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fandom-gt · 4 months ago

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COMMISSION TYPE: Full Page + 2 Additional Pages

PRICE: 95 FANDOM: MCU

CHARACTERS: Peter Parker, Pepper Potts

REQUESTED SUMMARY: ”This would be a continuation of the Pepper/Peter Tiny Mints story.

A few weeks have passed and Peter has quickly become the favorite stress relief outlet for Pepper, who is still completely unaware of who he is or his sentience. After coming back home for a long day of work as CEO of Stark Industries, she immediately sets about tasting him like usual. Pressing him against her lips, her tongue darts out to lick him a few times before she plunges him into her mouth. She pays special attention to his torso and face as she licks him thoroughly. After finishing her tasting, she sets him in his container, but doesn't close the lid this time to his confusion. Peter quickly learns why when she suddenly takes her shirt off, leaving him staring in awe at her bra-covered chest.

This would then lead directly lead into the second half, which is its own commission. ”

WARNINGS: Objectification, soft vore, unaware-adjacent, femdom

——

The last three weeks have been a hazy blur of terror, saliva, and being tested to his absolute limits. Peter’s certain, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that if it weren’t for his enhanced physiology there’s no way he would have survived it. Ms. Potts has an oral fixation to the extreme, beyond anything Peter would have ever expected of her, but now he knows the details of it intimately.

Not a day goes by wherein she doesn’t pop him out of his little tin, and then he gets to spend minutes or hours at a time being grappled by her tongue, being gently gnawed on by her back molars, being sucked, or being tucked absently away between her teeth and her cheek, forgotten and damp and soaking in the dark of her mouth while she concentrates on something — just to turn around and fish him out with her tongue again and suck, suck, suck or slam him bodily into the roof of her mouth.

And then, when she’s finally had her fill, she plucks him out of her mouth with her perfectly manicured nails, sometimes rinses him off in the kitchen sink, and deposits him back in his perfectly form-fitted tin far too tightly clasped with his leverage too poor for him to escape. Inevitably, whether it be hours later or the next day, the process repeats all over again. He has rapidly become her new favorite crutch.

Today, he knows, is no different. He feels the by-now familiar jostling, hears the scraping and grinding sound of metal on metal as her enormous hands begin to peel the tin open, and he can’t help but groan deeply to himself as her oblivious, vacant face stares down without a scrap of recognition at him once again.

“Ms. Potts… please, I’m so tired,” he groans, far too quiet for her massive ears a mile up to hear him. He’s the size of a tic-tac, and Pepper doesn’t have super senses. He’d have to be right up against the shell of her ear bellowing with all his might for her to be able to hear him, let alone understand the words coming out of him. His pleas find no sympathy, not even a hint of acknowledgement in her features, so magnified and imposing they feel surreal and alien above him even still.

With no trace of accommodating his fatigue, her white-tipped French manicure descends into his space, finds his limp little arm, and peels him relentlessly from his resting tin. He rockets thorough the air at mach speed, faster than even web-slinging, and finds himself face to face once again with a set of lips that are, by now, more intimately familiar to him than the whole of

Pepper’s face or the combined sum of the rest of her features. These pink, lined, ridged lips as big as parking lots have been his every single day, his constant.

In an instant, her pretty finger slams him against her bottom lip, plush and accommodating but also unrelenting, and he finds a limb caught in the crevice of her purse. They’re a little dry today, she could use some chapstick or some water, he blandly notes, as he wrestles to pull his left arm out of a pink pucker of skin before it can be bruised to the point of pain.

And then her finger drags him up a little, centering him over the line of her lips like the world’s largest kiss. He’s not fooled; he knows what comes next. Those enormous walls of flesh begin to part at the center, sticking strings of microscopic saliva stranding between them and then breaking apart as those landmasses make room for the appearance of the writhing, living, autonomous creature that is her tongue. He could swear it has a mind of its own, the way it always seems to perceive him, to move and articulate itself around his body, manipulating him and teasing him and constantly finding his face no matter which way he contorts in her mouth.

It finds him now, of course it does, snaking between her lips to deftly and daintily drag rough taste buds across his body. Her fingernails have him seized around the waist still, but his torso and his head are exposed and perfectly angled targets for that tongue. It lathes over him, dragging frictional against his abs, along his pecks, plastering his hair to his head.

He writhes as the flat, wide surface of it drags itself across his face, so thick and wet it’s a wonder he doesn’t drown. He can hardly breathe under her attentions, but the way his tiny arms feebly push back against the bumpy, ridged surface only seems to stimulate her further.

It’s like she enjoys it, like he tingles her tongue, like it makes the mouth-feel more interesting or something, because when she notices the reaction she doubles down, probing the tip of her tongue against his nipples, dragging the widest part along his face, a kitten-like rough and constant lick and poke to make him stir in her steely grasp.

From beyond her tongue, in the deep deep depths of the dark, deeper than even Peter goes, he can hear a rumbling sound. It’s not a pur, not a groan, but some rumbling cross between the two as she absently hums her pleasure in a noise that would be inaudible to anything that wasn’t Peter’s size, and wasn’t so, so very close to the source.

It’s ominous, that sound. Considering whenever she talks while he’s in her mouth it’s a near-deafening experience, an assault on the senses that vibrates his very bones, hearing something so gentle and primal is a little bit like hearing a predator growling at the back of a cave, too dark to see, blending in with the inky shadows, stalking him. It makes him feel… makes him fear, for stomach-dropping seconds, that maybe what she really wants to do in the end is swallow.

But she doesn’t. She never does, and she doesn’t start this time. Something does change, though. The pattern shifts, her behavior deviates from the norm. After long seconds of lathing his body, soaking him, savoring him, she does not pop him haphazardly and carelessly into her mouth like she normally would. Instead, she lowers him down, down, down again. Miles from her mouth.

He watches her face recede, watches his position shift lower until the camera of his mind’s eye is panning down the span of her beasts until they cut off most of his view of her face from underneath them. He can only make out the peaks of her planes, the sharp cut of her cheekbone, the bridge of her nose, the cold arch of an eyebrow. The wide, tall cliff that is her flat stomach so many thousand times larger than him and, grimly, he thinks, the place where he might wind up before it all ends if he isn’t careful, if he can’t find a way out of this.

He finds himself dropped down into his tin, sitting flat on the surface of her desk; but she does not close the lid. If what she did next didn’t stun him to utter stillness, he realizes in hindsight he could have taken this opportunity to run. It’s just that he was so shocked, not only by what she was doing, but the scale of it. The magnitude of it.

She, the size of mountains, and without being tucked away into her mouth he’s actually got a front row seat to behold her in her full glory for really the first time since this all began. He’s at waist height before her, staring up, up, up so steeply he actually falls backward, flat onto his back in his tin, because that’s the only way he can actually see the most of her, up to her face.

And he watches as those fingers, which have been perfectly astute and dexterous in their manipulation of his tiny form, now seize buttons larger than him and begin to wrestle them open. The button closes to him springs wide, and he sees the flesh of her belly. The one above that parts, and he’s granted the sight of her belly button, easily wide and deep enough for him to bathe in. One after another after another, peeling away this layer of fabric that is large enough and heavy enough to cover probably a city block.

Her unfastening reaches her breasts, and finally, the last one is undone. He watches, transfixed, as she sheds the blouse and lets it tumble from her shoulders, slipping to her fingers, and then disappearing out of his visual range as she discards it somewhere on the floor beyond her. It’s only now that he realizes where they are. That this isn’t her work desk, it’s different. The background is not an office. It’s a bedroom.

And Pepper Potts stands looming over him, shirtless, her perfect enormous breasts being supported by the largest bra he’s ever seen in his entire life. It’s clearly expensive, an impressive combination of fashion and function, supporting her tits while still sporting an appealing black lace trim with a few peek-a-boo mesh swirls here and there along the pattern. One of those mesh spaces cuts just over one of her nipples, and he can’t help it when his eyes fall there and widen practically out of his head.

It’s just that her nipples have gotten hard, and he can see now, here, from down underneath her breasts, that one of them is larger than him. He can’t help the way he blushes, the way the heat of some kind of shame creeps from his cheeks to his toes at the knowledge that even just one of her nipples dwarfs him in size. If she held him up to compare, it’d be a foot taller than him easily, and twice as big around. If she were to drop him into one of those cups, or between the valley of her breasts, they’d consume him just as easily as her mouth does.

“Oh, no��” He whispers, shifting uncomfortably in his tin, and only then does he realize the flood of heat running between his own legs. He can’t help it, being presented this close to a woman’s body. The gravity of it, the way it consumes every single sense, the way it’s unavoidable and utterly all-encompassing, even despite the fear and embarrassment he can’t help that he’s hard. The pheromones, perhaps, are even stronger than his tiny body could battle.

But perhaps, even more concerning… is the fact that Ms. Potts has not actually stopped undressing. He watches with the slow comprehension of dawning horror that her fingers have drifted down to the clasp of her skirt, and she has begun to drag the zipper down before him.

And he realizes, in the dim background of his mind, that it’s making a very similar rumbling sound to the one Pepper had been making in the back of her throat herself. He cannot help but hope that his premonition of being devoured by a very hungry predator does not come true.

#giant/tiny #giantess #pepper potts #peter parker #peter/pepper #mint!verse

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jockprophet · 10 days ago

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♱ lifestyle & living space · jason lives an extremely regimented life. as a child the regime was imposed by his father, the children had strict schedules to follow, chores, school, extra curriculars and church, and into adolescence and adulthood, jason has kept to that. especially when he’s still trying to control his bisexual urges, he very much keeps himself in check by strictly regimenting not just his time, but his surroundings. his daily schedule is outlined to the minute, with very little down time. he’s up by 5:30 for a daily morning run, goes to the gym multiple times a week, volunteers at various organizations, pencils in time for studying, to spend with his girlfriend, to spend time practicing piano and basketball, he schedule’s his prayer time. every aspect of his life is organized and set. this helps him stay on the STRAIGHT and narrow and not to allow himself the ability to stray off of that.

when it comes to his surroundings and even his belongings, he’s a minimalist. anything he doesn’t need, he gets rid of. he keeps a small chest under his bed of sentimental items that he hides away. nothing that would signify his personality is really kept out, around his room. he doesn’t have trinkets, posters, photographs or any such thing that line the walls of his bedroom. it’s almost sterile, for function more than anything. with the exception of his bible on his nightstand and the wall lined with athletic trophies one would hardly know the room was even lived in.

jason is very regimented and this bleeds into all aspects of his life, including cleanliness. he showers at least twice daily ( more if he’s been working out / playing basketball ). he very much is the type of guy to have a little bag of toiletries that he keeps in his jeep at all times so he can brush and floss while he’s out, or refresh on deodorant, etc. literally always has a little tin of mints on him, he’s the guy you ask for gum/mints, because you know he’s always packing. his clothes are always clean, never re-wears an outfit before it’s been washed, his sheets are changed often as well ( mostly because he’s a pervert but that’s a different headcanon post ). as for when he’s around other people, he doesn’t like strong scents, he’ll complain about perfume that’s overbearing, doesn’t like his partners to use a lot of perfume/cologne, will out right tell you if your breath stinks ( but he’ll kiss his partner’s and their stink breath because again, horny ).

jason's signature scent · applemint, beeswax, lemon zest, lily, linen, soap, water notes (petrichor), white musk

#♱ headcanon.#♱ repost.

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travelingtheusa · 6 months ago

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TENNESSEE

2024 May 12 (Sun – Mother’s Day) – There was a special Mother’s Day breakfast this morning – pancakes, bacon, sausage, and fruit. We stayed around the campground today. At 4 p.m. we had social hour. At 5:30 p.m. dinner consisted of pulled pork and pulled chicken, beans, potato salad and cole slaw. Afterward, we had another great campfire.

This was an excellent muster. Probably the best we have ever been at. It was well planned, well organized, well executed, and well communicated. Reese Burke, President of the Rocky Tops, presented me with a certificate of appreciation for helping to get the chapter started. The owner of the campground stopped by to visit with the group. She was very gracious and strongly invited us to return for another muster. The campground staff has been extremely friendly and helpful during our stay here.

When we turned in, everyone gave each other hugs goodbye. We all move on to our next destination tomorrow. There were promises to see one another at National in South Carolina in September and other stops along the highways and byways.

2024 May 11 (Sat) – There was continental breakfast this morning – fruit and pastries. A park ranger from the nearby Stones River National Battlefield gave a talk about the military battle that took place in Murfreesboro. It was so interesting that afterward, Paul & I drove to the battlefield to take the tour. The museum covered three periods of the battle – the period leading up to it, the battle itself, and reconstruction afterward. Then we drove the tour route. It was quite interesting.

We stopped at the Smyrna Café for lunch. It appeared to be owned by folks from the Middle East, perhaps Turkish? As we drove around the area, we noted several places with Arabic or Cyrillic writing. One was an Arabic Baptist Church. Hmmmmm. Interesting.

We had social hour at 4 p.m. and leftovers for dinner. Then we had a great campfire. The owners of the campground gave us firewood for free. Lots of it.

2024 May 10 (Fri) – The muster had continental breakfast this morning – some pastries and fruit. At 10 a.m., we left (with Joe driving) to tour the town of Franklin. It was a cute little tourist town. Lunch was at Grays on Main. It was an old building with a tin ceiling and a really steep staircase that went up to a third floor. We commiserated for the wait staff. We got to sit on the ground level.

After lunch, we walked around the town, wandering in and out of shops, looking at their wares, buying things that appealed to us. When we left Franklin, we drove to Lieper’s Fork Distillery. The distillery had been on the itinerary for Joe & Diane before their caravan was cancelled. Joe and Paul had flights, Diane and I had mint juleps.

There was social hour at 4 p.m. and dinner at 5:30 p.m. They had chicken, mac & cheese, and salads.

2024 May 9 (Thu) – Thunderstorms continued most of the night. It was noisy and, as you might imagine, the sound of the rain beating on our “tin can” was quite noisy. Paul got up at 2 a.m. and sat watching TV because the noise was keeping him up. I tossed and turned, occasionally awakened with a particularly loud thunderclap. When I got up at 7:30 a.m., the rains had stopped. The sky was still clouded but there was no rain.

