#archie dent

[puppetmaster13u]

You know what idea I just had while on like 3 hours of sleep?

Polycule between Bruce, Clark, Harvey (& Two-Face) and Lois. Can you imagine the utter chaos? Lois suddenly has an extra bit of attention when she marches straight into a crime-den because here comes Two-Face following her because he finds her hilarious.

Both Lois and Clark are suddenly so much more trouble for the people breaking laws because Harvey is a lawyer, he knows all these laws and can tell them exactly which ones are being broken and where to look.

The batkids finally have reporter people around who aren't rude or in their face and don't bat an eye at their shenenigans! Bruce has partners that know about his vigilantism and doesn't try to convince him to stop- though definitely gets him to take care of himself.

Both Harvey and Two-Face have people who don't care about their scarring or that they're two people in the same body. And look they don't approve of Two-Face's growing criminal empire, but he treats his goons good for the most part, and as long as lines aren't crossed then it's fine, they guess. But he's sleeping on the couch if he robs another bank.

Also can you imagine the hilarity of people trying to wrap their minds around this and coming to the conclusion that not only are the three of them dating, they're also dating Superman and Batman, and obviously Bruce and Two-Face are their sugar daddies. Obviously.

[harveyhaslostit]

Why does this look like Riverdale?

[delopsia]

Stellar Ride | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 8,000 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, PBR!Rhett. Mentions of Rhett blowing up in the media, crowds, Maria flirting with Rhett in front of the Reader, Archie is a gem. Praise, grinding, mentions of past injury, unprotected sex, a dash of jealousy, post-coital snuggles. Please comfort and reassure your cowboy during sex. Brief Summary: When new fans and a childhood crush come seeking the hand of your cowboy, you take great pleasure in knowing that this cowboy is yours. Not Maria's. Not his fans. No, just yours.

The roar of the crowd is louder than the drum of your heart. Thrashing against your chest like a caged animal. The buzz of adrenaline jittering through your veins. Rattling what remains of your already shot nerves. That blinding jumbotron flashes a familiar name and face. But it's not what you can focus on. 

And even the screams of a name you know too well aren't enough to rise above the deafening ring in your ears. A constant tone that makes your world blurry. Tunnel vision locked onto a mop of black hair lingering by the chutes. Beyond the sections reserved for fans, but not in the staff area. A familiar sight that has your heart beating harder. As frustrated as the bull thrashing in the chute.

Is that...

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

...it can't be.

But then that head turns to speak to a friend. And the screams of Rhett Abbott's name floods your ears. No longer muffled. So loud that you jolt in your seat. 

Maria fucking Olivares.

Two thousand pounds of pure muscle bursts out of the chute. Twisting counterclockwise. The big right hand of your beloved cowboy held high in the air. Muscles flexing as he clings to that thin piece of rope. Seconds spinning across the jumbotron screen. 

Numbers that you can't bear to spare a glance at. You don't know if it's you shouting his name or if it's the fan next to you. Her shrill voice overriding all else. 

The crowd shoots to their feet as the buzzer sounds. Blocks you from catching sight of him falling off the bull — always the scariest part. The familiar voice of the announcer blares across the speakers as if the victory is his own, crying your husband's name as loud as he can. 

He's made it.

Rhett's going to the finals again. 

...if he doesn't get disqualified for darting toward the fence. 

On a one-way track to the stands, he hops up and swings his dirt-covered legs over the barricade, hat blowing off his head. Spurs jingle as his boots hit the ground. Darting through the collection of squealing girls that have congregated in front of you. A big, loopy grin sprawls across his scruffy face. Arms opening wide. 

That's the last thing you see before a hundred sixty something pounds of adrenaline and excitement slams into you. Knocking you off your feet. His grimy nose burying into the crook of your neck, sweat dripping from the curls at the nape of his neck. Yelling something that you can only interpret as a "we made it!"

And you just know he's getting red dirt all over your new white t-shirt, but you're wrapping your arms around him anyway. Hanging on tight as he spins you in a circle, uncaring of the unfamiliar faces that crowd around you. 

"My ring," he's already muttering into your ear, "where's..."

So impatient.

Your hand disappears into your pocket, producing a thin, golden band. Dented on the side from the time a bull stepped on his hand, broke it in three different places. That scarred ring finger of his crooks off to the left more than it should, but the ring slips over it regardless, hugging him just right. 

"Can't go a second without it, can ya?" You're teasing, nose wrinkling as he leans in to steal a kiss. All sweat and grime and all the things that shouldn't be on your mouths.

The corners of his lips turn upward, wild blue eyes glittering, "nope." 

Cute.

But fuck does he need a shower.

A flash is all it takes to break you out of your own little world. Cameras greedily snapping photos of a moment that wasn't anyone's to save or share. Hands are touching you; someone's behind Rhett, yelling for him to turn around and take a photo with her, the loudest amongst a clatter of voices that rattle around your skull.

It's the worst possible time for Rhett to be drawing away from you. Right at the start of the pushing and shoving, brought on by the rise in security surging into the stadium, frantic to get their photos and videos and everything else they could possibly get out of your cowboy. But he's grabbing hold of your wrist, downright hauling you underneath his sweat-drenched arm, safely tucked into his side as he shoulders through the crowd.

Rhett's head dips down, his hot breath tickling your ear as he whispers into it, "next time 'm makin' them put ya in the damn staff section." 

"Don't let the win go to your head, cowboy," you tease him as if you don't know that you'll be in that section next time; at this point, you're surprised it hasn't happened already. These crowds grow with every rodeo, a sea of folks who had never heard of Professional Bullriding until they discovered the handsome mug of a small-town Wabang cowboy.

A familiar face emerges from the crowd, one over his hands cupped around his mouth, shouting as loud as his deep voice can possibly manage, "yer a goddamn fuckin' fool, Abbott!" That other hand waves a cowboy hat high in the air, the dark brown felt dusted in a light coating of dirt. 

"I knew you'd catch it," Rhett's smiling, so drunk off the adrenaline that he doesn't seem to care when Archie slams that hat back on his head. 

"Y' kiddin' me?" The edge of Archie's lip is rising, fighting a smile that is bound to work its way across his bearded face eventually, "I wrestled a gal fer this piece o'shit!" 

You nearly wish that you had been present to see that. Big ol' Archie going toe-to-toe with a fan who had gotten her hands on the most iconic piece of attire your cowboy owns. "And you won," you don't mean for your tone to come off so snappy; the words nearly shoved out of your mouth by the collision of an elbow into your side. 

"Damn straight I won," there's that grin, breaking out on its own accord, just as wild as Rhett's, "d' y' know how much them folks would sell that bloomin' hat on eBay fer?"

No, but you're still reeling from the prices that fanmade duplicates have been fetching. Hats crafted to look identical to Rhett's, with their deliberate tears in the felt and scuffs to high hell. Why someone would want to beat their hat to hell and back is anyone's guess. 

You wonder if any of them have figured out about the polaroid of you two, taken on your first official date as a couple, delicately stitched into the inside of his hat. His good luck charm, he calls it. 

Wading through the swarm is easier said than done; Rhett's squeezing you into his side, strong arm secured around you, and yet you can still feel yourself slipping out from his grasp. Forced away by the bustle of it all, unable to do anything but push forward. 

Fuck, it must take an hour to get to the other side. Bursting from the flurry and into a small gap that a pair of grumbling security guards have created for you. Tumbling down the stadium floor, Archie perpetually a step ahead as Rhett leads you through unfamiliar gates and past bullpens. Such sweet, oversized animals these bucking bulls are. Intimidating at first. A massive presence that reminds you of your own mortality could hand your ass to you if they so desired but are almost always just looking for a good head scratch.

You could say the same for Rhett, now that you think about it.

It's so much quieter behind the chutes. Tucked away from the stands, its own private detachment in this oversized arena. Complete with a swarm of security and a thick, black curtain to keep out the occasional nosey fan who has yet to learn the concept of a boundary.

"Ah hell," Archie's arms flail. "That goddamn broad—"

"Hey, you two!" 

Ugh.

You wish you didn't, but you recognize that voice all too well. The snappy click click click of Maria's heels across the stadium floor is all it takes to have your skin prickling. Shoulders rising with a tension that they've only just lost. Actively fighting the urge to grab Rhett's hand, drag him out of this damn arena entirely and pray she doesn't follow.

"How'd she get back here?" You're not sure if you're asking Archie or Rhett. But you might as well be speaking to a wall because all you receive are blank stares in return. 

"I ain't fuckin' know!" Archie hisses, his thumb jabbing toward Rhett, "Ask this fool. He's the one she's 'ere fer."

But Rhett's got nothing more to offer than a shrug, teeth worrying his bottom lip, "I thought you let her in."

That's all it takes to get Archie's boots clicking across the floor, decidedly exiting this impromptu conversation before Maria can even enter it. Disappearing into the bustle of the rodeo once more, off to help another big-name bull rider get ready for his ride. Something. Anything that doesn't involve standing here and being forced into a conversation with someone you don't know.

"Oh my god, I didn't know you were gonna be here," there's something about Maria's big, overjoyed smile that just makes your stomach twist in ways that it shouldn't. 

Did she...did she not notice you standing here at all?

She's here too fast. A freshly manicured hand rising to toy with the ends of her braid, slung over her shoulder, on display for the world to marvel at. Not too close by any means, and yet her sugary perfume still hits you like a brick wall. So up there and in your face all of a sudden that it sends you reeling.

"I uh..." Rhett's boot kicks the ground, like he might be able to scrounge words out of the tile, "Didn't expect to see you out here."

"Well, of course, I had to come and see the legendary Rhett Abbott ride," her tone is so bright that it ought to make the arena lights jealous. "Nobody ever believes me when I tell them we were friends in high school." 

You're not sure if you'd count on and off ghosting a man for several years as being friends, but to each their own. 

But you've got no time to think about the stories that have been relayed from Rhett's tongue because Maria's already sparking a conversation with him. Chattering away about his recent blow-up in the media, like this is some sort of one-on-one interview. You catch yourself trying to speak, a gentle correction about a detail; it wasn't a lucky fan who got a tour of the Abbott ranch. She broke in while his family was at church. 

If Maria hears you, she deliberately ignores you. Her big brown eyes focused solely on Rhett and Rhett alone.

Biting your tongue, you let your attention wander. Better to be distracted than make an ass of yourself. Gaze raking over this side of the arena; the swarm of cowboys tucked off in the corner, stretching as they chat amongst themselves, warming up for their ride. All big names from small towns, with stories so similar to Rhett's.

The only difference is that they didn't get a sudden spike in fame over a video of them coming up to their significant other during a rodeo with their arms full of kittens. 

A box of strays that Rhett had found discarded near one of the bullpens. Six kittens in total: three oranges, two calicos, and a tabby. Fussy little things, Rhett's still got a scar on his jaw from the tabby. You'd only intended to keep one, but Rhett's somehow convinced you on two, so the other one won't feel like she's lost her family. 

