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leclucklerc · 1 year ago

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Hard Carry CL16 - 02. Down Under

Pairings: Charles Leclerc x driver!reader

Summary: Conflict arises as a hotshot rookie decided that the current world champion is the next opponent to beat.

Word Count: 5.3k

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Y/n l/n is a superstar inside and outside of Formula One.

It's the way she smiles and crinkled eyes. It's the way she handle interviews with pr trained answers and cheeky quips here and there. It's the way that she always dress to impress, catching everyone attention, be it on the grid or even in fashion week.

It's the way she made winning looks so easy. How she made making into the podium is just a regular Sunday for her. How she would gave the spectators a race that can be remembered by them for the rest of their life.

By the time she finished up her first season, people had called her a superstar in the making. Awed by the sheer talent and grit that she seemed to have for the sport. Finishing third in the standings of 2012 Formula One season, people have to admit that they’re entering a new era in Formula One.

When she finished her second season in Formula One, she’s a certified superstar, evident from the driver championship that she had won that year. When she finished her third season in 2014, she became a legend as she won the driver championship for two straight times.

It’s almost as if everyone forgets all the slurs and bad things that they had called the female just a few years prior. As if, all of the negative press and criticism being directed towards her are nothing but an old news.

Maybe it’s because she finally proven herself that she can conquer the world of motorsport with her talent. Or maybe it’s just because people found more exciting things to talked and shit about. Who knows? Y/n certainly don’t.

Though, that doesn’t mean that the female forgets all the shitty things that happened to her when she first entered Formula One.

“She’s going to fuck half the grid,” said one commentator, ignoring the fact that the female is seventeen years old, and most drivers are in their mid to late twenties. “She’s going to ruin the sport.”

“A fucking barbie,” said another one. “That’s what she is.”

There are more. More things being said that’s downright horrifying and disgusting. She knows that no one cares about her age, that one of the ugly consequences of her entering a male dominated sport as a girl is the sexualization that she will eventually receive. But still, hearing all these things is gross beyond words.

Her sex life seems to be a favorite topic of them. Talks about she’s dating or fucking who, how she is seen talking with one driver and the next day a news station will say that she’s fucking him and ruining his family. Talks about her being a slut who parties too hard and a raging alcoholic for drinking alcohols during her downtime.

As if, her life is nothing, but a trainwreck of a circus show for them to watch and laughed upon.

It was during that horrible first season when y/n realized, that to be a champion you need to be an overall asshole.

A sick and twisted personality of hers that she always kept under her bright smiles and friendly front. It’s more to always have that competitiveness – on the track or off the track. To always have that fire and determination to always be the best. To actually believe and have the confidence to say that yes, I am the best driver in the grid. Yes, I make no mistake.

Be the best or be nothing. Show the world your worth or you will be worthless. The black and white view that you have to be so fucking successful or be nothing at all.

(It took y/n awhile to recognize that.)

The first time she realized it was when she won her first race in China. It was a close race, with her almost hitting a Mercedes and her own teammate. Back then – way too drowned in the euphoria of winning her first race – she doesn’t realize what that means to the people around her. Mainly, to other drivers on the grid.

There are a lot of drivers that came from a different time period. A period where Formula One has a rigid structure and strict unseen rules. For them, who had lives in that time period, y/n arrival and all the changes that she had brought, looks like a threat for them. A challenger who appeared to challenge their authority.

“If you drive that Porsche, anyone can win.”

“I don’t get it, she drives dangerously. She should’ve received a penalty for that.”

“I just don’t understand what the hell FIA is thinking! I know they’re all about diversity and inclusivity lately but-“

Y/n turned off the tv in front of her, face blank.

The phrase ‘never meet your heroes’ rang true inside of her head. Because hearing all of those things from her own childhood heroes is a bit tragic beyond doubt.

After all, these men are the people she had looked up to. They’re the reason why she wants to race in Formula One. They’re the reason why she have such a deep love for motorsport and why she’s trying her hardest to show all of them her capabilities.

Knowing the horrible and degrading things they called her should saddened her.

Though, instead, she doesn’t feel anything.

For a moment, she felt empty, as she sat there inside of her empty hotel room. She could hear chatters from the hallway outside, no doubt from the Porsche team who’s staying in the same floor as her. Besides that, everything felt a bit empty. And silent.

She just sat there, staring at the dark screen of the television in front of her. The euphoria of her earlier win had left without any trace.

Maybe it's because that she had gotten used to it. That these kind of talks is nothing new for her and slowly - but surely - had become a part of their daily life.

But no one deserves to live like this. No one deserves to be judged just because of their gender. No one deserves to have their skills and talent to be dismissed just because they don't have an extra weight between their legs.

Y/n, doesn't deserve this.

And in one second, that empty feeling was replaced by anger.

What right do they have to say things like that?

What right do they have to judge her life and talent like that?

Some never even won a race in their life! Or even get into the podium! Some even drive for shitty teams that have a brick of a car. A mid-tier driver that doesn’t have enough talent for the bigger teams. Now, just because they lost to a girl almost half their age, they think they have the right to talk shit to her?

So fucking funny. It almost made her laugh.

Barbie, slut, whore, the downfall for Formula One.

Honestly, it was frustrating that there are some older drivers that won’t accept their loss. It was more frustrating to hear all of their declarations that if they were also put inside y/n’s Porsche, they can drive better than her.

All that talks that questioned her ability just because of her age and gender. All of the talks that keep underestimating her over and over again.

Maybe that’s why she turned up like this, to have this kind of twisted and sick personality.

“Y/n,” started Herman as he introduced the young man besides him. She almost get a sense of déjà vu at the image. After all, this happened almost every year. Herman calling her to a meeting room just before the pre-season testing. Herman, introducing her to her newest teammate of the year.

Tall, blond, blue eyes. Probably some kid they picked off of F2 or other racing category randomly. She wonder how long this kid will last. How long, will it take for him to blow his gasket off.

“This is Henry Santos, your newest teammate,” said the older man as he gestured towards the male. He looked around y/n age and got starry eyed as he stared at y/n.

Typical, y/n almost scoffed out. It’s the same routine every year.

Almost immediately, she plastered a smile. It was so wide and so immediate. To the point it’s almost fake. “Hi,” she grinned. “Nice to meet you, I’m y/n l/n.”

Henry also nodded, excitement radiating off of him. “I know,” he said. “I’m a big fan.”

“That’s sweet,” she answered before turning her head towards Herman. “So, team briefing?”

Herman as well as other employee for Porsche immediately ushered them inside one of their meeting room in their motorhome. Talks about plans, the cars, and the upcoming season began as y/n listened to it attentively.

The same thing could be said to Henry as the kid could be seen writing a lot of things on his notebook, from his gaze, she could see how serious he is.

It’s the same look that she sees every year.

Kids being picked by Porsche for the position of their second seat. Kids, who was hoping to be able to stay in Porsche – one of Formula One top team, contenders for the championship – for more than one year.

Kids, who salivated at the thought of taking y/n’s seat.

She always blame her horrible experiences in the grid for this twisted personality of her. This kind of competitiveness, the urgency to always see as if they’re her rivals. The ability to unable see anyone as anything but competitors for her seat as uncertainty eats up her heart and whispered words that made her doubt everyone.

Sometimes, she felt a bit guilty, considering a lot of these kids, when they first entered Porsche, are good kids. Someone that just want to left their marks in Formula One.

But everyone wants to leave their marks in Formula One.

Everyone, wants to be the world champion.

Y/n included.

With three world titles under her name, it only made her hungrier for the title of the world champion. Some called her greedy, some called her over ambitious, but y/n thinks that’s just normal. When you taste the taste of winning once, there’s no going back. She's sure that Lewis and Sebastian shared the same feeling.

After that high of being the world champion, there is no way they want to lose it. The taste of winning is addicting after all. It's a dangerous drug to every driver. Once you taste it, you will always want more.

The same thing could be said for her teammates for the past few years.

If you’re in a Porsche, you will be part of the top team. You will fight for wins and podiums. It’s hard, to let it go, for your teammate. No matter how amazing they are.

She guess she has to be grateful that she’s the number one driver in the team.

The Formula One season started soon after that, kicking it off in Australia. Just like every year, Herman will force her to get along with her teammate, shoving them inside of the same private plane and made them do various media activities together.

Contrary to popular belief, she really doesn’t mind. Henry seems like a good kid. A bit nervous, a bit starry eyed. Nothing that she can’t handle. All of their media responsibilities ended for the day before it was time for them to do their driver briefing.

“You seem to get along with your new teammate,” called out a new voice, effectively catching her attention during her journey towards the briefing room. Henry had said that he needs to take some things back in their motorhome first, making y/n doing the journey alone.

“Maxie,” greeted y/n with a grin.

The so called ‘Maxie’ frowned. “Don’t call me that,” he said. She could see an entourage of Red Bull employees all around him, no doubt protecting Christian’s very own prodigy from whatever danger he could have inside a guarded area.

Daniel couldn't be seen near him. It made her remember all the hushed talks about the Aussie contract renewal with Red Bull.

The woman laughed. “Aw, is little Maxie mad?” she said as she slung an arm around his shoulder – which is a feat itself considering he’s taller than her. “Don’t be that way to your best friend.”

“You’re not my best friend.”

“We so are!”

Years ago, back in 2015, when a kid called Max Verstappen joined Formula One, y/n felt that it was her duty to guide the lost little lamb. Or maybe it’s just her excuse to bully the new rookie.

You really can’t blame her for that. After all, she had been the youngest kid on the grid for years. She debuted when she was barely 17, she doesn’t even have a normal driving license. So that’s why when she first saw Helmut Marko newest golden boy, she thought that it was her time to be the reliable guy on the grid and helped Max to adjust to the Formula One lifestyle.

Which had not been going pretty well, considering Max is not the cutest kid on the planet – he broods, like a lot. Also Christian is basically in love with the kid. He’ll probably sell his own family for Max.

She was not even surprised the slightest when it was announced that he and Kyvat will do a driver swap back in 2016. Controversial but interesting. She likes it.

“Ah, is that the Netflix crew?” said y/n as she waved towards the camera near them as they walked towards the briefing room. “Sorry babes, no camera during the briefings.”

“They know that,” muttered Max. “They just like following us around.”

“Ooo, spicy, stalker much, eh?”

A Red Bull employee actually chocked out a laugh at that and y/n count that as a win. The walk towards the briefing room is uneventful and was filled with small talks between her and Max. Some of the employees would chimed in, giving their own opinion or remarks but it’s pretty boring mostly.

It didn’t take long for them to arrive at the room.

Surprisingly, the first thing that she saw is a familiar pair of green eyes.

“Ah,” she said, stopping a bit in order to not bump into the male in front of her. “Charles,” greeted the woman good-naturedly. “You’re pretty early.”

Charles who came from the opposite direction, flushed a bit at that. He still got his pretty face which is nice. “I- uh, I don’t want to be late,” he replied.

“A good mindset,” she said, giving him a thumbs up. “Anyway, have you met-“

“Charles,” greeted Max, with a nod of his head.

Charles too, gave him a nod. “Max.”

Both of them stared at each other silently at that, as if they're in the middle of sizing up each other before a battle. And maybe they are.

Y/n blinked. There seems an odd tension between the pair. “You guys know each other?” she asked, as the three of them enter the room. The female immediately sat at front.

Max, who decided to sit next to her, shrugged. “We met a lot during karting,” he answered, as if that explained the thick tension between the two of them.

“Yes,” replied Charles as he sat at her other side. “We often race against each other.”

“Ah,” she said. “Rivals huh? Neat.”

The door opened again at that, signalling the arrival of another set of drivers.

“Playing nice with the babies, y/n?” laughed Sebastian Vettel, clad in the familiar but still obnoxious red of Ferrari. She could see Kimi walking in alongside him, though just as usual, the man merely greeted her with a nod of his head before he take a seat behind them.

“For real,” she answered. “Gotta protect these kids hopes and dreams.”

“This is my fourth season,” argued Max back.

“Babies,” said y/n again.

Sebastian answered that with a laugh before he greeted Charles with small greeting and a pat on his back. It’s obvious that they had met beforehand.

Slowly after that, more and more drivers appeared as low chatters began amongst themselves. Y/n was mainly occupied with both Charles and Max, though sometimes other drivers would greet her or chimed their opinion or two.

“Okay ladies and gentlemen,” started the man from FIA as he stood at the front of the room. “Let’s start the briefing. Is there any concern?”

And that officially starts the 2018 Formula One season.

The first time Charles ever saw y/n, was back in 2012.

It was the year where many things happened. He was entering almost the end of his karting days, looking for sponsors and teams who would want to support him for the higher categories. It was the year where he almost questioned his decision to be a racing driver.

It was the year, where he realized that a future in Formula One is something that not everyone can reach.

To Charles back then, 2012 was one of the hardest year for his racing career. At the end of 2011, his father had confide to him that they’re running low on funds. That supporting his very expensive hobby will be harder and harder to do. It had stumped him, a realization about the harsh reality of the world.

Charles will be always grateful for Jules and all of his help after that. After all, without the man, he’s not sure if he will able to continue racing.

It was also the year where he found himself idolizing a new driver in Formula One.

He first noticed her in a magazine. Charles doesn’t even know why did he picked that magazine all those years back. Maybe it was because she’s the only female in the stack of motorsport magazines. Maybe it was because she’s standing in front of a Formula One car, her face plastered on the cover with a headline that he will never forget.

"Youngest Race Winner in Formula One, y/n l/n," could be seen staring back at him. Behind that, in a font that is a bit smaller, the magazine too had added, 'The First Female Driver to ever won a Formula One Race.'

There’s something fierce and intimidating on her face as she stared back at her. It was as if she’s telling the world that she’s a winner. That she had arrived in the Formula One scene with one goal in mind.

To win.

Charles flipped open the magazine and began reading the article being dedicated to the female. About her passion, about her journey so far, and about her team. It is safe to say, that he was hooked ever since then.

As someone that wants to become a Formula One driver, it's only normal to follow the latest news regarding the sport. About the teams, or maybe the junior programs and opportunities that they had that can help his karting career. The arrival of Porsche back in 2012 was a really big moment for any fans of motorsport, so is y/n's arrival at the paddock.

For months, or even for the whole season, what people could talked about in the karting track is about the female. Oftentimes, she's an object of awe and reverent. As someone that started to break many boundaries that's being placed on the sport. Other times, she's an object of mockery and disapproval. Mostly due to her unconventional way to get her seat.

Honestly, back then, he also felt a bit apprehensive at that. After all, wouldn’t it be nice if he also came from a wealthy family that can just buy a whole Formula One team to support his dream? He wouldn’t have to work as hard as he is now, he wouldn’t have to desperately try to find sponsors or teams who would give him a bit of their time.

Maybe, if he came from a wealthy family, Arthur won’t have to give up karting.

That subject is still a sore spot for him. He knows that karting is an expensive sport, he knows that there is no way that his family can support two people karting at the same time. He knows, that he should be grateful that he’s the one being chosen for the investment.

But still, even after years, the guilt just won’t left him.

It’s the way he could see Arthur’s eyes dimmed a bit when he came for his races. It’s the way he would sometimes brought Charles’s old kart and use it in a track late at nights – thinking that no one will notice. His little brother is still as supportive as ever, cheering for him and wholly opened for discussions about his races, but Charles is not stupid. He can see how hurt Arthur was.

And well, that served as more than enough motivation for him to race as hard as he can.

That reservation that he has for y/n l/n instantly disappeared as he watch the course of Formula One 2012 season. To him back then, it was really amazing for someone so young – only two years older than him – to be able to enter the pinnacle of racing and absolutely dominates the scene.

He watched the videos of her maiden win at the Chinese Grand Prix. He had obsessed over the overtakes that she did in Bahrain Grand Prix. That’s why, when the Monaco Grand Prix came around, he found himself watching it from the balcony of his friend apartment.

The Grand Prix weekend had always brought a lot of fanfare. From the literal reconstruction of roads to the festive mood that people in Monaco seems to have, the Grand Prix weekend is something that Charles had always looked forward to.

“You seems more excited than usual,” said his friend, leaning forwards to his balcony railings. From their position here, he can almost heard the loud cheering from the grandstand or even the hustle and bustle that the Grand Prix seems to always brought to Monaco.

I’m going to race there one day, he thought, just like the years before. I’m going to be a Ferrari driver and I’m going to win the Monaco Grand Prix.

“Well,” started the Monegasque. “I have a new favourite driver.”

His friend raised his eyebrow. “Alonso?” he asked. “No, is it Felipe Massa?”

Charles shook his head. “Nah,” he denied. “L/n.”

At that, his friend stared at him. “Huh,” he finally let out. “It’s kind of weird not seeing you cheer for Ferrari.”

“I always cheer for Ferrari,” corrected Charles. “It’s just that I have another favourite driver on the grid.”

“Mhm,” hummed his friend. “Not surprised though.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Cause you’re active in karting and all,” said the male.

Charles blinked. “What do you even mean by that?”

“Like she’s a female and she’s one of the top driver,” explained his friend. “I just think that it would be obvious for guys like you – those who actively pursue racing as their career – to have some kind of crush to her.”

Crush?

And- and that stumped him.

It almost made him remember all of the things being said towards y/n. All the weird comments about her being a female or her attractive appearance. How she is more marketable and can play with the male fantasy and that it gave her an advantage compared to her other male counterparts.

How sexualized she is by everyone in the media.

He doesn’t like that.

Why is people talking about her gender when she made that insane overtake last race? Why is people talking about her in such a sexualized way when she’s literally the youngest race winner that Formula One had ever had?

All of them saw her as if she’s an object. As if, she’s in Formula One just to fuck around the grid and leave. They didn’t see her as the driver who won the China Grand Prix. They didn’t see her as the driver who got P2 in her debut race. They didn’t see her as a driver that has any worth for their attention and respect.

It was a bit of a horrifying realization.

He knows that the world of motorsport has its own values and ideals. How people think that it’s a sport only for men and a job as a racing driver is something exclusive to someone who has balls between their legs.

“No,” he replied, hand tightening around the railing. “I don’t like her just because of that.”

Because the woman is more amazing than that. He knows that she’s attractive. Anyone who has a pair of working eyes can see that. But that’s not the only reason why he put her in a pedestal so high.

He likes her because she’s only two years older than him and she’s already a race winner. He likes her because she won’t back down from all the shitty things that the media had said about her ever since her debut. He likes her because she fights for the championship against drivers with an infinite experience and skills. Charles likes her because she’s an amazing driver. Charles likes her, because she has the skills to back up her seat in Formula One.

Not because-

A black Porsche car zoomed past him.

Not because-

He watched her finishing the race at fourth in Monaco.

Charles likes her, because she’s someone that is changing the sport.

She’s someone more amazing than how the media is portraying her. A fighter, someone that’s fighting for her voice to be heard.

His idol.

From that on, he followed her career attentively. His family called it obsession but he likes to call it admiration. From her maiden driver championship in 2013, to her third one in 2017, he had followed it all.

He watched her win three championships. He watched her break countless records. He watched her turned all of those criticisms into words of adorations and worships.

A legend. A superstar. The best driver on the grid.

It had served as an amazing motivation for him to pursue his career in Formula One. Especially during darker times in life where he had questioned his place in the sport so many times. After loss and loss, the female had always became some sort of motivation for him to continue his racing career.

So after winning F2 and being offered a seat in Sauber, he was excited.

That offer had been a testament of his skill, that someone finally acknowledge him. That offer had made the lie that he had told his dad before his passing a truth, that the guilt won’t eat him up once more. That offer had made the dream that he had held for so long a reality.

That offer had made him even closer to y/n.

When Fred had offered him to meet the female during the pre-season testing he had took up the offer in an instant.

The phrase ‘never meet your heroes’ is something that he would like to disagree because meeting y/n is like a dream come true. She’s Charming and witty. A hard worker and attentive to whatever nonsense he said during their meeting. Y/n is just so nice, just like how he imagine her to be.

Charles almost tripped himself when she asked for his number after that because holy shit-

Somehow, after that meeting, he convinced himself that they stood at an equal ground. That after years and years of blood, sweat, and tears, Charles finally found himself on an equal ground with his idol.

He had never been so wrong.

He looked up, and he could see the female stood in front of the podium in front of him. Her smile bright, as she sprayed champagne towards Sebastian and Lewis who respectively stood at the second and third place.

It’s 2018 and it’s the Australian Grand Prix.

It’s 2018, and Charles saw the person that he had idolized for a long time won a race that Charles also participates in.

It was almost surreal to see her like this. To see the woman he had chatted with at the Porsche hospitality a few weeks ago to the woman who just won the first race of the season. The three of them – y/n, Sebastian, and Lewis – looks almost unreal to him.

The top drivers in the grid. The three world champions.

The best of the best.

His own 15th position on the grid stings a bit. Which is a bit unreasonable because he drives a Sauber. There is no way a Sauber could defeat cars from the top teams. Him, being a 15th position in a Sauber should be a pretty good achievement already.

But alas, it just doesn’t feel enough.

When they had chatted during the pre-session testing, it had gave him a fake illusion about them being an equal. After all, Charles is a Formula One driver now. He drives in the pinnacle of motorsport. He had shown the world that he’s capable to be a Formula One driver. Just like what he had dreamt of for years.

Today, is a harsh wake up call.

Y/n had looked so friendly and attainable that it gave him a false sense of hope that they stood on the same ground. Maybe it’s the euphoria of being promoted to F1 or maybe it’s the euphoria of managing to meet the woman that he had idolized for so many years.

Seeing this, her being at the top of the rankings while him, at the bottom, is a harsh reality check for him.

Because they’re not equal.

She’s still the faraway star that he can’t reach and he’s still the silent admirer that doesn’t have the courage to reach for her.

He’s still Charles Leclerc and she’s y/n l/n. Formula One superstar and legend.

If he want her to look at him, to make sure that she remember his name, then he has to be better. He has to prove that he will worth her time.

Drive to Survive Season 1 Episode 3

It’s all about Porsche.

“It seems like a curse,” laughed Christian. “No one can hold off the second seat of Porsche for more than two years.”

A montage of past drivers could be seen. In some clips, a younger y/n could be seen standing or talking with the past drivers. It’s clear that these people are the previous holder of Porsche’s second seat.

“I think that it’s a known secret,” started Will as he stared at the camera. “While y/n portrays herself as a fun loving and charming woman, it’s clear that she is really strict and competitive towards her teammate.”

Y/n and Henry could be seen at that, the both of them entering a Porsche car. From how it looks, it seems that the both of them are going to the track together from their hotel. Henry could be seen wearing the standard Porsche polo shirt while y/n in wearing an oversized Porsche racing jacket and a sports bra underneath it.

“Are you driving?” asked the female, raising her eyebrows from behind her sunglasses.

“Sure,” said the male as they both entered the car, “I can drive.”

“Well if you can’t drive all of us are fucked,” answered the female as she sat on her seat. Y/n sitting at the front while two of their staff sat the back.

“Are you excited?” asked the staff as they made their way. “It’s your debut race.”

“I am,” laughed Henry. “There’s a lot of expectations that came with being a Porsche driver.”

During this conversation, y/n doesn’t seems interested in the conversation as she scrolled on her phone silently. The show made it more dramatic as they show a scene where there’s some kind of awkward silence inside the car.

After that, both y/n and Henry could be seen entering the grid. The female are laughing and taking pictures as well as giving autographs to her fans. From this image, we could see how much of a superstar the female is. Though, as they continue their way, the female could be seen greeting other employees and other drivers in a friendly way while Henry could be seen looking confused at the back.

A rookie and a superstar. A very different image.

“It’s not a bad trait to have,” clarified Will. “Because in order to be a world champion, you have to be competitive. In this sport, your first rival should always be your teammate. After all-“

Two Porsche could be seen racing against each other.

“-You have the exact same car-“

A team radio could be heard between Henry and the race engineer who’s ordering for the male to do a pitstop.

“-the same team strategy-“

A scene of two Porsche crashed into each other could be seen.

“And the same competitiveness to show that you’re the best driver on the team.”

The scene changed back into the interview room as Henry Santos appeared. His name could be seen besides him and his position as Porsche driver are written underneath it.

“My name is Henry Santos and I race for Porsche Royale Formula One team,” answered the male smoothly. A question was being asked offscreen as Henry could be seen listening and blinking before he let out a laugh. “Yes, there are a lot of pressure, considering this is my rookie year.”

On the screen, the standings from 2017 could be seen where Porsche won the constructor championship and y/n winning the driver championship. Henry voice too, could be seen as a voiceover, “Porsche is a winning team,” he said. “I want to be someone that can honour that ambition.”

“Do you think you can become the number one driver in Porsche?” asked the producer.

Henry’s smile froze as there’s a stretch of silence after that question.

It’s clear that Netflix wants some kind of drama from that question. The fight of Porsche’s number one driver position. A rookie versus the world champion.

“Yes,” he finally answered. “Yes I believe I can.”

It was almost like a declaration of war. After all, y/n is the reigning world champion. She’s the one that’s using the number one on her car this year. A consistent driver that always shows a remarkable performance each year.

For a rookie like Henry to say that, it’s a bold claim to have.

“A conflict,” said Christian as he appeared once again. “Will bound to happen in a team like that.”

Taglist!

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prettytoxicrevolver · 6 months ago

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Jacket | Seth Jarvis

wc. 1.6k

Jarvy sees you in the wags playoff jacket for the first time

(not my best writing tbh. im sorry!)

Growing up, you never had an affinity for fashion.

Your mom was the one who always dressed you and middle school was always that awkward fashion era of everyone’s lives. In high school the different outfits everyone wore had started to pique your interest, wanting to finally find your own style and make yourself feel more confident overall.

By college you had hit your stride and everyone in your life was incredibly confused when you decided to major in fashion business. Your dad was over the moon that you added the business side of it, being a finance director himself, and while your mom was still confused, she enjoyed the new fashion advice from her daughter.

You grew up in North Carolina, heading to FIT in New York for your undergrad before returning home. You spent that summer trying your best to figure out what to do with this new degree, when your life intertwined with Seth Jarvis. Through a mess of awkward run ins, late nights, and a final first date that sealed the deal, you were quick to realize that Seth was it for you. Three years later and you and Seth were closer than ever. He was on his way to another playoff run while you had been living your dream job for a couple of years now.

As April loomed near and the season was coming to an end, the wag groupchat had started to pick up. The girls were discussing playoff chances and who should be planning the wag jackets this year and you were voted the number one choice. You tried to get out of it, worried that what you made wouldn’t be good enough but the girls shut you down quickly, knowing whatever you make would be iconic.

You found yourself dreaming up ideas in the middle of meetings, doodling in the corners of your notebooks, looking up colors and fabrics, and finally caving to create a full fledged design when Seth had come bounding home with the news of a playoff clinch.

The drawing you come up with is a high school varsity style jacket in black, the front saying Carolina in uppercase bold red letters, with the words cause above one pocket and chaos on the other side. One sleeve has the previous cup win dates while the other sleeve has the boy’s number and the original canes logo underneath it. Lastly, the bottom hem of the jacket is decorated with the storm warning flags similar to the boys jerseys and classic name and number on the back in the same color and font as the Carolina.

Ever since finalizing the design, you instantly headed to the store and grabbed a blank black varsity jacket and started your work. You had fallen so deep into the job, focusing on each tiny detail for your prototype that you didn’t even hear Seth coming home. You had just finished on the front when you heard the door of your office creak open and you turn to see Seth with a tired smile on his lips.

“Hey there pretty girl,” he says, sauntering his way into the room and your heart skips at the sight of him. You’re distracted for a moment just at the sight of him, but when you notice his eyes flicker over to your current project you flinch and get up.

“No!” you screech, taking quick steps towards your boyfriend and covering his eyes with your hand. Seth freezes against you, concerned in his movements but when he hears a breathy laugh escape from your lips he knows everything is okay.

“Uh why can’t I look?”

“It’s bad luck!” you squeal, nudging your boyfriend out of your office and Seth rolls his eyes, his lashes fluttering lightly against your hand.

“I’m sorry did I propose and forget or something?” he asks when you finally drop your hand from his eyes and shut your office door behind you.

“No but if you are going to propose I’d wait till off season,” you respond cheekily and Seth grins.

“I was making the wag jackets,” you tell him, slinging your arms around his neck and bringing him closer to you.

“Mmm were you?”

Seth leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your neck, trailing one up to your cheek and then finally on your lips, his hips pushing you back against the door so you’re caged in his embrace.

“Mhm,” you murmur against his lips and you feel his grin, the scruff of his beard scratching against your skin. “And you need to go so I can finish them.”

“Or we could do this,” he says and before you know it, Seth has grabbed you around the waist, throwing you over his shoulder and marching his way towards your shared bedroom, your protests of work and prototypes deaf to his ears.

The week leading up to the first playoff game was complete chaos. You hadn’t seen Seth at all, occasionally when he was slipping out of bed and you were just slipping in, bumping into each other when he was out the door and you were coming in and so on.

You were finalizing all of the wag jackets, making sure the matching shoes had arrived and were in good condition as well. You had decided to add a pair of nikes with the players last name on the side to match the jackets and you couldn’t wait to see how each girl would style their outfit. One by one as each girl received their jacket you would be on the other end of a million texts and several facetime calls of the girls freaking out about the job you did. You couldn’t help it, you started to feel good about your work too after being praised so much.

Unfortunately due to both your schedules, you couldn’t see Seth before the playoff game but promised to make it in time for warmups. You and a few of the girls head out together, taking pictures both at your place and when you get to the arena. You head straight for the front, your nerves getting the best of you and you’re bouncing up and down on your heels waiting for Seth to come out on the ice.

Somehow even with the nerves you miss his initial entrance onto the ice. Normally Seth is all serious mode when he starts warmups, only deciding to relax and goof off towards the end of them but when he sees you first, he’s a complete goner.

You’re facing away from the glass but Seth could spot you from miles away in a crowded area, it truly didn’t matter. Your hair was pulled up and out of the way so everyone could see his last name and jersey number plastered on the back of the black varsity jacket. Your smile is wide and he knows you’ve been nervously fidgeting by the way you twist and bounce as you stand.

His heart is pounding twice as hard now, not even registering the world around him as he sees you in your heavenly state with his name on your back. His. His jacket. The one that claims you’re his. God, how did he get so lucky?

He doesn’t know when he stopped paying attention to the movements he was making on his skates until he’s smacking embarrassingly into the glass just before you, startling both you and everyone around. You look up, Seth with an unreadable expression on the other side of the glass and you can’t help the shy smile that creeps onto your lips.

Seth tries to regain some kind of confidence again, shooting a wink in your direction and mischievous grin before taking off on the ice again.

You swear your face hurts from smiling and your throat is no doubt sore from the screaming you had done all of game 1. You and the girls make your way down to the tunnel and talk about the events of the game while you wait for the boys. One by one each girl disappears in the arms of her man, you smiling and bidding goodbyes while you impatiently wait for Seth.

“Is that the future Mrs. Jarvis?” you hear from behind you and you turn to see Jarvy smiling like he just won the damn lottery.

You rush forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing kisses anywhere you can reach. You exclaim your praise between each kiss and Seth grins shyly against you.

“You did amazing,” you say leaning back to finally look into your boyfriend's big brown eyes and they shine with pride at your words.

“Thank you baby,” he says, pressing a kiss to your lips before pulling back and staring at you, his eyes roaming your figure, his fingers tracing the outline of his number on your shoulder and his name on your back.

“What’s up lover boy?” you ask, nervous under his gaze.

“You look damn good with my last name,” he murmurs and your face flushes further.

What Seth doesn’t tell you is that from the first day, he’s known you were the one from him. He doesn’t say that since you had your first date he knew you’d be married one day. He doesn’t say how he wants to spoil his proposal right now and just ask you to marry him because he can’t go another second without having you share his name.

He doesn’t tell you that one piece of clothing has made him imagine the next 50 years of his life in the matter of seconds.

But you don’t need to know that. Not yet at least. So Seth settles for another searing kiss to your lips before slinging an arm around your shoulder and leading you home so he can take that jacket off of you and love you properly.

#seth jarvis x y/n #seth jarvis x you #seth jarvis fic #seth jarvis x reader #seth jarvis imagine #prettytoxicrevolver fic #carolina hurricanes fic #carolina hurricanes imagine

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enchanting-chit-chat · 1 month ago

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Beetlejuice's Backstory and the Black Plague 💚🕷️🥀💀 PART 2

Hello, hellooo! I’m thrilled that so many of you enjoyed my previous post! 🎊 This is the second part of a series dedicated to the Black Plague era, BJ’s past life, and other movieverse theories.

If you missed it, here is PART 1.

Warning: This post contains SPOILERS for Beetlejuice Beetlejuice (2024) and many, MANY speculations.

In the previous segment, I analyzed various pieces of evidence and concluded that Beetlejuice was:

definitely a plague survivor.

possibly a monatto by profession (though this is still debatable).

most likely Italian, living in Italy during one of the historically significant outbreaks in European history.

However, we still haven’t addressed the million-euro question: Which plague outbreak did he live through when he was alive? And the reason I avoided this question until now is that it’s basically impossible to tell for now. Here’s why:

Reason number 1. The two most notable outbreaks in Italian history occurred in 1350 and 1630. However, after the first incident, the disease reappeared in smaller epidemics every few years across Europe. Additionally, upon rechecking my sources, I discovered three more significant outbreaks:

in 1658, mainly affecting Naples.

in 1749, confined to Sicily and Calabria.

the very last one, in 1815, affecting the Bari area (Noicattaro)

After these outbreaks, the disease seemingly disappeared from Italy for good, which is great news but leaves us with many possibilities.

Reason number 2. In both movies, Beetlejuice has repeatedly proven to be an unreliable narrator. This means we can’t take his origin story at face value.

For instance, his claim of being over 600 years old completely contrasts with the clothes he and Delores are wearing in the backstory sequence. That style of fashion is typical of the Baroque period, which flourished from the early 17th century until the 1750s.

To keep it brief: Beetlejuice’s neckband, his three-piece suit, and Delores’ outfit visually suggest that the backstory is likely set in the 17th century and definitely did not occur before the 16th century.

On top of that, consider that Tim Burton navigated various historical periods throughout his filmography: think about Sleepy Hollow, Sweeney Todd, Alice in Wonderland, Big Eyes, and Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children. I believe that it’s unlikely that historical inaccuracies were unintentional.

For context, here is what Beetlejuice and Delores would wear if their story was actually set in the Middle Ages, around the 1300s-1400s:

…not quite the same impression they give during the backstory, is it? And lace cravats were invented in the 1660s. This fact alone is significant because:

It would suggest that Beetlejuice is actually 'younger' that what he stated: Personally, I believe he might be around 300-400 years old. However, this is just an approximation, and I might be wrong.

It would imply that the backstory he narrated and showed us might be a lie (partially or entirely).

Or… perhaps he lied earlier about being 600 years old, but the backstory is the actual truth? Maybe he never learned to count properly… who knows?

My point is that there’s no way to discern what is true and what isn’t. All I can do is analyze what I see with my own eyes, hoping to find some answers. And yes, this means that, in PART 3, I’m going to delve into historical fashion, in unnecessary detail.

But that’s fine, I enjoy making sacrifices for this team. 😀

Until then, have a fantastic week! ✨

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dewdropdinosaur · 8 months ago

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Quite Fond

ALASTOR X READER Summary: You are fond of being friends with Alastor and he with you. Except both of you are maybe a touch too fond. Warnings: NONE. Part of prequel to Only for You(along with Hazbin Having Blues) and for my lovely @anon-of-the-void. REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!! please, I need something to stimulate my brain that isn't thoughts of ponytail Alastor

Alastor, the charming radio demon from the depths of Hell, and you, a spirited individual with a penchant for mischief, had a history as tumultuous as the chaos swirling around the underworld. Once bitter enemies, you now found yourselves in an unexpected alliance of sorts, sharing moments of camaraderie that defied the fiery nature of such a demonic existence. The dynamic had shifted over time, evolving into a peculiar friendship that surprised even the denizens of the underworld.

One gloomy evening, Alastor invited you to his lavish radio tower, a place where often the air was filled with the nostalgic tunes of yesteryears(if not also the screams of miserable wretches who dared to disrespect the Radio Demon). As you both chatted and listened, if the radio demon was feeling reminisce, a bit of dancing also occurred.

The peculiar structure that was the radio tower pierced the dark sky of the infernal landscape and was quite up there, you internally cursed your red monocled friend on the “climb” to the summit.

Entering through the metal door, the room echoed with the timeless melodies from the record player, creating an atmosphere that transcended the chaos outside. Transporting you back to an era long past, the room was adorned with antique furniture, and the soft glow of vintage lamps along with Alastor’s typically radio equipment.

Taking your normal place on a plush velvet chair that Alastor had magiced for you one day, you soon found you had engrossed in the soothing notes of a jazz record with the Radio Demon himself. As the music played, the tension of the day melted away, replaced by an unspoken understanding that transcended previous animosity. This had become the routine. You and Alastor would sit and listen to the tunes of the past that suited both your fancy. Overtime, conservation was eventually struck and you became a pair of unlikely friends. Even going so far as to accompany one another on outings, store runs, or simply things around the Hotel; the other members of Hazbin Hotel soon noticed that both of you were almost attached at the hip. Yet when asked, either of you would fervently deny it.

Clearing his throat, when a particular number that suited his fancy came on, Alastor offered you his hand.

“Care to share a dance, darling?”

“Only if you keep your hands to yourself, radio head.”

“My mother did raise me to be quite the gentleman, my dear.”

Taking his hand carefully, you rose from your chair and joined him in a dance. Swinging and swaying rapidly to the music, it felt like it took over your soul. As the rhythm picked up, so did your steps till the both of you could have been considered for ‘Dancing with the Stars’.(You did not mention this to Alastor, who would not have known whatever show it was that played on the “infernal technological device”)

As the soulful tunes of a bygone jazz age filled the air, Alastor and you found yourselves swaying to the rhythm, all forgotten in the magic of the moment.Alastor, dressed in his signature dapper style, looked at you with an impish grin.

"Ah, Y/N, who would have thought we'd be sharing such delightful company? Enemies turned compatriots, dancing to the tunes of the past."

Smirking, you continued, twirling around the room, "Well, Alastor, Hell does freeze over sometimes. Or at least, we manage to turn the heat down a bit."

The playful banter continued, each taking jabs at the other's demonic tendencies, whether that be specific dining tastes or fashion items; the atmosphere was filled with laughter, a rarity in the underworld. But, it was always like this with you and Alastor. The music, the banter, you getting so dizzy on joy and dancing you might have considered yourself dead twice. You could swear seeing Alastor’s real smile during these moments but you would always shake the thought away. Why would Alastor, the feared Radio Demon, indulge in things such as yourself for anything other than amusement? It couldn’t be so.

Little did you know, as all these many nights unfolded, Alastor's charismatic façade began to crumble even to himself. He came to quite like your fiery spirit, one that rivaled him. The way your hair would fall perfectly around your face, how your eyes told so much and would sparkle with joy or mischievious depending on your mood. You hung onto his every whim and had found no fault in his eyes, well maybe except that you like to flaunt yourself around certain men. That he hated…for reasons that still boggled him. Like somehow he would prefer all your attention to himself. These thoughts often hurt his head and confused his black heart, so he too, pushed it to the side.

"Y/N, you truly have a way of making this Hellish existence a tad more bearable," Alastor admitted, his usual confidence faltering for a moment.

You chuckled, taking his comment for a lead up to another usual quip. "Who would've thought the radio demon had a soft spot? You're not fooling anyone, Alastor."

"You know, Y/N," Alastor began, his tone softer, "despite our initial differences, I find myself rather... fond of you."

Your eyes widened, a mix of surprise and realization crossing your face. Tripping over your feet, you ran back into the record player which crashed onto the floor. Silence now flooded the radio tower, both of you looking at each other in surprise.

“You…you are fond of me?”

“I did not stutter my dear. I find your company…more tolerable than most.”

“Alastor…I–I am not sure I am getting this.”

With a sigh but still any ever present smirk, that did look a little strained, Alastor continued.

“I am not one for feelings. However, you make Hell a bit better than most and I feel…some form of feeling for you dear.”

It was then that you, almost as if compelled by the whims of the silence and his words, hesitantly reached out your hand toward Alastor. The demon, surprised yet strangely pleased, extended his hand in return. Fingers intertwined, creating a connection that transcended the bounds of friendship. The warmth of the moment lingered in the air, and the room seemed to hold its breath as Alastor and yourself awkwardly found themselves holding hands.

“I..am fond of you too Alastor.”

A moment of silence enveloped them before laughter erupted once more, a newfound understanding blossoming between two souls that once clashed in the fiery depths of Hell. With a small snap of his fingers, the record player rejuvenated and continued to spin, and as the vintage tunes serenaded the unlikely pair, Alastor and Y/N found solace in the unlikeliest of…relationships.

Unbeknownst to the pair, the crash of the record player after the loud chaotic sounds of their dancing had been heard below by your fellow Hotel patrons. Charlie looked concerned, Husker continued to clean the bar seemingly unbothered, Angel Dust sat smirking on a barstool, Vaggie was comforting Charlie’s worries, Nifty was worried about the poor dirty state of the radio tower, and finally Sir Pentious was ready to storm the tower to defend you both.

“So ah…ten bucks they both totally fucked.”

A chorus of “ANGEL!!” rose up but then…

“Yeah, I’ll take that bet.” “Sure.” “Oh, does that mean Alastor will be participating in group activities now?!” “Charlie, I am not sure you know what is going on.” “BUGS!! THEY ALL MUST DIE.” “I for one do not appreciate the ssssselling of Ms. Y/N's good name but my gosh, the tension isssss there.”

All were sorely disappointed, with Husk winning a good sixty dollars.

#romance #answered #hazbin hotel fandom #request #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #radio killed the video star #asexual #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor imagine #alastor x reader #vizziepop #slow burn #enemies to lovers #angel dust #hazbin hotel husk #charlie morningstar #vaggie #sir pentious

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megumimania · 9 months ago

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TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES - ryomen sukuna

summary: your boyfriend hates modern technology.

warnings: sukuna x fem reader, sukuna is an old hag (affectionately), sukuna not fucking with consumerism is he in his marxist era?🤔, sukuna is a softie when he wants to be, sukuna is ooc because i hate writing mean men :), yuji being a hottie is my fav hc of all time, i can’t believe im giving amazon free promo 😞.

notes: i missed you guys!

sukuna cant wrap his head around technology.

he doesn’t understand why companies sell ‘new’ phones every single year, when they perform the same exact functions as the previous one.

he doesn’t like how your coffee machine has too many buttons when all he wants in the morning is just a cup of black coffee to get him through the day. sukuna just prefers doing things the old fashioned way which makes him subject to teasing by you and his little brother yuuji.

he doesn’t care though, constantly talking about how he’s ‘escaped the matrix’ by not owning an up to date phone and only getting his news from the daily paper and tv. however his view on technology changed once you brought alexa home.

initially he thought that it was a speaker and was confused to why you bought another one. “it’s not just a speaker ryo,” you corrected him swiftly. “she’s a digital assistant that can tell you the time, the weather, recipes and she can even tell jokes.”

sukuna looked at you with the same wariness he’d give to a snake oil salesman. “can’t your phone do the same exact thing for less?” you knew he was lowkey right but your stubbornness refused to let him get the upper hand.

“that’s not the point babe.” you playfully rolled your eyes at him, carrying the box to the kitchen counter and setting it down with a loud thump. “now if you’ll excuse me i’ll be busy setting my alexa up.” you huffed as you opened the instructions trying to make sense of them.

sukuna looked over at your focused expression. your brow furrowed with concentration as you read the instructions. it was simple really and within a couple of minutes the alexa was ready to go and by the joyous look of pride on your face sukuna knew that he was going to be in for one hell of a ride.

and unfortunately he was right.

life with an alexa was hell. sukuna barely got through the day without hearing the monotone female voice rattle off the hottest food spots or tell you a stupid joke that was suddenly the most funniest thing alive. he used to make you laugh like that!

he felt like the speaker was taunting him. hell he couldn’t even have some down time with you without that stupid speaker getting in the way. it was literally like he was third wheeling all the time and he hated it. you were his girlfriend first!

sukuna didn’t like being second best. especially to a glorified speaker.

you and sukuna were cuddling on the couch together after finishing a movie—terminator 2 to be exact. “so what do you think of the alexa?” you asked whilst the credits rolled, mindlessly stroking his cheek with your acrylic nails whilst he rubbed your legs.

sukuna tensed at the question as he tried to think of a way to answer without sounding like a complete asshole. “well…im not really a fan.” you could already tell from the dry tone and his poor attempt of acting unfazed that he was lying through his teeth.

“if that’s the case then why did i find it in the bathtub?” you pulled up the waterlogged alexa in a ziploc bag. sukuna would usually have a sarcastic reply in his arsenal but he was now looking at you as if he was a deer caught in headlights.

“fine, i used the damned thing.” he raised his hands up as he accepted defeat much to your surprise. “it fell into the bathtub when i was trying to stream that megan the stallion song yuuji told me to listen to. he said something about the song needing to go number 1 on the charts.”

you sat back in disbelief. you didn’t know whether to be annoyed, angry or smitten with him. “i’m glad yuji is helping you become more cultured but why did my alexa have to die for such a good cause!” you wailed dramatically collapsing on the floor, clutching the alexa to your chest.

sukuna lifted you off the floor with such ease it almost made you jealous. “stop whining i already ordered another one. it should be coming in a few days.” he said with his usual gruff tone that was laced with softness, peppering kisses down your neck.

you giggled as his stubble tickled your skin. “that was quick, you missed it that much already?” you teased him whilst you hooked your arms around him running your nails down the nape of his neck.

sukuna rolled his eyes at your playful expression. “i’m still anti technology, don’t be fooled.” one thing sukuna was to his core was a hater but like most haters he rarely stood on business.

“whatever you say babe.” you hummed biting back a smile. you and sukuna knew give or take two months that he’d change his opinion about it.

#vina writes: jjk #vina writes #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x female reader #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #ryomen x reader #sukuna x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen fluff #sukuna x black reader #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #sukuna #jjk sukuna

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wordy-little-witch · 5 months ago

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Omegaverse content but adding in the seraphim and Omega Buggy content

• Buggy probably wouldn't really like. Broadcast to the world that he's an Omega. I genuinely believe the Roger pirates and other previous era crews were semi old fashioned insofar as Omegas Are To Be Protected, a sort of Don't Ask Don't Tell type of deal. It was never a shameful thing but a safety thing, and if you were secure with your crew, it was fine. But it's a Need To Know Basis and based on personal discretion. Buggy, as the youngest on board, was the baby on top of being the only Omega so the protective urges were compounded.

• some in Buggy's crew knows, I think. He's very adamant that you do what makes you happy but you do NOT judge another for things beyond their control. Any primary and any secondary is welcome with open arms and intercrew relationships are fine so long as everyone keeps it from impacting the crew by and large in anegative way. He doesn't give a single flying fuck. But that said, he also doesn't have a large scale Secret Reveal. His closest people know bc he just vibes on a need to know basis.

• Mohji and Cabaji are Betas, and Alvida is an Alpha. While Buggy's Heats are essentially like menstrual cycles, he also gets slightly needier - it manifests as his temper being shorter, his tears coming quicker, and he's constantly On Edge. He demands SNUGGLES and AFFECTION /j ((honestly he almost never asks for it, but they offer it regardless. While pheromones are slightly lighter in Betas, Cab and Moh are His Pack and Alvida joins the Pack too, so between the three of them, he just kinda goes boneless. It's prime real estate for a lion to snuggle into, too. Win-win))

• When the cross guild starts rolling, Buggy absolutely does not offer information on his Secondary. Mihawk and Croc are both private people as well so they never ask or offer their own. Tensions are high for a while before everyone starts warming up and settling down

• everyone has hit Friendly Status ((pining stage 1)), when the seraphim show up. Rumors start absolutely FLYING because the Big Three are basically co-parenting these kids. Someone makes a remark that "captain Buggy must have blessed Sir Crocodile and Hawkeyes with children to deepen their ties", and it spreads like wild fire. Nobody ever mentions the logistics of it, because what is logic when you worship your clown god.

• S-Hawk (Birdie but open to options ig) and S-Croc (name pending but I like Angel for some reason) overhear it and go "oh papa and father and so of course Buggy must be mama".((Bonus points for cute kid logic of "you read us stories and moms in the stories do this, and you do that so obviously you're our mom"))

• Crocodile and Mihawk, while Angry (read: flustered) at first, eventually warm up to the idea and even begin seeing Buggy in a better light (pining, stage 2). It's a dramatic hot mess. Bets are being placed on the wedding date.

• Buggy actually eventually feels comfortable enough with them that he doesn't feel like he has to hide 24/7/365. So he winds up casually coming out to them, in a manner of speaking, for a stealth thing. They're trying to acquire backers, they're planning on the best method for infiltration, and Mihawk mentions off hand how majority for this sheltered branch of nobility only acknowledge Alpha and Omega couples. Croc just sighs, because his own scent could rarely be mistaken for an Omega, let alone Mihawk, and they don't want to leave it up to just any other person who happens to smell nice enough to pass and-

Buggy just arches a brow. "So I'll just go with one of you. I can Chop my nose, use a prosthetic. It's uncomfortable, but I've done it before."

"Clown what part of "an A-O couple is required" did you not comprehend-?"

"No, I got it all. You and Hawky are both Alphas. You need an Omega who can play the part. I'm right here, dude."

"An omega."

"Yep."

"You?"

"Uh-huh."

"....."

"............"

"Croccy? ...... Hawky....? OhMySeaseAreYouBreathing-?!"

• anyway they do go undercover and Croc and Hawk play rock paper scissors to be Buggy's "husband". Mihawk then threatens to remove Croc's other hand in retribution when he lost. He won't do it, but let it he known it was definitely said.

• the kids btw ADORE Buggy. And Buggy loves them!!! Both the seraphim and other kids. And the kids at the locatipm of the undercover mission. Croc almost chokes on his cigar when he catches a glimpse of Buggy giggling with a noble lady and holding a baby in one arm while cooing over another with the other Omegas.

That's all I have rn ily baaiiii

#buggy the clown #omega buggy #cross guild polycule #buggy headcanons #one piece #abo one piece #abo dynamics

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nethhiri · 2 days ago

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Frankenheat's Monster

Warnings: sex (including threesome MFF and brief MM mention), somnophilia, reanimation?, classic old-timey mob violence

Setting: Frankenstein era-ish?

Finally finished my Halloween fic! Sorry it took so long! I hope you all enjoy it. It's a bit sillier than my typical writing.

"It lives! It lives!" You laughed excited. "Look at him, Freja." Your lovely assistant was just as excited as you were.

You grabbed each other's arms and spun in a circle celebrating. The creature on the table began to stir. His chest rose and fell, his eyes blinked, and he groaned. The man you had painstakingly assembled had finally been brought to life by a stroke of lightning. No one would understand the amount of work that had gone into him, the hours digging up fresh bodies looking for parts, thousand of needle pokes between the two of you sewing him together, and of course peeping through every window in the village on the hunt for biggest cock available.

What mattered the most was that your creation was beautiful and your crimes went unnoticed. He was tall. He was sculpted. He had the biggest, brownest sad eyes. And he was the proud new owner of the best cock in town, certified pre-owned.

You and your assistant took the leather restraints off of him. He struggled for a moment to gain control of his muscles before sitting up in a jerking fashion. He looked between you and Freja, cocking his head to the side. A few groans left him, like he was trying to say something.

"Take your time." You patted him. "It'll be a minute before you can function like a human." Your hand lingered on his thigh, appreciating the warmth it had now. You put your hand on your chest. "My name is Victoria Frankenheat."

"And I'm Freja," your assistant added. She picked up his hand and modeled shaking it. "Nice to meet you."

He groaned again. "FFfffnnnheeet." He clenched his fists, concentrating. "Hhhhheeeeee." Mimicking what you had done, he put his hand on his chest. "Heeeaat. Heat."

"Is that you? You can pick any name you want."

"Heat." He patted his chest.

"He's learning so fast!" You clapped your hands together, excitedly looking at Freja.

The two of you helped him stand, keeping him steady on his wobbly, baby giraffe legs. The two of you guided him to the room you had set up. It was simple. He had a twin bed, a dresser, and a mirror. The best part about creating a man from scratch was that you didn't have to reteach it everything. Some of the residual memories from the previous owner remained, which allowed him to speak and recognize objects. Freja went to the dresser and pulled out some clothes for him, helping to put them on. The pants were first. They may have been too small for him. It was a slight struggle to lace them up over his package. And even laced all the way, a tuft of blue-gray hair, matching the long locks on his head, poked from the waistband and trickled toward his belly button. It was an odd color but it matched his slightly gray skin tone. It, the skin, was barely noticeable, you hoped. The shirt fit much better. It wasn't much, just a thin linen shirt. You weren't sure if this would work or what size the creation would end up being, so you didn't have many clothes for him. You would have to go to town to get more.

Over the next several days, you played house. You and Freja cooked for him and taught him about various things he would need to function on his own. The two of you helped him bathe and showed him how to take care of himself. You even showed him how to tighten your corsets and lace up your boots so that he could help you both get ready to go to town.

_______________________________________________

Perhaps his appearance was more noticeable than you thought. As the three of you walked arm in arm, with Heat in the middle, the townsfolk gave him strange looks. Freja was just as surprised as you. Maybe the two of you had been over eager to take your creation on a walk. Every time you tried to walk into a storefront, they would hastily lock the doors and pretend to be closed.

"They're afraid of me."

"What? No! It's not you, hon." You squeezed his arm. "Freja just stinks horribly."

"Hey!" Freja protested but leaned into Heat. "Who cares if they're scared? We're not scared of you. We know you're a gentle giant."

Heat remained dubious.

The three of you walked on, to a part of town that would pay less attention to odd things. There was someone you wanted Heat to meet. You arrived at a battered bar. It hardly looked open but you were familiar with the owner. You went inside, helping Heat duck to fit through the doorway. A short, feisty woman smoking a pipe addressed you and slapped a shotgun down on the bar top.

"Well if it isn't the good doctor and her lovely assistant," Nan said sarcastically, blowing a puff of smoke toward them. Her eyes moved to the large gentlemen between the two of you. "So this is what you've been up to, huh?"

She held her hand out to the man. "I'm Nan."

Heat was pleasantly surprised to be directly addressed, and by someone who didn't appear to be afraid of him. He shook her hand. "Heat."

Nan observed the skin of his hand. "I recognize this one."

"Your... other business came in handy, literally." You smirked.

"Too bad this one worked. I could use some extra coin." Nan sighed, dismayed.

Nan moonlit as a grave robber. She was able to procure some of the parts that Freja and yourself were unable to find. She rummaged behind the bar and turned around with two drinks.

She nodded to Heat. "Can he drink?"

You and Freja shared a look and shrugged. You picked up one of the glasses and offered it to him. Heat sniffed it experimentally and threw it back in one gulp, wrinkling his nose and coughing immediately afterward.

"Whoa! Not so fast, big guy!" Freja patted his back.

Heat put a hand over his stomach and appeared distressed. A moment passed and Heat burped so intensely, a small flame burst from his mouth.

"Is that normal?" Nan asked skeptically.

You and Freja glanced at each other and shrugged again. Nan shook her head with a dubious look in her eye and poured another drink for yourself and Heat.

The three of you sat in a dark corner of the bar while Nan fixed drinks for others. There weren't many there, but they kept to themselves for the most part. They still shot wary glances towards Heat though. The three of you sipped your drinks and discussed getting Heat some better fitting clothes.

Freja took the empty glasses back to the bar when you had all finished your drinks. On the way back to the table, one of the more rowdy customers pulled her into their lap. She elbowed him in the chest and he released her, only to grab her wrist before she could walk away.

"Keep your hands to yourself," Freja spat, trying to break free from his grasp.

Before you could interject, Heat calmly walked to their table. You hadn't realized how much he towered over the average man until he was right next to them. They were practically white with fear when the intimidating construct reached them.

"That isn't nice." Heat grabbed the man's wrist until he released Freja, then let him go.

"Is that so? What do you know about "nice", you abomination?"

"I am not an abomination. My name is Heat."

The man stood up, sadly only coming up to Heat's chest in height, and stood toe to toe with him.

"I don't care what your name is. Something about you isn't right."

"Leave him alone," Freja shouted at the man.

Nan was unbothered by the scene, suggesting some regularity of occurrence.

"Heat," you reminded him, "it's okay to defend a lady... and yourself."

Heat turned back to the man, appraising him, before swiftly knocking him out and sending him flying into the bar. He looked back at you for confirmation that he did well.

You nodded once. "We should go."

Freja took Heat by one elbow and you laced your arm through his other one.

"Sorry, Nan." You called over your shoulder as you left.

"I always hated that guy anyway," she replied.

The three of you left before his friends could get upset, not that they would dare do anything now that they've seen how strong Heat was. Before you headed home, you ran into a store on your own and managed to get clothes that would fit him better. Heat had a somber air about him and was deep in thought on the trip back. For the next few days, he was like that. You and Freja reassured him that he wasn't "an abomination" and that people were uneasy because he was different. Both of you gave him extra affection and attention in an attempt to make him forget about it, but ever since that day, there was sadness in his eyes.

_______________________________________________

Several months had passed and Heat refused to go to town again. Occasionally you would have to chase off kids, and adults for that matter, who "wanted to see the monster". Heat enjoyed reading books from your collection, so if either you or Freja went to town, you would try to bring him a new one. It helped him with his vocabulary and learning to be human. He actually turned out to be much brighter than you had originally thought. He was also very perceptive and capable of critical thinking.

"May I ask something?" Heat looked up from the book he currently had.

"Of course," you answered.

"When you kiss Freja, it's on the mouth. When you kiss me, it's on the cheek. Why is that? Is it different?"

The question took you off-guard. "Well, yes." You cleared your throat. "Freja and I love each other and we're in a relationship with each other." You quickly added, "And we love you, too. It's just in a different way."

"Why?"

"Um, well, we love each other romantically, and we love you platonically, as a friend."

"But why can't it be the same way?"

You thought for a moment, trying to find words to explain. Of course, initially, he was created to be a companion for the two of you, however, since he turned out quite intelligent with a will of his own, it felt wrong to make those decisions for him. He was more of a good friend, an excellent friend really.

"I suppose it could be. It takes time for that to happen."

"How will I know?" He was asking all the difficult questions.

"You'll know. There's a warm feeling whenever you're with them. Your heart skips a beat whenever you look at them. You don't want to let them go once you have them in your arms. And so on."

"I see." Heat continued. "And do you think it's possible? For someone like me?"

There was a tinge of sadness in his voice. It was only fair that he thought like that, seeing as everyone he's encountered has been afraid of him, and that he was essentially a constant third wheel. He probably felt isolated.

"Of course it is." You stopped what you were doing and went to him. Gently, you removed the book from is hands, setting it aside. You wrapped your arms around him and squeezed. "You're perfect in every way. I know because that's how we made you."

He returned the hug, albeit a bit stiffly, softening his embrace at the end.

_______________________________________________

On an intensely stormy night, not unlike the one he was created on, Heat was awoken by the claps of thunder and bright flashes of lightning. This was the first storm he had experienced and he decided he was not very fond of them. The thunder shook the walls and he was scared it would bring the entire house down. Before he knew what he was doing, he found himself outside the door to your room. He thought maybe he should be there in case the house did crumble to the thunder. It was also a habit at this point to go to yourself or Freja when he needed comforting.

He pushed the door open slowly as the lightning illuminated your sleeping forms. Heat knelt on the foot of the mattress, trying the figure out how to squeeze himself into the bed too. He felt like he could go back to sleep if he was nestled between the people he cared about most. Gingerly, he pulled the sheet back. Both of you were wearing nightgowns, but they were pushed up by the tossing and turning in your sleep. Heat couldn't help but put a hand on the exposed skin of your leg. It was so soft, without any scars or marks. It was so different than his own. Freja's was the same.

The storm was all but forgotten as Heat became enchanted by the differences between himself and you. He ran his hand up the smooth, perfect skin of your leg, amazed by how soft you were. He had pushed up the rest of your nightie and was shocked to find that there was no dangling things like he had. The medical texts that you used weren't in your library, they were in the lab, so Heat was unfamiliar with the details of anatomy. Heat did the same to Freja for comparison. Equally as soft, equally as un-membered.

His hand traveled up the gown, under the fabric, and there were more soft things. Where his chest was firm, yours was malleable and squishy. Freja's was the same. Heat pondered these discoveries. As he did so, he became aware of his sleep pants becoming tight. He looked down and was taken aback by his dangling thing, which was less dangling and more poking now. He let it free from its confines, curious as to what it was doing. He gave it an experimental touch. It felt good, really good.

Freja stirred in her sleep, moving her leg and allowing Heat a better view of what biological females looked like. Heat still didn't see any dangling, or poking out, things. Though it looked like there could be something within the crevice. Heat didn't know that what he was doing was considered wrong. He thought he was doing some scientific type of investigation, like what you did in your lab. He, with great care, separated the two folds, expecting a secret dangling thing, but he only saw an opening. Heat thought for a moment. It looked about big enough for a finger. Maybe the dangling bit was inside and it came out to pee. He slipped his finger into the opening. There was nothing in there, but it was warm, and squishy, and wet. For some reason, thinking about it made his own dangling-now-poking thing jump and twitch, spilling some fluid from the tip.

Heat moved his finger around, making sure he didn't miss something. Freja made a noise in her sleep. He couldn't tell what sort of noise it was. It had't occurred to him that he might be hurting her, so he quickly retracted his finger just in case. He observed the fluid clinging to it, clear and just a little bit sticky. It had a sort of sweet musk. He gave it a tentative lick. It didn't taste bad. Then he tasted the fluid that leaked from the tip of his own thing. It was definitely different.

"Heat?" A sleepy voice came from Freja. "What's wrong?" Freja blinked sleep from her eyes, not startled by Heat, but noticing he had a... growing problem. They knew one day they would most likely have to help teach him about these things. "Oh, my sweet, do you need help?"

"It just happened." Heat seemed bashful. "I couldn't sleep because of the storm and I came in here. Then I was feeling how soft your skin was and trying to find your dangling thing and it just happened."

Freja noticed how both of your nighties were pushed up. She knew that he wasn't purposefully doing anything nefarious, just exploring. She nodded understanding.

"Let me help you with that and we can go back to sleep, yeah?"

Heat nodded.

Freja touched him experimentally. They did very well on him, she had to say. It took both hands to fully sheath him. She spit onto his shaft and jerked him off, showing him how to do it with his own hand.

"You can do this if it happens again. That feel good?"

"Mhm."

"There are other ways, but this is for when you're by yourself."

"What about the other ways?"

Freja laughed. "You want me to show you?"

Heat nodded.

Freja moved his hand away and took him in her mouth. She hummed an amused response when he let out a squeak of surprise. He wasn't expecting that the mouth was one of the ways. Freja covered him with saliva and used it as lube, putting her hand at the base of his erection and jerking off the portion she couldn't reach with her mouth. Again, she hummed her satisfaction with the member they procured for him. Freja bobbed her head up and down in time with her fist, reducing Heat to a confused bundle of sighs and moans.

"S-something's happening." Heat pushed Freja off his cock, worried about his body doing something strange. He didn't want to hurt her.

She attempted to slap his hand away, knowing full well what the "something" was, however he was very strong. As soon as her lips left him, he came, spurting white, viscous cum onto her nightie. Her hand was still around him and she worked him through his orgasm unit his dick stopped twitching.

Seeing the look of confusion on his face, Freja reassured him, "That's normal."

"That felt really... good."

Freja yanked off the dirty nightgown and tossed it to the floor.

"Is there... Is there a way I can do that for you?" He was momentarily captivated by her naked form revealed.

Freja quirked a brow. "There is."

"Can you... show me? I want to return the favor."

Freja thought for a moment. "I think it might be easier for me to demonstrate than for me to teach you on myself."

Freja wasn't going back to sleep now. She was plenty awake. She may as well make you just as awake as she was. It's only fair that way. She moved to your feet, carefully parting them to make room for herself between them.

"Watch what I do." Freja added, "Also, you should never do any of this to people while they're sleeping, unless you've agreed upon it beforehand. And we have."

Freja laid on her stomach and curled her arms underneath your thighs. She adjusted herself until she was comfortable, then she licked a fat stripe up the center of your pussy. Freja buried her face between your legs, slipping her tongue between your folds and swirling it over your clit. She made sure to point out to Heat where it was and explained that it was the most important part to pay attention to.

Heat watched her intently, fascinated by the way she made you twitch and moan while you slept. There were some noises that sounded a bit like you were in pain, but Freja reassured him that they were positive sounds. Heat was particularly interested when Freja added her fingers. It didn't hurt after all. In fact, it seemed the opposite was true. Her fingers pulled the moans from you more readily, until it seemed like you were shaking. Then, with one last cry of pleasure, your eyelids fluttered open and your back arched into the mattress.

When your orgasm subsided and you shook the sleep from your body, you finally noticed Heat in the bed with you. You were expecting it eventually, even looking forward to it.

"I was showing Heat how to give pleasure to a woman," Freja explained. She also recapped the prior events.

"Hm. I see."

"Can I try it?" Heat asked.

You and Freja exchanged a glance.

"Let's show Freja some love, hm? It's her turn."

Heat mimicked everything that Freja had done on you, very pleased with himself when Freja started to give him some feedback via moaning. You removed your own nightie and joined in, playing with her breasts. You took one of Heat's hands and placed it onto a breast, guiding him to squeeze and massage it, and give attention to the nipples. You coached him through it, telling him all the ways to make Freja unravel. He caught on quickly. Soon he didn't need any help and you could sit back, watch, and play with yourself. You didn't miss the way Heat's eyes flicked between what he was doing and what you were doing. And you definitely didn't miss the way his marvelous cock was getting hard again.

As Freja came, Heat lapped up everything she gave him. It was instinct you supposed. He wiped his face off on his shoulder, then became acutely aware of his own erection.

"Why did it happen again?"

"Did you like what you were doing? What you saw?" You asked.

Heat nodded.

"That's why."

Heat looked at Freja with pleading eyes, like he wanted her to "help" him again.

Freja smirked. "Let's do something else this time."

Freja and yourself had Heat on his back and stripped of his pants. You positioned yourself on top of him and stroked him, appreciating his size. You grinned. Freja and yourself did pretty well putting him together. You were proud of your work.

"What are you doing?" Heat appeared confused.

"I'm going to ride you, which is when I put your penis in my vagina and I sit on top," you pointed to the appropriate parts as they were mentioned. It was less than sexy to put it that way, but this was educational, not recreational.

"That's... not going to fit."

You laughed. "It will."

"Will it hurt?"

"No. But if you ever want to stop just say so."

Heat nodded.

Briefly, you took him into your mouth, lubricating him with saliva. Then you positioned yourself over him, guiding his cock into you slowly. Heat reflexively grabbed your hips when his cock pushed into your cunt, sharply inhaling and grunting. It was a tight fit, but his length disappeared completely after some work at it.

You moved your hips, slowly gyrating them at first so he could get used to the feeling. Then you transitioned to working him up and down. He used his grip on your hips to help you. You also let him set the pace. This wasn't so much about you getting off as it was Heat learning, so you wanted him to get the pleasure he desired from it. You bent down to kiss his chest, moving up his neck, and then to his lips.

"I thought you said kisses on the mouth were for romance," Heat questioned.

"They're not exclusive to it." You explained. "And many people reserve sex for romance as well, but you don't have to love someone romantically, or even at all, to have sex with them."

"But-"

You put a finger over his lips. "Ask me later, big guy. Let us help you feel good."

"C-can you do it again? The... kiss?"

You grinned, planting another kiss on his lips. You continued to ride him, waiting for him to moan so you could slip your tongue into his mouth. He made a surprised squeak but tried to mirror what you were doing. When you came up for air, Freja didn't let him rest, moving in to have a taste of his lips for herself. One of his hands left your hips to tangle into her hair and pull her in. You bounced on him faster, grinding your hips down onto him periodically. The string of whines that Freja devoured from his mouth was a reassurance that he was enjoying himself.

"It's- that thing- is happening again," Heat whined.

"That's okay. Let it happen." Freja cooed.

Heat panted heavily, letting out a long groan, eyes clenched shut. "It's- It's-"

"Good boy. Let it out."

Heat's expression changed into one of pleasure. He threw his head back and gave in, letting the feeling permeate his body. The hand that remained on your hip had you in a bruising grip as his dick twitched inside you, releasing ropes of cum. His whines and grunts subsided and he was left panting.

You pulled yourself from him and lay beside him on the opposite side as Freja. Both of you peppered him with tender kisses, relaxing into his side. He appeared dazed, maybe lost in thought.

"Was that okay?" You wanted to know what he was thinking.

Heat nodded. "When can we do that again?"

Freja answered, "Whenever you want, big guy."

That day was spent teaching Heat about different positions and techniques. You and Freja took turns, tagging out when each of you was tired. Heat, on the other hand, seemed to have boundless energy, and cum. He wasn't even particularly horny. It seemed like he was just trying to learn. It was the same reason he liked books so much. He wanted to learn everything there was to being human. The next few days, he insisted on practicing, not giving up until he could make each of you cum. The next few weeks, well, that wasn't simply learning or practicing. They had created a monster... figuratively. Of course they didn't think of him as such in a literal sense. In fact, he rarely slept in his own bed anymore, preferring to be with the two of you, even if sex wasn't involved. He craved touch and affection. It made him feel like less of a monster.

_______________________________________________

In the next few weeks, there was an increasing number of people trespassing on your property, sometimes with torches or pitchforks, raving about the "creature" and his crimes. Heat hadn't left the vicinity since that one and only trip to town, so neither you nor Freja had any idea what they were referring to. Freja had planned on going to town soon anyway for a few items, so she would investigate.

While she was away, you had Heat up on a table in your lab. It been some time since you created him, and everything seemed to be going smoothly. It was diligent, however, to make sure. You didn't want him to suddenly fall apart or anything. Carefully you inspected all his sutures. Nothing was amiss.

"Looks like everything is fine. Does anything hurt or bother you?"

"No," Heat replied.

"Do you feel okay in general?"

"Yes..." Heat hesitated.

"What is it?"

"Do you remember when you were explaining the differences in love?"

"I do."

"I think I understand now." Heat sat up and shifted his gaze to you. "Whenever I'm with you a-and Freja, I feel normal, human. My heart beats faster when I think about you. When Freja left, it made me sad to watch her leave, even though I know she'll come back. It feels right when I have you both in my arms."

You smiled warmly at him. "I agree. I think you understand now."

Even sitting on the exam table he was taller than you. Heat put his hand on your cheek and bent down, hesitating only to make sure you didn't pull away before gingerly placing his lips against your own. You returned the kiss, deepening it, letting him slide his tongue in to tangle with yours. It was fair to say that you and Freja both felt the same way for him. It was hard not to when that's what he was created for. It wasn't just that though. He was smart and kind and thoughtful. Whenever he went for walks, he would bring back a little wildflower for both of you. He learned how each of you liked your coffee or tea so he could bring it to you in bed. He even took care of you and Freja after long romps in the sheets, without either of you teaching him to. He was perfect.

Heat switched places with you, lifting you to sit on the exam table. His hands slid under your skirts and found your bloomers, which he promptly took off. He kissed your neck.

"You're so soft," he mumbled. "Not like me."

You traced the scars on Heat's face. "I don't want you to be like me. I want you to be you: perfect." You kissed every scar you could reach from your position. "Do you hear me? You're perfect."

"I am glad you think so."

"It's true."

Your lips met again and Heat's hand traveled to your hip, where he kneaded the plush flesh there. His other hand was at the back of your neck, pulling you into him, like he couldn't get enough of your taste. Heat pulled your hips to the edge of the table and pushed your skirts up to expose you. Your legs trapped his waist and pulled him into you, while your hands blindly searched for the ties to his pants, unwillingly to break the kiss to figure it out with your vision. You could feel the swelling within their confines, which soon sprung free into your hand. Heat's hand moved to cup your sex before slipping two fingers into you. He made a few experimental pumps, testing your wetness. Satisfied, he spread your slick down his shaft and positioned the head at your entrance. You signaled your urgent need to have him by tightening your legs around him, forcing him forward. Heat needed no other encouragement, sheathing himself inside you in one motion.

"Ngh, oh, fuck," you moaned.

"I'm not hurting you, am I?"

"No, on the contrary, it feels good. Very good."

"I never want to hurt you," he breathed, leaning in.

"You won't."

You closed the distance and covered his mouth with your own again. Your lips and his couldn't be apart for long. They always came back together, sharing the same breaths. Grabbing hands wandered, tugging, pulling, and gripping, desperate to force your bodies as close together as possible. Eager hips rutted together as if they were trying to meld into one body. You needed him to feel how much you cared for him. It was like you wanted to pour your love on thick, a shield that would protect him from the unwarranted hatred he felt from the village.

"I love you, Heat." You buried your face into his neck.

He waited for you to look at him before he replied. "I love you, too." He wanted to look into your eyes.

Heat lowered you down until your back was to the table and he was bent over you. His fingers intertwined with your own as he held your hands against the cold steel. Your moans echoed from the walls to the tall ceiling. This feeling was intoxicating. You wanted to be enveloped in this moment forever. Your kisses became sloppier and your moans more frequent as you began to unravel. Your back arched off the table. Heat's thrusts became more fervent, trying to push you over the edge without pushing himself first.

The wave of pleasure washed over you not long after. You cried out and your thighs nearly crushed the air from Heat's lungs with how hard they squeezed around him. Heat pressed his face into your shoulder and groaned as his own release followed yours, unable to resist your wet, gummy walls fluttering around him. You were both still, swimming in your shared orgasm, as you recovered.

"Well. It looks like I'll be disinfecting this room," Freja sighed from the doorway.

You jumped, only because you hadn't heard her come in, not because Heat was draped over you, still balls deep and you were ashamed about it or anything.

"Oh, you're back! That was fast," you remarked.

"I've been gone for hours."

"Really?" You looked at Heat bashfully, as if asking confirmation.

"It's been quite a while, my flower." He kissed you tenderly on the forehead before straightening himself up.

You sat up and pushed your dress back down. "How long have you been watching for?"

"Too long." Freja rolled her eyes. "But... I love you both, too."

After cleaning up, you and Heat joined Freja in one of the common rooms. Freja handed Heat a small parcel containing another book from town, something she picked up while investigating what was going on in town. He flipped through the pages while you two talked, eyes flicking up to listen every so often. Freja had gotten some information from Nan and had found out that livestock had started disappearing weeks ago. More recently, people had mysteriously stopped coming home after venturing into the outskirts of town, but only at night. Even more disturbing was that they had recovered one of these missing folks, and they looked as if they had been dehydrated, not simply a lack of water, but nearly reduced to dust. The skin of the deceased crumbled when they tried to bring the corpse back to the village. People were afraid to leave their homes after dark.

Naturally, the village turned on Heat, the "monster", the first scapegoat they could come up with. For a while, they had forgotten about the strange construct that lived in the strange laboratory on the edge of town. Unfortunately, they remembered him very quickly once this mystery materialized.

As Freja was talking, Heat became more and more fidgety. He felt guilty that the two of you were worrying about him when he was the cause of your problems. It was only a matter of time before the villagers did something drastic. They were already emboldened enough to come to your front door with violent intent. While you and Freja discussed how they were going to handle the inevitable influx of angry villagers, Heat was already drafting a goodbye letter in his head.

For the first time in a long time, Heat didn't spend the night crammed between the two of you, and in the morning it became clear why. A very neatly written letter was left where you were sure to find it. In it, Heat apologized for being a burden, and he apologized for leaving like this, but he wanted to protect the two of you from the anger of the village. There was no doubt that both of you were devastated. If you could only have made him feel more secure, then maybe he would have stayed. Even the constant reassurance that has was loved and wanted wasn't enough.

For weeks, Freja and yourself had searched the surrounding areas for signs he had been there. It was harder to search near the village. The people were aware of your connection to Heat. The last thing you wanted to do was accidentally lead them to him before you could find him and bring him to safety. Every day that passed was tougher for the two of you. There was less hope that you would find him. He may have gone on to the next town, or even the one after that by this point.

This night, you and Freja ventured further out than you had before, not noticing the fast fading light. The lantern's low golden light was enough to see the path home, but not much else. Every so often, a branch would snap and startle you both. The forest was eerily devoid of noise. Even the crickets were silent. Without admitting fear, you both walked faster. An inky black shape moved into the path in front of you, stopping you in your tracks. It was taller than any man, even Heat, that you had seen.

"Beg pardon, sir. We are retiring to our home this evening and would like to get by."

The figure stepped closer to your light, illuminating his large stature further. He had dusky skin and jet-black hair. His facial hair was groomed into sharp points that were aimed at his mouth, nearly as sharp as the teeth inside aforementioned mouth.

"All alone this evening, ladies?"

"Not that it's your business, but we're looking for a friend," Freja said, narrowing her eyes.

"What sort of friend?"

"Tall, scarred, has peculiarly colored hair and inexplicably sad eyes," you answered.

An odd expression crossed his features for a moment.

"I see." The man stepped forward again. "And if I find such a man, what shall I tell him?"

"That he is dearly missed and to come home."

The man stopped walking as he was about to pass you, running a sharp nail through the brooch of flowers that you were wearing. "Pretty flowers. Do you know what they are?"

"No. These were the last flowers our friend gave us before he left." There was a hint of sadness in you voice as a few dried petals broke and drifted to the ground. You swallowed. The man was giving you a bad feeling.

"Wild garlic." The man mused. He continued walking, now behind you, and added, "They can save your life, you know." The man walked on without an explanation.

Neither you nor Freja had ever run so fast back to your home. You swore that man had red eyes. When you went to bed that night, you kept those flowers close. You hadn't noticed, but Freja had seen the man hiss as he touched the brooch. Neither of you slept well. What if Heat has succumbed to whatever thing was killing villagers? What if you had narrowly escaped it tonight?

The next day, Freja suggested venturing further out towards the next town. The encounter the night before had shaken you both, causing you to worry more about Heat's safety. You hadn't gone that far before, mostly because it was at least an entire day's journey to the next town and neither of you wanted to spend the night there in case Heat came back home while you were away. By the time you were almost there, the sun was already sinking, and both of you had dwindling energy. As you crested one of the larger hills, a building you hadn't seen before came into view. It was a small, but looming castle. It looked abandoned if not for the smoke tendrils reaching out of the chimney.

Approaching cautiously, you gradually made your way to the intimidating building. Shadows grew as the sun sank under the tree line. There was still light, though thin. Curiously, the windows seemed to be boarded up. A sliver of light shone through a small gap in one of them. Someone was home. Neither of you wanted to be here after dark, and people were known to be kind to travelers around here. Before knocking at the front door, you decided that a peek through the window would be appropriate. What if it turned out the murderer lived there, or the strange man from last night? The best case scenario was that Heat would be there. Maybe he sought refuge here. Unfortunately, the gap in the window was slightly too high for either of you to see into. It was decided that Freja, as the more petite of you, would sit on your shoulders in order to get a good view.

"What do you see?" You asked.

"Nothing yet. It doesn't look abandoned inside. The furnishings are quite nice. Looks like someone's bedchamber."

"What else?"

"Shh. I heard footsteps I think," Freja whispered.

You stumbled, causing Freja to lose visual for a few seconds. When you recovered and she was able to see, she gasped.

"What?!" You shout-whispered.

"It's him! And he's- oh my god he's biting someone. There's blood!"

"Who! Who is him!?"

"The tall stranger." Freja gasped again. "And the someone- the someone-" Freja choked back a sob. "It's Heat! It's our Heat."

"What's happening? Is he okay? How much blood?"

"It's not that much and- oh he's smiling? I don't understand." Freja's voice cracked. "What's going on? They're- oh. OH!"

"What!? Let me see!" You were impatient and Freja was being less than revealing.

"They're naked."

"Huh?"

"They're- yeah they're naked." Freja covered her, now dry, eyes. "Oh my!" She peeked through her fingers. "Our boy is- well, we taught him quite adequately."

You managed to switch places with Freja, just in time to see Heat going down on, sure enough, the stranger from the night previous.

"Oh heavens, he's swallowing that thing whole. Good for him," you remarked. "It's the size of a small child. Seems we didn't get the best of the best after all."

"That's what you're concerned about right now?"

"Shut up! I'm just saying!"

Your voice was a few decibels too loud and when you next looked, there were red eyes locked on yours. You made a squeak of fright and fainted, promptly throwing Freja off-balance and sending you both toppling. Freja rolled down the hill a bit, hitting her head on a log. Thus, you were both incapacitated.

_______________________________________________

When you woke up, you had forgotten what had happened, only remembering the events when you looked around and saw you were not in your own room. Freja was in a separate bed and had also woken up. A tall, lean-muscled woman in a maid's uniform was pouring tea. When she noticed you, she smiled.

"You're awake? I'll let the master know." She introduced herself as Brigette and hurried away.

Shortly after, the strange man appeared, followed by Heat.

"Heat!" You exclaimed. "We were dreadfully worried about you. What happened? I'm glad you seem to be okay."

"Might I explain?" The stranger spoke. "Let me start with an introduction. My name is Wire."

"You're the creep from the other night!" Freja accused.

"Yes- well, no, I'm not a creep."

The man, Wire, went on to explain that he had come across Heat the very same night that Heat had left. This man was a fabled vampire, and he had meant to attack Heat, but was caught off-guard by his interesting flavor, no doubt due to the mix of various parts he was created from. Heat, being the good little student of science that he was, explained what he was to the man, hoping to enlighten the man's palette. Yet, it intrigued the man. He wanted to know more. Heat had told him of his life thus far and confessed to him that he was leaving the village because of these strange happenings, in order to protect his loved ones. Wire felt somewhat guilty about being the cause of that.

Over the next few weeks they had bonded. They were both "monsters" misunderstood by people. Heat was misunderstood anyway. Wire was an unapologetic blood thief. The night that Wire had met you two, he knew that you were the love ones Heat referred to. He had told Heat about meeting you and Heat was torn. He missed you both fiercely, but he had also found something new with someone who understood him like no other. Still, he thought you deserved closure, and had planned on seeing you one last time. It turned out you would show up right on his doorstep, worse actually, as Peeping Penelopes.

"I'm sorry that I left. I didn't know what else to do," Heat was conflicted.

"Heat, we're just happy that you're okay," Freja opened her arms for a hug.

Heat hugged her and came to embrace you as well. "I found someone that I don't want to let go of."

"Oh, Heat." You kissed him on the cheek. "I'm happy for you." You bit your lip. "I don't want to make this difficult for you. As much as we adore you, you don't have to come back with us. You are free to make your own choices."

"About that." Heat glanced at Wire.

"None of you are going back." Wire stood in the doorway.

Freja and yourself exchanged a troubled glance. He was holding you against your will? He was going to eat you. That must be it. You had seen too much.

"You need to work on your delivery, love." Heat grinned at the tall gentleman. "I hate to be the one to tell you, but last night, we could see from the hilltop that our old home was aflame. It was good timing that you had left when you did. The village finally came for us." Heat hated to think that even without him there, you had been in danger. "What Wire meant to say, was that you are welcome to stay here. In fact, I want you to stay. Even if our home hadn't burned, I would want you to stay."

Wire nodded in support.

"I have a few questions." You squinted at Wire.

Freja interjected. "Do not ask about his hog."

"I have considerably less questions. Zero, in fact," you stated definitively.

It was awkward at first, maneuvering around the various relationships. You wanted to be respectful of Heat and Wire, yet you and Freja both missed your third partner. It wasn't an issue for long. Heat reassured you that you could do as you liked. Wire hardly minded sharing, and he even indulged your hog wrestling fantasies. Heat and Freja thoroughly enjoyed the show, too.

In the end, most of the townsfolk succumbed to terminal anemia. They deserved whatever came to them. The only exception was Nan. Wire was forbidden to touch Nan, the only person that treated Heat with kindness. The other condition was that when he went to town, he had to bring you two along so you could say hi. Brigette, who drove the carriage to town, took a liking to Nan as well, so the four of you hung out during these excursions. The bar was usually loud enough to cover up any screams anyway.

#Happy Halloween!#he’s a vampwire get it? m #one piece #x reader #heat x reader #heat one piece #frankenstein AU #wire one piece #vampire au #kid pirates #halloween fic

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babyrdie · 6 months ago

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Ariadne and Dionysus please???

My Ariadne had a drastic change in appearance in order to have a more Minoan vibe (this is also the reason for having her breasts exposed. It's not sexual). She's from the Mycenaean era, but since she's Cretan, I wanted to reference that with Minoan fashion.

My Dionysus also had a change, which was his physical appearance. I was displeased because the idea of a Dionysus who is young, muscular, beardless, and quite masculine (the old design) just doesn't feel like Dionysus. He was usually portrayed as either an older and masculine man with a beard or a younger man with no beard and somewhat effeminate, but not a masculine, young man with no beard as far as I know (as you can see, I choose the no beard version). So these were the design changes, if you saw the previous drawings (no longer available on my profile because they're private). And Dionysus is in Cretan women's dress here in reference to myths related to him that include crossdressing.

#Ask #Request #Anon #Tagamemnon #Dionysus #Ariadne #Ariadne x Dionysus #Greek Mythology #cw partial nudity #Greek Gods #IK #artists on tumblr

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mierulii · 17 days ago

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˚* ੈ✩‧₊ Charon's (Translated) Bio

I was reading through the dppt documents and came across Charon's bio among a few other platinum characters and some interesting diagrams.

I wanted to focus on Charon's in particular though because I found some tidbits interesting! Please do read more if you're interested―

(Keep in mind though that I'm relying on a machine translation as I am not fluent enough, I also tried to make sense of some shakier translations by adding additional context/alterations, those will be in blue. Please do not view this as a professional translation, I really just want to share what I find and learn as I go.)

please click on the image for better viewing!

* Meiōsei (冥王星) refers to the dwarf planet's Japanese name btw^^

A lot of the character bios in the documents list the Japanese pronouns they use to refer to themselves and others, Charon uses the following:

* "washi" is used by older men and is often (stereotypically) used in fictional/western dialects to denote characters of old age. Apparently this pronoun isn't very common anymore. * "watashi" is a more common pronoun but he rarely uses this. It's also used mostly by women but (supposedly) can come across as stiff when used by males in a casual context.

The second-person pronouns are where it gets interesting, but I'm not sure if one or the other isn't used or if both are unused in JP versions of Platinum.

* "onushi" which literally means "Master", is an archaic pronoun used by samurai and elders when speaking to people of equal or lower rank which seems fine, but reading a bit more into it, this could be seen as a turn of phrase that comes off as rude? Like maybe Charon would use this to talk down to others in a sort-of condescending manner. * "sonata" is a mesial deictic pronoun, so this was used in previous eras as a lightly respectful one but not so much anymore. What makes it interesting is that when used now, it carries a pompous and old-fashioned tone when used in speaking to inferiors (which in this context could be the grunts or maybe the other commanders and even Cyrus if we're going by the age differences.)

Again, while these second-person pronouns may not have been used if we're going by the translation in the bio, it does make sense for Charon considering the way he speaks to the other Team Galactic members in-game and why many of them are visibly put-off, even more so when we remember that he only recently joined Galactic and is the most junior among his fellow commanders.

This part's a bit more ramble-y (and mildly speculative) mainly because it's got me thinking a lot about his presence in-game and how it ties with his bio.

We now know why we don't fight him story-wise. He's a novice when it comes to battling, which also explains why he only ever seems to accompany the other commanders throughout the main story and has grunts do the dirty work for him in the post-game's Stark Mountain. (We can also say that it's mainly because he's old and just a scientist, but that didn't stop the other scientists in the HQ from engaging the player in a fight, what more for trainers like Spenser and Drayden who are 88 and 69 years old respectively? Surely even a spry, young...71 year old can pick up a pokeball if they wanted.)

On the topic of his motivations, we're all very much aware of his love for money, but the bio also makes mention of a philosophy regarding happiness being tied to science along with the distortion of this through greed. Of course, both Pokespe and DPA focus on and highlight his greed and need for control through capturing legendary pokemon or usurping Cyrus. Or both. We also see this in-game. However, If we go by the anime, Charon seems less invested in his boss's goals and more on the scientific discoveries to be made in pursuit of said ambitions. While his greed and backhandedness is on the spotlight for most of his appearances, we do get glimpses of another side to him where he does show some genuine interest in whatever he is immersed in, such as the Valley Windworks mission where he comments on the electricity he and Mars had stolen or even the Mysterious Notebook he authored (NOT the Old Notebook, mind you), where he goes over his "findings" on Rotom. Make no mistake, it's all done in the name of getting all the credit for its discovery, but it does say a lot that he's willing to do extra/extensive research on Rotom beyond what he "found". With the bio in mind, I wonder if the belief he carried was always distorted or if it somehow came to be that way down the line and that he used to be more into it for the knowledge and discovery in the past rather than for personal gain/profit.

This is the part I wanted to go over the most, but it'll also be the most speculative one because there are still pieces to the puzzle that are missing buuuuuut―

So it's very much established in both Platinum and his bio in the design document that Charon is amoral enough to steal and plagiarize for his personal gain; the latter mentioning that it wasn't just research papers, but inventions as well. The Mysterious Notebook is what makes this interesting, because Charon writes the following at the beginning and end of the entry:

With this in mind, it brings into question just how and where he acquired information on Rotom in the first place before he added in his own tests and findings. Pure chance is a stretch to be sure, there is only one Rotom in-game and only one other account of its existence, The Old Notebook. So now the question isn't a matter of where and how, but from whom. After all, why would he need to "keep his research a secret" to "ensure he gets all the credit" if he was the original author? Another thing that the bio establishes is that Charon judges people based on how useful they are to him, and in Platinum, he has (somewhat indirectly) mentioned his reasons for joining Team Galactic in the first place:

What I'm getting at here is that Charon determined it was in his best interest to join Team Galactic because he figured that with the resources at his disposal as a commander along with his boss's ambitions, he would have a lot to gain from doing so. And now that we also know of his penchant for the theft of anything related to his field, who among the ranks of the organization is the most useful to him in terms of both the means and the ends? His boss. Cyrus.

Whose to say that Charon hadn't tried to steal anything from him? Platinum had also gone out of its way to establish that Cyrus possessed a knack for tinkering along with a keen intellect from the times the player interacted with him along with supplementary information from certain objects and accounts from NPCs:

Fellow staff and scientists aside, Charon's best bet for finding something worth plagiarizing and stealing would be his own superior's works. Suddenly, Rotom's Room being where it is makes sense, it's far from the main HQ on the other side of the region in a backwater town where there aren't a lot of staff nor grunts posted. Even with his junior standing, Charon still most likely held some form of authority and could pull a few strings to either build or repurpose a spare room just to stash his haul away from Cyrus's eyes. (Or at least, as far away from it as he could manage.) And despite the lack of concrete, definitive confirmation, it's clear that the Old Notebook's entries were written in a way that did not reflect Charon's own manner of speech and writing; especially when taken into account that it was written long ago by a child with an unusually advanced vocabulary and stiff formality in tone. There really is only one person who would fit the child's description perfectly. We all already know/have an idea of who this is of course, but it's an interesting thought nonetheless; how Charon managed to get his hands on something that should never have reached him.

This is all just speculation, though! But if you made it this far, thank you for reading.

I'd love to see people talk about Charon a little more since he's honestly the most neglected (and forgotten!) commander, but surprisingly amusing and refreshing to see him stick out as a more Team Rocket-esque villain rather than how the rest of his colleagues act and present themselves.

If I made any errors with the translations, feel free to clarify or make additional remarks.

Also it's 10 in the morning and I haven't slept at all since yesterday. Help.

#pokemon #teraleak #pokemon charon #pokemon cyrus #team galactic #galactic boss cyrus #team galactic charon #pokemon dppt #not art #mie rambles

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operafantomet · 4 months ago

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Hi! I’m currently doing an MA in historical costuming and for my final project I will be making Christine’s “Slavegirl Hannibal” costume as well as the “Elissa” costume, I want to try and base it off of Lucy St Louis costume and I was wondering if you had any in depth, detailed photos of her version of the costumes? Thank you in advance!!

Oh, how awesome!

As per maria Bjørnson's costume design, the bodice is meant to be fairly hourglass-shaped, with gold ornaments over the bust, and as a "belt" around the hips. The skirt consists of "ropes" - this has been solved different in different productions. In the front skirt there's also rows of beading, and the same can be seen over the arms.

The Hannibal bodices usually consist of ten vertical panels in alternating red and green velvet, closing in the back with hooks and bars, or hooks and eyes. They are lined with cotton; sometimes white, sometimes black. The UK ones often have black lining. They can have boning channels in the middle of the lining panels, or sewn on as separate boning channels attached over the inner seams. They may or may not have an inner waistband, and they all close in the back. Here's the inside of a UK bodice from 2016:

As you can see, this depicted bodice has additional padding over the chest and hips. This can be done either for general comfort, or if an existing costume is re-fitted for a new actress / dancer.

Lucy St Louis' bodice had a nice hourglass shape, with two rows of pleated trim in front, one row of the same at the side and back seams, alternating with a narrower looped gold trim.

The larger gold panels in front and back is built up of various gold appliqiées and red and green gems. Albeit not Lucy's, they typically look like this when not attached:

Here's a closeup from Lucy St Louis' collar, which shows the various components better, and the placement of the gems:

As for the grand Elissa gala skirt, it feature a sort of bodice continuation, ending into a pointed front. The grand skirt is just put on top of the main bodice, which allows a super quick costume change, going from ballerina to leading lady:

You have to sit close to notice the discrete horizontal line where the bodice and skirt meets, especially when it's so neatly done as in Lucy's costume. They made the false bodice continuation a lot shorter than previous skirts, which mimick's Carlotta's bodice well.

The skirt itself is made of a shimmering green taffeta (?), possibly shot with black. The hem is multiple rows of fold trims, pleated, and decorated with X-shaped gold trims with gens and tassels. Then an additional red/golden trim on top, and another wavy red/golden trim a bit further up. On top of this is four tabs, red with golden decorations, and a red apron with green/gold trims, fringes and "brooches". There is furthermore a green/red waterfall backdrape, with one of the red tabs on top. Here's the skirt in making, with just the main base and the red apron:

With all decorations it looked like this:

This backdrape is the one they made for Paige Blankson rather than Lucy St Louis. It is not identical, but similar in materials, and identical in shape. So it can serve as an illustration:

Same with the tabs for Paige's costume - not identical, but similar materials and shape:

The skirt is lifted by various layers of tulle, netting and sometimes also hoops. The skirt should ideally have a hint of bustle, to reflect on what was the fashion of the era even if it's a costume. But some versions go more panier, with wide hips and flatter in the front and back. Like the bodice, the skirt closes in the back with a closing hidden on one side under the backdrape.

I think that is the main breakdown of the costume. I hope it gives you a decent base to work on, at least. I can also make you a photoset, showing the photos overneath plus some more. Best of luck with the project, and have FUN!

#lucy st louis #elissa #poto west end revival #costume nerding #costume making #kritzy kritzy #maria bjørnson

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sanest-bsd-delegate · 1 year ago

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General Headcanons with Bram

Headcanon: General headcanons of stuff I think Bram will do. Pairing: Bram x reader Genre: Fluff, lowkey crack A/N: Dont mind me ss the msg and sending it to myself Part 2 of General Headcanons with DOA Boys. [ Part 1 ]

BRAM

The most gentleman person you will ever met. For real!!!

Him as a 5000 prob year old person, I personally hope you have an immortal ability cause lets be honestly 👁️👄👁️

He loves music. LOVES IT When YOU are the person playing him music from instrument of your choice.

Even if you are a learner, he is willing to listen to you and your skills.

If magically*cough cough* he isn't a guy with sword torso below, I think he probably has the height advantage here. He is the tallest.

Would totally be having 'Sorry am cookin' Apron while he cook meals.

I think he can cook and clean and do EVERYTHING ATP

He maybe a royal, but least he is a Mannered gentleman with good taste in everything (like you, a win taste)

You probably, no definitely ask him whenever you have to make a decision-He is the most well behaved person you ever met I swear.

"Bram this or this?" "Go with that one, it matches your hair"

BRAM AS A FASHION EXPERT? HELL YEAH

Lowkey thinks he loves to clean and have cultivated flowerbeds soul cultivated by him.

He totally wouldn't go off telling random beggars on the street to join his farm.

He let's you braid his hair while he go through his daily list of chores-10/10 malewife, girlboss, slaying.

I think he is Kunikida but less strict and better [idk]

He has a skincare routine and encourages or rather forces you to join him.

You have a stalker? He is now your servant at your home, vamparised.

he tries to minimise his usage of vampirism, but stalkers and creepers gonna get it.

IF BSD IS A HAPPY EVER AFTER, I think Aya would 10/10 the adopted kid of your household.

Like you would have Aya over your house and Bram would go on become the dad she deserved.

And then you get hit by the fact Aya resembles his daughter in the previous era.

You totally have their photos on one side of your wall (it's almost full)

Requested by: @student-in-devildom [as I said, I tagged you] Taglist: @averagehisoilluenjoyer, @high-on-dazai Join or remove your user here.

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seoul-bros · 9 months ago

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Jikook Week 11 Complete ✔️(20/02 - 27/02/2024)

Their eleventh week in the military is now complete. It's time to celebrate this milestone with a look back at this week in 2023.

On 21/02/2023 Part 2 of Run BTS Mini Field Day came out. Part 1 was released the previous week and both Tae and Jungkook were on excellent form. Part 2 began with a ping pong challenge which was frankly ridiculously difficult although Jungkook made it look really easy

Things didn't go quite so well for Jimin however. J-Hope was determined to put Jimin off and he succeeded in spades.

It was definitely not Jimin's day to shine.

The final game was Slippery Soccer. The teams were Jin, Tae and JK on the Red Team and Suga, RM, J-Hope and Jimin on the Blue Team. The Red Team were all over the game from the start and it was difficult to see how the underdogs would ever fight back.

Especially when J-Hope and Jimin's body parts were working for the opposition at various points in the game.

But who is going to complain when it led to this celebration hug.

After a few rounds though the blues levelled up and things descended into chaos.

There is even a compilation video of all jikook's chaotic interactions.

At the end of the day, everyone was happy for the match to end in a draw.

Jimin was soaked through having spent a disproportionate amount of time on the floor.

Medal placements were J-Hope - Bronze, Jungkook - Silver and the man of the hour V - Gold.

This show was the last Run BTS filmed before members started enlisting and Jin took the opportunity to accept an honorary gold and say his goodbyes to ARMY but not without some interference from Jimin and Jungkook.

I'm not sure what Run BTS would look like after the military but I hope we might get a few special episodes even if it isn't such a central part of their work together.

youtube

Now you may accuse me of burying the lead but there was another very important piece of news released this week in 2023.

On the 21/02, Big Hit announced that FACE Jimin's debut release would be out on 24th March. The promotional schedule came out on 22/02 and the tracklist and behind video came out on the 23/02.

We got a first glimpse of how closely Jimin had been involved in all aspects of his solo debut and an indication that this was going to be a new and exciting departure for him. We understood this, even if we didn't quite grasp quite how momentous this release would be for Jimin and for South Korean music in general.

youtube

I'm running out of images but let's not forget that Elle Magazine Hong Kong published some amazing shots from Jimin's Dior photoshoot on the 22/02/2023. Jimin's fashion god/goddess era was well underway.

Post Date: 27/02/2024

#jikook #jimin #park jimin #jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts in the military #face #jimin x elle hong kong #Youtube

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supermanshield · 1 year ago

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Superbat and the Kryptonite Ring: A Reading List

The quick guide, if you just want to jump right in:

Superman (1987) #2

Optional: Action comics annual #1, Adventures of Superman #466, Action Comics #653. These lead up to Dark Knight over Metropolis.

Dark Knight over Metropolis: Superman (1987) #44, Adventures of Superman #467, Action Comics #654

Superman: The Man of Steel #21

Superman (1987) #126 (+ Action Comics #737)

Superman: Lex 2000 (one-shot)

Superman (1987) #168

Detective Comics #756

Batman #612

Optional: Superman/Batman #6, #12, #44-#49, Justice League (2011) #19-20, Batman/Superman (2019) Annual #1

When I think of Superbat, I think of trust. And when I think of superbat and trust I think of this:

panels from Action Comics #654

(and other things, but that's beside the point for this post). Superman trusts Batman with his life, and the decision to stop him if he ever needs to. But Batman also trusts Superman to make the right choice, giving the ring to him first. Even though at this point in post-crisis continuity they're not really friends - they know each other and their secret IDs, they've hung out a couple of times, but that's about it - Bruce doesn't make this choice himself and keeps anything from Clark, but gives the choice to Clark. This is not (yet) the paranoid Batman that keeps things like this from Clark.

So, where does this symbol of their friendship and trust come from, you ask? What happened to and with the ring throughout the years of post-crisis canon? Let's get into it under the cut.

The origin

Superman (1987) #2 (beware the Byrne-era Superman)

(Optional: Action comics annual #1, Adventures of Superman #466, Action Comics #653)

Dark Knight over Metropolis: Superman (1987) #44, Adventures of Superman #467, Action Comics #654

The kryptonite ring first makes its appearance in post-crisis continuity when Lex Luthor fashions a ring from a sliver of kryptonite that came from Metallo. However, its radiation causes him to get cancer and subsequently lose his hand. He keeps the ring in a safe after that. It eventually gets stolen by Amanda McCoy, who has found out that Clark is Superman, and goes to confront him with it. She panics and flees, leaving Clark behind, and she gets mugged and killed. The ring makes its way to the streets of Gotham, where it ends up in Batman's hands.

Dark Knight over Metropolis tells the story of Batman investigating the ring and its previous owner and her death. In the end and after saving each other multiple times, Bruce tells Clark about the ring he found and gives it to him. Eventually Clark shows up at the cave to give it to Bruce, the only man he can trust with his life.

Lost... and retrieved

Superman (1987) #126 (+ optional Action Comics #737)

Superman: Lex 2000

Superman (1987) #168 and Detective Comics #756

In Superman #126, Lex claims he needs the ring when he's on trial. Clark goes to batcave to pick it up himself and hands it over for tests, after which he gets it back, because he believes in fair trial. However, when Clark gets the ring back it's been replaced by a fake (something he doesn't notice because in his Superman blue era he was not susceptible to kryptonite). Luthor has the real one again, right before he becomes president.

panels from Superman (1987) #126

In the Superman: Lex 2000 one-shot, one of the stories shows Batman breaking into Lexcorp to threaten Lex to give back the ring, but this backfires.

panels from Superman: Lex 2000

In Superman #168, Lois then finally decides to take matters into her own hands and asks Batman for help stealing the ring back from Luthor, because Clark won't tresspass into the White House to steal it.

panels from Superman #168

This very chaotic but fun story is continued in Detective Comics #756. In the end, the ring is back with Clark, Lois, and Bruce. Though we never actually see who of them gets to keep it, I'm going to assume it's Bruce, because he has it in Batman: Hush, which takes place some years after this story.

Could Bruce use it? And Batman's paranoia

Superman: The Man of Steel #21

Batman #612

Superman/Batman: the Search for Kryptonite (#44-49) (specifically #49)

Justice League (2011) #19-20

Clark trusts Bruce enough to give him the means to stop him if he ever needs to, but could Bruce actually go through with it if he had to? Now, there are other contingencies that he has for a rogue Superman, as shown in Tower of Babel, but green K is the most direct one.

In 1993's Superman: The Man of Steel #21, set after Superman's death, there is a page that shows Bruce brooding in front of the case where he keeps the ring and contemplates if he could have used it. He sounds doubtful and above all reluctant when he says he would have had to, though ultimately it wouldn't have mattered anymore since Clark was dead at the time.

panels from Superman: The Man of Steel #21

This is much different from the Batman we see in Hush, where he keeps the ring on himself instead of in a case, and uses it without any doubt. In Batman #612, part of the Hush storyline, when Clark is under Poison Ivy's control, he uses it freely on Clark, enough to subdue him and snap him out of Ivy's control, but no more than that.

Of course, Batman doesn't kill, but from the moment Clark gives him the ring, the implication is given that there might be a scenario where it's a last resort and he actually has to stop Clark. I believe there is a comic that explores this in the Armageddon 2001 crossover, but I haven't read it. Or any other Elseworld stories where Superman goes evil, so I'm not aware if Bruce has ever used it like that. I like to think that even if he needs to, Bruce finds another way, because that's what Superman and Batman do.

Finally, in Superman/Batman: The Search for Kryptonite, Clark asks Bruce to help him rid the world of Kryptonite, after the large asteroid that carried Kara had come to earth. They go about this together very meticulously, and in the end, Clark decides to give Bruce the final piece of kryptonite. But when Bruce goes to deposit it in his cave, we see that he has all varieties and a stockpile of green K.

panels from Superman/Batman #49

This first of all is weird because doesn't Clark know that Bruce already has a kryptonite ring? Unless continuity was wiped somewhere inbetween again. But it also shows how paranoid Batman has become, how far we've strain from the Bruce that really trusted Clark and gave him the ring first in 1990 to do with it what he wanted. Instead, Bruce now keeps a lot of kryptonite unbeknownst to Clark. I personally like the 1990 version of Bruce much better.

During the New 52 era, Bruce also had a Kryptonite ring that was given to him by Clark, as shown in Justice League (2011) #19 and #20.

Extra appearances

Superman/Batman (2003) #12, Superman uses it or a different piece himself on Supergirl.

Batman/Superman (2019) Annual 1, a very fun Superman vs. Batman story :D

In animation: Justice League Doom, loosely based on Tower of Babel.

Fun fact: in JLA: Tower of Babel, Bruce's contingency for Clark has nothing to do with green K, unlike in the movie. I'm assuming that this is because at the time, in the comics, Bruce didn't have the ring, it was in Lex's posession (during his presidency). Besides that, Bruce's contingency for Clark in Tower of Babel is something that would affect him no matter where he is.

#i put way too much effort into this pls appreciate it #i'm giving the superbat fandom homework again #superbat #reading list #reading guide #superman #batman #clark kent #bruce wayne #kryptonite ring #pls don't let this flop #gonna spam-reblog this the next couple days

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matttgirlies · 6 months ago

Text

Matt & Me🎀

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a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

y/nn = your nickname for any confusion🩷

Chapter 10

It was the era of the Polaroid and the beginning of videotape. He was the director and I his star acting out fantasies. We dressed up and undressed, played and wrestled, told stories, acted out our fantasies, and invented scenes. Whether it was dressing up in my school uniform and playing at being a sweet, innocent schoolgirl, or a secretary coming home from work and relaxing in the privacy of her own bedroom, or a teacher seducing her student, we were always inventing new stories, and eventually, I learned what stimulated Matt the most.

Almost every night I made quick trips to the local drugstore to buy considerable amounts of Polaroid film. Some of the cashiers knew me, and I wondered if they suspected what we were doing.

I put on dark glasses to “disguise” myself, but ended up looking even more conspicuous as I’d sweetly request twelve packs of Polaroid film while making excuses like, “Gee, the others must have been defective. I just can’t seem to get them to come out right,” or “You’re not going to believe this, but someone stole my film.”

Making it in and out of Graceland was no easy feat, either. I’d pass Mr. Stall at the gate at odd hours of the night, smiling and waving hello, returning shortly with the same smile and the same wave. I was sure he harbored some suspicious thoughts about what I was doing.

Matt laughed when I told him. “It’s all in your mind. He’s no more thinking anything than a dog sleeping.”

“Well, what if he starts spreading rumors, like I go out at night?”

“It might create some excitement around here. This town’s dead. Boston needs a little gossip!”

Matt and I both loved creating these sexual fantasies and it seemed to bring us closer together. I had no previous sexual experience to compare with his inventive sexuality and I was ready to indulge him any way I could. Being in the fast lane, he was exposed to every pleasure available in life. Ordinary thrills sometimes were not enough, especially when he was under the influence of powerful drugs.

At first I was totally open to Matt and many of his ideas. I lived for those moments we were alone. I was careful to say little that might jeopardize my bond with him. I fulfilled his needs, and his beliefs became mine. Under no circumstances were his ideas or playfulness perverted or in any way harmful.

A few days after he came home, he led me to his long black limousine and we sped off to one of Boston’s most exclusive boutiques on Union Street for some after-hours shopping, just as we’d done in Las Vegas. While the boys milled around the shop and the store’s sales staff tried to look nonchalant, Matt got a big kick out of having me model dozens of stunning dresses and suits and coats that were so stylish I was doubtful I could wear them. I was still an insecure teenager.

“Matt,” I said, wearing a sexy gold lamé gown that clung to my every curve, “these clothes are too sophisticated for me.”

“Sophisticated?” he said, regarding me admiringly. “What’s sophisticated? You could go around wearing a feather and that would be sophisticated.”

“Well, bring me a feather then.”

We spent four hours at that shop and during that time, I had a personalized lesson in the Matt Sturniolo Fashion Course.

As I tried on dress after dress, Matt delivered a running commentary on color. He liked me in red, blue, turquoise, emerald green, and black and white—the same colors he himself wore. He liked solids only, declaring that large prints took away from my looks. “Too distracting,” he said. He hated browns and dark green, colors inextricably associated in his mind with the Army.

Exhausted and a little confused about my new look, I walked out of the shop dressed in a sleek black linen suit with four-inch highheeled shoes to match. With Matt sitting proudly beside me, the guys loaded the trunk of the limo with armfuls of packages, and I felt very special.

Back at Graceland he had me model all my new clothes again for Grandma, who patiently sat through a long two hours of changes. I was Matt’s doll, his own living doll, to fashion as he pleased.

It was the early sixties, when clothes and makeup veered to extremes. Women’s eyeliner was heavier, their hair more teased, and their skirts shorter than ever before. All the rules I’d learned about dressing and applying makeup (less is more, the simpler the better) were being broken, and men seemed to love it. Matt certainly did. If I went a little light with the mascara or black eyeliner, he’d send me back upstairs to apply it more heavily.

Matt liked long hair. When I’d cut mine without asking his permission, he was shocked.

“How could you cut your goddamn hair? You know I like long hair. Men love long hair.”

He wanted it long and jet black, dyed to match his because, as he said, “You have pretty eyes, baby. Black hair will make your eyes stand out more.” He made a lot of sense to me and soon my hair was dyed jet black, like his.

The more we were together the more I came to resemble him in every way. His tastes, his insecurities, his hang-ups—all became mine.

For instance, high collars were his trademark, not because he especially liked them, but because he felt his neck looked too long. He never felt comfortable unless he was in a customized high-collared shirt, though in a pinch he’d turn the collar up on a regular shirt as he had when he was in school.

When he told me that the collar I was wearing on a particular blouse was too small for my “long, skinny neck,” I too began wearing high-collared shirts. Why not? My sole ambition was to please him, to be rewarded with his approval and affection. When he criticized me, I fell to pieces.

The Pygmalion nature of our relationship was a mixed blessing. The most fundamental thing at this stage in our life together was that Matt was my mentor, someone who studied my every gesture, listened critically to my every utterance, and was generous, to a fault, with advice.

When I did something that wasn’t to his liking, I was corrected. It is extremely difficult to relax under such scrutiny. Little escaped him. Little except the most salient fact of allthat I was a volcano about to erupt.

There were evenings when he’d send me back upstairs to change clothes because my choice was “dull,” “unflattering,” or “not dressy enough” for him. Even the way I walked came under review; he told me to move more slowly, and for a short while, he had me walking around the house with a book on my head.

I appreciated his interest, but I hated having to hear him remind me of my shortcomings so many times, and each time having to promise him that he’d never have to tell me again.

Would I ever be able to live up to his vision of how his ideal woman should behave and appear? She had to be sensitive, loving, and extremely understanding, meeting unusual demands any average woman might reject. This included being left behind when he made spur-of-the-moment, questionable “business” trips.

She had to be pretty and she had to possess an offbeat sense of humor to survive all the joking at Graceland. Often I’d walk into Sunday afternoon football gatherings and hear inside jokes about the cute all-American cheerleaders. Eventually I found myself thinking like one of the guys. “Nice tits and ass,” I’d say to myself. “A little heavy in the thighs, but the face makes up for it.”

Matt had a strong aversion to wearing jeans. As a poor boy, he had no choice but to wear them and he never wanted to lay eyes on another pair. That applied to everyone in the group.

His firm ideas on my wardrobe didn’t make it easy for me to go out and buy clothes for myself. One day I came home proud of a dress I’d just bought and couldn’t wait to put on. I knew he didn’t like prints, but this was a blackand-white flowered silk that I thought very special.

The first words out of his mouth when he saw me were: “That dress doesn’t suit you. Does nothing for you. Takes away from your face, your eyes. All you see’s the dress.”

As he tore me apart I started to cry. “Are you quite finished?” I inquired. I didn’t give him a chance to answer, bolting for my bathroom and slamming the door.

A few minutes later I heard his voice from the other side of the door: “You gotta keep away from those large prints. You’re a small girl, Sattnin.”

I opened the bathroom door and snapped, “Okay, I’ll return the fuckin’ dress.”

Matt fell to the floor laughing; eventually I joined in, unable to stop myself. Once again I’d compromised my own taste.

He ignored no aspect of my appearance, including my teeth. He took me to his dentist, told him to clean my teeth and give me a thorough examination. He was to look for probable cavities only and should I need any fillings, they were to be made of white porcelain. To him a mouth loaded with gold or silver was an eyesore.

He was equally fanatical about posture. If I slumped, he’d straighten my back. When I’d look up at him and wrinkle my forehead, he’d smooth it out—or tap it—telling me not to get in that habit. I didn’t like him rapping me, so I learned that one fast.

When we came home from the movies one night, I was getting ready for bed and he was in his office playing the piano. I came in to listen, propping my foot on the bench where he was sitting. He looked down at a small chip in my nail polish and I immediately withdrew my foot from the bench and started making up excuses about why it wasn’t fixed. “I’m going to have my pedicure tomorrow,” I promised.

“Good,” he said, “cause that doesn’t look like my Little Girl’s. You should always keep them looking nice.”

I was leading a double life—a schoolgirl by day, a femme fatale by night. Our evening appearance downstairs usually resembled a grand entrance. Even when our only intention was to have dinner, we always dressed for the occasion. Matt might wear a three-piece suit with a brocade vest and a Stetson hat. Under his coat he always carried a gun. He’d given me a small pearl-handled derringer and I carried it in my bra or tucked it into a holster around my waist. We were a modern-day Bonnie and Clyde.

Matt loved films, and we went to the Memphian almost every night. He was still renting the whole house after regular hours since he couldn’t attend a movie without being mobbed. One of the guys always lined up several films in case Matt didn’t like one of them or decided to see as many as three or four in a row. We usually arrived around midnight, our limousine pulling around to the back of the Memphian. From there we’d proceed into the side door like a royal couple leading their court.

Already seated in the theater were the usual crowd of thirty to fifty local friends and fans. Matt always sat in the same seat—with Nate Doe to his right, me to his left.

Before calling “Roll ’em!” he looked around the theater to make sure everyone was seated. He was an acutely aware person and could immediately spot any unwanted or unfamiliar faces. If any new faces were sitting too close to him, Matt suggested they move elsewhere. He was more lenient with the girls. He might not demand they move but he certainly wanted to know who they were, and should they object to being asked for this information or smart off in any way, he would not hesitate to have one of the boys escort them out, telling them never to come back.

There were times Matt rented the entire Boston Fairgrounds after closing and we all spent hours on our favorite rides. We tried such daredevil feats on the roller-coaster as seeing who could stand the longest with both arms outstretched as it whipped and twisted around the track again and again.

Matt loved the bumper cars and would team up with the entourage against some locals. They’d spend the night seemingly trying to kill each other, laughing and bruising themselves like tough little boys while we girls watched and cheered them on. After several hours my own enthusiasm waned.

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd.

This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - hope u enjoyed this chapter!!🎀

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo edit #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #matt stuniolo fanfic #matthew sturn #matthew sturniolo #Spotify

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