We hung around the campground most of the day. At 4 p.m. we had social hour. There are 7 couples and one gentleman at the muster. At 5:30 p.m. they served up burgers, hot dogs, brats, and salads. Afterward, we played Mexican bingo. It was confusing and frustrating. We did not like it at all.

2024 May 8 (Wed) – We left Warrior, AL yesterday at 9:30 a.m. It was 176 miles to Smyrna, TN, south of Nashville. We are staying in Nashville I-24 Campground. It is a lovely campground. Plenty of room to maneuver. Our site is pull through with full hookups. We are parked right next to Joe & Diane. Tomorrow starts the Rocky Tops muster. This is a brand new chapter just starting out. We are here to support them in their beginnings.

Paul followed Joe to Murfreesboro to drop off his car, then gave him a ride back, stopping at the grocery store on the way back to pick up a roast chicken for dinner. I made mashed potatoes and Diane made green beans.

When we checked in, we were told there is a tornado watch in effect from 5 p.m. to 2 a.m. The clouds moved in and the thunderstorms started around 6 p.m. We both had our emergency radios on and listening to the warnings. Paul and I also had a local weather station on that was tracking all the storms just to the west and north of us. The storms were vicious and parts of Tennessee were flooded. At one point, Joe sent a text message that they were huddled in the campground bathroom. We said our station did not indicate any tornadoes in our area so we stayed put. We went to bed around 10 with all kinds of warnings beeping in.

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la-appel-du-vide · 8 months ago

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03•31•24 - Easter 2024 🐣

Easter kind of snuck up on me this year, as it always does when it is in March instead of April!

B and I dyed eggs on Saturday night, and mine weren't quite as on par this year as past years, but I still had fun! I did a few geometric eggs with different tilts and colors, three glitter eggs, an attempt at a terracotta type of egg, and a daisy egg. B dropped and cracked two of his eggs while working on them, so that was sad but funny haha, and he made the most of it by writing little messages on them like "ouch!" He also made Reefy's second Easter egg that said "got hops?" on the back - because of his insane jumping skills haha.

On Sunday morning, B and I made Easter baskets for each other. He got a few new shirts, a new pair of Nike sweats, Dune Messiah, lots of Reese's candy and Twix minis, Girl Scout cookies, and a tin of mints. I got the cutest version of Yahtzee (a floral book meant to look cute on a shelf!), a Little Guide to Taylor Swift, a bag of popcorn, Nerd ropes, and Airhead Extremes.

It's fun to play Easter Bunny, and we once again did a big (hard) hunt for each other! I hid eggs for him filled with candy, and a golden egg with a "redeem for a vinyl record of your choice" coupon. I hid that one in the piano, and it was the last one he found - success!

He hid eggs filled with candy and dollar bills for me, and a golden egg with a Starbies gift card in it - in his jacket sleeve. It took me forever to find it as well - so another big win! It's so fun.

We also had the cutest Easter egg hunt for Reef, full of bacon treats that I think he could really smell. He got so into it, looking under chairs and in every corner. He was running down the hall, when he noticed an egg behind him in the corner. He hit the brakes so hard, and went sliding hahah. What a cutie. He learned how to open them on his own, and pull out the treat. It was actually precious. It was so hard to explain to him that he was done and there weren't any more hahah.

Then I went over to my mom's to make Grandma's famous potato salad for dinner. B, Ty, and Aubrey joined us to eat, and then me, mom, and B dyed even more eggs - including one for Z and one for Arch. Z's had a seal on it, for obvious reasons, and Arch's had a crown on it for King Archer. We made a Whitaker one for my dad, and then we had a little Crack Off! In a bracket style competition, we rolled our eggs into each other. According to science of some kind, only one cracks! The egg that didn't crack moved on to the next round of competition. And somehow, Zion won hahah. Perfection. The grand prize was $20, so he better be getting some new toys or treats. (; Then we had a loser's bracket, and B came out the winner. He won a big bag of Starbursts as the loser prize haha. It was fun, and I hope we do it again next year!

And of course, we had a little Facetime between the boys and Reef back at home hahah.

Happy Easter!!

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paincorpsrarefinds · 2 years ago

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extra chewy mints polar ice (100 Sealed Tins) Discontinued, Extremely RARE & HTF

COLLECTIBLES: Seller: david9910 (100.0% positive feedback) Location: US Condition: New Price: 999.00 USD Shipping cost: Free Buy It Now https://www.ebay.com/itm/185905362919?hash=item2b48d2b7e7%3Ag%3A1p4AAOSwZXxkaAiM&amdata=enc%3AAQAIAAAA0GqR4ZN8EoQ%2BZqDBjq4YBVwTNNdOH8iPrmnpSELD05d13ScdDL9%2BjyRS20YVv0XzMl1kHKPz2kW7wKJbneH5SIiigCRaW2WmZUapNDalUyNg4U8VhCghUjnUQqDPhxyy7JedKJB4f%2Fo%2FQPvO30tZB%2FLZnBsF4enJwCAimWOE9W4uqBihy5OZPN94iwJrH5qb41EXn4MF2g1OxDm4pwBj%2FYXsHtayBusfKDrYNTMBUZS09jeoFzLEAs3xcXhRP5RPclCUF3UsFLycRRWh2rU9qrc%3D&mkevt=1&mkcid=1&mkrid=711-53200-19255-0&campid=5338779482&customid=&toolid=10049&utm_source=dlvr.it&utm_medium=tumblr

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whatbigotspost · 3 months ago

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Ok so now on my own post instead of leaving it on that other person’s…here’s what is in my giant shoulder bag that I have with me anytime I’m going someplace unfamiliar for like longer than 2 hours ….or at least the stuff that I can remember off the top of my head. I’m not gotta go look in it. Plus some context if it seems it’s needed:

Normal stuff op lists

Water bottle (obvi)

Snack (same)

Prescription sunglasses (my eyes are SO SUN SENSITIVE)

Sunscreen (same for my skin)

Phone charging cord (safety related anxiety)

Power cell charging (same)

Cords to 2 other charger types that I often need w/ travel other than just my phone’s (same)

Nail glue (I’m in my press ons era and these cheap lil bitches just pop off)

Tiny mirror (what it I have something stuck in my teeth?)

Tweezers (what if I get a splinter? Also they have SO MANY DAILY USES generally)

15 million various pens and other writing utensils

A small journal

Backup headphones for my phone

A coozy (I like ICE cold drinks and have bad circulation, so that sometimes literally make my hands painfully cold)

Tide stick (I’m clumsy)

Band-aids (I’m clumsy)

Napkins (I’m clumsy)

Wet wipes (I’m clumsy)

Every standard OTC painkiller like advil (I’m clumsy AND they all have a diff purpose re: pain)

Other substances I sometimes need to feel normal in public 😎 like a few doses of all my daily meds in case I find myself needing them and am not home yet. Yeah. That.

THEN here’s some random shit I’ve got in a small zipper bag inside the bigger bag that feels like they may be handy:

Tiny flashlight

Tiny measuring tape

Tiny mint tin

Tiny nail clippers

Tiny hand sanitizer

Tiny brush

Tiny nail file

Tiny sewing kit

I cannot tell you how many times a coworker has said “I know it’s a long shot but does anyone have xxx?” And I’ve been able to enthusiastically say OH MY GOD I DO. The joy I get when my junk bag is the savior is too much.

Does my back hurt from the bag? Yes. I switch to a backpack for long travel 😅

It’s interesting…others have pointed out on similar posts before about how if you’re disabled in some way you often have to have items on you that are necessary to care for yourself. Caution! Your friends may start to depend on you having stuff they want though. One of mine bought me a GIANT Tylenol to pay me back for 10 years of pilfering mine all the time.

I’ve carried a giant comfort bag of crap since HS and it gets you cast as the mom friend real fast. I don’t mind being That Friend though, esp bc I literally did inherit this coping skill behavior from my EXTREMELY neurodivergent own mother ❤️😂

Every non anxious person to ever get an email from me about something I’m planning/running: um sooooo. Lady, this is LONG. And detailed. Wtf? It’s just a conference/meeting/event 😂 Does she think anyone reads this?

Every anxious person (and other humans who NEED details to best prepare to do…….anything) getting the same email from me: oh you, madame, you are my people. You are a goddess. This is everything. Might we be best friends?

Me attending an unfamiliar event with a confirmation email of 2 lines: oh godddd oh whyyyyyyy where do I park? Oh god oh god what doors do I enter? Do I need ID? Can I bring a huge purse of all the shit I may ever need? *breathes in paper bag* Do I need printed tickets or is my phone OK? *retches* What do I wear? Is a meal being served? Do I need to bring my own waterrrrrrrrrrrdrdrdjdjksizbhwuzkznsbevaorb tcosbsuehdbnzokwbr *can’t sleep that night*

Me attending an unfamiliar event with a confirmation email that has a 3 page FAQs PDF attached that I’m definitely reading word-for-word: oh you, you are my people. You are a goddess. This is everything. Might we be best friends?

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st4r-c0d3 · 3 years ago

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todobakusero hcs bc im crying over a fic with bakusero and unrequited seroroki <3

Bakugo finds being a warm a comfort whereas Sero prefers to be slightly cold so cue them using Todoroki as a heater/cooler

Sero randomly does trust falls into Bakugo's arms bc Todoroki thinks its hilarious how Bakugo will drop whatever he's doing to catch him

Sero gets yelled at a lot for it though bc he's endangering himself blah blah blah. he just likes being cuddled in Bakugo's arms

Sero is the designated temperature taker bc Bakugo's hands are naturally warmer and Todoroki is either warmer or colder and cant take it properly

Bakugo relentlessly teases Todoroki for the fact BOTH of his feet are cold (it's not quirk related although his quirk makes it even colder on one foot)

Todoroki falls asleep everywhere (canon) so Bakugo and Sero sometimes argue over who has to wake him up because he always looks so peaceful

sometimes them arguing wakes Todoroki up but he pretends to still be asleep just in case one of them decides to just carry him

because of Todoroki's dad, he often takes Sero and Bakugo to his dad's big events

Bakugo always gets them custom made formal attire because every now and then he sketches clothing designs. his parents let him get them made by their manufacturer sometimes

Todoroki likes 7 up, Bakugo likes sprite, and Sero likes squirt

they have gotten into arguments about which one is the best multiple times

Bakugo does ballet and when Todoroki and Sero found out, they made sure to go to every competition and performance he had

they always get him a bouquet of marigolds and other assortments of bright flowers

Sero eats cinnamon mints whenever he misses Bakugo

Todoroki noticed but didnt know there was a reason behind it so whenever Sero runs out of said cinnamon mints, he buys Sero a new tin of them

the whole interaction just slightly confuses Bakugo

they collectively hate Mt Lady bc she makes Todoroki extremely uncomfortable

Todoroki has major texture issues and literally refuses to wear jeans and hates touching denim in any way shape or form

so whenever Sero wear jeans (which isnt often but he does enjoy baggy or flared painted jeans) he always makes sure Bakugo sits between him and Todoroki as to not overwhelm him with the texture

#todobakusero #seroroki #todobaku #bakusero #bakugo katsuki #sero hanta #hanta sero #shoto todoroki #todoroki shouto #katsuki bakugo #hcs :D #i love them sm #mha #bnha #mha hcs #bnha hcs

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saturnznct · 4 years ago

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morning sickness | n.yt

➸ request; it would be a family request like their wife is pregnant with the second child and has morning sickness in extreme

➸ note; got two very similar requests so thank u so much to you both <3 i hope you like this

➸ word count; 617 words

➸ akane; aged 3, kaede; in the womb lol

nct masterlist

warnings: vomiting

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

‘Mama?’ Akane appears in the doorway of your bathroom, clutching her strawberry Hello Kitty stuffed toy.

‘Oh, hi baby,’ you rasp, head still lent over the toilet seat, ‘did I wake you up?’

She doesn’t say yes, instead just mumbling a tiny ‘I heard you being sick.’

‘You know that mama’s not well, but I’m okay-‘

You’re cut off by a wave of overwhelming nausea, prompting you to swiftly throw up into the toilet. You try to shield this view from your daughter with your arm, but you hear her bare feet on the tiles padding towards you. She places her tiny hand on your back, patting it encouragingly.

‘I’m fine, Akane, go back to bed.’

‘What’s going on in here?’ Yuta appears in the doorway.

‘Mama’s sick, daddy,’ Akane points at you, eyebrows furrowed together in concern.

‘I’ll take care of Mama, but as long as you go to sleep, okay?’

‘But-‘

‘No buts, off to bed you go.’

Yuta gives you a look before scooping Akane up in his arms, smiling at the way she cradles the teddy to her chest.

He’s not gone for long, returning a short minute later free of Akane, but holding a glass of water.

‘Thank you,’ you croak, taking the water from him and quickly downing half the glass.

He slides down the wall next to you, taking your body into his arms. You rest your head against his chest, closing your eyes in attempt to fight off the sick feeling.

‘You can get through it,’ Yuta says.

You don’t respond due to the fear of vomiting all over his lap.

‘Just like you did with Akane. She was so worth it, wasn’t she?’

‘Mhmm,’ you hum, ‘jus’ hope that I’ll stop being so sick soon. Kans is worried-‘

‘She’ll understand once we tell her about her baby brother or sister.’

‘Maybe we’ll finally get to use the name Kaede,’ you giggle, bringing up the name that you had agonised over while naming Akane.

Yuta giggles along with you, ‘I’m still incredibly surprised that we didn’t name her Kaede.’

‘We came really close, didn’t we? At least we already have a definite girls name.’

‘Hmm,’ Yuta nods, rubbing your tiny bump.

You move your head up so that your forehead is pressed against the side of his neck, placing a lazy kiss there.

He holds you close, rocking you side to side.

‘Do you want me to run you a bath? Help you feel better?’

‘No- just get me some mints please.’

Yuta is about to remove his warm body from you but you protest, clinging to him.

’Not yet.’

‘How about I carry you back to bed? Mints are in the bedside drawer… and I’ll keep you warm.’

‘Please.’ You shuffle around on your butt so that your legs are laying across his lap, giving him the opportunity to lift you up bridal style.

‘Akane is so much like her mother,’ Yuta jokes, your arms around his neck and clinging to him.

Yuta repeatedly kisses the side of your head as he makes the short journey to your bedroom. He tucks you in, handing you a couple of mints from the tin on the bedside table.