There's movement in the crowd of employees by the announcer's booth. Black shirts emerging from the collection of folks working to keep the event up and running; security. 

And there's Archie, meandering along next to them; if he had their matching get-up, he'd blend right in. Head held high, shoulders square as they march right toward you. His beard conceals the cockiness in his grin, but the glint in his eye tells all.

Rhett's hand bumps into your wrist as it slides down, thick fingers interlocking with yours. Maria's still talking, but that warm gaze of his is solely on you. A smile lacing his sweaty face as you lean against him.

Before security can say a damn word, Maria's fishing out a laminated card from her pocket, flashing it alongside her too-white grin. "I'm interning for one of the vets on standby."

...that's how she got in?

A hand settles on your shoulder, Archie's minty breath meeting your nose as he dips between you and Rhett. "I tried." 

And again, he's gone. Disappearing just as quickly as he did the first time. Leaving you to bite back your frown as Maria's voice drones on once more, a constant irritant that you can't seem to escape. Strange, because the tone of her voice doesn't bug you at all. It's pleasant, actually.

What's bothering you is the fact that it's coming from her. 

Popular belief would accuse you of being insecure. She was Rhett's childhood crush, after all, but it's not that at all. 

It's the fact that she deliberately ignores you every time she comes around. Talking to Rhett, and only Rhett, with some starry-eyed twinkle that you can only identify as suggestive. Curious about all the things she may have missed out on when she rejected him all those years ago. 

She spoke to you that first time you met her, back at the pit bar. When you'd offered her one of your drinks because they'd just sold out. Hadn't known her from any other person in Wabang, just another twenty-something with a story that you didn't know yet. It's a fuzzy memory, old and warped at the edges, but you remember laughing with her, telling some story about one of the guys in the bar.

And you remember the way you vanished from her radar, the moment a particular cowboy ambled up behind you, kissing your temple as he apologized for being so late.

She ignored your presence at Rhett's last rodeo in Wabang when he won that championship title for the third time in a row. Didn't say a word when you said hello at that dinner the Abbotts threw. Her ears tuned you out when the two of you ran into each other in the Casper airport, but oh, did she perk up when she realized Rhett was behind you.

Just like her face had fallen when the word "honeymoon" had left Rhett's mouth, her nose wrinkling as if that new golden band on his finger would burn her. 

Hot breath tickles your ear, the scruff of a cowboy's lower lip tickling the skin there, "'m gonna head out for a shower," he whispers, "maybe I can get us outta here 'n to the hotel early." 

"Don't get lost," smiling, despite knowing that you're about to be left with the one woman who refuses to acknowledge your existence for longer than a few seconds. 

Rhett's lips press against your cheek, lingering in a sort of fashion that makes you wonder if he's purposely making a show of it. But then his eyebrows are shooting upward, eyes alight with a suddenly recalled thought, "Should I shave?" 

It's been a while since you've heard that question.

And by a while, you mean at least a week. 

Usually, you'd say yes, but the stubble on his cheek has only recently grown to the point of a gentle give rather than the prickliness that comes after a recent shave. Soft under the pads of your fingers, the right amount of scruffy, but not too much so. Doesn't poke you, even when you fully grasp his jaw, just to feel him wriggle and try to shake your hand away. 

"Nah," concluding aloud, letting your arm fall back to its place at your side, "I like this look on you."

"Long as y' don't call me homeless again," those eyes of his roll, and then he's pressing a second kiss to your cheek, "Stay close. I'll come find ya when 'm done."

With that final stolen kiss, he's gone. Spurs jingling with every step he takes, shoulders straining against that old, red plaid shirt that he refuses to get rid of. The same one he's been wearing since you met him. Says it's one of his favorites, but then again, he says that about all of his shirts. 

Maria is gone. 

You suppose she took off the moment Rhett turned his attention to you because even as you twist your head, you can't seem to spot her. No clicking heels, no sparkling white teeth. Nothing. As if she was never here in the first place.

The sound of your name cuts through the air; Archie, again, waving you down, "y' wanna come see this 'ere bull calf we got?"

How are you meant to say no to such a thing? 

"Rhett—"

Your back thumps against the wall. Railing digging into your ass. Jean-clad hips part your thighs. Oversized belt buckle digging into your skin as he rolls into you, a careful drag that sends heat rushing between your legs. 

"I know it," speaking between open-mouthed kisses against your neck, the hair on his jaw scratching the sensitive skin there,  "I know it."

The elevator shifts, only just beginning its upward climb to the sixth floor. 

Greedy hands wander beneath your shirt. Callouses catching on the softness of your curves, burning up your sides like they can't possibly get enough. His mouth frenzied against your neck, poorly concealed bulge grinding deliciously against your core. Whittling away at your resolve until your hands are rising from his shoulders and tangling in his hair.

Tugging at the damp strands, forcing him to tilt his head up to meet your lips. Greedily drinking up the saccharine moan that whispers from the back of his throat. Open mouths lazily tangling in a dance that has your teeth clattering together. Wet, sloppy, his kisses trailing across your cheek, on his way to your ear. Only to be drawn back by his hair once more, keening, defenses melting away like sugar in the rain. 

The elevator chimes. A pitchy tune that ends just as your feet hit the ground, doors squealing open to reveal a never-ending hallway. Too pristinely white, adorning frames and decor, nothing but a blur as the two of you stumble down it. Hand in hand, vision tunneled on your door.

You've hardly had time to pluck the key from your pocket. Fumbling with the slick plastic, as hands return to wander your sides once more. Drawing you back into a big, warm chest, Rhett's chin coming to rest on your shoulder. His hips bucking up against your ass, shamelessly distracting. 

The simple swell of his cock against you is all it takes to set a shiver into you. Seeping through your skin, past muscle, straight down to your bones. And you can't...fuck, you can't keep hold of this goddamn card—

"Oh, what a coincidence!" 

Your hand freezes. Caught halfway between sliding the card through the reader. Neck feels like it's been filled with cement as you turn your head to look down the hallway.

"Maria?" Rhett's chirp is brighter than anything you can produce. His hands slip from your sides in favor of curling an arm around you instead. "What are..." 

"I'm in room six o' nine," this hallway may be white, but her teeth are whiter. So blinding that you nearly miss the flashing green light of the card reader. The handle gives way as you twist it, door creaking open on its own. 

An eight-floor hotel, and yet you get roomed next to Maria Olivares.

Of fucking course, that's how things would work out. 

Rhett's saying something, too polite to leave her hanging, but you hardly hear it. His voice nothing but a familiar hum as your eyes fixate on the edge of that oversized bed with its fluffy sheets and cozy sheets. Still messy from your earlier nap in them, the best mattress you've seen since this whole rodeo circuit started.

Oh, what the hell? It's not like Maria's talking to you anyway. 

Stepping out of those big, warm arms, you head into the room. On a one-way route to the bed, succumbing to its siren call with all the grace and beauty of a bull rider being thrown. Face down, with a guttural noise strangled out of you by the painful ache of muscles as they finally, finally relax. 

You almost think you can feel it. The way a pair of darkened eyes focus on your ass. Probably the only thing your cowboy can see from his place in the hallway. Stuck entertaining the thoughts and whims of a woman who hasn't spoken to him in at least two years. Can't do a goddamn thing about the way you squirm, raising your ass in the air just for the hell of seeing how far you can push him.

He had you in this position this morning; you wonder if he can still feel the way your hips trembled in his oversized hands as you came around his cock. 

Because you can still feel the way his ring dug into your skin. Left an imprint that still brands you, even now. On their own accord, your hand rises. Fingertips delving past your waistband to find that sore indent of flesh. 

The tip of Rhett's boot thumps against the wall; a soft thump, thump, thump that has your head tilting to gaze out the door. You can hardly see him, but it's impossible to miss the way his hands have folded themselves at the front of his jeans, politely concealing the way he strains against the fabric. 

Riding a bull may be hard, but the look in those wild eyes suggests that standing in that hallway is even harder. 

That cowboy's bound to break, eventually. 

Maria's voice is nothing but a distant hum as you slip off the bed. Toeing off your shoes, uncaring of where they land. Too focused on hooking your fingers beneath the edges of your pants and nudging the fabric down your legs, falling into a messy pile that you're sure to trip over later. 

Fire burns into your bare thighs, set alight by a burning gaze that eats up the way your shirt lifts off your body. Leaving you bare, if only for a second, because your hands are already reaching for the soft, oversized flannel that he once wore earlier in the day. Two sizes larger than what he actually fits because the material hugged his biceps too tightly. His cologne still lingers on it, something torn between apple and wood smoke. Sweet with the slightest nudge of earthiness. 

You can almost hear it. The soft crackling of his resolve. Crumbling away like an old bridge, pieces falling faster than you can keep up with. 

His voice rumbles. Saying something you don't care to comprehend. Spurrs chiming. Boots thumping closer. Door hinges squeal as it all but slams closed. Kicked. You suppose.

Your socked feet twist beneath you. Turning. Coming nose to nose with him.

God, he's going to eat you alive. 

If he doesn't get to you first, that is. 

One foot steps forward, slotting your thigh between those long, muscled legs. Palms rising to his chest, pressing. You're hardly expecting him to give as easily as he does. Such a strong presence that you hardly believe he's giving way to the gentle pressure. Your noses nudge together with every hesitant step backward, a silent dance until his back hits the wall. 

Bold, one of your hands drop down. The heel of it pressing into a warm heat between his legs. Rhett's lips part with the softest inhale you've ever heard, the back of his head thunking against the drywall. 

You wonder if Maria heard that. 

"Can't talk all of a sudden?" You hum. So nonchalant and casual that it sounds like a part of normal conversation. 

"Y' look—" Cut short by the way you grasp him through his jeans. That pink tongue darts out to wet his lips. "Y' look good in my shirt."

But his eyes suggest that there's much, much more that he'd like to say. So many thoughts and phrases fluttering through that pretty little head that he doesn't know how to get them to his tongue. 

Makes it that much easier to lean closer, your lips ghosting against his as you speak, "Is that all, cowboy?" 

Rhett's hips buck. Wild. Set off by the thigh that nudges upward against his balls and the heavy underside of his cock. A tremor has long since arose in his hands. Weakly clinging to your hips. Can barely hold on when you lean in and meet his open mouth. Drinking up the soft noise that boils out of his throat, your eyes drifting shut at the soft scratch of his stubble. 

Arms curl around your waist. Heavy palm dipping beneath this old flannel of his, pressing into the small of your back. Gingerly drawing you up into his chest, and he's sighing into your mouth like you're a dream come true. God, you could melt. 

Your unbusied hand rises, tangling loosely in those dark curls, still wet from his rushed shower. Tugging a little too hard. Yanking his head back, swollen lips parted with a grunt. 

"Someone's gotten a lil' feisty tonight," that Adam's apple bobs, the veins in his neck putting on a show for you. Distracting, but nothing quite like the way he peers back at you from beneath half-lidded lashes. "I take it that it ain't 'cause of my stellar ride tonight." 

