#Molly talks wrestling

[mollywog]

For WIP Wednesday, with all the wrestler Peeta chatter today, I have to ask if you're considering a fic or drabble -- or maybe another part of Senior Year? I know you've mentioned before about watching a lot of wrestling in high school :)

Yes!

So I have a plot point in Misadventures where she goes to all the wrestling matches… but only to ‘watch Prim cheer’

But also an idea for Senior Year to send Katniss to ‘States’ to watch Peeta wrestle for a title… I’m trying to figure out a way to suspend my disbelief on a couple issues. Writing action is not a strong suit/interest of mine so it would be more about the nerves and excitement of watching…

Wrestling is sort of cool because it’s both an individual and a team sport - each person is wrestling one on one against an opponent, but then individual wins count towards a team total - A pin has a higher point value than a regular win or an overtime win/tie and a forfeit (if I remember correctly) has as much weight as ‘pin’ to the other team. Wrestlers can have a range of weights classes they can wrestle, so there’s is a level of strategy to putting each in the right weight class to get a team win (like putting a mediocre wrestler in a wipslot against a wrestler they will likely loose to - as long as you aren’t pinned it’s better than a forfeit)… Haymitch feels like the ideal wrestling coach in that regard

[wyattjohnston]

.

[fangisms]

summertime at the burrow

A/N: i want to be an honorary weasley please im literally begging. notice me molly weasley

Pairings: Best Friend!Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Fred finally invites his best friend home over summer holiday. Neither of you expected it to go so well. 3.7k words.

Warnings: fluff, best friends to lovers, ungodly amount of shenanigans, friendly bullying/teasing, mud wrestling, kissing, (friendly) violence, pet names (trouble, snookums, sugarplum, sweetheart), cursing, borderline frog abuse

"Good morning, trouble."

You hop into the seat next to him that he’d been saving for you. In fact, he’d been saving it for you since the first time you plopped down beside him after the sorting hat declared your house first year. You laughed when he shook your hand. He thought you had the cutest smile. Then you teased him for his devilish charm and he called you catty, and you’ve been teasing each other ever since.

"Are you packed and ready?” He sounds more worried than that time he nearly shattered his collar bone during a vicious Quidditch scrimmage. “We're leaving bright and early tomorrow. Mum says she's preparing a hearty lunch for our guests." Fred scarfs down the rest of his breakfast and turns to look at you to find you're looking back at him in bewilderment.

"Somebody's excited," you tease, ruffling his fiery locks and glancing over at George with a grin.

"If you think this is bad, you should see him before winter holidays," George huffs.

“I have.”

Fred rolls his eyes at you and you jab him in the side.

"Where are the lot of you off to?" Lee perks up from across the table, setting his plate down and wiggling his way between Alicia and Angelina.

"I finally got my honorary invite to the Weasley burrow this summer," you chirp, wrapping your arm over Fred's shoulders and leaning him into your side.

Lee cocks a brow and smirks at a suddenly and uncharacteristically shy Fred. "Well, it's about time! You've only been dating for—"

You shake your head. "No, not dating, Lee. I swear we've been over this—"

"Oh, we've been over it plenty. I just choose to ignore wicked witches when they lie—!"

You practically leap across the table with your teeth gritted to grab for his robes when you're stopped by the laughing twins holding you back from tearing into him. "Lee Jordan, you take that back right now, or so help me your mother will wonder why your hair's gone purple!"

"I'm not going to apologize for being lied to!"

"Let me at him! I'm trying to defend my honor here!"

"Miss—young lady!”—McGonagall appears behind you, sending you into shock and barreling back onto the bench—“Settle down! You're frightening the first years, and we typically prefer they come back in the fall."

"Apologies, professor, I was simply trying to have a friendly discussion with my classmate," you say, gesturing to Lee who smiles begrudgingly.

"Right, well, from now on, let's have our discussions from across the furniture, not on top of it." She wanders away, and you turn to stick your tongue out at Lee who is doubled-over and cackling at your being caught.

“I hope you know, we’re going to receive the same third-degree from my dear mother,” Fred mumbles in your ear. His heart races when you turn to him, a playful glint in your eye. You blink sweetly and rest your hand on his knee when he tucks his arm around your lower back. “But don’t worry, sugarplum, it’s never too late to try.”

He winks. Your eyes go wide, and you shove at his shoulder with a chuckle disguised by a scoff.

“Scabbers not the only rat in the Weasley family, I see.”

“That is exactly what I’m talking about, there’s no way you two are just friends—”

A slice of ham sticks to Lee’s cheek with a cold, wet slap as you eye him from across the table.

“Don’t listen to him, snookums, he just doesn’t understand our complicated arrangement,” Fred says, nudging your cheek with his nose and holding back laughter.

“Gross,” George mutters, grinning before he’s met with the same lunchmeat backhand his friend so rudely received. “Suppose I could’ve predicted that one.”

…

You wipe the sweat from your brow, slinging your carry-on over your shoulder before bending down to pick up your trunk. You’re trailing behind most of the rest of the group, just a few steps behind the twins while their younger siblings charge ahead through the field with Harry and Hermione. Fred checks in with you every couple of meters, making sure you don’t need any serious medical attention.

Once the twins breach the front door, you take a seat outside on your trunk, fanning yourself with your hand and throwing your head back. Then you hear:

“Fred, you better get out there and help that poor girl with her things!”

“Sorry, mum!”

You chuckle when he appears in the doorway moments later, winded as ever, hair plastered to his forehead, and still grinning wildly as he jogs over.

“What’s a lovely young lady like yourself doing outside all alone on such an unbearably hot afternoon?”

“Sweating like swine.”

“Ravishing,” he teases, shooing you off the suitcase, “head inside, mum’s absolutely itching to meet you.”

So you do. You can see her welcoming her children and their friends alike, and it fills you with the warmth of fresh gingerbread and the nerves of a teenage boy during school dance season.

“My dear!” she coos, arms outstretched even though a thin year of sweat coats every inch of your body, even though you’ve been wearing these clothes for a day, and even though you’re breathing heavy like a dog. She’s got her arms outstretched like you’re family.

“I’ve heard so much about you from Fred, and, goodness, you’re even prettier than he said you’d be!” —She gasps when he walks through the door, hauling your trunk in tow—“Don’t tell him I told you.”

“It’s been five minutes and you two are already sharing secrets about me. Only seven more days, Freddie,” he mumbles, setting the trunk down with a thud.

“Oh, well! It’s wonderful to finally meet you, dear, Ginny will show you to your room and lunch will be ready once you’re all settled!”

“Thank you, Mrs Weasley—”

“Oh, none of that, call me Molly.”

Your brows knit when she smiles at you so gently before making her way back to the kitchen.

“Thank you, Molly!”

Fred hops up from where he’d been relaxing on an armchair, clapping you on the arm with a reassuring smile.

“Everything processing alright up there?”

You nod.

“Peachy. Now give me a smile, you’re scaring me.”

You squint at him and pinch his arm, simpering when he hisses and swats your dry-gulching fingers away.

“That’ll do!”

“We’re up this way,” Ginny chirps as she rushes by and tugs you by the hand up the stairs.

Fred watches after you, rubbing his arm with a mean look on his face just before his playful resentment fades and his affections settle into the apples of his cheeks. This is going to be a long seven days.

…

Fred had never invited anyone to stay at the burrow. He preferred the company of his close family and whoever his mother deemed Weasley-enough herself. But he’d been saving this invitation. It stewed in the back of his mind for years before he mustered up the courage to offer it to you.

Ridiculous. That’s how it sounded in his head: ridiculous. If he wanted to ask you, he should have done it at the first chance. That’s what Fred would do. But he could never bring himself to get the words out whenever he swore to himself today would be the day. Because you’d just look at him with those damned doe eyes—you’d test his boundaries and make him all gushy inside—and it was like he was suddenly turned to a tongue-tied and pathetic halfwit.

And now here you are. An unofficial part of his family. But nevertheless a part of it. You’d found the annual Weasley strawberry-picking trip to be wonderful despite Fred pulling cheap pranks on you and the fact that it was basically sweltering outside. When you returned, you all spread out in the family room with bowls of the dewy berries in each of your laps. Everyone claimed a seat while you and Fred were forced to share the hardwood floor. You ended up tossing the small fruits into each other’s mouths with your legs laid across his thighs.

At one point, he lands one of the berries down your blouse. Almost immediately, he starts to laugh, clutching his chest while you gawk at him.

“You better start running, trouble.”

He gulps and scampers to his feet before scurrying out the front door. You take off after him, shouting curses into the wind when he rounds a corner.

You follow his footsteps but he’s nowhere to be seen.

“I swear, if I ever get my hands on you—”

He grabs your waist from behind you, dipping down to whisper in your ear. “You can put your hands on me whenever you’d like, sugarplum—”

“Merlin’s Beard, Fred! You scared the shit out of me!”

You jolt away, and he thinks you look genuinely angry this time. But he smiles and your features soften. Then you’re after him again, bounding into the tall grass with an uproar of laughter.

…

You spend the next few days of your vacation trying to beat Ron at chess then deciding it may be better if you and Harry team up to try and beat Ron at chess. You also take Ginny and Hermione shopping while the gaggle of boys trail behind the three of you grumbling and whining about missing their beloved Quidditch game.

You offer to help Molly with every meal, and she only accepts once you convince her your desserts are a crowd favorite back home. She’s proud to say she’s impressed, and she grows even prouder when you admit you adore big families like hers and see at least two kids of your own in your future.

Arthur takes a liking to you after you listen to him rave about the kind of items muggles use day-to-day and how fascinating their modern technology has become in recent years. He’s thrilled to find you actually take interest in his tinkering and collections and whatnot.

But most of all, you spend your time at the burrow with Fred. He steals you away after meals and keeps you up late to teach you his favorite charms. One overcurious evening finds you two perched together on the bathroom floor whispering and giggling while you brush a bold smokey-eye onto his eyelids. Let’s just say dinner that night was nothing short of hilarious: a look that Fred will never live down.

On the fifth morning, you jostle him awake. He whines about the sun not even being up yet while you drag him down the steps and shove your socked feet into an extra pair of rubber boots.

“What’s the bucket for?” he whispers, traipsing down the path along the side of the house when you stop dead in your tracks.

“Shh!” You press your gloved finger to his lips. A chorus of croaks erupts from the marsh beside the house. Nothing out of the ordinary for Fred, in fact that sound had often soothed him to sleep. But there’s a dangerous glint in your eye that tells him you’re on a mission.

“Can’t we do this when the sun is up? It’s cold and I’m tired—”

“The faster we catch ‘em, the faster we can go back to bed,” you whisper as your boot sinks into the edge of the muddy body of water. He sighs and sinks in next to you with his hands on his hips.

“I can’t believe you’ve convinced me to do this. You’re lucky you’re so pretty or you’d never get away with anything.”

You purse your lips and wade a little further out, looking out at the cooly rippling water beneath the sliver of sunrise.

“Yes, I would,” you say, quietly but so matter-of-fact he’s inclined to believe you.

Just then you spring into action, shoveling a small frog into your bucket with a victorious grunt. A few minutes later, he shuffled over to you and lowers his cupped palms into your bucket: three more frogs settle down into the center with a wet plop. You beam up at him, and it’s worth the early morning trouble to see you so happy and have you so close.

“So what do you plan on doing with these poor creatures once we’re done?”

You sit on the bank of the waterbed, sighing and setting the bucket beside you. He watches you from the water while you examine the small blob of darkness in the center of your palm. The bottom of the bucket is lined with croaking frogs, and the sun is well above the horizon, dousing the sky in soft pink and warm rose.

“I’m going to let them go.”

He lets out a sharp breath, hands falling to his sides, leaving streaks of mud down his tee shirt.

“You’re joking.”

You look up at him. You’re not joking.

“No,” he huffs. “You did not drag me out of my nice, warm bed to catch a million slimy frogs in the freezing cold dark just to let them go again.”

“Oh, but I did.” You’re crazy, he thinks. You’re crazy and it’s the most adorable thing he’s ever seen. Doesn’t make you any less crazy, though it might make him much less sane.

You set the frog down in the grass and leave the bucket tipped over. The small creatures immediately flood out from the splotchy tin opening into the newborn daylight and the crisp morning air. You stand and wipe your hands against each other a few times, scrunching your nose and finally meeting his eyes again.

“What’s wrong, trouble? Cat got your tongue?”

You grin.

“You know, one of these days, I’m going to say ‘no’ to you, and it’ll be a rude awakening.”

Fred walks past you like he’s really mad. Like it was an uncrossable line and you treated it like the tape at the end of a marathon. He’s hulking back towards the house when you grab his wrist to get his attention.

“What?”

But you don’t look sad. You don’t look pitiful or hurt. You look like you’re scheming, and it drives him crazy. As if he could ever say ‘no’ to you.

“You think I’m pretty,” you coo, batting your lashes just to get on his nerves. His breath hitches, and he feels warm despite the nipping cold of the morning.

“Unrelated.”

You drop his hand and cross your arms over your chest with a pout. He continues leisurely toward the burrow, tossing his gloves to the ground with a huff of hot air.

“Fred?” you call. And you sound worried, so he’s compelled to whip around. But when he does, he’s met with a rude awakening.

It was a misstep. A silly mistake, the wrong footing. Easily avoidable, and yet he didn’t avoid it. So he’s ass-first into a mud puddle with you shrieking in laughter about a meter away.

“You’re awful,” he grumbles, both hands propping him up and seeping into the thick mud as seconds tick by.

“I’m sorry! Freddie, I’m so sorry,” you cackle, taking a few steps toward him with tears of joy in your eyes. “But you should have seen your face!”

“Help me up,” he says, shaking his head and wiping his hand down his pajama pants before holding it outstretched to you. You grab it and tug enough to leverage him out of the muck. But he doesn’t budge. And in that moment, your eyes are filled with fear. Then, with one jolt, you topple down into the mud right beside him.

“Fred!”

“An eye for an eye, sugarplum.”

You push yourself up onto your hands to find your entire front is caked in mud, the mess narrowly avoiding your chin and above.

“You’re going to pay for that.”

“Oh, bring it on,” Fred teases.

You smirk just before a handful of mud is smeared across his chest by your slippery glove.

“Your move, trouble.”

He shakes his head and chuckles, looking down at the abstract art work fondly. But not quite fondly enough to hold himself back. His fingers dig into the puddle determinedly just before patting the top of your head with it like a stray dog. You squint your eyes closed and groan before peeking one eye open and coating his cheek in mud.