You eat them, burying yourself under the covers while Yuta settles in bed behind you, pulling you close, resting a hand on your stomach.

‘Goodnight Kaede-‘

‘Yu, I’m only two months along, we don’t know whether it’s a girl-‘

‘Oh okay, fine, goodnight baby boy or girl. I love you and your sister so so so much.’

He kisses the back of your neck before humming a similar goodnight to you, ‘goodnight love, I love you.’

‘Night, Yuta, I love you too.’

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taeescript · 3 years ago

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I Promise (I)

𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰 >> Some people have the gifted ability of music; others of mathematics; some perhaps as persuasive argumentators. You have a “gift”, if one would like to call it that. It is the ability to know when somebody is telling a lie.

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 >> hoseok x reader; ?? x reader (the whole gang joins at some point)

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 >> mafia!au

𝔴/𝔠 >> 3.1k

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 >> mentions of drug use. nothing else much really it’s actually pretty tame right now

𝔞/𝔫: would you believe be if i said this whole thing was inspired by this singular gif? I lost my old account (rip old fics) but here I am starting new and writing again. Nervous, but please show some love

next part

The music is blasting in your room, and the bass rumbles causing your heart to beat to the rhythm of the song. However, your fingers are tapping to their own creation of a tempo while your other hand scribbles a note down on a piece of paper. It is the end of June and that means you have just received your paycheque.

“$9.74,” you repeat after your calculation, “I’ve got an extra $9.74 to spend.” You lean back in your chair and continues to bob your head. The wall behind you thumps to its own tempo; not of the song that is playing but its own rhythmic pattern. Your roommate is at it again. You close your eyes and allow yourself to drift. $9.74. You could get an extra meal. Or an extra drink at the bar. Or maybe you could just put that into your bank account. But that’d be useless, just sitting there. In the very distance, you hear the thumping of your roommate stop and its door creaks open. Another set of doors creak a couple of seconds later. You get out of your seat and open the door to your own room.

Seohyun, your roommate, brushes past you wearing only a pair of shorts and her favourite black laced bra. She walks to the door of the apartment and kisses the man on the lips before taking a drag of the cigarette she is holding in the other hand. He stands with a hand in his pocket and the buttons of his shirt undone. You watch as Seohyun bites his lip before ending the kiss.

“You’re the best,” you hear the robust mint-haired female say.

Cue the all too familiar buzzing.

“Love you, babe,” he says, kissing her one last time before leaving.

The buzzing halts.

“Love you too,” Seohyun kisses him one last time before gently pushing him out the door, closing it when he leaves.

And there returns the buzz.

Seohyun turns to walk back to her room and notices you standing there. “Hey,” she greets.

“You know, he actually does like you,” you comment, coming out of your room. You rub the back of your neck and rotate it once to get rid of the stress. Seohyun sits down on the brown couch in the small living room and takes out a tin box. She crosses her legs and rummages through its contents. A cigarette leaves its embers on the ashtray in the table in front of her. “Right. And I like him too,” Seohyun replies, taking out what she had been looking for, “Him and his drugs.” She shakes the white packet before opening it up. She sniffs the contents once and sighs. Making a motion towards you, she offers its contents to you.

You shake your head. You return into your room briefly to turn off the music and grab your phone and jacket. When you walk back out, you see that the packet is empty and Seohyun is passed out on the couch, fingers still speckled with white dust. You make a quick stop into Seohyun’s room to grab a blanket for her before locking the keys to the apartment.

Your apartment, technically. You had been the one to pay full payment and was content in living alone until Seohyun showed up one night, begging for a place to sleep. You couldn’t let her sleep outside so you agreed. That one night turned into a week and finally a year, where Seohyun still stays.

It isn’t like you didn’t enjoy Seohyun’s company. She is nice to be around, always engaging in some next level philosophical topic, particularly when she is high. It is, however, slightly annoying whenever she brings her “boyfriend”, or boyfriends at times, to the place, but you have learned to drown out their voices and actions by blasting your music. But what you like about Seohyun the most is that she doesn’t ask questions. The buzzing in your head is also always strangely quieter around the other girl as well.

You trudge up the stairs and immediately brings a hand to shield your eyes from the bright sun. It is about seven in the evening but still way too bright for your liking. You like the darkness night brought with it. Serene. Solemn. Locking the gate to the building behind you, you walk down the streets all the while rolling your neck due to its tense state.

No matter how many times it happened, you’d still feel its pain.

The lingering pain left as a reminder of your unique power; gift; thing. Whatever people wanted to call it.

You knew whenever somebody told a lie.

You would feel this strange buzzing at the base of your neck when a person said anything but the truth around you. The buzzing didn’t come every time you talked to somebody - you couldn’t catch all the lies that came out of people’s mouths - but it occurred often enough to be a nuisance to you. While the buzzing wasn’t painful in itself, it always caused your neck to be in sore pain. The pain was not indicative of how big the lie was, however. A lie that involved so many twists and turns that even its creator could not keep track would give you pain. A small white lie would give you the same pain. To you, it was just pain.

You quickly turn the corner and made your way down the stairs into the subway station. The man at the window gives you a small smile in which you did not return but hastily walk through the gate. One hour. It took 46 minutes to get to the station and another twelve minutes to walk. You had one hour. The subway could not be late.

You were not always a walking human lie detector. In fact, you had only been living like this for the past six years of the total of your twenty-six. At least consciously aware of this ability of yours for that time period.

If you really had to pinpoint when it started, you would connect it to approximately four more years prior to that: first year of high school. The prime time of adolescence.

You could hear the first subway leave, vibrations through the sole of your feet and its wheels screeching on the tracks. That left two minutes for you to make it to the opposite platform which was for the direction you wanted to go. You glance at the elevator you are currently standing in front of. It had not budged from “G” for a while now. You glance at the stairs just a couple of steps away. Sighing, you leave your spot and make your way down the stairs. One and a half minute.

The first year of high school sucked. Your parents had always screaming at each other and your brother was constantly skipping school. You did not want to be a second disappointment to your parents so you spent all her time studying in the library. It was also an excuse to be out of the house. One day, you returned home and found your mother crying on the steps of their house.

“Mom, did you and Dad fight again?”

Your mother did not meet your eyes. “Are you okay?” you had asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, trying to console your mother as best as a fourteen year old could do.

“I’m fine,” your mother answered. That was when you first heard a faint buzzing. It was strange for bees to be around their flowerless yard.

“You don’t look fine,” you had pressed on, “Will you and Dad be okay?”

Your mother shifted her position and wiped her tears with the back of her hand. She looked at you with a bruised eye and said, “Your dad will be okay.” The buzzing seemed to fade.

You patted the still damp cheek of your mother and hugged the fragile women. You slowly rubbed your mother’s back in small circles. “Mom, you and Dad will work things out. So promise me you guys won’t leave each other.”

“I promise,” your mother had reassured you. That was when you cried out in pain as the buzzing attacked you. Your mother had been alarmed and you had laughed it off, saying that a bee had probably stung the back of your neck while she wasn’t aware. The duo then got off the floor and held hands as together, you walked back into the house.

Your parents split a week later.

You had never found it in herself to forgive your mother after that. You hadn’t even known that you had been lied to until you really thought about it in your years as an adult. You just hated the fact that your mother had promised something that she had been planning to break. When high school ended, you picked a college as far away from your mother’s house as you could. You poured all of your time into your academics and never bothered making friends. Throughout the four years there, you had occasionally felt the buzzing but did not really associate it with anything around her. It only became prominent when you started working at your first job.

To any fresh graduate, this was a hire that was ever only dreamt of. It was a position with a high status in the company: Assistant Director of Internal Affairs. The company had been extremely impressed with your grades and all the extracurriculars you participated in. You had flown to three different cities outside of your own country as an intern and placed first in multiple conferences. It was no mistake that you had gotten in. You had been ecstatic when they spoke to you. You could finally move out of your mother’s house, in which you had temporarily been staying in while job searching; live in a city a thousand miles away from where she currently was, and was able to be somebody whom nobody knew about. It was your dream come true.

That turned out to be a disaster. Every day you went into work, the buzzing would surround you and send you moaning in pain to the bathroom. You could barely speak to any of your coworkers without wanting to strangle them and tell them to be quiet. You could not attend any of the meetings and you had to call in multiple sick days within her first week there. Needless to say, this affected your work performance and after an agonizing four and a half months, the company fired you.

Being without a job meant that you had no steady income. So, you moved out of the luxurious apartment you had just bought with your new salary and used the remaining money to buy the dank, run down one you were currently living in. You searched everywhere and finally found a waitress for hire at a bar close to the middle of the city. It was an hour from where you lived, but at least there you could dull the buzzing with alcohol. And this was how you lived for the past two years.

You cursed. You missed it. The subway left you in its smoke as you got off the last step of the descending staircase.

...

The other man was slouched against the pillar of the building, blood running freely down the side of his head while his hand tried to keep in the rest of his blood from escaping out of the hole on his side. He panted, gasping for whatever oxygen was available.

“Tell me,” the younger man towered over him, “Where did you hide the stash?” “I didn’t hide it, man. I swear. It’s where they asked me to leave it,” the bleeding man held his remaining hand in front of him in defense. “Please don’t hurt me.” There was a swish and cold metal sliced the air. He was not taller than the man, nor any stronger. But he had youth and a quick mind. More importantly, he had a weapon.

“Trust me. I wouldn’t want to hurt you, so don’t make me do something I don’t want to do,” he crouched and put his face close to the other man’s. He pressed the knife against his throat.

The man whimpered as a thin line of fresh blood was drawn. “Please, I beg you. Don’t hurt me,” he said again, voice barely a whisper.

The two stayed in that position until the younger abruptly stood up. “Fine, I won’t hurt you,” he stepped back, “But it’ll be on you when she gets hurt.” His movement is fast and he grabs the wrist of the single other person in the station.

...

You stand with your back against the man, the knife held against your neck this time.

You dare not to move. You swallow once and glance down at the bleeding stranger. He is staring right back at you.

From movies and dramas, you know not to fight back in scenarios like this. You also know not to scream as this would agitate both parties. You return the strangers stare: “Help me”.

Your capturer’s voice rumbles through his chest and onto your back as he speaks, “Your choice. I can kill this girl and have it pinned on you, or you can just tell me where you put the stash.”

“Please,” the bloody man pleads, “I’m just a carrier. I don’t know where any of the merchandise is. I… I admit it, alright? I disobeyed the instructions this time. I didn’t leave it where they told me.”

You feel yourself being dragged closer to the subway tracks. Maybe you should kick or flail around a little. You try, but the man holds you steady. The blade is dangerously close to cutting your skin.

The bleeding man can only watch in horror as the other man stands precariously on the edge of the tracks. “I’m going to push her down,” he is warned. His mind was frantic. He had been told that his task would be simple. He did not know that it would involve another human being to be hurt in the process. His mind flashes back to his little girl, probably still waiting for her father in their small flat.

“I got another message right before I left,” he starts saying, “Please don’t hurt the girl. Please don’t hurt me. I’ve got a family.”

“Don’t we all,” the voice behind you drawls in sarcasm, “Give me another excuse of why I need to keep listening.”

You kick your assaulter. He grips you tighter. She look back at the bleeding man on the ground. He is still staring at you with wide eyes.

“The message told me that the location had changed. I wasn’t sure if I should trust it, but an hour before the pickup time, another note showed up on my doorstep and said that if I brought it to the second location, I’d get an extra $150, so I did it,” he continues.

You feel the tension in your neck slightly subside amongst the chaos. You kicked your assaulter again.

“Exact location. Now,” the voice demands.

“Corner of 16th and Main,” he stammers.

You kick a little harder this time, trying to wiggle out of the tight grip. It is really starting to hurt you. You feel yourself being pushed towards the bleeding man. Both you and your assaulter get extremely close to the man lying on the ground.

You sniff once and instantly regret it. Mixed with the blood, you can smell the acidity of urine. The man is now crying and you think you could see the pool around him widen ever so slightly.

“Please sir, I’ve told you everything that I know. I followed the instructions and left it there. I did not hide it. Somebody else must’ve used me to get it. I swear, Sir, I swear,” he holds his hands out and rubs them, a symbol of asking for mercy.

The two of you stand up, or rather you are hauled up for the man. The knife nicks your neck and you swear under your breath. You can feel the two men stare at each other for a long time.

“Scram,” the one behind her rasps. It takes a while for the bleeding man to stand, but adrenaline does wonders when the body is in danger. He limps out and up the stairs before he can be told twice. There is a rumbling in the distance to indicate that the next subway is arriving.

“There’s a train coming,” you finally talk, “A train means there’s people.” Your assaulter still does not let go.

“You’re hurting me,” you wiggled in his grasp. He loosens it and you finally get away. You turn and glare through your bangs at the man who has been holding you captive. You touch a finger to where the knife had nicked you, then examined it: there is blood.

The man standing has put his knife away. He is studying you with eyes as intense as yours while bringing the lighter to the cigarette in his mouth. He takes a long drag and blows it in your direction.

Standing only a few inches taller than you, he is of slightly above average height. He wears the iconic baggy shirt and jeans of the common gangsters that prowl the area. Even in the dim light of the subway station, you can make out the tattoo of a dragon spiraling up his arm. He does nothing to hide the fact that he is affiliated with the mafia.

You are not particularly intimidating yourself. You stand at 164cm but wear a constant scowl. With your broken nose from a fall in your childhood, the feature makes your whole facial symmetry shift ever slightly to the left, accentuating the scowl even more. In a black t-shirt, black dress pants and black shoes, you wave her hand to rid herself of the smell of smoke.

“So, was he lying?” the man finally speaks after a period of silence.

“Fuck off, Jung Hoseok,” you growl.

#bts #hoseok #jhope #bts au #hoseok x reader #jhope x reader #bts x reader #hoseok x y/n #jhope x y/n #bts scenario #bts imagine #bts fanfic #hoseok fanfic #jhope fanfic #mafia!au #mafia!jhope #mafia!bts #jung hoseok #hoseok au

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years ago

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Twelve Months - Good Omens fanfic

Happy 31st Anniversary of Good Omens! :D

To celebrate this momentous occasion, I have posted a slightly-sad, slightly-sweet Wake the Snake fic on AO3, because our demon has been napping for a whole Twelve Months, and sometimes Angel gets a little lonely!

Thank you all for another fantastic year in this fandom!

Twelve months.

Aziraphale pushed open the door to Crowley’s flat, a simple shopping bag tucked under his arm.

The lights were still off, the curtains drawn in the awful empty room he called a study. Nothing had changed.

He passed through the enormous, rotating section of wall and into the solarium. This was still bright—many of the plants flourishing despite being unattended so long, despite clearly not having enough water. A few had started flowering. They waved their branches at him as he entered, perking up eagerly.

The angel waved back, but first he peeked into Crowley’s bedroom.

He was still where Aziraphale had left him, on his last visit a month before. Bright red hair spilled across black pillows, grown into a stringy mop. Duvet pulled up to his messily-bearded chin. One hand curled up beside him on the bed.

Still asleep.

With a sigh, Aziraphale crossed over to the plants, who greeted him excitedly, unfurling their newest leaves, a few vines hanging down to brush his face.

“Hello, my lovelies. How are you all doing? Look at you, grown at least a foot since I saw you, I’m sure. And you! What beautiful pink buds. Very impressive.”

He didn’t think Crowley would approve of how he spoke to the plants, but the poor things had been so distraught on his first visit, straining to keep upright, trying to hide their yellowing leaves. So much healthier now, much happier for just a bit of attention. He picked up the watering can and gave them all a quick splash. He didn’t know how much water each needed, but it didn’t seem to matter.

“You keep it up, dears. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Picking up his shopping bag again, Aziraphale headed down the hall to the kitchen. The kettle sat on the island where he’d left it, and he quickly refilled it and set it to boil. While he waited, he pulled his latest creations from the bag: a small pumpkin spice cake from a recipe he’d been perfecting since fall, a lemon coconut cake, and a few apple cinnamon muffins.

Two plates—a muffin for each, a slice of the coconut cake for himself and the pumpkin spice for Crowley.[1] The rest went into the refrigerator, where they would never go bad or stale.

Aziraphale put the plates onto a tray, along with forks and napkins. Next he found two mugs and pulled the little tin of his second-favorite tea out of the bag just as the kettle boiled.

For himself, a teaspoon of the expertly blended leaves, steeped for exactly three minutes, resulting in a pale brown tea with a slightly spicy aroma. For Crowley, he dropped a tea bag into boiling water and let it sit until it was almost black.[2]

He carried the tray back to the solarium and selected a bright red-and-gold tulip that was nearly vibrating in its eagerness to be noticed. A moment to assure the other plants that they were still doing fabulously—particularly a self-conscious little succulent that had rather drooped over the winter but was making a fine recovery—and he once more headed into Crowley’s bedroom.

Crowley had rolled over, and now sprawled on his back, sleeping soundly. He’d apparently kicked a bit, too, as the blanket had slid down past his stomach. Aziraphale smiled as he set the tray on the chair he’d brought in some months ago and got to work.

“It’s wonderful to see you again, dear,” he started cheerfully, carefully rearranging the objects on the little bedside table. “I have a few things for you again, I hope you don’t mind.” Just enough space to slide the mug and the little plate. Perfect.

“I received a package from Tadfield again. Everyone wrote a note and then gathered them all together, really quite clever. They’re all doing well, if a bit bored.” The table was nearly overflowing with little items now, brought in by Aziraphale to cheer the place up. Framed pictures of their human friends, quarantining with their families, clustered in one corner so tightly you could hardly see them anymore.

He pulled the latest out of the shopping bag. “Anathema has started a garden,” he explained, pausing to show the photograph to Crowley’s sleeping form. It showed the witch, kneeling outside her little cottage, working on growing several rows of herbs. “I got the impression she was off to a rough start, but she hopes to send us some mint in the next package. Although Newt warned me not to expect too much, as they’d already forgotten which patch is mint and which is oregano.” He set the picture with the others, and slid the potted tulip alongside it. “I’m sure she could use some advice from you, when you’re ready to share.”

“Nnnnh.” Aziraphale spun eagerly, but no, just Crowley shifting in his sleep again, rolling onto his side.

The angel paused to pull the duvet back up to Crowley’s chin, tugging it straight and smoothing a hand down his back. In a way, his friend was nearly unrecognizable, with that hair and ridiculous beard, but in another way looked the same as ever. That was always Crowley’s way, of course, constantly changing yet somehow always the same.

He lingered, taking in the shape of that face, leaning close, lips hovering above his cheekbone—

Aziraphale pulled back, quickly digging into his bag again. “Oh! Ah, the, um, the children have been making projects for their art class. This past month was sculpture, and they sent us some. Look!” He pulled out four little figures of oven-baked clay. “Ah, young Wensleydale has made a very clever model of a train car. Brian’s is…abstract.” He turned the next a few different ways. “And Pepper’s is, ah, either a very complex symbolic representation of the Patriarchy, or…a troll, I think.” They just fit on the edge of the table, all in a line, a very mismatched tableau. The fourth, on the end, was the best, in Aziraphale’s opinion. “Adam made a little Dog, and it’s very well done, don’t you think?” The canine figure posed with one leg raised and head cocked, ready to play, but the shadow it cast was just a little too large, too ominous, for such a small creature.

With a sigh, Aziraphale shifted the row this way and that. “I sent a letter to Warlock, over in America, but haven’t heard back since Christmas. I believe they’re very busy with something. Politics. You know how it is.” When the Dowlings had left England, they’d planned to return for a visit the following summer. A global pandemic had had other ideas.

“In any case, that just leaves Tracy and Shadwell. I understand he’s decided to hate the concept of literacy this month, so no word on how his war with the squirrels is going. And Tracy has declared she will spend the summer making a fairy garden. I thought her sketches looked very promising, and she promised to send us an update in June. I’m sure you’ll find it charming.”

“Hrrrrm.” Crowley sank under the duvet, nestling down a little deeper. Aziraphale smiled, settling into the chair with his plate and mug.

“Things are loosening up again,” he explained, taking a bite of cake. Delicious, if he said so himself. Sharp and not too sweet. “People are getting vaccinated, shops opening up. It’s really a lovely breath of fresh air, at least when you’re not wearing a mask.” A long sip from his mug, then he held it, fingers tapping. “It’s been nice walking through the park again, just in time for the baby ducks. And that record shop at the corner, they’ve had some wonderful new additions. Which reminds me.”

Putting aside his mug, Aziraphale dug through the bag again and pulled out a handful of square plastic cases. “They had a whole shipment of those little records the Bentley likes. Modern music. I picked out the ones with the rudest names. I’m sure you’ll enjoy them.” He pulled out the first disc and placed it atop Crowley’s phone. The device blinked in confusion a few times, then obediently copied all the music.

“Of course, it’s not all good news.” He stacked the rest of the discs atop the phone and returned to his tea. “Reopening means the customers are coming back. Yesterday, this one individual spent almost an hour browsing the same three shelves. And then he tried to make off with one of my books.” Another long sip. “Granted, he offered to pay, but still. What sort of establishment does he think I’m running?”

Aziraphale paused, waiting for Crowley to respond, not that he ever did. The demon’s eyelids moved a little, but no more.

Sighing, Aziraphale turned to his muffin. “You know, many times in the last year, I’ve wished you were there. Particularly during reopening phases. You could have posed as a customer, and then I’d be able to tell people I was at the capacity limit. Oh, and the people who would call to try and buy my rarest books. Collectors, or so they claimed, but then they just turn around and sell to anyone for twice the price! I’m sure you’d have some biting things to say about such people.” He smiled at Crowley’s sleeping face. “I’ve missed that, and your jokes. Rather more than I expected to.”

When his plate and tea were finished, Aziraphale set them on the floor and reached again into the bag. “Now, I have been attempting to teach my computer how to use the internet. I think it’s going quite well. Adam and his friends gave me a ‘homework assignment’ to find articles on recent news events, and I made the most wonderful discovery. Did you know that humans now share their news through humorous pictures? I printed out my favorites to show you.”[3]

He flicked through a few. “Ah, to start with, a few months ago there was this American politician with amusing mittens who showed up everywhere for a few days. It was extremely droll.” He leaned closer, holding them up for Crowley to see. “Ah, a few more from America. The murder hornets arrived, though by that point everyone had forgotten them. The election became increasingly confusing, and it all ended in a parking lot. For a little while everything was ‘This-or-That Total Landscaping,’ and before that everything was cake.” He showed a few extremely clever illusions. “I did try to make my own, but couldn’t manage it without miracles, which I felt was cheating.”

Really, leaning like this was starting to strain his back. Aziraphale shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, the better to share his pictures. “Ahhh. Also for a time everyone’s calendars were stuck on ‘March.’ And then earlier this year, a group of people learned how the stock market works, but sadly not how to spell it. The whole situation seemed very much like the sort of thing you’d be involved in. And…Oh, this angel from a television show was sent to Hell for…reasons.” He glanced at the shape beside him. Crowley had curled in slightly, pressing against Aziraphale’s back. “Yes. Various reasons. And then this musician, I suppose, went on his own. Both had many people extraordinarily upset.”

The next few images would really tickle Crowley, if he could actually see them. “The biggest news is that a large ship got stuck sideways in that canal in Egypt. Stopped half the world’s shipping for a few days while they dug it out! I’m sure you would have liked that very much. Exactly your sort of trouble. The humans were all very excited.”

The final photo was another of the ship, an image Aziraphale had made himself, printing out a blank version and writing on it in felt-tip pen. The hull of the enormous ship was labeled, “An eternity putting up with the tedious bureaucracy and frequently conflicting commands of my superiors until I begin to doubt my own judgement and sanity,”[4] while the small digger working steadily beside it was “Crowley.”

Aziraphale watched the demon beside him, not really expecting a reaction, certainly not getting one. He reached over, brushing brilliant hair back from Crowley’s forehead. “I think you’d have had rather a lot of fun last year. Or perhaps you’d have been upset you could only watch from a distance. Or…”

He’d leaned much closer than he’d intended, hovering just above Crowley’s forehead.

“Well!” Aziraphale stumbled to his feet. “I suppose that’s just about everything.” He picked up the tray from where he’d rested it on the floor, starting to re-load it with everything he’d brought in. Crowley’s cake and tea sat untouched, as always, but Aziraphale wouldn’t dream of skipping them. “We’re all very optimistic for the summer. Two months and everything should be just…just tickety-boo. Perhaps we can go for that picnic soon, if…yes…”

They’d made such plans for 2020. All the things they would do now they were free. Plans, and other thoughts carried in their minds, possibilities that would play out in their own time. Not too fast, just a slow, steady exploration of everything they could be…

“Well. Pleasant as that idea is, best not to—to plan too much, as the previous year made fools of us all. I just…” He turned away from the tray and watched Crowley sleep, hands clasped before him. “I miss you terribly. And I wish…very much…”

He picked up his shopping bag. One item still inside. The same one he’d been carrying for months, trying to find the courage to bring it out.

With a shaking hand, he reached in and drew forth a soft hand-made doll. He’d spent much of the winter on it. Simple white cotton for the head and body, wooly curls for the hair, and stiff white lace for the wings. Dressed in waistcoat and bowtie made from Aziraphale’s favorite tartan.

He still wasn’t sure why he brought it. He’d stitched several little toys, particularly a lovely black-and-red serpent with gold button eyes that had watched him from the sofa since November. But this, for reasons he couldn’t articulate, this one was for Crowley.

“I, ah…” He shuffled closer, doll clutched in both hands. “I made, um…” Back to the edge of the bed, one hand fumbling across the duvet. “…thought you might like…”

Crowley’s face stood out in stark contrast to the pillow, pale skin and bright hair. Aziraphale wanted to drink it in, memorize every detail, to hold him over until next month. The curve of his nose, the sharp angle of his cheekbones. His lashes flickering as his eyes moved. His lips, pursed ever so slightly…

“Bless it, Angel, are you going to kiss me or not?”

Aziraphale gasped, pulling back from the bright gaze of slit-pupil eyes. “You—you’re awake!”

“Nnnh. Half.” Crowley shifted, head moving across the pillow, eyes threatening to shut again. “Wouldn’t miss your visit.” One hand reached out, plucked the doll from Aziraphale’s unresisting fingers. “For me?”

The angel nodded. “If…if…you like it…or I could—I could just…”

Without a word, Crowley pulled the doll under the duvet and curled up, tucking it under his chin, a faint smile on his lips.

“If you were awake you—you should have said something! I’ve been going—going off like a fool all this—oh!” Aziraphale could feel his face turning hot as he recalled a few times his tongue had been a bit too loose for propriety.

“Mmmmmh.” The golden eyes were shut again.

“Crowley?” No response. “Crowley!” Aziraphale scowled. “Anthony J. Crowley, if you’ve fallen asleep again, I swear, I’ll—”

He’d do what? The angel fumed, but what could he really threaten? To stay away? Never.

“Alright then, I suppose I’ll see you in June. I’ve had several new requests for extremely rare manuscripts and I need to go pen some responses reprimanding these vultures for their cheek. I can—”

“You can stay.”

He spun around. Crowley had one eye barely cracked open. Gently, he pulled back the duvet, showing there was just enough space for Aziraphale beside him.

“I…I couldn’t.” But he stepped forward, not back. “I have business tomorrow, things to—”

“Just tonight then.”

His fingers brushed the mattress and pulled back as if burned. “You—you don’t really mean this, you’re just talking in your sleep.”

“Nah.” Crowley settled the doll by his pillow, making space. “Why else would I give you my key?”

“I…to…water the plants?”

“They take care of themselves.” Crowley held open his arms, eyes shut once more. “I missed you, too.”

Well. What could he say to that?

Aziraphale took off his shoes and slid into bed, into Crowley's arms. They wrapped around him gently as Crowley wriggled closer. “Mmmm. Y’r softer than the doll.”

“Oh.” He’d been called soft many times, generally as a way to imply he was a failure as an angel. But just this once, it made him feel rather pleased. “Soft is good?”

“Verrrry good.” Crowley twisted a bit, trying to find a comfortable way to rest his long limbs, and finally settled curled up against Aziraphale’s chest, tucked below the angel’s chin with a leg hooked over his knees.

The angel smiled. “And you’re…you’re noodlier than a stuffed snake. Err…”

A chuckle, just a stirring of breath across his throat. “Can’t wait to hear the story behind that.” Crowley nuzzled against his shoulder with a sigh. “Good night, Angel.”

Aziraphale swept the brilliant hair back again and bent down, pressing his lips to Crowley’s forehead. A soft, gentle kiss that made his friend smile a little more broadly. “Good night, my dear.”

Crowley drifted off again, burrowing close, as the angel continued to gently tease the back of his hair. Perhaps, he thought, perhaps tomorrow's work wasn't so very urgent. Perhaps a bit of rest would do him good. And perhaps...

Well. Don't plan too much. But for the first time, Aziraphale felt a bit of optimism about the coming summer and its possibilities.

“Sleep well, Crowley.”

[1] Crowley had invented pumpkin spice, and Aziraphale assumed he must like it. In truth, Crowley despised it, and regretted every autumn how it took over the entire world. He missed apple cider season. [2] Aziraphale had suspected since the early 1950s that Crowley secretly took his tea with several lumps of sugar, but would continue to pretend he didn’t know until Crowley confessed. Considering current circumstances, that was unlikely to be any time soon. [3] Aziraphale’s fax machine, revived after over three decades of disuse, had been somewhat confused to be asked to perform any task at all, much less to print memes onto photo paper with perfectly balanced color; but like the plants and Crowley’s phone, it couldn’t stand to disappoint the angel. [4] It was possible he hadn’t quite mastered this new form of communication.

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thekitschdiet · 3 years ago

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my take on the literary masterpiece, the chic diet

Firstly, I am no one. It’s part of my charm. My fifteen minutes of fame was years ago, when I had an instagram niche meme page. I didn’t even take any brand deals! And my posts averaged six thousand likes! Anyhow. I am hardly literate and well hydrated and carry a small sephora-CVS-hybrid worth in my mini tote bag. Here is my guide on how to live like me, the intermediate kitsch-rat, aspiring influencer. But like, in an apathetic, somewhat dissonant, ironic way. I like saying I live by dogmatic principles. But a lot of it, um, is just eating disorder rituals. But that’s not really important. You’re as hot as you say you are, and as much an authority on what you write so long as you say it with, you know, conviction. It’s kind of venerable how fucking delusional I am, actually. Giving any sort of advice like I’m anywhere close to the ritzy ideal of the amphetamine-areyouami label-american. New York, ideally. West Village, preferably. But I guess the kind of guide I can write is better suited to someone living in a suburb, in a house with the twelve-paned windows. I always thought those were so chic. SO quaint, in a somewhat luxe way. Like, Connecticut vibes. My parents used to drive me up there as a child to buy books and ice cream. Nowadays I’d opt for a matcha latte with novelty ice cubes, but I guess at the time it was pretty sweet.

Because I popped a Vyvanse at like, 10pm, this next little bit could go one of two ways. I will write the most articulate, brilliant piece of literature of my life. Magnum opus, if there was a skinnier word for it. Or, I will get wrapped up doing something like folding all my last-season knits (which is part of my look, okay! I don’t have a job!) and fixating on a paragraph on how a girl’s collarbones are almost as identifying as a fingerprint, or a signature. I’m not a graphologist, but if you write your A’s with the little tail on top (like on a computer), you’re probably a snake. Nothing personal, just an observation. Also, I do have a biology final to study for. Not that I’m super anal, or even particularly committed to academia, but even in my precariously manicured (read that as separate terms; I did a good job on my nail polish, okay? But I happen to also be teetering on the brink of an epiphany or a collapse. Hence the use of the word precarious.) state, I know it’s important enough I can let one of my countless side-quests sit idle for a couple more days.

The first section seems only natural to be about hydration. And the whole idea of drinking things, really. There was a section in The Chic Diet about Adderall dry-mouth, which deeply resonated with me. Once I bit off a chunk of a Nivea Strawberry Shine (my favorite lip balm, more on that later) and swished it around my mouth. Didn’t help. Really, really didn’t. Anyway, I suppose that even if it served no purpose for combatting my prevacatingly ingenious cottonmouth solution, I was able to milk a sentence or two out of the experience. “Do it for the Vine”, all grown up! And wearing bananapapaya resin hoops too. Side note, that Etsy shop is a parasocial enemy of mine. It stems from jealousy, which sucks, but hating from inside a club I’m adjacent to is much healthier than being a hateful individual towards people I would, you know, interact with. Daily. Or something. I stopped going to therapy because I felt stupid about going and I don’t live in the right kind of town to warrant vacuous $300 hours. Bitching about my well-adjusted parents and how desperately I wished my anxiety would just “go away” was plainly gross, and a waste. Like, pretty sure almost every problem I have could be solved by a couple painful conversations taking place during a hurricane. Such a shame it doesn’t rain much here. Anyhow, I digress.

Staying hydrated. It is essential to my character, my persona, if you will; to never be without either an elegant metal bottle (I’m loyal to the smooth enamelled S’well ones, printed to look like marble or a semi holographic solid) or a little 16oz tumbler with a metal straw. Hydroflasks were some of the worst things to happen to society. I want to preface this claim with the fact that I wanted one in the same way a teenage girl wants a new iPhone so she can keep up appearances with her dermatologist-dad friends who still have the XR, by the way. But I ended up spending the money on like, a minidress at Brandy Melville before it fled my city. Or maybe a Fresh Sugar tinted lipbalm. For the better, even though the dress has a busted zipper now and the lipbalm tube has inevitably gotten dinged and dented by the other contents of my mini-totebag. Unlike a car, though, a couple scuffs on your laptop or your luxury lipbalm tube looks kind of cool. Like, you’re not someone who values the pristine, unused quality of an item that was ambiguously intended to be used versus displayed on Instagram. Now, I’m wondering why this paragraph about hydration is so fucking impossible to stay on track for. I literally drink several litres of water a day, and more tea on top of that. And sometimes an almond milk latte if I can budget it in. Not that I’m so anorexic I can’t afford a 45cal latte. They’re just not that important to me. Anyhow. Drinking lukewarm (on the cool side) water is better than ice-cold. Partially because I just get it out of the tap of my ensuite and I can’t be bothered to wait for it to run cold enough every time, and it just seems wasteful. Plus, there is something so.. skinny about drinking water at an “obscure” temperature. Trust me, I want to know why my thought process is like this too. My favorite tea is blueberry tea foraged in a side aisle at my local supermarket. I love a good commercial, high-end steep or fruit infusion as much as the next girl. Maybe more. My pantry is filled with tins labelled with things like “emerald jade organic” and “magic potion”, which is really just currants and butterfly pea flowers. But there is a necessary glamor about drinking dirt-cheap tea on the daily. Seriously, a box of 25 sachets is like, $3. At a higher point with my, um, Adderall problem, I spent like several times that on pills. I didn’t really need to include that, and could have linked the price point to the cost of a drugstore lipbalm, but I wrote it in. And I’m married to it, stubbornly, as all amateur writers should be when they wittle in a somewhat indecorous little joke. This tea is sooo good because it has a strong fruit-reminiscent taste (not as sweet as a fresh blueberry, but who wants that anyway?), it’s zero-calorie, it’s the most GORGEOUS color ever. The latte, the third drink in my little trifecta, is nothing special. But necessary. The trick is to use a milk frother to whip up sugar free syrup with instant coffee and a little bit of hot water in a glass. It’ll make the most luscious foam.. Top it off with almond milk. My dad is a coffee purist, owning both an upstairs keurig AND a downstairs one (among other more analogue methods, but I can’t name-drop, so what’s the point?), so he hates this drink. Now, calling oneself a plebian is so unglamorous and teetering on self-deprecating territory, dangerously close to insecurity. But I can use it here because I am at least posh enough to have a different pair of earrings for every outfit I could possibly come up with, and I only wear Patagonia if I am in a situation where I just have to wear fleece. Like I was saying. It’s such a simple drink, certainly not a delicacy, and… I had a joke about the word plebian but I keep getting up to refill my water and I fear I have forgotten about it.

Next section; the importance of a good tinted balm

In the intro I alluded to how a girl’s collarbones function essentially as an identifier, the way a signature or fingerprint does. This is a lie, or at least an exaggeration. But one’s ultimate tinted lipbalm is actually extremely indicative about who you are, as a person, as a member of society, even…

If you are loyal to Dior Lipglow, I have a couple questions. One; did you shoplift one tube, once, and refill it with cheaper stuff afterwards? I did that. I consider it one of my better-kept secrets, but now you know. Might as well explain the catalyst for my parent’s first separation now, and the horrifying experience that was meeting my dad’s Manhattan sugar baby (?) at the age of thirteen, wearing an overalls dress from, like, Topshop or something else equally embarrassing. .. Kidding. I digress. It’s such a fancy lipbalm, and good too! It smells like thin mints! But I could just never justify cell phone monthly installation payment money on something I will inevitably talk off. I do own three, but two I stole (before I lost the nerve, somewhat unfortunately) and one, a boy(not)friend bought for me. This is not something I feel any remorse about, because his house was easily four thousand square feet and his sisters had a dedicated all-glass room for their shared peloton. Oil money. Ugh!

My personal favorite lip balm, and I have tried a frightening amount, has got to be the Nivea Fruit Shine collection. The frosted one is shit-ugly. Hideous. But the strawberry one is the love of my life. It’s such a pleasant red, looking healthy and rejuvenated and really completes any look. Only downside is it will always, hopefully not always, remind me of Charles. Kissing Charles, specifically. And him asking me what lipbalm it was, because he knew I was somewhat frivolous and definitive and would have a very long answer. But for whatever reason, I simply stated it was from “out of town”. Not really sure why I said that, but it plagues me (minorly) to this day. Of all the things to make up.. .. The peach one is a perfectly demure spring classic shade. Cherry exists too, but the only tube I have ever had the fortune of owning was purchased in Costa Rica and lost somewhere on the way home. Honestly tragic, it was the juiciest shade. Blackberry is perfect too, but I have to layer it with either peach or untinted lipbalm to avoid what I imagine TooPoor would choose if she believed in tinted lipbalm. I don’t mean this hatefully, I think she’s a queen, but super dark, smudgy makeup suits the eyes better in my opinion. Or something. Or something.

Afraid to bore the reader, I have to move on now. Maybe at a later date I will release an addendum on my ultimate lipbalm buying guide. But also, that is so deeply personal (and everyone needs the excuse of “hunting for the perfect staple shade!!”), so it is really not my place to have any authority on something so intimate and subjective. Etcetera.

Moving on; Decorating your room

Here is a section I lifted out of my memoir document. It fits, because as enigmatic as I hope I am, I am also quite unchanging.

I just pushed three hangers and two tiny strappy tops with the tags still on, off my bed. Most nights, all, these days, actually; I spend in my large but cluttered bedroom. I have a little ensuite with a jetted tub I’ve never used because I just never get around to it. There’s a plush grey rug, spanning the expanse of the room (covering an ugly cherry wood that doesn’t match the rest of the house; no clue why. I never asked, and the previous owners were eager to sell so they could finally ditch this town and retire in Montreal for the bagels, or Hawaii for the monk seals. Point is, I’ll never know) with loose beads and loose pills and little shards of glass from plier-crushed beads. I vacuum every day. The whole room tells you exactly the kind of person I am; the clutter I possess, the encapsulation of the projects I start, start, start and the hours I don’t sleep for and the clothes I tried on (these to sell, these to cut up with kitchen scissors; thrifted lululemon and aritzia and heaps of knits and plaid fabric..) I would not say the room is a mess. Lived in, maybe. Chopsticks and mugs and gum wrappers. Single dangle earrings. I just finished the last of my Creme Brulee eos lipbalm; disguised as a relic of 2015, I was gifted it Christmas of ‘20. I think my next waxy conquest will be a tinted Burt’s one I palmed a while back, before I lost the nerve. Peering around the room you will see shopping bags strewn about the mouth of my walk-in closet. Every surface has something shiny or colorful stacked up on it. Cluttered, busy, but intentional. Except for the walls, which are bare. Bare and gray and miles-tall when I lie flat on my back, high out of my mind, willing things to change but knowing I’m responsible for a first step I will always be too scared for. Bare, pristine, no gumtack. Empty, Like they’re waiting. I wait around a lot. It makes sense. That was an awful lot of words about my stupid blank walls when truly it does not bother me that much; I really just don’t get around to it. I have other things on the ground to tend to, like post-email nausea, addressing envelopes, marrying wire and bead. Writing a document I care about because I am determined and I am alive, alive, alive, goddammit.

Excerpt over. The memoir is coming out when I get famous, or something earth shattering happens. Like I become the world’s least remarkable entrepreneur, and I get retweeted by Colorpop. I don’t want to be the next Elizabeth Wurtzel. I read two of her memoirs one restless night, absorbing it to make up for the nutrients I didn’t that day (you can laugh. I think that is pretty clever), heart breaking a little bit. She writes about her struggles so intrinsically, you either get it, or you don’t. Anyway. She had the books and the fame from it, and she wrote more memoirs than I think a single person should. That is admirable. Aspirational, even. But I do not want to be like her. Where was I? Oh. Yes. Decorating/adorning/filling your room. Your room should serve as the kind of place to watch a movie (if you believe in film. I don’t) and put on ridiculous glittery eye makeup, or smoke an ~artistic cigarette~ or stay up all night on the phone, which is different from staying up all night simply on your phone. Chatting with someone you are tepidly in love with is much more exciting. Not chic as the whole affair is so juvenile, but fun regardless. It’s somewhere to keep your worldly possessions, too. I know I have a lot! Also, it is kind of thrilling to hide things in your room in little crevices only you know about. Now, unfortunately, everyone reading this will know too. But, like, I trust you not to really.. do anything about it. I keep my extra juul pods in the sliding box my apple pencil came in. That box is almost more useful than the pencil itself. I’m somewhat morally opposed to the iPad. Whole culture is so embarrassing! I have a tea tin with an ounce of golden teacher shrums in it. This is tossed in my closet among tins filled with other things, like lace trim and buttons. Which makes it actually a pretty terrible hiding spot, I see now… Anyhow. Keeping benign little secrets like that is so fun. You can tell I don’t have siblings. I sort of wish I did, but it is easier to believe there is something aristocratic about being an only child. Not sure if older-sister me would be egalitarian enough to share things. But that’s prophesying, which is kind of a waste of time. I live in the now, in a room positively cluttered with meaningless things that mean the world to me, chewing on my lip because my mouth is just so dry and 5gum is just not an after-8 indulgence. To live truly kitschly, you have to have somewhat hideous decor. Now, do not confuse dissonant, or incoherent, with what I mean by “hideous decor”. The kitsch room has as many surfaces to look at as possible, while also shying away from too many shelving units. Then you risk your room looking like a storage unit or something. When my mom renovated (re: paid someone to do it) our New York house so we could sell it, all our stuff was stacked up in a Cubesmart self storage. It was sort of horrifying, seeing my childhood home reduced to plastic storage tubs piled what felt like thirty feet high. Anyway. It’s just not an inviting way to store things; I imagine it makes your room look like your stuff is all trapped in gelatin. The more fussy, tiny things you have out in the open, the better. Nail polish. Earring trees. Bowls full of rings and lighters and water color pans perched on your windowsill. A rack with the tackiest assortment of knits and bucket hats and baguette bags. And so forth.. Quickly surveying someone’s room is so telling. Bonus points if all your books are spine-in, except for your favorite ones, because you don’t want people to get the wrong idea. (that you read).

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narcissawilted · 4 years ago

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n a r c i s s a l u c r e t i a b l a c k

basics:

name: narcissa lucretia black. pronunciation: naar·si·suh loo·kree·shuh blak. meaning: narcissa- daffodil, narcissism, numb. lucretia- to succeed, wealth. birthday: october 3rd. age: eighteen. pronouns: she & her. sexuality: heterosexual. siblings: bellatrix black, andromeda black. parents: cygnus black, druella black nee rosier. other family: orion black (uncle), walburga black (aunt), alphard black (uncle), sirius black (cousin), regulus black (cousin), evan rosier (cousin). languages: english, french, spanish, greek, gaelic, russian. current residence: walden macnair’s home. hometown: norfolk.

wizard fun:

hogwarts house: slytherin. year of graduation: 1979. occupation: socialite. pet: two pet snakes named ophelia and desdemona. blood status: pureblood. species: witch. patronus: luna moth. luna moths represent rebirth, renewal of body and spirit, regeneration and may even symbolize the soul itself. luna moths, like many types of moths and butterflies, are quite beautiful in appearance and have docile personalities. their physical beauty and charm make these large moths symbols of reflection, nourishment and life. boggart: narcissa’s greatest fear is always feeling as powerless, controlled, and alone as she has been for the majority of her life. she sees so many people, even lowly mudbloods, with friends and love and warmth in their lives, but she doesn’t have it. she’s so afraid she never will. amortentia: snow. the crisp, biting scent that hits your nose the second that you step foot outside the morning after a fresh snow is one of narcissa’s favorite things in the world. especially if it’s the first snow of the year. something about that is just so different and special. she couldn’t quite put into words the way winter made her feel. christmas garland. christmas was always exciting to narcissa because it meant that there would be more people in the household than just her sisters and parents. she loved seeing her aunts and uncles and grandparents and cousins, especially when they brought her presents. she also loved how much effort went into decorating their home for the holidays with garland, wreaths, candles, tinsel, and charms. narcissa was nothing if not a connoisseur of beauty. peppermint. narcissa, nor any of the Black sisters, were allowed sweets growing up. druella insisted that it would make them fat and lazy and completely undesirable. as a result, the closest thing they were allowed to have was peppermints, and narcissa went overboard on them. she almost always keeps a tin of them next to her bed. wand type: 12 1/3″, pine wood wand with a unicorn hair core, understandably delicate. pine is a quiet wood, not powerful, not weak. it is a softwood, and thus has a bit more yield, making it more inclined to a quick-learning but less powerful wands. it is, however, excellent for divination. pine wands choose independent, individual masters who may be perceived as loners, intriguing, and perhaps mysterious. pine wands enjoy being used creatively, and unlike some others, will adapt unprotestingly to new methods and spells. many wandmakers insist that pine wands are able to detect, and perform best for, owners who are destined for long lives, including garrick ollivander who had never personally known the master of a pine wand to die young. the pine wand is one of those that is most sensitive to non-verbal magic. delicate wands are a special case. it takes special care to learn spells with this wand, but it is rarely extremely powerful. they tend to choose witches and wizards with somewhat frail personalities, and once a spell is learned, although it is not as strong, it is extremely reliable. unicorn hair can be used in wandmaking; they produce the most consistent magic, least subject to fluctuations and blockages, most difficult to turn to the dark arts and the most faithful of wands. however, they do not make the most powerful of wands and are prone to melancholy if mishandled. affiliation: narcissa is loyal only to her family.

appearance:

height: 5′6″. hair color: pale blonde. eye color: mint green. typical hair style: parted in the center and hangs straight to her shoulders. fashion style: narcissa wears only the color black unless it is a very special occasion. she only wears skirts and dresses, no pants. she prefers a short black dress with a high neckline and no sleeves with a late modern appearance. cissy wears boots with a heels most often. she has a love for jewelry that looks like bugs. [ fashion ] distinguishing features: narcissa is known for being pale and icy in appearance and demeanor, but strikingly beautiful especially against the darkness usually around her. her eyes are hawklike and intelligent, but the rest of her expression is almost always unreadable. she has no blemishes to speak of, but a scar on her thigh and one on her collarbone.

personality:

positive traits: maternal. thoughtful. observant. negative traits: icy. haughty. deceitful. theme song: behind blue eyes by the who

headcanons:

narcissa likes bugs and insects decidedly more than she likes most people. there has never been a time when she wasn’t completely enamored and fascinated by the often spurned creatures. in her opinion, they are by far the most beautiful and stunning creatures. she has extensive knowledge of them and has created a haven for all manner of insects in the greenhouse at black manor.

narcissa has always secretly dreamed of going to study dragons in romania. she’s always loved them and been fascinated by them. however, she knows that would never be allowed so she would never voice it out loud. in fact, only a handful of people even realize how much she loves the creatures.

christmas is decidedly narcissa favorite time of the year. it is the one time that she allows herself to warm up and be totally enraptured by the holiday. her face will light up as bright as any tinseled tree. she will spend hours out in the snow and picks her presents meticulously for everyone she deems deserves one.

biography:

From the moment she entered this world, during that liminal time before the sun has risen, but the sky is still lighter than in the depths of the night, Narcissa was the antithesis to the traditional Blacks. Where her sisters, mother, father, cousins had dark hair, sharp features, cutting eyes, and venomous mouths, Narcissa was a ghost; soft, curved, delicate, haunting.

The third and final disappointment to Cygnus the Third who so desperately wanted a son, Narcissa was all but ignored by her father from the beginning. If he wasn’t presenting her with a lavishly expensive doll or gown, he didn’t care to talk to his youngest. Bellatrix was the apple of his eye.

Alternatively, Druella became enamoured with their fair daughter. Her features were unlike any others in the family, and Druella valued two things above all else; beauty and how that beauty can be useful to her. Before Narcissa was even capable of speech, she had a string of pearls too tight around her neck like a collar that her mother used to remind her that her grasp was inescapable. Her youth consisted of years of lessons, tutors, and strict schedules. Even by Fitzwilliam Darcy standards, Narcissa would be considered an accomplished young lady. The better she became at any given task, the more her mother demanded of her. There was no such thing as perfect to Druella, only more to improve upon. That was the beginning of Narcissa’s deceptions. She was certain to never show how talented she was, and let her family believe she was completely average.

She envied Andromeda, whose quiet nature and subdued appearance made her free of their parents tutelage. The middle child was left to her own devices and could go as she pleased throughout the day. If ever given a moment, Narcissa would soon enough steal away to a private corner of the attic, basement, or garden with an old tome from the Black’s personal library. Of course, her respites never lasted too long. The house elves, her sisters, or even her mother would find her and drag her back into the endless lessons. Narcissa never complained. She did all that her mother asked, biding her time.

The solitary light at the end of the tunnel was Hogwarts. Bellatrix had gone, Andromeda had gone, and Narcissa had been left solitary for a year, yearning for the day she’d be able to board the train at King’s Cross Station and disappear to a year away from her suffocating mother. It occurred to her a few months before she was meant to leave for school that perhaps her mother wouldn’t allow it. She even thought she’d overheard Druella begging Cygnus to let her homeschool Narcissa for the rest of her academic career, but thankfully, he’d sternly refuted his wife. Narcissa needed to be sociable and influential at school if the Black family was to continue its powerful grip on society.

Druella wept when Narcissa packed her trunk for her first year. She’d been distraught about her youngest daughter leaving for weeks. Their mother kept wringing her hands and proclaiming that she had no idea what she would do with her time now. Narcissa feigned regret for leaving and assured her mother that she’d find some way to fill her time. However, Narcissa had never been more excited to experience the freedom that came with school. From the moment she stepped on the train, it felt as if a world lifted from her shoulders. Even her pearl necklace didn’t feel quite so strangling.

Narcissa sat in a compartment with Andromeda and a few of her classmates instead of trying to find other first years to talk to. Frankly, she appreciated simply looking at the scenery as they went along. She enjoyed just sitting and being without having to do anything. Andromeda warned her that there would be people at Hogwarts who would have heard of her, and there would be plenty of rumors about her and her family, but Narcissa didn’t care. They could say that she was the devil incarnate, and she’d still be excited to hear a voice that wasn’t her mother’s saying it.

After the sorting ceremony, she began to realize the full implications of her sister’s warning. She unpacked her trunk in the Slytherin dormitory with the rest of the first year girls and attempted to make her first friends. They all smiled until names were exchanged. She heard the whispers when her back was turned. They only intensified when the eldest Black sister appeared to check on Narcissa her first day. After a quick greeting and good luck, Bellatrix told the rest of the Slytherin girls to be nice to her sister or else. As kind as the gesture had meant to be, it assured Narcissa a rather lonely first year. Even those who wanted to suck up to a Black sister didn’t bother to talk to Narcissa for fear of invoking Bellatrix’s wrath. Not to mention, Andromeda came off far more personable- an easier friend.

Narcissa threw herself into learning who she actually was. She had plenty of free time without friends to worry about and without her mother’s constant presence, though she did have to dedicate a portion of her week to responding to her mother’s letters. She decided to have average marks in her classes despite fully understanding the material and even studying further than what the classes required. It was to her advantage the world continued to see her as the beautiful sister. While the rumors about her spread even more, Narcissa became more and more lonely. She decided to play into the persona that everyone had created for her.

Her school life continued as such until the middle of her third year. Narcissa began to study legillimancies and occlumencies. She was very good at it. Disturbingly good at it. During the middle of the night, she began to explore the innermost thoughts of her schoolmates, professors, and anyone else she thought would be interesting to understand. The more accomplished she became, the more willing she was to do what was ethically questionable. The more ethically questionable her decisions became the more her curiosity for the darker arts and divination became. However, her studies no longer fill that space in her that craves connection.

Things changed when she agreed to an engagement with Lucius Malfoy prior to her graduation from Hogwarts. He was one of the few to ever see through her facades, and managed to melt away a bit of her ice over the years. However, it was soon revealed that he’d been promised to her by her father from the beginning making everything a lie. This enraged the girl who promptly called off the engagement and absconded from her parents home. While the Blacks are trying their best to keep this a secret, Narcissa has been well hidden from everyone looking to pull her back into the fold.

#ahintro #;about #;biography #;cissy #;inspo

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irkenphantom · 5 years ago

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NEW INVADER ZIM AU

Hick AU (as someone who lives in the Deep South- I want to make fun of stereotypes)

Made Me and @sparklearmstrong

@kioxolot gave me the idea cause instead of thicc Zim she said Hicc Zim

- Dib is named Dip after dipping tobacco.

- Gaz is straight up a Gasoline still but instead of Gazleen it’s just Gazoline because Membrane didn’t know how to spell Gasoline at the moment he had to put down a name for this kid.

- Membrane is a smart man but by smart I mean- have you seen breaking bad? This man is a maker of drugs. He also is a extreme christian and republican. He makes fun of liberals and other stuff. (I’m a liberal and my family bullies me for it so like lmao I have new quotes for the types of comments he makes every day folks)

- Instead of paranormal cause us southern people all believe in paranormal shit- Dib is just a liberal and socialist. That’s it. He lives in the typical small country town. (Aka Republicans, Racist, Sexists, Christians, and the few Meth Heads.)

- Gaz wears overalls and sometimes a little straw hat. She still wears her gamer shirt. She plays Minecraft on a old PS3 with Dip. When she’s out- she has a paddleball off or is kicking tin cans around.

- Dip wears his usual get up still- because he refuses to look like a country redneck. Only alterations: the trench coat is a little more scuffed up, he wears blue jeans, and his boots are just dark brown cowboy boots

- Membrane says these a LOT:

“That’s not very christian, son.”

“My poor (socialist/liberal) son”

- Dip is a clone still. Membrane was cooking up the usual and his hair mixed with the chemicals and BOOM INSTEAD OF POWERPUFF GIRLS YOU GET A BABIE BOY. So yeah, Dip is like half Meth related chemicals.

- They live in a small house next to a trailer park.

IRKENS:

- Zim is a alien still. He was sent to Earth because the Tallests were getting tired of him and was like “Let’s send him to a primitive planet so he realizes how good he has it here.”

- Welp. Zim got stuck in Dip’s town.

- Zim’s design is the same but his outfit is more “city slicker” looking so everyone assumes he’s just a city boy with a skin disorder.

- “DAD, HE’S A ALIEN.” “Son, the city slicker foreign child is not a alien. those crop circles is because Mister Harrison got a little to fun with the met-.... Mints he bought of me.. besides God made only one life form- Humans.”

- After a bit, the Tallests are like “huh what’s Zim doing down there? He hasn’t been in contact in a while.” So they go down to check on their dumbass invader.

- The Tallests are smart enough to make their designs more believable. They look like rich CEO’s from the city and essentially look like Zim’s Dads.

- Membrane sees the Tallests looking nice in their fancy business suits, looking like gorgeous CEO's and Dib's like "SEE DAD, THEYRE ALIENS" and Membrane's just like "I think you might be right son" and when Dip gets excited, Membrane goes "I think we do need to tax the rich. Ain't no reason them pretty boys are going around with so much more'n the rest of us"

- The Tallests dead ass is repulsed by humans. They either go by Rhet and Patryk or they dead ass go by Red and Purple and everyone’s like “those city folk sure do love their colors, huh?”

- Zim and The Tallests live in a mansion like home. (Zim’s base was the canon base but then the Tallests were like “LMAO YOU FUCKIN LIVE LIKE THIS?? HDHSJSJ YOU DUMBASS BITCH.”)

- Everyone tries to be Zim’s friend because his “folks” obviously have some money.

- Zim tells everyone that this one of their many homes and that they just came down for a while to get away from city life.

- Zim’s ego? Fucking boosted to max here.

- The teachers except Mrs Bitters is afraid to fuck with Zim’s so called “dads” because these rich men look like they could kill you and you’ll never be found.

- I NEED TO DRAW ART.

- uwu I want to write meme ao3’s for this

#invader zim #invader zim gaz #invader zim gir #invader zim dib #professor membrane #dib membrane #gaz membrane #the almighty tallest #almighty tallest purple #almighty tallest red #almighty tallest #au #invader zim au #Gaz’s rambles #hick au

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adrenaline-roulette · 5 years ago

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Four Eighths

Pairing: Four x Eight (Reader) Word count: 6K+ Warnings: Language, drinking, teasing, smut. I told you we would be getting to the smut, just gotta have some patience is all! *Disclaimer. I’m so sorry there has been such a long break between chapters for this story. Some of you may be aware, I’m a healthcare worker, and with Covid-19 at the moment, work has gotten extremely intense and busy as of late. And I just haven’t had the chance to write as much as I would like too!

Catch up on Chapters One Two Three Four Five Six

Chapter Seven: Sex on the beach

The scent of Four’s mint toothpaste washes over you, the warmth of his breath caressing your lips. If either one of you were to lean in just slightly, your lips would touch, and heaven knows just how amazing that would feel! You can barely keep your eyes open, your lids fluttering on their own accord every few seconds. Slowly, as if he were doing it just to spite you, Four leans in, your already impossibly close lips now a mere hair width apart. It’s happening, he’s going to kiss you surely, you just know it! “You’re wasting the hot water.”

You blink your eyes open rapidly, pupils widening in shock at the words Four had just uttered. You had expected something sweet, maybe a term of endearment before the main event, but oh no, why would anything go your way?! “I beg your pardon?”

He’s grinning now, that damned infuriating cocky smirk that seems to be reserved solely for you. “I said, you’re wasting the hot water. You’re not the only one who will want a shower today.” He steps back from you, leaving the space he had occupied feeling cold and empty.

You can hear his words echoing around inside your skull but you can’t seem to quite understand them, your brain far too frazzled from the daydream it had conjured up. Soft lips locked with yours, fingers gripping curled blonde locks as your bodies press against the bathroom wall….. “Hot water?” You sound like an idiot, and with the glazed far off look in your eyes, you certainly look the part too.

Four shakes his head, shaggy hair swaying as he does so, his sparkling eyes meeting yours one last time. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and he’s loving it. “Have a shower Eight.” He takes a few steps backwards, watching you intently before turning on the spot and marching out of the women’s bathroom.

You feel all the air leave your lungs the moment Four exits, your brain beginning to unscramble itself slowly. “That mother fu- I’ll kill him one day, I’ll bloody do it!” You mutter as you untangle your towel and step into the steady stream of water feeling the now lukewarm spray surround you. He was right though, not that you would admit it, the water was far less warm than it was when you had started, and it was only growing progressively colder.

*****

“Are you guys actually taking me to a bar, or am I about to be murdered in the desert?” You hiss under your breath, turning a sideways glance to Five as she walked besides you. Ahead of you, bunched together were Four, One and Seven, and just behind you were Two and Three.

“Now why would I answer you truthfully? If we were going to murder you, where would the fun be in having you know the plan?” Five smirks, patting you on the shoulder lightly, her nails scraping against the faded denim jacket you had hoisted on, on your way out of your trailer.

There’s no stopping your eyes rolling, a snort of a laugh breaking the silence which had settled over the ragtag group. Five grins at the sound just as the men ahead of you look behind themselves to see who had made the noise. Your hands fly up to your face, clasping over your mouth and nose, there’s no questioning who had snorted. “Real lady like Eight.” One grins, the look only broadening as a blush creeps up your face.

“Fuck you! I’m very dignified I’ll have you know!”

“Well clearly! I mean, with language like that I don’t see how there was ever any doubt?” Four jumps in, his eyes meeting yours instantly. His left hand it balled into a loose fist by his chin, with his thumb resting against his lower lip. The pose only causes your attention to be drawn to his lips once again, and if the gleam in his crystal eyes was anything to go off of, Four knows exactly what he was doing. Your mind is back in the bathroom, you can practically feel the steam of the shower surrounding you, and the heat is only slightly less than that of the heat you could feel from his body.

“Hey, to get to the bar you actually need to walk.” Five raises her brows at you, now a fair distance ahead of you, even Three and Two had surpassed you. Blinking rapidly, you look behind you to ensure that the couple had in fact walked past you, when had that happened? When had you stopped walking?

“Sorry, I – I actually have no excuse for that…” You shrug, power walking to catch up with Five once again. No one else seemed to have noticed your sudden inability to walk, or at the very least they all had the good grace to not mention it directly to you, which was perfectly fine by you, it meant that the silence which had fallen over the group allowed you time to plot. If this was how Four wanted to play things, then fine, so be it! Two can play at this game.

*****

The bar was quite literally in the middle of nowhere, and despite the fact that you had driven past it on numerous occasions, you had never known it to be anything other than an old farmhouse. It certainly looked the part, but you had never seen it at night, and the appearance had changed entirely when you finally arrived. It appeared to be a popular spot for truckers to stop for a couple of rounds, before retiring to their trucks for the night, then starting their journey once again come daybreak. A large green neon sign sat in one of the windows, flashing ‘Open’ to any passersby, and you found after staring at the sign for too long you had begun to form a migraine.

“If you’re finished looking around, we can actually go inside.” Four was behind you, standing close enough that you could actually feel him pressed against your back, as his voice whispered against your ear. The gentle breath of his voice was enough to cause your hair to tickle the shell of your ear as he spoke.

You turn on the spot, your resolve growing rapidly by the minute, he’s not the only one who can tease. The look of surprise on his face was almost enough to cause you to grin, but you school your features before he can catch on. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and you carefully monitor as Four’s eyes follow the motion intently, his eyes growing dark at the simple movement. “I was just about to head in. I’ll see you in there.” You practically purr, making a show of moving just a fraction closer to him, so your chests were pressed together for just the briefest of moments. Moving away you swear your heart is about to leap out of your chest, given it was beating so rapidly. There’s a part of you that considers turning back to look at Four, but you think better of it, and considering you can’t hear him moving yet you can only assume he was struggling to process what had just happened. As if to add insult to injury, you add in just a little extra sway to your walk, your hips moving in an overtly sexual manner.

The interior of the bar was exactly how you would imagine, varying shades of brown bricks lined the walls halfway, meeting with gray corrugated steel before tapering off into chocolate brown skirting boards. The floor matched that of the skirting, but had obvious sun stains from where the hot desert sun had streaked in through the large windows. Sitting against the furthest wall was the bar itself, with shelves upon shelves packed with all assortments of liquor, and surrounding it were dark gray bar stools, with faded maroon cushions. A pool table sat in one corner, with a small congregation of people milling around, some with a pool cue, and others not. Hanging on the wall above the pool table was a decently sized television, which appeared to be airing the top ten touchdowns of the last decade. In the opposite corner was a jukebox which had definitely seen better days, though still managed to play a crackly version of 1985. Small circular wooden tables were scattered around the bar, the chairs surrounding them were similar to those at the bar only the cushions were a navy-blue fabric. Finally, set up along the opposite wall to the bar were multiple booths, made of the same chocolate wood as the floor, and covered in maroon cushions.

Taking up one booth sat the Ghosts, all cramped together like a tin or sardines. On one side sat Two pressed up against the wall with Three beside her, and Seven on the edge. The opposite side had One against the wall, Five in the middle, and space for you to sit beside her. “Took you long enough, where have you been?” One smirked, peering at you from over the top of Five’s head.

You shrug lightly, dumping your small purse on the ground and sliding into the seat beside the Doctor. “Just looking around is all, I’ve never been here before remember.” You chew on your lower lip for a moment, opting to keep your next words silent, though it doesn’t stop you from thinking them –‘May never come back either, depending on how the mission goes.’

“Lay off, besides if you’d care to notice, Eight isn’t the only one who’s late to arrive.” Three chuckles, jerking his head towards the blonde who was striding over to your booth. Once stood at the head of the table, you watch carefully as his eyes passed over your group, irises growing dark as they fall and linger on you. You very nearly blush under his intense gaze, but your willpower holds up, and soon enough Four is averting his gaze from your heated one.

“Sorry mate, you’ll have to drag a chair over from another table.” Seven shrugs, drumming his calloused fingers against the sticky tabletop.

Four does as suggested, but not before making his complaints known. “We never used to have to bring extra chairs around, six people fit just fine at one booth.” To the others, Four appeared totally serious in his grumbling, however you knew differently. As he walked over to another table, his shoulders remained slightly slumped, a sure way to know he was feeling comfortable and relaxed, if he were truly put out by the need of grabbing a chair, his entire body would’ve tensed up.

Once Four had situated the chair at the head of the table, two things happen. Thing one, his chair is closer to your side of the booth, and you realise that you only have to move your leg slightly to touch him, and thing two comes in the form of One making an announcement. “Who’s getting the first round then?”

Your eyes grow wide at his words, and they dart around at the others at the table frantically. No one seemed surprised like you, or if they are, they are far better at hiding it. “I – I didn’t bring any money with me….” You whisper to Five, who only smiles softly in response.

She turns her head to whisper her reply against your ear, and in the moment you look to Four, lifting one brow and smirking at the blonde. He can’t keep his eyes off you, and you suddenly realise that perhaps by taking control outside just before, you had turned him on more than initially intended. “Oh no, he doesn’t mean it like that. One always pays, we just all take it in turns of going up to the bar to order.”

You breathe an audible sigh of relief, brushing your hair back behind your ear as you do so. “I’ll go, if no one else will offer?” You smirk, already starting to stand from the booth, pressing both palms against the table to push yourself up.

One slides his card across the table, a move that would’ve looked undoubtedly cool if it weren’t for the fact that it got caught on a dried ring of soda on its way across to you. Resulting in Three picking the card up and passing it to you instead. “Does anyone have any orders in particular?”

“You get to order for the table, that’s one of the rules with these final briefing drinks. Whoever goes up to order, gets to decide on what we all drink. At least for that round.” Two smiles, the harsh lines around the corners of her lips softening for a moment. There’s no stopping the grin which slides across your lips, your eyes casting across the people you had begun to call your friends. Finally, they land on Four, who was doing an excellent job of pretending to be engrossed in a conversation with Seven. A plan was forming in your mind, a plan which if all went well, would result in Four doing practically anything for you.

Sliding away from the booth, you pocket One’s card, being sure to brush your arm against Four’s shoulder as you walk by him, heading over to the bar. In the few short minutes you had been sat with the Ghosts, the bar had grown progressively busier, most tables now occupied, and a small crowd gathered around the bar itself. You wait patiently for your turn to order, grinning at the woman who serves you. “What can I get ya lovey?” She smiles, deep set lines around her eyes and mouth showing she seemed to have spent a great deal of her life smiling.

You know exactly what to order, and the woman nods her head, brunette ponytail swinging behind her, as she turns to work on your order. When the drinks are finished, she sets them down on a black plastic circular tray. “You guys going to be ordering a lot tonight?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah we’re going to be here for a pretty long time I think.”

“Keep the tray then, just bring it up each time you order so we can use it again for ya.” She grins at you, picking up the card reader from bellow the bar and handing it to you, where you tap One’s card and await the ‘beep’ of approval. “Enjoy sweetie!”

You can’t help but return the woman’s infectious smile, awkwardly picking up the tray and balancing it over both hands. The tray was full with three different sizes of glasses, had you gone slightly overboard with the first round of drinks? Maybe… But to be fair, whenever you would go out with your friends when you were alive, they used to always complain that you ordered boring drinks for the first round. Arriving back at the booth, you stand beside Four, bending over to place the tray on the table. Perhaps you were being over the top with your blatant teasing, but when your hip brushes against the side of his torso and you feel his entire body stiffen against you, you know you’re doing the right thing… Or at the very least, the fun thing!

“Fuck yeah! Look at you little Miss life and soul of the party!” Three cheers, clapping his hands together twice as the conversations at the table fall silent, all eyes watching as you distribute the drinks. Seven shots of tequila are passed around, until one rests before everyone, then comes the main event. A glass of Kraken rum and coke for yourself, two glasses of Wild Turkey American Honey on ice each for One and Seven. Corona with lemon for Three and one with lime for Two, and a glass of Malibu on ice for Five. And finally, the piece de resistance, one sex on the beach for Four.

Four stares at the peach coloured cocktail, the slice of orange, and maraschino cherry seeming to mock him from their decorative position. “I- uh… What?”

“Don’t be shy Padme! We all know how much you like peach flavoured things! And besides, you mentioned a while ago that you’d never tried sex on the beach, and well, you’re missing out…” Your voice grew low as you sat back down, and you pay no mind to everyone’s eyes watching you and Four’s interaction.

“I don’t believe cocktails were the topic of that particular conversation…” He whispers, biting down on his lower lip, as his eyes gloss over.

There’s no use in saying anything else, words were pointless at this stage, you had Four exactly where you wanted him. His mind was somewhere far away from the bar, likely somewhere on a beach… Once settled back down, you smile to yourself, turning your attention to the others at the table as Four remains silent. “What shall we drink to?”

The others do a good job at pretending they hadn’t witnessed what has transpired between you two, though you were positive Five had some questions for you, though you knew she would pick what would likely be the most inconvenient time to ask them. “How about we drink to a good mission? Seems appropriate?” Seven offers, his eyes darting between the dazed Four, and the grinning you.

One nods his agreement as you pass him his card back, his head nodding in thanks as he pockets it. “Sounds like a good reason to drink to me!”

“As if you need a reason.” Three smirks, quirking his brows.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Children please, this is a public place. One of the few public places in the area we are still welcome in might I add. If you want to fight, save it for when we get back home. But just so you are both aware, I refuse to patch either of you up if you hurt yourselves!” Five warns, her deep brown eyes cast in a firm, almost maternal glare.

