#too fucking old timey and fancy to be most peoples

[myths-tournaments]

Awful Characters Round 4 (2/4)

Propaganda under the cut!

BENNY

The first thing that happens in new vegas is that benny fucking shoots your character in the face, steals your shit and leaves you in an open grave. Benny is by all accounts a bastard. He kills you, steals from you, he killed his last boss, he is the single most duplicitous man around. His gang are all about honesty- except him. He's a lying, cheating bastard. The guys who helped him catch you? He skipped on paying them and left them to get shot to death. His new boss, mr.house? He stole his robot, broke it open, got someone to reprogram it and decided to use it to TAKE OVER THE WHOLE OF VEGAS. Benny literally kills people, lies to people, steals their shit and takes charge. That's all benny does. He gets fucking CRUCIFIED if you don't help him out just because so many people fucking hate him. And yet. And yet. Benny is the single most compelling character in the whole game to me. He's just a little guy! He's just there! You can get shot in the head and come back and he goes "what in the goddamn" and then if you try and flirt with him he's like "uhhh sure? Okay?" And leaves you a polite note in the morning. He's fancy. He wears a stupid suit. He has a tiny gun with shitty bullets. He's catholic. He talks like an old timey news presenter. Literally nobody else in the entire game does that. He's got an intelligence of 3. He's my funtime boy. My silly little man. He's so funny. The antagonist in this game is a guy dressed like a tablecloth who looks at all times like a confused dog who doesn't understand what a tv is. And like. He's compelling. He robs from you, shoots you, but…. he never seems to actually wish you harm. He kills and robs and lies but like. He apologises for doing it to you. When he sees you again he doesn't attack you, he's just… confused. He tries to defuse the situation. You can convince him to talk to you, alone, with no guards and it's not that hard. If you spare his life, he doesn't go after you, like. Even if you sleep with him he doesn't take advantage of that and kill you, even if you try to. He… he just leaves. He gives you an apology. If he gets kidnapped by Caesar He just… apologizes again. He tells you his whole plan to take over the city, too. He thinks he'll die, and he wants something of him to survive. He's happy that you made it. And if you let him free, he just… leaves. He knows he's beat, he doesn't want to cause any more trouble. He walks out and leaves. The NCR will kill you if you cross them. The legion will crucify you. House? He'll blow you the fuck up. But benny, the guy who lies and cheats and schemes, he's honest. He's polite. He's… harmless. You can kill him with a single shot if you want. And he can't kill you. He doesn't kill you the first time, and he'll never really hurt you again. Benny just wanted to win. When he knows he's beat he just leaves. No lingering, no harm, he's off, off into the desert heat, and never seen again. Isn't that just insane? like have you ever known an antagonist so polite? He just leaves!! He offers you a drink!! His plan is genuinely probably the best one for the people of new vegas!!! He's. Benny is Benny. Anyway if you want to see some REAL propaganda go to the blog letmebegaytodd and look in the #benny tag. You'll Understand < https://www.tumblr.com/letmebegaytodd/717051175751614464/in-another-life-i-wouldve-really-liked-just> <- look at this shit man

AZULA

Azula explicitly considers herself a monster. She says needlessly cruel things to her brother and friends. She kills the show's twelve-year-old protagonist and masterminds the idea of burning down the entire Earth Kingdom to force them to submit to Fire Nation rule. I have absolutely seen people get called abuse apologists for thinking she's a cool character. But she's also a (canonically) mentally ill fourteen-year-old who was raised by her father to see her ability to be weaponized as her only value. Her mother, arguably the only adult in her life who could have had a positive impact, had a strained relationship with her because she was more difficult than her brother, and then disappeared when she was nine. Her uncle, who was her brother's main healthy role model, took absolutely no interest in her. She watched her father belittle her brother for years and eventually throw him away when he failed to meet his expectations, so that was a threat she was always facing. She really had no chance. And she also has moments that suggest she wants some sort of meaningful connection with another person. She lets her brother take credit for killing the Avatar so he can come back from exile, even though it means she'll be bumped back in the order of succession and offers him advice that seems genuine. Her spiral into a mental breakdown starts when her friends betray her. She's just a much more interesting and multifaceted than a lot of the fandom gives her credit for.

[rindough]

that first anon again: oh my god losing my religion by r.e.m. for boothill. this man is SO full of teenage angst, sitting in the corner of one of those old timey country bars all veiled in shadow looking at the person he has feelings for laughing and dancing in the crowd, completely mesmerised as he rests his chin on a hand with a focused expression, mouth slightly open, and absent-mindedly traces the rim of his glass with a finger from the other, almost without realising. You ain't slick, dude. Go talk to them.

God, I am so fucking normal about him.

OH YA i forgot to reply to a question from ur prev ask, sure! u can give me indie songs as well heheeee, and ngl i wasnt expecting this song but its one of my fav songs to vibe to!!!!

OKOK I GOT THE IDEA AND I FIND IT CUTE buttt i kinda put a twist to it if thats okay!

--;

so lets say you're a regular at this diner in town, you had your fair amount of visits here with your friends, your family, even alone. boothill has seen it all, but god at each time he tries to strike up a conversation with you, it either comes off awkward or him just flying off his seat from trying to 'smoothly' whoosh onto the stool.

he doesn't know what made him this... intrigued by your presence, why is it that everytime the door bell chimes, he glances by the door to see if it was you, the way your voice echo in the quiet diner, the way you spun around after you got your order and straight out the door you walked. he wants to know why and how has he suddenly had the balls to walk up to you, and just start some small talk.

unfortunately on his side, it got to the point where it only ends in 'hi's or 'i see's. he thought he could do it, he thought he could whoosh his way in n perhaps whoosh his way out out this diner with u tagging along. but look at where he is now, it's not that you don't get along, but with the way he looks into your eyes and stutter whatever he wants to say, fumbling over words and fall into silence while you wait, while you search his eyes, his body languages. Waiting for something more, as the man himself got you to become a nervous mess too.

but overtime, he gradually became standoffish, he no longer sits beside you at most of your visits, he doesn't look high up above the diner booth to check if its you (he observes from the window instead 🙄), he just waves, he just stands up to go at your presence, he just-

he no longer visits the diner.

in fear and perhaps shame, he and his cyborg body, you would prefer someone much more... human, right? what does it take for a cyborg like him to woo someone he fancies?

it's impossible, he thought. at this point, he'll just give up and not think about the thing people call, the thing he once dreamt of having, love. he'll just give up the act and focus on some... commission he has or whatever...

but does he really though?

"dude, since day 1, are you still gonna mess this right up?"

the voice behind him pulls him out of his trance, the spunk haired man stays put in his seat, the fold of his index rubbing his bottom lips while a thumb rests on his his sharp jawline. choosing to ignore the blond waiter by his side. the waiter throws his tablecloth aside.

"hello?" he snaps his fingers at him, earning a 'tsk' from the man.

"whaddaya want? can't ya see i'm busy?"

"busy doing what? staring at them from this corner of the bar? i know that look of yours, i saw what happened last time-"

"and what? what makes you think i stand a chance with them, best believe 'm gonna look after them from far away. they don't needa see me here, they don't gotta see me at all."

the waiter groans, as if the man in front of him is being blind or feigning ignorance to escape falling in love, to just... dwell in his insecurities. "bro, look at the way they look at you!"

boothill stays put, eyes blinking at your swaying form, your head shaking side to side at the music. the way you jump, throw your hands up, his mouth falls slightly ajar at the way you move. his throat runs a little dry at the way beauty could exist in many forms and at anytime, and this was one of the many times he had found beauty in you. he had found himself longing for you.

it's agonizing honestly.

both on your end and on his.

you're here swaying to the music from the speakers, mingling with other youngsters in your town, hoping that when you turn around to start talking, it'd be the one you've been looking for this whole time, the one whose clumsy way of flirting leaves you wanting more and more. the night was young and there's ample time for him to visit the diner, but... would he?

for him, he wishes he was the only one under your spotlight, the one making you laugh, oh how he loves the way your lips curl into a smile, the way your eyes twinkle.

if he was out there in the crowd with you, best believe he'll twirl and dip you down on the dancefloor and make you have the best night and dance of your whole life.

he turns his head sideways, looking at the blond. "what's with the way they look at me?"

then he turns back to observe you. maybe, just maybe, you would turn around at a certain degree and meet his yearning gaze. wondering if he can make you feel his presences by drilling holes into your skull.

"..." at this point he's defeated, he can't be bothered to explain all these lovey-dovey pre-dating crush nonsense to this sulking cowboy.

"y'kno mister, they've been looking for you every time when you're not around the diner. do i gotta explain more? do i gotta explain the 'where's boothill? have you seen him? has he visited today?'" he mocks, "ya wanna know what happened when i told them no every single time? they just left the diner- not ordering anything!"

the spunk haired man hums, now no longer focused on you, but instead, his back facing the crowd as he stares into the prepared drink before him, finger circling the rim of the glass as the complaints of the waiter goes unheard.

if what the man was saying is true, then... but... why? what made him special enough for you to promptly ask for him at every visit. and he bet it was every visit, since he's not even in the diner every day for months. so, why did he have to leave?

was it the fear of judgement?

was it fear of rejection?

or was it the fear of losing you?

so-

"so?" the waiter quirks an eyebrow, "what do you plan to do with that information-"

he can't back down now, the aftertaste of soulglad lingers the back of his mouth, he's walking, walking towards the crowd, thank god your back was facing him... otherwise he wouldn't be doing what he was doing now, otherwise he'd instantly run away again. and he does not plan to let you search for him again.

"hey." he whispers, smiling gently at the way you suck in your breath at the sight of him.

he never thought he'd feel his heart melt much more than before the moment your soft lips mellow into a smile, the twinkle of your eyes refreshing his past, yet brief memories with you.

"hi."

--;

©  2024 rindough, do not repost or plagiarize.

[pokelolmc]

One of my new favourite Hazbin Hotel fic AUs is this weird crossover niche of "Alastor is/was a character from another fandom, before he snapped and became who he is today" AUs, eg. "Harry Potter becomes Alastor", and one random "Tim Drake becomes Alastor" fic I found on AO3. Because I find it interesting to try and figure out how to meld the other character's backstory, powers or personality with his.

And that inevitably led my traitorous brain to the idea of "Danny Fenton becomes Alastor" (because now DP and DC are forever associated in my lizard brain, curse you Phandom!).

Which is just...the weirdest thing ever, because they're just so different—like, how the fuck do you set up Danny to become Alastor, of all people?! It feels like the most unfitting character to do this with...

And that's exactly what my brain has decided to see it as a challenge.

Added caveat: this is an AU!Danny specifically from a generic angsty dissection fic scenario, where he's been traumatised by his parents and fucked over by the world (and he has no healthy way to cope)—then he's sent back in time, lost and completely alone

-Danny falls through a natural portal to 1900's Louisiana with no way back (something something, Clockwork's-out-of-the-picture, something something)

-Alastor being a mama's boy? Danny gets taken in by a loving mother figure after getting lost in time—a kind woman familiar with the supernatural who accepts his ghost half right off the bat. He sees her as his family. After a year or so, though, she dies. He spirals again. He dyes his hair brown and starts wearing glasses when he runs away to New Orleans to change himself and cover his tracks.

-Alastor feels like an interesting name for Danny to choose because it means "the avenger", and can also mean "defender of the people" (a meaning more apparent in the Scottish version "Alasdair/Alastair"), but could also have a negative connotation of "persecutor"; the character symbolism writes itself

-the normally tech-savvy Danny who finds old-timey stuff boring would be forced to find something to entertain himself in the 1900's. So he gravitates towards radio, with it being the closest thing he's got to modern tech. Give him several years or so to grow attached to it and enjoy the idea of working in it. He goes from fantasising of radio comms at NASA to a public radio host, playing with all the fancy knobs and dials.

-his ghost half is the reason Alastor's powers/magic in Hell is green

(also I heard someone say the typical human!Alastor design has the "Timmy Turner hairstyle", which I can't unsee now. And it's Danny's hairstyle too. Because we know how well Butch Hartman and originality mix. Male protagonist? There's only one hairstyle for that!)

