#I’ll link it later when I have more spoons
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I’m realizing I never posted this guy on his own
I need you all to appreciate him
#he is so small#all he knows is dance#sundrop#fnaf sun#fnaf daycare attendant#my art#the original dance is the spooky scary skeleton one#and I used a guide thing for reference#I’ll link it later when I have more spoons#my animations
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The bad girl gets what she deserves
Cedric Diggory x Slytherin!reader
Part 1, part 2
Link to masterlist
NSFW smut, adults/18+ only! Otherwise don’t read!
Here’s the third and final part of the story I promised! I tried to make it extra special since it’s the last one! Again thank you so much to everyone for the support!
UPDATE because I forgot to write this before: For the sake of the story, let’s say the girl’s dormitories weren’t enchanted by the founders to prevent boys from entering like in the main stories.
Summary: You plan to have fun with Cedric at a party after hours
Word count: 4.1k
Tags/warnings: characters are of age, dry humping, making out, drinking, cum tasting, porn with a hint of plot, oral sex, blowjobs, grinding, (I’ll probably add more later)
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As you walked through the Great Hall, you heard whispering coming from next to you. You glared as you whipped your head towards the source of the voices. Of course it had to be Draco Malfoy sitting at your house table with his little gang consisting of his friends, the Quidditch team, and some of the boys in your year. Malfoy looked up from his conversation with his friends to make eye contact with you before covering his mouth with his hands and giggling childishly. You let out an angry huff as you turned around. You hated giving Malfoy any sort of attention as much as you hated him giving you any attention as well.
You spotted your group of friends and greeted them before taking a seat next to them.
“You know, Malfoy started a rumor about you.” Was the first thing you heard.
“So what?” You said casually as you grabbed a box of cereal and poured it into your bowl along with the milk. “I don’t give a damn what that little twat says. What he says is irrelevant to me. I’ll be out of school by next year while he’s stuck here for two more years.”
“Actually, you’re going to want to care about this.” Your other friend said, looking around as if to see if anyone was snooping. “He’s telling people that you and Diggory are sleeping together.” She whispered.
You choked on your spoonful of cereal.
“What?! That little… ugh! He’s got no business saying that.”
“It’s not true is it?” She asked. “You and Diggory? The captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team? You’ve got to be mental to go for someone like him. I mean not that there’s anything wrong with him, but he’s just so… different from you. You’re lucky Malfoy and the rest of Slytherin never talk to Diggory or else that rumor would’ve made its way to him by now.”
“Shut up, Sofie.” Your other friend, who hadn’t spoken up, nudged her arm. She turned to you. “Is it true? I've got the feeling that you’ve been fancying him for quite some time. Don’t you guys always see her eye-fucking him everywhere he is?” She and the rest of the group erupted into a fit of giggles. “Like how she’s doing right now!”
Your cheeks turned an embarrassing shade of red as you turned your head away from where you saw Cedric sitting at the Hufflepuff table except his back was to you, so he wasn’t the one to catch you staring at him. Usually, you were able to focus enough to not act flustered around boys you liked, but at that moment, you were fuming so much inside because of other people putting their noses in your business that you couldn’t keep yourself together.
“Merlin’s beard!” Exclaimed Sofie. “Lia was right! You really fancy him!”
You didn’t say anything.
“I knew it!” You rolled your eyes at Lia who had a smug smile on her face.
You suppressed the urge to smack her with the cereal box.
While you and Cedric decided to call each other boyfriend and girlfriend last week, you wouldn’t have minded not being so secretive had it not been for the gossipy nature of your housemates. You weren’t the type of person who wanted everyone in your business, and the more people pried, the more inclined you were to push them away.
“You’re not saying anything.” Sofie said to you in a sing-song voice. “Normally, you would say whether something’s true or not when there’s a rumor about you. So the fact that you’ve got nothing to say means it’s true then.”
“What? No, it means I have other things to worry about… like what I’ll be doing after I graduate.” You tried to change subjects.
“Like where you and Cedric will live.” Lia smirked.
“Is Malfoy right? Are you and Diggory sleeping together?” You hated that the topic somehow went back to Cedric. Even though it had only been a week after he and you got together, you felt like it would’ve been disrespectful to him and inappropriate if you were to start blabbing to your friends about your sexual encounters with him without his consent.
“I’m not going to say whether anything is true or not because I don’t want to give Malfoy the satisfaction of getting to me. I’ll see you in class.” You finished your bowl of cereal and got up to leave, slinging your bag over your shoulder.
“You‘ll see Cedric in class too!” You ignored your friends giggling behind you.
Making sure that you were satisfied with how you did your eyeliner, you turned away from the mirror towards your friends. Some were still doing their makeup by their vanity while the others were sitting on their beds.
“You look hot by the way.” Serina said from her spot on her bed. She was talking about the black dress she picked out for you from her wardrobe. It was strapless and stopped right below your butt. You were glad you had magic so that you could make it fit you properly, not too baggy and not too tight.
“Yeah, if only Cedric could see you.” Isabel smiled as she wiggled her eyebrows at you.
“Come on guys, there’s nothing to talk about concerning Cedric… we just study a lot together. Because we have most of our classes… together.” You tried to keep your voice level as you knew the color of your cheeks were anything but that.
“Stop denying it. We’ve seen you hang out with him, and by the looks of it, we can tell he fancies you too.” Lia said, the other girls nodding in agreement.
“You spied on me? For how long?” What else could you expect from your friends? They were in Slytherin for a reason.
“A week after we had that conversation at breakfast… I promise you we’re not judging!” Sofie rushed in, putting her hands on her shoulders. “We were talking about the party that we’re throwing in the common room tonight, and we thought you might want to… invite Cedric? It’s not even curfew yet. You can go find him. Just let him in.”
“Oh. Yes, if only it were just us and nobody else at the party.” You said sarcastically as you shrugged.
“You said you don’t care about the rumors of you and Cedric being fuckbuddies. Or dating, whatever.” Sofie pointed out.
“Come on, you’ll have much more fun with Cedric at the party… ” Isabel pleaded. “And we promise not to come in here.”
“Why would you say that? This is our room…” It then dawned on you what she implied, and you coughed as you took a look at the other girls who were all looking at you in return with a matching mischievous look in their eyes. “Oh…”
“We all know you want to.” Serina said with a know-it-all attitude. “And when it’s over, Cedric will have no problem sneaking back to his common room because he can get away with telling people he’s doing his duties as a Prefect.”
“Think about it.” Isabel said.
“Okay fine.” You seethed through your clenched teeth. “Malfoy was right about me and Cedric. So were you. We’re… seeing each other.” You cautiously admitted.
“Took you long enough to say it.” Lia rolled her eyes. “Not that you had to say it.”
“Let’s go. You’re wasting your time just by talking to us. Go find Cedric.” Sofie grabbed your hand and dragged you to the door before using her one armed strength to push you out of the room before you could say anything. You shivered as you held your arms against your chest. You hated that they didn’t give you your jacket or your wand so you could keep yourself warm.
You watched as the students in yellow and black uniforms walked past you to their common room. You knew how suspicious you looked, an outsider hanging around somewhere that wasn’t your space. Most of the students were too tired from doing homework or studying to pay attention to you, anyways. Except for one.
“You again!” It was the same first year boy that caught you sneaking into the Quidditch changing rooms the day you put that note in Cedric’s school bag. He was pointing at you. And he was with Cedric. Great. Now that you found him, you had to get him away from his little friend.
“Yeah, what of me?” You stood up from your place against the wall. “Cedric and I have some adult business to discuss.” You looked over at your boyfriend, whose eyes you caught widening as he took in your revealing outfit.
“We do? Oh… right.” You enjoyed seeing boys fumbling around you and getting flustered when you’d catch them spacing out, and it was especially amusing when it was someone you had fancied for a while.
“Yeah. Our assignments, and you know…” You raised your eyebrows at him, hoping he’d take a hint.
“Go on, it’s alright.” He said to the younger student, patting him on the back.
Once it was just the two of you alone out in the darkened corridor, you let your lips crash down on each other’s, not knowing who initiated the kiss.
“It’s almost curfew.” Cedric said once the two of you broke off from the kiss. You enjoyed the feeling of his warm hands running over the goosebumps on your arms. “You’ll get in trouble.”
“Like I’m a stranger to that.” You light-heartedly scoffed before rolling your eyes. “Have you got time?”
“Well, sure. Anything for you.” Wasn’t he just the sweetest boyfriend ever?
“My friends and I are having a party in our common room, and we want to invite you.” You said, eyeing him from his lips to your hands that were on his chest. “Come on, we’ll have so much fun. I know I’ve been having fun with you. And I want more. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” Years of flirting taught you how to get boys to agree with you to almost anything. “And you’ll have no trouble sneaking around after the party because of your Prefect status.”
“I don’t know. I mean, it’s not my house’s common room. You said you and your friends want me there, but what about everyone else?” He asked.
“Well, you are the most confident Hufflepuff for a reason, and it’s not like you let other people’s negative opinions dictate how you act. I mean, I highly doubt anyone has a valid reason to dislike you. Because you’re so popular.” So far, you were pleased with yourself for how easily you were able to come up with what to say.
“So, what do you think?” You asked, letting your sparkling eyes and your smile do more of the talking.
You felt proud knowing your charms had worked on Cedric and he went along with your plan. By the time you had let him into the Slytherin common room, the party had already started with everyone present except for the younger students who wouldn't be aware of the party thanks to the silencing charm.
At least everyone else was too busy dancing to the loud music, drinking, or socializing to notice your entrance and the presence of an outsider.
“Come on,” you took Cedric’s hand and led him to where the windows were, next to the Black Lake. He was a little slow catching up to you, as he was more focused on taking in the room he’d never been in before.
“Wow. It’s… interesting.” Cedric was still looking around and moving his head like a child who was seeing skyscrapers for the first time.
You giggled at how adorable you thought he looked.
“I never thought I’d see the Slytherin common room.” He said off-handedly.
You saw your friends from the corner of your eye waving you over. “I think your friends want to talk to you.” Cedric leaned over to you as he pointed at them.
“Let’s go!“ you grabbed his hand as you led him over to the middle of the room where most of the students were dancing.
“Stop keeping to yourselves and get out there!” Serina shouted at you, giving your butt a light spank, making you lurch forward. Making sure to not lose your balance on your heels, you stepped up to the table before holding your hand out for Cedric to take.
He looked around to your friends bashfully before taking your hand and standing up on the table next to you. You let yourself get lost in the beat for a moment before taking Cedric’s face in your hands and kissing him on the lips, in front of everyone. You could hear some of the tipsy students whistle and clap. You and Cedric pulled back from the kiss before giving each other a smile.
“Yeah! Get it!” You heard one of your friends screaming from your side before handing you two shot glasses. You took one for yourself while you passed the other one over to Cedric.
“It’s Firewhiskey! It’s that one we stole from Snape!” One of them said. Of course you remembered the thrill of sneaking into his classroom with your friends and finding that bottle in his desk drawer.
“Bottoms up!” You held your shot glass up to Cedric, and you made a toast before you both downed your drinks in one sip.
After putting down the glasses, you resumed dancing with Cedric, with the burning sensation of the drink making you feel warm along with the boost of confidence.
You and Cedric did more than just kiss this time. As he parted his mouth, you traced your tongue along his bottom and top lip, licking the alcohol.
Another chorus of loud whistles and claps soon followed, this time accompanied by intelligible sentences.
“Is that Diggory? I never thought they’d go for each other!”
“Aren’t they sleeping with each other?!”
“They’re totally sleeping with each other!”
“I told you so!”
All that teenage gossip became white noise to you, making it easy for you to drown out thanks to the alcohol. You did not care about anyone else at that moment other than the one person who had his body pressed against you. You didn’t care about what other people would say about seeing you making out with the captain of your house’s rival Quidditch team. All you cared about was having a good time with Cedric.
“Woohoo! Show us what you got!” Came from the direction where your friends were standing.
Feeling encouraged by what you just heard, you turned around and took both of Cedric’s hands and placed them on your waist. You may or may not have purposely bumped your ass against your dance partner’s frontside a few times.
Your friends giggled and cheered some more as they caught onto what you were doing and it seemed Cedric did too. “Do you think anyone would bother us if we went somewhere more private?” What was that saying you heard? Great minds think alike? You smirked at that thought as you stepped down onto the floor with Cedric following you.
“Ooh! I see someone wants some alone time!” You heard one of your friends teasing you.
“Shouldn’t you be up there? It’s your turn.” You countered back sassily as you showed them all forward. After your group of friends turned back and winked at you, you took Cedric’s hand and led him to your room.
After reaching behind Cedric to lock the door to your room, you pressed him against the wood while keeping your lips locked onto his. He let you take the lead, parting his lips to grant your tongue entrance into his mouth. He let out a low groan as your palms delicately slid over his bulge. Heat pulsed between your legs at feeling how hard he was already.
By the time you broke off the kiss, you were both panting heavily despite having barely touched each other. At least in comparison to what you were thinking of doing to him.
Wordlessly, you took his hand and led him over to where your bed was. You continued making out with him as you pushed him down by the shoulders so that he could sit down on the mattress. He held onto your waist as you straddled yourself over him.
You moaned out Cedric’s name as you could feel his erection against you. The dress you were wearing was so short that it completely rode up your thighs with the way you were positioned, so that you were able to get a lot of friction against your clothed pussy.
Cedric gripped onto your waist tighter at the same time you started grinding yourself against him, his bulge and the front seam of his trousers sliding along your clit and then your folds in the most delicious way possible. But that wasn’t enough. Your insatiable appetite for pleasure wouldn’t leave you satisfied just from dry humping.
“Please, Cedric.” You breathed out in a hushed voice, borderline moaning. “I want to cum so fucking bad. I can tell you do too.” You cupped him through his clothes and gave him a squeeze.
In response, Cedric brought his hand around your neck and brought his lips to yours before asking, “How do you want to do it?”
You didn’t reply with words, instead pushing him down gently until his back hit the mattress and pillows. He silently watched as you undid his belt and zipper, then freed his cock from its confines.
“I can’t wait to have this inside me.” You purred equally as slow as your fingers had moved along the shaft. He let out a groan as you left a light kiss on the tip, red from all the blood rushing there.
You let the tip ease in between your lips before savoring the taste with your tongue running along the slit. You bobbed your head a few times, batting your lashes at Cedric while he was brushing your hair out of your face.
After a few minutes of letting his dick in and out of your throat and past your lips, the silence was broken by a plop as you let your saliva connect with his precum. You were oddly fascinated by that string of liquid. It reminded you of how easily the tip would slide into you now that it was wet, and thinking about it only made another rush of heat gather between your legs.
“I’m gonna fuck you now.” You said into Cedric’s ear quietly as you leaned forward in your straddle position. In response, he propped himself up onto his elbows and struck a peck on your lips.
You turned around and swiped your hair to one side so that Cedric could watch as you unzipped your dress, slowly revealing your skin to him, teasing him. Once you had thrown your dress over your head and discarded it, you knew this was where the real fun could begin.
With you on top of Cedric, you let him slowly guide your hips as you took a seat on his cock. You breathed a sigh of relief at the welcome feeling of fullness stuffing your cunt. Throughout the times you slept with Cedric, you’d become addicted to having him inside you, stretching out your wet, aching pussy, only to have it be fed by his hot cum. In the aftermath, you’d be transfixed by the sight of the white liquid pouring down your legs.
Grabbing the fabric around his thighs, you slowly bounced up and down, along with having one of his hands squeezing a fist full of your ass before sliding to where your waist curved inward.
As you opened your eyes, you caught sight of yourself on the vanity and wardrobe mirrors around the room. Your breasts were exposed, bouncing along with the rest of your body, and the duplicates of your reflection reminded you that Cedric could most definitely see your frontside too.
It was the knowledge of how he could watch you fuck yourself that tempted you to show him more, let him know just how slutty you could be.
“You’re so gorgeous.” Cedric grunted from behind you as he ran the back of his fingers along your spine, causing you to moan slightly at the ticklish, yet somehow erotic sensation. You could never get tired of hearing him call you gorgeous no matter how often. It made you feel special, reminded you of his reputation as a good boy, which is what turned you on about him in the first place.
You took another peek at the mirror across the room, and saw the crumpled, pleasure-stricken look on your face. Wanting to give Cedric a better show, you made it a point to stick out your tits and flick your thumbs and forefingers along both nipples, hardening the peaks, which heightened the pleasure and heat in your cunt.
It seemed Cedric got a little jealous of you having all the fun since he snaked his own hand under yours, cupping your breast. He started to mimic what he saw you doing to yourself with your other hand with his own.
There was a stark contrast between touching yourself with your own hand versus having Cedric touch you. Whereas your palms were smaller, fingers shorter and more slender with a softer touch, he had larger palms that covered more surface, longer, thicker fingers that had that a certain roughness that was typical of men, and his blunt fingernails which he kept much shorter than yours allowed him to maneuver his fingertips in ways you couldn’t with your manicured nails.
In addition, it was far more exciting with someone else doing it to you as there was the anticipation and the thrill of unpredictability.
“Oh… fuck.” You bit your lip, too engrossed in the way Cedric was touching you that you soon grew bored of your other hand, moving it to your clit instead.