You make it to your feet and Fred hurls a ball of mud at your ass but he misses and it lands in the grass in front of you. You bolt around the back of the house, but he hurls a hunk towards your shoulder blade. You yelp and shout at him:

“You’re supposed to be a gentleman!”

“I’ll show you a gentleman, sweetheart,” he hollers it just before he catches up to you. You squeal and nearly slip on a slick patch of grass, but before you can leap out of his reach, he grabs your upper arm and presses you against the tree just behind your back.

“That’s not playing fair, Freddie, I’ve got nowhere to run,” you say, breathlessly grasping at the edge of his shirt with a tired smile. He chuckles and plants one palm against the bark beside your head, bringing the other hand to cup the side of your neck.

“You don’t need to run anywhere,” he mumbles, “just stay here.” The dried mud on the pad of his thumb draws a swipe of dirt down your cheek. Your fingers curl around his wrist and your lips part sweetly when he leans in.

“Time to come inside, you two! Breakfast is ready!”

Your eyes go wide when he leans his forehead against the tree with a grumbled curse.

“I suppose I am quite peckish!” you chirp, dragging him along behind you all the way to the front door. You leave your boots and gloves outside and brush some of the dried dirt from your pajamas.

You sit across from him at breakfast and catch him stealing glances at you every so often. With a mouth full of food, you wink at him with a dirt-smeared face and almost make him spit out his juice when you kick him under the table. George teases the two of you about wrestling in the mud while Molly scolds Fred about tracking it into the house.

…

Before long, you’re facing the final night of your stay. You’d been dreading the end since the beginning, and now that it’s here, you’re heartbroken. It’s been nothing but fun and you’ve never felt so wonderfully vulnerable with so many people around.

But the thing you’ll miss most is Fred. He could sense you pulling away the last couple of days. Trying to shield yourself from the impact of reality. No matter how hard he tried to cheer you up, he knew nothing could stop you thinking about how much packing up and leaving would hurt.

With your things splayed out across the floor of your temporary room, you had started packing hours ago but kept finding ways to distract yourself and avoid the idea of leaving altogether.

“Need any help?” Fred knocks on the doorframe, leaned against it and wearing the blue jumper you once told him he looked best in. You smile up at him from the floor.

“No,” you huff, “but some company would be nice.”

He perks up and shuffles around your belongings to plant himself on the edge of the bed. You had made the bed up nicely, tucked the duvet and set the pillows out nicely. He told you you didn’t have to, but you did it anyways.

After a few minutes of folding and refolding the same shirt, you stand from the floor and join him on the bed. He’s leaned back onto his elbows when he nudges your foot with his. You nudge him back but don’t turn to look at him. So he sits up and bumps you with his shoulder.

“I’m going to miss you,” he says, fussing with the edge of your shorts to distract himself, “Being here, I mean. As a part of our family.”

You smile down at his fiddling fingertips and inch closer, looking at him with this half-sad, half-happy look that has him confused and hopeless and head over heels and confused.

“I had a really, really nice time,” you whisper, leaning your head onto his shoulder and letting your eyes drift closed.

“So…”

You chuckle and smile to yourself, “So…?”

You sit up when the floor rattles a little, a thudding coming from the room below you. Then George shouts.

“Get it over with already!”

You both look at each other and giggle. Fred leans back again and you watch him tilt his head back and let out a sigh. His chest rises and falls beneath that damned blue sweater, and you trace your fingertips over his knuckles. He lifts his head and smiles cheekily at you, like he knows what’s going on inside your head. Like he has any idea. And for once, you think he might be pretty close.

You practically tackle him to the bed, smiling against his mouth when he cradles your face in one hand and rests the other on your waist where your shirt had ridden up from the ruckus.

You pepper soft kisses over his blushing face, leaving faintly glossy lip prints on his cheeks and nose and forehead and a stray one on the column of his neck. He goes slack against the bed, satisfied and content and happy all because of you. But still, he lazily opens his eyes and grins mischievously and says:

“Took you long enough.”

You smack your hand against his chest just hard enough to warn him.

“Oh, you’re trouble, Weasley.”

He cups your hand against his warm chest and his smile ebbs from mischief to something not as easily recognized. Something that makes him shy and pink thanks to the girl who likes the freckles across the bridge of his nose in the summer and his hands even when they’re covered in mud. Love that makes him much less sane for the girl who might just be crazy for loving him back.

And all of it makes him hold your hand and lean up to kiss you one more time.

masterlist

[thefawnfallacy]

The way that Hannibal and Will are never referred to as being queer is interesting. It’s not like sexuality never comes up, it does, predominantly with Margot who openly admits to being lesbian and talks about it often as a part of her character but I think that the way sexuality is framed is another mask.

Margot openly wants to kill her brother, so her sexuality is on display, she is a character that the viewer can “see”. The audience knows that Hannibal is queer — he doesn’t say it but it is shown through numerous other characters, predominantly through Will. Will is the filter in which the viewer “sees” Hannibal and so we know and acknowledge that he is a queer character.

Will is the blurriest and this is interesting in a variety of ways to me. Why does the viewer never have a clear sense of sexuality from Will? To start, Will is an unreliable narrator, we cannot explicitly trust the truth of what Will tells us about anything because it’s always just slightly shifted. He doesn’t victimise himself but he does elevate himself, just slightly, based on his current concept of morality. He was guilty when he killed Hobbes so we see him as guilty and unsteady, he was righteous when he killed Tier, so we see him through a lens of righteousness. No-one else can see him clearly and therefore, neither can we. He is not hidden in plain sight the same way as Hannibal and in doing so, makes himself very confusing to properly understand while also being exceedingly easy to pick apart.

Will is multifaceted and shifts the way he’s perceived a number of times throughout the series, while always giving the impression that he is completely unaware of it.

(side note: this doesn’t properly fit but I think it’s worth mentioning the “Will Graham is not a lesbian” line because there’s an undertone of stubborn curiosity there — is Will Graham a lesbian? Hannibal doesn’t know and Margot is quite smug about it, but that’s more gender based than anything).

Because of the ability to “chameleon” himself for any situation, he leaves a lot open to interpretation. Will Graham could be queer, he could be straight, he could a lot of things. It’s also worth noting that Will Graham experiences attraction in very different ways when it comes to men vs women based on the characters we see. With Matthew (and I’m using the definition of attraction very loosely here) as well as Hannibal, he is incredibly manipulative, like he can’t imagine being genuine with these men in the biblical sense but with Alana he is more open to being perceived and received a certain way. Molly is a more hollow imitation of Alana — he acts the way he thinks love should be but it’s hollow.

Hannibal, of course, is a curious show of attraction. He expresses a wide range of emotions towards him but never stereotypical feelings, if anything, he seems to take a sharp left when it comes to Hannibal but at the same time, he is very obviously more gentle and honest with him, like he’s trying to “show”the viewer what’s underneath. (meaning he does carry about Hannibal, we know he does, he simply shows a wrestling with these emotions that often come across as more violent or unrefined).

*this is just my interpretation, please don’t take it as gospel 🙂.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Stranger 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Destroyer!Chris

Summary: A stranger buys the farmstead nearby and disturbs your sleepy village life.

Part of the Backwoods AU

Note: My first time writing this character!

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Your nails are crusted in dirt as you kneel in the garden. You grunt as you wrestle the roots of weed from the soil and toss it aside. You wipe your forehead with the back of your glove as you hear the screen door snap shut. Your grandmother stands on the stoop, her hand on her achy hip.

“Did you hear, dearie?” She calls in her creaky voice. “Someone’s moved into Clyde’s old house.”

“Huh?” You catch your breath as you gather up the broken weeds, “it’s half ash.”

“Suppose they’ll fix it up,” she mutters as she leans on the narrow iron rail along the side of the backsteps.

“Suppose,” you agree as you stuff the green and brown foliage into the paper bag for the compost. “Who told you that?”

“I was just talking to Lynette on the phone. She also said Molly’s having her fifth.”

Five kids? You hide your chagrin at the thought. You don’t mind kids but that’s a lot to handle, let alone the pregnancies. Molly balloon’s up so big she can hardly move. Her last shower, she sat the whole time. Not much different than you, you guess. You sat in the corner and watched the silly games

“That’s exciting,” you say as you stand and dust off your knees, crumpling the top of the bag in your other hand.

“Ah, I’m sure you woulda loved to have four sisters? Maybe brothers? It’s a pity your mother never gave me any more grandchildren.”

“Mmm,” you suppress a frown, “yeah, well…”

“Anyhow, enough talk of spoiled milk,” she waves off, “I got a pie in the oven. You can take it over the Clyde’s once it cools.”

“I… why would I do that?”

“Oh my, don’t be ridiculous. We have a new neighbour, we have to be polite and welcome them to the village. It’s probably a nice family, or maybe someone your age. A friend?” She suggests, “I’d do it myself but I don’t think I’d make the walk…” she looks down at her hip, theatrically rubbing it.��

“Right,” you agree, the prospect of strangers making your tummy lurch. “Well, that pie will take some time.”

“Long enough for you to put on something clean,” she tuts as she looks down at your dirty jeans, “my lord, what would they think?”

“Yes, gramma, I’ll change, once I get this in the compost.”

“Good,” she smirks triumphantly and turns to swing open the screen door, the hinges whining shrilly.

You sniff and cross the yard. It’s not often there’s new faces in Hammer Ford. The village is a tourist trap at best and not a very lively one. Everyone calls each other by name and it’s second nature to stop and say hi. But that’s because you know each other; you have for years.

You lift the lid on the large bin and empty the bag into it. You could always lie and hide the pie in some bushes. Your deceit wouldn’t be hidden for long. Even in this sleepy place, word travels fast and someone always seems to be watching and waiting to pass it on.

🥧

You head out with the pie in a basket like some fairytale. You’re only short a red hood and a big bad wolf. You set off down the country roads, following the lazy curves towards the horizon. It’s after noon and the sun’s turning mild as it drifts across its pale canvas.

The old homestead is the second closest to your grandmother’s. The homes around Hammer Ford or sprawled out amid the plowed fields and green meadows. The cluster of old pines loom over you as you pass in there shadow and crest the hill that marks the edge of the property. Clyde’s tractor used to sit there, just by the broken down fence.

Ahead, down another stretch of road, this path unpaved, stands the decrepit house. The tragedy still singes the memories of the villagers. That night comes back to you in a blaze of orange and the smell of cinder. Poor old Clyde was buried behind Sacred Stave church.

You search the overgrown grass for a sign of life. There’s a black truck by the caved in garage but that’s about it. It might not be a family. It’s a lot of work to do with little ones around. If anything, it would only be the parents as they rebuild. Your mind wanders, wondering who would buy the old farm and why.

You come down the path, just along the ditch that dips behind a cluster of brambles. There’s a snap and a crack and you skid to a halt on the stones. You spin and look around, a heavy breath pluming into the air. Like the fire reawakened.

“Can I help you?” The deep timbre rolls through you and you step back on your heel as you face the man down in the ditch. He peers up at you above the scraggly top of the brambles.

“Uh,” you gulp and stare at him dumbly. He might think you’re lost. Or worse, trespassing.

His hair is short, only an inch on top and shaved even shorter around the sides. His beard is thick around his mouth, growing sparse across his cheeks, and two vibrant blue eyes beam back at you. The way he looks at you makes you want to shrink away. You can sense the city radiating off of him. He scares you.

“Hello? What’s up?” He waves as if trying to wake you up.

“Um, pie?” You say, cringing at your own speechlessness.

“Pie,” he repeats flatly.

You hold up the basket and blink. You never were very good at introductions. You were the only girl at school without friends. You were just sort of there.

“Pie,” you echo once more and hold out the basket.

He tilts his head, curiously, and huffs. He juts out his jaw and grunts as he pushes the brambles apart and climbs out of the ditchy. His denim jacket is streaked in dirty and pollen.

He takes the basket by the handle, his rough finger brushing yours. He peels back the cloth and to peek inside, “pie.” He utters the syllable a fourth time between you.

“Yeah,” your voice is wispy and small. “Bye.”

You let out a strained breath and spin, keeping yourself from breaking into a sprint. You stomp away frantically, smacking yourself internally for being so awkward. Well, maybe that’s a good thing. He’ll have no reason to talk to you ever again.

[livfastdieyoung69]

hi!!! love your work. was wondering if you could write a randy orton x fem!reader where the reader gets real sick before a big PPV and has a main event match at the PPV, so she gets stubborn and tries to wrestle anyways but randy keeps telling her otherwise? would love some fluff, but angst can also be sprinkled in <3

A BITTERSWEETNESS TO THE AIR

The royal rumble is a huge deal for the entire roster of WWE, no matter which part of it you were on. Everybody wanted to be in it, because anybody truly had a chance to have their Wrestlemania moment, something everyone in the entire wrestling industry seemed to yearn for.

This year, you had gotten a spot- a good one too, number 22. Also this year, you seemed to coincidentally come down with the worst cold to have ever graced this earth the night before.

Racked with shivers all night- thank god Randy had been on Smackdown the night prior and had to go on a different plane, landing in an airport halfway across the state. By the time your sore throat forced you up, Randy was already driving to the arena in the cheapest rental car available. And with no Randy, that meant no one to hold you accountable for bad decisions. Not that he made very good decisions all the time, but at least he usually stopped your bad ones.

So here you were, driving to the arena- shaky hands, tired eyes and all. Luckily it wasn’t much of a drive, you had booked a pretty close hotel to the arena, but not close enough for it to be expensive. Pushing out of the driver's seat of your own cheap rental and slamming the door shut, blurred vision and congested sinuses quickly making you stumble and pause for a bit in your spot, gripping onto the side of the car for support. After the small pause, you unlock the trunk and heave the couple duffle bags with much more difficulty than you should’ve had.

With a tight smile, you thank the staff members holding the door open with a raise of your hand.

”Ready for a long night?” The staff member asked from behind you, still standing by the door, now closed. Surprised by the sudden voice, you turn back and raise your eyebrows in their direction. Your ears ached and ringed as they repeated their question.

”Oh, yeah! Yeah, definitely. Long but worth it.” You answered, voice much more nasally than usual as you smile at them. They were quick to become concerned at the sound of your voice, asking if you were all right. You nodded quickly.

“Just a small cold- some warm tea and lemon, and I’ll be alright.” With another tight smile and nod, wishing them luck in their work for the night, you followed the arrows directing you to the lockerrooms.

“Hey!” A voice cheerfully calls, your name sounding after. With a want to do nothing else but sit down for even just five seconds you reluctantly turn from the door, shoulders dropping as you put on a small smile for the sweet, smiling girl.

”Hey, Molly.” You say, trying not to sigh through your words. Much like the former staff member, Molly Holly seems to notice your sickness as soon as you talk.