-he becomes a serial killer because he's snapped over the years after all the shit that's happened to him; he's developed a bitter, cynical and self-aggrandised ego and thirst for justice and revenge, and he's all alone with no one to keep him out of the dark echo chamber leading to villainy

-a serial killer with ghost powers plays cat-and-mouse with cops, and never leaves a trace; before he starts killing, he's already made deals with and intimidated the ghosts that come to New Orleans through other natural portals (it's a portal hotspot) under a new ghostly persona. He has both sides of the city fearing or respecting his power. Every ghost who goes to New Orleans knows whose territory it is. They just never link the ghost and human together. He becomes like an even worse Plasmius. It sets him up for Overlord stuff in Hell from the getgo

-the cannibalism was a...happy accident. On a whim, he decided one guy's crime was too insufferable to die without torment, so he took the guy back and...tortured him the way his ol' folks knew best. He starts cutting people open as if trying to relive what his parents did to him, but from the other end—as the person with all the power. Taste-testing what he cut up came incidentally, but he decided he didn't mind it and made it a routine.

I can imagine a villain!Danny with more narcissistic tendencies, but my main trouble is where the overblown confidence and charming/manipulative skills come from. After all, Danny's pretty socially awkward. How exactly does he grow into that?

[auteurdefeu]

Please I want to know more about your Dan/Hunch and Hunch/Fix/Pasha headcanons I’m begging

Oh yes. I have so many.

Hunch makes sure to devote time to each of his partners, he's practically (unofficially) moved out of his apartment considering how much time he spends the night at either of their places (and then of course, late nights at his office working). Whenever he's at the orphanage, though, he's the go-to for kids who can't sleep and want some company. He makes little cloud puppets for all the stories he tells them <3

Pasha and Dan are platonic girlfriends, thank you. Daniel Fucks is genderfluid, and in this essay I will—

Ahem. Anyway. I just think their dynamic could be pretty fun as pleasure and passion but I don't see them having any romantic chemistry. They do "fun nights out" and dance together, and Pasha is definitely the one to tease Dan the most about how he pretends to dislike the Wayward Interests all while playing with them and making them laugh every time he's over.

If we're using humanoid heights... Fix is 8', Hunch is 6', Dan is 5'6" (short king) and Pasha is 5'4". The height differences make me feral.

Hunch and Pasha would have the most modern-trope-y dates with getting coffee together and going on walks through the park. Fix and Pasha rarely have time to go out on dates together given the fact Pasha has a job and they have to take care of the kids, but when they do, it's mostly domestic stay-at-home stuff, like movie nights or baking together (Fix is too big and awkward for using most kitchen utensils so he is there for moral support and taste testing). Fix and Hunch have the "Good Old-Fashion Lover Boy" kind of dates, and yes I mean the Queen song. Hunch and Dan don't go on proper dates, usually drinking together at Sugah's. They are the type to go out and dance and probably make out in the rain, though, because TROPES!

Hunch has a cane because of how perpetually injured he is (and the old-timey detective aesthetic!), but he always forgets to take it out of his office with him, claiming it's inconvenient to carry around. Fix ends up getting him a more fancy refined one as a gift better tailored to his height, leading him to using it more when he actually needs it.

Pasha and Hunch curled up together on Fix's chest for cuddles :( he's so Big !! It's so easy for him to hold/carry them both.

You'd have to ask @turtlelover59 for their headcanons on the petnames Fix & Pasha give but since I have hyperfixated on Hunch (more specifically HunchFucks but shhh..) I can offer what he'd call his partners <3

Him calling Dan Danny will always live in my head rent free. He started calling them "Princess" as a joke based on how demanding they can be and it just became less of a joke over time. In turn, Dan calls him "Angel" (in reference to waking up and thinking they were in heaven with him) and "My Phoenix" (in reference to his fast healing and supposed immortality). "My dear" and "sweetheart" are classics for Pasha, sweet and simple. I feel like they have such an innocent kind of love, like the Hallmark movies :( as for The Fix... I want Fix to have a more personal name, rather than just 'the fix' because it feels more like a title, his job occupation. That is something I will get into in another post if people are interested but Hunch calls him by the name he chooses for himself to distance himself from his Previous Work™️.

I do not have the time or energy to write more fanfiction but I am hoping that spreading the brainrot might inspire people... :,)

[evita-shelby]

Memories

Modern!Jack x Eva

Tropes I've combined for this one: modern au, spy au, reincarnation au and soulmate au

Also i this au, the Nelsons are the Kennedys so JFK is JFN

It was exactly as it had been when the famed Nelsons were born.

Everything from the pot on the stove to coats they used to wear.

It was the birthplace of Jack Nelson Jr, the youngest and, so far, only president of Latin American descent.

The house turned museum was a perfect shrine to America’s most perfect president.

And yet the sense of Déjà vu was so fucking strong he felt as if he’d lived here.

Not as JFN nor his identical twin brother as some quacks have claimed, but as something far worse, John Fitzgerald Nelson Sr: the alleged gangster and patriarch of the Nelson Family.

Whatever shit they put in his drink before sending him here was making it worse. A drug to allow as many memories of his previous life to go from vague feelings to the moments he lived.

The Agency needed to know if he was the real thing, and for that he needed to live for a weekend in the house he may have lived in during his past life.

Only he isn’t here alone, the reincarnation of Mrs. Eva Nelson is getting the same treatment as well.

After all the two of you were soulmates, the power couple that birthed the greatest people ever and knew the code to several millions left to the reincarnations of Jack and Eva Nelson.

Granddaddy Lawernce had never forgotten how the Nelsons screwed over his mother, Gina, in the inheritance and that was why Jack Gray was born.

Jack figures Eva Riley was born for the same thing, the Rileys were richer than God and needed this to cover up the numerous scandals the sexy heiress had racked up over the years.

He’d seen her handiwork, when she wasn’t playing the fucked up socialite, Eva was a covert ops agent. So good at it, Jack had gotten hard from watching her take out a mobster disguised as a dominatrix.

To think she was the Catholic and tame wife of his past self.

“Here.” She said offering him Irish Whiskey old enough to have been drunk by Jack Nelson himself. Good shit too, same way he liked it to boot.

“Gotten in character, I see.” Jack notes as he takes a good look at her in an old timey nightgown that left little to the imagination. “If the real one dressed like that every night, no wonder they had nine fucking kids.”

“The OG Eva left everything as it was the day JFN was born and then some more. The pamphlet says it helps jog the memories.” She poured herself a glass and joined them on the kitchen table. “You’d be surprised what I found; they were some kinky fuckers. Surprised OG you only managed to knock her up seven times.”

Nine children, four had been twins and the other five hadn’t. If he didn’t hate kids he’d like to see if he too would make twins on the first try.

“Fancy way of saying we’re roleplaying as them, princess.” Jack grumbled and tried to look at the bright side of it:

A whole weekend of good fucking.

[foundtherightwords]

Love in a Mist - Chapter 1

Pairing: Hellcheer Regency AU or Regency!Eddie Munson x OFC (see Author's Notes)

Summary: Christine Conyngham, a young debutante whose marital prospects are less than ideal, believes her happiness is secure when she falls in love with Joshua Craven, the handsome future Duke of Hauxwell. However, after her lack of a fortune prevents her and Joshua from marrying, Christine impulsively accepts the proposal of Edward Munson, the eccentric Baron Hurstfield, who is in need of a wife to obtain an inheritance. But with her heart still pining after Joshua, can Christine learn to love her husband and build a life with him?

Series Warnings: sloooooow burn (it's a fucking novel, I'm sorry), angst, suicide attempt, mentions of domestic abuse, some smut in later chapters. Also, my deepest apologies to the people of Yorkshire for the accent and any other details I might have butchered.

Chapter Warnings: None, I think? This is to set the plot, so there's only some implied premarital sex.

Chapter word count: 3.6k

A/N: This started life as an original idea, for which I imagined JQ as the male lead. As I worked on it, however, I started to notice certain similarities between my two leads and Eddie/Chrissy, so I turned it into a Hellcheer fic instead. Honestly though, the Hellcheer connection is strenuous at best - I've never written an AU before, so as I wrote this, I kept feeling like it's just an original fic with characters that share names and certain traits with Eddie and Chrissy (which, to be fair, it is.) So you can imagine this as a Hellcheer AU, a Regency!Eddie x OFC, or even a Regency romance with JQ & GVD as the leads, if you prefer. I don't even know. I just want to get it out there.

A note on the names:

Edward Munson and Christine Conyngham are self-explanatory. Apparently there was a noble family by the name of Munson in Kent. "Conyngham" is not just a fancy spelling to make "Cunningham" look more old-timey either; one of George IV's last mistress was Marchioness Conyngham. "Christine" sounds too French for a Regency English lady, but that will get explained later.

Hurstfield = Eddie lives in Forest Hills Trailer Park; "Hurst" means "wooded hill". Plus Hurstfield sounds a little similar to Hellfire.

Joshua Craven = Jason Carver ("Jason Carver" is too modern, too American).

Hauxwell = Hawkswell, similar to Hawkins.

You'll notice other ST names too, but for the most part, they're just handy names, not Regency version of the same characters.

The setting: I didn't want to specify a year, but George IV was still Prince Regent, so it was anywhere between 1811 and 1820.

Chapter 1

It was March, but spring didn't seem to have reached this corner of Yorkshire. The distant, craggy hills still wore a cape of white, while down in the valley, the snow had melted and reduced the roads to half-frozen puddles and patches of mud that clung to wheels, hooves, and shoes. The ground was bare, and the sad, yellow grass poking up here and there only accentuated the grey earth underneath. A few dirty sheep, foraging in vain for some new buds among the gorse bushes, looked up as a carriage clattered past, splashing mud as high as its windows.

Sitting inside the carriage, Lady Christine Elizabeth Munson, nee Conyngham, the new Baroness Hurstfield, met the sheep's forlorn stare with eyes equally melancholic. Here she was, rattling in this carriage through this God-forsaken world of browns and grays, when not four months ago, she had been in London, enjoying the season with all its dizzying pleasures and glamor.

No, she admitted to herself, she hadn't quite enjoyed the season. When she made her debut a year ago, the first few balls and parties had been exciting, but the novelty had quickly worn off. They all seemed the same, the preening debs trying to make eyes at the bachelors without being obvious, the leering bachelors appraising the debs like farmers viewing cattle for sale on market day, the gossiping chaperones, the lecherous old men, prying eyes and smirking mouths blending into one in the dim glow of the candles. However, if Christine even dared to suggest to her mother that they missed one ball or one party to spend a quiet evening at home, her mother would launch into a long-winded lecture about how Christine never had a thought for her future, their future, how her mother had to take care of everything, how they would end up in the workhouse because of Christine's thoughtlessness. So Christine had endured it. But it hadn't been so terrible after all, because it meant she could be with him, the man who had captured her heart - Lord Joshua Craven, the future Duke of Hauxwell. 

They had met in Brighton the previous July. Disappointed with Christine's less-than-successful debut season, Mrs. Conyngham had decided to summer there, though they could scare afford it. But it hadn't worked. It was just as it had been in London. The bachelors admired her beauty, their eyes linger appreciatively on her golden hair and sapphire eyes, but the moment they learned her maternal grandfather had been in trades and that the late Colonel Conyngham had left most of his fortune to the children from his first marriage, leaving his second wife and young daughter all but destitute, they turned their attention to other ladies, wealthier or of higher status. Unable to face the humiliation, Christine had begged her mother to cut their stay short, and had only received another lecture for her trouble. She couldn't think how different everything would have turned out had her mother agreed to quit the town.

That day, they were on the Steine, rubbing shoulders with the rich and the desperate, the famous and the anonymous, ostensibly promenading and enjoying the sea air, though in truth, like most others, they were there to see and be seen. As Christine was miserably trailing behind her mother, a loud murmur suddenly went through the crowd - apparently the Prince Regent had been observed going into Mrs. Fitzherbert's house. The promenaders eagerly surged forward, hoping to catch a glimpse of the couple, and before they knew it, Christine and her mother were swept along like two corks caught in a wild current. Some ruffians elbowed their way through, separating them, and Christine was pushed toward the road, into the path of a rushing gig, while her mother's scream went unheeded...

And suddenly her wrist was caught by someone, who pulled her back to safety in one swift motion. Christine found herself wrapped in a pair of strong, steady arms, heard a voice, gentle yet ringing clear in the hubbub, asking, "Are you all right, miss?", and looked up into laughing blue eyes, as bright as the summer sky above, eyes she could lost herself in.

