#thank u mr terry

[elelandia]

I’m reading Nation and I’m like…Excuse me, it was supposed to be a Y/A book? Like, I did not expect at all THIS.

Now I’m curled up as a ball and crying. AGAIN

[keeksandgigz]

somewhere we can be alone

stage manager!eddie munson x theatre kid!fem!reader

a collab with @reidsbtch- mariah is literally the best person to collab with, it's like our brains were making out the whole time we were writing this. thank u for letting me collab with you to write this absolutely not self indulgent, way too long fic together <3

summary: Now on the tail end of graduating, Eddie Munson is required to take part in an extracurricular activity. He's assigned as stage manager for the school's production of Romeo and Juliet. You, the star of the show, aren't too happy to have your senior performance sabotaged by one long- haired metalhead.

word count: 7.7k words

warnings: no y/n, no physical description of reader, swearing, oral (m & f receiving), enemies to fuck buddies to lovers, mentions of queer!reader, it's actually just fucking smut, fingering, unprotected piv (wrap it up), cream pie, use of nicknames (baby, sweets, sweetheart etc), eddie being a stupid lovable idiot

This and all of mine and mariah's works are 18+ minors do NOT interact

He’s been slumped in the guidance counselor’s office for thirty minutes, the wooden chair digging into his bones, growing uncomfortable as he listens to her, hardly believing he’s so close to leaving this fucking school himself.

“You’re keeping up your grades and maintaining regular attendance, Eddie. You’re just missing one last thing to be able to graduate.”

He rubs his face, maybe from the lack of sleep, or the restlessness of finally being able to leave the office he spent way too much time in during the past six years, as long as he keeps showing up to school for the next two months. He groans regardless.

“What would this ‘last thing’ be? Am I gonna be sent on a quest to slay a fucking dragon? Is that what’s gonna take me to graduate?” He snaps, the lack of sleep has finally gotten to him– school doesn’t really appeal to his late bird nature.

The counselor gasps at the crudeness of the profanity “Language!” She exclaims, like he’s never heard that before, daring to swear in front of students, staff and faculty alike, but the blonde lady with the ridiculously coiffed and teased and sprayed hair composes herself again, jutting a look down to his student folder again.

He imagines it to be full of red pen marks, every single one of those a proof of his own failure. He’ll steal it the day he graduates– and set it on fire. Hell, he’ll even roast marshmallows on it.

“Anyways,” she explains in a way that really shows the massive stick up her ass that makes her think Eddie should just stop bothering with school altogether. “You have to partake in an extracurricular activity.”

And he chortles. He was thinking something dreadful like picking trash up at the park or feeding and bathing the old people at the retirement home.

“Something funny, Mr. Munson?” Her nostrils are flared, she can’t wait ‘til he leaves her office.

“So like- like drama club and shit?” His tone is incredulous, he can deal with a couple lines to memorize. He’s had to do way worse for his Dungeon Master role, and even then, Miss George likes him– she’s let him and the club play DnD in her room for the past two years. Should be easy.

The counselor takes her glasses off her pointy nose, letting them hang with a tacky pink, flowery chain around her neck. “Well, yes– that’s one of the options. Unfortunately, your GPA is not high enough for you to partake in the school play, per se, so I can only place you in the backstage crew– building sets and moving things around. We’ll put that brain of yours to work.” She chuckles as she hands him a slip of paper to give to Miss George.

Eddie picks up his bag, “Real funny, huh.” He shrugs his shoulders and heads to the school auditorium. Last time he was there he’d gotten caught by a custodian while Terry Richardson’s face was stuck in between his legs, trousers pulled down halfway down his thighs as she gave him a toothy blowjob. He got suspended for a week.

He sees Miss George sat in the audience, scribbling notes onto a notepad as you recite the famous balcony monologue from Romeo and Juliet. He knows you, he’s seen you around– you’re by no means in the popular crowd, but you stand out, in the way that your clothes always seem to border the fine line of what's socially acceptable and outrageously eccentric.

Even if you’re not part of the popular crowd, there’s no denying that, like the rest of the school, you avoid him like the plague, cute as he is. You interrupt your monologue as you see him smirk down the central aisle of chairs. Miss George turns around at the sudden interruption. Eddie just hands her the slip.

“Oh my goodness!” she coos, “We have a stage manager.” And he wishes he could have photographed the look on your face. “Stage manager?! Miss George, you can’t be serious!” You exclaim as Eddie takes a seat next to her, kicking his boots up on the back of the chair in front of him.

A smirk ever present on his face as he crosses his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow at you. “He doesn’t have any experience.” You continue, not about to have your senior year performance ruined by Eddie Munson of all people. “Shouldn't be that hard to keep a diva like yourself in line, hmm?”

Eddie answers before Miss George has a chance to, the theater now going quiet except for a few snickers from the tech crew. “Alright, that’s enough from the both of you. Eddie, I’ll have our ASM get you up to speed. Now, please continue with the monologue.” The male only grins wider as you glare back, before looking back down at your script with a sigh.

He ventures backstage– not sure what ASM stands for and maybe too embarrassed to ask as he sees kids dressed in black moving wooden planks onto the stage, carrying cans of paints and brushes.

He taps a kid on his shoulder, arranging a prop table, he looks at Eddie like he’s seen a ghost.

“I was looking for the ASM?” The kid is looking side to side, still wondering why Eddie Munson is talking to him.

“Uhhh, she’s in the booth.” He mutters, before turning around and going back to his props. What the fuck is a booth?

Eddie just plainly decides to look for it himself, since nobody’s any fucking help in this school. He opens door after door- a storage closet, a closet just for wood, a bathroom. Arrived at the last door, he isn’t exactly sure he’s ever going to find this stupid ASM- and he still doesn’t know what that stands for.

The noise of a door opening startles you, as you try to put on your dress as quickly as you can to avoid flashing someone. It’s only when you see who it is that you start screaming, and with you, Eddie just pops a hand in front of his eyes, screaming a string of sorries, and that he hasn’t seen anything.

“I was just looking for the booth! Stop screaming!” he screeches, worried he’s gonna get himself in trouble with Miss George if she hears you screaming like you’re getting skinned alive. Thankfully, you stop, as Eddie looks away, aware of your exposed back peeking through the zipper. You clutch the fabric against you, struggling to zip up the back of your dress one-handed.

Eddie makes a whistling sound, distracting himself from the way you seem to be teetering between asking for his help and telling him to fuck off.

“The door to the booth is in the audience, by the way. Off to the side, there’s some stairs.” You huff, slightly getting your zipper up. He goes to turn around, but you stop him. He cocks an eyebrow.

You roll your eyes, lips in a thin line as you keep the door open with one hand.

“Can you make yourself useful and help me with my zipper?”

With an annoyed huff he steps fully into the dressing room, shutting the door behind him as you turn your back towards him once more. Carefully clutching the dress, your eyes meeting his in the long row of vanity mirrors in front of you. You can feel his warm breath on your neck as he steps closer, carefully lifting your hair over your shoulder.

Eddie’s fingers follow the seam of the unzipped garment, barely tracing the bare skin of your back. You try to hold off the shiver from passing through you as he slowly begins zipping it up. A hint of a smirk on his mouth as he notices the goosebumps breaking out across your skin. “Anything else princess? Or am I free to go?”

His fingers now fall away from you, clearing your throat as you try to shake off the arousal that was now coursing through your veins. You wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction of knowing how frazzled he had just made you.

Instead of answering, you just groan, eyes lifted up, going past him and clocking him in the shoulder as you headed back on stage. God you were fucking insufferable.

Eddie finds out that ASM means Assistant Stage Manager and that said ASM was none other than Max Mayfield, roped into doing theatre tech for extra credit. And that the booth was where they tampered with the lights and shit. All he had to do as Stage Manager for that rehearsal was oversee the light cues, which proved to be a little more complicated than he initially expected.

He messes up most of the cues in the first act before he finally seems to have gotten a grasp of it. All the while you’re tossing glares his way, using the light cues as an excuse for the harsh looks. But really it’s due to your annoyance at how the mere brush of his fingertips left you wanting more. Wanting more of him, despite your better judgment– you were not about to have him ruin your senior show.

And in spite of that, you closely follow Eddie’s actions. In a lull between scenes he stands up, you follow him with your eyes as he enters back into the auditorium, beelining backstage.

Eddie’s not totally sure what shit designer built the theatre, because he might as well have pissed himself on the way between the booth and the only bathroom in the auditorium. Not only that, but he kept missing cue after cue, followed by the dirtiest looks known to man, straight into his eyes. After the encounter you had in the dressing room– fingers caressing the soft skin of your back, feeling you shiver under his touch, he knew he had some kind of leverage over you.

So when he’s done taking a leak and looks down at the door, he’s sure you’re behind it, slipping a little piece of paper in the crack.

Meet me in the booth after rehearsal. XX

Eddie wouldn’t say he was nervous, his curiosity was piqued more than anything. However, he’s antsy the last half of the show, leg bouncing as he tries to listen and follow Max’s instructions. The girl gives him an annoyed lecture in between cues. But his mind’s a little preoccupied, trying to figure out what exactly you want from him.

So when he re-enters the dark light booth once everyone else has left, he doesn’t expect you to shove him up against the door, locking it with a swift click. His breath hitches in his throat, both in confusion, and at the fact that you’re fumbling with his belt, despite the dirty looks you’ve been giving him the whole afternoon.

“What uh- what are you doing?” His tone is alarmed, stammering as he tries to grab onto the door handle for purchase. You’re too busy getting his jeans down to bother.

“Sucking you off. That okay?” You look at him for a reassurance that comes almost immediately with a violent nod of his head.

He’s confused, but he’s not going to turn you down. After all, he felt the way you tensed under his touch while he was pulling up your zipper, “Shit, fine by me.” He shrugs, acting like he isn’t busting at the seams waiting for you to pull down his pants.

Eddie’s belt makes a clinking sound, along with his wallet chain while you pull his pants down to his thighs. You move his trembling body away from the door, against the table with the light console. His knuckles turn white as he grabs the edges on the table for support.

Gripping the hem of his checkered boxers, freeing his hardened length. Your eyes widening slightly at the sight of it, he’s big— a lot bigger than you expected. Even in the dim lighting he notices your shocked expression.

“Ya gonna just stare at it all night sweetheart?” He asks, a smug smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he looks down at you. You shoot another glare his way, before grasping the base of his cock in your fist, licking a long stripe up the shaft. Feeling satisfied as you hear his shaky intake of breath. Eagerly you take him past your lips, as a low groan leaves his own.

“Shit,” he curses as your warm mouth envelops him fully, ringed fingers knotting themselves in your hair. You open your mouth as wide as you can, taking him deeper. Gagging slightly as he hits the back of your throat, tears brimming in the corner of your eyes as you try to adjust to his size. He’s by far the biggest one you’ve had.

“Talked such a big game with that mouth of yours sweetness, am I too much for you?” Your fingers dig into the skin of his thighs, his cock slipping from your lips as you pull back.

“Do you ever shut the fuck up Munson?” You huff, but before he can reply with another snarky remark your tongue is swirling around the tip of his cock. Silencing him for a moment as you take him back into your mouth.

Another string of curses falls from his lips, as his hips begin thrusting into your mouth with an abandon you haven’t seen before. Your cheeks are hollowed and he can feel himself getting embarrassingly close.

“F-fuck where- where’d you learn all of this?” It comes out in broken pants, and he can feel a smirk forming on your lips as you take him out a second time.

“One thing about theatre people is that we’re all gonna fuck each other. You should see how I eat pussy,” you shrug, putting him back in your mouth, and Eddie swears he’s about to bust in less than a minute.

“I’m gonna- fuck.” But he doesn’t get to finish that sentence, as you take him out of your mouth and stand back up.

Eddie’s bewildered expression is easy to read as he looks at you like you shot his dog. But you get close, dangerously close to his lips, your nose almost bumping his.

“That’s for fucking up my light cue, idiot,” it’s a feeble whisper against his lips before you’re gone into the darkness of the theatre. Too shocked to react, Eddie’s left with his pants pulled down for a good two minutes before registering what happened.

So he’s left blue balled in that stupid light booth, fuming and confused. There was no way in hell he would let you treat him like that and walk away the way you did.

Eddie had been scheming all week between rehearsals, attempting to find a good time to get you alone. He wasn’t about to let you get away with leaving him like that, but you were actively avoiding him.

But an opportunity fell into his lap without any effort on his part, Miss George asking you to stay behind to work on some blocking with her. As the stage manager he was required to stay behind too, his mind already reeling with possibilities.

So when you duck behind the curtain to change out of your costume, Eddie is quick to swoop in. Offering to shut down the lights and lock up, and Miss George is more than willing to let him.

By the time you get back on stage the theater is dark, the ghost light shining brightly center stage. “Eddie? Miss George?” You call out into the darkness, getting complete silence in return.

“Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding.” You groan, clutching the strap of your book bag tightly. Of course he’d leave you in the dark theater to fend for yourself. “Asshole.” You mumble under your breath, reaching your hand out in front of you as you make your way across the dark stage.

You’ve bumped into multiple set pieces at this point, as you attempted to find the stairs leading down to the audience in complete darkness. Your frustration grows with each passing minute, that is until you hear the shuffling of feet.

“Hello?” You call out again, squinting as if it would help you see any better. Fear stirs in your gut as the theater is silent once more, shadows seeming to come to life in the corner of your eyes.

Once you finally reach the edge of the stage, you grip onto the railing tightly as you fumble your way down the stairs. Sighing in relief as you feel the carpet beneath your feet.

You only make it a few steps further before you feel a hand snaking around your waist, pulling you back into a hard chest. The other hand cupping itself over your mouth to muffle the scream that leaves your lips.

“Screaming for me already sweets? Haven’t even touched you yet.” His voice is mocking, his warm breath fanning across your neck as he laughs. You quickly squirm out of his grasp, a flashlight clicking on to illuminate his stupidly gorgeous features.

“You fucking psychopath! What were you thinking?” you shove him on the shoulder, he laughs as he zeroes in the flashlight on you, red in the face and furious.

“Had to get back at you for how much of a little tease you were the other day,” he croons. You purse your lips together, a deep blush spreading across your cheeks as you try to stabilize your still quickly beating heart.

“Whatever. Fuck you, Eddie.” You spit, but he’s quick to grab your arm and push it behind your back, the flashlight hitting the ground and rolling under one of the seats. His chest is pressed against your shoulder blades as you shudder in his arms.

“You’re not getting away so easily, sweetness.” He breathes against your earlobe as you keen into the warmth of his chest, his nose buried in the crook of your neck as his free hand goes to your waist.

“This okay?” he murmurs, and you nod. A sharp nip to your earlobe makes you hiss.

“I can’t fucking see you nod, can I?” You can tell he’s having too much fun torturing you, feeling his hand travel all across your torso and chest.

“N-No,” you whimper.

“Exactly. Try that again,” his hand rests against the waistband of your jeans, awaiting an answer, teasing the skin behind the fabric. The tips of his fingers brush the skin there, making you whimper in response.

“This is okay.” you breathe out, and it’s the only answer he needs to slip his hand past your jeans, unbuttoning the offending material to push his hand further down into your pants.

“That’s a good girl,” he whispers against your ear as his hand cups your clothed core. You waste no time grinding against the heel of his palm, letting small, breathy moans escape you. Afraid to get caught in the dead of night getting touched and fondled by the town pariah.

“You sound so pretty singing for me, don’t you sweets?” he whispers smugly. His hand feels a little too good against you, your hips grinding back and forth following the rhythm he was creating, “Hmm, but I think you can be a little louder.”

You gasp as he slips his hand inside your panties, his calloused fingers encircling your swollen clit. Your head falls back onto his shoulder, your hand gripping onto his thigh. His digits dip lower, teasing your entrance before slipping one inside and curling them up.

You can’t stop the shaky cry from leaving your lips, the sound now filling the auditorium. A smirk tugs at his mouth, using the heel of his palm to press against your clit. “Listen to that… you’ve got such a pretty voice don’t you?”

You dig your nails into the denim covering his thigh, a low groan sounding in his throat. “Wonder what it sounds like when you beg,” he easily adds another finger inside your wet cunt, thrusting them deeper. “N-Never gonna happen Munson.”

Eddie laughs, pulling another moan from you as his other hand drifts up under your shirt to cup your breast. “We’ll see about that.”

His breath is fanning hot and humid against your neck as you reach around to bring his head closer, needing him to be closer.

Nothing he’s saying is registering in your brain, as his fingers pump in and out of you with a torturous pace, feeling his wolfish grin plastered against the skin of your cheek.

He’s watching your every move, your every breath and whimper, biting his lip at the way your eyes roll to the back of your head every time his fingers curl up in a certain manner. You don’t think you have much time left before you release yourself all over his hand, and he knows it.

From the way you keep twitching and tightening around his fingers, he feels you’re getting close, but much like you did that night in the booth, he won’t let you get it that easily.

“Y’close sweets?” he groans, his own hips now grinding against the swell of your ass.