“Oh Jeez, are you sick? But you’re in the rumble!” She exclaimed, somehow still happy through all of her worry.

“I’m fine, promise. Really.” You ramble off the same excuse used on the other staff member, but it didn’t seem to work as well on Molly Holly. She reluctantly nodded, taking a step back from you.

”…Alright. Y’know Randy’s here, I just saw him a second ago! I can grab him if you want?” Before Molly was even able to finish, you were rapidly shaking your head, eyes grown wide.

“Oh, no no no,” You shook your hands out in front of you, an awkward chuckle falling from your lips. “No, that's ok. He’s-hes busy and I gotta get ready and…stuff.” With another awkward chuckle and a stumbled, quick goodbye you pushed into the locker room, leaving Molly very confused in the hallway.

Sitting in the first available spot that met your eyes and beginning to rummage through your duffle bags, your other fellow superstars looked on anxiously at your state. With much trouble, you began the hard process of ring gear (specially made for the royal rumble and even more troublesome than usual) and just about gave up halfway through before declaring it was time to take a break, half dressed.

Falling back against the lockers you sat against and closing your eyes with a sigh in your half-clothed state, the door practically rips from the hinges.

”Randy!”

”You can’t be in here, what the hell!”

”Oh my god!!”

Screams tore through the locker room, all of which Randy seemed to ignore. He marched his way towards your form, now leaning up on your elbows and trying your best to look up at him through sore eyes.

“May I help you there?”

“Yes,” He stated, quite aggressively, tagging your name on. “You can. Why the hell did you not tell anyone you’re sick?” Rolling your eyes with a groan, you sat up against the back of the locker.

”Randy, I think I can make it through a cold for a chance at a title at Wrestlemania.” Looking up at him with a snarky look as he moved a bit closer, gently taking the back of your neck in one hand and holding the palm of his other against your forehead, he exclaimed your name.

”You’re fuckin’ burnin’ alive, baby, christ!” He pulled you in closer to him, resting your head to his stomach. The relief of all of his cold against your warm face, your eyes close with the first good sigh of the day.

“You’re just cold from walkin’ around in a speedo all day long, weirdo.” You mutter (even though you also have no pants on), leaning into his warmth. The hand on the back of your head starts to stroke your head, your own hand moving to rest of his leg. Randy ignores your comment, shaking his head down at you before he starts to speak, starting with your name in a warning tone.

“We’re going to go see the medics.” You look up at him with a glare but he gives you a scornful look with raised eyebrows, stopping you from speaking.

“And you’re going to take some medicine. Then I’m going to go talk to someone and get you out of the rumble.” Randy spoke as softly as it seemed he could, knowing how much it would suck to be in your position. Unable to find any words you only close your eyes again and rest your forehead back against his stomach.

“Okay?” He asks. You nod against him, whispering an okay back. He plants a soft kiss to the top of your head before moving away and grabbing the pair of sweatpants you had just taken off to help you put them back on. He walks you down the halls as you sulk, rubbing your shoulder through the itchy material of the top of your ring gear.

The doctor was quick to declare you not healthy enough to compete (as if it wasn’t already obvious) and moved onto their next patient from the match that had just ended quite shortly, leaving you to sulk further on top of the cushioned table.

“I’m telling you this with all of the love in my heart,” Randy started, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you to him. Your head finds his shoulder with a soft bump, breath meeting his neck. “You wouldn’t have won in the condition you’re in. You could barely walk here, you’ve got the highest fever I’ve ever goddamn heard of. You wouldn’t have won.” He pauses, holding you close to him. “But next year,” With another pause he puts his hands on either side of your face, bringing your forehead to his. Noticing the glare of tears framing your eyes, his hands grasp softly at your head, giving you a small, playful shake. “Next year, you’re gonna rock them out of the fucking park, baby. You hear me?” He asks with a little smirk. With a wavering smile and a couple sniffles, you give him a small nod, barely noticeable. He pulls you back into his chest with a hand moving to hold you close once more. With a choked sob, you bury into his shoulder with hands grasping at his back.

“I know.” You muffled into his shoulder, the both of you rocking back and forth. “I know, this just sucks. So fuckin’ much, n now I have to wait a whole ‘nother year, n I’ve already waited so, so fucking long, Randy.”

He pulls you from his neck, placing your head to his, cheek-to-cheek. He nods, almost forcing you to do the same against him. “Yeah. Yes, it's terrible, but this is just the universe saying not yet. And next year, you’ll be better, and nothing will ever stop you. Nothin’, so let's get this cold gone, okay?” Randy pulls away from you for the final time to help you off the table with an offering hand.

Taking his hand in yours, you walk back to the locker room to grab your stuff with your head held high and a small smile but tear-filled eyes. Laying against a disgusting and sort of scratchy sofa somewhere backstage, Randy leaves you to compete in the royal rumble very bitter sweetly, and you try to sleep with many thoughts clouding your mind- to find a way to be better, to be the best, to grow as an individual outside and inside of wrestling. A smile graces your face with one final thought- these people better be fucking ready next year, cause they sure as hell weren’t this one.

look at me go! sorry this took me so long but also i used you instead of y/n for the first time and i feel like my frontal lobe has developed (it absolutely has not) and omg not molly holly ratting you outttt

Set in 2004 idk y i just chose a year and i felt like that one ig

Techincally gender-neutral bc everything I write is, but a bit of a nod to being afab with randy not being wanted in the locker room.

[mrsfrecklesmarauders]

CW: Depression and mentions of self harm.

Sirius used to be Regulus's favorite person.

When they were kids, Sirius used to come up with the biggest adventures around the house. Regulus thought he was so cool and clever.

When they were bored on family dinners, Sirius managed to make Regulus giggle. Regulus thought he was funny.

When they were forced to wrestle, Sirius was easy with Regulus and complemented him when he did something right. Regulus thought he was a protective good brother.

When Sirius answered their parents and tried to protest about his punishment. Regulus thought he was the bravest.

Regulus was constantly trying to impress his big brother. That's why he did what he said. That's why he helped him with his mischiefs. That's why he tried to be even more like him. Everything Sirius did was cool in Regulus's eyes. Even if he was scared sometimes about how father would react and afraid of how Sirius would be punished, there was a little spark inside of him that thought Sirius’s revelty was cool. Sirius made Regulus feel like anything was possible.

The reasons for Regulus's depression had nothing to do with his brother. It was everything else around him.

"What would you do this, Reggie?" he had asked the other night while they were watching a movie together and Regulus was surprised to realize Sirius was crying next to him.

Regulus immediately grabbed his arm, covering his big fat scar, covered by a bandage.

"I didn't want to kill myself, you know?" Regulus explained as he swallowed "I just... I wanted to feel another kind of pain..." it sounded stupid when he tried to explain "I wasn't thinking, I'm sorry"

When Sirius pulled him into a hug, Regulus felt at peace. He liked to be Sirius’s little brother and be taken care of by him.

But Regulus wasn't Sirius’s favorite person. Not in the slightest. Regulus knew his brother cared for him. Though at the end of the day, everyone else was more important than him.

It had been Rosie first. Well, Regulus thought he ought to call him Remus now. The second Lupin became Sirius’s best friend back when they were kids, Regulus disappeared for him. Regulus was only his annoying little brother.

Then, after Sirius returned from Hogwarts, he couldn't stop talking about his new friend James Potter and how wonderful he was.

"You would like him, Reg" he had said "He is a true prankster and very funny"

Regulus hated James Potter though. Because he was everything Regulus would never dare to be. Everything was easy for Potter. Making friends, talking without stuttering, entertaining Sirius to no end, managing to always be positive and happy. The latter was a feat Regulus couldn't manage even in his calmest days.

"I don't know what I am going to do stuck in this house any longer, I am so bored!"

That was what Sirius was saying to his bloody friend over the phone. Regulus tended to overhear conversations behind the door anyway.

"I told you to come here, Pads!" Potter was saying through the speaker "I am not doing much but there is this Uni bloke that works with my dad, Fabian is his name, brother of the lovely Molly... Remember my neighbor? Anyway, he invited me to a Uni party the other day! Can you believe it? I bet there are older girls there... Shit Padfoot! Don't let me go there alone!"

Regulus immediately rolled his eyes because he couldn't stand when Potter talked and talked with that stupid energy Regulus didn't know where he got from.

"What about Evans?" Sirius teased.

Potter groaned "I told you! We're just friends... Plus, a bloke can experiment in his youth with other bids..."

Sirius was laughing.

"I'll do anything to go with you, Prongs! I'll do anything to get out of these four walls for just a little bit. I can't stand it!"

It was always as if it was the end of the world with Sirius. As if this house was hell itself. Sometimes it wasn't that bad... Lie it was. Though it was better with Sirius around.

And Sirius had been trying to behave. For Regulus. It hadn't been that bad. Everyone acted like they were walking on shells around Regulus, so they tried not to upset him. Perks of being depressed.

"Everyone in this house is bunkers and so annoying..." Sirius was saying "They are all over me because I am the Heir or some shit. Wish I had a normal family"

"What about your Uncle Alphard?"

"He is at Rome, remember?" Sirius answered with a sigh "That wanker abandoned me this summer"

"Oh yeah..." Potter continued "What about your brother?"

There was a pause. Regulus felt a cold shiver down his spine. Of course Orion and Walburga had forbidden Sirius to say anything to Potter about Regulus's "weakness" as Orion called it. But Regulus knew he told that bastard everything anyway.

"Sirius?" Potter asked on the phone, making Regulus come back to reality as well.

"Yeah," Sirius chuckled "You know that prat. Annoying as always... Wants to hang out with me but all he wants to do is watch dumb movies, it is so depressing..."

Regulus's eyes filled with tears. He hated not being enough for Sirius. He hated not being cool, fun and talkative like Potter. Because that's who Sirius loved, right?

It was hard but Regulus had to face the truth. Sirius was his favorite person but Regulus was not his. He would never be. It would always be someone better.

Regulus was a depressive mess anyway.

[astroboots]

Homecoming tings, more of them in public! Do they hide it? Do they not give a shit? Alternatively, how did the Miller bros find out. I kinda feel like the trio didn't want to like. Draw attention to it, but they weren't gonna police their behavior either. I feel like Will was content to just stay silent and accept the new dynamic but Benny is an idiot and said a quiet thing out loud 😂

Girl and boy Interrupted

Pairing: Santiago Garcia x female reader

Summary: This is the story of how one half of the Miller brothers finds out about you and Santiago and Frankie.

Content: Explicit shenanigans. Semi public? Getting caught in the act with your pants pulled down.

Homecoming Drabbles | Homecoming Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist

Follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

You're sitting on a chair on Molly's porch, trying not to stare. But Santiago isn't making it easy for you today.

He'd been bitching and moaning (as he so often does) about the heat all morning and on the way over. Complaining that he felt like he'd stepped inside a pizza oven, while tugging at his t-shirt, grumbling about how it was sticking to his skin everywhere.

At the time, when you had walked across Molly's law and spotted the water hose, spraying him had seemed like a hilarious idea.

At the time, when Santiago yelped and jumped away, with an indignant scowl on his face, it had been oh-so-satisfying.

At the time, seeing him soaked from head to toe had felt like victory.

Now though, as you spy him across the lawn, golden skin damp and slick with a wet sheen, those ridiculous curls of his glistening against the bright sun like a beacon to guide in lost sailors from the sea, it feels like torture.

He's doing it on purpose isn't he? He must be.

As you think the thought, it's as if Santiago (in tune with you as he always is) is capable of reading your mind. His head turns back to you, meeting your gaze, mouth pulling into an amused smile as he sees you watch him. Then he winks.

It's all it takes. That simple gesture sends an electric jolt through your spine that has you bolt up in your seat and clamp your thighs together to stem the sensation.

Yeah, definitely on purpose.

Asshole.

What exactly is he expecting you to do about the situation?

You're at Molly's, surrounded by friends. Frankie's still not here (running an hour late from work). Tom is tending to the barbecue like it's one of his military operations and Will is standing next to him stoic and disinterested as always, not intervening even though you and him both know that Tom is putting in way too much charcoal.

Shaking your head, you try to focus on the conversation at hand, but it's hopeless. Benjamin is standing next to you and Molly telling you an animated story about... something.

You're not really paying attention in all honesty. But judging from the way the younger Miller is swinging his arms around, he's either talking about wrestling down an alligator or how his newest hobby of crocheting is going.

There's no way you can haul the smirking asshole in your peripheral vision off somewhere to rub that self-satisfied expression of his face the only way you know how.

Not unless you two want to invite a lot of uncomfortable questions about yours and Frankie's relationship with Santiago.

Benny would never let it go, not with his curiosity. Molly is already suspicious. Tom... god you don't even want to imagine having that conversation with that man. As for Will... well actually Will would would probably mind his own business.

He's never been the type to pry. He doesn't get involved unless he absolutely has to and even then, he'll take the path of least resistance, and say as little about it (if anything at all).

Your eyes trail off, and you find yourself watching Santiago from the distance as he takes a sip from the cold bottle of beer. Watching as his Adam's apple in that long gracious throat of his bob with a mesmerizing movement. Watching his still wet t-shirt stick to his chest.

Did you say beacon earlier? Scratch that, the man is a fucking siren, trying to lure you in to your inevitable death and doom with his shameless seduction.

God, he's doing that stupid thing with his lips again. Raising the palm of his hand to his mouth to wipe away the remnants of the sticky beer, then his tongue darts out to lick at his luscious bottom lip. Glimpses of that very same habit of his whenever he's tucked between your thighs invades your vision.

Oh fuck it!

"Santiago!" you announce, and Santiago's head perks up. "Can you help me get another crate of beer from the garage?"

His eyes practically glitters at that. Smile pulling wider and you can almost hear the way he wants to cackle with laughter.

He doesn't of course. Instead all he says is, "of course, cariño," and puts down his beer on the nearest surface and starts making his way to the garage.

If Molly gives you a strange look as you start running towards Santiago, you wouldn't know, because you are too focused on the man in front of you to pay attention to your surroundings.

"That wasn't very subtle was it?" Santiago grins, as he steps into the garage.

The door barely has time to shut behind you before your arms flings around his shoulders and you haul him down to meet your lips.

Whatever the smartass has to say next is lost in a low rumbling moan as you lick into his mouth. He tastes slightly sweet of malty hoppy that sticks to your tongue and goes straight to your head as you drag your teeth against his bottom lip and nip down.

A bit too hard it seems, because Santiago groans into you, shuddering, as his lashes flutter and he looks down on you with half-lidded eyes.

"Fuck, sweetheart, what's gotten into you?"