She hardly noticed that the crowd had left them behind, and that her mother was making her way to them, her bonnet askew, her face pale, stammering her thanks to the young gentleman. She hardly knew what he said in response, so captivated she was by those eyes, and was only startled out of her trance when her mother nudged her in the rib, hissing, "Answer the gentleman, Christine!"

"I do beg your pardon," Christine said, flustered. "I didn't hear your question."

"I said, may I see you at the Old Ship tonight?" he repeated, smiling at her.

"Yes," she said breathlessly. Faced with a smile like that, she would have said yes to anything.

"Then I shall look forward to making your better acquaintance." He lifted her gloved hand, which he was still holding, and brushed his lips across her knuckles. "I bid you good day, ladies." He tipped his hat and walked off to join his friends, who were waiting impatiently for him.

Mrs. Conyngham waited until he was out of earshot to turn to Christine and said, in her usual critical tone, "Where is your sense of propriety, Christine? Why did you agree to meet him? He's a stranger!"

"I'm sure you can find someone to introduce us, Mama," Christine snapped, not looking at her. She could still feel his lips on her hand.

That evening, as they were preparing to go to the Old Ship, she chose her dress with more care than usual, finally choosing the pink satin trimmed with velvet of a darker pink with an overdress of white gauze. My rose, he had said to her, afterward. I couldn't take my eyes off you.

Upon entering the Old Ship Assembly Rooms, Christine eagerly scanned the crowd, but after sitting in the dark carriage for a long time, her eyes were dazzled by the light and she couldn't make anything out. Once she became accustomed to the glow and the glitter, she saw no sight of him. Her heart sank. Had he learned who he was and decided she wasn't worth his time? Was he no different than all the others?

But then there he was, cutting a dashing figure through the throng, his smile even more dazzling in the glow, heading straight to her as if he had been waiting for her. He was accompanied by Lady Harrington, with whom Mrs. Conyngham had managed to strike up a small friendship based on the flimsy excuse of them having gone to the same school together. Her mother's gripes about making promises to strange young men were instantly silenced the moment Lady Harrington introduced Christine's gallant rescuer as the son and heir to the Duke of Hauxwell.

For Christine, though, he could have been the son of a cook for all she cared. She had fallen in love. When he was sure of her returning his affection, Joshua admitted that he had hired those ruffians to jostle her that day on the Steine, so he could act as her knight in shining armor and have an excuse to make her acquaintance. "I didn't expect them to be so rough about it," he said apologetically. "I didn't mean to endanger you. Please forgive me." Christine had laughed and kissed him to show that she forgave him. She wasn't offended by his deception. In fact, she was flattered. It proved he was so smitten with her he was willing to do anything for her. Truth be told, though, he hadn't needed to stoop to subterfuge to impress her. He only had to show that he was different from the others. And he was different - he didn't care who her grandfather was or how much her dowry was. All he saw was her. All he wanted was her. And she gave herself to him, heart, soul, and eventually, body as well.

She knew it was foolish of her, and it would ruin her reputation if words of it ever got out. But she trusted, had trusted Joshua's promise that they would marry as soon as he reached his majority. When they parted that September, she to go back to London, he to his family estate in Hampshire, he had given her a ring as proof of that promise, a gold band engraved with the words "My love shall last 'til life be past", which she had been wearing on a chain around her neck, close to her heart.

And she couldn't deny that there was a certain thrill in their secret trysts, in knowing that she was directly defying her mother. Before they met again in London that season, Joshua had warned Christine that even their acquaintance, let alone their attachment, had to be kept a secret, because his father, the old Duke, was bound to be disapproving. Once Joshua came into his majority, he could do as he pleased and they would no longer have to be secretive. So Christine had acted the part of debutante at the balls and parties, enjoying the moment their eyes met conspiratorially across the room, a discreet touch as the hem of her gown swished across his shoes, a brush of his hand across the back of her neck as he passed her chair. During one thrilling evening, they had even danced together and carried on a stiffly polite conversation as if they had only been introduced. Their reunion later that night had been all the more delicious.

And then it had all come crashing down.

On that cold February night, it seemed the entire ton was at Lady Harrington's season-opening ball, but Christine was there in body only. Her mind was already at the secret room above a certain tavern in Covent Garden, where she and Joshua often met. So she almost jumped out of her chair when a shout went up in a corner of the room, which could be heard even over the din of the music.

Heads swiveled towards the source of the noise. Christine only saw a black-clad figure gesticulating wildly amongst a group of men. The music had now come to a lull, and their voices rang clear, to the apparent shock and secret delight of every person trying to get a glimpse of the unfolding drama. "My God, man, we're not all Luddites and Speceans up north, you know!" the black-clad man was saying, the faintest trace of Yorkshire accent in his voice.

A whisper went round the room. The machine-smashing riots at the Northern mills and factories had been a cause of concern for some time, but everyone knew it was not a topic of conversation at a ball.

Then Joshua's voice rose above the angry buzzing, and Christine's heart skipped a beat. "It is a noble pursuit, to be sure, but I'm afraid it might be a waste of time and money," he said in a calm but slightly mocking tone.

"Oh, yes, it is a waste of time and money to educate children, as opposed to spending thousands of pounds on balls and dinner parties, or on horses and hounds to chase after some poor wild creatures, or waging it on a turn of a card!" the black-clad man retorted.

Now the pretended shock had turned into real outrage. It was one thing to talk of politics and social reforms at a ball, but it was another to come to a ball and insult everyone there by mocking their past-times. Some guests were even demanding that the boor be thrown out. Then Lady Harrington's graceful figure glided through the crowd, a permanent smile on her face. Christine was quite sure that smile would still be fixed to the hostess's face even when she slept. Perhaps even when she was dead. She shuddered mischievously at the thought.

Lady Harrington pulled the black-clad man aside, no doubt to admonish him. Soon, the crowd around him dispersed, the murmurs died down, the music started again, and it seemed, for now, a crisis had been averted.

Christine was dreaming about Joshua again, when Lady Harrington suddenly appeared in front of her with the black-clad man in tow. Mrs. Conyngham's face hardened at the thought of the hostess foisting this rude stranger on them, but Christine turned to him with interest. He may have been rude, but he spoke the truth, and she always valued that over politeness.

"Mrs. Conyngham, Miss Conyngham," Lady Harrington said in her sing-song voice, her smile ever present. "May I present to you Edward Munson, Baron Hurstfield, just lately arrived in London."

Whatever Christine had been expecting from his firebrand display a minute ago, this wasn't it. He was a strange, contradictory mixture of world-weary cynicism, which showed in his dark eyes, and a boyish lankiness and gawkiness about his person and demeanor that made him seem younger. His hair was unfashionably long, tumbling down his collar in messy brown curls, almost hiding his face. The simple, almost severe cut of his coat helped to hide the fact that it was a few years out of fashion.

He bowed curtly to Christine and her mother, but said nothing.

"Hurstfield. I've never heard of it," Mrs. Conyngham said. She must have decided that a baronage was enough to forgive his insolence. "Whereabouts is your estate, sir?"

"North Yorkshire, ma'am," he replied. Now that he wasn't shouting, his voice turned out to be deep and surprisingly melodious.

"Oh. It must be quite the journey for you." Christine didn't have to look at her mother to know her smile had cooled again. Mrs. Conyngham considered everything north of Oxfordshire to be backwoods and barbaric. Yorkshire was practically savage country as far as she was concerned. "And are you enjoying yourself in London?"

"Not particularly, no," Munson replied.

This time, Christine did turn to her mother, to enjoy the sheer look of shock on her face. Munson clearly was not afraid of speaking his mind. He had even managed to wipe the sticky smile from Lady Harrington's face. Christine couldn't help feeling rather impressed by that.

"Well." Lady Harrington cleared her throat. "You would enjoy yourself more after a dance with a pretty partner, perhaps?" She all but shoved Munson toward Christine.

Munson reluctantly extended a hand. "May I have the honor...?" he mumbled.

Out of habit, Christine glanced at her mother. Mrs. Conyngham was pressing her thin lips together, a clear sign of her disapproval. But Christine knew her mother could not risk offending Lady Harrington by objecting directly. That was all the encouragement Christine needed. She put on her brightest smile, placed her hand into Munson's, and, gathering up the hem of her silvery gray velvet gown, walked with him to the middle of the room, not stopping to see her mother's eyes narrow. She would pay for this act of defiance later, she was sure, but for now, she didn't care.

As the familiar tune of "The Merry Wives of Westminster" filled the room and the dancers fell into steps, Christine cast her eyes around for Joshua. She quickly caught his blonde head in the corner, where he was conversing with his friends. Feeling her gaze, he turned, and Christine felt the usual electrifying jolt as their eyes met. Joshua raised his eyebrow almost imperceptibly upon seeing her dance with Munson. Christine let her eyes twinkle at him and turned down the corners of her mouth, to let him know she took no pleasure in this dance other than to defy her mother.

"Am I boring you, Miss Conyngham?" Munson asked.

Christine turned guiltily back to him. "My apology, Lord Hurstfield," she said. "I fear I've been very remiss in the proper attentions of a partner."

"And what are these 'proper attentions', pray tell?"

"Usually I would ask if you enjoy dancing, how long you have been in town, have you been to court, and so on," she said.

"That sounds awfully dull," he said. "Why don't we talk of something more interesting?"

Christine hesitated. Here was her chance of speaking freely. This man obviously did not care for polite conversation, and she sensed he would not mind her being blunt. So she took the plunge and threw tact to the wind.

"Well, you've said that you're not enjoying yourself," she said, "so I was wondering... why do you stay in London at all?"

He appeared to be thinking about his answer. "May I be honest?"

"It seems to me, Lord Hurstfield, that you are nothing but honest," Christine replied.

"Well then, if you insist, Miss Conyngham. I am here for the same reason that you and other unattached ladies and gentlemen are here," Munson said. "Matrimony."

Though his candidness was refreshing, Christine had expected something more shocking than that. So he was just another bachelor in search of a wife after all. As if he could see the disappointment on her face, Munson smiled ruefully, "Alas, I wish I had a more noble reason."

"So you believe that everybody is here simply to find a husband or wife, and none to enjoy the ball itself?" she asked.

"Oh, I'm not denying that there are those who genuinely enjoy a ball," he said. "But I don't see them here. Look at them." He nodded at the dancers around them. "Some would rather be at home warming themselves in front of the fire. Some of rather be drinking at an alehouse. Some would rather be at a brothel." Christine's mouth dropped open, and Munson gave a little chuckle. "I didn't mean to shock you. I merely think we would all be happier if we were permitted to follow our hearts, instead of doing what society dictates, don't you?"

She noticed that he didn't follow the dance steps precisely, but would add little flourishes or movements, which annoyed the other dancers, but he seemed to take delight in their annoyance. There was a certain impish air about him that belied his grim outward appearance, and her heart warmed to him.

"Some evenings I'd much rather stay home," she admitted. She had never said that to anyone, not even Joshua. If she had, Joshua would have pouted and accused her of not wanting to make an effort for him, so she just grinned and bore her way through another ball. Somehow, this quarrelsome young man had a way of talking that brought out the truth in her.

"It is rather a waste of time, don't you think?" he said.

"What on earth do you mean?"

"All this... ritual, to find a mate." He gestured at the ballroom in general. "Dancing around each other, literally and figuratively, trying to gauge one's suitability. I've heard that in China, parents who wish to marry off their daughter would simply write down their name, age, and dowry on a card and send it off to the families of prospective grooms. Whoever accepts would respond. It saves a lot of time and effort."

Christine was appalled, not at the matrimonial custom of the Chinese, but at his apparent approval of it. "But that sounds positively mercenary!" she exclaimed. "What about love?"

"Love?" he repeated with a cynical smile. "How many couples you know marry for love?"

She didn't have an answer for that. His eyes, of a brown so dark they appeared almost black in the candlelight, looked straight at her, as if challenging her. "Do you talk this way to every lady you dance with?" she asked, not willing to let him see that he had caught her.

"Only those that accept my honesty," he said.

