#I'll literally defend her with my last breath | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

badomensbaby · 9 months ago

Text

above the law. lrh

pairing: luke hemmings x fem! reader

summary: luke's so sick of his assistant, you, talking all the damn time. he finally does something about it.

warnings: 18+ only. minors DNI. smut, thigh-riding, unprotected sex, verbal degradation, rough bj, slightly dubious consent, office sex, cum-swallowing, cursing.

word count: 4,173

a/n: i wrote this originally back in early 2023 as an au using one of my wattpad original characters. through some editing, i've decided to change the pov and post it here! i hope you enjoy x

feedback and constructive criticism welcome. requests are open!

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Hemmings, get your head out of your ass for once and finish this goddamn deal."

The curly headed blonde's eyes snap away from the project he's currently in the middle of, various folders scattered amongst his desk, drowning him in useless paperwork all for a stupid fucking merger.

"The fuck do you think I'm doing?" Luke grumbles under his breath, snapping the Bolton file shut and tossing his overly expensive fountain pen on top of the mess he's created. Ashton Irwin, one of three named partners, stands with his arms crossed in the doorway of Luke's corner office, an unamused expression on his face.

"I think you're trying to do all this shit on your own instead of utilizing your associate, that's what I think," the honey blonde scoffs, thick brow raising, "Where's Y/N anyway? You send her across town for your stupid coffee again?"

"No," Luke's quick to defend, though it is the easiest way to get you out of his eyesight for a little while and focus, "I've got her on the Mansfield settlement."

"The Mansfield- that's Mike's case, idiot," Ashton shakes his head, "What's the deal, Luke? You really hate Y/N that much?"

A sigh of exhaustion leaves Luke's lips, head cocking back as he stares at the ceiling. "She's just chatty," he says vaguely, "Can't get a single fuckin' thing done 'cause she won't shut up."

"She's your associate, Luke, stop pawning her off on Mike or he'll swipe her out from under you."

"Good," he forces out a low chuckle, meeting the man's eyes, "He can have her."

"Don't say things you don't mean, you know she's one of the best associates we've got." Luke's eyes roll at his boss' words, sitting up straighter in his desk chair.

"Whatever," he mumbles softly, not willing to admit your brain is undeniably better than half the fucking people he's met. "Can I get back to work now?"

A defeated sigh escapes Ash's lips, "If I don't see Y/N in here working with you I'll make sure to send Calum your way."

"Calum?" the curly haired boy's nose wrinkles, shaking his head, "That's like giving me a fucking puppy, Ash, literally useless."

"Your call." he responds, a little smirk on his lips before pulling Luke's office door shut behind him. A groan leaves Luke's throat at this, the urge to rip every last blonde ringlet from his head at the idea of spending the remaining afternoon going over these stupid files with you.

Regardless of the fact that you’re distracting, which he'll never admit aloud, he shoots you a vague text requiring your presence in his office, no more than twenty minutes from now.

And of course, your dainty little wrist began knocking on the dark wooden door of his office precisely twenty-three minutes after he'd sent the text, only fueling his annoyance. A curt "come in" leaves his lips but his eyes remain on the file, instead of the sinful black dress on your curvy frame.

Tasteful and tightly fit, your fingers instinctively tug at the material resting on your mid thigh, a worrisome look on your features. For as long as you can recall, Luke's always teased you about your wardrobe, especially the bright colors and silken skirts.

"You're late," his tone is flat, hand scribbling away at the paperwork he's nearly memorized already, "I swear to god if you say some bullshit about the elevator again-"

Luke's words die in his throat as he lifts his head, eyes landing on the tight fabric on your frame, hugging every fucking dip and curve of your body. You meet eyes, yours widening, worried you’re going to be lectured again. Was your dress too plain, too boring?

The sweetheart neckline alone almost makes Luke lick his lips, stifling the urge to say something far, far more inappropriate to his associate. "Doesn't matter," the blonde rushes out, "We're gonna be here all night. Preorder from Machi's while you're at it."

"Okay," is all you say, walking closer to his desk, the click of your heels echoing Luke's ears as you bend over, just slightly, grabbing his desk phone and beginning to dial.

After nearly four hours and neither had made a miraculous discovery, a whine of agony leaves your throat, sat across the moderately sized office, snapping yet another useless file folder shut. "Luke,"

"What?" he rasps, tearing his eyes away from the file, meeting your eyes, his own filled with annoyance. "Don't tell me you've got nothing, Y/N."

"There's honestly no reason why Bolton should be merging with Daniels," you sigh out, running a hand through your hair, "Seriously, it's like Pampers merging with Microsoft, they have no interest in one another."

"Christ," Luke mutters under his breath, jaw tensing as you continue to ramble useless information, "Do you ever shut up?"

Mid-sentence, your lips snap shut, a warmth spreading across your cheeks. "Sorry," you respond softly, and Luke almost feels bad for being so curt, but god you never close your fucking mouth. "Did you find anything?"

A huff of air leaves Luke's nose, "Maybe," he says, twirling his fountain pen between his fingers, leg bouncing aimlessly as he scans over the documents for the umpteenth time. "But you keep fucking talking and it's throwing me off."

"Sorry."

"Damnit, Y/N," his curls bounce slightly as he shakes his head, rifling a hand through them, glancing over at your position on the small sofa, dress slightly ridden up your smooth thighs. "Come here, let me show you something."

Hesitantly, you toss the file on your lap onto the cushion, standing and making your way over to Luke's desk, oblivious to the fitted material of your dress riding a bit higher than intended. Luke swallows thickly, attempting to keep focus on the file in his hand. As you lean over slightly to see what Luke's underlined, his eyelids fall shut, the smell of your perfume annihilating his senses.

"But that means-" you cut yourself off, lower lip tucked between your teeth, palms flat on the corner of Luke's desk, "This isn't about combining their companies, is it?"

"No," Luke finally says after a moment, slowly blinking his eyes open, "But we need to convince the judge it is."

"That's impossible, Luke, it's clear they're only doing this for-"

"I know, just figure it out, Y/N."

"That'll take all night," you whine softly, "I'm not sleeping in the office two nights in a row." Luke's teeth grit together at your response, frustrated and fed up with your goddamn attitude.

"If you can't do it I'll find someone who can," he cranes his neck to meet your eyes, narrowed and darkened, "You wanna whine about a few more hours be my guest, but you're not doing it here."

"But-"

"Jesus fucking-" he abandons his pen with a thud, rubbing the palms of his hands against his tired eyes, "I seriously have never met someone so goddamn annoying. All you fucking do is whine and complain and talk my fucking ear off," Luke rambles lowly, "You wanted to be an associate, so be a goddamn associate and shut your fucking mouth before I shut it for you."

You stand upright, embarrassment washing over your features, attempting to remain composed as tears threaten your eyes. It's not a secret that Luke's always harbored some sort of annoyance toward you, but he's never spoken to you in such a vile manner before. You swallow the thick lump in your throat, fists balled at your sides. How dare he say those things to you?

"You're an asshole," you say, voice wavering slightly, "You're always a dick to everyone. Nobody's ever good enough for you. I wanted to be an associate to learn and do what I love, not be talked to like a child."

"The fuck did you say to me?" Luke counters with a raised brow, ringed fingers slowly rolling up the sleeves of his fitted black dress shirt. "I think you forget who you work for. Not Ashton, not Michael, definitely not Jessica. You work for me, Y/N, and if you want to keep your fucking job I think you owe me a goddamn apology."

Luke's eyes flicker between yours and the hemline of your little black dress, the skin of your thighs soft and tempting as he widens the distance between his legs, splayed open. "Come here," he says, a bit quieter this time, though he's fucking seething internally, he can't deny how fucking hot it is talking down to the you. Hesitantly, you step closer, stomach swirling with uneasiness.

"You don't wanna go through those files? Fine," Luke forces out a low chuckle, "But I've got work to do and I'm not gonna let you get in the way of that. So what you're gonna do is sit right here," he taps on his clothed thigh, "Shut your fucking mouth and make yourself cum on my thigh."

"What-"

"You heard me."

"Luke, I-"

"It wasn't a question, Y/N. And so help me god if you complain or make a fucking sound you're more than welcome to leave."

For the first time, you’re speechless. Standing so close to the man you swear hates you with every fiber of his being, asking you to make yourself cum on his thigh, you can't help the clench of your own thighs at the thought. Sure, you’ve had those kinds of thoughts about the tall blonde, but never did you imagine his request.

"So? What'll it be?" Luke asks impatiently, a thick brow raised as he grabs his pen, clicking it profusely, leaning back in his chair.

Wordlessly, and swallowing your pride, you step closer, slowly lifting your leg over the blonde's thigh, his foot firmly planted on the small rug beneath him. His eyes almost widen, as if he didn't expect you to comply, and he stifles a grunt when your warm center meets the fabric of his slacks. He can feel how fucking wet you are through the thin material of your underwear, your dress sliding a bit further up your thighs, almost exposing yourself to him.

"Alright then," Luke clears his throat, leaning forward slightly to grab the Bolton file, relaxing in his desk chair. "Get to it."

With her heart rattling in her chest, you grasp the armrest of Luke's chair to ground yourself, filled to the brim with shame. Are you really going to do this? You can still back out, you don't need to show Luke how pathetic you are, fucking leaking on his slacks just from his crude words. You don't even register the rock of your hips against his thigh until a soft moan slips from your lips, catching Luke's attention, his eyes briefly flickering to you.

And fuck is it hot. Your eyes slowly flutter shut as your hips roll in slow motions, the friction from the fabric forgotten, sensitive clit throbbing from your movements. Luke's jaw tenses, tearing his eyes away from the tempting sight, his cock twitching in his slacks.

Shame and embarrassment are out the window as you near your first orgasm, the explicit images of things you’ve only dreamt of unfolding behind your eyelids. You can only fucking imagine how Luke's fingers would feel inside you, the things he'd say as he's bottoming out inside of your tight heat. And it's suddenly overwhelming as you clench pathetically, throbbing against his thigh and your own legs shaking as you finish. "Fuck-"

Luke's eyes widen, biting hard at the inside of his cheek to keep his composure, the sound of you falling apart on his thigh sending a jolt straight to his aching cock. He wants nothing more than to bend you over his desk and fuck the daylights out of you until you’re drooling and forgetting your own goddamn name.

Reality comes crashing down as your orgasm passes, ragged breaths leaving your parted lips. Did you really just make yourself cum on your boss' thigh? "Luke-"

"Do it again."

"What?" You ask breathlessly, straightening your back, "You- you want me to do it again?"

"What did I say about shutting that pretty mouth of yours, Y/N? If I tell you to do something, do it," he scoffs, acting as though the sight of you cumming didn't turn him on even more, "If you're pathetic enough to do it once I'm sure you'll have no problem doing it again."

