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viceroywrites · 3 days

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deja vu - part four

planning out your road trip through the pacific northwest, you find yourself inexplicably drawn to the town of gravity falls.

little did you know that this town held more memories than you could have possibly imagined.

too bad you didn't remember any of them.

stan x fem!reader / ford x fem!reader

choose your own adventure / contains fluff and angst (w/ happy ending)

part three | part five (stan route) | part five (ford route)

Ford woke up the next morning with a slight pep in his step. Usually, he spent most evenings tossing and turning before finally being able to rest or waking up in the middle of the night unable to fall back asleep. However, last evening, he was able to sleep soundly.

Perhaps it was the prospect of getting to take you anomaly hunting, getting to reshow you all his findings and re-experience the wonder in your eyes as you took it all in.

Perhaps it was the fact that he got to say good night to you after all these years, a tired smile across your face that looked truly radiant to him.

Perhaps it was the polaroid that he clutched closed to his chest that evening, recounting the scent of your perfume that you wore that night as he buried himself into your neck, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol.

Whatever the reason, he felt well rested and raring to start the day. The scent of strongly brewed coffee wafted in the air as he made his way to the kitchen. He assumed Stanley must have gotten up before him and was excited to share how yesterday went with his brother.

As he got closer, he could hear his brother’s gravely voice speaking to someone. Ford was surprised by this considering the kids usually were asleep still, opting to sleep in during their summer break.

Maybe it was Soos or maybe his brother is just rambling to himself, Ford thinks as he finally rounds the corner.

The sight before him catches him off guard.

You and Stan sat close together at the kitchen table, shoulder to shoulder, two mugs filled with coffee already by your sides. Spread across the table was what looked like a map to a campground with red circles dotted across, the red marker laying at the edge of the table. You were dressed in pajamas but Ford immediately recognized Stan’s brown leather jacket on your shoulders that envelops your frame.

“You’re telling me I’ve lived here for 30-something years and there was gold right there!” Stan exclaims, his finger pressed against a spot on the map that you had marked with a star.

You chuckle against your mug as you take a sip of your coffee, “You could have been swimming in gold all these years. We’ll have to see if there’s any left at that lake in particular though.”

“Oh, there better be! I got 30 years of gold to catch up on!” Stan says, rubbing his hands together in excitement.

Ford clears his throat, making his presence known as he stands with his hands behind his back.

You both look up to see Ford, and you immediately get up, excited to share your plans with him. “Morning, Ford, come join us. You’ll never guess what me and Stan planned for today!” You say, heading over to the coffee pot and pouring some into a mug, “But first, coffee, right?”

“That would be lovely, Y/N. Thank you.” Ford replies, pulling up a chair to your left. His tense expression softens at the sight of you so energized with a wide albeit tired smile across your face. You walk over to him with the mug, handing it off, your fingertips brushing against his before you pull away once it’s in his grasp.

“You take your coffee black, right? I think that’s what I remember but let me know if I got that completely wrong.” You admit with a sheepish grin to which Ford shakes his head. “No, you’re correct.”

“So I was a bit bummed out that my camping gear was going to go to waste last night so Stan suggested we all go on a quick camping trip.” You begin explaining, taking a seat, “There’s a campground about thirty minutes out that has a hiking trail, a lake, and it’s a great place for stargazing at night.” You push the map in front of Ford, pointing out each of the details. “Most importantly, there’s gold.” Stan interjects, pointing at the star.

Ford rolls his eyes at his brother’s antics, still perplexed on why his jacket was on your shoulders. ”You know you have to pan for the gold, Stanley, it isn’t just laying there for you to take.” He says tersely, causing Stan to blink at the sudden edge in his brother’s voice.

“Yeah, I know, Poindexter. I know I’m not the brains of the two of us but I wasn’t born yesterday.” Stan says, wondering what had his brother so bothered. His eyes look over at you and immediately it hits him in the face.

Oh shit.

The jacket.

“So… what do you think? ” You ask, leaning forward expectantly. As Ford looks into your eyes, he sees the joy in them that he can’t bear to take away from you.

Maybe anomaly hunting and restoring your memories could wait a day.

“I think it’s an excellent plan, I’d love to go, I’m assuming the kids are coming along,” Ford says, looking over at Stan with a raised eyebrow. “Of course, they’re coming! They’ve been itching to get out of the Shack more often, especially Dipper since Mabel’s been hanging out with her friends this whole week.” Stan scoffs, getting up to pour himself more coffee.

“Yay!” You grin, enveloping Ford into a quick hug out of pure excitement before shrugging off the jacket as you get up from your chair, “I’m just going to double check we have all the camping gear we need, might need to stop by the store for smores and food obviously.” You exit the kitchen, grabbing your keys from the counter to take an inventory of the gear.

Ford’s cheeks are bright red at the sudden sign of affection to which Stan snickers at, “Your cheeks are matching your sweater, Ford.”

“Haha, very funny, Stanley. You’re not off the hook.” Ford says, attempting to calm the flush of his cheeks by pressing his normally cold hands against them, “Mind explaining to me why she was wearing your jacket?”

Stan’s posture straightens in response and he groans, “Jeez, I didn’t peg you to be the jealous type. Look, last night, she was up on the rooftop in just her pajamas. Said she had a bad dream. I felt bad because she was shivering, ma raised us to treat a lady with respect so I offered her my jacket. If anything, you should thank me - otherwise she would have gotten hypothermia.”

“That’s statistically impossible, Stanley, given the weather conditions in the summer.” Ford attempts to explain but drops it as he sees his brother’s “really?” look. Ford continues on with his question, “But what’s this about a bad dream? Did she give you any details? You know we discovered that her dreams may actually be her memories but with bits and pieces missing.”

“Nah, she didn’t say anything else.” Stan shrugged, “Didn’t wanna pry, though it was bad enough that she had to go up on the roof to get some fresh air.”

“I guess I’ll see if she’d be open to talking about it today,” Ford sighs, wondering if you’re starting to get your memories back of when Ford was deep into his research… and his involvement with Bill. He had to admit there was a selfish wish that he hoped those memories would not start resurfacing until you two had gotten closer.

Stan observes his twin’s brows furrow and sighs, nudging Ford on the side. “Hey, I know that look. You’re overthinking this… let’s just enjoy today alright? She’s here for the next week or so, the least you could do is make new memories with her.” This snaps Ford out of his ruminations and he sighs, his shoulders relaxing, “You’re right.”

“And hey, at least if you make new memories-” Stan cuts himself off, ready to counter Ford’s argument to defend his stance before grinning, “Wait, what did you say? Did you actually say I was right?”

“Yes, you’re right, Stan.” Ford groans, crossing his arms as he knows his brother is relishing in this moment.

“Give me one second.” Stan says, stepping out of the kitchen. Ford wonders where his brother is going before Stan comes back with an object in his hand, “Okay, say that one more time.”

“Stanley, I’m not going to say it again so you can record it on that voice recorder and play it back over and over again.”

“Aw, come on!”

After the kids wake up, you share the plans with them, beaming as they seem elated to get out of the house and go on an adventure with their Grunkles and you.

“It’s like the road trip we took last summer except we aren’t stopping at all those tourist attractions that Grunkle Stan tried to get revenge on.” Mabel comments in between bites of pancakes.

“Yeah, and he doesn’t get captured and almost eaten by that spider lady he was hitting on.” Dipper interjects.

You and Ford look at Stan with raised eyebrows.

“What? There's stiff competition in the tourist trap industry, so I had to show 'em who’s top dog! Also, she was a very pretty spider lady.” Stan defended himself.

Wrapping up breakfast, you all disperse to get ready - the kids head upstairs to pack their duffel bags for the overnight trip, and Stan heads outside to change out your car battery before swinging by the store to grab the remaining supplies. As you’re packing up your backpack, you hear a knock at the door and turn your head to see Ford, his own bag slung over his shoulder.

It was the first time you were seeing him in different attire since you arrived two days ago, wearing a yellow button-up with the sleeves rolled up, a white undershirt and a pair of dark jeans, forgoing his usual red turtleneck and black pants.

“Changing up the look for today?” You comment on the difference, your eyes roaming up and down to assess the outfit. You had to admit, he looked really handsome... not that he didn't usually.

“Well, it probably would be a bit impractical to wear a turtleneck on a hike considering we’re not hiking in the mountains.” Ford explained, tugging at his collar.

In reality, Mabel had stormed into his room whilst he was packing, insisting he had to wear something to impress you and this was their compromise.

“That’s fair, I’m sure you’d be sweating up a storm after the first mile.” You chuckle before shooting him a compliment with a sincere smile, “You look really nice, Ford.”

Ford stammers in response, his cheeks red, “Uh… why thank you.. You do too, though you always look nice..” He fumbles over his words. At 60 years of age, here he is, bumbling like a fool, feeling like a middle schooler trying to ask out his crush.

Your laughter sounds sweet to his ears as you can’t help but giggle at his awkward charm. “Thank you, Ford, that’s sweet of you. You ready to head out?” You swiftly change the topic in order to save him from further embarrassment.

“Y-Yes! Let’s get going, I think the kids are ready.” Ford says, following you out.

The five of you end up piling into your car, able to stuff all your bags into the trunk with the camping gear in the cargo box on your roof rack. The seating situation ended up being a bit of an issue, Mabel and Dipper piling into the back automatically but both Stan and Ford reach for the passenger door.

“I gotta sit in the front to navigate, Ford.” Stan explained, holding up the map to the campsite in his hand.

Unable to argue with that logic, Ford begrudgingly gets in the back with Mabel and Dipper.

The next half an hour of the drive along the Redwood Highway is filled with Stan pointing out each of the other tourist traps, sharing stories of how they pranked the Mystery Shack, including a time where they taped Soos to the ceiling, and Mabel and Dipper teaching Ford the game Punch Buggy.

“Who invented this game? It’s pure torture!” Ford groans, his arm sore after Mabel and Dipper had socked him a few times in a row.

“Grunkle Ford, I think you just need to improve your reaction times.” Dipper chuckles.

Finally arriving at the campground, you are grateful to see that there were plenty of spots still open, opting for one with a firepit nearby the lake. The moment you parked, the kids ran out, taking in the sight of the crystal clear lake and roaming around to explore the campground.

“Let’s set up the tents before we head out for the hike to the stream. I know we’re gonna be tired after it and get lazy.” You explain to Stan and Ford who nod and follow your lead as you open up the cargo box, grabbing the tents and handing them both one to set up while you put up the hammock and canopy.

“Uhh, Y/N, are two tents going to be enough for all of us?” Stan asked as he began to hammer the spikes into the ground. You nod, “Yeah, one of them is pretty roomy so at least three people should be able to fit inside.”

Unfortunately, you had overestimated how much room was in the bigger tent as Ford and Stan tested it out themselves, only an inch of room left over.

“Well… I guess I’ll just sleep under the stars tonight, not a big deal.” You glance over at the hammock, grateful you brought it with.

“Are you sure? You’ll be eaten alive by mosquitos out here.” Ford says with concern.

“I have a mosquito net in the hammock, thankfully. I can also douse myself in bug spray before I sleep for extra precaution.” You explain, lifting the hammock to reveal a net that you could zip up to shield you from the bugs.

“It’s your tent, Y/N. I’ll just sleep in the hammock, you and Ford can take the tent.” Stan offers, “Besides, I snore… loud. I don’t think anyone wants to be stuck in a tent with me.”

You mull over the offer before smiling graciously, “Alright, thanks for offering, Stan. I’m gonna go find the kids and we’ll head out for the hike.” You walk away. Once your back is faced away from the twins, Stan grins mischievously at his brother, “You know it might get awfully cold at night.. Make sure to keep ‘em warm.” Ford’s face turns red, swiftly elbowing his brother in the ribs.

“Ow! Why’d you have to elbow my good rib?!”

After finding Dipper and Mabel, you all begin your hike to the stream where Stan wanted to pan for gold. The massive trees that towered above you provided much needed shade as you followed the trail. Along the way, Ford would make commentary on the various flora, listing off facts off the top of his head despite studying them years ago.

“How does he know all of this? I work in the Parks and I don’t even know this much.” You mutter out loud in awe. Stan chuckles, “Ford’s practically a walking encyclopedia. I’m sure he talked your ear off back in the day..” You recall the memory of your first time meeting Ford that had finally returned yesterday, sitting in front of him as he easily explained the theory surrounding seismic refractions with ease, like he had spent the last 20 years of his life studying it.

“Yeah… he kinda did. But I don’t think I minded, I get the sense that he gets passionate about the things he loves. There’s like a spark in his eyes when he gets to just share his knowledge to someone who’s willing to listen.” You admit with a smile. “Yeah, I never really understood what he was talking about half the time… but I get what you mean.” Stan comments fondly.

“Y/N, look at this cool rock I found! It’s kinda funny looking.” Mabel says, running up to you with a rock with several ridges and grooves. Stan looks at the rock himself, “Looks kinda like the mole I got on my back.” to which Mabel groans at the mental image.

You laugh softly at Mabel’s reaction, taking the rock from her as she hands it off to you to examine before you recognize it, “Well, actually, this funny looking rock actually has a gemstone inside of it - if you’d wanna see?” You explain with a grin.

Mabel’s eyes light up and she nods eagerly, “Can I crack it open?” You chuckle at her enthusiasm, handing her the rock, “Of course. Luckily, I brought some of my excavating tools with me.” You rummage through your backpack before pulling out a wooden hammer for her to use.

You had a pickaxe but you had the hindsight to not give a 13-year-old a metal tool that she could easily poke her eye out with.

“Go crazy, Mabel.” You encourage her and she takes your lead, placing it down on the ground and giving it a swift wack. This catches Dipper and Ford’s attention as Ford was in the middle of explaining to Dipper the various types of mushrooms that gnomes use for homes.

The rock split open, revealing the shiny interior. You reach down to pick it up, showing Mabel the different layers of quartz. “This gemstone is actually called a thunderegg. Funny name for a funny looking rock, I guess, but all of them have different patterns depending on how long they’ve been here.” You explain, handing it back to Mabel, “When we get back to the Mystery Shack, I can polish it for you so it shines a little bit better.”

She puts it up to the sun, watching it sparkle as the light refracts off the quartz. “It can get shinier than this?!” Mabel exclaims excitedly to which you chuckled, “It certainly can!” She glances between the gemstone and the sunstone that hangs on your neck, “Could you show me how to get it on a necklace like you have yours? I have a bunch of string and craft stuff at the Shack we can use!”

You clear your throat, “Actually Mabel, you might want to ask your Grunkle Ford. After all, he’s the one who made this for me.” You admit with a shy smile.

“Grunkle Ford, you old softie! I didn’t know you could make something like that!” Mabel says as she turns to Ford with a teasing grin, almost squealing in delight. Ford rubs the back of his neck bashfully, “Well, I do like to dabble in artistic endeavors every now and then. Though I’ve only ever done a project like this for Y/N.” He admitted.

You find your own cheeks getting warm, grabbing the necklace and glancing down at it with a sudden fondness. You look up to see Ford staring at you in a pining manner before quickly looking away, suddenly engrossed in the mushrooms at his feet.

“Alright, you two, let’s get moving! We’re burning daylight here and I need to get to this gold as soon as possible before these greedy suckers get to it first!” Stan’s voice cuts through the moment, though his expression was more amused than annoyed.

“R-Right!” Both you and Ford stutter, picking up the pace.

You finally make it to the stream, watching in amusement as Stan immediately begins to roll up his pants the moment it comes into view.

“Alright, pan me, Y/N!” Stan says, placing his hand out. You roll your eyes playfully, reaching into your backpack to grab some pans you had snagged from a gold panning site during one of your shifts at the Parks. You handed it over to Stan before holding up the two other ones you had, “You wanna help your Grunkle get some gold?” You ask Dipper and Mabel.

“Oh, I’ll help but this’ll be my stash, Grunkle Stan!” Mabel grins, taking a pan and kicking off her socks and shoes to join Stan in the stream. Dipper quickly follows behind Mabel and you get ready to join them in the water, kicking off your sandals before pausing as Ford takes a seat on a nearby log.

“You’re not gonna join us, Ford?” You ask, rolling up your pants up to your calves. Ford shakes his head, placing his bag next to him, “I’m going to catch up on some reading, go enjoy yourself, Y/N.”

“More gold for us then!” Stan says, shaking the pan in the water. You’re distracted by Dipper and Mabel’s laughter, coming behind the two of them. You crouch down, grabbing a clump full of mud and rocks beneath a larger boulder and placing it into the pans. You demonstrate how to properly pan for gold, letting the two of them shake the dirt loose. You feel a splash against your side and look over to see Stan shaking the pan a little too aggressively.

“Whoa, pump the breaks, you might be losing out on gold shaking it like that.” You say, walking over to Stan as the twins seem to have the hang of it. You lean over, pressing up against Stan’s side as your hands cup underneath his. “Once you have most of the dirt out, you want to be a little bit more gentle with your agitation or else the gold will come out.”

Your hands guide Stan’s, shaking the pan with a bit more delicacy, letting the water wash out the remaining dirt to reveal large flecks of gold. “Now we’re talking!” Stan says excitedly, accessing the gold. He looks back up at you with a sheepish smile, “Uh.. thanks for helping me out.” You shoot him a warm smile, “No problem, didn’t want your efforts to go to waste. Besides, it looks like you got some catching up to do!” You nod your head over to Dipper’s pan which sparkles with gold.

Stan wasn’t sure whether his heart beat racing was because of his excitement over the gold or from having you up so close to him.

He tries to push the thought, not wanting to dwell on the weird feeling as he takes the challenge, throwing more clumps of mud into his pan, “Oh it is on!”

Ford watches from afar, a journal precariously propped up on his leg as he sketches out the scene before him - you with your hair tied up, clutching your stomach as you laugh at the antics of his family. He smiles fondly as the real reason he wanted to watch was to be able to have the opportunity to sketch you.

When he started the journals, they were mostly dedicated to his research though he had a fleeting thought every now and then to sketch you into a few entries as you helped him with several of his discoveries.

There was also a part of him wanting to relish in this and have his own memories to look back on, knowing how fleeting this moment was and how uncertain the road ahead of getting your memories back was.

“Grunkle Ford, look at all the gold Dipper and I got!” Mabel ran up to him, holding her pan with a decent amount of gold. Dipper follows behind her, noticing that his great uncle was sketching something in a journal. His eyes lit up in curiosity, “Did you see an anomaly out here, Grunkle Ford?”

