#I’m only watching to see if they rectify the situation

[bohemian-nights]

the hotd writers writing the black characters as plot devices for their main white characters is so disgusting. like "here are some black character for representation, but let's not bother to give them any actual plot beside serving daemyra".

and now they are trying to write out the ONLY canonically black character out of the show because she does not serve the narrative that is beneficial for their daemyra. i'm so done with this show.

It’s disgusting how they treat them. Yes, House Velaryon doesn’t have the best outcome during the war, but they made them worse in the show(Vaemond calling Missy Anne a whore to justify his murder, Laena lighting herself on fire cause she’s unloved, Corlys and Rhaenys, not Black but she still looks stupid, thinking Dumbnyra killed their son and still supporting Missy Anne, Laenor being a deadbeat dad, Rhaena going around and calling her cousin/stepmother my queen, Baela’s scenes being cut).

They straight-up made them look like idiots with no self-preservation/respect by blindly following Missy Anne. They could’ve kept them white if all they were going to do is have them play second fiddle to their chosen one.

We want representation but don’t throw us scraps and act like you are doing something. These aren’t fully fleshed-out characters. These are the modern rendition of racist stereotypes.

[feyhunter78]

I’m actually DYING for part 14 of the Dreadful Need of the Devotee, like my pain is clinical and your writing is the only thing that will cure me 🙏

No rush of course, I’m just in love with this story!! (But please, I need it badly)

I got you babe!!!! Enjoy <3

Chapter Fourteen - Ser Arthur Dayne has returned to court. Ch 15

Jon sits in Tyrion’s solar, the small table that sits between you all laden down with breakfast foods and teas. He is seated across from Tyrion, while you are seated next to Jon across from Ser Arthur, your soon-to-be good-father.

Introductions had gone well, you complimented his father, he complimented you, your betrothal was announced, and Jon had to keep himself from kissing you. The joy that radiated from you was so intense, he could not help but smile like a lovesick fool. But now, now the doubts begin to creep in.

If he had been told at the age of two and ten, he would be sitting with his soon-to-be wife a Lannister, the Imp Lannister and Ser Arthur Dayne the Sword of the Morning who was also his true father, Jon would not have believed whoever spoke such things to him. Truly he would have thought them playing a cruel joke, but now he sat in that very position wondering if it would all be revealed a horrid prank. A test to see how much the bastard boy could be convinced to believe.

You place your hand atop Jon’s where it rests on his knee, your brows furrowing in concern, and he waves you off, focusing on the meal set in front of him. You and him often broke fast together, and it was not too uncommon for your father to join the both of you, but this time it was different.

“Lady y/n, your father tells me you are a talented seamstress.” His father says, cutting into his sausage, his eyes, those dark purple eyes, so like Jon’s in the right light, observe you with an oddly formal air.

“I am, in fact the tunic Jon is wearing this morn is one I made myself.” You say, gracing Jon with a smile so bright it rivals the sun, and he turns further towards you following it as crops do, ever reaching, ever seeking your warmth and light.

His father hums in acknowledgement, examining every stitch of his tunic. “It is well-made; and the embroidery is quite detailed. It is not what one would think a sworn sword would be given by his charge.”

“He is my champion, seen as an extension of myself, I would never leave my chambers in rags, or dull, dreary clothing, so why should my sworn sword?” You say, taking a sip of your tea, sizing the man up.

“An interesting perspective.” His father comments, his eyes flickering to Jon.

“I suppose so.” You respond, dabbing your mouth with your cloth napkin.

“She is also a wonderful dancer.” Jon adds, unsure of his place in the conversation. He has never before been privy to these situations, and it is both exhilarating and terrifying.

“I am only wonderful because I have such an excellent partner that allows me to keep my skills sharp.” You smile prettily at him, and he watches the mask slip into place, you are attempting to charm the father by charming the son.

“They are a most excellent pairing, even Robert before he oh so tragically passed said they would make a good couple.” Tyrion says, spreading strawberry jam onto a thick slice of bread.

If I were not a bastard. He said we would be a good match if I was not a bastard. Jon thought bitterly.

“It pains me to know my son had love within his grasp for so long and could not claim it, I would soon see that rectified.” His father says, pulling a folded letter from his pocket. “I have kept this for you, it is a signed statement from the septon that presided over your mother, and I’s wedding. It was quick, not the lavish affair I would have wished to give her, but it was true in the eyes of The Seven.”

Jon feels you lean into him, reading the letter along with him.

“I fear it will not be enough. Aunt Cersei tore up Uncle Robert’s will, what if someone does the same to this?” You ask.

“Your Uncle Robert was dead he could not defend his will, but Ser Arthur is here, in the flesh.” Tyrion says.

Jon folds the letter and returns it to his father. “When would this take place? I would like to inform my siblings; they should not hear it from strangers or gossip.”

“They know, Lord Stark told them and Lady Stark once I had confirmed Ser Arthur was alive and wished to see you.” Tyrion assures him.

Jon pokes at his eggs, the yolk running, yellow-orange liquid tainting the white outer edges. He is glad the truth is known, but will this change how they see him? Will little Arya no longer trust him, will she keep him at a distance as Sansa had now that he is revealed as an impostor, a stranger? And Robb, his brother, will he still call him by that name, will he still hold the same love for him? At least Lady Catelyn will no longer have reason to hate him, he is not proof of her husband’s indiscretions, but his love for his sister.

“Where does Jon fall in the line of succession for Starfell?” Y/N directs the question towards his father, bringing him out of his gloom-stricken thoughts. “I know Lord Edric Dayne is your eldest brother’s son, but he is still a child close to Arya’s age, and your sister does not yet have children, does this not make him third after you?”

His father smirks and leans forward, placing his elbows on the table. “Do you wish him to be second?”

You mimic his posture, voice deadly calm, face unreadable. “I do not condone the murder of children, even if it would catapult Jon to heir of Starfell. I was merely asking a question.”

His father laughs, the sound warm, boisterous, filling the room as he leans back in his chair. “Your father has taught you well, lioness. But yes, Jon is third, if Edric, Seven forbid, were to die then I would take the seat, and Jon would follow after me.”

“We need not worry about that though, he will be by my side at Casterly Rock, is that not right, Father?” You hold your position, eyes still on Jon’s father.

“I have not yet heard word back on our family’s succession, your grandsire still holds out hope that Jaime will leave the Kingsguard and return home.” Tyrion drawls, before taking a sip of his tea.

“But he will not, and even if he did, would it not be shameful?” You venture, stirring your own tea with the tiny spoon provided.

“We shall see what options lay before him when our new king takes the throne, he could take Jaime’s head.” Tyrion says, his eyes on his bread, he has still not taken a bite, Jon feels confident that Tyrion will not be eating this morn.

“I am sure Robb will be merciful to Uncle Jaime, perhaps he could send him to the Wall? As loathe I am to think of him being sent far away, I imagine his skills would be of good use there?” You turn to Jon for confirmation.

Jon’s stomach churns, he wishes to tell you the truth, that it matters not what Robb thinks. “Yes, they are always in need of skilled and hearty men.”

“Oh, and then we could visit him, could we not?” Again, your question is directed at him, and he fights back the bile rising in his throat. He did not like this new weight, this new secret he must keep from you.

“The Wall is a long journey, even from Winterfell.”

“No journey is too long when it comes to family.” You say, dismissing his spoken worries with a smile and a wave of your hand.

“Little lion, perhaps we save our travel plans for after the new king arrives?” Tyrion suggests, seeming unfazed by the half-truths that roll off his tongue.

“Of course, Father.” You say, giving him a smile and tucking back into your breakfast.

Jon cannot eat, he can barely swallow. He wants to tell you the truth, wants to throw you over his shoulder and run, run all the way to Winterfell and hide you there until all this chaos has subsided.

“I think a wedding in Dorne is completely out of the question Ser Arthur, do you really believe people would attend a Lannister wedding that is not held at Casterly Rock or the Red Keep?” Tyrion says, pulling him back into the conversation that had proceeded without him.

“But it is not a Lannister wedding, it is a Dayne wedding.” His father smiles, sending Jon a wink.

“My daughter is a Lannister, in the eyes of Westeros it is a Lannister wedding, and truly it must be held at Casterly Rock, gods know the Red Keep has seen enough weddings.”

“House Martell will not attend if it is at Casterly Rock, which means Myrcella will not attend.” His father reminds Tyrion.

“Father could it not be held somewhere more neutral? I so want Myrcella to be able to attend.” You ask, looking at him pleadingly.

“I am sure once the new king comes into power, the Martells will not hold the same anger towards our family as they once did.” Tyrion reassures you, reaching across the small circular table to pat your hand.

Yes, because all who they hold anger towards will be dead. Jon thinks solemnly, guilt eating him alive.

“I will trust you then.” You say, before turning to Jon’s father. “Ser Arthur, are there any marital traditions that you would like us to observed for the wedding?”

He thinks for a moment, resting his hand on his chin, the dark stubble so like Jon’s but flecked with gray. “There are none that come to my mind at the moment, but I will think on it and if any return to me, I will inform you.”

“No bedding ceremony.” Jon says, he will fight for this, not only to spare you the brutality, but as an apology for the secrets he must keep.

“I will not argue with that.” You laugh, picking up two strawberries and handing one to him as you bite into the other one.

Jon takes it from you, his teeth breaking the delicate flesh, the sweet juice tasting like ash on his tongue.

The look upon Cersei Lannister’s face when his father steps into Highgarden’s Great Hall, is enough to make Jon forget why he is even standing before the royal family. His father wears a cloak of lilac, the white sword and falling star crossed in the center proudly displayed, Dawn strapped to his side. His curls are cleaned and styled, his beard trimmed, his armor and boots shining. When he takes a knee bowing his head to Tommen, Jon does the same, feeling a flicker of excitement when their knees hit the floor at the same time. Perfect synchronicity.

“Ser Arthur?” The startled exhale of his father’s name escapes Ser Jamie’s lips before he can stop it, his conflicted expression betraying far more than simply shock. There is grief, rage, longing, and confusion all whirling within Ser Jamie’s widened emerald eyes.

“My King, I have come to ask that you legitimize my son. I have brought the parchment signed by the septon that married myself and Lady Lyanna Stark. Jon is not a snow, he is a Dayne, my trueborn and only child.”

Tommen does not move, does not speak, he looks at Margaery who has her hand in her grandmother’s.

“Let us see this parchment.” Lady Tyrell says, holding a wizened hand out.

His father rises, and Jon does as well, watching as he delivers the paper to Lady Tyrell, who shares it with Margaery.

“You were thought dead Ser Dayne, why did you not return to King's Landing to take up in the service of your new king when my husband ascended to the throne?” Cersei asks, her jade eyes alight with rage, sparking like wildfire.

“I was badly injured at the Tower of Joy and was unable to make the journey for many years.”

“Unable to make the journey and to retrieve your son, it seems.” Cersei drawls, skimming the parchment, then handing it to Ser Jaime.

Jon can see how his hands shake, the color draining from his face.

“I was told Lord Stark treated him kindly, as if he were his own son, it was better for him to remain there than at the bedside of a nearly crippled man.” The shame that colors his tone clearly tugs on Tommen’s heartstrings.

He has not dared to think what his life would have been like if he had lived with his father. All he knows is he would not have met you, and he does not consider that much a life at all.

Tommen clears his throat, looking at Margaery once more, she nods.

“Ser Dayne, you swore an oath, Kingsguard cannot marry or have children.” Cersei cuts in, stepping forward, her head held high.

Jon bites his tongue hard. The irony in her statement…

His father fares better, nodding his head towards her, his tone steady. “I am no longer a whitecloak, I lost the right to that title when I aided Prince Rhaegar in stealing away my dear Lyanna. I am only a knight of the realm now, Queen Mother.”

Tommen goes to speak, surely in agreement with his mother, but Margaery puts her hand on his arm and leans down to whisper in his ear.

Jon tries not to fidget, tries not to look at you, you who sits beside your father, dressed in a well-tailored gown the shade of pomegranates, your hair swept away from your face, a golden pendant around your neck. He will ruin it all if he looks at you.

His father puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly.

“In honor of my queen’s nameday I will grant her request. Ser Jon Snow, you shall no longer be a Snow, but a Dayne, Lord or Ser Jon, whichever you would like, of House Dayne, son of Ser Arthur Dayne the Sword of the Morning.” Tommen says, smiling brightly when Margaery plants a chaste kiss of thanks to his cheek.

His father gives his thanks, bowing low. Jon follows his example, keeping his expression grateful but neutral as they return to the sidelines, ducking behind the crowds of nobles as Tommen and Margaery begin to leave the hall. It is only when they have disappeared from view that his father embraces him, crushing him to his chest.

Jon returns the embrace, joy running wild through him.

His father pulls back, a wide smile on his tanned face. “My son, oh, it is good to say that aloud, to say it where anyone can hear. We must celebrate, do you have a preference for wine? ”

“No, Father.” Jon tests the word out, rolling it on his tongue, it feels strange but pleasant. “I do not.”

His father smiles. “We shall soon fix that, but first, you must return to your duties, no?” He jerks his head towards you.

Jon nods. “I must.”

TL: @mostclevermiss, @solacestyles, @2valentines, @sharknutz, @idohknow, @bdudette, @pluraldoggo, @legolastheleafyelf, @faerie-film, @wifiatthetrainstation, @duskypinki, @tartine-de-pain

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Less Talk | Part III

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

Summary: Jake can't stand Bradley's best friend. What's more, he's probably in love with her, which really pisses him off.

CW: mild angst, Hangman being a dick aka Hangman being himself, unresolved sexual tension, swearing, drinking

Part I | Part II | Masterlist

You’re watching Jake so grimly that he almost wants to give you a hug. But, the next moment, you let out a heated sigh and shake your head irritably. “God, Jake, nothing happened,” you say, as if he’s the one who’s shown up at your doorstep unannounced in the dead of night.

He gives you a stony look that, unfortunately, you don’t see because you’re no longer watching him, so his efforts go completely unnoticed. “If nothing happened, then why are you here? Past midnight. Crying.” To his chagrin, the tone of his voice is far too vexed to emulate the indifferent attitude he means to preserve.

You lick your lips and sniffle. “We had a fight,” you say.

Jake stares at you impatiently, waiting for you to look back up. When you don’t, he says, “You fight with everybody.”

This makes you look. He’s dreadfully satisfied with peeving you – the only satisfaction you’ll likely ever give him. “It was a big one, obviously.”

Jake studies the expression on your face, trying to gauge whether or not you’re hiding something. “Where is he?” he asks, feeling like he needs to punch something. And soon.

You take a long time to respond – so long that Jake almost poses the question for a second time. “I don’t know,” you finally say.

“What do you mean you ‘don’t know’?”

You shrug, your lips beginning to tremble anew. “He just left.”

What Jake experiences at the sight of the fresh tears filling your eyes is abhorrent. The simultaneous desire to alleviate your pain and beat the living shit out of Mustang offsets his entire world in a way that puts your well-being at the top of his priority list. Hell, he doesn’t even have a priority list. You are it. And with this absurd notion weighing on the ever-growing vortex of his newly discovered emotions, he resolves to tell you just what he thinks of your idiotic boyfriend. “Well, he’s obviously a moron,” he says curtly.

You glance up at him again, less angry than before. “He’s a lot like you in that respect,” you say with a hint of a smile.

Jake scoffs and, before he can stop himself, says, “I would never walk out on you.”

You stare at him for a moment before lowering your gaze awkwardly.

Jake cringes, realizing that he could have said just about anything else and it would have been better. Moreover, in his attempt to rectify the situation, he blurts out this obnoxious tidbit: “You’d never let me hear the end of it.”

