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macfrog · 8 months

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heart, body, soul cowboy like me chapter thirteen

surprise! happy friday eve. here's some cowboy to get you through it. life has been a little tough on me lately. sorry for the terribly long wait. but the end is in sight, dear readers. tighten the stampede string on your hats. we're coming in to land.

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: you and joel are at an impasse. you resolve it the only way you know how

warnings: age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing, alcohol consumption, mention of dr*g use, titty appreciation, face sitting, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, major fluff, major angst

word count: 14.4k (y’all ask. mother macfrog delivers)

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You sigh. “I don’t want you…with…anyone else. I want you to…only want me.” His brows straighten. You sit in silence, staring at one another. Both daring the other to be the first to talk. But it’s his turn, and he knows it. So he swallows, and says – “I don’t want nobody else.” And that’s a thing. A great big, terrible thing.

It’s been a week since you last saw Joel. Blurred, tilting, pulling to-and-fro across your vision. A week since you last heard him; his low voice like the hum of an electric wire, tired acoustics drumming weakly through his chest into your heavy hand, laced through his own. Fingers draped softly across his swollen knuckles. You wonder if they’re still marked seven days later.

A week since you felt him. Felt your body lean towards him – gravity or dizziness or something stronger – as his weight dipped into the bed beside you. The way it has only a handful of times now, but enough to score it deep into your memory. Enough that you know the difference between him and anyone else, even with your eyes closed and your heart bleeding.

Enough to ensure that, for as long as you live, you’ll know and see each difference between him and every other person you ever meet. They won’t lower their head the way he does, or lift the corners of their mouth like him. Your name won’t sound the same, won’t sound as complete, coming from someone else’s mouth. Your body won’t magnetize to anyone, the way it does to him.

And that’s fine. The separation. The fact that he was a fleeting moment. The fact that it was over before you felt it leave, before you heard the door close behind it. It’s fucking fine.

Still, you let it hurt a while. Just a little while.

The gash on your calf has healed up, your hangover had subsided by Saturday evening. But your chest still feels tight, your hands are still restless. You lie awake staring at the ceiling, surrounded by the clothes you have of his; breathing in the ghost of his scent and breathing out pathetic, aching sighs. He’s all you smell, all you touch.

Except – he’s not anymore, is he? He saw to that well enough.

So you let it hurt. And you think you can just about make do with that.

“Hey, hon,” you dad gently calls, hanging on your doorframe. Your room is dark, drapes closed, the only light source the white light from your laptop.

“Hi,” you reply, with a break in your voice. Your eyes don’t lift from the screen. Jim just told Pam he’s in love with her, but she’s engaged to Roy. But she really loves Jim, she just won’t admit it. It’s cathartic, okay?

Dad steps into the room and awkwardly stuffs his hands into his jean pockets. “Awfully, uh…awfully quiet lately, hm? Everything okay?”

“Fine. Everything’s fine.”

It’s not a lie. You are fine. You’re so fine, you’re actually numb to it.

The problem is that for the last few weeks, you’ve been more than fine. The best you’ve felt in months – maybe even years. The most you’ve smiled, the hardest you’ve laughed. The warmest the blood has ever run through your veins.

And then you’re just – fine again. Back to nothing.

He shuffles between feet. Stares at the floor, where his shadow sprouts from his toes. “I was gonna head into town, grab a few things. You wanna come? Sit in the car with a book, maybe?”

“I’m good, Dad. Thanks.”

“Sure? Whatcha watchin’?”

“The Office.”

He nods. “Right, right. I, uh, I was thinkin’ of askin’ Joel and Sarah over for dinner tonight. You always have fun when they’re around. You and Sarah could spend some time together, y’know?”

Your heart nosedives straight from your chest into your stomach. The thought of seeing him again, this time crystal clear and not while under the influence of alcohol, drugs, or worse, sinks its sharp claws into your shoulders and sinks you deep underwater. His voice gets lost somewhere in the space between you. And when you finally come back up for air, back into the room, you gulp back whatever string of senseless words your empty chest initially offered up.

“Hm…” You pretend to consider the thought, then head straight for passive. “Whatever. Sure.”

Your dad’s mouth opens to respond, and you cut in again.

“I’m kinda tired,” you say, yawning. Trying to make him leave.

He’s not great at taking hints. “Kiddo, I am really worried about you. Weren’t you s’posed to be working this mornin’?”

“You ain’t gotta worry about me. I’m just a little tired, is all. Wasn’t feeling up to restocking tools and dealing hardwood to your buddies.”

It’s only the second truth you’ve told him since he set foot in your room. You never feel much like work, not Sal’s-fucking-Hardware-kinda work, anyway. But the thought of standing for seven hours with a bared-teeth grin plastered on your face, hands blistering from tearing open box after box of stock, shoulder slowly coming up in a bruise from the number of customers tapping on it…you figured Sal could do without you for one fucking day.

“You wanna look some more at other jobs?” Dad asks, and finally you look up. The blurry, luminous silhouette of Jim and Pam is strung in the dim air before him.

You shake your head. “Not right now. I have some bookmarked I can show you later.”

He takes a deep breath, unsure of which angle to come at you from next. Finally, with an air of resignation and defeat, he settles for, “You know where I am if you need me,” and closes your door as he leaves.

You’re staring intensely at the face of every character onscreen. The pixels burn into your eyes. You’re trying harder than anything to get him out of your head. It’s not working.

His hand through yours, his arms around you – warm, safe, protective; the way he smelled, sweet like whiskey, sharp like pine; the way he’d mumble, lips against your head, sweet nothings pressed into your hair; the feeling of his lips on yours, hungry for something only you knew how to give him. The look in his eyes, tender, knowing, loving.

And because he was the only other person fluent in your little secret language – a look, a nod, a tug at the corners of his mouth. His eyes settling on yours only for a nanosecond, one tiny moment in time laced with a thousand words that you translated as quickly as his glance moved across you. It all meant something. It all meant so fucking much.

All of it. You feel all of it as it sinks through your skin, through bone and into your brain. As it curls around your ribcage, holds tight around your heart. Every thought and feeling that flutters through on full display for him to read. And you’d let him, because it’s him. You trusted him. You – you might’ve even –

I mean, what the fuck, right? When the fuck did this happen?

Joel Miller. Joel fucking Miller.

Is this what you thought would happen that very first time you looked at him differently? Tidying up after pizza, leaning into you, telling you you’re nothin’ but trouble? Did he know then, that this was where you were headed?

Did you?

Your phone buzzes. You glance down at it through your tears.

Sarah: wtf is going on ???

You craft a reply as nonchalant as you can manage. Three little letters.

You: Wym?

Sarah: are u good??

You: Yeah lol. Why wouldn’t I be good

Sarah: idfk. weird. my dad’s on the phone to yours rn

That’s great. That’s just fucking great. He’s probably telling Joel right this second how miserable you are. That’s all you need.

You want to hold onto your pride, keep an air of casualness about you impermeable to even Sarah – but you desperately want to know what’s being said. What she’s listening to him say.

You: Yeah? What are they talking about?

Sarah: well now it’s just some andrew guy

Sarah: sounds like a loser

Sarah: we’re coming over for dinner tonight btw

You: Nice. See ya then

Sarah: u wanna come over here before? we can watch love island

You: I’m good. Gonna go for a nap

Sarah: you can nap here. come over!!!

You bury the phone under your pillow without replying. Sarah is like Joel in many ways, but her persistent nature is one avenue in which they drastically differ. Joel would – and has – give you space, let you mope; Sarah will probably text you all afternoon until she’s on your doorstep, takeout in one hand and a telling in the other.

So you drag your phone back out and put it on Do Not Disturb mode. She’s already sent two more texts since her last.

Sarah: seriously. would you come the fuck over. im only on episode 5 i gotta catch up

Sarah: even my dad is worried about you

Yeah. Good one, Joel. Fuckin’ asshole.

----------

They arrive at six on the dot, armed with pizza and a crate of beer. The doorbell rings once, you lean over a degree to glance down the hallway, and Sarah’s stepping over the threshold, her shadow of a father at her heels.

He’s rugged. Hair amok. He kinda looks a mess, sorta looks how you want him to after almost two weeks of no you. But he’s here. He’s right in front of you. And this time, the shape of him isn’t swimming across your glassy eyes.

Your heart swells with relief to see him again, only until it twinges from the wound that he caused, and it hurts all over again. You turn back in your stool to face the kitchen island, making some noncommittal noise when Sarah’s hand presses between your shoulder blades in greeting.

“Tyrique and Ella are kinda cute, but I don’t trust him. Dude’s gonna fuck her over for sure,” she mutters, shoving the box over the counter towards your dad, who accepts the beer from Joel with a pat on his arm.

He’s standing across the kitchen – Joel – as far as he can get from you. You’re sure his eyes haven’t lifted from the floor yet. But you scan him all over, from the loose collar of his shirt down to the cuffs, rolled halfway up his forearms; from the rough hair of his beard down to the soft tufts decorating the skin just below his clavicle.

You scan him all over. The body you know just as well with the flannel and jeans over it as you do without them. The body you’ve squeezed, and scratched, and bit and kissed – and the same one you’ve thrown curses and insults at as it follows you through his house.

If he looked you dead in the eye right now, you’re not sure you could look away. You’re not sure you could stop.

That is, until Sarah presses a chilled beer to your arm, startling you, and silently nods towards the dining table.

She sits on your right, opposite your dad’s seat. She resumes chittering about Love Island. Joel and your dad are still in the kitchen, stacking plates, cracking the caps off their drinks. And then he pushes off the counter, and slowly wanders over.

You watch his every move. Study him, like you’re about to be tested on it. Which foot he steps forward with – always his left – and which chair he’ll pick once he’s at the table – the one opposite you, ‘cause it faces the TV for when he and your dad watch baseball while eating.

Two for two.

He lifts the chair, pulls it back, and angles it to face Sarah’s. He places his beer gently on the mat. When he sits, he doesn’t pull in any closer. Doesn’t risk your legs crossing paths under the table. You pull your knees up, let your shins rest against the wooden ledge. Your dad takes Joel up in conversation.

“So, this Andrew. He’s the brains of the operation?”

The pizza is slowly pulled apart over the course of an excruciating hour-long meal. Sarah puts the next episode of Love Island on while you eat, points out her favorite couples and nudges you to ask your opinion on the girls’ outfits.

“Wouldn’t have gone with those heels,” she mutters, chewing, pointing with her pizza crust to some six-inch ankle-breakers.

You lean past her shoulder every now and then to pretend you’re as engaged as she is. Pretend you’re listening. Your left ear is tuned into the conversation happening across the table.

Your dad thinks Andrew Curtis is fucking hilarious. Hoots with laughter when Joel tells him about his untucked button up. Says, Oh, jeepers, when he hears about the way the guy tripped jumping down from his truck.

The storyteller doesn’t sound so lively opposite. Your dad’s slapping his thigh with laughter. Joel’s shoulders are jerking at best. You dare a glance at him, and he’s already facing your direction. He turns away before your eye reaches his chest.

Soon, the episode ends. The atmosphere dies arm in arm with your dad’s attempt at another conversation. There’s a thick silence between the four of you. You haven’t opened your mouth the entire meal, but even if you did, the tension would clamp its heavy hand over your lips, blocking any words from making their way out of your windpipe.

Sarah clears her throat, manages a tentative, “I –” and then the phone rings, piercing through the awkward mist like a bolt of lightning.

Your dad pushes himself up and trots over, grabbing the handset a little too hastily. “Hello? Oh, hi, Rita. Hi. Yeah. Yep, Joel’s – Sarah? She’s here, yep.”

Sarah’s head drops, hand gripping her glass frozen in mid-air. “Fuck,” she whispers, and Joel shoots her a look across the table.

“She’s – oh, yeah? Well, let me ask ‘er.” Your dad covers the bottom of the handset with a huge palm. “Rita has some…cross –”

“Cross stitch, yeah, I know,” Sarah says, and thuds her glass down. “I said I’d help her out with it. I bet she’s seen your damn truck across the street!” She jabs a furious finger at her dad.

Joel shrugs. “Ain’t my fault the woman has eyes.”

Your body jerks as if to laugh. You don’t catch it in time. He notices.

“She’s on her way over, Rita,” your dad continues, nervously smiling at Sarah as she pulls her jacket over her shoulder. “She’s – oh, sure, I’ll let her know. Alright, now. Bye, Rita, bye. You’ve to bring your glasses. ‘pparently the pattern’s pretty small. You even wear glasses?”

She huffs in response. “I’m gonna be there all damn night. I’ll just get you at home.”

Joel opens his mouth to protest, goes to warn her that she ain’t walkin’ home alone in the damn dark, but your dad holds his hand out.

“We’ll give you a ride home. You come back here once you’re done.”

She nods gratefully and struts off down the hallway. The door slams shut behind her.

Your dad lightly chuckles, sauntering back over to his seat. “And then there were three…” he says, sitting back down.

But the loss of Sarah only cranes the spotlight over to you. Only you. No one else to split it with. No one else to lend it to. You can feel your dad’s eyes on you, waiting for you to make a move, some song and dance for your company.

He lifts his beer to his lips. Nods to you. Makes a song and dance of his fucking own, when he says, “Guess who’s been lookin’ at grad jobs?”

Joel stares at him for a second, like he’s waiting for your dad to reveal who it is he means. Like it can’t possibly be the only she in the room. His thumbs tap around his own bottle. “Oh – yeah?” he stammers, and throws a haphazard glance in your direction. He seems to mean to address you.

You sit forward, choke out a, “Yeah, uh – it’s – well. Kinda.”

“Film?” he asks, and you hear the rest of the question in the tone of his voice. Somethin’ you like, ‘n not just your dad’s suggestion?

You nod, but he’s not looking. He’s studying the label of his beer.

“Film,” your dad confirms. “Shut me the hell up, didn’t she? Came downstairs with her laptop the other night. Where is it, kiddo – New York?”

Your breath catches. The answer cowers at the back of your mouth, terrified to show itself. You force it forward.

“LA.”

Joel’s eyebrows lift.

“I said she might be better goin’ back to school. Reapply for next year, right?” Dad looks to you, and your lips pull in an awkward smile. “…but she didn’t wanna wait around. Told you the other day – this place is like prison.”

He chuckles, but Joel isn’t laughing. He’s staring at his beer, his brows slowly lowering from arched and curious to dark and furrowed. And you want to reach for his hand, want to shoo your dad off and spill your guts to his best friend. Want to explain yourself, show him the webpages and application forms you’ve spent the last few days surfing through – want to justify yourself to him.

But so long as your father is sat here, bumbling to himself about the prices of college courses these days – none of that happens. You simply sit in a stalemate opposite one another – a million thoughts racing through your head, a million and one racing through Joel’s.

“…might change her mind, but who knows? She’s skittish, this one, she –”

Another bleating ringtone cuts what you’re sure would’ve been an endearing compliment short. You say a silent prayer of gratitude for whoever’s at the other end of the line. Your dad sighs and heaves himself up again, swiping the phone from the kitchen counter.

“Hello? Hi, hi, Richard. No, I’m not – well, it’s – sure, sure. What’s –?”

His head falls in much the same way Sarah’s did ten minutes ago. He sighs.

“Right. No, that’s quite alright. I can be there in ten. Yep. Alright. See you in a – hello?”

He drops the phone back into its cradle and runs a hand down the back of his neck, growling.

“Kelman?” Joel asks, jaw turning to his shoulder.

“You bet. Misplaced the damn keys for his site. You two alright if I head on over there ‘n lock up for ‘im?”

“He familiar with Andrew Curtis at all?” Joel quips, and then waves your dad off. “Go on. I’ll be outta your hair by the time you get back.”

In a frenzied blur, your dad’s tying his laces, grabbing his keys, tossing a jacket over his shoulders. He apologizes a total of four times to Joel, thanks him for dinner, promises he’ll pay him back next time he sees him. And then he’s jogging off to the front door, and taking every ounce of comfortability with him.

And then there were two.

You slouch back in your chair, listening through the silence as your dad’s car engine fades down the street. When the quiet humming disappears, Joel’s head turns back to face you.

You’re alone again. For the first time in a week. This is the closest you’ve felt him, even separated by the dining table and a fog of conversation that you have no idea how to begin clearing. There’s more weight to the silence between you than words could ever bear, you know that much. More to be communicated between your eyes than your tongues know the language of. But still, you can see him through it.

Like a lighthouse, shining bright and beckoning you to the shoreline. You can feel him again, as if there’s an electric pulse radiating off of him. And you feel drawn in, like you always do; feel that magnetic pull in your chest, only ever satiated by the meeting of Joel’s.

You shift in your seat. His eyes flit up. Your heart jumps, like it’s a sign he’s really still in there. And then they drop back to his lap, and your chest sews itself back together.

Your eyes start to burn with fast-forming tears. Your throat tightens, tightens, tightens, pushing them higher and higher until they pool across your waterline. Blinking doesn’t help, just drops them onto your cheeks, to be quickly swept away by the sleeve of your hoodie.

All you want is for him to look you in the eye, whisper, C’mere, baby, scoop you up and hold you in his arms forever. Fuck everything you said about the distance being good. That was when he was in his house, and you were in yours. He’s here, right now. He’s sat across from you. You’re finally on your own again. And he’s not fucking looking at you.

You let your legs down and sit up straight in your chair. It’s small, but it feels like a necessary step to silently tell him that you’re in the room with him. You’re here.

It lifts his eyes again. Not to you, but to your empty plate. Then, to the wet stain on your sleeve. You hope it stabs his heart a little.

From the shaky breath he sucks in, it seems to hurt just enough. He clears his throat. Pulls his gaze higher, higher, a little higher, until you’re eye to eye.

A wave of feeling, either burning hot or freezing cold – you can’t tell the difference – stretches across your body. It’s unnerving, and yet calming. It’s soothing on your wound, and irritating all the same. He’s looking at you. You wonder if he can see you.

You stare at one another for a few moments, drinking it all in. You can see him clear as day. You can almost see the shadows of his thoughts as they dance across the frosted-glass windows of his hazel eyes.

He blinks. Breathes in deep through his nose. And then speaks.

“LA, huh?”

You scoff. You don’t fucking mean to, but it’s the opposite of what you expected – and kind of wanted – him to say. Your whole body relaxes, though – finally relieved of the tension of the last seven days, even if only for a moment.

You feel lighter, like someone kicked the door down and this is the first gulp of clean air in your lungs. It’s small, insignificant even, but it does what it needs to.

Which is – it gives you the energy to answer back.

“It’s not a concrete plan. Yet.”

“Yet,” he repeats.

“I’m not running from you, if that’s what you’re thinking. Get your head out of your ass.”

He wants to laugh. He should’ve expected it.

“I didn’t say anythin’. I think…I think it sounds like a good plan. ‘n you’d be close by to Sarah, so.”

This conversation feels like you’ve been left alone for ten minutes with your dad’s buddy. Sanitized. Surgical. Which would’ve been what it was little over a month ago, but it’s not now. Now, it’s totally different. There’s more than just that one neat string between you.

You’ve held his hand. You’ve kissed him. You’ve touched him, in ways you’ve only ever touched a handful of people. And even then – none of those times have been anything like the way you’ve touched Joel. You’ve tasted him, you’ve felt him as he climaxes somewhere deep inside you. You’ve pulled him into your body, over and over; you’ve let him have you in ways nobody else has.

There exists a complicated, messy web of history and emotion, woven tight between you. The weight of it bears down on the surface of the dining table.

And he’s talking to you about fucking grad jobs.

“Could you just – stop fucking with me?” you ask, sincerely. You’re not angry, you’re not hurt. Not anymore.

Joel lifts his chin. Studies your face. “I’m not fucking with you.”

“Yes, you are. You’re talking to me about some job, like there’s nothing else to talk about. Like there ain’t nothin’ else we might have to discuss.”

His response is resigned. Bored, even. “What else do you wanna discuss?”

You narrow your eyes. “Oh, um, I don’t fucking know. Last week?”

Joel takes a swig of beer. You take it as reply enough.

“I don’t have any clue where you’re at, Joel. You pick me up from Frank’s, beat a dude up for me, put me to bed, ‘n then when I wake up, you’re gone. Oh, but you left your fuckin’ shirt. By accident? Or for me? Who the fuck am I to know?”

He holds back a smile. “I had work.”

“Right,” you nod, “Andrew Curtis.”

“That guy’s an idiot. You’d probably like ‘im.”

“I bet. I’m fond of idiots, apparently.”

This time, he can’t hold it back. A smirk spreads across his lips, soft and shy, but there. Right there. You could reach out and fucking touch it.

And then he nods. Leans back in his chair, folds his arms, and nods. The smile begins to fade.

With it, goes the breathing space between you. The fog starts to thicken again. The web tightens some more. Your chest begins to ache. Things feel normal for all of two minutes, and then they’re back to awkward air so heavy that you can feel it on your shoulders, feel it forcing you into a slump in your chair.

This whole thing is built on lies. Lies on top of lies on top of lies. The only truth there has ever been has been between the two of you. Two lonely figures, wrapped in each other’s arms in the eye of a storm. So –

Fuck it.

You sniff. “I thought – that the most we were risking was my dad. I thought the worst that could happen was him findin’ out.”

Your voice is quiet. Unsure of itself. One word carrying you to the next, not totally sure where you’re going with it.

“I didn’t know I was risking losing you, too, and now…now, you’re just gone. Like, you don’t wanna talk to me, you barely wanna look at me. I don’t…I don’t have you anymore, and it’s all fucked up. Do you know, I – I wouldn’ta done any of it if I thought you’d go?”

Joel flinches. Tightens the hold on his arms.

“I want you to come back,” you say, stronger this time. Louder. Clearer. You’re ignoring the tears sweeping across your vision. “Just come back. You don’t even – you don’t even have to touch me or nothin’. We can just hang out and talk, we don’t have to…we don’t have to do anything.”

Your voice wobbles by the end. Your lips tighten around it, shutting it off before you can say anything more to embarrass yourself.

Joel’s still quiet. He watches wordlessly as you stand, pile the plates atop one another and make for the kitchen. As you place them gently into the sink, you feel the weight of him behind you, reaching over to set the bottles alongside them.

“I ain’t gone anywhere,” he murmurs, and you twist to face him.

“Joel. This is the most we’ve touched in two weeks. Putting dishes in the sink.”

He repeats himself. Adds, “I’m still here. I still care about you.”

You shrug. “Then – show me.”

He steps back. “Show you,” he scoffs. Your expression doesn’t shift. “Show you? Like I didn’t just almost break my damn knuckles defendin’ you? Take you home in the dead a’ night, deal with all your drunk bickerin’?”

Your head tilts. He’s right. But you want more than that. More than spitting threats and leaving flannels behind. You want his hands, and his lips, and his voice. You want –

“…Lord, mighty me.”

Your dad’s voice follows the sudden jolt of the front door opening. You and Joel are already five feet apart by the time his body appears around the corner, one hand leaning on the wall, the other pinching the bridge of his nose.

“How on Earth that man has his own construction company, I have no idea. Called me halfway to the site ‘n said he found the keys in his damn pocket.”

“Always the scatterbrains,” Joel says, leaning casually against the counter.

“Sure is. You ‘n me oughta start our own, show ‘em all how it’s done. Anyways. What’d I miss?”

Before you can answer, Joel’s speaking again. He sounds in a hurry. “Just tidyin’ up. We were talkin’ about graduate programs, actually. You know what,” he turns to you, “I’m sure Sarah has some old brochures from UCLA. Might have some stuff worth checkin’ out. You wanna come get ‘em?”

It takes a second for you to realize he’s talking to you. His eyebrows are arched, his thumb pointing over his shoulder. He came up with the lie so damn quick, you have whiplash.

“I – yeah, sure. Yeah.”