Ford looked up from his sketch, taken aback by Dipper’s question, “No, I was just sketching some of the scenery!” Mabel’s eyes narrow and she looks over at Dipper with a skeptical look that he returns. The two of them rush to Ford’s side, Mabel’s hand slamming on the sketchbook to keep Ford from shutting it. They both look down to see the detailed drawing of you and Mabel squeals loudly, causing you and Stan to look over.

“Everything ok over there?” You ask, pulling out the bits of gold from Stan’s pan and collecting them in a pail you had brought with you. “Y-yes, everything’s fine over here!” Ford stammers. You look over at Stan who simply shrugs, “I stopped asking a long time ago.”

When you turn your attention back to Stan, Ford lets out a sigh of relief before starting back at Mabel’s wide grin and Dipper’s amused smile. “So that’s why you didn’t wanna join us in the water.” Dipper pointed out. “Grunkle Ford, you should totally show her! She would love this!!” Mabel suggests excitedly.

“Unfortunately, I don’t think that would be the best idea, Mabel.” Ford explains with a sad smile, patting Mabel’s head as she deflates in disappointment, “I fear that it might scare her away if I’m too forward with my feelings. I caused her a lot of pain before and I wouldn’t want to put her in an even more uncomfortable situation when she regains all her memories… but maybe if she gives me a second chance, I’ll show it to her.” Mabel slightly brightens up with a smile, nodding.

The twins head back into the water, depositing their gold into the pail before starting back up. Somehow, panning for gold had turned into a splashing contest after Mabel accidentally sloshed her pan too aggressively, causing it to hit Dipper in the back. Splashes were exchanged back and forth in a playful manner with Stan and you managing to get caught in the crossfire.

“Oh you two are going to get it!” Stan says in a menacing tone, using his pan to splash them back in retaliation. Laughter filled the stream, and you glance over your shoulder to see Ford completely dry with his nose in the journal. You walk up, wringing out the water from your top. “Looks like you’re doing more writing than reading.” You point out with a grin.

Ford shuts his journal immediately at the sound of your voice, placing it back into his bag swiftly, “S-Sorry, I tend to get engrossed in whatever I’m doing.” He looks up finally to see your clothes completely wet and blinks, “You’re soaking wet, Y/N.” You chuckle, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the water, “Yeah, and you’re completely dry so let’s change that.”

“Y-Y/N, wait a second, I-!” Ford’s protest is cut off the moment you tug him forward a bit too forcefully. He loses balance on his feet, causing him to fall forward… with you tumbling down with him. Your back hits the water, causing a huge splash to which Stan and the twins turn around to look at. You look up to see Ford on top of you, his arms on either side of your head with a look of concern etched across his features.

“Y/N, are you alright?” Ford frets over you, not realizing the compromising position you’re both in. Heat blooms into your cheeks at the sight, the fabric of Ford’s shirt now damp and clinging to his shoulders and chest. You begin to sit up, causing Ford to back away. “I-I’m alright, sorry for tugging you so hard.” You mutter, eyes widening as Ford cradles the back of your head, his own eyes assessing your face carefully. “Um, Ford, what are you doing?”

“Well, I have to check for bruises or lacerations. Traumatic head injuries are no joke, Y/N. Now follow my finger with your eyes.” Ford instructs, placing his index finger in front of your eyes and moving it up and down and side to side. You follow his instructions but get distracted by a flash in your peripheral vision.

Ford and you look over to see Mabel with a camera in her hand, a wide grin spread across her cheeks, “That’s definitely going in the scrapbook!”

After making your way back to the campsite, Stan got started on a fire to help everyone warm up while your wet clothes hung on the tree nearby. Thankfully, you all brought a change of clothes, slipping on a sweater over your shirt as you step out of you and Ford’s tent.

You blinked, seeing Stan sitting alone on a log next to the fire, stoking the flames with a large stick.

“Where’s Ford and the kids?” You ask, looking around as Ford and the twins were nowhere to be found. You approach the fire, letting out a sigh of satisfaction as the flame warms your hands as you extend them outward.

“Apparently what I thought was a mosquito was actually a fairy. Almost swatted it before Ford stopped me.” Stan said, swinging around the bug zapper he brought. “Ford went to go see with the kids if there were more nearby.”

“A fairy? I know Ford mentioned there were anomalies out here but I didn’t expect them to be straight out of a fantasy novel..” You said in surprise, taking a seat next to Stan and grabbing a Pitt Cola out of the cooler near his feet.

“Oh you think that’s bad? There’s tons more apparently.. My memories of all of ‘em haven’t quite come back but I found a gnome in our backyard just this past week if that tells ya anything.” Stan chuckled, taking a sip of his own drink.

“Well, I guess I’ll have to see what else is out there. Ford mentioned wanting to bring me anomaly hunting one day while I’m here.” You comment, curious if there were more threatening anomalies out there considering Ford had mentioned wanting to take you on a safer one.

“Of course Poindexter suggested anomaly hunting as a date.” Stan snickers.

“I wouldn’t call it a date, I’m sure he’ll want to bring Dipper and Mabel along like he did tonight.” You say.

“I doubt it, he’s been wanting to get one-on-one time with you any chance he gets. Thought he was ready to fight me earlier when I rode in the front with you.” Stan scoffed, tossing another piece of dry wood into the fire.

You watch as the flames grow before your eyes, the smoke pluming into the sky. Bringing your knees up to your chest as you hug them, you ask Stan about his brother, “What was Ford like… before you guys reconnected? Did he do something that caused your guys’ relationship to be rocky?”

Stan’s body stills at your question, placing his Pitt Cola down and leaning back with his hands holding him up. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s just…” You take a breath, your brows knitting together to find the right words, “Even though our first impression… I guess second impression since obviously we knew each other.. Either way, it was pretty bad. But he’s shown me that he can be kind and thoughtful. I just can’t wrap my head around how he could be capable of hurting me in the way that he describes.”

Stan stares back at you, a conflicted look in his eyes, and you stare down at the ground, embarrassment running over you, “Sorry, I shouldn’t be bringing this up.. He’s your brother for god’s sake and I’m asking you these probing questions about him behind his back.”

“No… I get why you’re asking them.” Stan finally responds, causing you to look up. His hand rests on his neck, rubbing it in thought, “From what I remember, Ford and I growing up were like two peas in a pod. Inseparable. I did something stupid when I was a teenager that pretty much sabotaged Ford’s chance into his dream school.”

“Guess some good came out of that… obviously he met you.” Stan says, staring back at you finally. “We didn’t talk... for ten years after that. Honestly, those years in between when we didn’t talk are still pretty blurry but I can tell you that when he finally reached back out, it wasn’t for the reasons I had hoped.”

“Were they selfish reasons?” You ask, trying to understand how they just recently made up if they reunited over thirty years ago.

Stan explains, “In a way. You see, Ford got in his head way too much. He still kinda does but back then, we got into a huge fight after he pretty much pushed me away again. Told me to take his research and go as far away from him as possible. It felt like he cared more about his research more than anything else. More than himself. More than me.”

“He did tell me he pushed away the people who cared about him the most in his pursuit to prove his worth. I guess we were those people, including Fiddleford.” You reflect before asking the main question on your mind, “I still don’t get what happened between you guys reuniting back then and then just making up this past summer.”

Stan pauses before sighing as he pinches the bridge of the nose, “I was hoping Poindexter was going to be the one to explain all this portal nonsense to you but I guess I’ll try my best.”

Stan proceeds to explain in the most condensed and simplistic way he can the background behind Ford’s research, building the portal and how his brother got sucked into the portal after Stan pushed him into it by accident during their fight and was stuck in another dimension until last summer.

You stare back at Stan like he has two heads, wondering if Ford bribed him with a couple bucks to prank you with this elaborate tale straight out of a sci-fi movie.

“Yeah, that’s the exact same look I had on my face when Ford told me about the portal.” Stan chuckles, watching as you digest the information.

“So Ford’s been literally trapped in another dimension for the past 30 years?” You finally speak, your brain moving on from denial to confusion.

“Yup. You ever notice he speaks kinda prim and proper all the time, it’s by choice but also because he’s thirty years behind on any slang or pop culture reference.” Stan shares before staring at you intensely, “Don’t get me started about his reaction when Dipper told him Pluto wasn’t a planet anymore.”

“Wait a second, this portal…” You get up from your seat on the log, heading back into you and Ford’s tent before coming back with your small black journal. Stan stares at the journal and shakes his head in disbelief, “No wonder you and my brother dated.”

You roll your eyes, choosing to ignore the comment before flipping to a specific page and opening it up to Stan, “Did the portal look like this?”

Stan stares at the paper, squinting his eyes as he looks at your rough drawing of the portal before nodding, “Yeah, that’s the portal, alright.”

“So that’s what Ford was working on in my dreams… it was the portal that he thought was going to be the answer to his research.” You say, the realization hitting you as you stare down at the drawing, “Maybe this portal is the reason we parted ways.“ You were beginning to put pieces of you and Ford’s history together, it was becoming more and more clear

Stan wonders if he might have shared too much with you, seeing the gears turning in your head. Maybe he should have held his tongue, waited for Ford to explain all this stuff to you since he usually had the answers.

You place a hand on his broad shoulder, interrupting his thoughts, “Hey Stan… sorry for putting you on the spot but I really appreciate it. I feel like I understand what’s happening in my dreams way more.” You pause before saying, “It also helps to know that Ford didn’t just push me away but other people during that time.”

Stan’s shoulders visibly relax and he feels a sense of comfort in your touch. “No problem, glad I could explain it in a non-sciencey way. Trust me, when Ford explained it to me, half the stuff he said flew right over my head.”

You both hear footsteps approaching and turn around to see Ford carrying a mason jar that contained a pink fairy that fluttered around in confusion with Mabel and Dipper trailing by his side.

“Y/N, look at this fairy!” Mabel says excitedly, running up to you.

You approach Ford, crouching down to observe the fairy. Your eyes widen in intrigue, watching as there is a distinct trail of glitter that follows it as it flutters about. You glance up at Ford, “Is the fairy gonna be okay in there?”

Ford rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, “I’ll release it, Mabel insisted we catch one to bring back to show you.”

“This is your first time seeing an anomaly, right, Y/N?” Dipper asks, curious if you remember any of the anomalies you saw with his great uncle when he first started his research.

“Well, first time that I can remember at least. Your Grunkle Stan was telling me there are apparently gnomes that live near the Mystery Shack.” You chuckle, placing your hands on the jar.

“Those gnomes kinda still creep me out to this day..” Mabel commented, now sitting next to Stan with a skewer stacked with marshmallows to put over the fire.

You look over at Ford for an explanation who simply shrugs and Dipper chimes in, “They.. uh tried to marry Mabel and make her their gnome queen.”

First, the fairy, then Ford getting trapped in an interdimensional portal, and now, this.

You wonder how many more crazy reveals your brain could take in a single day.

“Wanna do the honors and release it?” Ford asks, handing the jar off to you. You take it cautiously, slowly opening the lid and wincing as you pull back the lid. The fairy immediately bursts out, leaving a trail of pink dust behind as it flies into the night sky.

You glance back at Stan and raise an eyebrow, “How did you think that was a mosquito?”

Ford chuckled at your question, “I was thinking the same thing when he almost fried it with his bug zapper.”

“My vision isn't the greatest, okay? I got cataracts!”

You, Ford and the kids laugh, coming together in front of the fire. You were shoulder to shoulder with Stan and Ford, Mabel sitting on the ground in front of you while you braided her hair and Dipper being in charge of roasting both him and Mabel’s marshmallows after she lit hers on fire.

You come to find out that Stan’s talent to spin an elaborate tale translates well into telling spooky ghost stories by the fire, wriggling his fingers and using his hands to help emphasize his points. Surprisingly, he ends up having a captivated audience, even Ford listening in amusement with his arms crossed.

Seeing the kids starting to yawn and their eyes getting heavier after a few hours, you all decide to call it for the evening. Stan and Ford work on stamping out the flames as you walk over to Dipper and Mabel’s tent, making sure they have their flashlights on them in case of a late night bathroom run before zipping up their tent.

Out in the woods, the dark sky above is littered with stars. With the light source of the flames gone, the constellations in the sky are even more clear. Ford watches you staring up at the night sky in awe. He recalls the nights where the two of you would sit on the roof where you most likely sat with his brother the other evening, noting all the various constellations.

He wonders if you remember his favorite ones or if just by association to the memory of him, they’ve been wiped clean from your brain.

Ford approaches you, his eyes glancing up at the wondrous view above the both of you, “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It really is…” You reply with a smile, “I haven’t seen them this clearly in years. Usually light pollution ends up making it hard to them at all.”

“Do you have a favorite constellation?” Ford asks though he already knows the answer.

Perseus.

“Perseus is my favorite.” You answer, extending your arm outward to point it out to Ford. His eyes follow your finger to the constellation, staring up at it. Not that he needed you to point it out for him, he often would look up the stars during his travels with Stanley and find it.

Wondering if you were out there somewhere staring at it as well.

“The Hero Constellation… a great choice.” Ford hums before letting out a yawn.

“Getting past your bedtime?” You tease, causing Ford to laugh softly.

“You know I’m not that much older than you, Y/N. You’re making me feel like an old geezer.” Ford banters back.

Stan pats you both on the shoulder, “Well, this old geezer is gonna hit the hay. I didn’t get any sleep last night since we spent the whole night planning this.” He starts approaching the hammock before staring at it with his hands on his hips before looking back at you.

“Hey, uh, how do I get in this thing?” He asks.

Ford slaps his forehead and you roll your eyes mirthfully, walking over to show Stan how to get into the hammock.

“You can head to bed, Ford. This might.. take a while.” You tell Ford, trailing off as you watch Stan attempt to put his foot in and almost flip the hammock over.

Ford nods, despite wanting to wait up for you, he knew it would be infinitely more awkward trying to fall asleep with you laying right there in front of him. “I’ll sleep on the further side so you don’t have to step over me on your way into the tent. Good night, Y/N.” He says.

“Good night, Ford.” You reply with a wave as you try to hold the fabric of the hammock taut to give Stan enough stability to slip inside.

“Yeah, good night to you too, Ford.” Stan calls out wryly to which Ford proceeds to flick off his brother playfully before slipping into the tent.

After assisting Stan into the hammock and helping put the mosquito net over him, you slip into you and Ford’s tent. You try to move as carefully as possible, not wanting to disturb Ford who laid inside a sleeping bag on the other side of the tent. You glance over, seeing Ford sleeping peacefully next to you.

You notice he still has his glasses on and you reach over carefully, slipping them off gingerly. Ford slightly stirs which causes you to halt your movements before his breath evens out again, showing that he was still deep in sleep. You place his glasses off to the side and finally slip into your sleeping bag.

Your eyelids grow heavy the moment your head rests on the pillow, the lack of sleep from the night before catching up to you. You drift to sleep, not thinking about what dream might await you this evening.

The sensation of the metal desk presses against the small of your back. You feel like a mouse cornered by a cat, Ford’s frame towering over you as your hands are pinned down. A lump forms in your throat as you stare back at the man you love, his eyes bright yellow and his pupils narrow.

“So you’re Bill?” You say cautiously.

You had seen Bill briefly move into Ford’s mind to help him solve an equation that had stumped him or share a finding to help with his research but never fully taking control of his body.

“That’s me, I’m sure Ford’s told you all about me..” Bill grins, “After all, I am his muse.”

You bristle at the term, the exact reaction Bill had hoped for to get under your skin.

You listened to Ford go on and on about how amazing his muse was, how he helped ease his mind, how he understood him like no one else did.

All while you stood there, feeling insignificant as each day went on.

A shudder ran down your spine as a cold hand reached up to cup your chin, tilting your head side to side while Bill’s eyes assessed you like a specimen in a lab, “Listen, Y/N, you’re becoming a bit of a distraction to old Fordsy.”

“Distraction? What do you mean?” You say defensively.

“Every time you try to get him to go to bed, every time you and that hillbilly try to goof around and pull him away from his work, it delays him finishing this portal.” Bill points out.

“He’s a human being, not a robot. He can’t just keep working himself into exhaustion.” You protest.

Bill’s eyes narrow.

He doesn’t like that response.

“Listen, Gemstone, you really want to get in the way of Ford’s dreams? I thought you loved him,” Bill cackles, his hand sliding down to press tightly against your throat. The pressure pushes the gem on your necklace further into your skin, causing you to wince.

“I-I do.” You wheeze out, your airway feeling restricted but not being choked quite yet.

“Then if you do, take my advice. The sooner you leave him alone to work on and finish this portal, the sooner he can rest. Don’t you want him to be able to show this to his old man and finally hear that he’s proud of him?” Bill says with a maniacal grin.

He knows he got you with his last question, your face morphing into guilt.

You knew how important this was to Ford, how he needed this portal to work so he could make something out of all his research and hard work. You knew how desperately Ford wanted that validation from his family, from his dad.

“We have a deal?” Bill asks.

“Alright… I’ll leave him alone.” You cave, gasping for air as Bill removes his hand.

“Good, glad we were able to come to an understanding. I’ll make sure Ford gets all the knowledge I can offer and you two can finally start the life you always wanted together, right?” Bill says with a grin before crouching down to be eye level with you.

“Now don’t tell, Ford, about our little meeting, okay? We wouldn’t want him to worry and get distracted, now would we?”

You shoot up in a panic, a sense of dread filling your body. Your eyes dart to see Ford lying there and you immediately back away, the memory of his hand on your neck fresh in your subconscious. Your legs kick the sleeping bag away, not caring what noise you make. Your hands tremble, fumbling with the zipper of the tent before finally getting it unzipped enough to slip out of the tent.

The air hits your cheeks but it’s not enough to stop your racing heart.

Your feet carry you over to the lake, crouching to the ground as your hands cup together to splash the water onto your face. The cool liquid pricks at your skin but the sensation is enough to shock you out of your fevered state.

Your fast breaths slow down in pace and after a few splashes of cold water, your breath has begun to even out.

Suddenly, you feel a hand on your shoulder, causing you to jump.

“Are you okay?”

#gravity falls #gravity falls x you #gravity falls x reader #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanfiction #ford pines #ford pines x reader #ford pines x you #stanley pines #stanley pines x reader #stan pines x you #stan pines x reader #stan pines #stanford pines #stanford x reader #deja vu

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gothcsz · 2 days

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Worst Behavior | Secret Service Agent!Javier Peña x Fem!Reader | ~6.1k wc | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: Tired of living in the confines of being the President's daughter— you sneak out, only to be caught by the head of your security, Javier Peña.