That's such a ridiculous question. Santiago knows exactly what's gotten into you. Knows exactly what he did to get you as riled up as you are. You don't dignify it with an answer, instead you reach up, fingers tangling into his wet curls as you pull him down against you as you walk him backwards. Not stopping until his chest is pressed up against you. Not until your back hits the edge of some surface that you're not really paying attention to (a workbench? a disused dining table? who the fuck cares). You don't stop until you feel his arms wrap around you and hoist you up on that very same mysterious surface. And then Santiago's caging you in between his thick thighs, that slick mouth on yours as he grinds against you.

The denim of his jeans drags against your groin, the hard bulge of his cock trapped underneath, pressing against the inside of your thigh. Electricity surges through every one of your nerve endings at the contact.

Those clever fingers of his trails the side of your hips, down along the inside of your thighs and then they hook against the lining of your panties as he traces the seam of your cunt.

Fuck! fuck.

"So fucking wet already," he murmurs, fingertip flicking over your clit, "and you weren't even the one who got hosed down like an animal."

Then he pulls his fingers away.

You want to scream. Because that would've been too easy wouldn't it? Of course the bastard was still carrying a grudge about that.

"Santiago," you start, glaring at him even as he smiles back at you. Thumb dragging against the corner of his mouth as his tongue flicks out and he licks both his lip and then the taste of you from his fingers. Doing that stupid thing with his lips that got you here in the first place.

God you could kill him.

"Santiago, we don't have time."

"Don't worry cariño, I'll make the time"

The man has no fucking common sense. Did he forget that you're at a barbecue with your friends? Friends who are waiting for the two of you to come back with beer supplies. Friends who don't know that Santiago is fucking his best friend and his best friend's husband? Friends who will be asking a lot of questions and probably have suspicions if you don't come back with said beers in the next few seconds????!

"I'm not playing this game with you today, Santiago."

Reaching up, you're growling as you grab him by the back of his neck and pull him back down to you.

"I need you to just fuck me," you order as your free hand is already fumbling at the front button of his jeans, wrenching down the zipper.

The asshole chuckles in reply. A breathless boyish laugh, as he finally decides to help you instead of being obstructive and reaches down to pull down his jeans the rest of the way down his hips.

"Fuck you huh?" He grabs himself in one hand, spreading your legs wider with his other, as he positions himself at your entrance and for a moment you forget what it is like to breathe.

"Think I need that too," he says, mouth still pulled into that arrogant angle. But you can hear from the shakiness of his words, the way his breath stutters in your ear that he needs this just as bad as you do.

Then he slides into you, inch by sweet addictive inch, arms bracketing your side as his hips cant up and into you. The relief you feel as he fills you up can't be described with words.

Pleasure swims through your veins, fast and overwhelming until your vision goes white and fuzzy with it.

"God Boa, you feel so--" you don't hear the rest.

Your hearing must've gone along with your vision, because you can't even hear your own moans anymore. Even though you know from the way your throat scratches with a raw burn that you must be making noises loud enough to wake the dead. And in some distant remote location where your sole remaining brain cell resides, it is telling you that you need to be quiet. Need to be careful so that you don't get caught.

But you can't. Can't stop and can't care. Not when it feels this good. Not when Santiago is thrusting into you deep and reckless, both of you chasing the pleasure of it as that familiar heat buzzes pleasantly in your veins.

And if it wasn't for the fact that you're both so gone, maybe you would've noticed. Would've noticed as the garage door to the side opens. Would've noticed the way sunlight floods the space. But you don't.

You don't notice anything at all until Santiago stills and refuses to move even as you wrap your legs around him and try to pull him closer.

Don't even notice that Santiago is looking away from you, eyes burst wide with horror.

You don't notice until it's entirely too late that in front of the open garage door, Captain William Miller is standing with wide eyes and frozen stiff shoulders.

Your stomach drops to the concrete floor and tries to scuba dive into the soil beneath and reach its way to Australia.

Shit. oh shit. oh shit! SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT!

"It's not what it looks like," Santiago says.

And oh god. That's the most cliched and stupidest thing to say. It's not what it looks like? What exactly does it not look like?

Does it not look like Santiago is balls deep inside you with his jeans pooled around his ankles?

Thankfully, before Santiago gets a chance to dig himself even deeper, Will interrupts him with a curt, "don't."

He averts his gaze, turning on his feet as if to leave, but then he stops mid-rotation. "Does Frankie know?"

You look to Santiago, the man of many words in every situation. His mouth parts, but no words seem to come out. The man who always knows what to say has finally run out of words.

"Ye-yes," you manage to stutter out.

"And he's okay with it yeah?"

What's the answer to that? Do you say more? Do you explain? Do you tell Will that Frankie is part of this-- well whatever this is??

Jesus, fuck, how do you even begin to explain this?

You look at Santiago again, and he looks back at you, and without a word you know the same line of questions is racing through his mind. There's no adequate explanation that would begun to unravel what this is. Instead the only thing both of you do is nod dumbly in coordination.

There is a minute change in his facial expression and if William Miller hadn't been a peripheral part of your life for as many years as it's been, it would've been far too easy to miss. The straight grim line of his mouth relaxing ever so slightly, the line of his brow smoothing out, as he tilts his head by a fraction of an inch to give you an imperceptible nod.

"Alright," he says.

Then he just... leaves, gently closing the door behind himself with a soft click of the hinge, leaving you and Santiago, still inside you, still with his pants pulled to his ankles, in shock and confusion.

And that's the story of how Will finds out about Santiago and you, but decides to mind his own business.

A/N: Nonny I can't tell you enough how much I LOVED this ask because before you sent it in it just so happened that @thirstworldproblemss and I had been discussing and cackling at this very scenario of how Will and the others find out. So thank you so so much for sending this in so that I had an excuse to write this silly thing out and share it with you all. This one is dedicated to you nonny!

[local-hellhound-steals-spaghetti]

Deconstructing the "Peggy and Molly Friendship" Narrative

Molly the Australian Magpie had been “reunited” with Peggy and the family that stole him as a fledgling and raised him without any wildlife carer license or experience.

Thanks to the Queensland Premier wanting to score some extra points in an election year, he “made it happen.” And legitimised the collective delusion of the public that genuinely thinks that this was a completely okay and reasonable situation. And believed the notion that Molly, a territorial social species of bird that had compromised development and was taken out of his home range, could simply "fly away".

So I went through their Instagram to see how this madness unfolded. It clearly began as a “Peggy” instagram before the stolen fledgling joined in.

These people are so adamant that there were no parents around but I don’t believe it for a second. Molly was a juvenile when he was taken - you always see fledglings around his size and age on the ground foraging for food. Mum and dad are not always around but they are never far away and are critical to a young magpie's developmental period.

They claim that Molly was sick. Yet they never make any mention of taking him to the vet. Molly makes distinctive fledgling feeding calls, the sounds he would have used to beg for food from his parents. It's tragic to see this after seeing how magpies raise their fledglings in my own backyard.

One of their first posts is feeding him what looks to be mealworms next to their pet dog. Aussie Magpie Fledglings at this age are learning everything about how to survive from their parents. They fed Molly WITH their dog. What does that teach? That dogs are not only safe but also a potential source of food/reinforcement.

As Peggy’s Instagram becomes Peggy and Molly’s Instagram, this happens:

Molly gets attacked by other birds. Because guess what? This is a territorial bird who has been removed from his original territory and away from the protection and guidance of his parents.

So, because these people have no idea what they’re doing, they’re Shocked that this would happen and that the wild bird they’re unwittingly conditioning into their pet can’t defend himself.

But yeah I’m sure teaching Molly tug of war with a dog is exactly the survival skills he needs as a wild bird!!!!!!

(I’m losing my goddamn mind)

Another “release attempt” fails because apparently we did a whoopsie and let him fly out in a storm??? Yet again, this poor bird is having traumatic experiences in the wild that he was not prepared for and is, unsurprisingly, seeking humans - which he has now associated heavily with food and safety.

Meanwhile, as they’re “raising” Molly, this insanity happens:

Yeah because that’s why your staffy is spontaneously lactating. She wants to mother a bird. It couldn’t possibly be that she’s had a bird pecking at her nipples and stimulating them or that she might have a serious medical issue. Interestingly, they do take Peggy to the vet. A luxury that doesn’t seem to be afforded to Molly who was also apparently sick (even though he seems to be pretty bright, alert and feeding in all the videos of when he was “rescued”)

Anyway the saga continues with the clear intention of making content now - the socialisation and habituation continues during Molly’s most critical juvenile years. They talk about how Peggy is helping Molly learn how to find food as if they're still intended for him to be a wild bird. But it's clear this bird isn't going anywhere.

At this time, Molly would be learning how to find food, how to socialise with other magpies and he’d eventually be joining a juvenile or bachelor flock where he’d continue to develop his social skills as a social and intelligent bird, wrestling and playing with his flock mates.

But no, he’s learning to mimic barks and is harassing the hell out of this poor staffy. The family just lets it all happen without any sort of support or advocacy for Peggy.

Haha isn't zoonotic disease vectors and a confused bird with no idea of how to interact appropriately with a dog just hilarious? It’s funny because of the silly caption they made, right?

As their "relationship" progresses, Peggy shows more discomfort.

This dog shows multiple stress behaviours. She is not friends with this bird she is TOLERATING this bird as he pecks at her face. She's rarely relaxed in these "play" interactions. She licks her lips, turns her head, yawns and even bares her teeth. But if it has a cute soundtrack behind it, I guess that means they’re having fun, right?

Even the interactions where Peggy's isn't stressed are still uncomfortable to watch. Molly shows immense frustration and confusion, following and wanting to be involved but being ignored or tolerated.

Molly should be with wild birds, playing how they play and not being merely tolerated:

Molly had a chance to be homed with a qualified wildlife rehabber or even get the chance to get to live with other Australian Magpies. But because people fell for the story and the media regurgitated it without questioning it for a second - he'll never get that chance again.

Molly was failed by the Queensland government for not being seized immediately. There were numerous complaints as soon as their story started to become viral that this was sending a bad message to the public and that this bird was not being given the care he needed.

It's too late, now. Molly will live in a confused limbo, not knowing what he's supposed to be and will never get to live with his own species.

And all the people that sent death threats to wildlife carers (who were trying to fix the damage caused) will pat themselves on the back about what a good job they did.

[miheartsedthings]

Part Seven

NSFW ModernBilly x FemReader (Minors DNI)

Summary: Nancy isn't impressed with how you're handling your relationship with Billy, leading to a confrontation neither of you saw coming.

Warnings: Fighting, Angst, Dubious consent, pregnancy risk.

At first, you didn't notice the faces Nancy was making as you told your story. You sat across from her at lunch, so caught up in the details, adding dramatic flourish to make the whole thing as fresh for her as it was for you. The fight with Billy which had felt relationship-ending. The smashed vases and Molly Kellerman. Then, the apology. You arrived at the little slip of envelope with heartfelt joy, which is when you finally noticed her. She was staring back at you with skeptical eyes, one of her brows cocked in judgment. You shrunk, finally understanding why people called her Princess Wheeler. 

“What?” You asked. She sighed. 

“Well, I mean, I know you like him but…are you really gonna forgive him just like that?”

You were a little taken aback. 

“I mean…I know we have a lot to work on. But he apologized and that's not easy for him.” 

She rolled her eyes. 

“Yeah, he apologized for one thing and then did like 50 additional things wrong.” 

“It's complicated, Nancy.” 

“Is it? I mean listen to the story you just told me. He was being violent and disrespectful at Amber's house, which probably cost her parents lots of money. Then he was almost inside another girl when you caught him-” 

“He wasn't gonna go through with it.” 

“Yeah, so he says. You put way too much faith in him when his actions are telling a whole different story.” 

You couldn't help feeling hurt by this. Defensive in the face of her accusations. 

“I already made it clear that his behavior has to change. He knows that. But no one gets by in life without making mistakes. Sometimes you have to be patient with people.” 

She scoffed, crossing her arms. 

“Is it patience, or is it being a doormat?” 

Anger flared up in you. 

“Take that back,” you said. “maybe I'm more forgiving than others but I'm not a doormat.” 

“I will not take it back! He's hurting my friend, how am I supposed to forgive that?” 

“Forget I said anything.” 

You gathered your stuff and stood to leave, making her stand, too. She rushed after you as you went out into the hall. 

“Y/N, you know I’m right. You’re being blinded by your feelings for him and it’s making you dumb!.”

You spun to face her, the two of you were alone in the hall now, your raising voices echoing down the empty corridor. 

“If you think I’m so dumb why are you friends with me?” You asked. 

“I didn’t say you’re dumb, I said he’s making you act dumb.” 

“It’s crazy how little faith you have in me. Don’t you think I could tell if someone was taking advantage of me?”

“Obviously you can’t,” she spit back, “Do you know how many girls like you my mom sees at the clinic? They mess up their lives over some pathetic asshole. I never thought you’d be like one of them, but maybe you are.” 

Her words stung you quiet and you fell back a step, searching her face. 

“Are you serious?” 

“Y/n-”

“As if your mom has room to talk.” 

Something flickered through her eyes. 

“Excuse you?” 

“I’ve seen your mom at the pool, Nanc. Eye-fucking a seventeen year old kid whenever she gets the chance. She’s like a cat in heat, it’s gross.” 

Her gaze went cold. 

“Shut up.” 

“Why? If she’s gonna look down at other women we might as well talk about her. Do you know what kind of shit she used to text Billy when he first moved here? Your dad would have a heartattack.” 

Her eyes were burning with anger. 

“As if he doesn’t toss himself around. As if he wouldn’t bang anything with legs if he wasn’t with you. Hell, he probably does it anyway.” 

Your hand flew before you can stop it, making contact with Nancy’s already reddened cheek. The two of you shared a moment of stunned silence before she lashed out at you. Suddenly, the two of you were exchanging blows. A crowd quickly gathers, jeering and hollering as you two wrestle each other to the ground, slapping and clawing and then punching each other. She got a fistful of your hair as you swung blindly, making contact though you couldn’t see where. 

“Hey! HEY!” 

Someone’s yanking you up but the two of you clawed and kicked, desperate to inflict as much pain as possible. Then, you were pulled away, all you saw of her was a rat’s nest of brown hair and blood before you were whisked off to the principal's office. All of it was over in less than a minute. 

You sat in the office with an ice pack on your fist. The side of your head was ringing with pain from where your former best friend had taken a fistful of your hair. You rolled over the fight with Nancy in your mind, amazed at the violence you'd shown each other. Two hours ago, you never could've imagined hitting her, yet you had. Then again, you never thought she'd be so judgemental. Sure, you can admit, she's not wrong to worry about Billy, but it isn't her place to force you into anything. You have your boundaries, and if the time ever came when he crossed the line, you would leave Billy. You know you would. Until then, she should understand. 