Before Christine could decide if he meant to sound flirtatious or not, the music ended. Munson led her back to her mother. Mrs. Conyngham barely returned his bow. As soon as he had melted into the crowd, she unleashed her displeasure on Christine. "I wish next time you would be a little more discerning in your choice of a partner, Christine," she said out of the corner of her mouth, afraid of being overheard. "Lady Harrington was telling me, this Munson is neck-deep in debts, his father had the most terrible reputation when he was alive, and his death was so shocking I couldn't even repeat it..."

But Christine was only half listening. Her eyes had just caught Joshua leaving the ballroom. He paused at the doorway, turned, and looked straight at her, as he reached up to fix his cravat. Blushing, she responded by touching the ornament in her hair - their secret signal for a rendezvous. She thought no more of the strange young man in black or her mother's carping voice. Her head was filled with the image of Joshua adjusting his cravat and all the pleasure it promised.

After a decent interval, she turned to her mother and asked if she could return home early, as she was tired. Mrs. Conyngham would not be home for hours, too busy with spying on the revelers and gossiping about them. That would be hours she would have with Joshua. Once her mother nodded her consent, Christine left, remembering to say thank you to the hostess and taking care not to appear too hurried. She then slipped into a familiar hackney cab that had been waiting at the corner of the road. Little did she know how her life would change before the night was over.

Chapter 2

[rosescries]

Okay so,

The world is in this kind of nebulous time period where everything seems like it's old timey, but there's advanced technology that makes it seem like it should be far into the future. It's basically just mixing past and future aesthetics into this fantasy genre melting pot.

Think fantasy rpg meets scfi.

Also meaning that the culture is a mix, too.

The animatronics are treated like old revered gods, and they are old. They're worshipped and have Temples that people go to pray to regularly, depending on what that person is praying for, of course. (Like a farmer might go pray to Chica for a good harvest, for example. Or someone could go to Freddy to pray for blessings for their family. Etc, etc.) Each temple has their own priest that claims to be able to talk to that god, and the temples could be (and are) seen as basically their own little governments and societies. They hold a lot of, and too much, sway over the people and larger government.

Most of the laws are based around what the gods say is right or wrong, as preached by the priests of each temple. But this also means the temples do have to work together, to keep contradictions to a minimum.

But the gods have been gone for a while, doing fuck knows what. So things have... devolved.

There is a larger government that oversees things, but it's pretty much ruled by the temples so there's little to no oversight on them. So basically the temples can do whatever the fuck they want. The government doesn't care, their pockets are getting lined to do absolutely nothing besides a fancy performance.

The tech is absolutely advanced as fuck, though. But it's mainly only able to be used by the elite class, as it's seen as godly in nature and only the most holy can use it. So you're not going to see a lot of it in villages and being used in day to day life. Besides a few things mandated and run by the government. Like the mailing system and Healthcare facilities, though there's a bit of corruption in those of course.

Magic is a thing too, of course. But it's a bit more scarce than tech. Since it was only gifted to a few humans originally by the gods, who then passed it down to their children and their children's children and so on. They each have thematic naming for which God gifted them the powers, but they're referred to as "Children of the Gods" as a whole. These people are often the priests and heads of the temples. Some people use tech to make it look like they're one of the god's chosen, and it's always a huge scandal when they're exposed.

There's some fringe groups that don't worship any gods, and think technology is better. But these communities are small and generally outcasted by main society, and at worst are declared criminals.

These temples weren't built as temples originally, and the animatronics never set out to be gods. They kind of just stumbled into it, and just think it's kind of silly. They have generally good intentions and genuinely love the people they originally shared a bit of their magic with and those people's descendants. The idea was those people go out and help other people with the magic, and it went that way for a good few generations, but then a rot began to spread after the animatronics looked away. And things are really building in a very bad way for a very long time.

I have been coming up with lore for the Godly Sun and Moon Au (and I'm changing the name to the fnaf mechanical gods au because I Do Not like the previous name), but my problem is I have been developing the world more than I have been writing the actual fucking fic. :(

I kinda want to ramble about it though.

[tenspontaneite]

S U F F E R I N G

Thank u for your enthusiasm, penny 👏

[finalfilms]

some terry chaney headcanons bc i love her sm (kind of ooc)

- plays everskies and makes the most detailed outfits you could imagine (y’all saw her fits she was INSANE)

- actually eats at cracker barrel because every time she goes she gets one of those kiddie toys or stuffed animals or old timey candies

- retired horse girl

- sapphic, probably

- says things like “adorbs” “awesome sauce” “cool beans” at first it was ironic but then she couldn’t stop and now she annoys everyone

- makes her own jewelry (for fun!!)

- loves birds. she’s got a book filled with bird sightings

- owns a surplus of fancy sunglasses

- calls carter babygirl and he hates it (he doesn’t really)

- makes sims people and then traps them in a pool because she wants to

- once she gets into something it’s hard to get her out of it. currently she’s on deltarune and has a notebook FILLED with theories and stuff that she gathered from the internet

- can speak some german

- likes giallo films

- her outfits reflect her mood for that day. if she’s sad she’ll wear grey, happy it’s pink or yellow, and if she’s bored she’ll wear blue

- orders a ton of stuff off of amazon

- draws on herself a lot using markers. it’s fun but carter always rags on her for drawing eyes or something

- loves the regrettes + lykke li

- has seen five seasons of glee before it got too much for her. speaking of glee, her favorite character is either quinn, mercedes or sam

- she’s a summer kind of gal, but really likes springtime because of all the flowers and birds and stuff

- not the biggest fan of classical music

- has driving anxiety (cause who doesn’t driving is scary as fuck)

- owns clout goggles in a 2018 musically kind of way

- took karate for five years so she’s a badass

- biggest avril fan. and she’s also a sucker for michelle branch and mitski

- her favorite fruit is cherry. she drinks cherry smoothies, eats cherrys with ice cream, and she spits the pits to see how far they’ll go

- doesn’t know how to ride a bike. not cause she doesn’t want to but because she thinks they look dumb

- has a cat. maybe two. she likes cats

- she also likes dogs. she’s a big animal person

- watches a lot of makeup artists on tiktok and youtube because she’s always trying to perfect her craft

- loves euphoria and was a cassie stan until season two

- has a steam account and plays kitty powers, octodad, sims, don’t starve together, fnaf 2 and the quarry

- her favorite quarry character is either kaitlyn or dylan

- dyed her hair on her own when she was younger and wanted to be a cosmetologist (she had a whole fake salon and would give her parents haircuts)

- loves carnivals and fares

- if any of her friends were making a horror movie (yk cause why not) she would be the sfx artist. she can make some bomb ass fake blood

- would be verified on tiktok if she had it

- still kinda modern, she was the person on twitter who spoiled endgame bc someone made fun of taylor swift

[thunderheadfred]

🐈‍Aizawa HC’s🐈‍

I dunno if people will care for this; I suspect my HC's for Aizawa are a little off the fandom norm. Still. I tried. Things get approximately NSFW under the cut. Minors do not interact.

- - - - -

General

He has like, one discernible change of clothes per season. There is no distinction between hero outfit, casual wear, and pajamas. That fabric used to be black. It is now an exhausted shade of ‘please stop washing me.’ If you suggest that he buy new clothes, he will stare you down like you have three heads, and none of those heads have a brain.

This man does not spend money. He has a mind-blowing amount of savings, but no one will ever know until he dies and wills it all to a random animal shelter in the middle of nowhere. Has a secret scholarship fund for UA students. Again, this is completely anonymous. Only the principal knows.

He's a startlingly competent sketch artist. Nothing fancy, and he never took an art class in his life, but his quirk innately lends itself to spacial reasoning and feature recognition. He has sketch books brimming with sloppy but pin-point accurate life drawings. He can capture your soul in three strokes of a dried-up ballpoint pen. It's eerie.

Given his schedule, you’d expect him to prioritze convenience first, but junk food makes him cross-eyed. His body is a temple and he eats like a fucking monk.

He’s a wine snob. Well, a liquor snob generally. He knows the name of every regional sake-maker in Japan, and can tell you exactly which bottle is the best, down the the month of production. Assumes everyone possesses such laser-focused knowledge.

Tea drinker. Yeah, he has encyclopedic knowledge about that too. Apparently everything this man drinks comes with a bibliography.

Technically he’s supposed to live in the UA dorms part of the time. He sleeps poorly there, and goes home whenever he has the opportunity.

His house is old, but not valuable. Probably inherited. Traditional style with very few modern updates. He keeps it meticulously clean and does repairs as needed, but the age is still obvious. Everything creaks. You swear the place is haunted but won’t dare admit it aloud - he WILL laugh you out of the house.

There’s a garden but he doesn’t have time to keep it up. He has a lot of memories of the plants in full bloom. Letting it go to seed upsets him more than he lets on.

He has zero personal possessions aside from household appliances, which he meticulously researches and keeps in perfect condition.

Reads an insane amount of books. These mostly come from the library. There’s always a stack near his bed. You have no idea how he finishes them, because every time you see him with a book, he’s asleep with it on his face.

He doesn’t adopt cats so much as just leaves his doors open and lets them freely colonize the place. It’s not his house, it’s theirs. Somehow there's not a single cat hair on anything.

Most of these cats are cuddly little angels; you've never met nicer. But there’s a few beasts in the mix, with battle scars and three legs and a craving for human meat; these are Aizawa’s special favorites.

- - - - -

Dating

Falls for you when he stumbles across you taking care of one of the hideous strays he usually feeds on his route. Doesn’t approach you at first (definitely tries to hide) but the cat is like "mrrr?" and brings you over to him, giving the game away. Traitor.

Will make you pay for your half of everything, down to the last yen. So what if you’ve been together for ten years? You have your own income.

One exception to the above: he’ll never buy you presents but he WILL treat you to lavish meals in dark restaurants with hand-written menus. Don’t mistake this for romance, he just likes the quiet atmosphere and excellent service.

He cleans every day; there’s an unwritten five-dimensional schedule and that schedule is EXACT. Zero time wasted. He’ll never actually ask you to help with any of it. He’ll never directly thank you, either. But if you learn how to take over certain chores and do the daily upkeep while he’s away, he’ll love you forever.

Not the type to talk about his day; he’d rather sit with you outside. He values silence. Not because he doesn’t want to talk to you, but a lot of the time he doesn’t have the energy to give you his full conversational attention. Physical contact is easier, and more comforting besides. Just... hold his hand a while.

His scalp gets tingly and sore from overusing his quirk. If you run your fingers through his hair he will pass out instantly.

He will cozy trap you. He’s touch-starved and was definitely a cat in a past life. Will hang all over you if you don't give him enough attention and constantly falls sleep in your lap. Hope you don’t need to get up anytime soon; he’s not moving.

You don’t exactly ‘move in’ with him. He never wants to spend a night without you, but his living space is already exactly how he likes it. He will never move out of that old house, but he’ll give you some rooms to yourself. Your stuff and his... complete absence of stuff... stay pretty much separate. Do NOT clutter up the bedroom.

The kitchen is the exception. That's a warm and cozy shared spot, the heart of the home. You’ll always be stepping around a cat.

He LOVES when you cook for him (so that he doesn't have to take the time). Will shower you with praise and encourage you to make huge earthenware vats of old-timey tsukemono that the two of you cannot possibly eat by yourselves. He’ll help with food prep and knows his way around, but he insists you’re the better cook (even if you aren’t).

Big on actions over words. Makes an effort to be present with you as much as he can.

Will stare into your eyes until you look away. When you look back, he's still staring with a rare warm smile on his face.

God, he loves you. You will never, ever know how much. He doesn't tell you often, but he shows you every day.

- - - - -

Somnophilia???.........

ACE ACE ACE ACE

This man is A-fucking-sexual. He’s not sex repulsed in any way, he’s just not personally invested.

Aromantic too. Deadass doesn’t get the hype. You are the most important person in his life and he’s deeply commited to and comforted by you. Just don’t expect to be seduced; it will literally never happen.

If you are allosexual, he will still be devoted to your sexual well-being. At first, that means buying you a DELUXE toy and encouraging you to use it on your own.

His voice is too damn sexy, even when he isn’t trying. He’ll give you all the phone sex you want; he thinks it’s sweet how you unravel for him. Edging you for ages is a fun little power play, but he’s definitely grading papers while he does it. Don’t be offended. Toshinori has overheard some THINGS.