Your dad runs his tongue between his teeth. “UCLA. Huh. Well, don’t keep Joel too late.”

“I w…I won’t,” you reply, following at the heels of the swaggering figure towards the door. You dodge his eye contact and dip your head behind Joel’s shoulder, thankful for his protective stance in front of you.

Your dad doesn’t say anything more – instead, he stands back and lets Joel lead you out. You steal a glance back at him as you slip through the door. His face unreadable, his eyes stick on Joel; locked tight on the flannel wandering down the driveway ahead of you. The word loops in your head as though the phone’s ringing again. Guilty guilty guilty guilty guilt–

But then the night breeze is dancing across your cheeks, and you’re following at the heels of Joel again, and you feel light as air in the wake of him. You climb into the passenger side of the truck and watch as he settles alongside you with a sigh. He pulls out of the drive, and his right hand sits idly on his thigh. You think to take it. Joel reads your mind.

He sits it on the armrest between you, palm facing up. You stare straight ahead and let your fingers slip through his. He knots your bodies together, thumb rubbing gently on your knuckle.

Another pound of weight lifts from your shoulders.

----------

Joel drives for twenty minutes before pulling up in an empty parking lot across from a church. It’s pitch-black and deserted. There’s a single streetlight over by the corner, illuminating a trashcan and not much else. You’re shrouded in darkness, save for the soft glow from the lights on the dash.

He switches the engine off and sits back in his seat. Your hands are separated. The distance between you slowly starts to grow again.

“LA,” he says, for the second time tonight, staring at the ceiling of the cabin.

“LA,” you echo, staring at him.

He looks down to you. Smiles. There’s something behind it. You can’t tell what.

“It’s not a grad job,” you say, forcing something up. Your fingers are twisting around the drawstring of your hoodie. “I was lookin’ at grad stuff, but there wasn’t anything I was into. The LA thing is a six-month temp job I saw.”

Joel nods. “What’s that look like?”

“Production assistant. Lots of behind-the-scenes stuff.”

“Mhm. Sounds like your thing.”

Your brows jump as you pull the tie around your finger. The tip turns white. “Might be. Job ad closes on Monday.”

He sucks in a breath. “Better get applyin’, then.”

Your head cocks. “So eager for me to go?”

“Eager for you to do somethin’ you love,” he corrects.

“But it would get me outta your hair.”

“I don’t want you outta my hair.”

A smirk sneaks its way across your lips. You nod to the view from the windshield. “Why are we way the hell out here?”

“Because your dad bombed our conversation, ‘n I figured we weren’t done.”

“Then talk.”

He licks his lips. Folds his arms, settles deeper into his seat. He turns a little more to face you. The single light from outside catches in his iris, like that same lighthouse beacon you could see earlier. Distant, far off, but there. Still there.

“I owe you an apology,” he says. “I…I thought what we were doin’…What I was doin’…I thought I was causing you more hurt ‘n harm than good. I was scared it’d gone too far. Scared it wasn’t okay anymore.”

“Was it ever okay?”

He shifts again, uncomfortably. In the dim light, you see his face pull. He squints, wobbles his head in consideration. “No. It wasn’t. But we did it anyways, you ‘n me. We made that decision together.”

“Right. And then you went and made the complete opposite decision, alone.”

He’s nodding. He knows. And you think you know, too. It fucking sucked, losing him – but you get it. What was the big plan? How far were you going to let it go? Someone had to pull the plug at some point. Someone had to cut the thing loose.

You lean closer to him. “I just…I wish you’d let me fight back a little. Wish you’d heard me out more. I know what we’ve done isn’t right. I know that. But I – I fucking –”

You sigh. It leaves your mouth shaky and unsure of itself.

There’s something more. Something at the back of your tongue, itching to separate into the dense space between you. Bigger. Stronger. Heavier.

“I missed you,” you concede, shaking your head. “That’s all.”

Joel’s eyes fall shut with a wince when you say it, like it physically hurts to hear the words come out of your mouth. But he’s clearer, now – the fog is slowly shrinking away. The words behind his eyes seem to light them in a warm glow. Missed you too, baby.

His hand opens up on the armrest again. Yours falls into it instantly.

He clears his throat then, and says, “Also owe you an apology for – for the Lois thing. I know I should’ve explained a lot sooner, ‘n I’m sorry I had you thinkin’ what you were thinkin’. I didn’t – I didn’t know it was such a big deal to you. Thought you’d know I wouldn’t…do that.”

“I think I did,” you tell him. Your nails run up and down his fingers. “Deep down. Wasn’t so much about her as it was about me.”

“About you?”

You shrug. “Yeah. Me, us, this. It was more of a, Why wouldn’t he want someone like her?, y’know? No lying, no secrets. And she’s old, like you.”

“Easy.”

You smile. “She’s nice. I know she is. My dad went on for five whole minutes about how good you’d be together when I asked ‘im. So – why wouldn’t you wanna be with her, right?”

It’s rhetorical. Joel knows. But he answers it anyways.

“She is nice,” he agrees, “but I ain’t interested. To tell you the truth, darlin’, I was a little preoccupied worrying my ass off about you to even look twice at the woman.”

You freeze for a second. Stare at the outline of his jaw, the jagged bristles of his beard; the soft sweep of hair silhouetted by the moonlight outside. He’s still Joel – even in the darkness, even in the fog. Even when you can’t see, hear, or touch him – he’s still there. Thinking about you. Worrying about you.

“Well,” you sniff, “you don’t gotta worry anymore. I just…I didn’t like the thought of it.”

His head tilts. Beckons you to continue.

You sigh. “I don’t want you…with…anyone else. I want you to…only want me.”

His brows straighten. You sit in silence, staring at one another. Both daring the other to be the first to talk. But it’s his turn, and he knows it. So he swallows, and says –

“I don’t want nobody else.”

And that’s a thing. A great big, terrible thing.

“But,” he continues, almost immediately, “this has gotta be – I’ve gotta do right by you. Gotta be honest, now –”

“Wait,” you interrupt, “can you just – stop acting like it’s all you?”

Joel falls quiet. His brows knit together.

“Stop saying things that make it sound like you’re the only one in this. I’m in it, too. I want it. I want you.”

“Baby, it’s not as simple as –”

“Joel,” you take his arms and pull yourself closer to him, legs propped against the center console, “I want you. This. I want us. All of it, I want all –”

Your body is being tugged closer to him, lifted nearer, and his chin bumps against yours, and his eyelashes almost brush against yours when your foreheads link, and his breath sweeps hot and needy across yours, and he – he kisses you.

You stop breathing. You don’t care whether or not it ever comes back. Oxygen replaced by him. Everything replaced by him.

His tongue slips past your lips, his hand glides across your hair to cup the back of your head. He locks you into his body, lets you rest your arms across his shoulders. Your lips find a rhythm against one another; warm, wet, tender.

His free hand cups your cheek, holds your mouth to his just a second longer, before he pulls away, and gives you one last kiss. Softest of them all. Seals the fucking deal.

“We okay?” he mumbles, and you lift your head from his palm. You sit frozen for a second, just looking at him. Looking and looking and looking.

“We’re good.”

He smiles then. A genuine smile. “I thought,” he whispers, glancing around the quiet parking lot, “I could take you on a date.”

So that’s why he brought you out here.

“A date?”

“Mhm. Never been on one, have we?”

“Never could.”

He nods in agreement. “Just ice cream. For now. Thought I’d show you some of my moves.”

“You got moves?” you snicker.

“I’m a catch, darlin’. The ladies swoon for me.”

“Alright, never say that to me again.”

Joel laughs. “There’s a place right around the corner. ‘s go.”

He climbs out of the truck and wanders off towards the sidewalk, and you follow. He looks down at you as you walk. His cheeks swell with the smile on his face, dimples at the edges of his lips.

It’s quiet; quieter than you’d expect, not that you’re complaining. With the sun almost set, you’re doused in light only when you wander under a streetlight. So, it’s no surprise when Joel’s eyes quickly scan the street up ahead, and his hand reaches down for yours.

Your stomach flips. You’re doing everything you can not to let him feel your pulse in your wrist, but you’re pretty sure you can, because he leans his shoulder against yours and asks if you’re okay.

“Good,” you choke out, relieved to have just passed a streetlight that might give away the blush on your cheeks.

Approaching on the right is a sickly-sweet, pastel-painted store front; fairy lights decorating the window, wireframe tables and chairs dotted outside. A bell dings when Joel pushes the door open, holding it open for you to step inside.

It’s…dainty. Sweet. Everything is either teal or pink or white. There’s a giant ice cream cone stood in the corner. There’s a gumball machine opposite it. The lighting is a little garish – kind of reminds you of sitting in the dentist chair, eyes squinting up at the bright white light overhead.

You’re fucking surprised to be stood in here with Joel Miller, of all people. He sticks out like a sore thumb; his worn jeans and crumpled flannel against the minty gleam of the parlor like an earthy tree sprouting in the middle of that same dentist’s office. It makes you giggle, as he leads you over to the counter.

A boy with a teal uniform meets him over a glass case full of different ice cream flavors. His name badge reads Ben. “What can I get you?” he asks, scoop in hand. Your lips press against one another to stop your laugh from escaping.

Joel turns to look at you. He nudges you with his elbow when you don’t return his glance, too focused on Ben’s pink baseball cap, the logo of the shop printed on top.

“Uh,” you consider, glancing down, “I’m good with any.”

Joel sighs, lips thinning. “Am I gonna pick a flavor, ‘n then you decide you don’t like it?”

“Nope. Promise.” You smile innocently, and he turns back to the server.

“I’ll take one scoop of the cookie dough, and, uh…one of the coffee, please.”

When Ben dips to scoop the order into two little tubs, you mock gasp at Joel.

“What?”

“Coffee?”

He shrugs.

“I took you for a vanilla man.”

Ben stands straight and punches some numbers into the cash register. Joel hands him a ten.

“What about me makes you think I’m into vanilla?” he asks in a low voice.

You bat your eyelashes at him. A dark thought crosses your mind, but you think better of voicing it and save Ben the embarrassment of potentially hearing you.

Joel thanks him and takes both tubs in one hand. You make for a booth by the window, but his hand quickly slinks around your waist, diverting you back to the door.

“Nuh-uh.”

“What?” you ask, spinning around.

Joel continues walking, backing you out of the shop. “I am not sittin’ in here. Got a fuckin’ headache already from five minutes in the place.”

“But it’s so cute,” you protest, giggling. “You don’t want your picture taken with the giant cone?”

“Get the hell out,” he mumbles, shoving you across the tiled floor back out to the sidewalk. He can’t mask his own grin, spilling out behind you, taking your hand in his.

You snort as he drags you back along the street. “Maybe I should forget about LA and get a job in there. Drive myself insane.”

“Maybe you should,” Joel agrees. “Least then you’d have an excuse for it.”

You slap his chest. “Where are we goin’?”

“’s just go back to the truck. Quieter. Less fluorescent lights.”

He unlocks it a few paces away, but you stroll past your door.

“What are you doin’?” Joel asks when you pull yourself up into the bed.

“C’mon,” you call back, settling against the back window, “it’s a nice night. Who are we hiding from?”

He tosses it over in his head and cocks one eyebrow. Fair enough. He climbs up and passes you the ice cream, shrugging his shirt from his shoulders. He throws it over your bare legs and sits down beside you, grunting as he does.

You smirk when he rests back.

“I’m almost fifty, darlin’,” he warns, reaching for his tub.

Your lips curve and you nod, digging the little plastic spoon into your dessert. You stretch your legs out and cross your ankles, watching in quiet contentment as the cars roll by, squealing to a halt at the traffic lights. Lights are coming on in windows, curtains are being drawn. Joel’s legs lie against yours, joined at the hip, shoulders brushing off one another.

This is the most peace you’ve had in a fortnight. Sat in the back of his truck, no eyes on you, watching the comings and goings of some back street in the city. You talk about nothing, for the first time in what’s felt like forever. You talk about films, and music, and all the stuff that seemed so unimportant before. Now, it all feels imperative. Feels like a life-or-death thing. What’s your favorite movie? You know my favorite movie, baby. But tell me again. Just so I know for sure. Just so that – if anything happens.

You listen when he answers. You watch his mouth as he says the words. For all the times you took it for granted before. For all the times you thought it was insignificant. It’s all significant, now. It all means something. It’s just more strings to the web between you, each one knotting you closer and closer together.

And you talk about what you’ve missed. The two weeks you’ve spent apart. You catch him up as if he was only gone on vacation. As if he was always meant to come back in the end.

“The guy with the weed – same guy you punched – he was –” gulp, “– what was his name again? Knicks? No –”

Joel snorts, spoon scraping around the edge the tiny pot in his huge hand. “Knicks?”

You close your eyes, waving your hand like it’ll urge him to remember the name of a guy he took no time getting to know before he floored him. “No, it wasn’t Kn…Knox! It was Knox, and he –”

“Kind of a fuckin’ name is Knox? Knox?”

“Are you gonna let me talk, or what?” you quip, and Joel brings his wrist up to his mouth to mask his laugh.

“Sorry, sorry, sweetheart. Go ahead. Knox had the weed.”

“Knox had the weed, and…he…Fuck, I can’t even remember where I was goin’ with that.” You shake your head and lean it back against the windowpane.

He laughs. For real. A Joel laugh. His shoulders jerk with the force of it. “You were gonna tell me about his friends, I think. Somethin’ about his friends.”

It sparks back up in your brain – the memory. “Right! Right. His friends – that dude with the glasses? That was Zack.”

Joel stares at you blankly, tongue in his cheek. “Zack?”

“Big guy, red face. Buck teeth. From Costco?”

His jaw slackens. He remembers. “I fuckin’ – I knew I’d seen that kid’s face before. That was him?”

You nod. Uhuh.

“Damn.” He chuckles. “He looked at me like I was a wild bear.”

You toss your head, roll your eyes. “Well.”

He laughs again. Knocks your legs with his own.

“Good call, by the way,” your lips mumble around the shape of your spoon, “cookie dough. it’s nice.”

“Wanna try mine?”

“Really?” Your face contorts, eyes screwing. “Coffee?”

“’s good. Here.”

He holds out a spoonful.

“Yeah, nice to you, who drinks, like, thirty of ‘em a day.”

Joel responds by pushing the spoon to your lips and you oblige, opening up and letting him feed you the ice cream.

It’s not bad. It’s ice cream, it can’t be bad. But it definitely isn’t good, and the way your lips purse and your neck jerks lets Joel know exactly how you feel about it. He scoffs, wiping a little from your lips with his thumb and sucking it clean.

“You don’t like it?”

“Why is it…bitter? Eugh.”

He laughs to himself as he loads up another spoonful. “It’s an acquired taste.”

“Well, I am not interested in acquirin’ it. You want some of the cookie dough?”

He shakes his head. “You enjoy.”

You both turn back to the street ahead. Joel’s arm is warm at the side of yours, his shoulder right there for you to lean your head on.

He places a kiss to your head when you do.

“What do you think he’d do if he found out?”

You’re not sure where it comes from. Neither is Joel, apparently, from the way he clears his throat and squirms ever so slightly. He knows exactly who you mean.

“I, uh…I don’t like to imagine.”

“It scare you?”

He takes a deep breath. “Naw. I just got better things to do with my imagination, is all.” He prods your arm with his. Picturin’ you.

“Ha. You reckon he’d kill you?”

“Probably.”

“He couldn’t kill you. Wild bear.”

“Well, I reckon he might try.”

“I think he’d call the cops.”

Joel’s head lifts from yours and falls back against the truck with a laugh.

“Help, Officer,” you mimic your dad’s twang,“my grown adult daughter is sleeping with someone!”

Joel’s shoulders slowly stop moving.

“Is that all we’re doin’?” he asks.

“Huh?” You lift your head and look at him. His dark eyes reflect the city lights in the distance.

“Is that all we’re doin’? Sleepin’ together?” His voice is gentle, honest. Genuinely asking, seeking out what you think.

You consider it, tryna sound casual. You know what he’s getting at.

“That’s all we’ve been doin’. Help, Officer, my daughter’s grabbing ice cream with someone? Better?”

He hums. Looks down at the empty tub in his hands. Looks back up to your lips. Draws nearer to you, holds your chin with one finger, looks you dead in the eye, and whispers,

“How about, Help, Officer, my daughter made someone fall in love with her?”

Your breath catches. Your hands fall limp into your lap. You blink away tears.

“You – No, that’s – You gotta say it. You gotta actually tell me, ‘cause I’m not – I don’t wanna misinterpret – We haven’t –”

You’re buffering. Your brain malfunctioning. Your tongue can’t decide which of the words at the back of your throat, all desperate to escape, to let through first.

Joel’s just smiling, watching you stutter and stammer your way through a sentence that leads you nowhere, desperately trying to compute what he’s just said because he’s finally fucking admitted it. He’s finally letting you know, giving you access to a part of him he’s been keeping from you for who knows how long.

Even though all this time it’s been the one thought running through your head that hasn’t passed your lips, it reverberates around your ears like it’s the last thing you ever expected him to say.

Joel’s hand moves to your neck, just below your ear. “Baby,” his thumb rubs your skin, “you know I love you.”

A gasp flees from your lips. Your ice cream is thrown to the truck bed, probably spilling over, and you don’t care. You leap into his lap, arms around his neck, and kiss him all over.

Joel’s laughing, returning what kisses he can, squeezing you with his big hands.

“I love you,” he says again when you come up for air, and it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard in your life. You sit your forehead against his, whispering breathlessly,

“Fuck, I love you, too.”

You two stare at each other, eyes scanning every part of the other’s face, mapping every mark, line, scar, like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen each other.

Guess it is, right?

This is the first time you’re looking at the man you love and you’re not afraid of it. The first time your chest swells and you don’t gulp it back, the first time you let him feel your heart pounding against the wall of your chest.

It’s the first time you look into his eyes, dark eyelashes and fine lines decorating deep warm brown, and think those three words…and know you can say them. Know neither of you will be spooked, neither of you will try to push them back down where they came from.

I love you. That’s all there is between you now. Your cards are flat on the table, Joel’s, too. Game over. You know everything there is to know about each other. You know each other.

You’ve sunk down his body, turned so your back curves into his chest, his chin resting on your head. Safely encased in his body, sat between his thighs. His hand runs up and down your thigh, lighting drawing lines and circles and writing words you don’t care to guess, ‘cause you probably already know ‘em.

Love hums between the two of you, keeping you warm; your bodies pressed together, hearts beating just inches apart. You blink your eyes open and the single streetlight sails back into your vision – bright as the moon, stirring you from your tranquil bliss.

“Do you,” you turn, and Joel fixes your hair, presses his lips to your forehead, “do you tell all the girls that on the first date? Was that just one of your moves?”

He snorts, and answers by pulling you in to give you a tender kiss.

No. Just you.

“You ready to go?” he asks when your lips part.

“Mhm. Take me home, cowboy.”

----------

His house is dark against the dusky sky. The headlights illuminate the garage door as he pulls up in the drive, squeezing your hand once as the truck comes to a halt.

“And then…” Joel says, holding a finger up to you. Wait right here.

He gets out of the driver’s side and you watch the shadow of him jog around the truck, stopping at your door. He opens it, and holds a hand out for you to take.

You choke on a laugh. “That is…”

“That is what?”

“…so cheesy. You really do that?”

“Uhuh. C’mon.”

Your fingers lace through his and you hop out of the truck. Joel shuts the door behind you and extends his elbow, and you link your arm through his. His hand warmly rests on top of yours.

You both wander over to his porch where he stops, letting you walk up the steps alone. When you reach the top one, only just taller than him on the path, hands still interlinked, you look down.

“Then I say, Thank you for a lovely evenin’, and,” he lifts your hand, pressing his lips to your knuckles, “then…” Joel holds his arms out. Voila. Just like that.

“Wow. I feel…honored.”

“You should.”

“Not even a proper kiss?”

“I just kissed your hand, baby. You didn’t like that?”

“You don’t ask to come inside?”

He scoffs. “Nope. What would I want to come inside for?”

You grin. Shrug your shoulders. Start walking backward to his door.

“Well, I am exhausted after our date, Mr. Miller. I do think,” yawn, “I should be gettin’ ready for bed.”

Joel lowers his head, eyes trained on you, smirk growing on his lips. “Is that so?”

You nod.

He starts to climb the steps.

“I’m sure I’ll be expectin’ a call from you,” you mewl, exaggerated Southern accent crooning to him. Your back bumps against the front door. Joel’s on the porch now. You bite your lip.

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” he returns, his shadow creeping over you. He reaches your body and his arms come to rest on the frame right above your head.

You hook your hands around his shoulders.

“You really don’t wanna come in?” you whisper, and his jaw ticks.

“I wouldn’t want to be ungentlemanly.”

Leaning in, lips against his ear, you whisper soft enough to shake the breath as it falls from his lips.

“And what if I asked you, nicely, to take me inside and fuck me good ‘n hard until I can’t walk?”

Joel’s eyes pool black when you lean away, head resting back on his door. Your gaze is heavy with lust, eyelashes batting slowly.

“Hm,” he grumbles, body beginning to press against yours. His head cocks. “You don’t wanna be treated like a lady?”

“Nope.” You smirk, hand falling down to cup the bulge quickly forming below his belt.

“Want to be treated like a fuckin’ whore, do ya?”

Chest heaving, you nod, massaging him.

“So dirty, darlin’, feelin’ your date up on the porch,” he tells you, dipping his jaw to run his lips along your neck. “What ‘m I gonna do with you?”

You shrug again, and your fingers find the door handle at your hip. You push, and the wood behind you falls inward.

As you plunge into the dark house, Joel’s rough hands clamp down on your waist, taking you in his tight grip and throwing you against the wall. His lips find your neck, teeth scraping the sensitive skin, tongue caressing tenderly as he sucks a bruise into you. Heat spreads across your core. You clench your thighs around the feeling.

“Joel,” you whine, hands surfing through his hair. “Fuck, take me upstairs.”

He hums. He’s going to. He’s just not doing it quick enough.

You lift your leg to his hip, and his left hand scoops under your ass. He pulls your center flat against the swelling in his jeans, ruts slowly against your body. You hear a deep groan from his throat.

“Upstairs,” you say again, growing impatient, and he growls, taking you with both hands and lifting you two steps at a time towards his bedroom.

He kicks the door open, loosening his grip on you as he walks over to the bed. Light streams across the room in splinters, peering through the shades from the streetlights outside. Your legs drop and you dance along on your toes, turning him midway until his calves hit the bottom of his mattress.

Your lips part for mere seconds, allowing one reflected expression between you, before you’re pushing him by the chest onto the bed. His body springs when he hits the sheets, staring back up at yours between his legs. His breath courses from his mouth, thick with want and need.

You lay him flat on the mattress, knees either side of his waist, hands curved over his shoulders. His own find your waist, holding on tight as you straddle him, playing with the tie of your shorts when you settle.

You dip your head and brush your lips against his. One long, sweet kiss, and his hands are at the hem of your hoodie, pulling it free, lifting it over your head. You groan as it separates your bodies, let your tongue find his again as quickly as it was pulled apart from it.

“Let me see,” he whispers against your lips, hands slipping beneath the fabric of your shorts to rub circles into your hipbones.

You smile as you straighten, fingers dancing along the hem of your tee.

“Let me – see,” Joel grunts, when your core grinds into his.

You peel the tight fabric from your stomach, higher, higher, until it lifts your breasts, catching on the curve of them, and as you whip it over your head, they bounce back down. Joel groans from below, staring at the perfect peaked shape. He lifts one hand to cup your tit, runs his thumb over the quickly-hardening nipple.

“So fuckin’ pretty, baby.”

“I know,” you tell him, watching as his thumbpad circles the delicate skin. Your back arches into his touch.