“Let me get that for you.” He placed his free hand on top of yours and guided it to his leg. Balancing yourself on him, you took a quick look down as his index finger was pressed against the swollen nub between your legs.
Jolting forward as even the slightest touch triggered your walls to squeeze harder around his stiff cock, a slew of profanities slipped past your lips.
“I got you.” You heard Cedric’s deep, comforting voice, which you didn’t realize was pushing you towards an orgasm at first.
“Fuck. Cedric… I can’t! I-I’m about-” As you were on the verge of sobbing, your words weren’t making sense. Without thinking about anything else but your impending orgasm, you bounced harder on his cock, willing for it to go deeper, to reach as much as it could in places you could never get to with your fingers.
Soon, you felt something hot spilling inside you as Cedric’s grip on your breast tightened, followed by your walls and pussy lips fluttering around him.
As you continued to scream into your hand, you savored each rope of hot cum that was spilling inside you. On the other hand, Cedric wasn’t much quieter than you were.
Soon, you both had calmed down. Even when his cock had softened inside of you, he didn’t pull out, instead using it to keep his cum plugged in you. How you loved feeling so full like this after sex.
Carefully sitting up, he encircled his arm around your frontside, squishing your breasts together as he hoisted himself up so that you were both upright with you still on his lap.
You were in the middle of catching your breath when you felt his lips pepper kisses from your neck to your shoulder.
“I should probably get back to my dorm now.” He whispered, letting teeth latch onto your earlobe.
“Right. Since you’re such a good boy.” You emphasized the last two words in a patronizing tone, as a way to tease him.
Being careful not to get his uniform dirty, you quickly lifted yourself off of him.
You let Cedric ogle your still naked body standing in front of him. Maintaining eye contact, you ran your fingers along the inside of your thigh, sighing as they came into contact with the sticky mess he left behind. With wide blinking eyes, he stared as you dipped each finger into your mouth, sucking and tasting him.
Of course, you couldn’t say goodbye without kissing him on the lips.
Maybe it was time he got a taste of himself. Literally.
#fanfic#reader insert#harry potter fanfiction#fem!reader#fanfiction#cedric diggory x you#cedric diggory x reader#smutty fanfiction#hp smut#smut#cedric diggory fanfiction#cedric diggory#slytherin reader#smut fanfiction#male character x female reader#female reader#slytherpuff
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sorry for two asks I just love your writing and want to hear all your thoughts actually on Steve with a belly big enough that it fully sits in his lap?
steve with a belly that fullly sits in his lap?? anon ur a connoisseur, youre hitting my fucking sweet spots rn i think i need to go run a lap and settle down.
but this steve tho, who’s like, big. he lives in my head. he lives in my head and i wrote him a little here, and he lives there now. and he’s hot and he’s round. and he's big and he lives in my head.
so im gonna keep going... same Steve as linked above, a few months later. back at the buffet.
(This has been half finished in the drafts for so long omg,, we did it boys 😩 we made it 🫶 AWOOOO 🗣)
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They always get a spread of plates, laying them out on the table between them. Eddie picking at some fries here and a chicken wing there. Dipping a slice of pizza in ranch and having a serving of collard greens. He has his fill, but mostly, he watches.
Watches Steve eat, have everything he wants, smiling at Eddie over the table. He brings Steve whatever he asks for, never pushing or teasing. Just allowing Steve to let himself be insatiable. Letting him know early on that it was okay, to want, to need, to indulge. So now Steve always has as much or as little as he wants. It just happens that Steve’s stomach is a bit of a bottomless pit. He always wants a lot.
Eddie rests his chin on his palm, sighing, enamoured. Steve licks sauce from his fingers and shifts his thighs a little wider under the table. Leaning forward so his stomach presses in, lapping over the edge, white shirt peaking through his plaid shirt buttons. ‘Pressure feel good?’ Eddie asks and Steve nods, cheeks pink, eyes glazed, reaching for the plate of fried shrimp.
Steve had been broad, then thick. His belly taking the brunt once he really started to gain. For so long it was round and firm as it swelled out before him, stretching all his t-shirts and straining all his button-ups.
Now, with the last 20lbs or so, its just started to droop. The softest bottom swell just started to hang, started to teardrop, and fall over the waistband of his jeans when he’s stood. Buttery and squishy and Eddie would often find himself giving it attention, spending an evening resting between Steve’s thighs, head on that new soft part. Mouth roaming.
But it still surges out before him, out from under his soft meaty pecs. Still round, just, getting rounder. Fighting for room between Steve’s thick thighs. sitting heavy and warm atop them, lap always full.
By the time Steve is on desert, spooning the last dregs of the banana split Eddie made him, the remnants of the various cakes they shared (since Eddie has the bigger sweet tooth of the two), all nothing but crumbs - Steve is visibly, achingly full.
And Eddie can’t help but brush his foot against Steve shin, wishing he could peek under the table at Steve’s spread thighs, watch how his belly has to dip between, see how low it sits now. Wishes he could kneel between Steve’s legs, pale and strong, squish his head between and bury his face until he can swallow steve whole. Wishes he could do it for hours, while Steve eats more, wedging himself into the booth.
But those are thoughts for later, when they’re not in public, and Steve is comfortable.
Because he almost does look wedged in, leaning on his forearms, cheeks pink and rosy from all the food. Eyes glassy and breathing a little slow, and little short, his stomach pressing on his lungs.
Eddie needs to simmer it down, Steve is finishing the last of his soda, straw slurping the last few noisy drops.
Steve’s finished. It’s time to go.
‘Ready?’ Eddie asks and Steve nods, leaning back and looking at the ceiling, there’s a light sheen of sweat in his hairline. ‘I’ll go pay, be back in a sec.’
Eddie hops up and walks to the register, paying quickly with a tip and a smile but he’s honestly glad they can go now, he wants to be home, where he can touch his love freely, call him sweet names and hold him close. He’s sick of the table being in the way.
When he gets back, Steve hasn’t moved.
He’s looking down, chin doubling and Eddie wants to bite - suck hickys into Steve’s flesh. One hand is on the top of his belly, which is still pressed against the table, full stomach bloated enough to fill up the whole booth. ‘You getting up Stevie?’ He asks, vibrating a little for the answer.
‘Don’t think, up, is really possible anymore.’ Steve huffs, looking up at Eddie through his lashes.
Eddie gulps. ‘Can I help?’ He asks, voice soft, almost too soft for public.
‘Nah I got it. Just, gonna.’ And Steve grips the table, sliding sideways out of the booth, belly running along the table and determination creasing his brows.
One he reaches the end, after a couple breaks, pauses to breath or resettle his stomach and spread his legs, he shifts one thigh out and twists so he’s more side on. Taking a second to readjust his T-shirt and flannel, so everything is covered again, a fleshy stretch marked hip just starting to peak out now safely tucked away. Steve smiles up at Eddie, wiggles his eyebrows a little, as if to say "you watching?" Before he puts his hands flat on the table and lifts himself up with an audible groan. Finally popping himself out of the booth, standing and leaning back ever so slightly to counteract the weight in his front.
And it’s a weight. Steve looks huge, distended and full, his belly round and firm, bowing out below his pecs. But Eddie’s knows that bottom part is still soft, that there’s always a layer of him now that’s soft and jiggly no matter how much he gluts himself.
Steve settles a big palm over his navel to help relieve the pressure from his back. Stop it getting to jostled as he walks slowly to the door and out to the van.
Steve whines a little, Eddie’s walking way too fast, but he’s exited, exited to get Steve home.
Eddie’s started pointing out that Steve has started to waddle now, thighs rubbing together. It makes Steve blush and shiver a little, his body still changing, getting bigger and heavier and rounder. Eddie watches him now, parking lot blissfully empty, the rubbing of his legs, the curve of his hips, the slowing of his gait. And his belly, swaying side to side with each slow step, heavy and ever-present, his most defining feature.
Eddie opens the car door for him getting there first and bowing deepy. ‘My liege.’ He says, sweetly. Steve rolling his eyes but he’s fighting down a smile as he shuffles the last few paces to the car. ‘Allow me.’ Eddie teases, hands lifting Steve’s belly slightly as he hefts himself into the van, siting heavy and slow, swinging his thick legs in. It kind of helps, Steve has said, even if Eddie know he also thinks it’s ridiculous.
Steve is too full to comment of Eddie’s antics, instead just huffs at him, sinking slowly down into the seat and lifting his belly up gently, making sure it rests out on his thighs comfortably for the ride home. Trying to catch his breath, a sheen of sweat on his brow from the walk.
Eddie always agrees to drive when Steve gluts himself in public. Steve still loves driving, loves the little flush Eddie gets if Steve rests a hand on his thigh as he does. But he just can’t get over the press of the booth as his stomach bloats, the heft of getting himself back out. Belly too big and tight and sending him too floaty to focus on driving home. It’s all too good to pass up.
So Eddie drives. Happily.
Steve reaches for Eddie’s hand, once he gets settled in the drivers seat, smiling sleepily over at him. Eddie smiles back, kissing Steve’s knuckles and dipping forward to kiss the stuffed upper curve that rounds out under Steves pecs.
Steve hums, shifting his thighs as wide as they’ll go, not the most comfortable in the now much smaller van but Eddie watches as he cranks the seat back, giving himself a little more room.
Steve chose a newish flannel and jeans for tonight, ones that would keep him decent and comfortable. The white T-shirt he chose for underneath is definitely not new ish, it’s old ish and was steadily rising over the course of the meal. Which let him tease Eddie by whining at the tightness, pouting on the way to the restaurant, shifting and teasing and flashing skin. Until Eddie couldn’t help but grope at the flesh once they got a red light, growling for Steve to ‘be good.’
The flannel buttons pull just slightly now that Steve’s a little more prone. Meaning his fleshy sides are spilling out over his waistband and the hairy happy trail below his navel is visible between the shirts bottom most V. The skin pink and stretched, revealed again from the short walk.
Steve sighs, resting his head back and blinking sleepily. His hands coming to settle on the steady rise and fall of shelf like belly.
‘Come on then big guy. Let’s head home yeah?’ Eddie asks, sticking the keys in the ignition.
But Steve turns his head, pouting and whining quietly.
Eddie smiles at him, bringing his hand up to cup Steve’s cheek, fingers on his soft pudgy jaw. ‘Ah, I know, I know. You’re my baby aren’t you?’ Eddie says softly watching Steve’s smile bloom small and soft and vulnerable and sweet.
Steve hums again, eyelashes fluttering and he kisses Eddie’s palm once, nodding softly.
‘Gonna take my baby home, take him to bed yeah? Since he ate so well.’ He coos, scratching lightly behind Steve’s ear and pulling away to start the engine and pull out of the lot.
Steve lays his head back flat and wiggles a little to get comfortable again.
His belly hangs pale and wide over the waistband of his jeans. His chubby fingers pressing lightly into the tight top curve, trying to release a little pressure in the mound of food he ate. His eyes stay shut the whole ride home, half asleep but Eddie knows that means he feels safe. And it’s exactly where Eddie wants him, close, near. So Eddie can always keep him safe, let him indulge.
-
Wg enjoyer tag (open): @scoops-aboy86 @chickensinrainboots @cheesedoctor @tangerinesteve
#hotlunch#ask#steddie wg#chubby steve harrington#<3#belly#belly belly belly#something so good so juicy about#buffet stuffing
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2: “try and get some sleep baby”
34: “shh, it’s okay. I’m here now”
Hopefully this is okay, I made it into a sort of nightmare in which the reader wakes up to a caring Christian Cage. Any feedback is appreciated! Hope you enjoy! 🩵
Tag: @brideofinfamy
Warnings: none
Theme: angst and fluff at the end
Word count: 1407
Link to masterlist
Happy reading 🖤
“I know it’s not easy, but try and get some sleep baby.”
For the last few days, you had been really struggling to get to sleep. You weren’t sure where the problem was starting but all you knew is you were sick of sleeping so late all the time. Christian laid behind you, spooning your body while one of his cats happily nestled behind his knees. He mumbled sweet nothings into your hair, trying to help you get to sleep. Even though he was half asleep he still tried his best to get you as relaxed as possible before he drifted off into his own dreams.
“I’ll try, babe…” you sighed, feeling him plant a soft kiss on the back of your head and pulling the sheets higher up on your bodies. You went to say goodnight, but by the time you turned your head towards him, he was out like a light.
The clock by your bedside table read 2:13am. It wasn’t the time you wanted to see at all, having tried for hours to get to sleep. Strangely enough, you were tired enough to get to sleep but your brain was just refusing to shut off for the night. It’s not like you had even done anything crazy that night anyways! At best, you and your boyfriend, Christian, had just had a quiet night cooking dinner, watching a movie. Being in his later years, he preferred to stay in and hang out with his girl. There was nothing he needed to prove to anyone by bringing you out, showing you off to his friends to prove that ‘he’s still got it!’ He didn’t need to prove to anyone that he was still worthy of being loved by younger women. So he chose to spend his nights relaxing with you instead. He knew you didn’t enjoy going out and partying until the early hours of the sunrise, so it never took much convincing to get you to stay home with him.
You envied Christian for being able to sleep so quickly. As soon as you guys had got yourselves tucked in he fell asleep. Snoring away behind you, his sounds were oddly relaxing. They were loud, occasionally a little bit squeaky but it was just enough to help lull you into a restless sleep.
Once your eyes finally closed and you melted into the sheets, you found yourself standing alone in a hallway. Wide awake.
‘Strange…’ you thought aloud, ‘where is everybody?’
Wandering down the hall you could hear faint, illegible voices that went up and down in both tone and volume. Almost like a weird song? You couldn’t quite pinpoint who the voices belonged to but it definitely sounded familiar. Deciding to stop, you pressed your ears against a closed wooden door on your right to see if you could make out what they were saying. But weirdly, as you got closer you heard more voices that made it so hard to hear as you got closer to the wood. They were loud, distorted, and almost angry. But after some head movements, you found the sweet spot on the door that allowed you to make out at least some words. Sadly, though, it might’ve just been better to ignore them.
“She’s just so…and I don’t…why would he go…someone as young as…she’s just in it…for the money…he could do…so much better…”
‘Oh my god,’ you gasped, ‘is…is that what she thinks of me?!’
It took you a moment to figure out who the voice might belong to, and you felt your heart drop when you realised it was one of Christians friends. It could’ve been Shayna, or possibly Beth but you weren’t fully certain on which of the girls. You swallowed thickly, and with a tightness on your chest you continued down the hall. On your left, this time, was a new wooden door. Except this one was painted Green with a little peephole looking into the room. You could see the back of someone sitting, typing furiously on their phone and dictating loudly what they were writing. Whoever they were, they were practically shouting their words of hatred:
“What does he even see in her…why on Earth…date a younger…she deserves to be-“
Quickly and clumsily stepping back, you tried to spare yourself from hearing the end of that sentence. You felt the cool wall slam against your back as you stumbled down to the floor.
‘Oh my god, what’s going on?!’ You thought to yourself, head buried in your hands, body trembling. The tightness on your chest started to feel more like a weight. Like something was sitting on it, hot and kind of fuzzy? It almost felt like it was merging with the inside of your throat. After what felt like forever, you found the courage to lift your head only to be met with an open doorway. Looking in, sat on a lone chair in the middle of an otherwise empty room sat Christian. Staring at you. With no love in his eyes.
He didn’t say anything, just watched as you shakily lifted yourself off the floor to walk towards him. With each step closer, his expression became more sour and angry.
‘Baby, it’s…it’s me. What’s wrong?” You questioned, lips quivering. Still, he stayed silent and unmoving.
‘Please just say something! Anything!’
Slowly he stood from the chair, eyes trained on you with a scowl plastered on his face. He took a step forward towards you and placed his hands on your shoulders.
‘You disgust me…’ he spat out, beginning to shake you violently. With each shake, he shouted disgusting comments at you, spit flying all over your face as he closed the space between the two of you. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t even breathe. The man that you were in love with stood before you shouting abuse at you. Tears streamed down as you stared at his greying face, his cheeks burning a bright red of hatred. Everything felt like it was shaking around you, and you had the odd sensation of being lifted from the ground. But, his voice kept you distracted from everything around you. You barely even noticed his expression soften, his voice suddenly quiet and soothing.
“Hey, wake up!”
Sitting up in a panic, you almost shrieked. The heavy feeling in your chest quickly disappeared as his cat (who was previously cuddled up on your chest) tumbled down into your lap with a gentle meow in protest. She hopped away from the bed, unhappy with the level of respect. Apparently she didn’t much appreciate rolling down somebody's body. Looking around the room that was just barely lit with the lamp beside your boyfriend you realised where you were. Back in the safety of his bedroom. It was just a horrible nightmare. It still didn’t stop your sobs and violent shakes as you fell sideways into his awaiting arms.
“Oh baby, shh. Shh, it’s okay. I’m here now…” he mumbled, face buried in your hair, hands caressing your arms. You tried to speak but you just couldn’t get the words out between sobs.
“No it’s okay, sweet girl, you don’t have to say anything. I know you had a nightmare. You don’t have to tell me what happened.”
His reassuring words helped you calm down quicker, his soft hands acting as a fantastic distraction from the sadness. Finally you were able to calm down again. The tears had stopped flowing, the shakes were less violent. But that didn’t stop him from continuing to hold you, rocking you side to side. You looked over to him to see him flash you a warm smile.