When your relationship gets sufficiently serious, he’ll help out with his hands. He’s VERY SKILLED AT IT. He likes to lay down next to you and whisper encouragement in your ear. Eventually he gets possessive about your orgasms, and will make you ask for permission.

Sometimes the stars align, but his arousal is a rare bird. He'll take a whole afternoon to prepare. It’s love-making, full stop. Always slow and intensely emotional. He'll cherish every inch of you but might not cum at all; you can’t force it.

[hailing-stars]

@febuwhump day 14 

meddling kids

summary

“Ned, you’re a genius,” says Peter. “We’ll just play some cupid, get them together for real, and they’ll be so distracted we can go back to movie days at the Tower.”

“Because that plan doesn’t have the potential to turn into a big, fucking disaster,” says MJ.

“It’ll be fine,” says Peter. “It’ll be good. It’s almost Valentine’s Day. Even they deserve to be happy.”

OR

Peter attempts to meddle in Sam and Bucky’s relationship, and Flash meddles in Peter’s and MJ’s. 

Rain hits the windows of Avengers Tower, and Peter pulls MJ a little bit closer. His eyes are glued to the TV screen, where it’s also raining, and where the two leads in the cheesy, rom-com Ned had switched on argue in the midst of the downpour. It isn’t long before the argument turns to kissing.

“That’s so romantic,” says Peter. That’s really what he’d rather be doing. Kissing MJ in the rain.

“Dude,” says Flash, shoving a fist full of popcorn in his mouth, from where he sat on the floor. “You’re such a sap.”

Peter scrunches up his face. “I’m not a sap.”

“Kind of are,” says Ned.

Peter turns to MJ for help, and their faces are so close, their noses almost brush up against each other. Forget the rain. He’d rather be kissing her now, in the common room, on the Avengers favorite couch.

“You’re totally a sap,” she tells him. “But you’re my sap.”  

“You two are disgusting,” says Flash. “Just get a room and let Ned and I finish watching this in peace.”

Peter doesn’t think that sounds like such a bad idea, and he’s about to say so when he’s startled into sitting up straight.

“Parker!”

He turns his head and sees Sam and Bucky entering the common area.

“Oh,” says Peter. He and MJ scoot to opposite ends of the couch, as if it mattered and they hadn’t already been seen. “Um, hey Sam. Bucky.”

“What is this?” asks Sam, gesturing to the common room. “What have we told you about using the Tower as your own personal clubhouse for you and your school friends?”

“That I’m definitely welcomed to do it?”

“Well that’s one interpretation of hell no,” says Bucky.

Peter could strange both of them right there on the spot. They’re the annoying big brothers he never wanted, and he hates how they only ever agree with each other when it disadvantages him in some way.

“Take your Scooby Squad and scram,” says Sam.

“We’re not the Scooby Squad,” says Flash. He doesn’t take his eyes off the screen, and his hand stays in the bowl of popcorn. “We’re the FlashMob, don’t forget it.”

“We’re not the FlashMob,” says Ned. “We’re the FOS gang.”

“FOS?” questions Bucky.

“Friends of Spider-Man,” answers Ned.

“Meddling kids seems more appropriate,” says Sam. “Parker. Get them out.”

“If we’re the Scooby Squad you’re the grumpy old men,” says Peter, with a sigh. He stands, snatches the bowl of popcorn from Flash, and orders Friday to switch off the movie.

Peter, MJ, Ned and Flash file out the room, listening to Sam and Bucky as their bickering turns towards each other. Apparently Bucky’s chosen spot on the couch was where Sam sits, apparently the throw pillow Sam claims actually belongs to Bucky, and so on.

“I swear,” says Peter. “They bicker more than Mr. Stark and Gerald.”

“Gerald?” asks MJ.

“He’s going through a phase.”

“Well it’s obvious why they bicker,” MJ tells them.

All three stare at her.

“..It is?” asks Ned.

“Come on, guys,” says MJ. “It’s classic. They’re in love.”

All eyes turn back to the couch. They’re both sitting at opposite ends and they both take turns telling Friday to switch the channel on the TV. Doesn’t seem like a very productive war. Peter develops whiplash from just standing off in the background, watching the TV screen flip back and forth between Jaws and some old timey black and white film.

“I bet they just kicked us out so they could be alone together,” she continues.

“Enemies to lovers?” asks Ned, still staring at them, with a tilted head.

“I’d ship it,” says Flash.

“Wish they’d get a room, or an apartment,” says Ned. “So we could get back to our movie day.”

“Ned, you’re a genius,” says Peter. “We’ll just play some cupid, get them together for real, and they’ll be so distracted we can go back to movie days at the Tower.”

“Because that plan doesn’t have the potential to turn into a big, fucking disaster,” says MJ.

“It’ll be fine,” says Peter. “It’ll be good. It’s almost Valentine’s Day. Even they deserve to be happy.”

MJ kisses him on the cheek, and links his arm with hers as they march off towards the elevators.

“You really are such a sap,” she tells him, a fondness in her tone that causes Peter to realize he doesn’t actually mind being a romantic so much, not when MJ was the one saying it.

*

Peter leads Bucky down the season aisles at Target, and figures he’s really on his last shot of this cupid business.

He hasn’t exactly been subtle over the last couple of days. Bucky’s already wondering why Peter had insisted on him tagging along on his trip to Target with him.

They pass by heart shaped boxes of candy, and Peter digs through the bin of cute stuffed animals until he finds a unicorn. When he squeezes it, it’s teeth turn pointy and it’s eyes turn mean. It’s perfect.

“For MJ?” asks Bucky.

“No way, man,” says Peter. He turns his attention to the chocolate boxes with cartoon characters printed on the front, and grabs the one with “I got her presents months ago. This stuff is for Morgan.”

“How’s Stark handling Valentine's Day as a father, anyway?”

“He loves it,” says Peter. “He’s a little bit obsessed, actually. He wants Morgan to pass out the best Valentine's cards in her class, so he stayed up all night designing them online and he’s having candy delivered for some fancy chocolate shop in Germany.”

“I don’t think kids really care about fancy chocolate,” says Bucky, and Peter watches as he eyes the boxes of chocolate. His eyes go back and forth between two different brands.

“They don't,” says Peter. “But they do if you bribe the chocolate makers into molding the chocolate into the replicas of famous Avengers.”

Bucky doesn’t respond. All his focus is on the candies.

“What kind of chocolate do you think Sam likes?” asks Peter.

Bucky snaps his head around and narrows his eyes at him. “Why would you ask that?”

Peter shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe we should get him some. It’d be nice.”

Bucky stares at him, and Peter shuffles his feet around, dying to come out with his suggestion that he and Sam should just go out already. That they’ll be a lot happier together, way less grumpy.

“How do you know?” asks Bucky.

“How what?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

“I don’t have to play dumb,” says Peter. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Come on,” says Bucky. “What’s the deal with you crawling around on the ceiling hanging mistletoe above wherever Sam and I are standing? Or that night you made us dinner and set the table with candles and rose petals?”

“I was just being nice. Who doesn’t like roses?”

“I know you know about me and Sam,” says Bucky. “So quit harassing us, and keep your mouth shut about it.”

“Wait…. You and Sam… are already together?” asks Peter, with a gasp of disbelief. “I was trying to set you up!”

“You didn’t know?” asks Bucky. “We thought you knew and were being an asshole about it.”

“Holy shit,” says Peter. He shifts Morgan’s presents to one hand, and pulls his phone out of his pocket with the other. “I gotta tell MJ.”

Bucky swipes his phone. “You can’t tell anybody. We’re keeping it a secret for now.”

“Fine, fine,” says Peter. “Secret safe with me.”

“No secret is safe with you, Parker,” Bucky tells him, before marching past him, and to the next aisle where he continues looking for Sam’s present.

Peter frowns. He’s got no clue why people think he’s incapable of keeping things secret.

*

Peter manages to keep Sam and Bucky’s relationship to himself, until the day of the Midtown High Valentine’s day dance. And it’s not exactly Peter’s fault. He isn’t exactly to see the two of them in his school’s gym, with linked arms, wearing identical grins.

“You two cannot be here,” whispers Peter. His eyes darted around the gym, at all his classmates, somehow forgetting no connection could realistically be made between Peter Parker and two Avengers.

“Sure we can,” says Bucky. “We’re chaperones.”

“And I’m Captain America. I can go anywhere.”

“I hate you both,” says Peter.

Sam claps him on the shoulder. “Consider this revenge.”

“For what?!?”

“For being annoying,” says Bucky.

“And young,” adds Sam. “And for torturing us with mistletoes.”

“Oh, look,” says MJ, emerging from the crowd of students on the dance floor. “I was right. Who’s surprised?”

“Yeah, congratulations,” says Sam. “Now take your irritatingly observant selves over to the refreshment table, get yourselves some Scooby snacks and leave us to our chaperoning.”

Peter doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s ready to put so much distance between himself and the old, grumpy chaperones. He and MJ are crossing the dance floor when they’re favorite song starts to play, but it’s something else that grabs Peter’s attention.

It’s Flash, standing on the bleachers, holding a lighter up to the smoke alarm.

“THIS IS FOR YOU PENIS PARRKKKERRRR,” he yells across the gym, just as the smoke alarm blares to life.

He’s confused, until sprinklers on the ceiling turn on, and water begins to rain down on the entire student body, soaking dresses and suits and splashing into the probably already spiked punch bowl.

“I guess you were right about something too,” says MJ, with a small smile. They’re standing in the middle of the dance floor, while most others run and duck for cover under chairs or in the hallway, while Bucky and Sam chase Flash around the gym. “This is kind of romantic.”

“I can start an argument with you,” says Peter. He hooks his arm around her waist and pulls her closer. “If you want it to be like the movies.”

“Nah,” she tells him. “We can skip that part.”

She brushes his soaked hair out of his face, and they kiss. It’s every bit as romantic as it is in the movies.

[myths-tournaments]

Awful Characters Round 2 Part 1 (5/8)

Propaganda under the cut!

SHEN JIU

YES he abused a child and killed an entire manor of people, but it was probably only one child and allegedly the people sucked. Surely this is not behavior deserving of being turned into a human stick or having your body possessed by a weeb. I love him because sometimes mean people are fun and also who can resist a good redemption tale (he deserves one).

BENNY GECKO

The first thing that happens in new vegas is that benny fucking shoots your character in the face, steals your shit and leaves you in an open grave. Benny is by all accounts a bastard. He kills you, steals from you, he killed his last boss, he is the single most duplicitous man around. His gang are all about honesty- except him. He's a lying, cheating bastard. The guys who helped him catch you? He skipped on paying them and left them to get shot to death. His new boss, mr.house? He stole his robot, broke it open, got someone to reprogram it and decided to use it to TAKE OVER THE WHOLE OF VEGAS. Benny literally kills people, lies to people, steals their shit and takes charge. That's all benny does. He gets fucking CRUCIFIED if you don't help him out just because so many people fucking hate him. And yet. And yet. Benny is the single most compelling character in the whole game to me. He's just a little guy! He's just there! You can get shot in the head and come back and he goes "what in the goddamn" and then if you try and flirt with him he's like "uhhh sure? Okay?" And leaves you a polite note in the morning. He's fancy. He wears a stupid suit. He has a tiny gun with shitty bullets. He's catholic. He talks like an old timey news presenter. Literally nobody else in the entire game does that. He's got an intelligence of 3. He's my funtime boy. My silly little man. He's so funny. The antagonist in this game is a guy dressed like a tablecloth who looks at all times like a confused dog who doesn't understand what a tv is. And like. He's compelling. He robs from you, shoots you, but…. he never seems to actually wish you harm. He kills and robs and lies but like. He apologises for doing it to you. When he sees you again he doesn't attack you, he's just… confused. He tries to defuse the situation. You can convince him to talk to you, alone, with no guards and it's not that hard. If you spare his life, he doesn't go after you, like. Even if you sleep with him he doesn't take advantage of that and kill you, even if you try to. He… he just leaves. He gives you an apology. If he gets kidnapped by Caesar He just… apologizes again. He tells you his whole plan to take over the city, too. He thinks he'll die, and he wants something of him to survive. He's happy that you made it. And if you let him free, he just… leaves. He knows he's beat, he doesn't want to cause any more trouble. He walks out and leaves. The NCR will kill you if you cross them. The legion will crucify you. House? He'll blow you the fuck up. But benny, the guy who lies and cheats and schemes, he's honest. He's polite. He's… harmless. You can kill him with a single shot if you want. And he can't kill you. He doesn't kill you the first time, and he'll never really hurt you again. Benny just wanted to win. When he knows he's beat he just leaves. No lingering, no harm, he's off, off into the desert heat, and never seen again. Isn't that just insane? like have you ever known an antagonist so polite? He just leaves!! He offers you a drink!! His plan is genuinely probably the best one for the people of new vegas!!! He's. Benny is Benny.

