#except brad of course

[ansonmountdaily]

Space dad adopts yet another child: Character development

Star Trek: Strange New Worlds/Lower Decks crossover

STAR TREK: STRANGE NEW WORLDS 2x07 "Those Old Scientists"

[merry-andrews]

Boxer!Bradley AU;

Bradley fights big matches and wins big prizes. He's one of famous ones. one night at a bar he meets Jake. He's a run-away kid looking for finding a job in this big town and a new start and it's supposed to be a casual one-night stand but morning after when Jake walks around Bradley's small kitchen, wearing Bradley's shirt and sitting on Brad when he's doing his push-ups, Bradley just gets too fond of him that he suggests Jake to stay with him until he finds his own place to live.

he's set for a big match for next couple of months and his competitor is also a good boxer with good reputation too so it's a real challenge if he can beat him. Talking about moneys and bets here which he can make a whole new life someplace else (with Jake💗 Brad's planning on to purpose him) something that he doesn't know, Jake's his competitor's lover.. and all this was a plan from start to get under Bradley's skin to get to convince him losing the match without polluting his own name. So Brad finds out somehow and they break up and while Jake truly has feelings for him, but he doesn't say a word or begs him.. he just leaves..

Brad wins the prize (Jake's heart was beating so fast he was so scared, on the edge of tears whenever Brad got hit. At the end Bradley's locking eyes with Jake while they raise his hand to announce winner) and at that same night Jake comes knocking on a moping Bradley's door, tears in his eyes when Brad pulls him in a kiss, says he's in love with Bradley and he put bets on Bradley instead of his ex-lover💗

[shawnxstyles]

panty stealer

DATE: JANUARY 14, 2023

summary: flash forces peter to sneak into the girls sorority and steal a pair of panties as a dare. stumbling into the nearest room to save himself from being caught, he doesn’t expect you to be there, and to let him steal the panties you’re wearing.

request: yes!

words: 5.1k

warnings: SMUT (f- receiving [fingering, oral], praise kink, slight dacryphilia kink, dirty talk, and protected sex), language, alcohol, mentions of weed, and a bit of fluff.

note: frat!peter x sorority!reader / peter masterlist / PART 2

—

“are you serious right now, flash?” peter groans with a pinch to his nose. his eyes screw shut in annoyance at flash’s obnoxious behavior.

“of course i am, penis parker!” flash shouts, shoving peter towards the large, white sorority house. “you have to do the dare or else.”

peter groans again, hating himself for ever agreeing to do this stupid game with flash.

the night had started calm and for once, peter was grateful. friday nights were the craziest day at the frat house, but this week, everyone was a bit too busy with schoolwork. except flash apparently.

like all of his other roomies, peter loves a good party. he doesn’t mind thrashing his house every week if that means he can have fantastic parties at his place (okay, maybe he minds a little bit. it gets tedious cleaning up garbage after a while). he knows he won’t be young forever, so what the heck, right?

people never would have guessed that peter was the leader of the frat. shocking, right? everyone would assume it’s flash for his obnoxious and party boy persona or brad for his attractiveness and charm. but what do those qualities have to do with being a leader? everyone else (besides those two) agreed that peter should be the head of the house because he is responsible and smart, unlike those boneheads.

peter often asked himself if he was attractive and if he had charm.

he did, right?

brad was good with the ladies. one glance and a wink made the girls melt into puddles at his feet. every morning when peter woke up early to go to class, a different woman would waltz down the stairs with a glowing, uncontrollable smile in nothing but a t-shirt. peter knew without a doubt that every one-night stand that stumbled down was brad’s; it was rarely flash or the others and ned had a girlfriend who was in the sorority across from us.

peter hooked-up once in a while. he found it more difficult to be like brad when he had college to concentrate on and lives to save inbetween it all. being spider-man in high school was overwhelming at first because it was impossibly hard to hide it. but now, having more freedom in college made everything a bit simpler. just a bit.

flash being spider-man’s “#1 fan!” still made him chuckle every time it came up.

speaking of flash, when peter stumbled through the door in the evening expecting a chill friday night, flash just had to crank up the energy. as per usual.

“what is this?” multiple bottles of liquor were splurged across the dining table when peter walked into the kitchen. flash crossed his arms with a huge smirk plastered onto his face, while ned looked concerned and stressed.

“i tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen to me,” ned shook his head in disappointment before walking away to his room.

“we’re having a party. it’s friday, penis,” flash said with an obvious tone. peter could easily have him removed from the frat, being the leader and all. yet he still keeps him here. why must he do this to himself?

“flash, i said no parties today. everyone is tired and stressed, and has a lot of work to do—”

“stressed? i think that’s the best reason for a party. you need to get laid, my brotha,” brad interrupted with an arm around peter’s shoulders and a firm pat to his buff chest. brad is way taller than peter, which some might think intimidates him. but peter is mainly intimidated by intelligence, and brad had the iq of a stick.

peter rolled his eyes at the predictable statement. flash rambles on about how parties are a tradition on friday nights and peter sharply cuts him off with a strict tone.

“ugh, fine! no party, party-pooper parker. but we will be drinking tonight. or else i’m sending an invite to 50 people.”

—

peter had no choice but to comply. flash, ned, brad, himself, and the other boys are seated on the furniture with the drinks displaced in the center. flash gave peter an ultimatum; play truth or dare or he rings the entire sports program of a party. peter growled and folded.

soon later, there is a sharpie drawing on flash’s ass, a ruler that measured brad’s dick, a flushed ned from downing too many denied truth shots, and laughter bubbling throughout the whole room. peter is the only one who hasn’t gotten asked anything yet and he honestly feels a bit left out. but he also just wants to do his homework and then go to sleep.

“what’ll be, penis parker?” flash inquires with a mischievous look on his face. “truth or dare? or should i say drink or dare?”

peter, not caring at the time, chose dare. “dare.”

“oh, you’re so in for it.”

—

so in all, peter was basically held against his own will to sneak into the girl’s sorority house. even though he denied the dare profusely and took three shots to make up for it, flash still dangled the party invites over his head like an iron weight waiting to drop.

peter snarled as flash nudged him again impatiently. he thought of an idea that might work. peter would have to do this dare, but would he have to do it alone?

“if you come with me, i’ll give you $50 bucks—” peter sells with raised eyebrows. he licks his lips as the cold breeze rustles the trees and sends slight shivers up his arms. the sky is pitch-black as the heavy clouds cover all the stars. peter felt a storm brewing and he really didn’t want to sneak into the sorority soaking wet.

“pfft, parker, please. i have enough money—”

“—in weed.” peter finishes, causing flash to halt his words. peter knows that flash can never find a good supply because he complains about it all the time. marijuana wasn’t legal on campus, let alone in the state. the trade had the cogs turning in flash’s head.

“alright, deal,” flash gives in and elbows peter as a form of agreement. then flash motivates brad and ned to join, heading straight for the zone as a group.

their goal was to grab a pair of underwear and leave without being caught. as spider-man, that should be easy, right?

—

for some odd reason, the back door was unlocked. you’d think girls would be more secure and observant than guys, but maybe they forgot. after hopping over the trimmed gardening hedges, the four boys crept through the door and into the kitchen.

unlike peter’s frat, the sorority girls had two big rules that they made known to everyone; no hook-ups allowed and no frat guys. ever. the girls didn’t throw parties like peter, they only went to them, so their place was like a holy sanctuary.

when the guys tiptoed into the kitchen, peter wasn’t surprised the place was damn-near spotless. most of the interior was pearly white; couches, love-seats, tables, counter, cabinets— it was like walking into an insane asylum with minor color accents.

it was at least midnight by now, so the girls had to be asleep. tiptoeing as silent as possible up the stairs, peter leads until they’re all standing in the middle of the large hallway with rapid, contained breaths. flash, being the scaredy-cat he is, follows last and nervously trips over the final step. he slips, tumbling down multiple levels with nosy thuds and bangs of his elbows and knees. all of the guys sprout wide eyes and strained, silent gestures to warn him to stop falling and making an absurd amount of noise.

peter gets goosebumps, hair rising on his skin as he gets a shiver down his spine. his hearing intensifies, picking up mumbled whispers and light footsteps with his spider sense. his eyes wander frantically as he scatters his brain for an idea. nothing comes to mind fast enough, as a door down the hall creaks open. brad and ned drag flash up the stairs, but freeze when they hear the door. out of instinct, peter sprints to the nearest door, slyly slipping inside. he closes the door gently, contradicting the pounding of his heart, without a noise being made. he releases a sigh as his forehead rests on the doorframe.

“what are you doing?” peter nearly shrieks when you casually question him. he stares at you, eyes impossibly wider than before. your arms are crossed as you sit on the side of your bed. peter swallows harshly, gazing at your appearance.

your legs look smooth and supple, and very much bare. he assumes you have underwear on under the t-shirt you’re sporting, and is proved correct when you shift to dangle your legs off the bed. his eyes are drawn to the small sight of your panties that tease underneath your shirt. you smirk, arms still crossed as you let him check you out.

“i-um-uh,” cheeks wildly red, he swallows and averts his eyes to the ground. how does he explain such a stupid thing without sounding like a jackass? i was dared to invade the sorority house. sorry. oh, also, can i have your panties? “it was a dare.”

“to sneak into my room?” your head tilts as you lift yourself off the bed and stalk towards him. peter’s cheeks grow redder while his heart pounds brutally in his chest.

besides the embarrassment flowing like blood through his veins, you were the simple kind of gorgeous that made his knees weak. the kind that is stunning in their own skin and that radiates beautiful energy like magical fairy dust. and peter nearly fainted when he saw your lack of clothes.

he’s seen you many times before; you share a class with him and came to some of his parties. he never talked to you in fear of rejection, but now he doesn’t really have a choice.

usually, he has more confidence with girls, but this is a very unfortunate situation where he lost every skill he’s ever known. even talking.

“no—” ear-piercing screams interrupt peter’s stuttering from the other side of the door. footsteps run all over the wooden floor as low profanities leave the guys’ mouths. “i think she found them.”

“you think?” you clip with raised eyebrows. peter inhales, losing some of his anxiousness at his thoughts of the boys being caught.

poor ned. betty’s going to kill him.

flash deserved it, though.

brad is probably getting one of their numbers.

peter shakes his head and sets his thoughts straight.

“okay, look. flash dared me to do this… stupid thing and i convinced them all to do it with me. i wanted to do nothing but relax tonight,” peter admits with a stressed exhale. you glare at him with squinted eyes, trying to decipher what has him so worked up. it’s not like he got screamed at and kicked out like the other guys. knowing some of your roomies, they might be a lot worse than just kicking them out. you get closer to him and ponder what he said.

“what was the dare, parker?” you shoot a harsh glare at him, daggers that force him to answer. your head tilts with curiosity as your heartbeats sporadically. you’ve never had a guy in your room before, and for that first guy to be peter parker has your heart bouncing around your chest like a boomerang. you’ve had your eye on peter for a few months now; not crazy obsessive, but you won’t deny the blood-rushing crush you’ve grown for the frat boy.

how did you stumble that low? a frat boy? jeez.

peter can’t be too shocked that you know his name, let alone his last name, but you saying it still causes him to forget some of the words on his tongue. many shouts are heard from outside the door, but your chests are nearly touching as you gaze up at him and then the outside world is practically silenced.

“i had to steal some… panties,” he mumbles, voice low and quiet. why does it sound so dirty?

“panties?” you repeat in a hushed voice as your surprised eyes blink a few times. you swallow, clit beginning to throb at the word out of his mouth.

“yeah,” he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “do you have any that i can…borrow?”

your mind hazes at his question. you tried to remember where your underwear was and if it was clean. but as a clear opportunity lies in front of you, you decide to run with it. you look down with a racing heart, fingers gripping the hem of your shirt.

“i…i have these ones,” you lightly ball up your t-shirt, revealing your laced panties to peter. he quietly coughs, cock starting to harden behind the zipper of his jeans. you glance up at his reddening expression through your eyelashes, devilish eyes hiding behind an innocent facade. confidence and lust ease your anxiety. “will these work?”

“um, yeah,” peter coughs again as rosy embarrassment crawls up his neck and blood rushes to his cock. you strut over to the mattress, rocking your hips teasingly, and peter instinctively follows with his heart in his throat. you lie on your back and spread your legs, arousal dripping from you at every movement. peter watches from a side angle, holding his breath as the tension rises.

“well, you’re not much of a panty-stealer if i just give them to you. come and steal them, parker,” you say with as much confidence as you could muster up. your heart was so loud in your ears you almost couldn’t hear yourself. speechless, peter walks to the front of the bed and kneels down, eye-level with your pussy.

he crumples the shirt over your hips, your legs automatically spreading wider. his senses heighten and pick up on the scent of your arousal. a small patch of it can be seen in the middle of your underwear, sending painful pulses down to his forever hardening cock. his thumbs dance around the laced hem, teasing you to see how much he can go.

he would say some of his confidence is back now.

he hooks his fingers under the band, sliding the flimsy fabric down while sticky arousal slings to you. he stuffs the damp material in his back pocket. both of your hearts rack and hands tremble at the extreme intensity, waiting for someone to do something. anything.

peter decides to be that person and resumes his fingers to your hips where the hem used to be. your folds glisten with pent-up arousal, just begging for him to touch you. your puffy clit throbs, neglected, and your thighs subtly spasm trying to remain open. peter grinds on his molars, nearly moaning at the glorious sight. his rough pads trace your smooth skin as he drags lower, dangerously close to where you’re yearning for him.