You roll your eyes but then you bite into your bottom lip and your eyebrows lift inward. You glance up at him woefully and say, “I’m not that bad, am I?”

Jake watches you carefully, wondering why you’d care what he might have to say on the matter. He tries to determine what his response might be before deciding if he’s going to be honest. On the one hand, you are that bad. On the other, when it comes to you, bad takes on an entirely different connotation. “You could be worse,” he responds vaguely.

You stare at him miserably. “You can’t stand me,” you remind him.

Jake nearly laughs; that’s how absurd he finds your statement. “Well, that’s more or less mutual, is it not?”

You nod slowly.

“In any case, it’s hardly relevant since I’m not your boyfriend.”

“But what does that say about me?” you ask. “I piss off everyone around me. You said it yourself, I just can’t shut up.”

“Why should you?” he says, his anger flaring despite his every effort to control it. His response seems to catch you off-guard because you blink up at him sharply. “I just mean, who cares if you piss someone off? That’s not a you problem,” he reasons, although he’s painfully aware of just how much he’s contradicting his every complaint where you’ve been concerned.

“Well, it’s kind of my problem if my boyfriend hates me,” you say, your mouth finally relaxing into the beginnings of a smile.

Jake cocks his head to the side and purses his lips. “I don’t know,” he says. “Sounds like you just need a new boyfriend.”

You scoff and turn away. The moment your back is to him, Jake shuts his eyes and passes a hand over his face with a silent sigh. He watches you travel the length of his living room and unplug a fan that isn’t turned on. “You shouldn’t keep your electric appliances plugged in when they aren’t in use,” you mutter absently. “You’re wasting energy.”

Jake rolls his eyes despite the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “How much energy does a table fan waste when it isn’t even on?”

You shrug, glancing over your shoulder. “How many electrical devices do you currently have plugged in that aren’t ‘even on’?” you ask, using air quotes to emphasize the final two words. “It adds up, thereby increasing your carbon footprint. Imagine everybody lived as carelessly as you do?”

Jake grins broadly. “The horror.”

You nod without the tiniest bit of amusement. “My thoughts exactly.”

Jake watches you resignedly, not at all surprised that you’ve found yet another reason to reproach him. “Are you hungry?” he asks.

You eye him suspiciously, as if you don’t quite trust that he won’t poison your food.

“We’ve got some leftovers,” he says, nodding toward the kitchen through the corridor. “Have you eaten?” You consider his offer at length as though he’s proposed a shotgun wedding rather than a pot roast. “Come on,” he says, waving you over as he makes his way into the hallway. “I can’t wait to hear what you have to say about my cooking.”

…

“This is surprisingly good,” you comment as Jake pours you a glass of wine.

Jake chuckles. “That might be the first nice thing you’ve ever said to me.”

You lick your lips and smile up at him as he takes a seat across from you at the table, popping the cap off a beer. “Your turn,” you say, wiggling your eyebrows.

Jake sneers and then guzzles half his bottle in one gulp. He sets the beer down to find you watching him expectantly.

“You can’t think of anything?” you ask incredulously.

Jake runs a hand across his chin, watching your smile widen at the thought of him having nothing decent to say about you. Ironically, he can’t think of a single thing that isn’t nice, which is truly agitating him. He racks his brain trying to come up with at least one negative quality because something about you drives him absolutely crazy.

You sigh, returning your attention to your plate. “It’s fine, Seresin,” you say. “Don’t think so hard, I know you aren’t accustomed to it.”

“That,” Jake says, leaning into the table as he points a finger in your direction. “That sharp sense of humor.”

You raise your eyebrows with a laugh. “Oh, you think I’m joking?” You tilt your head sympathetically, but your smile remains.

Jake meets your gaze with an affectionate smirk, silently listing off every other ‘nice’ thing about you, including, but not limited to, the sound of your laughter. He swallows uncomfortably when you don’t look away, unsettled by the unrest in the pit of his stomach that churns every time your eyes meet. He tries to regulate his breathing before it becomes apparent that you’re actively rattling him.

The creak of the front door interrupts the obscenely prolonged period of mutual eye fucking contact. You glance toward the corridor while Jake disconcertedly rubs his eyes.

“Y/N?” Bradley says, walking into the kitchen. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh.” You sigh, setting down your fork and reverting to your previously dejected state.

“Don’t tell me you guys had another fight,” Bradley says jadedly. He glances over at Jake with a grave expression which Jake means to completely ignore.

“He stormed out,” you say, sighing into your half-eaten plate. “I think I really ticked him off this time.”

Jake gives Bradley an unimpressed look when the latter starts thrusting his head around to indicate that Jake should add something to the conversation. Jake takes another gulp of his beer.

“He shouldn’t be taking off,” Bradley says when Jake remains silent. “I don’t care how angry he is.” He looks to Jake for approval.

Jake rolls his eyes. “Why are we still talking about this dumbass?”

Bradley eyes him pointedly. “Didn’t realize you’ve already discussed him,” he says, glancing between you and Jake.

You pick your fork back up and start stabbing at the meat on your plate.

“How was the rest of your evening, Rooster?” Jake asks, avoiding looking directly at him.

“Pretty good,” Bradley responds, and Jake can hear the glee in his tone without even seeing his ridiculous grin. “Yours?”

Jake aims a disdainful scowl in his direction. “Bradshaw,” he says. “You look tired.”

Bradley holds back a laugh and then turns to you. “Y/N, do you want to talk?”

You look up at your best friend with a weary smile. Your gaze slips to briefly glance at Jake before you shake your head at Bradley. “I think I’m good. Thanks.”

Bradley gives you a hug and heads for the stairs, pausing momentarily to throw Jake a final, cautionary look before heading to bed.

“I should go,” you say once Bradley leaves.

“You sure?” Jake asks. “You haven’t criticized my dishwashing skills yet. I bet I use too much water.”

You give him an amused look as you rise from your chair. “Recognizing the problem is the first step.”

He recognizes the problem alright; it’s standing right before him. “What’s the next step?”

“Well,” you say musingly. “In this case, I would say action.”

Jake nods, getting out of his seat. “I could use some of that, for sure.”

Your gaze lingers on him as you let out a soft laugh. You’re an entire table length away and yet he can feel the force of your presence as though you were pressed up against him.

“You could stick around,” he offers casually. “We could watch a movie or something.”

You continue studying him brazenly. “I’d probably ruin it for you.”

He laughs. “We could watch something I already don’t like.”

You smile back at him. “Haven’t you done that enough for one evening?”

Jake doesn’t altogether know how to respond without making it painfully obvious just how much he doesn’t not like you. “Yeah,” he says finally. “So, what’s another couple of hours?”

You’re watching him thoughtfully which makes him almost hopeful that you might agree to stay, but then you respond with, “Maybe another time.”

He nods, keeping his eyes trained on yours. “Another time,” he agrees. But as you head for the door, he decides to try another tactic. “Should you be driving after having that wine?” he asks.

You give him a flat look. “I had half a glass. If that.”

Jake shrugs slightly. “It was a big glass.”

You roll your eyes. “It’ll be fine, Seresin.” You reach for the doorknob.

“Wouldn’t it be nice if, for once, he came home, and you weren’t there?” he asks.

You look at him sharply. “He won’t be home for hours.”

Jake gestures at the open living room. “We have several fine couches. Take your pick.”

You sigh, evaluating his pitch. “No,” you say finally. “He’s already so mad at me. If I stay here, that’ll be the end of our relationship.”

This outcome sounds just dandy to Jake, but he can see the worry in your expression, so he pulls on the door and holds it open for you, following you out onto the porch to walk you to your car.

“Drive carefully,” he says once you’re seated, leaning down to peer into the car as you buckle your seatbelt.

You nod. “Thanks for dinner.”

“Thanks for the company,” he responds.

You chuckle. “Yeah, about that… sorry I imposed on your evening.”

“Yeah,” Jake agrees with a smirk. “That was kind of rude of you.” When you laugh, he adds. “No, but really, I don’t mind. Come over anytime.”

You gasp at him to simulate shock. “And subject you to my numerous opinions?”

Jake’s grin widens. “I’m getting used to tuning you out.”

“So, what exactly is it that you gain out of my company?” you ask with raised eyebrows as you start your engine.

Jake raps on the hood of your car a couple of times before responding. “I just don’t want to deprive you of my company.”

You snort. “That would be a tragedy.”

Jake lets himself admire your laugh for several seconds before straightening his back. “Have a good night, Y/N,” he says, and then he shuts your door.

You pull out of the driveway and stop your car on the side of the road. Jake watches curiously as you step out of the car. He approaches you slowly, his eyes drifting up and down your figure involuntarily. He blinks to reorient himself, exhaling sharply as he comes to stand before you. He slips his hands into his pockets to avoid the temptation of using them to pin you to your car and then running them along the curves of your body. You’re looking up at him with a sheepish expression, completely unaware of the turmoil he’s up against in this very moment. “What’s up?” he says sternly; employing exaggerated masculinity to help assuage his crippling desire to kiss you.

Instead of responding, however, you stretch up onto your tiptoes and wrap your arms around his neck. In his shock, it takes a second for Jake to loosen his rigid stance; to remember that his hands are still safely tucked into the pockets of his jeans. He draws them out slowly, holding them cautiously on either side of your body, wondering just how catastrophic it would be if he were to reciprocate the hug. “You really helped me tonight,” you say softly, your breath warming the crook of his neck.

He lets out a weak chuckle that dies the second it leaves his lips because, at that moment, you press your cheek into his shoulder. His hands close gingerly around you. He’s barely holding on, but you feel just right in his embrace. Like the dip in your waist belongs between the palms of his hands. “Glad to be of service,” he mutters, his voice a little rough as he attempts to process this turn of events.

You detach yourself from his grasp and give him a friendly smile. So friendly, it nearly kills him. “Maybe I can return the favor someday,” you say.

Jake stares at you, trying to come up with at least one favor you could do for him that isn’t sexual in nature and drawing a complete blank. “Maybe,” he says uneasily.

“Anyway,” you say. “Sleep well.”

You flash him one last smile before climbing back into your car while Jake takes several steps back, wondering how the fuck he’s going to sleep at all after having experienced that.

Read Part 4

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[corazondebeskar-reads]

you know you never stood a chance - chapter five

you know you never stood a chance series

five: steal from yourselves

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qz!Joel Miller x f!reader

Words: 2.2k

Summary: You and Joel fight while taking Ellie to Lincoln.

Warnings: dub-con due to power imbalance, free use, sex as payment, vaginal sex, oral sex (m&f receiving), cum play, Joel is mean/bad with feelings, this is not canon compliant, no use of y/n, degradation, canon-typical violence and danger, mention of Tess, description of injury

also on ao3

He’s worse than a field of landmines.

You never know where you stand with him. One moment, he’s eating you out on the floor of a convenience store, his jacket under your hips to keep away the broken glass.

The next, he’s bitching about your eternal uselessness.

You get it. Sort of. The only purpose you ever served him was a set of warm, wet holes. Never mind the fact that he used to fuss over you. So now, out here, what good are you?

It’s that kind of thinking that makes you keep your mouth shut when you twist your ankle.

He’s there in a heartbeat when you fall, pulling you back up with one arm. You brush the leaves off your clothes and mumble your thanks.

“Dunno how you made it this long,” he grumbles. It’s a harken back to when you were sat at his kitchen table, broken wrist cradled in his gentle hands. It’s sickening, actually, to hear the venom in his voice this time around.

So you press on, ignoring the way your body is screaming in protest. Alarms blare, but you ignore them, keeping pace with Joel so he can’t find another thing to hate you for.

But Joel is Joel, and so when you stop for the night, he spies the swelling.

“Stubborn brat,” he says. “Coulda said something.”

“Oh yeah? What good would that have done?”

“How am I supposed to take care of ya if you don’t tell me when you’re hurt?”

You don’t look at him. You know it won’t last. He’s angrier more than he’s not these days, at least with you.

“What if we had to run? What if I counted on you to do something, and you got us all killed?”

Yep, there it is. You pull yourself up, sneering at him when your ankle protests. “I’ll save you the fucking trouble.” You grab your bag, and even though you know it’s stupid, you walk away.

You don’t make it far. The swelling has made it so much harder to walk, so you get around the curve of the street, about five houses down from the one Joel cleared, and slump on the porch. It has solid half walls, thankfully, so you’re concealed, and you don’t hear any noise or see any lights inside.

“That was fuckin’ rude,” Ellie says.

Joel’s head snaps to her from where he was still watching the road, the inky darkness of the moonless night having swallowed you up.

“Shut up,” he grunts.

“You’re just gonna let her go off and get fungified?”

“Ain’t my business what she does.”

Ellie rolls her eyes. “I’m just sayin’, it’s kind of fucked up.” But she settles down in her sleeping bag, too tired from the long trek to keep arguing.

You had just gotten home from work, still in your regular clothes, when Joel and Tess burst in. He was angry; she was loud.

They’d been bickering about some kind of pills, some kind of trade. You didn’t pay attention; they’d been very clear it was none of your business. Instead, you made a second cup of coffee with extra milk for Tess.

They were still arguing when you went to your room and shut the door. Your hands couldn't seem to unbutton your shirt, fumbling with each, until you gave up after the third and flopped on the bed. Fuck it. You were tired. And as much as you liked Tess, you were pretty sure this meant you weren’t getting fucked, and you felt a little petulant about it.

The door slammed. Your bedroom door flew open moments later. There was something in his eyes that scared you just a little bit. It also made you wet, so there was that.

“Why’re you still dressed?” he asked, already moving to rectify the situation.

“Dunno, didn’t seem like you were in a rush,” you said.

He had you peeled out of your shirt and pants and laid out flat on the bed in record time. He loomed over you, one hand grasping at your waist and the other wrapping around your neck as he bent to capture a nipple between his teeth.

You took a deep, shaking breath, a little dizzy from the barrage of sensations. He bit and licked your breasts, your neck, your chin. You moaned and squirmed under him until he squeezed your throat a little tighter, nipping at your ear.

He pulled away abruptly. “Need your mouth,” he said, tugging at you with the hand on your throat.

You scrambled up onto all fours and held your mouth wide while he stroked his cock a few times in front of your face. When his hand was out of the way, you replaced it with your lips, wasting no time in burying him deep in your throat.

You gagged, but held on, gut telling you he’d be more appreciative of your enthusiasm than anything else that day. You choked yourself on him, tears streaming down your face, but you were right. He rewarded you with a gentle hand cradling your head.

“Fuck, that’s it, good girl. Look at you, takin’ my whole cock.”

You moaned around him, warmth from his praise seeping down your limbs. It made it easier, somehow, for the head of his cock to batter your throat. He fucked up into you, grunting while you struggled to keep breathing.

When he pulled out, he didn’t bother to give you orders. He just shoved you back on the bed and parted your legs with his thighs. Grinning, he rubbed the head over your clit to watch the way you writhed for him.

“You want it, sweetheart?”

“Please,” you groaned, trying to spread your legs wider, be more accommodating. “Please, Joel.” You looked up at him with tears weighing down your lashes, lips turned in a pout.

He was too impatient to string you along, so he just smirked and pushed into your waiting cunt. You cried out from the stretch. Sometimes, it still burned and stung, like the first time, when he didn’t work you open first. Not that you could have waited that night..

There was something in the air you couldn’t quite identify. He fucked you open with vigor, but he was quieter than usual. He mumbled the occasional “good girl” when your moans betrayed a little pain, and his thrusts were smoother, deeper, like he was trying to hide something in your body for no one else to find.

He’d kill them if they tried.