And then his hands sink into the mattress either side of his body, pushing himself closer to you. He wraps a strong arm around your back and pulls your chest to his mouth, lips pressing wet kisses to the valley between your breasts. His teeth graze across the round shape up towards your nipple again.

His tongue slips over the hard bud, swirling and soaking all over it. Your head falls back, fingers grip onto his hair. Your mouth falls open, but no sound comes. Joel sucks harder.

“S– fuck,” you whisper, nearly voiceless. His tongue is flicking now, lips pulling more of your body into his mouth. “Fuckfuckfuck, I need you, I need you,” you whimper.

He releases your sweet skin, lips shining with saliva. “Tell me where.”

You writhe on top of him, hands pushing your shorts down over your hips. “You know where.”

Joel holds your body steady. “Tell me.”

You whine, trying to rock against him. He doesn’t let up. “Joel, fuck. Betw– between my – fuck.”

“Between your legs?” he taunts, pushing you harder against the hard folds of denim below his belt. “That where you need me? Between those pretty legs, babygirl?”

Your fists ball around the fabric of his shirt, clinging on to him. “Ye-ah,” you whimper, and his weight falls from your grasp.

You feel your shorts tug over the crests of bone by your hips. “Step out of ‘em, baby,” he instructs, and your knee lifts.

He pulls the cotton down one leg at a time, telling you to shift your weight as he curls a finger around the lace of your panties and tugs them down after. Before you can think about it, you’re naked, soaked cunt making a mess over the crotch of his jeans.

He looks up at you expectantly.

“What–?”

He flicks his fingers in a beckoning motion, a Come here, either side of your thighs. You hesitate.

“Darlin’. Up.”

“Joel.”

“Up.”

You take his open hands and shuffle up the mattress, knees pushing into the soft sheets either side of his head. You glance down at him.

“I don’t know –”

“’m not gonna tell you again.”

And he doesn’t have to. You steady yourself, locking your fingers through his behind your ass, and slowly lower yourself down to him. His jaw lifts to meet you, and you think about pausing again, telling him he doesn’t have to do this, asking instead to do something else, something he’ll enjoy as much, something you can both –

But then his lips open around the sweetest part of your body, and your lungs freeze. His tongue slips between, daring where you need him most, and your body sighs in equal parts relief and pleasure.

You’re so fucking wet. You can feel it, leaking onto his lips, spreading around your own as he kisses you, licks you, takes in every drop of you. Your back curls, lips fall open to the ceiling, breath comes in short wisps.

It’s been almost two weeks since the two of you felt like this. Hot, wet, needy. Two weeks of waiting for the other to come back, two weeks of reaching for the phone and deciding against it once the number’s dialed, two weeks of nothing.

And now – everything. Everywhere. Every part of your body ignited for him. You feel him fucking everywhere.

You lean all of your weight onto the palm of your hands, pushing all of it into Joel’s. He’s steady, strong, letting you rock and swirl your hips as he laps at your core.

“Right there,” you whisper, head rolling back. “Keep – keep – oh, fuck, Joel. What the f–?”

He slowly lowers his hands, letting you untangle your fingers and place them on the bed. His own come to hook around your thighs, clamping you as close against him as you can possibly be.

Two weeks of nothing. And now, five minutes of everything. The shards of light from outside blur across your vision; heat starts to prickle up your spine, tickling the back of your neck. You’re smiling, filthy and desperate.

“I’m gonna –” you breathe, and Joel hums. “’m gonna c– come.”

You can hear his response, though he doesn’t say a word. Then, come.

Your hips motion forward. Tighten. Clamp. Inhale. Joel’s tongue slips between your folds, warm on the inside of your cunt. And you rock back. Unwind. Unfurl. Exhale. His bottom lip puckers against your clit.

“J-oel. Joel, I’m – you’re – fuck.”

He moans against your sex. His hips shift behind you. Buck upwards, carefully.

Tighten. Clamp. Inhale. Tighten – inhale. Unwind. Unf-url. Ex-hale. Tighten. Inh– clamp. Fuck. I’m there. Unwind. Warm. Wet. Tongue. Exhale. Tongue. Tighten. Clamp. Inhale. Joel –

Your fingers curl around his bedsheets, nails dig into the cotton. Your orgasm sends a flood of hot pleasure across your cunt, rains down over Joel’s lips, and sets fireworks off through your body which explode into the dark room in the form of a throaty moan.

You’re not sure when you come to. You’re not sure your arms can bear the weight of your body. But when your eyes blink open, he’s kissing the inside of your thighs.

His mouth is glistening. Moustache and beard covered in you. Soft lips pearlescent with your spend. Your body feels heavy, unbearable. You lift your leg and tumble onto the mattress by his side, pussy throbbing when you land.

“I love you,” you whisper, and not for any particular reason. Not because of what he just did. Not because you’re naked in his bed.

But maybe because it feels like this is what you were made to do. To love and to be loved – by him. It feels like this entire thing has been, from its genesis, an exchange. An understanding. Immediate and certain. Here are all the parts of me. You know what to do.

As if there needed no further explanation. No instruction, no tutorial. You just knew.

He pushes himself up, leans over your frame. His jaw lowers, and he licks into your mouth tenderly.

“Gotta be inside you, baby,” he says, and at the same time, your fingers find the buttons of his shirt. “Gotta feel you again.”

You nod against him. Fuck me fuck me fuck me.

Joel’s hands are on his belt, pulling it through the loops, dropping it to the floor. Your help him tug his jeans off when he undoes the button. The material of his underwear rubs against your sex; your creamy arousal smears all over the black fabric. You can feel the weight of his stiff cock beneath. It dizzies your head.

He lets your fingers sneak below the elastic, lowering it until he springs free, slapping against the bottom of his tummy. You could fucking drool at the sight of him – the pink tip, beaded with precum; the thick vein on the underside of the shaft; his balls below it, heavy and waiting. Your hands wrap around him and pump slowly as he drags his boxers down, kicking them off at the foot of the bed.

He groans, hips thrusting gently into your palms as you squeeze him. Your fingers slip between your folds, collecting your own slick, coating him in it as you fist him.

“So good, babygirl,” Joel breathes, leaning down to kiss you. “You gonna take it all?”

“Mhm,” you reply, tongue slipping against his.

“Yeah,” he says, “my girl can take it.”

You let his hand shadow over yours, the two of you guiding his cock towards your entrance together. It glides between your dripping folds, the head sifting effortlessly from your clit to your tight hole and back again. Joel laughs, teeth clashing with yours, as he dips in and out, teasing you.

Your ass lifts from the mattress, any movement to draw him nearer. “Stop,” you gasp.

Joel pauses. “Stop?”

“No,” you bleat, “don’t stop. Just – fucking do it.”

“Do what, darlin’?”

“Fuck me.”

And he sinks in.

You’d be lying if you said all you’d done for the last two weeks was cry, mope, and stare at the ceiling. That’d be discrediting everything that this little affair was built on. It’s impossible to forget how the thing fucking started – your hands between your legs, Joel watching from the doorway.

In the moments you didn’t feel the mind-numbing tsunami of heartache overcome you – you felt something else. Memories of his hands on you, the trail of his tongue between your legs, the swell of his cock deep inside you. You tried to replicate it a handful of times with your hands. But nothing – not your fingers, not two, three, or four – nothing stands a chance against him.

He pushes in slow at first, drawing out when he’s halfway, and then in again as he covers himself in the wet his tongue left behind. When he’s soaked, glistening and gleaming, he thrusts. Hard. His tip catches on your cervix, and your back arches in a mix of pain and delight.

Something throbs deep inside as he bottoms out. You feel your opening stretch around his base. You feel your legs widen as if by instinct, accommodating the size of him, the width of him, the pace of him.

You throw an arm over his shoulder, elbow hanging on the nape of his neck. His sweaty forehead sticks to yours, and your hand cups his cheek.

“Harder,” you tell him, and he listens.

“Fuck, baby,” he pants, “fuck, you’re so tight. Oh, my – I ain’t gonna last.”

“Don’t – want you – to,” you cry, body jumping as he fucks you quicker, quicker, harder, deeper. “Want to – come – together.”

Your head tips back against the bed, and Joel’s lips attach to your neck. He’s moaning into your skin, teeth biting down, breath hot and quick. He’s not gonna last he’s not gonna last he’s not –

“F-u-ck, Joel,” you sob, your walls starting to close in around him, “feels so – f-fucking good, oh!”

“I know, darlin’, I know. C’mere.”

He takes your cheek and pulls your face back to his, lines his lips with yours and kisses you. It’s messy, haggard, fucking all over the place as your bodies bounce together, but he tastes like sweat, and sex, and you, and him.

“Missed this so fuckin’ much,” he grunts, hips pounding. “Missed bein’ inside you. You know how bad I needed you?”

“Tell me,” you slur, echoing his own words back to him.

He smirks. “Best fucking pussy I ever had, sweetheart. Best – I ever – had.”

“Don’t pull out,” you hum against his lips, and his jaw pulls back a fraction. “Don’t.”

“Baby,” he says, strained, and your head tilts.

“Need it,” you tell him. “Please. Need you.”

He nods, leaning back into you, letting you connect your mouths again. His lips shudder when you pull away, the thought translated clear as day from your mouth to his. And he knows, and he drives in harder, and he fucks the image from your mind. Who the fuck is Lois, when you’re under him and he’s this deep between your legs?

You look up into his eyes, and you find your answer. She’s nobody. There’s only you.

Your body feels liquid, your mind like fog. You pull him into your body, deeper and deeper, until you’re sure you’re one, and there is no place where he ends and you begin, and you’re sure this is what it feels like, this is what those words feel like, not just the sound of them, not just the way his lips move around them, but the shape of them on and in and around your body. Something deafening, something blinding, something screaming from the pits of your lungs as you come all around him, and you feel him come all around you.

His warmth spurts deep inside you, filling you up, dripping down your walls as he collapses into your shoulder, a loud moan drilling into your collarbone. He slows, thrusts in and out gently, pushing his spend deeper and mixing it with yours.

It's everywhere. The feeling. The pulsing, the humming, the singing. He’s everywhere. Him. In your brain and in your lungs and in your body and in your cunt. And you want to keep him there, hold him there, keep your bodies together for five more minutes, just five more minutes.

But then he’s panting into your skin, pressing kisses into that little dip between your collarbone and your chest, and he slowly slips out, come dripping from where he leaves.

He presses his palm deep into the sheets by your head, lifts off of you – but your arm is still around his neck, and you lean with him. Tilted on his mattress, holding onto him, letting him kiss your head; letting his hand move across the surface of your stomach, mapping the gentle slope over your belly button and scaling the tiny mountains of your hipbones. Kneading softly into the skin over which his seed sits, warm and snug, deep inside you. It’s new. You think you love it.

And he’s whispering, “Good girl, did so good for me,” and he nuzzles his nose into your hair, and he tilts your chin back until he can see your face, see your expression, and he smiles with relief when he clocks your doe eyes, your blissful smile, the sweet tinge of red on your cheeks.

“I love you,” he tells you, and you’re staring at his lips.

“Again.”

“I love you.”

You look up to his eyes. “Again.”

“I love you.”

You smile. It breaks into a laugh. “Again,” you whisper, and he kisses you.

Slowly, only once you pull away from him and your breath steadies, Joel takes your body and carefully shifts. He turns onto his back, settles you on his chest, your hips between his thighs. He runs a gentle hand over your hair and you lie against his sweat-shining chest, his heartbeat whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

Love and sex, as far as you knew, were always two different things. Separate. One, you weren’t even sure existed. The other, nothing more than a need to be satisfied. Something deep within you, something no one had ever managed to touch. And then Joel. And his lips, and his tongue, and his hands and his cock.

And suddenly the two – love and sex – begin to blur, their edges touch frantically. They bleed into one another, until there are no longer two distinct forms; instead, one big shape which has the curve of your hips and the cut of his jaw.

You love him. And he loves you. You’ve heard it translated between your minds longer than you care to admit, and now – you’ve felt it. Transferred between your bodies. You love him. Jesus, you love him.

It’s as terrifying as it is thrilling. Enamoring, and yet dangerous.

“So,” you sigh, “what’s next?”

He glances down, lifts his eyebrows and gives his head a shake. His hand lifts off of your shoulder with a shrug.

“Like, your next move. What happened with the other eight?”

“The other eight?”

“Mhm. Me, Sarah’s mom, makes two. There are eight others, right? What’d you do afterward?”

“Kicked ‘em out.”

You lift a heavy hand and slap his chest. He shudders with laughter.

“I dunno, baby. Wasn’t all like this.”

Your brows knit. “Like what?”

He takes a deep breath. Your head rises as his lungs fill. “Lyin’ in bed afterward. Talkin’.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“What?” he asks, smirking.

“Who even were they? I wanna know.”

“Why?”

“Just do. I wanna hear about ‘em. When was the last one, before me?”

Joel’s eyes drift off to the ceiling above you, thinking. “May.”

“M–?” You jump up, pushing yourself off of his body. “May?” you repeat, eyes wide. “That’s…so recent.”

“Recent?” He chokes back a laugh. “When’s your last?”

You furrow your brows, dropping his gaze. “We’re not talking about me,” you mumble, thumbs twiddling.

Your last had been two nights before you flew home. You’d gone out with your roommates and dragged home Matteo, an exchange student who you’d worked with on a group project for your screenwriting class. He was three inches shorter than you. He bent you over your kitchen counter and fucked you until he came. Then he made himself some cereal, ate half of it, and left.

Joel doesn’t really need to hear about him, you think.

“Do I know any of them?” you ask in attempt to change the subject.

Joel pulls a face. His lips tighten, teeth clench. His eyes narrow to a thin line, looking at you through his eyelashes. He nods tentatively.

“Shut the fuck up. Who is it? Who?”

“I dunno if you know her, but she knows you.”

“What’s her name?”

“Your dad gave us a ride home from the bar. She ‘n him got to talkin’, and he said he had a daughter –”

Your fist lightly drops onto his chest. “Joel, if you don’t fucking tell me who it is, I –”

“She’s an elementary teacher. Long, dark hair. Good few years older ‘n you. Think she said her little sister went to your school.”

“Who – was – it?”

He makes the face again. This time his eyes close over, waiting for the penny to drop. His head shakes lightly.

“You –? No, Joel. Come on. Please don’t…Are you fucking serious? You don’t remember her name?”

“It was a long night, alright?”

“How did you forget her damn name?”

He shrugs. “I don’t fuckin’ know. I was drunk, baby.”

“Elementary teacher? I don’t know anybody whose sister teaches elementary.”

“Guess we’ll never know.” Joel shrugs, and you shake your head at him.

You’re picturing Joel stumbling out of Frank’s, arm in arm with a brunette, heavy feet dragging along the sidewalk while your dad chitters in his ear about the Rangers, or about some rude bartender, or about…you. The brunette turns, and her face is yours. Your features, your smile. Your hand linked through Joel’s. C’mon, baby. ‘s go home.

You chase the image away. It slips from your mind like dust cleared from a countertop. Would never. Could never. Should never.

You replace it with something lighter. Something to make you forget about the dust.

“Does…Does my dad ever go home with anyone?”

“What?”

You don’t answer. He heard you.

“That’s…No. I ain’t answerin’ that.”

“Oh, come on. If you’re takin’ women home left, right, and center, he’s gotta be seein’ that. Does he?”

“I was not takin’ home women left, right, and – No, darlin’, no. It’s inappropriate.”

“Yeah, you’re right. And I’m known for my appropriate behavior, y’know,” you gesture between your naked bodies, “I’m known for the good life choices I make.”

“This,” Joel hooks his hands under your arms and drags you up until your chin meets his, “is a good life choice.”

“Yeah?” you ask through a giggle, your nose bumping his.

Joel smiles softly, runs a hand over the back of your head. Looks between your eyes, a twinkle in his. Yes.

Your lips crash together like waves on the rocks. You’re the sea; he’s the stone. Two different worlds, suddenly married in some unforeseen twist of nature. And when you pour over him, your body lighting him in a twinkling glow of ocean, it’s as though you never existed apart from one another. It’s as natural as the waves on the shore.

“Alright, darlin’,” Joel mumbles against your skin. “Speakin’ of inappropriate. I gotta get you home.”

“Why can’t I just stay the night?” you complain. “Like last time. Tell ‘im we’re watchin’ a movie again…”

Joel’s head rests on your arm. “He’s worried sick about you. Ain’t no way he’ll let you spend the night here. You know that. Plus, Sarah’ll be long done with Rita’s cross stitch by now.”

He sits up and you roll into his lap, head resting on the soft skin of his belly. He looks down at you, head tilted, eyes glowing hazel.

You stare right back. The dimples in his cheeks dig deeper when you whisper, “Kickin’ me out right after we finally make up. I see how it is, Miller.”

Joel’s shoulders hunch. “Happens to all of ‘em. Warned ya.”

He shifts off the bed and begins gathering his clothes. You sit up and watch as he pulls his boxers snug over his hips, swipes his tee from the carpet at his feet. As he drapes it over his scruffy chest, your half-naked form meets his at the foot of the bed.

His fingers knot in your hair. You lean into his arms, legs giving as he kisses you gently, breathing you in, stealing any more words of protest from your tongue.

“I love you,” he whispers when he pulls away, tip of his nose brushing off yours. “You know that?”

“Somebody told me somethin’ to do with that, yeah.”

He smiles. “Get dressed.”

You pull the rest of your clothes back on in silence, tossing socks and jeans across the room to one another, giggling like a pair of kids. After all you just did, the palpable pleasure you just sent hammering through one another – this is the part you wish you could bottle. The laughter, the love. The attempts to keep holding onto him, even as he tries to pull his arm through the sleeve of his shirt, even as he links his belt back through his jeans, as he bends to tie his boots.

The fun of it. The hope of it.

The foolish, foolish hope.

“Hoodie.” Joel flings it up towards you, crouched as he tightens his laces.

You pull it on over your bra. Flatten your flyaway hairs, stand straight before him.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

“You got your phone?”

Your hands instinctively pat your body down. “Oh, nah,” you realize, “musta left it at home.”

Joel nods and heads into the hallway, you at his heel. At the bottom of the stairs, you glance around his house, like it’s the first and last time you’ll see it wrapped into one. It looks different; two weeks of absence and you notice things you hadn’t before.

His coat hanging by the door, probably untouched since early spring. The bowl on the side table where his and Sarah’s keys live. The guitar in the corner of the room, the books in the shelves above it. All him. Every little piece of it. He’s reflected in every object in the room. He’s reflected in you.

You drive back to your dad’s place in silence. Comfortable, sweet silence. Your fingers ghost across his palm the entire time, watching out the window as the dark neighborhood soars by in a blur of porch lights and mailboxes. All too quickly, you’re back in front of your own house.

“What do we do now?” you ask, and through the darkness you see Joel’s smile fall.

After a moment’s silence, heavy and contemplative, he looks back up. Softens when his eyes land on you.

“We’ll be alright,” he tells you, and you believe him.

You lean forward and press a quick but tender kiss to his lips, and your fingers latch around the door handle. Joel’s hand finds the back of your head, keeping your mouth on his.

“Gotta – let me – go,” you mumble between kisses, and he hums a laugh in response. “Joel.”

“I know,” he whispers, finally pulling back. “I know.”

You smile, head tilting into his palm. “I’ll text you.”

He nods once. “See you, babygirl.”

You slip out of the truck and wander past to your front door, twirling as you click the handle. Joel laughs, and the truck reverses back onto the street. You wait for it to disappear before closing the door, and step into the unlit hallway.

The TV lights the living room at the opposite end. You stop by the kitchen, feeling the grumpy rumble of your stomach. Your dad’s armchair is sat facing the screen. You lean over to double check he’s not sat in it, fast asleep while Rangers highlights play on loop before his eyelids.

When you swivel the plaid pattern towards your knees, its only occupant is the remote. You flick the TV off and pad back over to the kitchen, filling a bowl with some chips. You’re hunched over at the refrigerator when his footsteps clunk slowly down the stairs, and he materializes like a specter around the doorway.

“Hey.”

You straighten up, lit in a nervous blue hue from the fridge. “Hey, yourself.”

“Joel gone?”

“’bout ten minutes ago. Where’ve you been? You left the TV on.”

“Just…y’know. You get those brochures?”

Fuck. You were at Joel’s under the premise of picking up fucking UCLA pamphlets – and you’ve come home empty-handed. The lie doesn’t form on your tongue as quickly as Joel’s did earlier. Something else on your mind.

“…sure. Some…interesting stuff.”

Your dad nods. “Good. Good, I’m glad. We can take a look in the mornin’.”

Your eyebrows flinch. “Yeah. That’d be – yeah. I’m…gonna head to bed, alright?”

“Sure,” he says, nodding.

With a can of soda under your arm and your bowl of chips in the other, you nod and cautiously shuffle towards him. His lips are a thin line. You duck by him and trot upstairs, and make it as far as the landing before he’s calling out again.

“Oh, hey.” He holds a hand out, and disappears in a jog towards the living room. You drop back down a couple steps, watching him swipe something from the dining table and pace back over. “You left your phone.”

He’s presenting it like a jeweler shows a Rolex – or maybe more like an investigator handles evidence. Holding it out in almost trembling fingers, afraid to mark it with his fingerprints. Your eyes flit from the phone to his, unsure which of the two frightens you more.

That’s not where I fucking left it.

You lean over and take it from his palm. “Thanks…”

“I think maybe you got a text, just then. It was lit up. Maybe I’m seein’ things.”

You force the corners of your mouth upward. Your cheeks inflate with nerves and shame. “Thanks,” you repeat, and then: “Everything okay, Dad?”

“Everything’s fine, kiddo. Sleep well.” He makes back for the living room.

As you turn, you unlock your screen.

Joel: Left your shirt here, and your bikini from last week. This mean I get to be the one wearing your clothes now?

Panic spills over your head, a wave of freezing cold washing over you when you read his words. Did Dad read them, too?

You continue walking, feeling the weight of your dad’s strange voice on your back as your feet drag you one by one up the stairs. When you make it back to the landing, your cool flees you, and you take the rest of them two at a time until you’re leaning against your bedroom door, panting.

You: Problem. I think my dad saw that text

Joel: How so?

You: When I got home my phone was next to his chair, and he’s being so weird

You: Joel I think he knows something

Joel: I’m sure he doesn’t. He wouldn’t read your phone baby.

He’s trying to reassure you, telling you he wouldn’t even know what it means, maybe he’ll think you spilled something on it, but no matter how many ideas Joel comes up with, none of them slow your heart rate.

You sit down on the edge of your bed, and the anxiety bubbling in your stomach forces you straight back up. Pacing doesn’t help, knowing your dad is directly below you probably hearing the floorboards creak with every step you take.

Your head dizzies with doubts, fears, worries, all frantically throwing themselves against the walls of your skull. You lean your forehead against the cold glass of your window, eyes screwing shut, stars in your vision. Nothing is calming you down.

Joel takes too long to reply back, whether he’s running out of explanations or just fucking forty-eight with an iPhone, but every time your phone buzzes with a new attempt at comfort from him, it only convinces you even more that – no, it wasn’t a stain, it wasn’t a joke, Joel has your top because you took it off for him an hour ago, and then let him fuck you in his bed.

And your dad fucking knows it.

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #dad's best friend #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal joel miller #cowboy like me #smut #fluff #angst

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bu-blegh-ost · 10 months

Text

The time has finally come, @girlsonlytreehouse !!!

Today I shall share with you the fruits of my work. But first, allow me to take you on a journey I myself have been through while counting all of this shit down.