“Are you feeling better now?” He held an open bottle of water to your lips, trying to get you to have a few sips which you gratefully accepted. Still feeling too upset to properly talk, you gave him a nod before laying back down under the covers. He placed the water down and turned off the lamp, plunging the room back into darkness. There was a brief moment of anxiety which quickly washed away as he nuzzled in next to you.
“Th…thank you.” You managed to mutter out, just loud enough for him to hear. Another kiss was given to you but this time on your cheek.
“I’m here for you sweet girl, whatever happens. Try and get back to sleep if you can, okay? I promise I won’t let go of you tonight.”
#aew#christian cage#christian cage x reader#christian cage fanfic#christian cage imagine#captain charisma#christian#christian wwe#jay reso#instant classic
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Stripped
Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.
Pairing: Brock Rumlow x F! Reader
Warnings: Swearing, male strip club shenanigans, lots of fun, fluff, and humor
Word Count: 4.1K-ish (who knew I had this much to say about Stripper! Rumlow 🤣😉)
Summary: Brock and Reader are in an established relationship. He’s been leaving to go to “work” at night and Reader seems to think he’s keeping something from her. Reader goes out with her friends for a friend’s birthday celebration and gets a surprise of her own.
A/N: Based on a conversation between me and my lovely Lily @munsonownsmyass She always has wonderful ideas and this one was a lot of fun. Lily and I bounced dialogue off of each other that I did put in towards the end of this fic. I also made a playlist to go along with this and I’ll link that at the end. Real life Ginger @gijos helped me with a few details for this one too. I hope you like it! 🩵
As always, thank you for reading! I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕
“Didn’t you work already today, Brock?” You asked, looking up from your book.
Your boyfriend, Brock Rumlow, looked down at you with his whiskey colored eyes and nervously replied, “I did, doll. But this just came up and I’ll get paid extra for it so I have to go.”
The nervous tone to his voice told you he wasn’t exactly telling you the whole truth.
“Are you sure that’s all it is, baby?” You asked, softly.
He cocked his head slightly and gave you a half smile.
“Of course it is, sweetheart.” He replied.
Brock leaned down to kiss you on the forehead and with his work bag slung over his shoulder, he headed for the front door.
“It won’t take too long, I promise.” He said. Brock’s voice sounded tired and extra raspy after the long day he already had.
He had been doing these late night jobs for awhile now, but it just sounded like they weren’t the normal type of work he did for SHIELD. You had no reason not to trust him, he always came home when he said he would, and never broke his promises.
Later that night
You could feel the heat radiating off of his body when he spooned up behind you, his strong arms wrapped tightly around your waist as he kissed your bare shoulder. The combination of his natural scent was mixed with something unfamiliar, cologne, perfume, or maybe both? But you ignored it and drifted back to sleep.
You were just happy he was home safe with you.
**********
The next morning, the aroma of coffee wafted past your nose as you rolled over in bed. The space next to you was cold where Brock had been sleeping, and you wondered how long he had been awake for.
“Mornin’, sweetheart.” Brock said with a warm smile as you slowly walked into the kitchen.
Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you asked him, “You must have gotten home pretty late, huh?”
The smile disappeared from his face. He could tell that you were a little upset.
“Yeah, I tried not to wake you, doll. I thought I was being quiet and I’m sorry if I woke you, baby. I really did try not to.” Said Brock.
The look on his face and the tone of his voice told you he felt bad for getting home late and disturbing your sleep but you decided it would be best if you just let it go. Brock felt bad enough without you giving him a bunch of shit for working late. He did apologize for it.
“It’s ok, baby.” You said with a slight smile. “May I have some coffee, please?”
As Brock poured coffee into your favorite mug, you reminded him that you were going out tonight with your friends for a birthday celebration. It was your friend Shannon’s birthday and she decided that she wanted to go see some strippers.
“What?” Brock asked as his lips pulled into a straight line and his voice dipped a little lower, the rasp a little more prominent.
“Yeah…you know it’s not really my thing but that’s what she wanted to do. She’s the birthday girl. You should see her, she bought a sash and everything.” You said with a slight chuckle.
Brock didn’t seem amused at all. He ran his thick fingers through his dark brown hair and hesitated before asking you, “Well, uh, which…which one, I mean, yeah so which club are you going to?”
Taking a sip of your coffee, you raised your eyebrows and shrugged.
“I dunno. I think Shannon said it was a place that’s a little ‘classier’ than the usual ‘bingo hall’ type male strip clubs. These are her words, not mine, baby. I think they’re all a little sleazy.” You said.
“S-so you really don’t know which one you’re going to?” Brock asked again, scratching his head.
You vigorously shook your head back and forth.
The scowl on his face returned as he slowly stroked his beard, his hair still messy from sleep and he pondered carefully on what to say next.
Brock was gazing down at the floor when you tilted his chin up so his eyes were focused on yours.
“What’s the matter, handsome? Do you not want me to go?” You asked, shyly.
He responded quickly.
“No, I mean…of course I want you to go. It’s your friend’s birthday and I would never tell you that you couldn’t do something, you know that. I have to work again tonight anyway.” Said Brock.
“Must be important if they need you on a Saturday night.” You said.
Brock nodded.
Neither one of you had any plans for the day until later so you suggested going out to lunch. He agreed and the two of you had a nice afternoon together.
**********
Brock called out to you from the kitchen before leaving for work.
“Hey doll?!! I’m leavin’ in a minute.”
You had just finished getting dressed. Taking him completely by surprise, you ran into the kitchen, leaped into his arms and planted a kiss on his lips.
He set you back down onto the floor with his hands still wrapped tightly around your waist. Deepening the kiss, his tongue gently pressed against your teeth, begging for access to your mouth. Parting your lips, your tongue tangled with his while he gently brushed his fingers against your lace shirt.
As he rubbed the fabric in between his thick fingers, Brock glanced down at your outfit and pulled away slightly.
“What are you wearin’?” He asked.
You glanced down at your outfit, a sleeveless black lace shirt, tight jeans, and black over-the-knee boots. Turning around in a circle so he could get a better look (and see what he was going to be missing), you gazed up at him through your long dark lashes and replied, “What? You don’t like it?”
You were taunting him but only a little. Brock didn’t really react well to being teased but he tolerated it from you. He kissed the tip of your nose and answered, “Of course I like it, sweetheart. As I’m sure every other man will too when they get a look at ya.”
You rolled your eyes. Brock could be slightly possessive and intimidating but for the most part he would just use his bark and not his bite.
“Baby, it’s not MY birthday. Besides, you know I like to look nice when I go out.” You said.
He looked you over from head to toe.
“Uh huh. You look a little TOO nice, y/n.” Said Brock. “What time are you leaving?”
Glancing at the time on the stove, you replied, “I dunno, an hour or so.”
Brock looked at his watch and said, “Alright, well I gotta get goin’. I’ll see you later.”
“Ok baby, well you be careful. I love you.” You said, with a sly smile and a wrinkle in your nose.
He loved how playful you were and when you were, he couldn’t help but smile.
“Have fun, beautiful. Not TOO much fun, huh? I love you too.” He said.
Brock kissed the tip of your nose, waved and walked out. You heard the bike start up and drive away. He usually didn’t get that worked up over you going out and you wondered why it bothered him so much, but then again you were going to watch male strippers.
Maybe he had a point, you knew how you would feel if female strippers were to grind up against him. It was just a reminder to make sure that the only one receiving any attention tonight, would be the birthday girl.
**********
“Uh, I didn’t think we’d be sitting this close.” You said looking at the stage directly in front of you.
“Yeah…it’s great, isn’t it?!!” Shannon exclaimed.
She was very excited so you just smiled a wide smile and gave her the thumbs up. You were happy because she was happy but you really hoped it wasn’t a curse being so close to the stage. You didn’t want to be singled out or pulled up onto the stage.
Everyone sat down, you turned to another friend that came along, Camilla, and asked, “Uh, s-so do they strip all the way down to, umm, a g-string orrrrr…?”
Camilla laughed and asked, “You’ve really never been to something like this before?”
Looking around, you shook your head nervously.
“Some of them do but a lot of them just strip down to their boxer briefs.” She said.
Still, extremely nervous, you replied, “Oh ok.”
She grabbed a hold of your arm and said, “Relax! We’re here to have fun! Tell that hottie over there to bring you a drink!”
That made you laugh, and you covered your eyes in embarrassment. She was right, you were there to have fun so you motioned for the very handsome shirtless server in a bowtie to come over so you could order a drink.
Even though you’ve never been to anything like this before, it didn’t mean that you were going to show up unprepared.
“Holy shit, y/n!!” Exclaimed Shannon. “How many ones did you bring?” She asked.
You glanced down at the wad of cash in your hand and replied, “Well, there’s a hundred here. Do you think I need more?” You asked in a semi-serious tone.
Everyone just laughed. Camilla touched your shoulder and with a wide smile stretched across her face, she sarcastically replied, “I dunno. You might wanna hit up that ATM at the front of the club.”
With your lips firmly pressed together, you glared at her before replying, “Very funny.”
**********
As the lights dimmed, a spotlight shone on the microphone that was placed in the center of the stage. A chiseled man in a leather vest and cowboy hat walked out as all the people in the audience, most of them women, started to clap and shriek uncontrollably.
Rolling your eyes slightly, you watched as the emcee took the mic and your friends collectively lost their minds over the cowboy in the black leather vest, while the song Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy played in the background.
He tried to calm the crowd but they just screeched even louder. When he did finally get everyone to settle down, he spoke.
“Are you animals ready to have some fun tonight?!!” The cowboy asked with a wide devilish grin.
The audience squealed, hollered and whistled in response. Looking around, you noticed everyone was clapping and very eager for the show to start. The drink you ordered was almost gone and it seemed to be doing its job to help you loosen up a little so you ordered another.
“I see we have some birthday girls in here tonight! Start getting excited because we have something fun planned for you. Alright…up first is a walking cliché but hey, it works. He’s a firefighter by day but also turns the hose on at night, if ya know what I mean. Please welcome ‘Blaze’ to the stage.”
The stage went dark, the music started and the spotlight reappeared. At first you noticed the boots, the dark pants with yellow stripes at the bottom, and the hat. He wasn’t wearing a shirt but he had suspenders on.
Under the lights, his near perfect body glistened under the bright lights and your jaw dropped. With the song Sex on Fire playing, Blaze took in the crowd’s energy and then took their dollar bills.
Removing one suspender strap and then the other, he was completely bare chested now dancing around the stage which is when he stopped in front of you. Slapping some dollar bills down in front of him, you felt yourself start to blush but you managed a shy smile anyway.
He removed his fireman’s helmet, winked, and placed it on top of your head. He danced away to the other side of the stage to finish removing his pants, revealing the short red boxer briefs with flames on them that he had on underneath.
Well that was fun.
“You’d never know that it’s your first time at a place like this!” Said Shannon with an excited smile. “You fit right in, sweetie!”
As the night progressed, you watched all the birthday girls get pulled up on stage and all of the “Magic Mikes” made their night by giving them each their own private dance. Shannon and the others looked like they were having a great time. Also, you and your other friends were having a blast, laughing and tossing dollar bills on stage.
The chiseled cowboy reemerged from backstage to take the mic again.
“Alright birthday girls, I hope you enjoyed your surprises. Now…we’re gonna rock out for this next guy. He has a day job but refuses to tell me what it is, says it’s ‘classified information’ which I take to mean that he’s a spy of some sort. What do you guys think, huh?” He asked.
Everyone started clapping and screaming, preparing themselves for the next dancer. Still wearing the fireman’s helmet, you checked to see how many dollar bills you had left. “That last group of guys were a little expensive,” you thought to yourself as you bit back a smile.
Camilla leaned over and asked you, “So…what do you think is comin’ out here next?”
You pondered for a minute before answering her.
Finally, you replied, “Well, let’s see…we’ve seen a firefighter, M.C. Hammer the construction worker, Captain Breaststroke, the swimmer that stripped down to his Speedo, guy in a three-piece suit, and a bunch of ‘Magic Mikes’…maybe the rest of the Village People are comin’ out next?!”
You started laughing which made Camilla laugh.
“Do you guys do this a lot? Ya know when I’m not around?” You asked the group. “I will admit it is fun but also REALLY cheesy.”
Woody the Cowboy started to talk again.
“Well, it’s a nice night outside but in here it’s about to get dark and stormy. Are you all ready to get…Thunderstruck?” He asked in a breathy whisper into the mic.
As the crowd clapped and screamed in anticipation for the next dancer, you remembered that Thunderstruck is one of Brock’s favorite songs and you hoped he was staying safe at work tonight.
“Ok you crazy animals, get your dollar bills ready and put your hands together for Romeo!” The cowboy said, enthusiastically.
The stage went dark and the cowboy took the mic and the stand with him as he walked off. The lighting linked up with the intro to the song and a silhouette dressed in all black emerged from backstage. His tight black undershirt had a heart in the middle and he wore loose black pants that could be removed quickly.
Flashes of light brightened up the stage for moments at a time then went dark again as the man came closer, moving his hips from side to side. From what you could see, he had dark hair and his toned tan skin glistened under the brief flashes of light.
As he moved closer to the front of the stage, his handsome face came into focus and your jaw dropped to the floor when you saw those amber eyes staring down at you. The music and screams from the crowd were drowned out inside your head. The silence was deafening as your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest, heat rose to your cheeks and your blood burned like wildfire in your veins.
Your friends froze in place when they saw Brock’s face, then turned to look at you seething with anger. Dollar bills were tightly clenched in your fist, the fireman’s hat still on your head when his name escaped your lips, and not in the good way.
“BROCK?!!!!” You yelled as loud as you possibly could.
He didn’t move and was just as surprised to see you as you were to see him. Everyone in the audience stopped and became very quiet.
“Oh shit…Ok, I can explain this.” He finally said after a minute of awkward silence.
“The hell are you doin’ here?!!” You shouted.
“My job, baby! I didn’t think you’d be HERE!” He replied.
“Obviously!!” Narrowing your eyes and glaring at him, you replied, “Start talkin’, ‘ROMEO’! Let’s go!”
You turned on your heels and headed for the entrance to the club with Brock hot on your heels while the cowboy came back out and introduced another dancer.
“Sweetheart…wait!” Brock called out after you.
Not even giving him a chance to explain, you just started yelling.
“THIS is what you’ve been doing when you said you had to go back to work?!!” You asked in an angry tone. “Am I not enough for you, Brock? That you need to get attention from every horny woman in town?!!”
Your breathing became very shallow and your heart felt like it was being squeezed as the pain in your chest persisted. If the dollar bills weren’t clutched in your dominant hand, you would have punched him in the face. You were that angry.
“I ain’t doin’ this for the reason you might think, doll. Alright?! I’m doin’ this because—“ Brock paused; he continued to stare at you and remained quiet.
“I’m waiting, Rumlow!” You said, folding your arms protectively across your chest.
“Sweetheart, it’s a little hard to take you seriously while you’re still wearing the fireman’s helmet.” He said with a half-smile.
“Are you fucking kidding me, Brock?!!” You said, pressing a finger into his chest. “Tell me why you’re doing this or I’m going home and throwing all of your shit out onto the lawn!!”
“Alright, alright!! I needed to make some extra cash because I wanted to buy somethin’ for ya, somethin’ you said you’ve always wanted. I had most of the money but I needed the rest of it fast because the guy I was gonna buy it from had someone else that was interested in it too.” He said. “So THIS is the only way I could make it happen.”
Still angry but also now a little confused, you narrowed your eyes and before you could open your mouth, he took your hand in his and led you to the parking lot.
“Brock, where are we going? I’m not done yelling at you yet.” You said.
He turned his head back to look at you.
“Can you close your eyes for me, doll? Please, y/n?” Asked Brock.
You inhaled sharply, still flustered with anger but you humored him and shut your eyes. The two of you continued to walk for a few more seconds when Brock stopped, let go of your hand and moved to stand behind you. The rasp in his voice sent a restless shiver down your spine as he whispered in your ear.
“Ok, sweetheart…open your eyes.” He said.
Slowly, your eyelids rolled back. The dim street light glowed above a beautiful shiny classic teal Ford Bronco. It looked just like the one your grandfather had when you were a child.
He remembered.
When your relationship with Brock was fairly new, he had asked about a favorite childhood memory and you told him about when you were young, your grandfather used to take you and your brother along with a couple of your cousins to get ice cream every Sunday after dinner during your summer vacation.
All of you would pile into his Bronco, roll the windows down, and off you went. You were the oldest and the only girl so you got to ride in the front seat. You loved that truck, and told Brock that you’d love to own one just like the one your grandfather had, someday.
Looks like someday had finally arrived.
Brock remembered that story and how happy that memory was for you. He even remembered what color it was. Your grandfather bought it in teal because it was your grandmother’s favorite color. Well now you felt like a little bit of an asshole but only a little bit because even though he didn’t technically lie to you, Brock didn’t tell you the whole truth but you could understand why he did what he did. You could only imagine the carnage if the roles were reversed, he would take on the entire room if you were on that stage instead of him.
Covering your mouth with your hands, you were rendered speechless.
“Oh Brock…it’s just like the one my Pop Pops had. You remembered.” You said with a hitch in your voice. “I can’t believe you bought me a car.”