Anyway if you want to see some REAL propaganda go to the blog @letmebegaytodd and look in the #benny tag. You'll Understand < https://www.tumblr.com/letmebegaytodd/717051175751614464/in-another-life-i-wouldve-really-liked-just> <- look at this shit man

[lesbiannie]

troy realizing he’s in love with abed word count who cares it’s about the YEARNING

And what was it about this kid, this… well, he guesses friend of his, by now. Thinking about him made his brain hurt. Made his chest hurt, too, like heartburn, or like someone had stuck a key into his sternum and was turning it, slowly. Metallic and unyielding. 

It was new to him, kinda. Like, he wanted to cry but didn’t at the same time. Remembers watching him, those first few days, walk around writing nonsense on a notepad all to play an ill-conceived practical joke. He knew by then that Abed didn’t have many friends, and he knew that he wanted to make him feel welcome in the group. But it was more than that. And he can’t for the life of him explain it.

Sometimes, he catches himself looking at Annie, who is looking at him. Those first few days, she would stare at him like she was trying to Matilda him or something, move a lamp with her mind and crash it into his head. Pure fury. The thought of what she’d thought about doing to him made him shudder, until he remembered she just barely cracks five feet. Slowly, she came around. The short titters and unavoidable blushes, darting her eyes back and forth he vaguely remembered from high school, though back then he couldn’t have placed a name to the face. 

It’s weird, though, the way she looks at him. Only when Jeff is around, or Britta. Like she’s showing off for them–– Look how well I can crush on this football star! Super performative, borderline creepy. He doesn’t bring it up. He likes Annie one hell of a lot, and knows that the only reason he didn’t properly meet her sooner was because high school Troy wouldn’t have deserved her.

So he looks at Annie, sometimes. But not… like that. Not the way she does him–– no fluttering eyelashes on Troy’s end. More inquisitively, wondering what she could be thinking. She looks at Abed that way too, sometimes–– but only when he’s doing a different voice than he usually does. She especially likes his Don Draper and his Han Solo, he’s noticed, but she’s also partial to other film noir and sci-fi staples. Once, Abed tried to do a Captain Kirk, which Troy thought was funny because Abed wasn’t Kirk, he was more of a…

Anyway.

Troy knows that in high school he would have been mean to Abed. Troy also knows that when he met Abed that first day, he wasn’t too nice to him. That thought makes him want to jump out of a window and hide in a shrub for twenty years. 

Abed is… a really good person. Abed is the reason that Troy even thinks about life like that at all–– good people and not-good people. Heroes and villains. Abed is definitely the protagonist in his own story (unless Abed has thrust that role onto Jeff, which, Troy realizes, he might’ve), but he’s kind of the protagonist in Troy’s story, too. Abed is like the magical mentor who’s teaching Troy to be a better person. Except he doesn’t really know why, or how. Just that meeting Abed made him care a lot more about stuff like that. Stuff like saying sorry for hurting Annie’s feelings for four years, or not ignoring when people need help. Not letting it slide when other people are mean to Abed.

It’s not even that he’s the pinnacle of morality. None of them are, if he’s honest. They’re good and they’re bad, and some of them try too hard to be either. Britta wants to be good and is down on herself when she isn’t. Jeff spends so much time trying to be an asshole that he accidentally cares more than any of them. Annie has to be perfect, and can’t, and that makes her sad. Shirley has morals, but they’re different from the others’. Abed… Abed wants what he wants, and he usually gets it. He’s nice, and kind, and good with kids. Sort of beyond reproach, if Troy’s honest. Like he’s already reached Nirvana and has no need to be hanging out on Earth with all the people who haven’t. He’s almost like a god or something. Like he knows more than he lets on, and he won’t say it, even to Troy (though, Troy’s never asked).

Maybe that’s why Troy feels the way he does about him: like he can do no wrong. Even though he has, and probably will do again. Abed being a god would explain why, when he met him, things started to go his way. He felt more comfortable, more genuine. Like he wasn’t hiding anymore. Abed was, in a sense, turning a key in his chest. Taking Troy’s walls down, little by little. 

It was comfortable, being with Abed. It felt like the most natural thing in the world. He thinks, if only I’d known him sooner. He’d spent a lot of his life searching for something that would make him feel calm for once, feel regular. Not pressured, not crammed, not boxed in. It was kinda like Abed saved him, in a way. Like he was who he’d been looking for all along. Not that scholarship. Him. They play make-believe and Abed is the almost-immortal time traveling alien who makes voyages around the Universe with his human friends. The Inspector finds humans and picks them up and shows them the stars in his fancy phone booth. He shows them worlds they would never have seen before, and opens their eyes to things that they would never have even been able to fathom. Just… ordinary, regular humans, made forever special, in some cases Universe-savingly special, just by the Inspector’s keen eye for what human to take as a constable and friend. 

He wants to do this forever. He wants it to feel new and special and fantastic forever. It’s a feeling he doesn’t even have a name for, can only explain by saying “Wowie” and “Huzzah!” and other old-timey words. He wonders, vaguely, if this is some sort of test–– for the Universe to put someone like Abed in front of him and see how long it can make his life out-of-this-world good before something happens. And it won’t, probably. But it’s almost too good. He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, because he feels like he’s floating. Like Abed put a fucking spell on him. A spell that made him feel safe and warm all over, made hearing Abed say his name the best part of his day. Made him want to go to church again, to thank something for it all. Made him want to write a song, because he needs to know if other people feel this way, too. Like someone burrowed their way between your ribs and won’t leave. Like he’s a whole ball of light. Like he wants to kiss somebody. Like he’s met the person who he wants to spend the rest of his life with. Like he’ll never love anybody else ever again.

Oh. Huh. 

That explains it, too.

[jamiltonrps]

I’ve written more Rachel x George fanfic! Might post this on AO3 later, but I’m too lazy rn. So, enjoy!

Rated M for smut:

Rachel brushed out her long hair, touching up on her looks before going to the bar in this nice ass hotel. Ever since his school announced it in September, Alexander had been wanting to go to D.C., Rachel signed the papers for them to go together at Alexander’s insistence.

“Alex, I’m okay with you going alone, I know you won’t do anything that’s too reckless.”

“I won’t, but I want you to come with me mamá. I don’t want to be there all by myself surrounded by a bunch of rich assholes.”

Rachel, who thought he would’ve wanted to just go alone, but he wanted her to come with her to have some fun, as long as they made it sound like Rachel was insisting on going with him to “protect him” from… whatever. It touched Rachel that her son wasn’t really embarrassed by her at his age and still wanted to go to places with her, plus it was a free vacation essentially. So she let the principal and her second grade class know that she would be gone for that trip in Spring for about a week and went on with her life.

Earlier that day all the kids that signed up for the trip along with a few more parents boarded on the plane to D.C. and arrived in just over an hour, getting out of there before finding a bus to go to their hotel and check out Old Town Alexandria, with the promise that they would tour the U.S. Capital to tomorrow. It was a fun day, looking at old timey buildings, buying some old timey candy (“What do you think that’s supposed to be?” “I think it’s Turkish Delight, Alex. Do you want to get some?” “Sure, I’m getting bored with all the taffy options.”), and she and Alexander went to lunch at a Belgian place before heading back with the rest of the group to the hotel. She and Alex were both tired when they arrived back to their room so they just had a musical and horror movie marathon while eating their candy. They ordered room service for dinner, all paid for by the school and continued to watch until Alexander passed out at nine.

And Rachel was still up, not tired, and bored. Thus, she locked herself in the bathroom and changed from her T-shirt and jeans to a long sleeved purple bodysuit with an extremely deep V-neck (and a secret hole in the crotch area, but that was an accident and she loved this top too much to throw it away), a white mini skirt, and black pumps with a chunky heel. She liked dressing up, what could she say? After doing and redoing her makeup, putting on her perfume, and yes, brushing out her black hair, she snuck out of the hotel room like a rebellious teenager sneaking from home, her room key in her purse as she walked down to the hotel bar room.

It was big and spacious, with men and women dressed in designer clothes, making Rachel cringe on the inside at her outfit, which all together cost less than a hundred dollars. Those women probably spent more on perfume. Nonetheless, she moved on, sitting at the bar. And while at this bar, the St. Regis in D.C. a place known for its craft cocktails, Rachel orders a Spiced Cherry (A Cuba Libre with spiced rum instead of regular and cherry coke). She wasn’t in the mood for anything fancy after seeing everyone else. Fuck, what was she thinking? Just because her son tested into one of the best schools in New York, one known for having the children of millionaires and billionaires, it didn’t mean she was shit. She taught elementary school in the Bronx, most of those kids didn’t know what they would eat when they got home, like she and her sons when they were younger, meanwhile at Alexander’s school, they probably ate sushi topped with caviar and gold leaves, along with having gourmet coffee they just sold to anyone who wanted it. Rachel wondered how Alexander felt about that. Eating gourmet food and surrounded by people with more money than they knew what to do with in Manhattan and going home to a small apartment in the Bronx with his poor mother eating whatever they had in the pantry. Sometimes they ate well, other times, not so much.

“Rough night?”

Rachel turned over to see the man sitting next to her, dressed in a navy suit, his elaborately designed blue and gold tie loosened. He was bald, handsome, and looked around her age. He looked familiar.

“Guess so.” Rachel said. “And you?”

“I’m just a bit tired, I had a busy day so I’m just here for a few drinks.” The man answered. “I must say, I really like your accent. Where’d you come from?”

“Puerto Rico, but I’ve been living in New York for… about ten years I’d say. More or less.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I’ve visited New York before, it’s a really nice place.”

“Yeah…” Rachel chuckled. “What’s your name?”

“I’m George.” He simply introduced himself. “And yourself?”

“Rachel.” She said, feeling more and more like she knew him for something.

“So, what brings you here?” George asked her. “Vacation?”

“Field trip. My son’s asleep.” Rachel explained, crossing her legs as she turned around to face him, sipping on her drink.

“A field trip? How old is he?”

“Twelve. His name’s Alexander.”

George hummed, ordering an old fashioned for himself. “Is he a nice boy?”

Rachel nodded. “A very nice boy, to me. To everyone else…” Alexander hasn’t been too popular with his wealthy classmates, since he tended to be quite the motor mouth on issues affecting the poor, which most of his tangents targeted the parents of these kids on being selfish and immoral jerk-offs who only cared about amassing more wealth and see everyone else clammer to get what they needed to survive. Alexander only had one friend, who he could barely see after school hours because his friend’s father forbade it.

George nodded. “I see, he’s a mama’s boy I assume?”

“Yeah.” Rachel couldn’t help but chuckle. It was funny because it was true.

George’s drink arrived and he took a sip of it. “I have a step-daughter around his age. She’ll be thirteen in July.”

“You’re married?” Rachel didn’t see a ring on his finger.

“I was. We divorced because we were better as friends than as a couple.” George explained. “I still see her and her kids a lot, they think of me like their father and I do as well, I’ll admit.”

“Do you have any of your own kids?”

“No, I’m sterile.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Rachel said.

George shrugged. “It’s fine. I date single mothers for that reason.”

Without thinking much of it, Rachel added, “I’m a single mother.”

He chuckled, low and rumbly which made her stomach feel warm.

“Really? Should I buy you a drink then?”

“I already have one, but sure.” Rachel said, quickly adjusting herself.

George looked over the menu. “Do you like sweet drinks?” He asked her.

“I do.” Rachel said, smiling a bit. This probably won’t go anywhere, but he had interesting conversation, and plus, free drinks.

“How about a pomegranate vodka lemonade?”

“That sounds good.”

George called over the bartender and ordered her said drink before turning back to her.

“So, can you tell me a bit about Puerto Rico? I’ve never been there.”