First things first, I decided to count the rolls in the context of the characters rather than the people playing them, simply because the luck of the actual people could not be measured accurately if I only take Riptide into consideration (and also I thought it would be more fun). The guys have several different campaigns, some that I do not have access to, so I've decided to seperate all their Riptide rolls into characters they play instead, cause then we can clearly see which character is the luckiest. But ofc if you want this to be attributed differently, the data remains unchanged, so that way you all can interpret the results however you wanted and still have all the info you need on hand.

Another issue were the advantage/disadvantage rolls. When a character rolls at advantage, they roll twice and the only roll that counts is the one that was higher, while the other is discarded and the opposite goes for disadvantage. So for example if you roll at Disadvantage and you roll a nat 20 and a 2, that nat 20 technically doesn't matter. Despite that I decided to count each adv/disadv roll anyway, because despite the fact that it does not count, it was still physically ROLLED, which means it contributes to the character's overall pool of luck. I tried to separate them at first so you guys can make your own decision whether to add them or not, but in the end I decided against it cause it was insanely hard to keep up with. There were just too many and too often, which led me to believe that it was fair enough to count everything as long as they actually rolled a dice.

Which brings me to the last complication, which is of course Gillion's Prophetic Screwup. At the beginning of the campaign Gillion was able to exchange anything that he actually rolled into a nat 20, and in return the DM can change any roll he does afterwards into a nat 1. That way there was supposed to be an equal number of wild unrolled nat 20's and nat 1's to balance Gillion out back to 0, but it didn't turn out this way. In more cases than not, Grizzly would either forget or fail to find a good place to screw Gillion over, so the ability bacame much too unbalanced. So they changed it somwhere in the middle of Edison Kingdom Arc. From then on, if Gill rolled anything from 1-10 it would automatically become a nat 1, and if he rolled from 11-20, that'd be a nat 20 instead. Either way these rolls had nothing to do with luck, as he wasn't actually rolling anything, thus I decided not to count these 'artificial' nat 20's/1's. However I did keep track of them nonetheless and I'll still give you the number of those, just separately, and from then on you guys can make your own decision on whether or not you wish to count it.

OOOFFF ALRIGHT.

Without further ado, here are the nat 20's results (up to ep106):

Gillion: 52

Chip: 58

Jay: 55

Goobleck: 8

Surprised? Yeah I was as well. First things first I never expected this to be this close. And never in my right mind could I possibly predict that it would he CHIP of all people to have the highest score here. But I've seen it with my own eyes. And tell you what. Jay had this in the bag for most of the damn series. She would consistently roll good and always when you need a good roll the most. There were times when she would have such a massive lead it was unthinkable she could loose it. But then she would just kinda...stop rolling good for a bit and allow the other two to catch up. It just wasn't as visble if you don't pay much attention, but I thought it to be cute. It's as she was waiting for them <3 But she was still mostly leading. It was only the current arc that made Chip surpass her. After his terrible luck in Feywilde, he bounced back so strongly right after, that he managed to jump in front of the luck queen herself.

And now I bet you're curious about the other side of the coin. Give it up for natural 1's!:

Gillion: 55

Chip: 53

Jay: 52

Goobleck: 1

You see, I kind of expected it to be Gill, but I need you guys to know that this wasn't the case at all times. Jay? Yes. If there is one thing that's consistent is that she had the lowest amount of natural 1s at all times almost, but the person that was suffering from nat 1 curse for a long while was Chip. In the Feywilde Arc he would be so far ahead of everyone, that I was genuinely sure that there is no way anyone catches up to him. But then he popped off in the next arc with nat 20's and Gillion? Oh my gosh, Gillion didn't disappoint. I've never seen a man fail this much let me tell you XD He ended up with the least nat 20's as well, but I thought the difference would be much higher until he didn't roll 4 fucking nat 20s in ep 100 and then this double nat 20 attack roll in the Black Sea whduihdius AND HE CAUGHT UP AS WELL, more or less.

Idunno, maybe this is just how luck works, but it truly seems that the trio shares their successes and burdens almost equally. They support each other and in return fate has their backs as well. Honestly I couldn't have hoped for better results. Also can we give shout out to Goobleck, the true MVP? He's been on the show only for a while but look at this nat1 - nat20 ratio!!! Go goop man goo!!!

So now for the additional stuff that I also counted just for fun:

*Prophethic screwup nats:

Before the rules changed Gillion replaced 8 of his rolls into natural 20s, and in return Grizzly replaced 3 of his rolls into natural 1s.

After the rules changed he only got high enough number for 4 nat 20s, and a low enough number for 7 nat 1s.

So that together makes additional 12 nat 20s and 10 nat 1s from the prophetic screwup alone. I don't think they should be added, but the numbers are there so feel free to do whatever you want with them :)

Downs and death saves:

Throughout the campaign Gillion went down 14 times and rolled 8 death saves.

Chip went down 6 times and rolled 4 death saves.

Jay went down 4 times and rolled 3 death saves.

No shocker here, Gillion dies a lot XD

Knights:

In their journey Gillion knighted 4 people: Julien Booker, Clorton, Garrieth and Duke.

Corruption score:

Thus far each character has the following amount of corruption points (Black Sea):

Gillion: 0

Chip: 2

Jay: 3

Queen: 1

Gryffon: 2 (i think, unsure abt that one, may edit later XD)

Earl: 1

That is all I have for now. I may be clinically insane :)

Good day to everyone and I hope you found this data interesting. Take care <3

#jrwi riptide #just roll with it #gillion jrwi #chip jrwi #jay jrwi #gillion tidestrider #jay ferin #jrwi goobleck #math????#i guess #insane autistic person talks about statistics for a looong time #if anyone wants something else counted i' m right here fam #GIVE ME A REASON TO REWATCH ALL OF RIPTIDE FOR THE FOURTH TIME I DARE YOU

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 9 months

Text

A Perfect Score - Chapter 4 - Thin Ice | FigureSkating!AU

Summary: Moving on to Casterly Rock for the next round of the tour, Aemond has some explaining to do | Word Count: 7.4k~ | Warnings under the cut~

Series Masterlist | Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

Warnings: Aemond being a general raging dickhead, classism, sexual tension 😘, swearing, heavy petting

A/N: I feel like apologising for long chapters is beyond me at this point. But ohohoho we getting into itttt~

Comments, reblogs & likes are always appreciated in this household. I love u 😚

It turned out that alone, never really meant alone.

Alone in the sense that Aemond and yourself would be carted around by the various staff at Hightower Management, put into various hotels and expected to keep up with training, without the keen eyes of Otto nor Alicent watching over either of you.

Part of you was excited about the notion of a tour. But the more dominant part was immensely nervous. Without Helaena or Aegon to take the edge of Aemond’s personality, it might be silent torture or it might be entirely indifferent, as you and Aemond had been throughout the match and after-party well over a week ago and, as well as the time in between.

It was sort of routine now, the way you both trained. Only speaking to one another if you had to.

Even then, he did seem a little chattier. But it was a miniscule difference.

He’d not said a thing about his ex-dinosaur-girlfriend (as Helaena so carefully put it) being at the after-party. Not like he would say anything to you anyway, but still, what was that all about?

Helaena had told you as much as she could really, given all she knew being on the outside. Alys was twenty years Aemond’s senior, now in her mid-forties you surmise from the timeline. Besides grossing you out mildly, Helaena had bestowed her knowledge that as soon as Alicent found out about the supposed relationship, it was immediately put to an end.

Enter. The pregnancy scandal. Alys had approached Otto in a very business-like manner, breaking the news she was pregnant and that it had been Aemond’s, despite the timing of it clearly not matching up. Alicent was absolutely beside herself, which knowing her now you’re not sure if you could picture it, and insisted that it was entirely not true and that Alys had just wanted money.

Aemond’s or not, she was paid a handsome sum to keep quiet. And in the end? It turned out she wasn’t pregnant in the first place.

“I wouldn’t have told you if you hadn’t seen her at the party, as it’s not really my story to tell”, Helaena had said.

It left a bad taste in your mouth when she finished explaining. If that was all true, why the hell would she turn up to the after-party with the necklace Aemond had gifted her all those years ago? Why would she even get involved with a man twenty years her junior? It reeked somewhat of grooming, etching a permanent frown into your features at the memory of Aemond at the party, his shoulders rolled forwards, looking down and shrinking in her presence.

He looked so small then.

That’s all you could think about as you both sat in the back seats of the car driven by a man called Arryk Cargyll, who would be transporting and looking after you both since Criston was attending to Helaena and Aegon on the other side of the tour. He was significantly chattier and less stone-faced than Criston, which you chalked up to him being probably younger.

But even then, he barely spoke a word the entire way to your first stop of the tour. Casterly Rock, hosted by Jason and Johanna Lannister, representing the Westerlands.

At least the hotel was nice. You and Aemond had separate rooms next to one another. And aside from the odd light switch and the hum of the shower, he didn't make himself known.

Even now, as you sat on the bed, clad in black sweatpants and a sports bra, having visited the hotel gym, you listened to the shower through the walls in the quietness of the late evening. Staring off into space. The intrusive thought of Aemond showering briefly zipping through your brain and not at all imagining-

Incoming Video Call from El 🦌

Thank the gods for that.

You swipe the screen, greeted with the smiling face of Ellyn sat on what used to be your shared sofa.

"There's my hoe" she lovingly calls, stuffing a crisp into her mouth.

You hum a laugh, "Charming El" you smile, moving to lay on your front so you can prop the phone up, "What's the occasion? Do you miss me that much?"

She rolls her eyes, "Fuck off. I always miss you" she smiles brightly, "Forgive me for wanting to check in on my amazingly successful figure skating queen"

"Amazingly successful, huh?" You joke, "High praise coming from Floris' sister. How is she by the way?"

"She's fine. Getting discharged soon they think, she messed it up pretty bad" Ellyn shrugs, "hey, you might see Maris when you're out there"

"I'll give her a big sloppy kiss for you" you smirk.

Ellyn pulls a face, "Don't do that she'll punch you in the face"

You laugh. She absolutely would as well. The Four Storms indeed.

"I saw your Instagram pictures. You look fit" she says with a mouth full of crisps, "Anyway, who you dressed up for in there?"

You look down at your outfit, furrowing your brows, "A sports bra?" You joke, "Hardly dressed up, El"

She smirks, "How are things with Aemond?"

"Oh for fucks sake…" you roll your eyes, hearing her cackle through the phone, "Well, we didn't start the greatest"

"Tough crowd?"

"He may have insinauted I wouldn't handle it because I wasn't from any notable house"

Her mouth drops open.

"Death. He deserves death"

You laugh loudly, covering your mouth, "El!"

"Did you put him in his place?"

"Tried to!"

"I bet he went real quiet after you showed him up at that match!"

You smile at her, "Oh you watched that?"

"Course I did!" She returns, "not fair you looking like a snack on the ice like that. You could tell you didn't like each other though"

Ooft. "Yeah…" you trail off, "...it's a work in progress"

"I take it you haven't smashed yet then?"

"El!"

"What!" She shouts back, making the phone crackle due to her volume, "Just cos he's a dick doesn't mean he's unfuckable"

El, you're making it really hard to deny it right now by confirming my exact thought process.

You sigh, "I'm not fucking him, El. He hates me"

"Do you hate him?"

You bite your lip, "I tolerate"

"Fucking liar" she sneers, "anyway I gotta go, I'll watch your next match. Slay all day, love you!"

You sigh, dropping your phone, listening as the hum of his shower stops, and the bedroom light switch clicks against the wall.

How did you end this conversation thinking about Aemond having a shower more?!

Stop that. Bad girl.

You could hear him plug in what you assumed was a phone charger into the wall, something akin to bed slats cracking a second later with the weight of him slipping into bed.

His bed was right next to the wall, the same as yours.

You tapped your phone anxiously, biting your lip as if something were on your mind.

But you didn't have the heart to even tell yourself what you were thinking about.

Or rather who.

The bitterness of hotel coffee never fails to make you wince as you sit in the fancy hotel foyer, dressed in your usual all black sportswear while the space around you looks indicative of a Greek palace, all cream and decorated with keen detail.

Casterly Rock is unnaturally hot right now, so all you’re able to manage is a sports bra and a thin crop top on your torso, with of course, leggings on your bottom. Your foot taps impatiently, waiting for Aemond to come out of his room so Arryk can drive you to the ice rink for morning practice, raising an eyebrow when you look at the clock on the wall and see it’s already 6am.

He’s never usually late.

Arryk walks towards you with an unnatural spring in his step to say how early in the morning it is, smiling beneath his facial hair, looking entirely put together in the suit he wears. Does he wear that everyday?

“Aemond will be a while yet, shall I get you to the rink first so you don’t lose out on practice?”

You nod, downing the rest of the coffee to give you some semblance of life, standing up to follow him, “Sure, thank you”

You follow him to the car, sliding into the passenger seat, rubbing your eyes.

“Is he alright?” you ask, as Arryk pulls his seatbelt on.

He nods, putting the car into gear and setting off, “He’ll be alright. Just a small headache. The eye sometimes gives him some bother”

You drive in silence for a bit, the roads mostly clear from how early it still is.

“Have you been with them long? Working for them I mean?” you ask, trying to fill the silence with something.

“A while. I joined after Aemond’s accident”

You swallow.

The accident.

Sensing your silence, Arryk looks over briefly, “You don’t know?”

You shrug, shaking your head, “I figured if he wanted to tell me he would”

Arryk nodded and turned away again, clearing his throat with his eyes back on the road. He didn’t say anything else until you arrived at the ice rink, obviously not wanting to let slip any sensitive information that Aemond wouldn’t have wanted to share. But it was clear he knew.

It felt like everyone around you knew some kind of secret, and you were purposefully being kept on the outside, but just within reach.

This ice rink was by no means large and you’re thankful at least that it’s empty, so that you can do the pre-practice stretches in relative peace. You just stick your airpods in and play whatever you have on shuffle, using the free time Aemond isn’t here to start on the ice.

It’s nice every once in a while since starting training with Aemond, to have everything to yourself, music in your ears, hair down, the breeze of the air conditioning through your locks. Sometimes you find yourself just gliding, eyes closed and inhaling slowly and purposefully through your nose, letting the smells around you fill your senses.

After doing countless laps and trying certain jumps you know you’d be doing with Aemond later, you look at the clock. 45 minutes have passed and still no sign of Aemond.

Feeling entirely too hot from the exertion of practising, you huff and tug the shirt you’re wearing off, leaving yourself in only the sports bra.

Modesty be damned, I’m too fucking hot for this.

Tugging it over your head, adjusting the sports bra underneath, you don’t even register the double doors opening with the airpods blasting in your ears. It’s only when the flash of white hair passes as you slide along the ice, that you nearly jump out of your skin.

“Fucking hell” you mutter quietly, pulling out your airpods quickly.

Aemond shucks his bag onto the floor, not making eye contact as he slips onto the bench with his skates in his hands. He looks more irritable than usual, dropping his skates with a sort of carelessness you wouldn’t usually associate with him.

You watch his face, tense and irritated, looking down as he ties them, his eyebrows drawn together.

Skating up to the edge, you bite your lip, wondering if you should say anything at all. Would it just make him more difficult? Would he just stay quiet?

“Are you okay?” you ask, coming out more weakly than intended.

“Yes” he answers harshly, unconvincing, “Fine, clearly”

Woah, okay.

You lean over the edge on your elbows, watching as he fails to tie his skates the first time, cursing to himself at having to do it again, irritably looping them once more.

“Arryk said you had a headache”

Sighing once he’s double tied his laces, he leans on his knees, finally looking up at you, his whole body tense and rigid. He doesn’t say a thing. He just stares, as if he’s shocked you had the audacity to even talk to him, his glass eye reflected in the sharp blue tone of the lights.

It's like all the air has been sucked out the room. And the world only has you two left in it. The way he stares makes you both uncomfortable and breathless at the same time.

And you're unsure if you think it's a good thing.

A glimpse of what he acted like when you first met is there, watching the way his grip is tight, his forearms taut and shoulders hunched.

He opens his mouth, but you beat him to it.

“I have some ibuprofen…if you want it”

His mouth closes instantly. And his brow softens somewhat, although not unwinding entirely. His gaze falls to the floor for a moment, and he nods, looking completely resigned, much like he did on the night he talked to Alys Rivers.

Like a child in pain.

Hopping off the ice, you rifle through your bag that’s seated next to him, eventually extending the pills to him. He moves his head, his good eye starting at your legs and running over the entirety of you, before looking at your eyes. It makes you go all warm, watching the way he pauses at your middle, where the slightest bit of skin shows beneath the sports bra.

“Thanks” he says quietly, taking the pills from you and popping some out the foil. His fingers graze yours only slightly, and you press your lips together, turning away from him quickly to get back on the ice.

Your chest feels all hot and tight. Must be the hotel breakfast. That bacon did taste funny.

Something inside tightens as you turn to watch him swallow some water, watching the muscles of his neck. And then his large hands palm at his hair, pulling it to the back to tie it haphazardly, with no real care as several strands fall out from his grasp.

Why is that kind of hot.

What is wrong with me.

This is Aemond we’re talking about.

Despite knowing that there is no way those pills have kicked in yet, he tugs at his shirt as he gets out on the ice. He has one hand occupied with his phone as he meets you in the middle.

“Fuck. Speaker’s not working” he murmurs, fumbling with the settings on his phone.

“Oh”

You move from right leg to left leg, anxiously. Pulling at the fabric of your leggings while you think of a solution.

“We could uh…use my airpods” you respond, pulling the case out, “one each?”

He only moves his eye to meet you, his mouth wrinkled down in disgust. For some reason it makes you laugh.

“Oh come on, they’re not dirty” you smile, handing him one, “business partners, right?” you say, sticking the left one in your own ear.

Not friends.

Business partners.

He sighs, reluctantly sticking the right one in. You put the music you’ll be performing in a few days on repeat, sticking the phone into your sports bra in lieu of pockets.

“Give it to me” Aemond says, one hand limply extended.

“What?”

He looks at you, “Your phone” he adds, “I have pockets”

You pull an awkward face, swallowing thickly.

For some reason retrieving the phone from the sports bra feels weirder than putting it there, especially when you hand it to him and he presses it against his thigh to stuff into his zip pocket. God his hands are so massive now when compared to the size of the phone.

Stop. That.

Oh gods, was I sweaty. That’s so gross if I was.

He luckily doesn’t comment on anything like that. A small mercy.

You practise one. Two. Three times. The clock ticks by quickly as you're both immersed in training. Trying various parts of the routines, as well as a particularly difficult new jump, one that at first you have some trouble with.

Aemond throws you in the air and you have to spin three times, timing it perfectly so that your front is against his in time for him to push you back for the exit, hands joined.

It’s had…questionable results so far.

Misjudging how quickly you need to spin in the air, your feet aren’t in the right position and you fall chest to chest with Aemond, his arms reaching around you to make sure you don’t slip.

“Shit!” you whisper, annoyed at yourself, “Sorry”

You hate that when he catches you, his grip on your bare arms, that you can’t help but blush, every hair standing on end. Especially when he looks down at you, hoisting you up back on your skates once you’re balanced, “You okay?”

Completely too annoyed at yourself to care right now about the proximity, you shake your head, “Can’t hack that one”

Aemond bites his cheek, “Let’s try a double spin first then”

Realising you’re still very close, you skate back, clearing your throat, “You sure?..”

He shrugs, “We can work up to the triple if we want, but as long as we do a throw, still counts”

You nod, tucking your hair behind your ears, “Sure..”

If there is something you’ve noticed since you met and began working with Aemond, it’s that his style of skating, much like Helaena’s and Aegon’s, is very technical. Calculated. Overly-thought out.

Much like ballet, figure skating is as much about performance and emotion, than technical ability. Unfortunately for Aemond.

He’s so pragmatic about his approach that there’s barely room for any real emotion in his performance. He’s always straight-faced, tight-lipped. So much so, you wonder if he actually enjoys any of it.

As much as you hate to admit it, he was right. Starting with the double was an easier approach, and it came more naturally. So when you did several attempts after the triple, tucking your arms in on yourself for the spin, the last few were landed, making your insides swell with pride. Eventually, you look at the clock and wince at the time, so both of you take a break for a much needed drink.

After having crossed the technical bridge, time for the emotional one you suppose? No harm in asking, right?

“Can I ask you something?” you ask quietly, leaning backwards against the ledge, arms rested on it.

Aemond’s eye finds you mid-sip of his water bottle, and he licks his lips, his weight on one leg, wordlessly urging you to continue.

You swallow, wondering how best to word it, “Do you enjoy it?”

“Enjoy what?”

Isn’t it obvious?

Your eyes zip around briefly, “This? Figure skating?”

He’s quiet for a long moment. Answering your question without needing words.

“I enjoy it enough”

Enough.

Aemond is so guarded. Even now, he holds his arms over his chest, protecting his heart. Silence stretches between you at his answer, as unconvincing as it was, you nod your head with eyebrows raised, not wanting to say anything more that might dampen the mood on your training for today.

Being around him is like stepping around a sleeping dragon. One brush against it, however soft it would be, it’d wake in a sort of angered panic, assuming danger.

That is how you would describe him. Whatever you said or did, it’d be interpreted as an attack.

“You don’t believe me” he responded after some time.

As much as you feel you dislike him, you can’t lie to him, so you shrug, “Not really”

He narrows his eyes, “Why”

Fucking hell. Here we go. Now I’ve done it.

You sigh, already feeling an argument brewing where you hadn’t intended, “I think it’s no secret that when you perform you look like you’d rather be anywhere else” you say, shifting about on your skates, stretching your arms anxiously, “Unless you’re just like that with me” you add, under your breath.

He rolls his eye somewhat, humming. In neither acceptance nor denial.

Was that a yes? No?

“I just think if we’re going to stand a chance in these Championships we should at least make the effort with performance. For the scores” you nod to him, “That’s all I’m saying”

Aemond scoffs, “Oh, so you think you’re giving me advice now?”

Oh there’s the sleeping dragon.

Your head retracts, shocked by the sudden sass. Maybe the ibuprofen has kicked in, “We’re skating partners, aren’t we? You don’t value my good opinion, seeing as, shockingly, I existed as a skater before I met you?”

He shakes his head, as if amused, “Just find it funny”

You bite your lip, now visibly annoyed. Your skin blooms in frustration. Not this shit again. No fucking way.

“Funny in the sense that you still think that just because I’m of no notable house, not so far up my own ass I can’t see the sun and not such a nepo-baby that-”

“I fucking told you not to call me that” he snaps, his eye now serious, his stance too as he pushes off the ledge to stand before you.

You shrug, “Is that not what you are?” you challenge, “Your brother and sister get to represent the Reach just because your mother is from Oldtown, and you make it to the Championships every time despite not being able to show a slither of emotion on your face-”

“It’s because I’m fucking good at it” he counters, “Emotions has nothing to do with it”

“Doesn’t it? You can be good at it, but you don’t fucking like it”

He goes all quiet, his fist clenched at his side, shaking.

“It’s as clear to the judges as it is to anyone, you don’t enjoy it. I don’t doubt you probably did at some point”

He swallows, as if preparing himself for what he’s about to say.

“And because you’re so perfect?”

“Didn’t say I was-”

“Yeah, that’s because you’re not” he interrupts, making you go quiet and still, “Don’t you dare try to act all high and mighty to me. My family is well-established and good at it. There doesn’t need to be a deep and meaningful reason why I do it. I don’t need to dig deep to find any semblance of purpose in my life, unlike your shitty one. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t let the likes of your class skate at all-”

Aemond stops his chaotic ramble when he finally turns to look at you, seeing the horrified and tearful expression on your face after you’d heard him say it in his fit of rage. His face drops instantly, replaying what he’d said. It didn’t seem like him at all, to go on such a rampage of horrible words.

It felt like someone was speaking through him. Like he was a puppet on a string, performing the actions of others.

But he had said it nonetheless.

You laugh weakly, feeling your insides twist painfully.