Your sensitive clit throbs helplessly as you swallow, white-knuckling the armrest and rocking your hips yet again. The swollen nub continuously brushing Luke's slacks has you choking down whimpers and whines, fearful of Luke's reaction to you making noise. Though, the idea of what he'll do if you don't comply lingers in your hazy mind.

The intermittent bounce of Luke's leg isn't doing you any favors either, little uh uh's leaving your parted lips.

You’re fucking drenched, the thin fabric of your lace underwear doing nothing to keep your arousal from coating Luke's thigh as you roll and rock your hips a bit quicker, your second orgasm creeping up on you, your head tossing back when a low, drawn-out whine leaves your lips, cumming for the second time like a pathetic whore.

And Luke fucking loves every goddamn second of it.

Attempting to calm yourself down from your release, thighs still trembling, Luke tosses the file onto his desk. He hadn't read a damn word of it anyway, not when you’re grinding your pretty little cunt against his thigh like a slut.

Suddenly embarrassed, your cheeks flush a deep crimson shade as you realize what you’ve done. You’ve soaked the fabric of Luke's slacks with your release, your own goddamn boss. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"Don't say another word," he firmly cuts you off, "Get on your fucking knees."

"Why-"

"I'm honestly so fucking tired of listening to you, Y/N," Luke's tone lowers, a scoff leaving his lips, watching as you scramble to the floor. "Gonna shut you up, make good use of that stupid fucking mouth of yours."

Catching sight of the wet patch on his slacks, he nearly groans, ringed fingers fumbling with his belt buckle in record time, desperate for the release of his achingly hard cock. You seem to catch on, widened doey eyes flickering up to Luke's, your hands neatly folded in your lap. Luke pulls his slacks down just enough to allow his length to be exposed, not wanting to show an ounce of vulnerability to you. You don't deserve a sweet intimate moment, you deserve to be fucking ruined.

"Open your mouth," he grunts, hissing as he grasps the base of his cock, your lips parting slowly, the blonde stepping forward and guiding the tip past your lips. "Wanna see you choke on my cock."

He doesn't give you a moment to register his words before he's thrusting fully into your mouth, tip poking the back of your throat and a choking sound emitting from your lips. You scramble to grasp at the backs of his thighs to keep yourself steady. The sight of your sparkly lipgloss coating his cock is so fucking intoxicating and he wonders why he hadn't thought of it sooner.

Using his hands to grasp your hair quite roughly, he continues to fuck into your mouth at a degrading pace, not allowing you to adjust to the forceful movements. Choking and gagging sounds fill the otherwise quiet room, spit dribbling from your lips. "Yeah, you like choking on my cock, Y/N? So much better than hearing you fuckin' talk."

Your nails dig into the fabric of his pants, a grunt leaving Luke's lips as his hips continue thrusting his cock into your mouth. You can barely take all of him, the base nearly untouched. "All you're fuckin' good for, hm?"

And suddenly he's removing himself from your mouth, chest heaving from how fucking wrecked you already look, the small tears pooling your waterline smudging the mascara you'd put on. "As much as I wanna watch you swallow for me," he heaves out, "I wanna feel that pretty fuckin' pussy of yours."

A pathetic whimper leaves your lips, clenching around nothing as you remain on your knees before him, a string of saliva connecting your swollen lips and the reddened, aching tip of Luke's cock. "You want me inside you?" he asks.

You have no words, honestly, the burn left behind in your throat from Luke's forceful thrusts halts you from speaking. Instead, you nod. "No, I want to hear you fuckin' say it, Y/N. I'm not an asshole."

"Yes," you weakly respond, "I want you."

"Good. Take that fuckin' dress off while you're at it."

Your shaky and frail fingers grasp the hemline of your dress hesitantly, eyes flickering between his leaking cock and his firm gaze, pulling the fitted material over your head and tossing it aside. Now sat in nothing but a pair of soaked, white lace panties and your heels, Luke's eyes fall on your bare breasts. "So fuckin' pretty."

"Luke-" you whimper quietly.

"Shut up," his hands reach beneath your arms, pulling you to your feet. Luke reaches around you, large hand swiping the array of documents off of his desk, sending them to the floor with a thud. You release a soft gasp when your bare backside meets the cool wooden desk, "Can't say I've never thought about this."

Luke's hands fall to your hips, gripping the skin roughly, and guiding you down until your back is flush with the desk, legs spread pathetically, displaying your clothed core to him. "God, you're so fucking soaked it's pathetic," he laughs lowly, shaking his head, and trailing a finger along the dampened material, coated in your previous orgasms and current arousal. He sends a soft smack with the back of his hand to your swollen clit, causing a whimper to leave your lips. "You'll let me have you any way I want, huh?"

"Luke-"

"Don't talk, I already know the answer," he raises your legs so your heels are resting on the edge of the desk, fingers ghosting the inside of your thighs teasingly, "Because here you are, spread out on my fucking desk like the whore you are."

"Please-"

"God, you just can't listen, huh?" his hands retreat from your skin, fumbling with his necktie, folding it into a neat little square. "I said I don't wanna hear you, Y/N." leaning over you, the tip of his cock pressing against your clothed core, he forces the folded tie between your lips, gagging you. "There, much better."

Luke works quickly to pull the pathetic excuse for underwear down your legs, tossing them alongside your dress on the floor. His cock twitches at the sight of you, fucking glistening and leaking just for him. He trails two fingers up your wetness, slicking his cock with your arousal, and prodding the tip against you. "Look at me," he says, hovering over you, hands on either side of your head. Hesitantly, you meet his eyes, your own widening, "Wanna watch you take my fucking cock."

You look so fucking pretty all gagged up for him. Running his tongue along his lower lip, he roughly juts his hips forward, instantly bottoming out and a muffled scream leaves your lips at the stretch. The tears that brimmed your eyes previously begin to fall, feeling so full, "Fuck," he hums lowly.

He rocks his hips a few times, watching as your eyes practically roll back into your head. And god does that make him so fucking proud, staring at you as drool slowly dribbles from yourr lips. He halts, roughly tugging the tie from your mouth, fingers gathering the spit and shoving it between your lips. "Don't be messy," he tuts, before placing the tie back, "Already fuckin' droolin' like a whore and I'm barely getting started."

Luke retracts his cock, hands grasping at your hips and flipping your body, the sound of your stomach colliding with the wooden desk echoing through the room. "I don't wanna look at you," he says, palming the skin of your backside before smacking the smooth flesh. He realigns himself with your entrance, one hand splayed on your bare back to hold you in place.

Roughly thrusting inside once again, the moans and muffled choked sobs barely reach Luke's ears, too fucking entranced by the feeling of your tight little cunt taking him so well. "This," he rocks his hips forcefully, "Is fuckin' mine. Anytime I goddamn want it, you're gonna give it to me."

You scramble to grab the opposite edge of Luke's desk, white knuckling it as he forcefully pounds into you, so fucking deep and quick you can barely breathe. "Such a tight fuckin' cunt," he groans, fingernails scraping along your back, "Taking my cock like a good fuckin' slut."

Instinctively you clench around him, eliciting a deep borderline growl from Luke's throat, hand previously raking down your back finding your hair, fisting the strands between his fingers and yanking you backwards until you’re halfway to his chest. You rest your palms flat on the desk, eyes pinched shut in pleasure while he continues fucking into you at an unruly pace.

"Clench again for me," he moans out, feeling the muscles in his stomach tighten, his orgasm slowly beginning to build. You comply, your thighs trembling, clenching as hard as you can. "Fuckin' god," Luke tosses his head back, eyelids fluttering shut in pure bliss.

You choke out another moan around the tie in your mouth, unable to warn the blonde of your third orgasm that's quickly approaching as he continuously pokes the perfect spot so fucking deep inside you’re nearly a drooling mess. The hand not entangled in your hair grips one of your breasts roughly, sending you over the edge in a series of muffled cries. Tears stream down your cheeks, cunt tightening around Luke yet again, the blonde hissing as he feels your release coat his cock, the slick sound of his thrusts growing louder.

"Fuckin' milkin' my cock like a whore," he spits out, grip tightening on your hair as he pulls you closer, thrusting into you impossibly harder. You can't fucking think, you’re a dizzy mess and can hardly form a thought. You can't even feel the drool pooling from the edges of your lips. "Gonna fill up that sweet little cunt of yours and make you mine."

Luke pulls you flush to his chest, your head lolling against his shoulder. Though he isn't one for kissing, he doesn't hesitate to graze his teeth against your exposed neck, sinking them into the supple flesh as his hips begin to stutter, groaning against your neck as he releases inside. You wince at the rough bite on your neck but you’re too spent to care, leaning fully against him as he rocks through his orgasm.

You’re in a daze when he pulls out of you, nearly falling against the desk, the blonde quickly reaching for you to keep you upright. Though he's smug and feeling overly satisfied for ruining you, a swirl in his stomach tells him he needs to make sure you’re alright. He pulls the tie from your mouth, not commenting on the drool spilled from your lips. "Y'okay?"

You can't fucking speak.

Luke's brows furrow with worry, hand delicately grasping your jaw and searching your hazy eyes. Pupils blown out just like his, fresh tears lingering on your cheeks. "Oh, baby," the pet name falls from his lips effortlessly, "C'mon."

Tucking his softening cock into his pants and guiding you away from his desk and towards the couch, he plucks your heels from your feet. Though he'd never in a million years consider aftercare, he's stripping his button down from his broadened frame and slipping your arms inside, buttoning it to cover your exposed body. "Luke," you toss your head back onto the plush couch.

"Hm?" he hums softly.

"I need to- need to clean up," you rasp quietly, a hint of a blush on your cheeks, head reeling from the soreness between your thighs.

"That's what m'here for," he coos sweetly, though the smirk of his lips has you swallowing thickly. His ringed hands trail along your warm and flushed skin, parting your trembling thighs, the sight of his release slowly dribbling out of your sweet cunt nearly has his cock stiffening in his slacks again. "Mm, such a pretty wrecked little pussy."

A gasp leaves your lips as he leans forward, nose brushing your lower stomach, tongue gathering his cum from your sensitive folds. Lapping up every fucking drop, Luke straightens himself out, reaching a hand towards your swollen lips and parting them with his thumb. You’re beyond confused as he tightly grips your jaw, before spitting the contents into your own mouth. Swiping any remnants from his own lips, he narrows his eyes. "Fuckin' swallow."

Clasping your pretty lips shut, you comply, feeling a stir in your stomach when your eyes meet, and swallow.

"My good fuckin' girl."