Idly, your teeth sink into your lower lip. "I'm going to take you for a stellar ride if you aren't careful." 

For a moment, the room is silent. No voices in the hallway, no clicking of heels out in the hallway. Not even an audible breath.

"...wouldn't mind that," he whispers. 

You're not sure if it was you or Rhett who made the first move. But everything is spinning. A blur of color as your feet tangle together. Backing up. Dancing toward the bed. His hands crawling up your back. Your fingers clinging to those long curls. And his mouth is on yours, and his tongue is lapping at your lower lip, and your mouths are parting—

The mattress squeals beneath the weight of your bodies. And maybe it's the bounce that makes it so easy to throw your leg over his hips. Rolling over top of him before you can so much as comprehend what you're doing. 

You've no recollection of it, but one of you has undone the buttons of his shirt. Revealing a broad, milky white chest, still marked by your earlier excursions. Bears the wound of a hoof to the ribs from last Sunday. A heart-stopping mottling of purple, blue, and yellow that has yet to fully fade, no matter how many times you've peppered it with kisses.

"I take it y' ain't gon' be easy on me," he says it like it's a hope. 

A want. 

A need. 

"Did you want me to be rough on you, cowboy?" Your smile audible in your words; already know the answer to that question. Distantly, you think you hear his boots being pushed off his feet. Hitting the floor with two dull thunks.

Rhett's hips roll upward, muscles flexing, putting on a rippling show for your eyes only. "A lil bit." 

That's all he needs to say. Those three little words setting you into motion. Scooting down his legs, your hands scurrying to pop open that obnoxiously large belt buckle. One of those things that felt like rocket science when you first met him, but now something you can do with your eyes closed. 

Well-trained fingers popping it open and nudging it out of the way as you make a move for his button and zipper. Eager. Can't even bring yourself to waste time with fishing him out of his boxers. Instead hooking your hands into his waistband and pulling them down before he can finish pulling those lube packets from his pocket. Sends the little things scattering down his thigh and across the bed. 

"Damn," Rhett grunts, fumbling for one that was practically ripped from his hand, "impatient."

Getting the bunched-up fabric past his ankles is the worst part. Stupid cowboy and his stupid long legs. Can't release the breath you're holding until it's finally sliding over his heels, belt clanking against the floor. Finally, finally, finally. 

Only now, as you crawl back up his legs, do you remember to open your mouth, "I wouldn't be if you didn't spend the past few minutes entertaining Maria." 

"Didn't wanna be rude—oh."  Eyelashes flutter. His hips jerking up into your hand, wrapped firmly around his cock. Flushed red at the tip, precum shimmering in the dull light of the bedside lamp. 

But it's not enough to wet him. The drag of your hand is rough. Firmly stroking, uncaring of whether he gets that lube open or not. Up and down, entranced by the way he twitches in your grasp. Thighs writhing against the mattress, squeezing together, only to spread apart again. A picture-perfect show of muscle, his heavy breaths like a melody. 

"Too dry?" You know the answer to that. 

He knows that you know the answer. Yet his hair bounces as he nods his head, the edges of two packets frozen between his teeth. "Uhuh."

But he's still not moving. In no hurry to relieve the discomfort that comes with your too-dry touch. Stomach flexing as he twitches up into it, chasing the touch of your hand, a soft noise emanating from the back of his throat. Rumbles out of his mouth and down between your legs. 

"You'd better hurry up then," saying it to yourself more than anything. Can feel the uncomfortable wetness growing, a subtle throb begging you to do something about that. Only spurred on by the way he whines at you, fumbling with the packets. 

The edges rip. Clear fluid spills out onto his lips and cheek as he pulls them away. Face wrinkling, pawing at his skin with the back of his hand. It's what he gets for opening things with his teeth. 

"How many times are you gonna do that before you learn?" You whisper, the corners of your lips rising as you squeeze one of the packets over his length. Drenching him in a slick wetness that squelches when your hand passes over it. 

He'd have something to say if you weren't starting to jerk him in earnest. His knees bumping into you, head tilting back. Can hardly focus on wetting two of his fingers with the other packet, dripping onto his heaving chest and running down his forearm. 

"Quit—" his mouth opening and closing like a fish, "'m gonna cum if you keep—mmh, if you keep doin' that."

On its own, your hand freezes at his base. 

He told you to stop. He knew you'd stop. And yet he jerks up into your fist anyway, keening high in his throat at the loss. Throbbing, balls flexing against your hand. So, so close, over something so little.

Rhett's shaky hand delves between your legs. Rough fingertips pass between your folds, over your clit. Shamelessly pressing inside without much warning, back into an open, dripping wetness that still aches from earlier in the day. 

Your thighs shudder, fighting the urge to clamp together as he passes over a familiar bundle of nerves. Bumping into it on every deep thrust of his fingers.  "Baby, you don't have to—"

"I know it," the lazy corner of his mouth lifts as he says it, an unnamed fondness sparkling in his smile, "don't wanna hurt you."

You can't argue. God, you can't argue. Not with him shallowly thrusting in and out of you the way that he does. Knuckles dragging sweetly against your walls, drawing your mouth open with a silent noise.

You've only just begun to adjust to it, but you're already catching him by the wrist, drawing those thick fingers out of yourself. All in exchange for scooting further up his lap, your other hand guiding his flushed length to your entrance. The head of him brushing against your entrance, burning hot. 

But you're not sinking down on him yet. Aren't quite sure what's made you freeze. Is it the recollection that Maria is on the other side of this thin wall? Hesitance to take what you want so quickly?

Rhett's hands smooth up your thighs, peering up at you from beneath thick lashes. "Take me," he breathes, voice barely there, "please."

Fuck, you can't say no to that. 

A calloused grip squeezes either side of your hips as you begin to sink down on him. Sensitive, sore cunt opening to take that blunt tip for the second time today. An aching stretch that has you holding your breath, caught in the way that he slowly enters you. Such a familiar thing that you've experienced time and time again, yet continues to feel so new.

Rhett's mouth is moving, but not a sound escapes his throat. Voice suddenly lost as you take him in, wound too tight by the feeling of splitting you open. Frankly, you don't think you're much better. Can't even begin to find the words that you wanted to say just moments before. 

Your palms settle on his exposed chest, feeling the way his heart knocks back against you. Vicious little thump thump thumps that spur your own heart on, pounding in your ears, so strong that your arms feel like they begin to shake with it. 

But then your hips are meeting, and the underside of his length is twitching into a particular little spot, and—

"Fuck, Rhett," you whisper his name like its a praise. 

A television blares from the next room over. Maria's. So loud that it's hardly muffled, and yet you can hardly hear it. The droning of a news reporter washed out by the breathy whine of a cowboy. Your cowboy.

Not Maria's. Doesn't belong to the fans who attend every rodeo and buy every object with his name printed on it. 

No, just yours. 

Those brilliant blue eyes sparkle up at you as you lift yourself up until only his plush head remains inside of you, then sink back down once more. A pair of gasps twist through the air at the way that he fills you, at the way you wrap around him so perfectly. 

"Jus' like that," Rhett's words punctuated by his heaving chest, "feels good, feel's so..." He can't finish that thought. Tongue limp in his mouth as you repeat the motion, a little shorter now. Quicker. Too impatient for the slowness that comes with lifting yourself all the way up. 

And that's okay because his hips twitch up into you. Meeting you halfway with a lewd smack of skin on skin. Hitting a set of nerves that have your eyes unfocusing, the softest noise rattling out of your chest. Those lazy thrusts have no right to hit what they do. Has your quivering cunt savoring the way that his cock head drags inside of you. 

His mouth snaps shut. Eyelashes fluttering shut, weakly muffling a moan that you wish you could have heard. Always has been a sucker for feeling you flutter around him. 

"Come on, cowboy," you're gasping, can hardly keep your own eyes open as you reach up, pressing a thumb to his soft lips, "open up."

Hesitant, his mouth opens to wrap around the digit. Sucking gently, his tongue swirling around the tip, moaning into it like it's a damn pacifier. And fuck, it's not what you were going for, but he's whining as your hips meet once more, and the sound is vibrating up your arm, and, and—

Your fingers grip his scruffy jaw. Thumb pinning that wriggling tongue to the bottom of his mouth, forcing it open. 

That sound he makes is garbled. The weakest little 'huh?' you've ever heard. Wide eyes peering up at you, gaze torn between confusion and intrigue. Poor cowboy has no idea what you're doing, and yet he seems up to whatever challenge you're about to present to him.

"Wanna hear you," Your sentence punctuated by a jerky snap of his hips up into you. Fuck, fuck fuck, he's hit that spot again. Sends you clenching around him once more.

Rhett sputters. Tongue flexing under your thumb, eyes darting to the wall behind the headboard. His protest doesn't make it past his lips, but you hear him loud and clear.

"It's okay," for a moment, your thumb loosens enough for him to escape if he wants to say something, "I'm the only one who can hear you." 

Distantly, it hits you that Maria's probably maxed out her television volume as bait to make Rhett come over and ask her to turn it down. 

But Rhett's not talking, and his protest dies there. Big hands running up your sides, palms curling around your breasts like he's been dying to do it all night. Gently holding on as you find your pace, riding this ol' bull rider in earnest now. Punching the breath out of your lungs, the sounds whittling out of your throat covered up by the deep grunts from below you.

"That's it," praising, adding flame to that rising confidence, "such a sweet boy for me." 

Your unbusied hand slides across his chest, pinching at a nipple. Pulling on it, rolling the rapidly hardening bud between your fingertips, dusky pink blossoming into a raging red. 

There he goes.

Jerking up into you with a garbled cry you haven't heard since you began this rodeo circuit. Baby blue eyes grow foggy, jaw slackening. Such a sight that you can feel yourself grow wetter around him, creating this sickly, loud squelch that bounces off the walls of this hotel room. And he's trying—God, he's trying to return the favor. Weakly catching one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, trying his best to roll it back and forth.

Your shaking hand rises, wrapping around his wrist, dragging it away. Still determined to keep your thumb pressed against his short little tongue, forcing those whimpered noises to hit the air. 

But then he's trying to do it with his other hand, and you've got no choice but to yank your finger out of his mouth. Your knuckle bumping against his teeth as it flies up to collect his other wrist, pinning them above his head. Forcing you to shift your angle, letting that thick cock of his rub against those nerves with perfect, unrelenting ease. 

"Wha...?" Rhett's eyes are wide open again, his head shaking, "But I want—"

His arms strain under your grasp, biceps rippling, and he could easily break out of it if he wanted to, but he doesn't. Stopping his efforts as soon as you don't immediately give way. Yet he's still jerking up into you, meeting your body halfway at the same lazy pace as before. 

"What do you want?" Echoing his too-short request despite knowing what he was trying to say. If only to hear that deep voice grumble again.

"Please, I want—" Fighting for control over his speech, head swaying back and forth like he's trying to shake the fog from his thoughts, "wanna touch you." 

But you're not letting him go. Collecting both of his wrists into one hand, letting your other one roam through his hair and across his cheek. Stroking that trembling jaw.

