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mintyys-blog · 19 hours ago

Note

Got any HCs of the Variants +Main Mark with a virgin reader (⌯˃̶᷄ ﹏ ˂̶᷄⌯)ﾟ♡ ♡

Love the new theme btw •̀.̫•́✧

HEADCANONS | variants with s/o is a virgin

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST | WARNINGS:

MAIN MARK

Mark notices right away that you’re new to all of this. It’s in the way you hesitate when things get intimate—the soft, uncertain pauses when you try to express yourself, the shy glances that betray your inexperience. Instead of overwhelming you, he wraps you in a gentle patience.

He’d always say, “Take all the time you need, I’m not going anywhere.” He makes sure that every touch is comforting rather than intrusive, guiding you slowly and explaining what he’s doing, even when the topic is as personal as love or intimacy. Every time you ask, “Is this okay?” or murmur that you’re nervous, he reassures you with a warm smile and careful words, “You’re perfect just as you are, and I’ll always be here to protect you.”

In quiet moments after a long conversation about your past hurts—and how you’re scared of losing yourself in love again—he’d hold you close, patiently letting you open up. His actions speak louder than any grand declaration; he makes sure you always feel safe enough to grow, to learn, and ultimately, to trust him with all of you.

With Mark, being inexperienced isn’t a flaw—it’s something he cherishes, because it reminds him that love is about being gentle, supportive, and true.

MOHAWK MARK

Mark clocks it instantly. You don’t have to say a word—he picks up on the nervous laughs, the flustered reactions when things get a little suggestive, the way your eyes dart away when he leans in too close.

At first, he finds it kind of amusing—teasing comes naturally to him. He’ll smirk and throw in a, “Damn, baby… you’re cute when you get all shy like that,” just to see the way you squirm. But he never pushes too far. He might be rough around the edges, but he’s not cruel.

Once he realizes that you’re a virgin, something shifts in him. He dials it back—not because he’s afraid of messing up, but because he doesn’t want to ruin it for you. He wants to be the one who shows you how good it can be, not just physically, but emotionally too.

He’s protective in a big way—like, “You don’t gotta know everything right now, I’ll teach you,” kind of way. He’d take pride in being your first, not in a possessive or boastful sense, but because it means you trusted him. And he doesn’t take that lightly.

You’d catch him watching you sometimes with this soft look that doesn’t match his usual cocky energy. Like he’s wondering how someone like you ended up with someone like him. And when things get serious, he’ll take his time, murmuring in your ear, “Just tell me what feels good, baby. I got you.” It’s still Mark, so the teasing never really stops—but it’s always wrapped in care.

SINISTER MARK

Mark doesn’t flinch when he realizes you’re a virgin. It doesn’t change the way he talks to you, touches you, or pulls you into his orbit. If anything, it just confirms something he already suspected.

He doesn’t soften. He doesn’t slow down. He’s not the type to ask how you feel—he’ll watch you squirm, flushed and nervous under his gaze, and smirk like it’s a game he’s already won.

“You’ve never done this before?” he’d say, voice dripping in amusement, brushing a finger along your jaw just to see you shiver. “That explains a lot.”

He doesn’t change, but that doesn’t mean he’s reckless. Mark is calculated. He wants to ruin you, but slowly—completely. He’ll overwhelm you on purpose, just to watch how you react. Not cruelly, not violently—just with an edge that makes it impossible to tell whether he’s seducing you or studying you like prey.

He’s not patient, but he’s attentive. He reads you like a book. Every sound, every twitch of hesitation—he uses it. Turns it into a reason to keep going.

And when you cling to him, desperate and unsure, he’ll lean in, lips brushing your ear with a smug whisper: “You’re mine now. And you’ll never want anyone else after this.”

It’s not about comforting you. It’s about owning the fact that he’ll be the one burned into your memory forever.

OMNI MARK

Mark can tell you’re a virgin from the way you hesitate under his gaze. The way your fingers fidget, the way you avoid eye contact when things start to get serious. And though he’s powerful, brutal, and often cold to the world—this is different.

He’s not soft, not exactly. But he does adjust.

At first, he’s quiet. His eyes narrow slightly, watching your every reaction like he’s trying to decode you. “You’ve never been with anyone?” he asks, voice low—not judgmental, but serious, heavy with implication.

When you nod, maybe embarrassed or uncertain, he doesn’t mock or tease. He processes it.

Because to Mark, that means one thing: you’re his first. And that’s something he won’t take lightly.

He becomes meticulous—almost reverent in the way he touches you. There’s intensity in every motion, like he’s claiming new territory, like he’s making sure no one else will ever be remembered. He teaches with purpose, with control, with the kind of unshakable dominance that says you’re safe because you’re with me.

“You don’t have to worry,” he’ll say, wrapping an arm around you, pulling you close like you’re the most delicate thing in the universe—his delicate thing. “I’ll take care of everything.” Mark isn’t tender, but he’s intentional. And in his own way, he makes sure that the first time isn’t just unforgettable—it’s unmistakably his.

VILTRUMITE MARK

Mark doesn’t blink when he realizes you’re a virgin. If anything, he expected it. On Viltrum, strength and purity are often intertwined—so the idea that you’re untouched? To him, it’s not strange. It’s almost… honorable.

He sees it as a standard. A natural expectation. You’re his mate—why wouldn’t you have waited for him?

When you tell him—or when he figures it out—he doesn’t react with surprise or teasing. He just hums, nods once, and says something like, “Good. Then no one else will have touched you but me.”

And it’s not possessive in the way humans understand. It’s Viltrumite logic. A biological and emotional claim. To him, your inexperience isn’t a weakness—it’s a sign that you belong to him fully. Mind, body, and future.

When it comes time to be intimate, he doesn’t rush. He’s intense, yes—always—but there’s something almost ceremonial about the way he treats you. He’s firm, instructive, and attentive to every sound you make. If you hesitate, he simply says: “ I’ll teach you. You have nothing to fear.”

He moves with precision, power, and restraint, watching your reactions with a sharp eye, adjusting his pace, his grip, the rhythm—because for all his dominance, he doesn’t want to break you. He wants to mold you.

And when it’s over, when you’re curled against him, flushed and dazed, he presses a kiss to your shoulder and murmurs something quiet—barely audible over his breath: “You were made for me.”

PRISONER MARK

Mark is definitely surprised when he finds out you’re a virgin. Not in a mocking way—but more like: “Wait… seriously?” Like he genuinely didn’t see it coming.

You’re bold. You flirt. You kiss like you mean it. So when things start heating up and you get a little hesitant—he notices. At first he thinks maybe you’re just nervous, but when you finally admit it, his brows shoot up and he stares at you in disbelief.

“No way… all this time? And you’re untouched?” He’s grinning now. So smug.

You expect him to tease you—and okay, he does a little. He leans in close, voice low and cocky: “Damn, I must be doing something right if I’m your first.”

But what you don’t expect is the way his teasing fades into something softer. Not gentle—he’s not soft in that way—but careful. He might be rough around the edges, but once he knows, he switches up. Slows down. Checks in without making it obvious. His touches still burn, but he’s more focused, almost… reverent.

And when you’re under him, wide-eyed and clinging to him, he kisses your cheek and mutters: “You trust me with this?”

You nod. You’re already halfway in love with him, even when he’s frustrating and intense. He doesn’t say it back. Not yet. But the way he holds you afterward—arm locked around your waist, lips against your shoulder—says enough.

#mark grayson x reader #x reader #reader insert #x female reader #invincible x reader

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jungwnies · 8 hours ago

Text

polyglot | merc, ferrari, & mclaren

୨ৎ : featuring : mercedes, ferrari, and mclaren drivers ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by 🥐) : how the react to you being a polyglot (knowing or using several languages) ୨ৎ : word count : 438

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ 10k event | masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : i love this idea as someone who also has multiple languages under my belt

ʚ・mercedes

george russell

he finds it insanely attractive, but tries to play it cool

will absolutely ask you how to say "thank you for the support" in the local language before press conferences

once had you translate a fan letter word for word because he needed to understand what they wrote

drops little “how do you say…” questions mid-breakfast like it’s casual

lowkey brags about you in interviews — “my partner actually helped me with the pronunciation!”

kimi antonelli

silently impressed; won’t say much but you’ll catch the way he watches you when you switch between languages

100% asks you how to say “i love you” in every language you know and remembers them perfectly

gets bashful when fans ask him to say something in their language and he turns to you for help

always listens quietly when you teach him — then absolutely nails the accent and acts like it’s no big deal

“how do you say ‘you’re beautiful’ in… all of them?

ʚ・ferrari

charles leclerc

pretends he’s chill but is secretly obsessed with how effortlessly you jump from one language to another

will record you saying things so he can practice alone (you caught him once, he nearly died of embarrassment)

constantly goes, “can you say it again slower?” just to hear you speak

gets flustered if you translate something romantic in another language

always asks for help with fan signs — “babe, is this saying what i think it’s saying or did i just call myself a baguette?”

lewis hamilton

thinks it’s the coolest thing ever and hypes you up constantly

“she speaks like seven languages. literal queen energy.”

makes you do short videos helping him thank international fans in their own languages

gets super soft if you teach him phrases to connect with fans — like genuinely wants to get it right

tells people you’re his secret weapon for global communication

ʚ・mclaren

lando norris

teases you constantly but adores it

“what’s ‘lando is the best’ in finnish?”

will randomly blurt a phrase you taught him at completely the wrong moment just to make you laugh

gets a little clingy when fans flirt in other languages — “babe, what did he say?? be honest.”

100% starts asking for curse words first and then tries to get serious when he realizes how useful it is

oscar piastri

quietly fascinated — listens more than he asks, but his curiosity is endless

always goes to you before foreign gps: “hey, how do i greet fans in korean again?”

gets this little proud smile when you help him pronounce something perfectly

sometimes asks you to whisper things in other languages just because “it sounds cool”

lowkey has a note in his phone with all the phrases you’ve taught him and uses them strategically

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moonstruckme · 2 days ago

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i mean if you INSISTTTTT….can we see intern reader trying to be flirty back with spence. or like them hanging out/doing something together maybe outside of work, the rest of the team can be there or not idk i just love them and your writing so much hehehe

Thanks for your request angel <3

cw: football concussion statistics? idk not trying to piss off any diehard nfl fans. oh also american football being referred to simply as football because I'm also not trying to piss off the rest of the world, and lastly some borderline HR violations

Spencer Reid x intern!reader ♡ 1k words

“Alright, Jack!” Prentiss claps, before sticking her fingers into her mouth and letting loose a piercing whistle that makes both you and Garcia flinch in surprise.

“Way to make the extra pass, kid!” Morgan shouts across the field.

On the other side of the grass, Hotch nods like he seconds this, though his expression stays focussed and his eyes on his players.

“He’s getting really good,” JJ says.

Next to you, Garcia grimaces. “I wish he’d be good at something else.”

“Beautiful,” Morgan chides, “don’t crush the kid’s dreams.”

“He’s just a sweet summer child! There are, like, a crazy amount of concussions in football. I’m just looking out for him.”

“In recent years, the NFL has reported a significant decline in concussions in professional football players,” says Spencer.

Morgan makes a smug noise. “See? He’ll be alright.”

“But,” you raise your voice hesitantly, “wouldn’t the NFL have a bit of incentive to report that?”

You’re looking at Spencer out of the corner of your eye. He meets your gaze, lips quirking.

“Exactly,” he says. “That’s what I think, too. Independent studies have been less favorable.”

Garcia mimics Morgan’s smug noise, victorious. Before she remembers to be worried and frowns again.

Morgan laughs. “Hey, I didn’t sign him up. Jack likes football, you gonna tell him to quit?”

Garcia comes back at him with some teasing remark, but you’re distracted by Spencer’s eyes still on yours. He’s looking at you like there’s something he can’t quite make sense of, which is happening so often lately it’s almost laughable. You have the most obvious crush in the world, and certifiable genius Spencer Reid can’t figure you out.

You look away first.

It’s sort of humiliating, how things have escalated between you in the last week. Every bit of that is your fault. You know it’s not professional, but you’ve spent lots of time thinking about it, and really a bit of flirting isn’t so bad if you know nothing is going to come of it. It’s harmless. Spencer is just so, so nice to you, you can’t help but want to be nice back; walking the line between friendly and something-else sort of comes with the territory. You would never actually endanger your position at the BAU. You only want Spencer to feel as special as he makes you feel. He deserves that.

First it was bringing him breakfast after he helped you prepare your testimony. You wanted to thank him, so you picked up some breakfast tacos like he said he used to have back home in Las Vegas, and so what if you only know that because you’ve spent so much time chatting together? You’re training to be a profiler, remembering details is part of your job. Then you started complimenting him more, which was really just giving yourself permission to say your quiet thoughts out loud, making genuine observations about his taste in psychologists and the care he shows for witnesses even when the whole team is in a rush. And then maybe you began letting him teach you some things about chess even though you’ve never been interested in the game before, and bumping his knee gently under the table when he’s rambling without realizing everyone else has already moved on, and exchanging little smiles when you both look up from your desks at the same time. So what? None of that is a fireable offence.

“I’m gonna go get water,” Spencer says, standing and starting to descend the metal bleachers.

“Can you grab me one?” Prentiss asks. The rest of your team immediately chimes in with their requests, and you take a step down from the bleachers as well.

“Want help?” you ask.

Spencer seems to have been picturing the same thing you have: him coming back from the cooler in Garcia’s trunk with arms overflowing with plastic bottles, leaving a trail of them all the way back to the bleachers. He looks relieved. “Please.”

You hop down, unable to look him in the eye when you take the hand he offers you for the last couple of steps. The sun is out in full force today, glinting off the metal of the bleachers and every car in the parking lot. The pavement radiates heat.

Spencer hovers a hand above his eyes. “I wasn’t made for this.”

“It’s a hot one,” you agree.

“If Jack had a different hobby, we could be inside at a science fair right now. With air conditioning.”

You chance a look at him. “Isn’t being involved in sports good for kids?”

Spencer shrugs, though you’re sure he knows the answer. “I turned out okay.”

Your lips tug. There’s no denying that.

“Here.” You take off the baseball cap you’d put on for the game, holding it out for him as he pops open Garcia’s trunk. You pray to God the hat isn’t sweaty.

Spencer only looks at it, surprised. “Oh, I—that’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

“No, look.” You take a pair of sunglasses out of your bag, putting them on. “See? Now neither of us will have the sun in our eyes.”

“Really?” Spencer asks, only taking the bill of the cap in hand once you nod. He settles it on his head like it’s his first time wearing one. “Thanks. Do I look stupid?”

You shake your head, staring. “You look good,” you say. It comes out unchecked, before you can think about it. God, you’re so obvious. It’s true, though. Spencer’s still squinting a little even with the shade over his eyes, but it’s relaxed some; it reminds you of the way he looks when he’s puzzling something out. You’re hopelessly endeared by it. His hair, grown to what Garcia lovingly calls boy band length, wings out of the sides of the cap. Practically begging to be coiled around your index finger.

“Thanks,” Spencer says again, the faintest tinge of pink—which can probably be attributed to the beginnings of a sunburn—kissing his cheeks.

Bashfulness softens your voice. “No problem.”

He opens the cooler, starting to scoop up waters and sports drinks (though one of the team moms is supplying drinks for the kids, Garcia had packed for you all like you’d be on the field too). Condensation drips down Spencer’s wrists.

“Thanks for helping with this, too,” he says.

“Pretty sure this is what interns are for,” you joke as you grab some too.

“Always undermining yourself,” Spencer chides, something almost like teasing in his voice. It makes your stomach crowd with butterflies. “You know you’re more than that to us.”

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roll-of-royces · 3 days ago

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WinterSentry Headcanons

Bob has taken to listening to vintage music, he now plays oldies all the time despite the complaints of nearly everyone else. He likes to watch Bucky hum along to some of the lines, appreciating how he looks so much calmer when the record player is spinning.

When Bob has his bad days he likes to count all the pieces on Bucky's arm, taking it in his hands twisting it from side to side as he counts all the segments, tapping each one with a finger as he goes.

Bucky likes to sit with Bob, usually sharing the same space as the two of them do completely different things. They're happy to exist pressed up side to side on the couch reading two different books. They trade books all the time usually reading one right after the other so they can talk about it.

When Bob doesn't want to leave bed Bucky will carry him outside so they can sit in the sun because Steve always said sun will do you good.

Late at night sometimes Bucky tells Bob about Steve, soft whispers and regrets. Bob lies on his chest and lets him talk, never shames him for wanting to talk about it. He tries to bring up Steve sometimes to help keep him alive for Bucky even though they never met.

They both always know when the other is anxious or overwhelmed. The moment Bob starts clamming up Bucky is there to help, to take the focus off him or usher him away from the situation. And if Bucky is anxious Bob is there to take him hand, pressing close.

Bucky insists on teaching Bob how to fight, since he can't seem to remember how on most days. It results in a lot of accidental injuries for Bucky and flustered apologies from Bob. Bucky secretly kind of likes it.

Bob will steal all of Bucky's clothes, Bucky will happily let him.

They eat breakfast together every morning, because it's important to start the day right. Says Alexei who starts the day off with vodka.

If Bucky is outmatched you best bet your ass Sentry is going to be right there, tossed into the mix. Arrogant, defensive, pulling all the attention to him. And if Bucky doesn't get back up Void will have something to say about it, and the whole world will hear it.

Bob has told the others to kill him if anything happens to Bucky and Yelena because he knows he won't be able to come back from that.

Bucky and Bob fiercely defend the other. Always insisting that they deserve happiness and second chances, even if the other doesn't agree.

Bob is the only person on the team that knows how to disarm Bucky's arm.

They both have nightmares and when that happens they try and wake the other up. Then they'll stay up together, watch a movie, talk, listen to music until they pass out together in the early hours of the morning.

Sometimes they swap horrors, Bucky will tell Bob something about his past and Bob will do the same, sharing those things they've never dared to tell anyone else.

Bob makes Bucky a lot of gifts, little hand made things here and there or buys things at the store that make him think of him. They are a growing collection in their bedroom.

Bucky hates covers and Bob loves them so typically Bucky ends up sleeping with nothing while Bob leans into his side swaddled in three blankets.

Bucky likes to take Bob out on his bike, going out of the city so he can speed along back roads and hear him laugh in his ear.

Sometimes they walk around the places Bucky used to know, and he'll tell Bob all the things that have changed. That used to be a dance parlor called Janie's. Over there was a newspaper stand, Steve and I used to eat in this place, but it's a laundromat now.

Bucky calls Bob nicknames in private, things like doll, hun, sweetheart. Bob adores it.

#thunderbolts #bob reynolds #bob thunderbolts #bucky barnes #wintersentry #Bob Reynolds x Bucky Barnes #marvel headcanons #thunderbolts headcanons

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elliespassagerprincess · 2 days ago

Note

them having a baby was sososososo cute 😭😭 i would like to know what their daughter would be like entering elementary school

Headcannons: professor!ellie williams x reader

masterlist

professor ellie / first time / nsfw headcannons / more headcannons

starting a life together / getting married / having a baby / grading

aurora bloom (currently reading) / baby number 2 / more headcannons

☆ Aurora’s first word is “Mama,” but she says it while looking at you—Ellie is fake-offended for weeks.

☆ She has Ellie’s intense green eyes and habit of staring too long when she’s curious.

☆ Aurora clings to you constantly; even as a toddler, she whines when someone else holds her.

☆ Ellie builds her a mini bookcase for baby board books—and Aurora immediately organizes them alphabetically (with help).

☆ Aurora is the kind of baby who needs a strict routine—if you’re even five minutes late for nap or cuddle time, she notices.

☆ She hates when you leave the room. Ellie jokes that you’ve got two wives now.

☆ She calls Ellie “Mama” and you “Mommy,” but if you’re upset or sick, she calls both of you “Mommy” in solidarity.

☆ Aurora shows signs of hyper-intelligence early: solving puzzles meant for kids twice her age.

☆ She loves bedtime stories but gets frustrated when you skip a word—she’s memorized the entire book.

☆ Ellie reads her scientific journals out loud like bedtime stories, and Aurora actually listens.

☆ She mimics Ellie’s mannerisms—crossing her arms, frowning when she concentrates, pacing.

☆ You catch her “lecturing” her stuffed animals in Ellie’s exact voice.

☆ Aurora draws family portraits every week—and you’re always in the center.

☆ She panics if you’re not there to drop her off or pick her up.

☆ Ellie tries to be logical about it but secretly loves how attached Aurora is to you.

☆ Aurora shows early signs of perfectionism—she erases drawings over and over if they’re “not good enough.”

☆ When she throws tantrums, only your voice calms her down. Ellie has to tag you in.

☆ Aurora is incredibly picky about her routine—she wants the same food in the same bowl with the same spoon.

☆ Her favorite word is “actually,” and she uses it to correct adults constantly.

☆ She collects facts like trophies—Ellie makes her flashcards and they study together for fun.

☆ Aurora tests into the gifted program in her first year of school.

☆ She doesn’t like group projects—she prefers doing everything herself because “no one gets it right.”

☆ Teachers say she’s “brilliant, but intense.”

☆ Aurora only talks about two things at school: science and you.

☆ She makes laminated labels for her school supplies like Ellie does with her stationary.

☆ Every art project is somehow about you—she brings home a clay mug with “Mommy #1” carved into it.

☆ She corrects her teacher once in class and becomes slightly feared. Ellie is so proud but warns her to “maybe chill a little next time, baby.”

☆ Aurora wants to skip recess so she can stay in and read.

☆ She keeps a picture of you in her backpack—pulls it out when she gets anxious.

☆ Ellie and Aurora have “study nights” where they work quietly side by side—same posture, same concentration.

☆ Aurora watches you cook and scribbles notes like it’s a culinary lecture.

☆ She insists on helping you clean the house but gets mad if things aren’t organized to her standard.

☆ You call her your “tiny professor” and she beams every time.

☆ Aurora and Ellie both hover when you’re tired or sick—like you’re the sun and they’ve lost orbit.

☆ They fight over who gets to sit next to you on the couch.

☆ Ellie gets petty when Aurora gets more cuddles. Aurora gets smug.

☆ Aurora likes brushing your hair—she does it methodically, like a ritual.

☆ She sleeps best when curled up beside you, even at age 7.

☆ She draws up “mom schedules” to divide your attention fairly—Ellie cheats her way into extra time.

☆ Aurora reads scientific textbooks for fun.

☆ Ellie teaches her how to use a microscope at age 6.

☆ She becomes obsessed with astronomy after you buy her a star chart.

☆ Aurora cries when she gets a 98 instead of 100.

☆ Ellie talks her down using logic. You soothe her with affection.

☆ She keeps a journal with facts about her “favorite person” (you).

☆ Aurora can’t stand when someone is wrong—she has a meltdown if the teacher mispronounces a word.

☆ She gives book reports like she’s defending a thesis.

☆ Her handwriting is meticulous, just like Ellie’s.

☆ She wins her school’s spelling bee and dedicates the win “to my mommies.”

☆ Aurora doesn’t handle change well—moving a couch makes her cry.

☆ You’re the only one who can help her calm down when she spirals.

☆ She leaves sticky notes with “I love you” on your bathroom mirror.

☆ Ellie keeps a stash of emergency snacks and plushies for when Aurora gets overstimulated.

☆ Aurora talks to you about everything—even stuff she hides from Ellie.

☆ She always wants to know where you are—calls you if you’re late home.

☆ If you travel, she leaves voice memos asking when you’re coming back.

☆ Aurora once stayed up crying because she thought you wouldn’t love her if she failed at something. You reassure her constantly, even years later.

☆ Ellie hugs you tighter at night after watching how much both of you mean to each other.

☆ Aurora and Ellie gang up on you in debates—but it’s always playful.

☆ They both get quiet when they think you’re upset—like they can’t stand disappointing you.

☆ Aurora wears a matching lab coat on Ellie’s “bring your kid to work” day.

☆ She calls the three of you “the brain squad.”

☆ Your fridge is full of Aurora’s detailed school projects—Ellie annotates them like a proud academic.

☆ Aurora copies how Ellie kisses your temple when you’re working.

☆ They both wait up for you if you’re late—even if it’s past bedtime.

☆ When Aurora gets awards, you’re the first person she looks for in the crowd.

☆ Family movie night has to be educational and cozy or she gets annoyed.

☆ You are the center of their universe—both of them would burn the world for you without hesitation.

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deezee112 · 2 days ago

Text

The ending 2 : The Broken Jester

Masterlist | Ending 1 | Ending 3

Yandere!Platonic!Ace Trappola x GN!kid!Reader

A/N : I just wanted to say that the ending where no one dies isn't all that exciting, but from the looks of it, I might end up doing it soon anyway.

Warning : Emotional Manipulation , Obsessive Behavior , Panic Attack and Overreaction , Implied Childhood Neglect

Tags :

@sherryclover @creativecupcake @hsjdhehsjssj @neufora

If you want me to tag you please tell me.

English is not my first language.

" My name is Ace. " he said, flashing a grin that seemed to light up the room.

You stared at him, still clutching the edge of your blanket, unsure whether to smile back or keep hiding.

He didn’t seem to mind your hesitation. In fact, he leaned a little closer, winking like he had just shared a secret.

“ You know, like an ace in a deck of cards? The best one. Or…the worst one, depending on how you use it. ” His laughter was light, carefree, and you felt a small, nervous smile tug at your lips.

“ Ace… ” you whispered, testing the name on your tongue.

“ Yep! So, little buddy, wanna know something fun? ” he asked, dropping to a crouch beside your bed. His expression was bright, mischievous. “ If you ever get bored, just say the word, and I’ll teach you the coolest card tricks. The ones that make all the losers go ‘Whoa, how did you do that?!’ ”

He seemed so different nothing like the other adults you knew. Loud, but not in a scary way. Pushy, but somehow…fun.

And so your life with Ace began. It was never boring. He was always there, always grinning, always full of ideas.

“ C’mon, y/n! Let’s have ice cream for breakfast! ”

“ Can’t do your math homework? Just skip it! Or better yet, let’s cheat— ”

“ Oh, you’re still stuck? Don’t worry, little genius, Ace will save you! ”

He taught you card tricks, jokes that made you giggle, silly pranks you tried ( and failed ) on your parents. He turned your quiet, lonely world into a whirlwind of noise and laughter.

But the laughter wasn’t always gentle.

“ Wow, y/n, you messed up again? You’re like a magnet for trouble, huh? ”

“ You really think you’ll be good at that? Oh, please! ”

“ Don’t be so boring, crybaby. Can’t take a joke? ”

Sometimes his words were too sharp, like the edge of a playing card slicing your fingers. You laughed at first, tried to play along. You told yourself it was just his way of being funny.

But over time, the laughs hurt a little more.

You tried telling him once. “ Ace, that’s mean… ”

“ Mean? C’mon, don’t be a baby, y/n. It’s just a joke! ” he chuckled, ruffling your hair.

But it didn’t feel like a joke.

Your parents didn’t help. When you told them, they brushed it off, smiling. “ It’s good you have someone who keeps you company. ” they said. “ You’re lucky. ”

Lucky?

Was this what being lucky felt like?

The only thing Ace ever took seriously was knives.

You didn’t understand it at first. Every time you reached for one, he seemed to appear out of nowhere.

“ Whoa, whoa! What do you think you’re doing? ” He’d grab the knife from your hand, his grin fading for a second.

“ I was just trying to cut the apples— ”

“ Nope! No knives for you, little troublemaker. ” he’d say, trying to laugh it off. But his eyes stayed sharp, his hand gripping the knife a little too tight.

At first, you thought he was just playing, like everything else he did. But over time, you noticed how his smile wavered, how his fingers shook ever so slightly when he put the knife away.

“ You’re too clumsy for this stuff, y/n. Don’t even try. ” he’d insist, but his voice would be softer, almost pleading.

So you stopped trying. You let him handle the cooking, the cutting, the dangerous things.

But then, one day, it happened.

You were in the kitchen, trying to help prepare lunch. Ace wasn’t around probably off playing one of his silly games again. You grabbed a small paring knife, careful, just like you’d seen him do.

But it slipped.

The sharp edge caught your palm, a thin, stinging line of red blooming on your skin.

You hissed in pain, but it wasn’t terrible. You grabbed a tissue, pressing it against the wound. It was just a scratch. Nothing big. Nothing to panic over.

But then you heard the door open.

“ y/n, I got this super cool— ” Ace’s voice cut off.

He saw the knife on the floor, the red stain on the tissue in your hand.

For a moment, he didn’t breathe.

Then he was in front of you, gripping your shoulders, his face pale. “ What—what happened? Are you hurt? Did you—? Did it—? ”

“ It’s nothing.. ” you tried to say, but your voice was too soft. “ It’s just a scratch— ”

“ Scratch? ” His voice was loud, too loud. “ No, no, no! This is why I told you—this is why you never— ” His hands were shaking now, his eyes wide, frantic.

“ I’m fine, Ace! ” you insisted, but he wasn’t listening.

“ No!! you’re not—let me see, let me— ” He pulled the tissue away, staring at the thin line of blood like it was a fatal wound. His breathing grew faster, and his grip on your arm tightened.

“ It’s not bad— ” you tried to pull away, but his fingers only dug in harder.

“ Ace, you’re hurting me— ”

“ I’m not—! I just— ” His voice was breaking, panic and something else twisting his words. “ Why? Why didn’t you listen? Why didn’t you wait for me? ”

“ I’m not a baby! ” you cried, fear lacing your voice now. “ I can do things myself! ”

“ No, you can’t! ” he yelled, and suddenly, his voice broke completely. “ You can’t—because what if—what if I lose you—what if you— ”

Then the world spun.

You backed up, your heel catching the edge of the chair leg. You stumbled, fell backward, and the chair crashed down with you. Pain flared in your side, but you barely noticed.

Because Ace screamed.

“ No—No! y/n! ” He was kneeling beside you, his hands hovering over you like he didn’t know where to touch. “ Did it hurt? Is it broken? Your head—your— ”

“ Ace, stop! ” you shouted, trying to sit up. “ I’m fine! I’m fine! ”

But he wasn’t fine.

Tears were streaming down his face, his expression twisted in horror. “ I didn’t mean to—I never meant to—I can’t— ”

You tried to reach for him, but he grabbed your hand, clinging to it like a lifeline.

“ I’m sorry—I’m sorry—don’t leave—please don’t— ”

Your parents’ footsteps thundered down the stairs.

“ Ace, what on earth are you doing? ” your father’s voice snapped, annoyed.

“ She’s hurt—she’s hurt because of me—I’m so— ”

“ She’s fine. Get out of the way. ”

But Ace didn’t let go, crying harder, his grip hurting your hand.

“ Get out! ” your father snapped, grabbing Ace’s shoulder and dragging him out of the room.

Ace didn’t fight. He didn’t even look up. He just kept crying, his voice breaking, whispering the same words over and over.

“ I’m sorry—I’m sorry—I’m sorry… ”

And for the first time, you felt something heavy in your chest. Not fear, not pain but a cold, aching sadness.

Why did it feel like he was the one who was hurt?

#yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst x reader #yandere ace trappola #yandere ace #yandere ace x reader #au doll #It's so boring now.

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reflectingiridescent · 2 days ago

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Watching The King George Job after seeing Leverage: Redemption

Wow, it is MEATY. Poor Sophie.

Up until now, the show - through Sophie's impeccably selective language - has been very careful in suggesting her art theft as a fun game she played with the rich and powerful, something relatively in line with the premise of Leverage in general. This is the first time the show really leans into how art theft links to terrorism, a link that is drawn out explicitly in Redemption S2 in dialogue between Sophie and Eliot.

The girl at the beginning is almost certainly and purposefully written as being around the same age Astrid would have been when Sophie left, which already has Sophie primed to think about her past, the "archeology" of her crimes. Were the things she stole used to fund deeper crimes? Maybe, maybe not. But the damage to Astrid has been done. She just hasn't told anyone.

Just a few episodes ago in The Three-Card Monte Job - a heavily Nate-centric episode - we saw Sophie get unusually firm about civilians being used as pawns in crime. The thematic exploration of collateral damage continues in this episode.

Sophie's more upset than usual during this briefing. Nate clocks it early on.

When Parker says that she should have gotten into this line of work (stealing unregistered, uninsured art) years ago, Sophie is visibly uncomfortable.

Nate goes after Sophie and tries to get her out of her head. It's refreshing to see that dynamic reversed. The suggestion that works? Basically asking her if she wants to run a game on Keller.

I'm biased, but it's REALLY NICE to see Sophie in her element, with all of the art. And! When Sophie takes point, you learn and you con!

Sophie takes over when the first con doesn't work, and everyone rolls with it.

Little pause before Sophie introduces herself as Charlotte Prentiss. It's like you can feel the weight that the persona carries for her.

Cute that all of the beats about the more exciting parts of royalty happen between Sophie and Parker. Sure, they're the women on the team, and we don't know it yet, but they're both living out rags-to-riches stories of sorts.

"Good guess. *little wink*" / "It's not really a guess if it's that good, is it?" The Sophie/Nate dynamic is much more understated this season, but it really, REALLY works. I love seeing them at partners, in crime some more.

PARKER WHEN DID YOU STEAL A CORPSE JFC?

I can't say enough how much I like seeing Sophie teach. Also she is very pretty this episode (and every episode, but I'm obsessed with her black cutout dress).

We see the beginnings here of Sophie teaching Hardison how to forge, which carries over into Redemption. Hardison likes learning about art and culture but doesn't always see how it ties into his speciality. Sophie helps him.

The past few episodes have really leaned into the Sophie & Parker dynamic, and I like it a lot. Through Parker, Hardison, and Eliot, they cover the three senses involved when really analyzing a relic: smell, touch, and taste.

"But to a mark that's always in his head, the heart con's the only one that works." I should start a list of lines that are super core to who Sophie is, because this is def on the list. It's about William and Nate and Sophie's entire career and Sophie herself.

"Some say she became a commoner in Massachusetts. Some say she died at sea. Some say she never left London at all." I've also never paid attention to the parallels between Sophie and the story she tells Keller about the mistress of King George III, but they are RIGHT THERE. This show makes me want to climb walls.

Nate is considering if Charlotte is Sophie's real name. He asks about it, in his way. She deflects and asks about the con. Notable here is how Sophie's doing all of this for the team. This is going to help them get to Moreau. Any effect that it has on her is something she's going to deal with on her own time.

This is the second time this season Eliot is stalling by taking people on a city tour.

A lovely shot of Sophie being excited during the auction - is it over the diary, about the way that Parker's playing the auctioneer, or both? I think it's both.

Watching Sophie and Nate hustle the auction crowd is incredible. Sophie uses neurolinguistic programming. Nate and Parker gang up on another guy in the crowd. 😂

"Is Sophie a princess?" We don't know it yet, but Sophie actually fulfills several roles in the Cinderella story: she is evil stepmother, fairy godmother, and Cinderella herself rolled into one.

"That storage locker was filled with some of the very first things I ever stole." Charlotte's past scandal has hurt her reputation deeply, but it doesn't matter. The team's done their job, with a lot of personal investment from Sophie.

Eliot gets a great fight scene with a belt!

Sophie is shown to be very motivated by the little girl throughout the episode, but the beats with the girl at the end happen with Eliot, who actually had contact with the girl and speaks her language. Much like Sophie's done with Astrid since leaving, Sophie's benefaction happens in the shadows.

It pales in comparison to everything else that's going on in this episode/this season, but earlier in the episode, Sophie says that The Mummy's Tiara is virtually impossible to pull off in a country with an actual monarchy. Our favorite team rewrites the book on crime, once again.

#I'm so glad I lived long enough to see redemption #and this piece of sophie's past filled in #it's just so good and makes previous watchthroughs even richer #the king george job #the crowning achievement job #the museum job #sophie devereaux #astrid pickford #nate ford #alec hardison #parker #eliot spencer #leverage redemption #leverage

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frozenjokes · 3 days ago

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something sweet to see you off

ao3 link

Something had changed between Mumbo’s two humans.

They were happier. Mumbo had very little baseline for human behavior besides these two, but they seemed happier, and when Mumbo bothered Atlas about it, they told him they didn’t care and didn’t want to talk about humans. Eventually though, Mumbo was able to needle a little information out of Atlas; the humans in the North did not touch each other and were violent and irritable, so surely the opposite of that meant good!

Mumbo took great joy from his humans’ joy. Over the next few weeks, he learned to take great joy from the things they loved as well, even activities that did not come naturally to him. If Grian and Scar did anything, Mumbo would happily involve himself.

“You don’t think he’s jealous, do you?” Scar said, sounding a little concerned when he glanced back at Mumbo, but Mumbo couldn’t guess why. This was the most valued human activity; Scar’s hand in Grian’s, Grian’s in Mumbo’s, and Mumbo’s back in Scar’s, making a perfect chain. Mumbo didn’t used to love this one, but the humans did it nearly every day, clearly this was a bonded act, and Mumbo would not be left out! He learned to love it. His favorite was when Scar got antsy, swinging both his and Grian’s arms somewhat absently. Sometimes Mumbo would parrot his movements and sometimes he would keep his arms purposefully stiff until Scar would squawk at him, and both he and Grian would work together to try and get Mumbo’s arms to move.

“Scar, I don’t think he even knows we’re together.”

They were on the beach less. That did make Mumbo sad, sometimes it made him feel uncertain, but mostly it fueled the homesickness that had been simmering in his gut for a while now. Atlas was not the only mer who wanted to go home. It was a weird feeling. Mumbo loved it up here, he loved how relaxed the surface felt, all the different animals and plants, he obviously loved his humans, but it was a little.. He was bored, oftentimes. He missed having an abundance of things to do. He missed taking care of a pod.

What the three of them did manage to do though, was make a schedule. Communicating the schedule was a little harder; Grian got Etho to teach him a couple mer words, but mermaids did not measure the passing of time by the sun, time was more of a sweeping concept, an intrinsic feeling from season to season, the more specific pieces measured by changing tides. With all the human yapping, Mumbo got the feeling that humans’ sense of time was worse than his own. But they all got there in the end.

Seven days and nights was a human week. They had names for each day, marking them differently in the sandy diagram Grian made, but it wasn’t too important besides the fact that Scar was coming on ‘Tue’ and ‘Thur’ and ‘Sat’ and ‘Sun’ and Grian was coming three out of the four same days. After Scar said the words out loud enough, pointing at the symbols as he went, Mumbo got to know them. Honestly, he was a little more caught up on humans having matching symbols for their words, but it was hard to focus on that when they were demanding his attention with other matters.

Mumbo was surprised when they arrived one night off-schedule; he’d never had a night visit before, so he and especially Atlas were quite on edge. Atlas had begged Mumbo not to go to the surface which.. that made Mumbo a little sad.

But it had in fact been Grian and Scar, overloaded with all sorts of big soft things. Fascinating. Mumbo had been a little nosey, reasonably in his opinion, but besides a little Grian frustration, they were acting as they always did, friendly and loud and a little stupid. The brigade of pillows and blankets were laid out in the most extravagant nest Mumbo had ever seen, and he was about to snuggle in before the humans could take the best spots before Scar turned, something familiar hanging from his arms. Mumbo bristled.

Scar stared. Blinked. “What?” He didn’t seem all too concerned to be in possession of an, albeit, limp snake monster, which gave Mumbo the impression it was dead, but when Scar had nearly been eaten all that time ago, Mumbo did not understand why he would mess with such creatures again!

“Can you get mine too?” Grian called without looking back, focused on the nest arrangement, and Scar mumbled his affirmation, glancing back and forth at Mumbo as he backpedaled toward the human pile of things. Mumbo advanced.

“Hey, man, you’re making me nervous,” Scar said, which was enough to get Grian to look up.

“What.. What—? What’s wrong?” The pinch of fear in Grian’s voice made Mumbo shrink slightly, forcibly relaxing his fins.

“Don’t know. Is there a really big scary spider on my head?”

“No..”

Mumbo took his chance to swipe Scar’s possibly-dead monster while he was distracted, slithering off with great speed so he could inspect it separately.

“Mumbo! Mumbo, no!” Scar fell over himself giving chase, but Mumbo was more relieved to hear Grian laugh.

Honestly, Scar’s monster did not feel at all how he remembered; it had been soft and bloodless, yes, but this felt far more like a human soft-thing, and Mumbo couldn’t find a single scale despite the way the creature shimmered like a fish. He’d sworn it had scales. Scar pouted beside him, whined, pushed at Mumbo’s shoulder, tried yanking his belonging out of Mumbo’s hands, and this was all getting very annoying, so Mumbo just pushed Scar until he fell back on his butt. Unfortunately, Scar must have thought this was a game, getting up just for Mumbo to push him again, then again, then again until the point where it looked like Scar was quite enjoying this and Mumbo was not having a very productive examination of this possible-monster. Ugh. Whatever. He would just drown it to make sure.

Scar wailed when Mumbo brought his soft-thing to the water, but this was for his own good! At least with Grian, Mumbo could trust him not to throw away his life on a whim, but Scar was too reckless, and if the humans were going to stay out here for a prolonged period, Mumbo was not going to let him be eaten. Given the cackling from Grian’s end though, this probably wasn’t a monster or alive and Mumbo had just been mistaken all that time ago. Well. Mumbo would not be embarrassed! If it was life or death, Mumbo would rather be paranoid than have his humans perish!

Scar was not so pleased when Mumbo handed him back his newly drowned soft-thing. It was a little sad. Those eyes.. But Mumbo didn’t want Scar to be sad; he was excited the humans were here tonight! So he patted Scar on the head exactly twice. Grian did that to Scar sometimes too, and it seemed to resolve all problems, so..

But Scar still looked droopy, and Mumbo wasn’t sure if four pats would be too overwhelming, so he left Scar alone in favor of returning to the human nest.

“I don’t suppose you have room in your sleeping bag,” Scar whined, miserable, but Grian just shrugged.

“I don’t know.. You’re a pretty big guy, and I need my beauty sleep. I’ll get hot sharing my bed with a furnace.”

“You share your bed with me plenty.”

“Sure, but in my bed I have enough space to wind back and kick you until you roll over.”

“Well if you don’t concede, I’m gonna have to drag my wet, sandy sack into your perfect little bed—“

“No—! No need. We can share. I like sharing, actually, but if Mumbo gets FOMO and tries to get in, you have to fight him off.”

“Yes sir!!” Scar made an odd gesture, hand horizontal against his forehead, but Grian only snorted, ignoring him. Grian laid his own bag-monster in the nest, feverishly tried to rid himself of all sand, then settled inside it. Scar joined him shortly. Oooooooo.

A bit of screaming and Scar’s fingers in Mumbo’s nostrils later, Mumbo graciously let them have the bag to themselves.

Mumbo could not nest with them the entire night, but he rested easy in the shallows, heart light and full.

How bittersweet when just a few days later, Etho walked alongside them. None of them had any idea this marked the end of Mumbo’s stay, at least for now.

Etho was already sick, so Mumbo let them be after a brief greeting, reporting back to Atlas in the meantime. The little involuntary trill that fluttered out of Atlas’s throat reignited Mumbo’s own excitement to return to the deep. Home. Oh, he really did want to go home.

By the time Mumbo returned to the beach, Etho had transformed, unsubtly trying to back away from Scar’s incessant babbling, only for Scar to follow them into the water up to his shins. Mumbo called their name, fins waving in amusement as Etho jumped on the excuse to escape. Mumbo gave the disappointed Scar a friendly flick of his fins before submerging to meet Etho.

‘I’d like to speak with you. All of you, if it’s not too much trouble so soon after your change. Atlas and I are returning to the deep; likely after you’ve finished your stay.’

Etho blinked, once, then twice, but ultimately, they did not seem all too surprised. ‘Of course. I’ll let them know.’

Scar lit up seeing Etho turn around, his joy doubling when Etho called for Grian with Mumbo at their side. It broke Mumbo’s heart to know they’d be getting bad news. Well. Not all bad.

“Mumbo and Cub are leaving soon. After I’m human again, I think.”

The drop of their expressions, particularly Scar’s, hit Mumbo way harder than he thought they would, and very suddenly he was overcome with a great desperation to mend this immediately.

‘Tell them I’m carrying.’

“Wh— What!?” Etho whirled around, forgetting to whistle, but Mumbo knew the word quite well by now. He cocked his head, amused.

‘Carrying.’

‘I got that! With— With Atlas? I didn’t know—‘

“What is it!?” Scar broke in, concern etching his tone, which, given Etho’s reaction, was probably warranted.

“He’s. Uh. Pregnant.”

The expression on both humans’ faces made Mumbo worry they did not think this was such good news as he did. Why were they looking at him like that? Did humans die during childbirth or care? Mumbo was pretty sure he’d heard of that occurring in some fish..

“Can I watch you give birth. Please. Please.”

“SCAR!!”

Scar proceeded to get defensive, and then the two humans started bickering, Mumbo’s name being thrown around way too much for it to be anything inconsequential.

‘Ghost, please tell them this isn’t going to kill me.’

“Oh my god, all of you be quiet.” Etho clasped their hands over their ears. “First—Scar, I am not even going to translate that, that’s insane.”

“It is not! No one in the WORLD has ever been able to witness first hand a mermaid birth, because, you know, they’re not exactly human-friendly, and— I mean come on! Are you not curious? It would be cool, this is science!”

“I am not curious,” Etho deadpanned. “And why do you think Mumbo is going back to the deep anyway, he’s not going to do his business on the surface, are you crazy?”

“Oh,” Realization dawned on Scar’s face, which melted to disappointment. “Darn..”

‘They know I’ll be okay?’ Mumbo asked, not wanting to be pushy, but all these unknowns were making him anxious.

‘They know,’

“Wait!” Both Mumbo and Etho flinched when Scar yelped, but he was not at all put out when Grian whacked his shoulder, “With Cub!? Mumbo! You didn’t tell us— oh no.” Scar whirled on Grian, the sudden movement making Etho flinch a second time, “You don’t think he’s rebounded, do you? Oh god, is this my fault!? What if Mumbo doesn’t even want a kid—“

“—No. Scar,” Grian rolled his eyes, “If mermaids don’t want their kids they probably just eat them, no need to be hysterical.”

“That’s worse!!”

“What, are you opposed to mermaid birth control? It’s his body, Scar.” Grian snickered, but Scar still looked horrified.

“That is not what birth control means, Grian!!”

Etho stared Mumbo dead in the eyes while the both of them made a fool of themselves, fin flicks growing progressively violent as their bickering continued for an abysmally long time. Eventually, Etho dipped under the water where the human voices were muffled, and Mumbo joined them.

‘So, are you and Atlas courting?’

Mumbo flicked his tail ‘no.’ ‘Atlas wants to pass their sire’s name. They are ancestrally inclined. They wish for their offspring not to fear the surface like they do now. I offered to carry. Our little one will accompany me to the surface after a season’s passing, or longer. Whenever I deem it safe. I will be careful.’

Etho’s fins fell, flicking anxiously. ‘You’re bringing your child to the surface? So young? Are you certain that’s a good idea?’

Irritation rippled through Mumbo’s fins, but he fought to still them. It was a fair question. Perhaps his own defensiveness stemmed from seeded uncertainty.

‘It depends. There is a chance the surface may be a better environment for them than the deep. Atlas and I aren’t exchanging scales, but it will be obvious when we return together after an extended period who is the sire. Atlas is.. not well liked in the pod. Very much so. I worry our child will take the brunt of their distaste. There are dangers at the surface, yes, but I have occupied this place for seasons worth of time with few to no issues. The humans will provide an environment of unconditional support. Plus, I.. want them to meet them. My child.’

Etho relaxed, and Mumbo along with them. But there was something else there, a deeper thought behind Etho’s eyes along with a soft rumble of unsaid words bubbling in their throat. They left the water, breaking through Grian and Scar to find their things on the beach, then digging through the bag. The humans watched Etho incredulously, barraging them with questions, while Mumbo looked on curiously.

They returned with a closed fist. Scar stumbled as he tried to look over Etho’s shoulder, but they paid him no mind.

They opened their hand to Mumbo. A scale.

‘I have no ambition to find any One mer in my life to share these with. I like the tradition, but not the meaning. I imagined giving them to friends, close friends, people who’ve changed me. This was for someone else, actually, but I think we’ll postpone our meeting with this being the last I’ll see of you for a while. And, being you’re the reason I can share my scales at all, I think it’s fitting you have one. My friend. To the mers in the deep, a lover you met on the surface, if you want to keep the sire a secret.’

Etho paused, fins lowering in stark anxiousness, ‘You don’t have to take it. And I’m not— This isn’t to say you shouldn’t bring your kid to the surface. Only an offer to put your mind at ease.’

Mumbo was at a loss for words. How could you speak when you’re so deeply moved. He couldn’t, so instead he spun over himself in the water, somewhat clumsily catching his tail between his teeth. Etho squawked in slight alarm, the humans babbling in turn, but Mumbo paid them no mind. He snagged one of his scales at the base, only growling softly from the pain when he ripped it out. He’d always imagined this to be a more elegant thing, but goodness, he felt stupid as he straightened, slightly more disheveled than before.

‘Well, you can’t trade without one of mine.’

Etho stared at him for a long time. Their mouth twitched, like the instinct of a human smile was fighting their anatomical reality. They extended their hand, and Mumbo gave his in turn.

What a special thing, to be friends. Mumbo only mourned that the mermaids in the deep would not get to fully experience just how special this white scale was, but truly, the most important thing was that it was nothing like Atlas’s.

Mumbo had not noticed the humans’ quiet until they exploded into a flurry of questions and exclamations, of which Etho begrudgingly gave answers. Mumbo found himself amused, mostly because they’d repeated themselves so much, that Mumbo learned the human word for ‘scale.’ Briefly, he retreated to the bottom of the lake to tuck this precious thing away lest any jealous human try to snatch it; that was Mumbo’s impression of the conversation, anyway.

…

‘Mumbo, just because you’re under the water with your eyes closed, doesn’t mean we can’t see you either.’

Mumbo blinked open his large, owlish eyes, feigning innocence, but he dove away when Etho snapped his teeth, no doubt planning on returning in the next five minutes. Not like it particularly mattered; Mumbo couldn’t understand English, but still, could he not give them a moment of peace?

Scar was giggling while Grian watched the water fondly, and Etho consciously refrained from rolling his eyes.

“So what haven’t you shown him?” Etho asked, snapping the two of them back to the conversation. “We could throw the football around all day today and tomorrow, but you,” Etho gave Scar a pointed look, “Want this to be special.”

“He’s having a kid, it’s a big deal!” Scar threw up his hands in defense, while Grian let his cheek rest on his fist.

“I can’t think of a single thing Scar hasn’t either given or shown Mumbo, seriously, at this point Scar’s brought all but the foundations of his own home to the beach. That’s why we’re asking you. When you first came to town, what stood out? What excited you?”

Etho’s lip curled in anxious apprehension. “I don’t know.. I wasn’t really looking at stuff on the mainland as much as I was overwhelmed.”

“After you were settled in with Bdubs, then,” Scar suggested, attitude cheerful enough to shoo away the unwanted memories.”

“Well.. There were Bdubs’ plants, he had quite a few I’d never seen before. The toilet was the craziest thing I had ever seen in my life, and that still stands. I mean, come on. That’s not really all that helpful though. I don’t know. It’d be easier to come up with something if I knew what you guys had already showed him. Like yeah, junk from Scar’s house and fishing supplies, he’s seen your phones, probably heard all kinds of music—“

“Oh, hey, music! I’d never thought about that,” Scar shrugged, missing Etho’s gaping expression entirely, “I was never a music guy, never really got it.”

“That’s a good idea,” Grian added, casual, like it was not completely fucking INSANE they had never played any human music for Mumbo before, “If I ever listen to music, I’m always wearing headphones. Never thought about letting Mumbo listen. That’s not really worthy of a grand goodbye gesture though; why don’t we do that today, and come up with something else for tomorrow?”

“Are you guys— seriously!?”

The two of them seemed to notice for the first time how worked up Etho had become, exchanging a glance like he was the crazy one.

“What?” Scar asked.

“Music is— Music is the mermaid thing. Song is the most culturally, biologically ingrained part of our lives, it’s extremely powerful and deeply impactful on our health— didn’t Mumbo give both of you music boxes!? That’s like one step away from handing out his scales! How have you not shown him music yet!?”

The two of them blinked in unison. Grian cocked his head. “It’s that big of a deal?”

Scar shrugged, “Maybe Mumbo isn’t a music guy. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve heard him sing. I’m a little glad.. it’s a little too.. visceral.”

“He sang a few times when we were first getting acquainted,” Grian mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I thought he was going to kill me. But there were a few other times where it wasn’t threatening.. I think he was trying to connect.”

Etho let his face fall into his hands. “Well no wonder he doesn’t sing much when you guys are around, then. If you guys started freaking out, he probably thinks you don’t like it!”

“Do mermaids not sing their prey to death?” Scar asked the question like a ‘gotcha,’ and Etho had to collect himself for a moment before answering.

“That isn’t— No. We have songs for all kinds of things, but hunting in the deep involves a lot more coordinated screaming. It’s a ‘song,’ technically, but not in the traditional sense. That’s just a myth.”

“That makes more sense,” Grian mused, and Etho’s head spun wondering just how many humans actually believed mermaids were singing sailors off the rails of their own ships. God.

He managed to collect himself, mind clearing enough to form coherent thoughts while Grian and Scar went off on some mermaid song related tangent.