“Uh-huh,” is all you can manage to say, brain scrambled from his words and ministrations.

“You know what you gotta do now, don’t you, pretty?” he bites at the hinge of your jaw, as you cry out, the noise echoing in the empty theatre.

“You gotta beg for it.” And he hears you gasp at that, a dry chuckle leaves his lips. “You didn’t think I was gonna make you cum that easy did you?”

“Mmm- fuck you, Munson.” you struggle against your brain’s desire to one up him and your body’s desire for release.

“C’mon, don’t you want to cum? I bet you’re so pent up from a whole day of staring at me building sets, aren’t you?” and he’s right, your eyes did wander to his arms in his tight fitting t-shirt, with his hair tied up in a low bun as he hammered nails into wooden boards.

His fingers speed up and you can feel it, you’re so, so close.

“Please, let me,” you whine into his arm, biting at the muscle there. You’re getting so loud.

“That’s right, keep begging for me– good girl gettin’ nice and loud for me,” it’s a growl at this point, a string of please please please follow it. Tears pricking at your eyes with how intensely good he’s making you feel.

So close, so close–

He removes his fingers, jerking you out of that hazy state you were previously in. The male now removes himself from you, retrieving the flashlight from under the seat. Your chest is heaving as you turn to face him, anger now coursing through you as he grins devilishly down at you.

“How cute, you thought I was actually gonna let you cum with how you left me the other day?” Eddie’s laughter fills the theater as he steps closer to you. Your bodies almost touching, lifting his fingers that were just inside you up to your lips.

The brunette carefully drummed the digits against your mouth, “Now, be a good girl and clean up the mess you made.” You glare as you let his fingers slip into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them in a teasing manner.

You noticed how his breath hitches, his cock straining uncomfortably in his jeans. But there’s no way that you’re helping him out with his little problem now. You playfully bite his fingers that are still in your mouth, as he utters an annoyed ‘ouch’ before taking them back out.

His fingers make their way to your scalp– yanking at the hair, making you hiss. “You think you’re fucking cute? I’ll see you tomorrow after rehearsal,” his tone makes you tremble, as he takes his hand out of your hair and disappears into the darkness of the theatre, leaving you once again in the dark.

You stumble down the side stairs of the stage and get out of the side door, quickly making your way home.

And it becomes a regular thing, you and Eddie blue balling each other to the point of frustration, like it’s a sick and twisted power game you both play. After rehearsal he offers to lock up for Miss George and you wait for him in one of the dressing rooms, or in the dimly lit booth. He’s become irritable, and you have as well.

If you were insufferable before, now you’re downright hateful as you yell at the light crew to stop messing up your spotlight moment, or that your costume felt too constricting or your prop too flimsy.

Everything has you on edge, but you don’t hesitate to meet Eddie every night that week after rehearsal. Maybe he’ll let you cum this time.

You wait for him backstage, sitting on one of the set pieces, a throne. There’s a dim overhead light shining on you. Eddie’s lip is caught between his teeth as he looks at you on his Dungeon Master throne.

“Get up.” he commands. The shirt he’s wearing is tight, it makes his shoulders look more prominent. You squeeze your legs together.

“Why should I? My legs are tired from being on my feet all rehearsal,” you give him a fake pout as he inches towards you.

“Because that’s my Dungeon Master throne,” it sounds funny coming out of his mouth, voice low and gravelly “It’s mine.”

You chuckle a bit at that, how is this man being territorial over a set piece?

“And what if I said no?” a smile trapped in between your teeth, looking up at him through your lashes.

A dry laugh escapes him as he crosses his arms, “You’re so spoiled huh? Think you can always get your way? Last time I checked, this week it’s been the total opposite, hasn’t it?” and he’s not wrong, he’s given you all but what you want.

“This is my theatre, Munson. I believe you’re on my turf.” and he laughs at that, like you’ve said some kind of joke.

“You do theatre, sweetheart, c’mon you can’t be serious.” he kneels in front of you, grabbing your thighs and moving them apart with ease.

“Don’t be a bitch, Munson.” you hiss, as you feel his lips on your exposed thighs, kissing the skin there.

He whistles, low and sardonic. A wicked smile on his lips “That’s rich coming from you, you’ve had that nasty little attitude this whole week.” he continues with his kisses, while his hand ghosts over your inner thigh. Your breath hitches in your throat.

“I wouldn’t have this nasty little attitude as you call it if you would just let me- fuck.” his free hand ghosts over your panties. Your skin is sensitive, your brain is sensitive. Another touch and you might explode.

“Hmmm, what was that?” he bites at the flesh of your thigh, a high pitched whimper falling from your lips “Need me fuck that little attitude out of you sweetheart?”

And you’ve been wound up so tight for the past week that it doesn’t take you long to rid yourself of your panties. He takes advantage of you standing up, plopping down to take his rightful seat on the throne.

That cocky smirk is adorning his features, but you wanted to smack it off. “As cute as you think you look in this seat… it’s always been my throne sweets.”

Before Eddie has time to mutter another snarky remark you’re climbing into his lap, crashing your mouth against his. You’ve learned throughout the past week that it’s really the only way to shut him up.

His ringed fingers dig into the curve of your hips, eagerly grinding yourself against the bulge in his pants. Eddie moans into your mouth, his tongue licking your lower lip. You part your lips, allowing him entry as your tongues fight for dominance.

He tastes like Twizzlers and cigarettes, a combination you shouldn’t find as delicious as you do. But it only seems to make you needier, the denim becoming damp as you continue to grind yourself onto him.

“Look at you making a fucking mess on my jeans,” he mumbles against your mouth, nipping at your lower lip which causes you to whine as he pulls away. His chest rumbles as he chuckles, grabbing your cheeks in his hand— forcing you to look at him.

“But I’d rather you make a mess on my cock sweetheart.” His words have your head reeling, the male now gripping behind your knees and lifting you up. You squeal in surprise, clutching onto his shoulders to steady yourself. “Eddie, put me down.”

He carefully lets you slide down his front until your feet touch the ground, spinning you around before bending you over the armrest of his throne. His hands travel up your bare thighs, taking his time to appreciate your soft skin.

“Are you going to fuck me or not Munson?” You huff, the male now flipping up your skirt and landing a harsh smack on your ass. “So goddamn impatient aren’t you?”

You hear the sound of his belt clinking open, the zipper being tugged down. It makes you clench your thighs together, something Eddie didn’t miss. His fingers dipping between your legs, teasing you further.

“Trained you well didn’t I baby?” You can’t stop your eyes from rolling, despite how your stomach flipped at the word baby.

And you can feel him then, carefully lining himself at your entrance as you try to grind back into him. A firm hand against your hips stops you. “Ready? I’m gonna go slow,” he mutters, and there’s a gentleness in his words, despite his meanness in how he’s handling you.

You hum in approval and brace yourself. There’s a loud groan coming from behind you as he slips inside your warm heat, reveling in how you almost suck him in, a small gasp leaving you from the stretch.

“Big stretch, huh?” he coos in a cocky lilt, and you almost wanna reach around and punch him, but this idiot has your eyes rolling back from the fullness, and he’s not even all the way in yet.

So you nod, followed by a needy little whine that makes him chuckle low in his chest– you need him that much?

He goes deeper, spurred on by your noises, by how much you need him to fill you up. A sardonic smile on his lips as he bottoms out and slams all the way in, causing you to shriek.

Eddie sets a fast pace, not really giving you any time to adjust, but he’s already nudging that spot deep within you, making you see stars.

You hear him groan, “So fuckin’ tight, aren’t you sweets?” and it’s a rhetorical question, because your tongue feels too big for your mouth and there’s nothing coming out of it besides unintelligible whines and moans as you hold on to the armrest across from you.

Your noises only encourage him to go faster, and it’s almost too much the way he’s hitting that sweet spot inside you. You try to distance yourself from him, just enough to catch your breath, but he grabs your shoulders, using them as leverage to ram deeper into you.

He leans over, his clothed chest against your back, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“Goin’ somewhere, baby? Thought you could handle me.” He bites at your earlobe, and there’s just so much going on in your brain that you can’t possibly muster any response to whatever he’s telling you.

“Oh I said that, didn’t I? When we first met. I said I could handle a spoiled little diva like you, and look at that,” he laughs, and you’re sure you’re about to combust. Your fingers reach to grip the cushioned seat of the throne, as another wail leaves your lips.

“Singin’ my praises now aren’t you baby?” The wood of his throne digs into your hips and stomach as he pushes you further into it, a feline movement as he drapes himself off and over you, his hands now gripping the armrest opposite of you for purchase.

Your legs begin to give out, as you beg God or whatever entity up there that he won’t give into his sick little game. That he’ll let you cum this time.

“Shit, sweets, you’re gripping me so tight.” he grunts, a boyish grin on his face as small uh uh uhs fill the room.

“Should we let you cum tonight? We can’t have you being a bitch tomorrow, it’s the end of hell week,” he jokes, and it almost feels humiliating, how he can make fun of you like this and you’re just going to keep fucking yourself back onto him.

“God- Fuck- Please!” you beg, with all the strength you can muster, and he can’t help but let a satisfactory grunt leave his lips.

“Look at you begging, don’t even have to ask now, do I?” and you can feel him twitch inside you. He’s also getting close.

“Ready?” he huffs, with the last little bit of stamina he has, and you can’t brace yourself enough for the wave of pleasure that washes over you with the last few snaps of Eddie’s hips as you come undone with a loud cry, echoing through the dark halls of the theatre.

“Fuck, okay, where should I–” he begins, he’s at his wits end.

“In…side,” is all you can say before he stills himself inside of you, letting his release take over him with a loud groan. His warm cum painting your inner walls, leaving you feeling satiated.

Eddie stabilizes his breath, forehead leaning against your shoulders, days on days of pent up frustration hanging like mist in the air. You’re both able to think clearly for the first time in what felt like forever.

“Jesus Christ,” he huffs, lifting himself off of you as he slowly slips his cock out. You can feel his cum beginning to drip down your thighs, your legs wobble as you attempt to stand. Knees buckling as you try and find your discarded panties.

“Whoa there, I got ya,” he wraps his arm around your waist, holding you against his warm chest. It felt good, leaning against him like that. But you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, “I’m fine Eddie.”

You push yourself off only to nearly fall once more, an annoyed grumble leaving his lips, “Are you always so stubborn?” He reaches down for your panties, guiding you to sit on the edge of the throne so he could help pull them up your thighs.

It was an unusually tender action, and not one that you expected from him. “Thought you didn’t want me sitting here?” You tease, his brown eyes glancing up as he’s kneeling before you.

“I’ll let it slide this one time,” he chuckles, the corner of his mouth lifting in a grin. A dimple you had never noticed before indenting his cheek, another feature that now found annoyingly attractive.

You roll your eyes at him and stand up, “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow after rehearsal.” You quip, as you try to wobble off the stage, he runs after you.

“There’s no way in hell I’m letting you walk home like this,” and there’s a tender look in his eyes, something close to genuine concern. “My van is out front, I can drive you.” He points in a general direction behind him, and you want to say no so badly.

But you don’t, and now you find yourself being driven home by Eddie. His dingy van smells like cigarettes and weed and it squeaks every time he goes over a bump. There’s loud music blaring through the stereo speakers and an uncomfortable silence between the two of you.

“So uh, you excited for next week?” Eddie’s the first to break the silence, briefly turning towards you.

“I’m actually kinda nervous,” you admit, sinking into the seat. “It’s a big role, big shoes to fill. I guess I’m just scared I’m not gonna be any good.” You chuckle, almost embarrassed at your admission.

“You? Not good? I’ve seen you, y’know? I’m not just staring at your tits during rehearsal. You’re pretty darn good.” He gives you a half smile at that, pulling up next to your house.

You’re a bit flustered by his compliments, finding yourself not wanting to leave his company just yet.

“Thanks, Eddie. I appreciate it,” you smile at him.

“And hey, if you still feel nervous opening night come find me— I’ll help you,” he winks at you and you can’t help but laugh, as you see him looking at you with a big grin on his face.

You look at him back, and God, maybe it’s the streetlights or the moon, but he’s never been more beautiful. In a leap of courage you lean over the dashboard and peck him on the lips.

As you detach from him and reach for the door handle, he pulls you back in deeper, searing and intense, one of those kisses that have your tummy flipping. Except it’s not in the comfort of the theatre, and without an underlying motive behind it.

Just you and him. In his van.

You let your lips part, give him access to your mouth, but he stops you.

“It’s midnight,” he whispers against your lips. “Dress rehearsal tomorrow, you need to rest.” He smiles as you place another peck on his lips. Pouting as you reach for the door handle. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you until you’re inside, seeing the light of your room turn on.

Once he knows you’re safe, he starts his van back up and pulls away from your house with the cheesiest grin on his face.

Opening night. It’s finally here.

You should feel excited, and yet all you want to do is lock yourself in one of the broom closets and hide. You’ve never felt so nervous before, thinking of all the different outcomes that could occur. What if you forget all your lines? Or you have an embarrassing wardrobe malfunction during a quick change?

Your mind is reeling as you enter the dressing room, the rest of the cast buzzing excitedly around you. You fake a smile and sit at your station, noticing the bouquet of lilies resting on the counter top. You can feel yourself flushing, opening the card that came with it.

Break a leg Juliet xx.

You ask around the rest of the cast but no one knows who left them, and while you hoped they came from a certain metalhead… you couldn’t be so sure. Your little cat and mouse game had suddenly turned into something very real, and part of you was afraid it would be over once the curtains closed.

You get ready for the show in a daze, now staring at yourself in the dressing room mirror as nerves rage through your insides. The rest of the cast had dissipated, leaving you alone with your racing thoughts.

“There’s the leading lady,” Eddie’s voice snaps you out of your haze, meeting his eyes in the mirror’s reflection. He must have noticed the look of panic across your features, as he rushes to your side.

You give him a weak smile in return, letting a heavy exhale escape past your lips.

“So uhhh, did you like the flowers?” He asks, and he can see your eyes light up in the mirror, momentarily forgetting nerves, fear and anxiety.

“So it was you,” he coaxes you to face him, kneeling next to you with a large grin.

“T’was I, fair maiden.” He does a half bow from his kneeling position, making you giggle.

“So you’re in love with me now?” You tease, as Eddie’s hands come to rest on your thighs, spreading them as much as he can in your dress before moving in between them.

“I’m literally going to die from nerves, what if I mess up my lines?” you begin, but Eddie seems to have much different plans.

“There she is….” he murmurs, more to himself.

You feel the heat pool in your middle at his words, squirming a little in your seat. Eddie reaches to cup your chin, tilting it down so you meet his gaze. His brown eyes sparkling with mischief, “You know, my offer still stands Lady Capulet.”

“Here? The doors are literally opening in fifteen minutes, don’t you have stage manager things to take care of?” your tone is alarmed, rather, a mix of alarm and excitement.

“My job as stage manager right now is to make sure Juliet feels comfortable enough to go on stage,” he grins, peppering kisses over your hand and wrist.

“But what if we get caught? Or you make me cum so hard I forget my lines?” The nerves make you ramble, as his chin rests on one of your thighs.

“As good as I am at eating you out sweetheart, I doubt that’ll happen.” He bunches the fabric of your costume up your thighs, beginning to give sweet caresses on the skin of your legs.

You seem unconvinced, still.

“Look, I’ll sweeten the deal. If you get all your lines right, which I don’t doubt you will, I’ll take you out on a date.” His lips are pursed in a coy smile.

Your eyes widen, “Like a date date? You and me?” and your heartbeat picks up.

“Who else, idiot?” Eddie laughs, which makes you smile, “Now,” he begins.

“Do you want me to do something about those jangled nerves of yours?” And you can’t help but bite your lip and nod.

His lips begin trailing up your thighs, a shiver running through you from his tender actions. “But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?” He pauses, shifting closer as he switches sides, now leaving open mouth kisses along your opposite thigh. “It is the East, and Juliet is the sun.”

You feel your breath hitch in your throat as he works his way to your clothed center, his eyes flicking up to look at you. “Arise, fair sun and kill the envious moon… and whatever the fuck else Romeo says.” Eddie chuckles before eagerly pressing his mouth against your clothed pussy, his tongue lapping at the wet spot on the cotton.

A gasp bubbles deep in your throat at the sensation, feeling the bliss of his tongue through the cotton barrier, your body easing up from its nervous state.

He looks up at you, “Good, huh?” He hums through the fabric, and you’re wound up so tight you’re already panting.

He taps the side of your thigh to get you to lift your hips, removing your panties in the process.

A low whistle escapes him as you spread your legs for him again, “Talk about eating in costume, baby, jeez.” He chuckles, and the joke makes you laugh too.

A short lived laugh at that, turning into a breathless gasp when his tongue makes contact as he begins to lap up the length of your pussy.

Your hand immediately goes to tug at his curls, not caring that they’re tied up and out of his face to be able to see the cue sheets. The delicious pull at his scalp makes his eyes roll to the back of his head.

A low moan falls out of your lips, catching yourself, hand flying to your mouth as you hear the rest of the cast clamoring outside.