“Ms. L/n,”

You looked up to see the secretary waving you into the inner office where the principal's was. On the way in, you passed Nancy and her mom. Nancy held an ice pack to her cheek and avoided your eyes. Her mother, on the other hand, glared at you. You received a week of detention and of course, they called your mom. Leaving the office you saw Billy waiting for you in the hall. His eyes went wide when he sees you, already unable to contain his mishievious smile. 

“Tell me you’re not skipping class,” you said, dragging your feet to him. 

“Baby, what the fuck? You and Wheeler?” 

You sighed, a headache still thumping through your skull. 

“Don’t even ask.”

“Don’t need to,” he says. He turned your head to one side and then the other, examining you for damage. “She couldn’t touch you.” he added with a smirk. You couldn’t help being pleased by this, but groaned and fell into his arms. He pat your back. “C’mon, you’re alright.” 

You rubbed your eyes, mumbling into his chest. 

“God, my mom’s gonna be pissed.” 

“Come over to mine. Old man’s in Nevada on business.” 

You shook your sore head. 

“And piss her off more? What am I even gonna say when she asks me what happened?” 

“Tell er Wheeler’s a bitch,” you can’t help chuckling. 

“Stop,” you whined. 

He rubbed your shoulder as the bell rang. At the same time, your phone vibrated in your pocket. Your mom was there to pick you up. 

“Why? That’s what happened, right?” 

You looked up at him, finally, and noticed that behind all his joking and his lighthearted smirk was a hard stone of concern. 

“She’s worried, which, on Nancy, looks like being a bitch. And she said some really off the wall shit about me and about you, and when I told her the truth about her mom she didn’t take it well.” 

He scoffed, pulling your tired body into a hug. 

“Don’t say I never warned you.” 

“You warned me,” you admitted, “But fuck.”

. . .

“So you’re the bitch who fights her friends over a boy?”

You sat watching the trees roll by the window, regretting the grind of your mom’s voice against your ears, reviving the last of your headache. 

“No,” you said. You’re careful to keep your voice clear of any edge. 

“No? That’s what you did, isn’t it? She told you some hard truth about that raggedy boy and you got so mad-” 

“Why are you taking her side?” 

“I’m not taking her side, obviously you beat her ass, now it’s time to deal with you. You think it’s cute fighting over some boy? You think that’s gonna get you somewhere in life?”

What a dumb question. You conceal your eye-roll. 

“No.” 

“What did she say? I wanna know what’s worth getting in a fight and jeopardizing your future.” 

The car fell into an agitated silence as she waited for you to speak. You sat there leaning against the door, leg bouncing, eyes closed, praying for the thumping in your brain to stop. You saw Nancy’s face, flushed in indignation. Embarrassment crept up your throat when you remembered how excited you’d been to tell her about the little note. The tiny victory of Billy’s apology. It was a victory, but it isn’t exactly untrue that Billy’s behavior has to change. So why does it feel so shitty the way she says it? 

“Not gonna tell me? Then it must be about that boy.” 

Your head rung and you squeezed your eyes shut as hard as you could. When you arrived home, you made a direct line for the stairs, only to be called back by your dad who extended his hand. 

“Phone,” he said. You groaned and handed it over, watching him turn it off (Thankfully. Your life would truly be in danger if they discovered your text thread with Billy) and place it on a high shelf in the pantry. You spent your evening absorbed in homework before getting ready for bed early. By then your headache had faded, and all that’s left of the fight was the lingering hurt of lost friendship. No matter how you tried to lay there without thinking, your mind scrolled back to the fun you’d had at the party. The way she’d been there for you during the pregnancy scare and spent the whole day cheering you up. A painful feeling sank into your chest at the thought that you’d never talk to her again. 

Maybe you had been a bad friend to her. It wasn’t impossible to imagine. You did get selfish sometimes, and Billy took up a lot of your emotional energy. For all you knew, Nancy had been going through things herself and never felt she was able to tell you. Then, the thought flips on its side. How were you supposed to know she needed support if she never said it? You flipped over, unable to find comfort. It’s not your fault she held things in and got all full of resentment. So why do you feel like you failed? 

Maybe you were being stupid about Billy…maybe a little more pliant and patient than a person ought to be. You’ve only been together a handful of months and he’s made you cry so many times. There’s plenty of reason to break up. Except that the thought of it turns your stomach. 

You flipped onto your back with a sigh, staring at the darkened ceiling. Okay, so maybe you were accepting more than you should from him, but it was only to balance out all the contrary treatment he’d gotten thus far. You saw the stark lack of people in his life who loved and prioritized him. Rarely, if ever has he felt safe, and after spending years like that, especially formative years, one can’t be expected to be a perfect partner right off the bat. 

You had your boundaries with his behavior, you made your feelings known, and in the best way he could, he honored them. Plus, he was getting better all the time. You were certain he’d only keep developing the skills to be a better partner and if he didn’t…you flipped onto your stomach. 

If things never changed and your relationship remained in a cycle of secrecy and blame…then you’d handle it. Meaning, of course, you’d leave. The pain in your chest was re-doubled to imagine this. A lost friend, and then a lost love. And what would that make you? 

Your thoughts carried on in a similar, muddled fashion for the next hour until the strain in your body finally pulled you into a dreamless sleep. Two little taps woke you up. You laid there blinking in darkness trying to register your surroundings, then it happens again. Two tiny clicks against glass. Your eyes went to the window and after a moment you realized what you were seeing. A hand tapping the glass. 

You hopped up, rubbing your eyes and crossed the room quickly. When you let Billy in, he was careful to swing his legs into the room without a sound. You took his shoes and tucked them under your study table, where a towel was waiting for them. You'd come to think of it as his Welcome mat. He took you into a hug and, still groggy, you sagged against his body. He closed the window and half carried you to bed where he laid you down before shedding a couple layers. His jacket and jeans got tucked under the bed, and he crawled under the blanket with you in his boxer briefs and T-shirt. 

His warmth filled in the space behind you as his body came in flush with yours. He trailed a few kisses along your neck and ear, a little sigh expressing his contentment. You made your own small sound, wiggling back to press yourself into his body. 

“Couldn't sleep?”

Your voice was low, hardly rising above a whisper. Billy was holding you across the torso with one arm, while the other found your hands and laced his fingers in with yours. 

“You never told me the full story.” He said. His breath was soft against your ear, rising goosebumps along your neck. 

“Mmm. Nothing to tell.” 

There was a stretch of quiet. In it were little gestures, the slow swipe of his thumb across your knuckles, his teeth nibbling the lobe of your ear. You knew what he was asking. Of course, he'd want to know what had driven you to fight your best friend, but you couldn't say it. 

“Well, if it was nothing then you shouldn't have kicked her ass over it,” he said with a little chuckle. 

Something about that struck a nerve. 

“I told you she said something fucked up,” you said. He sensed the tension in your body and turned his face into your neck, as you spoke, breathing softly, his arm curling yours in so he was hugging all of you to his chest. “why do you even wanna know?” 

Now, he had you all collected in his arms, and you couldn't deny how good it felt. How happy you were that he'd shown up. You turned your head until your lips are close enough to touch. He returned the kiss with that private urgency which sometimes took him over. It seems he needed something just as much as you did. He props himself up on his elbow so he could look down at you, the lamppost light outside your window offering plenty of visibility. 

“I won't get mad.” 

You hadn't been prepared for those gentle words. They slipped right through your defenses and pierced you. He was looking at you so sincerely. And so, quietly, you explained the upsetting back and forth from that morning. All the while he watched with intent focus, and remarkable patience. Proving your point all along. You didn't know that he'd ever been so quiet and non-defensive while hearing someone's unkind opinions about him. As you explained, your eyes took breaks from his, falling to where your fingers idly twirled a loc of blond curls. 

When you finished, you found yourself exhausted, your chest aching again. Your eyes burning. 

“So that's it.” You finish, “she's not my friend anymore.” 

Your voice broke and he pulled you close, kissing your forehead. He said you were fine. You didn't need her, and you knew the intent was to uplift but you just felt smaller. You tried to swallow the first sob that came out, but he was so close he heard it and hugged you closer. Kissing your neck. 

“Baby,” he said, softly. He wanted to say more. He wanted to kiss your ear and say baby, my little baby. Really suffocate you with the full force of his affection. But still, even with you, he was terrified of being overwhelmed by these emotions. He wanted to love and care for you from a solid place where he could remain in control of himself. If he spoke too much tonight he knew he would cry. Which he couldn't allow. Not while it was your turn to cry and his turn to comfort. So he fell quiet, and rocked you a little in his arms. 

He kept you. Kissing your neck and holding you so close, and inside regret and anger needled you. You could used more words from him. Added reassurances. 

“She wouldn't listen to me,” you added this useless detail, hoping it triggered extra comforting and he did amp up the tender caressing of your back. He told you she was wrong not to listen. A real friend would listen. But it all served to make you sadder, and you started to cry harder than you could contain. Nancy was your only friend in this town. The only one with whom you could talk about anything without worrying she'd get angry. At least, you thought she was. The loss was monumental and you cried shuddering sobs into Billy's shoulder. 

The more you cried, the more desperately Billy wanted to calm you. Rubbing and kissing wasn't working, you were heartbroken over the loss of your friend. As much as he was battling to keep the thought at bay, he knew it was his fault. The way he was had hurt you yet again. Left you inconsolable. Something in him threatened to break apart if he couldn't fix it. A shiver invaded his body, a thin shudder under the skin of his hands as he held you, touching, rubbing, searching for the friction you needed. 

Shoulders and hips, he massaged down your back and kneaded your ass. All the while you cried. Shattering him. He wanted to say he was sorry for fucking up your friendship. An urgent desire to be forgiven coiled tight in his chest, a taut rubberband threatening to snap. He made a sound, then stifled it by kissing you. His cheeks wet with your tears, his mouth swallowing your mewling sobs. His tongue tasting your salt. His hand was under your chin and you felt it as an insistence to remember that he loved you. In actuality, he couldn't risk you turning away. 

You could’ve easily turned out of his kiss in disgust. Realizing that he was the problem all along. He wasn't worth the trouble. He kissed you harder, stealing your breath, and in a sudden flush of inspiration, sought to overwhelm you. If you couldn't think, you couldn't come to the truth. He rushed, not exactly gentle as his hands removed your thin t shirt and panties. His own nakedness coming so abruptly you were startled by the rush of his skin, his hardness pushed between your spreading thighs. All the while he kept you tangled in frenzied kissing. 

You broke away just enough to breathe and already he was pushing into you. 

“Billy.” your voice was soft and warbled and useless. He shoved his length into you, earning a strangled whimper from your chest. His hand curled around your neck in an effort to keep you quiet and still. Your hand found his chest while the other grabbed his wrist, and yet you knew there was no fighting it. There wasn’t air enough to breathe let alone speak, and truthfully, he felt good inside you. As always. 

His mouth was hot and full of need and his weight rolled onto you as he buried himself fully inside. You were filled to the brink, certain if he was any bigger you couldn't handle it. A chesty groan vibrated in you, in the relative silence of the room, the slight squeaking of bedsprings. He fucked you deeply but without much speed, his skin flush to yours, and suddenly you felt like he was trying to hide all of himself within you. His whole body burrowed to your center where he could remain. 

You realized then that he was feeling something he hadn't explained. His face was obscured, either in kissing you and thus too close to observe, or tucked sweetly into your neck. You pulled his hand from your throat and he rested it on your clavicle. You kissed his cheek a few times, and then his neck. You lifted your hips to meet the rutting of his. He was heavy, his hot skin forcing you to sweat, but you felt no desire to escape. 

You came with his hand clamped over your mouth, legs shuddering around him while he muttered curses into the clammy skin of your neck. Your insides were slick with cum, but your head was too cloudy to worry about that. That would be tomorrow's problem. For now, you let yourself be held, and fell asleep thinking of nothing. 

. . .

In the morning Billy was gone, your window cracked. You rushed to the bathroom full of anxieties. The risk of a UTI the most pressing. Luckily, emptying your bladder felt as it always did and you were free to move on to the next issue. Pregnancy. You’d need money for a pill and thought all through your morning routine about how to get it. Finally, you settled on telling your parents the school was fundraising for a children’s hospital. It’s a terrible thing to lie about, but you figured in a roundabout way it was alright. They’d think they were helping sick kids and really they were preventing unwanted grandchildren. These things were in a similar vein. 

“Nancy’s giving 60,” you said to them over a quick breakfast. 

“Oh? And that matters to you why? I thought you didn’t fuck with her.” Your mom said, giving you cool, scrutinizing eyes. You turned your back to retrieve orange juice. 

“We’re not funding any silly feuds between you and your friends,” your dad added. 

“There’s no feud,” you said, pouring yourself a glass. “I just don’t wanna be the only one giving less.” 

You knew that would get them. As much as they didn’t want you to realize it, your parents compared themselves to other people. They didn’t like the idea of you doing the same. They looked at each other for a long moment, and you saw their desire to discourage this behavior butting up against their need to be on par or superior to other families in town. They gave you 70.

To be continued ~

Thanks for reading ~

[thebest-medicine]

By the Fire Light (AKA Who Would Win In A Tickle Fight?)

Summary: mighty nein shenanigans. relatively early campaign fireside party chill time… you know how it is with silly tieflings when they’re bored.

A/N: based on this fan question and the subsequent answer ehehe (link to vid clip)

[AO3 Link]

Words: 3026

…

Nott and Caleb are gathered rather close, not unusual for them on an evening around the fire. She’s going through some of the trinkets, treasures, and other little things she stole over the last few days. A few gold pieces, someone’s pen, a dagger…

Caleb turns from examining her spoils, looking at the rest of their party across the flames. Jester is smiling, wriggling in her seat a bit as she animatedly speaks with Mollymauk. Fjord is sitting not far from them, though he doesn’t seem to be contributing to the conversation. Beau is gathered up as near to Yasha as she can be without looking too desperate, pointedly not looking directly at her to avoid losing her train of thought or saying something stupid. Caleb feels a warmth settle in his chest, a strange contentment he has not felt for a very long time.

“Caleb! Do you and Nott want some wine?” Jester asks sweetly, holding out a bottle that she and Molly are sharing.

Caleb’s mouth lifts a little on the side. “Sure. Thank you, Jester.” He answers for both of them.

Nott reaches into one of the coin purses she had snagged, and finds it goes much deeper than she thought. “Oooh!” She exclaims. “I think we’ve got something interesting here!”