“My class, huh?...” you repeat, shoving the knife inside him deeper. The word seems to make him shudder now, despite him being the one who said it.

If you didn’t laugh you’d cry. So you did just that.

“Well, I’m sorry you feel so disgusted to have people of my class doing your sport” you respond, skating backwards away from him.

With tears covering your vision, making the ice look like one big blob of white, all you manage is, “Fuck you, Aemond”

You hear his voice, once, twice, calling your name. The last time is exasperated, carried with a sigh once he realises that you’re too angry right now to even hear him. It all happens so quick you don’t have time to think, the way you pull your skates off without untying them first, hurtling your bag over your shoulder and pushing the doors open so hard they bang against the wall, filling the empty sounding room with an echoed slam.

You don’t look back at him. He doesn’t fucking deserve it.

You don’t even text Arryk to come pick you up. You just walk, legs carrying you as quickly as you’re able, one in front of the other and counting up and down in your head in an effort to calm yourself down. The air was hot and oppressive around you, closing in, making you feel even smaller than Aemond had just a few minutes before.

No tears. Don’t cry. He doesn’t deserve them.

He doesn’t deserve them.

If it were up to me, I wouldn’t let the likes of your class skate at all.

The replay of the words breaks you and you hurl your bag at the closest wall, but it does nothing to expel the annoyance and frustration you feel inside. The skates inside the bag make it so heavy that it falls to the floor with a thud. You stand there watching, breathing heavily in the air of the early afternoon.

For a small, brief flicker of a moment, you regret throwing your bag with the skates inside. Knowing that it was Rhaenys who gifted you them, and that an argument with Aemond didn’t excuse treating such nice things in that way. All the emotions you have kept back are still there, sitting behind your eyes.

Not in public.

So with a resigned sigh, you pick the bag up and walk the fifteen minutes it takes to get back to the hotel, hoping and praying to every god there is that Arryk or Aemond doesn’t see you on the way back in the car.

The hotel is luckily air conditioned. You can't tell if you're hot because it genuinely is hot, or if you're just so angry you might literally be steaming.

So intent on making a beeline to your hotel room, you nearly collide fully with a familiar brunette.

"Shit! Sorry, I wasn't look-Johanna!" You sigh, red-faced, looking right into her deep brown eyes, that are crinkled up with a smile.

"Gods, you look…hot, and not in the good way" she remarks, her eyes looking over you. You can't help but look at her outfit, all a lovely golden colour that suits her in its entirety.

Instinctively, you wipe your neck, embarrassed at how you must look.

"Yeah, I uh, just came back from training"

She looks around, "Where's your partner? Aemond"

"Oh, uh, he decided to hang back" you lie with a smile, hoping it lands. But her smile indicates that she knows it's not entirely true.

Her deep brown eyes look over your expression, her lips tightening into a reassuring line that’s akin to a smile, “I get it, you know” she says, to which you cock your head, “Not being on good terms with your skating partner”

She sees the way your eyes go wide, and your mouth opens to contradict, “Save it. It’s obvious”

Fuck. Is it really that obvious?

“If it were up to Jason, he’d have stopped competing ages ago” she muses, eyes flickering to the floor every once in a while, tugging her jacket around her tighter, “It’s me who’s the competitive one”

“But you two skate so well together?” you ask, confused. They’d always been very good skaters together, only spurred on by the fact that they were married.

Johanna laughs, “I’m not stupid. I know Jason’s fucking around on me” she admits without a hint of weakness in her tone, “It’s the least I can do to get back at him, forcing him to compete with me”

Part of you feels sad for her that she knows he’s cheating, but can do nothing about it. But you can’t help the mischievous smile on your face at her so-called ‘revenge’. You’re at least grateful that the person you’ll be up against tomorrow isn’t so hell-bent on winning that she’s outright mean to you.

After a moment, she taps your shoulder, “It’ll be alright. Show him what you’re made of”

You blink, still smiling from her quip before. Even when she leaves the foyer, you stay planted on the spot, bag digging into your shoulder from its heavy contents, feeling the familiar heaviness in your stomach as well.

Show him what I’m made of?

I tried that already. And it still wasn’t enough.

If there’s anything to be grateful for, it’s that Aemond isn’t back at the hotel yet.

But it is only in the sweet relief of silence in your hotel room that you realise…

Great. He still has my phone.

It doesn’t take long for you to really wallow in self-destructive feelings. Stipped down to your baggy clothes, sat in bed, flicking through the terrible hotel channels that are just not doing it for you, and picking at several crisps and popping them into your mouth.

Knock Knock.

It almost makes you jump out of your skin, however soft the knock was.

Your jaw clenches when Aemond’s voice calls your name, staring at the door as if looking right through it.

He sighs, his voice muffled, “Come on, I know you’re in there” he says quietly. You can hear him shuffle from foot to foot. You can imagine him, standing there, with his hands stuffed into his pockets, his leg shaking while he turns his thoughts over in his head.

He sighs again.

"Please"

Part of you wants to smile at the way he says it. Like it's hurting every little bit of him inside to even consider apologising. But the thought of the smile never really comes to a full one on your face, and your lips continue to turn down into a frown, watching his shadow moving side to side underneath the crack of the door.

You didn’t move an inch. You just watched as he stayed for longer than you thought he would.

The shadow moved, and your phone slid face down under the door, before his footsteps were muffled and far away down the hall. You heard his hotel room door close softly, the light switch clicked against the wall, and the bed slats once again creaked louder as he flopped down on it.

Knowing he is right there, on the opposite side of the wall, no longer gives you that fluttering feeling. It makes you feel somewhat uncomfortable that he’s so close without seeing him. Restless.

Padding over to the door to retrieve your phone. Several messages line the home screen, obscuring the view of your background, you and Ellyn at the ice rink for Christmas and her falling into your arms, not being quite as adept at the skill as her sisters. It never fails to make you smile.

Rhaenys - Manager: 3 unread messages

El 🦌 - 1 unread message

Unknown number - 5 new messages

You cock your head somewhat at the unknown number. And with 5 new texts from it too.

Swiping open your phone, you're met with the absolute essay of the text from the unknown number.

Fuck that, I'm not reading it without a drink in my hand.

So you sit on the bed, a can of gin and tonic in one hand, scrolling through the long text.

At first it doesn't really make sense.

You raise an eyebrow. Reading on.

You swallow, reading all of the words.

You hate that you laugh at that last bit. You can imagine him pacing around, seeing the unread texts he'd sent and hitting himself realising your phone had been in his pocket the whole time.

Something squeezes tight in your chest, reading all of it over one more time.

Aemond hadn't apologised. Not specifically anyway.

I didn't mean any of it.

You sigh, tipping your head back against the headboard with a light thud, staring up at the ceiling of the hotel.

It's late. The match against the Lannisters is tomorrow.

Do you forgive him?

It felt wrong to forgive him for what he'd said, especially after all the times he'd been rude to you before.

Forgiveness would imply that he'd apologised, which he hadn't. You felt like you at least deserved that. And if he couldn't give that to you…

You save his number under ⛸️. Not having the energy to write his name right now.

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard, your leg moving erratically. Thinking of what to say back.

Be civil. But not too nice. Otherwise he might think it's all good.

You didn't want him to think that.

So you settled for something simple. Something indifferent.

Being in the dressing room without Alicent to fuss over your skates compared to now, sitting in front of the vanity, alone, with your hands clenched tight in front of you, it makes the loneliness tug at your heart. Sitting heavily in your chest.

You should feel pretty. Your outfit is a standard leotard with mesh detailing at the collar, short sleeves, little rhinestones dotted on the skirt to catch the light. The fabric was white, similar to the one you wore at the first match, but not exactly the same, and you can imagine what it would look like when you were skating, capturing the glimmer of the lights and cutting through the air like a whisper.

You’d done your hair yourself, half up half down. With a silver ornament at the back to keep it secure. The pieces that were pulled at the front were waved to the best of your ability, hair sprayed within an inch of their life to stay that way. Your makeup was the same, a barely-there approach, as it was all you were comfortable with.

But you didn’t feel pretty.

Aemond hadn’t replied after what you’d said the night before. You watched as the three bubbles appeared and disappeared a few times, but in the end it was clear he was intent to leave you to your thoughts and give some semblance of space. Since he said himself, he knew he’d fucked up.

You weren’t sure if you were relieved or not that he didn’t reply. All you could think about right now was the match, the move you had practised the day before, and how you were going to best execute it.

“Triple spin in the air, land on the right leg…” you mumbled, tracing the steps of the routine in your head.

The door to your dressing room swung open and your eyes locked eyes with Aemond’s in the mirror. Your heart lurched into your throat seeing him, after what had happened in the last 24 hours, with your partnership potentially hanging by a thread. Your cheeks grew hot with embarrassment, sensing that you really didn’t know what to say.

He briefly met the gaze before looking down, closing the door behind him and leaning against it. His hair, as opposed to last time, was in a loose bun, straight strands framing his chiselled face.

“We’re on in 10” he said simply, his left leg twitching in barely-contained anxiety. He bit his lip harshly, something akin to irritation gnawing on his insides.

Anxiety you knew didn’t come from performing the routine itself.

He was afraid of what you would do. Or what you would say.

Swinging your legs off the chair, you pull one of your feet up to the cushion, making sure the laces are well tied and in their place, your eyes trained solely on them and not on him, who was still standing by the door, as if guarding it.

“Look, I-”

“I’m fine, Aemond” you interrupt him, lacing the other one, “Let’s just get this over with please”

Aemond looked as if he’d been slapped. Like he did that night when he’d spoken to Alys Rivers.

“I didn’t mean any of it” he continues, despite what you’d said. When you look at him now, standing up on your skates, he chews on his lip, taking his time to make himself look at you. His eye rakes over your outfit for this routine, leg still bouncing, “You look nice, by the way”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, “Will you stop saying that like we’re friends, Aemond” you snap, “Just business partners, right?”

Aemond sighs, “Will you stop twisting anything I say into an insult about you?”

“So, is that what that was yesterday? Me twisting your words?” you look at him incredulously, daring him to deny it.

“No-fuck-I didn’t say that” he barks back, his volume increasing, clearly struggling to string together the right words he wants, “What I meant was-”

You shake your head, having had enough, “Just leave it, Aemond. I don’t need to hear it, from you in particular. Can you move please?”

He stays stock still against the door, blocking your path, even stepping forward as a means to say he is most certainly not finished. For a brief second, panic flits through you, not quite remembering how tall and broad he is compared to you.

“What I said yesterday was wrong-”

“You’re fucking right, it was wrong!” you bark back this time, stunning him into silence. He wears a stoic look, his chest rising and falling steadily.

“Do you know how hard I worked to get where I am today, despite my class as you so nicely pointed out. If it really offends you so fucking much to be paired with me, then why agree to it in the first place if you’re just going to bitch and whine about it all the damn time!”

“I-”

“No! I deserve to fucking be here, Aemond, just as much as you. I don’t know if I will ever be good enough in your opinion, but I am slowly realising that I don’t care about that. If you don’t think I am good enough to be associated with you or your prestigious family, I am totally fine with th-”

“You are good enough” he says flatly, his eye twitching somewhat as his muscles tense up, “Better than most, in fact”

You scoff, not affected by it now. No way.

“Well, you have a funny fucking way of showing i-”

You didn’t realise it at the time, how close Aemond had really stepped towards you, so embroiled in the argument with him that it didn’t seem to matter. His stance, his attitude, didn’t make you flounder.

But what did make you stiffen up and go hot all over was when Aemond’s hand made its way around your waist to pull you close to him, and his other hand cupped the back of your neck to tug your face flush to his, silencing you with his lips on yours.

His fingers curled over your skin in a desperate hold, the one around your waist feeling like it was burning a brand right through your outfit. Your hands braced on his chest in shock of what he’d done, fingertips barely touching the skin above his black shirt, so much so you swear you’re able to feel the thrum of his rapid heartbeat.

Just as quickly, he pulls back, his cheeks flushed near-undetectably and his mouth open to breathe, with soft pants coming from his plush pink lips. Your wide eyes flit over his own, from one to the other, to gauge a reaction, despite him being the one who had kissed you. The sapphire glistens in the somewhat low and harsh light of the dressing room and his good eye doesn’t nearly look as blue, but almost so dark from how wide his pupil is dilated, that it’s completely black.

Neither of you wait to see what the other has to say, now that a line has been crossed, it cannot be uncrossed.

It’s unclear who moves first, but all you know is that you’re kissing again, your hands on his shoulders, his own tightening impossibly around you. You feel the weight of every movement behind his lips, tilting his head to gain better access to your hot and waiting mouth as he slips his tongue against yours, sending off each individual kiss with a wet click. It’s a mess, your teeth knock near-painfully against one another, tongues fighting an ever-losing battle.

Aemond moans low in his throat, almost inaudible as he savours the taste of your mouth, his lips anchoring yours open the entire time. With his weight falling forwards, your backside meets the harsh edge of the vanity, making you wince a gasp quietly into his mouth. It only serves to spur him on, his hands fall to your hips, squeezing the flesh beneath the outfit in his large palms, kneading it as if to commit the contours to memory. As if he thinks he may never get to do this again.

He moves like it’s instinctual, his hands falling to grasp at your buttocks, he growls, lifting them onto the vanity, his hold so tight there that it sends a gush of arousal straight to your centre, especially when Aemond leans forward once more to stand between your legs, his obvious erection slotting neatly against your clothed core. His hips move with the rhythm of your desperate kissing, chasing the friction against your flesh he so desires, and you can tell by the way his lips part against yours, a breathy moan slipping into your mouth.

"Fuck" he breathes quietly.

You moan back when he squeezes your waist tightly, his fingers digging in. Thank the gods, this isn’t a cutout dress, otherwise his fingerprints would be clearly visible in red, digit shaped marks for everyone to see. For some reason, that excites you, a dull buzz making its way up your spine as you increase your hold on his shoulders and then his neck, hanging desperately onto him as he pushes flush with you, his chest almost touching yours.

Aemond’s hand drops to your thigh, squeezing the skin in his fingers, his thumb making its way up until it grazes over your clothed heat. It’s like he knows exactly what to do to you, and his fingers tease your clit through your leotard, pressing softly and drawing a desperate breathy moan from your lips. Your hips move towards him, chasing the brief, softened contact he applies, core clenching around nothing-

“On the ice in 2!” someone says from behind the door.

Aemond immediately withdraws, cheeks now genuinely flushed against his pale skin. His wide eye continues to hold your gaze, searching your expression for a reaction to what the two of you just did.

His throat bobs as he swallows and steps back, peeling his hands off you and adjusting his trousers to hide the tent that has formed, the size of it shamefully impressing you for a second. Your hands pull back slowly, slipping off the vanity on wobbly legs and smoothing the skirt back over yourself, briefly noticing the imprint of his hand marks on your bare thigh.

His hair somewhat dishevelled, he uses his hand to smooth it back down. He wets his lips, missing the door handle once before finally catching it, “See you out there..” he says shakily in a weak voice, before he disappears, leaving the door open.

Leaving you to comprehend this sensation that tugs in your stomach. Leaving you to remember the way he’d just kissed you, just touched you, like nobody had ever done before. Even the mere thought of it makes your chest erupt in pink and flutters settle in your core.

Aemond had just kissed you.

And you liked it.

Shit.

Taglist 1 (Bold means I could not tag!)

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yaravella · 1 year

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Netflix and Chill with HSR Men

Pairings: Sampo, Gepard, Dan Heng, Blade, Jing Yuan x Reader (separately)

Masterlist

Requests are open

Warning: Suggestive theme

Sampo Koski

He doesn't subscribe to Netflix or any streaming service, he pirated series and movies.

He texted, "Heyyyy my baby my love my sunshine, I got the new Guardian of Galaxy. Your place or mine?"

He will prepare a lot of snacks and drinks.

Watching it on your laptop on your bed.

Genuinely interested at first but when the plot slowed down, his hands will travel to your body and he started to make out with you.

Stealing glances once in a while to the tv while kissing you and pleasuring you.

You had a hard time staying in the mood though because you were laughing at something on the laptop and ruined the mood.

"Sorry, Sampo…" you giggled while Sampo was trying hard to get you off, "I can't do this."

Both of you then would be too engrossed in what's happening in the film and end up cuddling or stuffing your faces with snacks.

"Should have chosen something boring," Sampo murmured as he stuffed his mouth with a fist of snacks.

Jing Yuan

Choosing the best time of day is crucial.

He's mostly busy though so you usually only watch films with him on the weekend.

He felt too comfortable around you so most likely will end up with him dozing off for a few minutes, several times.

"Wake me up in five," He said as he put his head on your thigh.

As soon as he puts his head there, you can hear a soft snore from him.

Sleep easier when you play with his hair. It's his number 1 weakness.

Of course you don't have the heart to wake him up since he had a busy week, even though that means you have to watch the movie alone.

Once he wakes up he will ask how's the plot so far.

Gepard Landau

Really excited to watch movies with you.

Enjoys anime, thriller series and even drama.

Gets easily moved by the plot. Will shed tears if the movie is sad.

If you watch a horror film, he will cover his ears and scoot closer to you.

"I'm more scared of the sound effect rather than the visual."

But he'll shut his eyes tightly if the scene gets too terrifying.

When you make a move at him, he will act shy and glance at you in disbelief

"Please, I'm watching right now."

But once you start to kiss him, he'll give in and follow the flow.

Once you both finished the deed, he will rewind the movie to the last scene you guys left off.

Dan Heng

Will be the one to recommend movies to watch

Will provide you with brief synopsis and trivia about the movie before you guys watch

"It gets a high score in Letterboxd." He said to convince you to watch.

Of course you're not really looking forward to watching, you look forward to cuddling on his bed.

Or more than cuddling.

However, he will be annoyed if you disturbed him watching.

But once he realized you were demanding his attention, he would pause the movie and rain you with kisses.

Blade

You know there would be no "Netflix-ing" with Blade and more "Chilling"

But you recommend watching a movie with him anyway.

He will let you pick anything you want.

He made comments throughout the movie several times, how ridiculous the plot is, how bad the acting is.

"Seriously, the joke is so corny."

"What the hell is wrong with his hair."

His comments annoyed you sometimes.

10 mins after the movie he made his move towards you.

Started to touch you (in inappropriate places) while still making comments about the movies.

The commentary drives you nuts (and also his fingers) so you shut him up by kissing him hard (or by giving him a head…)

AN: Me if writing sleepy Jing Yuan is a crime:

Hope you enjoyed this!

#hsr x reader #hsr x y/n #hsr x you #gepard honkai #gepard landau x reader #gepard x reader #honkai star rail #blade x you #sampo koski #sampo koski x reader #jing yuan #hsr x gender neutral reader #hsr sampo #hsr dan heng #hsr smut #blade hsr #blade x y/n #hsr blade #blade x reader

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neobomb · 7 months

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give into things i (dont) want to [na jaemin]

academic rival! (yandere ish) prev! big ego!Jaemin x reader, hints of library worker!math major!Jungwoo x reader Part of the give into things i (dont) want to series. Warnings: mature themes, toxic/inappropriate behaviour, masterbation, forcing??, implied slut shaming, MDNI, there will be smut in part 2 Word Count: 2.2k Summary: You learn about academic rival!Jaemin's biggest secret. © 2023 @neobomb. Unauthorized copying, translation, manipulation, or alteration of this work is strictly prohibited. All rights reserved.

Jaemin never viewed it as a competition, the rivalry between you and him. It wasn't about outdoing you. More than anything, he yearned for your attention. With time, he faced a truth he couldn't escape: he was deeply, hopelessly in love with you. He adored that confident smirk you'd wear whenever you believed you had the upper hand. The way you'd toss your hair back as you raced to claim your favorite study spot in the library, ensuring he couldn't get there first. Something about you got him filled with excitement.

But for you, every interaction was tinged with rivalry. You hate him so much. With his stoic façade and that penetrating, icy stare, he stood apart. You've always had a distaste for those who appeared too perfect, and Jaemin epitomized that to a tee. Not only was he the top student at your school, but he was also incredibly handsome, rich and popular. The young boy wants to be a surgeon when he grows up. It's almost laughably cliché, like a scene from a cheesy rom-com. Boys wanted to be him, girls wanted to be his.

Senior year of high school was poised to be the most pivotal year of your lives. The first significant exam loomed just after your 18th birthday. You don't regret skipping your birthday celebration, as securing the top score and outperforming Jaemin took precedence in your mind. It’s more important to stay on top, you thought to yourself.

You’re sitting at your favorite spot in the library, a secluded spot framed by expansive windows. You love to sit there because it's hidden and private. The sun rays from the windows fall on your cheeks, as you tap your pen lightly on your notebook. You stare intensely at a specific problem from a past lecture.

“To tackle this problem, one common approach is to use the residue theorem. Consider the contour that is a semicircle in the upper half-plane, C, which is composed of the real line segment from −R to R and the semicircular arc of radius R in the upper half-plane, where R is a large positive real number.” You turned around, confronted by the insufferable smirk you knew all too well. Jaemin is standing right behind you with his hands behind his back.

“Nice try, Jaemin. I don’t need help from a pretentious prick like you.” You refocus on your problem sheet, doing your utmost to block out his irksome presence.

“You just looked like you were struggling so much.” You brush off his comments. They hold no weight for you now. He'd thrown every insult at you, calling you every name in the book, and over time, you learned not to take them to heart. It was wiser to remain unfazed by the persistent negativity, or at the very least, to appear so.

“I’m not listening to whatever you’re trying to say.” You slipped your headphones back on, signaling your intent to shut him out.

"Well, happy late birthday, loser." he remarks before retreating to his usual spot. He always chooses the table adjacent to yours, separated by a sizable bookshelf that obstructs his line of sight. But he'd subtly shift a few books, creating small gaps that allowed him to sneak glimpses of you, desperately hoping that you wouldn’t catch him in the act. He could observe you engrossed in your studies for hours on end.

You have always been really pretty. Sometimes, when you would scratch your legs, making your skirt ride up higher, or when you would unbutton your shirt low enough for your cleavage to be exposed, he would unbuckle his pants, bring out his painfully hard dick, and jerk off to the sight of your delicate body like no tomorrow. He would only be able to bring himself to do such sinful acts in the late hours when only you and he remained in the library.

Occasionally, when you would step away to use the restroom, Jaemin would quickly approach your desk and steal some of your personal items, ensuring he discreetly returned them to easily spotted locations the very next day. His favorite item to steal would be your cherry flavored chapstick. You never thought it was odd how your personal items would vanish, only to reappear by the base of your desk the following day.

It was embarrassing to him, truly. It felt pathetic to be so smitten with someone who calls him a loser, an arrogant snob, someone who would likely never see him in a romantic light.

For as long as Jaemin had been aware of you, you'd mostly been a solitary figure, steering clear of the limelight. A complete loner. During breaks, Mr. Johnny Suh from English Literature appeared to be your sole confidante, as you eagerly exchanged thoughts about your recent reads. Your eyes always lit up with passion when discussing a book's turning points. Occasionally, Jaemin would interject himself into your discussions, eager to catch your gaze. "Such a teacher's pet," you'd silently muse whenever he did that.

But recently, Jaemin noticed a new figure entering your orbit. Your growing closeness with the new library employee, Kim Jungwoo, had him curious about its origins. Jungwoo, a math major from the town's renowned university, and coincidentally good friends with Jaemin’s older brother, Jaehyun.

Always working the closing shifts, Jungwoo often assisted you with your math homework. In return, you'd stay late to help him tidy the bookshelves. Jungwoo, the comedian that he is, often left you bursting into giggles with his endless jokes. On occasions when you felt uneasy walking home alone, Jungwoo offered to walk you home, even though his apartment was on the opposite side of town.