“You like it then?” He asked with a sly smile stretched across his lips.
You gave him a warm smile as tears welled up in your eyes.
“I love it, baby. Thank you. I’d hug you right now but you’re all lubed up and greasy.” You said with a slight chuckle.
Brock laughed and replied, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell ya, doll. It’s a little embarrassing but it made me a lot of money pretty quick. And tonight’s my last night anyway. Your Bronco is paid in full.”
“Well I’m sorry that I jumped to conclusions…and threatened to throw your stuff out on the lawn.” You said, sheepishly.
He smiled and looked at your hand with the dollar bills in it.
“Wait…how many singles do you have left?” Asked Brock, pointing to your hand.
Fanning out the money in your hand, you counted it out loud.
“Ten…I have ten singles left.” You replied, looking up at him through your dark lashes.
“And how many did you start out with?” He asked.
Tight lipped, you didn’t want to answer his question so you looked away at something on the other side of the lot.
“Y/n…sweetheart…how many did you start out with?” He asked again.
Biting down on your lower lip, you tried to look at him but you couldn’t so with your eyes still averted, you finally replied in barely more than a whisper, “A hundred…”
With raised eyebrows and a shocked look on his face, Brock’s jaw dropped and he replied, “WHAT?! A hundred?!”
“Hey that fireman was REALLY good, VERY flexible, plus he gave me his hat.” You said with a wide smile stretched across your face.
Brock’s lips were tight and through clenched teeth, he said, “I’ll kill him. Ya know when he came backstage, he talked about the hot girl in the front row that he gave his hat to.”
With a devilish smile on your face, you said, “Oh really? Well, why don’t you get back in there, shake it for me, and if I like what I see, you can have my last ten dollars.”
Waving the dollar bills in front of his nose, you gave him a wink before leaning in to gently press your lips to his. Brock’s hands suddenly were wrapped around your waist, he pulled your body flush against his, your lips parted as he pressed his tongue against your teeth wanting to twist and knot with yours. A soft moan escaped your lips while your arms snaked around his neck and his stubble scratched your chin.
“You won’t be mad if I finish my last dance?” Asked Brock.
“Well…I hope it’s not your LAST dance, baby. Would you be interested in performing a private show?” You asked.
“As long as my girl is ok with it.” He said, his voice raspy in your ear.
You kissed him again and replied, “Oh I’m sure she’s ok with it. Now, do you want me to get a pole for the bedroom orrrrrrr?”
“Allllll-right, enough sweetheart. Let’s go back inside.” He said, gently smacking your ass.
You started to crack up.
“Ooh, ooh am I gonna get your thongs mixed up with mine?” You said, trying to keep a straight face.
Frowning slightly, he narrowed his eyes and glared at you.
“Very funny, y/n.” Said Brock, walking ahead of you.
Finally getting your laughter under control, you called out to him to get his attention.
“Brock…” You said, catching up to him.
“Yeah?” Brock replied, turning around to face you.
You pushed yourself up onto your toes to kiss him on the cheek.
“You know I tease you because I love you, right?” You whispered.
Brock kissed the tip of your nose, then replied, “I know, doll. I know. And I love you too.”
Tag List: @munsonownsmyass @k-marzolf @gijos @nutmeg17 @nekoannie-chan
Others that might enjoy: @itwasthereaminuteago @fluffyprettykitty @redstarsandnightmares @randomlittleimp
If I tagged you and you didn’t want to be, just let me know and I’ll never do it again. As always, thank you again for reading!
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Second Snippet
I noticed a fair amount of attention on my “Wolf Man Bakugou” post, so here ya go 😉 If it seems to read a bit WEIRD, this particular story was originally planned to be a long thirst/ possible drabble, but as I mentioned in my previous post I have this Chronic turn a Short Story into a series disorder 😷🤒 This is more than likely going to end up being a ridiculously long one shot, or possibly two part deal.
🐺❤️🔥👣
Waking up, a cocoon of unusual warmth surrounds you; A heavy arm lays across your waist, deep breaths blow against your scalp, someone’s body is spooning you from behind. Thinking the worst, you stay silent, abruptly attempting to scramble forward and far away from this stranger. Unfortunately a loud yelp echoed throughout the cavern as you trip over a chain that connects to what has to be a collar around your neck. You immediately start hyperventilating, Where am I?! Who took me from the cabin?! “Finally up? About damn time” The deep raspy voice comes from beneath the blanket you had thrown off. A shirtless man sits up, his messy ash blonde hair sticks up in all directions, but you can just barely make out two large ears of the same color hidden beneath it. “Who are you? Where am I? Let me go!” You snap at him, yanking hard on the chain, eyes following the length of it when it doesn’t give a single inch. A heavy stone spike is nailed through the chain links, keeping it (& you) pinned to the stone floor.
“I’m Katsuki, future leader of the Bakugou Clan and a direct descendant of the very first werewolf…This is my new den, and I brought you here to claim you as my own” he puffs out his chest “I’ve watched you every day for almost a month, and have decided you will become my mate, welcome home pretty human”.
“No this isn’t right, that can’t be…I was finally happy with my life in the village…I want to go back, please let me go back” you began to sob working yourself into hysterics “I was finally free!”. “You’re safe here with me, I’ll always protect you, you’ll want for nothing I promise you…” Katsuki offers, immediately bristling when he gets no response. You just continue crying into your hands, shivering as you realize the clothes you had on the night before were gone. You sat on the cold stone floor in only your under garments. A familar numbness spreads throughout your body at the realization that not only has your newly acquired freedom been snatched away, but you were going to be subjected to the will of someone new, and any minute now you’ll be violated…it’s happening again. You feel your body being lifted, and carried back to where you had woke up, “Get back in the nest before you catch cold, I don’t want you leaving this spot until I say so��� the Wolfman growls as he goes back to spooning you, “Let’s rest, we’re both going to need it for the days ahead”. You feel his hand push your hair back to expose your neck, then he begins rubbing his wrist across the sensitive skin. The deep inhale he takes upon burying his face in your hair sends a chill down your spine.
A/N: I know it’s short, but I don’t want to give away too much of the story. I’ll be sharing a third snippet of another W.I.P later! What did you think?
#plague speaks#katsuki bakugou#katsuki bakugou x y/n#bakugou x you#katsuki bakugou x reader#bakugou thirst#bakugou x reader#katsuki bakugo x reader#bakugo x reader
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Vulcan.
Agent Vulcan (Forge) aka Kwon Haru’s introduction.
Sorry for the wait! I’d like to preface this introduction with a disclaimer that it has been a hot minute since I’ve been on tumblr, so I apologize if I’m a little slow as things pick up for me again! I’ll leave some basic knowledge of Haru below and some basic plots that I’ll be adding to her connections page, so feel free to like this post and I’ll dm you! (My discord is also linked on this blog if that’s your preference!).
Haru was born in Pyeongtaek, but her single father stationed at the KATUSA base found himself unable to raise her on his own and had her guardianship taken over by his close friend who lived in San Diego, California.
She grew up with a silver spoon surrounded by a morally ambiguous conglomerate family.
Graduated with a mechanical engineering degree from MIT.
After joining her adoptive family’s corporation nepotism at its finest she worked with both companies who made parts of weapons and cars. Eventually being privy to more information than most she noticed the suspicious activity that she would later find out to be the illegal arms trade operation her father was running behind his companies. Hungry for both the praise of her adoptive father and power, she agreed to join him and his operation. From there she began designing and modifying guns, flying out to different countries acting as her father’s representative immersed fully in illegal arms trade. For years she didn’t realize the extent of her actions until she at the other end of the barrel she had designed. Upon realizing the blood on her hands her moral compass did a 180 and orchestrated a small arms trade ring that would catch the attention of someone who she could turn herself into and divulge her knowledge to. She had no intentions at taking a plea bargain at first, but eventually accepted through the coaxing of her then soon-to-be mentor at AEGIS.
Haru practically lives in the armory at headquarters, so she’s often found there or knocking back her fifth cup of coffee in the break room.
Upon meeting an agent for the first time Haru will often ask them to spar usually without giving context to better assess what modifications to make to their weapons based on their combat styles.
Her outward disposition is extroverted, eccentric and friendly. However, she does make a hobby out of finding and pressing the buttons of agents she finds “too stiff”.
An expert and perfectionist in her own field, Haru is most serious when it comes to weapons and weapon safety for the agents.
Basic plots/connections.
“Wreck it Ralph” — an agent who is a repeat offender of handling their weapons more roughly than others. The bane of her existence and someone she excepts to see after every mission to fix their weapons or equipment.
“Caffeine Fiends” — her partner in crime in the break room, someone else she often finds in the dead of the night at their wits end and on their 4th cup of coffee of the day. A low energy friend who doesn’t mind listening to her rant about weaponry jargon.
“Don’t press the red button” — An agent that she’s on less favorable terms with. Haru enjoys seeing what makes the stiff or stoic agents tick and this person in particular was a ticking time bomb. However they’re a begrudgingly good team and Haru can’t help herself when it comes to pressing their buttons.
Other connections:
an agent she first met upon being captured by her mentor and was there during her confinement period.
her hand to hand combat teacher.
someone who does “wellness checks” on her when she tends to stay in the armory for a few days at a time.
someone who knew her before she turned tides whether it was at her college or for being notorious in the illegal arms trade (maybe having been a former target of theirs).
rivals, exes, fwbs, etc are all welcome.
I have been debating whether or not to add her mentor to the list of wanted connections, however this agent is age locked within the range of 40-45 years old and may end up being an npc who is no longer around.
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Before
Summary: Released from Arkham State Hospital, Arthur works towards returning to his normal life. With a big item checked off his to-do list, his romantic soul spends the evening dreaming of the future to come.
Words: 2,300
Warnings: None
A/N: This oneshot is the result of a collaboration with @sweet-nothings04. 💜 After coming up with a few basic parameters, we went off to compose our own pieces. Our stories turned out to be similar in ways both big and small! @sweet-nothings04, thanks for agreeing to this fun project! Here's a link to her story: Finding Rhythm. Hope you all enjoy our work! 😃
If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!
Penny's thin voice rose behind him, a hair above her Grizzly Adams rerun. "Happy, did you mail my letter?"
Arthur shut the door, slid the chain lock into place. The deadbolt gave a confident click. Shrugging off his mustard jacket, he answered as he had a hundred times before. "Yeah. I dropped it in the mailbox on the corner."
"You should've put it in the lobby for the postman."
Mr. Wayne's not gonna answer any of them, anyway. Lips flattened, Arthur shoved his hand in his pocket. Jittery fingers plucked at a loose thread. Three long inhales later, he pushed aside the assumption by walking towards her armchair. The television's dull blue lent his mother an austere look, sharpening her cheekbones, bleaching the blush she wore. He switched on the floor lamp to the left.
"Sorry, mom. Here." He held out the trinket he'd found at Helm's pharmacy, a shop full of panicked men who'd forgotten today was The Big One.
A foggy blink at the offering, then at him. "What is it?"
"It's a present. For Valentine's. It's a-" He flipped over the pink, scalloped tin to squint at a label. "Pot-porey. It smells real nice. I thought you'd like it in the bathroom." The plastic air freshener on the toilet tank was one item he hadn't yet replaced. The list of chores to do after his release from Arkham a couple weeks back had been as long as a sermon he didn't want to hear.
"Oh, Happy. It's pronounced 'potpourri.'" She traced the lid's embossed doily, the tiny roses and pearls. When she popped it open, artificial florals floated. Strong enough to imprint on his smoker's nostrils. Penny smiled, soothing the smart of her correction, making him smile in turn. "What time is it? We don't want to miss Murray."
"Murray isn't on on Saturdays," he said. Her absence tended to worsen in the evenings, as though the simple act of sitting in a chair wore her out. He padded to the kitchen, flicked on the fluorescent above the sink, and spoke to her over the breakfast bar. "And it's time for you to eat."
Two frozen dinners stared at him, four course meals in a sturdy teal box. A Mexican style entrée or meatloaf. Beans and rice were easy for Penny to chew, though the beef enchiladas risked a mess. Oh well. A pile of laundry already awaited in the bathroom. The addition of a slopped-on nightie wouldn't break his back. He popped the aluminum tray in the oven and made a note to get groceries tomorrow.
He cut the enchiladas into bite-sized morsels. The pepper and tomato fiesta sauce made his mouth water. A shock since he couldn't remember the last time eating had been more than survival. He snuck a sample, made a small sound of approval. Once he'd arranged the fork, knife, and paper napkin on the wooden lap tray, he brought it out to his mother.
"Tuck your napkin in your collar," he said, perching on the sofa. "Yesterday went really well, mom. If I get this job, I'll have my own locker." He'd told her this the night before, but with her lack of reaction, he wasn't sure if she'd heard him.
Slow, steady spoonfuls of beans. Focus lost to the TV, where a bearded man conversed with a bear. "That's nice."
Arthur grabbed Gotham Today from the coffee table and uncapped a ballpoint pen. Flipped past the front page and its perpetually dour headlines, sped by Global News, the Arts, Sports to reach the classifieds.
Life insurance salesman would be a real laugh, considering what'd led to his remandment. Commodities system analyst was a riddle he wasn't interested in solving. Typist and legal secretary? Those sounded like women's professions, and even if they weren't, he couldn't spell well enough to do either. And sitting at a desk for eight hours bordered on the never ever.
He circled a blurb for an assistant for a children's show at Gotham Public Broadcasting, and one for what was described as a "driven media consultant." Plans B and C. With any luck after his interview at HaHa's, they wouldn't come into play.
Hoyt Vaughn's office had had the aura of a disorganized closet. Jammed with circus posters, musical instruments, stacks ready to topple. A fifth of whiskey stood on his personal microwave. Aspirin bottles and paperwork littered the man's desk. A giant jack-in-the-box underneath grinned at Arthur's knees.
The interview had been quick as a flashbulb. What was his work history? (Clowning on and off, jobs that required overalls and staying out of sight.) The question of why he'd been out of work had caught him off guard. When Dr. Kane had said she'd assist him with gaining employment, he'd assumed that'd meant she'd explain. Arthur had tried to answer honestly, stated he'd been in the hospital - no, not that one, the other one. Whether Hoyt's laugh had meant derision or connection hadn't been clear, so Arthur had cackled along with him.
Performers had to supply their own costumes and props, and they were to be available any time, any day. Most clowns worked the day shift. Ladies entertainment filled the nights. (Hoyt had thrown him a withering look. "You're not stripper material, are ya?" "No. I wanna be a comedian.") Arthur wouldn't mind being an independent contractor. A job was a job, and it seemed like this was one he could love. Where he could fulfill his purpose while bringing money in. Money sorely needed.
When Penny had taken her last bite of rice, he wiped the spots around her mouth her napkin had neglected. Washed crumbs and splats from the lap tray. He went through the routine of soaping a washcloth to cleanse her face, putting toothpaste on her toothbrush. Once she was tucked beneath her purple, velvet quilt, he patted her cheek.
"Don't stay up too late," he said. "I'll be in the other room." Then he slipped out and sighed the sigh of the overburdened and underpaid.
He loved Penny with all his heart. And it often dawned on him that she was about all he had. She'd been the one to call the doctor, have him committed, ensure he received the treatment he'd need. There was no one else who cared to keep him around. But it could be a challenge, not have any space. Not having a break from responsibilities to tend to himself, to learn to tend to himself the way Dr. Kane had outlined.
He shut off the TV and headed to the kitchen. He prepared his hundredth tray of ready-made meatloaf, tater tots, peas, and dessert. He cut a one inch slit in the foil over each side and uncovered the brownie, a guaranteed path to a crunchy crust.
Eager to enjoy the evening's programming, he turned the windowsill radio to 1080 WGCR. But Sears Radio Theatre had been supplanted. A call-in show had stolen its throne, a show for people to request songs and dedicate them to their sweethearts. It made sense, given the day, but Arthur wasn't sure he liked it. A silly program would've entertained.
The DJ's voice dripped like honey. "Here's Stevie Wonder's 'Signed, Sealed, Delivered,' going out to Mark from Linda." The funky beat slithered into Arthur's white sock, wiggled his right big toe. Greg attempted to win back his ex with "Don't Make My Brown Eyes Blue." And then a recorded message, an earnest plea from starstruck lover Brian. "Donna, I hope you're listening. I love you. I can't imagine my life without you. Would you marry me?"
Arthur spun the dial to a middling frequency.
Umami sodium wafted through the kitchen, the familiar fragrance of food on clearance. Bracing himself on the counter with both hands, he allowed subconscious meanderings to filter to the surface. He thought he understood the nature of love. What would it be like to love someone enough to want to marry them? All of it was supposed to start with a date, right? Dinner and a movie? With his new job, maybe he'd get the chance to meet a pretty girl. A nice break from the pendulum that swung between the apartment and appointments. His eyelids fell shut at the chance at serendipity. The idea of preparing a homecooked meal for her.
A magic wand would fall from gloved hands, roll down the sidewalk to collide with pointy-toed high heels. "Of all the shoes in all the cities in all the world," he'd say, "it rolled into yours." A stolen line that masked earnest longings beneath a veneer of playfulness. She'd return the wand with a smile, sweet and as open as his own heart. He'd thank her. Be brave enough to inch forward. Enclose her palm in his.