He took you apart over and over, his thumb on your clit demanding your obedience. You gave him everything you had to give, sobbing when it became too much. He kissed the tears from your face.

“Poor thing,” he murmured, though it was not as cruel as he usually got. It was almost tender. He made up for it by returning a hand to your throat to coax another orgasm from your wrung-out body, biting at your breasts until you clamped down on him. He pulled out and covered your tits in his thick, milky cum.

He stayed over you, caging you in with his body. You were exhausted, eyes fluttering shut as you gasped for air. He took two fingers and smeared the cum all over your breasts, tweaking your nipples with slick-coated pads. When he was satisfied with his artwork, he stuck the fingers in your mouth.

You cleaned them off, humming softly at the buzz between your ears. He got up and tucked his cock away, looking down at you.

You forced your eyes open to see him. His forehead was creased, and his lips tugged down at the corners.

“Leave that there,” he said when he finally looked away, leaving the room without another word.

You lay panting on your bed, shivering a little as the cum dries on your breasts. He always cleaned you up after. Always.

You dozed off a little, startling awake when he entered a while later. You weren't sure how long it had been, but the sun had almost set. In the orange glow across your bedspread, he dumped an armful of… well, something. You couldn’t quite tell.

“Put these in your bag,” he said, rifling around in your closet and tossing the backpack at you. Clothes followed it, one of his long-sleeve shirts and a pair of sweats that unfolded in the air, smacking you in the face.

Your brain hadn’t caught up with him, still in the pleasant hallows of your dream, but your body knew what to do. When all else failed, it obeyed Joel Miller. You were dressed and standing before you were fully acclimated.

“Why?” you finally said, shoving handfuls of what turns out to be protein bars and batteries, bandages and clothing, and a flashlight into your backpack.

“Ya can’t stay here anymore,” he said, and you froze, a wounded sound slipping out.

“No,” he shook his head, “I mean when I’m gone.”

“Lead with that, asshole,” you grumbled. “But wait, then what—”

“You’re gonna have to come with me,” he said. He handed you a rolled-up sleeping bag, which you attached to the bottom of your backpack with the never-before-used straps.

“But why?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.” He didn’t want to tell you what one of Robert’s men had said, how he had known that you were naive and alone in Joel’s apartment twice a month.

The man was dead, but if he knew, then you probably weren’t safe there anymore.

“How am I going to be safer out there? That’s where you go, right, outside the walls?” You’d never asked before. Better not to know.

He grunted, which, based on the tone and volume, was Joel for “yes.”

“I haven’t been outside in fifteen years.” You didn’t need to tell him how little you knew, even then.

“You’ll be safer because you’ll be with me.”

You were scared. You couldn’t hide it; you knew he could see it carved into your face. It didn’t make sense; he wasn't some superhuman; he was not repellant to Infected or the horrors beyond. But you were soothed by the thought nonetheless.

You had the bag slung over your shoulder and were toeing on your boots when he stopped filling his bag from the kitchen and came back out to look at you.

“Look,” he sighed and shook his head. “You don’t have to. I won’t drag ya by your hair or anything. I just can’t protect you if you stay.”

“I’ll go wherever you tell me, Joel.” You didn’t mean to say it; your stupid, anxious mouth ran twice as fast as your idiot brain. But you found that you meant it.

“Don’t come cryin’ to me if you regret that.”

Well, you regret it now, but you’d die before crying to him about it, you think. You’re still buried in your sleeping bag on the porch, sun just barely cresting the horizon. You’re slumped down, saved from the damp, plastic carpet by the mostly intact cocoon. The porch is uneven, tilting to the right with decades of shifting foundation coming to haunt its shoddy construction.

It’s quiet. Birds chirp from somewhere as the dim light filters between the dilapidated carbon copy houses. You haven’t slept at all—too afraid.

A voice rumbles in the distance. Undeniably human, possibly male. For one second, your heart jumps, thinking maybe it’s Joel, and you won’t have to try to drag your ass back to him and grovel or find your way home.

And then you remember the reality of the situation. Chances are good that they moved on, and chances are even stronger that you’re not alone in this little subdivision. You don’t have time to wait and see what direction they’re coming from, let alone what they look like. You scuttle to the other side of the porch and jump from the top of the rail over the chainlink fence. You land hard on your side, trying to avoid actually breaking your ankle. It knocks the wind out of you, and there’s sure to be a bruise tomorrow, but you’re able to stand up and creep around into the yard.

There’s a back porch, raised high, with broken trellises along the bottom. At the far end is a garage, the sliding door hanging at an angle, and the regular door missing. Around the corner is an overgrown, dead garden, a doghouse, and the rusty frame of a trampoline.

They’re all shit options for shelter. But you’re not sure you could clear the fence from the ground without rattling it. You can hear boots scraping on the road, low murmurs spilling in their wake. Whoever it is clearly doesn’t want to attract clickers, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t looking for trouble.

You don’t have time to clear any of the hiding places. The garage and the porch are the highest risk for lurking Infected, but you don’t think you can fit quickly into the doghouse. You hear the sound of feet on the creaky front porch and dive for the garage, tucking yourself in around the corner from the regular door.

There are no Infected. There is a corpse, but it’s long gone to rot, skeletal and sickening, in a beach chair in the corner. The skull is shattered and jagged, and a revolver is on the ground. You sneak over and grab it. There are two bullets loaded and no more in sight. Hands wrapped around the grip, you press yourself back against the wall where you shouldn’t be able to be spotted from the house.

And you wait.

next chapter

*title from "Jars" by Chevelle

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Character: Alejandro Vargas

Prompt:Naughty || Cabin Sex ||

A/n: I love him and thank you for sending this in

Warnings: soft smut, light fingering, unprotected sex.

Fandom: Call Of Duty: Modern Warfar ii

Alejandro couldn’t wait to get to the cabin, he couldn’t wait to get you alone. After all the crap he had to deal with he was finally able to spend the next few weeks alone with you.

The moment you mentioned the idea of staying in a cabin he couldn’t help but jump at the opportunity.While it was a bit chilly he was just eager to have you in his arms. Humming he wrapped his arms around your waist, your back to his chest as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “This is perfect Mi Amore.”

Craning your neck you hummed giving him a gentle kiss though once you broke it you wove your fingers through his then tugged him towards the cabin. “It is….I’m just eager for you to take me in every room.” You teased.

Feeling warmth creep up his neck, Alejandro turned his head away. “Mi Tesoro! Please.”

Laughing, you always thought how cute Alejandro got when you teased him. For someone who was one of the best agents, it was rather easy to get him flustered.Shrugging your shoulder, you continued to pull him towards the cabin. Taking a breath in you glanced around, your eyes quickly moving to the couch. “What? I’m only starting facts, and with that being said I think this is the perfect place to start.”

Pushing the man down on the couch, a small grunt escaped his lips as you moved to his lap. “I can’t help myself when I’m around you Alejandro. You’re the perfect package. You care about your people, your team, your accent is super sexy, not to mention your looks. I really hit the jackpot on you.”

Shaking his head, Alejandro slipped his hands under your shirt, his fingers slowly raising it up. “Nonsen, I am the one who is lucky. Mi vida….I feel like I am a better man because of you.”

Sighing you gave him a soft kiss, then kissed his jaw. “Then let’s just say we’re both right.”

“That is something I can get behind.”

Grinning, you captured his lips in for another kiss. Alejandro melting into your touch. Your fingers running through his hair as he tightened his hold on your hips. A whimper leaving your lips as you slowly grounded yourself against him.

"Mierda."

A jolt of pleasure rushed through your veins, you always loved it when the man spoke in his native tongue, you loved you good the words sounded on his lips. "That good? we haven't even gotten to the good part yet?

"tu vas a ser la muerte para mi?"

Pouting, you watched Alejandro give you a smile. The man knowing just how to push your buttons. "Alejandro! You're not being very nice you know."

"No tengo idea de lo que estás hablando, mi amor."

Rolling your eyes, you let your fingers grasp your sweater. Lifting it over your head you shivered at the sudden chill hitting your bare chest. You turned your head away, suddenly feeling shy from the man's intense gaze. His fingers slowly running up your side until they finally reached your breasts. "Eres como una obra de arte, tan jodidamente hermosa."

Closing your eyes a small smile formed on your lips as you did your best not to moan his name out. His tongue now dancing around your nipple. "You know, it's not very fair that I'm the only one who's half naked."

"Ah, you are right mi vida. Let me rectify this situation." Making sure you were settled on his hips the man quickly tugged off the sweater you had bought him. Giving you a teasing him he gave your hips a squeeze though you were to focused on his chest. Some scars littered across his body. Somewhere knife wounds, while another was from a bullet but the one that always caught your eyes was the burn mark above his bicep from when Graves held him. You hated that one the most, you hated seeing it because he was captured protecting you. Leaning in you then placed a kiss on the scar, your lips tracing the jagged skin.

A groan leaving Alejandro's lips, his fingers continuing to message your hips. But he knew what you were thinking, he saw that look in your eyes, the look of heart break, how you blamed yourself when he got captured. "mi corazón, it is not your fault to what happened to me. Now let me make love to you."

Kissing you gently he helped you removed the yoga pants you wore along with your panties. " You're so beautiful." Pushing you back into the couch, he hovered over you. While you can see the lust in his eyes you also noticed that adoration, love. You felt like a treasure whenever you were with Alejandro though a sharp gasp escaped your lips when you felt his fingers slip into your folds, your hips bucking.

His thumb teasing your clit as your fingers clutched at the cushions below you.Removing his fingers, he slowly licked them clean of your juices. “You taste divine my love. But I rather feel you wrapped around me.” He whispered against your neck.

Nodding your head, you couldn’t help but part your legs as you watched him remove the rest of his clothing, biting your lip you reached out to grasp his erection. His member pulsing in your hand, your fingers slowly sliding up the shaft. Your thumb gliding over the head feeling the pre cum from the tip. Smiling you licked the pre cum away. “You taste good too.”

“Mierda!” Alejandro' hissed then pushed you down onto the couch. “ do not tire out on me, I plan on fucking you in every inch of this cabin.”

Alejandro was always gentle when it came to making love with you. He liked to take his time with you, to push you over the edge over and over again. Pushing into your folds he buried his face into your neck, his teeth grazing the bare skin as he slowly started to thrust. Rocking his hips as he barley pulled out, it felt too good being within you,

“Alejandro!” His name escaped your lips, your nails digging into his neck as he continued to thrust.

“Mierda”

Glancing up, you caught his gaze.His brown eyes turning a deeper shade, darkened by lust.Pulling you in for a deep kiss, you felt him pick up the pace. Skin slapping against skin.

Breaking the kiss, he then nuzzled your neck. “You feel so fucking good Y/n…wrapped around my cock, you’re perfect, you are perfect and you are mine.” He gave your breasts a squeeze.

A gasp left your throat as you tired to match his thrusts. “Fuck! Alejandro! More!”

Wrapping your legs around his hips, you forced him deeper within you. A whimper leaving your lips as Alejandro let out a strangled groan.

Palming your breasts, you felt him hit your sweet spot each time. “I want you to come for me Y/n.” His thumb now teasing your clit. Both of your breaths becoming erratic as he slammed into your warmth, and with one final thrust you were seeing stars. His name leaving your lips like a prayer. Your nails digging deeply into his back as your walls clenched around his cock. His thrusts turning sloppy as he chased his own orgasm. Pulling you in for a kiss, Alejandro continued his thrusts, with a few more you felt him pulse inside of you as he released into your pussy. The man groan deeply as he messaged your breasts, once he recovered from his high he slowly pulled out of your warmth. Alejandro couldn't help but feel a little proud seeing his seed seep from your entrance, watching your chest heave as you did your best to catch your breath.

Smiling, you squeezed slowly pushed yourself into a sitting position. "So should we try the kitchen or head right to the bedroom.?"

With a laugh leaving your lips, Alejandro gave you a gentle kiss. "I've always did want to lick chocolate off you.?"

"Kitchen it is."

[st4rgzer]

STICK SEASON matt sturniolo

genre: angst and just a bit of fluff at the end

summary: you have some unfinished business with someone you’ve missed more than you’d like to admit

cw!: self deprecation i think?

a/n: feeling very Noah Kahan ish

I went to Vermont to my parents house in a desperate attempt to find some comfort in anything, my childhood house came close to what I needed, even if the sad pink wallpaper pasted on my wall was peeling off, the bed, rusty, and the springs tired of supporting groups of chatting girls, or the mirror dusty from not having anyone stare into it to do their makeup for a while now, it still brought me a little bit of relief to have proof that I was once in a better place.

But now it was time to go “home” or at least what used to be home, now home has a different meaning. I’ve always struggled with selfishness, always having angry tendencies so I directly remove myself from the situation in order to avoid any nuisance I might provoke. Matt helped me. He saw the good in me as I saw the good in him, showing me that yelling isn’t the only way one can be heard, gentle words, whispers and sighs, worked effortlessly with him, everything envolving him meant being engulfed endlessly in light and sweetness. Now I’m stuck between the anger and the blame I can’t face, I tried to just remove myself from the situation.

“We can fix this please, I can fix this, I can change”

“I know you can, but I can’t be here, I don’t want to watch you destroy yourself, I’m tired of this”

That’s when he just drove off and left our future to the right. Rightfully so, I tend to play the victim, I’m trying to change, for him.

The phone dials again and the familiar voicemail appears, he used to call me forever now he can’t even call me back. I’m in Boston and I don’t think they’re home, but I’m terrified of knocking on their door.

Until I wasn’t. My body suddenly became 10 times heavier as I tried to drag myself to their doorstep, tempted to just run off and catch the next plane to nowhere. But I had to do this, for him, for me.

knock, knock, knock

One, two, three

The door opened and I was greeted with a very surprised Matt, he looked different from when I had seen him last, not in a bad way.

“what are you doing here” He blatantly said, quickly, he realized how brute he’d been and rectified his wording

“-i’m sorry, Hey y/n, what brings you…here?” He furrowed his eyebrows slightly as I began talking, it seemed my voice startled him, after all, it had been some time.

“I wanted to talk to you” I said, trying not to seem too stern. I had a habit of making situations more complicated then they had to be. He sighed and opened the door for me to walk through, the smell of bath and body works candle Nick bought for one of their videos (i’m sorry icba to use the pink sands reference) brought me back to the long movie sessions we’d have on their family couch, Mary Lou would bring us christmas cookies grannies would buy, I bought those last week, they didn’t taste the same.

“so um- long time…” He said walking behind the couch, creating some distance between us. He put his hands in his pockets and pursed his lips, I don’t think he was very happy to see me.

“yeah” I bit my inner cheek. Id come here to talk but I couldn’t seem to find any words right now, I wish it could be like it used to be, I wouldn’t have to say anything, he’d know what was wrong, he’d find the words for me.

“Matt I-” I took a deep breath and tried not to make a joke out of myself. “I know I have no right to show up at your doorstep unannounced, well I did call you but- that’s not the point. I’m sorry, yes that’s what I wanted to say, I’m sorry, and I’m sorry for fucking everything up and showing up in your life again and that’s not fair but I needed you to know I’m not a bad person, I’ve made mistakes and I can’t even say how sorry i am for hurting you in any way possible but I think about you everyday. I mean I see you everywhere, I see you when It rains, I see you when I discover a new song then I remember you recommended it to me, and I mean, I think what we had, what at least I thought we had, was something, you know? Now i see you mother and she doesn’t even remember me.” I inhaled sharply, my words spewing faster than I could breathe. I couldn’t figure out what Matt was thinking, if it was good or bad, well, I think in this situation it couldn’t be very good, one can hope.