“Gotta be quiet, Lady Capulet,” he snickers as he goes back to burying his face between your legs. His tongue darting in and out of you as a hand reaches for your mouth, wetting two of his fingers.

You don’t hesitate to open up your mouth for him, a bite at the juncture between your pelvis and your thigh, “Atta girl.” He mumbles against the wet skin, popping his fingers out of your mouth to tease at your entrance.

“That’s it baby, focus on me.” A whine escapes you as you’re now grinding on his tongue, his fingers enter you slowly, head thrown back in pleasure.

“You nervous, baby?” He asks, a cocky smile on his face. His fingers curl upward, your eyes squeeze at the overwhelming sensation.

You shake your head, still sentient. Not too far gone yet.

“You gonna use me to get off, my lady?” His fingers are pumping faster, feeling tears brimming on your waterline, hoping to not spill all over your face, your stage makeup seems to be in precarious conditions.

A familiar warmth, deep in the pool of your tummy, “Don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop” You know how much he likes to hear you sing for him. His spare hand grabs onto your thigh, rings biting the soft skin there, feeling yourself teetering on the edge.

“Thaaaat’s it, you’re doing so well,” he whispers. One more pump of his fingers and you cum with a silent cry, biting onto your hand, feeling yourself pulsate around his fingers.

Without much warning he slips them out, sucking on his own fingers, tasting your own delicious essence.

“Places!” You hear Miss George say backstage, as Eddie retrieves your panties for you and slips them up your legs.

Eddie fixes his hair in the mirror, tying them back. He places a kiss on your cheek with a hurried, “Good luck— uh fuck I meant break a leg.” Then he furtively leaves the dressing room.

You feel a blush spreading across your body, finally relaxed and ready to begin the show.

You leave the dressing room, joining the rest of the cast, full of excitement. You know all your love monologues are going to be directed towards a certain metalhead tonight.

The show goes smoothly and you don’t forget a single line, you’re surrounded by family and friends, ready to do it all again the day after.

You go back into the dressing rooms to grab your stuff and change, but a long mop of curly hair occupies your chair.

“Eddie, you can’t be here!” you whisper, as he turns around with the biggest smile plastered on his face.

“Just wanted to tell my girl congratulations in private. You smashed it tonight,” you blush at the nickname.

“Since when am I your girl?” you ask, not letting him see how much it affected you.

“Since you kissed me in my van when I dropped you off, gorgeous.” He flirts, bottom lip trapped in between his teeth.

“So, how about that date?”

thank you for reading! comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

tagging: @thornsnvultures, @xxhellfirebunnyxx, @duuhrayliegh, @ali-r3n, @sunnythevampireslayer, @bimbobaggins69, @jamdoughnutmagician, @eiightysixbaby, @aphrogeneias, @daisy-munson, @gravedigginbbydoll, @s6raphic, @take-everything-you-can, @strangerstilinski

[babybratzmaraj]

You Don’t Know My Name

Aaron Pierre as Terry Richmond

You as Yourself

Summary: Today was the start of your day which already wasnt worth a lick of shit, but what if someone changes that?

A/N i gave the nigga a full name, yall gone see, but SURPISEEE! @megamindsecretlair you clocked me and it is Mr Terry that was in the coming soon, hope you enjoyed yet another cameo in this series and i hope you like it!♥️ also @violetmuses ik i gave you this idea, but i stole it back and i hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Warnings: Nothing, just pure cuteness and family time.

For Boosted Experience, Heres the Official Soundtrack. https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2K7IeGXgQq7K16YP1Jb7yN?si=UCA3v7yZQieKWNRrBg0wdA&pi=u-4AXbUCgzR42u

Your eyes fluttered open at the annoyance of your alarm clock blaring in your ear, you looked over to see it was 7:45, 45 minutes past your time to get ready for work.

Over today already, you slammed your hand onto the clock, not giving a damn if the thing broke or not. You looked outside to see the sun’s beautiful attempt to wake the people of Earth, the vibrancy of the colors making you jealous that you have to work at 9:30 but choose to get up to prep for it.

You glanced in the mirror and almost gave yourself seven years of bad luck, The one time you take your braids out is the day you decide to get five more minutes of sleep, Luckily, you washed and blow-dried it the night before, so it shouldn’t give you a hassle, but your hair never agrees.

You turned off the alarm clock before the snooze timer exploded your eardrums, grabbing your phone to put on your get-ready-for-work playlist.

Summer by Kenya Vaun blasted through your pink headphones, enjoying the outside before heading to work which would take the whole song, but it was just a nice way to start today.

The vibrant colors scrambled away as the blues paraded throughout the sky, the clouds playing tag and creating little symbols and animals, you could stand still and watch the sky all day and not get bored, even the heart-shaped cloud winking down at you.

You approached your job with a fake smile, Westside Diner! Home of one of the best coney dogs in your opinion, the 1950’s 1950-inspired diner was filled with memorabilia from the past and fifties like decor, you admired how much time and effort was put into making the wonderful restaurant if only there was one for us black people.

You scurried across the street, smelling the breakfast scents that lingered out into the air and slapping you dead in your negro nostrils, envy filled your body towards the people who were enjoying themselves at this establishment.

Pushing open the door, the door suddenly became lighter, shooting your hands forward as you braced your fall, an arm flung around to catch you, a small ‘oof!’ flew from your mouth.

‘Please get off me, I’m finna clock out’ You said calmly in your head, closing your eyes to not see if there were any witnesses.

Your despair was vocal enough that a deep chuckle shook you straight, “No one saw it,” he said, low enough to be quiet as a church mouse. You turned around to see if the voice matched the face and whew!

This fine… Heaven sent of a man completely towering over you, he sported a brown sweater with khakis with black dress shoes with a gold buckle on the side, gold gracefully complementing his skin tone, and not too much gold to wear it drowns the color from his eyes, good lord his eyes! as ethereal as the sky.

“Alrighty buttercup,” you snapped your head around to see Ms. Olaynika, the manager and your third mother you have collected like a Pokemon. She snapped her fingers and hurried you, “It’s 8:54, Times’a ticking and food is ready to go in stomachs!” she finished before going back to her table like she didn’t just rush you, the professionality, you loved it.

“Thank you, hope you enjoy your day.” You thanked the man before scraming away from him.

“So you mean to tell me,” Your best friend Nicole stood there with a face with her arms crossed with her eyebrows scrunched up and away like her braids, “You had this fine ass man who saved you from embarrassment, held you for a long time, and had nice eyes?”

You smiled while rolling your eyes, “I just know that isn't what all you got from that.”

“No!” She tilted her head to the side as her voice went up an octave higher than normal, “I’m just saying I don't know how you standing right here talking to me instead of going downtown.”

“I wish, but I need a ‘you deserve it’ weekend, I’m tired of being cooped in the house.” you sighed walking up to the counter with Nicole trailing you. “I can’t have Mr. Bigshot to distract me.”

“You know that’s a damn lie,” she told you in a sing-songy voice, “You gone think about him all day and that's ok! You deserve that along with your ‘you deserve it weekend’.”

She was right, but you couldn’t let her know that she wouldn’t let you hear the end of it even after your shift. You checked the notebook to see whose section was where and when the time switch was. “And how do you know he finna be on my mind?” You asked without looking up from the notebook.

“Because he is currently, at your section, Have fun!”

You finally looked up from the scribbled on paper to see that he really was in your section, his glasses placed on the tip of his nose, his gaze fixated on the book, and he had a good pick! White Smoke by Tiffany D. Jackson, Your smile flipped inwards as you admired his taste in books.

You straighten your posture, checking if your shirt was ok and decent for the eyes to absorb. You pranced towards his booth with a smile on your face, clicking your pen to hide the fact that you were absolutely scared to talk to this man without your stuttering sneaking through the flaps of your mouth.

You stated your name with a smile and snuck glances at his book. He was at the part where Marigold was sneaking around her mom and her stepdad to make her very own weed farm, but it was destroyed by something or someone? Who the fuck knows, you never got to finish, maybe you can go to the library soon to catch up on it.

“Passionate reader huh?” He asked, noticing your desperate attempts to read along with him. You hid your smile behind your notepad, “You caught me, That is my favorite author, even though I only finished one book.”

“Really?” His eyebrows were hunched, sticking a napkin in place of a bookmark. “Yes! The book was called ‘Grown’. It was such a lovely book and-” You started to ramble about the book but you’ve realized, you don’t get paid for sharing interests, you get paid for working.

“What would you like?”

“Oh, you can’t do that to me.” he covered his heart as if he was just insulted, “You can’t leave me like that, I wanted to hear about this book.”

“Maybe if we meet again, I do look better outside my work clothes,” you joked and he laughed, your toes spazzing out inside your black Nike huaraches, He laughed! And he had a nice one, a very cute one along with his ear-to-ear smile.

“Coffee, Please, and whatever food you think I would enjoy.”

“Ooooook.” You jotted down his order, “And how would you like your coffee?”

“Sweet, Like you.” he winked.

“Give me 5 minutes and I’ll be back with your coffee.”

It’s been 20 minutes since you last gave Mystery Man his meal. Since he let you be the judge of what he ate, you gave him one of your favorites at this diner! The Western Omelette with crispy hash browns on the side with a smiley face in ketchup. While waiting at other tables, you observed him nervously, scared that he might not like your selection of breakfast foods, that you put too much sugar and whipped cream in his coffee, which you also made a smiley face on as well, he had you anxious and you didn’t like it, he was a cute stranger after all.

After a while you sucked it up, shaking your jitters away as you walked up to his booth. “Everything alright with your order?”

“Mm!” He signaled you to wait for a little minute as he took a sip of his coffee, licking his lips as he gently set the mug down, “I loved it, the hash browns may be my new favorite here.”

You felt relieved, your muscles that you didn’t even know were tensed eased, “I’m glad I can make your morning better! Would you like anything else?”

“Uh, A To-Go Box and a Fruit Punch To-Go please.” He smiled, grabbing a napkin to dab the sides of his mouth.

“I can start on the fruit punch and if you want, you can follow me to ring out your order.”

“No need,” he said, digging into his pocket and handing you his black card. This nigga is fancy.

You looked at the card almost dumbfounded. You never really saw a black card, only heard about it from Fabolous and movies and shit, but never seen it in person.

You carefully grabbed his card from his hands, “I’ll be back.”

You walked away and checked on your other table that wanted your attention before him. Making sure everyone was ok with their needs met, you walked to the cash register, punching in his food and coffee, sneaking a peek at the name on the card, Terrance Richmond. A sophisticated name for a sophisticated man, a wonderful sight to see.

You slid the card with the receipt into your waist apron as you asked one of your co-workers to ring in a new customer while you started on his fruit punch with light ice. The fruit punch here was delicious and it didn’t need to be watered down with hella ice.

Swiftly grabbing a To-Go box on your way out, you happily waddled towards Terry’s table. “Your Box, Punch and,” You dragged your last word as you pulled out his card and receipt out the apron, “Card, Mr. Richmond.”

“Oh! I see you snuck a peek for my name, it's only right I know your full one.” he teased you as he examined the paper.

“I don’t get paid for that, I get paid to service you.” you teased back as you can only hope you get to do that for free.

You gave him your pen and pointed to the line below the total, “Since you did pay with card, You need to sign here, for fraud protection purposes. While you do that, I shall be back with your copy.”

He silently thanked you, his smile growing wider and more innocent. You looked around and made eye contact with Nicole, making matching faces as you two met at the counter.

“Sooooo,” she started, “How’s Tall, Black, and Lightskin?” she asked as you covered your mouth, silently howling in the semi-busy environment around you two. “He has a name, it’s Terrance.”

“I’m not calling him that long ass name!” she huffed as she rang in her customer's order, “That nigga name will be Mr. Pretty Eyes.”

“Terrance too long of a name but Mr. Pretty Eyes is just right? Kinda backwards shit is that Yoda?”

“Care about that shit, I do not!” she perfectly said in Yoda, causing you both to snicker, tapping each other on the shoulder. “Plus must I remind you of that alien ass nigga you had a crush on in 6th-”

“Eugh!” You verbally voiced your displeasure with yourself, his face just flashing into your head. “We don’t speak about that vermin.”

Nicole threw her hands up, taking a pen from the clean cup to scratch her head full of braids. “Aw, Shit. I gave him my pen.” you reminded yourself scooting past her to go to his booth but he was long gone, all that was left was his fruit punch, your pen, and a 50 dollar bill. The writing on the cup said ‘Enjoy Yourself:)’. You looked around for his silhouette, but he was long gone, you smiled at his nice gesture of leaving you a fruit punch.

What a way to start off your morning.

Home, 8 pm,

You closed your eyes as your bed welcomed you back into its arms, the savory smell of chili floating around in your room.

You finished your shift with ease after your little encounter with that man. That’s rude, his name is Terry, Terrance, but permanently Terry. You have got to stop beating yourself up over something small.

But it wasn’t small, everything that flowed off that man was so intoxicating, a mystery in a good book or show that you just want to solve, but not so quickly, you needed some fun in your life.

After your shift, You and Nicole walked to your house to talk for a few and according to her, you were a daydreamer. Every few minutes or so, you would zone out, even her calling you Buttercup didn’t snap you out, and that’s close to an army vet being awoken by ‘At Ease’.

You denied it but you definitely were. You just couldn’t stop thinking about how his reading voice is, Was he gentle? Was he passionate? Would he carefully rub the pages before turning? Does he lick his index to turn it? Many outcomes, Many Possibilities.

A tickling sensation jolted you out of your trance, your eyes zapping to the culprit, which was your grandmother, “I’ve been yelling your name Cupcake!” she sarcastically smiled, waving the clean black spoon around like a mad woman.

“Sorry Mama Moonie,” You bounced to your feet, grabbing your phone off the bed before extending your arms towards her.

“Yeah, Yeah. When we get to this table you gone tell me what boy got my baby acting like she’s Tiana.” she pointed the spoon in your face, giving you an up-down before she walked away leaving you speechless. “Who said it was a boy!”

You trailed behind her as she grabbed two navy blue bowls out of the cabinet, peering at you like you must’ve forgotten who she was.

“Cupcake lemme tell ya,” she started, ready to tell you information you already knew by saying:

“I have been on this earth for 63 long ass years, that's 6 decades’ worth of knowledge compared to the few you have. You don’t think I have had those experiences where a man would have me ina spell! His aura haunts you in a way that makes you paralyzed, the masculinity he possesses within himself, and to not be an asshole in the same breath. I could go all day but you don’t wanna hear about my pussy being wet.”

“MOONIES!” you yelled as she started howling, your body shuddering at the thought of- That! But she is always so blunt in everything she does, you have no choice but to love it.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, swatting her laughter away, “But I’m saying, I’ve been there, so you might as well spill that tea before I clock that tea.” she finished, hitting the spoon on the pot before turning around with two full bowls of chili as she headed to the table.

“I have got to get you off of instagram reels,” you said aloud, popping the top on the pot and running water on the spoon before placing it over a towel to dry. turning around to see her shimmy into her way into the dark oak dining chair, her hands await yours.

“Let me grab crackers, I’ll join in a second.” you hurriedly opened the cabinet to grab the open box of ritz crackers, your feet shuffling to the left and the right before shimmying yourself into your seat, setting your crackers next to your bowl as you joined hands with Mama Moonies as you bowed for prayers.

“Lord I thank you for returning us to our safe and humble domain, may the food we are about to eat gives us the nutrients we need and the energy to finish our day strong, Lord I ask you for anything we don’t feel like talking about, to be in your hands, bless us with what we need, rid us of what we don’t. Lord, I also ask you to let our questions that need to be answered, be the answers that keep us sane. In Jesus name, Amen.”

The prayer ended and the tea quickly began to be spilled. You told Mama Moonies about everything, the one thing you loved about dinner time in this house, it was a time of love and happiness to be spilled around, with a lil bit of judgment here and there, but all harmless.

You told her about how the man basically saved you from embarrassment, wanted to know more about you, even made you get your own drink with a tip and a message, even telling her how you hoped he would become a regular. Her face stuck on a smirk as she downed her chilli. “Oh what Mama!” you exclaimed after having enough of her looks and giggles from time to time.

“Seems like you have a crush.”

“That I don’t!” Yes you did.

“You definitely do, and I don’t blame you, because you are either that or delusional, and my baby ain't that bullshit!” Welllllll.

“That man looks nice, is nice and the pockets right, of course I’m not saying you should go for his pockets, that would be wrong. But go for your heart child, open yourself, be free!” Moonies smiled as her arms expanded as big as the galaxy she was imagining, her wrinkled hand resting peacefully on yours, rubbing your knuckles with tender care. “I know you are shy, but it’s time to let it be known that you are here! be known that you deserve love and hey! God will bless you with a man, or that man. And hopefully, he packing.” Moonie's bluntness slipped out at the end, filling the room with belly laughter.

As the laughter died down, so did the food, bellies protruding out of their correct spots. “I’ll clean up, you go take a shower and enjoy your evening.” Moonies pat your hand, swiftly taking your bowl without your knowledge.

