are placed to be counterparts, but not with the Mario Bros exactly I feel. They have some of that but I think their main counterparts here are, Bowser and Bowser Jr.
The family that reads the stories and the one that makes them real
The one whose adventure in this film begins searching for the other
The one who was separated from the other... by means beyond their control.
So yeah, my theory is basically that whatever separated Peach from Rosalina, is the same thing that separated Bowser Jr from Bowser. Because in the story we're giving two different conflicting explanations, that Bowser abandoned Jr. or that Jr should've been in school by the time the game takea place. But chronologically the first and last scene we have of Bowser and Jr together before their reunion in Honeyhive, is Bowser reading Jr a make believe story of them conquering the world seemingly very happy over being a father.
So I that the purple evil force that could mess with time so Jr, Peaches and Rosalinas ages after facing them wouldn't be that confusing would be. The Shroobs, the fact they have their own Princesses probably playing a role as well
to be without you is torturous (my yearning keeps burning inside me) (4.8k) by DaddyAlphaLouisBabyOmegaHarry // bottomhaztoplou / @paranormalbabydoll
Written for @wankersday Wankfest 2025!
Now that their cycles have aligned, Harry and Louis can finally marry. However, a few more traditions must be acknowledged before the wedding, no matter how painful it may be for the couple in question.
Part 3 of the salt and sugar series
Read it here on AO3!
(Collage info: Collage made by me on Canva using pictures from Pexels, Unsplash and Google. Also, yes, I did use the exact same template and some of the same pictures from the first two fics. Sue me.)
this took so long and it's not even a long chapter
what comes to our shores
Chapter 3
"What's on your mind, my king?" Odysseus said softly.
"You have been... different," Poseidon admitted, the blue ends of his fingers still playing with his hair as he admired the silver strands. He thought he saw less in his hair than last time, or perhaps that was because he looked at his bangs.
Poseidon wondered if it was the ichor and ambrosia that his body had once rested in almost a year ago, somehow affecting his mortality in some way. He did look younger, though he still looked like he had aged; there was something about how he carried himself and how his face looked less tired. Less wrinkles.
"Different how?" His husband responded as he leaned into his touch.
That snail eating competition in The Lion King 3.5x9¾: Birth by Sleep was rigged and hacked. Simba, a lion, won because he ate one more than the knee-high desert ferret, how is that fair?
Warnings: non-consent sex and rape, anger, humiliation, control.
This is dark! (biker) Thor x chubby!reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Series Synopsis: You’re a city girl stuck in a small town, but Birch isn’t as sleepy as it seems.
Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown and When the Weight Comes Down
Note: This is likely the second to last chapter in this series! I’m excited to have another Birch series finished in the near future! And then I can work on Loki’s installment because you all are so dang convincing.
Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)
I really hope you enjoy. 💋
<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!
MASTERLIST
Chapter 6: I can cry, beg and whine
Thor was insatiable. That was the only word you could think to describe him but it didn’t feel strong enough. His hunger, his persistence, his complete control over you was indescribable. He held your apartment, your job, your very existence in his grip.
You woke up to him beside you in your double bed, too small for both of you but it only gave him a reason to be on top of you. You went to work late more days than not that week. And even when you didn’t go home to find him on your couch, he wasn’t long behind.
There was no hiding from him in Birch and there was no way out. It was a truth you denied for too long because you weren’t from there. But it wasn’t about the town, it wasn’t the town that trapped you. It was the people, it was the attitude. It was those bikers.
Friday came and he was there waiting but he wasn’t sprawled out on your sofa as usual. He wore his colours, ready to go somewhere.
He combed his fingers through the tails of his blond hair as you unzipped your jacket and set your bag on the shoe rack. He checked himself in the mirror that hung along the entryway and planted his hand on the wall as he leaned over you.
“Put on something nice,” he purred as he grabbed your chin and tilted your face towards him, “if it wasn’t so cold, I’d say something slutty.”
You didn’t have a chance to grimace before he kissed you. You swallowed your revulsion and waited for him to let you go. As you knelt to remove your boots, he tickled along the back of your head.
“Mmm, I’m almost tempted to let you stay down there,” he taunted, “but we’re already late.”
“Late for what?” you stood and brushed past him. He followed closely and groped your ass. You were almost used to his incessant touching.