#luke hemmings imagine #luke hemmings x reader #luke hemmings x y/n #luke hemmings fanfic #luke hemmings x you #luke hemmings smut #5sos smut #5sos fanfic #5sos imagine #5sos x reader #smut

307 notes · View notes

bloodcossmos · 5 days ago

Text

ARCANE SEASON 2 ACT 1 THOUGHTS!!! SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT IF U HAVEN'T WATCHED IT YET SCRAM ‼️‼️

my jaw was unhinged the entire time. how did they manage to make already great graphics EVEN GREATER????????? wasn't expecting the intro change but I was GAGGEDUH. vi in a white tank top was NOT on my season 2 bingo.

cried while watching all of them, gotta be fr. in the moments I wasn't I was either biting my lip or saying oh my god oh my god under my breath out of utter disbelief.

caitlyn is STUNNING. like I genuinely wanted to lick my screen when she was in the frame who said that. vi is an absolute darling, I wanna eat her up. sevika can GET THIS I repeat CAN GET THIS. jinx looks so out of herself my poor pookie but she eats it up every time she's on screen. all the others are divine and it's so refreshing to see them again after so long rewatching the first season until I practically memorized the scenes.

jayce being so worried over viktor kiiiiinda cured me tbh. scratched my jayvik bone so good. ambessa pulling the strings on absolutely EVERYTHING bad happening like I KNEW IT FROM THE START. she's so hot but she's such a bitch. hope she dies in the last act sorry not sorry.

I love the way caitlyn is so different from season one. she's bloodthirsty, ruthless, blinded by rage (I'll defend her with all I got) the way she was so ready to shoot a child was insane tho, and what she did to vi straight after? UNREAL. cait honey u and I gonna have a serious talk later. that kiss was WAY TOO SHORT I need an hour long makeout scene idc.

speaking of vi, HOLY SHIT. LIKE HOLY SHIT. I missed her puppy eyed ass. watching her on screen is so cool and it makes my heart ache because she seems so done with the idea of trying to rebuild her family. like she's EXHAUSTED and BROKEN. but she still keeps her heart sweet and compassionate, my poor baby. she can't change who she is, no matter what life throws at her. I need to see her happy again.

jinx also seems resigned to the idea of being everyone's bad guy. like yes, she did do a lot of terrible things— good thing she owns up to them. but she doesn't do anything to prove herself the right way. she's just succumbing to the fact that she is, in fact, a jinx and that no matter what she tries to fix or make right she can't. because it's just not in her nature (according to her). let's hope that bond she has with isha changes something in her...

oh also um THE WHOLE HEXCORE THING???? HUH???? THE ARCANE AND ALL THESE WEIRD THINGS GOING ON??? I was left buzzing from excitement. like what in the actual fuck is happening. viktor turning into some sort of spooky messiah IS INSANE. WAS NOT EXPECTING THAT. like yes girl heal those shimmer addicts u got powers now. it's giving jesus. I literally gasped in that scene.

the settings, the music, the graphics, the new and old characters, the montages UGH THE MONTAGES. I need the names of every single animator and creative designer so I can send each of them gifts. wtf people are so amazing and creative.

I really REALLY hope things only get better from here. I'm already devastated and Vi isn't a pit fighter yet. this is gonna be great, I know it.

#im genuinely so excited #didn't know if i covered everything #i ramble #cant wait for next saturday #arcane #arcane 2 #arcane netflix #arcane season 2 #vi arcane #caitvi #caitlyn arcane #jinx arcane

21 notes · View notes

multiharlot · 1 year ago

Text

cayendo // matt murdock x age gap!reader

summary: your husband takes a business trip to la

warnings: it's always the "my wife" guys...looking at you NED FULMER........i'm so sorry for this, lmao

i like feeling pain so uhhhh song inspiration is cayendo by frank ocean.

main masterlist || series masterlist || add yourself to my taglist!

you sighed as you sat next to your husband's half packed bag on your bed.

"what?" he asks, stopping after he places a t shirt into the bag.

"i just...why the suit?" you frown, and he just smiles, sitting next to you.

"hey, it's just in case. i'm literally going to defend my suit tailor from a vigilante. i might need it." he shrugs, leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to your pouting lips.

you just groan, throwing yourself backwards onto the bed and flopping your arms dramatically above your head. matt laughs softly, shaking his head at your antics. he places the last item of clothing into his bag and pushes the bag off of the bed before laying right on top of you.

"you know i love you, yeah? and that i'll always come home to you?" he asks, leaning up on his forearms and pushing a few stray pieces of hair away from your face.

"yeah but-"

"no but's. you know that, right?"

"yes." you sigh, and matt smiles, placing his hand softly on your cheek.

"i'll be okay. it's just a week, my love." he says, your heart fluttering at how softly and delicately he spoke to you.

you closed your eyes, leaning your face onto his hand and letting out a soft breath before opening your eyes and smiling up at your husband.

"i love you"

"i love you more" he smiles, leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss onto your lips.

liar. liar liar liar.

it's all that ran through your head as you looked down at your phone, seeing pictures of daredevil and she-hulk flood your timeline. edits of them together and a video of your husband leaving an apartment building early in the morning with his shoes in hand. clearly doing the walk of shame.

you'd seen enough.

you throw your phone to the opposite side of the couch and just sit there, staring at the blank wall in front of you. you weren't really sure what to do. scream. cry. call him and yell. leave and never speak to him again.

you genuinely didn't know what to do.

your phone violently began to vibrate and ring, and you just sat there, letting it ring. letting the texts and calls pile up. undoubtedly foggy and karen calling you after seeing the news all over their timelines. but let's be honest, even if you did pick up the phone, you'd have nothing to say. what could you say?

your husband just cheated on you.

what in the world could you possibly say?

your thoughts were interrupted by violent knocking at your door. you took a moment to breathe before making your way to the door and slowly bringing it open, and you're face to face with your best friend, leanne. she stands there, slightly out of breath and her eyes fixed onto you, seemingly waiting for you to say something.

"what do i do?" you breathe out, your eyebrows furrowed as you stand there in front of her, still in disbelief.

"you do whatever you need to do. and whatever it is, i support you. need to leave? i'll pack your things. do you need to stay? we'll get comfy and we can talk through it. wanna set his stuff on fire? i'll grab the matches. need to disappear and change your identity? i know a guy. you tell me whatever it is you need right now, and we'll do it." she says firmly, walking into your home and shutting the door behind her.

for a moment, you just stood there, still in the hallway. everything around you felt like him. hell, you were wearing his clothes. and even in his betrayal, you'd never felt safer than when you were surrounded in these pieces of him. knowing that made part of you angry, but it also made part of you break more than you thought it could. the place where you felt safest is a place you didn't belong. a place you weren't sure you ever belonged in the first place. deep down you always kind of knew. you knew that you weren't really his...type.

you almost wanted to laugh at yourself.

a type. what a small menial thing in comparison to falling in love. who cares about an archetype when you're in love.

but deep deep down, and every now and then, very sparsely, the thought came into your head. you'd considered the women he'd loved. the hard headed type, fighting the world in their mini skirts and heels. the bold type. they were so outspoken and strong. physically and mentally. when they spoke, everyone turned their heads to look and listen. they captured the attention of a room full of people simply just by walking in. you'd admired it. admired them. but you also knew, that just wasn't you. and even though you knew that, you'd always figured it was dumb. it wasn't an insecurity so much as it was just....a known fact. you were his type breaker. but that didn't really matter because at the end of the day, he married you. he built a life with you. why would something as dumb as a type matter when he chose you to spend forever with?

but now, suddenly, types mattered. and while he was always yours, it's clearly evident that you were never his. wether he married you or not, at the end of the day, you just weren't his type.

"what's going on in your pretty head, huh?" leanne asks softly, coming up behind you, wrapping her arms around you and laying her head on your shoulder.

you didn't bother to answer. not wanting to burden her with everything going on in your head.

he was supposed to come home tomorrow. you'd counted down the days. but now, you weren't sure you wanted to be there when he got home and yet you couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

*****

matt murdock didn't think it was possible for him to run this fast. as soon as the plane landed, he'd run out of the terminal gates about to flag down a taxi when he'd heard foggy shouting.

"HEY YOU GIGANTIC IDIOT GET IN THE CAR!"

for a moment, he'd considered walking instead. he'd rather suffer walking 20 miles back to his apartment than a 30 minute car ride with foggy, who was beyond pissed.

matt walked towards the car and foggy snatched his suitcase from his hand, quite literally throwing it into the backseat and slamming the door shut as he walked over to the drivers side.

"i'm not opening your door"

matt opened his mouth to speak, but he decided it was best not to. he slid his hand across the door before grabbing the handle and sliding into the passenger seat before sinking into himself. all he could think about was getting home to his wife. hoping and praying that she'd be there when he got back.

"why'd you do it" foggy asked, his voice cold and angry.

his tone was harsh and he was short with matt. rightfully so.

"i...i don't even know."

matt wasn't even sure why he did what he did. he'd just...slipped into his old ways, he guessed. he loved his wife. he loved you. you were everything he'd ever dreamed of in a woman. you two fit like a glove. complimented each other. your lifestyles complimented each other. so he didn't even know how it happened. he just knew that he was sorry, and he'd do anything to fix it.

foggy scoffed, shaking his head.

"you don't know? you don't know. great. that's just great, matt. so you did it for no reason then?"

"no. not for no reason i-"

"then what? huh? what fucking reason could you possibly have to cheat on your wife, matt? the woman who makes you elaborate lunches to take to work and- and- brings the entire office coffee in the mornings on the way to work? the woman who re-sews the buttons on your shirts with silk thread so they're more comfortable for you and who planned an elaborate beach honeymoon so that for once in your life you'd be able to experience silence? that's the woman you deiced to cheat on?"

matt didn't have an answer. he wish he did. any answer, even if it was an awful one. but he really didn't know why he did it.

"i just...got caught up in the moment. the adrenaline of it all-"

"the adrenaline of it all. okay. right. so do you just have sex with everyone you fight with out there? that a normal occurrence for you?" foggy sarcastically spit out.

matt almost physically winced at foggy's coldness. never in their many years of friendship had foggy been this angry at him. never had matt ever felt like foggy would give up on him. except for right now.

"fog i-"

"no. no you don't get to speak. you're gonna sit there, and you're gonna think about what you're gonna say to her."

and that's what he did. matt sat there, thinking about you. thinking about if you'd be there when he got home. how he'd fix this. he opened his mouth as he turned to foggy and dared to ask

"how is she?"

the question almost made foggy want to laugh. like...maniacally laugh.

"i dunno. her husband just cheated on her. i'd say not very good."

"is she...did she-"

"leave? no. but if you ask me, she should have."

deep down matt wanted to argue that face, but he didn't. he knew better.

