtful lyrics and also due to the fact that Eddie is a very charismatic frontman, who has the allure of an old timey rock star. Steve is sitting in the café, studying for his exams, writing frantically on his laptop, his glasses on the tip of his nose. Since he had a hard time in high school, he still thinks he is less than in the intellectual departmen, which is of course not true. And he has an amazing hand with the kids he is currently teaching, as student teacher. When Eddie and his band arrive at the venue, loud, all dressed in black leather, some instruments carried on their backs, he doesn't even look up. Steve was used to bands playing in the back of the venue. The café and bar area was only separated by a small glass door, so he was usually gone by the time, they got on the stage. But today the weather wasn't exactly on his side, he wasn't going to walk home in the pouring rain, risking a cold. It was too close to exam season. Eddie's hair was dripping wet, some of the droplets are running into his eyes. While Gareth is asking for someone to show them where to set up their stuff, Eddie ventures into the café area, to steal some napkins off a table. When he turns around to leave again, tapping over his eyes, the swing of his guitarcase knocks over a glass of water on a table behind him. Whos table you ask? Why, of course Steve Harrington's. What a terrible coincidence. Steve jumps up, shouting "FUCK" as he gathers up napkins trying to dry up the spilled water on his keypad. Startled by the cussing behind him, Eddie turns around and immediately recognises the damage he had caused. "Oh my god, I'm so fucking sorry, here, I'll get you more napkins, or a towel. Gareth!! Ask the waiter if he has a towel?!" Gareth looks up from his conversation with one of the staff member and just shakes his head in an annoyed fashion. Like Munson was up to some bullshit again and he wasn't going to be part of it.

Eddie is frantically bringing more napkins to the table, furthering Steve's annoyance at him. "Please.. just fucking stop, man." He is wiping his wet hands on his blue jeans looking at the laptop mournfully. "It's already fucking ruined. Shit." Steve sighs and walks around the table, a hand over his mouth, looking at the crime scene, wondering how he could afford another laptop that fast. But that long haired idiot, who knocked over his glass kept on babbling, ignoring the fact that Steve was in the middle of a crisis. "Listen, oh my god, I'm so sorry man. I read, that you shouldn't turn in on for bit after, uh, a spillage. Maybe it will dry? Or maybe we should put some rice on it? Maybe they have rice in the kitchen. Gareth?- My friend Nancy says that is bullshit, but-" "STOP! Please just go away." Steve sounded desprate. Eddie raised his hands in defeat, still holding some Napkins. "Okay. I'm sorry. I'm with the band, who plays tonight. You can message us for a refund, or repair.", he says more calmly and walks away. Steve watches the young man walk back to his band members, he assumed, at least. They all wearing the same sort of clothes. "What are you doing with all those Napkins?", Jeff asks bemused. "Just shut up, man." Steve is close to tears. All of his notes and work he already did ahead of time were on the laptop. He did not safe them anywhere else. He grabs his coat and cigarette and leaves the café to have a smoke. If anyone wants to take any of his other stuff, they were free to do so, everything was ruined anyway. He watches the band carry all their amps and instruments in, from a little distance. There was a quick glance exchanged between him and that long haired idiot. He looks like a beaten puppy with those big sad eyes. Shit, now Steve felt like an asshole. Back inside, Steve waited for a while, to turn on his laptop, like the idiot had said. Meanwhile he was texting his best friend Robin the details of the worst evening in his life. She is sympathetic and hopeful, that the gods were in favour of his laptop. And while she didn't think Steve was the villain of the play, he might have been a bit harsh. They guy with the curls didn't do it on purpose, to ruin his life. After a while Steve breaths in deeply and exhales. He presses the on button. The laptops starts. He types in his password. Loading. All of his open tabs and word documents appear. The laptop was alive. He tries to write some words and all the keys work. A sigh of relieve. The gods had mercy on his computer in the end. After thanking the universe, Steve's eyes wander to the other side of the café. Behind the glass door, the band is setting up and starting to do some sound checking with the technician.

The idiot is holding his guitar, strumming a few chords and signing the thumbs up to the tech girl, who nods, looking bored. Now he is singing along to his chords, his eyes closed, like he is feeling the music or something. Steve finds, the idiot has a very beautiful voice. And a handsome face. He sighs. With that new information the apology is going to become even harder. When the band is done soundchecking and Eddie climbs off the stage, bickering and laughing with his band mates, Steve decides to go for it. "You can do this, dingus." pops up on his phone, before he puts it back into his pocket.

When Steve walks up to Eddie, the others are still rumaging around. Before Steve can open his mouth to say a single word, Eddie raises his hand. "Let me stop you there. I talked to the guys. We have a door-deal with the venue. Depending on how much money we make, you can have some of the money to pay for the repair." Eddie chuckles. "Now we just have to pray some people show up." Steve raises his left eyebrow, listening to him. "It's not like theres no people coming to our gigs, it's just that it's raining, and it's a weekday, people are at work..." Eddie is rambling again.

"Hey, can I say something too?" Steve chimes in, stern but not unkind. "Uh, sure." Eddie answers. "My laptop is fine. Everything works. I wanted to apologize for being a dick." Steve takes down his glasses and puts them on the top of his head. "I was just very stressed. You didn't do it on purpose." Eddie looks down and smiles. He seems shy.

"I'm a bit clumsy.... yeah." Steve finds it almost funny, that a guy like him, who just confidently sang on a stage, becomes shy like that. "Well, don't worry about it. I just thought... It's fine." Eddie looks up at him. "Why dont you stay for the set? Be our guest?" Steve does not answer. "I'll put you on my bar-tab. Stay and listen. Here- have a tape." Steve looks at the tape he got handed. "I don't have anything to play this on..." "Don't worry. I'll make it worth your while. Get a drink. We start in 20 minutes." Everything in Steve says, it's better to go home. Sleep and study. But he does stay for the set, to see the charaismatic idiot in action.

and then they fall in love or something.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #fanfiction #stranger things #rockstar eddie #student steve #meet cute in a bar #eddie is clumsy #steve is annoyed

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chrrychills · 4 months ago

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i know it's just a phase, you're not in love with me .

main six « alternative s/o!

ashlyn banner:

•she'll probably borrow a lot of your clothes, especially if they're baggy and loose. she doesn't consider herself alternative, but she likes baggy, thrifted clothes and affliction.

•doesn't like loud music, so she probably won't listen to any loud rock/alternative music with you. she does like shoegaze, though.

•probably listens to nirvana, but she listens to the quieter songs like polly and man who sold the world.

•if you're someone who dyes your hair frequently, she'll sit in the bathroom with you to keep you company while you do it.

•she's against giving yourself piercings (which i may or may not be guilty of) because it's unsanitary and they're more likely to get infected. she'd rather you go to an actual piercer.

•she'll ask you for music recommendations sometimes. she's liked most of the artists you put her on.