Tags: smut, age gap (reader is in her early 20s/javier is in his 40s), mean!javi i think, hurt/no comfort?, unprotected p in v sex (be safe), creampie, oral (m receiving), cock worship (i need to suck this man off), fingering, degrading names (slut, whore), semi-public sex (a car in the alleyway because i'm incapable of writing bedroom sex scenes apparently), infidelity (javi is married to lorraine in this au), dubcon (reader is drunk throughout this), no use of y/n, no physical descriptions, if it gets redundant it's because i wrote this at 4 am, other shit i’m probably forgetting.

A/N: secret service counts as bodyguard, right? right! this is for @auteurdelabre's amazing trope off with the trope i chose being, well, bodyguard 🖤 i had a lot of fun writing this, rip brat summer you will be missed! let me know what you think besties, i hope you guys enjoy! 🖤

The garden party is just like all the others—stuffy, overly formal, and dreadfully boring.

Crisp white tablecloths, lavish floral arrangements, and people so proper they could break under the weight of their own fake smiles. You sit there, listening to the endless parade of politicians and diplomats, watching them laugh at jokes that aren’t funny, and nod through speeches about policies that barely concern you.

You hate it. All of it. The politics, the empty pleasantries, the way people look at you like you’re a porcelain doll who must be carefully handled. But tonight’s different.

Tonight, you have a plan.

Feigning a headache? Easy. You’ve been doing it for years, perfecting the art of slipping away unnoticed. You even relish the concerned whispers, the fake sympathy in their eyes.

She can’t even handle a small gathering. Poor thing.

The moment you’re out of sight, the act drops. The tension releases, and your heart races, not from anxiety but from excitement.

You time your bathroom trip perfectly, ducking out of the guest quarters and navigating through the mansion’s less-frequented hallways.

Slipping past the Secret Service isn’t easy, but you’ve learned the gaps in their routine, the places they don’t check. It takes skill, but tonight, you’ve got it.

You’re free.

The rush of adrenaline is intoxicating. It feels foreign, but oh so thrilling, like the first breath of fresh air after being stifled for too long. You aren’t just her anymore— not the perfect girl with the pressure of a nation’s eyes on you, not the symbol of a legacy you never wanted.

You’re just a girl. You’re you.

The club hits you like a shock to the system, but it’s exactly what you crave. The air is thick with heat and bodies, the music pounding so loudly it thrums through your bones, syncing with the beat of your heart. It’s the opposite of everything your life has been—raw, chaotic, real. You feel the tightness of the dress hugging your body, a deliberate rebellion against the prim, conservative outfits you’re usually forced to wear.

There’s nothing modest about this. It clings to every curve, drawing eyes.

The alcohol hits fast, warm and buzzing, setting your blood on fire and sharpening your senses. You raise your arms, let the music take you. Let it drown out the noise in your head— the expectations, the responsibilities, the endless duties.

Your date’s hands find your waist, pulling you closer. His fingers dig in just enough for you to feel anchored, his breath warm against your neck. You lean back into him, letting the heat of his body and the thrum of the bass take you somewhere far away from reality.

You aren’t the girl born with a silver spoon shoved down her throat, suffocating in the luxury you never asked for. No cameras, no protocols, no rules. Just you, him, and the music.

His hands are everywhere, gliding over your hips, fingertips brushing the hem of your barely-there dress. His lips press against your neck, and you let your head fall back, enjoying yourself for the first time in forever.

Everything feels hazy, dreamlike. His mouth moves to your ear, the scrape of his breath sending shivers down your spine, whispering something about sneaking off to the bathroom.

The idea is scandalous and that alone makes you want to indulge it even more. You close your eyes, swaying with him, floating.

The world outside of this moment feels so far away. You don’t even notice the man cutting through the crowd, coming straight toward you.

Not until a large, strong hand clamps down around your arm and yanks you out of your date’s grasp.

You gasp, eyes snapping open, and spin around, blinking against the blur of neon lights, your heart jumping into your throat. Your gaze lifts and you see him— Javier Peña. Oh, shit.

You immediately recognize the stern, commanding face, dark eyes sharp even in the low light of the club. He’s the head of your security, the one you juked earlier when you slipped away from the garden party.

And the look he’s giving you right now? It’s killer. Could easily send you to an early grave.

His brows are furrowed in a deep frown, lips set in a tight line, his usual stoic expression sharpened by the flashing lights around you. His jaw is clenched so hard, you’re afraid he’s going to dislocate it. His eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them, burning with barely restrained fury.

You’ve been in trouble before, but this? This is something else.

“Hey, man, what the fuck is your problem?” Your date yells, trying to stand his ground, though his voice wavers a bit as he raises it above the music. For a second, you think he might actually try to do something.

Javier straightens up, his broad shoulders squared, chest puffing out, and it’s like watching a lion preparing to pounce. The guy you’re with, barely older than you, tries to hold his own, but as Javier towers over him, something in your date just... crumbles. The bravado slips from his face so quickly.

“I’d suggest you get the fuck away from her,” Javier growls, his voice low and deadly, “before I have the SWAT team outside drag your sorry ass to federal prison.” His words cut through the air like a knife, and even in the middle of the pounding music, the threat hangs heavy.

Your date’s eyes go wide, panic flickering across his face as he stumbles back. There’s no arguing with a man like that.

The guy might have been cocky a minute ago, but he’s not stupid.

He takes one last glance at you, like he’s weighing his options, but it’s clear he’s already made up his mind. Without another word, he’s scrambling away, blending into the crowd.

The people around you keep dancing, completely oblivious to the scene that just played out. But your heart is still pounding in your chest, your arm tingling where Javier’s grip lingers, and you can feel the tension rolling off of him in waves.

You glance up at him, breathless, and he looks back at you, his jaw still tight, eyes still stormy. God, he’s intense. And somehow, that only makes the heat between you burn hotter.

He’s livid. You don’t need words to understand that.

“Peña—” you start, trying to find your voice, but it falters under the intensity of his glare. You’re used to seeing him calm, collected, the perfect professional.

That damn RJF— Resting Javi Face, as you’ve coined it. He never breaks, no matter how much you’ve tried to mess with him in the past.

You’ve spent years teasing him, trying to crack his cool exterior, just to see him react, to get something more than that unwavering stone face. But he never gives you more than the occasional twitch of his jaw, a flick of his brow.

Until now.

Seeing him like this, thoroughly pissed off, stirs something deep inside you, something that’s both thrilling and dangerous. You can’t help the way your heart skips or how your skin flushes beneath his grip.

You’ve always found him damn near irresistible— ever since the moment you first laid eyes on him when your mom reworked your security detail. He became your personal heartthrob, eye candy for the days when you were stuck inside the house, surrounded by guards and endless rules.

You’d never act on it, though. Especially since he’s married, that much you know by the golden band that wraps around his ring finger.

However, the way he’s looking at you now, with those smoldering eyes, is doing something to you. More than just a flutter in your chest. Anticipation pools at the base of your spine, and— damn— you’re definitely feeling it between your thighs.

He’s clearly ready to drag you back to the mansion and lock you up for good.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” His voice is gravelly and laced with a level of frustration that almost makes you moan. He leans down, his face inches from yours, and you can smell the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the alcohol-soaked air. It’s dizzying. “I’ve been looking for you for hours.”

The accusation in his tone is unmistakable, but you can’t help the smirk that curls at the corner of your lips. The alcohol you’ve consumed gives you some hardcore liquid courage. “Found me now, didn’t you?”

His eyes flash with something you can’t quite read— anger, annoyance. He takes a step closer, his chest brushing against yours. You’re buzzing all over, and you’re not sure if it’s because you’re in trouble, or because the way his presence towers over you is doing things to you that no man has ever done before.

“You think this is a game?” His voice drops lower, a dangerous edge to it that sends a delicious thrill through your body.

It feels like the music has been put on mute with the way you can hear him so clearly.

You’d definitely pass out if not for how bad you want him.

His fingers tense just a little more around your arm, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that you’re under his reign right now.

“I didn’t—” you start, but the words die in your throat when he leans in even closer, his breath hot against your ear.

“Let’s fucking go” His tone is final, commanding, and it leaves no room for argument. You can’t help but want to push him a little more.

You bite your lip, feeling the pulse of desire starting its familiar beat against your clit.

“Make me.”

The way he yanks you through the sea of sweaty bodies has you stumbling, your heels wobbling beneath you as a surprised yelp escapes your lips.

The liquor in your system makes it all a blur— the music returns all at once and it jump scares you back to your surroundings; lights flashing, then suddenly, you’re outside in the cool night air.

The alley is dark and quiet compared to the chaos inside the building, the only sound now the distant bass reverberating through the walls. His government issued black SUV sits nearby, its tinted windows gleaming under the dim streetlights.

So no SWAT team? Figures, he probably just said that to scare your date away.

He finally lets go of your arm, and you pull away sharply, rubbing the spot where his grip lingered a little too tight.

“I’m not leaving,” you declare, lifting your chin defiantly. You plant your stiletto clad feet, standing your ground, even though the alcohol is still buzzing through your veins, making everything feel unsteady but bold.

Javier lets out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head as he scratches his jaw. His hands settle on his narrow waist, the standard suit and tie he’s always in, making him look even more handsome.

“You’re not leaving?” he repeats, as if testing the absurdity of your statement. He arches a brow, his lips curling in a sarcastic smirk. “You think this is a negotiation? Because I can assure you, it’s not.”

You cross your arms over your chest, the dress clinging to your skin like a second layer, you can damn near see your heartbeat through the material as you lock eyes with him. “I’m tired of always following someone else’s schedule. Living in my mother’s shadow, doing what I’m told, when I’m told. You don’t get it, Peña. You have no idea what it’s like to have every aspect of your life controlled by someone else.” You can’t help but ramble, tongue loose, “I never get a damn second to myself, to do anything I want!” Your voice rises with each word, frustration boiling over, the alcohol making you bolder than you’d normally be. “So, no. I’m staying right here and enjoying my night out.”

Javier’s smirk disappears, replaced by a hard, unyielding stare. His brown eyes remain dark and guarded, the nearby orange street light casting shadows across his chiseled face. “You’re acting like a spoiled brat,” he says flatly. “This is the life you’re stuck with until your mother is out of office. It’s not about what you want. You think you can just sneak away because it’s inconvenient? Because it’s hard?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, swaying slightly. “Easy for you to say, standing there in your perfect little suit, playing agent while I drown every day under the pressure of expectations I never asked for.”

Javier’s jaw flexes. “It could be a whole lot worse. You don’t like it? Too bad. Your mother doesn’t even know you’ve snuck out, and I’m not about to let her find out. I need to get you sober and back to the White House before she realizes you’re missing.” His tone is final, like he’s already made up his mind.

You step forward, eyes flashing with rebellion. “Or,” you play right into his hands, switching up entirely. A slow, deliberate, small smirk tugs at the corners of your mouth.

His eyes narrow as he watches you approach, hands still at his waist.

You trail a finger along the edge of his tie, tugging it gently, testing his reaction. He swallows harshly, throat twitching at the action. “Why don’t we both stay? Let loose and have some fun,” you purr, low and teasing, fluttering your eyes as you look up at him. “We could both use a night off.”

He grits his teeth and pulls back slightly, but not enough to break the moment. “Don’t,” he warns, tone laden with something that sounds a lot less like anger and more like desire. “You’re drunk. This isn’t happening.”

“Am I?” You are, obviously. “Or are you just afraid that you’ll like it?” You challenge him, cocking your head to the side slightly.

“What’s the matter, Javier? Is your wife not fulfilling her duties at home? Is that why you’re obsessed with me?”

That strikes a nerve. “Enough,” he growls, voice strained and mean. You don’t give a single fuck, leaning in even closer, your lips ghosting over his jaw. His breath is ragged now, hand twitching at his side, as if he’s debating whether to push you away or pull you closer.

You don’t care that this is dangerous, that it’s wrong. All you care about is the way he’s looking at you now, like he’s been holding back for far too long. And maybe, just maybe, tonight is the night he listens to that voice in his head that’s been craving you all along.

“You’re not pushing me away…” you whisper, “Which makes me think that I’m right about your wife.”

The moment the words leave your mouth, you feel him tense up. The thrill of his reaction is like electricity.

His silence only emboldens you, makes you lean in closer, lips brushing against his ear as you stand on the tips of your toes. You can practically hear the gears turning in his head, the conflict, the desire.

“So why don’t we just fuck?” you say it so bluntly, it almost sobers you up. Your lips are so close to his that you can almost taste him. The small hairs of his mustache tickle your cupid’s bow. “Get it over with. Scratch the itch.”

His hand shoots up, holding your jaw, stopping you in your tracks. His grip is tight, making you wince as his fingers dig into your cheeks.

His eyes carry a storm, filled with the kind of hunger you’ve been dying to see from him.

“You really do think this is a game, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

He moves quickly, using the hold on your face to pull you in for a bruising kiss. It’s not soft or gentle— it’s hungry, desperate, all teeth and tongue as he devours you.

His lips are adamant against yours, rough from the way he’s been biting them in frustration. You can taste the desperation, the pent-up desire.

You kiss him back just as fiercely, your body pressing into his, hands fisting in the front of his suit jacket as you pull him closer. There’s no space between you, no hesitation left. You whimper against his mouth, head spinning from the alcohol still pulsing through your veins and the way his hands have found your waist, gripping you tight.

He pulls away just long enough to breathe, his forehead pressing against yours. “You’re out of your damn mind,” he mutters, but even as he says it, his hands are pulling you in again, pressing your hips against his as if he can’t stop himself.

His eyes are wild now, the usual cool detachment replaced with a recklessness that matches yours.

“And you’re loving every second of it,” you murmur back, your lips already brushing against his again, teasing him, daring him to take more.

Javier growls deep in his throat, and suddenly, he’s spinning then guiding you toward the SUV. You stumble backward, your heels clicking against the pavement, barely able to keep up with his pace yet again.

He pushes you up against the side of the vehicle, your back hitting the cool metal with a soft thud. The contrast between the cold steel and his burning touch sends shivers down your spine. And then his mouth is on yours again, harder this time, his body pressing you into the car, his hands roaming over your curves like he’s been starving for this.

Your fingers card through his hair as you pull him closer, wanting more, needing more. His lips trail down your neck, his stubble scraping against your softness. He nips at the sensitive skin just below your ear, making you gasp.

You arch against him, body responding to every rough touch and kiss. His hands fall over the fabric of your dress, tugging at the hem, sliding it up your thigh.

“Fucking with me all the time just to get me to react,” his fingers press firmly against your clit, teasing through the thin fabric of your panties. The sensation has you whimpering, your head falling back against the metal.

“Then sneaking out like this. I could lose my job over your carelessness.” His teeth sink into your neck, sharp and punishing, making you gasp in surprise, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“But no,” he hisses, his words dripping with contempt as he presses harder, fingers circling your clit in a way that makes your knees weak, hooking one of your legs up on his waist to spread you open further for him “the perfect princess doesn’t give a fuck. She’s too busy whining about being taken care of.” His free hand yanks at your panties, and the flimsy fabric gives way with a harsh tear, leaving you exposed.

The sudden rush of cool air against your hot skin is nothing compared to the feel of his calloused fingers returning to your pussy, spreading the wetness around before plunging two fingers inside you roughly.

The stretch is intense, and you moan loudly, cunt squeezing around his fingers as he works you with a rough precision, like he knows exactly how to break you down.

“You talk a lot for someone who’s fucking a woman half your age,” you bite out, but the words are weak, caught somewhere between a challenge and a plea.

You’re playing a dangerous move here, but the power struggle between you and him is addictive, like a live wire sizzling between you both.

He stops suddenly, fingers still inside you, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His expression is dark, dangerous, and filled with something primal. His free hand comes up to wrap around your neck, the cool band of his ring against your heated skin sends a shock through you, and you narrow your eyes at him, daring him to make his next move.

“Tired of you runnin’ that fucking mouth,” he grunts, tightening his grip on your throat just enough to make your breath hitch. With his other hand, he undoes his belt, the gentle clink of metal the only warning you get before he’s pushing you down roughly to your knees.

Your eyes widen as you look up at him, your heart racing. “Here?” you whisper, your voice breathy, equal parts shocked and exhilarated.

Javier tilts his head, a mocking smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he strokes himself, his cock heavy and girthy in his hand. “So now you care?” His tone is patronizing, but his eyes are filled with a hunger that makes your pulse quicken. You bite your lip as your gaze drifts lower, unable to stop yourself from taking in the sheer size of him, the pressure between your thighs building to an unreachable height.

Without another word, he brings you closer by the back of your neck, and your mouth parts instinctively. Your tongue swirls around the spongy tip, tasting the salty slickness of his precome. His fingers dig into your scalp as he guides your movements, but it doesn’t take long for his hips to start thrusting forward, fucking your mouth with no patience, no hesitation.

The pace is brutal, your throat burning as he pushes deeper. His thighs twitch ever so often and you can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s holding back just enough to not completely unravel.

Saliva dribbles from the corners of your mouth, tears streaming down your cheeks and smudging your perfectly applied makeup as you suck him off with desperation.

Your knees ache from grinding against the rough pavement, but the pain is nothing compared to the mess in your cunt, the need building with every rough move.

“Who would’ve thought you could be such a slut,” Javier grunts, his hand gripping the back of your head, keeping you in place. His words are condescending, each syllable dripping with lust.

He pulls you off his cock, a string of spit connecting your lips to his flushed head. “You look so fuckin’ filthy like this,” a cruel smirk is on his lips as he directs your mouth lower, pressing your face against his balls.

Now drunk on him— on the power he’s holding over you, on the taste of him filling your senses— you eagerly obey, your tongue darting out to trace his heavy sack. You moan as you take each one into your mouth, suckling gently, savoring the weight and the taste of him. His low groan above you is all the encouragement you need to keep going, your lips moving greedily as you continue to worship him with no hands.

“Fuck,” he breathes, the rough sound of his voice sending a shiver down your spine. “Had I known you were this good at sucking dick, I would’ve fucked that pretty little throat ages ago.”

His words spur you on, making you feel powerful, wanted, as though you’re giving him something he’s been missing. Something his wife can’t provide. The thought stirs something dark inside of you, a thrill that mixes with the burning in your pussy as you take him back into your mouth, deep-throating him in one smooth motion.

Your palm finally reaches up, fondling his balls as you move, your throat contracting around him with every stroke, the sound of your gagging filling the alley.