Given the possible interactions with his medications, Arthur didn't keep alcohol in the house. Now he'd have to take that risk. Helm's had inexpensive bottles, the nice looking ones with gold foil on the cap. Not a red, though, or a white, but a vibrant pink to match the occasion.
When she'd knock on 8J's door, the peas wouldn't be done. He'd've misjudged the timing of the instant potatoes and the meatloaf. But she'd be too kind to hold it against him, for kindness would float all around her. Rather, she'd peck his cheek and follow him to the kitchen, where they'd roll up their sleeves and shell them together.
Women in movies always dressed up for dates, and this dream girl of his would be no different. Slacks that flattered her hips, hugged her slim waist, flaunted a dip perfectly shaped for cupping. A sweater, perhaps a fiery orange or sophisticated brown, ended at the belt line, teased a flash of her oval navel. She'd wear a gold charm around her neck, a sun to match her smile, which he'd replace with a scarf by the night's end. One of his future props, a memory of what'd brought them together. It knotted his insides, thinking how near he'd have to stand to tie it. And she'd wear perfume, a scent a thousand times lovelier than the potpourri tin.
Dinner would be at the breakfast bar, not the dining table. Sitting side by side would make it easier to bump his knee to hers. Butter melted over the peas, a dollop of sour cream and black pepper enlivened the potatoes. She'd take a bite, roll her eyes into the back of her head, tell him what a good idea it'd been to double the Worcestershire sauce in the main. When she asked for seconds he followed suit, even though he rarely wanted firsts.
Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!
Arthur cracked the oven door, welcomed heat into the room. The motion reminded him of a bow. He held the oven mitt as if it were Dream Girl's hand. "May I have this dance?" Nah, too formal. He wasn't approaching a stranger. He gestured with the glove again. "Would you like to dance with me?" That was better, closer to how a man would ask a friend. Straightening up, he smiled down at the face in his mind. "I'd love it if you danced with me. This is one of my favorite songs. Do you like it, too?"
Whether a waltz or cha cha, the steps themselves wouldn't matter. The simple nearness of her would suffice. He could almost sense the weight of her hand on his shoulder. The graze of her hair at his jaw. Fire in his cheeks forced him to pretend to study her feet while actually admiring her breasts. Giggling, she spun once on her heels and flew into his arms. The most beautiful sight he'd even seen. The most wonderful feeling he'd ever felt.
His fingers trembled at the small of her back. If he wasn't careful, she'd slip through them. Shrugging one shoulder, he shook his head. "Dancing with you seems like a dream."
Music wrapped around them, pressed them closer. No light passed between their forms.
Beam a billow of affection, she sighed and craned towards him. "Kiss me before we wake up."
Lips poised to capture hers, he bent to meet her, caress her silken-
"This is a song for all you lovers out there," the radio said. A pin prick breaking a spell, returning Arthur to a world of gold-flecked formica and solitude. "Whether you've found your special someone or are still searching, here's a cut for you tonight."
Ella Fitzgerald's mellifluous half soprano came to subdue the sting. He tore the foil from the tray, swaying and singing under his breath, hums replacing forgotten words. "...Shouldn't we fall in love...hearts are made of it...take a chance..." The song's opening made his mouth twitch. It encompassed all he desired, everything he'd just imagined. A trickle of what might be called hope quivered his belly. It couldn't be a coincidence.
Fork in hand, he settled on the stool at the breakfast bar. Pulled his journal across the counter and opened it. The negative thoughts he scrawled mornings, noons, and nights wouldn't knock him down. He grabbed his pen and scarfed a hunk of meatloaf. Grinned and nodded approval as he wrote.
"I met my new boss. I have big shoes to fill as a clown. I would love this job. I think a lot of peeple work there. It'll be eazier if I half money coming in - and I coud pay for a date! I'd like to meet my special someone. I wonder where she is a lot. Its so weerd but today everybody's thinking about it, so I'm just part of the crowd. I should write some jokes for her in case she works there, too."
~~~~~
Ella Fitzgerald - Let’s Fall in Love
Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @ithinkimaperson @sweet-nothings04 @stephieraptorr @rommies @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1 @another-day-in-chuckletown @hhandley80 @jokerownsmysoul @rafaelbottom @ralugraphics @iartsometimes @fleckficgirl
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Why I am an absolute catch and someone would be lucky to date me:
I love to cook - I’ll always bring food on our dates. Some nights I’ll just drop by to deliver prepped meals so you have dinner for the night and stuff to put in the freezer so you have a homemade meal when you have no spoons. Even if we are far apart I would send care packages of baked goods I made.
I would tailor dates to our interests and could spend hours listening to you talk about your passions and fixations. I find nothing more beautiful than someone being excited to share what they love and always want to learn more.
Boundaries in all of my relationships are encouraged and respected. Consent is sexy and I always check in before initiating any form of physical contact. Checking in regarding emotional boundaries happens a lot too!
I contain multitudes - I’m a punk covered in spikes but at my heart I’m an absolute marshmallow. I always stand up against injustices but will cry later at home from how stressful it was. I love volunteering with others, working with mutual aid groups, protesting on the front lines and being face to face with cops so others don’t, and committing myself to kindness even with all of the harm I’ve experienced.
I’m thoughtful and want you to know when I think of you. I would send photos of mushrooms, creatures, and other plants that I find on my hikes in the woods. I would send you memes that make me think of you or that I think you would enjoy.
If we were out on a date and you get cold I would drape my leather jacket over your shoulders and gently kiss you on the cheek. I would gently tangle our fingers together and laugh before getting distracted by the colors in your eyes.
I would treat you like someone to be treasured and held gently. You would occasionally get a text with a single link to a custom playlist I made for you.
My main priority in life is my family and friends - once you are part of that group I will drop whatever I’m doing to help. I show that priority with my time and energy - through acts of service.
I would make you custom patches, crochet you stuffed animals and accessories, and offer to teach you all the crafts I know. I would help you build and make your first patch jacket/vest so we can match at shows or dates.
#my last ex was awful and I’ve been taking the past several years to learn to love myself first#and now that I’m able to love myself I’m even better at loving others#I would love to date someone and be their punk butch SO#dating#personal#nblnb yearning#nblw yearning#nblm yearning#t4t yearning#nblw#nblm#nblnb#t4t
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Daisy
Chapter One: The arrival
Daisy sat on the train, nervously pinching her arm, her brown hair tinged with red in the sunlight. Her neatly braided hair was matched with a tight, dark blue dress that made her feel constricted. Across from her, a woman comforted a crying baby whose face was red and glistening with tears. “Shh…shh it’ll be ok darling.” The woman whispered sweetly as though it was a lullaby. The scene tugged at Daisy’s heart strings as small tears rolled down her face. She could feel a memory coming. Her memories come and go like the sun rises each morning. It was undeniable and true. Her past clung onto her tight like a looming shadow.
She was in a small room which had white walls and grey carpet. Cradling a baby in her arms she paced up and down. Her feet were tired. She was small, lucky to be six at the oldest. There was a sixteen year old girl slapping a girl about the age of thirteen until she bled. The younger girl was crying as another girl who was around fifteen pulled her curly blonde hair. Tears drenching her face. Daisy tugged the baby tighter with fear. The caretaker Mrs Higgins was in her room with a man and she had warned them earlier “If anyone comes knocking at my door I’ll come at you with the wooden spoon.” Mrs Higgins brought men over a lot and was often drunk. Whenever a man came over she’d say ”I think I might be having twins.” Or the children would hear moans coming from the room.
At just twelve, Daisy had already faced more than her fair share of hardships. Her parents, Andrew and Anna, had passed away before she even reached her first birthday. Andrew died in an accident while constructing the town bridge. Her mother, Anna, followed, succumbing to the measles. With both parents gone, Daisy's life seemed to disintegrate.
On top of her parents' tragic deaths, both sets of her grandparents had passed away before she was born. Daisy's only hope after her parents' passing was her aunt, Lily, but fate didn't allow their reunion.
Lily, Daisy's sole living relative, had herself been pulled into the chaos of war. She worked as a nurse and had left Daisy to serve the country in times of need. However, upon her return, Lily found Daisy in an orphanage, but lost track of her whereabouts as she sought to care for her. Tragically, Daisy had been moved between different orphanages, and Lily couldn't trace her down. Lily's wartime experiences, the haunting sights of men succumbing to their injuries despite her efforts, left a lasting mark on her. It plagued her every sleep, acting out her nightmares, and Lily was later institutionalized in an asylum.
This torment lingered in Lily's heart, manifesting in the form of nightmares that she couldn't contain. The guilt for leaving Daisy when she needed someone the most tore Lily apart. She was devastated at her inability to help those she watched die and those she couldn't nurse back to health. The realization that she couldn't rescue Daisy in her most vulnerable moment had haunted Lily and continued to haunt her in her own shattered state. The pain eventually became too much for Lily leading her to jump from the roof of the asylum as an escape from the harsh reality known as life.
Daisy carried the heartache of never really knowing Lily, the aunt who was her last, fragile link to her family. Lily was a nebulous figure in Daisy's life, someone she encountered sporadically, yet whose presence had a remarkable impact on her childhood. Their few interactions were fleeting moments, but ones filled with tenderness and a fragile sense of connection that Daisy held onto dearly.
The limited time they spent together felt like a brief flicker of warmth in an otherwise chilly existence. Daisy held onto the pieces of those moments—vague snippets of stories, fleeting smiles, and hushed conversations. Lily's voice was an echo in Daisy's memories, a soft, comforting whisper in a world otherwise cold and unfriendly. However, these memories were fleeting and never truly formed a complete image of who Lily was.
These scant recollections left Daisy in a peculiar state. She wished for more—more memories, more conversations, and more time. The void in her heart deepened as she yearned for the presence of a guardian she never truly knew. Lily was a puzzle with missing pieces, a mystery that haunted Daisy's lonely existence in the orphanage.
As Daisy moved from one place to another, the longing to know Lily, to feel the connection they might have had, grew stronger. Each time she entered a new home, her heart ached for the stories she never heard, the guidance she never received, and the love she never fully experienced from the aunt who had fought her own battles and ultimately succumbed to them.
This yearning for a deeper connection with Lily added to Daisy's sense of displacement. Her only anchor to her past was a series of fragmented memories, and a desperate yearning to understand the person she could never truly know. When she was seven she attended the funeral for her Aunt Lily dressed in a black dress and placing a rose at her tombstone.
In her turbulent journey from orphanage to orphanage, Daisy's life was a series of disrupted routines and shattered hopes. Ten different orphanages in just as many years painted a bleak picture of instability and perpetual transition. Each place was a transient and often unfriendly environment where she never had the chance to lay roots or find the stability she desperately needed.
The orphanages were places of despair, not of refuge. Daisy, shifting from one to another, found herself the target of maltreatment, always the scapegoat for the other children's frustration and anger. The older girls found pleasure in exerting their power over her, their pranks, often cruel, became her nightmares. Daisy, vulnerable and defenseless, was a convenient victim in their pursuit of a sense of power.
She was assigned chores that weren't appropriate for her age, forced into a life of responsibility that robbed her of her childhood. Cleaning at the age of three and tending to babies at the mere age of five created a burden far beyond what a child her age should carry.
The caretakers were no saviors either. Most were inebriated most of the time, bringing strange men home and leaving Daisy in an environment she couldn't comprehend. The careless brutality she faced was more evident during the caretakers' drunken escapades. "Making a baby tonight," they'd slur, the lewd and suggestive remarks tinged with an underlying cruelty that pierced Daisy's innocence.
As if her life weren't tumultuous enough, Daisy was later sent to an asylum. It wasn't because she needed mental health treatment; it was simply due to the lack of space in the orphanages. There were many other children there as well. Some who seeked help while others were there for the same reason as Daisy. The asylum was a realm of sheer horror, its walls echoing with tormented screams that reverberated into the silent nights. People would shout at the top of their lungs, their terror and nightmares transforming the place into an abyss of fear and despair. There were adults who ran around chasing each other with knives, many people who committed suicide and there was even babies who were addicted to drugs.
The other children's cruelty seemed to know no bounds. Daisy endured frightening assaults, such as being shoved near the fireplace or pushed down the stairs. If she wasn’t able to get up quick enough from the ground they’d kick her. The laughter that followed her distress at their hands haunted her dreams forming nightmares. Babies would cry ceaselessly, and nights were laced with maniacal screams or incomprehensible ramblings. Some, perhaps haunted by their traumas or haunted by imagined phantoms, would scream and gesticulate as if trapped in the clutches of their worst nightmares.
It was in this grim place that Daisy's fragile hope, already teetering on the brink, flickered and began to dim. It was a world away from the care and comfort a child her age should have experienced. Her hope was fire and the terrors she faced was rain. Fire can’t last with water.
“Are you alright darling? You seemed to be in a daze.” The woman sitting across from her asked. Daisy, too nervous to speak, nodded. Her whole life she had been told “Children are to be seen not heard.” Daisy found herself boarding a train, unsure of where the journey would lead her. She carried her essentials in a bag slung over her shoulder and, due to the limited funds, didn’t have the chance to purchase any food during the trip. With just her clothing and a series of heavy memories, she disembarked into the unknown.
She hopped off the train wandering through a crowd of bustling people. Men in suits with briefcases and women with their children. Daisy often felt jealous of children she saw with parents. She always felt a sense of longing for love. At the station, she noticed a weathered man with a white beard holding a piece of paper which said “Orphan” on it, “Who on Earth could that be for?” Daisy thought to herself as she stood still weary of the man. “What are you doing just standing there girly. If you’re an orphan, come on over.” The man grumbled. “Yes sorry sir.” Daisy mustered trying not to sound nervous. “I’m Grant Johnson. You’ll be living with me and my wife Martha.” He said breathly. She followed him to a cart which had a silver horse with a black mane and tail and a horse with a caramel coat that had a brown mane and coat. “What are their names?” Daisy asked shyly. “The silver one is named Mune and the caramel is named Toffee.” He responded with a smile. Mr Johnson is fond of animals. He likes to believe that a dog is man’s best friend even though he doesn’t own a dog. Mr Johnson was responsible for escorting her to the place that was to be her new home. As they traversed on a horse-drawn cart, Daisy tried to remain hopeful about the new chapter in her life. As Daisy looked at the tall trees and small shops with colourful window displays she began to imagine she was a lost princess being taken to the castle. When they arrived at their destination, she discovered that reality did not match the idyllic images she had conjured.
The farm was far from the welcoming scene she had hoped for, with mud-soaked grounds and a slightly dilapidated cottage. Yet, it was in this unforeseen setting that Daisy’s life was poised for an unexpected change.
“Who's she? What is she doing here? I asked for a boy. Why didn't you bring a boy, Grant?" Martha sternly questioned. "I'm sorry, Martha, but she was the only orphan there," Grant sighed. "I want her gone this instant. Send her back so we can get a boy. We need a boy to help you with the chores on the farm as your arthritis is worsening," Martha demanded. "Alright, honey, I'll send her back tomorrow at dawn."
"Please don't send me back. I'll do whatever you want. I can do whatever a boy can do if you give me the chance," Daisy pleaded with tears in her eyes, getting to her knees, ready to beg. "Tell me your name and get up from the ground. I won't have it," Martha said abruptly.
"Daisy Smith," Daisy stammered as she got up, wiping mud off her dress. "Daisy, seeing as I am a fair woman, I will give you a trial over the course of a week, but like baseball, it's three strikes and you're out. Do you understand?" Mrs. Johnson said.
"Yes, I understand. Why thank you very much, Mrs. Johnson. You won't regret having me," Daisy cheered. "I very well hope so," she responded as they went inside to the dining room. A hot meal of beef, bread covered with beef fat, greens, and baked potatoes awaited them on the table, served onto white plates with a gold leaf pattern and a glass of milk.
“Would you care to say a prayer?” Martha asked Daisy as they sat at the redwood table, before they began to eat. “I’m sorry but I don’t know any prayers. We didn’t eat meals together. Let alone pray. We were lucky if we were given dinner.” Daisy muttered meekly with a loose strand of hair hanging over her face. “Well child we’ll have to teach you how to say a prayer tomorrow. Tonight you can just say amen. Grant will say the prayer.” Martha stated appalled at the idea of someone not being raised to act for god.
After dinner Daisy helped Martha with the dishes. Daisy always strangely enough felt pleasure when doing the dishes as it had always been one of the nicer tasks she was given. She was always able to escape into a world of her own where the strife and hardships she faced could not bother her. She liked to imagine herself with the mother and father she never got to know. In most of her imaginings she is sitting in front of a fire with her mother brushing her hair while her father reads a story. She likes to think one day she’ll look like her mother, not that she knows what she looked like. She imagines her mother as a woman with skin that could be confused with snow, hair that cascades over her shoulders like a waterfall, a warm smile and eyes that melt the heart.
Martha assisted Daisy in saying a prayer before she went to bed. Daisy had let her long locks loose. Her hair sat at her waist. She was wearing a long white nightgown that was made of satin. Satin is a material similar to silk but a more cost friendly fabric. “Goodnight Daisy. Sleep well. We have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow.” Martha hummed softly leaving the door ajar as she left the room. Daisy flicked the lamp next to her on the bedside table before gently placing her head on a pillow stuffed with duck feathers. The pillow had been made last winter when Grant had to kill a duck since it had grown ill.