There's a glassiness in his eye that wasn't there before. Appearing so suddenly, yet already threatening to spill down his pretty cheeks. "'re you mad?" He croaks, bottom lip wobbling. "Was it—did I...? I didn't mean to..."

All at once, the room freezes. Bodies coming to rest against each other as you let go of his hands in favor of stroking those scruffy cheeks. And yet, his arms lay limp above his head. Unsure.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you whisper, lips brushing against his forehead, "I was just playing with you, sweetie; I'm not upset with you." 

It's not much, but it's enough to get him moving. Hesitantly wrapping his arms around you, nuzzling into the hands that cradle his face. Your fingers stroking away the wayward tear that spills over until it's nothing but a damp sheen beneath his eye. 

 "What's got you thinking I'm mad at you?" Not sure if you should press it or not, but you're asking regardless as you press a kiss to the bridge of his nose. Peppering them across his cheeks in the way that always gets his face scrunching. 

His eyes dart toward the wall, then down to the floor, "...Maria."

"Maria?" You echo. That's what has him upset? 

"I know y' don't like her and, and I know it didn't feel good havin' her follow us around all night." That pretty mouth is going ninety words a minute, rambling like it'll take the edge off of his nerves. Sweet blue eyes watering the more he talks. "I tried sayin' something to her earlier, but she wouldn't listen, 'n I didn't wanna be an ass..."

"No, no, I'm not upset about that," you're saying it so quietly, nearly covered up by the drone of Maria's television, but raising your voice feels like it'll break another piece of him. "I would've told you if it bothered me." 

He's still searching. Scanning for a hint of a lie, a shred of anger that doesn't exist. 

He doesn't find it. 

For a moment, he's still. Breath caught in his throat. But then he's leaning up, nose bumping into yours as he catches your lips in his own, the both of you sighing into it. Some simple lock that ends as quickly as it started. Sharing a heated breath, as unified as your bodies are. 

But there's still a flame kindling behind his eye.

"C'n I flip us over?" His hands draw up your sides, stroking your skin. "Please?"

"Go ahead, cowboy," you've hardly gotten the final word out, and yet he's already moving. Arms firm around your waist as he rolls your bodies over, your back settling into the mattress. Unintentionally jostling his cock inside of you, bumping into something spongey. 

Rhett's warm nose buries itself in the space beneath your jaw, hips already beginning to move. Searching for that same pace you'd worked up mere minutes ago. Heavy balls smacking into your ass, your legs split wide to make space for his sweaty body. Slow at first, but then—

"Ah!" Stars sparkle behind your eyelids, mouth agape. "There, there, good boy." 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, he's only just started fucking into you, and yet his cock head is already kissing those nerves on each inward pass. Meticulously striking every little spot. Has your cunt growing wet once more. Your blunt nails bite into his flannel-covered bicep, dominant hand venturing down between your legs. 

"Feels so good," Rhett's babbling, right into your ear, "fuck, can feel your lil pussy spasmin' 'round me."

The pads of your fingers find your clit. Neglected and swollen, so sensitive that your own touch is almost too much. "Rhett..." 

"Uhuh," and then his head is rising, and his mouth is on yours again. 

Your lips can hardly stay together. Breaking apart with every shaky thrust, yet always finding each other again. Over and over, gasping into his mouth, swallowing down his pitchy whimpers. Chasing a high that you can feel burning to life between your legs. A dull heat that's already sparking, sending your skin prickling and your head spinning. 

"Wanna..." he's muttering against your mouth, searching for words he can't find"Can I—please can I—"

And yet he's cut off by his own cry. A shattered noise brought on by the way your cunt squeezes him, fluttering like a damn butterfly. Your fingers spiral around your clit, chasing a lone flame that blooms into a raging wildfire. God, his rhythm is falling apart, jerky thrusts slamming into you without synchrony.

All of a sudden, Rhett finds his voice, "'M gonna cum."

Fuck, you said this morning that you weren't letting him cum in you again this week. But the thought of the cleanup pales in comparison to the vivid memory of him snuggling into you as he fills your pussy with his cum. 

Oh, oh, oh, you want to feel that again. 

"Cum in me, angel," your hand flies off his bicep in exchange for tangling in his hair. Holding on tight, like you'll float up to the ceiling and out the window if you don't hang onto him.

The corner of his eye twitches. Keening high in his throat, head dropping down as his hips quicken. Short, rapid little thrusts. Chasing the heat of it all. Pushing your head higher and higher into the clouds. Grunting beneath his breath.

His hips stall. 

A sputtered cry falling off his tongue. Head burying into the crook of your neck as his orgasm washes over him. Cock spasming inside of you, twitching, filling your sweet pussy with his cum for the second time today. Painting the inside of you with white. Panting heavy against your skin.

His hips jolt involuntarily

And that's all it takes to push you over the edge. Cumming around his cock with a noise that your ringing ears don't catch. Head tilting back. Cunt clenching around him like a vice. Spurred on by the pitchy, oversensitive whimpers that you draw out of him. 

Your head might have fallen off of your shoulders. So light and airy that you think you might feel a cloud brush against your cheek. 

Or maybe that's the feathery brush of a cowboy's lips against your cheek. One, two, three, four kisses. Working you down from your high, grunting at the way that you relax around his spent cock.

Unfocused, your eyes open. Blinking back at him. "Some stellar ride, huh?"

The corner of his lip rises with a smile as your arms wrap around his broad shoulders. Chuckling, his head dips down to rest against your chest, soft cock slipping halfway out of you. And you can already feel his cum beginning to spill down your walls, stopped only by that sensitive, plush tip. Even then, you think you can feel it running down your inner thighs. 

"We should clean up before we get the bed dirty," you whisper, but just because you should doesn't mean you will.

Rhett's head shakes, dark hair bouncing with it. "No."

"No?" Echoing dumbly. Though you can't say that surprise is your primary emotion.

"Want y' to keep holdin' me," that voice of his is deep, but his smile is light. Sparkling eyes peeking up at you like he thinks it'll get him extra time, "jus' a lil longer." 

You've always been a sucker for that soft, cozy gaze.

And maybe you fall asleep because the next time you open your eyes, it feels like forever has passed. Your bones heavy, thighs sore from your borderline workout. Rhett's heavy body still lays on top of you. His fingers walk across your naked skin, transfixed by the way your skin gives to his gentle touch. Lost in his own little world.

Lazy, your fingers comb through his hair. The ring on your finger glints in the light as your nails rake across his scalp in a fashion that always makes him purr. 

"Would y' care if I called the front desk 'n changed our room?" His voice rumbles against your collar, its own little earthquake.

"I don't mind," your neck strains as you try to press a kiss to his forehead, his skin still sticky with sweat, "if it makes you feel better, then that's what we'll do."

He hums at that. Doesn't seem to have much more of a response cooked up. But then, the scruff of his jaw brushes against your skin, his mouth opening again, "C'n we take a bubble bath first?"

Your eyes flutter. Supposedly a habit you've picked up from your husband. "Now?"

"Uhuh."

As you clamber off of each other and make for the bathroom, you can't help but catch yourself wondering if any of his big-time fans are aware of his recent bubble bath obsession. Or if Maria and her not-so-subtle fixations know that Rhett is absolutely, one-hundred percent, the little spoon. 

Because you sure do. 

[girlbossblackbeard]

throwing all logical predictions for the finale out the window because this show has consistently chosen to do the most batshit insane things that I could never even dream of in a million years so here are my new theories for things that are gonna happen in episode 8:

-Ed and Stede open up an Inn together in that ramshackle house we saw in the NZ videos

-We won't get a Zheng/Olu/Archie/Jim polycule but we WILL get a Pete/Lucius/Izzy polycule but Izzy is only there to be a bitch and blue ball himself. and also whittle cool things

-Buttons and a massive legion of seagulls descend upon a navy ship and just pick it up and fly away

-Wee John gets hired at Spanish Jackie's to do a drag show every night and a drag brunch on the weekends

-Roach and Fang hookup

-Frenchie meets an honest-to-god mermaid, possibly after falling off the boat and being rescued by them

-Rick coins the term "Getting Rick Roll'd"

-A THIRD BADMINTON BROTHER APPEARS AND IT'S RORY KINNEARN ONCE AGAIN

-Anne Bonny and Mary Read show up on a dope ass ship to help kick the navy's ass and also hookup with Zheng. Calico Jack is also there with a comically dented abdomen from getting cannonballed in s1 ep8 but he makes plenty of jokes about being an inny now

-Doug, Mary, and the kids stay at Ed and Stede's Inn so Ed and Mary can bond over Stede's quirks and Stede can bisexualize Mary's boyfriend again. Also Alma just has a lot of knives

[dflogerzi]

Say Hey Charles... Will you kick one out here?

Although few will give you a cheer if you do...

I get it. The can kicking is part of the monarchy motto. Just keep the stiff upper lip, never explain, complain, or even deal. Works right? And in your case... what the hell, William can deal with it. You are too old, too infirm, too weighted with duty, too "fill in the dang blank".

I was never a huge fan. I have watched your path for many decades, and I am speaking of from the time I stood in the Mall in London on your wedding day cheering with the masses. One learns things...

Like today. The supposed "Christening" photo of the alleged child born of Meghan Markle's body named Archie. Gasp... horror... now apparently photoshopped (like we did not already know). Say in a kingly voice and with authority it is not so...

You may have mastered kicking the can down the road. But all so said containers become dented, worn, and must eventually be trashed. The truth is going to come out. Many truths. And I hope I am around long enough to hear the excuses you, and even yours, have as to why you have supported, or hid, or whatever you did... one of the most illegal acts ever pulled on the Line of Succession in a monarchy dating a thousand years.

Pick up your own trash.

William. You need to stop watching this disaster in play. It is obvious you know. Do not wear this for history and your own legacy.

Darling England. I am so sorry. You deserve better. We all do.

Written by little me from the grand state of Nevada. In my own little corner, in my own little chair. Cheap seats. But I have a rich mind.

Onward.

P.S. This written was merely my own opinion. My truth, why I am on Tumblr with this account, and it means nothing outside of that. It is a vent. And I rather liked doing it. Thank you.

[spacebagfullofstars]

Honda Oddysey Scene but in Evolution

This is a snippet of my X Men Evolution Deadpool AU that's been on my mind lately. Inspired by the most talked about scene in Deadpool and Wolverine

It was hard to tell when exactly the night rolled around. It was still dawn when they arrived in San Francisco and they haven't left their beaten up meat truck since.

Wolverine was still driving without any kind of direction. His mask was on, but his frown was visible through it. Deadpool, driving shot gun, seemed to had completely dissociated himself from his surroundings. He was switching between radio stations and trying to find the right music. The mutant, unfortunately, had to suffer through each song whenever the other man changed his mind. Currently, they were listening to Cher's 'If I Could Turn Back Time'.

A few seconds passed. Another switch, they were listening to 'War' by Edwin Starr.

Another few seconds. 'Shake your Groove Thing' by Peaches and Herb.