You pull him out again, spitting on his cock and pumping him with both hands, your grip slick as you work him faster, relishing in the way his head tips back, eyes squeezed shut in bliss.

After a few more minutes of your sloppy, eager blowjob, he groans and yanks you off him, his hands rough as he drags you to your feet. Before you can process what’s happening, he’s thrown open the backdoor of the SUV, damn near tossing you inside before climbing in behind you.

The moment he’s inside, his badge and gun are discarded to the side, and he grabs you by the waist, pulling you onto his lap as he leans back against the seat. His cock is hard and slick, pressing against your soaked entrance, but he doesn’t push inside yet.

Instead, he yanks the top of your dress down, exposing your breasts, and immediately latches his mouth onto one of your nipples. His wet tongue swirls around the sensitive bud as his free hand pinches and tugs at the other, sending shocks of pleasure straight to your pussy.

You moan loudly, your hips grinding down against his dick, sliding him between your slick folds, teasing both of you.

You’ve made a mess of his white shirt and part of his slacks.

You wonder if he’ll go home to her like this. Kiss her with the same mouth that’s kissed you.

Every inch of your skin is on fire, the need to have him inside of you building with every passing second.

“Javier, please,” you whine, your fingers tangling in his hair as you try to push yourself down onto him.

He pulls away from your breast with a wet pop, “Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with condescension as his hand trails down your body, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. “Begging for my cock like a whore.”

You bite your lip, your pride long forgotten as you look down at him, a needy expression painting your face. “Please, Javi,” you beg, grinding harder against him, feeling the thick head of his cock press against your entrance. “I need you. Please— fuck me.”

He chuckles darkly, his grip on your hips bruising the skin as he holds you still. “You think I’m just gonna give you what you want after the way you’ve been acting?”

Before you can respond, his hand comes down hard on your ass, the sharp sting of the spank making you cry out in surprise. “Javi!”

“Shut the fuck up,” he grumbles, landing another spank on the other cheek. “You want my cock? Earn it.”

You moan, your body trembling as the pain mixes with the pleasure coursing through you. His words, his rough treatment— it only makes you want him more. “Please,” you sob, your voice shaky as you wiggle your hips, trying to push him inside, the lingering sting of his smacks vibrating against your plush skin.

He groans, and in one swift motion, he thrusts up into you, his cock stretching you wide as he sinks deep inside. You cry at the sudden intrusion, your body tensing before relaxing as the pleasure of being filled washes over you.

“Fuck,” it feels like his cock has punched you in the lungs, your nails digging into his shoulders as you start to move, riding him slowly at first, your head thrown back as you savor the feeling of him inside of you. “So fucking big.”

Javier grunts, his hands gripping your hips as he guides your movements, bucking up into you as you swivel your hips. “That’s it,” his teeth graze your neck as he thrusts harder, deeper. “Take it, princess. Take every inch.”

You moan loudly, your body then bouncing on his lap as you both lose yourselves in the heat of the moment.

Nothing else matters except the way he feels inside you and the filthy words spilling from his lips as you fuck each other like you’ve both been waiting for this for far too long.

The sounds coming from both of you—wet, filthy, primal—fill the confined space of the SUV. The smell of sex and leather in the air.

Each thrust of his hips sends you spiraling closer to the edge, your bodies colliding in a frenzied rhythm that makes the vehicle rock with your movements. Thank fucking God the windows are tinted.

Javier’s hands grip your hips tightly, guiding your frantic movements, his cock buried deep inside of you, hitting every spot that makes you cry out in pleasure.

Eyes are half-lidded as he watches your breasts bounce while you hop on his dick.

His lips part, a low groan escaping him as he feels you flutter around him, your pussy tightening with the promise of your impending orgasm.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grits out. He’s close— so fucking close— and the way you’re moving, the way you’re so desperate for him, makes it impossible for him to hold back much longer.

His brow furrows, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face as he thrusts up into you harder, faster— chasing his own release. “You’re gonna make me come, princess,” he groans, his fingers digging into your skin as he bites down on his lower lip.

Your head falls back, your lips parted in a breathless moan as the band inside you snaps. “Javi,” you mewl, barely able to get his name out as the wave of pleasure crashes over you, sending your body trembling and convulsing around him. “Oh fuck, I’m coming,” you gasp, your voice breaking as your orgasm ripples through you. “Harder— please.”

He grits his teeth once he feels you unravel around him, your pussy clenching against his cock. It gets him there with you, a deep groan rumbling from his chest as his hips jerk up harshly a few more times time.

His release hits him hard, spilling into you without asking, but you don’t notice nor care. You both ride out the aftershocks together, tangled in each other’s arms, your breaths coming in ragged gasps, the car still rocking slightly as the final thrusts slow.

For a brief moment, everything is still. Your fingers trailing over his skin as you try to catch even out your breathing.

But then, reality slams back into focus.

Javier’s body goes rigid beneath you, his hands releasing their grip on your hips as if what just happened is sinking in all at once. “Get off,” he mutters, his voice suddenly sharp. “Now.”

You blink, disoriented, still riding the afterglow, but the tone of his voice cuts through the haze. You hesitate for a second, looking down at him, trying to read his expression. There’s no trace of the infatuation that had consumed him just moments ago. Instead, his face is etched with regret, his lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tight.

“Javi…” you start, but he cuts you off, his hand coming up to push you gently but firmly off his lap.

“Get. Off,” he repeats, leaving no room for argument.

You pull away, your body trembling slightly as you move off him, awkwardly adjusting your dress. The tension is suffocating as Javier quickly pulls up his pants, his hands shaking slightly as he fastens his belt. He’s avoiding your gaze, his brows furrowed in frustration as he runs a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath.

“We need to go,” his voice is cold and distant, as if the intimacy you just shared never happened. “Before your mother declares a state of emergency on the entire country.”

He digs into his pocket, your ruined panties then are tossed at you and you bite your lip, feeling the sting of rejection settle deep in your chest.

Once he’s fixed his clothes, Javier moves with a tense efficiency, reholstering his gun and straightening his badge like nothing happened.

His movements are mechanical, as if he’s trying to regain control, trying to rebuild that wall he always hides behind. You sit there, watching him in silence, a real icy feeling knotting in your chest.

He doesn’t look at you as he steps out of the SUV, slamming the door behind him forcefully and it makes you flinch. The loud thud echoes through the car, leaving you alone in the backseat with nothing but your racing thoughts and destroyed underwear.

The shame snaps into you then, creeping up your spine and spreading through your body like poison. You wipe the smeared makeup from under your eyes, fix your dress, but there’s no saving it. Literally and metaphorically.

He slips into the driver’s seat a moment later. He doesn’t say a word.

You sink back into the leather seat, the silence absolutely deafening. The back of the car feels like a cage now— your earlier exhilaration has all but disappeared. All that’s left is this gnawing sense of regret swirling in your gut.

The engine hums to life as he drives out of the alleyway, his movements precise and methodical, the way they always are when he’s on the job.

Like he’s already compartmentalizing.

You consider saying something— anything to break the silence that’s strangling you both— but the words die on your lips. What would you even say?

“You should’ve never snuck out,” Javier finally speaks lowly, as if it’s painful for him to even acknowledge the situation. “You’re lucky no one saw you.”

There’s an edge to his words, but it’s not the usual reprimand. Rather just regret, frustration, and anger all wrapped into one.

You don’t respond right away, your eyes fixed on the traffic ahead. “I don’t care,” you finally mutter, more to yourself than to him. “I’m sick of it. Of all of it.” You pause, your throat tight with emotion. “For once, I just wanted to feel like I was in control.”

Javier lets out a harsh breath, his hands tightening on the wheel. “Control? ” He scoffs, his tone biting. “You don’t even know what that word means.”

You turn your head to glare at him, heart pounding in your chest. “I’m not a fucking child.” He chuckles at that, wordlessly saying otherwise. “And you don’t know what it’s like to live my life,” you snap, the frustration boiling over. “To constantly be watched, to have every move scrutinized, to be paraded around like some perfect fucking doll when I didn’t ask for any of it.”

His grip on the wheel loosens slightly, but his face remains impassive. “None of this is new,” he reminds you, “You knew what your life would be like when your mother was re-elected. It’s not about you anymore. It never was.”

You feel the sting of his words, but you refuse to back down. “Maybe it should be,” you say, your voice trembling with anger. “Maybe I should get to live my life the way I want to. Not the way everyone else expects me to.”

Brown eyes flicker toward you in the rearview mirror for a split second. He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter,” his voice is tight. “You can try again in four years.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest as you sink deeper into the seat. “You just want to pretend this never happened.”

Javier’s silence is answer enough.

The rest of the ride is quiet and tense. When you finally pull up to the back gates of the White House, you sigh when your lavish prison comes into view and when he parks right outside the private entrance that you and the rest of your family get in and out of.

Javier glances in the rearview mirror one final time, his expression unreadable, before he cuts the engine and steps out.

He opens the back door for you, his handsome face set in that familiar stoic mask. “Let’s go,” he orders, tone flat, devoid of the erotic emotions from earlier.

You hesitate, a pout forming on your lips, the confidence you’d wielded earlier crumbling to dust. Your legs wobble as you step out, shaky and weak from how he fucked you

He shrugs off his jacket and throws it over your bare shoulders. The gesture would’ve felt protective, maybe even tender, in another moment. But now, it’s a calculated move to cover up the evidence of what you just did. He’s not doing it for you— he’s doing it for his job.

He walks you inside, his large hand resting lightly at your lower back as if guiding you, but the warmth you once felt from his touch is nowhere to be found. His eyes dart around the hall, scoping the area, making sure none of the other agents that he commands are around to see you.

He nods curtly when the coast is clear, a silent gesture to keep moving. You feel like a liability— something to be hidden away, managed, not the girl who he was just balls deep inside.

The heels you’re wearing are muted against the thick carpet as you walk down the long hallway toward your bedroom. Each step feels like an eternity.

When you finally reach your bedroom door, he pulls the jacket from your shoulders without a word. You blink back the sting of tears, throat tightening at the action.

He’s not just being distant—he’s erasing you, erasing the moment, wiping it all away like it meant nothing.

Because it hadn’t meant a damn thing. He is married, after all. You were nothing but an easy fuck. A form of relief. Eye candy for him as he was for you.

Without looking back or saying anything, you push open the door and step inside. The soft click of the latch as you shut it in his face echoes in the stillness and you don’t need to look back to know that there’s nothing behind those brown eyes for you anymore.

#tropeoff2024 #javier peña smut #javier pena smut #pedro pascal #javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fanfic #javier pena fic #javier pena narcos #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña fic #javier peña narcos #kat's writing.

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apoloadonisandnarcissus · 3 days

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"The Last Temptation": One Megathread to Rule Them All - Clues and Speculation, PART 1

By now everyone in the “Rings of Power” fandom is aware of “The Last Temptation” - Galadriel and Sauron scene in the finale (2x08) - so I’ll save myself the trouble of further explaining it, because we have more interesting things to talk about.

What happens in this scene? What is the season building towards? And what are clues, foreshadowing or red herrings the episodes have given us so far?

It's pretty much confirmed that Sauron will pitch the “be my queen” question to Galadriel, again. I usually don’t pay much attention to the actors’ interviews because they’ll say anything to avoid spoiling the story and spill the beans, but sometimes it’s important for context.

From Episode 7 preview, we know that Galadriel will arrive at Eregion and share a heartfelt moment with Celebrimbor (I'll come back to this scene later on). However, the showrunners have teased that 2x07 is an Elrond-centered episode, and I don’t think Sauron and Galadriel will reunite before the finale (2x08) because that’s one of the climaxes of the season. Anyway, my guess is that Sauron has already left Eregion once Galadriel arrives.

1) Will Galadriel resist or succumb to Sauron’s temptation?

You cannot face him alone.

To me, this scene with Gil-galad is the most important one, when foreshadowing is concerned. Mainly because our High King of the Noldor got it right last season, so we better pay attention to what he says.

We foresaw that if Galadriel’s search should have continued, she might have inadvertently kept alive the very evil she sought to defeat. For the same wind that seeks to blow out a fire may also cause its spread.

Gil-galad tells Elrond the true reason why he sent Galadriel back to Valinor (1x01)

Oh, boy, and how right he was!

But Gil-galad isn’t the only character who warns Galadriel she can’t face Sauron alone because she might not be able to resist him:

Similar to Gi-galad, Elrond shares the same concern.

And why would he think that?

In 2x06, it’s Adar who warns Galadriel she might succumb to Sauron as well, because she’s acting quite smug at being able to resist him once before (1x08).

I resisted.

For a while, perhaps.

His eye bores a hole and the rest of him slithers in.

So far, this season, we have three different characters warning Galadriel that she might succumb to Sauron if she faces him alone at the finale. Unsure if Celebrimbor will tell her the same thing in 2x07, but three characters saying the same thing is far from a red herring, at this point.

2) And so, the main question now is: will Galadriel face Sauron alone, out of her own volition? Or does Sauron chase after her to isolate her from the rest?

We already know that Galadriel is consumed by the idea of finding Sauron, and to destroy him; but now, she’s motivated not only by her brother’s death at the hands of his werewolves, but due to her belief that everything she experienced with Halbrand (and the connection they had: friendship, romantic, ambiguous) was a lie and part of Sauron’s schemes of deception.

However, in this scene in particular (2x02), Galadriel is feeling especially vulnerable, and eventually agrees with both Elrond and Gil-Galad, that she can’t face Sauron alone because she’s unaware of what might happen if she lets him in, again (meaning, she might actually succumb to him).

However, from 2x02 until 2x06, Galadriel grows bolder and more confident, mostly aided by Nenya and the visions and the guidance the ring of power provides her with. Although, I would argue it was never her intention to face Sauron alongside Elrond and the others, and this scene was a moment of weakness (or the red herring itself).

I swear to you, High King. I will not stop until he is destroyed and I have put this right.

Morfydd Clark herself has said that Galadriel knows she messed up really bad, and is on a desperate mission for redemption. However, last season she was also desperate in finding Sauron and destroy him, and that worked wonders, didn’t it?

Based on this, I would say Galadriel will seek out Sauron all by herself in the finale. We already saw Galadriel and Adar paralleling each other in their pursuit for Sauron, and how consumed and obsessed both of them are by it. While Adar is sacrificing his “children” to destroy Sauron, Galadriel thrown Elrond under the bus (by telling Adar he’s the one who carries Nenya) just to get a chance of finding Sauron and face him herself.

Galadriel’s pride is her main flaw of character, and usually what gets her into trouble (in both RoP and the books, with her only letting go of her pride on the Third Age when Frodo offers her the One Ring and she declines). And in this case, her pride will be her downfall. She believes she'll always resist Sauron, because what he offered her last time (power) wasn’t enough to tempt her.

My guess is that Galadriel will lure Sauron out either by using Morgoth’s iron crown or Nenya, but my money is on the first option (as we saw on the trailers).

3) Elrond’s Choice

Before we get into the rabbit hole that is Sauron’s plan concerning Galadriel, we have to talk about Elrond’s promise in 2x04:

This scene might be a red herring or foreshadowing, but I’m inclined to believe the later. And it can either happen in either 2x07 or in 2x08 (during the “Last Temptation” scene).

Since 2x07 is an Elrond-centered episode I would argue it would make more sense for this choice to happen in this episode. In the preview, we saw Elrond and Adar having a conversation in the same tent he dined with Galadriel and proposed an alliance to her (that didn’t work out, did it?). Adar knows Elrond carries Nenya, but he has other interests in dealing with the Elves, too.

He expressed to Galadriel his desire in knowing what comes after Sauron is defeated and the fate of the Orcs, seeking out a truce between Elves and Orcs, which would allow him and his “children” to live in peace in Mordor. I believe he will propose this to Elrond, too. In exchange, Adar might want to use Galadriel to lure Sauron out.

And so, in 2x07 Elrond might have to choose between saving Galadriel or stopping Sauron.

But now you are wondering: if Elrond allows Galadriel to remain Adar’s prisoner and she’s at Eregion in the same episode, this theory doesn’t make any sense? How did she escaped? Well, that’s a question for another time, but another character might set her free (one who would make the show more complex and give Galadriel some character’s growth and development).

4) Galadriel’s Sacrifice

She sacrificed herself to save us all.

No, you are mistaken, Camnir. She did not do it to save us. She did it to save the ring.

These quotes are from 2x04, when Galadriel faces the Orcs by herself and eventually gets captured by Adar. However, it’s the second time in this episode there is a mention of Galadriel either sacrificing herself, or something.

This can be foreshadowing for several things:

Celebrimbor’s death (since she says this after Elrond talks about how his father once prophesized Celebrimbor’s life would one day be on his hands);

Galadriel goes to fight Sauron alone (it can be an extra layer of foreshadowing to this happening);

Galadriel sacrificing herself to save Middle-earth (meaning she goes/joins Sauron at the end).

5) Sauron’s plan concerning Galadriel

Sauron is in Eregion in the middle of his “Rings of Power” masterplan. However, and through his interactions with Mirdania, Galadriel’s Doppelgänger, it’s clear she’s still very much on his mind, and is a part of his plans of domination.

The plan is simple: Sauron wants Galadriel as his queen, still.

But why? Galadriel is not yet the powerful "elf-witch" she'll become in the future.He can see her potential, sure, but would that be enough to explain his obsession? There is a lot of meta already about the parallels between Morgoth/Silmarils and Sauron/Galadriel, so I won’t get into that here.

How strange. When the light... caught your hair... for amoment, you seemed her perfect likeness.

Whose likeness?

Why, Lady Galadriel, of course.

There is a lot of discourse going on in the “Rings of Power” fandom concerning Sauron’s true feelings for Galadriel: obsession, love or something else because he, being an immortal spirit, is uncapable of “human-like” feelings.

The answer is easy: both obsession and love are correct. The ones arguing Sauron is not capable of love are wrong. According to the lore, Maiar can fall in love, and one Maia did fall in love with an Elf (and these characters happen to be Elrond’s ancestors). Mairon is capable of love. But he’s a fallen Maia, corrupted by Morgoth, and, so, his love is also corrupted into possessiveness, obsession, jealousy, unsatisfiable lust, emotional turmoil, pain and suffering.

I would even argue that Sauron fell in love with Galadriel while he was on his somewhat “repentant era”, and it started out as something purer, but it’s twisting into something darker as he goes deeper and deeper into evil, until it turns into hatred, later on.

In 2x06, and in order to manipulate Celebrimbor into finishing the Nine rings of power and prevent him from finding out Eregion is under attack, Sauron conjures a vision of “Everything is well on Eregion”. However, after Celebrimbor leaves, he’s left alone in his own vision (delusions) and his thoughts dwell on Galadriel.

How do we know this? We have several characters randomly mentioning “it’s a horse! A horse! It’s a horse!”. When I first watch this scene I was a bit taken back. But nothing is random, folks:

And then we have Sauron the Poet:

All of these clues are meant to show us, the audience, that Galadriel is still on Sauron’s mind. And that he harbors some quite strong feelings for her. And this will come into play in “The Last Temptation” scene, like the director of the finale, Charlotte Brändströmm teased on “X-Ray Vision” podcast:

I think Sauron even really loves Galadriel and you see that at the very end.

#trop season 2 #trop season 2 speculation #galadriel #sauron #annatar #saurondriel #haladriel #sauron x galadriel #halbrand #galadriel x halbrand

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queensunshinee · 22 hours

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His favorite toy- Part 2 || Art Donaldson x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (p in v sex, oral sex), super toxic relationship.

Word Count: 6.5k

(part 1)

His favorit toy- Part 2:

Two months have passed since the last time Art and I fucked. Although it wouldn’t be fair to call it that, because I don’t fully know what it was. I only know he said he thinks he loves me. Neither of us made the minimal effort to rekindle any kind of relationship. I kept sitting with Janet and Shane, and he stayed in his place next to the friend he invented.

Occasionally, if I focused, I could feel his gaze on the back of my neck, but maybe I was imagining it. Maybe I also imagined his declaration of love, maybe I lost my grip on reality for a moment. Maybe more water needs to flow under this bridge. Maybe Tashi Duncan needs to be his, like he is hers, so I can stop dreaming about him at night. How did I become so dependent on the emotions of a girl I have no desire to exchange a word with? How did I lose someone I’m not sure was ever mine? And more than anything- what made me spend so much time in this endless whining?

A few days after that party, Luke sat next to me in one of the classes we share. He looked so good that if I close my eyes, I can imagine it's Art. A remarkably pathetic thought, but it works. Except he isn’t cruel. He doesn't try to deceive me or lead me to the point he wants me to reach. He’s interested in me and my hobbies, and sometimes he walks me from class to class, but in these two months, he hasn’t made any move beyond placing his hand on my shoulder. Maybe he thinks I have lice. Maybe he thinks I won’t be good enough in bed to risk our boring conversations about the eco-intro professor.

Maggie, the girl I work with, canceled at the last minute, so I ended up alone at the smoothie station and the register. I took comfort in the fact that it's exam season and not too many Stanford students would prefer to stand in line for a smoothie instead of grabbing a spot in the library on a Sunday night. "The usual?" I heard Art’s voice and lifted my gaze from the book I was reading. I blinked at him a few times, as if trying to figure out if I was imagining his smug smile. Maybe it wasn’t smug, maybe that's just how he always smiles when he sees me. Like he knows a secret he’ll never tell me. "I..." I tried to hold onto the reality as I knew it, "I don’t remember," I smiled without showing teeth, half-forced.

"Peach—" he stopped himself in the middle of the stupid nickname. Apparently, he understood from my look that it wasn’t appropriate after two months of radio silence. "Almond milk, banana, pecan, and coconut," he mumbled. "That’s $4.50," he nodded. I wondered if he was surprised, because I’d never asked him to pay before. I’d always used the free smoothie I got during my shift on him. "How a—" he started to speak, and I turned on the blender, seeing out of the corner of my eye that he was smirking and shaking his head. "Fair," he muttered. "Here’s your smoothie. Goodnight," I handed him the cup after a few seconds, with the most forced smile I could muster. He rolled his eyes in response and sat down in one of the empty chairs.

"What do you think you’re doing?" I asked. "Sitting and drinking my smoothie, obviously," he spoke again as if I were two years old. Like I needed him to mediate reality for me because I couldn’t understand it on my own. "Do you see anyone else sitting here?" I asked. "Just because the tables are empty because it’s ten at night and you’re working in a cafeteria-" he began. "This isn’t a cafeteria. It’s the—" "Doesn’t mean I can’t sit at one of the tables and drink my smoothie. Or are there new rules I’m not aware of?" I rolled my eyes in response. Smug dickhead. I was definitely not going to give him a second of my time. I went back to the book I was reading for my philosophy exam, trying to ignore his presence but realizing I was reading the same sentence five times in a row.

"What are you studying?" he asked after a few minutes of silence. "Why are you doing this?" I threw the question back from behind the counter, sighing in frustration. "What am I doing?" The usual smirk was plastered on his face. "Why are you here on a Sunday night, Art?" If I could stomp my foot to express protest, I would. "Because you’re here on a Sunday night." The smirk turned into a smile. I couldn’t tell if it was sincere. I never know if he’s sincere.

"What do you want?" I rolled my eyes and sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to leave. I knew he was stubborn in an almost inspiring way (or nauseating, depending on who you ask) and that he was always at an advantage with me. He always had the last word. All I had left was to let him say it quickly and move on with life. "To ask how you're doing?" he half said, half asked. He sounded hesitant, but I knew he wasn’t. I knew he was as confident as any other day. He knew exactly what he was doing. "Amazing. Anything else?" I found myself crossing my arms under my chest and saw him, without shame, shift his gaze, well… to my chest, raising an eyebrow.

"Arthur!" I felt like I was his aunt as he shook his head, almost playfully. "I missed you, Peaches. Is that so hard to believe?" He chuckled, still completely shameless. "Well, I didn’t." That was the first thing that came to mind, and the face Art made, along with the eye roll, only emphasized how much he didn’t believe me. "Why are you so mad at me?" His voice was amused as he approached the counter with his smoothie, grabbing the book I was reading without asking. "What course is this?" "Philosophy," I snatched it from his hand, and he grabbed mine with the speed of an athlete who works too much with his hands. "Let go," I muttered, not sure if I wanted him to release my hand or release me. But I was scared he'd agree and disappear again, and that was so fucking pathetic. "Never," he replied, keeping his gaze on me and giving my hand a squeeze. "It’s not fair, Art," I hated how my voice sounded. "What’s not fair?" he asked, tracing small circles on my hand the moment he felt me relax the muscle that had been trying to pull away from his touch. "What you're doing right now," I sighed. If he weren’t in front of me, I probably would’ve started crying out of frustration. "What am I doing right now?" The smirk was once again plastered on his face. "Trying to convince me everything's okay between us," I hesitated, and he shook his head from side to side. "Nothing's okay between us, Peaches. I hate it. I actually hate it. I think about you 80% of the day. Every time I want to talk to you, you're either with your friends or with Luke." He wrinkled his nose as he said his name.

"Why do you know his name?" I asked, studying him. "Because I looked him up, and I'm telling you, Peaches, he's fucking weird—" "You're fucking weird," I shot back, and he laughed, trying to move the hair from my face with his free hand. "Well, maybe you like us weird, maybe you've got a type," he tried to joke, making me roll my eyes. "Who said I like you, Donaldson?" I tried to defend myself, and Art wasn’t laughing anymore. He wasn’t smiling either. He just looked at me, not letting me read his expression. His hand, which had been playing with mine, tightened its grip, and his gaze locked onto me as if I was on trial for the words that just came out of my mouth.

"Let’s study for the statistics exam together tomorrow?" He changed the subject, not breaking his intense gaze. "Art—" "Study for the exam. Just that. I won't pass it if you don't help me," he flashed his most charming smile. The one he fakes in seconds. The one he uses for interviews with the Stanford magazine and in photoshoots for the tennis team posters. "Study with Dylan," I suggested, raising an eyebrow, referring to the imaginary friend he chose to sit with instead of me. "You want me to beg?" he asked, poking my shoulder with his finger, causing me to shift slightly but still not letting go of my hand. "Maybe," I teased. "I can. My ego will survive if you study with me for statistics tomorrow." He said it quicker than I expected.

"I have a philosophy exam at eight. Can you do twelve?" I asked. "I can when you can. Where’s the exam? I’ll wait for you," he said. "Meet me at the economics library. There’s a room where you’re allowed to talk if you’re working in groups," I explained my choice. "That’s ridiculous. Let’s study at your place or mine—" "We’ll study at the library, take it or leave it," I stated firmly, even though the temptation to go to his dorm was strong since he never invited me. We always went to mine. "Library it is," he agreed. "What’s your philosophy exam about?" he asked, finally letting go of my hand, which had been holding the book I was studying from. "Aristotle and eudaimonia. What he thinks about happiness," I muttered, opening my notes again. "What does he think about happiness?" Art asked, leaning on the counter. "You wouldn’t get it," I smiled at him, and saw him nod with a somewhat thoughtful look, as if his combative spirit and desire to argue had evaporated the moment I agreed to study statistics with him. "Tomorrow at twelve, Peaches. Don’t break my heart and ditch me," he threw into the air, leaving the booth with the same dramatic flair he had when he entered. . . . I walked into the economics library, which was packed with people. Art was already sitting there, messing with his phone more than with the notes in front of him on the table. He hadn’t noticed I’d entered, giving me the chance to observe him. His blonde curls fell over his eyes in a way that likely bothered him. He was wearing his red tennis outfit (the one I liked the most, I should mention) and looked carefree. He always seemed too relaxed, maybe that’s how it is when everything comes to you with an ease that’s almost disgusting.

"You need a haircut," I muttered the first thing that came to mind as I approached, seeing him look up immediately. "Hey," he said, smiling from ear to ear, "I saved a spot because I knew it’d be crowded," he added. "How long have you been sitting here?" I asked as I took the seat next to him. "Since about ten," he chuckled, probably at himself, "How was the exam?" he asked. "Long. Have you gone over any of the material?" Yesterday, I decided I’d be practical. I’d promised to help him, and honestly, I always understood the material better myself when I explained it to him. And if Art Donaldson could take advantage of my knowledge in statistics, then I could take advantage of the situation too. Not just him. "A little, I pretty much lost track in the middle of the course." Art had taken this course as an elective. I always found it funny because who takes statistics as an extra class when it’s not even required for their degree?

"What, Kevin didn’t let you copy his notes?" I looked at him with a raised eyebrow, and he lightly tapped my shoulder. "You’re mean. Since when are you so mean?" he responded with a humor I couldn’t fully read, unsure if he was joking or if part of him actually thought there was some cruelty in me. Maybe it was the philosophy exam I couldn’t shake off. Obsessive thoughts about happiness and potential. "I’m going to get myself some coffee, want me to bring you something?" I asked, changing the subject. "Sit down, get settled, I’ll get it for you," he nodded toward me and stood up, not giving me a chance to refuse before he disappeared from my sight, leaving me alone.

Art Donaldson will be the end of me. I’m certain of it. "My brain is fried, Donaldson. I can’t look at any more averages," I summed up after two hours of studying. "Yeah? Already gave up?" he asked, amused. "I remind you that I had an exam today! I don’t think I’ve eaten anything other than my own brain," I tried to remember what I’d actually eaten today. "So let’s go eat something," he smiled. His eyes practically sparkled. "Art," I sighed, resting my head on my hand. "What? We can’t go have lunch?" he asked with mock innocence. Speaking to me again like I was a child. Like I didn’t understand what he’d already figured out long ago. "No, of course not," I wanted to smack him on the head as if he were the dumbest person I knew. "I can’t let you stay hungry, Peaches, my grandmother would be mad at me," he quickly replied. Where was your grandmother every time you humiliated me to the core? Every time you made me feel empty and stupid? So stupid. "Your grandmother will survive," I rolled my eyes. "She’s a very sick woman, you don’t know that. I’ll tell her I let you starve and she’ll have a stroke. You won’t be able to live with that on your conscience. You’ll drag us into lives full of guilt—" "Okay, you’re giving me a headache, God," I mumbled, standing up. Art Donaldson’s smug smile returned to his face in an instant.

That’s how I found myself sitting across from him at the fancy cafeteria for athletes, eating nuggets after the woman working there flirted with him and gave me a threatening look. "Don’t hate Rosie, she always gives me extra pie," he said after I pointed out that she looked at me like I was the reason the Beatles broke up. "Because she wants to sleep with you," I rolled my eyes. "So she has a reason to look at you like that. Makes sense," he replied with a chuckle. "Okay, what is this?" I dropped the nugget I was holding and pointed between us as I leaned back in my chair. "What?" he continued eating as if nothing unusual was happening. "What are you doing, Art?" I asked, feeling my leg start to shake out of frustration.

"I’m eating and making sure you’re eating," he replied, taking another bite of his food, as if we were having a completely normal conversation. "We’re not going to fuck again just because you invited me to eat nuggets at the cafeteria, you know that, right?" I blinked at him, trying to signal that he was delusional. "Of course not," he said, leaning back in his chair as well. "I have principles, Donaldson," I continued. "I know," he smiled. "I’m not some girl you found on the street that you can treat however you want, disappear for two months, invite her for nuggets, and she’ll take off her bra just so you can vanish again until the next time you’re horny," my voice rose a bit, despite my effort to keep it calm. I saw his jaw tighten, his expression shifting from amused to cold. "Is that what you think this is?" he asked, and all I could do was shrug.

"It’s not like you’ve given me any reason to think otherwise, Art," I looked at him and felt that if I stayed there much longer, I’d start crying. "I told you that I lo—" he began, but I stood up. "Thanks for lunch, it’s definitely nicer than the regular cafeteria," I forced a smile, and he closed his eyes. "You didn’t eat anything," he replied. If I focused, maybe I could have seen his frustration growing. But I was trying to focus on not crying. Art Donaldson’s ego didn’t deserve to see me cry over him again. "I’m really tired, I need to sleep a bit before my shift," I mumbled. "Will you come to my match tomorrow?" he asked quietly. "Art—" "You don’t have to, but I’m saving you a seat, okay?" he cut off my answer, not wanting to hear a refusal, maybe not believing there was a bone in my body capable of saying no to him. . . . And it’s a little pathetic how I ended up walking onto the tennis court the next day, giving up the last shred of my self-respect. I was surprised to see how many people showed up to these things, especially at the end of exam season and right before the break. The place was packed.

‘You came’ -A- I got his message and tried to look around, searching for where he might be. ‘Down on the court’ -A- I could practically see his smirk in the words. I glanced toward him and shrugged. ‘Front row, saved you a seat next to Patrick’ -A- he added.

‘What the fuck is Patrick?’ -(Y/N)- I replied, not moving toward where he told me to go.

‘A friend. Please sit there.’ -A- He answered shortly. ‘Want to lift my head and know where you are’ -A- And when he says things like that, I almost forget how cruel he can be. So I find myself rolling my eyes and walking toward the seat he saved for me.

"Are you Patrick?" I mumbled, feeling my cheeks flush from the awkward interaction with the guy sitting next to the empty seat. "Depends who’s asking," the curly-haired guy responded, flashing a mischievous half-smile. I can see why they’re friends. Fucking twelve-year-olds in the bodies of twenty-year-olds, how is that even possible?! "Don’t be a dick," we heard from down below, and I turned to see Art approaching us. "Who’s this?" the guy I didn’t know asked, as if I wasn’t standing right there—seriously, rude as hell, but whatever. "Patrick, behave," Art wasn’t joking, not even smiling, scolding him like you’d scold a misbehaving pet. "You came," Art looked me over, grinning from ear to ear. "Don’t let it go to your head, I had some free time," I muttered, sitting down. Art nodded. "Will you stay after the game?" he asked. I think it was the first time Art had to look up to talk to me. "I don’t know, I need to keep studying for statistics," I answered. "Me too," he replied. "We’ll study together," he shrugged, not giving me a chance to respond before he walked off, taking his position. Getting ready to serve.

“Interesting,” the guy next to me said. “What exactly?” I asked, rolling my eyes and still not looking at him. “You, of course,” I could hear him smiling. “What’s so interesting about me?” I kept staring into the air, unsure if I should focus on Art, who still hadn’t started playing, or the phenomenon sitting next to me. Arrogant, just like the blond guy who’s been emotionally torturing me for months. “Well, first of all, I’ve never heard of you. You’re a surprise,” he said as if it was obvious. And it stung a little, even though I knew the chances of Art talking about me were slim to none. “Maybe you’re the problem, Pete,” I muttered, snapping my fingers like I was trying to recall his name. “Patrick,” he corrected, laughing, making me look at him. He had a loud laugh, unapologetic. I knew his name was Patrick, and he knew I knew, but he still found it amusing.

“Maybe you’re the surprise,” I told him. “He doesn’t talk about you either.” I tried to sound unaffected, like everything was fine. The game started, and Art looked distracted. Maybe he always looks like that when he plays tennis- I’ve never watched his games before, he’s never invited me. “You’re supposed to watch the other side too,” Patrick whispered in my ear, causing me to roll my eyes. “Hey, Stats Girl,” I heard the familiar voice of Tashi Duncan just before she sat next to Patrick, cursing the day I decided to trust Art Donaldson and show up at his game. “The one and only,” I muttered with the best smile I could muster, feeling myself blush at the ridiculous nickname she gave me. “How’s he doing?” she asked Patrick. I wondered what their connection was. “He’s good, you know, as usual. Ice.” he replied, and they started talking quietly about the game, about Art, and about the opponent.

All I could think about was how good Art looked. He looked as if everything came to him effortlessly, as if he didn’t need to try for anything—everything just happened. And I knew that wasn’t true, I knew he worked hard, trained, ate properly, invested in his studies, and that he was probably a good grandson and a good friend. He was good to everyone except me. “Are you enjoying the game?” Tashi asked, pulling my gaze away from Art for a moment. “Huh?” I asked, not understanding what she wanted. “The game, are you enjoying it? He’s playing well,” she clarified. “Yeah, he’s really good,” I mumbled. I didn’t know what else to add to make it sound convincing. “Leave her, Tash. She doesn’t know anything about tennis, she’s his cheerleader,” Patrick answered her, snickering. I shot him a murderous look. “Patrick, don’t be rude,” Tashi said, “I’m sorry about him, he doesn’t know how to behave around people,” she turned to me, as if he wasn’t there. “It’s fine,” I replied, feeling my leg start to shake from the frustration. They went back to talking about the game, and I suddenly felt how pathetic it was, showing up to watch him play. To come and see him in his element, when he wasn’t part of my life anymore. When his friend sat next to me, mocking me to my face. “I’ll be right back…” I mumbled, walking toward the exit. I had no intention of coming back. . . . Two hours later, there were chaotic knocks on my door. “You left,” Art walked in without waiting for an invitation the second I opened the door. He looked angry. “I told you I didn’t know if I’d stay, I have an exam tom-” “Bullshit. What’s your deal? Why did you come?” He practically shouted as I closed the door. “You asked me to come,” I mumbled. “I also asked you to stay, but you left in the middle, so what was the point of you coming?” He crossed his arms. I don’t think I’d ever seen him this angry. He’s always calculated and calm. “Did he say something?” he added, asking a question. “What?” I returned, not understanding what he was talking about. “Patrick, did he say something to you? Why did you leave?” He asked again, speaking to me like I was a child. “He didn’t say anything to me. I left because I didn’t understand what I was even watching. I don’t know anything about tennis, Art, and I have an exam to study for,” I tried to justify. “Enough with that exam. I heard you studying for it yesterday, you know the material, we both know you know it.” He sighed. “I didn’t ask you to come to give tennis commentary. I asked you to come because I wanted you in the crowd. I wanted to see you in the crowd,” he continued. I could hear the effort in his voice to keep it together, to not lose control.

“Tashi was in the crowd; that should be enough for you,” I muttered, lifting my gaze to him, seeing that he was already staring at me. We had never talked like this about Tashi. She had always been this figure hovering above us. He talked about her constantly, unrelated to anything. He talked about her like she was a god. He talked about how she played tennis, about her training, how she helped him. He talked about parties he only went to because Tashi wanted to go. But I never responded in a way that would let him understand that I knew. That I wasn’t completely clueless. That I knew he was completely in love with her. That he loved her the way I loved him and that nothing would change that. “Oh, so that’s the problem. You could’ve started with that. It bothered you that Tashi was in the crowd?” He chuckled. He fucking chuckled. “Why did it bother you?” He moved closer to me, and I had no choice but to avert my gaze from his piercing blue eyes, which felt like bullets at that moment. “It didn’t bother m-” “Look at me.” He was close enough to grab my head and turn it back to face him. “I asked you a question,” he added, not letting me escape. And if there’s anyone I didn’t want to talk about, it’s Tashi Duncan.

“Why did you invite me? Why did you want me in the crowd?” “Because I wanted you to see me play,” he answered without blinking, as if it was obvious. As if there wasn’t a single question I could ask him that he wouldn’t have an answer for. “You love Tashi, Art. You lo-” His lips were on mine the second I said it. Again, there was nothing calm or calculated about this kiss. He was trying to prove that he didn’t, that I was wrong. While we both knew I was right. “You can’t say things like that, Peaches. You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he mumbled as he pulled away from me to catch a breath. “It’s okay that you love her. I’ve made peace with it. I just need you to let me move on, Art,” I sighed, trying to catch my breath again. “I don’t fucking love her.” He was angry; I could hear it in his voice. “What do I have to do to make you understand that you’re the only girl for me?” He kissed me again, and I could feel him getting hard from the way he pressed against me, causing me to moan into his mouth. “Yeah? Is this the only way I can get through to you? Is this the only way you believe me?” he asked, running his lips down my neck. "Art," it was half a moan, half a cry. My eyes closed, and as they did, I felt the weight of his hands on my shoulders, pulling me down until I was on my knees in front of him. I unbuttoned his jeans and quickly pulled down his boxers. I felt almost possessed as he sat on the edge of my bed, forcing me to crawl toward him. “There we go. Is this the only way I need to treat you for you to understand your place?” he muttered as I knelt before him again. I felt a light slap on my cheek from his cock, much more humiliating than painful. “I asked you a question,” he continued.

“N-no,” I mumbled. “Even your voice is annoying me right now,” he muttered, and without warning, I felt his cock in my mouth. He didn’t give me a moment to adjust, punishing me for leaving the match, maybe for bringing up Tashi, maybe for everything combined. You could never tell with him. I felt him hitting the back of my throat, and I tried to suppress my gag reflex with little success. Three months since he’d been in my mouth showed signs. “Shhh, you can do better than that,” he half-stroked my hair, half-held me in place by it. Then he pulled me back, leaving a trail of spit and precum. “You’re such a mess,” he chuckled, and again I felt a light slap of his cock against my cheek. I put my lips back where I knew he needed them the most, and this time, there was no gentle stroking of my hair. There was only a hand forcing me to stay in place as he used my mouth however he wanted. “Nothing to say now, huh?” he said, not very coherently, as I began to feel the warm, thick liquid spill into my throat. “Atta girl,” he patted my hair twice before letting me pull back.

I stood up slowly, trying to catch my breath. “Come here,” he mumbled, pointing to his thigh. I can’t refuse Art Donaldson, so I sat on his lap, placing my hands on his neck in an almost embrace, watching him smile. “Why is everything so hard with you?” he muttered, and his lips lazily found my neck. “I just don’t know what you want from me,” I responded, trying to focus on anything other than his lips currently on my collarbone. “I told you I love you,” he mumbled, his eyes locking onto mine. “You don’t mean that,” I shot back.

“Oh yeah?” His smirk spread across his face, and in seconds, he tossed me onto the bed as if I weighed nothing. He was above me. “For now, the one acting like a brat is you,” he said, his presence casting a shadow over me like a predator playing with its prey. “The one who left in the middle of my match is you.” His lips again left trails on my skin. I don’t even know when he took my shirt off. I felt a light bite on my nipple that made me moan. “Fuck, fa- Art,” I mumbled, unable to focus. “The one avoiding interaction with my friends is you.” His hand joined in, starting to torture my other nipple as his kisses moved further down. “I’m not,” I managed to respond, just as he easily removed my panties.

His breaths hovered over my pussy, short and hot, and if I didn’t know Art Donaldson so well, I would’ve thought he was looking up at me with almost a pleading expression. But he was in complete control. A small kiss on my lips, but not where I really needed him, made me shift my hips a little, and he chuckled- a laugh that was almost childlike. “Hey, ask nicely,” he managed to say, and I returned to the position I had before, legs around his head. “Please, Art,” I knew there was no point in arguing; he always got what he wanted in the end. “No problem, baby,” in seconds, his tongue was on my clit, starting slowly with circular motions and picking up speed with every moment. “There you go, you’re almost there,” he muttered, pulling back just before I could come. “What-” I tried to catch my breath again, craving the euphoria only he could give me at that moment. “I want to be inside you,” he answered without waiting for the full question, and in an instant, his cock filled me, making me moan. “Fuck,” I managed to mumble, feeling my eyes roll back. “Hold on a little longer, Peach,” he said, slipping his finger into my mouth like he liked to do, watching my lips close around it. “Now,” he muttered, pushing it deeper into my throat while he thrust into me, feeling me tighten around him like only an orgasm from him could make me do.

He fucked me stupid. There’s no other way to describe what I experienced, and as we both tried to catch our breath, I wondered how long it would take for him to leave this time and what his excuse would be. “Don’t you have practice tomorrow?” I quietly asked, trying to throw him off balance for a moment. “No, but I don’t know anything for the stats exam,” he admitted and chuckled. “Art! I taught you all the material yesterday,” I rolled my eyes. “I can’t concentrate when you’re teaching me.” “Then why did you ask for help?” It was my turn to laugh. “Because you’re the most beautiful when you’re in your element,” he shrugged like it was obvious. Like hearing me talk about statistics would make him fall in love with me. Like it wasn’t what I felt two and a half hours ago when he played tennis, until I almost choked on love.

“When are you going home?” he asked, probably knowing my last exam was in statistics. “I’m not,” I replied casually, and he quickly shifted positions. “Why the hell not?” he asked, and I saw a small wrinkle form between his eyebrows. “It’s no big deal, Donaldson,” I chuckled, “I picked up extra shifts, and I have a paper to work on. Speaking of shifts, I need to get ready for mine.” I added as I checked the time. He watched me as I walked around the room, trying to decide if I smelled too much like sex to push the shower until after work. “Are you coming to the study marathon tomorrow before the exam?” he asked, starting to get dressed too. “Of course,” I looked at him like he was crazy. “Don’t think about skipping it, Art. You need it,” I said, knowing exactly who I was dealing with. “Okay, Mom,” his voice was amused, and I rolled my eyes, looking at him for another moment. We don’t get too many moments like these. Almost domestic. Almost mine.

"Hey, we're good, right?" he suddenly asked, holding my hand and not letting me continue running around the room. "Yeah, Art, everything's fine," I smiled half-heartedly, feeling a bit embarrassed. "Because I don't want another two months like these," he muttered, and I knew it was hard for him to admit. It was hard for him to say that the past two months had been strange, to say the least. Difficult, to be honest. "Me neither." I nodded at him. "When are you flying home?" I asked as we were both already outside the door, after I had locked it. "Four hours after the exam, I’m supposed to be on a flight," he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Wow, two weeks at home, excited?" I asked. "Not that much, mostly glad I get to visit my grandma. She follows my matches with her entire retirement home, it’s a big deal for her." "Ooooh, you've got fans, Donaldson?" I joked. "You know I do," he replied. "Seriously though, why aren’t you going home?" he added. "It’s not that deep, just an opportunity to make some extra money. Plus, my mom and I aren’t in the best place right now," I shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal. "Don’t you miss home?" he asked. "Not like most people probably do," I smiled at him. "I hate it when you smile like that," he said and suddenly stopped. "How?" I asked, looking at him as if he were crazy. "Without teeth. That’s your fake smile," he replied without blinking, as if it were strange that I was even asking. "I didn’t think you noticed," I mumbled. And I really didn’t think there was a possibility that Art Donaldson paid attention to details that, until now, I thought only I noticed about him. "I’ll see you tomorrow at the marathon?" he asked when we reached the point where I was supposed to head to the cafeteria and he to his dorm. "Don’t be late," I ordered, giving his face a small push, watching him chuckle and walk away from me. . . .

The next morning, I woke up with the worst headache I’d ever had in my life. I felt my nose was blocked, and I knew for sure I had a fever, though I had no way to measure it. 'Where are you?' -A-

'Sick, I’ll come for the exam' -(Y/N)-

'What’s wrong with you?' -A- I didn’t respond to that message, preferring to sleep a bit more before waking up for the statistics exam.

I got in the shower, and when I got out, I looked at myself in the mirror, seeing my flushed cheeks as a contrast to my pale face. There was no mistaking it when you looked at me- I wasn’t at my best. The auditorium was partially full when I entered, people chatting among themselves, and I looked around, seeing Art already staring at me before he approached, getting ahead of Janet, who shot me a questioning glance. "Well, you look like shit," he stated, placing his hand on my forehead. "Fuck, Peaches, you’re burning up," he muttered, looking at me with an almost angry expression. "How did you manage to start dying in the minute and a half I left you alone?" he said. "I’m talented, Donaldson. Can you not yell? My head hurts," I mumbled, sitting in the empty seat I found.

The exam went smoothly and ended faster than it began. I physically couldn’t wait for Art to finish, so I texted him, hoping he’d enjoy his time at home, and I went to sleep. Half an hour later, there was a knock at my door, chaotic like the one from the day before. "Hey," he muttered. "You’ll miss your flight," I replied, running a tired hand over my eyes. "I’m not flying," he said quickly. "What?" I asked, not understanding what he was talking about, seeing him take off his shirt and pants, left only in his boxers. "Art, I physically can’t have sex," I chuckled, not understanding what was happening. "We’re going to sleep," he declared, pulling me toward him, leaving me no choice but to get into bed next to him. "Your bed’s worse than mine. Tomorrow we’ll sleep at my dorm," he stated.

"You're going to get sick too" I rolled my eyes, "Why aren’t you going home?" I asked quietly, while his hand traced shapes on my shoulder. "It felt weird going home when you’re sick and staying here," he replied, not ashamed for a second. "Your grandma must be disappointed," I mumbled. "I told her my girlfriend is sick," he said. I wanted so badly to see his face, but I had my back to him. "She must’ve been surprised you have a girlfriend," I said the first thing that came to mind, feeling my heart race. "Not at all, I talk to her about you all the time."

. . .

So here it is. The second part I didn't plan. Hope you like it even tho I wrote half of it while being super sick and didn't check my own grammar at all, so bear with me (a reminder: English is not my first language). Let me know what you think. It's always the best part. Also, I think I'm up for some requests. Let's see what we can come up with. Love you guys

#challengers fic #art donaldson #challengers #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson smut #his favorite toy

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warnadudenexttime · 2 days

Text

Roman, groaning: UGHHHH!

Virgil:

Roman: I SAID UGHHHHH!

Virgil, taking off his headphones: Okay, Roman, I get it. What do you want?

Roman: Thank you~ Ugh, I’m just so annoyed! Today is Logan’s week to decide movie night!

Virgil: You know we wouldn’t do a weekly rotation for movie nights if you didn’t rig the votes everytime we tried to-

Roman: HE’S PROBABLY GOING TO PICK ANOTHER LAME EDUCATIONAL DOCUMENTARY!

Virgil: I will agree with you on that, they- are… really boring.

Patton: Aw, come on guys! Be nice! If it’s what Logan wants then we all have to watch, it’s his turn!

Virgil, shooting a glare: You fell asleep 5 minutes into the 3 hour movie on parakeets last month!

Patton: RAINFOREST NOISES MAKE ME SLEEPY! I CAN’T HELP IT!

Logan, walking in holding a DVD: Ah, I see you are all “pumped up” as they say, likely for movie night?

Roman, looking up: Uh-

Virgil, looking down: Er-

Patton, mumbling: Please don’t ask me to lie-

Logan, frowning: Well, luckily for you three then, we aren’t watching the ‘Exploring the History of Cryptids in Europe’ documentary I did have planned for this week.

Virgil: Well, now- that one sounds pretty cool-

Logan: We will instead be watching the Disney classic, “Cinderella.”

Patton and Roman: Yay!

Virgil, pointing a finger upwards: I think- we should really revisit that cryptids documentary idea- actually-

Logan, handing out papers to the others: But of course, due to its lack of educational content you all will be completing a worksheet on the movie.

Roman, grabbing the paper with force: A WORKSHEET?! I get you’re a teacher but this is overstepping it don’t you think??

Virgil, reading one of the questions: “Do you foresee the economic collapse of the prince’s kingdom in the future? Argue why or why not in a short answer format?” Wow this is… this sucks.

Patton, staring at the paper: Were we supposed to study for this- I moved out Thomas’ memories of Cinderella to make more room for celebrity crushes-

Logan: Hm? Study? No. You should be filling out these questions as we watch the film, but I suppose afterwards we all can go over the worksheet if you prefer.

Virgil, eyes widening: Share my answers with the whole group? What if my answer is wrong- what if my voice cracks- what if-

Roman, shaking the paper in the air: Why the hell do we have to fill out a worksheet! This is movie night! It’s about having fun!

Logan: Well, you all wanted something “non-educational” and to work around copyright laws, the only way teachers are allowed to show films in that nature is to mandate a worksheet along with it. So. If anything you’ve done this to yourselves.

Virgil:

Patton:

Roman: WHAT COPYRIGHT LAWS?! WE LIVE IN A GAY MAN’S F-CKING HEAD?! JUST LET US WATCH THE MOVIE!

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #logan sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #incorrect quotes #this is long but I find the concept very funny shsjsjs

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sturniowhore · 20 hours

Text

Kiss Cam!

Warnings: Fluff, Secret/hidden relationship, Chris x Fem!reader, swearing

Tags: @d3axplr @miss-ykwho @mattsturnziolio @joemamaaa42069

A/n: this shit is so ass ngl LMAO sorry if some of the wording doesn't make sense i'm exhausted and I refuse to download grammerly! Also I hope I didn't screw up the hockey scenes I know NOTHING about the sport

In which.. Y/n and Chris decide to keep their relationship out of the public eye. What happens when they decide to go to a hockey game and they appear on the kiss cam on live television..?

You and Chris shuffle through the crowds of excited hockey fans trying to find your seats. Chris leads with one of his hands behind him, allowing for you to take hold of it so you don't get lost amidst the swarm of people.

Eventually, you two make it to your designated seats. You sit down waiting for the game to start, Chris's arm drapes over your shoulder "you excited?" he turns to you with a toothy grin. To be honest you could care less about the game, you didn't even know which teams were playing tonight. You still wanted to come with Chris though, knowing it'd make him happy. "Yeah! Can't wait! Also.. who are we rooting for again?" Chris laughs, leaning in and placing a kiss on your temple.

As he starts explaining, the screens in the middle of the arena started counting down and the lights dim. The crowd starts cheering, awaiting the players to come into view. Chris stops speaking immediately, his eyes widened and glued onto the ice. You smile at his excited expression and turn your head to one of the screens.

The lights of the arena came back up as the sports commentator announced the first team. "WELCOME TO THE ICE THE BOSTON BRUINNSSSSSS" The crowd went wild! People were jumping, screaming, waving their arms around in support. "WOOOOOO" Chris cheered clapping his hands together. The opposing team was also announced, it was the other half of the arena's turn to cheer.

The game soon started, the opposing team taking the lead. The people in the stands were on the edge of their seats, watching the puck glide around the ice waiting for it to go into one of the goals. One of the players from the opposing team scored a goal. Half the crowd started cheering, the other half kept quiet out of respect but still had sour looks on their faces.

Your boyfriend sucked his teeth, using one hand to rub his chin in frustration. "c'mon c'mon" Chris muttered under his breath as the game continued. He was watching the game with intensity, his eyes never leaving the ice.

Soon enough the Bruins made a goal, the score was now 1-1. Much to everyone's disliking the game paused for an intermission. People got up to use the bathroom, grab something to eat, stretch their legs, trying to use the short break to the best of their ability not wanting to miss anything.

You yawned, head leaning against your boyfriend's shoulder. "what? ya bored already?" He smirked down at you. "no no just uhm..." Chris laughed at you failing to find an excuse, holding you close to him. The screens in the middle of the arena changed, it went from the arena's name to a white page with the words KISS CAM in pink letters and hearts around it.

"here we go with that corny shit" Chris rolled his eyes. "stop, I think it's cute" you pouted at him and turned back to the screen. The first pair that was shown were an elderly couple, the woman was first to notice and pointed it out to her husband. when he saw the screen he gently cupped her face and gave her a soft kiss. "aww that's so sweet" Your eyes widened at the sight, a slight pout forming on your lips. Chris tried to suppress his smile but failed. He leaned down, his breath tickling your ear "that's gonna be us in 40 years." You blushed at his words, your eyes peering into his "yeah? you think so?" "oh I know so 100%" Chris said with confidence. You couldn't help but smile at his words, you loved that he was thinking of a future with you.

The next pair on the kiss cam brought you out of your trance. It was a father and his daughter, the girl looked no older than 3. The father pointed to the screen to show his little girl they were on tv, the girl grinned ear to ear clapping her little chubby hands together. The father kissed his baby's cheeks and she let out a happy giggle. The whole stadium erupted into awes, smiling at the wholesome interaction in front of them.

Chris's arm's were drawing patterns on your shoulder mindlessly, he was distracted by the bustling crowds of people walking up and down the stairs to notice that you were trying to get his attention. "Chris..." no response "Chris" you repeat, again no response. "Chris." you say a little louder this time, this catches his attention "hm?" he questions with a lazy look. You point at the screen in front of you. He looks over expecting to see another couple you found cute, what he saw wasn't what he expected at all.

On the screen, he saw himself and you displayed in front of everyone that was inside TD garden, not to mention the thousands of people watching the game live on television and he knew some of those people were probably his fans. His eyes widened at the sight, on different circumstances he would've kissed you on the spot not caring about a thing. But this was different.

You've gotten enough hate just for hanging out with the triplets and being in their videos, imagine how much hate you'd get for kissing one of them? Let alone dating. You and Chris kept your relationship hidden from the public for years knowing that you would get crucified if some of the fans found out.

You were in a state of panic not knowing what to do. You looked at your boyfriend for answers, he was just as clueless. You looked back at the screen hoping it would've moved onto another couple, it didn't. The camera was still on the two of you. "I swear whoever's operating this is praying on our downfall" You nervously chuckle Chris is silent, still in a state of shock. "just kiss already!" some stranger said from afar.

Chris's thoughts were running wild in his mind, He didn't want his fans to go ballistic on you but the thought of the two of you kissing in front of thousands of people was making him go crazy, he wanted to show the world that you were his and his only.

"Fuck it." Chris grabbed your face with both hands pulling you into a forceful kiss. You were stunned. Chris pulled away, grinning ear to ear at your surprised expression. The kiss cam moved on to another couple soon after, not paying attention to the two of you anymore. "I can't believe you just did that" you say astonished. Chris still grinning, faced towards the ice and shrugged "I mean we were on the kiss cam right? we had to" "but your f-" "don't worry about it ma I'll deal with it" Chris grabbed your hand interlocking it with his, bringing it up to his lips and kissing the back of your palm. You had a shy smile plastered on your face "I uh.. thought you said kiss cams were corny" "they are" "then why'd you kiss me?" you questioned. You knew the answer, he knew you knew the answer. "Oh y'know, we couldn't let the people be disappointed" trying to act as nonchalant as possible, failing terribly. "of course of course" you played along.

The intermission ended and the game continued. Chris had a hard time focusing on the game, his mind wandering to the events that had just unfolded a few minutes ago. He wanted to for so long to show everyone that the two of you were together and he finally did. He didn't care what the haters had to say, all that mattered to him was that you were his and that he was yours.

hours later....

You and Chris went inside the house. Both of you were exhausted, you planned to take a nice warm shower and to finally get some sleep. But someone had other plans..

"what the fuck were you guys THINKING?" Nick screamed at the two of you. Matt watches from the couch with amusement, holding Trevor in his lap. "what are you-" you were about to question him but the man cut you off by shoving his phone in your face. On it was a clip of you and Chris kissing on the kiss cam. "oh.." Soft chuckles came out of Matt's mouth "you both are fucked everyone is going insane." He was right, that video has a million likes and hundreds of thousands of comments.

"Are you guys mentally okay!? Did you not use your brains for a second!? Why on EARTH did you do that!?" Chris rolled his eyes at his brother's antics. "Nick what the fuck were we supposed to do? The stupid cameraman wouldn't move on until we kissed each other" "You could've said no!" "Its fine Nick, whatever's happened happened. You don't gotta worry about it anymore kay?" Chris shrugged. "fine fine but you're gonna have to deal with this cause i most certainly am not. Good night." Nick put both his arms up in surrender and walked to his room.

Matt got up from his spot from the couch. He walked up to you both, he gave Chris a supportive pat on the shoulder and he shot you a reassuring smile before walking up to his room, Trevor following close behind.

You plopped down on the couch, your face was buried in your hands. "we shouldn't have done that" you groaned, your voice filled with regret. Chris sat down next to you "hey.. it's gonna be fine, I promise if anyone tries some shit I'll block them and they will no longer have access to any Sturniolo Triplet content" His hands went to his cheeks as he gave a faux surprised look. You laugh "you can't block them all" "yeah but if I block 3 of them I'm sure the rest will get the message" He grins. You shake your head in disbelief, a playful smile resting on your face. "alright now no more sadness we just came back from an awesome bruins game and we need to keep the good vibes goin'. I'll run you a bath yeah?" With that Chris ran up the stairs to the bathroom. You couldn't help but chuckle, somehow that man always knew how to make you laugh even in the most dire situations.

You picked up your phone opening Tiktok, you weren't surprised when the first video that popped up was the kiss cam clip. You knew you shouldn't, you knew what you were about to do was dumb, but you couldn't help it the curiosity of peoples opinions took over. You opened the comment section bracing yourself for the hate and insults

comments:

user3453985: I KNEW IT

user7654876: I'm not even surprised they were so bad at hiding it I LOVE THIS THO

user2832733: AWWW CUTIES 🩷🩷🩷

user003328: they're perfect together omg!

user22383: @user33314 like who? you? girl please sit down.

User33314: really? her? he could do sm better tbh. 🤷‍♀️

As you were reading the comments your smile got bigger and bigger. Sure there was some hate, but the amount of positive comments were drowning them out almost completely. Everything might be okay after all.

#chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x you #sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #matthew sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fluff #sturniolo fluff

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alatismeni-theitsa · 3 days

Text

In "KAOS" nothing is anything, and everything is wrong

Two disclaimers: I am no stranger to modern art, and I have no issue with queerness in shows, or in my own mythology (I'm Greek). I am also aware that KAOS is a comedy. It's in the gutter of British comedy, but still part of the genre. At least I laughed every time they said "Oh God!". I don't believe this is the same person who wrote the great and amusing "End of the F**king World"! The premise of "The gods in our modern world" appeals to me a lot, so that wasn't my problem either. My general issue with KAOS is its horrible delivery, bad writing, and piss-poor Greek representation.

This is gonna be long and full of stupid gifs, so sit comfortably, grab a coffee or some popcorn and... pame!

The "ILoveGreekMythology" Kid

Art without context is just a pretty thing to look at. Most of the time, this context can be found within the art piece itself, as the artist has taken care to weave it in. KAOS refuses to connect itself to any context besides the names and a few vague powers. It aims to exist outside of those "boring old stories of the Greek myth" and be entirely "fresh and modern". Something impossible when the entire show and the meanings are based on ancient recorded material. In other words, KAOS is so meta that it ends up being nothing. KAOS cannot stand on its own because you need more than the viewers being familiar with the Greek myth basics to pull such a show off.

KAOS tells us "See? I know all the names of the gods, and what they did, and I know all the locations, so I am qualified to tackle this". More or less like any Western kid who takes all their knowledge from PJO and Marvel and proceeds to unironically hate ancient deities and make a girlboss out of Medusa.

Here's a Greek word for you guys, ημιμάθεια, meaning "half-knowledge". Α Greek saying very well declares "Half-knowledge is worse than no knowledge". The confidence of thinking you know enough often leads you to grave mistakes whereas the humility of not knowing prevents you from touching shit that you shouldn't. When you have no idea what the original myth is trying to say and spit on its meaning, knowing a few names and locations is just smoke and mirrors. I don't believe the audience fell for that.

And don't get me started on the "subversions". A good subversion is intriguing and thought-provoking. In KAOS, every twist was hollow - Greek myth related or otherwise.

"What if Euridice doesn't love Orpheus?" I don't know, babe. What if??? What was the point of that? What did you show us? That women's stories are dominated by men and men don't listen to women, perhaps? And you chose to twist... the love story of Orpheus and Euridice to show this?? One of the best and most tragic love stories Greek mythology has to offer?? You just mocked the myth, you didn't make anything profound out of it.

The Greek Stuff (Nothing salvageable)

I was surprised to see they had a Consulting Producer (Georgia Christou) and an Assistant Script Editor (Isabella Yianni) who happen to be Greek. And I stress that because those people probably weren't hired or utilized for being Greek. We are not sure they were involved in cultural decisions because we have no evidence and because shows with no Greek elements can have more Greeks than that on their staff.

Okay, perhaps they took 5 seconds to ask Isabella about a greeting - which they proceeded to say in a wrong intonation 🙄🤌It's where Poseidon says "ya sás" in the Fates, by the way. How he said it sounds more like "for you (pl.)" than "health to you (pl.)".

Surprise! The only Greek actor present (Peter Polycarpou) has less than 5 minutes of screen time and plays the caricature of an immigrant with a thick (and inaccurate Greek) accent. He has a canteen, selling falafel which is not Greek, and Dionysus buys from him an unidentified tortilla wrap (which... is also not Greek, if you haven't caught up).

For the show they brought in actors of Maori, Nigerian and Sierra Leonean, Pakistani, Black American, Latvian-Jewish, Iranian, Egyptian, Indo-Fijian and Malay descent and you tell me it was impossible for them to seek and find an English-speaking, skilled actor of Greek descent in a show regarding Greek heritage. Sometimes I wonder, do y'all hate us so much?

They considered Greeks only to give us a simple (and wrong) greeting and a stereotype. Crumbs, we are supposed to be happy with. By the way, there are over 70.000 Greek immigrants just in the UK, usually in the urban centers, many of them students or fairly young employees in the corporate workforce. Not the largest minority but not hard to spot either.

Another plague of Anglophone shows: Almost everyone's Greek name is shortened. Yes, we know their full names but we are told that we will use the short ones. Greeks and their "long and difficult" names am I right fellas? Because saying "Ariadne" apparently requires 5 years of Greek language training, and no English word ever has more than two syllables.

Coincidentally, short names are cool in Anglophone imaginary universes and the "long" names are not. it's so strange Anglophones never make universes where it's cool for Greek names to be spoken in full hmmm... They don't even want to practice saying a whole Greek name for just 2 minutes in preparation for a show full of Greek names. And don't give me that "Greek is hard" shit when we only talk about a few syllables. If Greek kids can learn English since first grade and people here can sing English songs and spell English names, you have no excuse.

They also said the name "Fotis" means light, which is close enough but... ugh.. It's like saying Sebastian means "respect". I am not sure if they asked anyone or what their research was here. If I had the writers in front of me, I'd be like:

(This character from an all-time favorite Greek show is called Fotis)

They also made the flag of "Krete" an alteration of the Greek flag and the local Cretan flag. Which is the stupidest move, because they had to remove the religious symbol of the cross to make the flag fit the universe. These are flags created based on 1) Christianity 2) the Greek Revolution of 1821.

National Greek flag to the left, local Cretan flag to the right:

Flag of the KAOS' "Krete":

The only time they seriously took into account anything Greek, was the time when they decided to remove the religious symbol of our ethnoreligion AND (from what I could observe) keep the nine stripes?? The nine stripes of our national flag represent the syllables in "Freedom or Death". The colors are from the white foustanela of the mainland attire and the dark blue vraka of the island attire, the clothing of the Revolution fighters. (That's more of a meta explanation but the characteristics of the flag were decided during and nearly after the Revolution.)

I think I don't have to explain it more but it's not a homage to put the nine stripes in an ancient era where they have no meaning, and to replace a cross??? Let's... not replace religious symbols on national flags, okay? Thank you.

Another cultural element they changed was making everyone have a dedicated coin to pay Charon. Orpheus has Euridice's coin, "her coin", and he's meant to put it on her before she got buried. In Greek culture, any coin would do. Sorry that our culture restricts your script, dear writers. I guess you had to bend this too, in order to create a cohesive plot with a semblance of a twist.

Finally, the many "Kerberus" dogs were cute and I can understand the creative decision behind that. However, in a show full of inaccuracies, this made me roll my eyes a little. I think the showrunners know that Kerveros is not a breed of dog, and there can only be one of him because he doesn't have any other "Kerveros" to breed with. On the other hand, as demonstrated from art/writing on the internet, quite a lot of Westerners are not exactly aware of how our monsters work, so forgive my uncertainty 😅

Nothing is Anything

Every element KAOS played with ended up meaningless. In the words of a Lifo article:

“Zeus is a paranoid authoritarian dictator in mid-life crisis who fears losing his power and murders his aides to vent. Hera is a promiscuous goddess who repeatedly betrays Zeus and has mutilated mute priestesses for protection. Dionysos is a spoiled and immature zoomer who, apart from pranks, indulges in orgies with all genders. Poseidon a sadistic god of the sea, who tortures the crew on his ship for fun. Prometheus is gay and killed his lover so he could overthrow Zeus. Orpheus is a famous pop singer and Eurydice does not love him. Theseus is black and gay. The Erinyes are tough-as-nails mechs that look like they stepped out of ‘Sons of Anarchy’. The Fates resemble a three-member jury in a talent show. The Trojans are a terrorist group that acts against the gods. Crete is more reminiscent of California than the Mediterranean.”

The "River Styx" is a sea, the "River Lethe" is a lake, the gods are nothing more than spoiled humans, the Moirai are drag queens, the Cave is a club where you have to take a quiz to enter the underworld, and generally everything is modern, flat, mundane and anticlimactic. The producers aimed to achieve a work so meta that a "river" is now a concept, a metaphor, whatever you have in your heart. And those who want to see a river when we speak of a river are probably uncultured swines and don't understand postmodernism. Never mind that rivers are rivers in Greek mythology for a reason. That's not culturally interesting enough to explore compared to the new, cool approach of not assigning meaning to anything. That totally shows love for the original rich and meaningful material...

And the reason behind all this subversion? Probably the shock factor. They brought the characters to a point where they said "We have to save the world from Zeus" - Zeus! The father of gods, heroes and humans! - just because they could. It gives off a certain type of smugness that I personally don't like. I mean, I would like the smugness and cheekiness of KAOS if it wasn't a vapid and practically meaningless show. As nothing symbolizes anything anymore, we are just led from hollow plot point to hollow plot point.

If you cut it out of any cultural influence and see it as a story then it's... okay, I guess. But when you consider that it's meant to derive from certain material and it fails spectacularly, it's not a good story. It forgets its bases and doesn't play with the ancient elements at all. Disney's Hercules did it better, FFS!

Bad Writing (pt.1)

KAOS is not without recognizable themes but their demonstration is so juvenile and heavy-handed that it fails to influence a viewer of average intelligence. For instance, "Riddy" says to her religious mother "You dedicated your whole life to Hera, what about me?" Okay, KAOS, we get it. At the same time, this theme nulls itself because it turns out that Ridy's mother was right to do what she did, as she had a greater goal in mind. (And this, kiddos, is called Bad Writing, because your themes and scenes contradict each other)

The biggest theme I spotted was a criticism of religion and religious people who say "Do as I say, not as I do" and create exceptions for themselves. Only, it's not a criticism of anything real, in this case. It's a fact that some people in the clergy tend to preach peace and love and then they do harm, but we don't know, for example, that The Goddess of Marriage is a cheater and yet she pressures everyone into strict marriages. By focusing their wrath on divine beings who are not known for their hypocrisy, the creators missed the mark.

I can give KAOS props for how it handled Trojans to reflect real issues regarding how immigrants and war refugees are mistreated and blamed. I'd argue it was the only (nearly) well-done theme in the whole show because it had the least on-the-nose delivery and some genuine/serious scenes. But that's it.

More Bad Writing!

Jeff Goldblum's Zeus is shit. He'd crap his pants in an argument with a stern Greek dad/uncle his age. Is this character supposed to be intimidating? (Laughs in Mediterranean) That's not to say that Goldblum is not a good actor, but this role wasn't for him. The same can be said for the other actors, too. They are competent but they only give off the air of "The Greek gods if they lived in London, from the minds of people who think beards and body hair are an affliction". In addition to being misplaced, the actors cannot show their talent when following a script that resembles a children's book.

Why does THE GOD Dionysus have the maturity of a 15-year-old? I repeat, The God Dionysus. He's a freaking deity, and a very old one at that. He is not a teenager neither in appearance nor in experience. In our culture, he is mystical, mighty, wise. Why did they downgrade him so? Just for the plot? This is not Dionysus just because you named him so.

The dialogue rarely takes itself seriously to the point it has you wondering at times "Do people talk and behave like that?". In a comedy where everything is meant to be already extreme and parodied. Even in comedies, something must occasionally be serious so there is a healthy fluctuation in tone and the funny moments can hit you. In KAOS very few scenes treated their impactful dialogue as it should be treated.

The queerness and diversity (good elements, in general) were worse off for being in KAOS. Like, I want these elements to be there. I'm just sad about the whole situation. It's not enough that the show is shit, now you also give an additional reason for conservatives to shit on diverse and queer characters because they are part of a stupid narrative.

I'm the type of person who doesn't mind the queerness of Astyanax and Theseus being lovers in the context of this specific show but they're still the oddest pairing to me because they're from the most irrelevant myths and eras. Also, Astyanax in my mind is a baby who died tragically, for little reason if we are honest, so to bring him back and make him a love interest is... ekh.

In addition, isn't Astyanax supposed to be crippled after a fall from the city walls when he was a baby? Sorry to change subjects but the show is so convoluted and with so many issues that it's extremely difficult to stay on track with what's wrong.

To the person who thought this show was a good idea:

Whatever. Bye. I'm fucking done.

#kaos netflix critical #anti kaos netflix #greek mythology #greek gods #retellings #kaos dionysus #kaos zeus #kaos hera #critique #review #greece #xenoi doing bs #movies

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cuubism · 2 days

Text

last year I saw this 1989 Dreamling art by @webonchin, became extremely obsessed with it, pondered and mulled over it for much time, and now ten whole months later I have a fic

my kingdom for a kiss upon your shoulder

Chapters: 1/3 Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling, Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, 1989 Hob Gadling and Dream of the Endless | Morpheus Meeting, Musician Dream of the Endless, Stockbroker Hob Gadling, Love at First Sight, Getting Together, New York City, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Queer Themes, Disillusionment, Explicit Sexual Content, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Depression, tfw you meet someone who makes you want to change up your whole life Summary:

Despite Hob's success on Wall Street, life is starting to feel meaningless. Limitless sex, drugs, and money should be endlessly entertaining but instead he's bored, he feels empty, like something's missing.

Something, maybe, like the beautiful, tragic musician he meets at a party, who opens more than one new door in Hob's life--and reawakens the buried longing in his heart.