A minute of silence passed by, the only sound that filled it was our steady-ish breaths, we looked at each other as if we were having a telepathic argument, however that would work, I thought telling a joke would ease the tension, I missed his laugh, maybe I’d get to hear it once again, but I don’t think i’m funny anymore.

“y/n…” My eyes were wide as I clawed into the couch in anticipation, not knowing if the next hour I would spend crying or whatever the other option was.

"I missed you too" his words were doubtful, he questioned himself, uncertain in wether he meant them or not.

“yes, I missed you. Maybe that’s bad, maybe I’m just a masochist, that, or you’re just engraved in my brain” He chuckled, his laughed remained the same, at least some things are how I remembered.

“so…you don’t hate me?” I said cautiously, analyzing his words in my mind to see if he really said what he said.

“I don’t think so, I’ve never hated you I don’t think. I couldn’t hate you, y/n, even if I tried, and trust me, I tried” His words almost seemed fake as I tried to fathom them, a puzzled look on my face that seemed to amuse Matt.

I nodded, not quite knowing what to respond just yet, or how to continue with the conversation. Figuring out any hidden meaning behind his slight smile, maybe everything was just really in my head, well, at least some part of it.

“I told Mary Lou you were going to be in town, I listened to you voicemails” He paused, looking away, almost embarrassed.

“I was nervous for you to come, I didn’t know how to feel exactly…But I definitely haven’t forgotten about you, the other day Chris accidentally bought two hats online, one was yellow, your favorite colour, is it still you favorite? Well, Nick reminded us”

I smiled. It was weird to hear that my name was thrown around in foreign conversations, I thought it may be a taboo here.

“It is. I’m glad, was Chris able to return the hat?” I said, thinking I sounded stupid to get that from the conversation instead of the important part, I tried to spark conversation.

“I kept it.” He said quietly, I smiled, a feeling of pity lingered in my stomach.

“I know this might be a long shot but, do you maybe want to get lunch, or coffee, or something with me? I’m in town till next week, if you want of course” I said, trying not to fumble my words, hoping to make things work, or just at least leave them a little better.

“sure”

A sudden childish excitement filled me, a feeling I had missed so dearly, a feeling I had when I was with Matt, as I could see.

“ok, text me?” I tilted my head, hopeful, relieved when he nodded. Saying things like this so casually still unsettled me slightly but I’ll try to ignore the feeling.

I guess lunch it is.

taglist: @gaytoadwithapopsicle @dwntwn-strnlo @oneirophobic @20nugs @iha8you @lovelysturniolo @stvrni0lo @ssturniolo @ifilwtmfc @gabbylovesreading @lvrsparadise @strniolo

[rogueddie]

oh my god season one steve defender, hello

am i glad to find you because i’ve ben rewatching stranger things and the fanon version of steve before the upside down seems on the harsh side now. and the way the show was comparing him to jonathan who was dealt a shitty hand in life made people a bit biased.

like, he was asshole, not refuting that! but also he was a moody teenager who didn’t know better and peer pressure is a bitch even without people making assumptions about you and your big empty house. (i think a big part of steve being so gone on nancy was because she didn’t treat him like he was an asshole. unlike others who made it seem given.)

also he tried to rectify his mistakes. didn’t try to run from that. went to jonathan to apologize, even when his face was still fucked up from the beating he got and not knowing what jonathan was doing with nancy, exactly. he trusted nancy. he was jealous and lashed out in the worst way possible but he chose to trust her—like she trusted him before he went and hurt her. didn’t want to disappoint her again.

also he made the right choice at the most important time. running back to nancy after she threatened him with a gun and a literal monster jumped out? most teenagers—hell, even adults—would not do that, not even the kind and mature ones.

he wasn’t involved with the interdimensional monster shit, unlike nancy and jonathan who each had a person they lost to it and were in deep. he chose to be involved. like. people seem to think that the upside down and its subsequent trauma was what made steve a good person. he was good to begin with, he just needed a push. the upside down didn’t happen to steve, it was the other way around. that’s a big part of why i love his character: his choice to be involved. a lot of people understate that. like.

steve isn’t connected to anyone in the party. he’s there for them all nonetheless. a rich kid just inserted himself into danger to save people, how come he catches so much heat from others?

he wasn’t bad, is what i’m getting at. he acted bad. he was innately good and just had to practice that goodness outside the influence of mouthbreathers.

Oh, people are definitely too harsh on Steve. But that's entirely the Duffers fault, I'm convinced. Most people won't have watched s1 for a while so things like Robin insisting that Steve used to be an asshole will be informing their perceptions of early Steve, or Steve telling Nancy that he really needed that knock to the head like he was the worst person before that.

He was definitely problematic, majorly so. It was his friends who were the assholes but he didn't try that hard to stop them- we see him trying to scold Tommy for going too far, but it's only after he implies that Jonathan is responsible. He initiates it too, even if his comment isn't necessarily that bad.

And trying to make up for his mistakes? That was almost immediately afterwards as well. With the implication of his father cheating, obviously he's going to be paranoid about that type of thing happening to him just like his mom. It makes sense that he'd overreact and went way too far. He was upset and a kid!

Plus, on the point of him choosing to go back- isn't he the only one who really chooses to keep getting involved in the Upside Down, even though he doesn't really have any personal stakes in it?

Like, s1 he's given an out. Nancy pointed a gun at him and Jonathan isn't exactly a friend, but he goes back anyway. And in s2, he could've told Dustin no. He didn't need to babysit or agree to help him, he had no real reason to and it's heavily implied that the two aren't close at all. Then in s3, he could've turned Dustin away too. Why would Steve want to waste time on translating Russian? He had a job! S4 is the only time he has any personal stakes bc at that point he's good friends with Dustin and it's a clearly dangerous situation.

He's always had a very clear pattern of behavior that is the same now as it was in s1. Considering he's a rich kid, it would make sense that hed get stuck in a certain crowd too and of course theyd be assholes.

[moonlight-prose]

BADLANDS | FIVE

a/n: i had this chapter already half written because it was meant to be chapter four. so i took a small break from this fic solely cause of lack of inspo, but re-watching the movie with @sunflowersteves really brought the inspo back. so i'm ready to hopefully drop the remainder of this story here and there. we're nearing the end!

summary: you're in the hospital and rooster is in a hell of his own making.

word count: 5.5k+

pairing: bradley "rooster" bradshaw x f!reader (callsign panther)

warnings: not explicit, angst, fighting, arguing, rooster being an idiot, ptsd mention, flirting.

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The hospital doors practically opened with a bang as Bradley, still in his suit, came barging into the building—a panicked expression on his face and adrenaline coursing through his veins. He didn’t bother with changing into regular clothes. Not even when Maverick tried to get him to calm down. All he could think, all that ran through his mind, was the sight of you laying on that gurney, body practically limp.

Which only led him to think about a different image altogether. One far more gruesome. One that nearly made him run to the bathroom to vomit up the breakfast he’d scarfed down. His heart was pounding against his chest and he couldn’t find it in himself to feel an ounce of calm. Not when he’d practically ripped you to shreds minutes before you took off—right before he had to watch your jet crash into the side of a hill.

His hands slapped down on the counter, practically scaring the shit out of the nurse sitting there. She opened her mouth, no doubt to reprimand him—something he figured he deserved. An angry expression crossed her face, the hot burn of guilt flickering to life in his chest, until she finally got a good look at him. His hair was unruly from how many times he ran his hands through it; the pain in eyes, so prominent that everyone around him could tell what he was going through. All in all…he looked scared.

If someone were to ask him, he’d simply lie. Say he was worried, but not scared. He was a naval pilot. Fear wasn’t something he was necessarily allowed to feel. Yet he knew the truth. For the first time since he was a kid, he was terrified that he might lose another person in his life. 

He couldn’t stop seeing you lying in front of him, unable to even acknowledge his presence, and that alone caused his whole body to wrack with unbearable pain. But no matter what he did to rectify said pain, it refused to go away. It stuck to him—reminding him of what he’d done to put you in this situation.

“I’m—uh—” He exhaled, shutting his eyes for a moment to force the sting of tears away. “I’m looking for a pilot. She was administered today.”

“The lieutenant?”

He nodded, seeing the pity in her eyes—pity he didn’t deserve. “Yes. Is she okay?”

“Are you her superior officer?”

“No I’m…” The words her friend was on the very tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t say them. Was he even your friend after all of this? After he fucked everything up just because he was jealous?

Your anger from earlier still resonated in his mind; the words you practically screamed at him, echoing with every thought he had. You loved him. Yet you believed that he was simply stringing you along this whole time. That he still hated you for leaving when now he finally understood. You did what you did to protect not just yourself, but him as well, because he now knew the truth. Neither of you would have survived getting your careers to where they were if you chose to be in a relationship.

Timing was a bitch, but he hadn’t seen that then.

Only you did.

“I’m sorry. I can’t release information unless you're her superior officer, family, or partner.”

The idea flared to life in his mind and before he could rethink it, the words were spilling out of his mouth. “I’m her partner,” he said, hoping that you’d forgive him for lying.

Who was he kidding? He would be lucky if you decided to forgive him for everything he put you through; all the years he spent trying to forget you only to wind up here. If he could change things—he’d have chased after you earlier. Training be damned he would have taken getting reamed out by Maverick and the admiral, just to explain how fucking in love with you he was. Because dammit…he had never loved another human being this much and that scared him.

So when he woke up this morning, seeing you asleep on top of his chest, your legs wrapped around him, he panicked. He felt that old lingering terror in his body that always reminded him to push the people he cared about away return, and rather than fight against it, he acted on it. He ran just like you did. Only this time…he may never be able to explain why.

“They’ve put her in a room. She’s got a bruised hip bone and a few bruised ribs, but they said she’d be able to leave by tomorrow morning.”

For the first time since getting in his car and speeding his way here, he breathed evenly. The tight feeling constricting his chest released, giving him a moment to finally put his panic at ease. You were okay. You were bruised, but you’d survive. Although the physical damage wasn’t too worrisome, he was sure the mental damage your ptsd had put you through was far worse.

He’d caught a glimpse of you stuck in another one of your flashbacks last night. Although you were disoriented from sleep, you looked like you’d been in so much agony he’d have to rush you here to the hospital. Bradley couldn’t imagine what you went through then; he didn’t try to. Only it wasn’t until then did he realize how much it weighed on you—how you took the blame for Hunter dying and tortured yourself with it every day.

“Can I see her?” he asked, his blunt nails digging into the skin of his palms.

“Not yet,” she replied.

He nodded, knowing that was probably the answer he’d receive. “When?”

“Once the doctor returns we should be able to let you in. What’s your name?”

“Bradshaw,” he said. “Lieutenant Bradshaw.”

“We’ll call you when it’s time.”

He knew those words. He’d heard them before and while other times he’d brush them off as merely an attempt to comfort the person, this time he knew that the nurse meant to truly put his mind at ease. While he appreciated the gesture, he could still feel the gnawing guilt in his stomach—causing him to be nauseous for the first time since he spotted you back at the bar, looking exactly the same as when you’d left him. He should have fought for you—should have sucked it up and admitted his feelings in the first place—but of course his hardheadedness got in the way of his chance at happiness.

The door swung open beside him. Phoenix rushed in wearing her flight suit with Hangman surprisingly at her heels. Bradley knew what he must have looked like in this moment; a wrecked man hoping—praying—for good news to finally befall him. He swore to whoever or whatever was up there in the sky that if you woke up and decided by some miracle to forgive him…he’d do it right this time.

“How is she?” She was breathless, a red flush on her face showing that she most likely ran here from the parking lot.

“Bruised, but they said she’ll be okay.”

Phoenix exhaled, collapsing into the chair beside him.

Hangman was the only one who remained standing, his hands awkwardly placed on his hips as he glanced around the waiting room—a look of utter distaste on his face.

“What’s the matter Hangman? Don’t like hospitals?” Bradly poked fun, hoping that it would ease the tension in his own body.

Jake shook his head. “No. I don’t.”

“Then why did you come?”

“Panther’s my friend,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on both of them. Their expression must have given them away; forcing him to explain. “We met a year ago when we were stationed together. I was her wingman on the mission.”

“And you didn’t leave her behind?” Phoenix exclaimed.

He smiled, leaning his forearms on his knees. “I tried to. Once. Didn’t end well for me.” Bradley’s raised an eyebrow; no doubt already knowing what he would say next. “She punched me for taking off like that during training. Gave me the biggest black eye I’ve ever had.”

“That’s my girl,” Bradley muttered, uncaring if they heard him or not. Phoenix knew the truth and with the way Hangman claimed he knew you—he most likely figured it out for himself as well.

“Yeah well your girl’s got a mean right hook Bradshaw.”

“Why didn’t you say you were friends earlier?” Phoenix asked, the disbelief still prominent in her eyes. She wouldn’t be letting this go anytime soon.

He shrugged. “Thought she still hated my guts. I figured it was best to avoid bringing up the whole…friendship.”

He liked to imagine what your friendship with Hangman would have looked like. Would you have been as annoyed with him like Bradley, or would you have dug your heels in stubbornly until he revealed bits and pieces of himself. Had Hangman given you the kind of trust that Bradley hadn’t? That thought alone caused his chest to tighten—the guilt from before once again flooding his veins and raising his heart rate.

He shouldn’t have snapped at you earlier, shouldn’t have let his jealousy get the best of him, but seeing you happy with someone who wasn’t him reminded him of what he didn’t yet have. Someone could make you happier—he knew that—yet he remained too blind to see that you chose him. That you wanted him at the end of the day.

If only he had some semblance of common sense beforehand. Perhaps you wouldn’t be in this situation.

“I know that look,” Natasha said, somehow managing to pull him from the guilt ridden abyss of his mind.

“What look?” She could always see right through him. Part of why they were such good friends.

“You know the look Bradshaw.”

He sighed, hunching over until his whole body shrunk in on itself. If he was lucky he’d disappear entirely, but he couldn’t do that to you. Not when he knew he had to fix what he broke.

She nudged him with her shoulder. “None of this is your fault.”

He scoffed. “Not so sure about that. We argued before she got in the cockpit.”

“And?” His eyes snapped to her, seeing the blank expression on her face that she often wore when he was clearly being an idiot. “She and I have fought before we flew and rarely does it affect her. Panther is stronger than a petty argument.”

“But—”

“But you’re beating yourself up over this because that’s what you do, Bradshaw.” Sinking into her chair further, she crossed her arms—attempting to find a comfortable spot in an otherwise uncomfortable uniform. “The jet could have given out on anyone. Even you. I know you think this is your fault, but you pulled her out before something worse happened. You saved her.”

Hangman stayed relatively quiet through the interaction, but Bradley could sense the tension in the man’s shoulders loosen. Phoenix was right. He knew that, but the present guilt still ate away at his heart. Though he didn’t cause the panic attack, he still caused you pain. Enough to break what you two had left. The relationship you both shared was fragile enough and rather than nurture it—keep it safe from harm—he took a hammer to it. He shattered what part of him still belonged in your heart.

That’s where his guilt lay. In the prospect that when you woke up…you may finally be done with him. For good.

He couldn’t voice the spiral he was putting himself through. At least not out loud. The words were caught—trapped in his chest and the longer he sat there, staring into nothingness, he understood what he had to do. You wouldn’t be the one to crack open his hard armored exterior. No, that would be his job.

Bradley would pry out his own heart and place it in your possession if it meant he could one day feel an ounce of your love again.

“I love her,” he mumbled, staring at his hands that had small crescent indents from his nails. He hadn’t realized he was clenching his hands together until now.

“I know.”

He glanced up, catching Phoenix’s smirk. “How do you know?”

She shrugged. “I’m not an idiot Rooster. You look at her the way she looks at you.”