It was clear that it all enraged him extremely. Jaemin is extremely jealous. He detested how Jungwoo would sit beside you in the library to help you with your homework, obstructing his view of you through the gaps of the bookshelf. Jungwoo would keep an eye on your desk whenever you had to use the bathroom.

—

Jungwoo had invited you over to his apartment for dinner, and you presumed it was a date. Your excitement was palpable. Over the recent months, you had developed a crush on him. He was the epitome of a gentleman, brilliantly intelligent, humble and undeniably attractive. Always, treating you with the utmost respect.

As you neared what you believed to be his door, you quickly check your reflection in a compact mirror, touching up your makeup and hair for the hundredth time. Taking a deep breath, you then pressed his doorbell.

In a swift moment, his door opened wide. "Y/N, you're right on time." Jungwoo greets you with a smile, ushering you into his apartment and gently shutting the door behind you.

"I brought your favorite snacks," you mentioned, just as he enveloped you in a warm embrace.

As the evening unfolded, you and Jungwoo conversed for hours on a myriad of topics. He cocooned you in blankets and played your favorite tunes. Yet, you sensed something amiss with him; he appeared somewhat distant, as though something weighed on his mind.

“I feel like you’re holding back on something. Something that’s bothering you.” you voiced, attempting to diffuse the palpable tension.

“I’m all ears. You can tell me anything.” You remind him. He scratches his head before taking a deep breath.

“There is something I’ve been meaning to tell you. The exact reason why I asked you to come over.” He starts. “Since people have been complaining about lost items at the library, I was assigned to watch over some security footage…” He paused, letting the silence stretch.

“And?” you prompted, eager for him to proceed. “It’s Jaemin… I watched him beat his dick to you on the security footage… I think…” You're completely taken aback. The words don't seem to compute. Surely, you would have noticed if anything of the sort had occurred. You simply did not believe what you’re hearing.

“I’m not totally sure since the footage is not of the best quality… But it seems like he’s watching you in between gaps of books on the bookshelf… And it would happen often, like… every other day and it would only happen when you’re there.” Jungwoo continued. He finally meets your gaze. The depth of concern in his eyes reveals just how troubled he is by the situation.

“There is also footage of him stealing your items whenever you leave your desk.” You had often pondered why, since spending time with Jungwoo at the library, your items never went missing or were left behind like it always did previously.

“I never had the opportunity to tell you this because I always felt like he was watching us. Sorry for not telling you about this earlier.” He pulls his arms around you in a comforting hug.

“Please, Y/N. Be careful. I can help you get a restraining order on him. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Your face is buried in his chest.

“Jaemin can be dangerous, especially if his ego gets hurt. I've known him since he was just a baby in diapers. Please trust me, Y/N.” Although uncertainty lingers about the whole situation, you trust Jungwoo. You take him at his word, believing he has no reason to deceive you.

—

It's been two weeks since you discovered Jaemin's unsettling perverted behavior. The library hasn't seen you since; the memories are just too unnerving. At school, you stopped talking to Mr. Suh. You refuse to put yourself in any situation that might lead to an encounter with Jaemin. Instead, you've done your best to sidestep him, believing it to be the wisest course of action for the time being. Hopefully it will keep you safe for now.

It did not take long for Jaemin to pick up on the unusual habits of yours. Jaemin's anger is palpable. Something prompted your avoidance, and he's had his suspicions from the start. In his mind, it had to be because of Jungwoo. Who did Jungwoo think he was, effortlessly pulling you closer while Jaemin, ever so impeccable, felt sidelined despite harboring feelings for you all these years? It all seemed too orchestrated. He has to do something about it, he thinks and lets his anger completely take over.

As you make your way home from school, nearing a narrow alleyway, a sudden sound catches your attention: "Why haven't you been at the library? Struggling to keep up with me?" Jaemin's voice caught you off guard as he stood casually in front of you, hands nestled in his pockets. Nervously, you tugged away your earphones, a look of unease evident on your face. The library had always been your sanctuary. Jaemin couldn't help but wonder if Jungwoo was the reason for your absence.

"I... um... I have somewhere… uhm… to be," you stammered, attempting to move past him, but he obstructed your exit, moving awfully close to you.

“Why have you been so nervous lately? You’ve been avoiding me, haven’t you?.” Jaemin says with an amused smile. ”You’ve always called me names. Pretending to be so cool. Now you can’t even look at me without shaking to your core.” he continues.

“It’s Jungwoo isn’t it? You like to play innocent but you’re not. You like playing around with older guys, don’t you Y/N? I wouldn’t be surprised if you tried to shoot your shot with mr. Suh." Jaemin's voice pierces the silence, sending a chill down your spine. "I... I don't know what you mean… We’re just friends." you respond, your voice betraying a hint of panic.

“You’re the worst liar, Y/N.” he says he pins you to the brick wall, holding a tight grip on your wrist. Jealousy was written all over his face. “Jaemin, please. What are you doing?” you plead to him. Terror gripped you. The menacing darkness in his eyes seemed to penetrate your very soul.

Jaemin swiftly put his lips on yours, pulling you into a deep and lustful kiss. Tears wells your eyes as you desperately try to release yourself from his strong grip. This feels wrong. So wrong.

Jaemin pulls back from the kiss to search your eyes. He recognizes that expression instantly - the look of defeat. The anguish that twisted your expression only seemed to fuel his satisfaction. He could tell he was causing discomfort, and your reactions confirmed it for him.

He goes in for another lustful kiss to then break away from it again. Jaemin sought your gaze, firmly grasping your face until you were compelled to meet his self-assured, lustful eyes. With each passing moment, his sense of relief grew, sensing your surrender. He could feel the weight of your defeat and the shame of realizing you were powerless against it. This was it. He had you exactly where he wanted you. Perhaps it had been a competition all along, and he had emerged victorious.

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martian-astro · 5 months

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Atmakaraka series - Part 1

Atmakaraka is the planet with the highest degree in the birth chart.

Short note : atmakaraka can give good or bad results depending on the strength of the atmakaraka planet.

Atmakaraka in 1st house:-

In this life the person needs to take care of themselves and focus on their own development.

Sun atmakaraka in 1st house- I like this one the most, I have only met 1 person with this placement, and she's so charming. I feel like people just see them as a leader. Sun is in one of the best positions here and people who have this placement definitely have a high self-confidence unless the sun is aspected by a malefic planet. It's also very easy for these people to focus on themselves. (now that I think about it, I really don't remember any celebrity having this placement, or maybe I've just forgotten, I'll have to check again, and then make a separate post about it because people who have it just have this "I know I'm the best" kind of vibe, you know???)

Moon atmakaraka in 1st house - I have noticed that people who have this are very sensitive, they try to hide their feelings but they are unable to do so. You know when you ask someone if they are okay and then they start crying and say "Nope, I'm okay, everything's fine" and you can SEE that they're not fine, that situation reminds me of this placement. People with this should definitely meditate, and Journaling can help too, and share your feelings with your friends or family. You guys need to learn how to control your emotions and deal with them in a healthy way. (also, not to generalise but be careful when dating a guy who has moon atmakaraka in 1st conjunct Mars because one of my friend was dating a guy with it and let's just say he was.... Aggressive)

Mercury Atmakaraka in 1st house - yooo, I'm so jealous of people with this, you know those people who start studying 1 day before an exam and still manage to score 90+, yup its them. I know a person with this placement who always has such "controversial" opinions but when you listen to why he thinks that, they make so much sense, he doesn't say things just to piss people off, he actually does his research and UNDERSTANDS an issue before talking about it. If afflicted, they can be scared to express their opinions because they know that it goes against the majority. I wouldn't say just express your opinions because I know how the world is but rather make friends who have the same opinion as you and talk to them. (it's okay if you hate Colleen Hoover, I'm with you)

Venus atmakaraka in 1st house - I know 3 people with this placement and their fashion sense is just WOW, not just fashion sense but design sense in general. So I know a girl with this placement, and she lives in a super tiny studio apartment but when you enter, it feels like the house is HUGE, because of the way she has designed it, placed the furniture and the colors that she has used. I also see a lot of people saying that people with this are extroverted and love the company of others but I don't think it's true for everyone. The studio apartment girl is super shy, she doesn't like going to parties or interacting with other people, she mostly keeps to herself. If afflicted, these people can have low self esteem and they can wear baggy clothes because they don't feel confident enough to wear the clothes that they really WANT to wear.

Mars atmakaraka in 1st house - so I know a person with this placement (that person is me), who loves playing sports, people who have it can be very athletic and be interested in activities like hiking and trekking, I also know another person who has this placement and she HATES working out, but she also has a very hard time controlling her anger, because there's no outlet, so when she's angry she just starts yelling and hitting people or just starts crying in the middle of nowhere, I used to be like this, but it got better once I started doing muay Thai and fencing, it's because all of my anger was being used in that. They can also feel their blood boiling when reading about social issues and it can make them really angry to read about things that they don't agree with, and listen to people who don't agree with them(like if someone tells me feminism is not needed anymore, I'm resorting to violence because WHAT THE FUCK??)

Jupiter atmakaraka in 1st house - these people are the definition of "mom friend", they are really good at giving advice and they are good at teaching as well, I have noticed. I have a friend who has this placement and she would teach me maths 1 week before the exam because our teachers were shit, and I would always score well because of how nicely she would teach me the concepts. She also convinced her mother to divorce her husband, and she was literally like "If you take this decision, I'll be with you, we'll figure something out don't worry. But if you don't leave him, then I'll leave and you can suffer alone", 💀, this may seem harsh but her mom needed to hear that. They can also unfortunately become the victims of parentification.

Saturn atmakaraka in 1st house - (everyone who has Saturn atmakaraka deserves a hug). They can be very pessimistic and can give up on things very easily, they can feel like no matter how hard they work they never get good results. I know a person with this, who would study SO hard, like stay in the library for HOURS only to get very low marks. I know that Mars is considered a malefic planet but in this case, if your Saturn is in conjunction with Mars then your situation becomes so much better, like no matter how many times you fail, YOU WILL NOT GIVE UP, and then, in the end, Saturn will give the best result because Saturn wants you to never give up, it wants you to fall and fall again but still complete the race and Mars, in this case, becomes the hand that helps you get up when you fall.

(all pictures are taken from Pinterest, this is not my art)

#vedic astrology #sidereal astrology #vedic observations #astrology observations #astroblr #atmakaraka #Sun atmakaraka #moon atmakaraka #Mercury atmakaraka #Venus atmakaraka #Saturn atmakaraka #Mars atmakaraka #Jupiter atmakaraka #astro observations

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heresmyfiddlestick · 5 months

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Tumblr Dr. Who Poll vs Doctor Who Magazine Poll

It's been just over a month since the end of @adventure-showdown 's monumental survey of how Tumblr feels about individual Doctor Who adventures. Across ten rounds, we sorted the wheat from the chaff, the Quarks from the Rills, and the Cousins from the Looms. I wanted to compare the results of that huge bracket with the results from last year's Doctor Who Magazine poll, which ranked each Doctor's stories individually.

The methodologies for these two were quite different (though adventure-showdown did seed the bracket with a pre-poll that used the same methodology as DWM, but I'm looking at the final poll results for my data here), so comparing them is really interesting! I'm not a statistician, I just like making spreadsheets for fun. I think what can be seen from the trends and data below is a really unique picture of two somewhat overlapping but seriously demographically distinct fragments of the fandom.

Methodologies

Poll Methodologies

The DWM poll asked readers to rank as many televised Doctor Who stories as they liked from 1 to 10. The editors then took the resulting scores for each story and put them in a ranked list for each Doctor.

adventure-showdown began with a series of Google Forms with the same method as DWM, asking internet users to rank stories from 1 to 10. adventure-showdown lumped and split stories differently to DWM: The Key to Time was included as a distinct Four story to each of its individual parts, and each of the individual parts of Trial of a Time Lord and Flux were included alongside the overarching story. Utopia was also split from The Sound of Drums/The Last of the Time Lords.

adventure-showdown used the resulting rankings to create a series of Tumblr polls, moving from a group stage into a series of head-to-head matchups. They matched stories up roughly by obscurity (keeping advertisements and musical numbers separate from audio dramas and comics, which were separate from TV spin-offs, which were separate from the TV show itself), then Doctor or era. With each new round, the matchups were scrambled within melded groups, which ultimately led to a diverse distribution of all different eras and media under the umbrella of Doctor Who throughout the tournament.

My Methodology

In order to turn adventure-showdown's poll results into something that can be compared to DWM's, I created a spreadsheet tracking how each Doctor's stories were doing, separating them first into tiers according to which round they were eliminated in, then within those tiers by how many votes they had in the matchup where they were eliminated.

In the case of some particularly tough matchups, this means that the story that got the most points throughout the entire competition is not necessarily the highest-ranked story for that Doctor. For instance, The Happiness Patrol finished #3 of the Seventh Doctor's stories according to my reckoning of the Tumblr poll, being eliminated in the fifth round with 400 votes, less than the two stories above it (which were eliminated in rounds where they got 147 and 107 votes, respectively). The Happiness Patrol saw a vigorous campaign to increase its vote count, since it was up against Blink. The post for the matchup that eliminated it currently has 304 notes as of this writing. This is one of the fun quirks of this execrise.

General Trends

Where We Agree

The Ninth Doctor shows very stable story rankings between DWM and Tumblr.

On average, the difference in rankings for each episode of 9 is 5%, with only 2 out of 10 stories actually moving up or down the rankings at all. The Sixth Doctor is similar: only 3 of his 8 stories (included in the DWM poll, meaning not counting the individual parts of Trial) moved by more than 1 ranking. The Seventh Doctor only had 4 of his 12 stories move by more than 1 ranking.

On the flipside, Tumblr's opinions differ from DWM most regarding the First, Fifth, and Eleventh Doctors. The only stories that stayed relatively stable across both rankings for these Doctors are as follows.

For the First Doctor, only 4 out of 29 didn't shift by more than 1 ranking: #2 The Time Meddler, #5 The Tenth Planet (#6 in DWM), #18 The Keys of Marinus, and #20 The Reign of Terror (#19 in DWM) For the Fifth Doctor, we agreed only 5 times out of 20: #1 The Caves of Androzani, #2 The Five Doctors (#3 in DWM), #11 Frontios, #14 Black Orchid, and #17 Arc of Infinity (#16 in DWM) For Eleven, 5 of his 39 stories stayed relatively stable: #1 Vincent and the Doctor (#2 in DWM), #4 The Eleventh Hour (#3 in DWM), #9 Amy's Choice, #14 The Snowmen (#13 in DWM), and #39 The Doctor, the Widow, and the Wardrobe.

As you'll see further below, there is usually agreement between both polls about at least one episode that is in the top and bottom 3 or 4 for each Doctor, so these extremes represent the battle over ordering the ones generally ranked in the middle.

We Hate Daleks

As a general trend, Tumblr seems to think less of Dalek stories than the general DWM readership.

Out of 26 stories with Daleks as the primary antagonist, only 8 did not drop by more than 1 slot between the DWM poll and the Tumblr bracket (that is The Chase, Genesis of the Daleks, Remembrance of the Daleks, Dalek, Bad Wolf/The Parting of the Ways, Daleks in Manhattan/Evolution of the Daleks, The Magician's Apprentice/The Witch's Familiar, and Eve of the Daleks). DIM/Evolution actually ranked 3 slots higher on Tumblr than the magazine, while TMA/TWF and Eve finished significantly higher on Tumblr than in the magazine, cracking into the top 5 for their respective Doctors.

We Love The Master

Meanwhile, out of 26 stories featuring the Master, either as the primary antagonist or as an important character, only two dropped by more than one place in the rankings (The End of Time and The Power of the Doctor), while the others either stayed put or increased their positions, some by quite a lot (e.g. The Time Monster (up 20 slots in the Third Doctor rankings), The Keeper of Traken (up 8 slots in the Fourth Doctor rankings), Planet of Fire (up 6 spots in the Fifth Doctor rankings), and The Magician's Apprentice/The Witch's Familiar (up 9 spots in the Twelfth Doctor rankings)).

We Have No Easily Observable Feelings About the Cybermen

Out of 18 Cyberman stories, 9 fell in the rankings between DWM and Tumblr, while 5 stayed within 1 rank of the DWM poll, and 4 rose. If I had to venture a hypothesis based on my unscientific qualitative analysis, it looks like Tumblr marked down most of the Classic Who Cyberman stories (only The Tenth Planet, The Invasion, and Attack staying within 1 rank of the DWM poll), while the only ones that rose in the ranks were New Who stories (Rise/The Age of Steel, Closing Time, Nightmare in Silver, and Dark Water/Death in Heaven-- though of course this last one is also a Master story, which we know we love).

Superlatives

Here are the stories that showed the biggest positive and negative difference in their rankings between the DWM poll and the Tumblr bracket, for each Doctor:

First Doctor

Biggest jump: #10 The Sensorites (up from #27 in DWM) Biggest fall: #28 The Crusade (down from #13 in DWM)

Second Doctor

Biggest jump: #8 The Highlanders (up from #16 in DWM) Biggest fall: #14 The Evil of the Daleks (down from #14 in DWM)

Third Doctor

Biggest jump: #4 The Time Monster (up from #24 in DWM) Biggest fall: #21 Day of the Daleks (down from #11 in DWM)

Fourth Doctor

Biggest jump: #7 The Horns of Nimon (up from #40 in DWM) Biggest fall: #36 The Talons of Weng-Chiang (down from #5 in DWM)

Fifth Doctor

Biggest jump: #8 Planet of Fire (up from #14) Biggest fall: #15 Resurrection of the Daleks (down from #6)

Sixth Doctor

Biggest jump: #1 The Mark of the Rani (up from #5 in DWM) Biggest fall: #6 Revelation of the Daleks (down from #1 in DWM) [NB: not counting each part of Trial, since DWM didn't include them - though The Ultimate Foe ranked #10 on Tumblr while Trial itself ranked #4 in DWM, so that could be another option for this superlative]

Seventh Doctor

Biggest jump: #3 The Happiness Patrol (up from #7 in DWM) Biggest fall: #12 Silver Nemesis (down from #9 in DWM)

Ninth Doctor

Biggest jump: #5 The End of the World (up from #7 in DWM) Biggest fall: #7 Rose (down from #5 in DWM)

Tenth Doctor

Biggest jump: #17 42 (up from #31 in DWM) Biggest fall: #29 The Girl in the Fireplace (down from #7 in DWM) [NB: adventure-showdown split Utopia and The Sound of Drums/Last of the Time Lords where DWM didn't, which both placed above these two stories.]

Eleventh Doctor

Biggest jump: #13 The Rings of Akhaten (up from #34 in DWM) Biggest fall: #36 The Crimson Horror (down from #18 in DWM)

Twelfth Doctor

Biggest jump: #20 The Eaters of Light (up from #30 in DWM) Biggest fall: #18 The Zygon Invasion/The Zygon Inversion (down from #7 in DWM)

Thirteenth Doctor

Biggest jump: TIE #1 Demons of the Punjab (up from #5), #2 Spyfall (up from #6), and #3 Eve of the Daleks (up from #7) Biggest fall: #15 Rosa (down from #4) [NB: not counting each part of Flux, since DWM didn't include them - though The Vanquishers ranked #29 on Tumblr while Flux itself ranked #12 in DWM, so that could be another option for this superlative]

Definitive Bests and Worsts

Here, then, are each Doctor's commonly agreed-upon best and worst stories: that is, those stories ranked in each Doctor's top/bottom 10% (minimum 3) in each poll, and where both polls overlap. Lists are alphabetical.

First Doctor (top/bottom 3)

Best Both agree: The Time Meddler Tumblr: The Edge of Destruction, The Romans DWM: The Dalek Invasion of Earth, The Daleks' Master Plan Worst Tumblr: The Crusade, The Savages, The Smugglers DWM: The Sensorites, The Space Museum, The Web Planet

Second Doctor (top/bottom 3)

Best Both agree: The War Games Tumblr: The Enemy of the World, The Mind Robber DWM: The Power of the Daleks, Tomb of the Cybermen Worst Both agree: The Dominators, The Space Pirates Tumblr: The Krotons DWM: The Underwater Menace

Third Doctor (top/bottom 3)

Best Both agree: The Green Death Tumblr: The Dæmons, The Three Doctors DWM: Inferno, Spearhead from Space Worst Both agree: The Mutants Tumblr: Death to the Daleks, Planet of the Daleks DWM: The Monster of Peladon, The Time Monster

Fourth Doctor (top/bottom 4)

Best Both agree: City of Death, Genesis of the Daleks, Robots of Death Tumblr: The Horror of Fang Rock DWM: Pyramids of Mars Worst Both agree: The Power of Kroll, Underworld Tumblr: Nightmare of Eden, Revenge of the Cybermen DWM: The Horns of Nimon, Meglos

Fifth Doctor (top/bottom 3)

Best Both agree: The Caves of Androzani, The Five Doctors Tumblr: Enlightenment DWM: Earthshock Worst Both agree: Time-Flight Tumblr: The Awakening, Four to Doomsday DWM: The King's Demons, Warriors of the Deep

Sixth Doctor (top/bottom 3)

Best Both agree: Vengeance on Varos Tumblr: The Mark of the Rani, Trial of a Time Lord (considered as a whole) Worst Both agree: Timelash, The Twin Dilemma Tumblr: The Ultimate Evil (specifically) DWM: Attack of the Cybermen

Seventh Doctor (top/bottom 3)

Best Both agree: Remembrance of the Daleks, Survival Tumblr: The Happiness Patrol DWM: The Curse of Fenric Worst Both agree: Delta and the Bannermen, Time and the Rani Tumblr: Silver Nemesis DWM: Paradise Towers

Ninth Doctor (top/bottom 3)

Best Both agree: Bad Wolf/The Parting of Ways, Dalek, The Empty Child/The Doctor Dances Worst Both agree: Aliens of London/World War Three, Boom Town, The Long Game

Tenth Doctor (top/bottom 4)

Best Both agree: Blink, Midnight, Silence in the Library/Forest of the Dead Tumblr: The Fires of Pompeii DWM: Human Nature/The Family of Blood Worst Both agree: The Idiot's Lantern, The Lazarus Experiment Tumblr: The Next Doctor, The Shakespeare Code DWM: Fear Her, Love & Monsters

Eleventh Doctor (top/bottom 4)

Best Both agree: The Eleventh Hour, The Pandorica Opens, Vincent and the Doctor Tumblr: The Doctor's Wife DWM: Day of the Doctor Worst Both agree: The Doctor, the Widow, and the Wardrobe Tumblr: The Crimson Horror, Night Terrors, Victory of the Daleks DWM: The Curse of the Black Spot, Journey to the Centre of the TARDIS, Nightmare in Silver

Twelfth Doctor (top/bottom 4)

Best Both agree: Heaven Sent, Mummy on the Orient Express, World Enough and Time/The Doctor Falls Tumblr: The Husbands of River Song DWM: Flatline Worst Both agree: In the Forest of the Night, Kill the Moon, Sleep No More Tumblr: The Lie of the Land DWM: The Woman Who Lived

Thirteenth Doctor (top/bottom 3)

[Villa Diodati gif included because there is no overlap in the two polls' top 3 for Thirteen, however this episode ranked #4 on Tumblr and #2 in DWM, so it is the closest overlap at the top.]

Best Both agree: None! Tumblr: Eve of the Daleks, Demons of the Punjab, Spyfall DWM: Fugitive of the Judoon, The Haunting of Villa Diodati, The Power of the Doctor Worst Both agree: The Battle of Ranskoor Av Kolos, Orphan 55 Tumblr: The Vanquishers (on its own) DWM: Legend of the Sea Devils

...What about Eight?

Who said that? I thought you had all gone. You shouldn't scare me like that. Well, you see, the Eighth Doctor only has two televised appearances in which he features, and only one of those was included in the DWM poll. This post is about comparing the two polls. I can't really do anything...