Another few seconds. 'Sugar, Sugar' by the Archies.

Before another few seconds passed, Wolverine reached out and turned off the radio, momentarily returning his attention on the road. The lack of eye contact and how quickly it happened made it come off as passive-aggresive.

"I was listening to that." Deadpool said, in all his audacity. Logan didn't give him the luxury of response. The mercenary tried to focus on the window, but without the background noise, his need to open his mouth grew stronger.

"I was going to give you half of the cut, you know." He said after a second, looking at Wolverine, who still refused to give him time of a day. "I'd never make it not worth your time. Think whatever you want of me, I treat my business partners with respect."

"You lied to me." Logan suddenly growled. Somehow, he sounded even more angry than usual.

"Strike two, ferret man." Deadpool said, making a peace sign at him. "I said that I needed your help, and I said that the old Hydra base could be of interest to you. Not my fault they didn't have any info on your past. That didn't count as lying, I just didn't tell the whole truth."

The mutant snarled, making Deadpool jump. He saw him gripping the wheel, which he was sure would leave a few dents. Not that he planned on returning the vehicle at that point.

"What? Tell me honestly, would you help me if I came up to you and said: 'Hey, Wolvie! Some rich weirdo paid me to go and steal something from this place that looks like a horror rip-off of Area 51! Also, did I mention that this place is full of freaky water tanks? Also also, did you know that apparently, our healing factor isn't immune to drowning?'"

"Would've been nice knowin' that before you waltzed right into a trap." Logan retorted through gritted teeth.

"You've had your healing factor longer than I have." Wade said, leaning against his seat and crossing his arms. "That one's just on you."

And just like that, Wolverine's buttons were pushed. Without any warning, he made a sharp turn. Deadpool regretted not tightening his seatbelt when he had the chance as he crashed onto the door next to his seat. The truck fell off the road and down the hill. It was far from a pleasant experience, but thankfully, it survived to tell the tale. It landed on a beach right under their road. It was empty, so the mutant parked on its sand.

As soon as the vehicle stopped, he swung and punched Wade in the face. The mercenary screamed, hiding it in his hands. He was lucky that he wore his red mask because he was pretty sure Logan broke his nose.

"Dude-!" Wade shouted. Before he fully recovered, he felt a strong grip on his neck. Now that Logan wasn't focusing on the road, all of his rage was directed at him.

"You want an apology? Fine, I'm sorry!" The mercenary managed, holding onto the hand crushing his neck. "If I knew you'd be so mad, I'd ask that brute Sabertooth to come! But I didn't, because I like you more!"

Logan roared as he slammed him against the back of the seat.

"You lied to me! You wasted my time! And because of you, we're bein' hunted down like animals!" The mutant's voice was barely there with all those grunts.

"I didn't lie!-"

"Yes, you did! You used my lost memories against me! You knew how much it meant to me to regain them and you still manipulated me into doin' your dirty work! You used me as a weapon, just like everyone else!"

"... Oh, boo-freaking-hoo!" Deadpool frowned, growing more defensive. That shift caught Wolverine off guard. "Little Wolverine can't remember his first day in new school! Guess what, jerk, I don't remember much after my experimentation either! But I don't let that hold me back! Here are some hard pills to swallow: You're so desperate to know your past that you let me of all people make a monkey out of you! Me! Keep trusting the wrong guys and soon you won't even have a future to look forward to!"

After he finished, he looked back at Wolverine. He was staring at him with this empty look that freaked him out even more than the angry snarl. Suddenly, he let him go and Wade fell back on his seat. He coughed and massaged his neck.

"Look, Wolv. I'm sorry." He tried, because he couldn't handle seeing him like this anymore. "Really, I am. But take it from me, maybe it's better to just forget... No hard feelings?..."

He didn't know yet that he said too much. Wolverine was silent for a few more moments. Then, he wheezed. The mutant threw his back against the seat, and running his hand up his scalp, he succumbed to his laughter. It wasn't a pleasant sound at all. It was strained, almost hysterical, and obviously provoked more by his fury than actual amusement. Still, it was the first time Deadpool actually made him laugh.

"Oh wow!... " The mercenary said through his nervous chuckle that was muted by Wolverine. "So that's how you laugh! Just as terrifying as the rest of you!... I didn't say any joke yet, though."

"You didn't have to." Logan sighed deeply, partially regaining his posture. The next look he gave Wade was entirely venomous.

"You are the biggest joke I've ever seen! There hasn't been as much of an audacious, or insecure, or callous stain on humanity than this manchild I have the displeasure of sittin' right next to! You're good for nothin' but spreadin' mysery everywhere you go! You ain't got no morals, no friends, and you make it everyone's problem, 'cause you can't ever accept the fact that your actions have consequences!" Logan paused to catch his breath. Deadpool visibly shrinked in his own seat. Suddenly, the mutant's claws came out and he shoved them to the back of the truck, scraping its surface in a long line.

"Oh, how I wish I pushed you off that cliff first time we've met! Maybe that would've gotten the message through your dense skull, just how much I want to see you set on fire! Hate doesn't even begin to describe what I'm feelin' towards you! Ain't no wonder why that blue woman you keep yappin' about hasn't come back to you yet! You have to make up an imaginary girlfriend to protect your delicate feelin's from the fact that nobody will ever want you! How 'bout this hard pill to swallow: The doctors that tortured you didn't ruin your life! You did! You have to act like an obnoxious clown, otherwise no one would ever give you the attention you're so obviously cravin'! I can't wait for the day when you'll wake up and realise that you'll be spendin' the rest of eternity alone, and you can thank only yourself for that! But that's just wishful thinkin', 'cause you're-" His claws pulled back and he slammed his fist against the marked metal.

"-too-" Slam!

"-stupid-" Slam!

"-to think of anythin' outside of your own bubble of insanity!" SLAM! The wall bended and partially fell apart, just enough for them to see the inside of their cargo.

At long last came the silence. Logan used his hand to support himself from collapsing. He panted and bared his teeth at the mercenary who grew concerningly quiet. Not for Logan, though.

"No more jokes, bub?" He leaned closer and sneered, not being able to resist one last jab. "Come on, give me a real tear-jerker. I'm feelin' like laughin' for a change."

He looked directly into Deadpool's eyes. All he saw in them were two empty voids. The mutant settled back on his seat and tried to catch his breath. A second later and he would've regretted some of the things he said.

"... Take it back." Deadpool murmured softly. Had it not been for Wolverine's super hearing, he would've missed it.

"You don't know when to quit, do you?" The mutant snorted loudly. It was his own enjoyment of seeing the mercenary be put in his place that led him to lower his guard. Before he knew, Wade grabbed the back of his head, painfully gripping a handful of hair and hood.

"I said take it back!" He roared with the anger he never let anyone see. Without any warning, he slammed Wolverine's head against the front of the car. Then he did it again and on his third time he accidentally turned on the radio.

'Why Can't We Be Friends?' by War started playing.

Slam!

'Express Yourself' by Madonna.

Slam!

'You're the One That I Want' from the musical Grease.

"Why you little-!" Wolverine wouldn't take it any longer. He grabbed onto whatever he could and prevented Deadpool from slamming his head again. He pulled out his claws and jammed them into the other's right shoulder. Wade cried out. Using the moment of distraction, the mutant freed himself. Then, he grabbed Wade's head, pulled him close, and then slammed his head against the radio. This time it played 'Don't Go Breaking My Heart' by Elton John and Kiki Dee.

Despite being a taller man, Deadpool had to trouble slipping into a different position in his limited space. He kicked Logan onto the door, breaking the window and leaving a huge dent. The mutant growled, glaring back at him with pure fire in his eyes. Deadpool tried to throw a hit, but Logan caught his fist and then repeatedly punched him in the face. Wade dodged and a hit full of claws meant for him punctured the already beat down back of the truck.

The mercenary used this for his advantage. He managed to grab Logan by the shoulders and then threw him in order to take down the rest of the space separating them from the cargo. They both fell into the cold, smelly abyss where they could barely see each other. Not that it would stop them.

[spngirlpolls]

this is a very stupid poll about non-spn stuff that comes up frequently on my dash that i am not personally into but enjoy seeing the mutuals have fun discussing :)

[yourflame]

silver is honestly such a misunderstood / mischaracterized character tbh. the woobafication baby-fying of him post 06 in the games / idw comics makes me sad for him lmao. at least archie was cooking with him (watched a video about archie silver - good shit)

anyways, i retain the original depiction of silver from his debut game. he's goofy and naive at heart (autistic) but the world he was born into forced him to grow up with a survivor's mindset - always on edge, always serious, easily frustrated (being able to just force punch people with your mind when there's a problem doesn't exactly lend one the room to develop patience or diverse problem solving skills) - his powers made him a bit arrogant, even. while he doesn't see himself as above others, he does see his gifts as something that sets him apart - in his world he's the only person who posed a challenge to the flames of disaster - the only one who could actually do something about it (until he met blaze, anyway - the first other mobian he met that actually had powers and could make a dent in iblis)

he has a very logic based mentality - but his actions are motivated by emotion. silver possesses a deep inner rage. he's seen so much destruction in his life, more than any mortal being should - and has suffered much loss. you'd think, for someone as cracked level of powerful as him is, surely he'd be able to stand toe to toe with a broken half of a sun god? apparently not.

[puppetmaster13u]

Okay I had a sleep deprived vision of a TwoBats/Bruharvey Au while listening to Monster Hunter music and just. Batman is Gotham's Dark Knight and Harvey was known as its White Knight? And I randomly was thinking of Malzeno thanks to the music and just- Imagine a Malzeno (vampire inspired dragon) Bruce and a Primordial Malzeno (archangel inspired dragon) Harvey

Can you see it? Do you see it? Like I am both rotating outfits inspired by these, or combining them with the bois or just straight up them as dragons, I honestly don't care I just need this

[dimorphodon-x]

Oh Shit it's My Ex

Something I've been wanting to write for a while now lol.

Archy is sad and pathetic and Solclave is too soft despite giving the silent treatment.

--

--

There was no reason for Solclave to believe this raid on a Decepticon ship would be any different from previous ones. After receiving word that the Decepticon ship was harboring prisoners, the Immortal Sun simply swooped in to rescue them. A quick in-and-out that left the cons bewildered.

That was how it should’ve gone.

Yet the large triple changer now found himself frozen at the doorway of a dark little cell. His face told nothing of the rush of emotion and thoughts going through his head as he stared at the white mech on the floor before him.

The wide blue eyes staring back at him were unmistakable, and while his frame was familiar, it wasn’t right. He looked more simple, less delicate. Yet the many dents and scrapes said that he was still fragile and weak.

The white mech opened his mouth, vocalizer clicking. Anger and disgust surged in Solclave’s gut.

He dare try to speak to him? After what he did so many years ago? The things he did after? The kind of person he was-is were the sort Solclave had mercilessly plunged his ax into many a time. The irredeemable, the selfish, the greedy, the vain. Those who never sought to better themselves as people.