“With…hatred?”

Phoenix laughed. “With love.”

He felt his heart drop at the confirmation of what you said earlier that day. You loved him. Through all the shit he put you through, all the pain you both endured, the truth remained the same. You loved him. He opened his mouth to ask Phoenix a multitude of questions that were bound to piss her off, but the door swinging open stopped him.

Bradley shot to his feet, chest heaving with both anxiety and euphoria. For a moment he figured the doctor wasn’t there to speak to them. But then he started walking his way, the clipboard he was focused on most likely holding all your information. Bradley wanted to get a look, see what else they found that may be wrong. Except he knew he would have to wait.

“Are you Lieutenant Bradshaw?”

He nodded, stepping closer. “Yes I am.”

“Good.” The doctor pushed his glasses up into his hair. “She’s up and getting dressed. We’ll discharge her into your care once everything is settled with the paperwork.”

The anxiety deflated in his chest. “Everything is okay?”

“Yes everything’s fine. She’s just going to have to rest for a few days. So no flying.”

Bradley already knew you were going to be pissed about that.

Thanking the doctor, he felt Phoenix push him forward softly, her smile saying the same thing his heart was. He had to see you before anyone else could. Before you had time to finally make up your mind about him. More than that though, he had to apologize—explain how you would forever be the one for him. Even if you didn’t make it through the relationship, or you said no, Bradley’s heart had already made the decision.

“Go get her Rooster,” Hangman drawled, his legs stretched out and arms crossed as he made himself comfortable.

He forced his legs to move, the steady shuffle and noises of the hospital somehow drowned out, replaced with the thumping of his heart. Could people hear it? How it leaped with each step he took down that rather empty hallway. Bradley always hated hospitals. Found the sterile scent and fluorescent lit rooms to be too much like a spaceship. Not to say he didn’t spend quite a bit of time in one, taking his mother back and forth to doctors visits, coming to visit her when he was sick.

There’s a reason he didn’t want to go any further, but somewhere in this fucking building, was you. So he pushed himself forward, counting the room numbers in his head until eventually…he stood in front of yours.

He wondered if he should knock, announce his presence before entering where he was clearly unwanted. Except the sight of you passed out on the gurney flashed through his mind again. Before he could stop himself, he was pushing open the door, entering silently in the hopes that you were asleep. It only occurred to him now that he should have bought you flowers, or shit even a small thing from the vending machines. Something to call a peace offering.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered, your glare practically burning him from the inside out. 

He stood by the now shut door, eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights. You sat on the bed, your flight suit tied at the waist, boots unlaced but on and t-shirt slightly ripped on your shoulder. Even though you still looked like you’d been in a crash, Bradley thought you were the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. Someone else might call it the rose colored view of love. Simply a haze that eventually wore off.

Either way he found himself unable to take away that love tinged view as he watched you get to your full height.

“The doctor said I could—”

“I highly doubt that,” you retorted, wincing when you took a step his way.

He was rushing towards you without a second thought, his hand steadying your slightly swaying movements. “You okay?” Bradley hated how out of breath he sounded—your close proximity killing him.

“I’m fine.” Attempting to push him away, you found that he was unwilling to let you go just yet. A part of you didn’t want him to. It was with a burning anger and reluctance that you allowed him to stay, willing your feelings to vanish altogether.

“Kitten—”

“No,” you snapped, shoving at his chest lightly. The force of your push did nothing. “You don’t get to call me that anymore.”

“Panther—”

“I’ve got half a mind to not let you call me that either.”

“That’s your callsign.”

“Which you gave me!” You were being ridiculous and you knew why. The anger you felt towards him was waning the longer you thought about your situation with him. Yet still you fought to keep it burning, wanting to put him through a little bit of hell before you finally gave up entirely.

“So what am I supposed to call you?”

You shrugged, refusing to meet his gaze. “My name works.”

“Well that’s not fair.”

Your gaze snapped to him. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Bradley fought the smile, biting on his bottom lip to keep a serious expression. “If we call each other by our first names I’ll get distracted.”

“Don’t be an idiot Bradley—”

“See, there you go. I’m distracted.” He finally smiled, hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. “My name sounds too pretty when you say it, kitten. It’s got me all mixed up inside.”

Your heart raced in your chest, heat flooding your cheeks as he held you there, keeping deliberate eye contact with you. It’s as if he could see the anger washing away beneath the surface. The pain he caused slowly being replaced with something else. Bradley wanted to kiss you, to heal every wound he ever opened with his touch, his lips. But he knew neither of you were entirely ready for that, and you were five seconds away from shouting at him again.

He’d let you shout.

He’d give you as much time as you needed to get the remainder of that anger out of your veins, because what lay beneath was worth it. You were worth it.

“I came to say I’m sorry,” he said softly.

Apparently that’s all it took. You yanked away from him, your energy now renewed. Walking towards the window, you tried to stop the sting of tears from filling your eyes. The pain thrumming in tune with your heart, creating a harmony you wished would come to an end.

“Just go Bradley.”

“No.”

You turned, noticing for the first time the seriousness in his tone—the hardness in his eyes. “There’s nothing you can say to fix what you’ve broken.”

He fought the urge to flinch, your words cutting into him like knives. “Yeah, there is.”

“No—”

“I want to be with you.” Your mouth snapped shut, eyes narrowing in his direction. “I’ve wanted to be with you since I first met you. For a second I thought that it was possible, but you ran and I get why you did, and I forgive you for that. I was too blind to see we wouldn’t work back then, but now I’m the one that’s scared kitten. I’m fucking terrified. But I finally know that I want to be with you for a long time.”

His words, they hit a nerve that you didn’t like. Creating that familiar ripple effect of pain you tried to keep at bay.

“That’s all well and good Bradley, but none of that changes the fact that you hurt me! You tore my heart out like it was nothing. Like I was nothing.” You wiped furiously at the tears that fell, hating that he would see you like this.

Vulnerability was never your strong suit, yet there you were. Open and bleeding for Bradley to see.

He stepped forward, wishing you’d let him take you into his arms. “I’m sorry. I’ll get on my fucking knees and say it, because it’s true. I’m sorry. I fucked up baby. And I get that you might never forgive me—that’s in your right to—but I want you to know that this, me and you, I’m all in.”

The breath caught in your throat, eyes too blurry with tears to see straight. “Bradley…I don’t know if I can.”

He was so close you could smell his cologne, his hand pressing against the side of your neck, angling your head to meet his gaze. Burying yourself into his arms was an option you were seriously considering as you stood there. Eyes searching his for any ounce of doubt. Yet all you found was the burning love you couldn’t see before. Had you been so blind? To ignore how his eyes lit up in your presence, his heart calling out to you.

Maybe Phoenix was right. “You’re everything to me,” he murmured, nose brushing against yours. “I’m yours baby. Always will be. Even if you won’t be mine.”

“Bradley,” you breathed, hand curling into his t-shirt.

He smiled. “Now you’re just doing it on purpose.”

A laugh bubbled up in your throat, your nose scrunching as his other hand curled around your hip. “Shut up and kiss me already.”

That he could do.

Dipping down, he caught your lips in a kiss that stole your breath, replacing it with his. Your eyes fluttered shut, lips parting to allow his tongue to slip against yours. Filling your stomach with a heat that curled along your spine. Moaning softly into his mouth, you wrapped an arm around his neck, pulling him closer until his chest collided with yours. You wanted to sink into him, to be wrapped in his arms for as long as time would give you.

He gasped your name against your throat, lips sliding along your vein—teeth nipping and creating blossoming buds of pleasurable pain. Eventually the nurse would be back with the discharge papers, most likely finding you and Bradley like this. But for now…nothing else existed besides this moment.

“I haven’t completely forgiven you yet,” you panted, hands digging into his hair as he sucked along your jaw.

“No?”

You sucked in a sharp breath. “No.” Your knees nearly buckled when he found your sweet spot, sucking along it until it was tender to the touch. “Gonna make you work for it Bradshaw.”

He smiled against your skin, nose running along the side of your neck. “I wouldn’t expect anything else from you kitten.”

The door swung open before either of you could pull away. Which meant the nurse got an eyeful of Bradley practically mauling you in the middle of the room. His leg was wedged between yours, one hand gripping your ass, preparing to push you along his thigh. Oh what a sight you must have been for the poor girl; her cheeks turned red, eyes wide with shock.

“I’m so sorry,” she stammered, averting her gaze to the wall beside her.

Reluctantly, and with several shoves from you, Bradley finally pulled away. “I’m—We were.”

“There’s no saving us now kitten,” he murmured, his arm slipping around your waist.

“I have your—um—” She coughed, glancing at Bradley for longer than necessary, but you couldn’t blame her. Bradley freshly kissed was quite a sight. “Discharge papers! I have your discharge papers.”

He smiled, taking them from her hands. “Thanks. Should I sign you out?”

“No, I'm doing it.”

The nurse coughed, catching your attention again. “Actually your partner should be the one to sign you out. The doctor is worried you might have a concussion.”

Your eyes snapped to Bradley only to see his guilt ridden face. “My what?” you sniped.

“Thank you miss. I can take her from here.”

You waited for the nurse to leave before you turned back to him, the irritation back with a vengeance. Bradley could see it, the way your jaw ticked slightly as he signed the paperwork quickly. Grabbing the official doctor’s note and slipping it into his back pocket. You were ready for round two and no amount of kissing could distract you long enough to get out of this without some consequence.

“You pretended to be my partner?” you all but shouted, your hands flying up in the air with exasperation. “What the fuck Rooster?”

He stiffened the second his callsign left your lips, eyes narrowing and hand yanking you so close your nose nearly smashed into his chest. For a brief moment he saw the flicker of lust in your eyes, your pupils dilating the second his hand shifted to cup your chin. Bradley liked seeing you like this; dumbfounded because of him.

“I was going out of my mind in that waiting room,” he murmured, thumb running underneath your bottom lip. “It was either I told them I was your partner—which I’d like to be one day—or I did something stupid while I panicked.”

You hated how much of an effect he had on you. But that didn’t diminish the annoyance that still simmered beneath the surface. So, you gave him a smile so saccharine and sweet he felt his head spin, his lips parting in anticipation to be pressed against yours. Only to have your hand dig tightly into his hair, tugging on it sharply and forcing a groan from his throat.

“You’re lucky I find you cute Bradshaw,” you mumbled, kissing along his throat, feeling his whole body tremble. “Do it again though and I’ll go straight to Maverick.”

His heart stuttered, a feeling he could only equate as fear spilling into his body. “You would rat me out?”

You nodded, pulling away to reach for the door handle. “In a heartbeat baby.”

The use of the baby wasn’t lost on him, but he pushed down the way his heart fluttered—his eyes trailing after you as you walked out in the hall. If Hangman were here he’d make fun of him. Tell him that he was a lovestruck puppy, begging for the attention of the woman he loved. Except Bradley knew that wasn’t far from the truth. He was lovestruck.

He just didn’t know how to say it yet.

“They said I can’t fly yet,” you spoke into your glass, wincing as the group of Navy pilots in the corner began to sing. You didn’t recognize them, but figured they were a part of the newer recruits around town.

Phoenix sat with ease, her uniform traded in for a pair of jeans and a crop top. “Maybe it’s for the best.”

You sighed. “Yeah…maybe. Do you think I’m an idiot for trying to get the position of leader?”

“No.” She shrugged, taking a sip from her nearly empty beer bottle. “I think you did what you thought was best for your career. You were ready for it Panther.”

“Apparently not ready enough,” you mumbled.

She nudged you with her foot. “Your past doesn’t define you.”

You smiled. “I told you that once.”

“And now I’m telling you. You’re strong enough to handle whatever this place throws your way.”

Downing the rest of your drink, you set the glass back on the spotless bar. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because you’ve done it before,” she replied, waiting for the truth to finally sink in.

She was right. All those years of training, of working yourself to the bone and fighting against everything that wished to hold you back, was what brought you to here. Your past with Hunter may have wounded you, but it didn’t take away the fighting streak that remained. No, that shined beneath the surface, stronger than before.

Phoenix got up, her bottle traded in for another fresh one. “Hunter wouldn’t have wanted you to give up Panther. You know that.”

Before you could say something else, she walked away. Leaving you to mull over her words. You knew they were true, knew that Hunter would be knocking you upside the head, trying to tell you how stupid you were being. Except the doubt still remained in your chest, telling you something entirely different. You were damaged—perhaps beyond repair—but you refused to let that hinder you on something you know you deserved.

“Shit,” you muttered, the singing voices of the pilots now grating on your nerves.

Gesturing to Penny, you tossed down what your drink cost before grabbing for your jacket. Maybe if you went home and cleared your head, you would feel better about yourself. If not that, then this mission. You made a b-line straight to the back door, avoiding the crew that always seemed to gather around the pool table. Except you were unable to go unnoticed by one individual. The same one who was grabbing two beers from the bar and following you out.

The ocean air felt nice against your face, the coolness soothing your lungs as you took in a deep breath. You’d never tire of the feeling. Of getting to see the large expanse of water turn different shades as the sunset played off its reflection. Tucking your hands into your pockets, you headed down the steps towards the sand. Your home could wait until the sun fully disappeared behind the horizon.

“Care for some company?”

You felt your heart stutter as his voice echoed behind you. Even though you were technically still mad at him, Bradley had a way of turning you inside out. Something he seemed to enjoy doing on a daily basis. Before it was riling up your nerves, until you were at each other’s throats. Now things were different.

“Will you leave if I say no?” you asked. You didn’t need to turn to know he now stood close behind you.

He chuckled, his body now in your peripheral vision. “Probably not.”

“Then I guess I’ll take the company.”

“I brought you something.”

You turned, fixing him with a curious stare. Thoughts of kissing him in the hospital flooded your mind, heat pooling in your stomach at the sight of him in his hawaiian shirt and jeans. You could recall making fun of him in this very outfit many times over, but tonight you were at a loss for words.

Taking your silence as a means to continue, he passed you the ice cold beer. The dichotomy of the warmth of his fingers sending a chill down your spine.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, your lips curling up into a smile.

For a moment you stood there in silence, watching as the sun dipped below the ocean waves, the orange hue spreading across the skies. If you had your camera you would take a picture. If not to remember this moment, then to savor the colors. As if the sky was on fire—mimicking your heart. Sipping at the beer, you felt Bradley shift, his hand going into his pocket before falling back to his side. Only for you to realize…he was nervous.

You smiled. “Everything okay Bradshaw?”

He let out a breath, his head falling forward. “You got me nervous here kitten.”

“Should I apologize?”

“No,” he smiled, raising the bottle to his lips. “I just wish you were the same. Kinda needs to be even, don't you think?”

You shrugged. “What makes you think I’m not nervous?”

“Shit are you?” He laughed, catching your gaze. “You hide it well.”

No you didn’t.

Rather than stay there standing awkwardly by the bar, you began to walk to the shore. Intent on getting up close to this view until everything changed. In a few days, the mission would happen. Which meant that eventually…someone in that room wouldn’t be coming home. Except the funny thing was that you weren’t scared of dying up there in the sky. No…you were terrified that someone you loved wouldn’t come back.

Bradley followed you, his boots sinking into the sand just like yours. Yet he didn’t complain. Too intent on keeping up with you—following wherever you went with a smile on his face. Maybe that’s what did you in. The fact that finally someone was following you for a change.

Plopping down into the sand, you felt the breeze come up off the ocean, it's cold chill spreading down to your bones. But you couldn’t focus on that. Not when Bradley was sitting right beside you. His leg pressing up against yours, shoulder to shoulder. You took a sip from your drink, staring at the sun and feeling your heart twist. Just like it always did when he was near.