"so she's still-"

"i said yes, matt. she's still at home."

matt sunk further into his seat, if that was even possible. and while he and foggy sat in silence, so did you. you were sat at the living room table, a cup of tea in your hand, your leg bouncing up and down in attempt to release your anxiety.

you looked down at your phone, and part of you didn't want to do it. you were sure you wanted to stay here. work through it. but the next thing you knew, you were running across the apartment, stuffing clothes into a bag with your phone tucked between your shoulder and your ear.

"y/n? are you okay?"

"no. i can't be here when he gets here. i need to go."

there was a moment of silence and then lianne's voice came through, harsh and determined.

"i'll be there in five."

taglist:

@multibishh @anothersworld @fuck-goes-on @Mrbillymontgomery @takeyour-pants-off @alexxavicry @eddiemvnsons @caseket @glowstick-lesbian @inas-thing @luvr-bunnyy @desert-fern @dvredevil-s-initivls @thychuvaluswife @drunkangels @nia_um @afootnoteinyourhappiness @slut4murdock

#murdock #marvel #x reader #daredevil #daredevil x reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel men #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #netflix daredevil #matt murdock imagine #matthew murdock x reader #matthew murdock imagine #matt murdock x age gap!reader #matthew murdock

200 notes · View notes

deathmetalunicorn1 · 1 year ago

Note

Ok this is kinda funny but not for Beel, but my request is:

What if Beelzebub has a s/o that he loves so much and then one day... he just blacks out and when he wakes up again he immediately thinks "oh no... I killed my wife!! 😭" but the reader's still alive and turns out Satan took over him cuz he wanted to seduce her and not kill her 💀

Idk how Beelzebub would feel about that so I'll let you handle it. On one hand, yay reader's alive, but on the other hand his literal worst enemy now has the hots for her 💀

-Beelzebub jolted awake with a sharp gasp, his heart pounding in his ribcage and he quickly sat up, “Y/N?!”

-He blacked out! Oh, gods please no- the last time this happened he killed Lilith! Please- please say he didn’t kill you too.

-He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he killed his darling wife, the one woman he loved so much, he loved you so much he felt like he couldn’t breathe without you being around!

-Tears filled his eyes when you didn’t answer, as he scrambled to his feet, finding himself on the ground in your shared bedroom, but unlike the last time this happened, nothing seemed amiss, other than the pillows and blankets strewn everywhere.

-He shouted out your name again, looking around frantically and ran for the door, throwing it open and he nearly leapt out of his skin at your terrified shriek before barely dodging a frying pan.

-You held it out towards him in a threatening manner, “Prove to me you’re my Bee or I swear I’ll hit you again!” his hands were up, defensively, “Y/N? What- okay-okay! Don’t hit me!” when he didn’t respond you swung back to hit him.

-Your eyes were narrowed, not trusting him, “Your wedding band fell off into the batch of cupcakes you made for our anniversary, and we spent the afternoon eating two dozen cupcakes looking for it!”

-Your cheeks flushed but instantly relaxed before you gasped, letting the frying pan fall as you leapt into his arms, “BEE!!” he held you tightly, and he sighed deeply, feeling your warm skin, you were alive. You were okay.

-Beelzebub froze when you told him what had happened, that Satan had taken over, but instead of attacking you, he started flirting, becoming infatuated with you.

-He didn’t take no for an answer, and you had to result to using a frying pan.

-Beelzebub rubbed the back of his head, feeling the small lump before he sighed, sagging into your embrace, “I’m just so happy you’re okay.”

-His voice was soft, almost like he was trying not to cry before you pulled back, pressing a kiss to his temple, “Go back to the bedroom and I’ll get you some ice and pain killers.” He nodded, doing as he was told, getting the blankets and pillows back onto the bed.

-He spent the rest of the day using your chest as a pillow while you held an ice pack to the back of his head, doting on him.

-Inside he was fuming and scowling at Satan who was trying to defend his actions, that you were hot and surely he didn’t mind sharing, right?

-Beelzebub went into overdrive trying to figure out a way to break the curse, not willing to put you at risk, nobody was allowed to hit on you except for him!

#record of ragnarok #ror x reader #ror beelzebub

178 notes · View notes

toms-cherry-trees · 1 year ago

Text

Don't Hold My Hand (I'll Break Your Heart) || Tommy Shelby x Fem OC ~ Prologue

Summary: How can one recover from having their life swept out from under theit feet? When a promising future becomes lost, shattered by a past that should have remained long forgotten? Is care and love enough to undo the damage, or will it just be a sweet balm to give a brief respite of the pain before the unavoidable end?

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Vague description of war injuries

Author's note: This fic is loosely based on Me Before You, keyword loosely. I don't have many information on what voluntary nurses did after the war nor how did they treat those with long term injuries, but I am working as best as I can with what I know so do not expect this to be entirely historically accurate. There also may be some ableism akin to the period but it will be kept minimal

This is also my first time writing Tommy with an OC! Say hello to Charlotte Florence Tindall everyone! She is an OC I've had for 3 years based in Lady Sybill Crawley from Downton Abbey

Next part 》

The gates to Arrow House stood tall and imponent amidst a thick grove in the depths of Warwickshire. The estate’s name had been forged in sturdy steel and perched high above the iron and brick archways, kept in pristine condition despite the long exposure to the elements, with the family’s proud surname hanging just below in equal condition. Charlotte could easily imagine an unfortunate servant sent there on the daily with a ladder and some polisher, his only duty being to keep the family’s name spotless, literally.

The journey towards the manor was brief and silent, the bumps in the road barely noticeable in the luxurious car that had picked her up from the train station, with leather seats and a smoothly purring engine. She knew little about the brands and commodities money could afford, but the vehicle, driven by a smartly dressed man in a crisp suit, surely cost more than all the money she had ever owned or would ever own in her life as a former VAD nurse.

The Great War had taken many opportunities, but in its wake, it had unexpectedly given some. Hordes of girls and women turned to their nearest recruitment offices or hospitals to receive express courses in nursing and home care, to serve their country side by side with the men, restoring to health those who had been wounded in combat and caring for those who had given it all until they had no more left. Field hospitals, Red Cross stations, local hospitals, and convalescence homes; all packed to the gunnels with soldiers who had been wounded, scarred, maimed, and traumatised beyond repair.

But the war had come to an end. The volunteers, the ones who had risen to the task, scattered and went back to their lives. And so did Charlotte. Only to realise the long battle had just begun. The men would not recover only because the conflict had concluded. Many remained who would need lifetime care and attention that not many families were trained or willing to provide. The nurses returned, offering their skills in little advertisements printed in newspapers or glued to shop windows.

She had it easy, in a way. Early in 1919, a man she cared for harnessed her in to be his private nurse, but that lasted until he came forward with less honourable propositions. Then came an elderly colonel, whom she watched over up until his last breath. And most recently, a strapping young sergeant, whose fiance, who didn’t take kindly to having a young woman dress and wash him, nearly chased Charlotte off.

She quickly grew disenchanted with the job, having found mostly trouble and no small amount of tears in it. Perhaps she was not made for this as she originally thought. Maybe she would do better as a cashier or cook; she could seek a post as a secretary or a board girl in the telephone company. She had learned enough to defend herself as a seamstress. Anything to keep her clothed and fed while sparing her the suffering.

But one day, a letter arrived at her door. A letter sent by the treasurer of Shelby Company Limited. The infamous Polly Gray. A shiver ran down her spine when she read the name in elegant calligraphy over expensive paper, and a part of her feared the envelope would burst in her hands like a hand grenade.

Who in Birmingham didn’t know about the Shelbys? In the slums and the rookeries, people didn’t pray to God; they prayed to the Peaky Blinders. They owned the factories, the distilleries, the pubs, and the institutions. They owned the police. They owned the very streets the people walked every day, their houses, their money, and their lives if they so wished.

And now, it seemed they wished to own Charlotte.

Mrs. Gray convened her for an interview at their estate since they requested her services as a nurse to care for a war veteran. The letter provided little more information other that they offered generous pay, accommodations, and a day off of her choosing. A preset date and time had been included, next to a train ticket to get her to the station closest to them.

Charlotte could not tell exactly what drove her to actually assist. Perhaps she wished to know how and why they found her. Maybe the lure of a salary twice the average had lured her in. Or the morbid curiosity of meeting this soldier; as far as she knew, the Shelby brothers didn’t need anything from anyone.

When she arrived at the manor, a stern-faced woman took her coat and bag. She barely had time to admire her surroundings before the maid led her towards a drawing room. Dark wood in panels and furniture, crimson wallpaper, two walls entirely lined with bookshelves filled with books of all sorts, some in pristine condition and others worn and falling apart.

Amidst all, in a settee of black velvet, sat Polly Gray. Pearls hugged her neck, hung from her ears, and adorned the front of her silver frock. Bracelets and rings decorated her fingers. Masses of papers covered the tea table before her, which she methodically separated into neat piles. By her side were a glass of whiskey and a cigarette with crimson stains, the ashtray filled to the brim. The face powder could not conceal entirely the dark circles underneath her eyes, and some fine streaks of grey contrasted against her golden chocolate curls. A woman not quite old in age but worn out tremendously by troubles and tribulations Charlotte didn’t know.

She cleared her throat, since she appeared so immersed in her paperwork she didn’t notice her.

“Mrs Gray”

“Sit” The harshness of the command contrasted with the undeniable softness of her voice, edged with barely contained nervousness, as if she stood ready to collapse. Hurriedly, she collected the scattered papers and dropped them in a pile at her side, just in time for the stern maid to place before them a tea tray, all polished silverware and hand-painted porcelain. Mrs. Gray and her spent several minutes in fraught silence, stirring a cup of fragrant tea with two sugars, while Mrs. Gray added the last of her whiskey glass into her cup. Charlotte waited for her to speak first, but the woman seemed to be in no rush, which only added to her own anxiousness.

“Mrs. Gray. You called me here. You sent me a train ticket and a driver to pick me up. Why?”

She stirred her beverage methodically, making five perfect clockwise rounds with the spoon and gently tapping it on the rim twice. Staring into the steaming liquid while she pondered her words.

“You are a nurse, aren’t you? You have field experience, and have also have cared for disabled soldiers." Not an interrogation, merely a statement. She didn’t question her about how she knew that. If she so desired, she could track down her school teacher and ask her how well she did in maths when she was nine. But that still didn’t provide her with answers.

“I am. I have worked with several patients, and if you wish, I can provide referen-”

She cut Charlotte off with a wave of her hand. “I already have your references. I spoke with your previous employers myself.”

A cold shiver spread down her legs. What could she possibly require from her that she take such an effort to map out her past? If she had that information, it meant they had checked her background and that of her family and close friends. And she assumed she had passed whatever unspoken test they carried on her; otherwise, they wouldn’t have brought her straight into their den.