Ah, alright.

Televised Appearances

We ranked The Night of the Doctor above the TV Movie. Night made it all the way to round 6, while the TV Movie was out in Round 2, losing with 266 votes to Jubilee, which then lost to Scherzo in the next round. Night lost to Bad Wolf/The Parting of the Ways, which had 344 votes to Night's 204.

Audios

Scherzo made it to the quarter-finals of the Tumblr poll! It lost out to Midnight 435 to 581, the first TV episode it encountered in adventure-showdown's very intricate media-segregating bracket.

Caerdroia made it to round 7, losing to Scherzo after it had beaten out Father's Day in round 6 (299-280) and the much-loved SJA episode The Curse of Clyde Langer in round 5.

The Natural History of Fear made it to round 6, finally losing out to Blink (253-352), and making it the top-scoring Eight audio to go out in this round.

The Chimes of Midnight also got to round 6, finally just losing to Remembrance of the Daleks (163-166); in the same round, Zagreus lost to Scherzo (131-210) just after it had beaten Genesis of the Daleks (132-103) in round 5.

The next highest-ranked Eight* audio is Solitaire (a Companion Chronicle, hence the asterisk), which was eliminated in round 5, losing to Silence in the Library/Forest of the Dead (180-43).

It's worth noting here, that Doctor Who and the Pirates also made it to round 6, making it the highest-ranked non-Eighth Doctor audio. It lost to City of Death (170-78). The next-highest ranked audios are The Marian Conspiracy (lost in Round 5 to The Wedding of Sarah-Jane Smith), The Holy Terror (lost in Round 5 to The Empty Child/The Doctor Dances), and A Death in the Family (lost in Round 5 to The Natural History of Fear). Congratulations to Evelyn Smythe.

Novels

The EDA Alien Bodies managed to make it to round 6, finally being eliminated by Turn Left with 145 votes to 264. It had just beaten out Time Crash in the previous round. This makes it the highest-ranked Doctor Who novel overall, according to this Tumblr tournament.

The next-highest novel for the Eighth Doctor was Unnatural History, which was defeated in round 5 by The Chimes of Midnight.

Below that, there were five EDAs eliminated in round 4:

Interference (lost with 41 votes to Scherzo's 85)

Mad Dogs and Englishmen (lost with 38 votes to The Marian Conspiracy's 56)

The Adventuress of Henrietta Street (lost with 28 votes to A Death in the Family's 54)

Camera Obscura (lost with 27 votes to Lungbarrow's 47)

The Scarlet Empress (lost with 22 votes to The Chimes of Midnight's 102)

Comics

I hadn't actually been tracking any of this Eight stuff, so I'm having to squint through the backlog and this is already much too long. So you're only getting two: The Land of Happy Endings is the Eighth Doctor comic that made it the farthest in the Tumblr competition, being eliminated in round 3 by An Adventure in Space and Time (46 votes to 95). The Flood also made it to round 3, where it was eliminated by the Thirteenth Doctor comic Old Friends, gaining 39 votes against Old Friends' 47.

#doctor who #classic who #big finish #eighth doctor #jodie whittaker #thirteenth doctor #christopher eccleston #ninth doctor #many interesting things here #will reblog with analysis

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nicoleheichou · 3 months

Text

i miss you, don't call me

synopsis: when your acting careers start to pick up you and your boyfriend zoro both decide that it's better to go your separate ways. you didn't want to, but you knew he was right. fast forward to a couple years later, when you're finally starting to heal, your friends score a deal to shoot a movie together with your ex and you're starting to think maybe you haven't really moved on.

♡ masterlist ♡ - next 》

yn gets a private twitter for this story. yay! lol. i'm trying a new ig app so hopefully it works out.

pls tell me you get nami's header.

i thought it was so on brand for luffy to be attempting to do the same pose as his header. lol

i needed to add ace. because why not.

yn met nami through luffy and zoro, they instantly hit it off, bonding at the boys' expense. nami is yn's support system, helped her through her breakup. luffy knew zoro first, but had an instant connection with yn, doesn't help that she gives him anything he asks for. ace and yn have known each other the longest, they were classmates in elementary and ace designated himself her bestfriend and protector from the school yard bullies who'd pick on her because they didn't know what to do with their crushes on her, they have been inseparable since.

i'm thinking about starting the series next week.

taglist is open, comment or send an ask and i'll add you. i still have 44 slots left!

#roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #one piece smau #smau #op smau #roronoa zoro #one piece #imydcm #i miss you dont call me

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undiscovered-horizon · 1 year

Note

Hi there! Could we see a touch starved!reader x The Doctor? Whichever Doctor you would want, but I admit I am biased to 11 hehe.

I really enjoyed your fic ‘Keep blessing me’, as someone who is plus size, I rarely see myself represented in media positively.

I can imagine reader being the type of person who is overlooked often, never been desired romantically and feels like she has been forgotten by the universe. She yearns to be held and feel safe but she also feels unworthy. She definitely is majorly pining for The Doctor but doesn’t allow herself to dwell much on it. Maybe he feels the same way?

[TW: negative self-talk, referenced/implied depression]

"Stone walls" - 11th Doctor x touch starved!Reader

Doctor Who-inspired playlist

Should you ask anyone who has taken part in some kind of competition at least once in their life, they will always say the same thing: the fourth place is the worst. Right under the podium, a hair's breadth away from being someone and yet they are nothing more than a mockery, the line separating memory and oblivion. Taking into account the series of unfortunate events you call your life, you were born in fourth place.

It was never anything explicit and perhaps that was the worst part. Had there been a groundbreaking revelation, a true calamity of heartache, you would have accepted it but it was that silence that sucked the life out of you. It wasn't that someone told you they hated you, it was that you were never chosen, drifting away on the waves of silence into the ocean of oblivion. Although you were born into this world, it never felt like you truly were part of it. Perhaps, all of existence was happening next to you or existence, to put it simply, refused to make you part of itself.

And then there was him - the Doctor, always scoring first place, always showered in gold medals and trophies because, truthfully, why wouldn't he? There was no way of telling how many catastrophes he had prevented, how many lives he had already saved. By his tireless service to the entire universe, it seemed as though he was born for this, to always be a winner. And the stories he told! How he had befriended so many species, how many hearts were offered to him that he had turned down. It was quite bittersweet, that you were so different and yet you were alive in the same universe.

Truthfully, you still didn't quite understand what ungodly whim made you his "partner in crime". The longer you were around him, the more you grow to understand just how not alike you were as if his brilliancy made you painfully aware of your mediocrity. Your place wasn't with him, quite obviously - he deserved someone better; someone you could never become. Maybe it would be better to leave soon, on your own, than have him grow impatient and simply throw you out. It wasn't the way you wanted to remember him, angry and annoyed, so you thought it best to relieve both of you of your underwhelming existence as soon as possible.

"You don't have to do this alone."

His voice caught you off guard. Has he been here this whole time? How long had he been staring at you, waiting for you to finally do something?

You turned around to look at him. The Doctor was leaning against the console, his arms crossed on his chest. By all accounts, it seemed that he had been standing there for quite a while, pondering whether he should speak up.

"I'm not sure what you mean," you answered with a slight shake of your head.

For a moment, he didn't say anything. His bright, green eyes stared into you as if he was waiting for something but you couldn't be sure what for exactly. After a while of silence, he left his spot to make his way towards you. His rhythmic footsteps echoed throughout the otherwise empty TARDIS.

"I'm not sure either," he spoke in a mild tone, "but I can tell something turned you sour. Whatever it is, you don't have to do this alone."

The Doctor gently wrapped his lanky arms around you, while you didn't quite know what to do. The moment he tightened his grip around you, something heavy inside your viscera pulled you towards the ground. You grabbed his tweed jacket with as much force as you could possibly muster. It felt as if the moment you let go of the coarse material, your whole body would simply fall apart. That gaping hole in your chest you tried your best to ignore suddenly felt deeper like a beast whose insatiable appetite only grows as it devours. This hunger or whatever it really was felt absolutely awful, so painful it coursed through your veins and filled your entire body with suffering. The Doctor gently shifted his body and your hands only tightened their grip on him as if there was no greater horror in this universe than him letting go of you.

"Just hold me," you whispered. "I'm lonely."

And he did just that.

Sometimes you thought about that one time you had asked the Doctor whether he slept. Truthfully, you never did see him sleep and somehow he was always full of energy. Did Time Lords not need rest? They were, after all, a very exceptional sort of aliens. In response, he only looked at you with a confused expression. "Why would I?" he asked, "It's eight more hours without you." You never did believe them but then, when the fourth place and the first place were equals for a moment, you thought that perhaps he did, in fact, mean them.

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dominimoonbeam · 5 months

Text

The Adventures of Stardust and Cosmic. Script 4. Part 10 - 12

I was just working on this story and the update came out! Jouska really brings this script to life! Latest part. and the series!

Scripts below if you want to read them too. <3

The Adventures of Stardust and Cosmic. Script Part 4 (chapters 10-12)

By Domini Moonbeam

10.

[Cosmic waking up on the ship]

[disoriented] St-Stardust?

Are you okay?

[groans] How did you get me back on the ship?

Wait…How did we take off? I thought I locked you out of the controls.

Since when?

You sneaky shit… [sitting up, pained sounds]

Did you…patch me up? That’s not bad work.

No, I’m not thanking you, I’m just saying it’s not a bad patch job. Did they teach you how to close a bullet wound at the same school where you learned to hack ship controls?

…I can’t tell if you’re joking.

Whatever. [getting up] I’m still covered in paint… I’m gonna go clean up.

No, I’m not saying you should have given me a sponge bath. I’m just saying I’m going… [door whoosh, walking down the hall]

[Stardust following. Cosmic groans]

Yes, I’m still mad at you.

Yes, because of that! I can’t believe you put yourself between me and a gun. You could have died. Nothing is worth… [stops, groans] I don’t think this partnership is working.

[snaps] I said it’s not working, Stardust.

Yeah, we get along great, that’s the problem. You’re going to get me killed or I’m—[can’t say it]

Stop. I don’t… I don’t care about you. And if I did, I wouldn’t be hauling your ass toward danger, would I? What sort of asshole would that make me? What sort of person would that make me…

[deep breath] Okay. We’re only a week away from the goal. We’ll make it. We’ll get the loot, hopefully get your cousins off your tail, and then we’ll go our separate ways, just like I said. If it’s the sort of stash you think it is, it’ll be plenty for you to get your own jet and hightail it wherever you want to go.

That’s not funny. Knock it off.

No, you don’t.

No. I meant what I said, Stardust. You’re a bounty. I shouldn’t have let you think otherwise. This…you and me…that’s not a thing.

[sighs and repeats] Friends… No. I don’t want to be your friend. Look at the shit you stir up.

Yeah, I said that but you’re more trouble than you’re worth.

[huffs a laugh] Shit, that’s a hell of an ego. I guess I should have expected that from a primer. Of course, you’d think you’re worth it.

No, I don’t. The only thing I care about it my payday and my skin. I don’t need a partner or a friend or… I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.

[bursts] You’re going to leave either way! [cringing] You don’t belong out here. You’re not a mercenary or a bounty hunter. You’re just a spoiled rich kid playing at crime past the edge for thrills. You’ll get over it and go home to the prime eventually.

[sighs] That’s not the same. Your family is a completely different sort of criminal element, and you know it.

What?

You…

Stop it. You don’t mean that.

[Stardust stepping closer, voice lower] Stardust…

[sighs, so close] I wasn’t scared…

I’m not lying…

[Stardust kisses Cosmic]

[softer, conflicted] Why did you do that?

Don’t say that… Don’t. You can’t.

[another kiss]

Damn it… [Cosmic kisses Stardust, grumbles] You make bad choices, Stardust…

Yeah, this is one of those bad choices. I’m a bad choice.

[huffs a thin laugh] You’re cracked if you think that.

[kiss] You taste like paint… [smirking a little despite himself] I wasn’t complaining.

The what?

The score is not one point five to six now! You did not save me. I saved you. It’s my point. I literally pulled that merc off of you.

Are you seriously reminding me about the human shield incident already?

Yes, it’s still too soon. It’s been less than an hour!

So what if you dragged me back to the ship? You think I haven’t had to wake up and crawl back? I told you, I’ve had worse.

Fine. It’s a scratch. No points for either of us.

[longer pause, ship sounds]

[smirking] …Are you suggesting we clean up together?

I don’t think I’m in danger of passing out again. You patched the gunshot wound, remember?

I mean… Yeah, I’d hate to drown in my shower. That’d be a stupid way to go.

Stardust…Are you trying to seduce me? You know that won’t change my mind, right? You’re still on your own as soon as I get my hands on my half of that treasure.

I’ll call it treasure if I want to.

It is too.

Wait. Do you think arguing is flirting?

You are terrible at seduction…

[laughs] I could definitely do a better job!

No! That first time you stole my gun was a fluke. I wasn’t seduced, I was confused.

Absolutely not. Go use your own shower. [smiling] I can’t trust your motives.

I didn’t say it wasn’t tempting… I said I can’t trust why you’re doing it. You might just want to steal my jacket again. Or my gun. Or my ship.

[thinking] I guess that could be worth the risk…

Okay, Stardust. I’ll call your bluff. [door whoosh] Come on in. I’ll get that paint out of your hair and you can make sure I don’t faint from blood loss in the shower.

[Stardust stepping inside, the door whooshing shut, closer, quieter] Really?

[laughs] Yep. The worst at flirting…

[kiss]

[sighs] Okay. Not the worst.

11.

[hum of the ship, space sliding by outside]

[in bed, watching the stars]

Of course, my room has a window and a real bed.

Your room is a cargo hold when I’m not transporting…well, human cargo. [laughs a little] I guess it’s still a cargo hold. That’s why all the meal bars and protein shakes are in there. Did you think I put them there just for you? That room belongs to them! You’re the guest.

[stretch of quiet, space sounds]

Hm… Roll over again? I want to get another look at that map.

[laughs] Why would I be tricking you? You’re already in my bed. I’ve already seen everything…

[repositioning. Looking at the tattoo] Hm… Yeah, the map has moved a little more. It’s getting closer to the destination. I wonder what it’ll look like when we get there. It’s moving ink, so why not give us little fireworks or something when we reach the treasure?

Knock it off, you know it’s treasure.

Even if there isn’t an X and we don’t have to dig it up, it doesn’t make it not treasure. I don’t know why you refuse to call it what it is. Loot. Bounty. Booty. [laughs]

You mean, will it disappear after we find it? I don’t think so, Stardust… I’ve never known any moving ink to vanish on its own. If it bothers you, we could try to find someone to get rid of it. Once the treasure is already found, you won’t have to worry about someone trying to use it to get there.

…No, you’re right. They wouldn’t necessarily believe us that we’d already found it.

It’s not a bad tattoo. It’s beautiful work.

Stardust…[smiling] are you falling asleep?

Yeah. You can sleep here if you want. I mean…tonight. Not like, every night. Don’t try to steal my room.

[stretch of quiet]

[quieter, serious] You know this doesn’t change anything, right?

No. And we were not partners before we slept together. We’re not partners. We’re just… working together for the time being.

No, I don’t.

Nope.

I meant what I said.

Yes, I did.

I—[groans playfully] Stop it! How do you turn everything into a petty argument?

Yes, you— [stops when he realizes they’re doing it again] You’re evil.

[quiet hum of space and the ship]

[smiling] And how do you still have paint in your hair? I thought we got it all out…

Hm? Why do you want to know that?

[laughs soft] Are you trying to say that my life story is sure to be so boring that it’ll knock you out?

No. They weren’t. The only time my parents were ever on a spaceship was when they were being shipped out to the edge to colonize a new mining settlement. They used to say that I was born looking up… I think they just said that because they’d realized I’d have to go eventually. So, they told me I’d always wanted to be an adventurer and eventually I believed it.

The mines dried up sooner than the corporations expected. They stopped prioritizing the settlement. We’re far out, you know? It was close to the edge and that costs to maintain. When they finally decided it wasn’t worth it, they just stopped coming—stopped paying the mercenaries to guard the colony. Pirates and worse started to set up shop real quick after that. It’s still there, the last planetary settlement before the deep.

Hm? Oh, no, it was just me by then. I got on the first ship that would take me. Scariest ride of my life. That ship was a wreck, barely holding together, and we were packed standing inside it for hours. I can still remember the way it creaked and shook, like it was going to come apart and we’d all just be flushed out into space.

We made it to the nearest station. The captain we’d all paid, tried to double cross us by selling us to a skin ship. I was lucky that some of the others were armed and would rather go down shooting then get on that other vessel. It turned into a firefight right there in the station and we scattered. I stowed away on a big cargo ship and got out of there.

Oh, I definitely got caught, but by then we were away from the station and those cargo ships can’t waste time turning back. I guess they could have jettisoned my ass but the captain felt bad for me. I was barely more than a kid. He said he was short-handed so I could work for my food and board.

I was trying to get to the prime. [huffs a small laugh] I’m probably lucky I never made it. What would I have done there? They probably would have put my ass back on a ship running cargo out here.

…Yeah. [smiles] You’re right. If I’d gotten myself one of those legit long-haul jobs, who would have been out here to save you from those pirates?

I wouldn’t go that far.

Shut up and fall asleep already.

12.

[space sounds]

[muffled] Stardust!

[distant alarms sounding and then an impact shudder]

[muffled] Stardust!

[Stardust running to the bridge, door whoosh, ship shudder]

[ship] L-Class yacht closing in.

Get in that seat and buckle up!

Your cousin.

I’m pretty damn sure, Stardust. Aside from the fact that no one else out here has a chrome yacht armed to the teeth, he did have the courtesy to call before he started trying to blow out our engines.

[ship control sounds, impact shudder]

I said buckle up!

We’ll go through that debris, fly close to the asteroids and see if we can lose them… That yacht is huge, maybe we’ll get lucky and they won’t want to take the hits going through. Not sure we can hope they’ll break apart but who knows, maybe we have some luck left…

[ship control sounds]

Here. You have access to the guns. Shoot them if they get in range.

I know it won’t do much against their shields but it’s not like we’re just going to give up.

Really, Stardust? You want a breakdown of the conversation, right now?

[groans] He said I could hand you over and walk, or we’d both get a bullet. Now fucking shoot something!

[ship sounds, muffled gunfire]

Fuck… They’re blowing through the debris… It’s not even slowing them down.

We can’t outrun them. The only reason they haven’t blown us to bits is because they need you alive.

[ship] Exiting debris field.

There’s a gas cloud not far from here… Maybe…

[ship] L-Class yacht is too close for safe—

[ship shuddering, hit by the yacht]

They’re ramming us…

[ship alarm in background]

They’re not outfitted to grab and board us. I think they’re trying to disable our flight. If we’re floating dead, they’d have plenty of time to figure out how to get you out.

[ship] Hull damage to starboard side. Maintenance required.

[scoffs, sarcastic] Yeah, thanks ship, I’ll get right on that.

[another hit]

Fuck!

[Stardust unbuckling]

What are you doing? Sit back down! You’re going to get hurt!

What? No!

[Cosmic unbuckling and getting up]

Stop! We’re not doing that.

[worried and frustrated] …No, we can’t get away, but maybe we could…

[pause, Stardust talking]

[stubborn] I am not trading you.

I said no, Stardust. I’m not ditching you.

I’m not saying it wouldn’t work! I’m saying… I’m saying I won’t do it.

Maybe if we pretend to surrender… They can’t kill you until they get to the treasure.

[groans] Do not argue with me about calling it treasure right now…

We could wait until they dock with us and then—

[desperate] I know it’s not likely to work, Stardust, but what other options do we have?

No…No, I can’t do that.

I…I just can’t…I can’t!

[following them to the escape pod]

Stardust stop!

[ship] Escape pod activated.

Stop. [close] Just… Wait.

[ship hit again, alarm in the background still going off]

We’re only a few days out from the target, Stardust… Once they find it, they’re going to kill you.

We can keep going until they either back off or smash us apart… You don’t have to do this.

[ship shudder]

Fucking forget what I said! I’m telling you to stay.

You weren’t just a payday, okay? Now get back in your seat and—

[frustrated] Stardust—

[shudder a breath] Yeah, we almost made it…

They’re going to kill you. Don’t do this. Don’t go.

[pause, alarms and ship shudder background]

Three days…That’s a bad plan.

No, the tracking nanites are still active but they might be able to detect and eliminate them.

Fine. Fine! Yes. I can find you. Three days… I will find you.

[pod door whoosh]

[ship] Preparing escape pod.

[impact shudder, alarms, his shaking breath]

I am going to find you, Stardust.

Yeah… Because you’re my bounty. I told you I wouldn’t let you go without getting my cut, right?

I will find you. Just… try to stay alive until I do.

[door closes]

[ship] Escape pod release.

#audio script #sci fi romance #jouska #stardust and cosmic #dominimoonbeam #own work #ride or die in space #defying gravity universe #clover down #<3

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starsandhughes · 6 months

Text

Penalty Box Series— Quinn Hughes Edition (Thirteen)

23-24 Season Masterlist

previous: twelve

next: thirteen

NOVEMBER 15, 2023

yourusername

liked by _quinnhughes, bboser, and 19,859 others

yourusername welcome back to my postgame penalty box update show: QUINN MOTHER FUCKING HUGHES RUNS THE WORLD edition!

tonight, quinn went head to head (not literally though because quinny doesn't take face offs) with his ex captain/dad, bo horvat! (whom i miss very much!) and for those who were unfortunate enough to miss it, it was a DOOZY! this game was the best so here's a full play by play: sissy's version

let me start you off with the wonderful news that as of today, november 15th, quinn is the only defenseman in the league with a +20! this is my best friend's season! and bo got welcome home signs, and an amazing tribute video, and i was so heartbroken that i wasn't there because i just wanted to wrap him up in the biggest hug!

my nuckies didn't start off *strong* because ian got two penalties in a row and the islanders cashed in on both (rude) but things started going our way in the second! we got a power play and my good man millsy cashed in!!

and then we learned that petey can juggle and ride a unicycle at the same time! i already knew that, but shorty said "i don't know how many nhl players can juggle and ride a unicycle. i don't know how many nhl players have tried to juggle and ride a unicycle, but we know elias pettersson can!" and i DIED! we love sports journalism

and then bo was an absolute RUDE HEAD and scored against demmer! the disrespect! but don't worry, sissy fans— we got another power play and my favorite blonde princess scored on it! my least favorite hughes got an assist on it which means that QUINNY CURRENTLY LEADS THE LEAGUE IN ASSISTS AND IS TIED FOR SECOND IN POINTS!

now, if you didn't watch, you might be wondering "what the heckers is going on in the fifth pic?" well, my lovelies, there was a scrum and quinn decided to put the "hug" in huggy bear by holding palmieri in a cute little headlock and they had to be separated! quinny's gone wild! watch out!

in the third, two islanders penalties were called at once, so we got ourselves a 5 on 3! hronek cashed in on it with a 100 mph (there was great debate over this) slap shot! and quinn got ANOTHER assist! for those not counting, this made the score 3-3

next up: overtime! i was so scared because i did not want bo & co to win on his homecoming. i like poetry! and i got my wish because guess who scored the game winning goal? you guessed it! QUINN MOTHER FUCKING HUGHES! i was jumping (ish) and screaming (a lot) and i got my wish of poetry because it was the 43rd shot on goal for the canucks and it was quinn's third career overtime goal! (yes, he gets a trophy!!)

quinn, i am so unbelievably proud of you. you're making this your season and doing everything you've been working on the last few summers. you're finally being recognized for your talent, and i’ve never been happier. just always remember who your biggest fan is💙 i love you way past infinity!

tagged _quinnhughes

view all 247 comments

_quinnhughes i could've gone without the facetime call where you just screamed, but i still love you way past beyond, sissy💙

yourusername stfu you love my postgame facetimes

_quinnhughes you can't prove it

yourusername maybe not, but i feel it in my heart. my soul. my ass.