“You don’t have to!” You protest but she shot through your sign with a glare that will make a christian do Satan's stare. “Enjoy the rest of your night. I shall see you in da murrning!”

You blew a kiss towards her direction, pushing yourself up as itis started to race with your energy, and your energy was losing, but at least you can spend what you have left daydreaming about Mr. Richmond, something tells you that wasn’t your last time seeing him.

You Got Mail!: @megamindsecretlair @thecapodomme @harmshake @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @kimuzostar @yaachtynoboat711 @miyuhpapayuh @nayaxwrites @planetblaque @darqchilddaydreamz @henneseyhoe @slippinninque

[mynameismisty]

- SUCH A RIP OFF -

warnings: none, mostly terry being a flirtatious a-hole, friends-to-lovers kinda, fluff, mentions of light violence

sidenote: writing dc for the first time :''), also I suck at writing fighting scenes im so sorry guys, the divider was made by @dollywons!! credits to them

i got the inspo from that one mlbb episode with marinette and cat noir so just think of marinettes balcony thingy while reading the last few parts T>T so think about terry being a cat noir rip off if ykwim

im sorry if its bad guys omg this was supposed to be a 100 follower special, and on that note, TYSM FOR 100 FOLLOWERS I LOVE U ALLLL

You walked down the streets of Gotham, sighing as you clutched your sling bag in one hand and a few bags of groceries in the other, a few things your mother asked you to pick up coming home from school today.

Nothing exciting happened at all, just simply a boring day, where teachers taught, students listened (and maybe slept) and the bell rang like it always used to. Terry wasn't there to walk you home, having left immediately just after the bell rang, kissing you on the forehead and muttering an excuse about Mr. Wayne.

You weren’t really dating Terry, both of you knew that. But there were alot of moments where you thought he showed signs of liking you in the same manner you liked him too. Though, thinking about that now seemed too difficult as breeze after breeze brushes against your neck, making you shiver.

It wasn't a problem, before you met Terry you always walked home alone, so nothing was new. No biggie. Now, though, you couldn't tell why your heart was beating so hard as it is, why it pounded against your chest and made your skin crawl as you walked cautiously back home. Was something about to happen? If so, what the hell was it?

A sharp gust of wind zooms behind you, and you stop in your tracks, whipping your head around. "Hello?" You call out.

It must've been some motorcycle. Just going home like you. Right?

Another gust of wind, and another. This time, accompanied by the sound of a roaring engine and maniacal giggles.

It was the Jokerz, three of them, all circling around you like little devils on their bikes.

"Didn't your ma ever tell you to not walk home alone?" One of them taunts. "You're in Joker territory, lady."

"Though a nice payment would be the cash in that bag along with those groceries ya got. 'Long with the wallet o'course." Their eyes looked like they were about to eat you whole behind the whole clown make up. Just hand it over. You're sure your mom would understand, right?

Your own hand shakily reaches for the money in your bag as they point their weapons at you. Their bikes were fully at a halt, instead focusing on you, whether you ran or ducked nothing would happen. You were cornered.

At least that's what you thought, before you saw a faint shadow from one of the rooftops. "I thought guys were always supposed to be gentlemen to women?" A familiar voice, it was Terry!

You look up, blinking as you saw the batman. Hey! You swore you heard Terry's voice. But what—

Snapped out of your thoughts as the black figure jumped down from the ledge, landing near the Jokerz. With no other words at all, he sends a punch to the one taunting you earlier. A fight ensues, with Batman getting hit in some places but not backing down as he eventually finishes it, leaving all three Jokerz knocked down, ripped lip, bleeding noses and a few black eyes.

At this point, you were backed up against a wall, breathing heavily, not daring to move during the earlier action. Batman turns to you. "You alright, miss?"

You nod. "Yes— yes, I'm fine. Thank you, thank you, really. Thought I was a goner."

"It's not a problem, just doing what the Batman does." He says. There was an awkward tone to his voice. Hands on his hips as he turned to you. Almost reminded you of someone. You couldn't put your finger on it. 

"Could, uh, carry you home, only if you want to. Besides, I'm only doing a few night patrols." The Batman was talking to you like you were someone he knew personally.

"Sure." An awkward, half smile etches itself into your mouth, as you tuck your hair behind your ear.

You'd expect from his offer that you'd get into the Bat-mobile and tell him where you live, but to your surprise, as you agree, he puts an arm around your shoulder and under your thighs as he picks you up bridal-style.

For the first few minutes that he carried you, he seemed to know which ways to go, shortcuts not many people who went this way knew, even flying with the jetpack attached to the black suit.

He only asks little about your home, about the path, about the way. Vague directions you're sure would probably confuse anyone else who would try to walk you home like this. 

In no time he's at the roof of your house, landing carefully at the slanted top, cautious not to make a roof tile slip. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Batman places you down, with an almost unnerving delicate swift like you were a glass sculpture.

Batman places you down onto your feet, patting a few stray, miniscule hairs from the sweater you had on. The seemingly dark, brooding Batman now stood in front of you, you swore you could hear a few breaths. The whites of his mask looking deep into your soul, who was the person behind the mask?

You shake your head, leaving your thoughts as you nod at him curtly. "Thank you, uh, Batman. I'm glad I got home safely. And you know, thank you for saving me from the Jokerz."

He clears his throat, his voice sounding dramatically an octave lower than earlier. "No worries, I do it to protect the citizens of Gotham."

Before you could get another word out, he scrambles away (in embarrassment?) and off the balcony, flying away with that jetpack of his.

And you're left wondering why your heart adorned a familiar beating pattern you only had for only a special someone.

Oh, whatever. You're probably being delusional, right? You think as you turn on your heel into your room.

"Goodnight, doll." Terry mutters, a hand over the part of his suit where his heart was. He could feel it pounding against his chest, threatening to pop out and sing its love out to you. "See you tomorrow." He spares another quick glance at your shut windows just as the lights turn off before he finally decides to retreat back to the Bat cave.

dividers from @dollywons!!!

[aritamargarita]

ATTITUDE (… CHRISTMAS SPECIAL!!)

I feel very motivated. Yes it’s 5 am

It’s December now……..originally wasn’t gonna consider this canon but it is. We’re cooking again. WE DRAW CLOSER TO 2002!!!!!!! its december 24th 2001 in story!!!

this one’s a quick one since it’s just a one off chrystler chapter.

hopefully it’ll hold u guys for just a LIITTLEEE longer while i work on other things too. by the way when i rewatched the eggnog match, it was so fast it actually made me mad LMAO, well not much you can do there anyway so i tried improvising..?

‘TWAS THE RAW before Christmas and you’re sure there’s a lot of holiday cheer. You’re excited. What’s the night got in store?

You received a blue and red envelope in your locker today.

It’s painfully obvious they were invited to Smackdown and Raw’s Christmas parties, but you think it’s only because they want you to see what each brand had in store. They hadn’t started the draft yet, but you’re sure both General Managers had their eyes on a few picks…including you.

All you can hope is that the fans don’t get tired of you. It’s probably the only way you’d be allowed to be a free agent.

Before you can leave, your phone rings. You’re a little concerned, given that you’re at work and have never ever gotten a call. You’re about to enter the room, but you take a step back to quickly answer. “Hello?”

‘Hello, sweetie! How are you? Are you working?’

It’s your mother, and when hearing her voice, you sigh. “Hey, yes. I’m working. Is something wrong?”

‘No, no at all.’ It makes you sigh again, but this time in relief. ‘I watched one of your shows. That Jeff boy seems very nice. I’d like if you bring him home for Christmas!’

Oh, that’s not…

It takes you a moment to respond. “What? Why?”

‘He just seems sweet! That is a pure-hearted boy, and you seem to care for him enough. I’ll be expecting you two love birds.’ She says. ‘That is if you’re able to come home.’

“I’m not sure. I think I might, but only for a day. The next Raw doesn’t get taped until…well, next year. In January. I forgot when Smackdown was.”

‘I hope you do. We miss you very much. Give what I said some thought! I won’t bother you anymore. I love you!’

“Love you too. Bye bye.” And you hang up. You don’t think you’ll ever tell anyone what she said. You probably wouldn’t hear the end of it!

You take a deep breath and shake it off. As you walk through the door, you’re greeted by a camera and…Pat Patterson and Gerald Brisco in elf outfits.

Wow, what a party Mr. McMahon has hosted…

Speaking of him, he was already at the door once he opened it. “I totally wasn’t listening to your conversation,” He clarified. You roll your eyes. But your boss is thrilled to see you, outstretching his arms.

“You’re the star of the night! I assure you, you’ve chosen the right party. You’re going to love it here.”

He tries going in for a hug, but you don’t react. Instead, he awkwardly reaches his hand out, and you shake it hesitantly. This is still your boss, after all.

“Everybody give a warm welcome to [Name]!” Vince announced. Great, now everyone’s staring.

You give a small wave as everyone in the room soundly greets you. Some of these people look familiar. Billy and Chuck, Terri, Christian, The Dudley Boyz….

And then there’s Stacy. Your eyes brighten once you see her in the room. She’s the only one you know well. She’s also excited to see you, hopping off of (who you can assume is) Bubba’s lap.

“[Name]! You came!”

“Hi.” You wave. “You look nice.”

Your voice is dry, which makes Stacy pout in return. However, your compliment puts her at ease. “Thanks!”

She then takes her hand and pulls on your shirt. “What’s with this? I thought you’d be all dressed up! It’s about to be Christmas! You dressed up when we were in WCW, remember?”

You do. It’s not because you wanted to, either. You didn’t really have a choice. Management wanted all the girls to come out in their little cute Santa’s helper costumes, and the moment you complained about it, you were told that you could just go for the day…and not be on TV.

You shake your head. “I’d rather just wear my regular clothes. Now, you may ask why again. The answer…is because I can. “To you, that reason was as good as any.

“Ugh, come on.” She whines. “I wanted to see you in something nice. I think the crowd would love it, too!”

There lies the problem. You scoff. “As if I’m showing any kind of skin in this landfill of a place called Miami. Of all the states we have to be in, it’s Florida?! Gross..” Your words incite booing from the crowd, but it’s not like you can hear them anyway. “This place sucks. I saw a man wrestling an alligator outside.”

“You’re silly. You should take a load off.” Stacy grins. Little did she know, you were dead serious. And the man was WINNING! Incredible.

You figured there was no convincing Stacy. She must’ve thought you were crazy.....if she doesn’t already.

She takes her hand and pats your shoulder. “It’s okay, [Name]. Maybe you’re just a little hazy from excitement. You should have some fun with us!”

“I don’t think I can.” You decline. “I’ve got a segment soon. So, not for long. Whatever’s going on here, I’m happy to see we’re all getting along.”

“I’m taking that you like it here?” Vince cuts in, then motions towards the other wrestlers. “See all the star power in here. That could be you. You can be involved. You sign with SmackDown, I promise you you’ll see that and more.”

You will consider. You’re not entirely sure whether or not you want to be with either brand because they have pros and cons. The problem is, which one would you rather deal with?

“Right, um..” You hesitate for a second, and Vince immediately jumps on his chance.

“Well, why don’t you come over and drink some punch? If that’s not your thing, we’ve got a lot of options.” He holds up a bottle of sparkling cider.

Man, he’s really trying hard, huh?

The arrival of Booker T grabs his attention, and you slink away to Christian instead. “Hey! Been a while.”

Christian looks around before looking at you with a grin. (Something you know he did on purpose) “If it isn’t my favorite fan! How’s it going, tiny?”

It’s been a while since he’s even called you that nickname, and it still does NOT hold true. You swear to god it’s not true. “I have definitely been fine! Just hanging in there.”

“I dunno, what you did at Vengeance was completely nuts. Are you sure you’re just hanging in there? Not gonna do the same to me, are you?” He asks.

“No. I just want to relax today! I really do.” You admit. You’re tired, and you want some time to think. This party does nothing for your racing thoughts, but the least you could do was try and enjoy it before leaving.

Which was probably soon.

“I don’t mean to butt in at all,” Terri comes over to you and rubs your shoulder. “But are you doing alright? The last time I saw you was when you mistook me for Torrie. And you had a bit of a meltdown during Vengeance.”

Wow, you really did leave a mark. Everyone must know about your little stunt. You fight a smile. “I’m just fine. I got my anger out and everything. I’m totally not mad.”

That was a lie. You are still mad and are unsure how long it’ll last, but you are still upset at Torrie. You’re still upset at Jeff and Raven as well, but the difference is that you don’t think you’ll ever forgive her for what she’s done so far.

Terri was going to speak again, but Vince loudly called everyone to attention. “You guys! Listen up, I got a surprise.” The door opens, and you don’t believe your eyes. “Courtesy of Santa himself, Santa’s little helpers!”

….Wait a second, these aren’t elves. They’re women! Did he seriously invite strippers?

They’re fully clothed, but their dresses were so short you might as well consider it next to nothing. It’s not like you’re complaining per se, but jeez. Wasn’t this supposed to be a kid-friendly show?

Haha, as if. You chuckle to yourself a bit.

Vince is introducing them as Santa’s helpers indeed. He takes “Vixen’s” hand to lead her onto a table.

“Alright,” You don’t want to stay around for this. “You guys have a good night, okay? I think I’m cutting it close. I need to get out in the ring.”

“But I’ve got a lot to show you, [Name]. You can’t just leave yet!” Vince tried to convince you, but you shook your head.

“Really can’t. But I promise I’ll consider Smackdown.”

You have to quickly exit before he can say anymore, but you can’t deny that you’re excited to talk in the ring.

Did you expect anything less from Vince McMahon? No. Hopefully, Raw would fare better.

Well, you’ll see soon enough.

It’s your turn to go out there, and you were pretty amped up about it. Sure, it’s another show of Raw, but it’s Christmas Eve, and Santa should be out and about now!

You want to show the crowd and everyone at home how excited you are for Christmas. Today’s another episode of Time Out with [Name]!

Once your entrance music plays, you push back the curtains and head down the ramp. Thanks to your stunt at Vengeance, you got a lot of mixed reactions from the crowd. 

Jerry is the first to point it out. ‘Well, she seems to be in a good mood, JR!’

‘She sure is. I’m not sure if we should be on guard or not. That woman is a ticking time bomb just waiting to explode.’

Thankfully, they had given you a mic before going out there. The moment you slid into the ring and were faced to face with thousands of people, you couldn’t help but fall into a laugh.

“Okay, I know what you guys are thinking,” You begin. “Vengeance may have gotten a little out of hand! I get it. But if you were in my shoes, you’d understand! Anyway, that’s not why I came here tonight.”

JR can only shake his head. ‘Well, I’m sure we’d all like to hear what’s going on in that mind of hers.’

“I have an extraordinary guest today..” You trail off. “In fact, you all know him very well! He sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake! It’s Santa—“

The Rock’s music plays instead. He quickly storms down to the ring, and you’re actually shocked that he interrupted you like that. The crowd cheers so loudly that you can’t even hear your thoughts. You figured it was a given. You’re in Miami, after all.

You start to talk as soon as he starts climbing into the ring. “Um, excuse me? Rocky?” The little pet name you call him makes him raise that iconic eyebrow toward you. “I-I didn’t call for you. I was waiting for Santa. But you’re more than welcome to wait for him with me.”

He stares at you momentarily, then reaches over the ring for a mic. There’s still more silence, and as you await your response, you look at him expectantly.

“..No.” He finally says. “The Rock came here to share a very important message with the MILLIONS—and MILLIONS—of Rock’s fans.”

“I get that.” You say. “I’m all for it, but this is my show. Like, jeez, if you’re gonna interrupt Santa, at least let me ask you some questions.”

“You think Santa’s coming here?! Miami is hot as hell, the guy’s gonna melt!” He’s got a fair point. But it’s Christmas! Santa would make a way to get here one way or another. “[Name], The Rock came out here because he has a few questions for you. You’re going to want to hear this, sweetheart.”

You’d be almost flattered at the pet name if it wasn’t for the slight derisive tone behind it. You can’t deny your curiosity, though. “Oh, pray tell!”

“You and The Rock both hate Chris Jericho. You and The Rock also hate….Stephanie McMahon.” He says. It’s true. Very true! You hate both of them. “And because we share the same hatred, The Rock has gotten you a gift. Consider it a peace offering.”

How sweet! Can’t refuse presents. Maybe Santa could wait for a minute. Hopefully, Austin won’t get too angry that you’ve accepted this.

He reaches over the ropes to one of the stagehands, and he’s handed a neatly wrapped gift. It is handed off to you, and you’re already excited, ripping it open as fast as possible.

The camera zooms in on your gift, and it’s…

…a book with a red bull on the cover. You look at him in confusion before repeating the title for the crowd. “The Rock’s night before Christmas? Did you really just give me a book??”

The Rock ignores your comment, and the crowd laughs as he takes the book away from you.

“You sure are. Here, let The Rock help you,” He flips open the book to one of the pages. “Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even….a mouse.” He pauses for a moment. “The weather was warm, not a trace of snow, just as The Rock got ready to whoop Chris Jericho.”