But again, why?

Mrs. Gray put down the teacup and finally looked at the other woman’s face for the first time since her arrival. Her eyes were large, deep in colour, and full of wisdom and caution.

“Do you have any experience with men with reduced mobility? That is, men who are wheelchair-bound?”

That treaded closer to her area of expertise. For a brief moment, she feared she would be taken to a dimly lit basement where she’d be asked to save the life of a grievously wounded man with a gun pressed to her temple. Or maybe she just read far too many crime novels.

“I do. I worked with many men who had lost their ability to walk, either by spinal injury or loss of limb."Before the following pause prolonged for too long, Charlotte pressed the matter further. “Is that why you called me? You have a veteran who can’t walk."She spoke the words carefully, since she had learned through trial and error that not all people reacted well when she spoke too harshly about the state of the patient, so she tiptoed around the subject with carefully chosen words.

Suddenly she stood, setting the cup aside with such carelessness that the tea splattered everywhere, staining the lace covering the side table.

“Come with me." She headed towards the hallway, not even looking to see if Charlotte followed. She barely had time to steal one more sip before rushing behind her, straining her legs to keep up with her pace. She led her through a back door and out of the house, towards a stone and gravel backyard, smelling of horses and petrol. Other than a few hounds and a lone gardener trimming some bushes, no one else was around. No one listening but Lottie.

“My three nephews enlisted around the same time in 1914. And I will forever be grateful that the three of them made it home alive." She walked with her hands behind her back like a man. With that ramrod straight posture and her puffed chest, she could put a general to shame. It certainly worked to intimidate her, and she walked a step behind her, feeling unworthy of keeping up her pace.

“John and Arthur came back okay. Or as okay as men could after the things they saw and did” John and Arthur. Both names rang a bell, but she hadn’t seen them personally. They acted as henchmen more than businessmen, terrorising the factories and the foremen in their factories. Legend has it that a foreman in a Sparkbrook steelworks bought a house with bribes for tossing bodies in the furnace.

“But Tommy” She continued, bringing her attention back to the present. “He was a tunneller. There was a collapse near the end of everything. I don’t know the entire story, but the tunnel caved in on them. Out of fifteen boys, only five were dug out."She fell silent for a moment and made the sign of the cross. Pain wrung Charlotte’s heart, but she didn’t allow it to settle. She had quickly learned to push pain into the back of her mind during the war. If she allowed herself to feel it, she’d collapse like wet clay.

“They brought him back on a stretcher. I never thought a person could be more blue than white and have more broken bones than whole ones. He spent the rest of the war in a hospital room and remained there for a good part of the next year. Every doctor expected him to just die in his sleep, but he refused to give up. He made a full recovery and came home as if nothing happened.”

The tone of her words and Lottie’s very presence there indicated that not all had gone well.

“He took over his duties in the business and married a girl he fancied. They even had a son. No indicator that something could be wrong". Her pace had slowed, allowing her to catch up, now walking by her side, not wanting to miss a word. She had left the backyard behind and now moved into bare grass; from the entrance, she hadn’t quite grasped how far the estate stretched. It could easily and comfortably house two manors equal in size with their own stables and gardens.

“He suddenly started complaining of pain in his legs. Stiffness, soreness, especially in the mornings” She recognised the symptoms immediately but chose to remain silent while she spoke. “Soon he had trouble walking; sometimes his knees gave out and he just fell. He resisted the cane as much as he could, but in time he could not remain upright without it for long.

“We sought a doctor in London. He said a disc in his back had cracked in the accident. The fracture had been stable, but as time passed, it worsened and began to collapse and compress his spine."She waved her hand dismissively. “I didn’t understand any of the technical words, but the doctor said the injury would progress. The spine would be compressed more and more until he lost all use of his legs.

Even though Charlotte didn’t see her expression, she noticed in her words the sorrow she felt for her nephew. And she didn’t blame her. To have him delivered home in pieces, seeing him go through a miraculous recovery only for this to happen. His life robbed from him, one sliver at a time, seeing his own body fail him day by day.

Mrs. Gray exhaled slowly, as if regaining her composure. “Ever since he got the diagnosis, he changed. He became irritable and wrathful. He refused to be seen with the cane; whenever he met people in the office, he leant into something or sat down. Then he refused to be seen altogether and handled business locked in his office." She pulled out a cigar case from her dress pocket and offered her one, which Lottie kindly refused.

“When he no longer could manage stairs easily, he started working from home. He seldom saw people; only his brothers and I could visit him” The smoke left her mouth with each word, since she consumed the cigarette so desperately she barely had time to breathe out. She thought that she didn’t need all that information to do her job, but she didn’t interrupt her. She sounded like she needed someone to listen to her at least once.

She finished the first cigarette and quickly lit a second with the leftover stub. Her crimson coated lips parted, as if she wanted to say something else but chose not to at the last second. Instead her features contorted in a snarl briefly, lips pursed like she tasted something bitter, and then shook her head and regained her composure.

“He bought this manor to be away from everyone. He wanted to live alone, with only the staff to help him, but I couldn’t leave him alone in that state, even if he refused to be helped. He may be an arse, but he is still my nephew” Lottie snickered at her last statement, disguising the inappropriate sound as a cough.

“I realise I could not handle it alone. There is just so much to be done, and many things he would never let me do for him” Another lit cigarette, consumed as frantically as the first two. “I tried to hire him a personal maid but she had the talent of a doornail”

“That’s why you sought me?” It made sense now. A common maid couldn’t handle his injuries and his needs like she could.

A bitter laugh fell from her lips “I sought a nurse, yes. And another one. And another one” She didn’t pay heed to her concerned expression “He never got along with any of them. Despised them, I dare say. Tommy cannot stomach being stared at or treated with pity” She made a mental note of that for her future work, that is, if she survived the day “Not all the pay raises and benefits in the world convinced them to stay long. I offered to pay the last one’s bank loans if she reconsidered her resignation, but that only held her in for another three weeks”

Charlotte’s resolution to take the job faltered by the minute. Why would she want to care for a man who seemed hellbent in making his caretakers miserable? Sure, his situation was nothing short of horrible, but did that really give him the right to spread his venom to those who tried to do good by him? And most importantly, did she really want to put herself through that? The pay was the best she had ever been offered, but would the money be worth it?

Suddenly Mrs. Gray gripped the younger woman’s hand, so tightly her fingers ached. She should have shaken her off, but the desperation in her eyes deterred her from it. She looked like a woman standing on the edge of the abyss, hanging only from her grasp.

“I personally collected your reference letters. All of your previous employers spoke of your patience and your affection. Of how your softness and cheerfulness helped them. I think you are what Tommy needs. I think you are the one who can help my nephew” Her grip tightened and an involuntary mewl of pain came from her throat. She released Lottie’s hand, and instead placed a pleading touch on her bicep.

“Please give it a try. At least for a month. I know he won’t live to be an old man. And whatever life he has left, whether it is 4 years or 4 decades, I want him to find peace. Happiness, even. I want him to have a reason to wake up in the morning” She could tell she wished to say more, but had cut off her words.

With all she laid out before her, Charlotte barely resisted the temptation to grab her purse and run for her life. But something in her words, in the story she narrated for her, it pulled at her heartstrings. She had a thing for lost causes and broken things. In the worst scenario, she would walk out depressed but with enough money to start anew.

She only had one request

“Can I meet your nephew before I make my decision?”

Mrs Gray dropped her arm and pressed her lips into a thin line, eyebrows knit together in a scowl. She wanted to say no, that much she could tell. Maybe she thought she shouldn’t see Thomas until she had her signed up so she couldn’t back out. But Charlotte wouldn’t agree on anything until she spoke to him

“Of course”

Back into the house, she took her to the second floor. Lottie quickly noticed the house had been retrofitted in ways most couldn’t afford to offer Thomas a semblance of comfort. Large paintings hung in the stairway, most of them displaying a man with blue eyes and a dominant posture, always standing with his hands behind his back.

A set of double doors stood ajar towards the back of the floor. The room behind stretched almost all the length of the house, and Lottie noticed in the wall the dents where walls had been taken down to create such a large space. The furniture stood well spaced between each other to allow wide passages, enough to comfortably fit a wheelchair. Sunlight filled the alcove, coming from the many windows with the drapes drawn back. A set of glass doors led to a magnificent veranda that overlooked the estate.

Just outside, close to the balustrade, sat a black-haired man, his back turned to them. The wheelchair he sat upon was far more complex and luxurious than the ones she had in the ward. He wore a robe and slippers, as if he had just risen from bed despite being well into the afternoon.

Mrs. Gray walked out first, while she waited just under the lintel. She stood next to the man, one hand on his shoulder.

“Tommy, there is someone I want you to meet”

“No” His voice cut through the air, deep and curt. It sounded manly, and would have been pleasing to hear in other situation

“Tommy, please give her a chance, I promise-” He cut her pleading short with a smack of his fist on the wooden armrest.

“I said no! I don’t want her here. Put her in a cab and send her away” Mrs. Gray seemed to be at her wits’ end. She crouched next to him, like when one speaks to a child. She couldn’t make out the words she hissed at him through clenched teeth, but whatever she said, he didn’t like. With surprising skill he turned the wheelchair around and nearly ran Charlotte over, having barely managed to stop the chair with a heel on the floor.

The paintings did little justice to the blueness in his eyes. A vibrant blue not often seen, but filled with ice the moment they laid on her. The smart haircut had been replaced by an overgrown mane, jet black strands curling behind the ears and waving around the top. A five o clock shadow obscured the clenched jaw down to the neck. But even unkempt like that she felt the aura of haughtiness and pride bordering on arrogance emanating from him. He held her gaze for endless seconds, and not once she shied away from his cold eyes.

“Whatever it is you think you can do for me, save it for someone else. And now, get out of my home”

He wheeled past her, moving towards the main double doors. He couldn’t really go anywhere, but she figured he planned to hide somewhere until she left.

Lottie stood there, a bit dumbfounded, while Mrs. Gray returned to her side, despair plastered in her features, mixed with barely contained anger

“He is like that sometimes, but I promise you, some days are better. I will talk to him and get him to behave, and if you-”

“I can start tomorrow” She cut her off. Her jaw hung open, eyes widened as she struggled to wrap her mind around her words. Words that shocked Charlotte as much as Mrs. Gray, for she hadn’t actually allowed them out of her mouth. They just left in a blurt. But she meant them, even if she couldn’t quite tell herself why. It went beyond the money; she wanted this job. As if something invisible pushed her to stay there; as if there she’d truly find a purpose. It made no sense, but hunches and feelings rarely did

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Gray. I think I can help your nephew.”