_quinnhughes you were so close to being poetic

yourusername i was poetic, you just don't appreciate my work

trevorzegras @/yourusername i appreciate your work

yourusername @/trevorzegras that's because you're a SIMP

trevorzegras @/yourusername damn right

user81 HE WAS SMILEY AFTER HIS GOAL I'M-😭

jackhughes @_quinnhughes WOOOOOO!

yourusername that's what i'm sayin'!

_quinnhughes @/jackhughes wow, i can't decide if "AHHHHHH" or "WOOOOO" means more to me

jackhughes @_quinnhughes i used six o's! you only typed five

_quinnhughes @/jackhughes well that changes everything

yourusername @_quinnhughes i feel like screaming incoherently via the phone has a lot more heart to it. i cared enough to call.

_quinnhughes @/jackhughes that wasn't an invitation to call me and scream "woo" with six o's!

jackhughes @_quinnhughes yes it was

yourusername @/jackhughes stop being an attention whore

jackhughes @/yourusername you first

yourusername @/jackhughes i can't, it's half my personality

_quinnhughes @/yourusername @/jackhughes i decided that sissy's means more because hers came with tears

yourusername @/jackhughes ✨suck it✨

user6 quinn did NOT want to be interviewed midway through the game omfg

user80 okay but the petey on a unicycle thing was so out of pocket😭 do you think he practiced when him and quinn lived together?

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes i'm also at six games! you aren't special

_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras you haven't played your last four games?

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes technicalities schmalities

yourusername @/trevorzegras you've gotten plenty of sissy penalties

_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras and i haven't gotten any of those in at least two weeks!

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes you don't live with her!

_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras technicalities schmalities

user62 THAT'S MY FIRST STAR OF THE GAME!!

bohorvat i miss you, too, y/n! you should come next time!

yourusername i’ll be gender reveal party planning! and very pregnant!

bohorvat i guess that's a valid excuse

yourusername oh good because then i’d have to think of a fake one that was better

_quinnhughes @/yourusername i need to know your first thought

yourusername @_quinnhughes "that's the day i'm planning to put jack into a permanent coma"

bohorvat both are equally good

_quinnhughes @/yourusername you should do that anyways

jackhughes @/yourusername @_quinnhughes HEY

yourusername @/jackhughes hi? didn't we just talk about you to stop being an attention whore? i’m going to need to see some more effort from you

bboeser am i not your only blonde princess?

yourusername you are? what is the issue here?

bboeser you said i’m your favorite which normally means that there's more than one

yourusername i will not hesitate to deem someone else a blonde princess and make you my least favorite if you won't be GRATEFUL

_quinnhughes @/yourusername what other blondes do you know?

yourusername @_quinnhughes i’ll just make jamie bleach his hair blonde

jamie.drysdale @/yourusername you better mean benn

yourusername @/jamie.drysdale you did it as a youth! it'll only be a little haunting! but it's for a good cause!

jamie.drysdale @/yourusername spite is not a good cause

yourusername @/jamie.drysdale maybe not to YOU

user48 "quinn decided to put the "hug" in huggy bear" HA

user3 we can't play who's sissy's least favorite hughes because you already said it in the caption :(

yourusername i'm sorry :( it was to match me calling brock my favorite! i’ll be more mindful of my fans next time🫡

lhughes_06 tag yourself i'm the ninth pic

yourusername i’m the second pic!

lhughes_06 you're no fun

yourusername i’m a happy person! mostly!

jackhughes i’m quinn in the fifth pic and @.yourusername is palmieri

yourusername @/jackhughes ummm uno reverse that

jackhughes @/yourusername you should've tagged yourself first then!

lhughes_06 @/jackhughes don't flatter yourself

jackhughes @/lhughes_06 sissy doesn't always win!

_quinnhughes @/jackhughes i’m not sure me and trevor grabbing her before she hits her head on something counts as you winning

jackhughes @_quinnhughes her being a klutz is not on me

_alexturcotte i’m the seventh pic over this argument

lhughes_06 @_alexturcotte nailed it

user88 jack and sissy are back at it again

user76 this game had me screaming and crying both in good and bad ways

colecaufield @_quinnhughes i think your headlock move has satisfied y/n for the time being

_quinnhughes @/colecaufield wait for it

yourusername @/colecaufield he still didn't get a penalty! he should've thrown hands

_quinnhughes there it is

trevorzegras @/yourusername he tried his best! he got separated!

_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras i really didn't

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes i’m trying to help you

_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras she won't be satisfied until i "throw hands"

yourusername this is true

colecaufield @/yourusername have you ever heard of "you get what you get and you don't throw a fit"?

yourusername @/colecaufield no <3

user32 why is no one talking about the fourth pic? i think we need to talk about the fourth pic

_alexturcotte six whole games since his last penalty? that's too many

yourusername is that because you're only at four?

_alexturcotte YOU COUNTED?!

yourusername don't think my son didn't text me that you got a penalty when you played against my babies on october 29th! i know you slashed!

colemcward @_alexturcotte my bad

yourusername @/colemcward you do nothing wrong, ever. i miss you and i love you. so much. thank you for tattling<3

colemcward @/yourusername i miss and love you, too, mom!❤️

_alexturcotte AND YOU WAITED UNTIL NOW TO BRING IT UP?

yourusername i was waiting for the perfect moment to truly belittle you

trevorzegras @/yourusername what other information do you have that you're waiting for the perfect moment for?

yourusername @/trevorzegras that's classified

_alexturcotte this is terrifying at best

_quinnhughes @_alexturcotte she holds grudges for things like this

yourusername @_quinnhughes you mean like how i still remember your interference penalty against robo in the third period on february 27th, 2023?

_quinnhughes @_alexturcotte see?

trevorzegras @_alexturcotte you done fucked up, bud

colemcward @_alexturcotte (mom don't read this!) my bad

_alexturcotte great

#penalty box series #penalty box series: quinn hughes edition #quinn hughes #quinn hughes edit #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes fanfic #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes au #trevor zegras #trevor zegras x reader #jack hughes #luke hughes #alex turcotte imagine #alex turcotte #cole caufield #quinn hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine #nhl imagine #hockey imagine

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rwrbmovie · 2 months

Text

re: rwrb emmy noms odds

Yesterday, I replied to an ask about rwrb's odds for emmy noms, and I like numbers and was procrastinating had time today to dig deeper into this. I wanted to see our odds for the Emmy noms compared to the Golden Globes (which rwrb didn't get).

Before reading this post, I encourage you to check out the linked reply above first (it's a quick read).

NOTE: This is all using data from Gold Derby. Again, anyone can just create an account and do their own predictions, but it’s still the main website for predictions, including votes from experts. Emmys noms campaigning season have just started, these are very early predictions, so these odds can change dramatically from now to early June. Some shows that are eligible are yet to air, however are expected for nominations. The data I include in this post are as of April 6. I might revisit their odds once all predictions are locked in, so we can track any changes.

Quick explainer for Gold Derby: - There are 5 types of users on Gold Derby: experts, editors, top 24 users (users who had the best scores last year), all-star top 24 (users who had the best scores over the past two years), and the rest of the users on the website - When I say total rankings, it means the combined votes from everyone Total accuracy for the Golden Globes predictions: - TV Limited Series/Movie - 83.33% - TV Limited/Movie Actor - 63.67% Links: Golden Globes | Emmys

Previously, some predicted a Golden Globes nom for RWRB (which it didn’t get), but RWRB/Prime did not campaign for that. The SAG-Aftra strike ended on Nov 9th, and the deadline for Television nomination ballots to be sent to all voters was on the 20th. Now with the strike over, Prime seems to be actively pushing for the Emmy noms, and I think we can expect some more content asides from The Awardist podcast with Nick and Taylor. There is a higher chance of an Emmy nom as Limited Series and TV Movies have separate categories.

As of now, RWRB sits at #4 (out of 15) on Gold Derby’s total rankings, and there are slots for 5 nominees. If filtered to just the experts’ votes, it actually climbs to #3.

For the Golden Globes, RWRB was ranked #13/41 (all votes from users, no experts/editors). For this category, Gold Derby had an 83.33% accuracy.

ACTING NOMS:

EMMYS

From the votes from experts and editors, only one editor voted for a nomination for Taylor, and none for Nick. The one vote puts Taylor at a tie with Austin Butler and Aaron Pierre.

However on the total rankings table, Taylor and Nick ranked #17 and #26, respectively (with Nick for Mary & George at #18).

GOLDEN GLOBES

Similarly to the Emmys, Taylor had one vote from an editor, but he placed higher on the table at #9 (tied with Joe Cole). Again, no votes for either from experts.

On the total rankings table, Taylor and Nick placed at #13 and #14, respectively.

Uma Thurman also has votes in the total rankings for both the Emmys and Golden Globes.

Emmys

Golden Globes

The Emmys TV Movie/Limited Series Lead Actor category is so stacked that the boys and Uma had higher chances at the Golden Globes. Again, remember these are very early predictions, so changes to these odds are expected.

#red white and royal blue #rwrb movie #rwrb #taylor zakhar perez #nicholas galitzine #uma thurman #awards #emmys #golden globes #*#tzp #ng #emmy predictions

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takingchences · 8 months

Text

ultraviolet pt. 2 - BAKUGOU

A descendant of a legendary quirk longs to separate herself from her family name, but first she'll have to confront villains, ghosts from the past, and her growing attraction for Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight.

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x OP!fem!oc

Warnings: swearing

series masterlist + face claim

"What? A Quirk assessment test?" Most of the class exclaimed in unison.

"But orientation!" Uraraka whined. "We're gonna miss it!" Who cares? Sana sighed, just wanting to jump into the action already. She was dying to know the quirks of her new classmates and get a feel for her competition.

Their home room teacher obviously couldn't have cared less about missing something as trivial as orientation. "If you really wanna make the big leagues, you can't waste time on pointless ceremonies." Uraraka and others gasped at the haggard man's brutal honesty. Sana nodded her head solemnly in agreement. "Here at UA, we're not tethered to traditions. That means that I get to run my class however I see fit." A few uneasy looks were spotted in the crowd. The unidentified pro held up a small tablet. "You've been taking standardized tests most of your lives, but you never got to use your Quirks in physical exams before. The country's still trying to pretend we're all created equal by not letting those with the most power excel. It's not rational. One day, the Ministry of Education will learn."

Not if my father has anything to say about it, she argued.

Mr. Aizawa turned towards the angry ash blonde standing not two feet away from her. "Bakugou, you managed to get the most points on the entrance exam. What was your farthest distance throw with a softball when you were in Junior High?"

"Sixty‐seven meters, I think."

So Blondie's name is Bakugou.

"Right. Try doing it with your Quirk. Anything goes, just stay in the circle." Bakugou stepped inside the designated area. Sana watched his every breath and each shift of his muscular frame in anticipation. That confidence of his is killer. His quirk must be incredibly strong.

"Go on. You're wasting our time." An impatient Aizawa stood off to the side with his hands in his pockets.

Bakugou stretched his throwing arm in preparation. "Alright, man. You asked for it." He replied nonchalantly. Then, with a crazed look in his eyes, he suddenly wound his arm back and-

"DIE!" He screeched inhumanly as he released an explosion from his hand, sending the ball rocketing through the sky. Sana's eyes narrowed at the display of power. Just as she'd expected, Blondie had a strong and flashy quirk... but did he really have to be so loud all of the time?

"All of you need to know your maximum capabilities," Aizawa narrated as the class silently followed the trajectory of Bakugou's pitch. The ball eventually came to a stop, making the device in Aizawa's hand beep. "It's the most rational way of figuring out your potential as a pro hero." He flipped the device around to show them Bakugou's results.

705.2 meters. An impressive score, Sana could admit, but not an unbeatable one.

"Whoa, 705 meters, are you kidding me?" Kaminari was shocked by the results of the test, pun very much intended.

Bakugou returned to his original spot with a cocky smirk, flashing his teeth at Sana in hopes of provoking a fight. He obviously wasn't one to shy away from a challenge. Luckily, neither was she. Just you wait, pretty boy. I'll blow you straight out of the water.

After a few students made the mistake of commenting on how fun it looked, their teacher smiled sadistically before adding a punishment: whoever ranked last at the end of the eight tests would be expelled.

"You can't send one of us home! I mean, we just got here! Even if it wasn't the first day, that isn't fair!" Uraraka once again confronted their teacher.

"Oh, and you think natural disasters are?" Aizawa countered. "Or power‐hungry villains, hmm? Or catastrophic accidents that wipe out whole cities? No, the world is full of unfairness. It's a hero's job to try to combat that unfairness. If you wanna be a pro, you're gonna have to push yourself to the brink. For the next three years, UA will throw one terrible hardship after another at you. So, go beyond. Plus Ultra‐style." He bent his finger in a come here motion. "Show me it's no mistake that you're here."

Sana's fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into the soft flesh of her palms. Her eyes cut to the dual-haired boy standing in the back of the group. So close, yet so far away. I have to prove that I'm strong enough to make it on my own.

"Now then. We're just wasting time by talking. Let the games begin."

The first part of the apprehension test was the 50-meter dash. So far, the most impressive score had come from Iida, but what else would you expect from a guy with engines in his legs? Soon, it was Sana's turn to run. She was paired up against a blonde guy with a tail.

This is my time to shine. As she'd passed by Bakugou to stand at the starting point, she'd made sure to brush his shoulder with her's. Immediately, a warmth had flowed through her body from where they'd made contact. Sana crouched low to the ground and released a deep breath.

Thank you, Bakugou...

Her glowing eyes locked with the said male's just as the starting pistol was about to go off. Her lips curved into a devious grin, making his red eyes widen slightly.

...for being my stepping stone.

There was a burst of blinding light where the girl had once been standing, causing many of the observers to turn away and shield their eyes. Before the class had time to process what had just happened, the measuring device beeped.

"0.11 seconds!" The automated voice cheered.

Standing at the finish line was Sana, lightly panting as she bent to rest her hands on her knees. Running at the speed of light, her pastel hair cast her eyes in shadow, but did nothing to hide the proud smirk on her face. Try and top that.

"HUUUUUH?" The class exclaimed.

Mina, Kaminari, Kirishima, and a boy named Hanta Sero immediately circled the peach-haired girl once she rejoined the rest of the class. "What the heck was that?!" Mina grabbed her shoulders and shook her. "It was crazy cool, babes!"

"What a manly score!" Kirishima held out a fist, making Sana laugh as she bumped their knuckles together. Thankfully, his quirk wasn't activated, otherwise her hand would've crumbled like wet paper beneath his.

Kaminari slung an arm over her shoulder. "So that's your special move, huh? How about I show you mine tonight-"

"Oi, Flashlight!"

The lightning-haired teen was cut off by a gruff voice. The small group turned to face Bakugou, his red eyes seemingly trying to peer into her soul and learn all of her secrets. "It's Sana," she reminded him with a sigh. "Did you need something?"

"What's your quirk?"

"Does it matter?"

The ash blonde's lip curled in annoyance. "Ya think I didn't notice? You did something." He squeezed his shoulder with a frown. He quickly snapped out of his trance and thrust a finger in her face. "So tell me what the hell your quirk is!"

"I didn't do anything to you." Sana held her hands up defensively. "I just wanted to power up."

"Huh?" He yelled, just as visibly confused as the rest of her new friends.

(Present Mic announcing) "Sana Sakano, her Quirk: Light Manipulation! By absorbing heat and light into her body, she can create blasts of radiation. The more energy she takes in, the stronger her attacks are!"

"Obviously, the Sun is my main source of energy, but any kind of heat will do." Sana tried her best to explain the inner workings of her quirk. "Your quirk has to do with fire, so naturally, your body's core temperature is higher than normal." She placed a hand on Sero's and Kirishima's toned arms and felt a sliver of warmth soak into her palms. "It works with anyone, though I prefer people like you." She shrugged.

"Does your shitty quirk weaken the other person?" Bakugou pressed, his anger unwavering.

"No," Sana answered sourly. "So don't blame me when you lose."

The explosive blonde scoffed. "Whatever. I don't need other people to help me win." Her spirits fell as he turned and stalked away in his strange, grumpy-old-man way, hands shoved into his pockets. Her new friends noticed the sadness in her eyes and immediately tried to cheer her up.

"Hey, don't mind him." Sero reassured her.

"Yeah!" Mina jumped in. "We believe in you, so go out there and kick his ass!" Sana's eyes glimmered, her mouth slightly open in surprise as she stared at each of the four teens in front of her.

They're so... warm.

She didn't mean physically, but a different type of warmth altogether. They offered their attention and affection, two things that Sana had craved her entire life. She had always known coldness: a distant father who brushed her thoughts, feelings and existence aside, a broken, empty home where she spent most nights alone, eating her meals in deafening silence. A family that wasn't a family at all, but business partners. To them, Sana was nothing but an investment, her stock only rising as her power grew and developed. The second that changed, she'd be deemed worthless and discarded.

Just like her mother.

It was why she and Shoto had gotten along so well. They'd lived such similar lives, experienced a lot of the same pain. They could relate to each other in a way most people would never understand. And that was fine, because they knew that they would always have each other.

But somewhere along the way, she'd lost him too.

He'd left, grown cold like his right side, become unapproachable like her father. The home she'd once found in him had become just as dark and deserted as the one she would return to day after day, and once again, she found herself out in the cold. But here, with these people...

U.A really is the best.

The class was tested on their grip strength, followed by the standing long jump. Bakugou had cleared the sandbox by setting off explosions to keep him airborne, which gave Sana an idea for her turn.

When her name was called, she felt her eyes light up as her quirk powered on. Leveling her palms with the ground, she pushed off with her feet and activated her quirk. Like a rocket, blasts of energy burst from her palms and sent her shooting through the air, easily clearing the sandbox. Her landing, on the other hand, could use some improvement. She rolled across the grass a few times before finally coming to a stop. Hearing the concern in her friends' voices, she flashed them a lazy smile and a thumbs up.

Idiot. Bakugou thought to himself as he watched the girl climb to her feet, dirt now smudged along her cheek and PE uniform.

A few pieces of pastel hair, which she'd tied back with a ribbon at the beginning of the assessment, had been freed during the tumble. They floated and danced around her face as she bounced up to the group of morons she called friends. Her smile hadn't wavered, not since he'd confronted her about her quirk. It was seriously starting to piss him off. How could she be so happy with the way things were going? The only standout score she'd managed to get so far was the 50-meter dash, and that was because she'd used him to do it!

One of the final tests was the ball toss, where Bakugou had set a high standard. I just have to beat 705.2 meters, Sana repeated like a mantra in her head.

She'd turned away, as it was Shoto's turn to throw. She hadn't been able to look at him for too long. The distance—both physical and metaphorical—between them too great and far too painful to acknowledge. So Sana ignored it, shoving every thought of him out of her mind. Of how much stronger he'd become over the last few months, how his hair was longer, how he seemed taller than the last time she'd seen him, his muscular frame more developed-

No, bad Sana. She scolded herself for letting her mind slip. She doubted Shoto had thought such things when he'd seen her this morning, learned that they'd been placed in the same class-

Dammit! I'm doing it again!

Thankfully, Shoto was now done, Uraraka having taken his place inside the white circle. She didn't even have to throw the ball. With her gravity quirk, one touch was all it took for her to reach infinity. Midoriya was up next, then Sana.

"If Midoriya doesn't shape up soon, he's the one going home." Iida put to words what they were all thinking, worry clear in his voice.

"Huh? Of course he is. He's a Quirkless loser." The explosive blonde glared at the greenette from across the field.

"Really?" Sana exclaimed in awe.

The rest of 1-A was surprised by her genuine excitement. Ever since U.A had amended the rule about quirkless students entering the Hero Course, she'd been anticipating the day that someone without a quirk would step up and prove themselves. It wasn't power that made a hero. Endeavor was living proof of that.

"He has a Quirk." Iida insisted, his brows furrowed in confusion. "Did you not hear about what he did in the entrance exam?"

Damn, she cursed. I forgot about that.

In the circle, Midoriya readied his arm, a look of pure concentration on his face. His arm seemed to glow for a moment before he released the ball. The baseball fell to the ground seconds later, barely 40 meters away.

"Wow. That was, uh..." Sana's eyes shifted between the boy and the ball. ... extremely underwhelming, she sweat dropped. What could he have possibly done during the entrance exam to impress so many people?!

Midoriya exchanged a few words with their teacher before coming to a realization. "Ah! Those goggles. I know you! You can look at someone and cancel out their powers. The Erasure Hero. Eraser Head!"

"Eraser?" Sero scratched his head. "Who's that?"

A frog-like girl came to the rescue. "I've heard of him. I think he works on the down‐low."

Teacher and pupil spoke a little longer, none of them being able to hear exactly what the two were saying. Once Midoriya returned to his spot to try again, the class whispered amongst themselves about what they possibly might've discussed.

"I wonder if our teacher gave him some advice."

"Probably told him to start packing." The satisfaction oozing from Bakugou was troubling to say the least. It was unlikely that he enjoyed much of anything due to his prickly personality, but did he really dislike the green-haired boy so badly that he was actually rooting for him to fail?

"SMASH!" Midoriya shouted as he released the ball a second time. The ball was launched into the air from the pressure, the speed and velocity of the ball on par with Bakugou's, though the explosive teen was too shocked by the fact that surprise—Midoriya is, in fact, not quirkless—to do anything other than gawk.

The end result? 705.3 meters.

Alright, Midoriya, Sana nodded her head in acknowledgment.

Bakugou, shaking himself out of whatever stupor he'd been in, immediately launched himself at the greenette, Aizawa being forced to restrain him with his fashionable scarf—sorry, capture weapon.

"How the hell am I supposed to follow that?" Sana muttered to herself.

"You're wasting my time now." Aizawa grumbled as the students crowded around the boy with the broken finger. "Whoever's next can step up."

That would be me, Sana sighed, stepping forward. Aizawa handed her the ball, which she reluctantly accepted. Taking her place inside the circle, Sana couldn't help but frown down at the white paint, grateful that the class—namely Bakugou—was unable see her unease. Her quirk didn't enhance any of her physical abilities besides her speed and that stunt had burned through most of her stored energy. Thankfully, it was a bright, sunny day out, so whatever reserves she'd lost had quickly been replenished. But throwing a ball (ideally) over 705.2 meters would be a difficult task.

I don't know what to do.

She couldn't help but picture a white-and-red-haired boy in her place. Shoto would've already thrown it. Only the weak hesitate, a voice berated. But it didn't sound like her own. The voice was deeper, more masculine, like her father's telling her nothing she does will ever be good enough. Or like Enji Todoroki's, always reminding her of his son's superiority.

You're not weak, Sana grit her teeth, banishing all thoughts of her former friend. She spotted ash blonde spikes out of the corner of her eye, thought of the harsh words he'd spoken. You don't need others to help you.

"Any day now." That was her teacher's voice. Shit. How much time had she wasted already?

Sana took a deep breath in, felt the rush of her quirk flooding through her. Releasing her breath slowly, she began to run along the inner edges of the white circle, her figure a blur of peach and navy blue. Gripping the softball tightly, she drew her arm back before flinging it into the air. It may not be much now, but...

Her glowing eyes followed the ball's course intently. It whistled through the air before crashing into the soft earth. The device in her teacher's hand displayed her score: 607 meters.

I'm just getting started.

#bnha #mha #my hero academia #bnha x reader #boku no hero acedamia #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha bakugou #katsuki bakugou #shoto todoroki #bakugou x reader #bakusqaud #kirishima eijirou #bakugo katsuki #mina ashido #bnha fluff

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