“I got business tonight,” he said.
“Your business,” you insisted as you entered the bedroom. You made no move to change and sat on the bed as you rubbed your eyes, “I have no interest in whatever it is you deal in and I’m dead tired.”
“I know I’ve been… hard on you,” he smirked as there was no true remorse in his tone, “but how am I supposed to help myself?”
You looked at him sharply and snarled. “I really don’t feel like going to the bar--”
“We’re not going down there,” he interrupted, “but the girls are expecting you.”
He went to the closest and slid open the door. You shook your head at the wall and didn’t move. You knew there was no arguing with him. It made your blood boil. You hated that feeling of helplessness. You hated his kind of men and how they used women like things, painting their desires as your own.
“This is nice,” he tossed a forgotten pair of leggings with leather strips along the side on the bed and a silver top with trumpet sleeves slit along the inside, “bet your ass looks wonderful in those.”
“Can’t I have one night--”
“It’s business. The women have their time and we have ours. Get up.” He said sternly, “though I don’t mind helping you into these.”
He lifted the leggings and stretched the high elastic waist and bit his lip. You stood and snatched them from him. He did not leave, didn’t even back away as you turned and dropped them back on the bed. You stripped off your wool pants and the striped blouse.
You wiggled into the leggings, embarrassed at how your ass jiggled and he purred in response. The top was tight across your tits and pushed them up dangerously against the neckline. You never wore it because that very reason; too much attention where you didn’t need it.
“See,” he snapped his knuckles against your ass, “sexy as hell.”
“You gonna tell me where we’re going?” you asked as you crossed your arms.
“Just a little get together,” he framed your face with his large hands, “with your Birch boys.”
He said nothing else as he latched onto your arm and turned to drag you behind him. You barely lifted your feet in your reluctance but you sensed his impatience growing. You contented yourself that in the least he would be distracted by other people long enough to leave you alone for just a few minutes.
💀
The motorcycle ripped through the early evening air and you shivered against his back. The air was still bitter but the roads were cleared of snow enough to maneuver the steel beast. He drove out of town and along the country roads, those were more treacherous than the main row.
You pulled up to the farmhouse, the old lot recently renewed as the house shone from within. Thor slowed and killed the engine. He flipped out the kickstand and nudged you. You climbed off and he followed your lead. He shoved the keys in his pocket and unstrapped his helmet as he let out a ‘brrr’.
“Come on,” he nodded to the porch steps as you undid your own helmet.
You walked up to the house and he knocked. He took your helmet from you as you waited for an answer. You heard voices and the approach of footsteps from the other side. The door opened and Steve’s girl smiled out at you and pushed open the screen door.
“Oh! You’re here!” She chimed, “I used your mother’s lemon meringue recipe. And oh,” she beamed at you, “we haven’t seen you lately.”
“Work,” you said, it wasn’t exactly a lie, “it’s nice to see you, too. I’m sorry I didn’t bring anything, I--”
“I have everything under control,” she clapped her hands, “we’re just trying to figure out the shaker. Come in.”
She backed up and Thor held the door as you passed through first. You took your boots off at the mat and she beckoned you further in. “Thor, the guys are just in the living room,” she pointed to her left, “we’re in the kitchen,” she motioned behind her, “working on dinner.”
“Mmm,” you grumbled and nodded. Before you could step forward, Thor caught you and drew you back to him. He kissed you and you bore it in simmering humiliation.
“Have fun,” he squeezed your ass and let you go as he turned to find the other men.
You huffed and turned your attention to Steve’s girl as she waited awkwardly. She rubbed her hands together as she walked with your down the hallway. “Steve’s like that, you know? Touchy feely. I get so… embarrassed…” her voice trailed off, “sorry, I shouldn’t--”
“I always wondered about you and him. You’re an odd pair,” you said.
“Well, it’s not anything I expected but, um… well, this is our house--” she gestured around her as she led you into the kitchen, “you know, he bought it for me.”
“Hey, don’t change the subject,” you said a bit too tersely, “you said Steve embarrasses you but you--”
“And Thor does it to you so… you know that’s how they are,” she squeaked.
“All of them,” Bucky’s girl said and you only noticed her as she shook the metal shaker, “it’s why we need alcohol.”
You exhaled and came up to the counter as Steve’s girl went to the stove and lifted the lid on the skillet to stir the contents, “please, don’t put a lot of gin in mine. I don’t do well with alcohol.”
You leaned on the marble as you watched the other woman pour the bright pink liquid into a finely shaped glass on a stem, “looks better than last time.” She turned and set it beside the stove for the hostess.
“So…” you frowned as you thought and she began to measure gin and all the other ingredients before her, “why are you with them--”
“Why are you with Thor?” she interrupted, “we saw how much you hate him at the bar. We felt the same but don’t act stupiid like you don’t know what’s going on. These men are given everything they want and when they aren’t they take it anyway.”
“He takes care of my ma, though--” Steve’s girl intoned.
“And that makes it all hunky dorey,” the other sneered, “she sucks at saying it out loud but she can’t stand Steve as much as we can’t stand the rest of them.”
The other woman was quiet as she replaced the lid and reached for the drink. She fidgeted and looked down at her frilly apron. She was dressed like some housewife out of the suburban fifities, although her dress was still uncomfortably short.
“What good does it do to say it?” she mumbled.
Bucky’s girl mixed another cocktail and poured it pristinely before she slid it over to you, “I’m getting the hang of this but I’m happy the men are sticking to beer. My arm’s getting tired.”
You took the glass and tasted the drink. You hummed as it surprised you. “Aren’t you a bartender?”
“Server. I open beers and believe it or not but they don’t serve margaritas down at The Asp.”
You shrugged and kept drinking as she made her own drink and turned to rest her elbow on the counter lazily.
“I should’ve warned you. Not that it would’ve helped but I could’ve,” she said.
“No, it doesn’t matter. It’s like you said. They take whatever they want. Nothing we can do, is there?”
You were silent as you all sipped. The gin warmed your chest and you let it sink into your veins. Your commiseration was grim but comforting. To think that you weren’t entirely alone was as heartening as it was saddening.
💀
The alcohol heightened your irritation as dinner ended. You were left to help clear the table in your matronly duties with the other women. You were insulted at the outdated binary of the arrangements and it felt less like a get together and more of a job.
The men, Steve, Bucky, Thor, and Loki returned to the living room and their voices threaded the air as the dishes clinked in your grasp. The blonde biker’s brother was unexpected but he seemed just unhappy to be there as you. There were a few minutes during the meal where you sympathised with him as he rolled his eyes and failed to hide any ounce of his spite for Thor.
When you finished up, Steve’s girl took several more beers to the men before she returned to grab her glass of water. You took the vodka cooler, your third drink of the night, and went along with them to the living room.
You hung back as Steve’s girl neared him and was drawn down beside him impatiently, his arm around her shoulders as he almost spilled her water. Bucky’s girl sat beside him and tolerated his arm around her waist though he was less clingy than his accomplice. Loki stood by the window and stared out into the dull snow as Thor perched in the cozy armchair.
You went to sit beside Steve’s girl but you were stopped by a tut.
“I’ve got a seat for you, kitten,” Thor slurred. The beer was thick in his voice, as potent as the liquor in your stomach. You turned to him as he rubbed his thigh.
“I’m fine, here,” you insisted and his smile fell.
“You know I wasn’t asking, kitty,” he warned, “come on and be a good girl. We’re guests. Let’s not make a scene.”
You stood in front of the couch and glared at him. You sighed softly and pushed your shoulders back. You marched over to him and turned your bottle to splash it over his front. You acted surprised at your feigned clumsiness and took a step back.
“Oops,” you uttered coyly, “how careless--”
He was up on his feet in a moment as he slammed his own bottle down on the small table beside the chair. He knocked yours from your hand entirely and the air stilled with tension. His blue eyes flared as he grabbed your wrist.
“Better help me get cleaned up,” he growled and looked over your shoulder, “excuse us.”
You resisted him for a moment but he yanked and nearly took you off your feet. He spun and kept hold of you as he forced you after him and stormed from the room. You stumbled out into the hall behind him and he flung you ahead of him.
He gripped the back of your neck and ripped open a door to his right. He shoved you inside and you hit the sink as the clasp clicked loudly. He crowded you in the half bath as you braced yourself against the porcelain, the scent of beer tingling in your nostrils. You stared at his dark shirt, stained with his drink.
“I thought I trained you better, kitten,” he snarled, “just when I thought you were starting to purr.”
“Fuck you,” you said as the alcohol thinned the filter between your thoughts and your words.
“Oh, I can make that happen,” he hissed as he lifted the hem of his shirt and tore it off. He hung it over the towel bar and felt along his damp torso, “I can’t let you bite and not give you a good swat for it.”
“Don’t be an ass. It’s a drink. You can’t just talk to me like that. I’m not some animal--”
“Shhh,” he hushed as he covered your mouth and pushed you against the sink, “I’m not listening. That’s not how this works…” he leaned in and lowered his voice, “you realise how bad this is? You challenged me in front of men; I won’t have it. We’re past niceties, kitten.”
His hands slipped over your hips and to your ass. He scooped you up and rested you atop the porcelain as he crushed his body against yours. He grabbed your chin and smothered your lips with his as he rolled his pelvis against you.
His hand fell and crawled along your throat. You turned your head away and gasped as his fingers hooked under the elastic of your leggings.
“What are you--”
“Don’t play dumb,” he nipped at your throat, “we’ve done this enough.”
“Not here,” you pushed on his shoulders, “you can’t--”
“I can do--” his other hand fell to your waist and he gripped the elastic, “whatever--” his hands snaked around you as his fingers slid between the fabric and your skin, “I want.”
He ripped your leggings down with your panties and forced them down your legs. He pulled until your legs wet bent in front of you and you were curled awkwardly atop the sink as you struggled with him.
“Stop-- I’ll be good--”
“Too late,” he shoved his hand between your legs and felt around roughly.
The fabric of your leggings trapped your thighs and kept you bent against him painfully as he hunched over you. He pulled his hand away to fumble with his fly and shifted as he pushed down his zipper. He set his feet firmly and hooked his other arm around you as he pressed his tip along your folds.
He guided himself blindly over your cunt, his beer-laced breath choked you as your head spun. He rested his forehead against yours as your head was propped up against the mirror. He lined himself up with your opening and thrust bluntly inside of you. You exclaimed in surprise as the intrusion blazed through you.
You were drunk enough that it felt good but you were aware enough of what was happening. You slapped him and his head snapped to the side. He pulled back and slammed into you even deeper. He brought his lips to yours again and kissed you sloppily as he rocked against you. The counter groaned under both of your weight as you tried to hold in your voice.
He sped up as your breath quickened in time with his. You closed your eyes as he once more descended to your through and kissed and nipped at your skin. His hips tilted into you steadily as you wriggled against him.
He pushed his hand between your bodies and pressed two fingers to your clit. He rubbed as he kept his pace and you murmured as your drunken body responded. You dug your nails into his shoulders and your feet arched as the ripple began to flow over you. Your peak rose fast and you cried out without restraint as it took you off guard.
His own grunts added the furor and he moved faster atop you. His knee hit the front of the counter and he sunk to his limit as he quaked. He stopped and held himself as deep as he could, sliding back slowly only to ease back in as he came in long strokes.
He stopped and rested his head in the crook of your neck, his blond hair falling forward as he caught his breath. You shuddered and nudged his shoulders until he stood. He slipped out of you and sent a chill up your spine. Your body fell limp and you dropped from the counter onto shaky legs.
You felt his cum trickle down your thigh as he reached for the toilet paper and wiped himself clean. Your vision hazed as you reached for some as well and kept the mess from dripping into your panties. He cleared his throat and turned to examine his wet tee shirt. You pulled up your leggings and sniffed.
It was all so sudden it was as if nothing had happened at all. You held yourself up against the wall and a knock came from the door. He opened it without pretense and greeted Steve’s girl as she peered inside nervously and glanced at you briefly.
She held a folded shirt in her hands as she blinked meekly. She knew, they all knew. You had no doubt that they’d heard it all.
“Um, hopefully this fits,” she said as she handed the tee shirt to him, “and, we… we’re just about to have dessert.”
“Great. I’ve got quite the appetite,” he replied, “we’ll be out soon.”
He closed the door and turned back to look at himself in the mirror. He brushed past you so you were flush to the wall as he pulled on the shirt. It was too tight around his thick arms and his broad chest. He tidied his hair and rolled his shoulders as he admired his reflection.
“I think now you’ll be good, kitten,” he winked and reached to touch your cheek cloyingly, “best not to get my hackles up again.”