#marsie writes #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby x fem oc #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby series #tommy shelby one shot #charlotte tindall #female oc #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #peaky blinders #don't hold my hand (i'll break your heart)

136 notes · View notes

thedeviltohisangel · 5 months ago

Note

Protective John?? What about protective Butter? Butter Is THE KING! I'd like to see John try and protect Cass from a seagull

Butter really is the King and I am literally always filled with joy when you guys show Butter love. I think more people support the Butter/Cass dynamic than they do the John/Cass dynamic at this point. Here is some Butter doing his bodyguard duties for his fans (who deserve a name. if anyone has a cute little butter fandom name idea, please let me know! butter ballers?)

Cass' hand tightened around Butter's leash as she surveyed the restaurant in front of them. Her and John had both taken some time off to head on a little vacation before their baby was due. One last romantic getaway before they became parents. Well, as romantic as it could be with Butter tagging along but that was a non-negotiable for her. Particularly when John had suggested the beach.

"Do we have to sit outside?" The patio looked beautiful, overlooking the ocean and shielded from the sun. People were laughing as they sipped bubbly cocktails and ate fresh seafood. Where others saw relaxation, Cass saw a nightmare. Seagulls perched on umbrellas as they waited for the right time to strike. Stalking under the tables looking for scraps. They didn't seem to be scared of any of the humans and those were the birds that terrified her the most.

"No. But you mentioned having a little headache, I thought the fresh air might feel good." John squeezed her hand as she took a deep breath. "I'll protect you from the birds. I promise." Butter looked up at him. He knew who was really in charge of keeping the birds away from his precious mother.

"Okay. I'll try." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head as they followed the hostess to a table. She released Butter from his leash once they sat down, him never daring to ever even think of straying from her side. Not when he needed to be vigilant.

After a few sips of a crisp Coke, nibbling on some french fries and the feeling of John's finger rubbing circles into her knee, she was feeling like she might be able to make it through this dinner.

She gasped and clutched at her locket as a seagull landed on the chair across them. "John!" He attempted to shoo it away with his napkin but it only flapped its wings and turned its attention back to her food. Just as she thought all hope was lost, a commanding bark echoed through the patio. Butter put himself between the evil feathered creature and his mother without hesitating, his front paws on the chair so he could reach the offender with his teeth if he needed to. Quickly realizing this was not a winning situation, the bird flew away and disappeared into the sky.

Butter immediately turned to ensure Cass was unharmed, reaching to bring his tongue to her cheeks to offer her comfort during the scary ordeal. "My sweet baby. Thank you. You're the most handsome and brave boy ever!" She wrapped him in a hug and squeezed as tightly as she could.

"I'll order him a steak," John sighed as he waved the waitress over.

"Two," Cass clarified as she helped Butter into the chair next to her, where he could join them as guest of honor. "He's earned all the steaks in the world, haven't you my love?" She scratched under his chin as his whole butt wagged with the attention. Ever the guard dog, he didn't let his victory keep him from remaining ready to defend her at all costs. Not even his mother's love could distract him from the most important task he'd ever been given. Keeping her, and the babies growing inside of her, safe.

#john egan #masters of the air #john egan fanfiction #masters of the air fanfiction #john egan x oc #answered #cass and bucky

31 notes · View notes

ellena-asg · 2 years ago

Text

I know that this scene in 2x01 is called romantic or sexy. And it is romantic and sexy, agree. Danny without a tie. Steve liking it. Yeah.

But sometimes when I watch it I can't stop thinking about the previous episode, about Danny choosing Steve, Danny not leaving with Rachel, Danny being like "Don't feel sorry about it, Steve. It's ok. It's ok, babe".

When I watch it I think about Danny's life now with Steve and his old life with Rachel (and Hollander family in general).

And I don't see "just a tie/no tie".

To me the tie and Danny not wearing it here... It's a symbol.

By "to me" I mean someone who finds Danny damn relatable. Anxiety, depression, other issues. Some of character traits. And a past that was like a hell.

I know that many of you like and defend Rachel and the idea of her co-parenting with Danny. And I respect that. I just think differently. And huh, I'm that salty cause I know such people like Rachel and her mother. I had my own Hollanders, in my own family, in my circle of friends. Destructive, toxic, manipulative, entitled, narcissistic people who will never change, will never stop hurt you. Who will ruin your life, all what you love, your passions, your heart, your mind. Believe me, when you're anxious and sensitive inside and you have to live (you think that you have to) with such destructive people... It sucks. (No matter if you chose these people or not). You're not anxious anymore, you're mega anxious. And many times you hate/blame yourself. All what Rachel and her mother have done to Danny (and Gracie) before and after divorce - it was a hell. To me it was a hell. A hell he never deserved.

So yes, in my eyes Danny was a victim in that cursed marriage (I swear, I'll make separate stuff about it one day). In my eyes after divorce Rachel tried to make him her marionette. After divorce she ruined him even more. And he let her again - for Gracie (all Danny's pain was for Gracie and geez, that poor girl deserves to know this).

This marriage was like a tie. A tie-noose tightening around Danny's neck. Danny couldn't breathe (well, literally too - anxiety can give you such a panic attacks). He was like a bird in a cage.

But he met Steve. He liked him. He loved him. For the first time in his life he felt genuine romantic love. And such a strong friendship. For the first time in his life he felt safe. He saw himself in Steve's eyes. He saw that they're two poor birds who still could fly - together. Danny can escape. He can leave his old life. He can escape AND have Gracie. (He wants Steve too).

All is possible, you should fight, do what you want - that's what Danny sees when he looks at Steve. What he sees in Steve's eyes in the last episode of season 1. That's what deep down Danny feels in his own heart. And to think that Danny calls Steve crazy. This, this new "crazy" life, full of dangerous cases, bombs, grenades, Steve's "goofy" actions, sharks, adventures... Maybe it's funny but this life, it's a life where Danny is safe, calm and happy. It's a life where he can heal. (Where he sees himself and Grace). Whereas his old life: easy, cosy, quiet, lovely and so normal... was calm and normal only on surface. His old life was a battlefield.

His old life was like Danny's outfit - elegant, pretty on surface but not always comfortable. And now, Danny has no tie. In this scene above he laughs. He touches his neck and makes a face like "Hanged man no more". Something is over. He's really happy. Still worried about Gracie, about Steve, yes - but not about Rachel anymore. He doesn't regret. He doesn't cry over Rachel and "lost chance". Nah. Leaving Steve - that would be a lost chance. His real chance is Steve.

He's free. He's a free bird. A free bird looking now at his lovebird. Saying "it will be okay".

Soon Danny wears more and more comfortable clothes. We can see it in many episodes. Jeans, t-shirts, shorts. Danny breathes. Danny is Hawaiian now. Steve's. He's like a kid trying to have fun again. Of course sometimes Danny still wears his ties and pretty shirts. Yeah. But he's with Steve. And when he's with him all is always comfortable. All is Danny-ish. All is good. There's no abuse. No lies. No using you as a tool. No using your passion (job) against you. No playing with your free will. No "you're not good enough", no "prove that you're worthy" and no "you're the bad one", "it's your fault", "bad, bad, bad Danny".

There is love.

And when I see Danny wearing a tie when he's with Stevie - then I see a nice tie, I see Danny being glamorous for Steve. THEN I see just a tie. No noose anymore.

@chaosrising451 Babe, sorry for tagging you (I hope you're feeling better) but I remember our talk about Steve suffering from abuse so I thought that maybe you would be interested in Danny's case too.

#h50 #McDanno #danny williams #steve mcgarrett #rachel edwards #h50 meta

221 notes · View notes

sapphire-to-the-rain · 2 months ago

Text

hi :') so because i make a ton of planymphia art and all my most popular posts are planymphia related, i just felt the need to say that i'm going to be taking an indefinite break from making art of them/posting about them, specifically plane jane. no need to read this unless you want to!!!

sooo yes this is partly because of her diddy tweet that IMO was very poor taste regardless of her stance on diddy himself but it's also just something i've been thinking about since the chappell roan incident earlier this year?

i don't believe plane is a horrible person nor do i believe someone is a horrible person if they continue to support her after this. this is way more about the fact that she has a very specific sense of humor that often tends to make light of things other people don’t consider appropriate (like the diddy situation or chappell roan's not wanting to be photographed without her consent) and i'm realizing i just don't like that very much, full stop. to be totally transparent it also doesn't help that SOME- not all!!!- of her fans will defend her to their last breath regardless of what she says/does and act like others are being overly sensitive for being offended by her humor. no one i'm friends with on here is like this as far as i know which i'm very grateful for but these people definitely do exist :/

don't get me wrong, it makes me sad to take a step back from planymphia because i've met so many amazing people through this side of tumblr and i really do like making content for them (i literally just finished a longterm art piece based off of a fic about them!! the timing could not be worse!!!). ultimately though i just can't justify spending all this time and effort making fan content based around someone that i personally don't even like that much at this point, especially when there are so many other wonderful queens/ships for me to support

in conclusion... i don't really want to associate myself with planymphia/plane for the time being. i don't know what i'll do with my in-progress and planned WIPs, maybe i'll either recycle them for another ship or come back to them someday, i'm not sure yet. in the meantime please do not come in my replies or my askbox arguing either in support of or against plane <3 thank you for understanding <3

#i put it under a read more bc it's kind of a long ramble #if youre a friend i met through planymphia i totally still love you my DMs are open to you any time <33 #if you want to have a respectful conversation about this whole thing i'm totally open to that too!#i love you guys ty for everything #and thank you to the people who let me yap about this to them i appreciate you so much #planymphia

17 notes · View notes

douqi7s · 11 months ago

Text

Ning Yuan has posted a summary for her upcoming historical cyberpunk baihe novel 焚情 (literal translation: Burning Passions). Here's my very quick translation of the summary.

***

When Shen Ni returned home covered in glory, the emperor granted her the position of an official of the first rank, as well as the hand in marriage of the woman she had been in love with ever since her youth, Bian Jin.

Bian Jin had once been the empire's sharpest blade — a weapon in human form whose very name filled their enemies' hearts with terror. But after a string of serious battlefield injuries, she could only stand upright with the aid of a mechanical exoskeleton.

After their wedding, Shen Ni used her training as a machinist to look after Bian Jin and fine-tune her exoskeleton, keeping a record of every single change in the sensitivity readings of every part of her new body. She continued to address Bian Jin as 'shijie', rather than 'wife'.

Each time she made adjustments to Bian Jin's body, Shen Ni would wear gloves. She knew her shijie had an obsession with cleanliness, and hated being touched.

Bian Jin: It's just a prosthetic. There's no need for all this fuss.

Shen Ni: The proprieties must be observed.

Bian Jin: Last night, I kept asking you stop, but you didn't. Was that you observing the proprieties?