Daisy smiled as she shut her eyes and went to sleep since for the first time in her life she felt like she was at home.
#my writing#words#writeblr#writers on tumblr#writing#story#storytelling#original story#taleblr#story blog#bookish#my write#writer things#writerscommunity#anne of green gables#books#bookism#bookislife#stories#creative writing#period drama#drama#booklr#bookblr#writblr#writers and poets#writting#writer stuff#fiction#yound adult
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BETS AGAINST THE VOID - a chosendark playlist
(...edit, the embed seems to be wrong?????? i recently edited the song order and cut some songs but its not reflecting it for some reason. maybe itll be fixed later or smth but for now heres a static link to the actual thing: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/09ZLrgwE8pp0RQltFBCevE?si=2555ac48895a452f)
Los Campesinos! - We Throw Parties, You Throw Knives
when you play pass the parcel with human bodyparts / somebody might get head but someone will get hurt / and i’ll sing what you like / if you shout it straight back at me
The Wombats - Walking Disasters
and flowers may wilt when we walk past / and self-help might help when it makes us laugh / only finding questions in answers, / you and i are just walking disasters
The Front Bottoms - Everything I Own
but i won't stop this, and you won't stop this, / it'll probably go further than either of us wanted it / it all comes down to the fact that i don't care to / sacrifice a good time 'cause someone says I have to
Of Montreal - We Will Commit Wolf Murder
anti-human armies spring from every angle / you're the only soldier i don't want to strangle / i can see it's a dolorous fate (so don't expect us to cooperate) / anyway it's five lives too late /
(and there's blood in my hair)
The Scary Jokes - Jeanine
guess it doesn't really matter if you're open or not / i'm verbose enough for the both of us / and we can't all be open floodgates after all / but you don't have to be a dam for me
Stars - We Don’t Want Your Body
the window blinds are drawn / you flash some trash to turn me on / i sigh and frown and start to cough / your hunger starts to turn me off
The Front Bottoms - HELP
on some nights there's something cool to do / on some nights there is nothing to do at all / i guess it's cool for right now / just like everything else
OK Go - The Writing’s on the Wall
it seems like forever since we had a good day / the writing's on the wall / but i just wanna get you high tonight / i just wanna see some pleasure in your eyes / some pleasure in your eyes
The Front Bottoms - Be Nice To Me
what's it matter anymore / if you believe the lies i tell / there's no meaning to the words but we still sing these songs well / if we all left it alone i'm sure it'll work itself out fine / we keep playing with the numbers, we are running out of time
Spoon - Rainy Taxi
and when you stand beside me, i feel something stronger than i ever could / but if you leave, you better run away for good
Kim Petras - Tell Me It’s A Nightmare
be careful when you love me / i'm only out for blood / you know i’d be the end of you / but you always wanted more
DECO*27 - アンドロイドガール
is it alright to indulge in "sentimentalism"? / am i allowed to long for those days, even now? / is that a yes or a no? / tell me clearly
Spoon - Shotgun
calling for blood with your battle song / i'd rather not, got my own thing going on / i never wanted to take it outside / you're the one that had to go bring that fight
The Wombats - Our Perfect Disease
let’s not talk about hate when there’s hell to pay / for my cowardice and your bad timing / we don’t admit it but we’ve never seen eye to eye / and it’s not due to lack of trying
WALK THE MOON - In My Mind
the phone is off the hook, the keys are down the drain / just an empty book with nothing on the page / i no longer have the voice to say goodbye, goodbye, goodbye
Grimes - Pin
dirt in your fingernails, blood on your knees / but did that ever make you happy? / i think you were my best friend / gentle, do not reprehend / i know it hasn't been a dream / but if you pardon, I will mend
The Scary Jokes - Bets Against the Void
will you remember me when our spirits scatter off? / i know i'm an artist cause i just can't stand the thought / that a love as beautiful as ours could be / forgotten
#nyagrounds original#ava the chosen one#ava the dark lord#chosendark#animator vs animation#idk man i felt like i should post this ive been thinking abt them too much lately#Spotify
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CHAPTER 9 - HEIST AT THE WALMART [wattpad link]
---
Nora stood in her kitchen, preparing breakfast. She had some culinary experience, due to the cooking class she took in high school & some baking she had done with Leslie. This morning, she was making some scrambled eggs. Sorrel entered the kitchen, yawning.
“G’mornin.” “Hey.”
They looked over Nora’s shoulder at the skillet.
“What’cha makin’?” “Eggs. Scrampled.” “Scrampled?” they chuckled. “I said what I said.”
Sorrel leaned against the kitchen counter.
“Gosh, I remember when you were just a wee kid. You were, like, 3 or 4 or something like that, & Mom was making scrambled eggs. You would always call them scrampled eggs.” “Yea, yea, Dad’s shown me the tape of me trying to say ‘scrambled’ correctly, like, a million times now.”
Nora turned off the stove. The scrambled eggs were finished. She took out a couple of paper plates & put the eggs on them.
“You want a fork or a spoon with this?” “Can I have both?”
Nora rolled her eyes. “One spork coming right up,” she said, spinning around to the cabinet & opening it up, grabbing a spork & a regular fork. She stuck the spork onto one of the plates & handed it to Sorrel.
“Thanks,” Sorrel said, grabbing their plate. “No prob.” Nora stuck her fork into the other plate, taking a bite out of the scrambled eggs.
The two of them stood there eating their eggs in silence.
“So.. uh...” Nora hummed. “When are you gonna tell Mom & Dad you dropped out?” “Hopefully never, if I can handle that,” Sorrel said, mouth full of egg. “Maybe if the time comes, I’ll tell them. For now, though? I’d rather it be kept secret.” “Well.. I suppose we all have our secrets.” “I suppose so.”
Sorrel finished up their scrambled eggs fairly quickly. Nora was still only on the second bite.
“Anyways, that was the last of the eggs.” “Oh.” “I’ll have to go by Walmart later today & buy more. Bleh.” “I just hope they’ve restocked the bananas. When I went there yesterday, they had none.”
Intentionally not mentioning why the bananas were out of stock, Nora set down her scrambled eggs & took out her phone. “I’m gonna ask the others if they wanna come shop with me.”
She quickly sent a text to the group chat.
Nora: hey who wants 2 come shop w/ me. im outta eggs.
“& now we wait for a response,” she said, putting the phone on the counter & grabbing her eggs again. “Oh! I was gonna ask you earlier, but.. what’s up with that flyer you brought home last night?” “Huh?” “Y’know.. the purple one about the auction.”
Nora froze.
“Oh, that one. Some guy handed it to us after rehearsal last night. Guess I forgot to throw it away.” “It does sound kind of interesting,” Sorrel said. “I’d like to go to the auction.” “You can go if you want to.” Nora shrugged, finishing up her eggs. “I’m not interested.” “Alright, your loss.”
Nora’s phone buzzed a couple of times. She grabbed it & looked at the group chat.
Leslie: ya sounds fun :3 Cherry: sure Kalani: 👍 Juniper: ok lol
“What’d they say?” Sorrel asked, leaning over to look at Nora’s phone. “They said yes,” Nora said, quickly shutting off her phone & shoving it in her pocket. “Better get going now.” “Have fun! & tell them I said hi!” “I will!”
-
Nora pulled her car up into the Walmart parking lot.
“We’re here,” she said, unbuckling her seatbelt. “This is the Walmart with the ballpit, yea?” “There’s a Walmart with a ballpit in this city?” “Yeah! You’ve never been to it?” “No?” “Well, I guess we’ll see if this is it when we get out & go inside the Walmart.”
The group all hopped out of the car & entered the Walmart. It was massive inside, like most Walmarts are. If you’ve ever been in a Walmart, you can probably imagine what it looks like. Also, there was a ballpit inside, near the entrance.
“Oh shit, there really is a ballpit.” “It’s.. kind of smaller than I expected.” “A ballpit’s a ballpit, no matter how small.” “Well, we can play in the ballpit later. We have some shopping to do!” “Woohoo!”
Nora grabbed a shopping cart & the group was ready to go. They all instantly went to the egg aisle, looking for some eggs to get.
“Why are all the eggs so EXPENSIVE nowadays?” “Well, you know how it is.” “Eggs shouldn’t cost, like, 7 bucks. I should be able to get a carton of ‘em for $1.79.”
Eventually, Nora just picked out a carton of eggs that cost around $5 & went on with the shopping.
“I guess while we’re here, I could buy some other stuff too. What else should I get?” “Ooh! You should get some of those Moon Pies!” “Nah, you should get some Sun Chips. Fuckin’ love Sun Chips.” “I’m not buying Sun Chips just so you can come to my apartment & eat them all.” “I won’t eat them ALL! I’ll save half for you, promise.”
At that moment, the intercom in the Walmart turned on.
“ATTENTION ALL SHOPPERS: THERE IS A GIRL STEALING CANDY BARS IN AISLE 9. SHE LOOKS VERY FRIGHTENING. PLEASE STAY AWAY FROM HER.”
The group looked at each other.
“Do you think this is another evil person we gotta beat up?” “One can only guess. C’mon, let’s go.”
They all pulled on their necklaces & entered Hero Mode.
“Everyone in the shopping cart!” Juniper said. “I’ll push it to Aisle 9!”
Nora, Cherry, Leslie, & Kalani all hopped into the shopping cart, taking care to avoid crushing the eggs.
“Let’s do this!!”
Juniper put vaer hands onto the cart handle, holding on tight. Voi started running as fast as voi could through the Walmart, dodging obstacles & people along the way.
“EXCUSE ME! SORRY! IT’S AN EMERGENCY!”
Rolling into Aisle 9, Juniper & the shopping cart skid to a halt, taking a look at the candy bar thief.
“Took you heroes long enough to get here.” “NATALIE?!”
Indeed, it was Natalie, in her black & purple “magical girl” outfit she had worn on Tuesday. A candy bar was in one hand, & her squeaky hammer was in the other.
“What are you.. doing?” “What does it look like I’m doing?! Stealing a candy bar, obviously!” “Ok, but... why?” “Because I couldn’t think of any other crimes to do without making it too extreme.” “So you.. decided to rob a megacorporation?” “Well, I’m not robbing a family-owned business! I have standards!”
The group looked at each other for a second. They pulled on their ties, poofing back into their normal clothes.
“We have standards, too. We’re not fighting you.” “WHAT?! Why?!” “We have magic! You have a squeaky hammer! It’s not a fair fight.” “Plus, stealing from megacorps is always morally acceptable. Who are we to uphold the law?”
Natalie huffed, crossing her arms. “Well, if that’s how you wanna be, then so be it! My next crime will be SO heinous, you won’t have any choice but to stop me!” “Is that so?” “Yup!” she winked. “See you tomorrow!”
With that, she spun around & ran off.
“Well.. I guess we’re seeing her tomorrow.” “Better than going to that auction or whatever.” “True. Let’s just continue shopping now. I still want you to get those Sun Chips.”
-
“Ohh, what am I to do?!”
The Auctioneer paced around their office. Their boyfriend & partner in crime, Pim, sat on the desk.
“Well, what’d they say last night?” “They said they’ll think about it! That’s basically the same as saying ‘maybe’, & saying ‘maybe’ is just a nice way of saying ‘no’!! “I did warn you, they’d be stubborn..” “They’re perfect for the auction, too! What are we to do when the people we want - the people we NEED - refuse to come?!” The Auctioneer sighed, twirling his hand up to his forehead dramatically.
Pim looked around the room. His eyes fell on a whiteboard, scribbled with writing.
“What about the backup plan?” he asked. “AHA! The backup plan!” The Auctioneer exclaimed. “Pim, you beautiful genius! How could we have forgotten the backup plan?!”
The Auctioneer ran up to the whiteboard & skimmed through it.
“This is exactly the plan we need!” they grinned. “Pim, prepare the flyers! We’ve got a scavenger hunt to do!”
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i have a soup recipe that works well for me! it’s not very hard to make, everything’s puréed so texture shouldn’t be much of a problem, & it’s also got a fuckton of garlic in it for all my garlic girls if you’re worried about taste.
it started out as a recipe i found online for pastina soup, but i realized i liked the base of the soup on its own bc the pasta would get soggy if you kept it for too long. i’ll link the OG recipe at the end but anyways:
ingredients:
6 cups broth of your choice (ideally bone broth if you can afford it; it’s a little pricey but it’s worth it for all the nutrients you’re getting, there’s a few brands but kettle & fire has the most protein & least sodium. if not, chicken or vegetable broth can also work) (you can also adjust this depending on how thick or thin you want your soup to be)
1 whole onion (OG recipe calls for brown or yellow but you can use p much any variety)
2 large carrots
2 celery stalks
several cloves of garlic (OG recipe says 4 cloves but if there’s one thing i know it’s always add way more garlic than the recipe calls for, i sometimes use a whole bulb)
salt & pepper to taste (i use garlic salt; lawry’s is my go-to brand)
1/2 cup water (i like to use leftover pasta water for extra starch)
optional (from OG recipe):
pastina (this is only if you want to; i personally like just the broth bc the pasta gets mushy after a while if you keep it too long)
1 bay leaf (i personally like to add it but you do you)
1 parmesan rind (adds some extra umami to the broth)
my modifications (also optional):
1 leek (bc why not)
1 head roasted garlic (in addition to the other garlic; the more you chop garlic the more intense the flavor gets so the two different types of garlic give it a more complex flavor)
garnish with:
olive oil
grated parmesan
parsley
more salt & pepper
instructions:
if adding roasted garlic, prep this first; cook at 400°F for 30-40 mins so it’ll be ready by the time the soup is done simmering (how-to linked at end). save the chopped-off tips of the garlic (& any loose cloves) for the soup
rough chop your vegetables (carrots, onions, celery, not-roasted garlic, optional leek; this basically means chopped into big enough pieces that they can still be fished out later)
pour broth into soup pot on stove; add vegetables, salt, pepper, optional bay leaf/parm rind & simmer for 20 mins covered on medium-high heat.
kill the heat & transfer vegetables to blender w colander or slotted spoon; fish out optional bay leaf/parm rind & discard if used, add water & optional roasted garlic & blend until fully puréed. if you’re having trouble getting it completely smooth, start blending slower & gradually increase the speed.
pour blended veg back into broth, return heat, stir until fully combined & continue to season as needed. add pastina here if desired; bring soup to boil until al dente.
serve in bowls while hot, garnish as desired
enjoy! i also recommend serving with some good bread, sourdough or focaccia especially
the final product should look smth like this!
store any leftovers in the fridge; they should keep for about a week.
works cited:
original pastina recipe: https://cookingwithayeh.com/italian-pastina-soup/
how to roast garlic: https://www.simplyrecipes.com/recipes/roasted_garlic/
in addition, you also don’t have to eat it as soup! you can add it to sauces as an extra secret ingredient (smth i did with my mac & cheese when i had leftovers), or if it’s thick enough (adjusted so there’s more purée than broth) you can use it as a sauce on its own!
edit: EXTRA NOTE BC THIS IS IMPORTANT. if you have leftovers that you wanna reheat, HEAT IT ON THE STOVETOP. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, DO NOT MICROWAVE IT. i say this bc 1. i brought some to my friend when she was sick & she said it made her (very small) apartment smell like shit for 2 days straight (even tho it smelled good in the fridge), and 2. when i did it (bc i was in a hurry to pack lunch before work) it gave it kind of a weird aftertaste.
i mean this in the gentlest way possible: you need to eat vegetables. you need to become comfortable with doing so. i do not care if you are a picky eater because of autism (hi, i used to be this person!), you need to find at least some vegetables you can eat. find a different way to prepare them. chances are you would like a vegetable you hate if you prepared it in a stew or roasted it with seasoning or included it as an ingredient in a recipe. just. please start eating better. potatoes and corn are not sufficient vegetables for a healthy diet.
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— ✦ sugar & spice | jeon wonwoo (teaser)
PAIRING: bodyguard!wonwoo x celebrity!reader (fem!reader)
SUMMARY: it wasn’t your fault you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth. however, the people had a lot to say about that, especially since your father a public figure. but when he’s falsely accused of taking bribes and money laundering, your whole life falls apart, and things start to get out of hand and dangerous. that’s when you meet wonwoo - the bodyguard who’s been assigned to stay by your side and protect you 24/7. the only problem? he was really cold, but also irresistibly attractive. it was going to be a task to try and befriend him, but who said you weren’t up for the challenge.
THEMES: bodyguard au, mutual pining, slow burn, just wonwoo being a heartthrob really
WARNINGS: fighting, blood, violence, use of curse words, mentions of anxiety, social anxiety, panic attack, crowds, kissing, suggestive
WORDCOUNT: 429 for teaser (full fic upto 30k)
A/N: drop an ask or comment down below if you want to be added to the taglist for this fic!
link to the full fic!
"i cannot risk anything happening to you. so it’s decided”, your father tells. “what’s decided?”, you ask.
“you’ll be having a bodyguard with you from now onwards”, your father adds. “what? father, there is no need-"
“yn listen to your father, he is right” jeonghan interjects and you sigh. there was no point arguing over here. in hindsight, things were bound to get out of control and having a bodyguard around did seem wise. the thought that something worse could happen to you makes you shiver.