“So what now?” you asked, turning to stare at him. Struck by the way the sunlight turned him ethereal.

He sighed, glancing at you. “I don’t know,” he mumbled, eyes searching yours for the answer he so desperately needed. “We try I guess?”

Nodding, you dared to lean your head against his shoulder. You liked the comfort of having him close. The warmth that emanated from him. If given the chance…you wouldn’t have moved for anything. Content to remain right here with him, until the world fell apart. You didn’t know it at the time, but Bradley felt the exact same way.

That was enough for you in the end.

“Okay,” you breathed. “We try.”

[khazadspoon]

Well it happened. Not quite full on cat-tle drive au but catboy rowdy au has now got written content.

I’m not sorry

———

As he approached the wagon, Gil knew something was wrong by the volume at which the voices were speaking. Rowdy and Wishbone were far from the quietest pair in camp, but this was loud even for them.

“What do you mean you don’t know? You- you’re the doctor here!” Rowdy nearly wailed.

“I mean exactly what I said! I don’t know how long and I don’t know why. I’ve done more than my fair share of doctorin’ on these drives, but I ain’t never seen anything like this so quit yelling and drink the damn tonic!”

Gil rounded the chuck wagon, readying himself to play mediator once again. He took a deep, steadying breath, and glanced around at the two men and-

-promptly blinked, shut his mouth, turned, and went to grab the bottle of whiskey sticking out of the supply wagon nearby.

He shook his head and ignored the call of “boss” and “Mister Favor” as he sat heavily on a crate next to the fire.

“I’m asleep,” he told himself, “dreaming, that’s all. Nothing to worry about.”

A hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed, five sharp pricks of pain shocking him. He glanced up despite his desire not to confront whatever was happening this time.

“Mister Favor, please, you gotta help me!”

Rowdy stared down at him with wide eyes Gil didn’t recognise. The usually bright but normal eyes were gone, replaced by slit pupils surrounded by a deep green so unlike Rowdy’s usual eye colour. When he sneered, as he so often did when upset or confused, sharp teeth glinted in the firelight. And his ears-

Well. They could only be described as cat’s ears. Pointed, furry, a dirty blonde colour like Rowdy’s hair, but flattened back like an… like an angry cat.

Gil took a long drink from the bottle and rubbed the back of his hand over his damp lips.

“Rowdy, this is the only time I’ll ask so think carefully before you do anything. I want you to punch me.”

Rowdy blinked, his ears (damned fluffy looking things) twitched forward. “What..? Why would I do that? Look, it’s not natural whatever’s happened to me but I need your help-”

“Punch me and I’ll wake up.”

The hand on his shoulder squeezed again, the same sharp pain following and Gil realised he really wasn’t dreaming.

“Shit.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily, lifting the bottle to his lips once more.

Rowdy growled and it almost made Gil drop the bottle.

“This ain’t a joke, boss,” he said with a hiss, ears flattened and teeth bared. “I can’t just- just walk about like this! Look at me!”

Gil did, blinking slowly to ensure he wasn’t seeing things wrong. Rowdy watched him, eyes softening as he blinked back. His ears rose and pointed forward and Gil blinked slowly again. Rowdy copied the motion.

“Stop it!” Rowdy hissed, backing up and nearly falling over the coffee pot on the ground. Gil quickly rose and caught him with an arm around his waist.

“Careful,” he muttered, setting Rowdy back on his feet. The boy grumbled under his breath and turned, hands on his hips. Gil glanced up and down the length of his body and paused. “So… ears, eyes, teeth, goddamn claws but no tail?”

Rowdy flushed a dark pink when he whirled to snarl at Gil. “I’ve got a-!” He took a long, deep breath and let it out in one slow exhale. “I’ve got a tail. It’s just… short.”

Gil tried not to laugh, he really did. He failed. “First I’ve ever heard a man admit to that.”

“It’s not a joke!” Rowdy crossed his arms over his chest like a petulant child and Gil was glad the kid hadn’t decided to just drop his pants right there to prove himself. “It’s like- like a bobcat or something.”

There was a watery note to his voice. Gil mentally slapped himself and tried to rectify the situation as best he could. “I’m sorry, Rowdy. This is a lot, but that don’t mean I can make fun of you. We’ll deal with it, and we’ll find out how to fix it. If we can’t, then….” He trailed off and shrugged, reached out to grasp Rowdy’s arm. “We’ll learn to live with it.”

Rowdy looked up from under his long lashes, those strange cat’s eyes glinting eerily in the low light. “Really?”

“Really.”

They hadn’t actually been through anything this strange before, but Gil was quietly confident they’d figure out how to manage.

[missacidburn928s-heathenhideaway]

Challenge Accepted (Why you calling me tonight part II)

Ex!August Walker x POC!Reader

Walter Marshall x POC!Reader

Summary:

Determined to get what he wants, August darkens your door.

Warnings:

Exes, Smut, Shameless Smut, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Gratuitous Smut, Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, Phone Sex, Rough Sex, Oral Sex, Possessive Sex, August Walker Lives (Mission: Impossible), Light Angst, Love Triangles

Notes:

Hello Heathens, I originally wrote this as a quick one shot. I had no intention of making a follow up. The response I got to this fic surprised me and I felt compelled to write another part. So thank you to everyone who liked, shared and left comments. This is for you! I hope I don't disappoint. Happy Reading!

Divider @firefly-graphics Banner @cafekitsune

I’m going about my business in the shop. Unpacking our new shipment of books, and updating our inventory on the computer, when I hear the bell above the door jingle. I look up, ready with a greeting on my tongue, to welcome them to the shop. The words die on my tongue as I watch August’s large frame stride with purpose towards me. I should have expected it, after the way the other night went, but to actually see him in the flesh is a shock to my system. All the feelings I had suppressed, the hurt, the betrayal, the rage all come flooding back.

“Get out.” I state, deathly calm. “You have no business being here, August. No matter if my heart still has a beat left for you, I’ve moved on. You witnessed that in full 1080p, in fact.”

“I think our time apart has messed with your head a bit, Sugar. I’ve searched the world for you, for five long years. Intending to bring you home, and rectify the situation. You were, and always will be mine. No low level local detective could hold a candle to the level of possession, and love I have for you.” August confesses.

“Is that right?” Walter challenges as he comes out from the back room. “To me it looks like you fucked up royally, and just can’t stand to see someone else not only having what you perceived as yours, but doing a better job to keep her.”

“You don't want to go there with me Detective.”

“You have no power here, Agent.” Walter stands his ground, placing a hand on my hip. “Unlike you, I actually listen, and care about her needs. If she wants you to leave, then you leave. How the task ends up completed, is all on you.”

“I’d like to see you try and remove me. We have unfinished business, her and I.”

Walter walks up to August until they stand toe to toe. “I won't disrespect the shop, and all of her hard work by getting blood on the floor or breaking furniture. She deserves better than that.” He looks over to me and winks before returning his gaze to August. “But your ego seems to need to be knocked down a peg or two. So here is my offer. My buddy Syverson, owns the boxing gym down the street. We head over there and settle this the old fashion way, with gloves.”

“You’re not literally fighting over me Walter.” I exclaim.

“Oh, honey. I’m just going to teach him a lesson. I already know where I belong with you. He’s not fighting me to win you. That prize is not on the table. You’re mine. I’m just making sure he understands that.”

Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out his phone and makes a call, “Sy, yeah it’s Walt. Tell me, how full is the gym right now? Only the morning regulars?” he asks, pausing for Sy to respond. “Perfect. You mind helping me settle something?”

“Is he serious?” August turns to ask me.

“Walter is not really the joking type. So, yes. He is very serious.” I respond. 

“Just need to remind someone of their place. Don't want to mess up the bookshop in the process, that’s all,” Walter continues his conversation with Sy. “Great, see you a minute. Can you grab my bag from my locker, I believe you still have the spare key.”

He hangs up the phone, returning to me. Pulling me in close. “I’m going to head over to Sy’s. You’re welcome to come spectate. But I’ll leave that up to you. I’m sure Mikey will film the whole ordeal.”

“I’m not going to stay here, racked with anxiety. I’m going with you. It is my honor you're fighting for afterall.”

“As you wish, sweetness. Go ahead and lock up. I’ll see you over there.” He bends down and lays one whopper of a kiss on my lips. I swear I’m swooning as my knees get weak.

“August.” He turns to the glaring agent. “You’re heading over with me. Hopefully Sy has some gym clothes around your size you can borrow.”

“And if I refuse this challenge?”

“You won't. Your pride wont let you.” He smugly proclaims.

August just growls in annoyance. His eyes give me a final once over, as Walter holds open the door for him to walk out. 

This can only go one of two ways. But no matter the outcome Walter is coming home with me.

Primal Physique Gym…

"I looked into you." August calmly states as he emerges from the locker room where he went to change. Sy, having been informed by Walter of what was going on, had provided him with a set of shorts and a t-shirt with the gym’s logo on it.

Not phased by August’s admission, Walter begins to wrap his hands. "Figured you would. You Feds love to dig up dirt."

August takes a seat on the bench across from where Walter is leaning against the ring. He looks for a set of tape to start wrapping his own hands. "Ex wife and daughter huh. Does she know? Do they?"

Hoping to catch the man off guard, Walter tosses the tape in his direction. Narrowly missing his face as August catches it with one hand. 

“Not that it’s any of your fucking business, but yes. They all know each other. Pretty well, in fact.” He pushes off the ring, turns to grab the ropes and pulls himself inside. Shaking out his limbs and bouncing on his feet, warming up.

August just murmurs to himself in a growly tone. This is not going how I planned. This Detective seems un-bothered by my presence. His confidence is irritating.

The gym doors open and both men turn to see me making my way over to the ring. Stopping to hug Mikey along the way. He helps to lighten my mood, making me laugh out loud and squeeze his arm to keep balanced.

She is way too comfortable with all of these men. 

“If it isn't our resident Bell gracing the menfolk with her presence. Just as her Beast faces off with Gaston.” Sy hollers from the ring.

“Oh, hush Sy.” I shake my head at his antics. Walking up to the ring, I take careful note of the state of my boyfriend and my ex standing in their respective corners. “Is Little Red around? I could use her special brand of support?”

“She’s in the office. I won’t let her work the floor much anymore.” Sy replies.

“I’m sure she’s loving that.” I laugh.

“Oh Little Red!” He shouts.

August watches on as a petite woman with bright red unruly curls walks out from the office in the back. Slightly waddles out is more like it, as she is very clearly pregnant, looking as if she is smuggling a medicine ball under her shirt.

A smile spreads across my face as Sy’s wife approaches me. “He really did ya dirty didn't he? Those genes couldn’t make a tiny baby if they honestly tried.”

“He’s lucky I love him, the big oaf.” She complains, rubbing her round belly. “What brings you to our little gym in the middle of the day?”

“That would be Walter and my ex’s fault.” I point towards the aforementioned individuals.

She quirks a brow and eyes the men occupying her ring along with her husband. She takes an extra beat to examine August from head to toe. He stands up straighter as she inspects him.

“That super villain looking asshole with the mustache is your ex?” She asks.

“Mmhmm.” I confirm.

“Looks like a dirty cop.” She blurts out.

“He’s CIA actually.” 

“So he’s a dirty cop for the government.” She tilts her head. “Gotta say, you’ve got a type girl. Why is he here?”

“That would be my doing Red.” Walter raises a gloved hand. “He showed up to the shop this morning. Mostly to try his luck at getting her back. Apparently the message of her being taken wasn’t clear enough when he called last weekend.” 

“So, what, you’re fighting over her like Neanderthals'?” 

“No. Like I told her, she’s not a prize to be won. I’m just making sure he understands where he stands in her life now. That lesson just so happens to involve our fists. Verbally and visually it didn't seem to take.”

Red looks to me. “You ok with this babe? I can put a stop to this nonsense with a snap of my fingers.”

I nod my head. “I’m good with it. Walter’s right. August is stubborn and hard headed. He still feels entitled to me because my heart is stupid enough to still hold a place for him. He’s not good at sharing his presumed toys.”

“You’re not a toy damnit!” August shouts. “I fucking love you. Just because you left doesn’t make you any less mine as it did before.”

“Sure. Even if that is true. I’m not just yours anymore. I am very much Walter’s. He’s put in the work and helped me heal from the damage you caused August.” I point an accusatory finger at him, “You did that!”

“Oh yeah, he’s such a fucking gentleman. With his preteen daughter and an ex wife who left him for working too much. Oh and that psychologist he slept with that he works with. Somehow he’s better than me?” August grits out.

Walter bounces from leg to leg, resisting the urge to punch August in his smug face and get this over with. He looks to me to calm the rage building inside. 

“I don’t fault him for his past.” I confidently state. “Just like I never did yours. Only difference here, is that he’s not hiding it from me. He takes into consideration my feelings and needs without assuming he knows what’s best. He’s not trying to best you, August. This is no competition. He’s coming down to your level, to get you to see the reason why it is that way. Sometimes fists are more effective than visual aids.”

“And if I win?” August asks.

“I’m not giving him up, August. I thought I wasn’t a toy?”

“You’re not.”

Walter chooses this moment to speak up. “Then stop trying to make her a prize to be won. Let’s get this aggression out of our systems and then we can tackle what happens next. I can’t and won’t speak for her on how this all will affect her. I just think cooler heads will prevail once our anger has settled.”

“You may regret those words shortly.” August retorts.

“I’m not afraid of you, August. I welcome the challenge to best you. So let’s get on with it. Three 5 minute rounds. The gym decides the winner.”

“You’re on.” August agrees. 

They tap gloves and head back to their respective corners as a bell rings. The fight is under way.

The next 15 minutes seems to fly by as I watch the ruthless aggression being displayed in the ring before me. Walter and August are pretty evenly matched. They're about the same size and height but where August lets his anger take control, Walter is more calculated and intentional with his punches. 

They’re both getting good licks in. There will definitely be some bruised torsos as well as a cut or two to the face of them both. Just as the clock is ticking down the last 30 seconds of the final round, August goes in for a left jab. Walter dodges it in the nick of time and follows through with an uppercut while August is open and off guard.

He makes perfect contact with his chin. With a heavy thump, August falls to the mat, out cold. Walter has won by a knockout. I expect to see triumph and a fist raised in the air coming from Walter. What I witness instead, is him getting down on one knee to check on August.

When he opens his eyes, Walter offers his arm to get him to his feet. “Good fight. You almost had me there for a minute. I got lucky with that last hit.”

Shocked by the display of kindness, August takes a moment before taking the offered hand. “Looks like the better man won.”

I run into the ring as both men get to their feet. “Shit, August are you okay?”

“Just fine, Sugar. Your man here is built like a brick house.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, agent. You're a tank yourself.”

“Did that hit knock some screws loose?” I wonder aloud.

“Not at all. I think it cleared some things up for me actually.” August replies.

“Oh-kay.” I look at him suspiciously. “Let’s go get everyone cleaned up and looked after. Red, can we use the private locker room?”

“Of course, love. Sy, hand her the keys. Take as much time as you need.” She winks at me conspiratorially.

I take the offered keys and lead the men into the private locker room.

I quickly attended to both men’s various cuts and bruises. I’m no stranger to patching up a wounded grump. August received that far more than Walter had had to, but nevertheless my knowledge was appreciated.

Once each man was assessed, we all headed over to the large open shower to clean the grime and dirt away. Thankfully Sy had installed benches in his private locker room that allowed for August to rest as he cleaned up.

Walter made use of them in a far more sinful way. He allowed me to wash his body as I stood on the bench to help with the height difference. Once the last sud was rinsed from his skin, he had my legs wrapped around his waist and his fingers deep inside me.