•secretly thinks you're really cool, but she'll never tell you because she doesn't want to inflate your ego.

•she starts to get more into the alternative scene the longer you two have been dating.

aiden clark:

•he's into so many alternative subcultures, it's crazy. he was lowkey really into the punk scene for a while, but he branched off into the grunge subculture after moving to georgia.

•you two can (and will) spend hours at various thrift stores, and he pays every time. you have so much vintage clothes/ crazy thrift finds because of him.

•he'll help you dye your hair, give yourself piercings, whatever. as long as you're not frying your hair off or letting the piercing get infected, he doesn't care.

•probably listens to radiohead.

• like ashlyn, he thinks you're really cool but he's super vocal about it.

•you two share jewelry. rings, necklaces, bracelets. he owns a lot of those chunky, silver rings and has a good amount of necklaces and chains, too.

•he likes to call you a poser to piss you off. it's his favorite bit and he thinks it's the funniest thing ever.

ben clark:

•it's literally impossible to put him onto any type of music, because he listens to everything. from pixies to rob zombie to cash flagg, his playlist is absolutely stacked. if anything, he's put you onto more music than you have him.

•his jeans are baggy on you, so you've stolen a couple pairs. he noticed but didn't say anything because the outfit looked good.

•he's not a huge fan of needles so he thinks piercings are kinda gross. he'll help you take care of any new ones you get, though.

•he's honestly more alternative than you are, he just doesn't show it because he doesn't care enough to put in the effort.

•he has an entire section of his closet for baggy tees and band shirts for you to borrow (steal) and ends up just buying you a bunch for your birthday.

•while he does listen to a lot of music, he refuses to listen to radiohead and he won't tell you why.

•he thought you were kind of intimidating a first, especially if you have a resting bitch face.

•he thinks you're cool and has debated on stealing your clothes/jewelry before but decided against it.

tyler hernandez:

•his teammates 100% rip on him for dating you. he snaps at them every single time they make a comment without fail.

•again, you steal his jeans because they're big on you and they look good. he will say something, though. he doesn't care but he thinks it's funny to call you out on it.

•tyler doesn't really like the music you listen to, but he doesn't mind it. he definitely wouldn't listen to it on his own, but if it's playing when he's with you he doesn't mind.

•if you're listening to a popular band (nirvana, deftones, etc.) he's so quick to go "name 5 songs." because it pisses you off and he thinks it's funny.

•he likes to mess with your (healed) piercings when he's bored, or when you two are cuddling. he'll lightly tug on them or try to take them out. you'll have to smack his hand away to get him to stop.

•he loves sitting and watching you do your makeup. he could watch you for hours and not get bored, especially because you usually ask him to do your hair after and he loves doing your hair.

•you and taylor are the only reasons he doesn't dress like a highlighter...

taylor hernandez:

•she steals a lot of your oversized shirts and sleeps in them.

•she makes jewelry, so she's constantly making you necklaces and bracelets. your accessory game is top tier because of her.

•actually really likes the music you recommend her! taylor probably listens to pop. chappell roan, gracie abrams, taylor swift, and other similar artists so you're surprised when you find her playlist of all the rock/grunge music you've sent her.

•loves thrifting. like aiden, you two can spend hours in different stores and leave with trash bags of clothing. she's an absolute machine at the goodwill bins.

•when (if) she returns the shirts she stole from you, there's a good chance she cut the neckline off of them. they always look really good, so you don't complain.

•100% will do your makeup if you ask her to. she's amazing at it and it usually looks better than when you do it yourself.

•taylor's a great artist, so she likes to doodle on your jeans with sharpie and it makes them look really cool so you let her do it.

logan fields:

•yall are the definition of opposites attract. your aesthetics clash like crazy, but you two make it work.

•like ashlyn, he's not a huge fan of loud rock/grunge/metal music because it gives him headaches. he likes calmer songs and instrumentals.

•honestly, he steals a lot of your jewelry. his hands are filled with your rings and he has a couple of your bracelets on each of his wrists.

•he helps you decide what color to dye your hair, and goes on a mission to help you find the color. he'll sit in the bathroom with you while you dye it, but he won't help because he doesn't wanna mess it up.

•lowkey a weezer fan.

•he wears the comfiest clothes ever, so you steal his shirts/sweaters and wear them to bed a lot. he goes red every time he sees you in his clothes, no matter how many times it's happened.

•another one who thinks you're super cool. he'll tell you this, but he's gonna get embarrassed because he doesn't wanna sound corny.

lacey's notes:

hi can u guys tell i didn't edit this😁

also i'm gonna start putting the songs i use for my titles in my posts so ppl can listen to them if they want

if you've requested i promise i got it i just have no motivation to write requests

title inspired by:

#sbg #sbg x reader #x reader #sbg ashlyn #ashlyn banner x reader #sbg aiden #aiden clark x reader #sbg ben #ben clark x reader #sbg tyler #tyler hernandez x reader #sbg taylor #taylor hernandez x reader #sbg logan #logan fields x reader #Spotify

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ronearoundblindly · 8 months ago

Text

No Promises (1)

Lloyd Hansen x rival assassin!Reader

Itsy-Bitsy Teeny-Weeny Deadly Polka Dot Bikini

Summary: Lloyd gets outsmarted.

Warnings for HE'S AN A**HOLE AND I SHOULDN'T NEED TO TELL YOU THAT, illusions to sex/imagined sexual acts, general body-shaming, nasty thoughts, drugging/murder, and the unbelievable thrill of Lloyd getting taken down a few pegs. MINORS DNI. WC ~900

Lloyd impatiently taps his pinky ring on his binoculars, adjusting the lenses.

He hates waiting, but there’s nothing for it. The job is to retrieve something this man stole without evidence that anything was stolen from him.

Oh, and kill the fucker. Obviously.

Man’s a thief.

Well, Lloyd’s a thief, too, in a way, but he doesn’t bother to steal without reason. He gets a payday out of it.

This guy—this grossly-obese, sack of shit chumming it up poolside at a resort—also thinks he’s getting a payday out of it, yeah, but Lloyd is so much better than that. He’d see the reality of his situation. He wouldn’t be this stupid. He wouldn’t be spending the money before the exchange was made.

Easy pickings is what this guy is.

All Lloyd has to do is make it look like the middle-aged, fake-tanned Pillsbury Doughboy down there had a heart attack…which might actually happen at the rate his target is shoveling antipasto down his gullet.

Lloyd wipes his own mouth in disgust.

The women have the right idea though, especially the one in the yellow bikini.

His target looks like a desperate and lonely man, whether flashing around wealth or not, so leech away, ladies. Enjoy the free ride while it lasts.

Lloyd frowns and spits over the balcony where he watches. He just imagined the yellow bikini riding that sweaty hippo down there—more to the point, he imagined having to surveil the man while fatso tried to fuck a woman like that—and feels queazy.