Hob lies on the couch of the crowded apartment he’s found himself in for the evening, head tipped back over the arm. Pounding music thumps distantly around him. Dim lights. Warm bodies moving in blurs. He ignores it all. Picks up his vodka soda from the coffee table and takes a swig. Half of it runs over the side of his mouth instead of into it.

He’s… bored. What’s wrong with him that he’s bored surrounded by as much drugs, sex, and general debauchery as he could possibly want?

But he is. All that climbing for so long and now… he doesn’t know where he is. Why he’s doing any of it. The climb, the growth, was fun for a while. Chasing hunger, chasing more, that was fun. But now he has all of it. Supposedly.

He sighs. Pours the rest of his drink inelegantly into his mouth. If he wants another one he’s going to have to get up. He doesn’t really feel like getting up. He feels like merging himself with the couch instead.

The party spins on around him, as it always does. Not everyone’s feeling as burnt out on sex, drugs, and debauchery as Hob is.

He could go track down some coke, he thinks hazily. Someone here’ll have some. Maybe it would kick his energy back up.

He just feels kind of tired at the thought.

It says something bad about the point he’s reached in life that even cocaine isn’t doing it for him anymore.

“This is very dull,” says a low voice, and a man slumps down beside him, sitting on the floor and leaning back against the couch. He tilts his head back, looking up at Hob. “Do you think so?”

“Yeah,” Hob says, and then does a double take as he catches a proper look at the man.

Christ but he’s gorgeous. Nothing like the men Hob would normally see at a thing like this—nothing like Hob himself—with their fashionable suits, slick hair, slicker smiles. This man is lithe and sprawling, like a wild predator, stark black and white lines, spiky hair, dark makeup, studs flowing down his ears like raindrops. Clever eyes. Long fingers clutching a cocktail that he doesn’t seem particularly interested in.

Hob is instantly fucked.

“I was promised good drugs and better sex and I’m bored on both counts,” the man continues. He takes a sip of his drink, and grimaces.

“That why you’ve come over here?” Hob asks. “Because I looked equally bored?”

“Exactly.” He offers the drink to Hob. “You should try this.”

Hob takes it. It’s… very blue. “What the hell is this?”

“There was a girl working the bar… very drunk. She said she would make me her ‘special potion.’”

That sounds… questionable. Hob takes a sip, and chokes. “Christ.”

“I witnessed her pour in vodka, Prosecco, and tequila. Blue Curaçao—for color, of course. And maraschino cherries.” He plucks one out of the glass by the stem—there are about seven of them total—and eats it.

“What the fuck.” The stuff’s revolting. Hob takes another sip. “That’s alcohol poisoning in a glass.”

“It’s been one of the better parts of the night,” the man says.

Hob returns the glass, and the man tosses more of the drink back, his throat working. Hob’s just drunk enough to not attempt to stop staring like a creep. He wants to ask him if he wants to get out of here, or even just to steal away into one of the many spare bedrooms—it wouldn’t be out of place at a party like this, hell, Hob could drag him into his lap on the fucking couch, everyone’s far too drunk to care—but propositioning this creature for a mere hookup feels like wearing an Italian suit to mud wrestle. What a waste of a perfectly-made thing.

How did something like this wind up at this party?

“Who’d you come in with?” he asks, as the man plucks another cherry from the glass and delicately bites it off the stem.

“Someone who gave me a rather mediocre blowjob after a show,” he says. “I suppose I thought I would find better here, but I was mistaken.”

“Fifty-fifty shot on that, I’d say,” Hob says. Based on personal experience. Sometimes mediocre is good enough. Sometimes sex, regardless of quality, is good enough. For a while it has been. He’s not so sure anymore.

“I dislike betting,” says the man. Then stretches up a limp hand to shake Hob’s. “If we are to commiserate, perhaps names are in order. I am Morpheus.”

Morpheus. What kind of name. Though he had said at a show. A performer of some kind? “Hob,” says Hob, shaking his hand despite the awkward angle.

“Greetings,” says Morpheus solemnly. “You are the first man I’ve met tonight who has not tried to impress me with inanities. I am indebted to you.”

Hob tips his head back against the arm of the couch again with a sigh. “Too tired for bullshit. What’ve people been saying to you, then?”

“I have been taught much,” Morpheus says seriously. “Thrice I have been ‘educated’ on the great promise of ‘mortgage-backed securities.’ The reactions to my disinterest ranged from offense to outright concern for my sanity.”

“I think they were just trying to get in your pants,” Hob tells him.

Morpheus frowns. “The finance lecture was not helping their case. In fact, with each passing minute, I became more aggressively repelled.”

Hob laughs. “You’re on Wall Street, baby,” he says. It comes out kind of slurred. “Only thing more important than the size of a man’s dick is the size of his portfolio.”

Morpheus hums in consideration. “Neither of those has a direct correlation to talent.”

“Try telling them that,” Hob says.

Morpheus sits up straighter against the couch, leaning his head on his arm to study Hob. “I suppose I should ask about yours.”

“You’re too pretty for me to be tacky like that,” Hob says honestly. Maybe he’s a bit more drunk than he thought.

“Am I?” Morpheus seems pleased.

“So pretty.”

“Hmm.” Morpheus rests his cheek on the couch cushion. The tips of his hair brush Hob’s hip. His eyes are so liquid in this light. Hob wonders if he’s hallucinating his existence.

He reaches out, mesmerized, to touch Morpheus’s hair. Morpheus doesn’t stop him. He lets Hob pet him, eyes falling shut. His hair is tacky on the ends with hair spray, but soft underneath.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Hob says, and Morpheus hums. “All those self-important stockbrokers trying to impress you with their convoluted financial instruments… they just want to hide that it’s all really a scam.”

“Is it now?” says Morpheus. “I was under the assumption it was legal.”

“Something can be a scam and technically legal. Oh, it’s all very clever. But it’s just building money on top of money with nothing real to support it. Kick out the base of the tower and it’ll all go into free fall.” He makes a whistling, falling sound, and Morpheus smirks.

“And I suppose you are better than all this.”

Hob chuckles. “Oh, no. I’m a money-grubbing little vermin, too. Just letting you in on the game. How it’s not so serious.”

“Hmm. I am a musician,” says Morpheus. As Hob figured, then. “I’m afraid it’s as serious as death.”

“Hence the all-black ensemble and the makeup,” Hob says.

“Indeed.”

Hob wants to hear Morpheus play. Or sing, or whatever it is he does. He bets he’d be exquisite. Divine. Hob can imagine those lips pressed to a microphone. Or those long fingers on guitar strings.

“Do you want something more interesting than alcohol?” says Morpheus.

“Why, you still bored?”

“Less and less so.” He pulls from his pocket a small bag of pills and hands it to Hob.

“You brought your own drugs to a party where you were promised drugs?”

“Promises cannot be counted on,” says Morpheus seriously.

“What is it?” Hob asks, then decides he doesn’t care, and takes a pill, chasing it with the watery last drops of his drink, which is a terrible idea, but then, he’s full of them.

“Ketamine,” says Morpheus. Oh, great, Hob thinks. Morpheus takes it back from him and takes a pill himself. “It occasionally makes me feel less like I am going to hurl myself from the balcony.”

He doesn’t seem to be joking. “Good for something, then,” Hob says. “Why do you want to jump off the balcony?” He still has his hand in Morpheus’s hair. He honestly can’t believe he hasn’t propositioned him yet. That’s not like him. These parties are usually only good for quick, casual sex. He even thinks Morpheus would probably agree, and yet.

“The state of things,” says Morpheus. He has such a deep, solemn voice. Hob wants to touch his mouth, or throat maybe. Okay, this is already not going so well. “And the state of my heart.”

Hob pets his hair again. Morpheus leans into the touch. “Writing songs about yearning and angst and stuff isn’t fixing it?” He can well enough guess what Morpheus’s music is probably like.

“No,” says Morpheus. He seems to really think about it. “I think it is making things worse. Perhaps I will try manipulating the financial markets instead. Is that giving you existential fulfillment?”

“There’s only so much money you can make before it starts feeling stupid,” Hob says. Maybe he should just throw all his cash out the window and go live in the woods or something. Carve figurines out of fallen trees. Probably do more good for the world, not that that’s ever been a focus of his. “Maybe it was always stupid.”

“No solution has been found for us yet, then,” says Morpheus. “Would you care to go outside? I find that if you are high enough, the city lights look like stars.”

“You’re not going to jump off the balcony, are you?” Hob asks, suspicious.

“This is not the right locale for my dramatic end.”

Somehow, Hob actually believes him. Morpheus wouldn’t truly kill himself unless it could have the right effect.

Hob levers himself up from the couch. Oh Jesus, now the room is spinning. The pounding music is starting to feel louder, starting to thud through him. Feels good, though. Everything being bright and hazy.

He helps Morpheus to his feet. Leads him, hand in hand, out to the balcony. They lean against the stone wall, looking down at the street, dizzyingly far below, cars poking along like lines of luminescent ants, distant horns crying. Then up, out at the collision of skyscrapers.

Morpheus was right. The lights are spinning and twinkling, just like stars. It reminds Hob of the first time he’d come to New York, when he was looking for adventure, and to get a little rich—or a lot rich—and everything had seemed like it was glowing and buzzing and flying.

The air is clearer up here than down on street level, and Morpheus tips his head up, breathing it in. His throat is so long, his shoulders and collarbone so angular. He looks like he’s been starving. But the stud in his ear at least looks from afar like a real ruby. Intentional, then, to be skin and bones.

“I think I am tired,” he admits, still looking up at the sky. “Do you know that… all I had ever wanted was for someone to like my music. And now I have that and it has not fixed anything.”

Hob takes his arm and pulls him close. He’s feeling very touchy-feely now, which could be the drugs but could also just be Morpheus. He’s so pretty and he looks so sad, and his sadness is beautiful and all the more terrible for that.

“I could kiss it better,” he offers. It’s still not a real proposition. Hob’d just kiss his hand if that’s what he wanted. Or the sharp bone of his sternum under those hanging necklaces. Or kneel at his feet and kiss his thigh—

Christ. Hob’ll be lucky if he survives the night, at this rate.

Morpheus looks at him, eyebrow raised. But Hob must look serious about it, because he says, “Okay.”

So Hob leans in and kisses his cheek. And Morpheus smiles, a bright, truly happy smile, just for a moment.

“Do you wish to dance?” he says. “I do not usually, but I feel I may fall over if I move from this wall without something to hold onto.”

Yeah, the floor is kind of moving. And Hob will certainly not turn down having Morpheus in his arms. “You wanna dance to this shit?”

They’re playing some godawful thumping grating song over the speakers now, and Hob doesn’t think either of them is up to the kind of bouncing thrashing dance that would call for.

“I will sing something different in your ear,” Morpheus says.

So Hob draws him in, wraps his arms around his waist. Morpheus plasters himself to Hob’s body, mouth to the shell of Hob’s ear. He starts humming a low, melancholic song. Hob shivers at the brush of his voice.

They sway together with very little coordination. Eventually Morpheus starts singing, though Hob’s brain isn’t capable at the moment of taking in many of the lyrics. It’s something about longing, and losing things in a terrible fire. Hob presumes it’s one of his songs. Morpheus’s voice is gorgeous, low and hypnotic, and Hob closes his eyes as it rumbles straight through him.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs eventually, filled with a sudden tragic pain about it. “Please don’t throw yourself off the balcony.”

Morpheus chuckles. “Another time, perhaps.”

“Never,” Hob says vehemently, and clutches his warm body close. He might cry about it. Fucking drugs. “We should go get food. You’re so fucking bony I think might you die of an overdose if we don’t sop it up. You had that wretched drink, too. Christ.”

“You are worried for me?” says Morpheus, sounding touched.

“Incredibly. Come on.” Hob finally pulls away from him, with chagrin, and takes his hand. “This party’s shit. I’ll take you to get pizza.”

“Pizza,” Morpheus repeats, with a tiny smile. It’s gorgeous on his face. “Very well.”

One dollar pizza is one of New York’s greatest inventions, in Hob’s opinion. They find some hole-in-the-wall place barely a block from the apartment building, and stand outside the door, eating incredibly greasy pizza off of paper plates, and it’s fucking heaven. It might be the best pizza Hob’s ever had in his life—granted he’s still very high.

Morpheus is scarfing his down like all pizza on earth is about to be chucked into space. Poor bony thing. Hob just wants to feed him up until he stops looking like a skeletal waif that’s about to drop dead at a cold breeze.

And wants to fuck him, too. Yeah, that’s still there, even with Morpheus licking grease off his fingertips. It’s actually getting worse because of that.

“Told you,” Hob says. “Needed some bread to soak up the fifteen shots in that drink.”

“I think I may throw up,” Morpheus says, with the careful articulation of someone who very well might. “But I am enjoying it nonetheless.”

“Let me know and I’ll find you a bin,” Hob says. He’s had worse nights than puking on the street corner.

“Now I owe you sexual favors in return for this generous meal,” says Morpheus, folding the empty paper plate with surprising precision, considering his enduring level of intoxication, and sliding it into a nearby trash bin.

It says something about Hob’s own level of intoxication that he barely responds to this statement. “Oh, yeah, the whole four dollars of it. What does that get me?”

Morpheus scrunches his nose in thought. “Two kisses,” he decides.

“We’ll save it for after you’ve decided if you’re going to throw up.”

Morpheus giggles. He’s so cute.

Hob tosses his own plate, and takes Morpheus by the arm. “Come on. You can come back with me. I don’t live that far.”

“Ah, now the proposition,” says Morpheus, but doesn’t sound unhappy about it.

“The ‘make sure my new friend doesn’t get hit by a cab effort’, more like, but sure.” He feels kind of responsible for Morpheus now. If Morpheus actually threw himself off a balcony Hob would never forgive himself.

“Friend,” repeats Morpheus, sounding pleased.

“See, isn’t this better?” Hob says.

“Better?”

“You got to eat pizza and didn’t even puke yet, isn’t that better than killing yourself?”

Morpheus huffs. “Quite a dichotomy. If you recall you too stated that you felt your efforts becoming meaningless.”

“Yeah, but I’m not gonna jump out a window about it.”

“Fortitude,” Morpheus says, and it sounds mocking but Hob doesn’t really mind. Maybe it is fortitude, he doesn’t know. Maybe to Morpheus fortitude is gullibility, continuing to play the game when it’s long lost its spark and its reward. Hob likes the game, though.

“What will you do about it, then?” Morpheus asks.

“Dunno.” It’s the first time Hob’s really thought about it. Up until now, it’s been about chasing. Always wanting more. But now— now he’s basically at the top. Where he wanted to be. And... there’s really nothing there at all. “Leave New York, maybe.”

The words surprise him, even as he says them. Midtown is so bright, even at four a.m. It’s something Hob once loved about the area. About the city. But now he’s staring into Morpheus’s darkness. Into the ink stain of his hair against the glowing storefront lights, the sway of his body, graceful even while swimming in dissociation. And everything feels different.

“To go where?” says Morpheus.

“Back to London, maybe.” He has enough money to go anywhere. And yet, it’s hard to feel a particular point to anywhere. Where’d his sense of adventure go? His ambition? Somewhere it all slipped, in the glut of the present.

“I grew up in London,” Morpheus says. “It is too personal there, now.”

So he’s chasing something too. Or running away.

“Tokyo, then,” Hob says, as if Morpheus coming with him is a key part of the decision. “Is’at the furthest city from New York? Gotta be close.”

“It’s Perth,” says Morpheus.

“You’ve looked it up?”

Morpheus nods solemnly. “And from London: Wellington.”

“It’s settled, then,” says Hob.

“I am coming with you?” says Morpheus.

“Course.” Hob’s not going across the world by himself. Not anymore. He bumps his shoulder with Morpheus’s, squeezes his arm where they’re leaning together. “You’re coming with me.”

“We should go further, then,” says Morpheus.

“Antarctica?”

“Mars.”

Hob finds himself giggling, mirth rising in him like champagne bubbles. Morpheus giggles, too. It’s truly a ridiculous sound in his deep voice.

“They don’t have cool jackets on Mars,” Hob says, poking at Morpheus’s studded blazer.

“Ah.” Morpheus frowns. “Maybe not, then.”

That only makes Hob laugh louder, leaning on Morpheus’s arm, and Morpheus sighs, irritated to be made fun of, but doesn’t push him away.

“Come on, I’m here,” Hob says, steering Morpheus into his apartment building as it comes up. They make their way across the lobby and to the elevator bank, only a little unsteady, and then slump against the wall once the elevator doors close.

“I think I am very sleepy,” Morpheus says, tipping his head back against the mirrored wall as they go up, up, up the insanely tall skyscraper Hob’s for some reason chosen to live in.

“You think you are?”

Morpheus squints at the infinite tunnel being created by the opposing mirrors on the walls. It’s dizzying, more so now, when they aren’t exactly sober. He shudders and closes his eyes. “I would have to be connected to my physical form to know for sure.”

Yeah, Hob’s feeling that too. The walls are kind of tipping in at him, which is particularly uncomfortable when they’re mirrored. “I’ll put you to bed, sweetie.” He still really, really wants to bed him, more specifically, but he might also be about to fall over. He’ll rue the missed opportunity in the morning, but it can’t be helped.

“Sweetie,” Morpheus echoes, with vague distaste, and tips his head against Hob’s shoulder.

The doors slide open, and they stumble out into the hall. Hob somehow manages to get his keys in the door and get them inside without dropping Morpheus, who’s now using him to support almost his entire weight, and then gets them into the bedroom.

What follows is a dreamlike whirlwind of undressing, where the floor keeps tipping under him, where he tries to hold Morpheus up as he slips out of his boots and his bloody complicated jacket, his skintight jeans and even tighter shirt, helps take each ring off his slim fingers to leave carefully on the nightstand, and the pendants too, and gives him a t-shirt to sleep in, and Morpheus says, “Wait— I must—” and flees to Hob’s adjoining bathroom to strip off his makeup with some makeup wipes scavenged from Hob’s cabinet, undoubtedly left behind by a prior hookup. The silly thing talks about killing himself but still puts effort into skincare. Hob just shakes his head, then regrets it as it makes the room spin.

He strips down to boxers and undershirt and climbs into bed, because he is actually about to fall over, and soon enough Morpheus stumbles back out and collapses into the sheets beside him. For a moment they just gaze at each other in the dark. Hob means to do something, to kiss him, maybe, claim one of the ones that was promised. But exhaustion claims him first.

#dreamling #my writing #80s au #cw drug use #cw alcohol

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