Shen Ni: ...I was testing different parts of your body, and making adjustments to their sensitivity settings.

Bian Jin: Are we going to make adjustments to my body again tonight?

Shen Ni: (nonplussed silence)

Bian Jin: Every time my sensitivity readings go up, I'll reward you.

***

Shen Ni straightened her official's hat, and met the 'gaze' of the spybeast hovering in the air. The monster who wanted to destroy the world had finally shown its cold, poisoned claws.

Her human genes summoned her to the aid of the ancient and noble civilisation that had birthed her. She would defend it to her last breath, even if it meant having her guts smeared across the landscape.

Random passerby: Hey, I think the monster who wants to destroy the world might be your wife.

Shen Ni: (nonplussed silence)

Shen Ni: What's there to love about this greedy, corrupt world? Let it be destroyed!

The fall of a degenerate society was close at hand. The land ran red with blood.

Bian Jin, her body now in peak condition thanks to Shen Ni's efforts, placed the point of her sword against Shen Ni's heart. 'Don't you understand?' she said. 'I was just using you.'

Shen Ni, completely drenched in blood, took a step forward. 'And after you're done using me, will you reward me?'

Bian Jin: ...what.

***

The original summary can be read here on JJWXC. If anyone has ideas for a fire-themed cyberpunk title that doesn't sound like the title of a romance with a classic clinch cover, I'm all ears.

#baihe #chinese gl #wlw

19 notes · View notes

ikosburneraccount · 10 months ago

Note

What surprises me is how many black swifties I've seen (men and women). I wonder why they would be a fan of someone like Taylor.

answered under the cut: (this is also the second to last ask abt swifties that i'll do)

Sorry this took me ten bajillion years to get back to you. I finished the rest of the semester and then got sick but this ask never left my mind. Also, sorry for the spelling or grammatical errors. I'm still sick and too lazy to edit rn and wrote this in one go.

Black Swifties piss me OFF for so many reasons. and it has to do with the fact that they're black and Taylor isn't.

Going off of Taylor's music and music alone, the reason I CANNOT get into her music whatsoever is because of her. A majority of her songs are inspired by her heartbreak from previous relationships. She draws upon this pain in a self exploitative manner and uses this raw, confessional voice that so many people find comfort in. FINE.

But I can't Taylor seriously when she sings about feeling undesirable, or broken, or insecure, or anything to do with her relationships. She doesn't write music for me, meaning: how the fuck does she really know about being undesirable, or worthless, or unloveable.

Taylor Swift literally could've been a model: she's tall with a willowy build reminisicent of supermodels; she has blue eyes and blonde hair. What does SHE really know about being unloveable, undesirable, invisible and always the last choice?

I'm a black girl. I know what it's like to be ugly, in a raw, real, true undesirable way. I know what its like to never be good enough. To be invisible to someone I like: its all I EVER knew growing up. What does she know, growing up resolved to the fact that confessing is pointless because I'd never be desirable, anyways?

Taylor Swift's music came off as so...distasteful to me because of it. Because not only is she desirable because of the simple fact that she's a white woman, but because she's THE white woman: blonde, tall, fit, with blue eyes that every Y/N in every Wattpad story you've ever read has. She's THE standard for being an attractive woman.

But in the same breathe, I guess that's why her fans of color find solace in her. Because even the most objectively desirable woman feels this way too, right? But she's been in relationships. She's been kissed, she's had sex, she's always had a point, in sometime or someplace or somewhere, even it was brief, that she was desirable and loveable to someone. I can't or many other Black girls can say the same. I know too many that have never been in relationships, who've never been kissed, who've never had someone express desire in them. So many Black girls and women only know pain.

I don't think Taylor could ever capture the pain of that heartbreak. Of knowing that no matter what you could do, no matter how beautiful you've made yourself to be, you'd still never be desirable. That before you were even a possibility that could be born, you were and will die being viewed as Ugly. You never could and never will be enough.

So back to Black Swifties: I don't understand how any Black people, because of the reasons stated above, support this woman. I cannot find any place in my heart to go ahead and express sympathy, or feel empathy, towards this woman who's greatest pain will be the rejection from someone who at least, for the briefest moment, could say that they loved her. At least someone found her attractive enough to date. Attractive enough to be desired. I can't say that. So many Black people, Black WOMEN, cannot say this.

It feels wrong and feels fucking stupid to feel bad for a woman like her. She's a white woman and seen as beautiful because of it; the whole world will pity her for her heartbreak. The only reason they don't is because of what she's done as a person. Not because of how undesirable she is for who she was born as. They will never blame her undesirability for who she was born as.

SO I think Black Swifties look stupid as fuck crying and defending this woman. You are a Black person calling this white woman with blonde hair and blue eyes a 'queen.' Do you not see how BAD how this looks for a Black person? To openly worship a white woman, one with BLONDE HAIR and BLUE EYES? And then they get upset when other Black people state openly that they do not trust them! Because I don't either.

I'm not gonna sit here and feel bad because she's heartbroken. I'm not going to coddle her or cheer her on. I don't care. Swifties only prove my point that everyone will come to her beck and call to comfort her. Because she's a white woman and she will always be the perfect victim because of it. She is the last person who deserves to be comforted by me.

There are so many people who will never be seen as the victim. There are so many people born as aggressors of crimes they will never commit. There are people whose existence threatens the existence of an unjust state. There are so many people who will live and die without a single person to cry for them, to care for them. So it seems fucking stupid to be another person to care about this woman that millions of others will tend to. Especially as a Black person pouring emotional care into a white woman who will never, ever do the same. To a white person who will never, ever give a single fuck about you.

And none of this is taking into account how racist Taylor Swift is either. Like that's the worst part about this: is that this is just from the optics and her music.

So yeah. I think Black Swifties are fucking stupid. Especially those who continue to support her after she dated that bigot who jerked off to Black women being sexually torture. She dated a guy who got off to that and she KNEW he got off to that. So I view Black Swifties as [redacted redacted redacted] and have no self respect, so I'm not going to respect them either.

I fucking hate Black and POC Swifties. Learn to love yourself bc when you do, you WILL stop stanning that woman.

The end. of answering this ask LOL

PS I made an anti taylor swift blog. it's @notyouraryang0dd3ss and you can follow me there instead

#my asks #Anonymous #ooc #anti taylor swift

13 notes · View notes

thegreatimpersonator · 3 months ago

Note

i really don't think that anon, whose first language likely isn't english, really needed so much berating for saying "complicit" which yes, was the wrong word, but can we all take a moment and chill?

we have about 200.000 people who are currently being treated like scum wherever they turn just because we're looking for the barest of bare minimum of compassion from someone we've been looking forward to seeing for almost two years, and spent thousands on during difficult financial times because this is the first time she's coming to this part of the world. im glad we're all alive and well, but how about everyone takes a moment to realize they're a lot more likely to hurt someone they might know during this time. and it's just because they're treating a celebrity who's never going to see what people are saying about her online like she's in need of a knight in keyboard armor. she doesn't. she said it herself - sanctimoniously performing soliloquies i'll never see

it's not like she's going to commit a crime by sharing "i love all my fans" with that handwriting font on her story. it's not like isis specifically has it out for swifties. they could have planned it for last night when ed was performing. or next week for coldplay. but no, this event drew in the biggest crowd, which means the most harm potential. even london officials and representatives for wembley talked about it to let fans know what was going to happen. literally not a thing is stopping her

but no, the fault likes with vienna swifties for even getting tickets to the show. for spending money to arrange the one trip we can afford a trip throughout the year to see someone we look up to. for having feelings? and wanting her to acknowledge us? does anyone realize TN didn't even like a single swiftie post that was under the vienna shows? let alone repost outfits like it usually happens. how is that going to harm anyone? i would LOVE to give her and her team a pass for all of this and forget it, but we're all receiving SO MUCH vitriol for just being disappointed!

would you like a list of the things swifties are calling the disappointed fans in vienna? defending taylor staying silent about vienna and saying to be empathetic towards taylor while simultaneously harrassing the fans who were equally if not more affected by the whole situation in the same breath? but all we got was eight different ttpd variants, and photos of her attending a party? im glad she's doing well, i wish she had the tiniest minuscule of compassion for us - which right now no she doesn't because everyone on her team is acting like there was never even supposed to be a single show in vienna. it hurts. like kim and kanye are more important to her and what happened almost a decade ago compared to us. im glad im alive and okay. i wish people didn't keep wishing i had died for feeling disappointed taylor not saying she's also glad. that's all.

first of all, while I can't speak for everyone in the fandom, those I know of are in no way critical of swifties who were attending. I'm sorry if you were made to feel like you were in the wrong in any way, but there's endless empathy and kindness towards everyone involved - even taylor. She literally could have been asked to not speak about it by officials investigating the situation, and bringing any more attention to the attack could potentially attract more harm in turn. I don't know what her reason for not speaking out is, and I'm sorry it's hurtful to vienna swifties that she isn't acknowledging the situation right now

#you ask for the tab*

4 notes · View notes

go-to-the-mirror · 2 years ago

Text

look, hear me out, hot jon ri- [EXTENDED SOUNDS OF BRUTAL PIPE MURDER]

@a-mag-a-day

One thing you should know about me is that i will defend jonathan sims head archivist of the magnus institute london to my dying bloody breath. Another thing you should know about me is that i can do nuance, i just don't want to a lot of the time.

But. I will, put my... love... for the Jarchivist... to one side. sort of. a little bit. Look, you can't be unbiased, an attempt is all you're gonna get, mate.

But like, let it be known that I have talked extensively about scrutiny on my story, and most of it wasn't "but i love him, so, <3" actually most of it was "headinhands, jon, why"

Like, yk? Why didn't we see this coming, he's an Avatar, he's a monster, it's not making what he's doing better -- obviously -- but like, I feel like it's like... it's like... yk? we knew it in a theoretical way, and then we're like, oh, yeah, he doesn't get protagonist privileges.

I'm just rambling at this point, so, let's get onto the relisten, I guess, and I'll freak out there

ARCHIVIST The tape recorder. [SUDDEN INHALATION FROM BASIRA] BASIRA Get ready. Any idea what’s coming?

i think it's neat that they're realising that tape recorder on = (rqg pessimistic train driver voice) DOOOOOOM!

ARCHIVIST No, I… I think… [Calling out] Excuse me?

Jonathan "I don't think it's me doing it" Sims when he literally calls the guy back, fuck Jon, that's not okay!

SHIPHAND I don’t know you. ARCHIVIST [Archly] But I know you.

[ID: Marina and the Diamonds Smirk Meme /End ID]

look, hear me out-

LIKE OK HRHNR ITS COOL OKAY! IT'S COOL! IT'S AWFUL, BUT IT'S COOL!!