Archangel was all of those and more.

And what was worse, Solclave realized as he watched the pathetic mech…

He still cared. He still felt something for him, an attachment he thought had died millions of years ago, when his brother was chosen over him. It disturbed him.

“Y-you’re… here…” Archangel choked on his words and pulled himself forward, “Sol… Solclave…?”

The gold triple changer’s eyes narrowed a small margin and he shifted his hold of his ax, letting light flash off of its bloodied blade. Archangel paused as he looked at the large weapon, eyes widening further. The faint glimmer of hope flickered behind fear.

“Mercy! Please, Solclave!” He choked and wheezed pitifully, “please, spare me! Save me!”

“Save you?”

Solclave almost rolled his eyes. It would be much easier to just leave the mech to his fate. He should leave.

“Save me, I beg of you!” Archangel dragged himself closer to the larger mech, eyes sparking and wings trembling. There was an injury to his back, Sol realized, “please! I’m so afraid! I’m in pain! Have mercy, please!”

It was disappointing how there was no satisfaction to seeing the once selfish and beautiful mech in this state. A long sigh escaped Sol’s vents. He was a guardian. He had a job to do. Their shared history must be ignored.

Archangel cried out as Solclave reached down and plucked him from the cold floor. White arms scrambled desperately over gold armor until they wrapped tightly around his neck. His trembling only worsened once he was in his arms.

“Don’t leave me,” Archangel whimpered as Solclave turned away from the cell to rejoin his crew. They were already heading back to the Immortal Sun with the other prisoners and even a few stolen supplies.

“Please don’t let go,” Archangel continued, face buried into the side of Solclave’s neck, “please don’t let go, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Don’t leave me behind. I’m scared.”

Solclave hated himself as he held the pathetic mech closer.

[scribbliff]

A Certain Versatility

On the rain-slicked streets of Cunningham, New Biscon, a boring business card twisted and turned in the autumn wind, with no embossed edges to make it more aerodynamic or give it the means to grip the breeze more efficiently. It didn’t even have an email address printed on the back, actually... Only a phone number with the wrong area code at the beginning, a list of titles as long as your finger and a name: Archibald Montgomery Ward, sole owner and proprietor of Ward’s Wards.

Paranormal investigator, Exorcist, Palm Reader, UFO investigator, paranormal tour guide, vampire slayer and data entry clerk. Each and every aforementioned job title lingered on the surface of the card with words highlighted occasionally in bold, and not even the important ones, words like ‘tour’ and ‘entry’. Oh yes, Archie Ward was a man who loved to keep his options open, and in a job market like this, and with the price of business cards rapidly increasing, it was quite beneficial to project a certain versatility. 

And within that sphere was where Archie shined: instead of fixating on one field of veil-adjacent precaution he plied literally every mystical trade known to man. He could read your palm, read your fortune, read your tea leaves, he could exorcise, mysticise and alphabetise, a veritable jack of all trades, as I’m certain you’d agree. This desire to be massively useful even extended into the mundane, because the spirit hunting market was always in flux - you never knew when the next possession or haunting would come. And it didn’t help that ExorSwift™ was really cornering the reasonably fast exorcisms market.

If the owner of a haunted house required a ghost-trapping salt circle *and* a serviceable spreadsheet with formulas to correlate the gross margins of financial data, however, he was an excellent and affordable choice. If a Nosferatu was in your vicinity, but what really bothered you was the uncertainty of the future, there was a combination deal in the brochure that paired a thorough strigoi staking with a reassuring, candle-lit palm reading. Multiple stakings incur an additional charge, as per union guidelines.

But tonight, Archie Ward was stuck in his dingy little shop. His fingers sought distraction and found it, within the dented and scuffed plastic shell of the trusty old electromagnetic frequency reader that’d long suffered on his toolbelt. Yes, the very toolbelt he wore for all his contracts also held wooden stakes, holy symbols, little booklets full of spooky local facts, almost-holy water (offbrand), a calculator, a few red candles and, perhaps most importantly, chewing gum. Oh yes, even if you exorcise a wraith from a person’s house, if you have stinky breath that’s what they’ll remember you for.

However, as he nonchalantly turned on the reader, the sudden burst of sound emanated from it caused him to flinch and quite loudly bang his knee on the shelf behind the counter. He held it up to his face and, sure enough, all five of the little lights, varying from green through multiplied shades of yellow and orange, culminating in a final, sinister red, were shining bright.

Yet, despite the abject volume of the warning tone, a secondary, quite sinister sound pierced through the cacophony of swear words and screeching: the door chime, above the entrance to his store…

[tatteredxsails]

wishlist starter for @swallowsandamazons

Ghost Ship

The stain was there, if you knew how to look for it. The red that clung to the iron of the grating was deeper, vivid in a way that the orange tinted rust around it wasn't. Only a handful of the people that passed over that spot on a daily basis had any idea it was there.

Jim would occasionally pause, feet spread a shoulder's width apart, to look down at the stain that they knew was there. They stared down at the grating and heard the sound of their own voice in their head. They felt the weight of the canon ball in their hands, and all of the fear and rage that had been in them, vibrating through their muscles, as they hurled it downwards.

It was a wonder the boards weren't dented from the impact. They'd only partially managed to hit their intended target. Then, they had been screaming. They'd been screaming together, hadn't they? Although the sounds Blackbeard had been making weren't exactly... right.

Archie stood over the grating and felt her fingers grip into the fabric of Jim's shirt. She hadn't really known the man, hadn't understood the dynamics that were there, as fucked up as they were. She'd never seen the inside of someone's head like that, either, or them trying to struggle their way on through the injury like it hadn't happened.

Frenchie stood and wrapped his arms around himself as he looked down at the spot. He could still feel the rain soaking him down to the bone. It had been raining. It had been a bad storm. No reason to think about it. No reason to open that back up and hurt all over. He moved on.

Fang paused and looked at the blood that he knew was there. Edward had always been a bit of a dick, but they hadn't all been bad times. Sometimes, he'd light up and Fang would see the young man he'd known over twenty years earlier -- full of ambition and life. He hadn't been thoroughly poisoned by all of the shit the world would give him, yet. Just a little bit. That poison would come out occasionally, but not... not like it had.

Izzy stood over the spot and raised a bottle to his lips. There wasn't anything to think about it. Nothing that he could articulate. Standing there was like standing on his own grave. He could feel the press of weight down on his chest. He could stand there all day and imagine Edward's beaten corpse drifting down to the bed of the sea where it would rest with the bones of whales. Just like he would have fucking wanted. He'd spill his drink out the side of his mouth, pour one out on the deck for the man he could still feel tethered to him despite the veil between them now. He'd stay there and drink until he started to shout the inarticulate things scratching at the backs of his eyes until someone would pull him away.

Fucker had gotten his wish and the stain was still there.

Edward stood and watched all of them, his breath caught in his chest. He hadn't been able to let it out. It had been trapped within the cage of his ribs, straining there, since he had drawn it in. Some part of him understood that it was that breath that was keeping him from disappearing into the rough, dark, sea. It was keeping him afloat where he could see everything but do nothing -- a drowning man watching the rigging be set and the ship hulking overhead. Knowing she'd be gone eventually.

He couldn't let that breath out. He tried, when each of the battered crew paid a visit to what remained of him in their lives. He tried to talk. To shout. Fuck, he'd even tried to cry and grab hold of a hand with a spade tattooed on the back.

He couldn't. None of them heard. None of them saw. And the breath burned in his chest.

There'd be no departure for his spirit. No descent into the sea to finally, finally, be held in the arms of his mother again. He'd never be with the long line of relatives that he'd never gotten to meet when his flesh had been warm. The only descent into the sea he'd have was the one his corpse had already taken.

Edward sat on the deck, looking at that rotten spot. That held breath. He looked like he had in the moments before he had drawn that breath; desperate and wild for the death that was to come. His hair was plastered to his head from the rain that was no longer pounding down on them, a storm that had since passed into memory.

He tried to push the breath out of himself and leaned his head into his arms, resting across the tops of his knees.

[triflesandparsnips]

Anyway, because I am Cringe and I am Free, please enjoy my livetexting of episodes 6 and 7:

Transcribed:

oh hi Bronson whatshishead, I've loved you since Perfect Strangers

NED LOW

how many fuckin versions of "Edward" are there on this show

hm themes of legacy interesting interesting

LIGHTHOUSE KEEPER YOU SAY

"you have a lovely, natural instrument" goddamn okay

hi IZZY AND ED

"scowly-face"

"bit drunk thought you were Roach"

hi Ed back in your leathers

"MOPEY TWAT"

jfc is everyone drinking too much on this ship

"SORRY ABOUT YOUR LEG" "FUCK OFF" omg

"I was tripping over all your stuff and some of it's quite ugly"

a guilt room

a GILT room

Archie and her SNAKE CULT history

"improvement in the flow is undeniable"

Calypsish

CAPTAINS

Ed knowing that it's bullshit

oh HI RICKY

oh hey a purple ribbon

hm

fuckin british

a ceramic nose

lovely design, gonna steal it

WE'RE GONNA NEED A GOAT

A RUM-DRINKING GOAT

hey URCHINS

ED IS GREAT WITH KIDS I knew it

THEY OWN AN INN

wait what's on Ricky's neck thing, is it a pin, what is it

is it a pearl wtf

omg Wee John, drag-- IZZY???

LOOK IN THAT MIRROR IZZY

OMFG

THE TUB

"the moving of the tub-- it's a sacred tradition"

"as long as it's returned without a dent" -- that shit is getting taken apart

Wee John drag is fab

OMFG IZZY

SINGING

the SWEET LOOK ON STEDE'S FACE

OMG

KISS HIS HAND IZZY

OMG DANCE

THROUPLE

Izzy sings the word "LOVE" and the ship gets FUCKIN FIRED ON

Ed protecting Stede

"I only hang out with cool pirates" --Stede's FACE

Stede being so angry because Ned was insulting Ed

"whatever this is, it's just gonna turn me on" OKAY

omg Pete and Lucius

the pre-revenge window

the thing where Low's crew-- "you see her as your employee rather than the person she actually is" oh my GOD THAT'S SO HOT HI STEDE

"She has a name-- a beautiful one"

Everyone being so happy for Pete and Lucius's engagement

omg are they keeping Ned

"Bland Beard"

omg is Stede gonna beat the shit out of him

"WALK"

okay fuck wow

"oh that is kinky"

"Works for spiders. Works for men."

"Don't do it, Stede" -- oh man

[lovelyrocker]

Fool's Gold ch.5

RPF

Warnings: Age Gap, Language, Smut, Underage Drinking

Characters: Armie Hammer, Reader,

Pairings: Armie x Reader (Unofficial)

Work Count: 3,861

UnBeta'd

The next afternoon Y/N left school at noon and went straight to Armie’s. She let herself in with the spare key she never gave back to Armie. Archie, wagging his tail, was excited to see her. She knelt down giving him all the love. She let the pup out and then gave him a treat before walking back into the house. Sitting on the counter was a set of car keys with a note scribbled in Armie’s handwriting.