You nod your head. The only reason why you’re playing along is because of the Jericho line.

But he teases you anyway. “…See, there you go. That’s how you read a book. Go on, try it.” He hands it back to you.

You clear your throat. Guess that’ll be a way to pass the time waiting for Santa. “Jericho claims to be the best. The Rock has found this quite brutal. Clearly, Chris Jericho is a man who has no strudel.”

Whatever that means. The crowd goes crazy, though.

You look over to The Rock, and he nods in approval. He makes a motion with his hands for you to keep going. “I am a living legend! Y2J would sing, trembling with fear as he heads into the peoples ring…and faster, faster than Scrooge, saw the ghost of Christmas past—“

The Rock cuts you off, finishing the rhyme once and for all. “The Rock hit the people’s ring and WHOOPED Y2J’S ASS!”

Wow! What a wonderful Christmas gift. Not.

You thought it was something useful. For all you care, he could’ve gifted you a chair. A brand new kendo stick. Maybe even a steel pole. Hell, you’d even take a pair of socks over this book.

“Not to sound ungrateful, but this is my gift? No joke?”

The Rock nodded. “Well?? Do you like it?”

Your silence told a million words. The moment you’re about to speak, you can’t help but laugh once more. It takes you a minute to pull it together.

“As much as I would love to rag on Jericho, and believe me, I would LOVE to rag on him, that’s not what I expected. It’s Santa. And in the spirit of Christmas, it just so happens I have a gift for the crowd, too.”

The crowd cheers, but you already know what they’re thinking. You point a finger upward. “No, it has nothing to do with me taking my clothes off!”

And just like that, the crowd begins to boo. Aw.

Just as you’re about to spill the deets about your Christmas gift, the familiar tune of Kurt Angle’s music plays. For the love of god, you just want Santa Claus!!

“Sorry, guys..” Kurt insincerely apologizes from the top of the ramp. “All this talk about Christmas makes me think about something. What is it that you said about Santa Claus? He sees you when you’re sleeping..he knows when you’re awake?”

You scoff at the mimicking of what you said earlier, but he continues. “Well, if you ask me, Saint Nick is a pervert! I’ll tell ya what, I hope Santa isn’t watching tonight because I plan on being very naughty.”

How dare he drag Santa’s name through the dirt like that? “You can’t say those things about Santa. Most importantly, you can’t just say you’ll be naughty! You’re the pervert!” You accuse.

“You’re the only one thinking that way, [Name]!” Kurt accused back. “And boy, I am glad you’re not stripping out here tonight. Now that’s a relief. This is supposed to be a kid-friendly show!” Yeah right.

“Are you sure about that?” You question. “Earlier, there was—“

He quickly cuts you off. “As a matter of fact, you or anyone else shouldn’t be idolizing Santa. There is someone far more powerful than he is, and it’s Vince McMahon. In fact, he got your Olympic hero a very special Christmas present.”

“Vince makes little kids cry at that sight of him!” You accuse. “You think they’d idolize him??”

You’re unsure if it is true, but he’s scary. You remember when he ran towards you and Trish during that one match. A literal nightmare. “What did you get? I bet it’s not better than mine!”

“Don’t you know?” As Kurt is speaking, you can hear the crowd chanting ‘asshole’ around you. It makes you giggle. “It’s—“

“Woah, woah, woah!” The Rock interrupts. “Please let them finish calling you an asshole!”

You seem exasperated that your show has been hijacked yet again, on Christmas Eve nonetheless. “Guys, there’s gotta be a way we can settle this. You know, somewhere else?”

“No, no, you’re gonna wanna hear this,” Kurt says. Both of them have said that, so that means that you won’t like it as much..

“That present is a shot at the undisputed title. That’s right, tonight is going to be a triple-threat match. The Rock versus Chris Jericho versus Kurt Angle. Ho, ho, ho, it’s true!”

You had brushed it off when she said it in passing, but Trish really had a point when she said that the men ruin everything. This was already cutting into your time.

Kurt seems to be confident, though. “And I tell you what, Rock, your chances at winning the title in front of these sleazy hometown losers just went slim to none!”

“Let me just say,” You decide to add. “That Stone Cold Steve Austin would wipe you two off the map! Uh, no offense, Rocky.” You say, gently setting a hand onto his bicep. “If Vince McMahon had any good in him, which I doubt, he would let Austin into that triple threat and make it a fatal four-way!”

The jeering quickly turns into cheers, and you bow to your fantastic suggestion.

“Oh, absolutely not!” Kurt yells. He decides to make his way down the ramp, and you start to feel like this isn’t ending well. “I got this fair and square. Stone Cold doesn’t deserve this as much as I do. There’s a reason why Vince put the Olympic Gold Medalist into action and not some trailer park trash.”

Ouch. You wince.

“Seeing as you came out here and interrupted [Name] ’s little show..” Finally, the recognition you deserve. “Just let The Rock finish his Christmas message and he’ll tell you exactly how he feels about this whole thing—“

The sound of holiday bells fills the arena, and you immediately shush The Rock, albeit ruder than you intended to be. “SHUT UP, SHUT UP!” You yell. “IT’S SANTA!”

Lo and behold, it’s Jolly Old Saint Nick himself. Santa’s holding a red sack, which is likely full of presents.

More than likely, it was merchandise, and Santa reached in and began tossing things into the crowd. You’re giving him a standing ovation.

The Rock looks at you as if you’re insane. Even Kurt, who had just begun climbing the ropes into the ring, shoots you a look as well.

“Look! It’s Santa!” You exclaim, pointing right at him. “He’s right there! I told you guys he was coming!”

After a minute of throwing things out into the crowd, Santa chucks his bag into the ring and clambers in. You immediately hold out your mic for him to take. You’ll grab another one, you don’t even care.

“Ho, ho, ho!” Santa bellowed. This is really happening in real time. You skip over to the ropes and reach for a new mic as he continues talking. “Have you wrestlers been good this year?!”

You make haste to grab a new microphone. “I have!” There’s a giggle in your voice. “I don’t know about them, but I’ve been the nicest!”

Kurt shakes his head. “I don’t think so! You beat up poor Stephanie McMahon just a few weeks ago!” He calls back to your handicap match, but in your defense, she started it.

“That wasn’t my fault. Stephanie was trying to interfere! She even interrupted my show!” You shoot back. “You know, like you two interrupted mine?!”

He’s still not swayed. “She’s a potential business partner! You can’t just do that to a potential business partner!” Kurt then gives you a sardonic grin. “Personally, I’m just making it better.”

“A potential business partner? HA! Maybe on the street!” You laugh. “I swear to god, I will—“

Santa immediately puts a stop to your petty bickering. “Friends! There’s no need to argue. I can see how good you are in your hearts!”

That was so real. You smile, but The Rock is shaking his head. He points a finger toward him. “So, Santa, you came to The Rock’s hometown of Miami…..all the way from the North Pole? The Rock isn’t sure if he believes that.”

“What do you mean you don’t believe it?! He’s Santa!” You motion towards him.

Kurt doesn’t believe it either. “Yeah, right. I hate to agree with him, but look at him!”

All three of you turn to look at Santa at the same time. You personally see nothing wrong with him. “What’s the deal? This is definitely Santa.”

“…Well, [Name], whatd’ya want for Christmas?” Santa asks.

“See! How else would he know my name if he wasn’t Santa?” You question. You take a second to think about what you want, then bring the mic up so you can talk.

As soon as you’re about to speak, Santa Claus stands up and cuts you off. “Aht, aht, aht!” He waves a finger. “That was a test. Never tell your wish! Fret not, Santa knows all. Perhaps you’ll get what you want this year!”

You’re convinced and happy. That’s all that matters.

“Listen, ‘SANTA,’ Kurt sarcastically begins. “If you’re the real deal, I want to win the Undisputed Championship tonight. Can ya’ do that for me?!”

“I apologize, Kurt, but…. you’ve told me your wish; I don’t believe I can grant it.”

“HA!” You laugh. He’s not getting the Undisputed title for sure now. That’s one less thing for you to worry about.

“You can’t grant my wish...” Kurt repeats, nodding his head a bit. “Okay.” He shrugs it off momentarily, giving the impression that he’s about to leave, but he swoops Santa off his feet and into an Olympic Slam. As soon as Poor Santa hits the ground, Kurt angrily yells at him. “YOU’RE GONNA GIVE ME MY WISH, SANTA!”

“Wait!!” You yell. But it’s too late. “NOO! What’re you doing?! I can’t believe you!!!” You’re so distraught that your words are coming out way too fast. Kurt Angle just gave Santa an Olympic Slam!

To make things worse, Kurt pulls him right into the Ankle Lock. You’re yelling, but The Rock just stands there. That is until he decides to yank Kurt back and exchange blows with him instead.

As of right now, pain is all you feel. You kneel down to the fallen Santa, trying your best to help him up.

There’s one thing for sure. This Raw would be memorable…for all the wrong reasons.

Today’s matches are as follows…

RIKISHI VS. TEST

APA VS. BILLY AND CHUCK

TORRIE WILSON VS. STACY KEIBLER VS. [NAME] (EGGNOG MATCH)

RVD VS. LANCE STORM

CHRISTIAN VS. THE HURRICANE (EUROPEAN TITLE)

BOOKER T VS. MAVEN

BUBBA CLAUS VS. TAJIRI CLAUS

CHRIS JERICHO VS. KURT ANGLE VS. THE ROCK

You double take once you see your name alongside Stacy and Torrie.

Who put you in the eggnog match? You’re going to kill someone. This is probably one of the first gimmick matches you’ve had here, and it makes you reconsider shunning a bra and panties match…

….Nah, nothing would ever make you reconsider that. By some stroke of luck, you haven’t been signed up for one. However, you’d much rather have an actual match tonight!

Now you’ve got a bone to pick with Raw’s new owner. More than likely, he had something to do with this, so you can’t blame Vince THIS TIME. You may just start blaming him for shits and giggles, though.

“[Name]!”

You look behind you to see RVD storming down the hall. He doesn’t seem in the greatest of moods, but you still try and be friendly. “Hey there! What’s up?”

It’s a bit off-putting to see him so irritated. He seems so laid back. The moment he grabs your shoulders is when you realize that it may be serious. “Have you seen Chris Jericho? This is important.”

Seems like everyone’s looking for him. He is always causing trouble. You think it’ll only get worse now that he’s the Undisputed champion, but you can only hope someone else can beat him.

If that doesn’t happen, perhaps you’ll have to intervene.

He rubs his temple. “He attacked me on Heat before Vengeance. I know he’s performing tonight, but I don’t care. Lance Storm had a lot to say about it, so now I’ve gotta kick his ass.”

“I’m sure you’ll get it. My advice is to try the locker room. He’s vain enough to stay in there for days if he could. I’m sure he loves checking himself out.” You recommend.

RVD seems to relax a bit. He doesn’t think he can be mad around you, at least not for long. He lets go of your shoulders. “Alright, Miss Nitro. I’ll try.”

That’s like the second nickname someone’s given you. Can’t complain about it, though. It’s kinda cute!

Though you feel bad that you can only catch him in the halls, you smile anyway. “I’ll catch up with you later. I’ve gotta hit up the party. We’ve gotta hang out sometime. I really enjoyed it when we were a team.”

“Ditto.” He agrees. “Well, when you need a partner, come find me.”

You wave at him, he returns it, and you two go your separate ways. The main objective was to get to Raw’s party. Talking to Ric Flair was really important.

You could hear a distant “woo!!” from down the hallway. Yeah, he’s definitely in there.

You pick up the pace a bit to reach the door, and you quickly open it. Upon entry, you can see more people that you know. Trish, Jacqueline, Big Show, Hurricane, Tajiri, Torrie…

Seeing her sitting in Santa Tajiri’s lap, you can’t help but stare in awe. She seems surprised, too, not expecting you to be at the party. There’s a camera here, so it follows you to where you stand. You cross your arms.

They did an awful job of telling you these things.

You glance around again and notice that Edge is here, too. God damn it.

Once you and Torrie locked eyes, the room fell silent. Some of your coworkers are starting to get an idea of how unstable you are.

They just hoped you wouldn’t go ballistic on her right now. It’s a party! You’re supposed to be having fun! You get the gist, so you decide to clear the air. “I just want to talk to Ric Flair. I'm not here to fight or anything.”

Nevermind the fact you got an invitation..

Everyone seems to let out a sigh of relief, continuing their miscellaneous conversations. Were they really that concerned..?

The Nature Boy makes his way over to you. “You called for me?!” You flinch at his tone of voice. He’s so loud.

“Yeah, why’d you schedule me in that eggnog match?” You question. “I don’t want to be in it. In fact, there’s no reason for me to be in it.”

He grabs a drink from the table and raises it up toward you in offering. “I thought it would be a good opportunity, I wanna see you wrestle!”

You wave your hand at him. “You did! Remember that one match with The Rock? You fixed the match!”

“Not good enough! I wanna see some hair pullin’, eye scratchin’, clothes rippin’! Woo!” Ric chants. “You’re the only person that can deliver it! I've seen you go at it when you were in WCW!”

You can’t even get a word out before he’s yelling even more. “MERRY CHRISTMAS, FROM THE NATURE BOY!! WE ARE PARTYING DOWN TONIGHT, WE ARE LOOKIN’ GOOD!”

You really fight the urge to say: “Take your pills, old man,” but you instead decide to zip it for now. Guess you’ll have to participate.

Meanwhile, Edge makes his way over to you. He’s got garland wrapped around his neck like a scarf, and you know he’s still goofy as ever.

“Hey there, you.” He greets.

You wave. “Hi.” This is too awkward for you, so you cut to the chase. “We’re fine now, right? I saw you catch my kiss. I blew you.”

“Hah, blew me.” Edge chuckled. Ha, ha. You almost laughed, he’s sooo hilarious. “I don’t know why you came out there, but I kind of liked it.”

You’re happy. At least he didn’t seem to be mad at you anymore. He totally took things out of context. You wanted to map out a few things to say to him in your head, but it’s tough when Torrie talks so loudly in her squeaky voice.

It’s like she was doing it on purpose. Like she’s raising her voice so that you could hear. If that’s what she wants, so be it. You turn around to look.

“Wooow!!” She chirps, unwrapping a lingerie set from the box. “You want me to be naughty, don’t you?! It’s beautiful, I love it!”

God, you hate her. You swiftly turn around to leave but are stopped by Debra coming in with a tray of neatly placed cookies.

“Hey, sweetie!” She greets you with a big smile. “I’m glad you could make it! It’s not a party without my famous cookies!”

You’re gonna be honest. Those look like the sugar cookies from the store, but you’ll still eat them.

She hands over the tray to Ric. “Oh! Steve will be here any minute!” He’s coming too?! Cool! It is a little surprising to hear he’s actually gonna show up. Everyone in the room starts to cheer, including the crowd.

Alright, perhaps the night can turn itself around after all.

Eggnog shouldn’t be that bad. It's not your favorite drink, but it’s better than gravy. You bet poor Trish had to take so many showers.

It honestly reminds you of when Kurt hosed the Alliance down with milk. You won’t ever forget that night. You shiver just thinking about it.

The ladies of the night have already made their entrance. You’re the last one to come out. You don’t even bother dressing up all festive, as your gear will probably be drenched anyway.

Your music hits. Now’s the time to go out there and get this match done as quick as you can.

“And finally, introducing [Name]!”

For a moment, you stop midway on the ramp to look at the girls and the pool of eggnog.

If they said this was for a WCW taping, you would’ve believed them.

You finally reach the end of the ramp, looking over and shaking your head. You can’t believe you’re doing this. All the while, Torrie’s tossing candy canes into the crowd while you walk over toward the side. At least someone’s enjoying this.

As soon as you get down there, she turns toward you and coyly passes you a candy cane, but you slap it out of her hand. You don’t want that shit.

Stacy quickly takes advantage, yanking her over by the shoulder and slapping her. Stacy yells over to you, “Let’s throw her in!”

Absolutely. You give her a nod, and the two of you back over to Torrie. The both of you pick her up, adjusting so she doesn’t get hurt too bad when you toss her.

“One, two….” You begin to count, the two of you rocking back and forth. “Three!” And there she goes, right into the pool of eggnog. Some of it splashes on you, but you don’t care.

Cameras around you flashed and it almost blinded you for a moment, causing you to squint for a moment before rubbing your eyes.

Once you come to, you see Stacy raising her hand for a high five. You smile and give her one, but as soon as she turns her back on you to laugh at Torrie, you shove her into the pool.

What an idiot! It’s every woman for themselves tonight. While you actually start to find this fun, you foresee a messy shower in the future. Carefully, you step right into the pool. You didn’t want to slip and hurt yourself.

Of course, the first thing you do is to try and drown Torrie. Just to shut her up for a bit. You grab her hair, submerge her under the eggnog for a minute or two, and then pull her back up. She’s coughing and sputtering.

Stacy’s doing her best to regain some balance, even trying to grab on the referee for some leverage. You’re too focused on Torrie, though.