BASIRA Jon, I’m not sure about this. ARCHIVIST I am. Tell me what happened.

(tim voice) don't do it.

like, jon, jon, no, fuck? what the fuck, jon headinhands, headinfuckinghands

this is the theme of this ramble, okay? just headinhands but also his voice tho-

ARCHIVIST Whenever you’re ready.

it's so creepy, he's so creepy! that's just like- "whenever you're ready" SPOOOKY!!!! im kicking my legs i just think it's NEAT oKAY

The thing that was grabbing him, trying to reach down his throat and pull him apart… it was a pattern. Diamonds and swirls and colours that seemed to imprint itself upon his skin even as it pushed itself messily into his nose and mouth.

THAT'S SO COOL! I mean, uh, sucks to be him, but that's hnnrhrhnrnh <3333 it's so spooky and weird and I love it.

I followed slowly, unsteadily, but got there just in time to see Salesa throw both him and what looked like a blank rug over the side and into the ocean.

So, the pattern comes from the rug and then... attaches itself to people and/or things? That's neat!

He was drunk for the next two days, and we kept sailing on towards Cape Town.

:D I was so happy when I heard this on my first listen :3 like yay! South Africa is mentioned :3 I'm South African :3

Come to think of it, Floyd might have an Afrikaans accent. Don't quote me on that, I'm not sure, but I think so.

There was a storm over the island. I don’t know where it came from, it can’t have been more than a minute since I’d last looked at it, an-and the skies were completely clear. But now it was covered in lightning, the rolling clouds above it dark and angry.

So, the camera was keeping the island not sinking.

So I jumped ship the next chance I got. And I have tried ever since then to leave those memories behind me.

Would be lovely if someone *cough cough* Jon *cough cough* would let him. He's going to have nightmares about this till Jon dies. Like, poor him. That sucks, like even with Jess, she was leaving it behind, she was getting better and he took that from her. The bastard, christ Jon, you can't just do this to people, you can't just ruin their bloody lives because you're feeling peckish.

ARCHIVIST [Soothingly] You can go. FLOYD Erm… I, I don’t… ARCHIVIST Thank you Floyd. You’ve been… very helpful. FLOYD C— ARCHIVIST It’s alright, Floyd. You just… need a break.

I just like the way he says it, when Jon's being all monster-y, in this episode, sometimes when he's talking to Helen, I think, in MAG 187, and of course in the Crew Retrospective (speaking of, if you have stuff about the crew retrospective, please tag me, I want to see it), it's so suave, and for what. Charisma of 1, unless he's being... evil. I love him, I love that, it's so bloody suave, and charismatic, and smooth. He knows exactly what he's doing, he's in his element. Oh god, he's in his element.

Look, he may be slightly evil, but he's doing it with style, damn.

Like "It's alright, Floyd. You just... need a break" and it's like!!! HMNnn!!! No, Jon! You shouldn't be doing this to people, but also like hnhrhfhhnh so fucking cool!

ARCHIVIST Yes, Basira, he is. And I am sorry about that. But we needed it. Anyway you’re the one who wants to be like Gertrude. You think she’d give a damn about a few bad dreams? BASIRA No. ARCHIVIST No. She got the job done, and didn’t care about the cost. BASIRA But I thought you did. ARCHIVIST … I had to know, Basira. BASIRA It wasn’t right. ARCHIVIST You could have stopped me.…But you wanted to know as well, didn’t you?

Mr. Jarchivist Sims, your flimsy rationalizations are visible from space, you didn't want to be like Gertrude, you don't want to be like Gertrude, good lord, man, just... good lord.

I don't know what to say, I'm shaking this episode vigorously /pos

Ramble over! See y'all tomorrow where I'll be once again setting aside my flimsy belief (not even a belief) that Jonathan Sims did NOTHING WRONG if you ignore everything he did wrong.

End recording.

#tma #the magnus archives #a mag a day #mag 141 #jonathan sims #landscaping-your-mind-chapter-one #hot jon rights tho

51 notes · View notes

pure-garbage · 3 months ago

Text

Super Exit Strategy! Grit And Spunk?

The ornate fruit was reminiscent of a pair of cherries, swirling patterns adorning its shiny green exterior. Anyone would have recognized such a distinctive pattern.

Slowly, Lana reached out, plucking the fruit from the hand of her vanquished enemy. She trembled as she wrapped her fingers around it, rasping breaths loud even beneath the tumult of the other battles raging through the tower of law.

'These fruits are priceless! The power I'm holding in the palm of my hand... She must have hoped whatever ability it contains would have saved her life if she ate it.'

The final, desperate gamble of a dying woman.

The ring of steel on steel shook Lana from her reverie.

'Right! Zoro and Usopp!'

Lana was confident they would be fine, but she still struggled to her feet and made her way back to them. Her vision swam as her head spun.

'I've lost too much blood... even if I make it to them, how the hell an I gonna uncuff them while fighting off their two opponents?!'

Lana still had the presence of mind to tuck the devil fruit safely into the lining of her cloak. She stumbled into the grassy room, expecting to see Zoro, Usopp and the agents embattled. To her surprise, the agents were busy bickering while Zoro and Usopp carried on an argument of their own.

'Great... so they're all idiots.'

Lana gathered the strength to use shave one more time, racing to her friends' side.

"You two... shut up," she tried to scold them. The damage to her throat made the words sound hoarse and strangled.

"Huh?!" Usopp gasped.

"Lana!" Zoro sounded horrified as his eyes swept over her, but his brow quickly furrowed. "Did you finish her?"

Lana only nodded, sparing herself the agony of speech. Zoro still didn't look happy, but he nodded tersely regardless.

"Well, can you get this genius off my arm?" Zoro grumbled, holding out his wrist. Lana nodded again, pulling out her pins.

"Yeah, Nose Storm is ready to be put to pasture," Usopp agreed eagerly.

Lana raised an eyebrow at Zoro, who still wore a grim expression.

"Usopp served me well for a brief time as the great blade named Nose Storm," Zoro explained. His seriousness was too much for Lana to bear and a laugh escaped her. The sound was terrible and a thin line of blood dripped from the corner of her mouth, demonstrating the truly awful shape she was in.

"Lana..."

Zoro's rage colored his voice with brimstone and shadow. He cupped her face gently with his free hand while she worked to free them from the manacle. With a tenderness that belied the intensity of his wrath, he wiped away some of the blood from her cheek with his thumb.

"That agent you fought... she's damn lucky you were able to kill her before I could get my hands on her," he said vengefully. His eyes burned with hellish fury as the shackles fell away.

For a minute, Lana forgot she was mad at him. Everything hurt like she would drop dead at any moment, but she still adored it when he got protective.

The moment didn't last long. Zoro's focus snapped back sharply to the cp9 agents, still fighting with each other.

"Usopp! Get Lana to Robin!" Zoro ordered. "I'll take care of these two!"

'Cp9 will pay with blood... they'll pay a liter for a drop, ounce over ounce for every last scratch they put on Lana and Robin!' Zoro vowed silently.

Lana leaned heavily on Usopp, letting him bear the brunt of her weight as they struggled away from the looming death match behind them.

"Leaving so soon?"

The wolf blocked their path, preventing their egress.

"Aw crap!" Usopp muttered.

All Lana could do was nod in assent at his assessment. Usopp wouldn't be able to do much to defend them and Lana didn't have another battle in her. Zoro was occupied with the giraffe and there was no help in sight.

'I wonder...'

Lana's hand crept into her cloak, to the hidden inner lining. Her fingertips brushed the devil fruit concealed there, the very embodiment of tantalizing temptation. What power did it hold? Was it something that could help them survive this ordeal?

Sanji fell from the shattered ceiling like a golden savior, a deus ex machina from heaven itself. Lana heaved the longest sigh of her life, squeezing Usopp tighter to express her relief.

"Sanji! I'm so happy to see you!" Usopp cried on behalf of them both.

"Lana, sweetest!" Sanji growled, gaze sweeping over her battered figure with growing shock and alarm. "Did... did this wolf bastard do this to you?!"

"Absolutely!" Usopp lied enthusiastically. "It was awful! It was definitely the most sexist attack I've ever seen in my life! This guy was all like 'grr, women suck, girls are the worst', and then he totally beat the living crap out of Lana! Get him, Sanji!"

Sanji was practically red as a lobster with rage.

"On it! Usopp, get her out of here! She shouldn't have to see what I'm about to do to this spineless pile of rotting garbage!" Sanji snarled, more vehement than Lana had ever seen him.

Lana flashed Usopp a quick thumbs up as they scurried away from the eruption of violence. They emerged into the corridor without, nearly colliding with the cyborg shipwright.

"Franky!" Usopp cried.

"Usopp! The kid knows which way Robin went, we just need to get a move... on... whoa, your friend's not looking so hot there, buddy," Franky observed. "What the hell happened to you, lady?"

"She took down one of the agents," Usopp explained. "I mean, she couldn't have pulled it off without a lot of backup from yours truly, but- ow!"

Lana punched him in the ribs with a fiery glare.

"I need... to reach... Robin!" Lana managed through gritted teeth. "I need to... get those cuffs... off her."

"You sure you're up to the job?" Franky asked, raising his glasses to appraise her more closely. "No offense, but you're not looking so super right now."

"I can make it!" Lana insisted hoarsely. "I'll free her even if it kills me!"

"Franky, you have to take her," Usopp realized. "She can do it, and the two of you will move faster without me. I'll gather the others and we'll follow you after the last agents are taken care of."

"Well..."

Lana straightened, pushing away from Usopp to stand alone, proving that she could.

"I'll get to her... with or without your help!" she declared, her voice a strangled yelp.

Franky guffawed with gusto, but not in mockery.

"You got some grit, lady!" Franky exclaimed. "I'm diggin' your spunk! Here, climb on!"

He turned and crouched, offering the lockbreaker a ride on his back.

"We'll make better time if I take the helm," the shipwright explained.

"It's okay, Lana," Usopp assured her. "You can trust him."

Trust wasn't truly a factor. Despite her resolve, Lana knew there was a chance she wouldn't make it to Robin in time if she tried to go alone. She climbed onto Franky's back, glancing once over her shoulder. Zoro and Sanji's battles still raged, fierce and unrelenting.

"Let's go," she rasped in Franky's ear. "Let's go save Robin!"

"Suuuuper!" Franky called, taking off at a brisk run in the direction indicated by Chimney's arrows.

__________________________________________________

<== Previous Chapter

Next Chapter ==>

== First Chapter ==

#one piece #fanfic #oc #roronoa zoro #sandbox adventures #pure garbage #nico robin #sanji #zoro #usopp #franky one piece #one piece cp9

2 notes · View notes