Here is a small grocery list. The debit card pin is 4673 and the keys to the mustang are on the counter. Enjoy your ride, Pretty Girl, and don’t crash my car. -Armie

P.S. Get yourself something sweet.

Y/N smiled, looking down at the set of keys with the Yale keychain. She smiled as she picked up the set of keys and the shopping list.

When Armie pulled into his driveway that evening, he could hear the bass of music coming from inside his house. He shook his head with a smile as he grabbed his briefcase, locking his car door with a beep of the car alarm. He opened his front door to be greeted by an excited Archie, bouncing around.

“Hey, buddy!” Armie gave Arching a pat on the head then sat his case down, smelling the food in the air. “Y/N?!” He called.

“In here!” She called and he followed the voice. She grabbed the remote to the stereo system, pausing the music. “You have an amazing sound system.”

“Yeah, I’m sure the neighbors really appreciate that.” He told her, placing a kiss to her lips with a smile.

“Sorry.” She shrugged with a guilty expression that Armie found adorable.

“What are you doing?” He asked, shrugging off his jacket. “What smells so good?”

“Well, I decided to make you dinner.”

“You made dinner?” He looked at her surprised. “I didn’t know you knew how to cook.”

“Yes, I can cook!” She nudged him. “Green Beans, a beef roast and some potatoes.”

“It smells delicious.” He places another kiss on her lips. “How was the drive?” He backed her up against the counter.

“Beautiful.” She answered as she kissed him back. “No bums, scrapes or dents." She tells him as he starts kissing down her neck. "Your car is in the condition it was in before and she drives like a dream.”

Armie let his hands go to her ass and lifted her to the countertop with a squeal. “Did you drive with the top down?” He continued to kiss her.

“Top down, windows down, music blaring.” She told him as she let his tongue taste her mouth.

He pulled away and eyed her. “Were you drinking?”

“I may have taken a sip of the tequila.”

“A sip?” He raised a brow.

“Two sips, but I swear that's it!”

He shook his head with a grin. “You could at least pretend I am the adult here.”

“I’m an adult, too!”

“You know what I mean, smartass.” He nipped her neck.

“Behave,” She pushes at his shoulders. “It’s time to eat.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do.” He slides his hands beneath her skirt.

“Ah-ah.” She tuts, pulling his hands away. “That’s dessert.”

“Such a tease.” He hums into her mouth before moving away, letting her hop down from the counter.

They sit at the dinner table, and she sets a plate in front of Armie. “Did you really do this all of this on your own?” He looks from the steaming food in front of him then to her.

“Yes.” She giggled, Sitting in her chair next to him. “I actually enjoy cooking. My grandma taught me years ago.”

“This is missing something.” He says standing. She looks over the table trying to figure out what’s missing when Armie sits back down with two wine glasses and a bottle of wine. “One glass.” He tells her as he pours the dark red liquid into the glass. “And you can’t tell.”

“I won’t, I promise.” She tells him as she sips the wine. “So, how was your day?” She asks as she cuts her roast.

“Hectic.” He tells her as he cuts his own food. “Someone input the data backwards for the meeting and we were scrambling to fix it. Actually,” He pointed to her. “It was the one you did for me a few days ago that saved the day!”

“Really?!” She asked with a squeak in her voice. “The data I entered to test the new software?”

“Yes! Oh my God this is delicious!” He told and she gave a smile, her cheeks blushing at his compliment. “Anyway, I told them I had a copy of the spreadsheet and it matched so we used yours for the budget.”

“That’s awesome!”

“I told your dad that you wanted to try out our new software, so I let you try it out and of course he started bragging how good you were with numbers and much of a good eye you have.”

“Of course he did.” She rolled her eyes.

“I brag about you, too, so I can’t say anything.” He told her as he took another bite of the food. “Oh my God! This really is delicious!”

Y/N gave a smirk. “Thank you! And please tell me that you don’t really brag about me.”

“Of course I do!” He tells her matter of factly. “How can I not?” He reaches over and takes her hand. “You have no idea how incredible you are.” She blushed deeper as he kissed the back of her hand.

After dinner they moved to the back yard and sat by the pool with the bottle of wine between them. Y/N’s feet dangled in the water while Armie sat behind her, her back leaning against his chest. His fingers traced her bare shoulder where he pulled her school shirt off of her arms.

She leaned her head back against his shoulder. “Stay the night.” He whispered in her ear. She lifted her head and looked at him. “Your parents aren’t home. I overheard your dad saying he and your mom are having a three-day weekend and they left tonight.”

“So, are you saying-” Her hand traveled behind her to his waist.

“Uh-uh.” He grabs her hands. “No sex tonight.”

“We don’t have sex.” She sits up, looking back at him.

“Oral sex is still sex.” He looks down at her. “What we do is versions of sex.”

“Then why won’t you fuck me already?”

He couldn’t help the laugh that left him from her frustration. “Because” He pulled her back to lay against his chest, his arms wrapping around her shoulders. “If I just go at you like a horny teen on prom night, I’ll hurt you.” He kisses the top of her head. “This way, messing around like we do, It will give your body a chance to prepare for it.”

“Translations, you have a big dick and this way you can work me open a bit so I'm not hurting like a bitch when we do fuck.”

Armie busted into laughter. “Something like that.” He kissed her head again. “Look, I don’t want the whole time to hurt for you. This way it will only hurt at first. At least that's what I’m going for.”

She looks over at him and tilts her head up. “Okay. I trust you.”

“Good.” He kissed the tip of her nose and she giggled. “Are you sure you’re not drunk?”

“If I have any more wine, I will be. Oh!” She said suddenly and stood, wobbling.

“Woah!” He holds out his hands, taking her waist, standing. “Someone is tipsy.”

“Okay, I may have had more than a sip or two of tequila.” She confessed and Armie laughed again, scooping her up in his arms as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

He sets her down in the kitchen and she scurries to the counter. “You told me to buy something sweet and I wanted these.” She pulls a box out.

“Chocolate covered strawberries.” He hums, pulling one out the box. “Sexy and romantic.” He places the strawberry at her lips, and she takes a bite. He leans in pressing his lips to hers, tasting the semi sweetness of the confection.

They end up a tangled mess on the living room floor, half naked, sweaty and breathless. It took everything in Armie to stop and not take her right there on the living room floor. But they’d been drinking, and he knew if he tried now, he would hurt her.

“Okay, we need to stop.” He let himself fall back on the floor. She climbed on top of him, continuing to spread kissing across his chest and neck. He grabbed her hips, stopping her from moving her hips. “Are you trying to make me cum?” He chuckled, sitting up.

“You know, I'm more sober than you think.”

“Are you?” She nods and Armie smiles into her kiss. “Nice try,” He lifts her and places her butt on the floor between his legs. “But the answer is still no.” He stands, leaving her there.

“Why do you have to be a buzzkill about this?” She stands following him to the bedroom finding him digging around his dresser drawers.

He chuckles. “Because” He looks back at her, tossing her a shirt.

“Because is not an answer.”

Armie turned and grabbed her waist making her yelp. “Don’t be a brat.” He leaned into her ear.

She turned in his arms. “I’m not a brat.” She licks at his lips.

“You’re my brat.” He tells her with a soft kiss. She pulls away and looks at him, the smirk on his face is boyish and gentle. His eyes give a sparkle like deep blue waves on the sea. “Go change. I’m gonna go let Archie out.” He let her go and backed away.

When Armie walks back into his bedroom after letting his pup out he sees Y/N lying face down in his bed with his T-shirt on over her purple panties. She’s curled into a pillow breathing deep and even. He presses a kiss to her head as he walks by to the bathroom.

After changing and brushing his teeth Armie shuts the lights off as he makes his way to his bed. He is careful climbing in, not to wake her. Archie jumps up on the foot of the bed and looks at Y/N laying on the bed. He looks over at Armie then circles around a few times before settling. Armie turns over on his side, reaching over and turning off his bedside table. He starts to relax into his bed when he feels gentle movement followed by an arm wrapping around his middle and pressure against his bare back. He smiles softly, feeling her settle against him.

~~~

When the alarm went off the next morning Armie reached with a yawn, shutting it off. He turned, feeling the pressure still pressed into his side. Y/N, still sound asleep against him. He lifted his hand and pushed the mess of waves from her face. He just stares at her for a while, watching her eyes move beneath her lids. He caresses her cheek with his thumb, a feeling settling in his chest he didn’t recognize.

“Y/N.” He whispered. She scrunched her face and whined while scooting closer to him. He gave a quiet chuckle and wrapped his arms around her. “You need to wake up for school.” Another whine followed by her arms wrapping around him. He gave a chuckle, pressing a kiss to her forehead and pulled himself out of bed going about his normal morning routine showering, shaving, the whole nine.

Y/N shuffled out of the bed not long after he’d finished. She walked into the kitchen and Armie looked up at her, standing there. He gave a soft chuckle, seeing her in his t-shirt and her dark purple panties, her hair mess. “Why did you get up so early?” She walked over to the kitchen table, pulling out a chair and sitting in the seat next to Armie. “Like, you could have stayed 30 more minutes.”

“I like to stick to routine.” He hands her his cup of coffee and stands. “What time do you got to leave for school?”

She gives a yawn “Like an hour.” She sips from his mug. “Your bed is so freaking comfortable; I didn’t want to move.” He gives a chuckle and places a bowl in front of her on the table. “What’s this?” She looks at the bowl and up to him.

“Oatmeal with fruit.” He told her and she arched her brow. “What, don’t you eat breakfast before school?” He leans back against the counter.

“Yeah, like a Poptart while running out the door.” She smiles while taking a bite of the still steaming food. “Oh, this is good!”

“Just a Poptart?”

“And a coffee.”

“Well, maybe you wouldn’t be so grumpy in the morning if you had a proper breakfast.”

“I am not grumpy in the morning!”

“Oh, you’re not?!” He smirks going over to her. “Then what was that grumbling when I tried to wake you?” He braces his hands on either side of her leaning over the table.

“That was me being too damn comfortable.” She takes another bite of food.

He presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Finish eating and I'll finish getting ready. I’ll drop you at school on my way to the office.”

When Armie comes back into the living room Y/N is tying her shoes, fully dressed and ready to go. “Come on.” He stands next to her, holding out a hand.

Armie’s hand stayed in her lap, their fingers laced together the whole drive to her school. She gave him a kiss on his cheek before climbing out of the car and running off to the building. Armie drives away and gets onto the freeway when he looks over and notices she left her sweater in the passenger’s seat. He grabs it and holds it for a moment, a smile creeps across his lips as he holds the fabric to his nose. The scent of jasmine and cinnamon fills him. He gives a huff and shakes his head, tossing the sweater back on the seat.

~~~

Armie sat behind his desk that day and watched his clock tick away the minutes. It didn’t matter what he was doing his thoughts always somehow ended up on Y/N. At noon he grabbed his keys and jacket and locked up his office.