The smell of eggnog was starting to make you sick. You don’t think you ever want to see eggnog ever again.

You try to adjust to pull Torrie onto a very slippery STF, but you keep losing your grip every few seconds. You did your best to keep it on, though.

Torrie reaches her hand out, but there’s no rope to save her now. You think she’s just about to tap!….until Stacy got her head back in the game and broke up the submission.

Now, you’ll have to focus on her for a minute. There’s not much you can do in the pool, which is one of the reasons why you hated this match so much.

She drags you off of Torrie and starts slapping you around a bit. Seems like she doesn’t know what to do either.

That damn Ric Flair. What did you even get out of this? Definitely not a title match that’s for sure.

Either you do a roll up pin or you force them to tap. You’re leaning on the latter. You don’t know your time limit, so you’re gonna have to make do. You scoop Stacy up and slam her back into the pool, eggnog splashing everywhere.

Poor Torrie’s little Santa outfit was almost halfway off of her. Stacy was in the same state. You were smart enough NOT to dress in anything like that. The crowd can have them, but not you!

“You girls have five more minutes!” The referee whisper-shouted.

Five minutes, okay. That’s not bad. Five minutes…

Wait, FIVE MINUTES?! Not good. You start to panic inwardly, and Torrie is the first to catch on.

She comes out of character to check in on you for a second. That is, after she coughs out more eggnog.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine, but five minutes!” You exclaim, nearly losing your own footing, trying to adjust yourself.

You all need to start wrapping it up then. You’re almost disappointed it’s already almost over. Almost.

“Stacy!” You whisper-shout. “You’re gonna have to tap!” When you finish your sentence, you’re already moving to sweep her off her feet.

You really wish it was Torrie, but she’s too busy trying to get herself together. Man, if she threw up, there’s gonna be a problem.

Stacy desperately tries to claw at your arm to escape, to no avail. The referee circles around you two, and before you know it, she is tapping, causing eggnog to splash everywhere.

You let her go and shove her away, and the referee helps you up to raise your arm. You’re just ready to get the fuck out of dodge. You actually think that was the most embarrassing match you’ve been in.

“The winner of the eggnog match, [Name]!”

You snatch your arm from the referee and turn away to walk begrudgingly up the ramp, but don’t forget to bat your hand at the girls and the pool.

Your music blares in your ears, but it all sounds dull. All you care about is hitting the showers.

You’ve won, but at what cost? Sometimes, you really can’t help but hate your job.

As soon as you hit that curtain, Ric Flair gives you a round of applause with a smile. “Bravo!” Shockingly enough, he’s not being annoyingly loud. “Woooo! That was a show!”

“Good enough for you?” You ask sardonically. One of the stagehands passes you a towel, and you thank them. You use it to dry your face and hair. It’s gonna have to do for now.

God, you think you may have gotten eggnog in your ear…

“Hope you’re satisfied.” You have to hit your palm against your ear.

He just laughs, making you narrow your eyes.

“Listen, listen, I just have a deal for you. Because you did the favor of participating in this match, I’ve thought…how would you like to participate in the Royal Rumble?”

“What?!” You exclaim, nearly dropping your towel. “Are you serious?”

“Sure am. You see, I would like to surprise Vince. To keep him on his toes, I’m a bigger threat than he’ll ever know.” Ric explains. “There’s only 30 spots; I’m sure he will fill them quickly. So, you may want to talk to your fellow wrestlers. Maybe they’ll give up a spot.”

That’ll be hard to do. You know for a fact no man is willing to give up a spot like that. You’ll have to drive a hard bargain…

It takes a moment for you to respond. “..Well, I would love to, really! But I wouldn’t know how to get anyone to give up their spot. And I would have to just. I don’t know. I’m not sure.”

It was sprung onto you so suddenly that you weren’t sure what to do. Ric understands, luckily.

“Well, how about this? You take the rest of the night off. Go get cleaned up and think about it. Trust me, both of us are the winners.”

Now, that is an offer you cannot refuse. You’ll have to join the party next time.

For now, you just need to think.

[p4nishers]

i don't know if you even posted about it but

which discworld books have you read already?? and maybe you have some favourites like I STRONGLY SUSPECT THAT IT'S NIGHT WATCH but what if im absolutely wrong..please share

anon i will lay my life down for you i've been waiting for this for so so long (literally since november. but whatever)

so. from the rincewind series i've only read the last continent and unseen academicals bc reasons. one of them being is that i am weirdly passionate about the ridcully/bursar ship only i care about and they're developed enough characters by those books for me to actually have something to ship. i can't think of other reasons but. they're there definitely i promise. oh yeah unseen academicals was by FAR my fav from the two but i found the ending a little eh so i dont consider that one a FAVORITE favorite. but its still insanely fucking good.

then i've read all of the witches novels except equal rites and that's only cause i was listening to the audiobook and then i forgot where i left off and i just didn't finish it. anyway the clear winner for me is and always will be carpe jugulum and it's DEFINITELY one of my top 3 discworld books. like i know you didn't ask for this to be a hundred pages long but fuck me that BOOK. i could write ESSAYS. also wyrd sisters is a fucking masterpiece and i wont hear a WORD against it. thank you.

all of the death books expect thief of time and i honestly i just dont want to end the series yet so i'm still putting it off. give me some time. favorites from that hmm well hogfather DUH but also reaper man. listen man it's about found family it's about bill door it's about death giving his TIME for a little girl it's about I NEVER WORE A CROWN YOU NEVER WANTED TO RULE it's THE FIRST FUCKING TIME WE MEET REG SHOE also the wizards are fucking GREAT in that one i just love it. not top 3 material but definitely a comfort read.

from the watch books i've read up to thud! which i'm still half way thru bc i'm not ready to move on from night watch like i had to listen to it on audiobook two days after i've first read it bc it just sucks you in man. does NOT let go. and yeah you're so so so right and true about night watch being one of my absolute favorites that book changed me as a person i'm still definitely not over it. like at all. also feet of clay and fifth elephant will always ALWAYS be my children and have my heart for obvious reasons (cheery. its cheery).

from the moist books i only have raising steam left and yes again im putting it off bc i dont wanna finish the series whatever dont look too deep into my issues

uh. shit this is so fucking long ok sorry. from tiffany novels i've read up to wintersmith and so far the wee free men is my absolute favorite i cried so much reading that book it's embarrassing.

small gods was my very first discworld novel and let me fucking tell you man absolutely HILARIOUS place to start when you dont know shit about the world building that's all im gonna say. also it's just so fucking good it's insane to me like yeah maybe it's not as funny as the others but the way terry wrote about faith and gods and devotion and the church and ugghh. (sidenote i read an brutha/om fic a few weeks ago that changed my fucking LIFE im being so so serious rn that was a masterpiece)

and i think the only one left is the truth which is in my opinion one of the best written discworld books from what i've read and definitely in my top 3. like otto chriek would be enough to convince me and THEN there's mr tulip's backstory and william confronting his dad (man that scene where william gives his father thousands of dollars to pay back for what he "cost" him over his life. anyone got reminded of that one ladybird scene? yeah.) and it's just like the best thing you've ever read.

im so sorry this got so long im insane i hope u got some kind of answer out of it

[canyonkingdom]

you're all going to hell two

(chapter 2, part 1)

tw: mentions of $u|c|d3, murder, invasion of privacy,

"Mickey's dead?"

Lifty's innocent voice shriveled up.

"...Yes." Terry said blankly.

The port was dead silent.

"As if you guys actually cared about that man." Camp commented negatively, polishing his newly furnished caterpillar house. "He was so forgettable-"

"Yeah, but he didn't deserve to die." Lifty lamented. "I mean, die in that way."

"It's possible he killed himself?" Terry questioned as he kept loading Lifty's forklift with boxes. "It's his cement mixer after all."

"He's an asshole. What kind of asshole would want to commit suicide if they're so full of themselves?" Camp retorted back.

"Then someone killed him..." Lifty eloped.

"Of course someone killed him, idiot!" Camp shouted back in shock of the utter stupidity. "I just don't know who..."

"You can't make a response yet." Terry said. "There's barely any evidence to work with-"

"It's not a suicide." Camp reassured.

"I don't want to believe the your word, Camp," Terry followed after, grief stricken in his voice. "It's just... shocking."

Lifty's eyes glowed. "We could investigate the case more! We could ask more questions to Spooky-"

"It's not the right time, Lifty. The man's traumatized as fuck." Camp stated almost immediately, making Lifty's happiness die down. "He already played his part, and we're not specialists at this type of case!"

"But I heard that-"

"Let;s just get back to work." Terry quipped, a smile on his face. "Lifty, bring them to the trailer."

Lifty pouted, but he followed orders. He kept the forklift going.

Camp put the towel down, looking at the orange sky.

"It's not a suicide." he repeated.

It was silent.

"The funeral service is at Tuesday morning." Max unhappily said.

The construction crew was filled with sadness and dread and everyone was a mourning mess.

Well,

expet Poke and Bruner.

They blankly stared at Mickey's dead, grayish, cemented body under the glass of the casket.

"You shouldn't have followed us, bitch." Bruner forced a laugh, but it ended in pity.

Poke glanced at the other man with sad eyes. He tapped Bruner's shoulder.

"We need to talk."

Bruner hissed, eyeing the coffin. The two solemnly went outside. They glanced upon the faces locoed with despair and sadness.

"We should tell them." Poke gestured.

Bruner didn't answer. A pang of survivor's guilt hit the two like a shockwave, but Bruner was still shaken uo from the events.

"Oh, there you guys are!" Mr. Builder's raspy voice was easy to recognize. Both people looked up to see their boss. "Gonna leave now?"

"...No." Bruner said straighforward. "We're just looking for... a breath of fresh air."

Mr. Builder's smile was of sadness. "It hits hard, y'know? One day you're having the time of your life, the next day we're doing with funeral preparations." He let out a depressed sigh.

Bruner wanted to say sorry so bad.

Camp atayed awake most nights, but this was for an unusual reason.

"Lifty," he whispered, shaking the young worker from his premature sleep. "Lifty!" he repeated.

Lifty opened his eyes groggily. "Eugh... why?" he asked.

"My trailer's down, can I please use your forklift?"

Lifty blinked the sleepiness in his system. "But why? Can't you... just use Terry's?"

Camp sighed. "Do you really think I would walk a mile to his house?"

"Yes?" Lifty fathomed, rubbing his eyes before yawning. "You're fit and healthy. I live off of food stamps and coke-"

"Just let me borrow the forklift." Camp jeered, "Please."

"O- ok." Lifty finally answered. "But you could've just called me-"

"I don't have your number." Camp immediately said as the smile in his face grew. "Thanks." he highlighted as he left the room, leaving Lifty basking in the dark.

It was incredibly weird driving a forklift at night, but Camp didn't care. He only cared for the truth.

He stopped at Spooky's house, the array of tires was enough for him to recognize it. He jumped down the forklift and scanned the area.

"Hello?" he sing-songed.

The door creaked open.

"Camp?"

Camp smiled underneath his pain. "Oh, hi! Can I talk to you?"

Spooky hesistated, his hands clutching the door. "About- about what?"

Camp was on thin ice. "Mickey's death."

Spooky felt his stomach drop. "Why?" he asked.

"I need an explanation."

Spooky sighed, pulling the door open. "Come in." he said, his mouth dry. He left Camp oggling for information.

Camp took his time, admiring the vintage, yet incredible aesthetic of the mud staining his walls. He grimaced at the sight of dirty stools, but he sat anyways. His meter for gossip was up the roof.

"So?" Camp started.

Spooky quivered. "It was scary, man."

Half of Camp's being regretted the invasion of privacy, but deep inside he knows he can solve this.

"I could- I could hear him screaming under all that cement." his voice shaked terribly.

Camp pressed his lips in a thin line. "Did you notice anything?"

"Red lights."

Camp's ears perked up.

"I saw read lights." Spooky said, "I told Poli about them but... but he just brushed it off." Camp raised an eyebrow.

"Why?" he was as confused as Spooky.

Spooky shivered. "Please stop talking about it."

Camp's lips pressed into a thin line. A pang of guilt engulfed him, yet he still wanted to continue asking questions.

"I'm-" Camp eloped. "I'll stop."

Bitterness fumed in his mind.

When he left Spooky's house, he still wanted answers. His palms were sweating as he thought of the red lights Spooky talked about, how the rescue team dismissed their existence, not even thinking about it further.

Yet one thing he can say is that it wasn't a suicide.

He felt tearing up as he returned the forklift to Lifty's apartment.

-///-

part 2 releasing shortly after, maybe, maybe...

camp's a fucking idiot and we all know it but he's gonna be alive for a VERY long time

[silvermare]

Pardon, but "mr." terry was knighted back in 2009 (and proceeded to forge his own sword have a sword forged from ore deposits found on his own property with additional meteorite content) so he is in fact

sir terry

normally i'm not the kind of person that is fussy about titles, but I do feel like if anyone truly deserves as much respect as can be granted, it's sir terry

anyway

thank u sir terry

I need a Thank u Mr Terry tag

[bu1410]

Good morning TUMBLR - March 7th - 2024

''Mr. Plant has owed me a shoe since July 5, 1971."

Ch. VIII - 1985- 1989 - Bahrain - Part 3

Vitale Giuseppe Sicilian, he was one of the most unpleasant Italians present among us. Also disliked by his fellow countrymen due to his arrogance, which they explained to me was a characteristic trait of the inhabitants of Piazza Armerina, province of Enna. This guy had already caused some disagreements among the Sicilians, and especially among the families present in Bahrain. Summer came, and Vitale brought to Manama his wife and daughter from Italy. His wife proved to be an inexhaustible source of inadvertent humor and sensational gaffes. Talking about their time in Nigeria when her husband worked there, she said:

''We had a really good time - Sunday we spent on the beach of the Niger River, the water was so transparent that you could see the entire seabed…!!'' She took the trouble to inform the other ladies that her daughter ''had been sent back to September in literature and science, but no need to hire a teacher, I decided to prepare her for the exams just by myself''. In the end the Vitale family was among the protagonists of a shameful uproar with three other Sicilian families in the luxurious compound where they had gone to live. A complex of villas with a swimming pool in the center, where plates, glasses, leftovers from pizza and all kinds of furnishings ended up following the argument triggered by Vitale's behaviour. Who, not content with having ''undermined'' his colleague Failla's wife, had also tried his chance with their 20-year-old daughter. Members of the Failla's entourage, Mr. Mastronardo and Mr. Palmizio families also took part in the argument, long feared but never implemented. Mr. Failla – known as Scintilla because he was the electrical supervisor of the plant – had put up with the situation for a while also thanks to the recommendations of his wife, who wanted everything except a scandal of that type. Nobody knew what was the straw that broke the camel's back, the fact is that one Friday, a holiday in Bahrain, Failla had invited Vitale to come out of the house for ''clarifications''. At first the clarification seemed to involve only the two heads of the family, but within a few minutes all the members of the other families had intervened, some siding with the Vitale's, some with the Failla's. By now the situation had gotten out of control, and everyone was shouting insults at everyone else, in an opera buffa crescendo. Up to the point where, no one knows exactly who, started to take action: brooms, plates, leftovers from lunch made their appearance (it was after 2.00 pm ). The argument was starting to degenerate, with spectators of various nationalities all around - some laughing, some despairing because they feared the worst. A moment before things got really serious, the security of the compound, certainly called by someone, entered ''on the battlefield'' trying to restore calm. And so did the heads of the family, pushing and pulling their respective women, who couldn't stop swearing ''it doesn't end here''!! The dispute had left visible signs on the yard and in the swimming pool, which were cleaned by the Indian attendants sent by the Management. There were no disciplinary consequences, but life inside the compound was no longer the same.