“hire only the best”, my father tells and jeonghan nods. “i know just the person” he tells, assuring my father.
later that week, you get to meet your new bodyguard. as you look at the man in front of you, you realise how tall he was because wow, he was really tall, and really handsome. he towered over you easily as you looked up at him.
he’s wearing a clean, crisp black suit, which has been tailored to his body, making the fit perfect, showing off his build and his hair was styled to expose his forehead. his foxy like eyes hold a mysterious but focused gaze. damn, he was hot. your eyes sweep over his body one more time before he’s clearing his throat and you're shaken away from your thoughts.
“hello, im jeon wonwoo and i'll be your bodyguard from today”, he tells, his voice deep as he looks at you, his alluring gaze catching your attention.
“hi! i’m yn! nice to meet you”, you say a little too enthusiastically as you hold out your hand for a handshake. you’re already cringing at your actions but wonwoo reaches out and shakes your hand nonetheless and gives you a small nod.
after that there is a moment of awkward silence before you speak again. “um i don’t think i’ll be going anywhere today so you can start from tomorrow”, you tell. you didn’t want him to be waiting around unnecessarily. he just looks down at you.
“i have been assigned to stay by your side at all times”, he tells. “but i’m just going to be home”, you tell. “it’s fine uh - i can call you wonwoo right?”, you ask and he gives you a curt yes.
“right wonwoo, it’s all right, just clock off work, it’s fine for today”, you tell and he looks like he’s thinking before he speaks again.
“if you insist”, is all he says before he gives you a small nod of acknowledgment, telling you he’ll be here tomorrow before he’s turning around and walking off.
taglist: @biboramp3 @naaaaafla @weird-bookworm @idubiluv @qaramu @n4mj00nvq @joshuaahong @itsveronicaxxx @fallingforshua29 @frankenstein852 @lvlystars @mirxzii @wheeboo
drop an ask or comment down below if you want to be added to the taglist for this fic!
#sugar & spice by skye!#skye's writing#seventeen imagines#seventeen fluff#seventeen scenarios#seventeen fanfic#seventeen drabbles#seventeen x reader#svt imagines#svt fluff#svt x reader#svt fanfic#svt scenarios#svt drabbles#wonwoo fanfic#wonwoo fluff#wonwoo x reader#wonwoo scenarios
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𝚊𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗
summary: the decisions we make lead us to where we are supposed to be.
pairing: Marc Spector x Fem!Reader; Steven Grant x Fem!Reader; word count: 6.3k
warnings: spoilers for episode 6; angst, violence, suggestive material.
quick links: Masterlist // Part I // Part II
“So where do these go?”
The pot sizzled on the stovetop, the small kitchen around you was filled with a delightful steam and the smell of a veal mixture and chicken cooked on low suffused your senses.
“Where does what go?”
Marc had been peering into the refrigerator looking for a lemon when you noticed the uncut onions on the counter. Under the yellow lighting of the small kitchen you shared, you pointed to the onions as you stirred the pot.
“The onions.”
Marc shot up from his bent position and all you heard was a ‘bang’ and the dishes that rested on top of it clatter. “Shit!”
“You alright?” You asked as he rubbed the back of his head, coming to stand beside you–sans the lemon–and gazed down at the 3 onions that did not make it into the dish. Marc tipped his head in the direction of the pot.
“They were supposed to be in there.”
Inside that kitchen, your realization could have been felt beyond it. Onto the street four stories below and inside a cab driving past with tourists not even realizing they past an apartment building. Marc saw your eyes grow wide, the spoon stopped moving and your mouth dropped open and repeated the same word he had just exclaimed in pain.
“Shit!”
Marc couldn’t help but laugh. He did not have enough fingers to count the times where an item neglected to find its way into a recipe. As his head throbbed, he found the cure in your charming defeat.
Knocking the spoon a few times on the side of the pot, you moved around him and grabbed the onions before putting them back into the basket that held extra potatoes and one squash that sat in the corner where the counter met the wall and nothing more. You turned around, leaning your back against the edge of the same counter, laughing with a hand covering your face.
“Every time!” You cried, not in sorrow but in ridiculous irony. “Every time your dad comes over I mess it up. We should just go over there from now on.”
Marc could not disagree with your statement–you did mess up a breakfast, lunch, or dinner every time you had guests over and most common was when his dad stopped for dinner. But Marc would also argue against going over to his father’s house. Not only for the poor memories that would always be associated with it, but Marc liked having his father in a space he could control–or at least one he knew like the back of his hand. The only thing that kept it from falling apart was you and he knew his father could see it, which is why he appreciated that his father always offered to come to the apartment you shared.
His mother, however, never came. She also never asked Elias about Marc or you when he returned.
“It’s fine, baby.” Marc reassured you, moving the slightest to face you, put his hand on yours to see your face as you tried to shield it.
“But it’s every time… sooner or later he’ll see me for a fraud and he’ll know you helped with all of this.”
“You cook fine. The food will be fine and just because it’s missing a few onions doesn’t mean its ruined… now if you messed up kosher laws…” He scolded with a smile, winking at you as you begrudgingly let him move the hand off your face.
Marc didn’t look at you with pity for what you considered to be “destroying dinner” but an appreciation for still even attempting to put effort into an evening that could be solved with a quick run to a restaurant or his father could bring a dish to share.
“Next thing you know I’ll do that too.” You said, keeping your head low and watching as Marc took your hands in his, letting his fingers intertwine with yours as he trapped you in the little corner of the kitchen.
“I think I can trust you enough not to do that.”
“I don’t know…” You voice was almost melodic, a smile creeping onto it as it always did when he took your hand in his. Just having him near was enough for you–sometimes Marc believed you felt differently but it was. He was gone so often that these little moments stuck in your memory for your own sanity’s-sake.
The way he made you feel… it was special.
A kind of love that transcended the world you knew and cascaded into the ones you didn’t; where the Earth stood still and nothing could break the bond except the smell of burning food on the stove.
You furrowed your brows as you gazed at him when the smell hit your nose. Quickly letting go and pushing past him again, you stirred the pot with an audible huff and Marc’s laughter.
For one night, everything was perfect in his eyes. Marc did not feel the weight of his past lingering on his shoulders or the need to protect himself. In this quaint little shoebox of an apartment on a street block in Chicago, he felt at home.
“I’m going to make sandwiches next time. No cooking.” You scolded yourself as you stirred vigorously.
Marc wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you against him but continued to let you stir. He kissed the side of your head, watching as the simmering pot calmed down and was saved from becoming inedible.
“It looks perfect, even without the onions.” He quietly whispered in your ear. The feel of him in the crook of your neck caused your shoulder to scrunch into your chin, his laughter encouraging the feeling. “What? Don’t you like it when I praise you?” His words were suggestive, he knew that.
“Now, I know I didn’t say that…” You replied, keeping your eyes on the pot but you felt his hands roam, hugging you and moving in a sway like motion against him. Marc’s cheek rested on your shoulder and he was tempted to do it again.
“So…” He lifted his head up in the slightest motion and the sensation returned. “You don’t like it when I do this.” You pulled your shoulder away and tried to break free but he wouldn’t let you.
“Marc I swear to God I will knock this over if you keep doing that.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
Sometimes that love aggravated you in the best of ways.
“Do it again, I dare you.” You prompted him to try it again and he did against your better judgement. This time he let go of you after because he felt the retaliation coming but was unsure what it was. When your arms went up on defense, the spoon went with it and the red sauce from the pan flew across the kitchen and landed square on Marc’s chest–and his green shirt.
The laughter stopped, the sizzling of the stove continued, the lone beep from a car outside filled the air as Marc looked down at you stared at his face, waiting for his reaction.
“I didn’t– “You started and he cut you off.
“This was the best you could do?” Marc pointed to his chest as he looked up. He watched as you tried to formulate an answer but your mouth couldn’t sound words so you shrugged. You saw his eyes calculate the situation and he resulted in holding out his hand, flexing it and looking at the spoon.
“Give me the spoon.” You gazed down at the spoon in your hand, still full with a dripping sauce on the floor, and shook your head.
“I think I’m good…”
“Baby, give me the spoon.” He used the voice. The stern, commanding voice that he got when he returned from service years ago and used it when he 1. Wanted something and 2. Wanted something in the bedroom. You weren’t sure which one he wanted right now or if he was messing with you.
“What are you going to use it for?” You stalled.
“I didn’t say but give me the spoon and you’ll see.”
“I rather like this spoon so I think I’ll keep it. Besides, it belongs in the–” You moved to put it back in the pot and Marc shot after you, making you squeal as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and grabbed the spoon from your hands without much effort.
“Now, you got me all dirty it’s only fair I return the favor.”
In a swift motion, Marc had twirled you around and wiped his finger on the spoon, gathering the sauce and dragged his finger across your cheek, lips, and chin.
“See!” He exclaimed happily when he was content and saw your eyes narrow at him. “Now we match.”
“I didn’t mess up your pretty face.”
“No, but it gives me an excuse to do something…” Your eyes still narrowed, you knew exactly what Marc was going to do. He wasn’t a predictable guy, per se, but you knew him better than most. You licked your lips as he watched your tongue clean the sauce from them, his eyes entranced by the motion.
“You know…” You spoke lowly, Marc leaning into you and encircling his arms on your waist as your arms around his shoulders and settling in the hair that curled on the back of his neck. You heard Marc drop the spoon the counter with a thud. “It’s not half bad without the onions.”
You could hardly contain the smile when Marc’s lips met your own. The sweet savory-ness of the dish mixed with the taste of Marc was intoxicating. He breathed in deeply, taking every inch of you with him as he moved his mouth against yours and gripped onto you as if his life depended on it.
But Marc also knew that his father was on his way.
Marc broke the kiss after a few minutes and leaned his forehead against yours, listening to your shallow breathing as the world finally felt content to him.
“It tastes perfectly, baby. Just like I told you it would.”
You hummed, scratching the back of his neck gently with your nails. “I’m not that bad of a cook.”
“No, you’re not.” He chuckled, pulling away even though he did not want to. He saw the red sauce on the rest of your face, the stain on his shirt, and glanced at the clock that read 6:27.
“He’ll be here soon so go clean up, I’ll finish this, alright?” You nodded at him, letting your hands fall against his chest and avoid the stain.
“Don’t forget about the lemon.” You reminded him and it was now his turn to nod. He let you pass, hearing you walk down the hall and into your shared bedroom where the distinct click of the bathroom light turning on sounded in the distance.
“Get me a new shirt too!” He shouted after you but did not hear a reply.
Marc assumed at the time that you had nodded to yourself in the mirror as you wiped away the sauce but he knew now that wasn’t the case. The second after you turned on the light the world had changed for him, but also for you and his father.
In the hallway outside of the apartment, a wine bottle crashed to the floor but couldn’t be heard through the door. Marc’s father had just nearly arrived when the snap occurred. Down the hall from him, you had just flipped on the light. You didn’t even make it to the sink when all he found was an ash-like substance on the tile floor.
Marc never ate dinner that night.
The earth rattled underneath your feet as the God took hold.
Never had you experienced such a sensation.
Your body overtaken, your soul intact yet bruised from the voice that now directed your actions. There was a fear that perhaps this choice was the wrong one, but Thoth was not Khonshu.
As the dust settled from Harrow’s rapture, Thoth had assumed his avatar within you. And although you were the same, you felt different. You gazed down at your hand covered in gold armor, a black fabric coolly settling onto your skin as it nearly glinted in the shallow moonlight that snuck in through the cracks in the pyramid.
Is this what it felt like to be a God? Or, to at least be associated rather closely with one.
You felt powerful. The kind of power that you did not know existed in the form that entered you, but in the oddest of ways, it felt fitting. The person you were as a child to teen to adulthood had not prepared you for this; but no one was ever prepared to be called upon in service of a God or to protect the things they loved most.
From what you gathered, Khonshu gave Marc a second chance at life, perhaps now a third, and maybe Thoth had given you one too.
Not rising from death in the same service; being guided through life with an extra hand on your shoulder that pushes you to be better, do good, and help the world in more ways than one.
“I sense a kindness within you.”
Thoth’s voice boomed above you. The God hadn’t been ‘inside’ as you believed. He had just extended a piece of himself into you as a form of protection. As you served as his living body, he watched from above, below, and every moment beside you.
“You make it sound like a bad thing.” You gazed up at him, no longer scared of his non-human features. It had irked you at first–the bird-like creature that manifested larger than the normal person but you had to remind yourself you lived in a world where an alien made half of the population disappear, one where Marc was the avatar of another God and hid it from you for years upon your return to this life.
“When you are fighting Ammit, kindness doesn’t often succeed.”
“Then why choose me? Huh?” You shrugged, holding your hands out from your body and realizing that the outfit was heavier than you imagined. The black fabric intertwined with the gold to make a suit of pure power and radiance–and then you looked down at your chest–a band of emeralds fitted the suit below your chest and along your neck, shimmering in the low light. “Being a good person is obviously not enough to defeat evil, so what was the point of choosing me? Just because I set you free?”
“Kindness drives a person, as yours does you. If what the Gods have said of you is true, then having you as my avatar is my honor.”
“What the Gods have said of me? They watch us?”
“Every God does.”
“And I suppose you can’t say what they’ve said?”
Thoth laughed, booming and loud. “You can see the emeralds? Remember them as pieces of judgement. The color green is now part of you in ways it is not with others and when the time of your own comes, these will protect you.”
“My judgment? You mean death. Enchanted emeralds, Gods of many cultures watching over us all…” You mumbled, looking down into the gleaming stones once more and catching your reflection. “I am not cynical but, sometimes I think I’m going a little crazy.”
“You’re not going crazy, my dear, just opening your eyes to how the world truly is.”
“And this is how the world truly is? That everyone has a God who speaks to them and becomes a… superhero… in its presence.”
“I do not know of this ‘superhero’ that you speak of but you are an avatar. My physical hand in this world and through me, you will see what the others around you have too. Those good and evil forces this world contains and how we judge based on those actions.”
“We, we, we… I didn’t ask for this, you know. Anything that’s happened to me really.” You moved away from Thoth as the candlelight still held strong. “What of the judgement when my world was thrown upside down years ago? Did you all have something to do with the people who disappeared?”
Thoth sensed an anger within you. The force that caused the shift in population was ungodly.
“No…we did not. That was a titan, not a God. There were plenty of good who disappeared and plenty of bad who stayed. Harrow, he stayed, as did Marc. Here were are trying to fight evil with the good that maintained and the good that is created now.”
A rumble of stone collapsing sounded not far from you. As if you immediately believed the sound was Harrow coming to recapture you in chains, Layla’s voice called out.
“Y/n!?” She repeated your name a couple of times as Thoth shifted around you. The God knelt down, put his beak in your face and for the first time in the minutes since you became partners in this life, you felt that there was a kinship between you. Before today, you weren’t certain you had ever heard of the God.
“Marc Spector needs you. You bring him peace, I saw it in his book, remember that while the world challenges you.”
Thoth was gone in a puff of smoke as Layla appeared in the chamber.
At first, all of what either of you could do to one another was stare. Here, in this chamber where your paths crossed for the first time not more than an hour before, both of Marc Spector’s loves stood–anxious and heartbroken, united and strong. Layla was in white and gold, a scarlet scarab on her collarbone and no true identification of the God who had chosen her as an avatar–but you knew it was not Khonshu. She looked at you the same way, curious and calculating. The woman who appeared captured by Arthur Harrow and connected to Marc in ways she still wasn’t sure.
Layla still loved Marc. She was still married to Marc. But Layla knew Marc had his secrets and that would be another tally on her list on why Marc was not the best husband.
“So…” Layla said breathlessly from her run to you. You nodded, taking in a shaky breath as the realization that a fight lay ahead of you unlike anything you had experienced before. The most exercise you ever got was the weekly kickboxing class you took because Marc had convinced you to for your own protection.
“Who’s your God?” It felt like a strange question to ask but in the context of things, it surely wasn’t.
“Taweret.”
“Oh.” You did not know what God that was and Layla could tell.
“Taweret.” She repeated, walking closer to you and taking in your suit that appeared when Thoth assumed you as his avatar. “Goddess of childbirth and fertility, but she has a significant impact on those trying to pass into the afterlife.”
Childbirth and fertility. Fitting for the woman who was married to your Marc.
You hummed in understanding, observing her as well. She nodded after she was done and gave you a small smile. Layla was a good woman. She didn’t deserve your ire for what happened during the five years you were gone–it just stung.
“Thoth is a good God, a respected one…” She trailed off, trying to find the right words to use in your presence. “I had to think quickly but I think it will be a good fit with Marc and Khonshu.”
“And you?”
“Taweret is pretty sweet on her own.”
“Layla…”
The woman shook her head, smiling as if she knew what you would say without speaking much of anything.
“Marc and I… we have a complicated relationship. His lifestyle, his secrets… not every part of him is meant for me. I don’t know you or your relationship with Marc but I know when love exists. I love him, I always will, but if we’re going to do this… I want you to know where I stand with him. He knows that too.”
“I trust you, Layla. But I think this conversation should include him too. His faults aren’t our responsibility to sort out.”
Layla knew she liked you. Marc liked strong women and while you weren’t the same, the similarities were there.
“And now he needs us to save his ass.” She laughed and you responded in kind. No matter what happens in the moments to come, you thought to yourself, you hoped you had a friend for life in Layla.