Jester brings over 2 cups of wine for the pair of them. “What is it, Nott?”

“Feels like a bag of holding! Wonder what’s in here!” She stands, wiggles her fingers. “Money? Perhaps?” And places them into the opening.

She pulls nothing out. “Well that’s a shame. How about weapons?” And she dunks her hand again.

This time it connects with something. A smooth, heavy handle of a weapon. She pulls it with a grin, and finds a large black mace.

“Cool! Can you swing that?” Jester claps. “Are there more?”

“Let’s see!” Nott thinks again of weapons and puts her hand in again.

…

A few minutes later, several daggers, arrows, and a shortsword, are all she has pulled from the bag.

“Should we try to like, dump it?” Jester asks. “That can’t be it.”

“Um. Maybe not here… now…” Nott suggests.

“Aw, ok, later then.” She climbs back over near Molly and Fjord.

“Hey, what do you guys think would be like, the weirdest thing we might find in there?” She asks.

“I dunno. Whoever had it seems like they were kind of boring.” Molly says, glancing at the small cache of weapons Nott has removed.

“Maybe like… a big, huge sex toy!” Jester theorizes. “Nott try thinking about sex toys and try to pull out something.”

Nott laughs a little. “I am not going to do that… Be my guest though!”

“Aww. Don’t be shy.”

“Not shy. I’m just- who knows where something like that’s been.” She shudders.

“There could like, definitely be blood and guts and brains on the weapons you pulled out.” Jester teases. “But fine… um. What were we talking about before Molly?”

“Who do you think could handle the most ale?”

Jester turns to the others, smiling and raising an eyebrow as to direct the question to them.

Nott smirks. “I think I-“

“I think Yasha probably could drink the most.” Caleb looks at Nott as she squints at him. “I mean, physically. Without getting sick or passing out.” He holds his hands up in a small defense at Nott’s small scowl.

Beau nods in agreement, and Yasha lets out a small laugh.

“Umm…” Jester taps her finger on her chin. “Who do you think would win if you were wrestling? Beau or Yasha?”

…

A few more hypothetical questions go by, and a pattern seems to form.

“Is every answer just gonna be Yasha?” Molly laughs. “We need to ask about some other people.”

“Ooh ooh I have one! Who do you think would win in a tickle fight? Nott or Caleb?”

“Interesting.” Molly says as he turns to regard the pair sitting opposite the fire.

Caleb stops drinking, just managing not to cough, and fixes Jester with a bewildered stare. It takes a moment for the words to process in his mind. He replies, somewhat snarky. “Hm…what a question.”

“Is there already a victor? Care to share?” Mollymauk waggles his eyebrows.

“Well I, uh,” Nott begins, turning to look at Caleb, “I guess it never came up in our time together?”

Jester leans in. “But didn’t you guys ever snuggle real close when it was cold? You never ever tried to tickle him?” She seems to be in genuine disbelief. “But, like, he’s so grumpy all the time.”

“Ja, we were not wasting our time with such childish things.” Caleb speaks pointedly.

Nott catches a hint of pink creeping up the back of Caleb’s neck and ears that did not seem to be there a minute ago, something not from warm brightness of the fire.

“Just, what was it? Conning people and stealing?” Mollymauk laughs. “Yes, very mature of you.”

Caleb moves his eyes over to Molly. “We did what we had to, to get by.”

“Okay, but like, smiling and laughing is very, very important!” Jester insists with a bit of a whine. “Did you at least tell jokes?”

“I can be funny.” Caleb huffs at them.

“We are losing track of the question!” Jester declares. “I think that Nott would probably win, her sleight of hand is crazy.” She turns from Molly to Nott. “I bet you make a good tickler. Are you ticklish?”

Nott smiles shyly, ducking her head. “To be honest, I used to be, but it was, uh, a long time ago.”

“Why don’t you guys just have a tickle fight right now?” Jester suggests excitedly. “Or we all could, I mean-“

“You.” Caleb’s voice is deeper as he fixes his friend with a glare at her suggestion, pointing at her accusatorially. “Shut the fuck up.” There’s a tiny wiggle of his mouth, a falter in his stern expression. It’s gone in an instant.

“Are you ticklish though?” Molly prods on. What a team they make, these two strangely colored, trouble making tieflings.

Caleb rolls his eyes, looking petulant like an unhappy child. “I am so done with this question.”

“No you’re not.” Mollymauk chides.

Caleb’s eyes light up with something akin to fear, though not as serious, nervousness perhaps. They flick to Molly.

“Seriously,” The tiefling wiggles excitedly. “Are you ticklish?”

If Caleb could cast using his eyes, Molly is almost certain that he would be six feet under from the look the wizard gives him. Caleb takes a breath, steadies himself, tries to take control of the situation. “I’m sure that I am, and I’m-“

Mollymauk snorts and laughs along. “What do you mean you’re ‘sure that you are’?”

“-and I’m also holding a mace.” Caleb finishes harshly as he points the weapon Nott had just found a few minutes earlier out at the group, slowly panning between them.

“Oh.” Beau laughs. “Are you gonna take me in melee?” She’s suddenly much closer than she was a moment ago.

“No offense, Caleb, but you’re not very strong.” Jester’s smile conveys some hint of sympathy despite the clear overtone of mischief. “I think we could probably all take you in a tickle fight, really.” She wiggles her fingers at him and he jumps back an inch.

“Well…” Caleb can’t keep up the angry facade in the face of the trickster tiefling. He deflates a bit. “It seems, then, that you have an answer. Is your curiosity satisfied?” He takes a step back.

“Nope.” Molly answers instead of her. “Who knows? You could surprise us.”

“You know there’s only one way this conversation is going to end.” Beau rubs her palms together.

Caleb swallows a whine in his throat. His eyes dart between his companions, looking for an opening to rush far enough out of the way to get his hands into his component pouch. And then still, if they got to him before he could get the verbal components out…

An hopeless groan falls from Caleb’s lips as he finds himself cornered, pinned under each of his friends’ intense gaze. “What can I do to convince you to let this go?” He tries.

“You can let us tickle you!” Jester supplies with an impatient whine.

“Well that rather defeats the..” Caleb trails off. He sighs.

A mage hand appears above his own grip on the mace. “I think I’ll be taking this back.” Nott’s voice interrupts. “Don’t want you falling on it and hurting yourself.”

A small smile is working it’s way into Caleb’s slightly exasperated expression as he looks at his goblin companion, then lets go of the mace, which is swiftly carried out of range.

“Well, well. No more mace, Magic Man, now you’re just… what was it?” Molly continues in a chopped attempt at Caleb’s accent. “Sure that you are ticklish?”

Not knowing what else to do, Caleb backs away from the group slowly. He only makes it a few steps before Beau is on him in a flash. A millisecond of struggling before Beau has him grappled from behind, his arms pinned out to the sides in a full-Nelson. A desperate, strangled sound comes out of his throat as he is held steadfast, a grinning monk pressed against his back. “Beauregard.” He tries. “I will kill you.”

“Yeah, how are you gonna do that?”

Caleb panics for a moment when he realizes he cannot pull his arms in enough to cover any part of himself, his torso, his face. Gods, what he must look like, blush ripening on his face.

Jester practically pounces in front of him. “Oooo where are you ticklish, Caleb?” She contemplates giddily.

Caleb catches the start of a laugh in his throat; the silly absurdity of his companions has been growing on him. He stares up at the sky and pointedly not at any of the Nein. “That seems very unwise to tell you right now.”

“Are you ticklish here?” She presses on, prodding into the softness of his belly a few times.

Caleb’s breath hitches. “Mist- Jester!” He bites his lip, squirming already under just a few pokes.

“That would be a yessss.” She giggles, continues teasing. “What about here?” Two fingers walk over to his side to pinch a few times. “You’re so soft, Caleb!”

Caleb’s legs are practically dancing in place as he tries to wiggle out of the path of Jester’s fingers. “Plehehease-“ He gasps as he chokes back a laugh.

“Yeah you are pretty ticklish there too.” She turns to the rest of their party. “Are you guys gonna help me or what?”

“Nein! No- plehease do not!” Caleb almost shrieks out as Jester pinches up his ribs. He feebly kicks out as she climbs higher.

Yasha puts a hand on Molly’s shoulder when he starts to creep closer to Caleb. She looks between him and Beau. “Listen, I’m all for finding out, but he might not have the same… tolerance.. as you or I for this type of mischief.” She squeezes Molly’s shoulder and he turns to look at her, a little disappointed somewhere in his mind that he probably wouldn’t see what the wizard looked like completely breathless, ravished, unable to stop laughing and smiling tonight. She continues. “We don’t want him to run away on us in the middle of the night.” He gives her an understanding look.

Jester is deterred temporarily by his leather and books, thank gods, but then she just moves right up under Caleb’s arm. His arms flail about (as much as they can), absent any pattern, an outlet for the nervous, ticklish energy building up what feels like exponentially in his system.

“Alright, fine, don’t have to ALL get him right now but, like…” Jester wiggles the fingers on the hand not tickling under Caleb’s arm. She continues talking as he fights unsuccessfully against his laughter. “It really would be faster finding out all his spots if I had a helping hand or two.”

“Noho- Whyhyhy!“ Caleb chokes out between what are dangerously close to full on laughs.

Fjord is snickering to the left of them. He holds his arms up defensively. “I’m not trying to get on the bad side of our wizard.” He takes a step back, content to observe.

Caleb feels Jester pull back from under his arm. He’s still frantically fighting to keep his eyes shut or pointed upward, to will his blush to die down, to squelch the laughter bubbling up in his belly and into his throat. Then, there are fingers against the side of his neck and Caleb is scrunching down as best he can. “Nohohoho-“ Caleb whimpers giddily, a smile plastered on his face.

“Your neck is really ticklish, Caleb!” Jester cheers. “Well, like, pretty much all of you is so far, but-“ She brings her other hand over to trace a path down his other side from under his arm to his hip. Caleb shrinks away from the contact, still awkwardly curled in on his neck as much as he can. “I guess earlier I should have just asked if there was anywhere you weren’t ticklish.”

Caleb’s mind is swirling with the teasing words from Jester. He can’t stop thinking about how everyone can see him, hear him, is watching him right now. He feels - he’s not sure.. It’s intense and silly and unbearable and tingly. Some part of him grasps at the word fun. Still, everyone is looking at him.

“Hey, can you?” Caleb barely registers Molly‘s words, luckily he’s not talking to him. Beau seems to pick up the gesture and question Molly is asking of her as Caleb feels a nod behind him. “I wanna try something.”

Caleb is vaguely aware of his legs shifting and his body moving closer to the ground. His knees bend as Beau sits down behind him, keeping his arms in place, and tucking him easily into her lap despite his wriggling struggles.

Caleb kicks at the air while Jester leans back in from the side to poke and prod at different little spots along his torso. He jumps at each touch. Giggles start falling out almost freely.

Molly grips firmly on Caleb’s ankle and for the first time his eyes make contact with a member of the Nein. “Don’t.” Caleb grins at him nervously.

“I’ll be nice.” Molly assures him with a wink, tugging off his shoe. He can feel Caleb attempt to kick a little, but it seems more for show than anything. Maybe the wizard is just that weak.

Molly scribbles three claws against the ball of Caleb’s foot and he wails, tugging his leg inward a bit harder. “Plehehehease- Scheiße! Beau, let me, let me gohohoho!” Caleb cackles, trying to roll himself over and become one with the dirt. His eyes squeeze shut.

“Hey Jes!”

“Yeah, Molly?”

“Feet are a pretty good spot.” He reports to his devious partner in tickling. “I’m gonna try his legs.”

Caleb is rocking back and forth, squirming in Beau’s grasp as Molly tickles along the different parts of his sole. He pinches a toe, earning a little yelp. Then his fingers tickle lightly along the tops of his feet and up to his calves. He pinches lightly along the back, toward Caleb’s knee.

This one surprises Caleb. He’s been tickled in all of the, what he would consider, usual places. Friends and lovers long ago had taken advantage several times. No one had ever tickled his calves before. He didn’t know they could be ticklish. Where else were they going to find he’s ticklish?

Caleb’s free leg is desperately trying not to kick Molly directly in the face, but he’s not sure how long he will be able to keep it up.

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to worry about that much longer as he feels Yasha’s hand close around his free ankle when it swings a bit too close for comfort.

…

“H-Help!” Caleb cries out as Beauregard’s fingers flex deftly in his armpits. He slams his now freed arms down, but it’s far too late to do anything about Beau or Jester’s hands.

“Alright, alright. I think you’ve established he’s ticklish.” Nott puts a hand on Jester. “You kill him and I’ll have to kill all of you.”

Molly and Yasha set his legs down gently, smoothing a palm over his shins. Jester starts to mimic the motion on his arms.

Beau laughs. “Well you’re gonna have to give me my damn hands back, if you want me to stop.” She taps a few times. Caleb shudders.

“N-No you’re-“ He lets out a giggle and a whine. “You’re going to-“

“Guess I’ll just stay like this forever, then?” She pinches under his arms and Caleb shrieks.

Still shaking a bit, he slowly moves his arms away from his sides.

She slowly starts to pull away. But, really, how can she resist? She wiggles her fingers when Caleb lets the arms move away from his sides just a bit more, and he immediately slams his arms back down with a shout.

“Hey!” Nott pushes a little at her. “That’s enough!” She’s smiling as she scolds.

Yasha stands, giving Caleb a hand sitting up as she moves over to Beau behind him. “That wasn’t very nice.”

“Wait.” Beau pales, scrambles to get up.

Yasha has her caught around the waist in a flash. Molly and Nott help give her a little taste of her own medicine while Jester plays with Caleb’s hair.

“You okay?” She asks him tenderly, a smile on her face.

“Yes, yes. I’m- it’s just.” He laughs, smiles bashfully. “It’s been a while.”

She brushes the last hairs out of his face and pinches his cheek. “That was pretty cute.”

He elbows her away playfully.

“I think you would probably lose in a tickle fight against, like, any of us.” Jester teases, looking over to where Molly, Nott, and Yasha have Beau squealing beneath them. “Maybe not if everyone gangs up on someone else.” She shrugs.

“Oh, I still have some tricks up my sleeve. You never know.” Caleb shoots her a wink as he lays back against her thigh, partially exhausted. He closes his eyes, content to relax into the positive touch and influence of his friends.

[wizardofpalmsprings]

Cr 1/2 characters and the Olympics:

Percy and Veth would both do shooting. Percy would either do rifle or pistol. Veth would likely be pistol. Though Veth could also do archery with her crossbow.

Vex is obvious archery

Grog is either weight lifting or wrestling

Caleb gives me table tennis energy. People speculate about the sexual tension between him and the player from the Dynasty delegation

Fjord competes in sailing though I would argue he could also do fencing.

Keyleth is…diving. Made a bold choice one year and it’s still talked about. Now trains other athletes in the sport

Vax is 110m Hurdles

Pike is a beloved coach who is kind but then you turn around and she’s the loudest person on the sidelines and has been asked to leave a couple times for causing disturbances

Jester created the Olympic mascot/imagery for the 838 Olympics in Nicodranas. How no one managed to find the hidden dicks until after it went to print is still a mystery

Caduceus is an announcer and everyone loves the way he commentates

I like to imagine Tary as an announcer because the contrast between him and Cad would be fun. Molly is a part of the open ceremonies a la the depiction of Dionysus at this year’s games 

[space-woomy]

How my agents stack up agaisnt each other in a fight

I think that with my agents, in terms of fighting each other, they all have specific circumstances that determine whether they win or not. Like, none of them are “The most powerful agent” or anything like that, anyone if them could beat the other with the right circumstances.

So I'm gonna talk about that

(Also this is Cap'n 3 (Molly), Side order 8, and Side order 4 (Alex). Basically the current and most recent version of them. This also isn't what I think in terms of the actual cannon, it's just my agent ocs)

In terms of raw physical power, it goes: 

0. Callie

Eight

Three

Four

8 is the strongest physically, and 4 is the weakest. 4 can't beat 3 or 8 in an arm wrestling contest.

I don't remember where I was going with this. But here's  how I think the match ups go. This is a single splat type of fight, like how you knock out agent 3 in the O.E fight or something.

3 v.s 8

They  fight for a few minutes and then make out-

If it's a one on one, on flat ground, weapons or not, Eight wins a good chunk of the time. They're pretty evenly matched, but 8 wins most of the time. But if their fighting in the domes, the city, even an apartment or a house of some kind, really any sort of urban area, Three wins 99% of the time.

8 has formal military training. She knows how to fight someone one on one, how to take them down easily and how to dodge and read attacks…of someone else with formal military training. 3 on the other hand, has pretty basic fighting skills. I went over this in a different post but that one’s gone now so I'll say it again: 3 does the best with adapting to a fight with the environment. They know basic military moves and tricks from cuttlefish, more intricate self defense and fighting techniques from Marie, and their most valuable skill of adapting from Callie. Callie taught them to use their environment to their advantage, and 3 took that and ran with it. On different missions in splat 1 they'd pull some goofy shit. 3 would be getting chased, run around a corner, find a steel chair, grab it and wait until someone came around the corner and smack them with that shit. Or they'd just punch them if they're was no chair. They'd face off against someone, and instead of actual shooting their gun, they'd throw it at them, hit the enemy, punch them, and then shoot. They would rip a plank or lead pipe off a wall and use that to fight you.

Eight, and most other soldiers inkling or octoling, don't have the the knowledge or skill to be able to deal with 3's loony tunes bullshit. 

Even giving them both of their signature weapons, it doesn't change anything. 3 just gets another thing to Throw at 8.

So 3 v 8: if it's 1 on 1 on a flat arena with minimal cover, 8 wins most of the time.

If it's any area with any objects that can be picked up, 3 wins 99.99% of the time 

3 vs 4

4 is the most agile of the 3 agents, but the weakest in physical strength. She has more standard training than 3, but less than 8. Because of this, she learned to make fights quick and decisive. Deal with things quickly. Three wins most of the time, nearly 100% of the time if it’s with no weapons. But if weapons are allowed, Four Definitely has a better chance (not too much tho…). But, if they have weapons, and are in an environment with lots of different elevating terrain, and a lot of cover, then Four has a much higher chance of winning. She’d use the cover and different elevations to try and get better angles and doge roll into quick splats. It’s not a perfectly even match, Three is also use to more urban areas to fight in, but Four does definitely takes a good amount matches.

8 v.s 4

Again, if it's one on one, no weapons, Eight wins. It's even less closer than 3 v.s 8. Four doesn't do well with physical, one on one combat compared to Eight and Three. She's good in her own right, but not as good as the other 2. Even with weapons on a neutral arena, Eight takes it 90% of the time.

The only time where 4 wins a majority of the time is in an environment with lots of varying terrain, a more urban setting. Eight is used to mainly head on combat, and couldn't keep up with 4 dropping in and out and getting quick splats.

Conclusion

Overall, with my agents, what determines whether they win or not is if they're in their preferred fighting environment. 3 is the best in urban areas with lots of objects and varying terrain, 4 is best with varying terrain with lots of cover, and 8 is best with neutral terrain with the least amount of cover possible

In terms of overall being the “Strongest”, 3 is the “strongest agent” with the highest win ratio between everyone, 8 is the second “strongest”, and Four is the “weakest” between them all.

Don't get me wrong though, any of them could beat the other in a fight, with or without their favored circumstances.

If u have any questions then do the ask thing

Hit the autism button

[rawiswhore]

Various WWE Wrestlers x Fem Reader- "Memories"

Before you all read this fanfiction, I originally created this blog to be a blog of fanfiction and even fanart based on fantasies of men I had crushes on during the time, and one of those men was Rick Sanchez from "Rick and Morty".

Some of the fanart did exist, but there's some fanart I never had drawn for me.

Nowadays, AI art is extremely popular, and maybe I could make fanart of Rick Sanchez and other men I had crushes on from AI.

Although, I don't have crushes on Rick and other men I had crushes on in 2017 anymore, not to mention some of the fanart ideas I had in 2017 I turned to fanfiction in the 2020's.

Also, while this blog is about me posting fanfiction of men I have crushes on, some of these people in this fanfiction I don't really have crushes on.

______________________________________________________________

During the 2010's, the WWE used to have these talking heads segments where WWE wrestlers from the present and past would say something about a certain WWE/WWF wrestler from the past and present.

Examples would be the WWE's Naomi saying Lita was a badass, Mick Foley saying he's the sexiest part of the Attitude era, Bayley saying she grew up watching Molly Holly, John Cena saying he had a flat top haircut in his youth because of Sting the wrestler, and CM Punk saying he could relate to D Generation X because he didn't want to go to school.

Those aforementioned talking heads segments were sometimes used in WWE Hall of Fame Induction videos, like when Lita was inducted into the WWE Hall of Fame.

Well, in the 2010's you had many WWE wrestlers from the present and past saying things about you during your wrestling heyday.

It started off showing clips of you walking down to the ring  during the Attitude era wearing very short towels tucked into the top of your towel.

"Whooooo, y/n!" Kofi Kingston exclaimed where one of his hands fanned himself next to his head.

"She got me through puberty!" Seth Rollins said.

After what they said, there were clips of you laying down wet on a beach wearing a metal fishnet dress similar to what singer Samantha Fox wore on the cover of her "Hurt Me! Hurt Me!" single as well as a clip of you in the late 90's with your back turned in front of the camera wearing a thong bikini.

There were also clips of you during your late 90's wrestling heyday wearing short little negligees and nighties, teddy camiknickers, and even sometimes nothing but a towel as well as puckering your lips blowing kisses to the camera.

A few of these clips had Jerry Lawler happily screeching about you and sexually objectifying you on commentary.

Some clips also showed male fans holding up signs showing their love for you, signs reading "Y/n, will you marry me?" and signs spelling your name out.

It also showed clips of you when you first started off in the WWF wearing these beautiful long evening gowns helping lead Hunter Hearst Helmsley to the ring.

"She started off wearing those long beautiful gowns!" Bayley stated with a smile on her face. "All fans heads would turn when she walked Hunter to the ring!"

"Fans may have hated Hunter, but they loved y/n" Shawn Michaels said.

"I thought she was going to be the next Miss Elizabeth" said Mick Foley.

But then came the Attitude era, where women began being more sexualized.

"But she wasn't always fully clothed" Billy Gunn said with a smile on his face.

After what Billy said showed clips of you undressing in front of sexy male wrestlers in the men's locker room as they stare at you, you revealing yourself in a strapless bikini after undoing your towel and wearing nothing but a towel at Summerslam's Bikini Beach Blastoff in 1996.

"By the time of the Attitude era, she began wearing these short little dresses" Xavier Woods said with a smile "And sometimes she'd wear nothing but a towel!".

It then cut to clips of you wearing a very short white negligee with matching panties underneath down to the ring, the same nighty and white panties Joyce Dewitt/Janet Wood wore on a "Three's Company" episode.

"Is she wearing just a shirt?!" Jim Ross stated in that clip of you wearing that Joyce Dewitt white negligee.

There were also clips of you walking down to the ring with a smile on your face wearing nothing but a short towel tucked into the top of your towel.

Some of those clips of you wearing  nothing but a towel had you not even holding on to the top of your towel, which brings me to...

"Sometimes she wouldn't even hold the top of her towel" The Miz said. "I was thinking 'Is her towel gonna fall off?'".

"That towel ain't comin' off!" Jerry Lawler shrieked in a clip of you wearing nothing but a towel and high heels on your feet, where your hands weren't holding the top of your towel as you walked down to the ring wearing it but your towel managed to stay on you.

"I remember some men and boys in the front row would try to reach their hands out trying to grab that towel and yank it off of her to see if she was really naked" Jerry Lawler said.

As he said that, there were clips of male fans in the front row leaning forward reaching their hands and arms out as you wore those towels where their hands were trying to yank it off of you.

"I remember during the Attitude era, every boy at my school was obsessed with her" Dean Ambrose said. "Myself included"

"I grew up watching 'Three's Company' that had women wearing short little towels and skimpy outfits" said Kane. "And seeing her wearing those same lingerie and towels like those women on 'Three's Company' was awesome!".

"She'd jump up and down sometimes and her panties would show!" Seth Rollins said, which then showed clips of you wearing a short negligee that would fly while you bounced up and down and your panties showed.

"Sometimes she'd even enter the ring in a towel" Xavier Woods said, where it showed a clip of you bending down wearing a towel as you entered the ring similar to Stacy Keibler, although your vulva wasn't shown. "And I was thinking is she showing the audience her...wait, this is a PG era".

"The camera would sometimes film her from behind her back where you could kind of see up her shorts!" said Daniel Bryan, where it played a clip of you in late 1997 wearing a baby blue teddy camiknicker where you were filmed behind your back, and your shorts from that teddy were rather short.

"There were times I thought you really were gonna see her naked on TV!" the Miz said, where it showed a clip of you sitting down wearing a short towel and one of your hands was in front of your vulva.

"I actually started watching 'Three's Company' because my parents used to say she's acting and dressing like women from that show!" AJ Lee said with a smile on her face.

"The Attitude era usually had men getting the loudest cheers and pops" said Chris Jericho. "But she got pops and cheers as loud as male stars did"

But after all that objectification came something else...

"She may have been portrayed as eye candy at first, but she could also wrestle!" said Natalya Neidhart.

There began playing clips of you during your wrestling heyday doing actual wrestling moves and actual wrestling matches with some other female wrestlers like Ivory, Sable, Tori, Jacqueline and Lita.

Some of the clips playing had you doing a backflip next to your female opponent and hitting your feet on the opponent's face, your leg kicking your female opponent in the ring like how Madonna is kicking in this clip:

And a clip of your hand on your female opponent's crotch while your other hand lifts and scoops up that opponent and slams her down onto the ring.

Jim Ross in some of these clips roared when he exclaimed the names of your wrestling moves.

"At first I hated her for for being half naked and sexualized" AJ Lee said. "But then I started seeing her wrestle and realizing she could wrestle too!"

There were more clips of you showing off your wrestling talent and prowess in the ring.

"People were shocked to see that a former diva bouncing around in skimpy clothes could also wrestle!" Jerry Lawler said.

There were clips of you jumping off of the top rope of a wrestling ring and pouncing on your opponents.

"She might have been portrayed as a sex object" Trish Stratus mentioned. "But she was also doing wrestling moves before other divas were doing them!"

First it showed a clip of your legs and body wrapping and spinning around another female opponent's body and making her fall down, Victoria and Ricochet have similar wrestling moves.

And then it showed a clip of Victoria doing that move.

"A lot of her wrestling moves were inspired by dancing" Layla El brought up.

There were clips of you spinning around and kicking your opponent, grabbing your opponents' wrist and spinning them around and then throwing them into the wrestling ring's post, and holding your opponent and spinning them around like this.

"She was doing mind blowing wrestling moves even before Lita" said Bayley.

"She'd sometimes do spanking matches and strap matches with male wrestlers!" Candice Michelle exclaimed, where there were clips from your strap matches and spanking matches with other male wrestlers, some of those male wrestlers spanking your with a paddle or strap.

"If it wasn't for her sometimes dressing provocatively" Mickie James said. "She could be remembered as a great WWE diva along the lines of Trish Stratus"

There were then soundbites of men chanting your name and chanting "We want y/n!".

There were clips played of you in the early 2000's WWE provocative photoshoots as well as clips of you winning the women's championship belt.

There were many things that could be in this WWE Hall of Fame induction, like your singing career and acting career as well as being the first WWF diva to be featured in magazines like FHM, Maxim, Cosmopolitan, etc.

[nycky-b]

Beneath the Stars

Warnings: jealous harry, fred being a flirt, slow burn romance, enemies to lovers, Christmas!

Paring: Harry Potter x Reader

Wordcount: 2.769

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter 3

The Burrow hummed with the joyful chaos of Christmas Eve, a home so full of life it seemed to pulse with its own heartbeat. The warm, comforting smell of freshly baked mince tarts drifted from the kitchen, where Molly Weasley, her sleeves rolled up, was orchestrating her usual culinary masterpieces.

“Now really, boys, was this entirely necessary?”

The faint sound of Mr. Weasley’s voice carried through the window as you stirred in bed. Curiosity piqued, you got up and leaned against the windowsill, your breath misting the cold glass as you watched the scene below.

“It’s a Christmas miracle, Dad!” Fred’s voice rang out, full of mischief. He gestured dramatically at the two snowmen he and George had enchanted to duel with tiny broomsticks in the garden. One of the snowmen had just lost an arm, and George was doubled over with laughter. “We’ve been improving the neighborhood decorations,” Fred added with a grin.

“Improving! They’ve already chased the gnomes into the kitchen,” Mr. Weasley shot back, exasperated but clearly amused.

Behind you, the rustling of sheets drew your attention. Hermione sat up groggily, rubbing her eyes as she mumbled, “What’s going on out there?”

“Fred and George,” you replied, your eyes still fixed on the garden spectacle. “They’ve enchanted snowmen to duel in the garden.”

Hermione sighed, her lips curving into a small, tired smile. “I am not surprised. Are you always this nosy?”

You turned to face her, matching her smile with a wide grin of your own. “Only when there’s a Weasley twin involved.”

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Hermione sat cross-legged on the overstuffed armchair in the corner of Ginny’s room, her copy of Hogwarts: A History resting forgotten on her lap as she watched you rummage through a tin of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans on the bed.

“Honestly, Y/N, how can you eat those without fear?” Hermione asked, wrinkling her nose as you popped a green bean into your mouth, promptly wincing.

“Grass,” you said, sticking out your tongue in exaggerated disgust to annoy her. “Not the worst, but not exactly Christmas pudding either.” You leaned back on your elbows, sighing. “This place is incredible, isn’t it?”

Hermione nodded, her expression softening. “It’s nice to have a proper family Christmas. Even if Ron and Harry spend time arguing over who enchants the tree better.”

You gave her a knowing look. “Speaking of Ron…”

Hermione immediately turned a shade of pink that matched the baubles on the tree downstairs. “I saw the way you looked at him during dinner yesterday when he was trying to wrestle the last roast potato from Harry. It’s like you were watching a noble knight preparing for battle.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hermione said, though her voice lacked conviction. “He’s… infuriating! Half the time, he doesn’t even notice when—”

“When you’re staring at him with those heart-eyes?” You interjected, laughing harder as Hermione threw a pillow in your direction.

Hermione smirked brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “What about Harry?”

You continued carefully sorting the Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans into neat little piles. “What about him?”

Hermione perched on the bed. “Oh, you know, when you and Harry were outside last night.”

You froze mid-motion. “We were just talking. That’s all.”

“Talking?” Hermione teased, her smile growing wider. “You two? Can you even go a single conversation without arguing about something?”

Your eyes narrowed, but a nervous flicker crossed your face. “Oh, please,” you said, rolling her eyes and trying to sound nonchalant. “You’re imagining things, it was nothing much.”

Hermione tilted her head, studying you with a knowing look. “Really?” she pressed, her tone light but playful. “Because from where I was standing, it seemed like there might be something–”

A knock interrupted them, you exchanged a glance with Hermione and Fred's voice rang out from behind the door. “Ladies, open up! Come see our gifts of holiday cheer.”

You swung ithe door open, revealing the twins standing there, with a mischievous grin across their faces.

George bowed dramatically. “Ladies, your presence is requested downstairs for a demonstration of pure genius.”

Hermione led the way on the stairs, George following closely behind. You and Fred exchanged glances and fell into step behind them.

You turned slightly “What’s the grand idea this time?”

Fred leaned in, lowering his voice. "We’ve enchanted the mistletoe so it follows people around the house. And when you least expect it, bam—you’ve got a kiss landing on your cheek."

“You’re trying to get your parents to kill you today, aren’t you?”

Fred grinned. "Not at all. Just a little holiday cheer."

The group reached the living room, where Ron, Harry, and Ginny was chatting. Harry’s gaze lifted instinctively, his eyes meeting yours, his breath caught, his chest tightening. He couldn’t look away. But you did, turning your head as a subtle flush crept up your neck.

"Right, everyone!" Fred called to the room. "Gather round! Today, we’re giving the Burrow a little festive upgrade."

"Fred, not more of your nonsense," Ron groaned. "Mum will have our heads if we get her in trouble again."

"Oh, relax, Ron," George replied with a smirk. "This is just the perfect gift for everyone."

George handed you a small jar of glittering mistletoe. "Here, Y/N, go on and try it out on someone. Ron looks like he’s about to pass out from the idea already."

“This will be fun,” she muttered. It wasn’t long before you spotted your first victim: Fred. With a mischievous grin, you slipped the enchanted mistletoe into position just above his head.

“Hey, Fred!” you called out sweetly, a hint of mischief in your voice.

“Well, well, what’s this? Can’t resist my charm after all, Y/N?” Fred teased, winking at you with exaggerated flair.

Harry, perched on the arm of the couch, went still. His eyes flicked toward you, his grip tightening on the cushion beneath his hand. He told himself it didn’t matter—Fred was always a flirt, and you were… well, you.

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you retorted, playful but dismissive.

Above Fred, the enchanted mistletoe twinkled before dropping into place, hanging over his head. Fred let out a surprised laugh, and you couldn’t help but join in, the sound bubbling out of you.

Harry’s stomach churned. That laughter of yours—bright and unrestrained—felt like it was aimed directly at him. He clenched his jaw, trying to look indifferent, but he couldn’t stop his gaze from trailing back to you, absorbing every detail.

The firelight danced across the golden tones in your hair as you tilted your head back to laugh, the sight twisting something deep inside him. Then Fred, ever cheeky, leaned in and planted a quick kiss on your cheek.

“Lucky I’m feeling generous today,” Fred said with another wink, clearly enjoying the attention.

You wiped your cheek in mock exasperation, shaking your head. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, though your voice betrayed your amusement.

From across the room, Harry’s expression darkened. His hand dropped from the cushion to rest on his knee, his fingers drumming in an uneven rhythm. He told himself again it didn’t matter—it was Fred, just Fred. But the knot in his stomach stubbornly refused to loosen.

Determined not to let Fred have all the fun, you turned your attention toward Ron, a devilish grin spreading across your face. Hermione deserved a kiss, after all.

“Oi, Ron!” you called out, your voice dripping with mock innocence.

Ron’s eyes widened in horror. “Not again! Get that thing away from me!” he shouted, twisting and ducking as the mistletoe homed in on him.

The twins doubled over with laughter, and you joined in, your cheeks flushed with the thrill of the moment. But even as you laughed, you felt a strange prickle of awareness, like being caught under a spotlight.

The relentless mistletoe cornered Ron near Hermione, and the chants began. “Kiss her, Ron! Kiss Hermione!” Fred and George shouted in unison.

Hermione’s face turned crimson as she squealed, “Ron! Don’t you dare!”

Ron groaned, a look of sheer defeat crossing his face, before leaning in to press a quick, awkward peck to Hermione’s cheek. The room exploded with cheers and howls of laughter.

Fred and George collapsed against each other, gasping for breath, while Hermione clutched her cheek in horror. “Oh my—Ron!”

Ron, bright red, grumbled under his breath, “You two are the worst.”

You shook your head, still grinning as you joined in the laughter. But as the room’s chaos carried on, you couldn’t shake an odd feeling—an awareness that someone’s attention lingered on you.

Almost instinctively, your gaze shifted, seeking the source, and your eyes met Harry’s. He wasn’t laughing. His green eyes were fixed on you, his expression unreadable, but his intensity made the air around you feel heavier.

The moment stretched, and you felt a sudden shiver run through you, a warmth spreading through your chest even as your smile faltered.

Harry quickly turned away, his shoulders stiff as though he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. He stood abruptly, pretending to fuss with the decorations on the mantel.

The laughter around you carried on, but you couldn’t fully join in anymore. The room felt just a little too loud, a little too chaotic. Your heart thudded unevenly in your chest, no matter how much you tried to focus on the twins’ antics.

But in the back of your mind, you couldn’t forget the way Harry had looked at you—or the warmth that lingered in its wake, unsettling and undeniable.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Night had fallen. The garden lay quiet, with the soft glow of the Burrow's windows casting long shadows across the snow-dusted ground. You leaned casually against the low wall, a grin spreading across your face as you remembered Hermione’s awkward attempt to downplay Ron’s kiss. The way she stumbled over her words, her cheeks flushed a deep red, was pure entertainment. You and Ginny had laughed together, teasing her until her irritation bubbled over. It was all in good fun, but eventually, you’d slipped away, seeking a brief moment of silence.

Your gloved fingers traced patterns in the frost as your gaze wandered to Harry, standing a few feet away with his hands buried deep in his pockets.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight, Potter,” you said, your voice lilting with mock concern. “Brooding again? Or did Fred steal the last of your self-righteousness along with your dignity?”

His lips twitched, but he didn’t rise to the bait right away. Instead, he tilted his head, narrowing his eyes slightly as he studied you. “Is that supposed to be funny?”

You grinned, a mischievous glint in your eye. “It’s a little funny. You’ve been sulking all night like someone stole your favorite broomstick. Or maybe you’re just jealous Fred is better company than you.”

The words were meant to tease, to provoke, but they landed differently. Harry straightened, his stance shifting, and when he turned to look at you fully, there was something in his expression that made the air between you feel suddenly charged.

“Jealous?” he echoed, his voice low and edged with challenge. “You think I’m jealous?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the intensity in his tone, but you recovered quickly, leaning into the moment with a smirk. “Aren’t you? You’ve been glaring at me all morning like I’ve committed some grave sin by laughing with Fred. It’s written all over your face.”

He took a step closer, his boots crunching against the snow, his eyes never leaving yours. “Is that what you think?”

There was a shift in his voice, almost dangerous, that made your breath hitch. Still, you refused to back down, raising your chin in defiance. “It’s what I know.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice dropping even lower as he took another step toward you.

The space between you shrank, the crisp winter air around you charged with tension. You found yourself holding your breath as he closed the gap, his presence suddenly overwhelming.

“You want to know what I think?” Harry murmured, his words deliberate, his eyes locked on yours.

The teasing smile faltered on your lips as your pulse quickened. “Enlighten me,” you managed, though your voice was quieter now, uncertain.

“I think,” Harry said, his face now inches from yours, “you enjoy getting under my skin.”

His words were soft, almost a whisper, but the intensity in his gaze made your heart race. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek, the tension between you so thick it was almost tangible.

“And I think,” he continued, his voice barely audible now, “you’re just as infuriating as you are—”

He stopped abruptly, the words hanging in the air as his gaze dropped to your lips for the briefest of moments. Your breath caught, your heart pounding in your chest as the silence stretched between you, heavy and electric.

Neither of you moved, neither dared to speak. The world around you seemed to fade, leaving only the quiet rhythm of your breathing and the unspoken weight of everything left unsaid.

Harry’s gaze, intense and unrelenting, stayed locked on yours, and for a moment, you thought he might actually say something profound. Your heart pounded in anticipation, a mix of defiance and something much more vulnerable swirling in your chest.

But then, just as the moment teetered on the edge, his lips curved into a slow, deliberate smirk. The sharp shift in his expression sent a jolt through you, scattering the fragile tension in a way that left you reeling.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice low and maddeningly casual, “you’re not as clever as you think you are.”

Before you could respond, he stepped back, his smirk widening as he shoved his hands into his pockets and turned toward the house. “Goodnight, Y/N,” he called over his shoulder, his tone almost lazy, but the sensation lingered.

You remained where you were, your breath shallow, your mind racing as you tried to process what had just happened. The cold bit at your cheeks, but it was nothing compared to the warmth that had surged through you when he’d been so close.

You let out a shaky breath, muttering under your breath, “Unbelievable.”

But even as you tried to steady yourself, you couldn’t shake the way his smirk had made your stomach flip or the lingering sensation of how he’d looked at you—like he could see everything.

And you hated that part of you wished he hadn’t walked away.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

As the morning light streams through the windows, the Weasley’s home bursts alive with the excitement of Christmas Day. But you find yourself lost in the quiet aftermath of the night before. The lingering sensation of Harry’s closeness, and the strange, electric tension between you, still clings to your thoughts.

You blink away the memory, forcing yourself to focus on the cheerful chaos around you. Everyone is exchanging presents, their laughter filling the air.

Nearby, you spot Ron handing Hermione a beautifully wrapped gift. She unwraps it carefully, revealing a small charm bracelet with a tiny golden book dangling from it. Her cheeks flush a brilliant shade of pink as she glances up at him.

“It’s beautiful,” Hermione says softly, her fingers brushing the charm.

Ron shrugs, though his ears are as red as his hair. “Yeah, well… you like books, don’t you?”

Hermione smiles shyly, fastening the bracelet around her wrist. “Thank you, Ron. I love it.”

You watch their exchange with a knowing smile before your gaze shifts toward Harry. Your stomach twists at the way Ginny hovers near him, her bright smile aimed his way.

Your thoughts are interrupted when Molly approaches, carrying a small package. “Y/N, dear, this one’s for you—from Harry.”

You blink in surprise, your gaze snapping to Harry. “From Harry?”

Harry straightens. “Er, yeah. Just something small.”

Carefully, you tear open the paper, revealing a leather-bound notebook with your initials embossed in silver on the cover. Your fingers trace the smooth surface, your expression softening.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, looking up at him. “Thank you.”

Harry shrugs awkwardly. “You mentioned once you liked to write, so… I thought you might use it.”

You stare at him for a moment, your usual teasing demeanor replaced by something quieter, more surprised. “I will. Thank you.”

The room seems to hum with a strange energy as your eyes meet his, neither of you quite sure what to say next.

Mrs. Weasley’s voice cuts through the moment, “Alright, who’s next?” She beams at the group and waves a hand to usher the gift exchange along.

[dark-twist-fairytales]

Clayton just sitting on the sofa, head in his hands with a glass of whiskey on the table : I understand now, Shepherd.

(Since Shepherd was always trying to keep the crew in check before he went balls to the wall Insane himself)

Then a loud crash is heard followed by Kana's kin yelling: the hell was that for!?!

The one time he can truly relax is after big battles when the kids are all tuckered out and asleep in their own rooms (yes he still calls them kids and yes they have their own rooms.)

When the mansion is dead quiet he goes into his own bedroom, sitting down at his desk and looking at the framed photo of his wife on it.

He takes out her wedding ring which is in clearly better shape than his own, since Clayton has been wearing his.

(I've always headcanoned that Clayton fidgets with his ring, and during expeditions whens he's not wearing it he fiddles with the cufflinks on his jacket)

He talks to the photo before gently placing everything back in its own spot, getting into bed under a heavy blanket and finally sleeping a Good amount.

(And if he feels Molly's little doll weight on his back then he doesn't say anything)

Yesssss, I love this.

Making sure they're all in their rooms and resting (parental instincts has him poking his head in each room, making sure the lights are off and they're tucked in on his way to his room). Him calling them his kids also feels very on brand.

Just a heavy sigh leaving him before motioning them near. "Come along, children, we've done all we can."

Shep's Kin: "We're adults?"

Clayton: "And I'm hundreds of years older than you, having traveled with your ancestors. Your point is?"

A good nights rest, then being woken up by the sound of someone being body slammed to the wall. "I have many regrets, yet none of them are true." And he goes about his morning as if he isn't hearing a wrestling match happening. He'll only be alerted by the sound of something or someone breaking. (And, I mean, technically they're only building up their strength, agility, and wits, so it's a win-win. They're distracted and Clayton has his tea.)