Both men stop their bickering, looking like scorned children. “So, to a successful mission then?” Two pipes up, raising her shot glass into the air.

Five other glasses rise into the air, all eyes turning to Four, who had not yet raised his glass. “Psst, Skywalker, we’re making a toast.” You mock whisper. The blonde blinks rapidly, shadowed eyes meetings yours as he reaches for his shot, before raising it up.

“Let us drink to a successful mission. Eight, I know we’ll get the Lushnick’s, I promise you we will!” Two nods, a half smile tugging the corner of her lips.

“To killing the Lushnick’s!” You chime in, keeping your voice low enough so only your group could hear you.

“To killing the Lushnick’s!” Six voices echo, before you all down your tequila shots.

*****

From the first round onwards, the joke of buying Four a sex on the beach had stuck, the only time he was allowed to drink anything different was when it was his turn to order, and he had returned with an Evan Williams over ice. It was adorable to see what he returned with for you, it was almost as if he was trying to get back at you by placing a fruit tingle on the table. The lilac and blue cocktail a stark contrast to the various glasses of whiskey which sat before the other Ghosts. “Oh Four! How did you know?” You cooed, batting your lashes up at him.

“Know what?” His lips were parted in a perfect ‘o’, and the look of confusion on his features was to die for.

“That I love fruit tingles!” You lean forward, creeping your hand across the table so you could rest it over the top of his knuckles, clasping your fingers around his for a few seconds. “In fact, if it weren’t for a fruit tingle, I never would’ve gotten laid… Hmmm, James, now he was something special.”

Just as quickly as you had placed it there, you pull your hand away from Four, before anyone else at the table could notice. At this point however, you would hardly care if someone did mention your actions, they were having the desired effect on Four, and that was all that mattered. Four had barely been able to sit still from the moment you had first returned with the drinks, he would squirm in his seat, and flush whenever he caught your eyes lingering on him for longer than would usually be considered appropriate.

One returned with a new round of drinks a short while later, once again depositing the same cocktail before Four, who no longer wore a look of disgruntlement when he looked at the peach drink. In fact, he went straight for the straw, taking a deep drink immediately. A small smirk quirks your lips as you watch him, and beneath the table you rub your foot against his ankle, kicking your shoe off awkwardly to achieve a small amount of skin to skin contact. “So tell us Eight, how exactly did One find you?” Three asks, clasping his fingers together, and locking them under his chin.

Your eyes drag away from Four, casting across the table before finally settling on One, a wicked grin tugging at your lips. “Oh, I was robbing One’s bank account for a while. So basically, he hired me so I would stop stealing from him.” You shrug.

There’s an eerie silence which befalls the table, suddenly all eyes are focused on you with a great deal of interest. “Hold up, that was you who was draining his account?” Two gasps, her eyes shining bright with glee.

“Heh, yeah, it was! So now instead of stealing his money, he pays me to be here.”

“Eight, you’re my fucking hero!” Five squeals, wrapping one arm around you in a side hug.

“What? Why?” There’s no hiding the look of confusion which crosses you features at Five’s outburst.

Seven, as always was the voice of reason, his soothing voice carrying over the laughter which was chorusing over the table. “Do you have any idea how confused and upset One was? The entire time you were taking his money, he would write up on the board in the briefing room his bank balance each week. At first, it was only going down by a little bit, but then I guess you got a little too bold, because the next thing we know, One’s going around accusing us all of having stolen his card and buying useless shit!”

Now it’s your turn to laugh, bowing your head and resting your chin against the table. “I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again! In my defence, technically One’s dead! I didn’t think a dead man would miss his money!”

“Well this dead man, really missed his money.” One grins affectionately at you.

“So, you’re part of the team now so One can more or less babysit you, and stop you from taking any more money from him, is that right?” Three chuckles.

Your shoulders shrug half heartedly, as you slowly pick yourself up from the table. “I suppose so, not that that will necessarily stop me however.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” One cries, sloshing the amber liquid in his glass as he places it back on the table with too much force.

Beneath the table, you drag your foot further up Four’s leg, your toes brushing against his calf as you go up. “Never you mind. What I spend your money on without your permission is between me and my online shopping.”

As the conversation returns around you, you focus back on Four. Perhaps it was the copious amounts of alcohol you had consumed which made you so bold, though you would never be positive. “Do you wanna see a neat trick?”

Four’s brows crease in the middle, and he tilts his head to the side. “What are you on about?”

“You heard me! Do. You. Want. To. See. A. Trick?” You repeat, punctuating each word with your foot climbing ever further up his leg, now resting against his thigh.

You watch him gulp, his adams apple bobbing as he once again stirs in his seat. There was a blush creeping steadily further up his neck, it had started somewhere beneath his collar, and was now nearing his chin. “Sure, what’ve you got for me love?” You can see him desperately trying to regain control over this situation, but nothing was working for him, he was entirely at your mercy.

Reaching forwards, you pluck the cherry out of his glass, popping the entire thing in your mouth, stem and all. You make quick work of eating the actual cherry, before working your tongue around the deep red stem. Four can’t keep his eyes off your mouth, that is until…. You slide down your seat until you are able to reach new areas with your foot. It’s a risky move, at any moment someone either at your table, or another patron of the bar could clock on to what you were doing. But you were feeling bold, and so far, Four hadn’t voiced any complaints. Your foot creeps higher, until your toes press gently against the bulge in his trousers, an audible groan slipping from his lips. You had never done anything like this before, and you were honestly not sure what you were supposed to do next. However, with your little trick now complete, that at least brought you some time.

Slowly, you open your mouth, pressing your tongue out slightly and presenting a carefully knotted cherry stem. This time, Four’s gasp is loud enough for the entire table to hear. “Ungh….” The knotted stem along with the gentle caress of your foot, was enough to have Four about ready to jump the table to kiss you.

“You alright there mate?” Seven asks, a genuine look of worry crossing his features. While Five simply turns to you, a knowing look dancing through her eyes.

“Ugh, yeah. I’m fine.” Four stammers out, raising a hand to brush through his hair.

Seven nods his head, though he doesn’t look entirely convinced by Four’s strained answer. Beneath the table, Four creeps his hand down to his lap, carefully wrapping his fingers around your ankle, and helping to guide your foot. He was doing little to lessen the ever growing bulge, but he was certainly bringing himself closer to release, which was all he could really think about now.

“Oh god, this is a bit of a depressing song don’t you think?” Two sighs as cat’s in the cradle auto plays on the jukebox

“I wouldn’t go that far. Sure it’s kinda sad, but it’s pretty good…” You shrug, allowing Four to use your foot as he saw fit bellow the tabletop.

“I’m with Eight on this one, it’s a classic.” Four agrees, though his voice is strained, and there’s a guttural quality to it.

“Thank you, see great minds think alike!” You giggle, your breath hitching in your throat as Four brushes his finger along the arch of your foot.

“Great minds, or young minds?” Three smirks across at One, who both chuckle.

Five folds her arms across her chest, watching you and Four intently, before turning her gaze to One, Two and Three. Seven remained team Switzerland, though Five would settle this once and for all. “It truly is an excellent song! Come on, this is the best part too!”

All eyes are suddenly on Five, who had closed her eyes and was swaying along to the song. “And the cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon-”

You bite down on your lip, slowly sliding your foot out of Four’s lap and back do the floor. “Little boy blue and the man in the moon-” You join in with her.

Four shakes his head, whether it was in disappointment to the sudden lack of your contact, or the fact that all roads in his life had lead him up to this point, you would never know. He lifts one eyebrow, cocking his head to the left as he regards Seven with a half grin. “When you coming home Dad, I don’t know when-” Both men chorus in with you and Five, the four of you grinning broadly at each other.

With a defeated sigh, One, Two and Three finally give in, joining with you all for the end of the chorus. “But we’ll get together then. Yeah, you know we’ll have a good time then…”

There was something bitter sweet about singing all together, the niggling thought of what tomorrow would bring slowly worked its way to the forefront of your brain. Tomorrow you would have your final briefing, and then, it would be into the lions den for all of you. For all you know, you could be about to send everyone into a suicide mission. But for now, for now there was happiness, there was signing, and if the look in Four’s eyes had anything to say, there was also lust.

There was an odd silence which fell over the group now, almost as if no one quite knew where to go next, or how to continue on from what had just happened. Ever the lady, you stand abruptly from your seat, stripping off your denim jacket, and folding it onto your seat. “I’ll be back!” You declare too loudly, shuffling away from the table and making your way through the bar.

“Is Eight only wearing one shoe?” Seven queries, frowning at your lopsided walk across the bar.

Five peers under the table, spotting your other shoe by your purse. “She sure is!”

“I’m going to get some air, I’ll be back.” Four mumbles, pushing away from the table himself, before following the same path as you a few minutes later.

Behind the bar was a door which lead to a corridor, one you hadn’t notice on your first inspection of the building. Inside stood four doors, two for the male and female bathrooms respectively, one for the cleaner’s cupboard, and another leading to apparently nowhere, at least that was your assumption, given the lack of signage. You make your way into the bathroom, taking a few minutes to check yourself over in the mirror above the sinks. Your hair and makeup had remained relatively pristine, though there was a wild look in your eyes, one you hadn’t seen there before. Shaking your head twice, you finish off in the bathroom, before stepping out into the corridor once again. You can’t help yourself; the idea of an unmarked door was just too good of an opportunity to pass up, you simply had to find out what was behind there.

Reaching out, you pull the door open, and suddenly you’re met with a gust of cool night air, the smell of rain filling the air around you. The sky however was perfectly clear, void of any clouds, and instead, covered in a blanket of sparkling stars. Mixed with the scent of rain, was something you hadn’t smelt since you had ‘died’, the smell of cigarette smoke. Casting your gaze around at the few outdoor tables and chairs, you spot a lone figure, the puff of smoke coming from them. Stepping closer, you easily spot who it was, even in the dull light of the moon his blonde curls were easily recognisable. “Oh, how ironic. Behind door four is Four!” You laugh way too loud, especially for how terrible the pun was. But in your drunken state, to you it was the funniest thing anyone had ever said!

Four turns to look over his shoulder, a broad grin slipping across his lips as he plucks the cigarette from between them, exhaling a deep puff of smoke. “You’re missing the party inside. I think one more round of shots, and we’ll be able to convince Three to perform karaoke.

Shaking your head no, you strut over to Four, the same hip swaying you had done on the way into the bar earlier, now far less sexy, a lot more drunk. However, you made it to your destination none the less. “I think I like the party out here better.” You purr against his ear, straddling his lap as you feel Four’s hands automatically come up to rest against your waist.

Immediately, you can feel what little control he had over himself come crumbling down. His cock is pressed against the front of his trousers once more, and you grin to yourself as you make a point of circling your hips against him gently. The groan that slips from his throat is entirely pornographic, and it leaves you aching for more. “Ei-Eight…”

“Yes Four?” You giggle, circling your hips twice slowly, and once firm causing the blondes eyes to roll back in their sockets, and his head to tilt backward.

Leaning forward, you trail your tongue along his exposed throat, using the tip to follow every line carefully, until you reach his chin. “Should I go further?” You whisper, your breath fanning across his lips, just as his had back in the bathroom. The bathroom, the snake… It all felt like such a long time ago now, though it had only been hours, and not the weeks it felt like.

“God yes… Don’t stop. Please, keep going.” Four whines, his lips parting into a pout, as you press your palms against his chest, fingers clutching into the fabric of his shirt.

A wicked smirk overtakes your features, and ever so slowly you pull away, using your grip on Four’s shirt to pull him up with you. “You know, I don’t think I will actually…” With that, you carefully peel yourself off his lap, straightening yourself up, and taking a few steps away from the panting man. “You should take a few minutes to cool down before you join us inside again.” You giggle, before turning on your heel and flouncing back inside the bar.

*****

“Why do we always insist on walking?” Five whines from the back of the group, dragging her feet through the dust as she walks.

“Well how else are we s’posed to get home? UBER doesn’t service this far out.” Two mutters, her fingers locked with Three’s as they walk at a slow pace. No one would dare say anything about their blatant display if their relationship, the only person who would was One, but he was far too drunk to even notice.

“Well somebody could drive next time!” Five suggests, her voice growing less powerful and drowsier by the second.

You look over your shoulder to the Doctor who was only a small ways behind you. “And who do you suggest stays sober to drive? Surely not you, Miss watch me do eight shots of vodka in a row!”

“Well obviously not me! How about Four? He could drive!”

Four, who had been awfully quiet since your little encounter outside, turned to look back at Five, his lips quirking as if to respond, before thinking better of it. Instead, he turned to face the front once more, picking up his pace so to arrive at base faster.

After another ten or so minutes of trudging, you a eventually make it back to base in one piece, though your aching ad blistered feet beg to differ. “Good night everyone!” Five calls out, as she hangs out of her trailer door, with one foot planted on the stairs and the other on the ground.

“Go to bed you looney!” Seven grins, waving goodbye to her.

“Sweet dreams Five.” You smile, blowing her a kiss, to which she pretends to catch.

After that, Five closes the door behind her, the lights in her trailer all turning off almost immediately. Next, Two follows Three into his trailer, neither being subtle about what was about to happen in the slightest. One stumbles into his own trailer, just as Four and Seven do the same, leaving you to find your own.

Once safely inside, you strip off your jacket and shirt, shuffling around your drawers in search of some fresh pyjamas. The door to your trailer remained open, allowing the pleasant night air to clear out the musty old air which had accumulated there. Just as you find a night shirt, you hear a voice clear behind you.

Whirling around on the spot, your hands instantly ball into fists ready to strike, only lowering to your sides when you see Four standing by your mini bar fridge. “If you thought you would tease me like that all night, and not have this coming…. Oh baby, you’ve got another thing coming.

^^^^ I’m not going to say sorry for yet another cliffhanger... Besides, I think we all know where we’l be headed in chapter eight (If you’re expecting anything other than smut, you will be sadly mistaken)

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Chapter Eight now up!

#four x reader #four x eight #ben hardy fanfic #ben hardy four #ben hardy/ billy #hacker reader #billy four #6 underground fanfiction #6 underground one #6 underground two #6 underground three #6 underground four #6 underground five #6 underground seven #enemies to friends #friends to lovers #Smut #light smut

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