#not gonna lie this was going to be a bigger piece

[nirinart]

under the light of the red moon✨

[chisungie]

.

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: You and James bake gingerbread cookies.

Genre: Fluff <3

Warnings: none

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

The kitchen is a mess. Bowls of icing, jars of sprinkles, and an army of gingerbread cookies lay in organized chaos on the table. You're sitting on the stool, your arm draped over your bent knee, as you look over the gingerbread house, meticulously adding gumdrops to the roof, while James sits across from you, attempting to decorate his third gingerbread man.

"Jamie, why does your gingerbread man have sunglasses?" You ask, looking up at the poor little man James is holding.

"Because he's cool," James answers, holding up the cookie proudly. "Get it? Because it's cold in the snow?" 

You chuckle, shaking your head. "Real smart, love."

"Thanks!" James beams and sets his cookie down, reaching for another plain one. The Christmas music plays softly in the background from James's father's old record player and he hums along. He pauses and looks at you expectantly, "He has character, don't you think?"

"Yeah, he does." You smile, turning your attention back to the house you're making, carefully outlining the windows in green icing. You bite your cheek, adding white icing as the snowflakes. You're so focused on your task that you barely hear the cupboard door creak open as James searches inside.

"What are you looking for?" 

"Just getting more sprinkles," he replies casually.

There is something in his tone that makes you pause. You turn around, catching him with a fully decorated gingerbread man into his mouth as his hand lays near the plate on the counter, just below the cupboard he'd used as a distraction. James looks like a deer in headlights. 

"James!" you shriek, pointing your icing bag at him like a weapon. "Tell me that wasn't one of mine?"

James freezes, cheeks puffed full of the cookie. "No!" he insists through a mouthful of cookies, catching the spilling crumbs in his hand.

You stand, rushing to him and pushing him aside. "Don't you lie to me, James Potter," you exclaim, narrowing your eyes. You look at the plate, where four perfectly festive gingerbread men had been, now missing her favorite one.

"Oh, James! You ate Gingerbread Santa!"

James's cheeks burn pink as he swallows sheepishly. "If it makes you feel any better, he was delicious…"

You gape at him, spinning around and hitting his chest. "Bloody hell! Do you know how long it took me to pipe his little hat!" 

"I'm sorry! You're just too good at this, they look so delicious. It's impossible to resist."

You cross your arms, pouting, but the corners of her mouth involuntarily curl up. "Well, aren't you gonna make it up to me?"

"Okay, okay," James says, raising his hands in surrender. "I'll make it up to you."

You don't have the time to ask how as he hurries back to the table, grabs one of his undecorated cookies, and begins to work. You walk over, peering over his shoulder. He's using too much icing, layering it on in messy swirls, and has trouble sticking the gummy bears where the buttons should go as the icing sticks to his fingers. You hold in a laugh when he finally finishes it and holds it up to you with a flourish.

"There. A new and improved gingerbread Santa!"

The cookie is a disaster. Its frosting face is lopsided, its coating patchy and the buttons crooked. Santa has a crooked smile that somehow looks both apologetic and terrified and you scrunch your nose, bursting into laughter. "Improved? James, it's hideous."

"Hey," James frowns, looking at his creation with care and adoration. "Don't be mean, he's absolutely lovely." He holds it out to you and then breaks the cookie. You gasp, a little surprised. 

"Oh, you broke him."

He laughs and hands you the bigger piece of the cookie. "They're meant to be eaten," James teases as he takes a bite, "and they're delicious. Courtesy of moi, for baking them."

You roll your eyes. He's right. He might not be the best at decorating them, but he'd baked them for you perfectly. 

You smile and bite into the cookie, frosting hitting your nose. It tastes delicious. You suppress a smile. "Well, next time please ask before you eat my Santa." James moves closer and swipes his thumb over the frosting on your nose, bringing his thumb to his mouth with a smile. 

"Will do, love." He kisses your lips as an apology. "I'm sorry."

He doesn't sound very sorry at all, but you aren't very mad so it doesn't matter. 

"Apology accepted," you say and then pull on his arm, turning him around. "No help me with this house!" 

[bblairxe]

— ୨ৎ loser ! abby headcanons . some nsfw . 18+

— ⟡  she’s corny, extremely fuckin’ corny. abby’s the type to say things like buddy, pal, or buckaroo in an argument. guarantee you she’ll say “listen here, pal” whenever she’s frustrated. she’ll also try to use her frame to appear bigger, but she’s actually fighting back tears. 

— ⟡  she hypes herself up in the mirror before a night out. now you and i both know she’s a stuttering, stammering mess when she talks to you. so, what a better way to fix that then giving herself a little pep talk! except it’s not one of those “come on abby, you got this!” it’s more of a, “hey sweet cheeks wanna, uh, get out of here? oh yeah, yeah that was good.” needless to say when she tried that later on you nearly died from embarrassment.

— ⟡  she’s a really bad texter. abby has been told by all of her friends that she sucks at texting. she’ll either reply too late or not at all. and when she does it’s some half assed response like “Cool 👌” or “Lol 😂.” but when you and her start texting more, she’s determined to change that. so conversation with you and her go more like this now:

you : omg! this reminded me of you lmaoo

abby : Haha! 😅😂 Nice video! 

you know it’s not her fault, her excuse is that she’d rather call so she can hear your voice but god, a piece of you died when she said that.

— ⟡  abby cannot handle her alcohol, at all. before you and her started dating, you guys attended some trashy house party. you left abby alone to go catch up with some friends and when you return she’s leading a conga line. you double over laughing before realizing she’s headed straight out the door.

— ⟡ abby will eat you like a starved woman. she will literally spend hours lapping out your cunt, sore and aching from her ministrations. you could be clawing, crying, and pushing her away and she still wouldn’t let up. only when your release coats the entire bottom half of her face she stops, but it’s not like she won’t dive back in. shushing your whines with another white lie, “one more round baby, then i’m done.”

— ⟡ she’s extremely sensitive to your touch.

the first time you and her had sex, it didn’t take very long for her to come undone in your hands. which is also why she prefers to top, finding embarrassment in the fact she could cum in mere seconds. “c-come on, you know i can’t handle it— oh fuck.”

— ⟡ she loves being tied up. i mean fuck, i know we all remember that scene of her being handcuffed but imagine that in a different context. a fucked-out expression plastered onto her face: lips agape colored pink and pouty, tears brimming her waterline, and her brows knitted together. she loves the anticipation of what you’re gonna do next, overstimulating her, edging, or just pleasing her? whatever it is, she’ll love it.

🏷️ : @samcvrpenters @ellieslosttwofingers @macabremilieu @polarhues @pornoangelz @thedxxthnotes

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[just-a-creep-babe]

What Makes You Tick - Chapter 4

(Ticci Toby x Reader)

Tysm to everyone who voted in the poll for this chapter!!

Commissions are open!

Check out my ko-fi if you'd like to support me!

Masterlist: x

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Divider by @plum98

“What do you know about your neighbor?”

You’d expected the one in the goggles—what was his name again?—to do the talking, purely based on the fact that he's the one who kidnapped you in the first place. But it’s the one with the porcelain mask who wastes no time cutting to the point.

You wonder how blatantly obvious your fear is as you shake your head and stutter out an answer.

“I-I don’t—I don’t know anything.”

Your eyes dart nervously between the three of them. You feel like you're trying to convince a pack of wolves not to eat you alive. The odds are so blatantly stacked against you that it feels pointless to even try defending yourself.

"Well, you're gonna have to come up with something, sunshine. Because you're no use to us if you don't tell us anything. And the way things are looking now," he trails off, almost as if to bask in your helplessness.

You try not to shift in place, try not to feel like a piece of meat dangling in front of three hungry dogs.

And then even though you don't need him to spell it out for you, he finishes his sentence anyway.

"You're gonna want to give us something to work with."

You glance wearily between the three of them.

The black-masked man is casually leaning against the wooden drawer by the door. He doesn't seem to have any weapons on him, but one look at his well-built shape is enough to tell you he probably doesn't need any, anyway. When he notices you looking, he tilts his head to the side, and you quickly look away.

The other one, the guy in the goggles, is the stillest you've ever seen him be. There's an almost anticipatory calm to him, like at any moment, he'd be ready to jump into action. You don't even want to cast your gaze down to the hatchets hanging from his hips.

When you look back at the man in the white mask, you find that he's crossed his burly arms over his chest.

Your stomach sinks.

They're so much bigger than you, so much stronger. Even if you weren't outnumbered—hell, even if there were two of you against only one of them, you're not entirely certain you'd be able to run away, much less fight.

"I... I don't—"

You swallow back the rest of your sentence when an image of blood soaking through wooden floors flashes to mind. Push it down, push it down. Now's not the time to think about it.

"I didn't," you correct yourself with a flinch, even though it has the taste of acid rising to the back of your throat, "didn't ever get the chance to know her personally."

You cast your eyes to the floor. And when all you can imagine is a cold body lying in front of you, you squeeze them shut.

In all honesty, you never really cared about your neighbor. She was a hag; a crooked old woman who didn't take care of herself and who, truthfully, gave you the creeps.

You don't know what she got up to in her spare time. You certainly don't know what she could've done to merit the attention from these sorts of people. You don't even think you want to know. But regardless of your opinion of her, you need to think of something.

You need to think of a good enough lie.

"She... she mostly kept to herself," you shift, and the bed creaks beneath your weight. "She was a shut-in; didn't go out much, didn't like people—that kind of thing."

You take a deep breath.

Lie like your life depends on it—because it does.

"I don't know why me, but she—she let me in. She didn’t like anyone else, but she confided in me. And she... she was never specific about her secrets, about the kind of things she did that pushed people away..."

You shift again, and the throbbing pain of the cable ties rubbing into your sore wrists helps you focus on weaving together the frail threads of your story. You can only hope that your concentration comes off as recalling something from memory and not imagination.

"But I know she was scared. And ashamed. It's why she always kept to herself; she couldn't bear her guilt and paranoia to others."

The more you speak, the clearer your story becomes. You mingle facts with fiction, inventing a character, a mockery of the woman who's likely in a body bag at this point. A woman who's had her life stolen by the very man standing to your left.

You try not to shiver as the thought, unwelcome, comes to mind.

"So that's it? That's all you know?"

The white-masked man leaves no room for hesitation in his question, no space to keep dancing around the bush. Cold, curt, dry.

You wonder if he can see through your act, and you have to hold back the urge to cringe.

They want something specific, you realize. Some concrete piece of information that you clearly don't have. If you make something up, they'll know immediately. But it's not like you can just admit you're bullshitting your way through this.

You rub your wrists together again, looking for some kind of out, some kind of safety you can cling to before it's too late.

But you must be taking too long for their liking. Because as you're scrambling to come up with something, he nods to the brunet.

Their executioner, you realize with daunting horror. They're going to clean up their loose end right here, right now. They're going to kill you.

"Wait—wait!"

In a frantic panic, as you're clumsily kicking as far back away from him as possible, you stammer, "W-wait, I—I know more!"

Despite his white-masked accomplice's impatience, he pauses. And that's when it clicks.

Whether they like it or not, you have some semblance of influence over the situation. They want something you have—information they think you possess, information that's important enough for them to risk an abduction over. There's a chance you might be their only lead.

You're your own bargaining chip.

"I know more," you repeat. "And—and I'll tell you if you promise to bring me home. Unharmed."

The man huffs, and his black-masked counterpart snorts out a low laugh.

"Alright, sunshine, you wanna pinky promise on that while we're at it, too?"

You ignore the rush of heat rising up your face. "I'll show you," you blurt out impulsively, "bring me back and I'll show you."

The man cocks his head. You don't fail to notice the way the muscles in his arms jump, like he's flexing to relieve some kind of tension in his body. You don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing.

"Show what?" he all but hisses.

"She—she kept a hiding spot. She was always very secretive about it. But I saw her. I saw her go into it, and I know it's where she hid her important things. Whatever you're after..." you hesitate, then muster every ounce of confidence to say, "there's a high likelihood it's in there."

You twist your wrists against the plastic ties. Pins and needles prickle the tips of your fingers, but you're thankful for the sensation. It grounds you.

Another huff.

"And what makes you think we're even after that kind of thing?"

You shake your head, try not to bite your lip, try not to let the cracks show through your facade. "Bring me back, and I'll show you. I'll tell you everything I know. And I promise I won't say a word about any of this."

He doesn't answer for a few seconds, like he's considering your offer. You're too scared to add anything else, too scared to spoil your measly chance at freedom. So you just quietly sit there and wait for what he has to say.

Without necessarily meaning to, your sight lands on the man with the goggles. Your gazes lock, and when he cracks his neck to the side, that flutter of fear and nausea tugs at your chest again.

You remember the blood on his hands. You remember the scream.

You, again, have to force away the reminder of what these men are capable of as you sit there, tied up and helpless between the three of them. All you can do is wait.

After what feels like way too long, the masked man "hmps."

"Don't make me regret this, sunshine."

It's all he says as he turns around and returns to the joint room.

The two other men linger behind, and for a second, you're almost worried something bad is going to happen. But then the black-masked man turns as well, and the brunet follows suit.

They're both around halfway through the door when, even to your own surprise, you dare to call out to them.

“W-wait!”

The men pause, and when the one with the goggles turns to look at you, your face warms. You try not to shrink back from his gaze as you speak.

“I—My wrists hurt. I can’t feel my hands. Can you… can you please take the zip ties off?”

It’s a long shot, you know it is. You're beyond humiliated for having to ask—and even more so as you anticipate their mocking rejection.

But, to your surprise, your kidnapper seems to hesitate.

“Please.”

You offer one last measly, pathetic little plea in the hopes of reaching whatever semblance of compassion that might still be buried within him.

He cracks his neck again, and then he wordlessly approaches.

You should be relieved. You should be happy that he's going to help you, that he's going to untie you and grant you some bare minimum of autonomy. But all you feel is fear as he unhooks a hatchet from his belt and comes closer.

You flinch as the metal blade glints menacingly in front of you. When he wraps his arms around your form to reach your wrists, you don't even dare to open your eyes.

He doesn't touch you, but he's so close that you can feel his warmth on your skin. His scent envelops you, wrapping around you like a false sense of security. You don't move, you don't even breathe.

You half expect the blade to sink into your back. But with one flick of his wrists, the plastic snaps, and warm blood floods into your hands, all the way to the very tips of your fingers. He didn't so much as nick you in the process.

You're not entirely certain if you just imagine him lingering next to you. You can't see his eyes, but you can feel his gaze soaking in your reaction.

What does he want from you?

It almost feels like he's about to say something, but then, to your relief once more, he leaves.

You've just enough time to look up and catch the black-masked man watching the whole interaction from the doorframe. But then he turns and leaves, and so does the one in the goggles, and they shut the door behind themselves and lock it with a resounding click.

•••

Over the next few hours, you become a slave to the clock on the nightstand. Every minute ticking by feels painfully slow.

You expect the men to return and tell you they're ready to take you back. But when that doesn't happen, it starts to feel like little more than wishful thinking. You wonder if they lied, if they're just biding their time until they find the best way to dispose of you. And that's when you realize you probably shouldn't keep waiting around like some kind of damsel.

You need to find a way out of here.

The first thing you try is the most obvious option; the front door. You fiddle with it for the better part of an hour, and when your frustration mounts, you're tempted to break it. But you don't want the men to hear—you certainly don't want to attract their attention—so you come up with a quieter solution.

You rummage through the drawers and find a pen. There aren't any scrap pieces of paper around, so you rip out a page from the bible on the nightstand and write your message. You slip the paper through the crack, and then, just in case only one isn't noticeable enough, you write a few more and cram them all under.

You wait a few minutes, pressing your ear to the door to listen in on the other side. But there's nothing except dead silence.

You fidget in place, at a loss for what to do with yourself. And then you get the idea to listen in on their side of the wall too.

Hands pressing to painted wood, you gently press your ear to the surface. You close your eyes, strain your hearing, and wait.

One minute.... two minutes... three...

They're either very quiet, or the rooms are ridiculously well-insulated. You somehow doubt the latter. You wonder if they're still in there, or if they've since left. You make it a point to be more attentive to sounds both in the hallway and in their room.

Another half hour and it hits you; you're hungry.

You drink water from the sink in the hopes of it filling you, but it barely helps at all.

When you catch another glimpse of your reflection, your eyes dart to the shower behind you. You weigh your options, then decide, fuck it; you might as well.

It ends up being a good distraction. The scalding water feels wonderful against your skin. And with nothing else to do but wait, you take the luxury of your sweet, sweet time.

You only come out when the water starts losing its heat.

Even though it isn't very appealing to put your dirty clothes back on, you realize you don't have much of a choice. You'd rather wear not-so-clean clothes than be caught between three masked men in nothing but a towel. You get dressed, return to the room, and are surprised to find two plastic-wrapped sandwiches on your bed.

Your mouth waters immediately at the sight. You scarf both of them down, and even though you pause to consider saving the second one, you're so hungry that you can’t resist it. You try to savor it as much as possible.

And then you're left waiting and waiting and waiting some more.

The following two days are spent similarly.

You're given food and, on occasion, some kind of drink when you're either sleeping or in the bathroom, which means they're listening to what you're doing.

Well, either that, or there's a hidden camera somewhere in the room. You've checked every nook and cranny, but the possibility still lingers at the back of your mind. You don't even want to consider the implications of what that might entail.

You try staying awake the second night, just to try to catch them when they come into your room. But you don't hear them, and after waiting in the dark for a few hours, you end up passing out halfway through the night.

The possibility that they lied about bringing you back becomes increasingly plausible on the third day.

You feel trapped.

You're too scared to scream for someone to save you. Not only are you worried about getting gagged and tied, but you also don't want to risk the ever-so-faint and dwindling possibility that they might still bring you back home. And even if they don't plan on letting you go, you're worried—most of all—about them killing you if you make too much of a scene.

No one seems to have noticed any of the dozens or so notes you slipped under the doorway, which, if you had to guess, means your kidnappers saw them and threw them out. Either that, or they picked a room at the very back of a hallway in some obscure hotel no one ever stays at. But even in that case, surely the hotel staff would've stumbled on them... right?

Eventually, it feels like your last option is to knock on their door and ask when they plan on bringing you back.

You lift your knuckles over their door, then hesitate.

The minutes tick by.

But you just can't bring yourself to knock.

You're too scared.

You go back to pacing back and forth in your little prison of a room.

On the third night, you're determined to stay up.

Even despite the clock on your nightstand keeping you grounded in reality, your lack of a proper routine—lack of a proper anything—has your body's rhythm completely out of sorts. You slept through most of the day, and when the night comes, you're wide awake.

Still, you're wrapped in the cheap hotel sheets, lying in the dark with your eyes closed in the hopes of fooling anyone who comes into thinking that you're sleeping. And even though you aren't tired, by the time you eventually do hear the door creaking open, you're on the verge of falling asleep.

The sound, however, snaps you right back to full attention.

You try to keep your breathing steady, try not to disrupt the flow of your chest rising and falling so evenly.

You wait and listen, and you hear... nothing.

You try not to shift. Try not to let it interrupt the flow of your breathing. You just lay there and wait, wondering what happened. Did they only open the door to quickly check in on you? Did they not actually come into the room?

You wait a little while longer, and then, right as you're about to open your eyes, you feel it. You're being watched.

[carigm]

DISCUSSION ABOUT EL’S POTENTIAL ENDING

So Millie has been giving a lot of interviews lately promoting her latest film Damsel, and ofc interviewers have been trying to get some ST5 info out of her. (We all saw that clip where Mlvn got mentioned to her and the face she made lol)

Well there are two new interviews in which Millie talks about El and they are making me kind of nervous…for lack of a better word.

The first is this one…

She was asked what song helps her cry, and she said “when it’s cold I’d like to die” Now that song famously plays every time a character dies on ST, so it wouldn’t be weird for an actor in the show to associate it with sentimental emotions. However, what concerns me a bit is that she mentions that this is “El’s theme” uh??? Since when girl??

The other interview I’ve already seen it floating around so I won’t add a clip, but she was basically asked about whether she knows how it ends for her character. She goes on to say that she asked for a meeting with the Duffers and she saw a board with her character’s fate and went “ohhhh” and slowly walked out.

I’m not gonna lie that answer is not inspiring happiness in me.

I don’t think the Duffers will “traditionally” kill El. In the sense that I don’t think they would fully kill her off (that would be too fucked up). I do wonder if her character will be around after Vecna has lost and the supernatural has gone away, though. Will she somehow disappear after the conflict is gone? Was she part of a bigger allegory or metaphor related to the supernatural plot of the show?

In the original pitch, the Duffers described El and Mike’s relationship as an Elliot and ET bond. ET is an alien, therefore at the end of the movie he has to leave Earth. He can’t stay there with the other characters. Are we gonna see something similar regarding El? She won’t die but maybe she has to go/be somewhere else?

I don’t want to alarm anyone it’s just that I feel like I’m putting some pieces together here lol…

The Duffers also admitted after S2 came out that El was originally written to “die”, as in she was gonna disappear when she took out the demogorgon. However, they changed their minds when the show got renewed for more seasons. Nonetheless, the Duffers have said that their ending for S5 draws inspiration from the ending of S1.

What the hell are they referring to with this???

I’m also aware that Millie is an actress and she’s drumming up suspense for the show. I know she has admitted to lying in interviews just for fun too. Can’t really trust an actor ever, but I do wonder if we’re seeing some truth from her here.

What do you guys think? Any theories?

[sylveon-and-velveon]

Playing "4 Big Guys" around the slashers

Shitpost idea has been made, so here XD

This will include: Michael Myers {OG & RZ}, Brahms Heelshire, Jason Voorhees, Billy Lenz, Freddy Krueger, Stu Macher, Billy Loomis, Thomas Hewitt, Bubba Sawyer, Harry Warden, Tiffany Valentine

Feel free to request any shitpost writing prompt ideas you can think of in my asks, I love silly non-serious ideas XD

Given the music is VERY adult related, this is 18+ ONLY

OG Michael Myers

Ain't gonna lie, the second you play that song he's probably staring at you instantly. Anger? Disappointment? Cursing your entire family and possible future children? Who knows! It's Michael-Fucking-Myers baby!!!

He's not used to anything sexual overall so hearing a song openly sing about gay sex, and in such a detailed way, would worry him. Not for the singer, no- more on your taste in music.

And don't even get me started on when he hears about shit being involved. The second he hears that being mentioned he's turning off the music entirely, patting your head, and dragging you away so you'll listen to something he likes instead to cleanse that weird mind of yours. Like... Kate Bush or something.

He'd like Kate Bush right? He looks like a Kate Bush enjoyer.

RZ Michael Myers

Judging you, hard. Though he ain't saying it. His aura is practically smellable he's judging you so hard.

Does he like it? No. It's loud, obnoxious, and profound filled. Ignoring the obvious "gay sex and other weirdness" part, the volume of the music reminds him of his childhood.

He's smashing the device the music is coming from. He doesn't care if it's your MP3 all the way to a damn TV or Alexa, he's smashing that shit to pieces if it means he doesn't need to hear it anymore.

What would he put on instead? Calming ambient noises that play for hours on end on YouTube. It's the exact opposite of whatever hellscape you just played. It's better.

Brahms Heelshire

Well first of all it ain't classical, so that's a point on the "I Hate This" list.

Second it's not a piano.

Third it's literally "4 Big Guys"-

Not only is this poor man confused about everything the singer is saying, I highly doubt his parents explained LGBTQ+ to him, he's also hating how loud it is.

"Who puts things up their ass?" - Brahms Heelshire 2024

You turn off the music yourself when he practically begs you to.

You're probably tryna hold in your laughter while he's sitting on the floor trying to figure out what the fuck he just heard.

Jason Voorhees

Is there a bigger word for "traumatized"? Because that man earns it.

You're lucky af, if his mom was live she'd hit you with a crowbar so fast- Not kill you tho, she wouldn't dare hurt her boy.

But yeah, he's not saying anything, nor moving. Bro's too traumatized. LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE-

You better give him his teddy he fucking deserves it TmT

Laughing his ass off until the shit is mentioned, even this horny gremlin has his limits.

Can you tell I hate shit kinks? XD

He'd want an apology for you blasting that song so far to that section. But no music! He hates Christmas songs, they're so repetitive and they all sound the same anyway.

Bake him a cake, the more unique the better. His favourite so far is red velvet with cream cheese frosting!

Then when he's finished eating you're getting railed by him not longer after, man's not changed. Not now, not ever.

Freddy Krueger

You can play this entire song with this man on REPEAT and he'd be fine with it.

I'd be surprised if he didn't given his track record and.... slicing open his skin to reveal green "blood" and maggots crawling out.

Would he laugh the first time? ABSOLUTELY!

Would he jokingly sing along, probably.

But he would TOTALLY play this song when going after his victims sometimes. Imagine dying and the last thing you hear is:

"4 BIG GUYS AND THEY GRAB ON MY THIGHS-"

Stu Macher & Billy Loomis

Billy is concerned for your wellbeing. Especially when you start singing it at full force with Stu joining in not long after.

Yeah Stu is enjoying this to the max!

Finds it hilarious, who the fuck wouldn't when you've got humour more broken than Brahms' doll-

But seeing you enjoying yourself to this.... absurdity, at least makes Billy calm down from worry. Now he's just concerned your taste in music may infiltrate your taste in movies.

I doubt the man's used to hearing music.... imagine this being his first time hearing it-

OMG he'd probably think this is normal for music.

WHAT HAVE YOU DONE??? XD

If it's not his first time hearing music though? No concern, laughter, nothing. He's neutral, given that this is something that makes you a little chaotic gremlin.

He's happy seeing you comfortable enough around to be a "gremlin" as you call it.

Bubba Sawyer

Don't traumatize him more than he's been already!!

Sure he doesn't realise it, or the fact he's used to it, but the poor guy's already traumatized-

Though he's probably more confused in the whole scheme of things. I mean, he knows what sex is. But just the surface of it.

So he's probably just learnt way too much in such a short period of time.

Oh lord what have you done-

Harry Warden

Okay first of all, why is there no GIF of this man? WTF????

Second; man's from the mines, man's old fashioned, you've probably just thrown way too much modern shit in his face way too quickly that he's just staring at you, the music video, and then the floor.

Poor miner is so confused, especially when the "cum starts spraying".

Oh god he'll probably think it's like dust from the mines spraying everywhere.

Fucking hell that's a vision-

Tiffany Valentine

Finds it amusing? Yes.

Judging? Not as much as you'd expect.

Girl's been through a wild ride, hearing you blast out "4 Big Guys" from your phone wouldn't be the most shocking thing in the world.

Hell. she'd probably encourage you to start singing along to it XD

Oh she's gonna use that song to torture someone with it. She doesn't know how yet, but she's got the idea in her head now

[cinnbar-bun]

Watching Reality TV With You (Various One Piece Characters x Reader)

Characters: Zoro, Sanji, Trafalgar Law, Luffy, Perona + Mihawk, Nami, Kizaru/Borsalino, Eustass Kidd

A/n: Sorry I’m a huge fan of Real Housewives so take these silly headcanons!!!

Note: GN reader, the relationships with the character(s) and reader can be seen as platonic/romantic depending on what you prefer :) Mihawk + Perona’s relationship to each other is also not stated just for your personal preference. These are all just very silly things, don’t take this too seriously since it’s crack!

Zoro

“The hell? Why are you watching this crap? It’s not even real!”

He just sighs and grumbles about how this is dumb the whoooooole time.

Tends to sharpen his swords or try and nap while it’s on.

Until lowkey he starts peeking a bit like ‘did she just say that?’

Suddenly has opinions on it and tries to deny he’s interested but his eyes are GLUED once they start arguing and the suspenseful music is playing.

“Well, if I was her, I think I’d just kick them. Or maybe cut their car in half.”

Sanji

Opposite of Zoro. The man is probably a bigger fan than you and most likely is reading the gossip online.

It’s your weekly night hangout where he brings snacks and cozy blankets for you two to sit and enjoy while watching.

Gasps audibly and loudly.

He’s both the best and worst to talk about this with because he respects all women and he forgives them for everything, so they all get passes from him.

“Yes she may have talked badly about [name] and stole [name]’s house and maybe crashed a car. But we all do that. We need to show forgiveness. She’s having a tough time- her dress came in the wrong color.”

Law

Like Zoro, he’s very disturbed by the very prospect of reality tv.

But he’ll try. Let it be known he’s trying.

He doesn’t get interested in it but he does try to follow along so he can discuss it with you.

Not gonna lie though he’s the guy who’s focusing on their plastic surgery or illnesses.

Will literally pause the show just to examine what they may/may not have done and if the surgeon botched it up.

Imma just manifest this, he’s prolly a Terry Dubrow stan.

“Who’s your favorite Housewife so far?” “Terry.” “But… Terry isn’t-“ “It’s Terry.”

Unironically would drop a horrible quote from whichever show you’ve been watching and he’d say it so seriously that everyone’s jaw will drop and it takes him a sec for him to realize what he said.

Luffy

Imma keep this short for you- he ain’t looking.

He ain’t caring.

No thoughts.

He only cares when there’s a party and food is being served.