Y/N looked up as she walked to the bus stop and saw that dark gray Porsche and she smiled. Not for the fancy car, but most importantly the man behind the wheel. The window rolled down and he smiled at her, “Need a ride, pretty girl?”

She walked around, getting into the passenger’s seat. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought today was a good day to play hooky.” He shifts the car into drive. “It is a beautiful sunny day and there is a pool in my backyard with our names on it.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, why not?” He smiles over at her, taking her hand. “I never just relax and enjoy myself. I was also thinking that since your parents will be gone all weekend you could stay over again. If you want, that is.”

“Really?” She looks over at him, her smile growing. “I have been dying to spend an afternoon poolside!” She tells him excitedly. “Just stop by my house and I’ll pick up some stuff.”

Armie pulls into the drive of the two-story home outside of the city. Y/N hopped out of the car and turned back hearing the car door slam shut. “What are you doing?” She asked, looking at Armie.

“You’ve seen my entire house; I get to see your bedroom.” He grins walking passed her to the front door.

He follows her into the house, looking at the childhood pictures of her along the way. He smiled at a picture of her dressed as a kitten for Halloween. She couldn’t have been more than seven. Once up the stairs she stops in front of the closed bedroom door. She turned to him with a finger in his face. “You will not mock me for a single thing you see in here. Got it.” Armie holds his hand up in understanding, trying to suppress the smirk that is desperate to appear on his face.

She opens the bedroom door and Armie walks in looking around. He saw the soft lilac walls and flowing white sheer curtains. Books were scattered about her room both educational and for enjoyment. He dug around her desk pulling up a dark brown leather-bound book. “I thought you didn’t keep a diary?” He opened it, looking over the scribbled words and pictures tapped to the pages.

“I don’t. Not really.” She walked over looking at the book. “It’s more of a memories scrapbook. This one is from last summer. The summer before high school I started a scrapbook thing." Y/N went to her closet and pulled out a box, placing it on her bed. "I made one for the summer and one for the school year. I've done it every year since." Armie looked through the books on the bed.

“You don’t mention me in any of these, do you?” He asked with a raised brow.

“Not in that one.” She smirks, walking to the other side of the room.

"Oh, so you do write about me?" Armie smirked, walking over to her.

"I do. But don’t worry, nothing about our arrangement. Though, I do mention how hot I thought you were one year at the summer business party." She walks over to her closet pulling out a box, digging through. “Ah ha!” She pulls a dark blue book out and opens it several pages in. “Right here.” She hands him the book.

Armie looks at the page of an office function, him cut out of a picture and the words MAJOR HOTTIE next to it. He gave a loud laugh. “You are something else.” He grinned, reaching for her, taking her waist pulling her against him. "Thank you,” He kissed her lips. “For respecting my wishes." He kissed her again.

"Oh, don’t get me wrong. I do intend to get a handful of pics of you before this is over with. Just so you know." She smirked before kissing him.

"No evidence." He shook his head, his hands wrapping around her waist..

Armie turned her to the bed and backed her up til she was laying with him on top of her. Her hands tangled into his hair, her nails scraping his scalp. Armie reached a hand, unbuttoning her shirt, kissing down her chest. He feels her nails through his shirt, digging into his shoulders. He kisses back to her lips, tongue eager to taste her again. He slots his thigh between her legs and feels her grind down against him.

“I want you.” She whispers in his ear.

“I know you do, pretty girl.” He bites his lip, looking down at the desperation in her sparkling eyes. He reaches down and touches between her legs, her panties are soaked at her core. “Fuck, baby.” He moans into her mouth. Y/N feels his fingers slide her panties to the side and his long digits massage through her folds. She whines into his mouth as he pushes a finger into her. He massages along her walls, her wetness dripping over his finger. He carefully inserts a second finger, and he feels her hips thrust lightly. He works her, watching her face as her brow furrows and mouth falls open in a silent moan. Kissing down her neck he pumps his fingers tasting her skin, the scent of her perfume fills him, and his head spends. His only focus is getting her to the edge. He pumps his fingers faster, harder, her hips bucking up to meet his movements. “That’s it baby. Show me how much you want it.” That's all it took for her walls to clamp down around his fingers and to gush over his hand. She was arching into him, pulling at his back as he brought her to her peak.

“Oh my-” She couldn't finish, her body still spasming from her orgasm.

“I know, baby.” He tells her softly as he kisses her face, nuzzling his nose into the crook of her neck.

He continues to kiss over her until her breath is even and calmed. When she finally opens her eyes and looks over at him, he is looking down at her. “If you can do that with your fingers I can’t wait for when we actually sleep together.” She giggles, turning into his chest.

“You and me both.” He kisses her forehead. “Now, pack a bag.” He swats her rear, turning to get out of the bed. He stops at the door, closing it then looks back at her. “Really?!”

“What?” She looks back from where she sat on the edge of the bed.

Armie closes the bedroom door fully and points to the poster on the back. “One Direction?”

“What?! They’re a good band!”

“You and I differ on what we call a good band.” He tells her with a grin as he walks out the room.

When they get to Armie’s they waste no time changing into their swimsuit and jumping into the pool. The afternoon is spent with the two of them wrapped up in one another. Playful touches and sweet kisses as they got lost in their own little world.

As the sun starts to disappear, they lay in lounge chairs taking in the last of the sun. The sound of vibrating makes Armie open his eyes and look towards Y/N. “Is that your phone again?”

“Yeah. My friend keeps blowing up my phone.”

“For what?”

She rolls her eyes. “Prom dresses.”

“Prom? Already?” Armie stood making his way over to her gesturing for her to sit up as he slotted himself behind her, pulling her to lean against him.

“Yeah. My friend is asking for my opinion, again. She’s changed her mind on her dress four times already.”

“What’s your dress look like?”

“Nothing, yet.” She leans against him. “I haven’t gotten one yet.”

“Why not?” He wraps his arms around her shoulders.

I wasn’t gonna go but a boy from school asked me a few days ago so I guess I'm gonna go now.”

He smirks. “I have an idea.” He leans his head against hers, tangling his fingers into hers. “I have a small trip to take next week, only two hours out of the way. They have great shops there for formal wear. We can find some excuse for your parents. Come with me and get you a dress there.” He kissed her temple. “We can stay the night in one of those little renter cabins in the woods.” He nuzzles her face with his nose, as she turns into him, he kisses her.

“That sounds incredible.”

[kudosmyhero]

Batman: The Long Halloween #11:Chapter 11: Roman Holiday

Read Date: June 28, 2023 Cover Date: October 1997 ● Writer: Jeph Loeb ● Penciler: Tim Sale ● Inker: Tim Sale ● Colorist: Gregory Wright ● Letterer: Richard Starkings ● Editor: Archie Goodwin �� Chuck Kim ●

**HERE BE SPOILERS: Skip ahead to the fan art/podcast to avoid spoilers

Synopsis: Gilda has found the .22 gun in the basement of her house and she asks Harvey about it. Harvey tells her that it is only evidence from the "Holiday case" and he leaves him home in order to go to the Courthouse. The day of Sal Maroni's trial, in which he is going to confess against the Falcones, has arrived and Harvey doesn't want to be late.

Meanwhile, Batman is looking for The Riddler and he finds the man, drunk in a pub. Batman questions him about Holiday's identity but Riddler doesn't really know who the man is and Batman brings up the theory that Carmine Falcone may be involved in Holiday's killings.

The day of the trial is the same day as Carmine Falcone's birthday and all his family have prepared something special for him. However, he was discussing with his sister Carla because she didn't liked the idea of having "freaks" working for the Falcone family.

At the Gotham Courthouse, Sal Maroni is released from his cell and James Gordon checks him one last time before he is taken to the courtroom. However, on his way there, Vernon Wells, the corrupt assistant of Dent, gives Maroni a bottle of Antacid supposedly sent by Dent himself. Maroni doubts at first, but in the end he accepts the bottle, because of his "ulcer".

Once in the courtroom, Dent calls Maroni to the stand and starts questioning about his business and connections with Carmine Falcone. At the same time Falcone is celebrating his birthday in his penthouse with all his family and he is presented with a big birthday cake, and Sofia Falcone tells him to make a wish. In the courtroom, Maroni starts coughing very loud and isn't able to speak anymore. He reaches for the antacid bottle in his pocket and opens it. Bruce, who was disguised among the crowd in attendance, knew that something was very wrong. As Carmine Falcone blows his birthday candles and makes a wish, Sal Maroni hurls the content of the bottle towards Dent's face and the man falls to the ground, screaming in pain as he covers his face with his hands. The content of the bottle was in fact acid, Maroni is apprehended by the court guards and Vernon Wells goes out "looking for help".

Later, on the Gotham Hospital, Gilda, Barbara and James wait for the doctors to tell them about Harvey's conditions. The doctor comes out and tells them that Harvey is gone and they are shocked by the news. Howver, the doctor meant to say that Harvey escaped from the hospital and after explaining himself, the doctor falls dead, revealing that he has been stabbed in the back.

Carla Viti sneaks into the Gotham City Coroner Office and starts searching for the police records on the Holiday case. Carla didn't notice that Holiday was close to her and he shoots her, leaving her dead body among the files on his case.

(https://dc.fandom.com/wiki/Batman:_The_Long_Halloween_Vol_1_11)

Fan Art: Bruce Timm Style Babs by Andi-Tiucs

Accompanying Podcast: ● Bat-Books for Beginners - episode 14

[charlotte-of-wales]

Y’all, I firmly believe that Charles originally wanted to limit princely titles back when Archie was born.

Charles has been banging about slimmed down monarchy since the 90s and I think he did have a role in Louise and James not having the titles. And I think he wanted to limit the princely titles only to the grandkids of the monarch. Which does make sense, not having titles (like Zara) allows them to make money with no problems and it avoids the issue of embarrassing the crown.

I think back around the time Archie was born, H&M were not only told that there won’t be a new LP (like for the W&C’s kids) but that when Charles ascends they won’t have the titles either. During the Oprah interview, Meg was saying ‘they wanted to change the rules so that Archie wouldn’t have his Birthright or something like that).

But with the whole racism accusation that plan to limit titles was blown away. Second of all, I think Camilla was the one who made the racist comment. We know a letter that Charles sent about the racism exists. H&M said it’s not Liz or Phil. Charles also wouldn’t send a letter to M if the comment was made by will or Kate, he’d only do that if it was himself or Camilla. Bower (tho not 100% trustworthy) said the comment was made by Camilla and there have been rumours that points to cams. Now, I don’t honestly think this will dent Camilla’s approval because let’s be honest, she’s not exactly popular. But H&M created enough confusion that fingers were pointed at the W&C and they will be impacted by it.

I think after the racism accusations Charles felt like he had no choice and decided not to issue an lp limiting titles. Because we would have racism 2.0 and the letter which he sent. I

I do think Charles always wanted to keep titles for William's kids only wayyy before Harry even met Meghan but I'm not sure about the Camilla thing (and I'd rather not to have another lengthy discussion on who could have made those comments)