Mr. COMBOY & the BRITISH The social behavior of bRITISH colleagues was a completely different story. Their leader was Mr. Terry Comboy, a tall, thin and slightly stuttering guy, with 60s Beatles-style bob hair and a face marked by alcohol and cigarettes. I soon learned that ''fun'' for the British community depended on the amount of beer and alcohol they had drunk the night before. For the British, alcohol takes on a truly discriminating role, and those who don't drink have two alternatives: either they learn to do so, or they are discriminated against and excluded from the group. Almost as if not drinking excessively could be an unforgivable ''disgrace''. And then we witness pathetic scenes, when the non-drinker tries to guzzle beers just to stay within a certain group. Be that as it may, the English taught me what ''all for one, one for all'' means during a disconcerting episode. Terry Comboy had spent the evening at the pub with friends and colleagues - as usual they ''got it on'' with alcohol. At a certain point Terry greeted everyone and headed home driving the Company car, a white Toyota Corolla, with GPIC stickers and the identification number on the sides. It was now almost midnight, when our Director Engineer Fiorentino, returning from the plant where a problem had occurred, noticed a Toyota Corolla in a ditch near the Diplomat hotel. Stopping by, he realized that there was no one inside. He noted the license plate number and identification and called Security at the plant, asking who the Toyota No. 48 was assigned to.  To Mr. Terry Comboy – he was answered  Well, send a vehicle immediately to recover it, which is here near the overturned Diplomat - and call the police and hospitals to inform you if anyone has been hospitalized following a road accident – said Fiorentino. Than the Director called Terry Comboy and he immediately responded:  Yes Mr. Fiorentino! What can I do for you? I'm here at our pub.  Wait me there – replied the Director. Having gone to the pub, the Director was welcomed by Terry and seven or eight other Britishers.  Where's your car Terry? Fiorentino churches.  Well…I suppose here outside where I left it – said Terry  -No…..it's not there…. apparently someone took it and had an accident not far from here….  In fact I didn't move from the pub since I came at around 10 pm – Terry replied showing that he was somewhat surprised – you can ask my friends and colleagues here….  ''Yes sure, Terry didn't move from here since he came'' – Terry's friends said in unison. And so it was that - supported by the testimony of his group - Terry saved himself from being kicked out, and the accident of the company car attributed to an unknown thief, who had taken it without leaving any signs of forced entry. It was the only car ''theft'' of which there was news in my four years of stay in Bahrain…….. Mr. Comboy, among other things, was another of my neighbors, on the fourth floor of the Manama condominium. He lived there with a young Thai girl. I met him one morning on the landing, waiting for the lift to arrive, holding a black plastic bin bag – you could tell from the noise he made that it was full of beer cans.  Hello Terry how you doin'?  I'm fine thanks  Did you have a party last night? I threw it there, nodding towards the bag of rump  Party? No no no….just a quite evening with my GF – he replied

It was a May Friday morning, when the temperatures in Bahrain are already scorching, I was walking home from the nearby shawarma shop - a Lebanese one that cooked the extraordinary meats that the Emir imported from his farms in New Zealand - when I see a woman whose already ''imposing'' figure was made even more notable by the fact that she was wearing a COAT!! In Bahrain you don't wear a coat even in winter! Can you imagine in May …… The woman, a lady apparently in her '50, was dragging a huge suitcase – turning towards me she asked:  Hi….do you live around here?  Yes……  By chance do you know a British guy whose name in Terry Comboy?  Ummm….Never heard this name before…. sorry for ya….  Ok…thanks…. Then I passed the woman and walked briskly towards home. I than learned from Mr. Battaglia Venanzio - the unofficial ''concierge of the building'' - that the lady in question was Terry's ex-wife - She had come to Bahrain because he had not paid the alimony established by the English Court during months which he had decreed their divorce.

Mr. BATTAGLIA VENANZIO He was born in Mogadisho,son of one of those Italians who had fought in Somalia during the war of occupation, and of a Somali woman. He had never met his father, and at the beginning of the 1960s, once the period of Italian Trusteeship ended, Venanzio like many other Italians left Somalia to return to Italy. He therefore posed for the Italian Government of the time how to facilitate the integration of thousands of compatriots who had left everything in Somalia. One of the ways in which the Government helped these people was to have them hired by State-owned companies. Battaglia Venanzio was one of these lucky ones, and joined ANIC Ravenna. Venanzio was a particular type, always very cheerful and ready with a joke, but perhaps influenced by a difficult childhood and youth, he had become, let's say, a ''frugal'' individual. Others described him as downright stingy, if not stingy. The fact is that sometimes I would meet him at the entrance with a half-empty supermarket bag, and then maybe after half an hour he would knock on the door looking for oil, or sugar… the excuse was always the same: ''you know, I forgot. ..then when I buy it I'll return it to you'..'' and in any case it seems he went around the apartments asking to borrow this type of thing, and the day of return never arrived. When, before returning definitively to Italy, I rented a container of Merzario to ship my Range Rover by sea, suddenly Venanzio came to ask ''if there was room for something that he also wanted to send to Italy''. That was how the morning the container arrived, that ''something'' turned out to be 7 packages and a box with the TV (which then caused quite a few problems at the Ravenna customs).

FOOTBALL TOURNAMENT Everybody know that one of the greatest desires in the life of an Brit's is to have an ''outdoor life''. This is because the very sad weather that hangs over ''that island of fishermen and berry pickers''. The British, decades after the fall of the Empire, continue to enjoy the benefits acquired from those abuses, wars and murders carried out during centuries of subjugation of dozens of countries and populations. It is estimated that Britain has fought wars against over 200 nations in its history. The fact is that the British are not ''meteors'' like other Nationalities, in certain countries - but rather thanks to the fact that large contracts are written in English, international finance laws come from English legislation, the specifications adopted in projects are the British Standards and a whole series of other circumstances favorable to them, many British ''reside'' in those sunny countries that guarantee high salaries, rich fringe benefits, and a comfortable lifestyle for a whole series people. This is to say that every year the British resident in Bahrain organized a 6-a-side football tournament, reserved for the various nationalities present on the island.

Rule #1: the players had to be residents of Bahrain. As Italians, we decided to participate, and for this reason we began to train seriously at least twice a week, after working hours. Sponsors were acquired, shirts and uniforms ordered like those worn by the Italian senior national team in those years. The tournament took place over two weekends, with direct elimination matches. We won easily against Egypt, India, Australia – then we struggled against France in the semi-final and extra time and penalties were needed. And inevitably we found ourselves in the final with England. Now remember the rule that only Bahrain residents could participate in the tournament? Well the English cheated as usual, and just for the final they brought in two former professional players from England such as Tommy Gemmel (the author of Celtic's momentary equalizer in the Champions League final against Inter in Lisbon 1967) and Billy Mc Neil. At the time, the two, like many other former professional footballers, were traveling the world and accepting engagements for this type of amateur tournaments. We lodged a complaint, but the English organization replied that the two ''had applied for residency in Bahrain and therefore could play - and that in any case we could always lodge a complaint even after the match''. We played it, but we lost 4 – 2 with obviously the Egyptian referee blatantly in favor of our opponents. We still had the satisfaction of having reached the final, even if there were no ''star players'' among us. The important thing was to have fun and have a good time.

Mr. RONCI AND THE NEW YEAR CELEBRATION

1985 was drawing to a close, and COMERINT thought it would please the employees who remained in Bahrain during the end-of-year holidays by inviting them to a party on Dec 31st at the Manama Intercontinental hotel. Eventually, among the Italians present there were those who objected: ''but nooo…but why…… I'm not coming…etc…'' And then one of those pranks that made history in Bahrain was born spontaneously. We prepared a false notice from the HR Dpt, in which it was written:

''For staff who spontaneously renounced the end-of-year party, the cost of the same will be reimboursed directly to the employee i.e. $225''. The notice was posted in the Main Control Room, and not even half an hour passed, when Mr. Locci, a large and gullible Sardinian, showed up at the HR Office, asking where he had to sign to obtain the refund. Of course the Indian employee knew nothing about this, but denied that this possibility was foreseen. Mr. Locci began to raise his voice and asked to speak to the HR Manager, Mr. Rossi. We watched the whole scene through the glasses, and could hear the conversations given the smallness of the building's movable walls. Rossi, informed in advance, denied that any type of reimbursement would be provided: -'' Simply - he said - if you decide not to go you'll just miss an opportunity'. Mr. Locci got furious and started shouting that ''It's the same old thing, you are racists and are discriminating ( Sardinians are always angry with us ''Continental People''. In short the situation seemed to be about to escalate, so we burst into Rossi's office, laughing out loud, and mocking Mr. Locci who had fallen for the trap. This, however, did not calm Locci, who became "even more angry": he did not believe the joke, on the contrary he thought that everyone had agreed to steal the 225 dollars from him!! In the end Security had to be called in to restore calm, but Locci, who then didn't come to the end-of-year party, still didn't believe the joke after weeks and reiterated, with typical Sardinian stubbornness, that it had been '' screwed'' by the Continentals. The party was held, and it was a success. The Intercontinental was the best hotel in Bahrain at the time, right in the center of Manama. The food and drink as well as the entertainment - a Filipino band - were excellent. After the midnight toast the dancing began, and Mr. Athos Ronci dressed like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever - all white - looked wild. The second glass of sparkling wine had literally removed all inhibitions, and after everyone had eaten watermelons and melons, Athos had organized what cannot be missing in a New Year's party: the train! With the Brazilian music the train acquired more and more participants with each turn between the tables, Athos in the lead, naturally. And so it was that suddenly, putting one foot on a watermelon skin, our guy ended up upside down, dragging in the fall half a train of people, tables, chairs, bottles of champagne, glasses, plates, pieces of cake : A real disaster! At the moment - given the large amount of alcohol in the people's bodies - great laughter broke out. Poor Ronci was under numerous bodies and couldn't get up laughing. Shortly afterwards Athos - who as mentioned after the second glass of sparkling wine was completely drunk - began to complain about the state of his suit. The good (bad…) came 2 days later, when from the HR office we learned that Athos had requested reimbursement of the cost of the laundry, presenting a regular receipt, giving the reason that: ''Since the event had been organized by the Company, it had to take care of all possible problems following the event itself''. Moreover, Ronci had distinguished himself, during the transfer of all of us to the condominium in Manama, in visiting the apartments of others and noting the type and quantity of plates, glasses, blankets and bedspreads, and then making a complaint to the logistics office, demanding ''the exact same things, and why am I the son of a b******'?!! This is how the small world of Italians in Bahrain went, the majority of them always ready for small spite, miserable requests and revenge. I slowly discovered the true character of ''the people'' who despite living in an overall privileged situation (I'm talking about salaries and logistical arrangements) always tried to take advantage of every opportunity to demonstrate how ''small'' they actually were.

TERRACE POOL

On any given Friday morning, some of us were lying down, others lying in the shade on the terrace of the condominium. Someone has an aperitif at the bar, there are those who swim lazily in the pool. A colleague whose job was to spend 12 hours in the so-called ''aquarium'' (a large room where there was the control panel for the 2 gas turbines) comes up with a sentence that is in some ways ''historic'' (it will soon become a saying often used among us)

AND THEY EVEN PAY US!!!

The phrase encapsulated the life philosophy of people working in the business, very often overpaid for doing nothing or almost nothing. After a few days the gas turbine operator, who in theory should have saved the plant from a possible blackout, was unable to get the rescue group to start, and therefore the whole plant was ''in trip'' as they said in jargon, causing millions of dollars in lost production. Among other things, when a system of that size goes into blackout, the large safety valves trip, emitting terrible explosions, as if an aerial bombardment were taking place. Which caused panic among the Indian operators: many of them fled to the Causeaway shouting wildly ''BHOPAL…BHOPAL…IT'S ANOTHER BHOPAL!! ''

[carfuckerlynch]

i am currently crying about miss eumenides treason. literally.

[redscorpiocat]

Thanks for the tag, fam :3

Favorite songs: Washing machine heart, Hayloft 2, 1985, Given up, Believer, PonPonPon, and a whole bunch more

Fav fandoms you want mixed: Wii deleted you, Wii Outsmarted You (My au) My 2P! Minus wdy Au, Substitute creepypasta (Nuclear Blue)

Fav quote: Iridocyclitis (Vine) Fuckle-Duckle (Markiplier)

Fave characters: Eteled and C.M (Wii deleted you) Kraw, King Nixel, Vulk, Scorpi (Mixels) Tubby (Unicorn Wars) Ethical Bug (Puss in boots) Terry (Soul) Ooblar, King Goobot, Carl Wheezer, Beautiful Gorgeous (Jimmy Neutron) Lord Dominator (Wonder over yonder) Lola the Ostrich, Groucha the cat and Mic Mac (Tèlèchat) Sarah Henderson (NMVHS)

Fandom ocs: Sweet Pea, Lanna and Mr. Feral (Wdy OCs) Gothica, Blazer, Steelo, Tyranto, Pawbrey, Grassiph and Kettlelina (Mixels OCs)

Things I dislike: Pedos, tracers, art thieves, being lied too, feeling stressed, making anyone feel bad, being rushed, not being able to take a break to work on other projects and artworks or simply rest it off without getting things done.

Art mediums u use: Pencils, color pencils, markers, traditional art, Prisma colors, digital art

(Add fav character at da bottom)

Taggin sum friendos :3

@nintendoneko64, @luckykittyzine, @hazimtheflizh @liliththequeenofdemons @lilia-arts, @emo-metalhead-punki @wysteria-willows, @gore-iskawaii @leiaowo

My get to know me fren tag thang.

Favorite songs: AUDIT, Twisted Twins, Round-a-Bout, Cycles Wrath Mix, Broken FNF, Shiver FNF, Plagerized FNF, Beautiful Goodbyes, Oh Funny!, Amanda the Adventurer theme song, Twisted FNF, Only Me FNF, I'm Poppy, Run Rabbit Run, Slaves FNF, and Lullaby FNF. (And more too lol)

Fav fandoms you want mixed: The Walten Files/Tèlèchat/31 Minutos and Obscured eyes/Sonic PC Port.

Fav quote: "Can't you feel the sunshine? Does it brighten up your day? Don't you feel that sometimes. You need to run away. FROM ME?" - Tails Doll

Fave characters: Sarah Henderson (NMVHS), Lord X (Sonic PC Port) , Tails Doll (Sunshine FNF), Beatrice (OE), Mother Mary (OE), Firestar (WC), Cloudtail (WC), Brightheart (WC), Rosemary Walten (TWF), Lola the Ostrich (Tèlèchat) , Sophie the Teaspoon (Tèlèchat) , Mark Heathcliff (MC), Agatha (SG), Fatal Error (Sonic.EXE Universe), and Booclown (Sonic.EXE universe).

Fandom ocs: Daturastar (WC) and Maskstar (WC)

Things I dislike: Wally Darling EVERYWHERE, Welcome Home, Mapleshade, Leapordstar, and being bored.

Art mediums u use: Alcohol markers, canvases, paint, Traditional, Art pen, and colored pencils. (And digital art too)

(Add fav character at da bottom)

Tag frens too.

@redscorpiocat @gore-iskawaii @msdragon @nintendoneko64

[imikhailotakeyouian]

Hey Elisa! How are you doing today? ✨ I came up with a few questions about I&M (if all of them is too much just pick a fav) 🥰

Headcanon challenge:

1. Besides “Mick” and “Mickey”, what’s Ian nickname for Mickey? From all the nicknames Mickey calls him , what’s Ian’s favorite?

2. What’s the story behind Mickey’s knuckle tattoos? (When / how / by who) When Ian gets a tattoo for Mickey, what is it / on what occasion?

3. Random turn-on for Mickey and a random turn-on for Ian? (Bonus: something that really shouldn’t be a turn on but is)

4. What’s their Instagram @ ? When did they start following each other?

5. If they get a pet, is it a dog (who walks it more often?) or a cat (who cuddles with it more often) ? 

Hellooooooo! I missed you! <3

Oh, I love these kinds of questions!!! Thank you!

Let's see...

Look I know it's not original but I am a total sucker for "Baby". When Ian called him Baby in S11 I was whining like a wee dog. Something we didn't hear in the tv show otherwise, let's see. Ok, so the premise is that Ian loves when Mickey calls him nicknames, especially related to him being ginger (because he knows how Mickey loves that too), but I imagine Mickey calling him with Spanish nicknames (Rojo, el Gingero, Bonito) and NOT liking them because he gets jealous of possible (and probably made up lol) ex Mexican lovers so Ian burst out a "YO! Tiny but mighty! SHUT UP!" and generally speaking other nicknames would be related on Mickey being shorter than him XD once Ian is drunk and calls Mickey "Pokemon" because of Pocket-Monster and Mickey pretends to be furious but he actually likes it u.u Ian's favorite nickname from Mickey is "Red", because it's classic, it's old-but-gold, or "Hot Stuff", or "RHCP" (Red Hot Chili Pepper) but he also loves all the sweet ones he gets when Mickey is drunk or high and goes all sweet like "Sugar Daddy" (because he is Ian's "Baby"), "Sweetie", even "Love". Ian likes the sweetness of them but he will always prefer the sarcastic ones because he knows Mickey says them with all the love charge he can anyway.

He was so young he didn't want to do them. He was like 11 or something but Terry forced him to ("No son of mine is a fucking pussy, you'll get them today"), from some Milkovich cousin (because who would ink such a young boy that was clearly forced into it otherwise?) and when he had to pick which words he picked "FUCK U-UP" with the promise that those very inked fists will fuck Terry's face up one day in the future. He was so used to see them he eventually forget about them, and he thought about covering them only when he is in his 30s, but Ian confesses that he loves them and couldn't imagine Mickey's hands without them, so he keeps them forever <3

For Mickey: every time Ian curses/uses fowl language. I mean not like the regular "Fuck!" for the small things, but when he gets really pissed off and just lets it go with a long sequence of profanities. It goes straight to Mickey's dick. For Ian: when Mickey is jealous -which doesn't happen often, because he knows Ian is hot so he is not jealous whenever someone looks at him, it would be unrealistic, but if someone really hits on Ian then he goes nuclear and starts say that Ian is his fucking husband, don't you dare touching him, I'll fuck you up, etc... and generally speaking, every time Mickey calls him "husband" especially in public :D

I don't see Ian&Mickey from the canon being Instagram users to be honest, while I totally, utterly, LOVE social media AUs (like yes please gimme!). Canonically, let's see, I would say that Ian open one IG account during lockdown out of boredom and though Mickey doesn't open one he tells Ian to make a joined account (still for Terry's sake) so Ian creates @mr-and-mr-gallavich and the Bio is like: Ian&Mickey Gallavich Husbands Love wins, a$$hole! And what starts like a fuck off to Terry actually will be filled with plenty of photos of Mickey playing with Franny during lockdown, of them with silly faces, then of them in their new flat, their new business, their new cats, their kids, etc etc <3

While I love the fanon dog "Bazooka", I am more of a huge fan of Mickey as cat-daddy. He is a cat-daddy in the majority of my fics too (Lizzo cat, I miss you!), and Mickey is the one who spoil them more, he is daddy. While Ian is the pet's punching ball :'D or better, scratcher/cat-tree ahahah! They obey to Mickey but they love the both of them u.u

[blackhakumen]

Mini Fanfic #1019: Shingo Belmont? (King of Fighters)

Terry: Yo my peeps!