“Woooooah! Look at all that food!!!”

Doesn’t even recognize who is who and will just mindlessly wait for food to come on screen.

Perona + Mihawk

I’m putting this as a two for one they’re my everything <3

You and Perona are the ones who watch it lots. Perona does complain about how much they argue but she loooooves looking at the houses and clothes of the women. Makes comments about wanting to fly first class or visit the beautiful places they go to.

Mihawk is reading.

Perona is biased as hell and only defends the people that are wearing cute clothes. Otherwise? Shit list.

“Ugh! What is that dress?! It’s so hideous!” “Is that all you’re focusing on?” “I agree with (Y/n), Perona, she just had gotten into some relationship troubles with [name], so I think [name] is wrong.”

You and Perona are gasping and shocked that Mihawk 1) talked and 2) had an opinion on this???

Turns out the man had been listening the whole time (he’s quite the multitasker).

If Perona is the most biased viewer, Mihawk tries to remain objective and impartial. He's always listing out the nuances of a conversation.

“I think [name] is just jealous.” “Well, if we remember in season 4, episode 14-“

He’s a smart ass sometimes, but it’s okay, he’s our smart ass.

Perona is always enthusiastic about marathoning the shows again and watching it. She tends to do dress up requirements for watching it.

Nami

I’d hesitate to call Nami a “fan” of reality shows.

She’s aware of them, yes. Does she particularly care for it? Nah, not really.

They’re more background noise and eye candy for her.

She just likes putting them on and glancing every once in a while to gaze at the beautiful houses and trips.

“Oh that’s so expensive… imagine what you could do with all that!”

Sometimes has a fun game for herself to estimate the cost of an outfit, accessory, or house. It’s scary how accurate and detailed she can get with it.

Tends to mostly focus on fashion and get new ideas to steal- I mean, incorporate.

Doesn’t have strong opinions on the cast, but she isn’t too crazy about the louder members.

Kizaru/Borsalino

He’s heard of it, he thinks.

And, well, since you’re so into them, he’ll give it a watch.

“Oh my, these ladies are incredibly wealthy and beautiful.”

He’s not even ogling them he’s just amazed at the way they dress, behave, and/or decorate their spaces. It’s almost like being starstruck???

The guy who will pause the tv at certain scenes to point at random decorations or outfits and be like “darling, would you like that?”

He does get sad when they start to fight.

“Aw… I was just liking the party… why are they arguing now?”

His favorite cast member is your favorite one <3 he’s just a cheerleader like that, dear.

He could listen to you talk about it for hours if you wanted, and he’d be amazed by your knowledge.

“You know, if you’d like for me to have you be on a show like this, I could probably pull some strings!”

Kidd

1000000x worse than Zoro

I cannot recommend putting it on in front of him.

“The hell is this shit?! Turn it off!”

You refuse and now he’s stuck watching grown women argue over dumb things (in his mind).

Complains the ENTIIIIRRRRE time. Nonstop commenting and complaining.

Okay but he’s hooked after a bit, the drama is just too good.

But now he’s WORSE cuz he’s got OPINIONS and THEYRE ALL SHITTY!

This man is an instigator. I swear to god he’s just saying shit just to rile you up and be contrarian.

He's stanning the biggest menaces on the show.

You two will probably get into (very silly) arguments about some of the situations and people.

And unlike say, Sanji, who tries to defend a person, Eustass will just say you’re wrong and then add something unhinged to it.

“Naw you just don’t get it. If I was her, personally, I think I’d just burn their mansion down and then slash their tires.”

[sodapopper]

Sodapop Curtis with abandonment issues.

Sodapop Curtis, whose last words to his parents were “see ya later,” only to never see them again.

Sodapop Curtis, who finds solace in keeping the last fragments of his family together, holding a brother’s wrist in each hand, his grip tight enough to cut off circulation, nails digging deep, drawing blood. He soothes and listens and understands. This, a reassuring constant—they’re not so broken that he can’t keep the pieces taped together with comfort and love!

Except his love isn’t enough. It never was, even though it’s all he has, and he feels it with every failure, every fight that ends in shouting, teenage tears and a brother’s anger. Down deep in his stomach, that sticky ball of fear. They’re tearing each other apart. He’s losing them, day by bitter day, and he can’t stop it, he can’t fix it, he’s trying but he’s not enough.

Soda fails to deescalate a fight that ends with Ponyboy running and Darry retreating into the cold shell of his mind. After, he finds Pony’s sweatshirt in Dally’s room. It cuts deep, drawing more blood than Johnny Cade’s knife. He could’ve come home; Soda would’ve understood, that’s what he’s good at.

But Ponyboy went to Dallas Winston instead.

Soda connects the dots of Sandy’s freckles with dreams bigger than the sky, dreams of marriage and love and a white picket fence. He wants to raise her baby. Doesn’t matter who the father is—he loves her child because he loves her, pretty Sandy with the gap between her teeth and grease in her blood. He would go to war for her, ride out to a field of spears, he would tear down Heaven to give her a footstool.

She leaves him with nothing but a letter and the idea of an apology.

Soda watches a friend die in front of his eyes. Blood spurting, violent red. Shiny on the pavement. Glistening on his face. Dally had a life with them. But in the end, he still chooses a bullet to the chest.

So yeah, Sodapop Patrick Curtis with abandonment issues. Soda, who’s lost so many people, it’s no wonder he waits for whoever’s next. He holds tight with clenched fists, bruised knuckles and heart, just too sensitive for his own good. Bawl Baby Curtis with his stupid hurt feelings. A stayer left behind in a family of goers. Laughing loud so nobody will hear when his voice goes shaky; making jokes so nobody will notice the fear.

Ponyboy leaves for college. Soda hugs him tight, ruffles his hair— “When you’re rich and famous, try to remember us little guys!” Every Saturday, he waits by the phone. Pony calls with religious faithfulness, but still, Soda hears the difference in his voice. Soda used to sleep easy, but now he stays awake, staring at the dark ceiling. Wondering why his baby brother would ever return home when Tulsa has nothing left to offer him.

Sodapop Curtis is best man at Steve and Evie’s wedding. “Nothing’s gonna change,” Steve tells him, but he’s lived long enough to know a lie. Sodapop Curtis, who’s losing Steve, too.

He doesn’t go on dates anymore. He breaks girls’ hearts with reluctant ease, rejection coming quick to his tongue. He never had much to offer, anyway—only his looks, and if they weren’t enough to keep Sandy, why would anyone else stay?

He makes jokes about Darry leaving, and plays it off when Darry doesn’t laugh. It’s just a joke, he doesn’t mean it! Why would Soda be afraid of losing Darry too? Just because he’s lost his parents and Johnny and Dally and Sandy and Ponyboy and Steve and—

It’s just a joke. He doesn’t mean it.

Sodapop Curtis with abandonment issues.

It’s just a joke!

It was never a joke.

(And if Darry welcomes his little brother into his bed at night without a word of complaint, squeezing him tight when he’s restless, if Ponyboy makes spontaneous trips home on the weekends, if Steve and Evie name their first baby Patrick, well—maybe it was never a joke to them, either.)

[v1sexual]

Could I pls have vi x reader who is a huge movie buff?

cinema ; vi (arcane)

request by : anon

note : as a huge movie buff myself, i absolutely love request. basing this request off me and my friend's reaction to 'long legs' by nicholas cage. spoiler : me and my bestie absolutely hated it *sighs*

content warning : swearing , op projecting and bitching about long legs

it's you and vi's monthly cinema date night. ever since you and her officially became girlfriends, going to the cinema monthly easily became a tradition. you've always been a big movie buff, something you got from your dad.

for tonight's movie, you and vi watched the latest showing for nicholas cage's new horror movie, 'longlegs'. it was highly praised online, it was even called "one of the scariest horror films". because of that, you and vi's expectations were through the roof.

"you ready for this shortcake?" vi whispered, her breath tickling your ear. you scoffed playfully and started cracking your fingers as the movie started, "i was born ready."

the movie ended around 10 minutes ago, you and vi sat inside her jeep. she looked at you expectantly, her eyes scanning your face trying to figure out why you've been dead silent. normally, you're already yapping away about the movie.

"sooo..." she started. "what are our thoughts..?" vi knew that she absolutely hated the movie, she just wanted to know your thoughts first. she's not gonna lie to you and tell you that she liked it just because you did though.

you closed your eyes for a second, taking a deep breath as if bracing yourself. "i... it-"

"i fucking hated it," you sighed, "i feel like we wasted money watching that piece of crap. i mean- i absolutely enjoyed the first part of the movie, i loved the foreshadowing, the literal devil in the details, the atmosphere-"

vi chuckled and stared lovingly at you, listening to every word that came out of your mouth. she's always loved how passionate you are when it comes to the things you love. with every hand gesture and facial expression you had, vi's smile grew bigger.

"- we were scammed! robbed! i've never been so disappointed in a horror movie, even fucking megan was better! i just- i don't even know what to say anymore." you let out an exasperated groan, flailing your arms before turning to vi. "what about you baby? what do you think?"

"i hated it too baby," vi said, her lips twitching into a smile. you sighed in relief, "i'm so glad- wait- you're not just saying that because i didn't like the movie right?"

vi snorted, rolling her eyes playfully at you as she started the car. "you know me better than that shortcake," she said. "just because i love you doesn't mean i'll agree to everything you say baby."

you nodded in agreement, "that's great, amazing."

silence filled the car again, your eyes were glued to your phone and vi was focused on the road. a couple of minutes later, she finally pulled in to your shared apartment.

"posted your review already?" vi asked, holding the door open for you. you smiled and nodded, holding your phone out to vi. "just posted on letterboxd, rotten tomatoes, and on my blog."

vi laughed, slinging an arm around you before pressing a kiss to your forehead, "you're such a nerd."

"you love that about me though," you said with an eye roll, your arm wrapping around vi's waist. your girlfriend sighed lovingly, "i love everything about you shortcake."

you giggled, nuzzling against vi, "i love everything about you too."

despite the intense disappointment you had for the movie, you and vi still had a great time which was the most important thing. the rest of the night was spent cuddling with her and binge watching ya'lls favorite show, and the horrible movie was soon forgotten.

note : when i said i projected i meant it *sigh* im sorry if you liked longlegs lol. anyways, hoped u guys enjoyed this one !

[ask-zacharies-snackarie]

Shoes time, I've already shown these a bit. Peek the read more so I don't spam yalls dash :)

These were surprisingly easy, not gonna lie. I thought I was going to make these last, but they were actually the first thing I made.

It was the first time making shoe covers, and I honestly thought I was going to make these shoes from scratch-scratch. Thankfully I didn't. I don't know what possessed me but I just grabbed some old flats I had worn to hell and back and went "I think these can die and serve a new purpose now."

And then I cut their upper heels off, sewed it up, put hot glue on it for grip, and sewed and glued a bunch of shit onto em.

They're actually stuffed with polyfill fluff in the ends (which surprised the judges) to give them their shape. I tried to secure them in with the lining fabric by glueing it in, but I kept missing and went "fukkit it will be fine" and honestly? It was. None of the fluff came out or really displaced that much so I think it was a win.

The star and moon decals were glued on and then embellished with little stitches for detail, but it's 90% hot glue in this piece.

I honestly got the pattern for the shoes spot on for the original draft, I just had to make it bigger and shape it a leeeeetol bit more and it was Gucci. Unusual for me aisnendoe.

Finally, all the bells on my costume work, but I replaced the metal pellet inside them with a plastic perler bead instead; resulting in the bells not being quite as loud and annoying, which is good when I was hoofing it across a con for 10 hours a day, two days in a row!

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted, Chapter 1: Unarmed, Pt. 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: (For this part only) Following the events of CA:CW, Tony Stark has offered Steve Rogers an olive branch of sorts to bring The Avengers back together. You, CTO of Stark Industries and head of Innovation & Technology for the Avengers' Initiative, have your doubts, as you're not quite ready to forgive Captain America for ripping your family apart just yet. Steve had one condition, however, when agreeing to return to the team, one that's going to turn your life upside down and inside out: If he's coming back to join The Avengers, he's bringing his best friend, Bucky Barnes, with him.

Warnings: (For this part only) Language (obviously), minor mention of alcohol, I'm obviously on Team Tony during the CW; don't come for me, awful jokes, minor use of (Y/N). As always, if I missed any, please let me know.

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: Here's a little preview of Unwanted. In it's current form, it's standing at about 50k words, with about 25k still in editing, and I'm maybe about half done with writing the entire thing? I'm not going to lie, it starts out cute and fluffy, but it's gonna get real angsty and painful. Dear Reader has unresolved emotional trauma and Bucky doesn't understand the importance of boundaries in 21st century relationships. This piece has been my baby for several months now; I really hope ya'll enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it! Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917

Taglist: (Please let me know if you'd like to be added!) @blackhawkfanatic

"You're sure you're cool with this, Boss?" you asked Tony Stark, for what was probably the ten thousandth time in the last hour. The two of you were sitting by yourselves off in a corner of the common area of the Avengers Tower while the rest of your team congregated around the bar, eagerly anticipating the official return of Captain America to the Avengers. That, by itself, would be enough to warrant a gathering of Earth's mightiest heroes, but what had everyone in attendance talking was the fact that Steve Rogers wouldn't be returning alone.

Your billionaire employer sighed and swirled his glass of Laphroaig, the amber liquid sloshing along the sides of the tumbler. "I don't love it, Pocket, but it was Cap's only condition for coming back into the fold, and since Barton, Wilson, and Maximoff all went off the reservation with him, it seemed a small price to pay to get everyone back under one roof." He took a swig of his whiskey and smacked his lips.

You couldn't help but smile at his use of your nickname. Thor had inadvertently given it to you when you first met the God of Thunder years ago, remarking for everyone to hear that you were so small and tiny, he could tuck you into his pocket and abscond away with you to Asgard. Somehow, it stuck. You'd hated it at first; it had felt dismissive and condescending, which of course meant that it soon became the only thing the members of your team called you, but the more they used in their daily lives, the more you actually came to love it. It was a brand new, unique identity that came to embody the person you’d become, and the past you’d worked so hard to put behind you. You were more likely to answer to 'Pocket,' now, than you were your legal name, and you were grateful for it.

"Besides," Tony continued with a shrug, "if letting the Barnes thing go means we get the band back together, I'm willing to be the bigger person about it."

You stared at him, impressed. "Well look at you. When did you get so emotionally evolved?"

"Since Pepper told me I needed to start seeing a therapist or she’d leave me once and for all," he admitted to you with a cheeky wink; you both knew that, though Tony drove his partner, Pepper Potts, absolutely insane sometimes, she loved him far too much to ever walk away from him for good. That didn’t stop the threats, though. Lord knows he tried her patience. In your opinion, the woman was a saint.

Your eyes widened at the revelation and you let out a low whistle of appreciation. "You're going to therapy? Wow. Tony, That's amazing. I'm proud of you."

"Oh please," Tony scoffed, "I have much more important things to do than sit on a couch and spill my feelings. Besides, my secrets are too valuable to divulge to an actual human being. I just trained FRIDAY on therapeutic conversational datasets so she can handle all that psychological mumbo jumbo and then I paired that with BARF's augmented reality-- it's seriously the platinum standard in mental healthcare. No awkward silences or judgmental stares, just pure efficiency. You should try it; it’d do you wonders. And the best part? No copays."

You chuckled as you took a sip of your pineapple and Malibu. "Yeah, okay. That completely tracks for you," you told him with a smile. "So, what did Dr. FRIDAY tell you that got you to change your mind about the Barnes situation?"

Furrows appeared between Tony's eyebrows as he took another sip of whiskey to buy time for collecting his thoughts. There was still so much pain in him where Bucky Barnes was concerned. You'd worked for him in some capacity for nearly fifteen years and you'd never seen him as defeated as he'd been when he got off that Quinjet from Siberia. He'd been bloodied, battered and utterly broken, body and soul. Seeing him like that had shattered you, and you never wanted to live through something like that again.

Tony ran you through his experience with his therapeutic innovation, and you had to admit, it was impressive. The system had helped him realize that Bucky Barnes wasn't responsible for the heinous crimes Hydra had brainwashed him into completing, and so his anger over the death of his parents, while justified, had been misdirected.

"Once I processed that, it was a quick jump to realizing we can't be the best version of the Avengers if we only have half the team at home, and it's innocent people who would pay the price for it. So, when I reached out to Cap and he agreed to come back if I agreed to let him bring Barnes with him, well..." Tony trailed off, gesturing vaguely with his hand toward the where the rest of the team was waiting.

"So, you and Rogers are just, what? Good then? All water under the bridge?" you asked him, mild irritation clouding your voice.

"Oh, absolutely not." Tony took another sip of whiskey. "I can work with him again, and I'm glad to, but we're not going to be braiding each other's hair anytime soon."

"Good," you said, raising your glass in a mock toast to Tony. "I'm not quite ready to forgive him on your behalf just yet." Tony had essentially saved your life when you first met him, and he’d continued to support and guide your career to heights you could have never imagined. You'd started as a systems analyst and mechanical engineer at Stark Industries fresh out of college, and under Tony’s mentorship, it wasn’t long before you found yourself rising to the position of the company’s Chief Technical Officer, second in command only to Pepper, now that Tony had passed on the reins to her. All this happened long before he'd ever brought you in to work with him on the Avengers Initiative, and now you spent the majority of your time heading up their Technology and Innovation Department, as well.

Any kind of healthy respect you might have had for your boss had died out a long, long time ago, because Tony Stark  was Tony Stark, but now he was just Tony-- more like an annoying older brother you loved dearly,  whose name just happened to be on your paychecks. You owed him everything and that had earned him your unwavering loyalty. You'd follow him to hell and back again if he asked it of you, though he knew he’d never have to; you’d be paving the path there right alongside him.

The sound of laughter made its way across to you from the other side of the room and you felt warmth at the sound-- everyone, together again and happy. Just a few short months ago, you never would have been able to imagine the scene before you, not after the fight in Berlin and its brutal aftermath. You had thought for sure that this little family you'd found yourself in the middle of had been destroyed beyond repair.

So, you might have had your own reasons to be pissed at Steve Rogers.

"What's Barnes like?" you asked Tony. Having only ever glimpsed him from a distance, or from behind a computer monitor, you'd utilized all the resources at your disposal to dig up as much information on the Winter Soldier as possible, but even your skills hadn't been able to get you what simply didn't exist. "You know I don't like unknown quantities."

Tony seemed to think for a moment. "You mean, aside from being a brainwashed, murderous assassin?"

"Tony," you chastised. You knew that Barnes had spent a good deal of time in Wakanda before coming home to New York, working on having the words that triggered his homicidal alter-ego neutralized. Rogers may not always acted rationally when it came to making decisions about his oldest friend, but you were sure he wouldn’t be bringing Barnes back to the Tower if he posed a serious danger to the rest of you. Right?

"Fine," Tony said, with a typical exaggerated sigh. "Aside from being a former brainwashed, murderous assassin; better?" You rolled your eyes but nodded. "Don't really know, didn't care enough to ask. I'll be happy as long as he doesn't start murdering us all in our sleep. Cap vouches for him, so that counts for something. Maybe not as much as it did once upon a time, but something. But T’Challa seems to think he’s harmless enough now, so that���s good enough for me."

You nodded, taking another sip of your pineapple and Malibu, then leaned back, pensive. "Oh, God," you said after a moment of thought, sitting up in alarm. "You don't think it’s going to be like having an entire extra Rogers around, do you? All '40s morality and emotional repression? Because I am so over having him police my language." It wasn't that you had anything against Captain America as an Avenger, but there was only so much of the Boy Scout act you could take before you started getting nauseous. And okay, fine, you weren't too proud to admit it-- there was a not-so-small part of you that still hadn't forgiven him for what you saw as his blatant betrayal of Tony when he refused to sign the Accords. You'd promised to play nice, though, for the sake of your family, but your personal relationship with The Star-Spangled Man had taken heavy damage since Berlin.

Tony chuckled. "As if you'd ever let Cap's presence keep you from a good profanity. I should put out a swear jar. We could fund that crisis algorithm project of yours off your mouth alone."

"Fuck you, Tony," you uttered with a chuckle, fully aware that he had your number. You never met a four-letter word you didn’t fall immediately in love with.

"And look at that," Tony said with a smirk, "I just made another dollar. Hey FRIDAY, open up a new savings account and deposit a dollar into every time Pocket has a potty mouth."

"On it, Boss," the AI replied cheerfully.

You swore at Tony a few more times for good measure. "I fully intend to financially bleed you dry now, asshole."

"Oh no, I'm shaking in my custom Tom Ford's," Tony mockingly bemoaned, putting his feet, enclosed in the aforementioned ridiculously expensive loafers, up on the coffee table.

Raised voices from the other side of the room caught your attention. You stood up and craned your neck, trying to see what had caused the commotion. "I think they're here, Boss," you said.

"Alright," Tony said, standing up and putting an arm around your shoulder, "big smiles, kiddo. Remember, we're supposed to be happy about this." You suppressed a chuckle as you watched Rogers present Bucky Barnes to the rest of the team. Everyone was welcoming; you wouldn’t have expected any less, but as you watched their body language, the only word that came to mind was guarded. And you completely understood; The Winter Soldier’s reputation had preceded him, after all. There were hugs for Rogers, of course, but no one made any attempt to reach out to his friend.

Despite your overall annoyance with Rogers, you couldn't help but feel some degree of happiness for the giant oaf. When you'd been assigned on a mission with him (which happened fairly frequently, as he was so pathetically abysmal with anything having to do with technology) and ended up having to hole up in a safehouse for an extra couple of days while waiting for extraction, he'd started opening up to you about James Buchanan Barnes, and the reminiscing had made him so happy, you encouraged Steve to tell you everything about this Bucky. After that, the trouble was getting Rogers to stop telling his Bucky stories. If he wasn't sharing tales about growing up with his best friend during the Great Depression and all the absolute mischief they got into, he was sharing war stories of their time together with the Howling Commandos. He'd even shared his grief with you– how painful it had been to watch Barnes fall from that train and the guilt he carried for not being able to save him. He’d confessed to you once that, when he went into the ice, fully prepared to die, there was a part of him that was relieved to be reunited with Barnes in the next life, and waking up some 70 years later to a world where he was still alive but Bucky was still gone had broken his heart all over again. And yet, here they were– together in the next life, after all. If you were a different kind of person, you’d say it was a goddamn miracle. 

Because of the way Rogers described his best friend in those old stories, you were expecting Bucky Barnes to come swaggering along next to him, with a cocksure tilt to his head and a panty-dropping smirk playing along his lips, but the man who accompanied Steve was the furthest thing from that.

He shuffled behind Rogers slowly, looking at the floor and avoiding making eye contact with anyone else from the team. His hair hung long and limp, curtaining off his face as though it were a protective barrier. Though, if it was keeping him away from everyone else, or everyone else away from him, you couldn't be sure. He was much thinner than you'd anticipated, especially for a super soldier– though still extremely muscular, giving you the impression that it had been a long time since he'd let himself indulge in anything more than the bare minimum amount of calories he needed for survival. Tilting your head, you tried to steal a glance at his infamous metal arm, the thing of legends that had turned him from a run-of-the-mill assassin into the stuff of waking nightmares.

But the sleeve of his jacket hung limp, only empty space where the appendage should have been.

Curious. He'd come to Tony Stark's home unarmed. Your hand flew to your mouth to try and stop the uncontrollable snicker that broke loose at your own stupid joke. Tony elbowed you gently in the ribs to shut you up, and you hoped you were too far away and the others too distracted by Steve's introductions to notice you, but that thought flew right out the window when Bucky Barnes' head snapped up at the sound, his eyes locking onto yours from across the room.

"Holy shit," you breathed, knowing another dollar would go into Tony's digital swear jar, but damn if the man didn't have the most striking blue eyes you had ever seen. There were dark circles under them, and he looked incredibly tired, yeah, but they were beautiful. You didn't mean to stare, but you found you couldn't look away, either, and so the two of you were locked into some sort of impromptu staring contest. The longer you looked at him, the more you could sense an overwhelming sadness coming from him, as well as a level of wariness at being in a room full of strangers. It was almost overwhelming.

But then, just as suddenly as it began, the spell was broken. Blinking once, Bucky looked away and you felt the tension vanish from between you.

"What was that about?" Tony asked you in a low singsong voice.

"I have no idea," you answered, honestly. There had been so much pain and loneliness in his eyes. You'd seen eyes like that before, when you were younger and looked at your own reflection in the mirror following a scalding shower with your skin scrubbed raw and bloody. You suppressed a shiver.

Finally, Steve managed to disengage himself and Bucky from the other Avengers and began making his way toward you and Tony. Up close, you were struck by how tall Bucky was. He had to be at least a foot taller than you, if not more. And God, he was handsome. Granted, in a kind of heroin-chic sort of way, but still. A couple of good nights' sleep, a few good meals, some light personal grooming, and... well, there was a very good chance you were going to be in trouble once he got his shit together, that was for sure.

"And Buck," Steve was saying, drawing you out of your ogling, "This is our resident computer genius, Pocket (Y/L/N). You ever need help with anything technology-related, she's your girl."

"A bit of an over-simplified version, Rogers," you said, sticking your hand out to shake Bucky’s, "but yeah, that about covers it."

Bucky looked at you, then down at your hand, making no move to take it.

"What the hell kind of name is Pocket?" he asked, voice rough as though he hadn’t been using it a lot. Pulling your hand back, you shot him an annoyed glare.

"I don't know," you oozed back sarcastically. "What the hell kind of name is Bucky?"

"It's his nickname, Pocket," Steve supplied helpfully, though not without a trace of confusion. You gave him an annoyed, pointed look.

"No shit, Rogers." You turned back to Bucky and spoke slowly, as if to a child. "So, what do you think Pocket is, then?"

"Oh," said Bucky, catching on. The corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. "Gotcha; m'sorry about that. My manners are rusty from a severe lack of use."

You didn't mean it, but your mouth curved up into a hint of a smile, too. And then, almost as if you couldn't stop yourself from doing it, you found yourself saying "I see you've arrived unarmed."

There was a long, heavy beat of silence as Steve and Tony stared at you, mouths slightly agape, and you wondered if you'd made a critical error. You were just about to punch yourself in the face and claim you had a concussion and therefore couldn't be held responsible for what you said when Bucky burst into laughter.

It was the most beautiful sound you'd ever heard, and it was contagious. Through your own laughter, you risked a glance up at Steve. He was looking back and forth between you and Bucky, an indiscernible look in his eyes, and you couldn't help but wonder how long it had been since he'd heard his best friend laugh. Hell, you wondered how long it had been since Bucky Barnes had laughed at all.

"Pocket," Tony groaned, palming his face, "that was truly terrible, even for you."

"I'm sorry," you said, trying to catch your breath through your burst of giggles. "It just slipped out-- I couldn’t help it. You know once these things come into my head, they just bounce around in there until they fall out. I didn't mean it."

Steve smiled at you. "So that's what you were snickering at," he said, amused. Damn that enhanced super soldier hearing. Rogers didn't need to be so nosy with it.

You shrugged. "What can I say? Bad jokes are my superpower. Don't be jealous that all you got was super strength and a six pack, Rogers."

Bucky laughed again, then nudged Steve playfully with his elbow. "I like this one, Stevie," he said. "She's funny."

You weren't sure why, exactly, but something in Bucky's words turned your insides into a warm puddle of goo.

Oh, you were going to be in trouble, indeed.

Next Part ->

[gradientdescentthreads]

Day 61 COMPLETE. At 2 ft tall, this is the largest embroidery panel I’ve ever done, clocking in at over 250 hours. Every stitch was a delight. There’s nothing quite like drawing something into reality stitch by stitch over months, spending hours on every line; it feels like a kind of magic. I’m gonna miss having this at my hands every day. I’ll have to settle for merely having it up on the wall.

As always credit goes to @barbatusart for the original art & thank you SO MUCH for letting me do something just slightly insane with your work. This panel is from barbatus’ De Rerum Natura found here, go check this cool shit out at the source if you like what you see here.

Final project notes and random musings below the cut

The biggest challenge with a piece of this size is maintaining consistent tension. I failed at this HARD. Only time will tell how much it shows once it’s stretched and framed.

Tension is most consistent towards the center of the frame - my mistake was getting a frame just exactly the same dimensions as my work. Pretty sure this is solvable with a larger frame. Unfortunately I might have to actually build it myself to go any bigger than the one I already have. Oh well, off to the wood shop!

This art style was sooooooooooooooo good for embroidery and varying from 1-6 strands of floss absolutely paid off with the subtle variations in line weight I was able to achieve

And one less technical note: Every project I do, I walk away learning some new skill. Staring at the same piece of art for 3 months straight will really get you thinking hard about what one specific line communicates or how a few little dots make the whole thing jump into motion. All that is to say that I got a lot out of this one.

But actually the biggest thing I think I’ve walked away with is the confidence to sketch/sew my own art. I made a bunch of little test projects in preparation for this piece, really just small-scale doodles to experiment with one aspect or another of the construction plan. Somewhere in there a light went on saying “hey look you too can make art” which, I’m not gonna lie, had truly never occurred to me as a thing that I could do. An obvious revelation, I know, have patience with me y’all. But I made them, and not only that but I liked them, and they made me feel happy to make. So we’re just gonna keep on doing that and see where it goes.

[favesgrave]

A Key Advantage

quick note before we begin: i KNOWWW i said i was abandoning this series but inspiration struck! and i wrote this! i don't know what the future holds! also the title's a pun. haha. get it. key advantage. because key can mean important. and it's also about how the omega keys give them an advantage. please laugh

((Navigation))

---

There’d been nothing short of panic when they lost Smokescreen to the Decepticons. With their warship’s shielding, there was no way to track him, and that meant there was no way to retrieve him. Furthermore, the ragtag team of Autobots deduced that Smokescreen wasn’t the key himself, but rather a vessel for it—something about Alpha Trion running out of time as the Decepticons stormed the place.

Seeing as they took Smokescreen, the Decepticons were on the same page as them.

Blurr wasn’t close to an expert on this world (yet), but he knew Cybertron was dead here. He knew how important this was to them all and, like them, he knew homesickness well. The more he dwelled on that, the more he realized how far back that feeling stretched. His first intel mission had lasted two deca-cycles, just long enough for his Cybertron to feel far, far away.

And since then, he had always been moving, running from one assignment to the next. Hm.

“What’re we going to do?” Bumblebee asked.

“Smokescreen has the phase-shifter on him if I’m not mistaken and he’s a clever bot but don’t tell him I said that, so one can assume there’s a chance he’ll find his own way to escape especially since blasterfire won’t affect him due to the phase-shifter’s properties!” Blurr suggested, pacing back and forth as he tried to grab onto hope.

“Is that gonna matter when he’s hundreds of feet in the air?” Arcee questioned.

“Would the phase-shifter let him go through the ground?”

“None of us have tried,” Bulkhead said.

“That’s not a no, Bulkhead!”

“And it’s not a yes either,” Ratchet butt in. “For all we know, it could be too late for Smokescreen.”

Blurr’s spirit dulled slightly. “It is likely that the Decepticons would remove any sort of devices he had on him to store away in their own vault…”

“Enough,” Optimus said. “I will not give up on Smokescreen just yet. Ratchet, continue your efforts to pinpoint his location. We cannot allow one of our own and the revival of our planet to lie in the hands of the Decepticons.”

There was no arguing with the Prime—not that anyone wanted to. Now? The only thing to be done was wait. There was nothing they could do to help Ratchet, nothing they could do to fix the situation and Spark, did they feel like this all the time? Like they were falling, failing at rapid speeds, and left with nothing to even try and pick up the pieces? Why was it like this? Why couldn’t things be right, where the Autobots had won and the Decepticons were the ones running and everything was simple?

“Whoa, keep pacing around like that and you’re gonna knock down a wall,” Bulkhead said. Arcee glanced over.

“Or pace yourself into the ground until you meet Unicron,” Bumblebee added.

Blurr wasn’t even going to ask.

He hadn’t even noticed the excessive pacing, nor was he embarrassed about it. It was natural for a bot like him to always be moving. But, he realized they weren’t giving him funny looks about it, not like some did in the past. 

“You said it yourself that there’s a chance Smokescreen’s fighting his way off that ship,” Arcee said. “Let’s hold onto that, yeah?” 

Just as he was about to nod, a beep sounded from one of Ratchet’s many monitors.

“Smokescreen’s signal, it’s back online!”

“The kid escaped the warship!” Bulkhead exclaimed. When Blurr came over to see, the bigger bot gave him an uncharacteristically gentle tap on the shoulder. Even he knew his usual strength would send him careening smackdown into the ground.

“Smokescreen to base, I could really use a groundbridge!”

Oh, under the right circumstances, Blurr just loved being right.

What came after that was a series of far too-close calls that ended in them briefly thinking Smokescreen’s free fall ended with him becoming flattened until finally, in a classic Smokescreen fashion, he revealed himself to still be kicking. Then he came through that groundbridge, grinning, brushing himself off for a bit of extra flair, and most importantly, holding three Omega Keys.

“You got them?” Bulkhead managed.

“I figured you would find a means of escaping but not once did I consider you would circle back to collect the Keys even though it makes plenty of sense given your track record,” Blurr admitted.

“Didn’t I tell you?” he said to them all, crossing over to set the keys down on a metal crate. “Destiny! Alpha Trion knew I’d keep it safe.”

Arcee, with all her criticisms of him, let the scowl fall from her face and replaced it with a smile. “Nice work, kid.”

“Hang on.” Bumblebee started counting down the retrieved number on his fingers, dismayed with the results. “That’s only two.”

“It was the only key in Megatron’s vault,” Smokescreen shrugged.

Optimus frowned, picking both up. “Then three keys are accounted for.”

“Then the fourth is still somewhere on the Con’s warship,” Bulkhead responded.

“Unless Megatron never had it to begin with,” Blurr and Arcee both said, though the former got it out faster.

And as if on cue, they received a message. “A high frequency signal,” Ratchet turned toward it first, “with an embedded message.”

“Starscream,” Bulkhead said, glowering.

Blurr had the pleasure of not running into this universe’s Starscream yet. After the whole fiasco with his clones back in his own universe, he had decided that if he ever met a Starscream again, it would be too soon. As he moved away from everyone else for a better look, he took half of a moment to study this Starscream. He tried not to grimace at the sight of him. He was mostly gray, reminding him of the faded colors a bot changed when they met death. He was mean and nasty looking, even his chin looked like it could impale something. He was positive that every second he spent in this world made his Decepticons much less intimidating.

When the full message came through, Ratchet got to reading. “I have obtained something of interest to you which seems to be of no practical use to me.”

“It’s gotta be the Omega Key!” Bulkhead insisted.

“He’s the one who blindsided me,” Smokescreen said, scowling at the realization. 

It was sound reasoning. Starscream was always a schemer, Blurr figured that was no different here.

“What else could Scream be referring to?” Arcee nodded.

“Ey-ep-ep!” Blurr still got caught off guard by that noise. “There’s more. Bring medical kit. I only ask for the surgical replacement of my t-cog in return.”

Bulkhead barked out a laugh at that statement. “Like we’re gonna give Scream back his wings!”

“Without the missing key, Cybertron will remain devoid of life,” Ratchet argued. Even more sound reasoning.

“Broken record, I know… but it could be a trick,” Arcee said.

Blurr glanced at her. “How many times has this happened in the past?”

“Listen, we were desperate. It’s a long story.” He’d have to mark it down for another time, then.

“It is possible Starscream does not yet realize the significance of what he holds,” Optimus said.

“And in the scenario that he does?” Blurr questioned, then remembered himself and straightened up. “Not that I meant any disrespect, sir!”

Optimus held a hand up in reassurance. “There’s no need for any of that, Blurr. But, the stakes are too great for us not to consider Starscream’s proposal. However, we will take precautions.”

The plan was for Optimus, Ratchet, and Bulkhead to take a bridge to Starscream’s coordinates and see what the Seeker had to offer while the rest of them remained at base. 

Blurr tapped his foot anxiously as they stood guard, glancing at the defensive Bumblebee and Arcee and then to the lax Smokescreen.

“How much you wanna bet something goes wrong?” Smokescreen asked.

“I’d rather not think about it if you don’t mind,” Blurr said, squirming.

Each second gone by with no word from the others was agonizing. Not just for him, either. He could tell the others were as on edge as him. He kept his optics trained on the open groundbridge, waiting to see some familiar teammates come back through holding their missing Omega Key—

Something ran through.

Someone ran through. And no one else noticed. 

Blurr glanced behind as quietly as he could to find Starscream standing inside their base. “It would seem I have the run of the place,” he said.

Why was he so fast? He shouldn’t be that fast, right? The Autobots would have mentioned if Starscream had superspeed that rivaled his own! Scratch that, actually—with the way he was moving, Starscream was even faster than him. It was some kind of enhancement, it had to be, there was no other explanation. As the daunting mech traversed over to the other bots and mused about how easy it would be to slaughter them, Blurr kept still. If he didn’t move, he wouldn’t be noticed. Hopefully. Starscream’s words were fast enough to give reason for Blurr to wonder if this was how others felt when he talked. But, he could still make it all out.

“Another new one?” He knelt down, the only way he could even come close to Blurr’s level. Starscream’s red optics pierced into him, a scowl engraved onto his face as he studied the blue bot. “You’re a funny looking one, aren’t you?” A long, sharp claw raised up and traced along his face, tapping his optic.

Blurr didn’t let himself think about all the other bots that had likely been gutted with those hands.

Stay still, he willed. Could Starscream see through his act? Evidently not.

“But, first thing’s first… where does Optimus keep his keyring?” He brought himself back up to his full height, abandoning the Autobots for later.

Scrap. Scrap scrap scrap. Starscream disappeared down the hallway, the hallway that contained all the relics!

Oh, under the wrong circumstances, he hated being right.

He was dimly aware of the others trying to make sense of things in real time, but he couldn’t spend another second on them. They couldn’t catch Starscream, so the burden fell to him. 

This universe was frighteningly close to giving him a nervous breakdown.

It looked like it was time to put that Elite Guard training to use. How it would fare against someone older, quicker, stronger, bigger… well, it didn’t do any good to think about that.

With nothing left to do, Blurr bolted down the hall. An explosion shook the base and he came to find Starscream walking through the smoke, the keys snug in his arms. He only stopped when he saw the newcomer in his path.

“Oh? What’s this?” 

Blurr didn’t have the time to dignify him with a response. He blinked and a high-heeled foot nearly shattered his front. He jumped to the left, staring up at Starscream wide-opticed. He hadn't had such a close call like that since… never, actually.

Starscream really was faster than him.

“As fun as it would be to stay, I have more urgent matters to attend to. If you can keep up with me, who’s to say the other Autobots can’t?” 

He barely got out of the way of the missile that came at him. He hit the ground hard, but didn’t give himself a moment to be grateful he was still alive. The smoke didn’t need to clear for him to know Starscream was gone.

With grit denta, he picked himself back up and got back in the race. 

There was no sign of the Decepticon with the others. The good news was that they were unharmed. The bad news was that the groundbridge was closing and no one but him had any idea of what happened. 

The bridge flickered. He glanced at Arcee’s hand pulling down on the lever and, with a sigh, ran through the dying bridge.

A moment later, he was gone, and the others remained.

“Where’s Blurr?”

-

When he jumped out the other side, Starscream was wasting time with mockery and not even aware of the blue menace behind him—not until he had launched himself onto his back.

“Ack! Get off!”

He swung from side to side in failing attempts to shake Blurr off, but he wouldn’t yield. He clung onto his wings, tightening his grip for all he was worth as he climbed further up. Soon he sat atop his shoulders, wrestling to keep his place and steering himself clear of Starscream’s claws. He was getting slower, he noticed. 

That was good to know.

Starscream lashed out a hand, closing it around his upper half. Blurr struggled and writhed, twisting to escape and running very low on options. He wasn’t sure what he was thinking during the next part, or if he even was thinking. All he could say was that when he lowered his head down, one of Starscream’s fingers was in range, and… he bit down as hard as he could. 

“You wretched little-!”

Starscream’s hand opened ever so slightly as he yelped and Blurr slipped through, diving for the precious goods secure in his arm. He brushed against the rusted metal and Spark, he was so close, he almost had it! They needed this. The Autobots needed some bit of hope, he wouldn’t let it be ripped away from them.

His face fell when he felt a cold hand wrap around his leg. Starscream must have had some stroke of dumb luck to grab onto him, because the next thing he knew was he was getting snapped backwards toward the trees and crashing through bark. He curled up on the ground, his venting short and erratic as he tried to bring his anxiety down.

He heard Bulkhead shout “Blurr!”, followed by Ratchet bringing attention to Starscream’s theft. The warbling of a groundbridge opening reached him, blasterfire coming soon after, and then there was silence.

Blurr managed to turn his head to the side to spot Optimus standing eerily still, his hands closed into fists. Ratchet looked as though he wanted to do something to help his friend, but his aid was needed elsewhere. Knowing Optimus wanted the same, he jogged over to the banged up racer.

“We’ll get them back,” Bulkhead brought himself to say. 

Optimus didn’t acknowledge him. He couldn’t lose his temper. Not here, not when one of his team members could be injured.

“By the Allspark,” Ratchet gasped. Both heads turned to look.

Blurr rolled flat on his back, unfurling to reveal a recovered Omega Key wrapped in his arms. “Starscream was… faster than anticipated… but there’s still some good news,” he vented out, exhausted. Just how fast had he been going to keep up with him? It sapped more energy than he thought.

Upon laying optics on the sight, Optimus felt a weight lift from him. He knelt down, a hand moving underneath Blurr to prop him up. “You have done well, Blurr.”

Blurr smiled in spite of his exhaustion, looking down at the Omega Key he held. Right as Starscream had grabbed him, he had grabbed onto the key. 

“Let me examine you,” Ratchet said. It was a good thing he already had the medical kit on hand. There were some dents and scratches, and when he was asked he reported some soreness, but thankfully nothing too major. No sparking, no energon leakage. He would live. The one thing he wanted more than anything was to shut his optics and rest. As they helped him up and they all stepped through that groundbridge, the smiles he got from the others was enough to kickstart that recharge.

[cupcakeslushie]

Hi there, I love your stuff, I hope you don't mind but I wanted to do an ask the artist

Where are you from?

What's your favorite color?

How long have you been creating art for?

What drives you to make art?

What is your favorite piece of artwork of yours?

What is your favorite fan artwork that was done for you?

What character of yours is your favorite?

If you could go to any fictional world which one would it be?

Do you consider what will please your audience or do you just do your own thing?

What made you want to start your AU?

1. American! Southern girl, specifically.

2. You’d think it would be green with how it’s been my hair color for three years, and I’ve made it my signature on here, but it’s actually yellow! Like the really saturated, sunny kind! 💛

3. Oh lord. Um, since like 1st or 2nd grade.

4. I never really thought about it. I think I’m just a visual person. So if I have an idea, I need to get it on paper to really see it. I’m the same with movies, especially adaptations. I could never picture characters by reading them in books very well, but seeing them in movies I’m like, “oh okay, now I see what they were going for!” It’s also just fun. It’s my own story-telling method.

5. Fav piece of anything I’ve ever made would be one of my stained glass pieces, like my lemon one, that took me three weeks, and was one of my first bigger pieces. Digitally it would probably be my most recent dtiys cause I just don’t like looking at my older stuff.

6. Noooo!! I have so many, especially recently, that I’ve been gifted! I can’t choose just one!!! Seriously! I love everything I’ve ever been sent! I will say, I’ve been gifted a few fan fictions by now, that have had me like, mind blown—just because writing is such a thing that I’ve always admired and never really been able to fully grasp. If you’ve sent me art, it’s more than likely been my phone or iPad wallpaper, and if you’ve sent me fanfiction, I’ve probably read it no less than five times, and will continue to go back to it.

7. I mean, it’s Donnie. It’s pretty clearly Donnie. I try and be fair and love all the boys equally, but I’m not gonna lie, you all know it. It’s obvious. Just know, I’ll never ignore the others story wise 😜. But Donnie gets the most of my attention and my evil creative plots 😈.

8. Any world ever? Probably Fullmetal Alchemist—if I could actually be an alchemist. I mean, like come on—how cool is that? And like, yeah, you’ve got Father and the homucuous running around, but for the most part, the world is pretty chill and has the coolest rules.

9. The main chunks of my stories are really just what I want to see, but sometimes I can hear a suggestion and think about changing the trajectory of things. I’m always open to ideas, especially if I’m stumped on how it should go. I even change my opinions on the things I’ve established myself, I’m very open to changing a story if a better idea comes to me. I don’t think I’ve ever been like, scared to tell something because I think someone wouldn’t like it. If they don’t, that’s fine, not everything is for everyone, and some things only click with a few people. If I really want to tell a story, then I’m going to tell it.

10. It’s really so funny, because at the time, I was working on this short, post-movie aftermath comic about Leo learning to find a healthy middle ground between being the silly guy and a serious leader. But I was having trouble with the next part, so I decided to watch Arcane and doodle. I posted that little concept sheet, and it feels like…within days my inbox was full with people wanting to know more, and the more I answered, the more I was like, wait I wanna actually explore this. Tbh pretty much all my AUs have started this way. With just an idea jotted down, and then turning into something I couldn’t stop developing.

[repulsiveliquidation]

here's a minuscule sneak peek of 'Too Dangerous'

Too Dangerous - Mafia and Football. [SMUT!] [top! R. bottom! OB.]

i think this is going to be a fun one. let me know what you think.

“I’m not mad, my love. I’m so proud of you for being brave and coming to me. Let me worry about it now, yeah?”

“Okay.”

I pull her in for a kiss, hands roaming her body. I won’t lie, the swimsuit she had on was a massive turn-on and if we weren’t about to fuck in the pool, I was sure as hell going to devour her before bed.

“You look way too fucking good in that two-piece not to be ravishingly worshipped, my darling.”

She blushes, kissing you hard. Ona pulls your hands around to her ass, which you squeeze hard and draw a deep moan from her. Your hands pull at her cheeks, fingers rubbing gently at her asshole and folds. You maneuver her around to the edge again, picking her up easily to sit. She leans back, as your fingers pull her bottoms to the side and bury your face in her folds. She’s soaking wet, arousal thick and delicious.

She whimpers for you, strong hands tangled in your wet locks. Your tongue darts into her, throwing her legs over your shoulders before pulling her closer to the edge. You're practically holding her hips up, lips suckling at her clit hard. Ona moans loudly, back arching off the ground.

“Please!” she moans, fingers tightening in your hair as her legs squeeze at your head deliciously. You slip two fingers into her, pumping in and out of her slick pussy hard. They press up into her sweet spot, fingertips rubbing circles over it to get her to come faster. She huffed and puffed, face contorting into all kinds of pleasure. She makes eye contact and cries out your name, coming hard and fast. Ona pants, licking her dry lips.

“A la mierda esto, if you don’t fuck me right now, I will die.”

“Picked out a new strap for you to be split open on, mi amor.”

//

“puta madre!”

“Yeah, this one’s pretty fuckin’ big huh?”

“Feels s-so good!”

Your hips pound into Ona, swimsuits abandoned at the foot of the bed. She’s on her front, trying her best to push her ass back on you as you fuck her from behind. She tries to keep up, knees buckling every time the new strap finds a new erogenous spot she never knew she had. It was significantly bigger than she had ever taken, with three prior orgasms and a fingering of a lifetime, she was finally open enough to take the head. Coming once again was the key to taking the whole thing, Ona looked absolutely wrecked when speared on it.

“You’re so fucking hot baby, taking my cock so well princess,” you cooed, hands turning her onto her back as your fingers rubbed her clit that you just spat on. She was sensitive beyond words, her speech slurred, and was barely babbling, hyper-focused on her pending sixth orgasm for the night.

“Are you gonna cum, my sweet?” you whispered into her ear, leaning over her as your hips did not slow down one bit. Hands pressed her legs wide open, harness dragging over her clit with each powerful thrust.

“Yes, yes!” she croaked out, head nodding hard and fast as she cried tears of frustration and sexual arousal.

You spat on her hot clit again, fingers rubbing messily at her folds as you sped up even more. She screamed, orgasm ripping through her hard. She was convulsing and begging for you to not stop, the aftershocks making her beg again, this time for you to stop.

You chuckle and do, pulling out and pulling the harness off. She tucked in your chest immediately, cradled, and kissed softly.