“peter,” you whisper, holding your breath, so you don’t move a muscle, even though they’re involuntarily shaking with need. he hums, the dirtiest thoughts flowing through his mind. “d-don’t you have to go? what if you get caught?”

“i can spare a few minutes…” his gaze is hazy and distracted, voice gravelly with lust. you clench desperately around nothing as you quietly plead for him to do something. his thumb tests the waters and finally begins circling on your clit, sending electricity up your body. you yelp at the sudden pressure, naturally grinding your hips for more friction. “hmm? don’t you want me to spend a few minutes with you?

his words are taunting and condescending, making your mind go blurry while the words disintegrate from your tongue. the rough pad of his thumb rubs faster while you clench around nothing again, chest heaving.

“i want more than a few minutes,” you moan as his middle finger pets along your soaking slit, teasing you painfully until your eyes roll back. you can sense the smirk growing on his face based on the satisfied hum he responds with.

“more? greedy girl,” peter slides his middle finger into you without warning causing you to release a long string of moans. “shh, you don’t want them to hear you, do you? then we’ll both get caught.”

you shake your head.

“then be a good girl and be quiet for me,” peter demands softly. you nod shakily, as another finger pumps into you rapidly. he thrusts brutally into you, fingertips brushing over your g-spot. you melt as bliss laces throughout your body.

“it’s always the quiet ones who are the loudest,” a devilish and dirty smirk dances on his lips while your teeth sink painfully into your bottom lip. you slap your palm over your mouth to remain quiet as thrilled moans threaten to pour out of you. your revolving hips are halted by his strong forearm, allowing him to curl his digits deliciously into you. you mewl with screwed eyes, back arching at the immense pleasure.

“i’m so close, peter,” you whisper, scared that if you speak any louder your moans will betray you and alert the whole neighborhood. peter subtly grinds his hips into the front of the mattress, cock dangerously hard from your whimpering and whining.

“can i taste you? been dying to since you opened your legs for me,” peter asks while your thighs tremble and your pussy contracts tightly around his digits. you mumble out a shuddery please before his mouth is devouring you.

he never removes his fingers, pumping ruthlessly while his mouth explores your slippery folds. he sucks harshly on your throbbing clit, a muffled wail escaping through your hand. warm and soothing, his tongue glides curiously and sneaks into your undeniably soft cunt. the moan you release is unholy and way too loud. at least right now.

peter wants nothing more than to hear your sweet, sweet moans crying his name while he makes you come in several different ways. but tonight was not the night. he wasn’t trying to get reported and have intruder as a new notch on his belt.

he had a good feeling you wouldn’t run off and report him though.

the idea of it all got him off much more than he would have ever thought. and looking at you, he could say that same.

his mouth plops off of you, lips swollen and puffy from sucking.

“come all over my tongue. let me taste you, sweet girl,” his tone is euphonious and seductive, yet demanding. his fingers savagely thrust into your seeping hole that clenches tightly around him. your back arches off the mattress as your thighs shake from the upcoming euphoria.

peter’s words send your body into overdrive. your muscles contract and your stomach tightens as your orgasm ripples through your body like a heavenly wave. cum oozes out of you and onto his tongue, slurping up every ounce of your juices until there is nothing left.

“such a good girl,” peter praises while he licks away your arousal from his rosy lips. heat crawls up your neck at your sudden vulnerability. you attempt to close your legs to hide, but he keeps them spread with his rough hands. “you’re going to hide yourself after i just ate you out? we’re just getting started, baby.”

peter pulls his shirt off deliberately, showcasing his bulky abs and muscles that made your clit pulse with desire again. he looks like he was man-made, a real-life sculpture with chiseled muscles and perfectly ridged abs. you were insatiable to this man, who snuck into your room to steal something— you should be mad at him. furious. but when his boxers fall down his legs, only dirty and needy emotions and thoughts are left.

your eyes widen at his impressive length; you’ve only been with a few guys in the past, but none of them were this big. you were scared, yet excited to feel his cock stretch you out sinfully. you imagined how long you would feel him inside of you afterwards, soreness like a good workout at the gym.

“you’re so big,” you mumble, not hiding the fact that you were blatantly eyeing his raging cock with hunger, fear, and lust.

“it’ll fit. don’t worry, doll,” he hovers over you, smoothing your hair away from your worried eyes. “do you have a condom?”

you stretch out your arm into your night stand, blindly grabbing a tin-foiled package. you seductively rip it with your teeth, causing peter to groan in impatience. he snatches it away from you and swiftly slides it onto his sturdy cock.

“such a fucking tease,” he hisses, running the tip of his cock along your folds, which were already soaked in arousal again. “are you ready?”

you nod your head surely, more than ready for him to fill you up.

“you’re one to talk,” you sass, rolling your eyes, which were no longer as worried, but full of needy anticipation. he huffs out a single chuckle, eyes strained on his dick rubbing around your wetness tediously.

“speaking of talking, don’t,” peter thrusts into you savagely, making you gasp and shriek. your hand immediately goes to his shoulder for leverage, nails digging desperately into the meat of his skin. the other tightens securely onto your mouth to keep quiet, even though it’s probably useless now.

hoarse profanities fall from his lips as he shifts around your snug hole. your velvety walls choke his cock so fucking good, he doesn’t think he’ll last any longer. and then you clench even tighter around him, sending peter’s eyes rolling back into brain.

“you’re so fucking tight,” peter groans in your ear, flicking his hips upwards into you. your body trembles in overwhelming pleasure, muffled whines begging to be released.

slapping skin and hushed moans fill the air. peter fits a hand between the two of you and rubs your throbbing clit perfectly. his lips travel down from your ear to your neck, kissing along your skin. his tongue discovers your soft spot, sucking harshly until you’re clutching onto him for dear life.

“you’re so good, peter. so deep, too, oh god,” you can’t help the lusty wail that tumbles from your raspy throat when he rapidly rolls his hips, repeatedly touching your sensitive g-spot. he growls at the praise, every action being intensified by the comment. you notice this and smile with a hint of devilishness behind it.

“you may be smiling now,” peter pants, muscles popping and flexing from the position. “but you’ll be crying soon.”

if possible, his thrusts got harder. and deeper. and faster. he was pounding into your cunt like there was no tomorrow, buckets of arousal leaking from you and all around him. peter would pull his cock fully out just to slam it back in, and it made you wither away into another dimension. his balls beat against you harshly with every brisk thrust of his body. his skilled thumb pets your clit, electrifying all your nerves into blissful flames.

there was so much to feel; the biting of his kisses on your neck, the rough texture of his thumb pad on your clit, the long, thick length plunging barbarically into you, and the heaviness of his weight above you. you were so overwhelmed by the pleasure, water brimmed at your tear ducts. soon, full-blown tears are streaming down your face from the euphoria running through your veins.

that familiar wicked smile curls on peter’s face with your appearance; wild hair, tear-stained cheeks, and swollen lips. he doesn’t think you’ve ever looked so beautiful in front of him.

his cock twitches when you whimper loudly underneath the palm of your hand, begging to let you come. contracting on his shaft, your nails stab his shoulder blade until crescent moon marks appear. a strangled moan leaves him when your body rolls up towards him, back arching harshly.

“need to come. so bad, peter,” you whine. his name from your lips drives him mental.

“fuck, y/n,” he sighs heavily. “come around my cock like the good girl you are.”

with those words, your second orgasm tumbles through your body like a thunderstorm. peter slams his lips against yours to keep you quiet, all your pent-up moans turning into needy hums in your throat. stars spot in your vision and you thought you might pass out from being fucked into oblivion. you wouldn’t even be mad— it was worth it.

summoning all your energy, your muscles tense as the liquid floods out of you. your back arches, making your bare breasts push up against peter’s chest. at the same time, peter comes with a string of curse words against your plush lips. he shoots his load into the condom, balls tightening while his eyes screw shut. he steadies his pumps and slowly pulls out of you, never wanting to leave.

you whimper at the emptiness, already missing his cock. he ties the knot and tosses it into the garbage under your desk. peter slips into his boxers and immediately finds the small box of tissues on your night stand. grabbing a few, he cleans you delicately like an antique doll as if he didn’t just ravish your body and soul.

you were beyond dumbstruck as he wiped you up. the few people you have been with never stayed long enough for aftercare, and even though it should be a necessity, the action still made your heart lurch for peter. speaking of your heart, it was beating a mile a minute. sex was a physical activity, yet having a huge crush on someone felt a lot more physically demanding. but you really liked the feeling.

a million thoughts brisked through your head; how does he feel? does he feel the same? did he hate it? did he love it? you shake your head. if you didn’t stop yourself, you would ruin any chance you might have by overthinking too much.

when you refocus your eyes to the moment, peter has his jeans fully on and his shirt in his hand. he slides it on and then looks at you worryingly, seeming as though you’re still naked and haven’t moved.

“are you okay? did i go too hard? fuck—”

“yes—i mean no! shit,” you stutter after interrupting him and close your eyes in embarrassment. “yes, i’m fine. i’m more than fine. that was… really good, peter. like really good.”

peter’s tensed shoulders relax as his face melts from a concerned expression to a soft one. you slip your large t-shirt on and stand up from your bed. your legs are a bit unbalanced and wobbly, and peter can’t help but chuckle as he holds you steady by your hips.

“stop laughing! you did this!” you whisper-yell with a faked angry face.

“oh, i know. next time, i’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk, let alone stand,” he winks with an arrogant smile cascading his lips. familiar heat creeps up your neck and ears, making you all tingly inside at the idea of a next time with peter.

“next time?” large rings of hope surround your irises as you stare into peter’s. his arrogance slightly fades as he itches with nervousness.

“yeah, if that’s what you want, of course,” why is he holding his breath? why is his heart beating so unhealthy fast?

“if i say yes, does that mean you’re going to try to steal my panties again?” you try to hold back your grin as you joke, peering up at him with squinted eyes.

“are you going to let me steal your panties again?” he clicks his tongue with his all too familiar smirk. he loves your playful demeanor and your attempts to withhold a smile.

you pretend to think, really debating. peter can’t help but stare at you in awe. you were beautiful, and he regrets not approaching you earlier because you were… well, he didn’t really know you yet, but he wouldn’t mind getting to know you better. even if you told him to fuck off and never to see him again, he knew that he would never forget you or this night.

you push yourself closer to peter, chest to chest. you can both feel the rapid beating of your hearts through your shirts. however, you stand, gazing confidently at peter. he watches you as you lean right in like you were going to kiss him.

“mm maybe. you might just have to find out yourself,” your breathy words linger on his lips as you back away and casually get into the bed. you unfold the comforter and tuck yourself in, like you didn’t just give peter a semi-hard on in his pants.

suddenly a loud crash is heard from outside, alerting both of your heads to peer out through the window.

“my car!” flash cries so high-pitched and whiny, he probably woke up the entire neighborhood. peter isn’t surprised that one of the sorority girls destroyed his car because he deserved it. someone needed to humble him anyway. you both laugh behind the palm of your hands at flash’s girly scream.

with that, peter realizes that he has to go and that he no longer has any minutes to spare. flash, brad, and ned probably weren’t worried about peter while they were out-running the girls. but now that the girls had done the damage, the boys would soon realize peter’s absence.

“better hide your panties. this isn’t over,” peter walks over to the side of your bed and kisses your forehead delicately. he cracks open the window, turning to you with half his body out. with a wink from him and a gasp from you, he jumps down the two-story window without hesitation. your heart flutters at his gentle kiss that lingers on your skin, fingers pressed against the spot his lips last touched.

rain begins to splash on the glass as sprinkles of water drip into your room through the open window. you purposefully don’t close it, even when you know the carpet will get soaked throughout the night. you welcomed the idea that if peter wanted to come back, he could, simply by sneaking through the window the same way he left.

so many other thoughts cloud your mind, making you lie wide awake. you wondered if his heart was still thumping hastily like the rain pattering on your window and onto your floor. you wondered what he looked like when he was drenched in natural rain water. probably breathtakingly beautiful; soaking wet hair and a childish smile adorning his rosy face while he laughs wholeheartedly.

as you roll over to turn off your lamp with a wistful sigh, you remember that you never even got his number. while trying to guess which set of numbers fit peter parker the best, you fall asleep with a yearning heart, flapping its wings adoringly in your chest.

oh, god, you were down. and it was bad.

what you didn’t know was that peter was down too, but even worse than you.

—

tags: @raajali3

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𝖍𝖙𝖙𝖕𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖊’𝖘 1𝖐 𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖑 - 𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖐 𝖑𝖎𝖒𝖎𝖙𝖘

𝐞𝐩𝐢��𝐨𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐨: 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫

summary: slightly less innocent, virgin!reader has had her view of pleasure shifted. her libido has increased to insane levels after she finally allowed her boyfriends to fix her…dry spell. charles and max have no issues with helping her ride out her newfound sexual appetite, and figure that she may be ready to take the next step. or, more accurately, take the next hand. content warning: 18+ only. explicit. no penetrative sex. corruption kink. handjobs. thigh riding. praise kink. dom/sub undertones. charles leclerc is a brat. orgasm denial. there's smidge of humor in here somewhere i think. slight humiliation kink. word count: 4.2k words pairing: charles leclerc / max verstappen x fem!black!reader soundtrack: gun • doja cat

preface: AHHHH OMG I HAD THIS IN MY QUEUE AND THE DATE WAS 9/12 INSTEAD OF 12/9 I WAS IN THE WOODS WITH SPOTTY CONNECTION ALL DAY AND I HAVE TBLR NOTIFICATIONS OFF ON MY PHONE I AM SO SORRY I HOPE YOU ALL LIKE IT! ALL FUTURE EPISODES WILL BE POSTED AT 12 PM ON THEIR RELEASE DAYS!

prev 1k special join taglist feedback & requests table of contents next ↻

it’s laughable. you can’t believe that you almost bought a vibrator instead of telling your boyfriends that you were ready to start the sexual aspect of your relationship. actually, it kind of makes you mad—you could’ve been experiencing the most mind blowing levels of pleasure years ago, if you had just gotten over your own insecurity.

max and charles had been dating each other for a couple years before they found you. you were a friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend, and they were enamored with you as soon as they were introduced. you cringe whenever they reminisce over the first time you met them—the men think it’s the cutest first meeting ever.

they met you on a yacht in monaco. an older member of the ferrari team was retiring and decided to have a relaxed celebratory brunch on a chartered yacht. charles, of course, would be attending; he’s sure he’s most likely contractually obligated to go, but he also enjoys going to these sorts of events, he flourishes and thrives in social settings. however, on this particular day, max and charles had already planned for a date. 

when charles had been forwarded the invitation from andrea (his trainer), who had texted him threats of bodily harm if he didn’t show up—he whined and groveled to max about having to reschedule their date. max had shushed charles’ dramatics, and simply pulled out his phone to show a text thread between him and brad (his trainer), who sent him the invitation to the yacht party. charles made a noise of surprise; this brunch is more relaxed than he thought. max shrugged and pressed a kiss to charles cheek–all they have to do is make an appearance, greet who needs to be greeted, congratulate who needs to be congratulated, and then they can sneak away and leave early for their date.

that was the plan. and everything seemed to be going according to the plan. they had boarded the vessel (nobody knew the rivals had come together), everyone assumed they had just arrived at the same time. they quickly congratulated the retiree, and charles separated from max to go and charm everybody on the boat, while max had gone to take advantage of the brunch spread.

the dutchman was halfway through his second plate of finger food when charles had returned to his side, bringing their trainers and a few engineers along with him. the monegasque was stealing bites of food off his plate, and max gently tapped on the face of his richard mille watch to remind charles that they needed to start wrapping up. 

except, joris had just boarded the yacht—and you were at his side.

charles choked on his bite of stolen food, and max distractedly patted his back to clear his airways. it was like time slowed down, their vision tunneled, and the noise of conversations around them quieted; at the sight of you. you were wearing this light, flowy, orange sundress that complimented your warm brown skin, accessorized with gold jewlery, a pair of heeled tan sandals, and your curly hair was free and blowing in the breeze. you kept your gaze lowered, like you were fearing making eye contact with anybody on board, and you turned to slightly hide behind joris as you frantically whispered to him.

charles and max had decided then and there; they need to know you.

you had parted from joris at the sound of someone calling for you and the sight of you walking away, broke the trance the two drivers had been under.

when charles’ friend made his way over, they were quick to interrogate him about you, and why exactly he’s never introduced you to them before. joris threatened them before he gave them permission to pursue you (not that they needed it), and refused to answer any of their questions about you. he told them to go talk to you, and warned them to be gentle with you—as you have a more shy and introverted personality. it took nearly thirty minutes for charles and max to find where you disappeared too. you were chatting to the retiree, and as soon as you wrapped up the conversation—max inserted himself in your path, and ‘accidentally’ bumped into you.

you stumbled briefly, finding yourself bumping into charles as well. you frantically apologized to the two drivers, eyes wide with embarrassment—and max and charles found themselves vehemently reassuring you that it was their fault, and that you don’t need to apologize.

once you calmed, max started to test the waters.

“it was completely my fault. i should’ve been paying more attention to where i was walking but, i got distracted—because you look too beautiful in this dress.”

your mouth parted in surprise and you giggled awkwardly, not expecting the compliment (charles had to muffle his snort, max is incredibly corny), “oh! thank you—it’s really the dress that’s beautiful.”

the monegasque stepped in, “ah, no that cannot be. the dress only compliments how pretty you are.”

you hummed, eyes flickering between the two of them nervously, and caved to their flattery.

“mmm, thank you…the orange works with my skin tone pretty well.”

“it does,” max agreed with a soft smile, “i must be your favorite driver—since, you’ve dressed in dutch orange.”

your eyes widened, as you giggled at his bold claim, laughing harder when charles’ pretends to be angry at max’s words. the couple watches as your smile shifted from something sweet, to something teasing as you fumbled over what to say in response.

“oh? well, if i did dress for my favorite driver, it would be lando norris. because, this color is more similar to papaya than your dutch orange.”

max scoffed, and charles bursted out laughing—the two of them not expecting the teasing from you, based on how joris led them to believe that you were the shyest thing to walk on earth. 

that interaction had completely cemented their urge to date you. they ended up staying at the yacht party, just talking to you the entire time, enjoying making you blush and fluster, flirting around the limits of how much affection you could take from them. they missed their dinner reservation, but found themselves taking you out to dinner somewhere near the waterfront. 

at the end of the night, you exchanged phone numbers with them and they sweetly told you that they’d reach out to you for a second date. you had made a noise of surprise, completely disbelieving that you were on a date, or that they’d want to see you again. but, charles and max were quick to make their intentions clear as they realized they may have been moving too quickly for you.

you can’t believe that was over two years ago. the boys had been so kind with working hard for your trust, and with a final conversation about how this relationship would work—you had agreed to be their girlfriend. of course, you had your stipulation of not being ready to have sex, but the boys did take that in stride and didn’t try to coerce you into changing that boundary. matter of fact, they had even offered to stop having sex between the two of them if it made you uncomfortable—which you disagreed with on the spot; they didn’t need to limit their actions with each other just because you needed extra time. 

and extra time, ended up being two years. charles and max had waited two years without complaining once, about the fact that you still weren’t ready to have sex with them. apparently, the final aspects that you needed to realize you were ready to have sex were: being unable to get yourself off for a month while they were in the midst of a triple header…and also that, you trust them with your entire soul. 

and goddamn, did their patience result in a valuable reward.

ever since max and charles had cured your dry spell by giving you the most life-changing orgasm from riding max’s thigh, you’ve been insatiable.

it’s like your horny-meter was struck by lightning and was overloaded and stuck at the highest setting—it feels like a perpetual ovulation week. it feels like you can’t look at max’s thighs without getting wet, it feels like you can’t hold charles’ hand without your knees buckling. it wasn’t like you were never horny before the thigh-riding incident (max finds the title hilarious), but to be consistently desperate—you’ve never felt like this before. it’s like the monegasque and the dutchman have awoken your sex drive and shifted it into high gear. your libido has been so insanely high that the men have pretty much offered themselves to you as free-use.

you wake up horny? choose your fighter: charles’ thigh or max’s thigh. you get turned on by charles kissing your cheek? ride his thigh. your tummy knots up when max calls you pretty girl? ride his thigh. your panties get wet when charles comes back from getting a haircut? ride his thigh. your clothes fall off when max smiles at you? ride his thigh. your brain turns to mush when charles and max make out? ride their thighs, twice.

you’ve been so pleasure-crazed that you ended up getting a friction burn from how often you were using their thighs. 

you whimpered in shame as charles rubbed aloe vera on the irritated skin between your legs.

“vior (see)?” charles said to max, who was sitting on the bed next to you holding your hand, “she has sensitive skin—we should not have let her use our thighs so often.”

“ah,” max dismissed, ignoring your mortified whine, he smirked at charles, “she’s just learned how good we can make her feel—forgive her desperation, schatje?”

charles lightly presses on the inflamed skin, and you slightly hiss in pain. he stares at max with an unimpressed expression, 

“and now feeling good too often has her feeling bad, non?”

charles resumed his gentle massage of aloe vera, as he continued to bicker with max about you, like you weren’t lying right there. mortification had the melanated skin of your cheeks flushing with a visible blush, and you muffled your embarrassed whimper into max’s thigh. the humiliation of your boyfriends discussing your barely-sex related injury as if you aren’t present should have been horny-level reduction material—but secretly, you enjoyed it; just a little bit. 

with a pained gasp, you slammed your thighs shut around charles’ hand when he passed over a more seriously-raw area of skin. his hand was forced up, and it brushed firmly against your cunt—and that previously pained gasp transformed into a moan of pleasure. the conversation around you silenced abruptly. you kept your eyes tightly shut, refusing to pull away from the safe haven of max’s thigh. you heard charles laugh disbelievingly, and with his free hand he easily pulled your thighs apart with little effort. the casual show of strength only had you getting wet. 

he made a show of flexing the hand that was entrapped between your thighs, before he dropped two of his fingers on top of your panties and guided them to circle over your clit through the thin cloth. your eyes flew open, and with a squeal your hips bucked up to chase his hand; but he was too quick, and pulled away, using that same hand to hold your hips down on the bed.

“you’re so horny that you completely forgot about the friction-burn you have on your thighs from your previously extremely horny activities,” max deadpanned, staring down at you with a blank expression.

“i can’t help it,” you murmured shyly, “sorry.”

“don’t apologize,” max stated, releasing his grasp of your hand to brush his thumb across your cheek, “nothing’s touching your cunt for a week.”

“huh? WHAT? why? no—why not?” you blurted out in confusion, ignoring charles’ snort.

“liefje—you could barely handle charles rubbing the gel into your skin; you are too sore and inflamed. no pillows, no hands, no thighs.”

you humphed, knowing max is right, but not wanting to admit it. 

“that’s torture! i just started getting to experience real pleasure and now i can’t even cum for a week?!” you whined up at max with pleading eyes.

“you went without using our thighs for two years—you can handle a week, mon coeur,” charles patted your hip with an annoying smile, before he climbed off the bed to put the gel away.

“charles, don’t tease her,” max sighed, “it’s just a week, pretty girl. you’ll be fine.”

you are not fine.

it’s the slowest time has ever passed in your entire life. honestly, the nerve of your boyfriends to have beautifully muscled thighs around you. you’ve been put in horny jail–seriously! the two men seem to have a radar for whenever you start to get turned on. no matter how hard you try to suppress any changes in your body language or facial expression, they sus you out in a few seconds. it’s uncanny; before you even open your mouth to try and persuade them into anything, they squish your cheeks together and say, “not yet,” and then walk away to give you space to calm down. every instance of this in the first couple of days was more mortifying than the aloe-vera gel application situation (which max now applies for you since charles couldn’t refrain from teasing you), but you quickly became desensitized.

max will not budge. he lets you whine, grovel, beg, promise, and plead. he sits through your whole monologue of desperation on day four, and smiles the entire time. when you finish your expertly delivered request to be allowed one orgasm from his thigh, he pats you on the ass and walks away. the amount of rage that filled you was probably unhealthy–how the fuck does he manage to be so unfazed?

charles, on the other hand, you could break. on day five, you trapped him in bed, sneakily convincing him to spend five more minutes with you while max brushed his teeth. you were quick to initiate sweet kisses, humming into the press of his lips, before you pull away and squirm on top of him to straddle his torso. 

the love-tinted haze cleared from his eyes as soon a he puzzled out your motive, and the monegasque moved to guide you off his body, but you halted him, pressing a firm hand in the middle of his bare chest. 

“c’mon cha–just let me, it’s been so long,” you pout down at him, doe-eyes wide and pleading, “don’t you wanna make me feel good?”

charles wavered–it has been so long. he doesn’t think he’d forget how your face looks as you orgasm, but it would be nice to see it again. you slowly grind your hips down on his, and charles manages to hold back any noises, but his eyes flutter in pleasure. the brunet halts your hips when he sees the brief flicker of discomfort appear in the furrow of your brows.

“ah, regarde toi (look at you)!” charles tuts disapprovingly, “you know you aren’t ready, just wait a little longer!”

you climb off of his lap, and bury your face in the pillow next to him, muffling a dramatic scream to make sure he knows how displeased you are. he rubs your back soothingly, letting you release your anger, before you flip over and huff.

“fine–whatever. two more days. two more days…for me,” you murmur, ignoring charles’ squint at your words, “just because i can’t do anything doesn’t mean you two can’t, right?”

charles shrugs his agreement, “yes, i guess. we haven’t came since you can’t. we were just planning to wait for your skin to recover.”

your heart warms at their abstinence, and the gears of your brain start turning. 

“hmm. you know you don’t have to wait for me? i kind of got myself into this situation and it’s not fair for–”

“no. max and i are both responsible too,” charles cut you off, “we should’ve taken more care to make sure you weren’t pushing yourself too far.”

“i don’t blame you guys–i was jumping the two of you everytime you so much as breathed in the same room as me. but, that’s not the point! i was going to say: shouldn’t i thank you guys properly?” 

“quoi? how?” he tilted his head to the side in question.

“i mean, isn’t it time i learn how to make you feel good too? i’ve kind of taken advantage of you, and never thought about making sure you guys feel good, like me.”

“how can you say that, mon amour? you make us feel good everytime we make you feel good,” charles sees that you don’t quite believe him, “you don’t notice how tight our pants get when you sit on our thighs? after you’ve finished, we sneak away to the bathroom to relieve ourselves! trust me, we feel very good with you.”

“hey! that’s my point–i want to make you guys…cum,” you whispered, “not have you sneak away to go do it yourself. can’t you teach me? isn’t now the best time for me to learn when i can’t be distracted by my own orgasm?”

“as long as you avoid rubbing yourself on anything, i’m actually okay with this,” max’s voice carried from the doorway, causing you and charles to jump in surprise. neither of you heard him open the en-suite door.

the dutchman walked over and sat on the bed next to charles, who eagerly supported your suggestion now that max said it was okay. 

“c-can…can we do it now?” you asked quietly, simultaneously afraid of a possible rejection and the idea itself.

the younger man hummed, and sat up next to max. he smirked at the blonde, “i’m sure he can’t say no to the opportunity of having me teach you how to touch him just the way he likes.”

you may have miscalculated, to some degree. does everything about max have to big? big mouth, big hands, big thighs, big…dick. your brain stops functioning at the sight—max sitting with his back against the headboard, legs spread open comfortably, uncaring of how exposed he is, his cock half-hard and still growing where it rests on his thigh, and don’t forget his self-satisfied smirk at the sight of your shock. you squirm from your seat in between his legs and charles steadies you from his position behind you, bracketing your body within the two of them.

the monegasque shifts forward, hooking his chin on your shoulder with his chest pressed along your back, and hums softly, “all of that ,” charles pauses and moves his right hand to apply pressure on your navel, “is going to be deep inside of you soon.”

“ ‘s not gonna fit in me.”

“we’ll make it fit,” max states. you whimpered at his confident tone, and you could feel charles muffle his chuckle in the crook of your neck. 

the click of the lube bottle opening caused you to flinch back into charles, who soothed you with a pat on the hip. the brunet carefully squeezed out a small amount of lube into your right palm and murmured instructions for you to warm up the liquid. he then guided your hand to grasp max’s dick, who sighed softly at your touch.

“touch him however you want, mon ange,” the monegasque directed, “get used to how he feels and then we can make him feel good.”

swallowing down your apprehension, you lightly trace a finger down his shaft, marveling at how he’s a few of your fingers in girth and decently longer than the size of your hand (that’s definitely not fitting inside of you, they have no idea what they’re talking about). you drag the tip of your pointer finger up along the vein on his underside to the head of his cock. the tip is flushed with an attractive shade of pink complimenting the pale skin of his body, and it’s a beautiful contrast to the brown skin on the back of your hand. you wrap your palm around him gently and brush your thumb over the head, making a noise of surprise at his cock twitching in your grasp. a drop of pre-cum beads in the slit and you curiously drag a finger to collect it; you pause, before you bring your finger to your mouth and flick out your tongue to taste it.

it almost tastes like nothing? slightly bitter, a little salty—but, it’s good. he tastes good. 

max groans and the sound of his head falling back and hitting the headboard reminds you that the cock you’re feeling up is attached to him. 

a broken rasp of, “fuck,” slips from his lips, and charles kisses your cheek in approval.

“ah-you’re so good at this already, mon amour,” charles cheered, “let’s give him a hand, together.”

he brings his left hand around your body to join yours around max’s, and leads you through the motions. he starts you on half strokes, having you circle your hand around the head, while he focuses on mimicking your motions around the base. you can see the muscles of max’s abdomen and thighs clenching with the effort of not thrusting forward into your hand.

“shit,” max moans, “the two of you will be the death of me.”

charles nips a mark right behind you ear, “move your hand like this—oui, just like that—and press your palm around the head—good girl—just keep doing that for me, mon amor.”

max groans roughly at the focused attention on the sensitive tip of his dick; he’s going to come embarrassingly quickly. the sight of charles teaching you how to give him a proper handjob is going to keep him up at night.

“liefje, you’re doing such a good job,” max pants, “going to make come already, pretty girl—are you going to lick my cum off your fingers too?”

you moan highly at his words, nodding your head quickly in agreement, eager to keep being good for him. max continues to run his mouth as he gets closer to orgasm: ‘you and charles should taste the cum off your hand together,’ ‘he can’t wait to get his hands and mouth on you,’ etc.

with a stuttered breath, max warns you that he’s cumming—and charles yanks your hand off of him; ruining max’s orgasm. the dutchman shouts in frustration, his hips bucking up freely now, trying to chase the delicious friction that was stolen from him.

with flushed cheeks, max yells, “what the fuck, charles!” and you turn to look at charles, who’s sitting behind you with an extra-pleased smirk on his face. the brat shrugs nonchalantly, not offering an explanation. you bring your hand back to grasp max’s cock—and repeat the same motion of twisting your palm around the head, to lead max back to an orgasm. he moans in relief, thankfully the edge of release didn’t slip away from him entirely—and then you bring your other hand up to make up for charles’. 

all it takes is a few more synced strokes, and max cums. you feel the warmth of his release coat your fingers, but your eyes are stuck on his expression. his mouth parted slightly, eyes shut, his chest heaving, mouth red and flushed from where he was biting at his bottom lip, and you can see the pleasure washing over his face—goddamn, you wish you were feeling what he is. in the haze of appreciating how he looks when he comes, you fail to stop your hands from continuing your motions and max’s hands fly down to halt you once the pleasure slips into too-much.

when he makes eye-contact with you, you raise your cum-covered hand to your mouth and make a show out of tasting his cum. you moan sweetly and smack your lips—honestly, you don’t particularly like or dislike the taste, but the way max’s eyes widen at your display makes you think you’ll learn to love it. he watches you lick your hands clean, and murmurs out a faint, “what the actual hell, liefje.”

“and, you,” the older man’s expression hardens as he directs his cold gaze on charles, “we’re not touching you for two weeks.”

“por quoi?!,” the monegasque pretends as if he doesn’t know exactly what he did.

you and max both ignore charles’ whining, and you smile extra sweetly at max as you wiggle onto his lap, “may i use your thigh, please?”

he digs his thumb into the sensitive skin of your thigh, and you yelp lightly. 

“two more days, liefje,” max orders, “and if you’re patient, you can have more than just my thigh.”

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© httpsserene2023

[whirlybirbs]

BEYOND THE VOID — !

1. THE BEGINNING OF THE END.

( MASTERPOST   |   AO3  |    SPOTIFY ) summary: torn from time yet again, it's thursday. six months pass. while you grapple with a newfound uncanny ability to premeditate, loki grapples with the fact he's slipping back into his old self without you. enter brad wolfe. now playing:  a whole lots gonna change by weyes blood word count: 3.3k pairing: loki / f!reader, established in from the void, with love tags: enemies to friends to lovers, soulmates, we-are-in-love-in-the-future but how did that even happen, angst & comfort, redemption arc, lots of time travel, loki season 2 (2020) spoilers a/n: finally, they return in "beyond the void". i can't thank everyone enough for the unending enthusiasm for this little project of mine. it's fitting to have the first chapter release with an eclipse. this is for all of you :) the beautiful gif for this chapter is from this set by @tomshiddles.

"Okay."

"Okay."

There's a long stretch of silence between Darcy Lewis and Jane Foster. 

In the liminal stretch of the apartment building's hall, there's little sound except the loud drone of some horribly, desperately sad song beyond the door of Unit 1131. The two women share a long look with one another, and then Darcy gestures urgently to the door.

"Go ahead," she nudges her colleague. 

"What?" Jane asks in a harsh whisper, "No, you knock." 

"You were the one that said we needed to do an intervention—" Darcy argues back in an equally low tone.

"Oh, so now this is on me?" Jane fires back, "She's our friend—"

"Our friend who has been babbling nonsense about things that have not happened and has been seriously obsessing with that Low-key dude—" Darcy rushes out, bringing her face closer to Jane's, "I don't even know what we're walking into here!"

Jane inhales. She pinches her brow. With a long rub of her face, she exhales. Then, she knocks.

She gives Darcy a 'happy?' look before stepping back and crossing her arms.

Almost immediately, the music stops. There's the sound of a shuffle. A meow. And then, the door opens only wide enough that one exhausted eye can peak through the chained gap.

"Heeeeeeeeeey, girl!" Darcy chides, waggling her hands in the air, "Surprise!"

On the other side of the door, your heart clenches. 

It feels a little bit like a cruel joke, y'know?

All that wishing, begging, clawing to go home and — well... you are. You're home. You've been home. For six months, you've been home in New York City. You're back in that little studio apartment, with Sigurd, with your research, with your doctorate. 

ALL I WANT  TO DO IS  GO HOME.

You try your best to give both Darcy and Jane a smile, but it comes out mangled and exhausted and not quite right. You've been crying. Sort of par for the course these days.

"Oh, uh... Hi guys."

Sigurd meows.

"You got a sec?" Jane asks, raising a folder in her hands, "We, uh... Erik gave us some new anomaly data to look over and we figured... you're the one for the job! Y'know? It's... kinda... your thing... have you been crying?"

Your eyes dart between them both. You wet your lips.

"No. Nooo, no. It's..." your mouth hangs open as you search for a reason, "...Allergies."

There's a beat of embarrassing silence, and then Darcy moves fast as lightning. She wriggles her arm through the gap and unlocks the chain — almost as if this is definitely something she's mastered before — before pushing her way through the doorway of your apartment. Jane follows close behind, and Sigard squawks as he scurries away from underfoot. 

The infiltration is almost immediately regretted because... woah. 

Like, big woah.

Darcy has seen crazy. Like, she has an Uncle on her Dad's side who is totally in on the whole "they're coming for our thoughts" thing and does not leave the house without at least six layers of Great Value tinfoil stuffed under his baseball cap. She knows crazy. She works for Erik Selvig. 

But this?

This is, like, soooooo above her pay grade. 

Jane's jaw is slack. The folder is immediately forgotten on the kitchen island in favor of the wall-to-wall documentation of... whatever the hell this was. 

LOKI MISSING? in the center of it all, with string and equations and runes and news articles and tabloid pages. There's an alarming amount of photos of the God in question pinned up beside ramblings on... Time? And... Quantum mechanics...? 

There's another loooooong stretch of silence. And then, Darcy and Jane both turn slowly to look at you pressed against the door.

You swallow.

Your face is set in horror.

"It's not what it looks like—"

"Uh, dude, it totally is what it looks like—" Darcy starts, stepping closer to the board and pointing a black, manicured finger at a paparazzi photo of Loki being carted off from the now-Avengers Tower, "What's with all the Loki paraphernalia?! Need I post a lil' throwback Thursday to when he tried to kill us all?"

IT'S THURSDAY AGAIN.

You wince. "You wouldn't understand—"

Then, it happens.

The same thing you've experienced dozens upon dozens of times these last six months happens again: A rush of chatter in your mind, a cacophony of whispers that claw at your thoughts and flood them with has-beens and will-be's. A million things all at once, a little bit of everything from all of time, and then— one thread. One thread that stands out against them all. 

"Jane, don't."

Across the room, Jane's fingers pause on the contact number for that pretty S.H.I.E.L.D. agent they've met once or twice now — the one who is managing the Asgardian anomaly cases. With Loki missing, S.H.I.E.L.D. has been desperate to track him down. If this is a lead... If you know where he is...

Jane's face freezes.

Her brows knit.

Your face is split in panic. "I know you think calling Agent Hill is the right thing to do, but—"

"...How did you know I was...?" Jane's voice falls off, her eyes searching your face.

Your voice splinters as you step forward. "If you call Agent Hill, she is going to section our entire division within the week. Thor will be exiled from Earth on conspiracy four days later. We will sit in a cell for five years until they decide we have nothing to do with Loki's disappearance from Asgard."

Darcy's eyes bounce between you and Jane.

"Why are you saying all that like you know it's going to happen?" Jane asks slowly, putting her phone down and closing the gap between you. "Doc, what's going on?"

Your eyes flicker with fear. 

And then exhaustion. The walls you've built to keep this away from the others crumble with one worried look from Darcy, and you crumple against the kitchen counter. 

Your voice is far away.

"It all started that Thursday."

You thought it would be better now that someone knows. 

Truth be told it might be more trouble than it's worth if not to soothe the burden of secrecy — because Darcy keeps treating you like a Magic 8 Ball that, when shaken, is going to spit out readings on the future. 

It isn't that easy. I mean, if it was, you would have definitely done everything in your power to avoid the commute traffic this morning. 

You don't know why it happens. Or how. You have a theory it has something to do with Alioth, but... without any sort of control, there's no way of knowing. All you know is that in those moments, you're presented with a weave of potential sequences. And in those moments, you can choose to act. Or not. 

So far, acting seems to be the best course of action. 

But, yea, no. No fortune-cookie-level stuff. No crystal ball, no tarot cards. Just... weird time-whispers. And a migraine that seems to never go away. And dreams. Really vivid dreams. Dreams that happen? And dreams that don't.

If it was a horoscope sort of thing, maybe you wouldn't have missed your morning bus after waiting in line at that coffee shop three blocks down. They always make your coffee a little too bitter, but the girl behind the counter is an NYU grad student you recognized from a mechanical engineering lecture you sat in on three months ago. You've got a soft spot for her. She's always nice to that guy in the baseball cap who seems unhoused. 

You hope it all works out for her in the end. 

But, Christ this coffee is bitter. 

You buzz into Stark Labs at 9:37 am, and you're setting your stuff down at R&D by 9:43 am. 

Bruce Banner looks up briefly from his work to slide you a welcoming smile. You return it gently as you settle down on your stool and reacclimate yourself to last week's work. 

Mondays, man.

Tony is, as always, later than anyone else. His entrance is followed by the usual boisterous chatter meant as a morale booster. More often than not it's a genius-level comedy routine built on absolutely torturing Dr. Banner. You opt, more often than not, to refuse to enable the bad behavior. 

Any laughter is buried deep into these readings from the Tesseract. 

And so this has been home for the last four months. 

Avengers Tower. R&D. Erik Selvig's Research Team. Theoretical Physics and Quantum Mechanics. Day in, day out.

No TVA, no TemPads, no Sylvie, no Mobius, no Capybaras. 

...No Loki.

But, plenty of whispers. 

It rocks you out of your focus, iced latte halfway to your lips as you're rooted in this little pocket of voices and threads and whisps of time. There's a thousand, then a hundred, then one. 

Your voice is soft.

"Bruce, try the equation again."

From across the room, Tony's voice dies down and Bruce's eyes rise to meet yours. He points to himself, with a questioning raise of the brows.

You nod, then continue to take a sip of your coffee.

And so Bruce does. Wordlessly. And, after a minute, he looks up with a grin.

"So it was right."

"Woulda never known if Iron Dick over here didn't shut up for one second."

Tony's grin is bigger than Bruce's as he meanders over to your lab table and throws an arm around your shoulder. He squeezes you gently. You avoid his eye contact — and in doing so, you miss the momentary grace of concern. 

(Tony has known you for a few months now. He knows you adequately enough to gauge that your triple-shot espresso should have been a sextuple. The bags beneath your eyes are dark. There's an edge there. Something jumpy. You're exhausted.)

"Now, that was mean."

"You're torturing him," you fire back lightly, non-the-wiser to his scrutiny. 

"It's called exposure therapy—" Tony croons, leaning back and thumbing through some of the notes on your desk. You allow it. 

Good. Still sharp. Still better than anyone else at what you do. 

"Exposure to workplace terrorism?" You rib back with one cocked brow, "No offense, Bruce, but I like you better not green. Okay, Tony?"

"None taken!" Dr. Banner calls lightly from across the room. He's working on the second part of that equation now. 

"Sure, sure, alright, Doc," Tony heads your words, raising both hands and stepping back, "I guess someone hates fun."

"Absolutely," you say blankly, chewing your straw; you point at him, "No laughter."

"None," Tony waggles a finger.

"Not a peep," you remark causally as you spin in your stool and snag your pen from the drawer behind you. 

"Any news on the other green guy we hate?" Bruce asks slowly, eyes bouncing between you and Stark. 

Your blood goes a little cold. Just like always. It's hard not to react — especially when that other green guy is all you think about day and night.

WHEN YOU LOSE HIM YOU WILL DO ANYTHING TO GET HIM BACK. 

You wordlessly shake your head. You shrug. Bruce turns to Stark. Tony is hunched over his bench. His words are a bit muffled by the soldering project he's turned his attention to. 

"None. According to Thor he just up and poofed. He was in the middle of atoning before the Buckingham of Asgard and... just warped on out."

So you've heard.

"Hill has been working every lead she can but... the Asgardians are a little touchy-feely on the whole 'earthlings in the domain of the Gods' thing."

"Understandable," you mutter absently.

Tony sits up. "Only time will tell."

...Indeed.

Home.

Unit 1131. 

Lonely.

It wasn't before all this... It was full to the brim with contentment. It was comfort, it was bliss. It was indulgent mornings slept beneath the covers and bright music in the kitchen. Cheap wine from the liquor shop on the corner and homemade meals. It was "I finally made it". 

Now, it's none of that.

Because he's out there — and you know that you don't belong here anymore.

You drop your bag by the door. 

Your boots follow in a trail. 

Sigurd mews expectantly, and you scoop him wordlessly into your arms as you weave through the chaos of papers and books. Your carpet is hidden beneath a layer of obsession masquerading as research.

But, there's one thing that pulls you back in each time.

It's that photo. 

The one Darcy had pointed at earlier.

Loki is being carted off from the now-Avengers Tower. He's looking back at something, and his expression is broken.

It's you.

You know he's pleading with Thor at that moment through a muzzle, desperate to call your name. He's looking at you, being whisked away by S.H.I.E.L.D. as they clear the area, and your voice is silenced by grief. 

You wish you had called out to him then — told him you'd find him again. 

Regret is a hell of a thing.

Grief, too. 

How do you mourn something you never really had? Not here, not in this timeline. 

So you stand there, in the dim lights of your apartment, staring at the photo. And you cry. Just like every night, for the last six months.

In your desk, that magical little daisy made of grass waits.

If they find Sylvie, they find you.

That's the mission.

Mobius M. Mobius thinks it's funny — back then, man if only he would have known that lil' hunch of his was right. Maybe a part of him did. And... Now? Things are different. I mean, everything is different. The TVA is different. 

Loki is different.

They say to be loved is to be changed an' all that. 

The first thing out of Loki's mouth was your name when Mobius finally saw him again — and then a word vomit of panic, induced by the death of He Who Remains and... time-slippage as OB called it. Lotsa moving parts. Lots to keep track of. But, ultimately, they're in a better spot than they were yesterday. 

1.) Loki is no longer falling through the metaphorical cracks in time. 

2.) Mobius did not get toasted alive when standing before The Loom.

3.) He never, ever, ever has to do that again.

And now!

They're in London. 

1977, huh. Zaniac. 

If they find Sylvie, they find you.

...Unless you find him first.

Loki isn't exactly thrilled. 

No, Loki knows better than to get his hopes up. Sylvie isn't here. He already told Mobius that. It's too safe. It's a damned movie premiere. There are no radiation burns, no falling stars, and no rampant gunfire. It's too quiet. 

It's a movie premiere and you're out there, somewhere, alone. You're... you're lost. He can't protect you here. He can't protect anything. You... You're all he has and you're gone. 

And he's here, wasting his damn time. 

Brad Wolfe is about to waste more of his time. 

Loki's gaze is sharp. His strides are long, and as they approach the fray, the God stands amongst the tallest of guests. He cuts a mean profile. It's times like these that Mobius remembers he is a God.

(It's times like these that Mobius can also see the ever-increasing edge in his partner-in-time. It's a little... worrisome. But understandable. I mean, rip a God's soulmate from his hands and see what happens, right?)

"So, he's an actor now?" Loki comments off-handedly, his irritation grating his heartstrings in a way that reminds him of who he was before all this. He hates it. But, he's angry. He will get you back. Without you...

Without you, he doesn't know what he'll do.

"Or he's undercover."

As they weave, Loki's brows knot in distrust. "Looks pretty real to me."

It smells like cigarettes and perfume, and the flashbulbs bite sharply into Loki's peripherals. The raven-haired trickster winces, tucking his hands into his slacks. 

On the red carpet, X-5 moves from interview to interview. Occasionally his laughter rises above the clamor. Each time, Loki's nostrils flare and he rolls his eyes. 

It's when he reaches the end of the line that Mobius moves in. 

"Will there be a Zaniac Two?" 

The look on Brad's face says enough for Mobius to know there's more going on here than just an undercover bit. Brad's laugh, as equally pained as his smile, just cements the fact. 

"Mobius! Woah!" A clap on the shoulder, a big hug. "I used to work with this guy!"

Still a show. Still a weasel trying to survive on his little slice of time. 

"We're going to need to catch up," he begins, backing up slowly, "You know, why don't we chat after the show?"

"How about now, maybe?" Mobius counters just as Brad turns on his heel and comes face to face with Loki. 

The God sneers.

"Woah. Okay, ha, whole gangs here!" he chirps, "Isn't that... great? Wow. I mean, you look — you look great, Loki."

"Why thank you, Brad."

Brad's eyes are manic, and he's searching the crowd quickly — no doubt looking for an exit. Then, they catch something. When Brad claps his hands together and pats them on both Loki and Mobius' shoulders, the two TVA agents pause.

"Everything alright?" Loki asks, head tilting in faux concern.

"Everything is great, actually, because when I was here," he begins, words quick and anxious as he tries to weave some sort of story, "I met a mutual friend!"

"Sylvie?" Mobius asks tightly.

"No, no, uh, better—"

Loki's jaw tightens. Enough of this. "We have some mutual friends back at the TVA who would like a word, as well—"

"Doc!" calls Brad after finally finding her in the sea of people, turning on his heel and calling out over his shoulder, "I got people I need you to meet!"

And just like that, it's like Loki's whole world splits wide open again.

In the fray of photographers and journalists, in the fray of drinks and the haze of smoke, there's you. You're smiling at Brad, positively beaming. You're bright as a star and Gods, there's no one in the room when you step forward with a laugh.

Your dress is green. Your hair is different.

There's a beauty mark on your left cheek. His version of you has a scar that lies there. A mistimed gift from Sylvie before their period on Lamentis. 

"Doc, these are some of my friends from work," Brad points, his hand falling along your waist in a way that makes Loki's blood boil; the ex-TVA Hunter leans close to your cheek, "They're the real deal."

You laugh into your drink, then extend your hand to Mobius. He's trying his best to hide his growing dread. "It's a pleasure."

Mobius takes it and shakes it gently. "And how do you have the pleasure of knowing our starlet, Brad?"

Damn it. He's losing Loki in real time here.

"Doc here did all the practical effects on set for Zaniac," Brad's eyes connect with Loki's — but the God is focused on only you... Her. Until Wolfe digs in with a low murmur meant to do just what it does, "She's a real wiz with her hands."

The God's face snaps. He will kill Brad, he decides. But, then this other-you moves to offer her hand and he can't help but melt. 

His fingers are trembling when he touches her skin. 

"Have we met before?" comes the soft lilt of her voice — this Variant's eyes are brown. They search Loki's face for a shred of recognition but all that's there between the two of them is raw attraction. A law of time and space unhindered by meddling hands. No matter where, no matter when, you will find one another.

Loki's mouth is dry. Your lipstick shade is a dark rogue. He thinks about that kiss back in the Void. He's stuck there, with your hand in his, when Brad bolts.

Her face contorts in confusion. She pulls away. But, Loki lingers. 

He has to... He...

He needs you back. 

Now. 

[mountainsoftreatos]

After the boys are settled back in London and Charles is still trying to figure out his feelings, I'd love a case where an old woman ghost hires the agency, telling them that her husband died decades ago and she wants to see if he has waited for her so they can pass on together. She describes their marriage as a grand love story. And Charles really latches onto the idea that this couple represents true love and how that might reflect what he feels for Edwin since he's never been in love before and his parents weren't a good example (similar to how he looked at Brad and Hunter in the Dead Dragons episode as reflecting him and Edwin being good guys and best mates).

So they investigate and are able to find the husband. Except it turns out that this woman is a dead witch who was responsible for her husband's death as revenge for him cheating on her and did some kind of magic that would prevent him from passing on. She lied to Edwin and Charles so that when they found him, she could continue to make him suffer in his afterlife.

After the boys save the husband (because he doesn't deserve to be tortured/obliterated) and the case is closed, Charles has this crisis that he doesn't know what it is to be in love and he's afraid he'll never know. And Edwin has to reassure him that like, he and Charles have already been together for 30 years, in a sense, and they'd never be like this witch and her husband. And that Charles already does love him in a way that is devoted and grand and wonderful. Edwin's happy if that never changes, but it would just be extra nice to kiss Charles. And it just hits Charles like a truck that if all it takes for them to go from friendship to romance is kissing, then it's actually the easiest thing in the world for him, to be in love with Edwin. And then they kiss, of course!

IDK, might write this eventually, but if anyone else wants to run with this idea, please go for it!

[louismoncher]

🌄 Brad Pitt & Jacob Anderson as LOUIS DE POINTE DU LAC watch his last sunrise

"And so you decided to become a vampire? " he asked. The vampire was silent for a moment. "Decided. It doesn't seem the right word. Yet I cannot say it was inevitable from the moment that he stepped into that room. No, indeed, it was not inevitable. Yet I can't say I decided. Let me say that when he'd finished speaking, no other decision was possible for me, and I pursued my course without a backward glance. Except for one." "Except for one? What?" "My last sunrise," said the vampire. "That morning, I was not yet a vampire. And I saw my last sunrise." — Anne Rice, Interview With The Vampire (1976)

[munsonsmixtapes]

Saw you had requests! And this may be a trigger warning but it’s a fix I’ve thought about for months.

Eddie, bestie female reader. You are newer to Hawkins and go to a party with Eddie robin and Steve. Not big into drugs or drinking to stick with punch.

While Eddie is off making some money you’re not paying attention to your cup. And someone slips in something.

Soon you start to feel weird… and scared. Someone finds Eddie who is by your side in a second. Friends freak out your crying and scared possible culprit is found and Eddie wants to kick his ass but he is taking care of you. And then from there where ever you think it could lead? Ed’s taking you home but staying and helping you through your high/trip so sweet doesn’t even need to be secretly in love or it could be but nothing happens because… well after a scary thing like that… no thanks.

Idk it’s been stuck in my head and again don’t write if you’re not comfortable.

Im not going to anon because I’m afraid I may miss if you do write. But again if not that’s totally okay!

Hey, thanks so much for your request!

Word count: 1,723

CW: reader gets roofied, let me know if there’s anything I missed!

Eddie x bestie!fem!reader

You looked around Steve’s house which was filled a bunch of people you didn’t know. You hadn’t really liked parties, but Eddie had begged you to go and you found yourself unable to say no to him. He was just so cool and pretty that you wanted to do whatever he asked when he flashed you those doe brown eyes.

You were still new to town and in no position to pass up friends so that meant hanging around people you didn’t like just so full your social circles. People like Brad were who you despised the most. He had been trying to sleep with you for months only to be met by rejection. He wouldn’t take no for an answer, approaching you every chance he got and that night hadn’t been an exception.

“Hey,” he smiled, leaning over the back of the couch. Eddie was always quick to jump to your defense, but of course he was nowhere to be found, taking an opportunity to sell, it being a huge party and all.

You ignored him, looking down at the red plastic cup in your hand. Eddie had given you some punch that had just been a bunch of different types of alcohol mixed with some juice. You didn’t drink much so it was perfect, the juice completely covering up the bitter alcohol taste that you weren’t a fan of.

You thought that not speaking to Brad would help him get the hint, but that only made him speak again. He took your silence as playing hard to get and goddamn was he determined to get you.

To Brad, you were just another body to use. He loved that you were innocent, having never slept with anyone. He just wanted to add yet another notch to his bedpost, wanting your name to be on the list of virgins he had fucked.

You had felt bad for the girls who had been desperate enough to sleep with Brad and you definitely weren’t going to be one of them. He was gross and you had eyes for only one man. That man being nowhere to be found when you needed him.

You hadn’t been paying attention and Brad had slipped something into your drink, quickly moving away before anyone could catch him. If you wouldn’t say yes, he was going to take matters into his own hands.

But Robin had caught him and hurried over to you to stop you from drinking the now contaminated juice. You had already taken a sip before she was able to get to you. She watched in horror as you swallowed the liquid and quickly took the cup from you. She pulled you in the kitchen to keep an eye on you and poured the juice down the sink.

She then grabbed onto Steve who just so happened to also be in the kitchen and turned him around to face her, panic in her eyes.

“Hey, what’s going on?” He could see the look on her face and started to worry. Robin was known to freak out on a regular basis, but this was different. He could feel it. Something was wrong.

“Y/n was roofied.” He felt his knees go weak at her words and looked at you for any signs of sickness, but you seemed fine. It was only a matter of time before the symptoms took over.

“I’m gonna go get Eddie. Take her to your room,” she told him, looking around the house for the curly head of hair.

Robin was quick to run from the kitchen, pushing through all of the partygoers to find the metal head. She didn’t have much time and it didn’t help that Steve’s house was packed and there was no trace of Eddie anywhere.

Steve took you to his room so you could have some quiet. You already felt dizzy, having trouble walking, feeling like the place was spinning. Everything was distorted and didn’t look right.

You continued you to try to walk but fell to the floor, the drugs in your system quickly taking over. You fell face first in the foyer and people were quick to part like the Red Sea as you laid there in the middle of them.

Everyone just stared at you while Steve was picked. He looked down at your face to see that your nose was red from where it hit the floor. He carried you up the stairs and to his room, hoping that Eddie was going to be there soon. You were fading fast and you looked so scared, it was terrifying to him. He didn’t know you as well as Eddie, but you were his friend and he hated seeing you like that. So scared and helpless.

Steve opened the door and closed it behind him with his foot before carefully laying you on his bed. His heart was racing and he was wondering where the fuck Eddie was. It didn’t take long to get to his room no matter when in the house you were coming from.

Steve sat you up against his headboard, making sure you didn’t fall asleep. He laid next to you awkwardly, not taking his eyes off of you.

“I need Eddie,” you slurred. Steve wanted Eddie too. He was the only one who always knew what you needed. Steve was going to try his best, but he was terrified for you. He couldn’t imagine going through something so scary.

“Eddie’s coming sweetheart. He’ll be here in a second.” Steve wasn’t sure how sure his statement was true, but he was going to believe it anyway.

The door burst open and Eddie and Robin rushed into the room. She sat on the bed next to Steve while Eddie made a beeline for you. He took you into his arms and the two of you slowly lowered yourselves to the floor. You cried into his chest and he let you, knowing how scared you were. You needed to let it out and he was going to let you talk about it if you wanted to.

Robin and Steve made themselves scarce, wanting to give to two of you some space. Eddie pulled you onto the bed and you cuddled up into his side, feeling nothing but dizzy. Everything was doubled and you had to close your eyes so it would go away, but it didn’t. It only got worse when you closed your eyes.

“I’m so fucking sorry, sweetheart. I should have been there with you.” Eddie was going to blame himself for the rest of his life. Sure, if he had been with you, you wouldn’t have been drugged, but it wasn’t his fault. It was just horrible incident and the only person to blame was Brad.

“Eddie, it’s okay,” you slurred. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I should’ve been paying more attention.” He was getting angry that you were blaming yourself. It wasn’t your fault at all. You should have been able to have a drink without worrying whether there were drugs in it or not.

“No,” he said a bit too harshly, sitting up he so could look you in the eyes. “None of this is your fault, y/n. It’s Brad’s.”

“Exactly,” you opened your eyes. “So you shouldn’t be blaming yourself. You should be allowed to leave me for a few minutes without worrying about me.”

“I always worry about you. You’re my best friend. That’s my job. And I didn’t do my job for one night and something horrifying happened to you, y/n. You were assaulted.” That word made it sound so much worse. You knew that was what happened to you, but didn’t really have time to think about it until Eddie had said it.

Just because Brad hadn’t done anything to you physically didn’t mean that you weren’t a victim. Eddie wanted you to know the severity of what had happened and wanted to you to know that you had every right to feel scared.

You fell silent after that, the words heavy between the two of you. Your heart rate quickened as everything set it. You didn’t want to believe it, very much in denial of the severity of the situation. In your mind, if you didn’t acknowledge it, it wasn’t actually happening.

You slowly drifted to sleep and Eddie kept an eye on you to make sure you were okay. He felt sick seeing you like that. You hadn’t been acting like yourself and even after your discussion, he was still blaming himself for what had happened to you. He’d get over it eventually, but for now, he was going to let himself drown in his guilt.

You woke up the next morning from the sun shining through the window. You felt so much better, but you were still a little groggy. You sat up and panicked when Eddie wasn’t by your side but let out a sigh of relief when you saw him sitting at Steve’s desk. He had some toilet paper in his nose and a bag of frozen peas was sitting onto top of one of his hands, his other hand of top of the bag.

He smiled when he looked at you and you returned it, his smile always infections. You eyed the peas once more and wondered what had happened while you were asleep. It seemed like Eddie was always up to trouble.

“What did you do this time?”

“I punched Brad.” He said the words so proudly and for once, you didn’t feel like scolding him. If anyone deserved to have the shit punched out of them, it was him. He deserved a lot more, but you were going to take what you could get as far as his ass kickings went.

“Steve helped. We went to his house this morning and taught him a lesson about dragging women before calling the cops. They arrested him an hour later so he’s definitely not to be bothering you anymore.”

You didn’t think anyone had done something so nice for you. Unbeknownst to you, Eddie would have done anything for you. He would have even left Brad alone if you asked.

“You didn’t have to do that.” You walked over to him and planted yourself in his lap. He wasn’t caught off guard at first, but arm quickly wrapped around your waist while you rested your head on his shoulder.

“I know,” he nodded. “But I wanted to. And that was the least that fucking dick deserved.” It was true, and even though you would probably never to get over what had happened to you, knowing that Brad was behind bars made you feel a whole lot better.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Hello it's the vegetable fic person here and- and- if you want could you write something about lookism guys finding out that their s/o is skipping their meals due to busy schedules or whatever 😭

Literally do not know why my asks revolve around food. I'd like if you include gun and jake but I literally leave it upto you love u

Hey vegetable anon! FINALLY getting round to this! Sorry for the wait!

Lookism x Reader: You, too busy to eat

G/N. No TW. Gun, Jakey, Goo, Sammy

Your boyfriend is concerned.

Skipping the odd meal, forgetting to eat, day dictated by a busy schedule - they get it. Except they have noticed this developing into a bit of an ongoing habit, one that is unwelcome and they wouldn't like to encourage.

They've also taken note of the way your clothes hang a bit looser, your cheeks looking a little sunken, and the dullness in your eyes.

They'll have to take matters into their own hands.

Gun Park

Gun learns a lot of new things, a lot about himself with you.

He never used to care about other people, least of all their diet.

After all, why should he? Even when his duties include being Crystal's bodyguard, what she got up to is none of his concern as long as she was safe.

However, with you, that's a whole other story. Whenever you're feeling sad, down, out of sorts. Gun feels a prickle of unease, affecting him until he finds out how to make you smile again.

And when your smile does come out, directed at him, because of him, he can barely describe it. Something not even the thrill of a fight can touch. Like being bathed in sunlight, directly touched by the sun's caress.

His sentimentality is something new he discovered too.

Gun peers down at the food order in his hand as he strides towards your home. All your favourite dishes from your favourite restaurant.

He's not sure he completely likes his softness with you, but as long as you do, he can't bring himself to mind.

Jake Kim

It starts with pursed lips and worried eyes, Jake's hands roving over your body.

Of course he thinks you're beautiful and as long as you're healthy and happy, it doesn't matter.

The worry is that you're not healthy and happy, that you're not eating out of stress. That whenever Jake has the time to cook for you, you will demolish every crumb in sight.

It's all the other times when he's too busy.

The solution, devised by Jake, is a revolving door of Big Deal members at your front step. At regular intervals with your favourite snacks or breakfast, lunch, dinner whenever your boyfriend can't make it.

.

.

"Morning, Y/N. Boss says hi!" Jason hands over a small container of food.

.

.

"Favourite snacks for boss's favourite," Brad grins at you.

.

.

"Jake says he'll see you tonight," Jerry averts your eyes, cheeks dusting with pink at the implication.

.

.

"Boss says," Lineman grimaces, staring to the heavens and wondering why this is now his life, "he loves you and to eat well. Rest well."

After a pause-

"Jason," Lua chides, barely able to keep the smirk off her face, "What else?"

Lineman flushes crimson, hand clenched white knuckled around your food," If you don't then... he said he'll make sure to...," Seriously. Fuck his life. "-punish you."

Goo Kim

"Say ahh!" Your boyfriend holds the spoonful of rice up to your lips. How on earth he has even made a game of this you don't know.

You keep your eye on him but turn your head away. "Goo."

"C'mon, do it for your Goo Bear."

"..."

"..."

He's not grinning. Not his usual slimey smile, not even his soft lift of the lips for you.

He's also not affecting his faux pout. Where he juts out his bottom lip and pleads with large eyes.

That unfortunately for you, he quickly learned that he will get his way 99% of the time.

Instead all you get are brows furrowed with worry and an expression that's trying to be joyful but doesn't fully mask the apprehension.

It's jarring whenever you get a glimpse of Goo's genuine concern, and touching too. Your boyfriend must really be worried about you to put up this whole charade.

Fine. You give in.

Opening your mouth just wide enough, "Ah-"

Goo breathes a sigh of relief, "There we go!"

Samuel Seo

The alarm on his phone vibrates.

Samuel excuses himself from the meeting, ignoring the disapproval radiating from Eugene. It doesn't matter. Some things are more important.

You pick up only after a couple of rings.

"Hey Sammy," A nickname that he at first hated but absolutely loves now. How could he not when you say it with such affection?

"Y/N," and even saying your name relieves some of his stress of the day, "Did you remember to eat dinner?"

"Yep!"

Samuel hears the smile in your voice. You're never annoyed with his calls, with him asking the same questions. You understand it only comes from a place of concern, a place of love. The way he calls you, like clockwork, despite his hectic schedule makes your heart hurt.

"I made some extra for you too!"

Samuel peers through the boardroom window. The figureheads sitting there, discussing something or another. He used to relish being a part of this, dream about one day ruling over it all.

Yet now, all he can think about is wanting to be with you.

He responds simply and honestly, "I can't wait to see you tonight."

[dandelion-blues]

Ninjago One-shot

An Adult? (not really)

Now also on Ao3

Lloyd Garmadon didn’t notice at first that he wasn’t really aging. He didn’t really think much about it at first. After all, he was already so much older when the Tomorrow's Tea aged him up. Except his voice hardly even deepened. Then, 8 years later, when Lloyd was chronologically 16 but supposed to be in his twenties physically, his voice finally deepened, as evident by the ninja’s teasing.

Zane predicted that perhaps Tomorrow's tea worked differently on him and that perhaps Lloyd’s age was now aligned. After all, Zane is a nindroid and isn’t supposed to age like humans, and yet he did.

Except Lloyd discovered that he wasn’t even fully human. He was a part oni-dragon hybrid. It’s fine. Everything is fine. Lloyd had bigger things to deal with than his weird aging. After all, he had a father villain to defeat.

5 more years passed. The Overlord, or should Lloyd say the Crystal King, is finally defeated. Garmadon isn’t quite as evil anymore and is actually staying around. 

And now that they believe the Overlord is finally never returning, all the venom from the Great Devour that the Overlord orchestrated for Garmadon to have just left his system. 

Now Garmadon is just an oni-brand of evil and has purple eyes. They remind Lloyd a lot of the human version of his father, his dad, but apparently that was a lie too because it’s just shapeshifting since the oni-version is his dad’s natural form. But everything is fine. He got his dad back. Really, he’s just a little rough around the edges, and his memories still aren’t fully back, but it’s a process. Everything is fine.

Anyways. What else? Oh, and all the Ninjas are alive and together.

It’s been a long journey. Cole just had his 30th birthday, and after all the pestering from his fans about dating, he decided to get married to a triple-layer chocolate cake so they would finally back off. Because. He’s. Not. Interested. Honestly, Lloyd can relate. He thought he liked Brad, and then Harumi and Akita when he was younger, but it was actually just wanting to be friends with them (though Harumi long since lost her chance even if she joined their side in the end), and it’s really making him uncomfortable with how many people are asking about his dating life.

Moving on…

Zane and Pixal are running a school open to all types of people and beings to learn about all manner of things.

Kai and Skylar finally got engaged! Lloyd teased his big brother endlessly for that. It took them long enough!

Nya and Jay got married and are happily exploring ninjago for their honeymoon!

Of course all the ninja stay in touch and make sure to meet up at the monastery at least monthly if not more in case another realm ending disaster pops up, but everyone is enjoying the peace while it lasts, but still staying in shape and being vigilant. Not wanting to be caught off guard again.

And well, Lloyd’s the same staying at the monastery for now and trying to avoid the limelight and all his crazy fans. Lloyd’s also trying really hard to reconnect with Garmadon, but part of himself still flinches whenever he gets too close. Remembering cold red eyes, saying he has no son, and slamming him into a wall. His body breaking and blood pooling around him. And everything is cold and dark. And Lloyd feels so alone and scared. He was dying.

Uncle Wu is also staying with Lloyd and Garmadon and really trying to be a good brother, but centuries, if not millennia, of strained relations, and polar personalities and ideals, make it hard for them to bond over, well, anything. 

Though they did finally make a breakthrough recently. Lloyd just wishes he wasn’t at the center of it.

Flashback:

“Son,” Garmadon's deep gravelly voice says behind Lloyd, and Lloyd jumps; swearing, he almost hits his head on the ceiling by how far he jumped.

“Where is your mother?” Garmadon’s purple eyes have an unknown glint in them. The oni looks at Lloyd like his dad used to look at him when starting a serious conversation, and Lloyd swallows.

“Why do you want to know?” Lloyd says, his voice definitely not cracking. It’s been years. Why is his voice still cracking?!

“Well, I wanted her to sign these divorce papers so I could happily pursue a relationship with Vinny.” Garmadon says and pulls out divorce papers like it’s just a random Tuesday.

“What?!” Lloyd shrieks. And he expects Garmadon to say he’s joking. Divorce?! And who’s Vinny?!

Instead, Garmadon says in a worried tone, his voice sounding so close to the dad that Lloyd misses, “Now son. I’m sure it’s not easy to accept that your parents are getting divorced, especially since you are so young, but your mother and I are mature adults and need to get this done, so we can move on in our lives.”

Lloyd sputters, “I’m in my twenties! I’m not a kid.” It’s been 13 years since Lloyd’s been magically aged up to around 14. And even then, he was 8 before he magically aged up, so he would be in his twenties either way! Sure, he has an extreme baby face, but he is an adult! Even if he doesn't feel like it. And why does Garmadon suddenly care now? He can't try and parent him years too late and expect everything will be fine!

Thus, Lloyd yells at Garmadon before he can answer “Also, I have no idea where Misako is, and honestly I don’t give a damn! I hardly even know her! She left me when I was a baby! And she only came back into my life when I had to fight the Overlord for the first time. Then she just disappeared for years on end till she suddenly pops up with some cryptic message for a day and leaves again! So honestly good on you for getting a divorce! But don’t pretend that I care!” And Lloyd stomps out and slams the door to his room and screams into his pillow.

Eventually, Lloyd fell asleep, but it wasn’t long before a knock interrupted his rest, and he had to face reality again.

“What?” Lloyd answers, his voice muffled by his pillow.

“Lloyd,” Uncle Wu says softly, “Can Garmadon and I come in?”

‘Ugh, please no,’ Lloyd wants to say more than anything, but he relents, and sits up in his bed and tries to comb through his messy blond hair. 

Lloyd finally sighs, “Come in.”

Uncle Wu and Garmadon enter Lloyds room, and they stand opposite him. Lloyd looks at them and waits for them to start speaking, but they just glance worriedly at Lloyd.

Lloyd rolls his eyes, “What do you guys want to talk about?”

Garmadon clears his throat, “Well after you… talked about Misako,” he says her name with venom, and Lloyd has to hide his flinch. Somehow, though, Garmadon seems to notice and breathes in deeply before continuing, “I went to talk to my brother, and neither of us knew about what you told me earlier. We just want to know where exactly you were raised and who raised you since Misako didn’t.”

Lloyd scowls, “Stop talking to me like I’m a child. I’m already in my twenties. I’m an adult for crying out loud! Also, why do you two suddenly care so much? It’s not like it’s hindering my ability to be the green ninja.” 

Garmadon raises an eyebrow in disbelief and looks at his brother in worry.

“Lloyd,” Uncle Wu reaches over to Lloyd, but Lloyd pulls away, and Wu's golden eyes look so sad, “You are still a child, and you will be one for quite some time. And we care about you more than just being the green ninja. You are family, and we are worried about you.”

Lloyd shakes his head in disbelief. Just because Wu’s like a thousand years old doesn't mean that Lloyd deserves to be treated as a kid just because he’s so much younger.

“Besides you haven’t even lost your baby fangs or even molted your first dragon skin. You're still just a pup,” Garmadon gruffly replies.

“Hatchling.” Uncle Wu corrects.

Garmadon's purple eyes narrow at his brother, “Pup.”

Wu’s golden eyes narrow back, “Hatchling.”

“Pup.”

“Hatching.”

“Pup!”

“Hatching!”

“PUP!”

“HATCHLING!”

“ENOUGH!” Lloyd shouts over the two brothers, and they shut up in shock. “Is this seriously about my oni-dragon heritage?! What does that even matter? I’m still half human and obviously take more after my human half, and therefore, I age like a human. SO. I. AM. NOT. A. CHILD!”

“Oh son,” Garmadon’s voice breaks, and it truly sounds exactly like his dad’s, and it’s like the last piece finally clicks in Garmadon’s mind to fully remember. “I am so sorry I haven’t been able to teach you about your heritage and that I missed that your mother wasn’t in the picture since I was hardly there. I’ve truly failed you son.”

Garmadon goes closer to Lloyd and goes to embrace him in a hug, and Lloyd lets him, too shocked because Garmadon’s apologizing?! Is his dad finally back? Does he remember everything?

And then Garmadon’s sitting next to Lloyd on his bed and hugging him for dear life, and he starts sobbing, “I’m so so sorry, my son. I’ve hurt you, and I don’t know how I can ever make up for that.”

And Lloyd's shock fades away, and he embraces his dad back just as fiercely, “Dad. I-I’ve m-missed y-you. I’d t-thought you’d n-never truly be b-back!” And he sobs into his dad’s chest. Except Lloyd doesn’t just sob, but whines. Though Lloyd hardly notices as he's too busy focusing on the overwhelming emotions he’s feeling right now.

Garmadon, though, notices and instantly tightens his embrace on his son, and deep purrs start emitting from him to help his pup calm down. He puts his son’s head in the crook of his neck, and Garmadon instinctually broadens his shoulders as if to seem bigger and threatening to outsiders to protect his pup.

Wu smiles sadly at the scene, tears escaping his eyes, as he stares at his brother and nephew.

Eventually, their crying dies down, and Lloyd tries to pull away, but his dad holds onto him. Lloyd sighs but relents since he feels so warm and comfortable. Still, Lloyd looks down embarrassed. He’s not a child anymore. He can't be with all he's faced.

Garmadon lifts Lloyd’s chin up, and Lloyd glances at his dad’s comforting purple eyes, and Garmadon gently wipes some tears out of Lloyd’s face with his thumbs, the dark scales of his dad’s fingers surprisingly soft, and Garmadon hugs Lloyd gently.

Lloyd sinks into his dad’s embrace, feeling a deep rumble from his dad’s chest. It makes Lloyd’s eyes start to close as he feels warm and safe. But then Lloyd furrows his brows confused. What is that? It’s like…

Lloyd pushes away, shocked, “Dad are you purring?!” 

“Of course, Lloyd, and you are too, you know. It’s just part of our oni heritage.” Garmadon says softly, as if speaking to a child.

And Lloyd, to his growing horror, does indeed feel himself purring, a soft purr emitting from within his chest following his dad’s. And Lloyd whines in distress. Did he really just whine. What is this happening to him right now?! 

Garmadon pulls Lloyd closer, trying to calm his pup’s distress. But now that Lloyd is aware of the sounds, his distress is growing further, and he is starting to panic and wants his dad to let him go, but at the same time, he doesn’t. Lloyd is just so scared and confused.

Wu coughs loudly, getting his family’s attention. “Garmadon you need to let Lloyd go, he’s not used to his oni heritage right now, and it’s just further distressing him right now.”

Garmadon growls at his brother, his mind fogged up too much to think of anything else except protecting his pup.

Except Wu growls back just as hard and hisses in his dragonic tongue, “Let Lloyd go.” 

Garmadon, shocked, loosens his grip just enough for Lloyd to get out of his grip and run to Uncle Wu.

Garmadon growls deeply as Wu holds Lloyd and growls in oni, “Let go of my son.”

“No, brother.” Wu states calmly in Ninjagon but prepares to defend himself.

Just before Garmadon can attack, Lloyd whispers, his voice breaking, “Don’t fight, please.”

Garmadon instantly snaps out of it and stops growling as his mind clears up. He whispers brokenly, “I’m sorry.” 

Garmadon falls back on Lloyd's bed, looking down. He’s messed up again. 

‘Why can’t I be a good dad for my son, just once?!’ Garmadon thinks. Agony felt in his heart once again for his inability to not mess up with Lloyd.

Lloyd breathes in and out and calms himself down in his uncle’s hold, and then he looks over to his dad and sees him with the saddest look on his face.

Lloyd gingerly gets out of his uncle’s hold and nods when Uncle Wu asks if he’s okay.

“Dad. I’m sorry I panicked. I just…” Lloyd gulps, “I thought I was human. Or well, mostly human. I didn’t want to accept that I wasn’t aging like one. And I think deep down I knew. FSM, I still look basically the same age as I did after I used the Tomorrow's Tea!”

“I just thought that I could finally be normal.” Lloyd’s voice breaks.

Garmadon looks at his son, so heartbroken. He doesn’t know how to help his son. He’s not normal, and he’ll never be.

And then Lloyd clears his throat, his bright green eyes shining, “But normal's overrated anyways, and I don’t have it in me to keep rejecting myself and you to believe that I’ll ever be normal. I finally have my dad back again, and I’ll hate myself if I don’t take this chance to learn more about you and about our heritage while I still have the chance.”

Lloyd laughs bitterly, “Because destiny will eventually decide to fuck with me again and I won’t have time, so I can’t just continue to ignore this. Because one day it might be too late to learn this from my d-dad.” Lloyd's voice breaks at the end.

“Oh, Lloyd, I’ll gladly tell you whatever you want to know,” Garmadon agrees and smiles sadly, praying to his father just this once that his son can find peace.

Lloyd smiles, tears in his eyes, and looks back to his uncle, “A-and I think Uncle Wu needs to be here to help explain some things too.”

Wu looks at his nephew in shock, he answers, “If that’s what you want nephew.”

“It is.” Lloyd nods his head.

“Alright, what do you want to know first?” Garmadon asks and pats the bed for both his son and brother to sit next to him. Lloyd gladly goes over, and his dad embraces him in a side hug, while Wu sits next to Lloyd and looks to Garmadon, wondering how he’s going to explain their heritage.

“Well as long as you make sure you include the dragons, brother. You always seem to forget them when discussing our heritage.” Wu says with a mischievous voice.

Garmadon rolls his eyes, “As long as you don’t forget the oni.”

Lloyd laughs brightly, the weight of the world seeming to lift from his shoulders, and his family joins him and starts laughing as well, and Misako is all but forgotten, for now, to the small family of the First Spinjitzu Master’s descendants.

Next Ninjago One-shot

[intersectionalpraxis]

Whenever I talk about celebrities or influencers with my mom, my sentences usually start with "I don't like them because-" since there is usually something they have said or done that's problematic (there are very rare exceptions -like I haven't found reason to dislike Keanu Reeves, for example, because that man seems lovely and kind to the core -or artists like Kehlani -of course I know there are more people -but as I tell my mom and many people frequently, that list is vastly small). And yes, each of them have done things on a spectrum -some much more extreme than others, but so many of them are awful.

Adele and Kate McKinnon during their awful SNL skit about Africa that I hope no one forgets about, to Ariana Grande CONSTANTLY 'cosplaying races' (you only need to search for this online -she's done this numerously), to Mark Wahlburg's violent racist history where he committed hate crimes, to Brad Pitt who we recently discovered is an abuser -to both his ex-partner Angelina Jolie and their kids, as well as Ellen DeGeneres and Lizzo -who both built careers from their respective positionalities in fields where there as a lack of representation only for us to find out they're both part of and complicit in the abuse of those on their teams. The list goes on and on.

Hollywood and the music industry coddle and platform abusers because if they're making them money, despite them being awful, and it's beyond shameful. That's why celebrity culture needs to be dismantled entirely.

[differentdragonpeanutknight]

The character of Lloyd in my Ninjago AU

Another dive on one of the characters, this time the soon-to-be Green Ninja himself!

Misako gave birth to Lloyd a few months before Garmadon lost himself and got banned to the Underworld. She tried to take care of Lloyd for the next three years, she really tried. However, fearing for both of their lives, and with the desire to find a way to save Garmadon, Misako saw no other option but to leave Lloyd at the place she felt it was the only one that could keep him hidden: Darkley's Boarding School for Bad Boys. As for Wu, he himself had dissapeared for months after what happened between and Garmadon.

All that can be said is that Misako's decision gave Lloyd a bad turn in his life. Lloyd got shafted away by everyone until he had the age to begin studying. He didn't have any friends, and he always was the end of the joke. Everyone laughed about how soft he was, that his father abandoned him because of that. And there was nothing Lloyd could do.

He finally made a friend after a long time of loneliness. Brad Tutabone, the boy that took care of the garden. But not even him could help Lloyd enough as people kept bullying him anyway. The worst ones were Chad, Gene and Mikey. Those three never left him alone.

That's why one day Lloyd snapped and promised that he was going to show everyone how wrong they were about him, how he was going to be the baddest of them all.

Of course, he was just lying to himself.

He wanted to escape, he wanted to be free. Lloyd couldn't take it anymore, so he always ran away. Away from that people, away from everything that made his life miserable.

Trying to the evil lord people at Darkley's wanted him to be, he ended up meeting the Ninja, and they didn't had a good first impression.

After that, Lloyd saw everything. He saw their fights, their skills, their happiness, their...

Love for each other.

And there was also Wu with them. Lloyd heard stories about Wu in Darkley's. He was a hero of the land, after all. Why did he seem so happy with the Ninja? What about Lloyd? Does his uncle not care about him at all?

But eventually Lloyd learned that yes, he cared about him. Wu wanted to keep Lloyd safe, away from the danger. He let Lloyd live with, and didn't asked for anything.

Lloyd wasn't a fan of the ninjas, however. They didn't treated him bad, but they weren't the most kind people to have around.

Maybe except for Kai. That guy was a little distant, for sure, and Lloyd was a bit unsure about being around here at first.

But Kai understood him. He took some time of his day to see how Lloyd was going, to talk with him and sometimes even play with something.

That didn't help much some of Lloyd's feelings. He did so much bad things, caused so many problems, but Wu and Kai gave him so much kindness. That made Lloyd feel bad about himself. Did he actually deserved all that kindness? At least, he wanted to do something to compensate them from every wrong he did.

And now here he is, inside of a cage in the den of snakes, honestly hoping that he can be saved one more time.

[hostilemuppet]

CHARLIE

After a close call with her and Clay’s egg, Viva realises that… she almost made a terrible mistake. She’s been so far gone, so sure that she had to make sure Clay couldn’t leave her, that she didn’t even think that… maybe she just needs to make him not want to? God. She almost killed her own child, because… what? She wanted blackmail material? She’s pathetic. She’s an awful mother, an awful wife, she can’t believe herself.

Viva traces her thumb over the small crack on the egg, it’s not enough to hurt the baby but it’s there and it’s all because of her she did it to them, and she decides that this is it. She’s not going to let it get this bad again. She’s going to pull herself together, she’ll make it up to the kid, she’ll make it up to Clay.

She’ll make it up to herself.

Charlie is a mischievous little scamp, always looking to turn a quick buck. Even if that means roping his cousins (mostly Ha’Penny) into his various get rich quick schemes, which are totally unnecessary since his family’s already rich but you don’t understand! He wants to earn it! It’s like the thrill of the hunt, except the “hunt” is “tricking his similarly rich classmates into purchasing what he claims to be a hair strengthening tonic but is actually tap water mixed with lemon juice and sriracha sauce”. Regardless of the non-product he is advertising, he always manages to sell out, because he is one hell of a showman.

Despite being primarily driven by his need to amass wealth (he is 5 years old, so “wealth” for him is like, 50 trollars), that doesn’t mean he lacks a heart! He cares for his family, and part of the reason he loves money so much is because he always wants to see his parents’ faces brighten up when he brings them a gift, whether it’s something as small as a chocolate bar or something as… concerning, as a piece of very expensive jewellery, which a 5 year old shouldn’t have been able to purchase? Don’t ask. He also gets along really well with his cousins!

Ha’Penny Hatch is, of course, his partner in crime. They also occasionally double as his fall guy if a scheme goes south, but it’s okay because they would NEVER get in trouble; who the hell is going to go after the 4 year old, mute, heir to the throne? Only someone with a death wish, that’s who. Besides, Penny is more than happy to return the favour; Charlie’s crazy antics are often the highlight of their day!

With Angelina, they don’t actually talk that much, but they get on fine! Even if she does not see it as a compliment when he calls her Raggedy Ann, but it’s just a nickname! It’s supposed to be cute! Take a chill pill why dontcha, Ann?

Brad, however… the two have a bit of a rivalry, you could say. Brad always assumes Charlie’s up to no good, which is totally unfair, because Charlie’s only up to no good, like, 45% of the time! That’s the minority, Brad, he thought big kids like you were supposed to know all about percentages. 🙄

(cocreated with @8biteyesight)

[paprikko-lol]

fiyaaa

new au time. i am insane. thoughts under the cut!

street racing au time!! i know i said i would talk more about children of the storm but i couldn’t help myself ok?? i call this the 'ninja go fast au' hkjefhjks

THIS AU!! LIVES RENT-FREE!! IN MY BRAIN!! heres the stitch: within the depths of ninjago city, there are two rival street racing groups (gangs? troops? whatever) who are constantly trying to one-up each other. the first group is ‘the wu-crew’ (jay came up with the name), which consists of kai (co-leader), nya (co-leader), cole, jay, and zane. they are ‘managed’ by wu (codeword for he pays for everything and manages the garage), who used to be the co-leader of another well-known street racing crew with his brother, who he barely speaks about for reasons unknown. speaking of who! garmadon manages the wu-crew’s rival team: the garmadorks. this team consists of lloyd (co-leader), morro (co-leader), harumi, akita and brad. I genuinely think these guys would make a killer group together, the shenanigans that would ensue of them being in the same room would be INCREDIBLE. 

moving on! to clarify some of the world-building, there are no elemental powers or dark magic or whatever the heck. this au is set in a modern au, except maybe a few years into the future so that everyone is a bit older in this au.

ok! time for some important character stuff (I will not be covering all 10 main characters cuz I wanna keep this a bit short! you can always send an ask my way if you wanna know smth abt a specific character :D).

zane is still a nindroid in this au, except he’s called a ‘droid-racer’. he was created by doctor julien and wu as an experiment and they eventually got pretty attached to him emotionally. 

lloyd and brad met early on in this au,, they met in their old boarding school, and continued to keep in touch after they graduated (YES lloyd graduates darkley’s in this au! I think that’d be funny af).

nya and kai grew up in a very racing-centred environment because their parents were racers themselves! they learned to drive before they turned of legal age, but only got into street racing when they were 19-21. 

I made nya and kai the co-leaders because this is primarily a kai-centric au (if you couldn’t tell), and I think it’d be interesting to see how they would work together to manage a team.

jay grows up with his birth parents in this au! I couldn’t leave ed and edna though so they can be like his aunt and uncle or something. because cliff gordon is a famous actor, his family is very well off, but still pretty close. I just thought it’d be funny if he was a nervous wreck when he first joined the team cuz he doesn’t want his parents to find out their baby boy is in danger.

morro and lloyd are COUSINS!! of course they are! morro can have some angsty beef with his adoptive father wu for PLOT REASONS!! he ran away from home and met harumi on the streets, who had also run away from home. he invited her to join him as he searched for his uncle garmadon, and they both joined the garamdon family :)

[dreamycloud]

WIP Wednesday

Despite saying that I was temporarily done with Lokius fics until I catch up with other writing projects, I saw Deadpool 3 and it infected me with ONE MORE IDEA. This idea? That Paradox and Brad might actually make a pretty good couple, and why don’t I explore that with a little Lokius on the side? I just started writing this fic, and it begins with a flashback, but I gotta say I’m already enjoying playing with this new dynamic.

(Special thanks to the Automat discord for helping me brainstorm what Paradox’s favorite drink would be🍸).

Paradox kept his hands in his lap, back ramrod straight, smile small but pleased. He had no desire to show off when Ravonna gave him such open praise. “Paradoxes, as you know, are not common temporal phenomena. It does give my bureau more time to improve our processes where we can.”

Pulling a bottle of sour apple martini from the hidden fridge, Ravonna prepared his drink. She carried his and hers around the curve of the couch and sat opposite him, across the coffee table. Sliding his drink to him, she said, “It’s common enough for the Timekeepers to dedicate a whole department to them.”

“And name one of their employees ‘Paradox’ to begin with,” he said, picking up the martini glass by its delicate stem.

“Destiny,” she said, lifting her glass to her lips. “The Timekeepers created each of us to play unique, vital roles in protecting the Sacred Timeline.”

Paradox nodded and waited until she drank to have his first sip of the tart, fruity drink. She really did indulge him, but then again, he’d earned it, hadn’t he? He worked himself to the bone to ensure his Bureau had a pristine reputation and standing within the TVA.

There was no greater pleasure he found than doing his job, and doing it well—except of course, having his work acknowledged by those above him. Perhaps one day he’d even earn an audience with the Timekeepers. If he ever did, he’d ask them about a promotion. Judge Paradox. That sounded quite nice.

[justforbooks]

‘Chandler Bing,” wrote Matthew Perry in his puckish, self-mocking memoir, “changed the way that America spoke”. The actor’s bold words were true – but only up to a point. Yes, there was a period in the late 1990s when people overemphasised the verb to comic effect: “Could that be any more annoying?” But that was really more of a verbal tic. The Matthew Perry/Chandler Bing paradox was that he demanded not to be taken seriously, and in doing so, became the ego ideal of generation X, which is a pretty serious job. So even though he had – no question – the best lines in Friends, he was never what he would have been in an earlier era: the sidekick.

So much of the plot structure rested on Chandler being the second string: the maladroit loser to Joey’s lothario, the joker skating beneath Ross’s romantic gravity. He was never intended as the leading man. He and Monica were never story-arced to get married. The One With Ross’s Wedding: Part 2 was meant to just be a one-night stand. Friends co-creator Marta Kauffman said years later: “We thought it was going to be funny, then we were going to get rid of it.” In the event, they actually had to stop taping because people in the delighted audience were screaming.

Of course Chandler was the romantic lead. His was the spirit of the age: self-deprecating, metrosexual, all ironic distance, no ambition. It had a gravitational pull. It’s the classic stuff of romance, the Emma plot: the guy who creeps up on you, because, duh, he’s everything. Except Chandler did that to his own creators. Incidentally, he’s a way better character before he gets together with Monica. And he’s a way better character when he hates his job. The unfolding of adulthood was like kicking two legs off a stool. Gen X is a shadow of itself when it grows up.

Perry always said how much like his character he was, to the extent that when he auditioned for the role, he went completely off script and just started delivering more material: he wrote 10 jokes for every episode, and reliably got two in. His particulars were telling: an only child whose parents divorced when he was one. His real-life dad was an alcoholic, later recovered, an actor, but small-time. His mother was press aide to Pierre Trudeau, the Canadian prime minister. Before Perry developed acting ambitions he was an obsessive tennis player, nationally ranked in Canada by the age of 14. He discovered drinking around the same time and was, he wrote, “a broken human being” by 15, when he moved to Hollywood.

The great mystery of Friends is why none of its players made much cinematic impact beyond its enormous influence – and this was truer of Perry than of anyone. He turned in completely fine performances in unremarkable films: Fools Rush In, Almost Heroes, The Ron Clark Story. He co-created and co-wrote the TV series Mr Sunshine in the early 2010s, but it lasted only a year before low ratings killed it. It is possible that the residuals model sapped everyone’s ambition: Warner makes a billion dollars a year from syndication reruns, of which the cast get 2% each. That’s $20m (£16.5m) apiece.

More important but harder to quantify was the cultural effect of Friends: people really fell for those characters, hard. All six of the actors had the world at their feet, but nobody really wanted to see them step out of role – because it broke the spell. It is impossible to overstate how seriously we all took it, when Jennifer Aniston married Brad Pitt. It was as if Rachel herself had achieved the unthinkable, a Little Mermaid move where she crashed out of the ocean and brought the fairytale into real life.

Perry’s romantic history was, of course, chequered, which is to say, eventful, but nothing lasted. The details of his relationship with Julia Roberts are so 1990s, it is unreal: he wooed her by fax (yes, kids, this was a thing). And Perry dumped Roberts to avoid getting dumped himself, he said later, relaying deliciously: “I can’t begin to describe the look of confusion on her face.” It was a move that had all the logic of Chandler Bing himself.

Back then, we would have called Perry a commitment-phobe, but what he actually was was a drug addict. The story of his dependency is told through his changing appearance in the passing seasons of the show: “heavier” when he was drinking, thin when he was on drugs, thin with a goatee when he was on a lot of drugs. The rest of the cast protected him when he was too gone to deliver his lines, and tried to intervene many times, having guessed at only a tiny fraction of his substance abuse.

It is incredible, really, how long he survived, plausibly playing this character who may have started life so similarly to Perry himself, but diverged in one critical way: like all the Friends characters, his was almost impossibly clean-living. It never really made sense, all the high jinks they got up to, powered only by coffee. It was very much generation X, the US edition: such a show in the UK would have had at least one very heavy drinker, and Central Perk would have been a pub. Perry was its guilty secret, the One Who Wasn’t Really Very Like His Character at All Any More, and he was powerfully aware of that.

That 2022 memoir, called Friends, Lovers and the Big Terrible Thing, concluded with a thankful utterance that was no less credible for being obligatory in a recovering addict: “At this point in my life,” he wrote, “the words of gratitude pour out of me because I should be dead, and yet somehow, I am not.”

Perry’s entire adult life was plagued by addiction. Telling his story in numbers, he estimated that he had been in twice-weekly therapy for 30 years, checked into rehab 15 times, and attended more than 6,000 AA meetings. He had numerous other health crises, including a perforated colon in 2019 that put him in a two-week coma. “So full of shit it nearly killed me,” he said of the event.

But in a pre-opioid world, he would have just got clean, eventually. Maybe he wouldn’t have made old bones, but he wouldn’t have died this young, not at 54. He should have had a longer sunset. His death feels tragically discordant – an unjust end to a life lived in the service of the punchline.

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