I gasped as he stretched me out around his thick digits. Making sure I was ready to take his cock. Eyes closed, I released a moan as he entered my slick channel. He held me there, impaled on his cock. Letting me catch my breath, as my body acclimated to his size.

Peering over his shoulder to the bench on the opposite wall I spot August. He’s watching us with rapt attention. His hard dick in hand, stroking himself, as he enjoys the show.

Walter whispers in my ear, “Look at how badly he wants you, baby girl. Seeing us over the phone must have been bad enough. It drove him to come here after all. I must imagine losing to me and having us show him kindness afterword stung as well. Having you writhing against me, pinned to this wall must be fucking torture. Think we should extend our kindness further, sweetheart?”

I whimper as he grinds against my pelvis, teasing my engorged clit. “What did you have in mind?”

“I’m not giving up this tight pussy tonight. But I am feeling generous. If you're feeling up to it, I’m okay with you helping him get to the finish line. Looks like he’s not far away as it is.”

“But I’d have to stop fucking you.” I pout.

“Who said anything about you getting off my dick? I’ll pound this sweet little pussy as he comes down your throat. I’m not going anywhere. It’s all up to you baby. Whatever you choose, I’m game. I told you you weren't a prize to be fought for. I’m secure enough to share when needed.” He winks.

“Then I’m going to need you to move us down to the floor.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I’m going to ride you while I give August the blow job a lifetime. Make him regret having run me off. Leave a memory that haunts him for the rest of his days. Another woman will never be able to compare to me. He’ll be chasing a ghost forever. This will be my parting gift.”

“Fuck. Who knew you could be so ruthless.” He ravages me with a kiss. “It’s fucking sexy. We’re going to have to play around with that later. For now let’s close the chapter on your ex.”

“With pleasure.”

He lifts me off of his length and lowers himself to the floor. Laying on his back as I move to straddle his thighs. Placing my back to him, I grab his cock. Making sure to face August, I then proceed to sink down Walters thick girth, maintaining eye contact with the agent.

I crook two fingers in his direction. “Come here, August. I need you to stand before me.”

“Letting me join in on the fun this time. I knew you couldn't resist me.”

“That’s not it at all, August.” I look up at him as he settles before me. “In fact this will be the last time you'll ever see me in this position for you. This is the last time my lips will ever touch your skin. The last time your seed will ever fill me.”

He quirks a brow.

“I want you to take it all in. The feel of my mouth around your cock. How my throat constricts around your thickness. How I’m taking what I want from you as I ride the man I’m falling for. Taking from him what he is willingly giving me. Watch the pleasure cross his face as my walls squeeze around him while I turn you into a whimpering mess.” 

A devious smile illuminates my face.

“Remember it all, August. Because it is all you will ever have of me after today.”

“What?!” He grits.

“Once this is over. You will leave. You will go back to wherever it is in the world you're currently called to and you will never darken my doorstep again. You will not call. You will not write. This is my parting gift to you. A kindness I need not bestow. Be wise in your decision.”

“You’ve changed, Sugar.”

“For the better. I’ve always known my worth, but with you, I had my doubts sometimes. It’s not like that with Walter. I’m giving this relationship a chance. I’m jumping in head first. I can’t do that with you lurking in the shadows, August. This is it. So what will it be?”

Walter gives my hips a little squeeze, comforting my trembling frame. Proof that my words may be said in confidence but my body is riddled with anxiety.

“Fuck it. I man knows when he’s truly been bested. I’ll take whatever crumbs you’ll give me and hold on to them until the end of time.” He states. “But if I find out he has hurt you or you split up. I’m coming back for you. I’ll honor your request, but I’ll never stop keeping tabs on you.”

Instead of responding to his declaration with words, I lean forward and wrap my lips around his leaking tip. The time for words is over. Action is all that is needed. I put everything I have into that final blow job. Swallowing him deep and humming out a familiar tune. All while I undulate and ride the grizzly man beneath me. 

The locker room fills with the sounds of moans and groans echoing off the walls as the hot water of the shower beats down on the porcelain. I have no idea how much time has passed but I can feel myself nearing my end. 

Every swivel of my hips has me closer to losing control. I double my efforts on the cock lodged in my throat. My head bobs up and down with vigor as I race to bring August over the finish line. I look up into his cerulean blues, locking eyes as I reach a hand up to squeeze his heavy balls.

August grips my hair as his hips thrust erratically against my face. We maintain eye contact as he releases a roar, shooting rope after rope of his seed down my throat.

When his cock gives its final twitch, he removes himself. We hold each other's gaze for just a beat more before I’m spun around to face Walter. He pulls himself up into a seated position and grabs my hips for leverage as he moves me up and down his cock. 

He kisses me with fervor. Uncaring that I still have the taste of my ex freshly lingering on my tongue. It’s possessive and powerful. Full of love and possibility. I break the kiss. Coming up for air as our foreheads rest against one another.

“I’m right there with you, baby. I’m just waiting for you to come undone all around me so I can fill you up. Gonna have you walking around with me slowly leaking out of you the rest of the day. But I can’t do that until you come first. You will always come first.” Walter grunts out.

His words are my undoing. The conviction in his voice snapping the tightened coil in my core. I come with a cry, writhing and clawing at his back. Feeling his cock swell as he loses control himself and begins to paint my walls creamy white.

My hips slow as we come down from our respective highs together. Sharing sweet kisses and gentle caresses. 

“Time to get cleaned up, baby girl.”

“I thought I was to be leaking you all night?”

“Oh, you will be. I’ll clean every other inch of your skin. But your pussy is exactly how I want her. Full of me.”

As I proceed to stand up and head back towards the water; my eyes scan the room. August is nowhere in sight. I hadn’t noticed that he had slipped out. Lost in the throes of my earth shattering orgasm.

A sense of peace settles over me as I take in that he honored my request. I know he will still remain in the shadows, watching, waiting patiently to pounce at the first sign of trouble. But I vow to live such a full life with Walter that that chance never happens.

Here's to hoping.

[curatoroffiction]

Vil Meets A Writer

I like the idea of Vil meeting an MC who likes to write.

Because writers are a very driven type of person which is almost the anthesis to everything Vil considers to be a driven person, but I also think there's a fun scenario where one would be exactly the person he needs.

Because writers create stories.

Vil wants to be the star of a story where he can be the hero. Where he gets to stay on the stage and is loved by the audience, and he gets to be one of the 'good guys'.

A good writer could rectify that.

---

I like to imagine Vil and this MC truly only get to knowing each other through time together at Ramshackle. While he's toiling away with his duties working on the performance group, this MC has a side writing project they've been working on for a while. They do their part, but oftentimes they can be seen scribbling stuff down in a notebook, or spending long periods writing in a journal. And if they have it, typing away on a laptop or leaving notes to themselves in their phone.

The behavior sticks out, and at first Vil thinks that they might be taking this very seriously and taking notes on the performances. He asks them about their notes in front of the group and MC just goes ".... Sorry those are a different project."

"What kind of project?"

"... Writing."

"Please do it on your own time."

"With all due respect, if I don't write things as they come to me, I will lose them."

Vil, sighing, shaking his head. "Just don't let it interfere with your work. If you slack even a little, and I'm taking all your notebooks and such away."

---

All went well until MC missed a rehearsal call and Vil found them in Ramshackle on their computer typing furiously away at their work. The performance troupe watch on as Vil begins taking away MC's stuff, only for MC to lose it and tell him he's not responsible for them so he should back off. Vil, pissed at their lack of commitment, coldly finishes taking away their shit and locks it all in a box with a curse that anyone who opens the box before the final rehearsal will find themselves asleep until the next morning.

While the troupe considered his methods brutal, taking pity on MC's situation, none of them can open the box without incurring Vil's wrath anyway.

Which is fine because MC got Grim to open it with a promise of tuna and belly rubs.

---

Vil would wake up to MC on the couch in Ramshackle, tired, surrounded by all their stuff, Grim tucked up next to them as they write away. At this point, he's no longer heat-of-the-moment pissed, and finds himself curious about what drove the MC to go so far for their stuff back. He leans against the back of the couch, looking over their shoulder.

"I see someone's a bit of a criminal."

"It's more criminal to lock up my shit like I'm a toddler."

Ignoring their biting comment, Vil decides to question; "What is it about this stuff that it's worth more than your responsibilities and that you'd be willing to subject a friend to a curse to get it back?"

"I'm writing. Been hit with a really intense new muse, and I've been writing the most amazing story. It's why it takes up so much of my time and thoughts. It's revitalizing though."

"A new muse. What's your muse?"

"You, actually." MC doesn't look up from their work, but they do pause in their typing.

Vil finds himself thoroughly intrigued. And a little nervous, considering how hard he's been pushing everyone. ".. What kind of story is it?"

"It's a story of a protagonist that has to make a lot of tough calls and is strict, but for good reason. I saw your leadership style and it really stood out to me in an interesting way. You're more free-form than people would probably admit, you just want to ensure people under your tutelage have the means for success. You have a good idea of how to get them there, but if they can find it on their own, you'll support it. I liked that approach a lot and thought it'd make for a really inspiring leader in a messed up situation/world. The actual plot is a sci-fi horror. A harsh environment that really helps the personality to shine for its beneficial nature."

Vil is actually... touched. Hearing how he seems through their eyes is like drinking in an opinion he's been long-awaiting for. They don't know his desire to be a hero, they don't know how long he's worked to try to break out of the mold of his typecasting, and yet here they saw a hero character in him already. A hero type that Neige LeBlanche could never fit. He's staring at MC, realizing he knows nothing about them. He knows nothing about who they are and what they're doing here, or even why they became a leader in the first place. "You talk as though you're not a leader yourself."

"I suppose I am. Though, I'm a reluctant leader. Not someone with a passion for it like you. I was thrown into it. Crowley's a mess of a leader. I think calling him a leader is a bit of a stretch of the truth. But you? You're fascinating. Epel hates being under your thumb, but he works twice as hard because of it. And Epel could quit. He could quit and choose not to abide by your rules regardless, but he doesn't, because he sees that strength in you. You practice what you preach so well that even your dissenters respect that if they can't beat you, they should work with you."

Vil finds himself actually almost.. blushing. A warmth in his cheeks tells him that staying here any longer could cause him to lose his composure. He stands up. "You can keep your things, but don't miss anymore practices. Understood?"

"Aye aye, captain." MC just, giving him a soft salute as they return to typing.

---

I just really like the idea of a writer MC writing something and being like "Vil, you'd make for the leader in this really well."

"What of the rest of the cast?"

"There's a bright-eyed optimist who almost gets everyone killed because he thinks he's fighting an injustice, but is actually fighting the only person keeping the place afloat-"

"Who would you see in that part?"

"I have no idea. I don't know actors in this world. Wait. Actually, that Neige guy would probably be great for the part if he can pull off the whole knight in shining armor trope only to have it blow up in his face because this story is supposed to be more real and gritty."

"..... I'll do it."

"Vil it isn't even finished"

"You should have thought about that before sharing. Finish writing it, that's not a request. I want to play this part."

A story where he not only gets to be the hero, but also where Neige could play the part of the villain in a very believable plot??

Where has Writer MC been all his life?

[genevievemd]

Snowy Thoughts

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Genevieve McClure), feat. Ellie McClure Word Count: 1049 Rating: G Category: fluff, domestic bliss Trope(s):

Summary: Gen watches Ethan play in the snow with their niece.

Warnings: none

A/N: One last entry for @choicesficwriterscreations​ holiday event. Takes place during the January update or ‘tis the damn season. 

They’d woken up to a fresh blanket of snow, crisp and white. It made her giddy, like a child. Or her niece, who had woken up in screams of excitement. 

Ethan and Gen had decided to spend the weekend in her hometown with her family. They’d missed Christmas a few weeks back, so they’d picked a random weekend in January to rectify the situation. 

It always melts her heart to see how much her family has grown to love Ethan. Especially her niece, Ellie. When Ellie met him years ago, she had run up to Ethan and gave him a hug. All smiles and asking if he would marry Auntie G one day. At the time, Gen had been mortified, as her and Ethan had only been dating – officially – for two months, but Ethan played along, giving her niece the only appropriate answer.

Someday, Ellie.

Back then, no one thought anything of it, but nine months later he proposed and now two years later they were married. 

And Ethan had graduated from Etan to Uncle Ethan, quickly becoming Ellie’s favorite person in the world. Which meant whenever the Ramsey’s go up to Maine for a visit, they stay with Gen’s brother and sister-in-law. 

“Auntie G!?” The six year old runs into the living room, already dressed for the snow. “Is Uncle Ethan awake?” 

“He’s in the kitchen, making us coffee.” Gen laughs, Ellie not bothering to hear the rest of the sentence and running into the other room. She follows close behind, never one to miss the sweet interactions between Ellie and Ethan. 

“Uncle Ethan, will you come play in the snow with me?” She beams up at him, with a pleading lip. 

Not unlike the one Gen uses when she wants something from her husband. 

“Did your aunt teach you that face?” Ethan chuckles, kneeling down to be at Ellie’s level.

“No. Will you? Please!?” 

“Sure. How about we have everyone come out and play?” 

“Okay.” She runs away, her feet stomping up the stairs. “Mom!”

Twenty minutes later and the whole family is outside: Gen, Ethan, Henry, Clara, Eli and Ellie. Making snow angles and snow forts. 

Gen walks over to her husband, arms coming around his waist. ”Thank you for indulging her. You’re a good uncle.” 

“I don’t mind, honestly.” Ethan smiles, wrapping his own arms around her. “I see it as practice for when we have our own children. Though, hopefully, they don’t learn to make that same face. I’m screwed if you and our children have it.” 

“You’ll be a great dad.” She leans up on her tiptoes to kiss him, the snow crunching under her boots, but their lips barely touch before they’re interrupted. 

“No kissing! Daddy said so.” Ellie throws a snowball from beside Henry, erupting into a fit of giggles. “Mommy and Daddy and Eli are going inside, but can we stay outside? We can make a snowman!” 

She prances over to them, her tiny gloved hand pulling one of Ethan’s off of Gen’s waist. “Will you help?” 

“Of course, Ellie.” Ethan kisses Gen’s cheek before letting Ellie pull him away. 

She can’t help the smile that spreads, her heart so full at the sight of Ethan and their niece. 

They’d decided a few months prior, to wait a little longer on having kids of their own. They wanted them together, but Gen wasn’t ready to give up what they currently have by bringing a baby into it. She enjoyed it just being the two of them, a semi-newly married couple. 

If she was honest, the thought of losing that, their little bubble of just Ethan and Genevieve, made her anxious. The unknowns of what their relationship would turn into after having a child terrified her. 

But she also knew that Ethan was ready. He wanted kids as soon as possible, especially after they learned Tobias and his fiancée were expecting last year and their baby being born just a few days ago. He wanted to begin the next phase of their life, and it broke her heart a little to make him wait. 

Though, Ethan was quick to remind her that while he was ready, there was no real pressure on her and he’d happily and patiently wait until she was too. 

Gen looks back at her husband and niece, rolling a second ball of now. The six year old chatting away and Ethan nodding his head. 

He really will make an amazing father. So caring and patient, happy to build a snowman or play pirates and princess. Their future kids will be so lucky to have him as their dad. 

“Auntie G, come help.” Ellie calls her over, big smile on her small face. “We need to put his face on.” 

“Of course, Nuggs.” She joins them in the middle of the backyard. “He looks great already.” 

“Thank you. Uncle Ethan put on his head cause I’m too short and he’s very tall.”

“He is.” She winks at him, to which he shakes his head. “What are you going to use for his eyes and smile?” 