“Well, uh, I mean, I grew up in Celada. It was pretty nice. The beaches are pretty… I wasn’t near them though… there wasn’t much I did back home to be honest.” Rachel finished. “I moved to San Juan when I was an adult though. I was poor, but… there was the beach.” Rachel chuckled, rather awkwardly.

“I see… and what about your ex husband if I could ask you about that?”

“He died.” Rachel said, sucking in a breath and averting her eyes.

“Oh! I’m so sorry Rachel, I-”

“It’s fine…” she smiled at him, forcing herself not to let her mourning for James show. It’s been over a decade since he passed.

“So…” George started. “I’m just curious about your thoughts about this, but what do you think about Puerto Rico achieving statehood or independence?”

“Oh, the best thing to talk about with people you just met, politics! You and Alexander would get along well.”

George gave a hearty laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m just curious what you, as a Puerto Rican, would think about this.”

Rachel hummed, her new drink was just dropped over. A tall glass with a bright pink fluid inside, along with ice and some pomegranate seeds. Rachel pressed the sugar rimmed glass to her lips and sipped. Sweet, tart, it was good.

“Well, maybe before we debate in politics, we should know more about each other. I’ve never been much of a debater. Tell me about yourself?” Rachel wasn’t sure if she wanted to discuss politics, they might disagree on a lot of things and Rachel didn’t want to find that out yet. It would be a shame if he was like those parents Alexander went to school with.

George hummed. “Well, I was born near Colonial Beach for starters.” He explained. “My parents were pretty well off, my father was a farmer.”

Rachel nodded and hummed. “And your mother?”

“She was a housewife, but after my dad died, she took over.” George explained.

“Sorry to hear that.”

George shrugged. “I was eleven, I feel better about it these days… anyways, I worked with her and my younger siblings on our farm, but when I was a teenager, I decided to join the army.”

“Uh-huh,” Rachel said, trying to keep her disdain with the US military and their habit of hiding war crimes and over spending, “what’d you do while in there?”

“I was a soldier and I eventually became a general.” George answered. “I was stationed in Fort Belvoir, then I met Martha, my friend that I divorced.”

Rachel chuckled. “Was she nice?”

“Of course. She was a widower too, and she inherited a lot of money from her husband.”

Rachel hummed. “How much?”

“Seventy million.”

Rachel’s eyes blew open. “Oh… wow. How much did you get from the divorce?”

George hummed. “Thirty million, but I don’t really need it.”

“How much would you have… without hers?”

“…A lot. I don’t brag about my wealth often.” George said.

“Having thirty million dollars sounds amazing.” Rachel said. “I’m broke as shit.”

“Really? Then why is your son’s field trip-”

“He tested into a really good school.” Rachel said. “A rich person's school. He’s really smart.”

“Oh… well, on the bright side, he’ll probably make a lot of money for you when he’s an adult.” George said.

Rachel sighed. “Yeah… but then… what about my neighbors? And my friends? Not all of them have kids as smart as Alexander.”

George was quiet but patted her shoulder. “You have a bleeding heart?”

She nodded.

“That just means you care.” George assured her. “That you care a lot.”

“What can I do about it?” Rachel said. “Maybe Alexander could… but he also might not.” It was a fear she had, that with all these influences around him, he’d lose care for the less fortunate around him just to copy those kids. Get a well paying job, be a part of high society, he’d certainly share the joys of wealth with her, she’s sure, but…

Rachel knew Alexander’s money, or even George’s money wouldn’t be able to support the poor of New York City, nevermind the entire country. They could only give so much. But it’s not their job. It’s the Federal Government’s.

“Hey… what kind of movies do you like?” George asked, taking her hand, probably to stop those tears coming to her eyes.

“I-I like musicals and horror movies.” Rachel said. “I don’t watch much cable T.V..”

“Musicals and horror.” George hummed. “Very different genres.”

“Yeah, but I like them.” Rachel gave him a shaky smile.

“I like theater.” George said. “Have you ever been to a Broadway show?”

“Yeah, a couple years ago. I saw Chicago.”

“Is that the one with the lady prisoners?”

“Yes!” Rachel grinned. “It was for my birthday. It was just me and a friend, we had fun.”

George smiled, giving her small hand a squeeze with his big one. “I’m glad.”

Rachel bit her lip. “Oh… my hand.”

George let go. “Sorry, I just thought-”

“Oh no, it’s fine, if you want to…” Rachel felt her cheeks burn.

George nodded, Rachel noticing a slight pink on his cheeks as he took her hand into his once more, squeezing it. “Your hand is cold.”

“I’ve been holding my drink.”

“I’ll keep it warm then… you said you were a single mother earlier, did you?”

Rachel nodded. “Yeah…”

George looked at her and their surroundings. “I may be coming off as a bit strong, and I apologize if I am, but may I kiss you?”

“You may.”

George went in for a kiss and Rachel reciprocated. She hasn’t done this in a while. She hasn’t dated anyone in a while, but she told herself not to think hard about it and just enjoy kissing this rich hunk. His lips were warm and tasted like whiskey.

George pulled away and Rachel continued to feel her cheeks burning. George smiled and stroked it. “You’re beautiful.” He said. “And you’re such a sweetheart too.”

Rachel giggled and put her hand over his. “Oh you…”

This time, Rachel leaned in for a kiss, George wrapping his arms around her waist rubbing the small of her back, making Rachel let out a small moan in his mouth. Her arms wrapped around his neck, to keep his warm, whiskey flavored mouth right on hers.

————————————————————

George checked a men’s restroom and upon seeing it was empty, pulled Rachel in as she giggled. After a while of flirting and making out in the bar, George asked her if she would want to sleep with him or just go to her room for the night. He didn’t seem to care if she would say no and just go to sleep, but once he realized her son would be in that room with them, he said almost immediately that it was fine and to just forget his question.

Rachel however, hasn’t gotten any dick in years other than her dildos, and she wasn’t gonna let this hunk slip away because Alex was sleeping. George pulled her into an empty bathroom stall, locked the door behind them, and kissed her, Rachel eagerly kissing him back, dropping her purse as he lightly pressed her back against the wall. Now that they were standing, Rachel could tell the utter size difference between them, he was probably over a foot taller when she was barefoot. That just turned her on even more.

“Mmm… I wish I could fuck you in a bed.” George muttered against her lips. “You deserve to be treated like that, you know.”

“Perhaps another time.” Rachel said as George’s hands went to squeeze at her large tits, thank God she didn’t wear a bra tonight. “Oh…”

George kissed down her neck, his hands on her little skirt, about to pull it off. “Can I eat you out?”

“I-I’m wearing a bodysuit, but it has a hole.”

“A hole…” George went on his knees and pulled her skirt down to the ground, inspecting the hole as Rachel bit her lip.

“It just got there, I don’t do this often-”

“It’s fine, dear. Can I tear the hole open more?”

Rachel nodded rather quickly. “Be careful with it.”

George went to the hole, it was over her pussy and slowly ripped it, making Rachel feel so exposed and so turned on.

Once Rachel could tell the hole was ripped well enough for her entire vulva and clit to be exposed, she immediately felt George’s mouth latching onto it, licking her clit and wet folds with his warm, flattened tongue. Rachel gasped out, moving her hips to just grind her pussy over his face, which he eagerly accepted.

“Oh God…” Rachel breathed out, moving her hands to grab onto George’s head as he moaned, making vibrations over her little cunt.

Rachel felt her insides coiling up, panting as George continued to use his magic mouth on her, rotating from sucking on her clit to just swirling circles around it.

“Be careful dear…” George whispered after moving his face slightly off of her pussy, so she felt his warm breath right against her clit. “I don’t want you to be caught with me like this.” He then began to suck hard on her clit, looking right at her with half lidded eyes.

“Oh~!” Rachel covered her mouth and tried to stifle her moans as she felt her orgasm approaching her, and fast. As her breathing became more heavy she continued to feel her body coiling itself up before releasing, moaning quietly in her hand as her thighs and knees shook, George had a tight grip on her hips thank God.

George moved himself back up, kissing her lips and she eagerly kissed him back, pressing her hips against his, feeling his bulge against her thigh and oh dear that is big.

“Fuck...”

George chuckled and kissed her cheek. “What do you wanna do with me?” He asked her, going down to kiss her neck.

“I want you to fuck me.” She said immediately. “I mean, if that’s okay with you.”

“That’s absolutely fine with me.” George muttered, unbuckling and pulling down his dress pants and underwear to his knees, revealing his hard and throbbing cock, the top leaking with precum. Rachel couldn’t help but let a slightly manic giggle slip out. Oh, this was going to be fun.

George chuckled with her and he moved to line up against her, Rachel hooking a leg around his waist.

“Ready honey?” He asked her, his cock pressing right against her cunt.

Rachel smirked and nodded. “Show me all you got, papi chulo.” She purred, ignoring the flash of humiliation she felt. Right now, she isn’t a good girl.

George bit his lip, but pushed his cock into her pussy, making the two of them grunt out. “Oh fuck.” He growled, making Rachel’s cunt tingle. He was so thick and long, just spreading her pussy open with his dick.

Once he was settled in as far as he could enter in this position, George began to thrust, slow and hard. In this position he was basically tickling her G-spot.

“Oh…” Rachel arched her back, listening to their shaky breaths and the squishy noise that their copulation was making.

Then, the door opened.

They both froze as they heard a couple of men enter, talking and laughing about something, George’s cock still deep inside of her pussy.

“Holy shit, it smells like pussy in here.”

Rachel covered her mouth in fear.

“Maybe someone got laid in here.”

“Who in their right mind would fuck in a bathroom?”

“A whore.” The two men laughed. “A slut or a prostitute or something, I don’t know.”

Rachel averted her eyes before briefly glancing at George, giving a murder worthy glare at the door. The men did their business, continued to joke and laugh before they left.

“What a couple of assholes.” George muttered as he gave another thrust into Rachel, making her moan out.

“Ah- George, I don’t do this, really-”

“It’s okay honey.” He assured her, kissing her cheek as he continued to thrust into her, a bit faster. “Fuck, you feel so good…”

“Umphf!” Rachel dug her nails into her thick jacket, panting lowly. She looked down to see what was going on and saw she creamed herself all over his cock. “Oh God…”

George grinned and continued his fast and hard thrusts, adjusting himself so her clit would be stimulated too by the skin above his cock.

It wasn’t a shock that neither of them lasted very long after that trick, Rachel came after a dozen thrusts and George wasn’t far behind, filling up her cunt with his warm and thick cum. Rachel was so happy George was sterile.

George pulled out of her, grabbing some toilet paper to clean up Rachel and himself, kissing her cheek as he tossed them in the toilet.

“Oh my dear…” he said against her ear, kissing her lobe. “Can I get your number? While you’re here I can take you out for a date or whatever we want…” he wanted to make this serious?

“And when I go back?”

“I’ll fly over. And I’ll fly you back here.”

Rachel chuckled, pulling her skirt back up. “Okay, you’ve won me over.” She said, kissing his lips. “Here.” She grabbed her purse and got out her phone as George got his phone from his pocket and exchanged numbers.

George pulled up his pants, buttoning them up, trying to appear presentable. They snuck out from the stall and bathroom, holding hands as they returned to the bar.

George paid for their drinks after they were finished despite Rachel’s insistence that she could do it herself.

“You can treat me next time.” He promised her, kissing her lips. “I have to go back now, it’s late and I have a very important meeting tomorrow. Maybe I can take you out on Wednesday?”

Rachel smiled. “I’d like that a lot.”

George grinned and gave her one last kiss before leaving, putting butterflies in Rachel’s stomach as she walked back up to her hotel room. Alex was still knocked out.

Rachel undressed and showered, washing the scent of sex off of her, as unfortunate as it was. But, she didn’t want Alexander to know about his forty year-old mother’s sexcapades. He didn’t deserve that. She changed into a pair of pajamas and got into her own bed, falling asleep soon after with a big smile on her face.

[andmaybegayer]

Transmissions Part 2: The Clutch

Part 1 can be found here.

I tried to write a post about the entire manual transmission and it was like a light year long. We’re starting with the basics, we’re starting with the clutch. Specifically, a manual clutch from a manual car. Manuals are of varying rarity in different parts of the world. They’re quite common here in South Africa, Europe is somewhere in the middle, the USA and a few other places are on the rare end.

Manual transmission just means you have to change the gears yourself. The actual act of changing gears is pretty simple, you move the stick into the slot marked for the gear you want, the hard part for most people is not completely destroying the inside of your transmission when you do this. The reason for this is the clutch. I’m gonna put the diagram in again so you can see how this works.

If you try to just change between gears directly, you’ll have a bad time. The gearbox in your car has an input shaft (connected to the engine) and an output shaft (connected to the wheels), and a mess of internal gears that you can use to connect the two. If you try to change from one gearing to another while the engine is still turning the input shaft, it will be very difficult to keep the teeth of all the gears in sync, and you’ll grind your gears. Very old timey cars used to just make you force the gears into each other until they meshed, which is super bad and a good way to damage your gearbox. Eventually, to solve this, we invented the clutch.

A clutch is a mechanical device for coupling a source of power to an output shaft in a controllable way. Manual cars usually use a dry friction clutch between the engine and the transmission. This is literally just two big flat circular plates, one on the engine side and one on the transmission side. They are normally touching, but you can use the clutch pedal to separate them. They’re very grippy, so when they rub together they’ll quickly start to spin at the same speed, transferring power. They can slip against each other a little bit without serious harm, so if there’s a speed difference it’ll just slip for a moment until the transmission comes up to speed.

(there are other kinds of clutch, including wet (the entire thing is in an oil bath, common in motorcycles) or non-slip (the clutch plates physically interlock). We will encounter a form of non-slip clutch inside the gearbox.)

The only weird part in here is that you have a really fast spinning part that you can just slide around. That’s what the pink spline is for, it’s just a grooved hunk of metal that engages with the moveable clutch plate as it slides. Your clutch pedal is connected to a pressure plate with some levers, and that pressure plate is able to move the moveable clutch plate. Note that this shows the clutch with the pedal pressed down: by default the plates touch, and pressing on the clutch separates them. Below are a photo of the hole in the middle of a clutch plate and the grooved clutch plate spline, so you can see how those might fit together.

If you want to change gears, you just pull the clutch plates apart by depressing the clutch pedal, and then move the gear stick to your new selection. Because the engine is decoupled from the system, you only have to worry about how fast the wheels are going, and various systems I’ll get into when we talk about the manual transmission will prevent the gears from grinding. Then you let the clutch go back to its running position. As it slides back together, the friction pads will rub as they spin past each other (called “slipping the clutch”) and gradually bring the engine into matching speed with the wheels or vice versa.

You can get this wrong! If you are driving very fast and switch into a low gear, or you rev the engine before releasing the clutch pedal, then the mismatch will be too large for slipping to smoothly accommodate and your car will jerk as the wheels suddenly change speed to meet the engine. Over time you might learn the right amount of juice to give the engine to change into a certain gear at a certain speed smoothly if you want to be fancy about it.

When you do fuck up your clutch control and cause a serious slip, you can cause damage, which will typically burn your clutch. If you’ve done this you’ll remember the smell of the friction pads burning, it is distinctive. Do this too much and you’ll wear down the friction pads and it won’t effectively transfer power. Do this far too much and you’ll probably have to replace the friction pads or you may even damage your engine.

You can also intentionally slip the clutch, allowing the two plates to spin past each other at different speeds. This conveys less than full power/speed across the clutch, which is useful sometimes. You can use this to make a car move slower than the minimum speed in slow traffic. My driving instructor taught me how to “balance the clutch” which is where you can hold your car on an incline by putting it in first and gently manipulating the clutch to hold it steady by feeding a small amount of power to the wheels. This isn’t something you should really do in daily driving but it is a very good exercise to learn delicate clutch control so that you can take off smoothly, so I think that’s why he taught me it.

In my opinion, the clutch is the trickiest part of using a manual gearbox to learn. It’s not hard to move a shifter lever around and it’s pretty easy to learn when you’re meant to shift, but clutch control involves quite a few simultaneous movements and getting it wrong can cause loss of control or stall your engine. A weird clutch is a really hard thing to work around, the car I did my driving test in had an awful clutch and when the tester was driving us to the test yard she almost stalled because of it. It’s also one of the easiest parts of your car to break by treating it poorly, since you can only burn your clutch plates so many times before you have to get them replaced, so beginner drivers who know this are quite nervous about incurring a large repair bill.

Having a mechanical understanding of what the clutch does was really valuable to me when I was learning to drive, since you can reason logically around how to use the clutch rather than blindly following rules. It helped me, at least.

[housewarningparty]

Hey! Big fan of your writing. :) For the writing prompts, could I request #3 for Chloe Price and Victoria Chase?

hi i’m so sorry it took me a month to do this! thank you for the prompt! i think this is my first chaseprice. originally this was going to be sad, but i didn’t feel like bumming anyone (including me) out tonight so instead it got, uhhh, vaguely smutty. 

3. “It’s three in the morning.”

“It’s August 17th. Grass is green. That sleeve is way more trailer trash than badass punk rocker.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, were we not just reciting a list of the obvious at each other?”

“Fuck, Victoria, just get in the car before I change my mind,” Chloe practically growls, leaning across the cab to throw the passenger side door open in invitation.

“Why would I do that?” Victoria asks, but doesn’t stop, forcing Chloe to keep creeping down the street in her truck with the door open, like some kind of stranger danger-ass creep.

“Because it’s three in the morning and you’re walking down the street alone at night by yourself, like an idiot,” Chloe barks. She’s trying to do the right thing, trying to be like… all conscientious and shit. It hardly feels worth it, when once again, Victoria Chase finds a way to make her feel like a totally useless idiot the moment she opens her mouth. “Why are you walking down the street alone at night by yourself like an idiot?”

“Why are you stalking me in your truck?” Victoria tosses back. “You know, you’re not doing much for all those awful stereotypes about predatory lesbians, Chloe. What’s next? Going to offer me some candy? What, are you a friend of my mom’s?”

“Your mom and I aren’t friends, she just eats me out when your dad’s not home,” Chloe says and the tension in her shoulders, the sharp sting of humiliation reddening the back of her neck eases when Victoria chokes out a laugh. “Now stop being a bitch and get in the fucking car. It’ll be faster. Put us both out of our misery.”

Victoria actually pauses this time, glancing around the street before eyeing Chloe’s truck with suspicion. 

“No one’s gonna see,” Chloe rolls her eyes and leans back into her seat. “Literally everyone smarter than you’s at home in bed right now. So, like, the whole town.”

With a huge sigh, Victoria hauls herself into the truck, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the whole cab. She smells like expensive perfume, peppermint schnapps and wood smoke. She kicks her towering heels off immediately, pulling her stockinged feet up onto the bench and tucking herself into the corner of the cab.

Stockings. She’s wearing stockings under that short skirt, riding up even shorter with the twist of her legs. Stockings, like some kind of sexy old-timey movie star fantasy run amok. Chloe wonders how Victoria Chase finds a way to be 18 and 81 at the same time. 

“Whose party?” Chloe asks once she drags her eyes away from Victoria’s legs, pretending she doesn’t see the smirk on Victoria’s face that means she absolutely noticed.

“The Vortex Club’s. Who else?” Victoria asks, running a hand through her hair. It’s shorter now than the last time Chloe saw her, a few months ago. It makes her look older, more mature. It leaves Chloe feeling even more like a stupid teenager, fumbling and uncouth, even though she’s technically older than Victoria.

“Yeah, stupid question,” Chloe mutters. It feels dangerous, just the two of them in Chloe’s truck like this. “Not like you hang out with anyone else.”

“It’s called having standards,” Victoria sniffs. “Maybe if you tried it sometime you wouldn’t be nearly twenty and still getting busted by the cops for smoking pot and blowing up GI Joes with firecrackers behind the Circle K.”

“You heard about that?” Chloe laughs. It’s a little embarrassing, and David had given her absolute hell over it once word got back to him from his little buddies in blue, but Christ, it had been funny. 

“About how somehow you’re an adult who has the life of a Toy Story villain and you’re, like, fine with it? Yeah, Chloe. I heard about it.”

“And you think my life would be, what, different? Better? If I just wanted it to be? If I had your standards?” Chloe asks, pulling into the darkest corner of the Blackwell student lot and killing the engine. The cab is dark but for the light streaming in through the back window from streetlamp a few rows over. The night is silent without the rattle of the truck’s old engine. Chloe slithers across the seat like she’s been wanting to do since Victoria got into the truck. Closer, she can read the expression Victoria’s face a bit better – a little expectant, a little disbelieving, like she always seems to be when they’re together like this.

Like she’s halfway between scared and excited and she likes it best right there, between the two.

“I think our lives are what we make them,” Victoria says, voice even and calm, despite the quickening of her breath. Her makeup’s gently faded from the night, except for the lipstick Chloe saw her touching up on the street before she pulled up alongside her. It’s bright red, applied just a little too thick, Victoria a little too drunk to make it perfect. “I think if you want to be successful and you work hard for it, it will happen.”

Chloe wants to lean in and mess it up. She wants to taste it herself, scrape it off Victoria’s bottom lip with her teeth, smear it messily down her chin, her cheek. She wants that lipstick staining the collar of her shirt tomorrow when she wakes up.

But she waits.

“So people who don’t succeed, it’s just their fault for not wanting it enough, huh? For not working hard enough,” Chloe says and it makes her mad, kind of. But it doesn’t make her want Victoria less. Victoria says nothing, just keeps watching Chloe from across the bench, leg still tucked up under her. “Pretty rich girl like you, you would think that. Mommy and Daddy sending you to a fancy private art school. You would think that.”

“I worked hard to be here,” Victoria says.

“Yeah,” Chloe nods. “You and your standards.”

She leans forward, one hand behind Victoria’s head flat on the glass of the window, the other grasping the inside of a thigh, just under her skirt, just over where the stockings end. She applies the gentlest pressure, feels Victoria turn for her, legs falling open for her, hears the breath catch in Victoria’s throat.

Chloe knows an invitation when she sees one. She slides her hand higher.

You wouldn’t know how she was being touched from that perfectly cool look on Victoria’s face. Smug, almost bored. Chloe kind of admires her for it, even though she wants nothing more than to ruin that poise. It’s the challenge, the vaguely adversarial nature of the sex that keeps these encounters, brief and few that though they’ve been, interesting. 

It doesn’t take long, really. Chloe’s good enough at this by now and Victoria’s drunk enough to not care that she’s being obvious. Within minutes she’s writhing against the door, shaking and swollen, dripping down Chloe’s wrist and begging to come.

So, of course Chloe pulls away.

Victoria keens, scrabbling desperately at Chloe’s retreating arm, panting and lipstick-smudged and nearly delirious. “Fuck. Fuck. Why’d you stop?”

“Well, I figured you wouldn’t want any handouts, right?” Chloe drawls, and reaches over her shoulder for a fistful of her tanktop. She yanks the shirt up and over her head, liking the sound her necklace makes when it falls against her bare skin. And yeah, technically, this is a tremendously bad idea because they’re in the Blackwell parking lot and there’s security wandering around out there somewhere but, well. Fuck it. Life’s a risk.

“Are you serious right now?” Victoria glares, looking very regal and pissed off for a girl with her skirt hiked up over her hips. All the incandescent rage in the world couldn’t disguise the way her eyes keep drifting down to Chloe’s exposed breasts, though, the way she has to fight to meet Chloe’s eyes when she speaks.

“Well, it wouldn’t have been very fair of me not to give you a chance to earn it,” Chloe shrugs. “But, y’know, most people don’t know this about me but I’ve actually got a pretty fuckin generous spirit and shit. So, like, if you were to ask me nicely, I’m sure I could…”

“Oh fuck this,” Victoria snarls and for a moment Chloe thinks she must have finally pushed too far, that Victoria’s going to fumble her way out of the cab and stalk back to her room.

But instead she launches herself across the cab, shoving Chloe up against the other door so hard and clumsy and fast her elbow bounces hard enough off the steering wheel to make her whole arm go numb. But before she has a chance to complain about that Victoria’s in her lap, grinding against Chloe’s bare stomach while her fingers tug insistently at the metal bars through Chloe’s nipples.

She’s rough and pissed off and neither of them is going to last like this but, well. Victoria’s kind of a perfectionist, control-freak weirdo, right? Chances are she’ll want a few more rounds, to make it perfect.

Chloe’s never been one to back down from a challenge.

dialogue prompts