“So, what do you say…” She nudged her shoulder into yours and looked down the narrow hallway to the exit. “Time to save Marc?”
You nodded and smiled. “What would he do without us?”
You didn’t know she would be able to fly.
The two of you had been running for about a mile and suddenly, Layla noticed the purple emitting from the top of a pyramid disappear. Your attention had been diverted by the massive God’s fighting above you and threating to squish anything in its path as their thundering steps shook the Earth.
“I am going to see if I can find them! Keep going in this direction!” She pointed ahead of her and her suit shot metal wings from her shoulder and she was gone like a soft wind. You could not believe your circumstances in that moment.
You were running, alone, in the desert of Egypt trying to get away from massive Gods ready to squash you like a grape and going toward danger as your life-long partner was an avatar of a God that was trying to do good in the world by eliminating evil people who committed terrible acts.
It all made so much sense–if you compromised that this was all a dream and you’d wake up in a minute softly laying in your bed.
But you also couldn’t believe that.
There were Gods fighting above you. Your mind was in shambles trying to reconcile that.
“Keep going.” Thoth spoke to you but did not appear.
“What do you think I’m doing?” You spat as you panted heavily. The sand made it difficult to run.
“Girl has a bite.” Thoth scoffed as his presence disappeared from you. Above you, the Gods stomped and suddenly, in front of you, Layla landed after disappearing no more than a minute before.
“Fuck!” You shouted as she scared you, stopping you in your tracks so fast you slid against the sand.
“What a kind greeting.”
“You scared me, that’s all.” You bent over, catching your breath and heaving heavily as you prepared yourself to continue on. “Did you find them?”
“In the town, you won’t make it on foot.”
“Then you go and help him.”
Layla laughed, grabbing your arm and instructing you to hold onto the back of her suit.
“You are coming with. I think Marc would be happy to see you… this hasn’t been easy and he won’t expect you.”
“Yes, a surprise is just what he needs right now.”
“Grab on, don’t let go no matter what.” She told you and right before she took off with you attached, her eyes went wide. “Do you know about Steven?”
“Steven?”
“Marc’s…” She tried to find the right word again. “Alter. Or the only one I know of at least.”
If there is one thing Marc had ever shared with you that you kept closest to your heart, it was the fact he had tried so hard to keep his life to the standard of normal society told him to have. His alters didn’t fit that standard and that brought more pain to his already traumatic life. He claimed he could control it and the day he had truly broken; it was the moment he had prepared you for.
His mother’s Shiva, the moment where he cracked and couldn’t control it anymore.
Marc told you to let him go–that it would hurt more knowing that he wouldn’t recognize you when an alter took control of the body. When that moment happened you listened to what he wanted but not what he needed. Maybe he wouldn’t have disappeared to London if you had acted on what he needed instead.
“Yeah… a little bit.” You told her and felt that even ‘a little bit’ was an exaggeration. You didn’t know Steven but she did.
“They’re a funny pair, those two. You’ll like him.” And as she lifted off of the ground with you holding tightly to her, Layla said: “I think Steven’s got a crush on me too.”
Layla dropped you behind a row of buildings as she perched above it.
On her cue, she said she would fly down and you could attack from behind–whatever that meant. You had to go with what your instincts of what it meant to be a hero contained.
At the ground level, there were supports of Harrow and civilians everywhere. As you frantically looked around for the nearest exit to the scene of the action, you shooed at people to go away, run as fast as they could. They listened, those who wanted to leave, and fled the area. Mothers taking their children, families fleeing as fast as they could.
Between two buildings, a street led you to the center of it all and a blinding purple light sent Arthur Harrow flying past you. In the direction that he flew from, Layla stood over Marc who was amazed to see her there–and he followed by rising to his feet and hugging her tightly.
Your heart squeezed tighter at the sight.
And then his outfit changed and the sound of his voice was loud and English–the British kind and the same one that you heard when his control slipped on the cobblestone street of Chicago.
Steven.
Around you, Harrow had regained his posture and his supporters cocked their guns in preparation. Steven and Layla began making their way toward you, the former of which had yet to notice you in the shadows.
You began disarming the men around you as quickly as you could. Using the skills you had learned in the classes and the ones that came with Thoth’s guidance, you were rather good at it without realizing it. Layla helped cut through the supporters as Steven used a pair of batons to fight the men and then he threw one at Harrow.
As Harrow prepared to block it, he held his staff upright and blocked it with a swing of the staff. You took the chance ran up behind Layla and Steven before Steven had the opportunity to catch it in return. You felt the metal in your hands and slowly lowered it before handing it back to Steven.
When you turned to see Steven, it was no longer Steven looking at you but Marc.
There was nothing the world could do to prepare you for that moment. Seeing his glowing eyes in your direction when he least expected you to be there. You weren’t scared of him in the suit or the actions he was taking because you knew he needed to do it, and in a way, he realized you were there to help him too.
Marc saw the way Layla looked proudly at you–knowing she had a part in this too.
You extended the baton to Marc.
“I heard you needed a little help.”
He wanted to kiss you but he couldn’t. So, all Marc said was:
“Maybe just a little.”
And all three of you looked down to Harrow knowing the end was near. He would not make it out of this fight a winner.
Every man that was fighting for Harrow gave up easily. After the first was down from your hand, it made each following man easier to forget about. You knew your purpose and Thoth was the finally judgement, not you. Your hands did not kill.
You weren’t sure if either of the two noticed that, but Harrow did. His staff never wavered toward you as if he knew that your purpose was not that same as the others. You let them keep the lead and fight him directly while you focused on the followers that never stopped coming.
In the town center, you helped pile innocent civilians into a van but Harrows judgment was pointed in your direction.
“Layla! Marc!” You shouted as they pushed him closer and closer and the glow began to shake the van. You weren’t sure what to do but you ushered those who were outside of it away and down the street. Layla was the first to help with the other civilians as Marc dealt with Harrow.
“You alright?” Layla asked and it was from the fear she saw on your face. This was not your world. It may have been her and Marc’s but it wasn’t yours.
“Fine. I’m fine!” You repeated as if you were trying to convince yourself.
“What do we do, Layla? How can we stop someone like him?”
“We just have to keep trying, Y/n. We have to.”
“But what if we can’t”
It was when doubt settled that the tides often shifted. You could see Khonshu above the buildings falling to the ground. Marc was trying to hold of Harrow but one of his crescents came flying and captured Layla’s arm onto the van.
She tried to break free but couldn’t.
Where do you all go from here?
Harrow approached Marc as he laid still in the rubble. His staff held high, Harrow pushed it down and into the crest of Marc’s suit that shot a purple beam into the night sky. Around you, the same men who you had not killed rejoined the fight with their weapons aimed high and firing. Layla covered her face with the wings Taweret gave her but Thoth gave you nothing of the sort.
A bullet pierced you in the abdomen and you fell against the van before crumbling to the floor.
You didn’t know how Thoth worked.
But you looked at Marc because you didn’t know how much time left and he was already looking.
He could see your breath catch in your throat and your eyes start to water. You weren’t going to die but seeing you in pain, seeing Layla in pain, it pushed him over the edge.
The line of where Marc began and who committed the violence that took place in that square was thin and invisible.
Words could not describe what you witnessed.
Pure, unbridled rage emitting from a man who had demons and chose to act on those in a similar fashion.
Marc Spector was not in control, neither was Steven Grant.
It scared them both. In a body where an uncertainty of control had teetered before, they believed themselves to be two halves of a whole yet experienced a near-out-of-body experience where neither assumed control.
They were floating; free falling into a pit of despair against an enemy within.
Marc was the first to get control of the body. His eyes were frightened, terrified that what he had done was beyond all of his capabilities—and in some ways, he was right. Marc could see the flames. The flames of destruction and death littered around him like trash and nothing more.
The lives were worthless.
And the one he held in his trembling hands was ready for judgement.
The staff stuck of our Arthur Harrow’s skull. Half wedged between bone and muscle, it hadn’t been enough to kill him but incapacitate and disarm. Harrow wasn’t the threat, the body Marc and Steven shared was.
Marc put Harrow on the ground, not-so-gingerly taking the staff out of his skull and leaving the man to remain there unconscious. He looked around at the destruction as his vision cleared from the destructive haze. There were two pairs of eyes on him: Layla and you—the former still pinned to the van and you were still sitting on the ground but no longer holding your abdomen. You were fine. Whatever God was looking after you was doing it well.
But both you and Layla stared at him with curious eyes.
He was reminded again that whomever did this… it wasn’t someone he knew as he did Steven and as Steven knew him.
“That wasn’t you, was it, Steven?” Marc asked, witnessing his destruction. In a seconds time, Steven took control of their body and observed the same chaos.
“Not a chance, Mate.”
Layla broke herself free and held out a hand to you. You gladly took it and rose to your feet without an ounce of pain other than sore muscles. Thoth worked wonders, he did. She looked at you and the blood that had yet to dry where the bullet had gone through.
“I’m fine, Layla. Really.” You reassured her with a smile and walked over to Steven who was watching.
“It wasn’t you, Steven.” It was the first time you had ever held a conversation with him. It was as though you were looking at Marc but not truly. The body was the same but the mannerisms were different. His brow wasn’t tightly creased and his fists weren’t clenched. Marc always looked as though he was ready to pounce on the world but Steven looked scared to even touch it.
Steven nodded, glancing at Layla before looking again at you. “You must be Y/n.”
“Yeah.” You nodded, giving him the same soft smile you did Layla. “I’m Y/n. It’s nice to meet you Steven.”
Layla had made herself present in the conversation by calling out to Marc and it gave you the first opportunity to see Marc take control. You blinked and it was the man you had grown to love, but he was concerned and hurt and tired.
“What the hell was that, Marc?” Layla asked him with a scorned voice. She didn’t mean to be judgmental but the unknown scared her too.
“I don’t know.” Marc shook his head and looked at her, then you, and finally realized the weight of having you here. He reached his hand out, caressing the right side of your face with eyes that screamed sorrow. “I blacked out.”
Behind the three of you, Ammit had taken Khonshu by the collar of his linens and dragged him away from the scene. With Harrow nearly defeated, Ammit remained the final chapter to close.
“Get Harrow.” Layla said, sternly looking at Marc as if he created this problem. Marc had much blood on his hands but Harrow’s choices were his own. “I know how to stop Ammit.” She picked up Marc’s batons and the staff.
“We have to finish this, Marc.” Your voice was less harsh. Layla had chosen this path, chosen to be part of this life and had always been because of her father but you, you were never supposed to see this side of Marc. What time had made of him. You looked at him with the same adoring eyes he remembered waking up to every morning until the world changed and they were gone. But his healing began now and it started with redemption from Harrow’s defeat to leaving Khonshu behind.
“You don’t have to do this. I know you certainly weren’t brought here on your own free will.” Marc stepped closer, closing the space between you as Layla started off to the pyramid.
“But I chose to be here for you.” Here for him in this Egyptian square so far away from home. “And I think there are some things we need to talk about, huh?”
Yeah. That double life he has been living.
Marc knew you knew. There was no way that could have gone unsaid with Layla present.
“I don’t need to know now… but I need you to be honest with me when the time comes, alright?”
“Yeah, baby. I will.” Marc was sincere and you could see it in his eyes. Whatever he had been keeping from you spanned beyond Layla and his job, but his own mindset and the help he needed to heal. Marc dropped his hand from your face, letting it trail down your arm and through your finger tips before letting go.
“I can’t lift that man alone, so, what do you say, Marc Spector or… Steven, whoever wants to help. Let’s end this huh?”
Maybe it was because Marc was shaken from the events of his blackout that Steven appeared to in a his very different suit. It surprised you when you saw him speak to Layla earlier because it was a literal suit.
“I suppose we better get this off to Layla then!” Steven handy truly been known to you until moment ago and he already had stolen your heart. Every part of Marc you loved, Steven would be no different.
As you knelt down to pick up Harrow by his feet, you looked up at Steven and he caught your eye.
“What? Is there something on my face?” His accent was so strong. You gave him a shy smile and shook your head.
“I assume Marc is always there…?” You weren’t an expert on how it worked, you weren’t trying to be, but something told you the answer may have been yes.
“Yeah, in a way.”
“Can he hear me?”
Steven nodded, bending down to your level as you both prepared to move Harrow.
“I love you.”
Steven knit his eyebrows together and have you a look that made you think of how people look at puppies. The sickening cute ‘awe’ and adoration soon to follow.
“Well he says that ‘of course you’d do this now and that he loves you too’ but he had an attitude about it.” Steven said in response and you chuckled, grasping Harrows ankles.
“I would have expected nothing less.”
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This sort of domestic enchantment works for us, to say nothing of the advantages of having plenty of cold iron about the house when living in rural Ireland.
It’s good for old-fashioned, historical and fantasy cookery. What did you THINK I meant...? :->
*****
Neither @dduane nor I inherited any cast-ironware *, though she brought a Wagner Ware (company closed 1999) skillet over with her from the USA.
In the 37 years since then we've bought a goodly amount of our own and, since a lot of it is enamelled, seasoning is much less of an issue. However this casserole and platter were both raw iron, so got the full treatment.
The resulting finish is a treat for the eye and a pleasure to use.
* I do have a stoneware crock / casserole / bean-pot / whatever, which goes back to my maternal great-gran. By my reckoning that makes it over 150 years old...
...and it's still in use (here for smoked pork & beans, yum...)
There are any amount of recipes online for Baked Beans, Boston Baked Beans etc. etc. so I won’t give links, but this is the one from that cookbook in the photo, "The Pauper's Cookbook" by Jocasta Innes.
This recipe is a classic of American domestic cookery and the inspiration, I imagine, of the ubiquitous baked beans.
INGREDIENTS
1 pound haricot (navy) beans
½ pound streaky pork (salt or otherwise)
1 large onion
2 tablespoonful black treacle.
1 dessertspoonful spoonful brown sugar
1 dessertspoonful powdered mustard
1 teaspoonful of Worcestershire sauce
Salt & Pepper
METHOD
Soak the beans overnight.
Cook for 1½ to 2 hours in the water they were soaked in, then strain the beans and keep the water.
Cut the streaky pork into chunks, removing any rind.
Peel and slice the onion.
Heat the bean water and stir into it the treacle, sugar, mustard, Worcestershire sauce, salt and pepper.
Mix up the beans, pork and onion in a casserole, pour over the seasoned bean water and add extra hot water if necessary to come just over the top of the beans.
Cover and bake in a moderate oven (350°F, 180°C, gas mark 4) for about an hour * or until the beans are soft. During this time, if the beans seem to be getting too dry, add more hot water.
This is a rich sweetish dish and goes best with an uncloying vegetable such as spring greens, spinach or braised celery.
* IMO “about an hour” is a very, very short time to bake beans. We usually give them three or four hours at about 160°C / 320°F, and I’ve seen online recipes with times of “eight hours” (definitely check several times for dryness!) and “overnight, very low”.
In both cases very low would mean 120°C / 250°F , and even then we’d need to check for drying-out, because we can’t turn off the fan in our oven. Since checking wouldn’t happen with an overnight cooking, in that instance I’d seal the lid tight with foil or even flour-and-water dough. If there was still too much liquid when opened, another hour with the lid off should fix it. I get a feeling it’s very difficult to overcook this.
*****
The last time we made it, we used smoked pork belly from a Polish supermarket (Polonez, 49-50 Mary Street, Dublin) and it was OUTSTANDING.
It’s overdue for a remake - we’ve got smoked pork belly in the freezer and dried beans in the cupboard - but this time I’ll try it in our DuvHay box...
...which is a haybox I made from an insulated meat-delivery box and an old duvet, hence the silly name - which doesn’t detract from the box working as intended, to an excellent degree.
The dish in these pics was a stew of shin beef, smoked bacon, onions, carrots, herbs and red wine; it went into the box still bubbling, was wrapped and closed up, and left to its own devices from about 8-ish PM Friday until 6-ish PM Saturday.
22 hours later, when it came out, the meat was fork-tender, the flavours had combined wonderfully, and even though it hadn’t put a penny on our electricity bill since leaving the cooker, it was still hot enough to eat without reheating.
Protracted cooking without power consumption, what’s not to like?
I’m definitely going to try this method for the pork and beans, and then several other low-cook-slow-cook one-pots because, as I’ve said often, Thyme can be bought in a jar, but time can’t... :->
*****
For reference, the commercial Wonderbag works on the same principal and - though I doubt it can match our 22-hour insulation - it’s a bag not a box, so is more easily stored (squashy) despite apparently being the size of a well-grown small child (not squashy *).
* At least not without effort, some serious folding or as the cereal ad says, “Snap, Crackle and Pop” and possibly a dressing à la sauce Robert. See “Sleeping Beauty” - not the Disney one - for more details.
Even Maleficent didn’t go that far.
It’s a good sauce, though, suitable for pork.
Short, not long.
Is it me or does the way we treat cast-iron cookware almost come across like we’re talking about ancestral enchanted swords or something?
‘Twas my grandmother’s pan, ‘fore she passed it to my father; and my father’s pan before mine; and now you, my daughter, shall have it by your side as you go off to make your way in the world. Just remember, never wash it with soap, nor scrub too hard when you rinse it, lest you erode its protective sheen – you can apply a new enchantment, but it will lose all the power it has gained over the years from its use by our bloodline, and also it’s sort of a pain in the ass.
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