Some parts of the job he likes. Some parts he doesn’t. Lloyd gets paid either way.

He leans back for a moment, resting his eyes from the high magnification and the bright sun above. He takes in the mind-numbing, incessant beat of island drums that converges from multiple ‘bands’ across the property into the worst white noise.

Lloyd would rather hear the whimpering, whining screams of torture.

Where the fuck are the waves and relaxing shit?

For effect, a gull screeches at him from the next railing over.

“I will fucking eat you,” Lloyd sharply chuckles back, and then he picks up his slippery, cold Arnold Palmer and smacks his lips.

You know what they say: If you love what you do, you’ll never work a day in your whole life.

That’s true. Lloyd’s proven that. The missing part is that if work isn’t work then vacation isn’t vacation, so one has to make do with thrills where they find them.

Lloyd gently lifts the silencer-tipped gun from his lap and shoots the gull right off its perch. He makes a long whistling noise as the carcass falls and lands with a satisfying thud against some enormous bush leaves.

This is going to be easy, he thinks, sipping his refreshment slowly. Child’s play.

He sets down the glass and the gun, repositioning the binoculars over the possibly-sunburnt bridge of his nose.

Watching this poser of a paunch groping the decent-looking, sunshine girl is making him plan out seeing someone of his own tonight. He’ll be done with the guy early enough; plenty of time to find a self-conscious chubster willing to suck and fuck hard for a few praises. It’s basically charity work, but again, work isn’t really work, is it?

Lloyd has to follow the repetitive grind of yellow-tied hips and watch the front bow bounce between breasts to notice that she’s yanking at the string.

He might be in real luck. Is he about to get a show?

The bikini top doesn’t fall away, however, and it’s suddenly missing the white bead marking the edge of the seam.

Sunshine's hands go up in the air, reaching and swaying with the beat, until she turns and drops something small—like a fucking pill—into the target’s drink, reaching for his face and cooing dirty, little things, it seems, by the distracted burst of the man’s pupils.

Mother fucker.

Lloyd sprints back through the sliding door and out of his room, he vaults the banisters to jump down three flights in the stairwell and only emerges at the poolside to see his target collapsing forward, the bikini bitch groping the body as it falls to sneak a keycard out of his pocket.

She screams bloody murder and everyone fucking buys the act. She scrabbles away, bare palms on the concrete, one holding his goddamn prize, until she slips backward into the pool.

“Son of a…” Lloyd scowls, but there are too many people moving over the walkway to rubberneck.

He sees happy, dotted yellow emerge from the other side of the water, empty-handed, a sympathetic towel thrown over a clearly shocked woman.

From across the courtyard, you, Sunshine, turn in Lloyd’s direction, pulling at the front of your suit bottoms to emphasize a stiff, rectangular shape underneath.

You’re staring right at him when slowly raising a middle finger and winking before wrapping the generic towel tighter.

Onlookers and good samaritans gather, crossing in between you two. He can’t make a scene.

Then you’re gone, folded into the wave of terry cloth that ripples and recedes with passing drama.

He stands there, dumbfounded, ten feet away from a dead seagull.

Did…did Lloyd just fucking lose?

A/N: *evil, unhinged laughter* This shit is gonna be fun....

[Next Part: Don't Be Blue, Bunny Boy]

[Main Masterlist; Lloyd Hansen Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

#lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen fanfiction #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x y/n #dark fic #lloyd hansen drabble #lloyd hansen series

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lowkeyrobin · 6 months ago

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hiiii, I love ur writing and I was wondering if you could do fuckshit x reader hcs on a movie night with him? Maybe some making out idk, make it yours!!!! Thanks pooks 🫶🏽🫶🏽

yeah sure!! ; thank you for requesting, hope you enjoy!! ; and thank you!! that means so much to me bro tyty 🫶

FUCKSHIT ; movie night

summary ; movie night hcs with fuckshit!

warnings ; language, making out

word count ; 272

masterlist

he hates any and all romancey movies so you literally cannot watch them together. like titanic, she's all that, clueless etc

he needs some sort of action

so you mostly watch movies like the lost boys, fight club, and chucky

the lowest he'll go is dazed and confused (which he actually really likes), the sandlot, and the breakfast club

he usually likes curling up with you and some snacks

yes you heard me, he actually shows physical affection toward you

alone, the tough guy act is gone

or at least it's gone when you aren't around strangers and aquiatences

around the others, he's normal as well, but he needs to be the biggest hater around posers for some reason idk

he likes showing you off to people he knows and stuff tho

but about halfway through the movie, especially rewatches, he gets a little... distracted so to speak

lots of weird hand touches and squirming and resting his arm around your shoulder

he gives up on you taking the hint and just climbs in your lap to make out with you

you never fight him off cause you like annoying him to the point where he's given up and climbs on your lap instead of the other way around

lots of moving around for no reason

sometimes you end up laying down on the couch and sometimes you fall off of said couch and continue to make out

he lovessss when you tangle your hands in his curls bro

seductive whistle 😍😍😍

when some batshit crazy thing happens/he hears, he'll immediately look at the TV to see what's happening

"fuckshit-"

"hold on"

#lowkeyrobin #gn reader #gender neutral reader #they/them reader #mid90s imagine #mid90s x reader #fuckshit mid90s #fuckshit oneshot #fuckshit x reader #olan prenatt x reader #mid90s

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us3rnam3-r3dact3d · 1 month ago

Text

the world (it burns through me)

Chapter 8

Ao3 | 3.5k Words | Darlin's POV

Quinn does show-and-tell. Angel sleeps fitfully. Darlin' (nearly) commits homicide. Sam pulls them away from the ledge. David sets foot on the scene.

TW: Threats, home invasion, injury, blood, sexual trauma, implied physical abuse, threats of rape, non-consensual filming of sexual acts, general Quinn bullshit.

Quinn Fox looked exactly the same as he had when you’d last seen him four months ago, sans being beaten within an inch of his life. His skin was still so pale it was nearly translucent, dotted in a handful of places by beauty marks. He still wasn’t adorned by any of the shitty tattoos that you were, that he had put there, that he claimed to love so much. What few he had peaked out from the sleeves of his pristine leather jacket, perfect and new and costing a fucking fortune. His blue eyes were still so pale that he had to squint in Max’s warm light. His teeth were still sharp and too many and nicotine stained. He’d go in for a bleach session next time he was in L.A..

“My precious thing,” he rose from his seat and tossed the paper napkin he’d spread in his lap to the ground, waving away the server casually. You watched her face drop as she turned away and retreated towards the counter, where the guy behind it was staring outright now. You’d only have a few minutes before they had enough of Quinn and kicked you out. It was a familiar countdown in the back of your mind. Nearly everybody had enough of Quinn eventually. You’d gotten the timing down to a science.

“Don’t call me that.” You hissed. He reached out to you, one nimble hand with perfectly painted, black nails and bulky rings. Your mind supplied the feeling of those rings crunching across your cheekbones. “And don’t fucking touch me. Sit down.” You huddled into the booth, arms locked around your middle. There was still blood on your jacket from the last time you’d seen Quinn.

“So touchy, Precious.” Quinn said, floating back down into his side of the booth. Sam sat down quietly next to you. His eyes flicked across Quinn quickly, almost casually. You watched him categorize Quinn’s skinny jeans, bought with rips and wear already sewed in, his Nirvana shirt, a band you knew he’d never listened to. God, he was such a fucking poser. You couldn’t fathom what about him had ever been enticing to you. “I implied you should come alone, you know.” He sneered towards Sam.

“Yeah, well, the last time I was alone with you, you put me in a fucking coma, so…” you shrugged. You felt Sam’s eyes slip to you. That was a little tidbit you’d neglected to share with him. He’d have questions later on. You swallowed down the urge to deny them before he even asked. Instead, you brought one hand down to rest against his thigh, your fingers twisting up his uniform pants hard enough they would wrinkle.

“True,” Quinn laughed, not even bothering to be decent enough to hide his glee. His eyes moved to Sam. “I assure you, they gave as good as they got, Sammy. Or- do you prefer ‘Captain Collins?’”Quinn grinned, his mouth pulling just a little too far on either side. You thought you were going to fall out. Behind that grin, that delighted twist to his stupid face, there was a familiar anger. He’d had that look about him when he put cigarettes out on your skin. He’d had that look about him when he’d fucked you so hard and hateful you couldn’t move for two days. “I was expecting the other one, Precious. Big, scary Captain Shaw. He’s a much better frame to hide behind.”

“They ain’t hiding.” Sam spat. “And you’d be so lucky to be staring down Shaw instead of me.”

“Is that so, cowboy?” Quinn laughed. It was a rasping, shrieking sound, like a predator barking out before it struck. Your hand tightened on Sam’s thigh.

“It is.” Sam said. “David Shaw is a good man. He wouldn’t hurt ‘ya without cause. But I am not a good man.”

“Whatever happened to ‘do no harm,’ Doctor?” Quinn cocked his head to one side.

“I’m not a doctor anymore.”

“Quinn,” you snapped, demanding his attention. Those bright eyes stuck on Sam for a moment longer. You slammed your phone down on the table. The photo of Little Shaw shone up at the three of you, accusatory. Sam gasped audibly when he saw it, going stiff. Quinn flicked his eyes down at it and laughed again. “What the fuck do you want?”

“That was almost too easy, you know?” He rested his chin atop his folded hands as he stared down at the picture. “I just had to pick a day when the good Captain was working the night shift. It’s so convenient that he takes you with him everywhere. I almost wish I had sent you this instead.”

He produced his own phone and laid it on the table next to yours. It was newer, nicer, and the screen was giant. The big screen exposed a shaky video of the Shaw’s master bedroom from an angle you hadn’t seen yet. If you had to guess, it was through a crack in the closet door. Your stomach flipped as you leaned in close. Sam mirrored your posture. The camera panned from the plush, carpeted floor and towards the softly lit bed, on top of which Little Shaw was spread out, their phone in one hand and the other free. They were wearing one of David’s D.F.D. tee-shirts, which swallowed their frame like a robe. You watched as their hand trailed from the hem of the shirt and lifted, exposing their thighs, their waist, their fluttering stomach and chest. Sam cut his eyes away immediately, but you didn’t move until the audio kicked in. Little Shaw let out a moan, Quinn’s phone cranked up to top volume. Heads swiveled towards your booth. You slammed your hand down on the phone, fumbling for the volume button as you snatched it and tucked it close to your chest.

“You fucking freak.” You hissed. You couldn’t even manage to be surprised, just vaguely nauseous. He was in the fucking closet. How long had he been in there?

“They rest so fitfully when the good Captain isn’t home.” Quinn mused, inspecting his nails. “I had to hush them back to sleep a handful of times to make sure I wasn’t caught. Nothing a quick cuddle couldn’t fix, of course.”

He had touched them. You were going to commit homicide.

“Quinn,” you growled through clenched teeth, “step outside.”

“Darlin-” Sam started, grabbing your wrist in an attempt to ground you. You didn’t care if he wrapped his arms around your waist, if he pressed kisses to your temples, if he fucking took you right here in this booth in Max’s; no firm touch or soft word could pull you back down now. Quinn had touched them. He had filmed them in a vulnerable moment and then held them while they slept. All while David was fussing over you at the 10-19. You had distracted him. You had drawn his attention away from the people who really mattered and then delivered danger to his literal fucking bedroom.

“Fuck you, move!” You shoved Sam hard, hard enough for him to stumble out of the booth and into the guy from behind the counter just as he came to interrupt the fight that was brewing in his dining room.

“Captain Collins,” the guy said, catching Sam as he got his footing. You forgot how well known the 10-19 was on this side of town. You’d be surprised if Sam wasn’t a familiar figure to every person who worked here, and you’d dragged him into this. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Guy,” Sam said, and go fucking figure, a literal pizza Guy. “We’re just leaving.” Guy’s gaze flicked from Sam to you to Quinn and back again. Sam must have given him a reassuring enough look, because he stepped aside. You surged up, knees shaky, and snagged Quinn by the collar of his designer leather jacket. He grunted but didn’t fight back as you pulled him out of the booth and towards the door. You pulled stares from the families adorning the booths and counter, and you probably looked like a rabid animal. You could picture your own expression, twisted and gnarled by the scars that cut through your face. You saw a kid flinch back and away from you as you passed his seat.

The air was cold and sharp as you burst out of Max’s and started dragging Quinn towards the back parking lot. He let you, let you pull him along, let you toss him when you reached what you considered an acceptable distance from the building to kick his ass. You knew that, if he wanted to, Quinn could make it difficult for you, at the very least. He was strong, just as strong as you and twice as fast, twice as clever. You were a blunt object. You didn’t have it in you to strategize, to think through a fight as it happened. You could call Quinn a lot of horrible things, but one thing he was not was stupid. Not like you were.

Your fist connected with his face before he could even get his footing. Pain burst out over your barely-healed knuckles with satisfaction. You grit your teeth and tried to step back, put some distance between you two. Your back met with the trunk of a silver sedan. Quinn held himself up, one hand on the grimy wall of Max’s industrial dumpster. Blood and bruise blossomed so prettily across his sharp cheekbone. He closed in as soon as he got his footing, boxing you in between him and the car. Your only way out was through.

You’d been fighting the same way your entire life. You’d always been weaker than someone, you’d always been hungry and disadvantaged and outnumbered. So you took to the ground like a prey animal. You dove in, hit them where it hurt, and ran, put distance between you, let the hoard thin as they chased you so you could pick them off one by one. Quinn had always delighted in watching you dance around the battlefield, often of his own making. He liked to watch you scrap, fight dirty, pull hair and bite and scratch for eyes.

He was so much taller than you and his reach seemed endless. When the two of you fought, he didn’t let you run. He made you stand in one spot and wail, hoping that your brute force was enough.

That, more than anything he did to you, had always made you feel distinctly vulnerable.

He came at you quickly, decisively, struck you hard in your ribs. His shitty ex must have told him where she’d done the same, because his aim was eerie. You gasped, the air knocked out of you, and locked an arm around his shoulders to keep him close. You drove your fist up, into his gut, punching for his diaphragm as your chest seized and fought to allow you any air.

Quinn twisted out of your hold and swung his leg up, landing a kick to your stomach and sprawling you back against the sedan. You growled, near feral, and dove forward again. Quinn wanted you close, pinned down, vulnerable? You would show him just how dangerous you could be in close quarters.

It was blurry after that. A series of hits, skin on skin, tearing fabric, blood and grunts. This was a familiar dance. The two of you had fucked, often, in fact, but for you this was a much more familiar type of intimacy. It was how your father, on the rare occasions he had been present in your childhood, had shown you his love. It was how your mother, for all of her virtues, had raised you. Since you were young, you’d been shown love most often by a firm right hand. Quinn was the latest in a long line of people who loved you with a fist. You filled up with the heady euphoria of it, got drunk on his little sounds, his curses and moans of pain, his high laughter like a predator’s ringing around in your swimming head.

This is what you had seen in him. His eyes flashed, bluer than blue, catching yours a few times in the scuffle. You crushed your knuckles into his nose and knocked it askew. He called out your name, your real name. Fuck, it sounded like a plea, like a promise.

He hit the ground before you did. You’d always had staying power, whether it had anything to do with your actual constitution or if it was tied up in your stupid, persistent stubbornness. Quinn was a child of abundance. You knew from the shape of him, no matter what games he liked to play, that he had never wanted for anything. That was the only advantage you had over guys like Quinn, guys like David. You had had to last before. Plenty of people had tried to starve you out, so when most people were bent with hunger pains, you did what you did best; soldiered on.

“What do you want, Quinn?” You panted, hands on your knees. He spat out blood and smiled up at you with swollen cheeks.

“I already told you, Precious.” Back to that stupid nickname. You wanted to kick him again, but he was already pushing himself up, getting his feet under him. “I want you.”

“You are fucked in the head if you think I’d ever go back to you.” You growled. Your ribs ached. You wrapped a hand around your chest and held on.

“No,” Quinn smiled at you as he stood. He had the nerve to look bashful. “I suppose not. That’s fine. All I want is… one last taste.”

“What?” You breathed.

“I want to fuck you.” He rolled his eyes, swiping a finger under his nose and coming back bloody. “One last time.”

“Fuck off.” You scoffed. Your stomach was doing flips again. The idea of putting yourself in that position, vulnerable and bare under him, submitting yourself to Quinn’s particular brand of love, made you physically sick.

Part of you was afraid you wouldn’t survive his one last time. Another part of you, somehow bigger, was afraid you would.

You turned to leave, resolute, and caught sight of Sam. He was standing two yards off, watching silently on the edge of the parking lot. He seemed more concerned than anything, but there wasn’t an ounce of judgment in his severe features. You looked away. Holding his brown-eyed-gaze was unbearable.

“I’ll get what I want somewhere, Precious.” Quinn called after you. “From someone. Remember, I’ve been inside their bedroom.”

An image of Little Shaw flashed across your mind. Pressed against the floor, folded in half with Quinn between their legs, his teeth in their skin, burns littering their flawless skin, cuts waiting to scar from that ill-kept pocket knife he carried. Something in your chest snapped. Maybe it was a bone. Maybe it was your resolve.

You crashed into Quinn, moving faster than you thought you could. His head banged back against the dumpster, his lips twisted into a fuck-you smile that you wanted to rip off of his face. You knew where he kept it in his stupid fucking jacket. His knife was in your hand before you could even think. The blade was opened, dried blood giving it a rusty look, and pressed into the juncture of his throat. You knew the bite of that blade. You’d had it pressed in that same spot a dozen times before. A line of blood ran down his throat, catching on his bobbing Adam's apple. He looked so fucking pretty in this light, the puff of his breath in the winter air smothering his features, blood smeared across his thin lips.

You loved him. You had loved him, at least. Your body wouldn’t let you forget it.

“If you ever fucking touch them, I’ll kill you!” You cried, a plea, a promise. “I’ll tear you to pieces, do you fucking get that? I’ll fucking kill you!”

“Darlin’!” An arm locked around your middle and pulled you back. The knife clattered to the asphalt, wet with Quinn’s blood. His laughter crowded out any thought that might make itself known in your head. You thought you’d drown in the sound of it.

Warmth at your back. The distance between you and Quinn grew. A soft voice taking up the space left behind as Quinn’s retreated. You were across the parking lot, across the road, in the passenger seat of Sam’s truck before you could think enough to start fighting. Sam didn’t stop talking.

“I know, I know, Darlin’, I’ve gotcha. Gimme- yeah, there, come here-“ he grabbed your hand, squeezed it in time with his exaggerated breaths. You realized, suddenly, as Sam plopped into the driver’s seat and trapped you in the silent confines of his truck’s cabin, that you were crying. Wailing, actually. You hadn’t cried in years. Not since Gabe had died, and even that wasn’t anything like this. You bent at the middle, your seatbelt pulling at the bruises on your chest, and screamed. Sam’s hand snapped to the back of your neck. You thought he was likely trying to stabilize your spine. Paramedic training must have kicked in. His fingers tangled with your hair as he shushed you, cooed soft reassurances into the space between your cries.

Eventually, your voice gave out. Eventually, your muscles unclenched, and you hung, chest to thighs, hugging yourself so hard you couldn’t breathe. Sam’s hand didn’t leave your hair until the car stopped, and only then to reach more of you. His cold, rough hands trailed up under your jacket, sought out skin, tugged you up until he could look you over.

Your eyes met his, dark and wide and sure.

He wasn’t scared. You didn’t know how he had managed that. You didn’t know how he managed to look at you the exact same way after that.

“I’m sorry-“ you started, your mouth sharp with blood.

“Don’t,” Sam snapped, his face twisting. He looked… pissed off. That you understood. That you could wrap your mind around. He wanted to be angry with you? That was fine. Better that than scared of you. “You didn’t do a damn thing wrong. Come on, lemme get you inside. I need to take a look at you.”

You looked up, took in your surroundings. The 10-19 stood, illuminated by street lights, across its long parking lot. You didn’t know how you’d missed that familiar drive. Your chest sparked with anxiety. David’s truck was still on the lot. He would see you.

“I can’t.” You breathed. You shook your head, rebuking the very thought of David seeing you like this. And fuck, how could you explain why? He would kill you. He’d kick you out. He’d wash his hands of you. And as much as you were fighting his influence, his help, his care, you knew that you would come unraveled without it. If David was done with you, then that was it. Doors closed. No vacancy.

“Darlin’-“ Sam started, reaching for you. Your phone started buzzing in your pocket. You startled, fumbling for it with your swollen, fucked up hands. Sam had delicately dabbed your knuckles with alcohol and gauze for days and you’d gone and wasted his work.

David’s name lit up your screen. His shift was over and at this hour he was done worrying over the night shift. He was looking for you so he could go home to his invaded home and his endangered spouse. The prey animal in your chest jerked and you followed where it tugged you. You dropped your phone, stumbled out of Sam’s truck, tangling with the seatbelt. Your boots hit the asphalt and you ran.

You didn’t realize, in your haste to run, hide, escape, that you’d started running towards the 10-19. You didn’t realize, as you stared down at your feet and tried to make yourself small, that you were running straight into David until you collided with his chest.

You bounced back, let out a startled cry, and raised your fists. You didn’t know if it was to strike out or to protect your face, but it served the same purpose either way. David’s phone was still up to his ear, and his face was bare in shock as he looked you over.

You stepped back like you were going to run. He was faster than you. His fingers threaded into your jacket and pulled you close.

“What the fuck?” He barked, his face lined with anger and worry.

Your body knew you were done. David’s hand held up your weight, and you went limp against your jacket. Whatever adrenaline had been holding you together slipped away and let you unravel. David hauled you to his chest by your jacket, cradled your head with one giant palm, wrapped his other arm around your still too-trim waist.

“Sam!” He shouted, a definitive order. You were a walking house fire, and David took over as soon as he set foot on the scene.

That was it, then. He’d seen you. He would know, or Sam would tell him. David would choose his spouse over you, which is what he should have done in the first fucking place. You’d be out on your ass in two hours flat. You’d run with less in worse shape in less time. But you couldn’t get your feet under you. You couldn’t get an inch of your body to obey your desperate orders.

Doors closed. No vacancy.

#redacted asmr #my redacted content #redacted sam #redacted audio #redacted david #redacted darlin #redacted angel #redacted davey #redacted audio fic #firefighter story

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sycamorelibrary754 · 1 year ago

Text

The Piggy Story

Summary: Yelena is Melina’s Secret Santa and takes a crack at a few handmade piggy presents!

Pairing: Yelena x reader (platonic), Natasha x reader, Alexei Alanovich Shostakov x reader (platonic) Melina Vostokoff x reader (platonic)

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: None

A/N: If you read Happy Thanksgiving, you will understand this story. If you didn’t, please enjoy the random silly fluffiness. 😂

Yelena had been acting suspiciously for two weeks, sneaking around and making everyone uneasy. She would disappear at night without letting you accompany her, which was unusual since you frequently joined her when she walked Fanny. Initially, you thought she might be gearing up for an undercover mission. Whenever you asked her about it, she would dodge the question, giving you a look that seemed to say, 'If I tell you, I'll have to kill you.' You had learned not to overthink your sister-in-law’s idiosyncrasies. If it was possible, they made you love her even more.

You were lounging in your comfy pajamas, engrossed in a game of cards with Wanda in her cozy room, when Natasha suddenly entered. "Hey, detka, have you seen Yelena? She was supposed to join me and Steve for a briefing twenty minutes ago."

No, I haven't," you said as you placed your cards face down on your lap. "Not since this morning, anyway.

“She’s been acting odd lately,” Nat commented.

While rearranging her cards, Wanda pointed out, "Odd in general, or odd for her because you know there’s a difference.

"That is true," you nodded, gesturing toward Wanda.

Natasha grumbled, "If you run into your best friend, would you tell her that her sister is going to kick her ass?"

"Sure thing, wifey," you chuckled, playfully saluting her and giving her a swift kiss on the lips.

Nat playfully rolled her eyes and teased, "It's a wonder I married you."

*^~^*

You couldn't contain your excitement as you and Yelena started putting up Christmas decorations around the compound the next day. Wearing your coziest Christmas sweater, adorned with festive patterns, you danced through the halls, humming cheerful tunes and happily hanging up ornaments and lights, infusing the entire space with holiday spirit.

“Dashing through the snow

In a one-horse open sleigh

Peter’s on the go

Laughing all the way

Bells on Fanny ring

Making Tony fight

Wanda wants to flip a coin

And sing this song tonight

Jingle bells, Clinton smells

Banner laid an egg

Ant mobile lost a wheel

And Loki got away

Hey!”

That was very nice, y/n; now, how about a White Christmas song to go with this delightful cup of hot cocoa topped with whipped cream?

"No can do, boo. Only one show per Christmas season," you said, as you sat together on the sofa.

You both savored a small sip of the rich chocolate beverage, watching the steam rise enticingly from the mug.

"Hey, did you know that one of Mom's pigs is named Clinton?" Yelena said with a sheepish grin.

"Is that so? I've only ever heard of Alexi," as you savor some of the whipped cream from the top of your hot cocoa.

“Mom named Alexi, and then she asked if Natasha and I would do the honors of naming the other two. Clinton was the poser’s choice.”

"I can't believe Nat never told me. What name did you choose?" You took another sip of your beverage, eagerly awaiting the answer.

“Sir Francis Bacon.”

You almost choke on your hot cocoa as you sputter, and it rolls down your chin. “That is adorable!” you exclaimed, reaching for a napkin. You’ll have to point out which is which when we go to your parents' house for Christmas next week.”

"Hey, you've got a little whipped cream on your cheek." Leaning in, Yelena sneakily licked it off.

"Oh my God! Who are you, Fanny?! I have no idea where your tongue has been! Ew! Get some hot water, get some disinfectant, get some iodine!" With a jolt, you lept up and dashed to the bathroom, leaving Yelena in fits of giggles on the floor.

*^~^*

The remaining week was filled with delightful Christmas-themed activities. As you snuggled up on the couch with my cherished blanket, preparing to watch "The Holiday" with the team, you noticed someone conspicuously absent.

"Where could Yelena be?" you mused aloud.

"In my lab," Tony said nonchalantly, casually tossing popcorn up into the air and effortlessly catching it in his mouth.

"Why?" you asked, slightly confused.

“Blondie wanted a private space to work on a project. I told her she could use the lab if she didn’t joyride any suits,” Tony explained.

“Yelena in your lab with unlimited access to nanotechnology.” Nat pondered, grabbing two Christmas cookies and offering you one before snuggling up beside you in your blanket ball.

"Go down there and see if she's up for watching the movie," you urged, tossing popcorn in Kate's direction.

"Why am I the one?" questioned the young archer.

"Since you're closer, and she's starting to freak me out," you explained.

"Don't worry about it, Y/N. FRIDAY is keeping an eye on her," Tony reassured.

*^~^*

You woke up at Melina and Alexi’s Christmas morning to the delicious smell of cinnamon rolls and coffee. You agreed to do Secret Santa with your wife’s family this year. You and Natasha were wearing your matching Christmas pajamas, ready to exchange presents, but Yelena was unusually eager and insisted on going first.

Guess what? I was your Secret Santa this year, Mama! I wanted to challenge myself and make a homemade gift for you," Yelena exclaimed as she reached for Melina's tablet on the counter and quickly tapped a few buttons on the touchscreen. "Hey boys, come on in!

The door creaked open, and in waddled all three of Melina’s beloved pigs, their little trotters pitter-pattering against the wooden floor. As the trio rounded the corner, they presented a charming sight - each adorned in a specially tailored vest. Alexi sported a vibrant red vest, Clinton rocked a regal purple one, and Sir Francis Bacon donned a cheerful orange number. Upon closer inspection, it was clear that each vest was meticulously handcrafted, complete with the pig's name beautifully embroidered. It was a display of piggy prestige at its finest.

“Surprise, Mama! Now, not only will the piggies be warm in the winter, but they are stylish individuals with many pockets!” Yelena declared.

"The pigs are sporting vests," Nat deadpanned. You gently squeezed her hand, silently urging her to play nice.

“Not vests, sestra. Pests! Piggy vests! My very own invention," Yelena clarified. "You can just call me the next Tony Stark.

"The pigs sporting Pests," you revised with a chuckle.

"Thank you very much, my dear! These are fantastic. I've always believed they needed some attire. The Russian winters are extremely harsh, and they truly deserve something exceptional," Melina exclaimed, planting a loving kiss on her younger daughter's cheek.

"Check it out, girls! Alexi's has the best Pest. He's a dead ringer for the Red Guardian, ready to go head-to-head with Captain America," Alexi exclaimed as he affectionately stroked his namesake.

“Oh my God, it’s like living in a Dr. Seuss book,” Nat joked.

"Who knew you were a crochet pro?" You turn to your best friend in surprise.

“I wasn't. No, no… Kate Bishop is the mastermind behind it. She taught me how to make it. All it took was $100 for the yarn and supplies, which I may have borrowed from Stark, and a promise to never show up again in the middle of the night unless it’s a real emergency,” Yelena explained.

"Is that where you were sneaking off to at all hours of the day and night?"The surprise is written all over your face.

"Where else did you think I was headed?" Yelena questioned.

Undercover in the Multiverse, I don't know!" Your face turned beet red the longer she looked at you. "You were scaring the crap out of everyone.

"Ha! That's hilarious. You're quite the comedian, y/n," she laughed, placing her hands on yours and Natasha's shoulders. "I don't want to give anything away, but by New Year's Eve, some stylish individuals will emerge from this group!" With that, she wrapped you and Nat in a warm, tight group hug.

Natasha's gaze met yours from behind Yelena's back, and a smile crept onto your face. It indeed was a merry Christmas.

#yelena belova #natasha romanoff x reader #red guardian #melina vostokoff #fluff #mcu #the avengers #wanda maximoff #tony stark #kate bishop

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renthony · 2 years ago

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I haven't enjoyed a Marvel movie since I stopped bothering to keep up with the MCU in 2014. I don't care for most Marvel movies. I think Marvel Studios is a case study in things that are shitty in the entertainment industry. But holy shit, pretentious posts along the lines of "haha, I don't watch Marvel films, I have real taste, go watch another movie!" are so fucking annoying.

Like, go put up your middle finger at some preps or something. People are allowed to watch whatever they want and enjoy whatever movies they want and make whatever fandom stuff they want, and that doesn't say anything about their intelligence or morals or character. It doesn't mean they are somehow bad at watching movies, or are too stupid to realize whatever nugget of wisdom ye high-and-mighty Marvel Haters think you're the only ones to understand.

Again, not personally a Marvel fan, but this whole "haha, I'm better than Marvel fans" relates to something I've been musing on about media analysis as a whole. There is a persistent idea that mass entertainment is inherently lower quality or less artistic because it's made for a wide audience, and that bad art isn't worth analyzing or engaging with just because it's low quality. In this mindset, the only art that has the possibility to be any good at all is 100% independent projects made by amateurs, and anything produced by a studio or with wide appeal is inherently poser art with absolutely nothing meaningful to say. In this mindset, you can't possibly learn anything or take anything from bad art, and if you find meaning in bad art, you're clearly just stupid and uneducated and have bad taste.

The thing is? Liking bad art is not a sin. Having a different opinion about what constitutes "bad art" is not a sin. Finding something entertaining despite its flaws is not a sin. Studying bad art is not a sin. You can learn a lot from bad art, you can learn a lot from interpreting propaganda, you can learn a lot from engaging with things even if you don't think they're very "good."

My vaudeville research keeps turning up author after author who talks about vaudeville as some sort of "point of no return," like the performing arts all turned to shit the second things were intended to be seen by more than a single audience for a single show. Popularity gets equated with lack of skill or quality, because all the performers were "just pandering to the audience" instead of relying on "real skill."

For one, what the fuck does that even mean, but for two, the theatrical quality of vaudeville isn't what makes it interesting and worth engaging with. Every single thing that ever came out of vaudeville could be 100% total utter garbage, but vaudeville would still be worth studying because of how influential it still is on arts and entertainment today. It has significant historical and educational merit. And some of it is still genuinely fun and entertaining, once you pick out all the things that didn't age well or were just plain bigoted. There's artistic merit in those old sketches and songs, and there's meaning to be drawn from plenty of it even here in 2023.

You want to learn about the Hays Code? Well, let's talk about how early films were shown on projectors on vaudeville stages, so vaudeville censorship went on to influence American film censorship. Let's talk about how we still use slang to this day that originated on vaudeville, such as "skit" or "one night stand" or "ad lib" or "the big time." Vaudeville is still in the bones of the modern American entertainment industry and pop culture, and you can't really escape that influence.

People in modern day use Marvel movies as proof that big studio films are singlehandedly responsible for the decline of art, and there is nothing to learn from them or see in them at all, ever. But to me, "Marvel movies are bad" is such a flat, uninteresting observation, because when it comes to media analysis, it doesn't really matter if Marvel films are good or entertaining. If you want to actually dig into the problems with big-budget summer Hollywood blockbusters, and the way they're impacting the industry as a whole, you have to go deeper than "pop culture is all stupid stuff for stupid people, unlike me, who isn't like other girls actually has good taste in media!"

There are so many more factors at play than "mass entertainment = bad art." Let's look at the ways capitalism screws over small creators and forces them to seek funding from the very same studios that fuck them over. Let's talk about how the actual workers in the industry are fighting tooth and fucking nail against the exact same things all the Marvel haters harp on about. Let's talk about studios that accept funding from the United States Government to turn superhero comics into propaganda films, and then threaten the actual workers with never having a career again if they complain or quit. Let's talk about how the actors are regularly abused and treated to hostile work environments.

Let's talk about the people who made the films, because the films were not made by a CEO pressing the "make movie" button. The workers made those films. The workers were exploited by those studios. Let's try giving a shit about them, instead of taking the "haha, Marvel fans are stupid and cringe" route.

There is so much more fucking nuance and detail and conversation about mass media as a topic, and boiling it down to, "art made for a wide audience is inherently shitty and has nothing to say."

You're not a better, more intelligent, more educated person just because you don't like Marvel movies. Making posts about how much better you are than Marvel fans does nothing to either explain or tackle the issues in the entertainment industry.

It just makes you look like a dickhead.

#original post

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cybertron-after-dark · 8 months ago

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You should write beast wars, can I have some silly predacon headcanons?

I should absolutely write beast wars. Silly Predacon headcanons coming up

-Megatron talks battle strategy with his rubber duck all the time. He considers it his most trusted advisor because it's never said anything stupid and never tried to kill him. Honestly, he's tempted to think of the little dude as his only real friend.

-Speaking of Megatron, the man is a WHORE for a good bath bomb. Lush addiction, 100%. He has a whole hidden stock of bath bombs, bath salts, scented oils, candles, decorative soaps, scented metal polish and flower petals specifically for spoiling himself when he feels like hes completely surrounded by idiots. Which is often. Has he ever tried to eat one of the decorative soaps that look like baked goods? It doesn't count if it's the t rex hand.

-the reason skorponok occasionally reverts into caveman speak for some episodes is the writers couldn't figure out what to do with him he knows talking like that pisses off tarantulas and he thinks his annoyance is funny even though literally nobody else is amused by the bit.

-skorponok actually kind of misses dinobot because he made his job a lot easier. Constantly pitching ideas, suggesting battle strategies, pointing out flaws in plans. He was useful, even if he seemed to hate skorponok. He doesn't really know how to be a good second in command anymore because a crucial part of the dynamic is missing and he just can't adapt.

-waspinator is perfectly capable of speaking in normal grammar and not in the third person but he's been doing it since he joined in with Megatron and at this point he thinks he's in too deep to knock it off. He thinks it makes him sound cuter because it's actually an evolution of internet uwu speak. Memes get weirdly translated from earth to Cybertron and back.

-waspinator is actually really good at baking but he'll get blasted to bits a thousand times over before he lets anyone other than terrorsaur know because none of his other coworkers deserve to try his cupcakes (and also because he doesn't want to get "promoted" to kitchen slave). Dinobot knew, but he didn't snitch. Wasp never found out that Dinobot would occasionally snag a brownie, he always thought he just counted wrong.

-Terrorsaur is not above attempting to seduce a maximal but all his flirting attempts go horribly awry. If they don't outright reject him they just have no idea what he's getting at bc Predacon flirting is usually a lot different than maximal flirting so everyone thinks he's just kind of being a dick like usual. Dinobot knows exactly what is happening and ranges anywhere from amused to disgusted by the cross-faction fling attempts. The flying weasel clearly has no principles.

-Every couple weeks or so wasp and terrorsaur will get together to watch terrible movies over a bottle of highgrade and it always devolves into bitching about megatron. They tried inviting tarantulas a few times but he'd always make things Weird by bringing in slashers with really good special effects and proceeding to gush about how tasty the gore looks.

-Tarantulas knows what just about every living species in the known galaxy tastes like, organic, mechanical and everything in between. If it's made contact with Cybertron, chances are he's he's tried their flesh (or lack thereof). If it's at all possible, he wants to find out enough about the Vok to figure out how to capture, kill and eat one.

-Tarantulas also thinks rampage is a total poser when it comes to cannibalism. He doesn't even look like he's having fun with it. Barely any torturing or teasing beforehand, only dramatic monologues about fear and anguish. Bah! Amateur...

-Blackarachnia has a trash tv addiction. She doesn't know WHY the Darksyde's datatrax has every season of Keeping Up with the Kardashians and like 30 TLC produced shows, but she refuses to stop watching them. Tarantulas fucking hates it. She does not care and if he complains she will turn the volume higher.

-Blackarachnia has incredibly mixed feelings on the story Cinderella. On the one hand, it gives her a degree of hope. A girl reduced to a work slave for terrible people that gets to escape and live it up with a guy that lives her? Great conceptually, but she only got to get out of it because she was a good person and nice to everyone. Blackarachnia? Not quite so disgustingly sweet. She's a bad girl through and through. And evidently bad people don't get to escape bad situations. Oh well. She can always try to fake it til she makes it.

-Inferno has always secretly hoped that when the war is over, his Queen Megatron will settle down with him and repopulate the colony together. He has wildly saccharine domestic daydreams of being with his giant beloved lizardy queen and their 3000+ kids. He has accidentally let this slip around Megatron once, who proceeded to pointedly ignore what he just said.

-Terrorsaur and Blackarachnia got Inferno to watch Drag Race but upon hearing the contestants being called queen, he took it a bit too literally and interpreted the show as the sad, underwhelming way human queens settle disputes between their colonies instead of just fighting the proper way. Lame.

-Quickstrike is so so very sad he can't play video games. He wants to play GTA and cause excessive and wanton death and destruction, but his fucked up hands cannot hold the controller. He forsakes Primus for building him the way he did. He keeps trying to get tarantulas to make him a usable controller but he gets brushed off every time.

-Quickstrike has attempted to ride inferno in his beast mode into battle. It did not end well but for about a solid 18 seconds it looked metal as hell.

-Rampage actually really likes depth charge and wants to be friends sooooo bad but he doesn't know how to handle that in a healthy way so he keeps trying to get his attention by playing up the cannibalism thing and hoping they fight again. Honestly he just kind of likes depth charge holding him, even if it's in a chokehold.

-After losing transmutate, Rampage projected a lot of his grief onto waspinator, which lead to a very strange period of time on the ship where rampage would get very cuddly and protective of wasp, who was incredibly terrified of what would happen if he shoved the crab off. Usually accompanied by Rampage being Incredibly Sad.

-every month the preds have a game night. Usually a board game or card game with Megatron's house rules. Said house rules are specifically designed to make a fight break out for his amusement. These game nights typically end with at least three people in the r-chamber and somebody missing at least one limb.

#maccadam #transformers #beast wars #megatron #skorponok #terrorsaur #tarantulas #waspinator #blackarachnia #inferno #quickstrike #rampage #dinobot #honorary dinobot tag bc he didnt get his own headcanons but he did show up in the others #ALMOST LIKE THE TEAM STILL FEELS HIS ABSENCE AND CANNOT FULLY FUNCTION AS A UNIT WITHOUT HIM HAHAHA AINT THAT CRAZY #god we shouldve seen more of his dynamic woth the other preds when he was on their side

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