“Wait,” Etho managed to cut in, his fins raising from their drooped position, “I have an idea.”

…

The last day.

When the humans went home for the evening yesterday, Etho had let Mumbo know they’d been able to confirm with the Evil Human that they could stay a mermaid all day in order to see Mumbo off, which was quite the touching gesture, one Atlas appreciated in kind (despite not fully understanding why Etho would want to stay human at all, though they admitted that was mostly a them problem).

Mumbo was enjoying a quiet morning doze in the shallows, but crashing in the woods much earlier than usual jolted him awake, scurrying off into deeper water.

Not that this was necessary beyond pure instinct; it was pretty obvious at this point Scar and Grian were just arriving early, and given the sheer size of their bulging backpacks, Mumbo got the sense they were planning on making the most of this final day.

Almost immediately Grian started setting something up in the sand, hanging a big white sheet between two poles, and Mumbo really wanted to know what he was up to, but Scar was demanding Mumbo’s attention elsewhere, so reluctantly he left Grian’s side to play Throw Ball with him and Etho. It was alright. A little more fun when Atlas poked their head above the water, only to be verbally accosted by both Mumbo and Scar in an attempt to get them to join the game. Atlas left immediately. Mumbo took the brief opportunity to play a new game of chase, but Atlas did not possess nearly as much anticipatory Energy, and the game stopped being fun when Mumbo got bit. Whatever, whatever.

When Grian had finished setting up his contraption, complete with a little stand and another device Mumbo had never seen before, Mumbo was not allowed to touch anything. Worst day of his life, borderline blasphemous, what was the point of new things if he couldn’t drown them. Maybe that was okay though, since Grian seemed to be getting really frustrated with his device, and if Grian hated it that much, Mumbo wasn’t too sure he was interested. Then again, more reason to drown it. Oh well. According to Etho, they were having [tech] problems, whatever that meant.

It was a cloudy day, cold, and Mumbo had been a little disappointed with the poor weather. Not that he minded, but even Scar didn’t want to touch the water when it was this chilly, and indeed, he’d hardly gotten his feet wet during Throw Ball, but then Grian’s white screen lit up with color, vibrant without interference from the sun, and Mumbo had to think this was not such poor weather afterall.

The humans and their new device had his full attention.

‘Humans make stories with art and music, millions of them, and collage them together to make [movie]. I just learned yesterday you’d never heard human music before; this is going to blow your mind.’ Etho’s fins were almost jumpy in their excitement, infectious in combination with the promise of human music— Mumbo had gotten the sense humans had the capacity to be musical, but he had seen so little, and now he was chomping at the bit for more, his fins twitching and waving in tandem with Etho’s.

Another twenty minutes of tech problems dampened his excitement, just a little.

But then. Then.

Human advancements were often beyond the scope of Mumbo’s imagination. Mumbo had been no stranger to being surprised in all the time he’d known these strange little creatures, but this. This was different.

Mumbo felt the effect of the the song immediately, loud, demanding, pulsing through his entire being, he almost closed his eyes against it, nearly missing the explosion of color on the screen, color and music, how was Mumbo meant to focus on the color when the triumphant cry of the score rattled him to his very core, he wanted to see, feel, experience, but for the whole first sequence, he could only sit back and take it.

Quietly, Etho explained the story, supplementing the voices Mumbo could not understand. He did not need to understand. He did not care. When the song was not so intense, Mumbo was struck speechless by the way the pictures moved. Their art. Human art. Moving. And then the art began to sing once again, and Mumbo was paralyzed by its opulence.

At some point, Atlas materialized behind him, and Mumbo would have been shocked to see Atlas nearly past the shoreline if he was not entirely consumed, hardly catching the whispered words of Scar to Etho.

“Tell him to put these on. Then he won’t have to be so far out of the water. If he doesn’t want to be.”

Etho was quiet for a short moment, perhaps similarly overcome. They relayed the message regardless. The first and only time Mumbo’s eyes were ripped away from the screen was when Atlas chirped, sharp and almost pained, to which Mumbo was certain they’d been hurt, perhaps by that human device now clamped on their face, but while Atlas held the sides of their head, they did not remove it.

‘What is this. Why can I see.’

‘Human invention,’ Etho answered simply, and Mumbo would have lost it at the vague description if he wasn’t so preoccupied, but then the music started up again and Mumbo stopped listening altogether, the sounds of Atlas shuffling backward and Scar’s giggling all but white noise.

Even with Etho whispering the story into his ear the entire time, Mumbo picked up nothing. How could you listen when you were lost in the belly of the beast, song, Mumbo had known song like this, song with layers, performances that consumed you, but this was— it was all— everything. Everything all of the time. How could the humans ever have kept this from him!?

And then it ended. Mumbo stared on in stunned shock.

‘Again.’ Mumbo demanded to Etho. ‘Tell them to play it again.’

...

Scar had been quite intentional with his pick of The Lion King, but honestly, he had not been expecting Mumbo to like it so much that he all but forced them to watch it six times. Etho had not, in fact, been exaggerating what had happened to him the first time he watched TV.

Hell, it’d even pulled Cub nearly all the way out of the water, almost [not even a little] docile the way he stared up at the screen. Scar did feel a little bad; Cub looked nervous, and Scar wanted him to enjoy the movie just as much as Mumbo clearly was! With zero ulterior motives, he handed Etho his old pair of glasses, and the stars must have really aligned, because Cub actually put them on. (And freaked out a little) And loved them!!! What a great relief, truly. Something had just felt wrong without the lab coat, and the glasses really tied everything together. Scar only mourned he’d never be able to take a picture.

Now, The Lion King was great, 10/10, but Scar did start getting bored about twenty minutes into the first watch through. There were a few exceptions, mostly the “Be Prepared” sequence and the moments where Mumbo got really into it, swaying and bobbing like a buoy on mildly choppy water or maybe a territorial bearded dragon, but those were only five minute stretches of time, and unbeknownst to him, Scar had many hours to kill. He didn’t mind spending them with Grian.

“I just can’t believe Etho was going to give Bdubs a Let’s Get Married But Friends scale first. Was he worried I wouldn’t say yes? Obviously I would say yes. I would love to get married to Etho. Well—“

“You sure aren’t getting a scale now,” Grian snorted, voice low so as not to disturb Mumbo. Honestly, Scar didn’t think Mumbo was on the same planet anymore, but it was a nice gesture. He followed suit.

“No, no, not any time soon, but just in case anyone was listening, it would be a perfectly suitable birthday gift. Christmas is even closer! Or just an out of the blue ‘I love you,’ gift works as well, it’ll be my favorite gift of the whole year, 10,000 reputation points, guaranteed.”

“If we’re suggesting Christmas gifts, I’d love Etho’s number.”

Scar heard the whap of Etho’s tail against the sand, but didn’t look back. Neither did Grian. Etho’s tail continued to lash.

“Neither of you are getting anything. Ever.”

“Did you hear that? A fly, maybe?” Scar asked, while Grian shrugged.

“I’m thinking I should choose my next words very carefully if I ever want to gain Etho’s favor enough for a very nice present.”

“You are never getting my number. I value my peace and quiet.”

“Actually Scar, I heard nothing at all.”

…

Atlas knew they would likely be the one to drag Mumbo back to the sea at the end of the day, but that didn’t make it feel any better. This was Mumbo’s special place, their home away from home, and Atlas understood how meaningful it was to have this, to cherish it, and be forced to let it go. Though... After an entire day of the same (admittedly, astonishing) [movie] playing, Atlas felt far less guilty. Listen, it was cool, it was very cool, and don’t even get them started on the human advancement of eye wear, but for goodness’s sake, the sun was going down at this point, enough is enough.

They were going to butt in when they noticed Mumbo getting tired, distracted, looking around instead of being glued to the moving pictures, but then Mumbo had caught their humans’ eyes, holding hands, and their attention was immediately recaptured.

Funny how that kind of joy could make Atlas yearn for something they would never want.

Atlas held the wrists of mers clawing at their face, they held fish to be eaten alone, held the water’s memory of spilled blood, and Atlas had never longed for anything more, especially not a human hand to hold. But Mumbo just had a way of making even the most unappealing activities enviable, they lived and loved like the world had everything to give, and Atlas almost hated them for it, hated how they could just live, completely unburdened.

Where would Atlas be now, unburdened? They closed their eyes. Bones at the bottom of the North ocean, likely. Even more likely, skinned alive and tossed back into the water as bait for their dwindling pod. Their family.

No one would come for them. They knew better. Atlas would not want them to.

They would die alone, in chains. Perhaps they were never destined for an unburdened life. Something happy, unworried. Maybe that was alright. Atlas would bleed a thousand times for someone like Mumbo to thrive in their place. Atlas would bleed a million flaming stars for their people to live on.

And they would.

Atlas would have a child. A little fry, a Northern mer, unburdened by Atlas’s chains. Oh, it was more than enough.

A piece of themself, unburdened. Would that little mer love human hands as much as Mumbo?

Atlas would endure it all. For the both of them, Mumbo and their unborn child, Atlas would endure it all.

And so they let Mumbo be, returning to the bottom of the lake. Atlas was in no rush.

…

The sun had long set, a chill rolling in as night settled over the cove, and Mumbo could ignore the humans’ shivers all he wanted, but it was clear their evening was coming to a close.

How unfair, when the three of them had gone through so much effort to prolong it.

It turned out that Scar and Grian had plans other than their magnificent moving pictures, both of their bags full of trinkets and magical little human artifacts. Mumbo could have played with each one for hours, but he did not take his time combing through them, especially the objects he’d already seen before. He no longer had all the time in the world. It was as gut wrenching as it was a relief.

Mumbo had left them before. He’d left them and he’d missed them, but somehow the last times it had been so much easier, it had felt necessary, whereas now it was a choice, a conscious decision to turn the page. It was horrible. Mumbo never wanted to go home.

The night slowed. The humans tired. Even Scar was running out of things to say.

Mumbo did not shy away when Scar stared at him, eyes wet and yearning and intentional, and Mumbo did not flinch when Scar threw his arms around his neck, holding him close. It was not uncomfortable. Not even for a moment. Mumbo met Grian’s eye, longing for him to do the same. Despite their great language barrier, the message made it through. Mumbo sighed deeply from his nose as he was perfectly consumed by both of them.

He rested his forehead in Grian’s hair. Then Scar’s.

‘I think it’s time to say goodbye.’

Separately, the both of them mumbled a similar sentiment. Mumbo did not have to understand them to know.

They all knew.

Scar never stopped waving, and Mumbo never stopped looking back. At the far side of the lake he could not see Grian’s smile, but knew it was there, just like he knew the two of them were holding hands, and missing his.

Goodbye, then. Here’s to a reunion all the sweeter.

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft fic #hermitfic #hermitcraft fanfic #gtws #cubfan135 #grian #mumbo jumbo #ethoslab #hermitshipping #scarian #emotionally this is like qpr mumscarian to me #but its not explicitly communicated #i won't tag cumbo but like #i want to #theyre so :3

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station-118 · 2 days ago

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It honestly feels like they're trying to end the show so they can focus all their attention on the new spin off. But they're doing it by ruining a good show instead of giving the good show a good ending.

So this is my Ted Talk about how I would have handled the past couple episodes and next season in order to give the show a good ending.

Starting with S8E15 Lab Rats. Bobby does still contract the virus and starts showing symptoms. Only he doesn't die. He waits in the room expecting to die but other than feeling like absolute shit and coughing up a little bit of blood here and there, nothing happens. They get him out of the lab and to a hospital where they find out his "magic blood" from S1 is the reason he didn't die. Somehow it gives him some kind of natural immunity of sorts to the virus. Like the virus still effects him enough to make him sick but not enough to kill him.

S8E16, no longer titled Last Alarm, deals with Bobby in the hospital recovering from the virus and them studying his blood. He's still in quarantine of sorts just to make sure he's not contagious. Athena still has to deal with the case from the episode since Bobby's in quarantine and unable to speak to the mom. Chim is still dealing with a bit of guilt over the whole situation and the what if's given that Bobby could have died saving him.

S8E17 Don't Drink the Water. It's basically the same episode as canon only Bobby's finally been released from the hospital and he's re-certified and back to work as Captain. Only during the episode we see him struggling with the job and the fact that he almost died, again, on this job. We see him make the decision that he wants to retire but he wants to make sure he has a Captain lined up that’s worthy of the job so that the team doesn’t end up with Gerrard again. He approaches Hen about his want to retire and have her take over as Captain. But by the end of the episode, like in canon, she decides she doesn't really want to be Captain.

S8E18 Seismic Shifts is as it is in canon {even tho the episode doesn't come out till tomorrow} but again just with Bobby there. Maybe during the episode we get Bobby seeing Buck taking charge somehow and him coming to the realization that with a little more training Buck could make a great Captain.

S9, we start off with the whole Eddie and Chris still being in El Paso thing. They work around Gavin's schedule and have episode with Eddie and Chris here and there when Gavin is available for filming. They set up the idea that after Bobby's near death last season they want to move back to LA. So they make up a plan to move back at the end of the year. Eddie wants to finish fixing up the house he built so he can sell it for a good price to help build up his savings. He informs Buck of this plan so that Buck has a year to look for a new place. One of Buck's side stories all season is him looking for his own place {which he doesn't find until either the second to last episode or the last episode, just in time for Eddie and Chris to move back}.

Throughout the season we see Bobby training Buck to be Captain. It could go with either Buck knowing that's what's happening or it go with him not realizing that's what Bobby's doing even though everyone else sees it, whichever works better. We see Bobby teaching him every facet of being the Captain of the 118. How to do all the paper work and shit. Letting him take over command occasionally on small calls, always being ready to take charge if Buck needs it. And as the season goes on we see Buck becoming more comfortable being in command.

The last episode of the series is a 2 hour special. Eddie and Chris move back to LA and Eddie's and Eddie’s working on getting re-certified to come back to work at the 118. We get one last big emergency that the team has to deal with, though no body gets injured during it. Bobby has Buck take over as Captain for the call, one last test to determine if he’s ready. Bobby is there behind him ready to take over if needed but Buck doesn’t need any help. He’s in his element and is firing off orders left and right and just all around doing an amazing job. We get a shot of Bobby watching Buck proudly and him realizing that Buck is ready.

After the last big call of the series in this final episode Bobby sits Buck down and tells him that he’s ready to retire and he thinks Buck is ready to take over as Captain. We get a nice retirement party for Bobby at the Grant-Nash house. And the episode ends with the a moment of the next shift. The bells ring and everybody races for the trucks. The team all climb in, Hen, Chim, Eddie, and Ravi in the back. Then the door to the Captain’s seat opens and someone climbs in, at first we can’t exactly tell who it is but then the person turns to face everyone in the back and we see its Buck. He gives them all a smile and makes a quip of some sort about this being his first official call as the Captain of the 118. They all smile at each other and the camera pans out to show the truck leaving the station and the screen fades to black!

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk

#911 #911 abc #evan buckley #bobby nash #eddie diaz #athena grant #hen wilson #chimney han #if they’re planning on ending the series the least they could do is end it right #like damn have some respect four our comfort show #and some respect for the characters and their stories that have been built up over the past 8 years

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roseandxanderfics · 2 days ago

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“How they use praise while ruining you in bed.” (NSFW headcanon) - Peaky Blinders x reader

Tommy Shelby

Tommy Shelby is not a man prone to casual affection. But he is precise. Calculated. And when he discovers the way you shatter under praise, it becomes his favorite weapon.

It starts with observation. He watches you more than he touches you. Watches how the slightest “good girl” slips past your defenses, how your breath stumbles, how your fingers twitch like you’re holding yourself back.

So when he finally gets you beneath him, there’s no hesitation. No mercy.

His hands are firm, grounding you, while his hips press into you with the same rhythm he uses to light a cigarette—calculated, unhurried, devastating. His mouth is at your ear, his breath hot and steady.

“You’re so good for me,” he murmurs, and the way your body clenches around him makes his lips curl into something feral.

“There it is. That’s what I wanted. You like that, don’t you? Like hearing how perfect you are.”

Every word is laced with command, dripping into your bloodstream like slow poison. He keeps his tone measured—low, authoritative—forcing you to listen, to feel it with every nerve.

“You’re mine, love. Only mine. Always knew you’d be this good.”

Tommy ruins you slowly. Praise becomes a leash around your throat, tightening with every thrust until you’re trembling, gasping his name, begging for more. And when you break, when your voice fractures into a desperate cry, his mouth finds your pulse point.

“that’s my girl. That’s it. Proud of you.”

And he means it.

⸻

Alfie Solomons

Alfie is a talker. Always has been. But when he realizes how much you crave his approval, it becomes less about the performance and more about the pleasure of owning every inch of your reaction.

He doesn’t stop talking. Not even when he’s driving into you with slow, punishing rolls of his hips, hands braced on either side of your head like he’s caging you in.

“Fucking look at you, love. Smartest little thing I ever met, yeah? But here you are, going all soft for me. Bet you don’t do this for anyone else, do you?”

His voice is rough, sandpaper and smoke, but beneath it—there’s reverence. Wonder. Like he can’t quite believe his luck.

He cups your cheek with surprising gentleness, thumb stroking over your flushed skin.

“Beautiful. Brilliant. And all mine.”

The filth comes easy. The praise is what undoes you.

“Never seen anyone take me so well. Never felt anything like this. You’re fucking perfect, you hear me?”

Alfie watches you unravel with greedy eyes, savoring every shudder, every gasp, every desperate plea. And when you’re close—when you’re teetering—he slows down.

“Not yet, love. Not till you hear me say it proper. You’re my clever, beautiful girl. You make me proud. Now give it to me.”

And when you do, when you shatter for him, he holds you through it, murmuring sweet, filthy praise against your skin.

⸻

John Shelby

John has never been subtle. He’s loud, shameless, relentless. But when it comes to you—when he learns how praise affects you—he turns it into a game he’s determined to win.

From the moment his hands are on you, his mouth is too. Kissing, biting, praising you like it’s his last night on earth.

“Fuckin’ hell, look at you. Never knew you could be this good. Thought I’d have to teach you, but nah—you’re a natural, ain’t ya?”

His thrusts are hard, fast, messy. He’s not trying to be gentle. He wants to see you come undone.

“You like this, don’t you? Like hearing how good you are for me. S’cute how you go all shy when I tell you you’re perfect.”

John’s words are hot against your skin, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he pulls you back onto him.

“You’re mine. My good girl. No one else gets to see you like this.”

The praise comes between ragged breaths, filthy and possessive, but when you start to fall apart, he softens—just for a moment.

“That’s it, sweetheart. You’re doing so good. C’mon, gimme one more. You can do it. Know you can.”

And when you do, when you sob his name and collapse against him, he wraps you up in his arms, still whispering how proud he is.

⸻

Arthur Shelby

Arthur’s praise is raw. Stripped-down. Honest to the point of heartbreak.

At first, he’s clumsy with it. Fumbling. But when he sees how you melt under his words, something shifts. He becomes desperate to give you more.

“Fucking… look at you, love. You’re so beautiful. Don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

He moves with reverence, even when his grip is bruising, even when his thrusts are deep and relentless. His forehead rests against yours, breath mingling, hands shaking with the effort of holding back.

“You’re so good to me. So good for me.”

His voice cracks on the words.

With every moan that slips from your lips, with every tremor of your body beneath his, Arthur feels like he’s being remade. Like praising you is healing something broken inside him.

“Proud of you, girl. Always so proud. You don’t even know what you do to me.”

When you finally break, sobbing his name, his arms are already around you, holding you together as you come undone.

“Tha’s my girl. My good, sweet girl.”

With Arthur, praise isn’t a tactic. It’s a confession. And it stays with you long after the bruises fade.

⸻

Michael Gray

Michael is controlled. Calculated. But when it comes to praising you, it’s like watching a crack form in a sheet of ice—slow, deliberate, unstoppable.

He starts with subtlety. Hands gripping your hips as he rocks into you with smooth, unhurried thrusts, voice soft against your ear.

“You’re doing so well for me. Taking me so perfectly.”

His praise is intimate. Quiet. Like a secret.

He watches you unravel with clinical precision, cataloging every shiver, every gasp, every whispered “please.”

But the more you react, the more his control slips.

“Fuck, you like that, don’t you? Like being told how good you are. How perfect.”

The way you tighten around him, the way your nails scrape down his back—it drives him wild.

“You’re mine, darling. Only mine. No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to have you.”

His words come faster now, each one hitting like a blow, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Come on, love. Show me. Show me how good you are for me.”

And when you do, when you shatter beneath him, he holds you through it, whispering praise against your skin like a litany.

With Michael, praise is possession. But it’s also the only time he lets you see the cracks beneath his perfect facade.

#peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders smut #john shelby x reader #john shelby smut #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby x reader #fluff #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons smut #arthur shelby x reader #arthur shelby smut #headcanon

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tddyhyck · 3 days ago

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lmao it’s always mark and jaemin laughing at those dirty jokes 😭 but idk if jaemin is a perv??? Do u mind elaborating on those other pervs pls🙏🙏🙏

i think jaem just loves being crazy like he’s down right kooky and i love that about him

i think hyuck is the most outright pervy and he isn’t shy where as jisung is secretly a freak but he’s probably embarrassed for it until he meets someone to match his freak u know

hyuck is the type to just walk up behind you and grind against you or grope you would love to just fondle your tits or shove his fingers in you 🥺🥺 also would love to be watched like he would get off on just jerking off where he knows you’re gonna find him ,, like he waits until you’re outside of his house to strip and jerk off on the couch so you can walk in on him like that would get him off ,,,

but ji is more of a peeper imo he’s an introvert and is a people watcher fr i also think he’d watch the nastiest porn and have like serious post nut clarity like why TF was i watching that u know but once he finds his match you would have to be gross first u know like pull all the filth out of him but once the first shoe drops he’s freaking with you ,,, also think he would love mutual masturbation like watching you get off while he gets off ,,, saying filthy things to each other ,,, also think he would be creepy while u slept like grinding against u or jerking off into your sleeping mouth ,,, like you’d wake up with cum drying on your ass

jaem and mark are def next imo mark is more shy to be pervy but i do think he would love being a little freak once he knew you were comfy and jaem is just weird like he probably loves weird sex and roleplay

mark would be pervy in more but i think he’d get off to hearing other people or hearing you and would Love phone sex like just you in his ear whining and talking to him ,,, he’d probably make you record voice memos for him ,,, buT i also think he’d like hearing other people like jerking off to two of his friends fucking and he’d be so embarrassed after but he cums so hard ,,, ear pressed against the wall or even the door jerking off until he has a pool in his pants ,,,

jaem tho is a roleplayer not that that is inherently pervy but i think he’d like pervy situations or just inappropriate ones like student teacher or dr and patient and he’d like to play both roles ,,,, also think he’d like step parents and step kid ,,, like he wants to be your icky stepdad ,,, teaching his precious girl how to touch herself or how to take cock ,,, oR letting you be his milfy stepmom 🤤🤤🤤 and jaem seems adventurous to at least hear out every kink maybe not try everything but definitely respects them lol

now renjun chenle and jeno are also pervy but i don’t think it’s the same kind of pervy i think they are only pervs for their partner if that makes sense like they want to be perverted but only with you whereas the other boys would get off regardless of if they were watching or listening or fucking their partner u know

#tddyhyck ask #anon <3 #tddyhyck brain rot #jeorny hours #jaorny hours #morny hours #hyorny hours #chorny hours #rorny hours #jiorny hours

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fromfaewithlove · 2 months ago

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I had a meeting like literally 10 hours ago and I’m still stressing about it!

#im a freelance teacher right now #its lit i love it i get to work from home #i teach English as a second language and sometimes i also teach French #my favorite part about my job is that i get to speak like 3-4 languages #i guess im like in the top percentage of the site I teach on and I was invited to a meeting #ive been invited to a few meetings by them in the past but never like this #in the past the meeting have been seminar style with hundreds of other teachers #this one was just me alone with the senior education and teacher development and also some of the front end dev managers #IT WAS INTENSE AS FUCK DUDE #they wanted to know every little thing I do how I teach #like I didn’t realize how much information they wanted I thought it was a check in but it felt like a consultative meeting #which I guess makes sense cuz I got a bonus for going to the meeting #and also everyone all spoke different languages and I just wasn’t prepared for the experience #but on the same hand I’m really proud #like I can’t believe corporate wants to talk to me #I feel like I must really be good at my job :-)#I always feel like an impostor when I teach but I have amazing reviews and a lot of hours…I mean I’m able to do it full time #hennyways corporate called me back for a round two they want to go deeper I hope this could possibly lead to a full time position #at the company

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sociallyawkwardseal · 8 months ago

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Prompt: Fictober Day 1: "That was good work."

Fandom: Lumine

Summary: Camille and Kody have a brief conversation.

Content Warnings: N/A

Words: 1,249

Camille watched a series of bottles shift between Kody’s hands; once the green liquid from one vial had been drained into another, thicker, clear substance, Kody would reach for another, his expression not changing past the subtle twice of his nose as the scents mingled. The green itself spread and fell slowly, as if he had just dropped liquid food dye into watery corn syrup.

“Don’t hesitate,” Camille reminded him, her palm pressed to her cheek. “If you do, it’s going to end up tasting acidic.”

Kody huffed in response, his hands lingering over another tube held in a small wooden rack. “Don’t distract me.”

“You’re stalling.”

“Because you’re distracting me.”

A quiet hum of acknowledgment mingled with amusement caught behind Camille’s now-closed lips as she watched him continue, now more focused than before as he slowly poured half of the liquid in with the mixture.

“What, you’re not gonna get onto me for using too much or too little?” As he spoke, Kody’s bitter gaze flickered up long enough to glance at the other. He slowly reached out for the stirring stick, eyes stuck on Camille as he pulled it closer. “Or you’re not gonna tell me to be careful about how I stir it?”

“Nope, not yet. I’m just waiting and watching now.” Camille smiled a bit, watching as he stirred slowly, almost meticulously. His focus had seemed to double after he grew quiet. “What happened to me not distracting you?”

“If I’m just complaining about you, then I’m not getting distracted. But if you’re interrupting me, then I’m gonna lose focus. How long does this even need to be stirred?”

“Didn’t you read the note I left you?”

“I can’t read Terranian yet, and you left it in Terranian.”

Camille could feel her smile break as he reminded her—though, the only actual change on her expression was a subtle twitch of her lips. Her brain went blank, the only word crossing her mind for a moment being ‘shit’ as she stared at the boy now working silently across from her.

That’s right, you and Sera couldn’t talk at all when you first met her.

“How did you follow the instructions up until now?”

“Eyeballed it. I made something similar before, so, it’s not like it’s a big deal. Plus, it’s not like I even asked you to actually write instructions down for me—I just asked if you had the ingredients.”

“Given how Lumine has talked about how you make your potions… That’s not really reassuring.”

“I knew what I was doing then, too.”

“Did you?”

Kody grew quiet, pulling the stick out as he transferred the syrup-consistency potion into another glass bottle and seal it.

“I didn’t know how it was actually going to react with him, but I knew it wouldn’t kill him. I knew what I put in it, and that nothing in it would mix badly together to be that bad.”

“M-hm. At least there’s that, I guess.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

Feels like there should be a ‘usually’ there, Camille said silently, watching Kody put the vial aside and seal the remaining ingredients. You’ve got a long way to go, but. That doesn’t mean you haven’t studied hard already.

“I’ll clean everything up, too. So. Don’t worry about me making things more of a mess than they already are.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll get it before I go out today.” Camille waved her hand, watching as Kody pushed himself up. He gathered the emptied and now-dirtied dishes and tools and took them towards the small kitchen. “If you’re going to try and clean up anyway, just drop them off in the sink that’s not by the fridge. It’s the one that’s for anything that isn’t a fruit or vegetable. Potions, meat, whatever.”

“Alright.” Kody did as she instructed, now without any complaint or push-back, and then sat back down across from her. He picked the potion’s bottle back up and held it up to the light, his eyes flickering back and forth through the liquid that almost matched his eye color as he inspected it. “Is it really safe to wash potion bottles next to where you prep meat, though?”

“I mean, nothing I work with in here is toxic. And if it is, then the bottle just gets disposed of.” Camille shrugged, watching him closely. He seemed, at the very least, pleased with the mixture’s consistency and color. “So, what made you want to make something for pain? Everything okay?”

“You’ve been complaining about headaches a lot lately, and clearly, you’re not going to do anything about it yourself.”

Camille felt her smile shatter once again, her lips now fully turning into a frown. “You really noticed that, huh?”

“Lumine did, too. He actually overheard you mention it first.”

“Sera?”

“You actually don’t say anything about it around her, I don’t know if you’re just like. Worried about worrying her or something, but. You don’t even really say it to us, you just kind of say it to yourself and keep doing whatever it is you’re doing.”

Camille dragged her hand down her face as she leaned harder into the back of her chair. “Aghhh. I didn’t even notice.”

“Yeah, well. It’s getting on my nerves, so try this. It’s cool enough now.” He held the bottle out to her, their green eyes meeting as her attention redirected back towards him.

Getting on your nerves? Is that just your way of saying you worry, in this case? Camille hid her smile, eyes meeting his for a brief moment.

She took the bottle from his hands, much smaller than her own, the glass still subtly warm—partially from the mixture, partially from his own hands. “So, you actually sat down and made this for me?”

“Hopefully it’s not too acidic from you distracting me.”

Judging by his half-smirk, it was less of a concern, and more of a facetious comment. Something to poke and prod at her.

She couldn’t help but smile a bit more, seeing how confident he was. How sure he was that, even though she distracted him so much by talking to him, it would still be alright. Even if he silently struggled with it on most days, she always tried to take the moments that he was so sure of himself in good spirits.

“Ha. Even if it was, I’ve definitely had worse than something that’s a little bit acidic. I’ve probably had coffee worse than it, honestly.” She opened it, sniffed, and hen downed it as quickly as possible. If it was actually acidic, she would—hopefully—not even notice. If anything, it would likely feel no worse than mild heartburn—and at worse, severe heartburn.

“Well, was it?”

She waited for a moment, expecting an aftertaste of… Something. Bitterness. Something akin to bile. An incorrect texture from overmixing, adding one ingredient too soon, overheating it, letting it get too cool during the cooking process rather than letting it cool after, something.

But it was no different from what she would have made herself for a patient. Slightly sweet, a bit sticky—it would definitely feel better if she had chased it down with warm water or something else. But it was, actually, up to her standards.

“Not at all, actually.” She said, twisting the neck of the bottle in her fingers. “That was good work, Kody.”

“Yeah? Told you I knew what I was doing. Hope it helps, it’ll probably take a little bit, but.”

#fictober24 #Lumine #Lumine webcomic #Lumine webtoon #Lumine (webcomic)#Lumine (webtoon)#my fanfics #not on ao3 #Last year tumblr kept like. Rearranging my paragraphs. If it did it this time I'll just start biting I think?#Well. Not even just last year. Every time past then.#Anyways hiii happy fictober my favorite writing event is back <3 #Wow I think tumblr actually kept my formatting. My italics are still here. That's a surprise.#In the past it Never kept my italics.#I don't think that Kody would want to like... Actually go into potion making in the end past learning to make a few things #I think he really would want to like. Go for a bakery or patisserie. You know?#I think he would learn how to make a few things--injuries pain convenience (Kody please don't make a five hour energy potion...)#I do think that Camille would help him learn how to make these things though. And then ''...... So why do you want a five hour energy.''#And he would just shrug ''Long night baking?''#And she would just frown. So hard. And then teach him anyway and tell him not to overdo it/use it often.#I like the idea of Camille and Sera being like. Good 'mom'' figures for him? Or at the least Camille being a good mentor figure for him.#He needs a few Not Fucking Awful adult women in his life after the way his mother treated him. Good grief.#Also I do headcanon Camille and Sera as like. Exes. They're just ex-girlfriends getting back together to me. Probably marriage eventually.#Also I have specific headcanons about Camille and Sera that I'm gonna start nudging into fanfics in small tiny ways.#If you can pinpoint those things. Good job. I'm delighted.#Anyways I'm gonna stop rambling about where I think Kody would end up in like. Ten years.#Idk why I rambled so much in the tags today good grief. I'm just a little chatty.

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