Terry: U will not believe the discovery I made this morning!

K': It isn't anything stupid again, is it?

Terry: Oh relax. It's not that dumb

Terry: I believe it's more fascinating if anything

K': I highly doubt that if it's coming from u of all people

Mary: Stop being a smart-ass towards my boyfriend, K'.

Mary: Tell us what u discovered today, babe

Terry: Why, thank you, Mary!~

Terry: 'Bout time I got some respect around here

K': (¬_¬)

Terry: But anyways, do u guys r familiar of Richter Belmont?

Kula: Who?

Rock: He's one of the members of the Belmont clan who utilizes in whips and other weapons to hunt down Dracula and his army of monsters.

Rock: And I think he's also a member of that Smash Tournament you entered, is he?

Terry: Correctamundo, Rookie!

Terry: Now tell me how familiar u guys our to Shingo

Mary: The hardworking goofball we know and love everyday?

Terry: The very same!

K': Where r u getting at with this, Bogard?

Terry: Okay, so yesterday, after a little one on one sparring match, Richter and I started hanging out around time till it hit me!

Terry: Him and Shingo

Terry: Those two look nearly identical together!

Mary: Wait, really?

Terry: Hell yeah! Same blue & white color schemes, same hair color, even their smiles are getting similar from on one another

Terry: Richter.jpg

Terry: Shingo.jpg

Mary: Oh wow.

Mary: The similarities of these two really are noticeable

Kula: I'll say.....

Kula: Do you think they could be long lost twins!?

Rock: Richter was born in the 1700s. Which would make him Shingo's great ancestor if they were really related.

Rock: Though, I'd never thought I would ever imagine Shingo using a whip until now.

K': He'd probably would've miss and get himself smacked across the face with it

Mary: Yeahhhh I don't think the kiddo would do well using an actual whip in a fight

Mary: Or those vampire hunting adventures that Simon guy does.

Kula: He could always ask Big Sis Seriah to teach him how

K': Assuming she isn't too busy

K': And if she would him anywhere near her precious Voodoo

Rock: She names her whip "Voodoo"?

K': Yep.

K': Even treats it like her own love child or whatever.

K': It's annoying and creepy.

Mary: I feel your pain on that, kiddo.....

Mary: Mr. Wolf Boi here treats his red cap as if it's his pride and joy

Rock: He names it Steve.

Terry: Hey, don't start talking crap about Steve like that u two!

Terry: He has feelings just as much as the rest of us here

Mary: See what we mean?

Rock: It's creepy and annoying on our end too.

Kula: U guys r silly lol

K': Says the girl who's eating ice cream in the morning....

Kula: Hey! Morning Ice Creams are just as yummy as eating them regularly

Kula: DON'T JUDGE!

........................................................................

K' groans and facepalms himself while Kula is sitting right next to him in the sofa pouting.

.......................................................................

K': Whatever. Just don't try and eat it during midnight, alright?

K': Then I'll never hear the end of it from your guardians......

Kula: 'Kay!~ :D

Good Boi Shingo Joins the Chat

Shingo: Gooooood Morning Everyone!

Kula: Shingo!!~

Mary: Hey there, kiddo!~

Rock: Morning Bud

K': 'Sup.

Terry: Shingo! Just the kid I want to see!

Terry: Whatcha doing right now?

Shingo: I'm at the gym with Leona for some sparring sessions

Mary: Ooooooooh!~ Is our boi out here spending some quality time with a ladyfriend?~

Kula: Ooooooooooh!~

Rock: Did not think Leona would be your type lol

K': She's so out of your league.

Shingo: Guys, come on! Leona and I aren't dating!

Shingo: We're just hanging out as friends, nothing more

Rock: Ok. But you do enjoy her company from time to time, don't you?

Shingo: Definitely!

Shingo: She's soooo cool and surprisingly cute if you get to know her a little more.

Shingo: ......P-Please don't tell her I said that.

Mary: We won't tell~

Rock: Our lips are already sealed lol

Kula: 🤐 👍👍

K': I dunno, Yabuki.....

K': That all depends on what you're willing to give me in exchange

Shingo: .....You're serious?

K': Yuuuup.

K': Unless you want me to tell Leona about the text instead

Shingo: Alright, alright, fine!

Shingo: I'll give you a bag of beef jerky later

K':

Shingo: Two bags

K':

Shingo: Five Bags of Beef Jerky! HAPPY NOW!?

K': Very

Kula: Bully!

K': Sweet Tooth Gremlin

Terry: Alright, enough fighting in the chat you two!

Terry: Shingo, u think u could do me a favor right quick?

Shingo: Yeah. Sire thing, Terry

Terry: Cool!

Terry: First and foremost, how familiar you are with "Castlevania Sympathy of the Night"

Shingo: Fairly decently for the most part. I remember I used to reenact some of the dialogs in the game when I first playing it a while back

Shingo: Exactly the exchange between Richter and Dracula

Terry: Perfect!

Terry: Think u can record yourself reenacting the firsr line Richter said when he walks in the lair, and post here on chat for a sec?

Shingo: Not the kind of request I was expecting to do, but sure why not.

Richter Reenactment.vid

......................................................................

Shingo: (Stands One Foot on One of the Benches in a Victorious Like Manner While Using his Phone to Record Himself) Die, monster! You don't belong in this world!....(Turns to Leona Sitting Next to Him) How's that?

Leona begins to covers her mouth and giggle Softly as the video itself abruptly ends.

.........................................................................

Shingo: Sooo? What do u guys think of that?

Terry: That sounds perfect!

Terry: You would make a fine Belmont one of these days

Shingo: Belmont?

Mary: Terry's been thinking u and that Richter look identical to one another

Shingo: Seriously?

Shingo: Wait. Does the Richter in the Smash Town has long or short hair?

Rock: Short. Kinda looks like your hair in a way

Shingo: Ooooh okay. Neat.

K': Nevermind all of that

K': Did I just saw Leona laughing on that video of yours?

Shingo: Uh....Yeah. She was gigging. Why?

K': I've worked with that girl for god knows how long at this point and I've never, on my life, seen her laugh before!

Shingo: Really? Not even a little chuckle?

K': Not even.

K': U guys think I should try and tell her a joke of some kind?

Terry: Don't see why not

Terry: But if u ever need some tips on how to make a joke land, I'm only one call away 😁👍

Mary: Yeah, K', I advise you to stay clear from learning lessons from Terry.

Rock: His jokes ranges from predictable puns to terrible dad jokes

Terry: Oh come on! The jokes I make are top tier quality!

Mary: Yeah, for middle age men who tries to be remotely humorous

Terry: Oh and like u two can come up with better punchlines

Rock: It may take a while to do, but we're up for the challenge

Mary: Damn right! Rocky and I got this in the bag!

Terry: Alright then. Come up with a good ass joke or two by tomorrow and I'll see if you two have the rights to critique my comedic abilities

Terry: I'll even take you out to Café if it's good enough. My treat ;)

Mary: U r so on, Bogard!

Rock: Challenge accepted!

K': Whatever. I'm gonna look up some jokes on the internet

Kula: I'm gonna get more morning ice cream

Meanwhile at the Southtown's Gym......

Leona: (Takes a Look at a Picture of the Headbanded Vampire Hunter on Shingo's Phone) So this is the person they compared you to?

Shingo: (Happily Nodded) Yep. Richter Belmont of the Belmont clan. He uses a whip and other weapons to hunt down Dracula and his forces. I didn't really think I would be compared to him up until now....

Leona: (Looks Back and Forth at Shingo and the Picture in Front of Her) The similarities between you two are uncanny....Though, I can't really imagine you using a whip in combat unfortunately.

Shingo: (Chuckles Lightly While Rubbing the Back of his Head Back and Forth) Yeah, neither can I honestly. Pretty sure I would've gotten myself smacked by that thing multiple times......Hey, speaking of which, do you wanna play Castlevania Sympathy of the Night with me and the others later on today? if you still have freetime on your hands of course.

Leona: I do. (Starts Looking Down and Rubbing her Arm.a Bit Shyly) I just.....never been good at playing video game.

Shingo: (Smiles Brightly) That's okay. We could teach you all there is to play until you get the hang of it. And if any of us get bored of it, we could always try a different game to play, your choice.

Leona: (Genuine Surprise by the Sudden Request) Oh!...Well....(Grabs her Chin While Thinking) I have heard from Kula how Mario Party was to you to all. So wouldn't mind trying that out eventually.

Shingo: (Smiles Brightly) Mario Party it is then. (Starts Stretching a Bit) Is there anything else you wanna do to pass the time until then?

Leona: I'm not sure.....Perhaps we could go back the coffee shop and talk some more? (Smiles a Little) I do enjoy your company quite a lot actually.

Shingo: (Heart Begins to Melt in Genuine Happiness) I enjoy yours too, Leona-san. And yeah, we could totally do that. I can even make us a beverage of our choices if they let me in the corner.

Leona: That's okay. You don't have to go out of your way to do that for me.

Shingo: I know, but I want to. You are my friend after all.

Leona: (Eyes Widens a Bit as Her Heart Slowly Begins to Melt into Sincere Happiness) And you are mines as well, Shingo Yabuki. Thank you.

@keyenuta

@tampire

@illyrilex

@cyber-wildcat

@theweebmaster31

@caleb13frede

[jrueships]

ooo OKAY cool thank yall for tagging me in this! i feel so special whenever i get tagged in things like there's a secret security showing me important documents or something like 'mr president. Gay.' ANYWAYS let's get to it!!!

1. which team(s) do you root for?

I like pretty much all the teams and it's kinda contextual for me to decide which to root for at the time? Usually whoevers looking like the underdogs or got the most heartwarming/stand-out players! I'm more-so a player person than a team guy! Does that seem disloyal?? Apparently to my hometown buds 😭 whatever though, player IS in the name, after all ! Even if I don't really watch a team, I try picking one player I like/care about on that team so I can still enjoy watching em when they're on! BUT FOR TEAMS I'D DEF MAKE AN EFFORT TO ACTIVELY WATCH FOR RN ... prolly rockets, sixers okc, spurs, clippers, grizzlies, bucks? Sorry I like my men pathetic and cringe and they're funny. Would i ROOT for them all tho? Prolly not 😭 whatever happens happens !

2. what's your prediction for the 2023 finals matchup plus champions prediction?

Whatever team i didn't name probably LMAO either way warriors or lakers are going to win, you know the drill

3. what's an nba hot take you have?

Men obsessing over sports stats was a direct creation of men trying to gatekeep women from watching sports with an enlightened sense of having an actual personality beyond numbers also people that only watch for sports betting are leeches on life and need to touch grass okay sorry i was kinda kidding on both of my takes but also no

4. who are your favourite players NOT on your favourite team(s)?

how do i make it bold 😭 whatever we fuck on 😎 (i meant fight but ill leave that there tbh) SO hmmm this one is TOUGH i like a LOT of teams.. hm... OH okay actually!! Rj barrett, bones hyland, myles turner, Donovan mitchell, Demar Derozan, cam Thomas, day'ron sharpe (day-day!!), Wendell Carter Jr, Russell westbrook, Andrew wiggins, Otto Porter Jr, terry rozier, frank ntilikina

5. 3 players you would invite to taco tuesday (current or retired)

Michael Jordan because I would like to see the battle of man who lies and doesn't care (mj) and man who lies and cares (lebron). It will be a battle fought by the GOATS of gaslighting, taken place: Taco Tuesday

Lebron , like in a mirror . So it's just lebron alone sitting at a dinner table talking to his mirror while plates of tacos are scattered about untouched. I think.. something would be unearthed. Of golden value !

Jeff teague

6. what's your favourite thing about the nba?

The interconnectedness, the fact that this is an achieved dream job for the guys playing, the fact that memories are made from people making memories (fans remembering the little details from a game they attended/watched off the players just living their dreams) etc etc u know! Just people enjoyin the best part of being people! Unique but shared enjoyment !! Fuck with that heavy !!!!

7. tag however many people you want!

Whoever wants to or hasn't done it!!! This was fun so go have fun !! Tell em TED sent you ;)

[infinatenoise]

Thank u!!

Nickname: linked to my irl name which I hate, so won't put it here

Zodiac sign: Scorpio

Last thing I googled: Buffy The Vampire Slayer IMDB

Amount of sleep: idk, 4 hrs? (Fever makes it hard to sleep recently)

Dream job: Author, director, or bass player in a band

Movie/book that describes me best: Fantastic Mr Fox/The Wee Free Men by Terry Prachett

Favorite song: Zero Percent by My Chemical Romance

Favorite instrument: BASS GUITAR!!!!!

Favorite aesthetic: Dark Academia, Emo and gothic

Favorite author: Terry Prachett

Fun fact: When I was twelve I jumped off a life guard tower bc I hated the person I was up there with. I couldn't walk for ten minutes

Tagging: @hotelbxllamuerte @blurryreality @moonlitempty and anyone else

thanks for the tag @raphyo but the chain was insanely long so im just starting it over here :)

Get to know me

Nickname : irl? Sunshine, on tumblr its Aloone

Zodiac Sign : Leo

Height : 5'7” (168cm i think?)

Last thing I Googled : “What is the chemical formula for Beryllium Hydroxide” I’m studying for midterm exams ha

Amount of Sleep: 7 to 10 hours

Dream Job : Middle Grade Author, Scriptwriter, and/or Translator

Movie / Book that describes me the most : no idea

Favorite Song : Too many to say but currently I’m vibing to Popular St by Glass Animals

Favorite Instrument : violin

Favorite Aesthetics : idk what to call it think silk button up shirts with ripped jeans and playing bass guitar and wearing fingerless gloves to formal events

(that or chaotic academia)

Favorite Author : Maybe Leigh Bardugo or Neil Gaiman?

Random fun fact: I make my own clothes

tagging without pressure: @mynam3wastaken @ciunasboinin @monarchamos and anyone else whod’d like to join!

[ziltoidcoffee]

For silverusso - do u think Terry would feel actual fear or panic if he thought Daniel was breaking up with him? or what if Daniel disappeared and Terry couldn't track him down?

omg more of these yes dear thank you ❤️This is absolutely a fear of Terry's.  I imagine that both CK and KK Terry have something to fear because “Larusso holds a grudge.”

In KK, they would probably get together only if Terry hid his true motives. Or maybe after he "apologized," and whether he means it or not, Daniel bought his story and agrees to forgive him.

They would probably take a while together since Terry already fooled him once. Maybe Daniel thinks Terry is messing with him again when Terry initiates something romantic. 

Terry kisses him, and Daniel gets the hell out of dodge, afraid to even tell Mr. Miyagi what happened. So he escapes to Jersey because his mom is still there. 

Of course, Terry panics. He probably even has a fit, throwing stuff in his house and breaking things. Then Margaret asks if he wants her to tracks him down.  He says yes.

Then Terry takes the first flight to Jersey. Maybe Margaret has an in at the airport who confirms Daniel left. Terry shows up at Daniel’s mom’s house totally uninvited. But Daniel has been too afraid to tell his mom why he came home. So Terry pretends to be all nice like “Oh I happened to be in town on business, and Daniel said he was visiting his mom.” Daniel is holding a knife behind his mom, mouthing, “I’ll kill you” at Terry who grins.

Then his mother wants to make Terry dinner, so he agrees to stay and eat. Then he asks Daniel to “give him a tour.” His mom thinks that is adorable, so she agrees. Maybe she knows what is going on  but doesn’t know know.

And as soon as they are alone, Terry shuts the door and tells Daniel he is not messing with him. He wants Daniel “to be his” because I’m not convinced Terry would declare his love at this point. Daniel is certain Terry is messing with him, so Terry asks how he can prove he’s not. Daniel answers he doesn’t know, and Terry says, “Maybe this will,” then proceeds to make out with him on his mom’s bed. Maybe they do a little more than make out. Italian food does take a while to cook.

But when they eventually do make it back downstairs, Terry sits next to Daniel with his hand on his thigh throughout the entire meal. Daniel’s mom tells Terry to “take good care of him” when he leaves. Of course, with Daniel this time.