“Um.. Oh, I know. Marbles from my collection. I’ll be back.” Before either adult can say anything, Ellie runs inside, leaving them alone in the backyard. 

“What had you so far away just now? I kept looking over at you and you seemed a million miles away.” Ethan is quick to take her into his arms once they’re alone. Concern etched all over his face. 

“I was just thinking.” Gen drapes her arms around his neck, shuffling as close as she can with their bulking winter coats. 

“Oh?” 

“Nothing bad, I promise.” She nuzzles her nose against his, that warm feeling she always gets when she’s in his arms flooding her veins. 

It’s the feeling of safety, and home, Gen has come to learn in the years she’s been with Ethan. Something she’s never had with anyone else. Chaos and mayhem could be erupting around them, but if she was in his embrace, none of it mattered. 

Perhaps, that was proof that no matter what they’d always be okay. That even when they have a child, at the end of the day, they’d still be them. Two people madly in love. 

And maybe, with that knowledge, she was closer to being ready than she thought.

A/N: And guess who’s born August next year? Lizzie. 

Hope you all had a new year! 

[samobservessonic]

Our last story of the issue is the final part of Cam ‘n’ Bert’s Seven Badniks, which promises to be a goldmine for anyone who wants to watch badniks fight each other

We get a scene of the badnik fight, which the Seven easily win, and then the remaining Palmtree Panic badniks allow themselves to be shipped off back home where they belong. Which is the opposite of what Robotnik asked for, but I assume he isn’t monitoring this whole situation very closely

The problem with the Miracle Planet is that Sonic’s currently vacationing there. It’s a little at odds with the main story giving us this pressing sense of having a limited amount of time before the Miracle Planet disappears and I feel like this backup story would’ve benefited from running at a different time to this particular main story, but what can you do?

We end with Sonic easily taking out the badniks, while Cam ‘n’ Bert wonder how he would’ve done against the Seven Badniks that they left in Green Hill

…But this is a question that we don’t get an answer to, because the Seven Badniks were never seen again after this story. Not only that, but this is the last time we see Cam ‘n’ Bert as well. It’s a bit of a shame, because I quite like them and thought the concept behind having a badnik repair squad was neat, but I’m also not too surprised? Cam ‘n’ Bert were created by Mark Eyles and I believe that this may be one of the last (if not the last?) strips that he wrote for the Sonic stories in StC. He did write some of the non-Sonic stories, but I’m not covering those here. If the other writers didn’t use Cam ‘n’ Bert, then that was that. There’s also the matter of what the kids writing into the comic wanted to see, which we’ve already seen has had an impact on the stories that were run. At the time, it seems that kids were mostly wanting Knuckles and Tails, so stories focused on the non-game characters may have taken a backseat to this I also have to hold my hand up and admit that, outside of being a Scrapnik fans and thinking Motobugs are neat, I’ve not got very strong feelings on the badniks. But I know that there are other people who do. So, I’m really not the right person to say if the Seven Badniks weren’t interesting enough that people wanted to see more of them, but they weren’t very interesting to me personally

On top of that, this is another story that I just don’t think needed to be quite as long as it was. I’m not saying it was bad by any means, it just could've maybe used an edit to trim down the parts where Cam ‘n’ Bert were going from location to location trying to figure out what to do next (a lot of which I didn’t include in my read-through). We also have a big segment of Robotnik asking for the badniks to be swapped, which then gets dropped when Cam ‘n’ Bert realised it wasn’t working, but we don’t see a follow up with Robotnik. It might’ve been more effective just to have the badnik swapping be a hair-brained idea that Cam ‘n’ Bert came up with on their own, then the pressure on rectifying it is so that Robotnik doesn’t find out they messed up this badly? But having said all that, this was a perfectly serviceable story. It just could’ve been a bit neater and I think it’s a shame this is the last we’ll see of Cam ‘n’ Bert

[oddygaul]

I Watched Three Time Loop Movies in a Row

Round and Round

I mean, it’s wild that Vic Michaelis is the star of a Hallmark movie, right? My partner and I had to watch it.

yes, they really do just let her do Vic Michaelis stuff the whole movie, it’s quite good

Round and Round almost immediately breaks what I consider a rule of time loop movies: establish building block events ASAP. These are the bread and butter of your time loop - a strong visual series of repeating events that reinforce the existence of the loop, establish reference points so the viewer knows what part of the loop we’re in at any given moment, and provide opportunities for the time loopee to demonstrate their learned mastery of the world around them.

This… doesn’t really do that? We have Rachel dropping the donuts, yeah, but then… I dunno, the curtains catch fire at the very end, I guess? Outside of that, things happen differently enough each loop it may as well be a sequential narrative. They use that time pretty well - the movie feels like it has more fresh interactions with non-looped characters than average - but this trope is a trope because it’s innately satisfying to watch, and it feels weird to just skip it.

My favorite thing about Round and Round is that when the time loop concludes, the male lead’s memories of each loop are restored, meaning the couple, in the end, have fallen in love on more or less equal footing. Time loop media is often about falling in love, but the way it’s usually only happening to one half of the couple presents an inherently creepy power dynamic. It was nice to see deliberate steps taken to rectify that flaw of the genre.

Palm Springs

Palm Springs fuckin rules. I’m not someone that rewatches movies often - I don’t know why, my brain is weird about it - and yet, I’ve watched Palm Springs at least four times now. It’s just rock-solid start to finish. The premise of starting after the protagonist has already been stuck in the loop for ages is great, the way they examine what that would do to someone is great, the acting is great, it’s funny as hell… I love it.

Unlike Round and Round, this movie goes for all the Time Loop Classics and knocks them out of the park. Repeating events? We got em: “that’s a good leg”, the jump into the pool, the wedding speech, etc. On top of that, though, Palm Springs introduces a unique twist - the time loop has multiple people stuck in it simultaneously. This immediately changes the tone of the movie - rather than the grinding, solipsistic loneliness that typically defines being stuck in a time loop, it’s about people coping differently, and the friction that creates. It also gives the ability to see how different people cope with the situation.

And the different approaches are great - Nyles’ nihilism, Sarah’s drive to move forward, Roy’s wanton violence and eventual zen. Some special attention to Roy, by the way, because what a great subplot - it lampoons the way some time loop protagonists immediately lose all sense of morality* and commit depraved acts because they know there’s no consequences, never stops being funny, and still ends up being poignant when all’s said and done.

*see: fuckin Groundhog Day, apparently

can we really do this, Sandy?

Meanwhile, Nyles and Sarah get to have their time loop fun in more wholesome ways - they really explore the space here and come up with a bunch of fun scenarios that usually are more centered on their joy, even if they are a bit at the expense of the non-looped folks.

Palm Springs also nails home a really interesting theme I’m surprised I haven’t encountered more in this genre - that you can’t change the past. No matter how much you as a person change during the loop, no matter how differently you do things that day, you can’t change what you did even one day earlier, even if it feels like years ago subjectively. In other time loop movies, the protagonist often succeeds in changing their whole outlook on life - from everyone else’s point of view, they woke up as a changed person and lived happily ever after. Palm Springs acknowledges that even if you change inside, the perception of you that exists in the minds of others can’t be changed in a day - and yet, that's no reason to quit.

Groundhog Day

We decided to finish off our time loop binge with Groundhog Day, since neither of us had seen it and it’s pretty foundational.

Well, it’s foundational alright, but woof.

I know this was the era for it, but BOY they do not stop with the sexual harassment in this movie. I mean, Phil being an asshole is the premise of the movie, sure, but there’s only so much aggressive verbal non-consent you can watch. Particularly after watching two modern time loop movies that took a lot of care in balancing their romantic relationships, it was jarring and creepy. A lot of the ‘comedy’ is based around it, too, so laughs were surprisingly hard to come by in Groundhog Day.

Also, it’s wild how quickly Phil goes off the deep end - my man is already committing wildly hazardous acts and putting innocent people’s lives at risk on loop THREE. Bro’s not even a week in, and he’s already ready to throw lives away? Clearly he was in a pretty bad place to begin with. It was a big contrast having just watched Palm Springs - some of the characters do some pretty debauched things there, sure, but that’s after the characters had been stuck for decades in the loop. Phil, meanwhile, wakes up on day 3 and chooses violence.

I guess it’s good to know where the modern American time loop movie all came from, though. It seems to inform some of the thematic focus of the other two we watched, honestly - why focus so much on consent in a time loop romance, or the value of a life amidst a world clouded by nihilism, respectively? Probably because the writers grew up watching something so unbothered with either.

Conclusion

So after three of these, it feels like I should have some deep thematic conclusion on what time loop movies say about the human condition, right?

Nope!

[thebiggerbear]

A little preview - FMITD - Dean Winchester x Female Reader - 12/2/23

A/N: Hey guys, I am so sorry it's taking me so long to get this story out to you. I just want to make sure I've covered every nook and cranny before I start posting. This originally started as a prompt response so I didn't expand on certain things but trying to rectify that now due to the change in format. So that's why it's taking a little longer than I anticipated. It will be coming to you soon. Thank you for your continued patience.

In the meantime, I think it's only fair to you for me to post a little preview. I took out any specific spoilers. All unbeta'd. Takes place during season 15.

Warnings: slight injury, mentions of blood, implied death, language

Read the first full part here

Series Masterlist

Please do not do any of the above. Thank you for your understanding.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

Dean Taglist: @deans-spinster-witch; @birdiellie; @heartlessdelusions; @nancymcl; @brightlilith; @muhahaha303

Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat

The glass in your grip suddenly shattered, making you gasp as red rivulets began to run down your palm.

Dean was suddenly there with a dish towel, gently cradling your hand as he slowly pulled a small shard of glass out, making you hiss in pain. He then ran your hand under the water, eliciting another pained hiss, before wrapping the towel tightly around your hand. “There a first aid kit here somewhere?”

“In the bathroom, I think.”

Dean glanced over to where you gestured and nodded. “Alright, hold this tight and take a seat. I’ll be right back.” You did as he instructed, quietly thinking over what just happened. Dean was incredibly focused and on it, no hesitation, but that wasn’t what gave you pause. Dean had shown up out of nowhere and began asking questions about the case, not even one of them being a check in with you to see how you were doing. He may not have known exactly who you were in relation to this situation but you were here and you were washing dishes, everyone was trying to give you their condolences and watching you with pity — didn’t that account for something in his mind?

You didn’t have much more time to think on it when Dean suddenly reappeared with first aid kit in hand. He laid it down on the table in front of you and slipped his jacket off, throwing it over the back of an empty chair. He quickly rolled up his shirt sleeves and took the seat next to you, gently cradling your hand and carefully unfurling your fingers. “Alright, let’s see what we’ve got.”

You watched as he studied the slice in your palm. “Not too deep,” he approved. He then began checking your skin for any other glass fragments or cuts. When he was determined you were clean, he began to soak a cotton ball with peroxide before turning a wide smile on you. “Did you hear the one about the priest and the cop?”

Your brows furrowed. “The priest and the—” You let out a loud hiss and you dug your teeth into your bottom lip. “Fuck,” you painfully whispered. 

You moved your gaze from the cotton ball being dabbed against your broken skin to Dean who was watching you intently. He gave you an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you forced out as he continued to clean you up.

“So you didn’t tell me how you knew the family.” It was obvious he was trying to distract you from the painful stings of the ointment he was using. 

“He was...someone important to me,” you whispered.

Sure enough, his green eyes snapped to you, wide in surprise. “Someone important to you?”

You gave a reluctant nod, choosing to glance around the room rather than look at him. 

You felt the movements on your hand cease altogether and you turned back to see the pity you’d been getting all day staring back at you. You hated it.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

You nodded as if on autopilot and dropped your gaze back to your hand, waiting for him to finish. He resumed the bandaging a moment later and you both spent the rest of the time in silence.

His brother's sudden appearance broke it. “Everything okay in here?”

A/N: Do you think the reader knows Dean and Sam are hunters? How do you think Dean and the reader may know each other?

Please let me know what you think. 👉👈

[unsociableandtaciturnbarbie]

Here we have a Tik Tok which I randomly scrolled upon two nights ago (whether it got added to my favorites collection is between me and whoever is monitoring my Tik Tok activity). This Tik Tok is fairly simple, but it’s really funny to me. It starts with a picture of a bunch of nurses/doctors running with a stretcher captioned, “she’s losing blood what’s her type?!?”, then the next slide is a collage of nine photos of Matthew Macfayden’s Mr. Darcy from the 2005 Pride and Prejudice movie (1 of the 9 photos being the Hand Flex itself). The joke here is that the doctors were asking about the patient’s blood type and instead we are provided with the patient’s type in men (Type, according to urban dictionary, is “a preference or what you look for in a significant other”). This is accompanied by lyrics from the song Soaked by Shy Smith (feel free to look up the lyrics, but I’m afraid of Tumblr’s moderation). This template with the play on the word “type” is used across Tik Tok for all sorts of characters and celebrities both real and fictional (Please read “all sorts of characters” as “I’ve seen a Simon from Alvin and the Chipmunks one under the same sound”). I’d categorize this template as one of the many varieties of thirst traps which the internet has to offer and just thinking about Mr. Darcy in the context of a thirst trap is incredibly funny to me. This thirst trap in particular was really good, I think, in its use of the song Soaked because two of the included photos are of him obviously having just come out of the rain (part of what I like to call the Wet Darcy Effect) and even though I don’t think that’s what the writer of the song was going for I like to imagine it was. The fact that the Hand Flex got its own picture in the collage also really made this Tik Tok complete for me. Side note: When I first watched the 2005 version I didn’t really care about the hand flex, but my mom pointed out that it’s probably the only time in this era that a man and woman would be making skin to skin contact except for maybe dancing (even then they should technically be wearing gloves). So, the hand flex is meant to be a sort of reaction to sparks Darcy is feeling just by helping her up into a carriage…I was soon converted to a Hand Flex fan. This is a really good example for me though of what we started to get into at the end of class today with “Darcymania”. What is it about Mr. Darcy that makes him such an object of internet fascination? Jane Austen wasn’t exactly writing him to be some sort of incredibly hot heartthrob with crazy sexual appeal; he’s just described as a handsome rich man with a tendency to be incredibly awkward and possibly even proud in social situations (which during regency times made him a catch for sure, but modern standards tend to be raised past money). And yet, the Wet Darcy Effect has spread its ripples of staring at soaking wet regency men through popular media from TikTok thirst traps to Bridgerton (see image below).

I think there’s definitely a level of adaptations having influence here, especially with something like Mr. Darcy in the rain or in a pond that never actually happens in the book. But, there’s also something to be said about Mr. Darcy the book character. As an avid romance consumer, I do think there’s something incredibly romantic about falling in love with someone you’re determined to hate, as Mr. Darcy does in the book. Even in the first few chapters we’re getting lines that are certainly making my heart melt like, “Darcy had never been so bewitched by any woman as he was by her.” Additionally (as we’ll get into later so I don’t want to spoil it too much) he’s willing to accept the consequences of his actions and rectify them for her. If we’re thinking about Mr. Darcy with a sort of “I can fix him mindset”, then I’d argue he does the fixing by himself by the end of the book. I wish I could come to a conclusion on why the internet has made the jump from “Mr. Darcy is a good romantic interest” to “Let’s make thirst traps and put him half-dressed on candles like you would with religious figures (see below)”, but I cannot. As someone who has personally made the jump from “Hey, he’s kind of an intriguing character” to “my roommates buy me things with his face on them”, I can kind of see the appeal, but crossing the line to sexualizing him and making thirst traps has never once occurred to me so there’s definitely still some missing pieces.

Here's the Tik Tok link for crediting purposes: