#oh man that old man gosh darn it

[dcxdpdabbles]

I love your writing. It's just the best. Seriously I check dc dp tags to see if you've written anything.

By the way, can you write anythng with another dc hero or maybe a villain? Maybe Superman or Captain Marvel(Shazam) or anything. You don't have to obviously, but it would be really cool if you did.

Oh gosh, thank you! I'm glad you like my rambles. I'm happy to write you a dabble! Hope you like!

Billy Batson was expecting a lot when the Wizard told him to only break the ice crystal in dire situations. He figured if the dying man had enough time to pass on thousands of years' worth of knowledge and store Old magical artifacts, then the Crystal had to be a last resort.

He also figured it wouldn't be so darn breakable. Billy felt they should have made the last resort a little steadier if it was so important.

But no, one accidental trip over his far too worn-out pants legs had the thing shattering like cheap glass.

Billy stares at the shimmering remains, his heart pounding in his chest as the soft green glow that had always come from the crystal fades away.

"Oh no. no, no, no. I can fix this. I can fix this. " He whispers to himself, falling to his knees and scooping up the pieces. He tries to reattach them, but the crystal melts in his palms. "I can't fix this."

All this because some jerk kicked him out of his old sleeping place, down by the docks. He had been squatting in Old Man's Jackson shed ever since the man finally bit the dust, and he had been so excited to have a building all to himself. Word must have gotten around somehow because he comes back from a Justice Leauge Meeting to find a sixteen-year-old rooting through his stuff.

As a homeless ten-year-old, Billy had scrambled to reclaim his possessions, including this critical crystal, jumping on the intruder with a war cry. He got a broken arm, a black eye, and a few bruised ribs for his troubles.

Thankfully he could walk away with most of his things as the teen sneered and screamed at him while he ran away.

It's not that Billy couldn't fight off the homeless teenager, but he didn't, and to go all Captain Marvel on some random citizen. Captain Marvel can go toe to toe with Superman, but plain old Billy Batson struggles to take kids his own age. He's always been smaller than his age group, not to mention hunger's damage to him.

He returned to the abandoned subway, stumbling down the dark tunnel. Billy didn't like the place- it was damp and cold and a little too open if someone else wandered in, but it was the only place he could go for the night on such short notice. He was thinking of asking Batman if he could take more shifts on monitor duty just so he could sleep at the watch tower.

Then his pants leg got stuck on a broken stair, and he fell, sending his dew earthly possessions into the air. Now he was, blinking away the spots from the beating the teenager gave him and a powerful artifact he promised the Wizard he keep safe, broken beyond repair.

Against his will, sobs start to shake his body. The more he fought to clear his eyes from the tears, the more he began to fall. He leans his forehead on the floor, uncaring how a piece of crystal cuts his skin, causing a trail of crimson to flow down his face. What's one more scar on his already broken body?

In a moment of weakness, he violently wishes he could run to his mom for comfort. It's a fantasy. She's long gone, buried next to his dad, and his uncle was somewhere warm spending their money.

The knowledge causes more despair, and he sobs harder.

Why does he have to be here hungry, without a home, when his father's brother didn't even bother to attend their funeral is living off of his inheritance? Living great, if all the zeros he saw on the check were any indication?

Life is genuinely unfair sometimes. That's why he took being Captain Marvel so seriously. Someone had to protect people from the cruelty of life.

A swirling green portal rips open underneath him just as the trailing thought of I wish someone out there wanted to protect me just as much.

His echoing scream, the swirling green, is the last thing Billy knows before everything goes black.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Billy wakes to the sound of someone humming. He blinks open his eyes, fighting against the exhaustion and the siren call of slumber. The first thing he notices is the soft green of the walls, like the color of Easter eggs he used to paint with his Dad. He smiles at them.

It's his favorite color.

Then Billy notices his eyes getting heavy again as he slowly turns his head into the plush pillow and sinks into the warm blankets around him. His body is boneless in comfort, his eyes are closed, and he's just dropping off into dreamland when his mind finally notices that you're homeless and don't know this room. You're in danger!

Billy leaps off the bed like he's been shocked, throwing the two blankets on the ground. Glancing around, he's horrified to see he's in some kind of kid room- comics, toys, posters- all tailored to his tastes. He can even spot an archeology kit for kids sitting on a desk, just like the ones his parents used to buy him when he wanted to help out in their digs.

He always thought he actually found something in his little play rocks while waiting at one of the tents as his parents worked. They always beamed when he showed them the fake dinosaur bones he discovered in his kits.

He even has nice, fluffy pajamas. The kind that doesn't have buttons or zippers but is oversized, so they let him toss and turn in the night. His bottoms are a grey and black checker pattern, while the top has the Batman symbol proudly on the front.

Everything is perfect, from the decor, to his clothes to even the furniture placement.

It's the bedroom of his dreams.

Oh gosh, he has been Coraline-ed!

"Oh, Billy! You're up. Breakfast is ready and I just finished ironing your uniform." A man's voice says from the doorway. He swings his head around to see a man in his late twenties in an apron smiling at him. He's handsome, has fluffy black hair and baby-blue eyes, and practically embodies comforting vibes.

The other-mother.

"Who are you!?" Billy demands, fist raised. He can't go Captain Marvel with someone dead on staring at him- at least he risks his secret identity, but he has been on the streets long enough to put up a decent fight.

The man seems flabbergasted by his aggression which causes Billy to bristle until he slaps his own forehead.

"Right, forgot about the introduction. I'm Danny Fenton, and I will be your new guardian until you are old enough to care for yourself." Danny smiles, and the boy can't help but find it too pretty to be authentic. "As per your request as the champion of Magic."

Billy has been taken by someone who knows he's Captain Marvel. Which could be better on the one hand but on the other, it means he can do this.

"Shazam!" A bolt of lighting has him shifting into his adult form and flying a break neck speed towards the threat. He intends to punch Danny, but his fist is caught in Danny's palm like it's nothing.

Danny seems unimpressed. "Don't think you can Shazam yourself out of class, young man. Being a hero will cut your attendance, but I won't allow you to skip just because."

Calm yourself, child Batson Solomon says to Bill. King Phantom is here per your request for aid. He will not harm you.

What request!? I never called for him!

When you broke the Infinite Realms Crysta of distress, you called for someone to protect you like your caregivers once did. King Phantom is the most vigorous protective spirit in all the realms. He answered the call. Solomon replies. Billy can feel the god shift on his golden throne a sense of amusement. It's strange to know what the gods are doing without really seeing them He made a deal with the wizard to pose as your father until you are of age. You both are bonded by this Oath.

An oath. That made Billy feel a little better. He knows that once an Oath is made, no one in the parties involved can break it. If the Wizard had done one while borrowing Billy's body then Billy would be untouchable until the contract was done.

He has a new dad that would be bound by magic and the might of the six gods to protect him.

Billy was curious to know if that was a good thing or not. Being protected is not the same as being loved.

"Kid? You okay?" Danny asks.

"What is expected of me? What do you want me to do?" Billy counters, floating back a little now that he knows what's happening. An Oath is a two-way deal. If Danny had to pretend to be Bill's father, then Billy had to do something for Danny.

"Well, I expect you to have your teeth brushed and eat your breakfast before class, but something tells me that's not what you mean." Danny jokes with a chuckle. Billy frowns, which makes the humor on the man's face disappear. "In all honesty? You are my anchor. I haven't been in the material world for years. Not since my home dimension was destroyed by an asteroid. I missed it. I missed people."

Okay, nothing sinister. But he would never let this random stranger think he had the right to boss Billy around.

"You don't have to pretend to be my dad when we're alone. And you can't tell me what to do!" Billy hisses, expecting the man to get upset like other foster fathers had been before he ran.

Danny nods. "Sounds fair. Sorry for coming on like a fruitloop."

"A.....fruitloop?"

"A big fruitloop. One with a cat."

Right.

"You said my uniform. What uniform?" Billy asks to choose to come back to Danny's odd phrase later.

"Gotham Acadamy. I signed you up for classes-"

"We're in Gotham!? Why?!"

Danny tilts his head. "It's the only place with enough death to sustain me."

Billy is glad he is Captain Marvel right now. Otherwise, he thinks he would need more guts to ask. "Why do you need death?"

"Not death itself, more like the by-product. I need ectoplasm since I;;m a ghost." With a bright flash of twin rings, Danny shifts into a very obviously non-human form, and Billy's mouth drops.

"You're dead?!"

"So-and-so. I'm a halfa. A being dead and alive but at the same time neither" Danny rubs the back of his neck, twirling his small point tail nervously. "Yeah, it's a bit confusing. Sorry."

"It's fine....ugh so we just live in Gotham until I'm what eighteen?"

"Until your twenty." Danny winces at the glare Billy throws him. "Sorry, ghosts see adulthood as two decades for the living, two centuries for the dead. Since I'm both, I have to follow both and thus have to be your caregiver until you're twenty. I can portal you to Fawcett whenever you need to hero with the snap of my fingers. It'll be inconvenient, but I promise it will be better than the streets. And I will never, ever hurt you, Billy."

Billy crosses his arms, listening with half a ear as the gods start speaking at one, their voices and opinions a background noise he long learns to turn out until Atlas is louder than the rest.

I understand this might be a lot at once, young Batson, but accept King Phantom's help. You will no longer be alone. It is not easy carrying the world on your shoulders, trust me.

The god's words make Billy sure this is a good idea.

"Shazam!" With another burst of lighting, Billy is a kid again, stretching his neck back to make eye contact with the taller man. "Alright. You got yourself a deal .... again."

Danny grins, warm and delight dancing in his eyes. "Excellent! Lets's hurry then, we're supposed to arrive at your school early today to meet with a man in charge of your scholarship who is my new employer for computer software. That's our cover, by the way. We moved here after I got a job at the man's company."

"Who are we meeting?"

"Someone unimportant, I'm sure," Danny says, waving a hand. "My friend Clockwork set us up our background, we have the papers to prove everything."

Billy finds out that Danny really is from a different universe because how in the world could he claim Bruce Wayne as unimportant!

[stylesloveclub]

Prose (part 1)

In which y/n's taking way too many units, and Harry's the graduate assistant for her Literature class.

+++

 It’s a gloomy autumn day, the sun nowhere to be found, the sky cloudy and gray. Y/n stands in front of Dr. Richmond’s door, nervously pulling back her hair and righting the state of her sweater.

The wind outside was not forgiving today, blowing harsh and cold and whipping her hair all over like she was caught in the middle of a god damn tornado. She tucks any stray pieces behind her ears and pats her wind-stung cheeks – oh gosh, she probably looks a mess.

She should’ve worn something more professional, she thinks to herself as she tugs her skirt down. Maybe trousers and a blazer– or at least a pair of jeans. Not this stupid little black skirt that keeps riding up, halfway hidden underneath her cream-colored knitted sweater. It keeps riding up, no matter how firmly she keeps tugging it down, and she’s got a horrible inkling that she might’ve accidentally flashed her bum at the workers in the street while she was walking to campus today. 

She looks down at her shoes, a pair of black mary janes, paired with some lacy white socks to decorate her ankles. They looked super cute when she put them on this morning – but now she’s worried that she looks like a kindergartener. Is she too old to be wearing frilly socks? They’re just so darn cute… but she doubts the sixty-something year old professor that’s on the other side of the door would think the same thing. 

Wiping her sweaty palms on her skirt, she takes a deep breath. It’s now or never. She lifts her hand up to the door, and nervously brings her knuckles down to knock. 

It took all of her confidence to come to Dr. Richmond’s office today. She’s not a huge fan of talking to professors outside of class – drafting emails to them literally sends her into a spiral of stress, and she always feels like she’s gonna shit her pants when she goes to office hours– but she has no choice but to come and directly talk to Dr. Richmond today. She’d sent him two emails already (both of them had taken her over two hours to send because she actually despises writing emails and is always nervous that she’s gonna make a typo, or call the professor the wrong name, or accidentally attach her sex tape ((even though she doesn’t have a sex tape?)), but he hadn’t responded to either of those emails and she needs a response from him ASAP.

The door opens before her knuckles even make contact with wood, a short stout man walking out of the office with his briefcase in hand. He’s balding, with only a thin circle of gray hair lining the back perimeter of his head, and a pair of classes sit on his large, oily nose. Y/n stumbles, her eyes widening as she embarrassingly lowers her knuckles from the door and takes a startled step backwards. 

“Oh– um, Dr. Richmond?” she stammers nervously, her voice at a much higher pitch than usual. She’d love to stick a pore strip on his nose and unclog all those blackheads.

“That’s me,” he grumbles, sighing heavily, not even looking at her. He’s the head of the English Language and Literature department, a busy man surely. Students probably pester him every hour of every day. Still, she wishes that maybe she could’ve gotten a more… enthusiastic response from him. 

“Hi, sir,” she says, swallowing thickly. “I-I was having some issues with enrolling in your English 270 lecture and– um,” she’s starting to lose confidence as Dr. Richmond blatantly ignores her, rummaging through his briefcase for his keys. “I was… wondering if you had a second to, um, discuss it?” Her voice quietly fades towards the end, not sure if Dr. Richmond was even listening at that point– as he’d taken out his phone and started replying to a text while she had still been talking. 

He takes a solid five seconds to type out and send his text before responding to y/n. “Take it up with Harry,” he mumbles, still not looking at her. “M’done for the day.”

“Harry?” she repeats, her voice confused and eyebrows pinching together. But Dr. Richmond’s already walking away from her, halfway down the hall. “Oh,” she mumbles to herself sadly, lips pouting. All that, for nothing. He literally just walked away from her. 

She sighs heavily, ready to turn on her heel and walk back to her apartment from this failed mission – but then a voice sounds from inside the office. "In here!" it calls out.

She peaks her head inside timidly. 

Behind the desk sits a boy, with chocolate brown curls swirled atop his head. “Hello,” he hums, putting the essay he’d been reading down on the desk and looking at her with all his attention. There’s a soft smile on his pretty pink lips, twisted to the side with a dimple poking at his cheek. His eyes are green and glimmer kindly, framed by a pair of dark tortoise shell glasses.  “How can I help you?”

This man is much more attractive than grumpy old (and oily) Dr. Richmond. 

Y/n struggles to find her voice. “Are you… um, are you Harry?” Her eyes flicker all over this attractive young man’s face, trying to figure out if this is a hallucination or if a boy that pretty actually exists in real life. 

“Indeed I am,” he chirps, his chair squeaking as he leans forward. She briefly remembers seeing the name “Harry E. Styles” listed as the graduate teaching assistant, underneath Dr. Richmond’s name on the course website, and is finally connecting the dots. He’s dressed in a white button up, the top few buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to reveal tattooed forearms and an anchor on his wrist. His fingers tap against the desk rhythmically, and she finds her eyes drawn to the glittery rings decorating them. Her mind goes blank. 

It’s clear that he’s a few years older than herself – but not in a bad way. He just looks taller and broader and… smarter than most of the boys her own age. He has just the slightest bit of stubble on his upper lip, and his eyes just shine with wisdom and intellect.

“Did you have a question?” he asks, voice a little teasing as he jolts her out of her little trance. She tucks her hair behind her ear, embarrassed, and quickly averts her eyes from his hands.

“Yeah, um– Dr. Richmond said you’d be able to help me with my enrollment issues?” 

“Sure,” he crosses one leg over the other (y/n definitely notices the way his meaty thighs bulge) and leans back in his seat, hands folded neatly on his knee, “What’s up?”

“Well, I wanted to enroll in English 270, the Romantic Literature and Society lecture–” Harry nods attentively, “ –but the class is restricted to students in the Department of English Literature… which I’m not.” His eyebrows furrow hesitatingly, and she’s quick to defend herself. “I’ve taken all the prerequisites, though! I did well in all of them, and I emailed the department coordinator and they said that it’s fine for me to enroll in this class. It would just be a manual enrollment instead of the standard enrollment but they’ve done it for me for all the other literature classes I’ve taken that were also major restricted. All I need is a permission code and the professor's approval!” She pauses, taking a breath after her big ramble. “Or your approval, I suppose,” she adds as an afterthought. 

He’s silent for a bit, sitting there with furrowed brows and pursed lips, just staring at her. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, squirming under his intense gaze.

Finally he asks, “What do you study then? If not literature?”

“Um– I’m a psych major.”

“And… why would a psychology major need to take an upper division literature class?” he presses. Not trying to be rude, but just to understand. 

“Oh. I just… really enjoy books,” she says shyly. “It’s not for any credit toward my major. But I promise that I’ll stay on top of the work and participate and all that!”

He leans his forearms on the desk. His eyes are thoughtful, and he takes his time before speaking. “Your name was…?” he trails off.

“Y/n,” she fills in quickly. He nods.

“Miss y/n,” he sits up straighter, and looks her in the eye, “How many other units are you taking this semester?”

“Um…” she counts them off in her head.  “16?”

“So with this class you’d be at 20?” he confirms. 

She nods, nervously chewing on the inside of her cheek. That is a lot of units. The last time she took 20 units she had a mental breakdown so intense that she spent an entire night just crying to her roommate (Iris), incapable of doing any work or studying because she was just so stressed out and overwhelmed. She had to skip classes just to catch up on the work that she’d fallen behind on for her other classes, and found her weekends swamped with essays and studying and missed assignments. She only just barely survived, and as soon as finals week was over, she literally collapsed with exhaustion, her body and brain so burnt out that she was sick for weeks. She’d promised herself that she’d never do it again… and yet here she is not even two semesters later.

She can already imagine how stressful this semester is going to be. 

“You understand, miss y/n, that this is not an easy class?” He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and somehow it’s attractive. “We have weekly readings and essays and discussions, and the final paper is not a matter to be taken lightly. You truly believe you can manage that on top of all your other classes?” 

She gulps nervously, but timidly nods. He can tell that he’s laid it all on a bit harshly. 

“I’m not trying to scare you,” he says softly. “I’m just trying to be… realistic. You seem to be a highly motivated student – and I admire that you’re pursuing topics that truly interest you – but I’d hate to see you burn yourself out.” 

“I think I can handle it,” she says, quiet but confident. “It’s something I enjoy so it’s more like a hobby than a class. And I think it’ll be fun? I saw on the syllabus that we’d be analyzing Frankenstein, which is one of my favorites…” 

His lips twist in a soft, endeared smile. He also loves Frankenstein. 

“Very well then,” he murmurs, his eyes glimmering thoughtfully. “What was it you needed to get enrolled? A permission code? I think if you just give me your student ID number I can get that sorted out…”

+++

The weather today is better. 

It’s still cloudy and gray outside, but the wind is much more forgiving, just a gentle breeze rustling through the trees. Orange and red leaves fall to the ground, crunching underneath y/n’s feet as she walks to class. They match the red sweater that she’s wearing today, soft and knitted with hidden tones of orange and brown woven between the threads. The colors of autumn, her favorite season. 

A pair of wired headphones trail from her back pocket to her ears. She’s listening to her fall playlist, Lana Del Rey’s Season of the Witch setting the tempo of her walk to campus. In one hand she carries her book – The Secret History by Donna Tart – and in the other she carries her iced chai latte. Her fingers are freezing as she holds her iced drink, and a shiver crawls down her spine every time she takes a sip – but she doesn’t regret her drink order at all. She’ll have an iced chai in her hand no matter the weather. 

Wanting to make a good impression on the first day of classes, she got up extra early today to get a head start. She washed her face so that she’d look extra bright and awake, ate a proper breakfast at her dining table instead of her usual banana-on-the-walk-to-class, and put on an outfit that she thought gave… studious. Her autumn sweater, dark blue denim jeans, and white sneakers. She even chose her book to match the academic vibe she was going for today (she was between The Secret History and Happy Place, and Happy Place just felt too summery for such a gloomy day… plus The Secret History has been on her TBR for way too long.).

She arrives at the lecture hall approximately… 20 minutes too early. But it was on purpose! She’s only taken a few classes in the literature building (most of her classes are in the social science buildings) and wanted to have enough time to find the room before class started. How horrible would it be for her to be late on the first day, when she’s desperate to make such a good impression on Harry? And Dr. Richmond, of course– but mostly Harry. 

He was nice. And she wants him to like her. Ballad of a girl who craves academic validation.

The door to the lecture hall is locked, so y/n takes a seat on the floor right next to the door, and cracks her book open. She’s only 15 pages in, but she’s already enthralled. She can’t count how many times this novel has been recommended to her – always in those “best books to read in fall<3” tik toks, or the list of classics recommended by the New York Times – and she gets it. She zones in, her eyes flickering from one page to the next as her headphones softly play Rhiannon by Fleetwood Mac. She’s not one to usually listen to music while she reads (she usually finds it to be too distracting), but she’s so engrossed in this world and these characters that she barely remembers that she’s still listening to music. The people walking past her in the hallway fade away, the fluorescent lights transform into the dark library her book characters are currently huddled in, and no sound passes through her wired headphones – not even the heeled boots clicking against the tile floors, getting closer and closer to her. 

She only realizes that she’s not alone when those brown boots stop right in front of her, shining brightly in contrast to her worn out sneakers. She looks up suddenly, yanking her headphones out of her ears. Harry towers over her, key in hand, which he sticks into the lock. A soft smirk twists at his lips, and his green eyes flicker to where she’s looking up at him from the floor. 

“Miss y/n,” he says with a pleasant nod, a hint of amusement in his voice, “You’re here early.”

She folds the corner of the page she’s on and stands up, gently shutting her book. “I didn’t want to be late,” she responds, fussing with her stubborn headphones, which refuse to tuck into her back pocket. “I don’t have many classes in this building… didn’t want to get lost or anything on the first day.” 

He opens the door and lets y/n in first, following in closely behind her. “Punctuality is good.” He props the door open. 

She looks around the lecture hall. It’s not nearly as big as the classrooms she usually sits in for her psychology classes – those classes are huge, usually filled with a bunch of freshmen from all sorts of majors trying to fulfill their lower division GE requirements and whatnot. Those lecture halls could fit up to 400 people. This one probably wouldn’t fit more than 60. 

Not a problem though, considering that this class only had about 40 students enrolled (she checked last night). 

She wonders where she should sit. Too far in the back and she’d make the wrong first impression… but too close to the front and she might be the annoying kid that asks too many questions. Third row is her best bet. 

There’s still about 15 minutes before the class is scheduled to start, and she’s still the only one in the lecture hall apart from Harry. She feels a bit awkward, being the person in the sea of seats, but Harry pays no mind to her, shuffling through papers and logging onto the computer at the front podium. Though her book sits opened on her lap, she can’t help but stare at him.

He’s wearing brown trousers, well fitted around his legs and cutting off perfectly at his ankles as if they were custom tailored for him. Cream colored socks adorn his ankles and those shiny, brown leather boots click against the floor with his every step. Very professional, but also casual with the way his white button up is rolled up at the sleeves and unbuttoned at the top. He’s missing those cute glasses today, though. 

She watches as he struggles to turn the projector on, his eyebrows furrowed as he presses all the buttons on the panel. The lights in the classroom turn on and off again, and the computer audio mutes and unmutes before he finally figures out how to get the screen to roll down and the projector to flicker on. Despite him being only a few years older, he looks like an old man toggling with the buttons and trying to get technology to work in his favor. She bites back a smile, and quickly looks down to her book when Harry’s eyes briefly flicker to hers. From her peripheral vision, she can see him laughing as well and shaking his head at himself. 

She traces her fingers over the pages of the book, clearly well loved and worn out. She got it from the library just last week, after having been on the waitlist for the book for the past month. She can see why it’s so popular though, already so engrossed by the plot. The pages are old and yellow, the edges folded and ripped with years of use, and it has that old book smell that she just adores. How old is this book? It was published in the 90’s, wasn’t it?

Harry’s voice interrupts her thoughts. “Reading something good?” 

She looks up at him with wide eyes. He’s managed to successfully display the course syllabus on the projector screen, and is now walking around the desk with a stack of papers in his hand. He stands in front of the very first row, leaning his weight onto one leg with a hand in his pocket. 

“Oh, um–” she falters, “I actually just started it. I’ve heard it’s supposed to be really good.” She sits up straighter in her seat, “Have you heard of it? The Secret History?”

Harry purses his lips, “Sounds familiar… haven’t read it though. You’ll have to tell me if it’s worth reading, alright?”

She nods, smiling shyly. Call her delusional but… it feels like a bit of an honor for him to trust her with a book recommendation. That takes a lot of trust, doesn’t it? To trust that someone will recommend a good book to you? 

She’s totally making a big deal out of nothing. She does that sometimes. 

“How about you?” she asks, her voice embarrassingly quiet. She’s shy, and nervous, and she’s not that good at small talk, and Harry is looking at her with these intense, green eyes that make her feel like she’s saying the most important thing in the world. She clears her throat, forcing her voice to not come out scared and shaky, “Read anything good lately?”

He grins, and she can tell this is probably his favorite thing to talk about.  “M’reading, like, five books at once,” he admits sheepishly. “Kafka on the Shore, if you’ve heard of it… Notes from Underground, by Dostoevsky for one of m’own classes…” he purses his lips in thought, “Started re-reading Paradise Lost as well. We’re analyzing it in one of the other classes im TA-ing, n’ it’s one of my favorites to teach,” he says with a shrug. His eyes are so thoughtful as he lists off the books that he’s reading, flickering green and gold. He’s just… beautiful.

“I haven’t read any of them,” y/n says regretfully, wishing that she could impress him with some sort of intellectual talk about one of these books. “I’ve had Kafka on the Shore on my list for a while, though.” 

He smiles. “S’a good one.” There’s a dimple in his left cheek that pinches cutely, the glimmer in his eyes a sight to behold. His pretty pink lips purse thoughtfully, his heart shaped cupid's bow twitching as though he has more to say – but then another student walks in. 

Harry’s head whips around. His jawline is sharp, and he nods politely at the new student. “Good morning,” he murmurs to the girl – that same welcoming voice that had made y/n’s heart flutter that first day that she met him. 

He turns back to y/n, and hands her a paper from the stack in his hands. “The syllabus,” he says, his eyes kind and warm.

She swallows thickly as he walks away from her, enamored already. 

+++

“Classes will be Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Dr. Richmond lectures from the front of the class. His voice is croaky and old, so he has a tiny microphone clipped to his shirt pocket to project his voice to the back of the class – despite the small size of the lecture hall. “Thursdays I’ll lead the class,” he drones on, “We’ll analyze the romantic era… how their literature was a reflection of their politics… how they set the foundation of modern day consumerism, capitalism, patriarchy, globalism, imperialism…” he waves his hand passively. “The works.”

 He takes a long sip of water, and his swallow echoes through the class, amplified by his shirt microphone. Y/n cringes at the wet mouth sounds as he smacks his lips together. 

“On Tuesday’s–” his voice booms through the microphone again, “you will come to a class discussion led by Harry. This means that you’ll have the entire weekend to do the readings…” 

Nearly all the eyes in the room flicker to Harry, who’s been standing quietly in the corner with his hands folded behind his back while Dr. Richmond continues to lecture. He gives a small, almost bashful wave to the class at the mention of his name, his eyes scanning the room of unfamiliar faces. Their eyes meet, and his lips twist into a smile. This is the third time she’s caught his eye during the lecture.

He stares at her for a second, eyes glinting as if the two of them have a secret that they’re not sharing with the rest of the class. It makes her heart race in her chest, smiling back at him secretly.

She breaks their eye contact when Dr. Richmond croaks out with the last of his voice, “Any questions?” 

He’s met with silence.

“No? Okay good, class dismissed. See you all on Thursday.” 

The class bustles with life, backpacks zipping and pull out desks squeaking as everyone slowly trickles out of the room. A line forms in front of Dr. Richmond’s podium, with students eagerly introducing themselves and asking questions about the syllabus, only to be redirected to the back of the new line forming in front of Harry’s corner. Harry smiles kindly at every question and speaks with eloquence, strikingly different to Dr. Richmond’s grumbling and groaning. 

It’s glaringly obvious that Harry is going to be a class favorite. 

In the middle of answering a redheaded boy’s question, his gaze wanders over to y/n, watching her as she packs up her things, eyes following her to the door. She tucks her book under her arm and plugs her headphones into her ear, throwing her bag over her shoulder. 

Her drink is finished, just a cup full of melting ice at this point, so she stops at the trash can right at the front of the door. As she throws it away, she manages one final glance back at Harry. He’s already looking at her. He grins when their eyes meet, and gives a small wave goodbye. 

She bites back a smile, then hurries out of the classroom before he gets the chance to see her giddy eyes and heating cheeks. 

+++

Y/n honestly doesn’t love going to office hours. 

It’s hard, because on one hand, she knows that she should go to them and form a relationship with her professors so that they can write her letters of rec in the future… but on the other, they’re so crowded and awkward! Every other student is there for the same reason as her, going into office hours to ask their silly questions and try to butter up the professor. There are usually at least a dozen college students in there, waiting for their one second interaction with the professor before they all get kicked out at the end of the hour. It’s annoying and a waste of her time. Plus, she doubts Dr. Richmond is all that into getting buttered up 

That’s why she chooses to go to TA office hours instead. Usually much more quiet and much more intimate. Not that many people like to go to TA office hours for some reason, which means she usually gets to have one-on-one help. And sometimes (if the TA is really cool) they’ll basically give her the answers to the homework – a good thing, right?

Well… not when the TA is this ridiculously attractive and charming boy with curly brown hair and pretty green eyes that she can’t help but have a teensy little crush on.

 Like… can you blame her? He’s smart and handsome, and so incredibly kind and sweet. His eyes glimmer when he talks about his favorite books and his lips are always curled into a smile that makes her heart bubble. Always so polite and respectful, doing gentlemanly things while his boyish dimples pinch his cheeks. His voice is slow and sultry like smooth honey – and you can just tell that his mind is a beautiful place just from the way he talks. 

He’s just… endearing. Straight out of some romance book– and y/n loves romance!!! She can’t help but have a little bit of a heart flutter when she sees him standing in the corner of the lecture hall, especially when their eyes meet and he smiles at her cutely. 

He’s just being nice – she knows that, and she is well aware that she’s very delusional and that nothing is going to happen… but still, the prospect of going to his office hours and potentially having a one-on-one conversation with him makes her giddy and nervous at the same time. 

She pulls herself together and shakes away all the silly thoughts clouding her brain. Hoisting her bag up her shoulder, she enters the small office, the gold plaque reading Styles, H. shining proudly as she walks through the door. 

Harry doesn’t hear her walk in, his brows furrowed behind his tortoise shell glasses. A red pen is in his hand, brutally attacking a freshman essay. He looks up, a tad bit startled, when she knocks on the door timidly. 

The furrow in his brow immediately softens and turns into that familiar, kind smile. “Miss y/n,” his eyes shine like the nighttime sky filled with stars, “My first student of the day.” 

“Oh,” she checks the time. “I thought office hours started like, thirty minutes ago. Was I wrong? Am I early?” She intentionally wanted to show up a little late, not wanting to seem too eager. 

“No, no – you were right,” he hums, putting his pen down. “Not many students tend to show up to our office hours, is all. Especially not during the first week.”

She bites on the inside of her lip and wonders if she should be embarrassed for being the only one to show up, but Harry is quick to continue,“I wish more people did come, though. Like– if nobody shows up, all I do is sit here and grade for an hour.” His lips purse out cutely, a thoughtful pout, “And I hate grading.” 

“Oh– I’ll probably be here a lot,” y/n says mindlessly. “I always have questions. And Dr. Richmond kinda scares me.”

Harry sputters out a laugh, and y/n’s cheeks heat up. Maybe that was inappropriate to say. But then Harry leans in and whispers, “He scares me too, sometimes.”

It’s these charming little moments that make him so endearing. She tries not to get too distracted by his dimples and how his fingers tap delicately against his thigh, hugged deliciously by another pair of well fitting trousers. 

“Um– if it’s not a bother, I was wondering if I could ask about the first assignment? I was kind of confused about what's expected from us for the free-write thing…”

“M’all yours,” Harry murmurs, gesturing to the seat across from his desk.

+++

Y/n’s fatal flaw is thinking that she can beat a rainstorm.

She actively knew there was an 80% chance of rain today. She saw the rainy streets. She heard the weather forecast. But did she bring an umbrella with herself to campus? 

No.

Somehow she rationalized in her brain that she didn’t need it. It was barely sprinkling when she walked out of her apartment, and the walk to class was only like 15 minutes! She’d make it to campus and then she’d be indoors all day and by the time she needed to go home the rain would probably have died down, and everything would be fine.

Oh how wrong she was. Silly girl. 

The rain is pounding down on her right now. Big fat raindrops soaking through her hoodie and turning her light wash denim jeans into a completely new color. She has many regrets. What had started off as a cute little walk in the rain has turned into her running through a fucking monsoon or something. The slight, gentle drizzle had escalated to pouring rain in a matter of seconds. She had left her apartment with her earbuds playing Kiss Me by Sixpence None the Richer, romanticizing her little stroll in the rain – but now her wire headphones are barely hanging on as half-speedwalks/ half-runs down the sidewalk with her head down. 

When she gets stuck at a crosswalk on a busy street, she glances frantically to her left and right, trying to find a tree or a building to take shelter under. But the sky is wide and open, no roof or canopy for her to hide under. She stands helplessly, the rain pouring down on her. The only thing she can do is pull her hood up and grip it tightly so that the rain doesn’t get in her face. 

The rain pierces through her clothes, and the wind feels extra cold against her wet jeans. Thank god she at least wore rainboots today, she thinks to herself as she stares down at the ground. This would suck even more if her socks were getting wet. She had thought far ahead enough to anticipate the possibility of puddles – and yet still didn’t imagine the need for an umbrella. The hems of her pants are soaked and feel horrible against her ankles, and she knows for a fact that she’s gonna have to let her hoodie air dry or something during Dr. Richmond’s lecture. Ugh. She hopes the lecture hall is warmer than it is out here.

She readjusts her headphones, pushing the earbuds further into her ear after they nearly fell out whilst she was running here. She likes this song, and it’s kind of romantic to be listening to it in the rain (it would be even more romantic if she wasn’t SOAKED TO THE CORE). If there’s anything y/n will do, it’s romanticize the shit out of any situation. 

Cars are driving past quickly, but she can’t hear them, her music loud enough to drown out their annoying engines. She stares at a nearby puddle, looking at how it ripples as each drop of rain splatters into it. She wonders if mother nature has a personal vendetta against her – if Earth had personally planned to make it rain super hard the minute that she stepped out of her apartment. Why does she always do this? This isn’t the first time she’s caught herself soaked because she was too lazy to bring an umbrella with herself – and it probably isn’t the last time either. She crosses her arms across her chest and hides her hands in her sleeves, hugging herself tightly as a feeble defense against the biting rain. Why won’t the stupid crosswalk turn on? Her slightly damp hair falls into her eyes as she looks back down at her boots, letting out an annoyed huff. 

The shadow of a new person tickles her peripheral vision. They brought an umbrella. She scolds herself once more. 

 It takes her a second to realize that, although she can still see the rain drizzling around her, splattering against the ground and splashing onto her boots… she actually doesn’t feel the gentle patter of raindrops against the top of her head anymore. She looks up. 

Somehow, she is now under the umbrella. And the person holding said umbrella… is Harry. 

He looks gorgeous as usual, dressed in a dark blue trench coat, black trousers, and some sleek black boots with gold buckles on them. Standing to her left, he holds his umbrella up between them in a way that shields both of them from the rain. He stares forward innocently, pretending like everything is normal – like he hadn't just snuck up next to her and shared his umbrella with her. She can see a slight smile tugging on his lips though, and when she stares at him long enough, he peeks over at her with a glint shimmering in his pupils. His pretty pink lips curl into that sideways smile, and he says nothing. 

Y/n can’t help but give a dumbstruck little laugh. Of course it would be Harry. 

He winks at her, ever so charming and mischievous, then turns back to face the road. The crosswalk switches from Stop to Go, and Harry takes a step forward. Y/n follows in his stride.

They say nothing, and walk to their lecture shoulder to shoulder.

+++

“So,” Harry says with a clap, his voice loud and strong, “I hope you all got the chance to do the first chapter of our reading.” Unlike Dr. Richmond, Harry doesn’t need a microphone to project his voice to the back of the class. All eyes are staring at him, ears listening intently. And all the girls are staring at his pretty pink lips, and how they curl over each word (y/n included). 

“I know life gets in the way, so if y’ever don’t get the chance to finish the assigned reading… tha’s okay,” he says with a quirk of his lips. “M’not gonna be mad. I just ask that you don’t let it turn into a habit, and y’don’t pretend like you read it. M’gonna know if you’re bullshitting me… so just don’t even try.” The entire class laughs, and Harry’s dimple pokes his cheek. 

“So– be honest– how many of you guys read the first chapter?” 

All the students raise their hands, and Harry nods approvingly, “Nice… very nice.” He’s a natural at the front of the classroom, entertaining and intellectual at the same time – confident and eloquent. His words are thoughtful and slow, but not one student seems to be bored by his slow drawl. No – instead everyone hangs onto his every word, dripping soft and thick like golden honey. He answers questions easily and plays off of student responses like a pro, and everyone seems keen on impressing him with fancy literature talk.

“You might have seen on our course page that I posted a series of discussion questions… I’ll try to have these up at least a week in advance so that you can have them in the back of your mind whilst you’re reading. I always find it to be particularly stimulating to be reading a novel with a question in mind… dunno, makes me feel sharper while I read. Does anyone else feel that way?” He talks to the class as if they’re all friends, mildly flirtatious in the natural, charming way that he is. 

The group of undergraduates nod back at him, enthralled by his smile and his wit and just everything about him. God, his smile is just so charming. “Okay... how about we get started with the first one? Wait– actually, before that… I’m just wondering, have any of you already read Frankenstein before?”

Two students out of the forty raise their hands – a boy wearing a Bob Dylan t-shirt, and y/n. 

Harry’s eyes meet y/n’s for the first time since they entered the classroom together. They’d walked across campus together in comfortable silence, past the campus Starbucks and the Social Science buildings, and when they got to the Literature department building Harry had held the door open for her, while shaking off the rain droplets from his umbrella. They walked through the halls side by side as well, Harry’s shiny boots clicking in time with the squeak of y/n’s wet sneakers against the tile floors. All he had said to her during the entirety of their walk was “After you,” when he’d opened the door for her. 

Now he looks at her for the first time in what feels like ages, and gives her an approving nod. He already knew that, from that very first day when she’d come to his office, asking for permission codes and what not. She feels her heart fluttering excitedly, just from that single nod. 

“Interesting… so it’s a first read for most of you. Brilliant! We’ll have a good time reading it together, I promise,” he says, his green eyes gleaming. “I love this book – it’s sometimes called the first science fiction book, written at a time where technology was first being introduced, and it’s regarded as one of the most famous novels of the Romantic era. Mary Shelly, the author, was a prominent Romantic era writer who shared the common Romantic appreciation for the natural world and how art can evoke emotions, which we can clearly see in her novel. We’ll take a few different approaches while analyzing it. Most prominently through a Romantic lens – but we’ll also do a feminist reading and religious reading, as well as a biographical approach… which brings us to the first discussion question – ‘Frankenstein is ultimately a novel about creation– a new and terrifying exploration of bringing life into the world. Based on what you read in the introduction, how can we see Mary Shelly’s personal experiences with life, birth, and death in the themes explored in Frankenstein?’” He looks up from the sheet of paper that he just read the question aloud from with bright eyes, “Anyone want to start us off?” 

The class is silent, the crowd of students suddenly much quieter compared to when they’d been going back and forth with playful banter to Harry’s jokes. Everyone’s a little too nervous to be the first one to say anything, and nobody wants to say the wrong thing. Harry holds his breath, and searches for a hand to save them from this awkward bit of silence. This kind of shyness is normal for the first day of classes – in fact, he’d expected it – but it still doesn’t mean it’s any less awkward. His eyes flicker from one side of the class to the other, from the front row to the back.

He almost misses y/n’s hand, timidly raising from her set spot in the third row. Harry’s eyes light up. “Miss y/n,” he murmurs, “go ahead.”

“Well, in the introduction we learn that Mary Shelly had a few failed pregnancies before writing her novel, and that her own mother had passed during childbirth complications. Shelly goes on to depict the cycle of life as destructive… Frankenstein’s monster is this disfigured creature that the creator is running from, which we see right at the beginning. The introduction implies that this “horrifying” birth and the death of the creator at the hands of what it created, might be symbolic of her own experiences.” 

“Excellent. That’s exactly right,” his smiles meet his eyes, and they twinkle, impressed. “The reason we have this as the first discussion question,” Harry turns back to the rest of the class, “is because I want you guys to keep it in mind while reading. Look for the ways Shelly describes birth –  take note of the strained relationship she creates between the creator and his creation. Also, recall how Shelly herself proclaimed this book to be her “hideous progeny” – to use such intense language whilst also calling it her “progeny” holds a lot of implications of what Shelly’s view on Creation is – whether is biologically or creatively. This is something that we’ll discuss further in depth when we get farther into the novel, so I want you all to start thinking about it now.”

All the students in the room nod intently, writing down what Harry said word for word.

“Furthermore, has anyone noticed that we’ve already seen a lot of references to fire? Pretty obvious symbolism, right?” The class nods. “Does anyone know why she chose fire, specifically?”

It’s silent again. Y/n looks around herself to see if anyone else might have the answer, but everyone stares up at Harry blankly.

“Don’t be shy on me now, guys. Promise m’not mean,” Harry smiles, “Just wanna get the discussion flowing.”

Y/n shyly raises her hand again. “It’s a reference to Prometheus, who stole fire from the gods – she even alternatively calls her story The Modern Prometheus.” 

 His eyes glimmer, a shine behind his irises that doesn’t show up when he looks at his other students – just y/n. As hard as he tries not to pick favorites… he can’t help but harbor a little bit of favoritism towards her. “Very good, Miss y/n,” he praises with a soft smile.

Y/n’s cheeks turn hot and she ducks her head down, unable to stop the reciprocating smile from spreading on her face. 

+++

“Miss y/n,” Harry calls out to her as the students file out of the classroom. “A word, please.” 

Y/n hoists her bag over her shoulder and makes her way to the podium where he stands. He’s packing up his own things, his own beat up copy of Frankenstein being placed delicately in his bag, along with a stack of other papers and things that he has to grade. A few other students have approached him, asking questions that they were too shy to ask during class, but with a sly smile he tells them to ask their questions at his office hours (Thursdays at 5 – but y/n already knew that!). Her fingers twist nervously behind her back as she stands awkwardly by his side as the rest of the students ask their questions and trickle out. 

He waits until all the students have left, and it’s just him and y/n standing by the podium, before he says anything to her.

“You were making some excellent points today in class,” he looks up at her briefly with a smirk, “I appreciate your participation. Class is always more difficult to lead when students don’t participate.” 

“Oh,” she blinks. She’s never been thanked for participating in class. “Erm– yeah. I-I’m happy to participate.” She readjusts her bag, tugging it higher up her shoulders, “S’just kinda like a big book club if y’really think about it.” 

“It is, isn’t it?” he agrees with a quirk of his lips. He zips up his bag, and pulls it over his own shoulder, “How are you planning on getting home?”

A strange follow up question, she thinks to herself. But she responds, nonetheless, “Oh, I was just gonna walk.” Harry peers out of the window, then looks back at y/n, his eyebrows raised. She follows his gaze, and realizes that it is still raining like crazy outside. 

A heavy sigh escapes her lips without her permission. Of course. “I guess I’ll just wait it out,” she shrugs, walking towards the door alongside Harry. 

He locks the door behind them, with her lingering closely by, waiting for him. “Do you live far?” 

“No, not really. Just a 15 minute walk.” They walk towards the building exit, and Harry pulls out his umbrella. “Not too bad, as long as there isn’t a monsoon going on outside,” she finishes with a petulant grumble.

Harry chuckles lowly, his dimples shining brightly. “I was just going to offer… y’know, since it’s still raining and you’re umbrella-less…” his eyes twinkle teasingly, “I could drive you home? Wouldn’t want you to get soaked again when you’ve only just dried off.” 

“Oh!” she bubbles, looking at him with wide eyes. “Really? You would do that?” He nods, but she presses, “Are you sure that wouldn’t be a hassle? I mean– like, really I could just stay here and read until the rain dies down–”

“S’not a hassle,” he reassures. “Y’don’t even know when the rain will be gone– could be all night. It’ll be cold, n’dark… it’d make me feel better knowing you got home safe, yeah?”

“Gosh that’s… that’s really nice of you,” she says, almost pouting. 

He just smiles, pushing the door open and opening his umbrella for the two of them to huddle under. His car is parked in the graduate student parking lot, so it’s not too far of a walk (although they’re doing more of a brisk speedwalk, trying to get out of the rain and wind as fast as possible). The rain patters harshly on top of his umbrella, but they manage to stay dry, shoulders brushing together and their warm bodies radiating heat onto each other.

He unlocks his car and opens the passenger's seat for her, making sure that she’s covered from the rain as she slides into her seat. He then runs over to his own side, quickly shutting his umbrella and throwing it into the backseat. His fingers are numb as he turns the car on, and he immediately blasts the heat for the two of them, putting his frozen fingers in front of the warm air. “God, not even three minutes out there n’ I’m already freezing m’bits off,” he mumbles to himself. He turns to her, and smiles when he sees her copying his actions, “Isn’t this so much better that walking home?”

All she can give is a nod, wriggling her fingers in front of his heaters. Her teeth are chattering as she barely manages to chatter out, “S’freezing.”

“Wind would’ve blown you away before you even made it home, I reckon.” He plays with the windshield wipers until they’re on the highest setting, but even then his windshield is blurry from the rain. He makes sure to drive extra slow and cautiously, reversing out at the speed of a snail and turning his high beams on.

It’s only when she’s sitting in the front seat of his car that a somewhat important thought floats to the forefront of her mind – “is this allowed?”

“Is what allowed?” He's half paying attention, half checking both sides of the road before turning left onto the street. 

“Like– I mean you’re sort of my professor, I guess,” she stumbles over her words, “Is it… would you get in trouble? For like… giving me a ride?”

Harry’s eyebrows pinch thoughtfully, “Well, first of all– Dr. Richmond’s your professor, not me. Secondly– I don’t see why it would be against the rules. S’just a car ride,” he shrugs. 

She relaxes in her seat, nodding. She supposes he’s right. It’s just a car ride.

“But– if anything,” he adds on with, turning to her momentarily with a mischievous glint in his eye, “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Y/n’s lips curl. “Okay,” she giggles. 

It’ll be their little secret. 

+++

HOPE U GUYS LOVED IT!!!!!! part 2 is up on my patreon already, and will come to tumblr next saturday (oct 14) pleeeeaaaase lmk what u rhink and give her a rb and a comment i love u guys so so much!!! more tarry to come!

Prose (part 2) is already posted on patreon! : In which not many students attend Harry's office hours, and y/n's kind of burnt out

Prose Masterlist

[sinsofbeauty]

Red Stained Sunflower Pt. 3

Fandom: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre Game

Pairing: Johnny Slaughter x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Use of Pet Names, Suggestive Nsfw content, Cigarette mention/usage, SMUT!!, Fingering, P in V, Unprotected (Stay safe), slight choking, and more but I don’t wanna spoil the fun ;3

Requested?: Yeeee!!!

Overview: If the events that happened the night before weren't enough, then tonight sure as hell would be. After an awkward encounter, you find yourself alone with the man who has such a hold on you. Talking and playing around won’t compare to what you got yourself into tonight.

A/n: This is the last part of this little series!! If you would like to see more Johnny feel free to send me an ask/request! I got a couple in my inbox so I’ll be working on those! Johnny’s a little more soft but can be a bit aggressive in this one so if ya aint feeling it DNI!!

This chapter contains written NSFW content. Minors are advised to not interact!! Enjoy!

Red Stained Sunflower Pt.1 - Red Stained Sunflower Pt.2

You weren't prepared for really visiting the Slaughter home the next day. Your heart pumped strangely after Johnny left last night with his confident demeanor and witty remarks. You couldn't sleep all night from it. The man’s scent had still lingered in your room, especially on your bed where he decided to make himself comfortable. You hated him for that. You loved the thought of him but hated that he was constantly on your mind.

Now you were on your way to meet the man, telling your father that you would be at Maria’s for a bit. Lying, so that you could see the trouble that dipped so far into your heart. Walking along the dirt road in your favorite sundress and a small bag, you decided to go through the front instead of the back way close to the gardens like last time. It probably would be easier since it was getting late, the sun coming close to the horizon. 

You hurried your steps as your feet silently patted on the porch, before raising your hand to knock on the door. Your hand was mere centimeters away but suddenly stopped when you heard commotion coming from the other side. And it didn’t sound good either…

“Ya’ keep leavin’ without a trace and don’t tell nobody! The hell ya’ goin’ off to?!”

You carefully pushed your ear to the door to hear if anyone was nearby. If you can recall his name, it sounded like Drayton. The older gentleman who occasionally went by the name Cook among some members of the family. Given that he didn't seem to like your presence, you didn't actually talk to him all that much. When you laugh with Bubba and Nubbins, you may receive sidelong looks or little scoffs from the kitchen. He appeared agitated, and was questioning the person who had turned his mood so sour.

“That’s none of yer damn business, old man.” 

Oh… that’s who was getting interrogated. Johnny. What they were saying appeared to grab your attention, even though it shouldn't have startled you as much as it did. 

“It’s that girl again ain’t it? Ya’ keep goin’ out and followin’ ‘er like a gosh darn puppy!” Drayton had persisted in reprimanding Johnny, his aging voice hoarse with annoyance. “What’s so special ‘bout ‘er hm? She can’t do nothin’ for ya’-“

“Watch yer tone! Before ya’ start ta’ have a real problem on yer hands.”

Drayton and Johnny both appeared to be furious, but Johnny's stance was clearly more aggressive. Given that the older man made a comment regarding other girls, you weren't sure if they were talking about you or not. Your heart briefly ached as a result. You felt a tiny bit envious when you imagined Johnny with someone else. As you refocused on the exchanged words, you briefly dared to blink. 

“Calm ya’self Johnny!” Your ears twitch to the sound of Sissy’s voice. 

“Get off a me!” He growls, sudden footsteps approaching closer the door. “Yer quick ta’ start pointin’ fingers. Do I need ta’ remind ya’ how long ya’ left us fa’?”

“Don’t chu start yappin’ at me! Ya’ know what I needed ta’ do-“

“And I know what I’m doin’, so quit yer barkin!” 

You became aware that you were still listening in as footsteps began to move dangerously towards the door. You immediately moved away from the porch, to the side of the house where the bushes encumbered beneath the window. Bubba and Nubbins emerge from the door moments later once it had opened. You see from the bushes as the two enter the white pickup truck's back bay, with Sissy trailing behind them and moving toward the passenger-side door. Johnny is furiously flailing his arms behind Drayton as the older man stumbles out of the house.

When Johnny came closer, Drayton spun around and pointed a finger in his face as the younger man's brows furrowed. “She’s makin’ ya’ weak boy. Weak! And if I have ta’ tell ya’ ta’ leave ‘er alone again-!”

“What are ya’ so afraid of ol’ man?” The man’s eyelids lower in suspicion. “I don’t have ta’ explain anythin’ ta’ anybody, and I ain’t gonna let ya’ boss me ‘round like a kid.”

“So naive, wait until ya’ mother hears about this,” Cook chuckles, hopping into the truck. “Ya’ care ‘bout ‘er more than ya’ care ‘bout yer own family. I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, once she realizes what you are, you’ll treat ‘em like the rest once she tries ta’ leave.” 

As you saw Drayton shut the door to the truck, his remarks caused your stomach to churn, giving you anxiety-filled butterflies. The vehicle had been started, and the engine was roaring as it backed into the driveway. Once it was turned around it drove off, leaving Johnny there speechless and heated as ever. You’ve never seen him so upset, so… filled with anger. He tightened his jaw and balled his fists into the palms of his hands, a vein protruding from the side of his temple. He looked like he could kill someone, right then and there. After a period of silence, he took a long breath in and let it out harshly.

“Yer terrible at hidin’.” 

As Johnny's statement rang across the air, your heart leaped and your eyes widened. Before turning around, he had let out an abrasive huff while his tongue prodded at the insides of his cheeks. “Ya’ can stop hidin’ darlin.” He only moves a few steps before his eyes and boots come to a complete stop on the ground. He was perceptive, and that was well noted. He closed his eyes and ran a hand through his dark hair as his demeanor abruptly changed. “Come oooon, I know yer out here.”

Although you were uneasy, there was no use continuing to hide now that he had exposed you. A few seconds later, you emerged from the bushes, and Johnny's eyes shot open to meet yours. His chocolate brown eyes locked with yours at that very instant, and you could feel the rage and shame simmering behind them. With the broad grin that covered his face, he did a great job of hiding it. 

“How did you know I was here?” You asked, making him shrug his shoulders. “Could see yer footprints. They moved that way unlike the others,” His fingers pointed down to the ground, making you smirk and shake your head slightly. “Didn’t think ya’d be ‘ere so soon. Hell, thought ya’d go on and ditch me again~.” 

“Well… I uh, was thinking about it. After hearing all that.”

The smile on Johnny’s face faded as quick as it came, tilting his head slightly with the squint of his eyes. “How much did ya’ ‘ear?” He asked, stuffing his hands in his back pockets.

You fiddled with the fabric of your sundress, debating on whether or not to tell him the truth. You didn’t mean to eavesdrop, it just happened to be a bad time and you didn’t want to get caught knowing they were talking about you. It was reasonable, but then again… maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to lie right in Johnny’s face.

“Enough…” You said, making the man turn his head away. “I know Drayton didn’t like me that much but not as… much as I thought.”

Johnny shook his head, a chuckle coming from his mouth. “Heh, yeah. I got some explainin’ ta’ do don’t I?” The man had lifted his arm, hand gesturing to you as he began to approach. “Walk wit’ me?”

He smiles once again at your head nod when he approaches. He took hold of your shoulders and pulled you along with him as the two of you moved to the side of the house. “So… about that explaining?”

“Yeah yeah, I’m gettin’ to it.” Johnny rolled his eyes playfully, removing his arm from you to run his fingers through his hair again. “So impatient. Next thing I know yer gonna be bossin’ me ‘round!”

“Thought you didn’t like being told what to do.” You say, his eyes narrowing to stare at you in a playful side eye. 

“I don’t.” His voice cracks with excitement, making you giggle in response. 

Both of you had stopped, and Johnny had positioned himself on a car's damaged hood. He had rested against it, his arms crossed, and his head tilted to the side. The male had observed as your eyes silently absorbed the magnificence of the meadows. You were patiently waiting for him to resume speaking, but the breathtaking scenery fully captured your attention. The scene of the sunflowers gently colored by the sun's rays as they sway side to side in the wind. The man behind you, who had hummed at the sight, was the only one who managed to divert your attention away from the view.

Your head turns, staring Johnny with his half lidded eyes. “I should’ve brought my camera.” 

“Why didn’t you?”

“Forgot. I was so busy getting ready that I left it on my dresser.” You had fumbled through your bag in your hip, looking into it for something. 

“Got all dolled up just fa’ me? Ya’ shouldn’t have~.” Johnny was… staring a lot, and it was awfully distracting. You don’t even remember what it was that you were looking for. 

“Oh shut up.” You say, putting your bag away to your hip. “Come up with that explanation yet?”

Johnny sighed and rubbed the side of his stubbled cheek as another smile appeared on his face. “What do ya’ wanna know?”

There were many things you wished to know. Why Drayton didn't like you, whether his family disapproved of you, whether he is seeing someone else, and whatever part of him the older man was referring to. There was just a lot on the table, and you didn't have much time to gather everything from him given how soon the sun would set. “Has Drayton always had something against me?”

“Doesn’t like any girl I bring home,” Johnny explained. “Says it’s a distraction. Don’t know what the problem is when I can handle myself.” 

“Maybe he’s just worried about you?”

“Should worry ‘bout his damn self.” Johnny rolled his eyes at that.

“Okay,” You walk over to him and hop onto the hood of the car to take a seat. “Does the rest of your family… not like me?”

Johnny didn’t say anything for a moment, averting his eyes away from you as he thought about it. The man looked up at the sky, nodding his head slightly. “I… don’t really know.” He finally responded. “Sissy has her suspicions. Nubbins doesn’t really care, I know big boy likes ya’ a lot.” 

“Who Bubba?” 

“Yeaaah,” His grin starts to appear again. “He’s like a kid, likes it when ya’ spend time with ‘im. Yer much nicer than the rest of us.” 

Well that was good to know at least. You smile at that, nodding your head to the thought. “I’m glad that he likes it when I’m around. He’s like a puppy, so energetic when he’s happy. Speaking of-“

“Oh god,” Johnny sighs out loudly. “Don’t— Don’t listen to anythin’ he said beginnin’ with that!” 

“So you follow me?”

“Jesus Christ,” Johnny groans out loud, shaking his head. “I don’t follow ya’!”

“What about the skatin’ rink?” 

“That was one time!” Johnny lifted his arms up as he exaggerated his lies. “That’s cause I wanted ta’ know what ya’s been doin’.”

“I mean you did break into my house,” You teased, making him huff in irritation. “Do you usually just go into places whenever you feel like it?”

The man cracked a bit, chuckling before shaking his head at you. “Breakin’ inta’ houses ain’t my usual thing. I like bein’ more… direct. If that’s whatcha call it.” Johnny shook his shoulders at the thoughts, giving the question more attention than he probably intended. “Maybe… I’ve seen ya’ a couple times in town.” 

“Sneaky thing aren’t you~.”

“Indeed I am~,” He realized right away that you were making fun of him. After pushing himself off the hood, the man reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of crumpled smokes. 

“You’re not gonna smoke are you?” You ask with your eyebrows raised. “Those are bad y’know.”

“So nosey,” Johnny pulls out a cigarette and stuffs it into the side of his mouth. “Yer stressin’ me out with all these questions.”

“I can ask more.”

“Shut up.”

His grin seemed to morph into a naughty one when you were about to speak back to him. The chuckle that rumbled in his throat caused him to avert his eyes. He was aware of what you were about to say, and unlike yesterday, you were all by yourself with him. He smirked triumphantly and drew the lighter from his other pocket as you forced your mouth shut. However, you got an idea and got up off the car hood. You approach Johnny and snatch the cigarette out of his mouth. His expression was priceless and made you laugh out loud. 

“Uhm…hey?” He says reaching for the cigarette before you pull it back. He licks his lips with a sly grin, nodding his head. “Ohhh, okay. So that’s what we’re doin’ hm?”

“Maybe,” You reply. “Yer funny, now give it back before I take it.”

You stood there idly, not listening to a single word Johnny said. Johnny had taken that moment of silence to look over you, before his hand rushed to grab yours. It caught you off guard, your wrist with the cigarette being taken as he pulled you towards him. The front of your body collides with his, a small grunt coming from you. Looking up at the man your eyes widen. Cheeks flushed, you feel his other hand snake around your lower back to keep you there. Oh dear… what did you just get yourself into? “Tsk tsk. Yer playin’ a dangerous game here sweetheart.” Every word in Johnny's voice is dripping with seduction, like a warning sign. “If that’s whatcha wanna do, I’m all up fa’ the challenge~.” Johnny takes the cigarette from your hand and sticks it back in his mouth. What an absolute tease. The way your body effortlessly melted into him gave the man the confidence that he could get away with it. “What~? Wish I did somethin’ else wit’ ma’ mouth?” 

“If you wanted to, I’m sure you would have.” You say narrowing your eyes. 

“Oh really?” Johnny says, his hand behind your back moving to place itself on your abdomen. He moved you backwards, your hands coming in contact with the hood of the vehicle you sat on earlier. “What makes ya’ think I won’t?”

“I don’t know, maybe you do it to all your other little girlfriends.”

Your statement made Johnny laugh, having to take the smoke out of his mouth before it fell out. “Awww ya’ heard that too? Jealous~?” He made your lips purse, your eyes moving away to the side of you. “I’ll amuse ya’, so how ‘bout this. Yer the only one I’ve been talkin’ to fa’ a while.”

You look back up at Johnny, who had stuffed the cigarette back in its little box. “So amused,” You roll your eyes, trying to remove yourself away from Johnny but all he did was stand in your way. He was so close to you, that he practically had you pinned against the car and him. 

“Lookin’ a lil’ sour there honey.” He teased, the cigarette box being placed back in his pocket. “Still jealous~?”

“N-No…” You stammered, swallowing thickly when you tried to look away.

Johnny chuckles as he detects your lies. He was making you so anxious and driving you mad by imagining the other women he's seen. He was undeniably so close to your body that you would bump into him if you even attempted to move. His hands, which were still protected by his grime-stained gloves, advanced to your waist. When his face got close to yours, it made you hold your breath and your heart race.

“Can’t fool me darlin’, yer a terrible liar too.” His nose brushes against yours before he pulls his head back again. “I promise~, yer the only one I got eyes on.” Before you feel them move to your hips, the hold on your waist becomes tighter. You were raised back onto the car's hood a short while later. Johnny reached out and traced his fingertips along your exposed thighs without pausing. “Yer the only one I want.”

Once more, his face approaches yours, but this time he maintains his distance. The once-orange sky was beginning to turn dark, misty blue as the sun dropped below the horizon in the distance. The view in front of you now... drew you in more than ever, and you were unable to take your eyes off of him. Your head subconsciously turned in his direction as quiet breaths filled the chilly air in the silence. 

“I want you too…” You say quietly, making the man in front of you grin.

“Hm?” He hums, moving himself in between your legs. “Ya’ want me?”

The man takes one moment to remove his gloves while you nod your head. He places them beside you, grabs your legs, hooks them around his waist, then grabs your hips. 

“All of me?” 

Your hands that had been resting on the hood, came and cupped the sides of his cheeks. “Yes,” You reply. “I want all of you, Johnny.” 

“Ya’ sure?” The male wasn’t hesitant, he just knew what both of you were going to get into. You knew this yourself, and you nodded once more. “Good, cause I’mma keep ya’ aaaaall to myself~.” 

The man's lips had touched yours at that point. Your entire body experienced waves of arousal as well as butterflies throughout your stomach. His touch was felt, and the satisfaction from his lips lingered on your own. It appeared as though he was directing you through every step due to the way they moved so perfectly alongside yours. He tasted metallic and minty, with a hint of tobacco. 

He pulled back from the kiss as his bare hands took hold of the hem of your sundress and raised it just a bit. As he moved from your earlobe to the side of your neck, his lips made contact with your jaw. You start to gasp softly as Johnny grazes your neck with his teeth and nibbles on your tender flesh. He leaned down to your collarbone and softly sucked on the skin there, creating a small hickey in the process. A reminder of what was his.

“Drivin’ me crazy sweet pea,” He mumbled in the crook of your neck, his calloused hands massaging the top of your thighs. The more he dragged on his throbbing need for you, the more vigorously he kneaded them. “Might not be able ta’ hol’ back much longer.”

Your legs are still around Johnny's waist as he pulls away from you, but you move your eyes. They proceeded on to the growth that pressed up against his jeans and the obvious indent of his own erection in a sizable tent. You shiver at the sight.

“Gettin’ cold?” He asks, the man lifting you from the car hood.

“A little,” You half admit, your hands hanging onto his shoulders. “Didn’t think you’d care much.”

Johnny chuckles as he lowers you and unlocks the car door. The man poked his head inside and looked around as it rustled. The back window and the opposite side of the car were covered in sunflowers, and the only damage it appeared to have was a couple rips in the back seats. He moves and motions for you to enter with his hand. A hefty slap on the ass greets you as you crawl inside after taking the bag off your shoulder and throwing it within. You yelp as you turn to face Johnny, who dove with a grin on his face. 

Before climbing on top of you, he crept into the car and shut the door behind him. The man lowered his head back to your face as your back pressed up against the seat cushions and your head leaned forward. “I’ll warm ya’ up real good baby girl,” He adds as he presses his hands firmly on your lovely outfit. He raises it, revealing your (color) underwear, and wraps his fingers around them. 

Once he begins pushing the thin cloth up to your thighs, his lips come into touch with yours. As it slides down your ankles, he grabs them, taking them off your legs. He hums and pulls away from the kiss as you move your dress subtly with your hands to cover any views he might have.

“Hidin’ from me?” Your head slams against the seat as his enormous hand grabs both of your wrists and moves you lower with his other hand. He raises the clothing up to reveal you while pinning your arms above your head. As a result of Johnny's position, your legs were unable to even close completely, so he only huffed amusedly as you attempted. “Be a good girl and I might be gentle.” 

“You better be gentle,” You blurt out loud, earning a hefty laugh from Johnny.

“Riiiight, forget yer still a virgin~.” He sees you pucker your lips, Johnny taking the opportunity to peck them, making you groan. “Take this off will ya’? I wanna see everythin’.”

As you sit up to remove your sundress, Johnny draws back as you blink at him before nodding. You slipped your flats to the ground, nervously staring at Johnny as your sundress joined the pair of shoes. He had taken off his torn-up, black muscle shirt as you were doing this. The muscles you previously noticed were considerably more impressive up close. The scars, the little chest hair, and the flexed appearance of his arms. God, just looking at him made your pussy throb.

With such precision, he swiftly tossed his belt on the ground. Johnny’s boots were kicked off soon after, his jeans going down his legs and off his ankles. “God… jus’ look at ya’…” The man was in awe, his cock so strained that the boxers it held were pleading for release. He spread your legs open, looking down at you as he took in every inch of your body with his eyes. 

Johnny gives you another kiss, this time with his lips flowing against yours and his hands encircling you. He releases the clip from your bra, allowing it to fall as you adjust it to the side. The man was gentle, even attentive. His fingers stroked over you as if you were a work of art. A canvas that he was so tempted to ruin yet was too delicate to damage.

“Mmhn… I want you… Johnny…” Your words were said between kisses, the ones that got more rough with every passing moment.

Johnny pulls back, his pants evident while his lust for you grew immensely. “Yeah?” His voice is low, deep with pure emotion. 

You can feel his fingers rubbing against the slit in your pussy at that very instant. They have an unfamiliar, somewhat unusual feel about it that makes you flinch with curiosity. Before shutting, your eyes lock onto his, and as he rubs his thumb on your clit, you let out a gasp. Oh he knew what he was doing. This wasn’t his first rodeo. 

His eyes dart between you and your aching cunt as the pad of his thumb experimentally strokes your clit. You covered your face in embarrassment at the quiet grunts and tiny moans you let out. But Johnny appeared to enjoy it. How your confidence and shyness seem to win his favor equally. The unintentional bucking of your hips to increase your pleasure. 

“So wet fa’ me darlin’~,” Johnny purrs, his hand adjusting itself. “I could jus’…”

“Ahh~!”

With his words, Johnny’s finger enters your pussy. Your back begins to sag, and you whimper. The man does this while touching your breasts with his free hand and kissing them. You felt dizzy with excitement as he pinched your nipples and took them between his teeth. Your body burned at his touch and you wanted more. 

Your body tensed and jerked in response to the excitement that shot through your abdomen, his finger began curling in the most sensitive parts. Johnny was relentless, making sure that none of his actions left you even the tiniest bit untouched. That was until he slipped in another into your tight hole. This time it felt uncomfortable, and you expressed that feeling too.

“E-Eh… it hurts…” You whine softly, your hands gripping on Johnny’s biceps.

“I know baby,” He says, sending a kiss to your jaw. “Need ta’ stretch ya’ out fa’ me.”

You were speechless when you considered that Johnny was bigger than his fingers. Your hand, let alone your fingers, were much smaller than his. The discomfort you are experiencing right now undoubtedly pales in comparison to what you saw—er, see—in his boxers. He appeared to be on the larger side. Jesus…

Your face twitches as you notice him starting to up his pace. As his motions intensify, the buildup in your abdomen begins to expand and keeps growing. He was skilled with his hands, and within minutes you were on the verge of bursting. As your pussy throbs on his digits, the space between your walls gets smaller as he stares at you with half-lidded eyes. He hums as a result of your hold on his biceps, which also serves as a visual cue that you are close.

“J-John-ny… ah~ s-slow down…” You whine out, your words not phasing him in the slightest. The discomfort had faded to pleasure, your head hitting the window as your legs started to shake.

Curling his fingers he presses against your g-spot, making you squeal. He was merciless, fucking you with his fingers alone made you dizzy. “Thought about this all fucking day,” He growls, his voice cracking with lust. “Always on ma’ damn mind… fuck~, wanna make ya’ cum darlin’.”

“I… wanna cum.” 

Johnny looks at you with a grin, his head tilting. “Ya’ wanna cum fa’ me baby?”

He nods slightly in response to your head nod. The man had corrected himself, lowering his body and bringing his face to your pussy. You tighten up as a new feeling begins abruptly, your eyes widening. Johnny places his tongue on the swollen bud of your genitalia, the muscle twitching as he started lapping at it. While his fingers occupy the space within, he suctions and pleases you with his lips. The sensation of lowering your hands and grabbing Johnny's hair in your fingers was irresistible. 

“Mmhn~! Johnny… fuck! J-Johnny ple-ase!” 

Johnny had been humming along to your moans as they reverberated around the vehicle. Your stomach's coil finally burst, your eyes clamped shut, and your back arched in ecstasy. As he holds you down, Johnny pulls his fingers out of your cunt and grabs your hips with both of his hands. Your climax is coursing through your body as he continues to devour your pussy. His hair was being held in place by your hands so tightly that you worried you may rip it out. Your thighs were gripping the sides of his head as if you were going to break his skull.

“N-No! Waitwaitwait– Johnny!!”

As his mouth violently began sucking on your clit, you begged him to stop. The man, however, remained still, and you then experienced a new feeling. Your cunt gushes, Johnny groaning before quickly removing his face away from your sensitive core. Your grip on his dark hair, which had been locked in your fingers, loosened as you panted. His hands holding onto your hips relaxed while he chuckled. The man licked his lips and then ran his tongue against his teeth as he raised himself to his knees, which kept him on the seat's cushions. You stare at him in the hot atmosphere of a cool night. His chin down to his chest was slickly covered in your juices, he wore it like a medal as it glistened on his skin. A giggle escaped his thin lips as he raised his hand to wipe his face. “Did I just–”

“Squirt all over me? Yes, yes you did~.”

You blushed madly, setting a hand over your mouth and looking away from him. “I… didn’t know I could do that.”

Johnny grinned, “These hands work wonders darlin’.” He ran his hand over your pussy again before patting it, making you jolt at his soft motions.

“Eh– Ah! H-Hey! I’m still sensitive...” You whined.

“Oh I know,” Johnny said, pulling the hem of his boxers down. His cock emerged from that piece of clothing after it had fallen. Although the image had your mouth watering, you were uneasy about having that inside of you. “Bein’ sensitive is the bes’ part. Yer gonna be screamin’ ma’ name as I fuck ya’ senseless~.” You gasp when Johnny moves in between your legs, pulling them apart as he grips his twitching cock. He pumps it slowly, taking a moment to coat your juices on his hard length. Moments later, he lines himself up with your hole, running the loose strands of his now messy hair back.

“You don’t need me to do anything? I mean– I can… you know…” You tried to find the right words, but feeling the head of his cock press against you distracted your thoughts. “Nah, we’ll get ta’ that some otha’ time.” He says, leaning down to you. “I jus’ wanna be inside ya’~.”

His lips make contact with yours, and the sudden penetration makes you tense up immediately. You try to release, but the more he pushes the more pain surged through your lower body. When he pulls back from you, he stares into your eyes, a sudden wickedness appearing in his own. All of a sudden he bucks his hips forward, his mouth opening agape when his full length is inside of you. You whimper out in pain and pleasure. You felt so full that your walls could only squeeze around him, and so sensitive that a simple adjustment made you groan with pleasure. “A… warning would’ve been nice.” You glare at him, the man taking your body and pulling you back down to lay on the cushions. “Oops~.” He purrs, a small moan coming from his throat. Johnny takes your legs and wraps them around his waist again. “Want me ta’ go slow?”

“So considerate,” You say, watching as the man comes down to you. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” 

The man pulls his hips back before slamming back into you, your eyes widening at the feeling. A shocked gasp wakens the night, and Johnny continues to fuck you like the man he is. Hard, deep, thrusts that send your toes curling, and your hands to dig into his back that you held onto for dear life. The jolts of pure pleasure send you into a state of ecstasy, your mouth sending out nothing but pure, uncontrollable moans. 

“God baby— fuck~! Yer clampin’ on me— shit— uh~.” Johnny moans at you, his eyes watching every single detail of how your body craves him. “All mine… all fuckin’ mine— god!”

His head dips to your neck, placing firm kisses as his hand grip the sides of your ass. He lifts you up slightly, his cock beginning to drill into your tight pussy. 

“AHH~!! Ohmygodohmygod~!!” Your voice sounded so beautiful, getting louder every moment he bucked his hips into you. 

Johnny mutters under his breath, stopping and pulling his cock out from you. “Turn around baby,” He motions, watching as you quickly get on your hands and knees. You wiggle your ass, making him tap one of the cheeks teasingly. “Fuckin’ tease.” 

“Your the one who stopped when it was getting good.” You roll your eyes.

He scoffed, slapping your ass in which made you jump. “Ass up ya’ little shit.”

You smile, arching your back as he positions himself against you once more. While Johnny stuffs his cock back inside of you, you chuckle as you feel both of his hands on your ass. Oh, if he wasn't ramming into you before, he sure was doing it now. This position made things a lot easier for him to access. In the deepest places, most sensitive areas, as soon as he hit that sweet spot that’s all he ever did. 

“Tryna get away~?” He grips your hips as you try to pull yourself away, pulling you back on his cock. You squeal, your head shoving itself down in the cushion of the seat while your legs shake tremendously. “Ahhh~ fuck yer tightenin’.”

“Feels s’ good— ah— fuckfuck mmhn~!” 

“Say it again,” Johnny bends down slightly to take your neck into his hand. “Fuckin’ say it again!”

Tears brim in your eyes as his thrusts make your stomach clench, your eyes practically rolling back into your skull. “It feels good!! AHH~!! You feel so good Johnny!!”

“That’s right love, take it~ Take it~!”

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train as your body trembles. As Johnny continues to abuse your g-spot, you scream, your delightful climax intensifying to the point where tears are streaming down your face. As the man squeezed your neck, the shortage of oxygen caused you to start seeing stars as you gushed once more on him. Your voice breaks when he lets go of you, and your head is fuzzy as he fucks you for the remainder of your climax. 

His low murmurs and grunts escalate to become louder growls and moans. He gave you a hard slap on the ass and grasped it tightly. Both cheeks took turns getting reddened handprints. The man's thrusts were more eager, and he was grinning broadly. 

“I fuckin’ needed this— uh~ fuck I needed you~ Doin— mhm~ this ta’ me~…” Johnny threw his head back, taking in his own pleasure. The man was close to cumming, his thrusts starting to become sloppier than they were before. “I’m so close… Y/n, say my name.”

“Johnny…“ Your brain was mush, barely being able to comprehend what you had heard.

He slaps your ass, hard, making you yelp in surprise. “Louder~.”

“Johnny!” You moan louder.

Another firm slap, making you whimper out. “Scream my fuckin’ name~!” He positions himself, his cock pulling out to the tip before thrusting back in. 

“AH~! Johnny— FUCK~!” You scream out, the continuous jerk of his hips driving you wild. “Johnnyjohnnyjohnny— ohh my— MMHN~! JOHNNYYY~!!!”

“That’s… fuckin’… ohh~ fuck~  ha— ah ahhhh~.” 

Johnny stops moving and embraces your cunt with his pulsing cock. His hot cum shoots ribbons into your pussy, coating the walls of your womb with his thick sperm. His pants were just as heavy as yours, and the air in the car smelled strongly of sex. Your head turns to look back at him only to realize he had leaned down, his hand rubbing the small of your back as he huffed. Both of you stayed silent for a while, admiring each other, which was a little different for Johnny.

“You okay?” He asks breaking the airs silence, making you smile again.

“Yeah… just really hot.”

Johnny grinned and drew his cock away from you. Both of you sigh as the feeling suddenly slips away. He settles down and observes while you prepare to follow suit. When he notices you struggling, he smiles before grabbing your arm and bringing you near to him. “C’mere.” 

You move over to him, the side of your body pressing against his. Your entire body relaxes in his arm as your head lays against him, his body radiating a warm but comforting heat. Being around him made you feel safe… oddly enough. Though god, did your lower body throb like a mother fucker.

“Still gonna go with pretty boy on Friday?” His question lingered in the air for a few seconds before you turned your head to look at him. 

“I already canceled that,” You say, shrugging your shoulders. “I have plans.”

“So you do hm?” He says with a smirk. “And what are your plans?”

Johnny understood what you meant after only seeing you grin. He gave you one back, truly pleased with your choice. His expression caused your heart to melt. He knew he had you, he claimed you as his before you even knew it. Can he… really say that this is love? Is this how it actually felt? Like the others, you were drawn in, but there was something special about it. You were the one person he really desired and cared about. The mark of his prey had been on you, his print now painted red on your body. His little red stained sunflower. 

His, and his only.

@optimsluv @chernayawidow @yixxes @marriedtoeddie @iorbit @yoong1c0re @thedollmakerkai

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[thegnomelord]

Shark

- 🦈

(WOBSVHDVUH. HOLY MOTHER OF SHARKS. HOW DO YOU WRITE SO GOOD. Gosh you, darn you, daum you. Fuel my god daum brainrot.

Now im thinkin of angst. DONT WRITE IT, I CANNOT HANDLE YOUR WRITING IN ANGST. THIS IS JUST A BRAIN BLURB.

Price is close to death whether it be the ultimte battle between the destruction of all that can die or of a horrid enemy, they have yet to defeat.

Price is alive, but too far to be ever saved. The boys want to summon their captain's ole friend, to say a well had goodbye, maybe even save him. But no books, no scrolls, nor anything etched in stone on the surface depicts them. Nothing.

Price dies knowing hes lived a good life, praying to all the gods that his beloved eldritch dosent destroy the surface he called home.

The only way the poor eldritch finds out, are when Prices ashes are swallowed by the waves.

In every storm, waves tower over the heights of skyscraper, to the point not even those that could fly can cross. Death is quick when it comes to the ocean, like it trying to collect all power it can withhold. Creatures are cruel when it comes to what has killed their gods beloved, relentlessly acttacting what they can. Sharks are rare, to the point their sighting have come near myth or legend. Yet, they will always come come towards any that is draconic for they miss them. Ocean creatures, humanoid or not, would cry with no control, close to fire, dragons or smoke. They grieve. They all grieve.

But, Dragons seem to live longer when close to the waves. Saving them in dire situations when the fall from they sky, wounds healed when submerged in the salty sea. Even if you were pure fire, absolute whole magma. You'd be saftely cradled in any and all water. Water is the safest, the safest they have ever felt in all of their exsistence. They know this feeling, it is old, it is familiar, it is embedded in blood.

For the ocean rembers, it always remembers.)

Okay honestly your brain farts are always so good but. . . But . . . I'm so sorry sharky. This came to before you even wrote your ask and now I have to do it, you're just the sacrificial goat. . .

CW: SFW, angst, made myself cry :/ Got some idea inspo from @heliumknife

John Price doesn't die on a notable day. He doesn't die on the day of reckoning, doesn't die on the day fire rains from the sky and blood muddles your oceans, doesn't die alongside human gods, doesn't die on the day he may meet what made him and hear he was a good man.

John Price dies on a regular Tuesday night.

Not even a blip on the radar.

Having saved the oblivious world yet again he retches a bloodied cough as he stumbles on the beach he'd ended up on. His legs give out, the course sand rubbing his skin when he falls, red blood slowly seeping between the grains. Distantly he can hear his boys calling for him, watching the waves wash onto the shore, the tide too low to reach him; too low for you to sense him.

He can feel Gaz scrambling to stem his bleeding, Soap desperately searching through the first aid kit, Ghost barking on the coms that Price is hit. And as the world begins to grow quiet, the low murmur of waves washing upon the sand filling his ears, washed up amber glittering in his blurring eyes, the scent of seaweed and brine filling his rapidly slowing lungs—

Price smiles — he'll slumber with you soon.

Only when the morning tide comes in do you sense his blood, do you rouse from the depths like lightning, waking from a nightmare to find it has followed you to the waking world.

You're too late.

Like always.

He's so still.

Peaceful — worry lines and wrinkles smoothed out and face relaxed you could delude yourself into thinking he's just sleeping. Oh those dragons with their slumber; he'll grumble when you go to wake him, demanding five more bloody minutes of your attention as if he's the god here. Cling to you like a barnacle and growling like a kitten until you give in and lay down next to him. Give a rumbling purr and laugh at how he got a god wrapped around his finger until you shut him up with a kiss.

But you can't.

Your vessel's eyes keep darting to the blood staining his clothes, the crusted red lines trailing from his lip down his chin, the stillness of his chest, the silence.

They tell you John Price died protecting his team from a brutal foe. John Price died protecting the world. John Price died protecting the very people who in your recent shared memory had been happy to sharpen sticks and melt rock into to steel all in an vain attempt at glory. . .

John Price died a hero.

Your John died.

And you weren't there.

"Hey. . ." You look at Gaz when he speaks, standing on the opposite side of the medical table they've laid his body on. ". . .I know you two were, close." He chokes up, voice rough and nasally, fresh tear tracks staining his cheeks.

You envy him for it. For once you wish you were the ant on a circuit board instead of it's maker, just so you could see the world like they do, mourn like they do — open, visible, showing you cared, showing he wasn't just a toy in your sandbox. That Price was the voice you'd hear when loosening the noose of the rope, the beckoning call beyond the reach of your waves, the one that held that wretched excuse you call a heart.

But you can't.

All your treacherous vessel manages to achieve is a small dip in the corner of your lip. "So were you." Your voice is low and garbled like you're drowning, the rumble of icebergs scraping on the ocean floor filling the silence behind each syllable.

Gaz flinches like he'd been slapped, unable to look at the man he loved as much as you did. "Yeah," His gaze flickers everywhere like fleeing fishes in a reef, "I'm sorry." He blurts out.

"Don't be." You don't look at him, your cold hand reaching out to trace Price's jaw, coarse beard scratching your flesh. "You loved him when I couldn't." A part of you wants to be angry at Gaz for harboring John's affection and attention, that it's not fair for him to be able to mourn when you've known your John long before Athenians and Spartans decided to throw hissy fits in your waters. But you can't call yourself a lover he deserved when you met him so rarely, a blink of the eye for you and a century passes.

"Are you going to kill us now?" Kyle asks, not scared, as if he's expecting it.

It shames you, but you thought about it; of sea life growing gigantic and voracious under your influence, of making the sky weep in your stead, of violent waves rising up and devouring the planet for taking away your world. What's the point of it's existence when the one who made it shine has been snuffed out?

"No," You sigh in resignation. You can't, not while there are still people and places John loved, not while vestiges of him remain. You can't kill what's left of him, protect them like you couldn't do with him.

Gaz tells you they plan to cremate him in line with dragon customs, only to take a step back when you pick your John up to cradle in your arms, his loose wing draping over your shoulder, his head resting on your shoulder, nose buried in your neck as if he's scenting you once again.

"I'll come to collect the rest of you when you pass." You say before disappearing with Price, because if you had to answer Gaz's questions — Why are you taking his body when you weren't even there when he died? Why do you act like you care when you saw him so rarely? Why are you taking him away from Gaz when he was the one who loved Price? What gives you the right? — you would have drowned a country.

Water rushes around him the moment you are back in your element, holding him in a cradle made of your waters like the first time he'd fallen into the ocean so many millennia ago. Water bubbles escape his open mouth as your waves caress and kiss each inch of him, crusted blood muddling the brine around him as you pull him as close to your real body as you can.

Searching.

You can feel his soul once your waters have kissed every inch of his skin, faint yet stubbornly clinging on somewhere in the aether, no doubt giving Death a headache.

You were once a soul too were you not? Just a dead thing too dumb to know it died; somewhere deep beneath the individual writhing sharks and decaying corpses and fossilized bone making up your body resides your original one, nothing but a chunk of rock with the imprint of what you had as a skeleton at the time.

For if Death doesn't come to claim it, a soul won't die until the body's gone. You had slipped past the cracks, grew fat and large on the other souls until Death could no longer touch you without fear of being swallowed whole.

You doubt it would let Price slip through like it had with you, fortunately you put claim on his soul long ago. You swim to the deepest part of the earth where burning geothermal vents spew minerals into freezing cold waters, where you slumber and feed on the souls of the dead.

You curl around him, living and dead bodies parting until Price rests wrapped around the oldest part of you.

Embracing you like he always wanted to.

He waited so long for you.

Now it's your turn to wait. This time you will be there.

And if the oceans above rage for months, if the season long rain floods the streets, if the weather makes it so that in the crushing depths no one can pick out your tears from the ocean brine, all the better.

[normal-internet-user]

Supplier

♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡

Summary: You are always supplying your purple banded friend with tools and parts for his research and inventing, but one day, you accidentally leave behind a piece of paper you thought you trashed, and it leads to an accidental confession.

Warnings: None!

Requested: Nuh uh!

GN!Reader

....................................

You hummed quietly as you searched through the scrap metal infront of you.

You were currently digging around in a scrapyard that was located not to far from your apartment. Donnie had sent you a list of parts he needed for a thingy majig that he was working on, and you promised to get them for him.

Humming quietly to the song you heard on the radio this morning, you picked up one of the parts Donnie asked for, putting it in your little red wagon alongside everything else.

Checking your list, you notice that you finished grabbing everything, so you start to walk out of the scrapyard, waving goodbye to the old man who owns it as you leave. He lets you come in whenever you want to, and never once had he asked you for payment either, he was super sweet.

You walked down the sidewalk, dragging your wagon behind you. Suddenly you get a text from Donnie, you open the message and read it out.

Purple Guy: Did you get the stuff?

You smile, sending a quick reply.

(Nickname): Yep! I got it all here! I dunno if some of it works, but ig we'll find out.

Purple Guy: Thank you so much, (Name)! You are literally the most amazing person ever!

Purple Guy: Bring it all down ASAP, ok? I'll see you in a bit!

You blush slightly, this dork had no idea what he was doing to you. Sure, it was a light hearted, easy-going complement. One you would give a friend.

But gosh darn it, somehow it still gave you butterflies.

Sighing, you make your way down an alley, then over to the back wall. You look behind you, then up towards the rooftops, checking to make sure you aren't being watched.

Once you confirm that its fine, you drop the wagon handle. You walk over to one of the dumpsters and reach behind it, hand brushing the wall untill you find a button.

Pushing the button, you back away as the ground opens up. Smiling you walk through the entrance that is normally used for the Shellraiser.

You arrive at the Lair shortly after, heaving your wagon up the stairs. Walking further into your turtle friends home, you find Mikey and Leo sitting on the couch, watching TV.

"Hey guys." you say, greeting the two.

Mikey whips his head around, jumping up and over to you, "(Name)'s here!"

The orange masked turtle pulls you into a bearhug, sqeezing tightly.

"Mikey- need- air-!"

"Oops."

Mikey drops you, smiling sheepishly, "Sorry dude/tte, my bad."

You laugh shaking your head as you pick up the wagon handle, "Your fine, Mikey. Just try not to squeeze so hard, I'm brittle remember?"

The terrapin smiles and nods, before walking over and crashing back on the couch. You wave to Leo before continuing to Donnie's lab.

"Knock, knock."

Donnie jerks his head up at the sound of your voice, looking in your direction. He smiles at you as he pulls up his welding mask, you returning his smile with one of your own.

You push the wagon infront of you, nudging it closer to Donnie, "I come bearing gifts."

He gasps, "No way you actually found that one?" he rushes over and picks something out of the parts.

"Was it supposed to be hard to find?" you ask, sitting in the extra chair Donnie always had out for you.

"Yes! I've been trying to find one to fix for a while now, but haven't had any luck. Gosh you really are amazing."

You blush, clearing your throat, "S-so uh, what is it?"

Donnie looks up from examining the peice, "Hm? Oh, it's a motor for a hydrolic press, I need for a Shellraiser upgrade."

You nod, looking around the lab as Donnie continues to dig through the stuff you brought him.

You jump as your phone buzzes, pulling it out of your pocket, you see a message from your mom, telling you your aunt and cousins were coming over for dinner, and that you had about an hour to cousin proof your stuff.

Not looking up from your phone as you reply to your mother you get Donnie's attention, "Hey, Dee, I have to go. Apparently we're having family over for dinner. I got about an hour to put up anything I don't want broken."

"Your aunt Sherry?" he asks as he bring some of the stuff over to his desk.

"Yep, Aunt Sherry and her little trolls." you sigh, "I'll just come back for my wagon tommorow, ok? that way I have an excuse to bother you guys."

Donnie smiles, "Sure thing, see you tommorow, (Nickname)."

"See you tommorow, Don."

You walk out of the Lab, saying good-bye to Leo and Mikey, on the way, leaving out into the New York sewer system.

You make your way down through the streets to your apartment, thinking about how smoothly that small interaction with Donnie had gone. You only blushed once!

Sure you were there for like, fifteen minutes, but, hey, a win is a win.

Walking up into the apartment you share with your parents, you say hello to your mother before walking into your room to begin the process of hiding things.

You sigh, as you put your laptop up on a high shelf, thinking silently to yourself. Should you tell him? Would he even feel the same way? Didn't he have a crush on April? It's not that you hadn't tried to tell him before, in fact the opposite was true.

You had tried to tell him before in person, over text, your latest attempt involved you writing out your feeling on paper with the intent of giving him the note. But you once again chickened out, and trashed the note.

Why was this so dang hard? Why do feelings need to be so friggin' complex? You love Donnie, you really do. You love his adorkable smile, the way he rambles on about his certain projects, how he smiles whenever you ask him a question.

He was perfect. But for some stupid reason, you just couldn't being yourself to tell him.

Before you could fall deeper into your own pity party, you heard your mother loud voice greeting your aunt at the door.

With a sigh you start to make your way into the living room, prepared to endure hell.

<DONNIE'S POV>

♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡

I watched as (Name) left the Lab, listening to their cheerful voice as they bid my brother goodbye.

I look at the red wagon with a sigh. I shake my head, forcing myself to focus.

"Relax, Donnie. They'll be back tommorow."

I begin to unpack the wagon, placing the parts (Name) brought me in their rightful place around the Lab. My body was workimg on auto pilot as I focused on my thoughts.

How I had managed to get through that entire interaction with (Name) without completely embarrasing myself was a complete mystery.

I had recently come to terms with my feelings for them, I had been over April for quite a while now, and honestly, this was worse.

My old infatuation with April was completely different than my feelings for (Name). With April, it was more like feelings of physical attraction, the definition of a typical school kid crush.

But (Name) made me feel different. They make me smile, and laugh, I feel like I'm on a cloud whenever we talk. Their voice, their eyes, their kind nature, who wouldn't be in love with them?

"Exactly, who wouldn't be in love with them? why would they choose you?"

"Shut up brain." I mutter to myself

I finally finish emptying the wagon, so I grab the handle, and move it to a corner of the Lab. That way, when (Name) comes to get it tommorow it's not damaged at all.

I start to turn away from the wagon, when I notice a crumpled peice of paper sitting in the bottom the empty transport.

Curious, I pick up the paper, doing my best to smooth out the wrinkles, I see the familar handwriting belonging to (Name).

My eyes widen as I read the paper, jaw dropping in surprise.

They like me.

They like me.

I re-read the note, double and triple checking that I've read it correctly. And I did. It was the exact same the first, second, and third time I read it.

I clutched the note in my hand, running out of the Lab, and the Lair. I ignore Leo's questions as I rush into the sewers, with only one thing on my mind.

<YOUR POV>

♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡

You close your bedroom door, as quietly as possible, locking it just to be safe.

You had finally ditched the miny terrors that were your cousins, and the last thing you wanted was them in your room.

With a loud sigh you fell backwards onto your bed, arms and legs spread like a starfish.

But before you could even get fully comfortable, a soft knock came from your window.

Groaning, you got up from your bed, and walked over to your window. You drew back the curtains, practically jumping from your skin as you're greeted by the sight of a beaming Donatello Hamato.

You unlatch the window, allowing Donnie into your room. "What are you doing here? The sun isn't even fully down ye-"

"I like you too."

"I- what?" you're taken aback at Donnie's statement. He likes you too?

"I like you too. Like, as more than a friend."

"How did you-"

"I, uh- found your note." Donnie sheepishly handed you the crumpled paper, and you looked down at it,

'Dear, Donatello Donnie,

I like you. Like, alot. And I wrote it down on this note because I've tried and failed to tell you in person, and I have for a while. I like your smile, I like your laugh, I just couldn't help but fall for you.'

You felt your cheeks heat up, "Uh-uhm..."

Your cheeks burned brighter when you felt Donnie's hand on your chin, lifting your face so that you're looking at him.

"Can I... Can I kiss y-you?" he asked, softly.

You nodded, arms wrapping around his neck as you both lean in slowly. Just before you can kiss, you hear a knock on your bedroom door.

The two of you jump, both your heads jerking up to face the door.

"Honey? your aunt wants you to show her that scarf you bought the other day." your mom called from the otherside.

"O-ok! just a second." you yell back.

You heard your mother walk away from your door, and turned to face Donnie again, "Hurry up, kiss me before the gremlins interrupt too."

He laughed quietly before trapping your lips with his own. The kiss was slow, gentle, and sweet, just what you'd expect from Donnie. When the two of you pull away, he's looking directly into your eyes, gaze so full of love you would think you'd hung the stars.

Before either of you could say anything, a knock interrupted again, "(Name)? Are you coming?" your mother asked through the door.

"Y-yeah, I just had to find the scarf."

"Ok, sweety."

You laughed quietly with Donnie as walked him to your window, "So, I'll see you tommorow?"

"Yeah. yeah, see you tommorow."

You smiled as you watched him leave, not moving from your window untill you couldn't see him anymore.

.........................................

[anonymouspuzzler]

oh boy it's a BIG SFM doodle post!!! i call this compilation: Old Man Tweets A Lot

bonus close-ups on those little non-tweet doodles, too!

(detailed image descriptions under cut!)

[Image 1: A large compilation of several black-and-white illustrated Dr. Habit tweets, plus additional miscellaneous Smile For Me doodles. Each tweet and doodle is cut out and showcased individually in more detail in the rest of the post, with detailed descriptions below.]

[Image 2: A black-and-white illustrated version of the Habit tweet (transcribed minus spelling errors) "But soft! What rock through yonder window breaks oh no Putunia stop right there put the rocks away", which is screenshotted at the top left of the image. The drawing shows Habit, wearing a ringer t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up and jeans, is smiling with one eye cracked open to look down nervously at Putunia, who is grinning mischievously with a rock held up in her right hand, prepared to throw. Habit is sweating and cautiously reaching up both hands near the rock as if preparing to grab it.]

[Image 3: A black-and-white illustrated version of the Habit tweet (transcribed minus spelling errors) "Tip-tapping around the room WITH a little cape on, like a gosh-darn vampire", which is screenshotted towards the right side of the image. The drawing shows Habit in a long-sleeved button-up, black pants and heeled boots, wearing Putunia's cape, which is comically tiny on him. He is grinning mischievously, tip-toing and holding up his hands in mimicry of a stereotypical vampire. Putunia is chasing behind him, hands in the air, shouting.]

[Image 4: A black-and-white illustrated version of the Habit tweet (transcribed minus spelling errors) "VERY small girl with a cape, just called me a 'walking cringe compilation'", which is screenshotted at the top left of the image. The drawing shows Habit, in a short sleeved button-up with a chest pocket and rolled-up sleeves, long pants and a belt with an oval buckle, standing with one hand on his hip and the other gesturing down at Putunia to his left, who smirking mischievously with her tongue sticking out. Habit looks lightly irritated, visibly blushing. In front of them both in the foreground is Kamal, looking down at Putunia and visibly trying to restrain laughter.]

[Image 5: A black-and-white illustrated version of the Habit tweet (transcribed minus spelling errors) "Oh okay so when a princess kisses a frog it's 'a charming film' but when I do it I'm 'ruining our day at the petting zoo?' How is that fair to me?", which is screenshotted at the top left of the image. In the drawing Habit, wearing an open jacket with fluffy collar and sleeves over a sweater, hair in a ponytail, is gesturing wildly with one hand and the other on his hip, shouting indignantly. Kamal, to his right, wearing an open hoodie over a sweater, is covering his face with both hands, looking flustered and embarrassed. To Habit's right is Putunia, in a cute little cardigan, grimacing and sticking out of her tongue at Habit, holding a mildly alarmed-looking frog in her hands.]

[Image 6: A black-and-white illustrated version of the Habit tweet (transcribed minus spelling errors) "Watch this backflip! *does not successfully backflip*", which is screenshotted at the top right of the image. There are two drawings of Habit, both wearing a ringer t-shirt with rolled-up sleeves, flared jeans, and heeled boots. The first, on the left, shows him smiling and shouting, stance wide, gesturing at himself with both thumbs. The second shows him having resolutely failed to land a backflip, slamming onto his upper back, legs still flying in the air and visibly shaking with the impact, shirt riding up on his torso and hair flying everywhere.]

[Image 7: A black-and-white illustrated version of the Habit tweet (transcribed minus spelling errors) "I just wanted free lasagna and now I have a computer virus?? Why am I being punished", which is screenshotted at the top left of the image. The drawing shows Habit, in a ringer t-shirt with rolled-up sleeves, looking extremely worried and yelling, with tears in his right eye. He is clutching a 90s-era computer monitor to his chest with both hands, the screen facing out, showing numerous pop-up and error windows.]

[Image 8: A black-and-white illustrated version of the Habit tweet (transcribed minus spelling errors) "40+ singles in MY area? Looking for love?", screenshotted towards the top-left of the image, then, cut off and screenshotted towards the right, "Well that's nice I hope they find it (smiley face)". There are two drawings for each part of the tweet - the first, to the left, shows Habit in a collared button-up under a sweater, sitting at a computer looking at the monitor in confusion, head tilted and right pointer finger lifted towards his face. Kamal is walking by in the background, looking startled. The second drawing flips perspectives to show Habit from behind, smiling happily, while in the foreground Kamal walks away, blushing and looking somewhat haunted, with an arrow pointing to him reading "suddenly remembering to clear search history".]

[Image 9: A black-and-white illustrated version of the Habit tweet (transcribed minus spelling errors) "Why... Yes I WOULD like to put on our silly little outfits to go to the grocery store and look at lobsters", which is screenshotted at the top right of the image. The drawing shows Kamal, wearing a baggy t-shirt, holding a notepad in his left hand and a pen in the other. Habit, wearing a t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, is behind him, with his right hand on Kamal's shoulder and the left cradling his face. He is bent over so the side of his face rests on top of Kamal's head, with a relaxed, closed-eye smile. Kamal is looking up at him and smiling back.]

[Image 10: A black-and-white illustrated version of the Habit tweet (transcribed minus spelling errors) "due to personal reasons I'm hand stuck in the mayonnaise jar", which is screenshotted at the top right of the image. The drawing shows Kamal in the foreground, turning around to see Habit, wearing a ringer t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, left hand stuck in a mayonnaise jar, with the other hand on his chest and expression serious, as if he were making an important announcement.]

[Image 11: A black-and-white illustrated version of the Habit tweet (transcribed minus spelling errors) "'Just stretching my legs!!' I lie, embarrassed that you've discovered me stuck in the washing machine once again", which is screenshotted at the top of the image. The drawing shows Kamal, wearing a ringer t-shirt, in the foreground with his back facing the camera, holding a basket of laundry. In front of him is Habit, also wearing a ringer t-shirt, apparently stuck in the laundry machine, sticking out of the round front-facing door from the waist up. He has a slightly manic grin as if desperately trying to act natural, posing with one elbow on the ground, hand behind his head, and the other bent to rest on his hip.]

[Image 12: A black-and-white illustrated version of the Habit tweet (transcribed minus spelling errors) "*slipping the waiter a four dollar bill* Mix my salad WITH my coffee thank you very much". The drawing shows Kamal (left, sitting in a chair) and Habit (right, sitting in a booth seat) at a table, apparently at a restaurant. There is a waiter standing between them, writing on a notepad held in their left hand; they are wearing a vest and long-sleeved button-up and have a short haircut with long bangs on the right side of their face. Habit, wearing a long-sleeved button-up, is smiling confidently at the waiter, tongue sticking out, as he slides a bill across the table towards the waiter. Kamal, visibly flustered, is hiding behind a menu held in both hands, with his elbows propped up on the table.]

[Image 13: A black-and-white illustrated version of the Habit tweet (transcribed minus spelling errors) "What's your favorite thing about me don't lie (angry frowny face)", which is screenshotted at the top right of the image. The drawing shows Kamal, wearing a t-shirt and holding a toothbrush in his left hand, looking startled as shadow-Habit suddenly looms up behind him.]

[Image 14: A black-and-white illustrated version of the Habit tweet (transcribed minus spelling errors) "Pilot the Puppet, Kamal. Or Boris will have to do it again.", which is screenshotted at the top left of the image. The drawing shows Habit, wearing a bulky sweater, flared pants and heeled boots, lying back on a couch with his legs over one of the arms. His left arm is folded over his torso while the right holds up puppet-Habit; he has his head turned away into the sofa, left eye cracked open, apparently "playing dead". Kamal is standing behind the couch, staring down at Habit with an amused expression as puppet-Habit caresses his cheek.]

[Image 15: A black-and-white illustrated version of the Habit tweets (transcribed minus spelling errors) "Anyone else eat their smoothie by dipping their entire hand in the cup and licking it off?", screenshotted on the top left of the image, and the follow-up "The people love when I post Relatable Content", screenshotted towards the right. There is a drawing for each tweet; the first shows Habit, hair in a ponytail and wearing a frilly tank top that exposes his stomach, speaking nonchalantly into a flip phone in his right hand, dunking his left into a smoothie held in Kamal's right hand. Kamal, also wearing a tank top and holding a second smoothie in his left, stares at this in horror. The second drawing shows Habit licking the smoothie off his hand with a smug grin, with a speech bubble coming out of the phone showing a bunch of heart symbols and smiley faces. Kamal, still holding both smoothies, just looks up at Habit in continued horror and disbelief.]

[Image 16: A black-and-white illustrated version of the Habit tweets (transcribed minus spelling errors) "At the parent teacher conference. Trying to keep a straight face and not to let on that I have a half-dozen angry squirrels nesting in my hair", screenshotted towards the top left of the image, and the follow-up, "It's not my fault that I am naturally charismatic and also I style my hair with peanut oil", screenshotted towards the right. There is a drawing for each tweet; the first shows Habit, left, and Kamal, right, both sitting in front of a teacher's desk in the foreground. Habit is wearing a short-sleeved button-up with a large tie, flared pants and heeled boots, sitting with right leg crossed over his left and hands clasped tightly over his knee. He has a tight smile and nervous expression, visibly shaking, with a few squirrels peeking out of his hair. Kamal is wearing a short-sleeved button-up under an argyle sweater vest, with baggy pants and sneakers. He is holding a paper in his right hand, the left resting on his knee, and looking over at Habit in concern. The second image shows a frustrated-looking Kamal shoving both arms into Habit's hair to try and shake out the squirrels, who are jumping out in all directions. Habit is flailing his limbs and yelling as this happens.]

[Image 17: A colored, illustrated version of the Habit tweet (transcribed minus spelling errors) "I care about you and. I hope you can tell", which is screenshotted at the top left of the image. The drawing shows Habit, seen from behind, wearing a light-blue long-sleeve button up and dark pants, crouched over Kamal, who has fallen asleep on the couch. Kamal is wearing a baggy green t-shirt and is lying on his stomach, left arm dangling off the couch holding a stack of papers, the right partially underneath him, bent at the elbow, hand resting limply over his face. There is a blue pillow behind him on the sofa. Habit is gently drawing a dark blue blanket over him, looking down at his peacefully slumbering expression.]

[Bonus 1: A black and white drawing of Kamal and Habit, both from roughly the shoulders-up. Habit, on the right, has Kamal in a tight embrace and is kissing him gently on the cheek. Kamal looks utterly lovestruck, with a wobbly smile, the eye closest to Habit closed and the other blown open with a big heart-shaped pupil, and two big heart symbols coming off him in the background.]

[Bonus 2: A black and white drawing of Kamal, wearing a short-sleeved button-up and smiling mildly anxiously, glancing off to his left side, standing with his mom to his right. Kamal-mom has an identical face-shape and nose and a similar build, though she stands about an inch or two taller than her son. She has long, wavy grey hair in a braid that falls over her right shoulder, with bangs on the left side of her face. She is wearing large cat-eye glasses that hide her eyes, a turtleneck sweater, and an open sleeveless cardigan over the sweater. She has simple round earrings, a necklace with two round charms, and a simple nose stud. She has a neutral smile with wrinkles visible around the edges and under her eyes.]

[Bonus 3: A black and white drawing of Habit holding up Putunia with both hands. Habit is wearing a long-sleeved button-up and has a big, slightly worried smile, exposing the gaps and chips in his teeth. Putunia is kicking her legs out and holding up both fists, and has a delighted, open-mouthed grin, exposing her own missing teeth.]

[Bonus 4: A black and white drawing of Kamal, posing with one hand on his hip and the other on his chin, one knee slightly bent, smirking confidently. He is wearing suit pants and a matching, open jacket with only his binder underneath, as well as heeled boots. The pants have flared, frilly edges and a belt with a round decorative buckle, with the jacket has embroidered cuffs and hem.]

[Bonus 5: A black and white drawing of Kamal with his hair in a ponytail, tilting his head to one side with a wide, silly smile, sticking his tongue out. He is wearing a v-neck shirt with the sleeves rolled up past the elbow, with the cut low enough to expose a bit of chest hair.]

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

TWOW: Alayne I (Sansa I)

My little lovebug! ❤️

She's finally here! 🥺

To celebrate, I might just copy and paste the whole gosh darn thing. You've been warned.

Ladies and gentlemen, brace yourselves for the mind-blowing, heart-stopping, epic conclusion of Operation Stumpy Re-Read Project!

Before we dive in, we need to revisit a theory that I proposed in Jon X, ADWD.

The last time we saw Jon's and Sansa's points of view in the same book was A Storm of Swords. You might recall the deliberate placement of their back-to-back chapters was anything but subtle.

The text was often copied verbatim, the situations were perfectly mirrored, and the topics of love, marriage, and family were prevalent in both.

You can view a quick summary of it all here.

That brings us to this chapter. Some of you might not be aware, but George was originally planning to put Alayne I in A Dance with Dragons.

That Sansa chapter I talked about finishing, for instance. It's still finished, but my editor and I decided it belongs in THE WINDS OF WINTER, not A DANCE WITH DRAGONS, so it's been moved into the next book. Sansa will not appear in DANCE. - Not a Blog

Based on the intentional placement of previous Jon and Sansa chapters, I have hypothesized that it should be possible to determine the original planned position of this Alayne chapter.

Below, I will do my best to argue Alayne I, TWOW was originally indented to appear directly before Jon X, ADWD.

Alright, it's time!

She was reading her little lord a tale of the Winged Knight when Mya Stone came knocking on the door of his bedchamber, clad in boots and riding leathers and smelling strongly of the stable. Mya had straw in her hair and a scowl on her face. That scowl comes of having Mychel Redfort near, Alayne knew.

I'm so slow, I'm only now picking up on the vague hints of Jon and Sansa's connection from the highborn-lowborn divide between Mya and Mychel Redfort.

She sounded so like Sansa, so happy and innocent with her dreams. Catelyn smiled, but the smile was tinged with sadness. The Redforts were an old name in the Vale, she knew, with the blood of the First Men in their veins. His love she might be, but no Redfort would ever wed a bastard. His family would arrange a more suitable match for him, to a Corbray or a Waynwood or a Royce, or perhaps a daughter of some greater house outside the Vale. - Catelyn VI, AGOT

She even had a king for a dad!

+.+.+

Why did she have to mention Harry? Alayne thought. We will never get Sweetrobin out of bed now. The boy slapped a pillow. "Send them away. I never asked them here." Mya looked nonplussed. No one in the Vale was better at handling a mule, but lordlings were another matter. "They were invited," she said uncertainly, "for the tourney. I don't…" Alayne closed her book. "Thank you, Mya. Let me talk with Lord Robert, if you would."

Oh look, 13-year-old Sansa is acting 24 again, and can I just mention she's absolutely fantastic at managing her son cousin.

+.+.+

"I hate that Harry," Sweetrobin said when she was gone. "He calls me cousin, but he's just waiting for me to die so he can take the Eyrie. He thinks I don't know, but I do." "Your lordship should not believe such nonsense," Alayne said. "I'm sure Ser Harrold loves you well." And if the gods are good, he will love me too. Her tummy gave a little flutter.

Back to 13.

Just like Arya and Mercy, you can still find traces of Sansa in Alayne.

+.+.+

"I don't want you to marry him, Alayne. I am the Lord of the Eyrie, and I forbid it." He sounded as if he were about to cry. "You should marry me instead. We could sleep in the same bed every night, and you could read me stories."

In the future, it might be a good idea to ensure that Jon and Sweetrobin are kept apart at all times.

+.+.+

No man can wed me so long as my dwarf husband still lives somewhere in this world. 

I don't know about that.

"Hush, you'll be the death of us. I did nothing. Come, we must away, they'll search for you. Your husband's been arrested."

"Tyrion?" she said, shocked.

"Do you have another husband? The Imp, the dwarf uncle, she thinks he did it." - Sansa V, ASOS

x

When Her Grace suggested that she would be pleased to help arrange marriages for his sons to the daughters of great southern lords, Lord Stark refused brusquely. "We keep the old gods in the North," he told the queen. "When my boys take a wife, they will wed before a heart tree, not in some southron sept." - Fire & Blood

+.+.+

Alayne stroked his fingers. "There, my Sweetrobin, be still now." When the shaking passed, she said, "You must have a proper wife, a trueborn maid of noble birth." "No. I want to marry you, Alayne." Once your lady mother intended that very thing, but I was trueborn then, and noble.

Trust me, this is less than nothing, we're only warming up. I can do way better than this.

(-> -> -> Jon X?)

"Who brings this woman to be wed?" asked Melisandre.

"I do," said Jon. "Now comes Alys of House Karstark, a woman grown and flowered, of noble blood and birth." - Jon X, ADWD

+.+.+

Alayne smoothed his hair. Lady Lysa had never let the servants touch it, and after she had died Robert had suffered terrible shaking fits whenever anyone came near him with a blade, so it had been allowed to grow until it tumbled over his round shoulders and halfway down his flabby white chest. He does have pretty hair. If the gods are good and he lives long enough to wed, his wife will admire his hair, surely. That much she will love about him. 

Mounting evidence that Sansa is plotting to kill Robert Arryn.

Why would he fear a blade?

+.+.+

"The Lord of the Eyrie can do as he likes. Can't I still love you, even if I have to marry her? Ser Harrold has a common woman. Benjicot says she's carrying his bastard." Benjicot should learn to keep his fool's mouth shut.

Lmao.

+.+.+

"Is that what you would have from me? A bastard?" She pulled her fingers from his grasp. "Would you dishonor me that way?" The boy looked stricken. "No. I never meant —" Alayne stood. "If it please my lord, I must go and find my father. Someone needs to greet Lady Waynwood." Before her little lord could find the words to protest, she gave him a quick curtsy and fled the bedchamber [...].

Masterfully done!

This is why I can't have children, I would have locked him in a closet.

+.+.+

When she had left Petyr Baelish that morning he had been breaking his fast with old Oswell who had arrived last night from Gulltown on a lathered horse. 

Did you know that the number of references to Oldtown gradually increases from book to book until it surges in A Storm of Swords, right before the city is formally introduced at the beginning of A Feast for Crows?

Gulltown is on a similar trajectory. The city is referenced nine times in this chapter alone. Nine.

+.+.+

Though snow had blanketed the heights of the Giant's Lance above, below the mountain the autumn lingered and winter wheat was ripening in the fields.

For timeline purposes: Sansa is lagging behind where Brienne and Jon currently are in the story.

Snow in the riverlands. If it was snowing here, it could well be snowing on Lannisport as well, and on King's Landing. Winter is marching south, and half our granaries are empty. Any crops still in the fields were doomed. [...] "I know," Jaime said, "there has been a white raven from the Citadel. Winter has come." - Jaime VII, AFFC

+.+.+

Alayne loved it here. She felt alive again, for the first since her father… since Lord Eddard Stark had died.

Stop.

+.+.+

She hoped they might still be talking, but Petyr's solar proved empty. Someone had left a window open and a stack of papers had blown onto the floor. [...] She closed the window, gathered up the fallen papers, and stacked them on the table. One was a list of the competitors. Four-and-sixty knights had been invited to vie for places amongst Lord Robert Arryn's new Brotherhood of Winged Knights, and four­ and-sixty knights had come to tilt for the right to wear falcon’s wings upon their warhelms and guard their lord.

It is widely speculated she saw something she shouldn't have, but hasn't fully grasped the significance yet.

Did you know there's 64 squares on a chessboard?

+.+.+

The competitors came from all over the Vale, from the mountain valleys and the coast, from Gulltown and the Bloody Gate, even the Three Sisters. Though a few were promised, only three were wed; the eight victors would be expected to spend the next three years at Lord Robert's side, as his own personal guard (Alayne had suggested seven, like the Kingsguard, but Sweetrobin had insisted that he must have more knights than King Tommen), so older men with wives and children had not been invited.

We love a petty king.

so older men with wives and children had not been invited.

Perfect for Blackfish! Where is that former Knight of the Gate? I know he's coming, the ellipsis of truth tells no lies.

And if Ser Brynden should survive this siege, he might be inclined to claim Riverrun in his own name . . . or in the name of young Robert Arryn. - Jaime V, AFFC

Where else is he supposed to go?

Edit:

Oh! @decadelongsummer reminded me that Jaime I, ADWD would have come before this. (<- <- <-)

"Might the Blackfish seek refuge at Raventree?"

"He might seek it, but to find it he'd need to get past my siege lines, and last I heard he hadn't grown wings. [...]" - Jaime I, ADWD

+.+.+

"They're young, eager, hungry for adventure and renown. Lysa would not let them go to war. This is the next best thing. A chance to serve their lord and prove their prowess. They will come. Even Harry the Heir." He had smoothed her hair and kissed her forehead. "What a clever daughter you are."

I will turn your liver into paste, and feed it to cats.

+.+.+

"What a clever daughter you are." It was clever.

✨ Clever girl! ✨

Dontos chuckled. "My Jonquil's a clever girl, isn't she?" - Sansa IV, ACOK

x

"There's a clever girl." He smiled, his thin lips bright red from the pomegranate seeds. - Sansa VI, ASOS

x

"[...] It was clever of you to see it. Though no more than I'd expect of mine own daughter." - Sansa I, AFFC

x

Sers, the Lady Alayne, my natural and very clever daughter . . . - Alayne II, AFFC

+.+.+

The tourney, the prizes, the winged knights, it had all been her own notion. Lord Robert's mother had filled him full of fears, but he always took courage from the tales she read him of Ser Artys Arryn, the Winged Knight of legend, founder of his line. Why not surround him with Winged Knights? She had thought one night, after Sweetrobin had finally drifted off to sleep. His own Kingsguard, to keep him safe and make him brave.

Sounds like something a queen might be responsible for planning.

Unreliable narrator Sansa Stark (or George R. R. Martin). Ser Artys Arryn was not the legendary Winged Knight from the Age of Heroes. Two different people.

I don't know if this is important or not, but while reading the history of Ser Artys, a few things stuck out.

Leading the attack was a champion in silvered steel, with a moon-and-falcon on his shield and wings upon his warhelm. Ser Artys Arryn had clad one of his knights retainer in his spare suit of armor, leaving him in camp whilst he himself took his best horsemen up and around a goat track that he remembered from his childhood, so they might reappear behind the First Men and descend on them from above. - The World of Ice and Fire

While fighting King Robar II Royce, Ser Artys used a decoy of himself, while he snuck up and around a goat track that he remembered from his childhood.

What's interesting about that is that Roose Bolton uses a decoy in ADWD, which fools Ramsay.

When the rider in the dark armor removed his helm, however, the face beneath was not one that Reek knew. Ramsay's smile curdled at the sight, and anger flashed across his face. "What is this, some mockery?" - Reek II, ADWD

But what really stands out is the goat tracks. I know a character who has deep appreciation for goat tracks being used during war.

"Goat tracks?" The king's eyes narrowed. "I speak of moving swiftly, and you waste my time with goat tracks?"

"When the Young Dragon conquered Dorne, he used a goat track to bypass the Dornish watchtowers on the Boneway." - Jon IV, ADWD

I don't know. It involved knights from the Vale, so it made me pause.

+.+.+

Lord Nestor was showing Lady Waxley his prize tapestries, with their scenes of hunt and chase. The same panels had once hung in the Red Keep of King's Landing, when Robert sat the Iron Throne. Joffrey had them taken down and they had languished in some cellar until Petyr Baelish arranged for them to be brought to the Vale as a gift for Nestor Royce. Not only were the hangings beautiful, but the High Steward delighted in telling anyone who'd listen that they had once belonged to a king.

It's the conclusion of the most anticlimactic side plot in the entire series.

"Not as yet. In truth, he seems quite unconcerned. His last letter mentions the rebels only briefly before beseeching me to ship him some old tapestries of Robert's." - Cersei IV, AFFC

x

Petyr laughed. "Perhaps I shall. Or better still, to our sweet Cersei. Though I should not speak harshly of her, she is sending me some splendid tapestries. Isn't that kind of her?" - Alayne I, AFFC

This is nothing. It's only meant to showcase how Littlefinger purchases the loyalty of others.

+.+.+

At the north end of the yard, three quintains had been set up, and some of the competitors were riding at them. Alayne knew them by their shields; the bells of Belmore, green vipers for the Lynderlys, the red sledge of Breakstone, House Tollett’s black and grey pily. Ser Mychel Redfort set one quintain spinning with a perfectly placed blow. He was one of those favored to win wings.

Showing off, as per usual. She's only doing this to make Arya look bad.

+.+.+

"The Lord Protector's daughter," the bald knight announced, all hearty gallantry. He rose ponderously. "And full as lovely as the tales told of her, I see." Not to be outdone, the pimply knight hopped up and said, "Ser Ossifer speaks truly, you are the most beautiful maid in all the Seven Kingdoms." It might have been a sweeter courtesy had he not addressed it to her chest. "And have you seen all those maids yourself, ser?" Alayne asked him. "You are young to be so widely travelled."

"You are even lovelier than I was told, princess," he declared. "The queen has told me much and more of your beauty."

"How odd, when she has never seen me." - Jon XI, ADWD

+.+.+

Alayne could not help but shutter. Myranda's husband had died when he was making love with her. "Those Sistermen who came in yesterday were gallant," she said, to change the subject. "If you don't like Ser Ossifer or Ser Uther, marry one of them instead. I thought the youngest one was very handsome." "The one in the sealskin cloak?" Randa said, incredulous. "One of his brothers, then." Myranda rolled her eyes. "They're from the Sisters. Did you ever know a Sisterman who could joust? They clean their swords with codfish oil and wash in tubs of cold seawater." “Well,” Alayne said, “at least they're clean.”

"Some of them have webs between their toes. [...]"

Uh huh.

Listen to me. Listen to me.

You know why this is here.

Davos: I:

Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.

Remind me, what did we learn in Davos I?

To get home and call his banners, Stark had to cross the mountains to the Fingers and find a fisherman to carry him across the Bite. A storm caught them on the way. The fisherman drowned, but his daughter got Stark to the Sisters before the boat went down.

[...]

Our maester urged us to send Stark's head to Aerys, to prove our loyalty. It would have meant a rich reward.

[...]

That was when Stark said, 'In this world only winter is certain. We may lose our heads, it's true … but what if we prevail?' My father sent him on his way with his head still on his shoulders. 'If you lose,' he told Lord Eddard, 'you were never here.'" - Davos I, ADWD

Right, exactly. Go ahead and remind us of the Three Sisters in a Sansa chapter, George. Nobody can figure out where this is going.

+.+.+

"Some of them have webs between their toes. I'd sooner marry Lord Petyr. Then I'd be your mother. How little is his finger, I ask you?"

Alayne did not dignify that question with an answer.

Totally normal thing you might ask his daughter.

+.+.+

"Is that a promise or a threat?" Myranda said. "The first Lady Waynwood must have been a mare, I think. How else to explain why all the Waynwood men are horse-faced? If I were ever to wed a Waynwood, he would have to swear a vow to don his helm whenever he wished to fuck me, and keep the visor closed." She gave Alayne a pinch on the arm.

Um, I have a theory!

"No," Catelyn agreed. "You must name another heir, until such time as Jeyne gives you a son." She considered a moment. "Your father's father had no siblings, but his father had a sister who married a younger son of Lord Raymar Royce, of the junior branch. They had three daughters, all of whom wed Vale lordlings. A Waynwood and a Corbray, for certain. The youngest . . . it might have been a Templeton, but . . ." - Catelyn V, ASOS

+.+.+

"My Harry will be with them, though. I notice that you left him out. I shall never forgive you for stealing him away from me. He's the boy I want to marry."

"The betrothal was my father's doing," Alayne protested, as she had a hundred times before. She is only teasing, she told herself… but behind the japes, she could hear the hurt.

We can't be certain, but she doesn't give off the same vibes as the other Myranda on the show.

+.+.+

Alayne could not see the front of his shield from where she stood, but his attacker bore three ravens in flight, each clutching a red heart in its claws. Three hearts and three ravens. She knew right then how the fight would end. A few moments later and the big man sprawled dazed in the dust with his helm askew. When his squire undid the fastenings to bare his head, there was blood trickling down his scalp. If the swords had not been blunted, there would be brains as well. That last head blow had been so hard Alayne had winced in sympathy when it fell. Myranda Royce considered the victor thoughtfully. "Do you think if I asked nicely Ser Lyn would kill my suitors for me?" "He might, for a plump bag of gold." Ser Lyn Corbray was forever desperately short of coin, all the Vale knew that.

Based on my powerful foresight, I predict that Lyn Corbray will exhibit violent tendencies in the future, possibly while utilizing his Valyrian steel sword.

Don't ask me who the victim will be.

+.+.+

There is truth in that, Alayne thought, but some demon of mischief was in her that morning, so she gave Ser Lyn a thrust of her own. Smiling sweetly, she said, "My lord father tells me your brother's new wife is with child." Corbray gave her a dark look. "Lyonel sends his regrets. He remains at Heart's Home with his peddler's daughter, watching her belly swell as if he were the first man who ever got a wench pregnant." Oh, that's an open wound, thought Alayne. Lyonel Corbray's first wife had given him nothing but a frail, sickly babe who died in infancy, and during all those years Ser Lyn had remained his brother's heir. When the poor woman finally died, however, Petyr Baelish had stepped in and brokered a new marriage for Lord Corbray. The second Lady Corbray was sixteen, the daughter of a wealthy Gulltown merchant, but she had come with an immense dowry, and men said she was a tall, strapping, healthy girl, with big breasts and good, wide hips. And fertile too, it seems. "We are all praying that the Mother grants Lady Corbray an easy labor and a healthy child," said Myranda. Alayne could not help herself. She smiled and said, "My father is always pleased to be of service to one of Lord Robert's leal bannermen. I'm sure he would be most delighted to help broker a marriage for you as well, Ser Lyn." "How kind of him." Corbray's lips drew back in something that might have been meant as a smile, though it gave Alayne a chill. "But what need have I for heirs when I am landless and like to remain so, thanks to our Lord Protector? No. Tell your lord father I need none of his brood mares." The venom in his voice was so thick that for a moment she almost forgot that Lyn Corbray was actually her father's catspaw, bought and paid for. Or was he? Perhaps, instead of being Petyr's man pretending to be Petyr's foe, he was actually his foe pretending to be his man pretending to be his foe.

Uh oh, Nostradamus senses something. There she goes leaking the plot again!

The king's own fool, the pie-faced simpleton called Moon Boy, danced about on stilts, all in motley, making mock of everyone with such deft cruelty that Sansa wondered if he was simple after all. - Sansa II, AGOT

x

Sansa shuddered. Every time she looked at Ser Ilyn Payne, she shivered. - Sansa III, AGOT

x

Varys was wringing his soft hands together, Grand Maester Pycelle kept his sleepy eyes on the papers in front of him, but she could feel Littlefinger staring. Something about the way the small man looked at her made Sansa feel as though she had no clothes on. Goose bumps pimpled her skin. - Sansa IV, AGOT

x

For his sigil he had taken a bloody spear, gold on a night-black field. The sight of it raised goose prickles up and down Sansa's arms. - Sansa V, AGOT

x

Ser Boros was short-tempered, Ser Meryn cold, and Ser Mandon's strange dead eyes made her uneasy - Sansa I, ACOK

x

"I don't want to." Lollys clutched at her maid, a slender, pretty girl with short dark hair who looked as though she wanted nothing so much as to shove her mistress into the dry moat, onto those iron spikes. "Please, please, I don't want to." - Sansa V, ACOK

x

Besides, the lords of the Trident were sworn to Riverrun and House Tully, and to the King in the North; they would never accept Littlefinger as their liege. Unless they are made to. Unless my brother and my uncle and my grandfather are all cast down and killed. The thought made Sansa anxious, but she told herself she was being silly. - Sansa VIII, ACOK

x

Yet the more she thought about it all, the more she wondered. Joff might restrain himself for a few turns, perhaps as long as a year, but soon or late he will show his claws, and when he does . . . The realm might have a second Kingslayer, and there would be war inside the city, as the men of the lion and the men of the rose made the gutters run red. - Sansa I, ASOS

Believe in Sansa. The bottom line is that Lyn Corbray is a problem, and he's not as loyal to Littlefinger as Littlefinger thinks. Where this goes, I couldn't tell you.

(I desperately wanted to highlight every instance of Daenerys incorrectly reading someone, but I chose to be an adult.)

+.+.+

Alayne turned abruptly from the yard… and bumped into a short, sharp-faced man with a brush of orange hair who had come up behind her. His hand shot out and caught her arm before she could fall. "My lady. My pardons if I took you unawares." "The fault was mine. I did not see you standing there." "We mice are quiet creatures." Ser Shadrich was so short that he might have been taken for a squire, but his face belonged to a much older man. She saw long leagues in the wrinkles at the corner of his mouth, old battles in the scar beneath his ear, and a hardness behind the eyes that no boy would ever have. This was a man grown. Even Randa overtopped him, though. "Will you be seeking wings?" the Royce girl said. "A mouse with wings would be a silly sight." "Perhaps you will try the melee instead?" Alayne suggested. The melee was an afterthought, a sop for all the brothers, uncles, fathers, and friends who had accompanied the competitors to the Gates of the Moon to see them win their silver wings, but there would be prizes for the champions, and a chance to win ransoms. "A good melee is all a hedge knight can hope for, unless he stumbles on a bag of dragons. And that's not likely, is it?"

Speaking of problems.

You know who Varys is, I trust? The eunuch has offered a plump bag of gold for this girl you've never heard of. I am not a greedy man. If some oversized wench would help me find this naughty child, I would split the Spider's coin with her. - Brienne I, AFFC

The following is speculative, but also highly rational in my opinion.

It would be incredibly illogical for the author to introduce Ser Shadrich in Brienne's first chapter, reveal his objective to the reader, have him show up in the Vale near the same book's conclusion, clearly signal to the reader that he's correctly identified Sansa, and then proceed to not utilize him in any meaningful way. This is not what a red herring looks like.

There's probably a reason why Brienne's been gifted the knowledge of his appearance, and his objective. Brienne may not know what Alayne looks like, but she does know what Ser Shadrich looks like.

There's probably a reason why Brienne gauges both of their fighting skills while anticipating a potential encounter. (Come on.)

The Mad Mouse, she thought, at her first sight of him. Somehow he's followed me. Her hand went to her sword hilt, and she found herself wondering if Ser Shadrich would think her easy prey just because she was a woman. [...] If it was Ser Shadrich dogging her heels, she might well have a fight on her hands. She did not intend to partner with the man or let him follow her to Sansa. He had the sort of easy arrogance that comes with skill at arms, she thought, but he was small. I'll have the reach on him, and I should be stronger too. - Brienne II, AFFC

We watched Brienne intercept a Stark daughter three different times on the show.

None of these scenes can happen in the books, but we already know the show creators drew inspiration from canon events, and assigned different characters to the roles.

They gave the role of Biter to the Hound and made Brienne fight him, do you not think it's also possible one of these scenes is inspired by Brienne intercepting Shadrich and Sansa in the books?

"But Brienne's currently captured by Lady Stoneheart near Pennytree, and has a broken arm and face!"

Sansa's 👏 and 👏 Brienne's 👏 storylines 👏 aren't 👏 synchronized.

He told us what Brienne would do! He told us!

The Eyrie would be simpler, and Lady Lysa would surely welcome her sister's daughter . . .

Ahead, the alley bent. Somehow Brienne had taken a wrong turn. She found herself in a dead end, a small muddy yard where three pigs were rooting round a low stone well.

[...]

"I was looking for the Seven Swords."

"Back the way you come. Left at the sept."

"I thank you." Brienne turned to retrace her steps, and walked headfirst into someone hurrying round the bend. - Brienne II, AFFC

Brienne 👏 will 👏 escape! She'll 👏 turn 👏 back!

+.+.+

They made a race of it, dashing headlong across the yard and past the stables, skirts flapping, whilst knights and serving men alike looked on, and pigs and chickens scattered before them. It was most unladylike, but Alayne sound found herself laughing. For just a little while, as she ran, she forget who she was, and where, and found herself remembering bright cold days at Winterfell, when she would race through Winterfell with her friend Jeyne Poole, with Arya running after them trying to keep up.

Always nice seeing her act her age.

+.+.+

Harry the Heir, Alayne thought. My husband-to-be, if he will have me. A sudden terror filled her. She wondered if her face was red. Don't stare at him, she reminded herself, don't stare, don't gape, don't gawk. Look away. Her hair must be a frightful mess after all that running. It took all her will to stop herself from trying to tuck the loose strands back into place. Never mind your stupid hair. Your hair doesn't matter. It's him that matters. Him, and the Waynwoods. Ser Roland was the oldest of the three, though no more than five-and-twenty. He was taller and more muscular than Ser Wallace, but both were long-faced and lantern-jawed, with stringy brown hair and pinched noses. Horsefaced and homely, Alayne thought. Harry, though… My Harry. My lord, my lover, my betrothed.Ser Harrold Hardyng looked every inch a lord-in-waiting; clean-limbed and handsome, straight as a lance, hard with muscle. Men old enough to have known Jon Arryn in his youth said Ser Harrold had his look, she knew. He had a mop of sandy blond hair, pale blue eyes, an aquiline nose. Joffrey was comely too, though, she reminded herself. A comely monster, that’s what he was. Little Lord Tyrion was kinder, twisted though he was.

Wow, how much do you love that?

Sansa directly compares the horse-faced Waynwoods, who have Stark lineage and were once potential heirs to Robb, to the more attractive Harry Hardyng (aka Joffrey).

I'm sorry, you have to see this:

Un-fucking-real. So close. They're always so close.

Yeah guys, why isn't she thinking about Arya? It's obvious we're supposed to be thinking about Arya during this passage. The author's intentions here are clear, the subtext is Arya. Sansa comparing these Stark-ish, likable Waynwood men to the comely yet rude Harry the Heir is totally about Arya. Arya's written all over this. We're so clever to see it.

Side note,

Joffrey was comely too, though, she reminded herself. A comely monster, that's what he was.

x

"Beauty can be treacherous. My brother learned that lesson from Cersei Lannister. [...]." - Jon XI, ASOS

Love when my babies both learn about beauty's hidden dangers!

+.+.+

"I look forward to a spirited discussion." Ser Roland swung down from his horse, turned to Alayne, and smiled. "I had heard that Lord Littlefinger's daughter was fair of face and full of grace, but no one ever told me that she was a thief." "You wrong me, ser. I am no thief!" Ser Roland placed his hand over his heart. "Then how do you explain this hole in my chest, from where you stole my heart?"

Man, these horsey Waynwoods are crushing hard on Sansa. hehehehe.

Instead, he blamed Jon Snow and wondered when Jon's heart had turned to stone. - Samwell III, AFFC

+.+.+

"You are in the Falcon Tower, Ser Harrold," Alayne put in. Far away from Sweetrobin. That was intentional, she knew. Petyr Baelish did not leave such things to chance. "If it please you, I will show you to your chambers myself." This time her eyes met Harry's. She smiled just for him, and said a silent prayer to the Maiden. Please, he doesn't need to love me, just make him like me, just a little, that would be enough for now. Ser Harrold looked down at her coldly. "Why should it please me to be escorted anywhere by Littlefinger's bastard?"

+.+.+

A lady's armor is her courtesy. Alayne could feel the blood rushing to her face. No tears, she prayed. Please, please, I must not cry. "As you wish, ser. And now if you will excuse me, Littlefinger's bastard must find her lord father and let him know that you have come, so we can begin the tourney on the morrow." And may your horse stumble, Harry the Heir, so you fall on your stupid head in your first tilt. She showed the Waynwoods a stone face as they blurted out awkward apologies for their companion. When they were done she turned and fled. Near the keep, she ran headlong into Ser Lothor Brune and almost knocked him off his feet. "Harry the Heir? Harry the Arse, I say. He's just some upjumped squire." Alayne was so grateful that she hugged him. "Thank you. Have you seen my father, ser?"

Oopsie daisy, Nostradamus has returned.

The most terrifying moment of the day came during Ser Gregor's second joust, when his lance rode up and struck a young knight from the Vale under the gorget with such force that it drove through his throat, killing him instantly. The youth fell not ten feet from where Sansa was seated. The point of Ser Gregor's lance had snapped off in his neck, and his life's blood flowed out in slow pulses, each weaker than the one before. His armor was shiny new; a bright streak of fire ran down his outstretched arm, as the steel caught the light. Then the sun went behind a cloud, and it was gone. His cloak was blue, the color of the sky on a clear summer's day, trimmed with a border of crescent moons, but as his blood seeped into it, the cloth darkened and the moons turned red, one by one. - Sansa II, AGOT

x

"Look at that upjumped oaf," Joff hooted, loud enough for half the yard to hear.

[...]

I hope he falls and shames himself, she thought bitterly. I hope Ser Balon kills him. When Joffrey proclaimed her father's death, it had been Janos Slynt who seized Lord Eddard's severed head by the hair and raised it on high for king and crowd to behold, while Sansa wept and screamed.

Morros dropped his lance, fought for balance, and lost. One foot caught in a stirrup as he fell, and the runaway charger dragged the youth to the end of the lists, head bouncing against the ground. Joff hooted derision. Sansa was appalled, wondering if the gods had heard her vengeful prayer. - Sansa I, ACOK

x

At the last possible instant, Ser Humfrey's [Hardyng] stallion reared away from the oncoming point, eyes rolling in terror, but too late, Aerion's lance took the animal just above the armor that protected his breastbone, and exploded out of the back of his neck in a gout of bright blood. Screaming, the horse crashed sideways, knocking the wooden barrier to pieces as he fell. Ser Humfrey [Hardyng] tried to leap free, but a foot caught in a stirrup and they heard his shriek as his leg was crushed between the splintered fence and falling horse. - The Hedge Knight

A knight from the Vale.

Correctly predicting it will happen to an upjumped oaf.

A Hardyng.

There are two certainties in this life: death and Harrold Hardyng falling off his horse. (Plenty of people don't pay their taxes.)

+.+.+

The vaults were large and dark and filthy. Alayne lit a taper and clutched her skirt as she made the descent. Near the bottom, she heard Lord Grafton's booming voice, and followed. "The merchants are clamoring to buy, and the lords are clamoring to sell," the Gulltowner was saying when she found them. Though not a tall man, Grafton was wide, with thick arms and shoulders. His hair was a dirty blond mop. "How am I to stop that, my lord?" "Post guardsmen on the docks. If need be, seize the ships. How does not matter, so long as no food leaves the Vale." "These prices, though," protested fat Lord Belmore," these prices are more than fair." "You say more than fair, my lord. I say less than we would wish. Wait. If need be, buy the food yourself and keep it stored. Winter is coming. Prices must go higher." "Perhaps," said Belmore, doubtfully. "Bronze Yohn will not wait," Grafton complained. "He need not ship through Gulltown, he has his own ports. Whilst we are hoarding our harvest, Royce and the other Lords Declarant will turn theirs into silver, you may be sure of that."

I smell converging storylines!

Our best hope may be the Eyrie. The Vale of Arryn was famously fertile and had gone untouched during the fighting. Jon wondered how Lady Catelyn's sister would feel about feeding Ned Stark's bastard. - Jon IV, ADWD

Someone cut Littlefinger's head off, so everyone can eat.

Anyway, there's more Gulltown. Gulltown, Gulltown, Gulltown!

She might do better to take ship for Gulltown or White Harbor. I could do both, though. - Brienne II, AFFC

x

If the Stinking Goose yields nothing, I will take passage on a ship, she decided. Gulltown was only a short voyage away. From there she could make her way to the Eyrie easily enough. - Brienne III, AFFC

x

"Gulltown next," her captain told her, "thence around the Fingers to Sisterton and White Harbor, if the storms allow. She's a clean ship, 'Strider, not so many rats as most, and we'll have fresh eggs and new-churned butter aboard. Is m'lady seeking passage north?"

"No." Not yet. She was tempted, but . . . - Brienne V, AFFC

NOT YET. NOT YET! GULLTOWN -> SISTERTON -> WHITE HARBOR. HE TOLD US. HE FORESHADOWS EVERYTHING. IT'S RIGHT THERE.

+.+.+

"And is Ser Harrold with them?" Horrible Ser Harrold. "He is." Lord Belmore laughed. "I never thought Royce would let him come. Is he blind, or merely stupid?" "He is honorable. Sometimes it amounts to the same thing. If he denied the lad the chance to prove himself, it could create a rift between them, so why not let him tilt? The boy is nowise skilled enough to win a place amongst the Winged Knights."

Gosh, since his introduction, it seems like we've been constantly reminded that this upjumped squire is rather inept when it comes to sports.

"Our cousin Bronze Yohn had himself a mêlée at Runestone," Myranda Royce went on, oblivious, "a small one, just for squires. It was meant for Harry the Heir to win the honors, and so he did." - Alayne II, AFFC

+.+.+

"Come," Petyr said, "walk with me." He took her by the arm and led her deeper into the vaults, past an empty dungeon.

I will cut your eyelids off.

+.+.+

"Yes," she said, "but why must he be so cruel? He called me your bastard. Right in the yard, in front of everyone." "So far as he knows, that's who you are. This betrothal was never his idea, and Bronze Yohn has no doubt warned him against my wiles. You are my daughter. He does not trust you, and he believes that you're beneath him." "Well, I'm not. He may think he's some great knight, but Ser Lothor says he's just some upjumped squire."

Sansa's acquiring a new perspective through experiential learning: understanding the bastard experience. Aww. <3

+.+.+

Petyr put his arm around her. "So he is, but he is Robert's heir as well. Bringing Harry here was the first step in our plan, but now we need to keep him, and only you can do that. He has a weakness for a pretty face, and whose face is prettier than yours? Charm him. Entrance him. Bewitch him."

Getting to the good stuff.

I'll tell you one thing, I have more faith in Sansa successfully accomplishing this than 6-year-old Alys Karstark.

(-> -> -> Jon X?)

"It is my own fault. My lord father told me I must charm your brother Robb, but I was only six and didn't know how."

Aye, but now you're almost six-and-ten, and we must pray you will know how to charm your new husband. - Jon X, ADWD

I've said it a million times in other Sansa chapters, so I won't elaborate, but if you truly believe Littlefinger's plan is to wed Catelyn 2.0 to imitation Brandon Stark, you might be out of your mind.

Petyr put his arm around her.

I will pluck every hair from your head, and genitals.

+.+.+

"I don't know how," she said miserably. "Oh, I think you do," said Littlefinger, with one of those smiles that did not reach his eyes.

Excluding the instance where she copied Harry's words, that is the only time she calls him Littlefinger in this chapter.

She hasn't forgotten.

+.+.+

"You will be the most beautiful woman in the hall tonight, as lovely as your lady mother at your age. I cannot seat you on the dais, but you'll have a place of honor above the salt and underneath a wall sconce. The fire will be shining in your hair, so everyone will see how fair of face you are. Keep a good long spoon on hand to beat the squires off, sweetling. You will not want green boys underfoot when the knights come round to beg you for your favor." "Who would ask to wear a bastard's favor?"

"Harry, if he has the wits the gods gave a goose… but do not give it to him. Choose some other gallant, and favor him instead. You do not want to seem too eager."

I'd be hesitant to allow fire to shine in Sansa's hair.

This feels like a developing story. I'd love to know who is getting this favor if it's not Harry the Arse.

He had worn her favor in the Battle of the Blackwater, where he'd slain a Myrish crossbowman and a Mullendore man-at-arms. "Alyn said her favor made him fearless," said Megga. "He says he shouted her name for his battle cry, isn't that ever so gallant? Someday I want some champion to wear my favor, and kill a hundred men." - Sansa II, ASOS

x

"Saving yourself for Lord Robert?" Lady Myranda teased. "Or is there some ardent squire dreaming of your favors?" - Alayne II, AFFC

x

Edmure escorted her up the water stair and across the lower bailey, where Petyr Baelish and Brandon Stark had once crossed swords for her favor.  - Catelyn XI, AGOT

+.+.+

"Lady Waynwood will insist that Harry dance with you, I can promise you that much. That will be your chance. Smile at the boy. Touch him when you speak. Tease him, to pique his pride. If he seems to be responding, tell him that you are feeling faint, and ask him to take you outside for a breath of fresh air. No knight could refuse such a request from a fair maiden."

The above won't happen, but in her next chapter, I'll be super on edge whenever she's exposed and there aren't many people around.

+.+.+

Petyr drew her close and kissed her on both cheeks. "The night belongs to you, sweetling, Remember that, always."

I will make you deepthroat a cactus.

+.+.+

The feast proved to be everything her father promised. Sixty-four dishes were served, in honor of the sixty-four competitors who had come so far to contest for silver wings before their lord. From the rivers and the lakes came pike and trout and salmon, from the seas crabs and cod and herring. Ducks there were, and capons, peacocks in their plumage and swans in almond milk. Suckling pigs were served up crackling with apples in their mouths, and three huge aurochs were roasted whole above firepits in the castle yard, since they were too big to get through the kitchen doors. Loaves of hot bread filled the trestle tables in Lord Nestor's hall, and massive wheels of cheese were brought up from the vaults. The butter was fresh-churned, and there were leeks and carrots, roasted onions, beets, turnips, parsnips. And best of all, Lord Nestor's cooks prepared a splendid subtlety, a lemon cake in the shape of the Giant's Lance, twelve feet tall and adorned with an Eyrie made of sugar. For me, Alayne thought, as they wheeled it out. Sweetrobin loved lemon cakes too, but only after she told him that they were her favorites. The cake had required every lemon in the Vale, but Petyr had promised that he would send to Dorne for more.

A splendid subtlety, lol.

Nice, Littlefinger gifted her a giant penis. I wonder if the ones from Dorne taste any better. (I'm sorry.)

Look, it's a feast!

(-> -> -> Jon X?)

The stewards began to bring out the first dish, an onion broth flavored with bits of goat and carrot. Not precisely royal fare, but nourishing; it tasted good enough and warmed the belly. Owen the Oaf took up his fiddle, and several of the free folk joined in with pipes and drums. The same pipes and drums they played to sound Mance Rayder's attack upon the Wall. Jon thought they sounded sweeter now. With the broth came loaves of coarse brown bread, warm from the oven. Salt and butter sat upon the tables. - Jon X, ADWD

+.+.+

When the last course had been served and cleared, the tables were lifted from their trestles to clear the floor for dancing, and musicians were brought in.

[...] "As am I," Coldwater said. Rising, he offered Alayne his hand. "Would you honor me with this dance, my lady?" "You're very kind," she said, as he led her to the floor. He was her first partner of the evening, but far from the last. Just as Petyr had promised, the young knights flocked around her, vying for her favor. After Ben came Andrew Tollett, handsome Ser Byron, red-nosed Ser Morgarth, and Ser Shadrich the Mad Mouse. Then Ser Albar Royce, Myranda's stout dull brother and Lord Nestor's heir. She danced with all three Sunderlands, none of whom had webs between their fingers, though she could not vouch for their toes. Uther Shett appeared to pay her slimy compliments as he trod upon her feet, but Ser Targon the Halfwild proved to be the soul of courtesy. After that Ser Roland Waynwood swept her up and made her laugh with mocking comments about half the other knights in the hall. His uncle Wallace took a turn as well and tried to do the same, but the words would not come. Alayne finally took pity on him and began to chatter happily, to spare him the embarrassment. When the dance was done she excused herself, and went back to her place to have a drink of wine.

Oh my goodness, they're dancing! Ser Jon Waynwood sounds like a hoot.

(-> -> -> Jon X?)

The queen's men outnumbered the queen's ladies three to one, so even the humblest serving girls were pressed into the dance. After a few songs some black brothers remembered skills learned at the courts and castles of their youth, before their sins had sent them to the Wall, and took the floor as well. That old rogue Ulmer of the Kingswood proved as adept at dancing as he was at archery, no doubt regaling his partners with his tales of the Kingswood Brotherhood, when he rode with Simon Toyne and Big Belly Ben and helped Wenda the White Fawn burn her mark in the buttocks of her highborn captives. Satin was all grace, dancing with three serving girls in turn but never presuming to approach a highborn lady. 

[...]

"You could dance with me, you know. It would be only courteous. You danced with me anon."

"Anon?" teased Jon.

"When we were children." She tore off a bit of bread and threw it at him. "As you know well."

"My lady should dance with her husband." - Jon X, ADWD

Dance with me, Jon Snow! You'll dance with me anon.

Don't be offended Alys, you're not the right partner.

When the musicians began to play, she timidly laid her hand on Tyrion's and said, "My lord, should we lead the dance?"

His mouth twisted. "I think we have already given them sufficent amusement for one day, don't you?" - Sansa III, ASOS

And neither was he.

I won't get too deep into each dance partner, because this post is long enough, but I'm sure you can see there's more than a few allusions to Jon (Coldwater, Tollett, Ser Byron, Royce, etc.).

Read more here:

Allusions to Jon in The Dance Partners of TWOW, Alayne I (@cappymightwrite)

+.+.+

And there he stood, Harry the Heir himself; tall, handsome, scowling. "Lady Alayne. May I partner you in this dance?" She considered for a moment. "No. I don't think so." Color rose to his cheeks. "I was unforgivably rude to you in the yard. You must forgive me." "Must?" She tossed her hair, took a sip of wine, made him wait. "How can you forgive someone who is unforgivably rude? Will you explain that to me, ser?" Ser Harrold looked confused. "Please. One dance."

Charm him. Entrance him. Bewitch him. "If you insist."

Boo, hiss. Wrong dance partner!

She'll talk circles around you if you let her.

+.+.+

He nodded, offered his arm, led her out onto the floor. As they waited for the music to resume, Alayne glanced at the dais, where Lord Robert sat staring at them. Please, she prayed, don’t let him start to twitch and shake. Not here. Not now. Maester Coleman would have made certain that he drank a strong dose of sweetmilk before the feast, but even so.

Oh good, the doctor who keeps tempting fate is back.

Just give him a cup of the sweetmilk before we go, and another at the feast, and there should be no trouble."

"Very well." They paused at the foot of the stairs. "But this must be the last. For half a year, or longer." - Alayne II, AFFC

+.+.+

Instead she said, "I have heard that you are about to be a father." It was not something most girls would say to their almost-betrothed, but she wanted to see if Ser Harrold would lie. "For the second time. My daughter Alys is two years old."

Your bastard daughter Alys, Alayne thought, but what she said was, "That one had a different mother, though."

What a totally unique name we've given this kid!

(-> -> -> Jon X?)

Jon turned to Alys Karstark. "My lady. Are you ready?" - Jon X, ADWD

Did I say he's Brandon Stark? I meant Brandon Stark with a little hint of Robert Baratheon.

+.+.+

"Yes. Cissy was a pretty thing when I tumbled her, but childbirth left her as fat as a cow, so Lady Anya arranged for her to marry one of her men-at-arms. It is different with Saffron." "Saffron?" Alayne tried not to laugh. "Truly?" Ser Harrold had the grace to blush. "Her father says she is more precious to him than gold. He's rich, the richest man in Gulltown. A fortune in spices." "What will you name the babe?" she asked. "Cinnamon if she's a girl? Cloves if he's a boy?"

That roast is worthy of applause.

Fun words are everywhere!

(-> -> -> Jon X?)

"Hobb's mulled some wine with cinnamon and cloves. That'll warm us some."

"What's cloves?" asked Owen the Oaf. - Jon X, ADWD

+.+.+

"Saffron is very beautiful, I'll have you know. Tall and slim, with big brown eyes and hair like honey." Alayne raised her head. "More beautiful than me?" Ser Harrold studied her face. "You are comely enough, I grant you. When Lady Anya first told me of this match, I was afraid that you might look like your father." "Little pointy beard and all?" Alayne laughed. "I never meant..." "I hope you joust better than you talk."

I am extremely confident he does not.

Are tall girls with honey in their hair his type? Too bad.

+.+.+

For a moment he looked shocked. But as the song was ending, he burst into a laugh. "No one told me you were clever."

✨ Clever girl! ✨

Melisandre closed her eyes, remembering. "West."

"She is not coming up the kingsroad, then. Clever girl. [...]" - Melisandre I, ADWD

+.+.+

He has good teeth, she thought, straight and white. And when he smiles, he has the nicest dimples. She ran one finger down his cheek. "Should we ever wed, you'll have to send Saffron back to her father. I'll be all the spice you'll want." He grinned. "I will hold you to that promise, my lady. Until that day, may I wear your favor in the tourney?" "You may not. It is promised to… another." She was not sure who as yet, but she knew she would find someone.

Before I get to the last bit, can I tell you something?

I read a sizeable amount of fandom commentary on this chapter, and not one single person contemplated who she's saving her favor for. It didn't come up once.

People are either deliberately avoiding asking themselves that question, or they believe the ending of this chapter is insignificant, and the topic won't resurface again. I'm not sure which one annoys me more.

+.+.+

"You may not. It is promised to… another." She was not sure who as yet, but she knew she would find someone.

Now turn the page.

(-> -> -> Jon X?)

It's the Alys Karstark x Sigorn wedding chapter! Yay.

Interestingly, in the first few pages of that chapter, the author intentionally creates an initial impression that it's Jon Snow who is marrying Alys Karstark. Curious, isn't it?

Let's discuss what we know about the bride, who the author led us to believe Jon Snow was marrying.

According to the fandom, Alys Karstark is Jon Snow's girl in grey. Small problem with that, she never wears grey, and never travels near a body of water to get to Castle Black.

"I saw water. Deep and blue and still, with a thin coat of ice just forming on it. It seemed to go on and on forever."

"Long Lake. What else did you see around this girl?" - Melisandre I, ADWD

However, she was fleeing from a forced marriage. Her great-uncle has assumed the role of Lord of Karhold, and made her a match, despite lacking any rightful claim to the land or castle.

Your uncle … would that be Lord Arnolf?" "He is no lord," Alys said scornfully. [...] Uncle Arnolf is only castellan. - Jon IX, ADWD

↓

"Lysa was murdered before the document could be presented for her signature, so I signed as Lord Protector. I knew that would have been her wish." - Sansa I, AFFC

The marriage is to her uncle, Cregan Karstark. Sorry, I should clarify this uncle isn't actually her uncle, it's just what they call him.

He's my great-uncle, actually, my father's uncle. Cregan is his son. I suppose that makes him a cousin, but we always called him uncle. Now they mean to make me call him husband. - Jon IX, ADWD

↓

"Wed?" Sansa was stunned. "You and my aunt?" - Sansa VI, ASOS

x

"I am Alayne, Father. Who else would I be?" - Sansa I, AFFC

Perhaps you're wondering how we arrived at this point. Long ago, Alys' father desired her to marry the future Lord of Winterfell. Unfortunately, at that time, she was too young to captivate him with her charm.

"It is my own fault. My lord father told me I must charm your brother Robb, but I was only six and didn't know how." - Jon X, ADWD

↓

Charm him. Entrance him. Bewitch him. "If you insist." - Alayne I, TWOW

Instead, she was betrothed to Daryn Hornwood, and they were patiently awaiting her coming of age.

Before the war I was betrothed to Daryn Hornwood. We were only waiting till I flowered to be wed - Jon IX, ADWD

↓

If they do that … why, then we shall know that there is no taint in your blood, and when you come into the flower of your womanhood, you shall wed the king in the Great Sept of Baelor, before the eyes of gods and men. - Sansa IV, AGOT

Sadly, Daryn Hornwood died in the war. Rickard Karstark was forced to find her another lord to marry.

My father wrote that he would find some southron lord to wed me, but he never did. - Jon IX, ADWD

↓

When you're old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord who's worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong. - Sansa III, AGOT

Of course all that went to shit when Rickard Karstark got his head cut off.

Your brother Robb cut off his head for killing Lannisters. - Jon IX, ADWD

↓

"But they have the soft hearts of women. So long as I am your king, treason shall never go unpunished. Ser Ilyn, bring me his head!" - Arya V, AGOT

Now, it's worth mentioning that Alys' older brother Harrion is the rightful heir to Karhold. However, if he were to die, Alys would inherit Karhold, which ambitious men like her uncles are aware of.

Should my brother die, Karhold should pass to me, but my uncles want my birthright for their own. - Jon IX, ADWD

↓

"But he does not know you," Dontos insisted, "and he will not love you. Jonquil, Jonquil, open your sweet eyes, these Tyrells care nothing for you. It's your claim they mean to wed."

[...]

She never thought to have a claim, but with Bran and Rickon dead . . . It doesn't matter, there's still Robb, he's a man grown now, and soon he'll wed and have a son. - Sansa II, ASOS

x

"The man who weds Sansa Stark can claim Winterfell in her name," his uncle Kevan put in. "Had that not occurred to you?" - Tyrion IV, ASOS

x

"Winterfell has withstood fiercer enemies than me. It is Winterfell, is it not?"

"Yes," Sansa admitted.

He walked along outside the walls. "I used to dream of it, in those years after Cat went north with Eddard Stark. In my dreams it was ever a dark place, and cold." - Sansa VII, ASOS

Thankfully, most people in this story are familiar with the rules of succession.

If her brother is dead, Karhold belongs to Lady Alys. - Jon X, ADWD

↓

Jon said, "Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa." - Jon IV, ADWD

Hence, the arranged marriage. Enter Cregan Karstark, a dangerous man who covets her birthright. He has a dark history, having buried multiple wives, and he would no longer need Alys if she ever had his child.

Once Cregan gets a child by me they won't need me anymore. He's buried two wives already. - Jon IX, ADWD

↓

"Only Cat." He gave her a short, sharp shove.

Lysa stumbled backward, her feet slipping on the wet marble. - Sansa VII, ASOS

x

Arya's gone, the same as Bran and Rickon, and they'll kill Sansa too once the dwarf gets a child from her. - Catelyn V, ASOS

Fear not, for this story finds a happy ending. Before her not-uncle can get his hands on her, our hero Jon Snow intervenes and arranges a marriage between Alys and a wildling, ensuring her safety and happiness.

"So," said Alys, as Jon poured, "I am now a woman wed. A wildling husband with his own little wildling army." - Jon X, ADWD

↓

I see what you are, Snow. Half a wolf and half a wildling, baseborn get of a traitor and a whore. - Jon X, ADWD

The guy is such a white knight, he even daydreams of gifting her Cregan's head! (Thank you @that-plo-koon for that one.)

I should make his head a wedding gift for Lady Alys and her Magnar, Jon thought, but dare not take the risk. - Jon X, ADWD

↓

[...] wishing she could hurt him, wishing that some hero would throw him down and cut off his head. - Sansa VI, AGOT

x

"Tromp tromp I'm a giant, I'm a giant," he chanted. "Ho ho ho, open your gates or I'll mash them and smash them." - Sansa VII

[...]

A mad rage seized hold of her. She picked up a broken branch and smashed the torn doll's head down on top of it, then pushed it down atop the shattered gatehouse of her snow castle. The servants looked aghast, but when Littlefinger saw what she'd done he laughed. "If the tales be true, that's not the first giant to end up with his head on Winterfell's walls." - Sansa VII, ASOS

Isn't that a great story? Other than a few amusing nuggets, that mostly covers everything.

My brother Harry is the rightful lord - Jon IX, ADWD [Brother Harry]

↓

"Harry the Heir?" - Alayne II, AFFC [Father Harry]

x

Jon turned to Alys Karstark. "My lady. Are you ready?" - Jon X, ADWD [Sister Alys]

↓

Your bastard daughter Alys, Alayne thought - Alayne I, TWOW [Daughter Alys]

So that's Alys Karstark, the girl George had us believing Jon Snow was marrying, in a chapter likely intended to follow this one.

While we're on the topic of that Jon Snow fakeout wedding, can I tell you what my favourite passage was?

The girl smiled in a way that reminded Jon so much of his little sister that it almost broke his heart. "Let him be scared of me." The snowflakes were melting on her cheeks, but her hair was wrapped in a swirl of lace that Satin had found somewhere, and the snow had begun to collect there, giving her a frosty crown. Her cheeks were flushed and red, and her eyes sparkled. - Jon X, ADWD

Ha ha ha! Me too, bud. I am also reminded of your little sister.

Boy, what a ride that was.

Final thoughts:

Fam,

WE DID IT!

I can't believe I finished.

-> return to menu <-

[cyberrose2001]

me normally: nah bro I don't really want to have sex with anyone

me when ratchet: I'm gonna fuck that old man

oh no ive relapsed 😔 gosh golly darn it

[nanomooselet]

Episode Two: The Running Man

It's odd how little gets said about this ep, considering it's the most direct homage the earlier anime adaptation - but maybe that might be why? Since, as I said, this was my entry into the story, to me it felt out of place. It seemed like it was doing all it could to distract from how the previous ep concluded.

With hindsight, I think that's the idea.

The opening with the radio! I'm so weirdly fond of it. Yeah it's a flashback, but it shows Vash in a private moment without his mask; a glimpse of his secrets. He's not wearing his coat, so you get a look at how broad his shoulders are; he's also handling the tools to maintain his gun skilfully for someone who claims he's not a fighter. As he's contemplating the crash - he was there, obviously, and he has the photo of him, Rem and Nai still - the radio host says without the Plants, our ancestors would have died out long ago. How long ago? Long enough that Vash likely shouldn't still look such a gosh darn pretty boy? Yet it slips by.

(I do not understand the complaints that Stampede had no mystery.)

This is the episode where he's most committed to the bit of being cute but sort of hapless and silly, too, so the contrast is dramatic. I don't think he was actually expecting Meryl and Roberto to clear his name all at once, but I do think he was hoping, I don't know, maybe they'd believe him from the first. But nothing's ever that easy for my boy. I gotta say, Vash, optimism has its limits. Your story is that you're being framed by your previously unknown identical twin brother. You know it's true, I know it's true, but you might have had an easier time with some, I don't know… evidence? It's not surprising the reporters are sceptical.

Oh god, I'm so sorry, do you want a hug or -

(By the way, this means Knives told everyone it wasn't him, it was a one-armed man.)

He's being melodramatic, but I suspect also more sincere than what comes across - which is the whole reason he exaggerates, of course. (What? No, I'm not talking from experience. I have never, ever done this. Never ever in A MILLION YEARS have I exaggerated to obfuscate my sincerity.) The angle changes to show his face, and it's pretty clear how genuinely exhausted and upset even the thought of Knives makes him. Though it is still pretty funny that Meryl just isn't having it.

Also funny: Meryl versus the Worms, round one. Worms 1, Meryl 0.

Roberto greeting Tonis is really cute. He's a grump, but he's never an asshole to kids.

Ahhhh Tonis gives Vash his bugs and Vash pats his head and then he moves to take his hand away Tonis grabs it so he'll keep doing it and then when Rosa tells Tonis to leave Vash look dismayed and waves goodbye and it is so cute and IT IS SO SAD.

Because Rosa loves her son, wants him healthy and happy and safe, wants him shielded from the violence of the world and from decisions like pulling a gun on the hero of your town who's been nothing but good to you, better than you deserve - and yet we saw Rosa come to the decision that she would do this last episode. Right about... here. See the way she moves from standing in front of him, almost protectively, to beside him, clearing the way? By the look on her face, she doesn't want to. Vash proved himself yet again afterwards, saved the town without hesitation the moment it was endangered at great risk to himself. He's a good man, a friend, someone she trusts. But it's not him Rosa's thinking of now. It's not even the town. It's Tonis.

I have to say, Roberto doesn't look shocked or concerned. He just wearily sets down his mug and raises his hands, expression unchanged. Meanwhile Meryl's turned into a cartoon.

Vash understands. He didn't fight back against the MPs. He didn't instigate the duel. It's because of him that this is necessary. That just doesn't mean he's going to make it easy for them.

Ah, that old Stampede special: the undignified leg-spread landing.

Man the English dub is good, but it's this episode I started to realise how good. It's incredibly funny. "The furious fists of the Nebraska Family challenge you to a duel!" "Felt the fury right there!" "Money! Come back!" "I hope you like pancakes, because you're going to become one!"

There's one translation I'm not sold on, though, and it's Nebraska declaring "Power is justice! Power is truth!" I had the same problem in Persona 5 Royal when I played it and the characters kept going on about how they'll "prove our justice". It sounds so awkward.

From what I can tell, the word they're using translates more clearly to "moral rightness" or "righteousness", and the score title for Stampede renders what Nebraska says better: might is right. He's advocating Social Darwinism, basically. It's the natural order of the world: the strong deserve to flourish, the weak deserve to perish.

Nebraska: I hate cowards like you! This whole planet is fighting for survival! Anyone who runs is bound to die like a sorry loser! But you, Stampede! How dare you?! / You coward! I despise waste-of-life cream puffs like you! You have to fight tooth and nail to survive in this world! If those who can't hack it run away and die like chickens, then so be it! But you? I expected more, Stampede!

Vash: You might be right that I'm too timid. But is that such a terrible thing? Is fighting everything head-on so important? Even if it gets someone killed? / Okay, I may not be the bravest, but what's so terrible about being a little timid? Is fighting head-on always right? It risks lives, and for what?

Nebraska: Weapons… are made for fighting! Do you get it now?! There's no future for those who don't fight! / I might as well, huh? It's what the damn thing's made for! That'll show ya! Any snivelling slug too scared to fight must die!

Vash: Come on, can you back off? I really don't want to fight anyone. / Can you guys cool it for a second? I'm really not in the mood for violence.

Nebraska: That's the attitude that pisses me off! / When the world ends, will it ask if you're in the mood?

It's kinda funny that Nebraska keeps going on about it, though, because he also keeps demanding accommodation for his son's weakness. If he was really committed he'd rely only on himself instead of endangering Gofsef. And yet oddly enough, it's the hypocrisy which saves him, because it's how Rosa realises how much they have in common. He loves Gofsef, just like she loves Tonis, and Vash forgives them both.

Enjoy the subtle gag of Meryl mirroring her "parents'" expressions, BTW.

Nabraska judging the townspeople for drinking before 5:00PM as if he didn't just destroy half the place trying to steal their only power source.

Gofsef being creeped out by Tonis's Worm buddies.

And Roberto visibly tuning out as Meryl tells him off.

I think the reason this feels like it's all happening so fast is because this is the place where an episode of the older adaptation would end, leaving some implied time to pass before the next crisis. But this isn't twenty-six self-contained episodes, it's twelve instalments of one story. The running man must continue to run, because it was never humans he was running from.

And I didn't realise this until now, but the drone in Vash's room? It's looking for him, or his things. It doesn't find either.

When it doesn't...

E.G. launches his assault, though the drones had been patrolling since the previous night. Vash was about to leave when he heard the scream from the diner and rushed back to help. And so he stayed long enough for E.G.'s master to arrive in person.

Whatever happened in Jeneora Rock, it seems it was necessary for Vash to witness it, so E.G. had instructions to keep him in place.

So E.G.'s cyborg enhancements look like a bear trap.

Of course.

[uchihaharlot]

FOR THE LIFE OF ME COULD NOT GET THIS TO LET ME EDIT IT??!!!! wtf tumblr!

Ok what the hell, this is so gosh darn wholesome and sweet. I am such an old soul (like seriously sorry these songs are so damn old). I included potential songs they would dance to below. Though I am more partial to Billie Holiday’s ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’ — ‘I don’t want to set the world on fire’ by The Ink Spots is really on par for an Uchiha. I know you said party, but this is now the festival of romance. Lol.

N/SFW(?? Super suggestive); pining; down bad simpy boy Shisui who can’t keep his eyes or hands off you.

• Ok so, my king. Shisui, is such a suave guy. Hears this girl laughing out with some friends at the spring Festival of Romance. He’s not entirely new to the scene, but the night has been overwhelming. Lots of grabby girls trying to capture one of Konoha’s most eligible bachelors. He’d really only came for the food and drinks.

• Target acquired, oops. Red spun pearls dial in when he hears this girl laugh before he actually sees her — it didn’t help that she was drop dead gorgeous either. It wasn’t even her looks that caught his attention first, it was the sweet little melodic wisp of her laugh/hum.

• Super down bad from the go. Basically is sharingan fucking her from a distance, respectfully, secretly. The man just likes what he sees, and he wants a before and after image of their first encounter. Sike, he’s just that shameless.

• Has no issue walking right up to her group of friends to address his desires. Shisui would say something extremely corny while still making it sound good, ‘You know what you'd look beautiful in? My arms.’

• Doesn’t even wait for the silly oneliner to register before he swoops her up to the dance floor, lol. Poor girl is just like system crash.exe.

• Doesn’t even need to try, this girl is besotted and honestly, a little caught off guard by his advances. Shisui normally thinks rationally, so he’ll apologize for stealing her so abruptly from her friends but, like, ‘If you let me borrow a kiss, I promise I'll give it right back.’

• 🫣🫠 She doesn’t even know how to respond to that, he is just so bold. Will turn her cheek shyly which just has Shisui smiling the full width of his mouth. She’s in just as deep as he is.

• But when she looks back up at him, oh man. His lips are a hairsbreadth away, and that’s when she is caught in his vision. Inoperable, he won’t coerce her, consent is king but if she closes her eyes.

• Shisui will feather his lips to hers and reel her a little closer. The music sounds muffled over the sound of her capillaries expanding and rushing blood through her ears. Ah fuck, when did his hand end up at that small of her back. He won’t overtly take advantage of the situation, but part of him really is tempted to.

• Shisui lovingly places his hands in all the right spots, appropriate for public, inappropriate for strangers. Wholly hot and scandalous.

• There are a plethora of people surrounding them, so Shisui will bring her closer than close, basically his mouth to her ear as she guides them across the dance floor. She’s incredibly sweet but quiet when they whisper between one another. They’ll end up spending majority of the night out dancing — probably the last people to leave. With her head on his shoulder, Shisui is blissed out by her presence.

• Shisui is a gentleman, he’ll offer to ‘walk’ her home. Surprise Shunshin before he even considers if she has a sensitive stomach. It will catch her off guard and surprisingly makes her curse, ‘fuck me’ out of exasperation under her breath.

• To which Shisui would quip, ‘don’t mind if I do.’

[oceanlue]

Yuurivoice boys: their S/O making him buy a fake product or non-exist product as prank.

🎊Pranking your man🎉

💗Alphonse🧁🍭

You had a paid week off from your job and lately you've been bored in the middle of the week you think that having a week off from your job would give your mind to rest but you were just bored

So you decide to do the one thing you love to do pranking Your Man

So you decide to think of ways and you thought of making a product that is not even real or even in the world at all

So it took some thinking and you decided that you were going to make him a fake new cologne

All you did was grab some water some air freshener and some Febreze and mixed it together all in all it didn't smell bad

So when he got home he kissed your cheek and you told him about the new product that came in this week's new magazine

He tested it out and he loved it

Until he got the whiff of Febreze and air freshener and then he asked what the f*** was this

So you told him it was just a fake drink that you did on him

"Now come on boo why you got to do me like Dat, but it does smell pretty great.. you know maybe if we call some companies we could actually make a selling for this but for the greater good let's just not tell anybody"

He still loves you

🧡Seth🏕🍂

You decided to make a prank on him

And it was about a new comfy seat for a bike but it was actually just a pillow sound onto an old seat and stuffed with lots of fluff

He told him about it and he was ecstatic to try it out

He attached the new seat to his bike and felt it in his hand a bit and it looked pretty great

And then decided to sit on it and when he did the stuffing popped out

It went like *poof*

He was confused and saw that you were laughing and realized it was a prank he actually thought that it was actually a seat from a new bike magazine that you saw but it wasn't

" okay sugar I'll give it to you you got me good and I should have known it was coming I know you like to play your pranks you're lucky I love you sugar"

He took you for a ride and took you to a park and then he pushed you into the lake as Revenge you can't get mad at that

💚Finn🌻🪴

You decided to prank him with a new bag of tea but it was actually the same bag of tea

When he got home from the flower shop he told him that you were out shopping and found out this new type of tea mix I was guaranteed to make you more calm and make your blood pressure pump it

He tried it out for a few days and didn't see that it was just the same tea that he always drank he just thought it tastes the same

And then you had to tell him it was just a prank that it was just the same tea that you always drink

He was a bit shocked embarrassed and read in the face that he fell for a prank

"Oh gosh darn it orchid actually thought it was something awesome you know that I can't stay mad at you but that prank was slightly efficient it made my work a little bit better but I prefer just sticking with the original"

He still loves you and as a prank to you he mustered up the courage to put hot sauce in your sandwich

❤Auron☕🖋

It was hard to prank your boss especially since he's your partner and boyfriend

So you did a lot of hard thinking of a prank

And finally you came up with an idea you are a bit of an Arts nerd so you decide to make the prank and started crafting

And finally you were done it looks like a million dollars but it was just an art watch

That's right you made him a watch but this watch doesn't work it just stays on 12:00 and will always stay on that it weighs feels and looks like a million dollars

So the next day when you were at work you gave your boss The Watch face to say he was surprised but said thank you anyway and went on with this day

At the end of the night you crashed at his place and while you were cooking some food for both of you he finally came down and talked to you about the watch how the watch never worked and it's only staying on 12th and he can't really find out where the crown was to change the time

And then you finally told him that it was just a prank and it's not a real watch

If you looked very closely you can see the pink on his cheeks and as you finished food and place it on the plates he grabbed her hips and whispered in your ear

"you know rock... I don't like being played a fool, all day I tried to fix this watch But realize it was a prank from you... it's great design I must say and you have great talent but I do not like being played like a fool, so how about we skipped dinner and go right to dessert~~"

You guys did eat your food..... eventually

His little secret is that he kept the watch in a safe apartment where you don't know where it is

---------

Hope u like it

💙💙💙

Peace out

[powderblueblood]

For the old Hollywood AU - dealer’s choice & this quote: “And they'll know - everyone will fucking know that they could never control one goddamn fucking thing."

😘

BABYLON SENTENCE MEME

set in the frenetic grimy screwball universe of BURN LIKE NITRATE, the old hollywood au an: this is 3k words because i am soooo normal about all this. no majorly explicit warnings, just fluff and angst and coarse language and a slight allusion to steve's drinking problem

LOS ANGELES, 1927

Seven frantic knocks on your bedroom door awaken you with a skin-jumping start, and you realize you've fallen asleep with your needlework in hand. Again.

"Oof," you breathe, a hand brushing across your brow as you set the embroidery hoop down on your rickety bedside table. That'll be Pidge or one of the other girls at the door, eye-rolling and telling you it's lights out-- as is the routine racket come ten at night, every night. Bunny Lamelle's boarding house kept strict rules, and they included lights out at ten, no boozing, and no shoes or men past the first floor.

Little do you know, you're about to shatter all three of those sacrosanct commandments.

You barely bother to smooth your nightgown before you crack open your bedroom door-- and regret it immediately.

"Mr Harrington?"

Bleary-eyed and wearing a grin that would knock a nun clean out, Steven Harrington stands in the frame of your bedroom door.

Well, stands is generous. His knees look fit to buckle under the weight of whatever's in that flask he's carrying.

"Evening, Beadie."

"Get inside, quickly! Please!" You yank him in by the crook of his arm, and immediate thrill sparks in you. You'd never think to do that ordinarily! Gosh, you're afraid to even touch the fabric that you drape over the man's frame in a professional setting, and you're his darn costume fitter.

As a precaution, you poke your head out into the hallway, neck swiveling left and right. Clear? Clear. You gently close the door.

"How ever did you get up here?" you question as Steve, as he keeps insisting you call him (but you only ever do in your head-- manners are a girl's best friend!), stumbles a touch before flopping down on your bed.

Your bed. Oh, dear.

"I'm no stranger to the facilities here at Bunny Lamelle's, I'll have you know!" he proclaims, hitching himself up on his elbows. The light in here is terrifically bright, too bright for his liking, and your bed is terrifically soft, but that's just right. "It's no Hollywood Studio Club, but it's not a complete pigsty they keep you girls in--"

The pitch of his voice keeps rising and rising, and you know very well that the walls are thin and the eponymous Bunny can hear everything. Steve is familiar with Bunny Lamelle, having been chased down the stairs of this very boarding house more times than he could count. His early years in Los Angeles were nothing if not, ah, eventful. He knows he ought to be quiet, but he feels mournful tonight. Feeling mournful always leads him down the path to goading, because being sad is a fucking sap's game.

You make a motion, pleading with him to shush-- and sold on the look on your face alone, Steve's voice drops to a stage whisper.

"The back door has a loose lock."

"I know," you whisper back. "I taught Pidge how to jimmy that lock open when we both moved in here."

"That little bearcat lives here too? What a pair you two make."

Steve looks surprised, same as Pidge had looked surprised. A little church girl like you, knowing how to pick a lock. Imagine that. He swears, every time you deign open your mouth, which has become more and more frequent during your little fittings, you threaten to knock the knees from under him. Some turn of phrase, some thread of history he never guessed would be woven into your coat.

You feel a blush flaring at your cheeks, Steve's half-focused eyes resting on you a moment too long.

You force yourself to clear your throat, though breaking the spell of his stare feels like a betrayal.

"What are you doing here, Mr--"

"Bea-die. I insist. I'm in your chambers, for Chrissake."

"Steve." You put a nice fine point on it, finer than your needlework. If he insists.

Ah, yes. The reason for the season. As if punching the air in victory, Steve's right arm thrusts into the air. His movements are like those of a marionette filled with whiskey.

"It appears I have torn a button."

Indeed. A button hangs from a thread, dangling from the cuff of Steve's impeccable satin shirt, part in parcel of his whole satin getup. An outfit designed to make him look the consummate ideal of the American picture star, an image you're positive they couldn't have illustrated without the reference of his good looks and charm.

But now the suit is creased and rumpled and reeking of liquor, and the man inside it, the man you now know to be wondrous and interesting outside of the fascination he inspires onscreen, looks despondent.

This is all getting a little on-the-nose.

"You came over here to... to ask me to mend a button?" You don't mean to let that twinge of disappointment escape your voice.

Steve's mouth gapes and shuts again. He can't tell if it's the whiskey or what, but that feels like flimsy reasoning all of a sudden. "I suppose I did."

You can feel your blood pressure rising. He risked getting you evicted from the only place in Los Angeles you can afford to stay because of some silly button? Well, I never! The gall, the nerve, the-- the vanity! You take a deep, steadying breath and cross the room to the bathroom that you and Pidge share, adjoining both your bedrooms.

"If you'll excuse me."

He starts to speak, but you click the door closed behind you, softly as you can manage. When safely inside, you stuff the shower curtain into your mouth and let out a silent, frustrated scream. So, you'll do the only thing you know to do. You'll consult your most trusted source of a second opinion.

Pidge, how do I go about not murdering the entitled movie star that's currently sitting on my bed?

As if she'd heard you summoning, Pidge comes crashing through her bathroom door, hair mussed and face flushed. Giggling. Until she sees you, that is, and her face drops. She slams the door behind her, and you swear you can hear a muffled, "Ow!"

Louder than is necessary, she says, "Hello, Beadie!"

"Pidge..." Something's off in the body language of the script girl.

At a normal volume, "Hello, Beadie." A beat, as she takes you in. "Is everything alright?"

Oh, forget whatever madness Pidge has indulged herself in now! You're having an honest-to-god emergency!

"No!" you flutter, arms flapping, "No, it is not because Steven Harrington is sitting in my bedroom!"

Pidge's eyes flare for about half a second, which is just the amount of surprise she doles out for any occasion. You could tell her that Victrola records were shrinking to half their size and all she'd do is give you the ol' wide eyes and move onto more logical matters.

"The way you're talking makes me think he oughtn't be."

"Of course he oughtn't be!"

"Why oughtn't he be?"

"Well, other than the obvious, Pidge! He-- he's Steven Harrington!" Most recently seen on the arm of the latest WAMPAS Baby, Steven Harrington. Box office darling, Steven Harrington. Object of many a rabid fan letter, Steven Harrington. "And get this, he risked life and limb sneaking up here so I could sew a button back on for him!"

"That's what they're calling it now? Cad," Pidge says, eyes narrowing. Then they flare again. "Oh, hold the line..."

Your breath stitched up in your throat. "What?"

"Harrington's got a premiere tonight. Seven Slow Dances. It ought to be," Pidge checks her watch and you notice her lipstick is smudged. Hm. "Well, gosh, it'll be over by now. After party at The Roosevelt, natch. Warner Jr will have his guts for garters if he doesn't show his mug."

Your bottom lip trembles a tad, hands flapping with the sheer current of nerves and anger and excitement and dread coursing through you.

"Pidge, Pidge, Pidge, what am I to do?!"

Your roommate and friend grabs you by the shoulders and gives you a good, hefty shake.

"Beadie, snap out of it. You know exactly what you're to do. You're to mend that button and you're to send him on his way." She gives you this stare that's kind of wavering at the corners.

That throat of yours is suddenly drier than Glendale. You swallow, roughly. You dare to ask, "And what if... he tries any funny business?"

Pidge doesn't miss a beat. "Well, I have a revolver in my delicates."

This response makes you abandon the followup question of what if I'd like him to try some funny business. You nod, resolute and terrified, grabbing your sewing box from the commode. Pidge stands stock still stationary in the bathroom, arms crossed and eyes bright with curiosity.

You wonder what you'd just caught her in the middle of.

But the door clicks shut behind you and you find Steve lying flat on his back, his head dangling off the edge of your modest single bed.

"Told half of Hollywood I'm here already, huh?" His tone is languid, but not scornful. Playful, even. Like he could really expect such a thing from you. Wide-eyed, innocent you.

A nervous chuckle bubbles from you, Steve dousing the flame of your irritation as soon as he'd lit it. You edge closer to the bed, suddenly very conscious of the way your nightgown is fitting.

"Certainly not. Just, I knocked into Pidge in the bathroom. It happens, sharing and all. I didn't--"

But before you can lie, "Hello, Pigeon!" Steve calls, and you lurch for him-- too loud! He emits something close to a giggle. "She's quite the hard boiled tomato. How is it you two became so close?"

You shrug. That was a story, but not one you were about to regale Steve Harrington with. He needed to be sewn up, given his marching orders. That's that. "Every lady needs her foil, I suppose."

"Good god, don't sell yourself so short," Steve says, and there's a real edge to his voice. He's truly admonishing you. You can't truly see yourself that way, can you? Playing second fiddle to some studio drone workaholic like poor Pidge, when you and your delicate hands and your brilliant mind had the gall and grace to exist on this earth?

Christ, is he drunk.

Though, you can't help it sometimes. You love Pidge, love her true, but can't help but think she stacks up so much higher compared to you; in experience, in nerve, in dealing with men like him.

"You're the genuine article, Beadie."

Steve says this to you. Steven Harrington says this to you. Even if he's corked and ready to pour, he says this to you.

You have to give yourself an even moment to remember the act of taking a human breath and how it works.

When you recover, your voice is tiny. "Sit up, please."

He does as is told, the same as when you tell him so in the fitting rooms. It's the one time that Steve doesn't mind being told what to do; you go about it gentle, careful not to prick him with your little pins. He trusts that you never will. And, you always asks things like, "Well, how does that feel, Mr Harrington?" and then add that adorable shy addendum, "I mean, to move in?"

You settle next to him on the bed, sewing kit in your lap. Steve presents his sleeve to you and you finger the darling little pearlescent button. Feels too violent for your nature to snap it off of its lingering thread-- and yet you do it. And he can't explain it, but it thrills him.

Steve watches you thread your needle with an intensity that does not go unnoticed by you. Your entire head feels hot.

"You're aware I had a premiere tonight, Beadie."

"Oh, of course I am," and you did, having faithfully followed this man's work for years, "Seven Slow Dances, wasn't it?"

Steve swallows, feeling the paparazzi light bulbs crack behind his eyes. The tense silence in the theater that just kept getting tenser and stickier as the preview of the picture droned on.

"It's set to be my biggest picture to date," he tells you, a slur creeping into his voice, "A thoroughly modern romp, catapulting me to as-yet-unforeseen notoriety. Have you heard this?"

A small smile wafts over your lips, daring to break your focus. "Why, that sounds wonderful."

Steve emits a hearty scoff, and you have to place a hand on his arm to steady it.

"Wonderful? It sounds like bullshit to me. It sounds like the company line," he sniffs, "Do you know why I do all this, Beadie? Why I became an actor? To escape the company line."

You still your needle to an unnecessarily slow speed, taking far longer than you need to with resewing this button. Because he does this, when he's in your hands and you have your points turned towards him. He opens up, to you.

"But it follows you, you know," Steve goes on, voice thickening. That sends a jolt of alarm through you. "Chases you like you've got a target on your back."

You've never heard him sound quite like this before. Cornered.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean..." you murmur, eyes leaving the safe reserve of the needlepoint and button to watch him. Watch his profile. Watch the tears begin to well in his scorched sugar eyes.

"I traded being one kind of stooge for another, do you know that?" he sniffs, bitterness putting a bite in his voice, "I rejected the role that was set out for me, the heir to HH Industries, to become an artist! If you can fucking believe that. Because I thought it meant something. I thought it meant I'd finally have control over my own life."

It strikes you dumb. It's an honesty so blistering, you can't quite believe that it's real, that he's sharing it with you. "I..."

"I don't," have any control, he means, "I'm being prodded around like a prize show pony in front of these cameras, preening to Photoplay and acting like it all means something when it doesn't."

Steve turns to you now, a single, screen-perfect tear cascading down his screen-perfect face. But his vitriol feels ugly and ill-fitting, like he feels in this stupid satin suit.

"And you know what, Beadie? You know what's the killer? The bullet aiming straight for my heart?"

Suspended in shock, your needle held aloft. "No..."

Steve clears his gummed up throat, nodding mirthlessly. Of course. How would you know, you poor, sweet thing?

"Once this shitheap of an Al Jolson picture goes to print, the entire company line is going to change. Sound in the pictures, what a gimmick!" he cackles, "But the public loves a gimmick, and that's who we sacrifice ourselves for. And it'll push me, who has given everything to create something out of nothing, and every other dumb sap like me, right out the door. And they'll know - everyone will fucking know that they could never control one goddamn fucking thing. Our fate, our crushable fate in the hands of those dipshit Warner brothers. The company line. Sundown on Steven Harrington."

It completely befuddles you that he could think this way. Of course, the colony is splintering into two and a dozen camps, each different variants of sound is the death of cinema and talkies are the way of the future. You had heard Pidge's diatribes on it, but hadn't settled on an opinion yourself. Pictures with sound would surely still need costumes, but you hadn't thought for even a moment about how it might effect someone like Steve. How it might... frighten him.

"Oh, Steve. Steve, you know that's not true." That hand of yours that rests on his arm tightens some. His head dips.

"It is true, Beadie," he presses and sniffles, "They'll lose any interest they had in me; for Chrissake, I can't stand up to those booming voiced theater types. I've churned my butter in pantomime! I've wasted my life on something completely null."

His words coax you to near tears. This feels as if he's welcomed you into his cocoon, shown you all the ways he fears he'll fail to metamorphose.

But then, you catch another whiff of the liquor on his breath.

You remember that, despite it all, you need to be careful-- Steve may be sweet to you now, in this moment, but Steven Harrington at large is still a documented rake. He's a mess. He'll do anything, say anything, to get what he wants.

You know this. You love this. And you know that you oughtn't.

You finish the last stitch on his errant button and push an encouraging smile across your face.

"Well. All the more reason to get peeling out to that after party then, isn't it? Make sure they don't forget who you are."

A friendly pat to his arm serves as half an encouragement for him to get up and off your bed.

This is not the reaction he wants. With his head tilted toward you, with all his sparkling tears, this is not the reaction Steve was aiming for. He can't even say he wanted to kiss you in that moment, but he did not expect you to tow that very same company line. Buck up, buddy boy. Put on a good show.

But you're a good girl. Of course you think that's the way things ought to be. He shouldn't be confusing you like this. Sullying your mind against the Warner behemoth.

Steve stands, re-buttoning his mended sleeve. You watch him, eyes gleaming and worried. He's gone all silent and sullen again, like he does. Then again, he may not even remember this in the morning.

"Away I go, then," he murmurs, barely coherent, "into the fray."

"Do be careful," you tell him, chest constricted. "Sneaking back out, I mean."

"Not my first rodeo," he reminds you, and it feels terrifically callous for some reason.

And then Steve is gone, slipping through your bedroom door. As fast and furtively as he appeared, and all that's left behind him is the silver glimmer of his flask folded into the plush of your bed sheets.

[ruinedbylanadelrey]

heard you are trying to write for other Pedro characters! I've got a request for one, though I don't know for which character exactly. it is a fic (possibly an au depending on which one you write for) where Reader and her younger siblings go visit their grandma's house for summer (at the beach or whatever place you find the sexiest). she meets a man who helps out her grandmother (Pedro character) who is much older than her, but that is exactly what attracts her to him. they then end up having the sexiest summer ever. (bonus if he's her first, cause you write loss of virginity so gosh darn well! and double bonus if one of the reader's younger siblings catches them kissing and has a cute reaction to it!!). again, it's up to you which character you write for. whichever you think would fit this description most. :)

I couldn't pick a character so I had you guys pick for me.

I'm writing for the prettiest DEA agent, Javier Peña:))

This is take place end of season 3 where Javi is back in Texas.

AN// the spanish is going very limited, I only know the basics, and shoutout to my beautiful mom for helping me with the spanish.

WC: 3.4K

playlist

masterlist

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, religious imagery, reader of mexican decent, sexual tension, age gap, soft!Javier, 23yr old reader, fingering, mention of death, loss of virginity, kissing, oral sex (f!receiving), unprotected sex(wrap it up), p-in-v, mention of male/female anatomy, innocent!reader

Summers in Laredo were always boring for you but you and your brother got to spend time with your abuelos. Your summer would be consumed with doing work around the family ranch, you hated doing the work but you kept it to yourself because it meant the world to your grandfather getting to spend time with you.

This summer is different after the passing of your abuelo. You wondered who took over the work when he passed, you knew it wasn't any of your cousins who were all boys because you were the oldest grandchild they have out of the family only 23 in college. 

When you park the truck, the sun was high in the sky at noon. You could feel your hair heating up from the blazing sun. The wind was blowing dry heat, your skin was already being kissed by the light in the sky. You look at the house that you were practically raised in decorated with our Lady of Guadalupe statue in the rose bush, the screen door slams closed and a tall dark-haired man walks out with your abuela. 

"Oh, Javi, come meet my little bebés," she motioned him over, your eyes trailing up and down his body. You took how the sun hit his hair, the ends turning red from the rays. The aviators he had on blocked the true color of his eyes. His clean-shaven face left only a mustache. 

You felt like you'd seen before at a wedding. You couldn't pin where you've seen the gentleman.

"This is my beautiful girl," she introduced you to the man, "she's our princesa, the only girl we have and this is Gideon our strongest boy in the family." she went on about how you were the favorites out of the family.

"And This is Javier, he lives down the road near his father, Señor Peña, you guys remember?" her words jog your memory of the wedding from a year or two ago.

He was the man who caught your eye, he was beautiful like an angel but you never went up to him because you were insecure about being so young.

You could feel his gaze burn into your skin, Javi took in your beauty, the wind was blowing through your wavy hair and the golden undertone of your skin. The way your gold chain with the Virgin Mary pendant paired with a small cross fell at the start of the valley of your breasts would be if you weren't dressed so modestly. The light makeup you had on with a soft red lip. Your doe eyes that would make a man fall to his knees and pray.

"Nice to meet y'all, I'm Javi." He shook your brother's hand before yours, and when his hand engulfed yours you swear that it felt like electricity traveling through him to you.

"I'll be back in the morning to get the boy to work." He winks before leaving you in the dirt driveway.

"Cariño, grab your and your sister's bags." Your grandmother linked your arm with hers. You smiled at her while you entered the house. 

The house never changed with the many picture frames that took over the walls. Every stage of your life was on display, your first birthday, first communion in a frilly baby pink dress, Christmas with your all cousins, and your senior portrait.

Many paintings and prints of the Virgin Mary and what people think Jesus would like look, mixed in with the family gallery. It was like you were in a church with all the prayer candles burning with a rose scent filling the air. 

Your brother carried your bags to your mother's childhood room which became your room every summer since you were a teenager. Dusty rose-colored walls with a crucifix over the bed, a rosary on the bedside table a worn-out bible next to the lamp. You fall on the bed and closed your eyes to see Javier again in your mind. He is a walking sin, just calling out your name, and you started to feel your skin become hot as you remember the man. 

You wished he stayed a little longer to at least have a conversation but who you are kidding? You wouldn't have said one word to him, it's not that you were scared of men but they rarely approached you. If they did they weren't what you wanted. Javier was what you wanted, mature, experienced, hard outer shell. You never went after guys your age, you always went after the older men. 

-

You clouded Javi's mind since the day you came to the ranch. He would show up early just to have a small conversation with you at sunrise. The first time he showed up early you were walking to the barn in a white sundress that stopped mid-thigh and the sleeves cuffed right at the start of your arms, you looked breathtaking in the morning glow. He followed you and watched you give the horses their breakfast, you would quietly talk to them like it was only you in your little world. 

You turned on your heel and saw Javi standing there with a soft smile on his face. Your cheek heat up when your eyes met his,

"Oh good morning Señor Peña." You shyly smiled at him, you got a chuckle out of him and he stepped closer to you. His cologne filled your senses and his hand pushed your hair out of your face.

"You can call me Javi, querida," he said while his finger brushed through the waves of your hair. He loved how shy you were, just flustered by everything he did or said.

"Would you like some coffee, Javi?" You breathed out as you gathered yourself. 

He agreed you took his hand in yours and he blindly followed you from the barn to the house. The glow of the sun was hitting your golden skin making you seem like an angel guiding him to heaven.

You would glance at him to make sure he didn't change his mind. You served him the promised coffee and you took it upon yourself to make him breakfast. You were always told the way to a man's heart was through his stomach, Javi felt a warmth inside him when you made him breakfast to go with his coffee. 

That became routine for the two of you. The touches between you and the older man seemed innocent to the naked eye but the look in his eyes told another story. The hand on the small of your back, an embrace, taking your hand in his, and moving the hair out of your face, it all seemed like he was just being a gentleman. 

The conversations between you and him brought you closer together. He learned how you grew up in the church but didn't believe in god, how you keep up the act for the sake of your family, what your favorite color was, how you prefer to wear dresses and skirts over jeans and shorts, how everybody treats you as a little princess even you were 23.

You felt embarrassed for being so young and so attracted to him. You thought you were another stupid girl falling for an older man. You found comfort in Javier, he also found that in you. You were just easy to talk to, he liked how you wanted to hear about his life and how it didn't seem forced. 

-

Soon the mornings weren't enough, you wanted to see him more. You took matters into your own hands and slipped a note in his back pocket when you hugged him goodbye before he left for the day. 

'Midnight, no headlights'

He watched you disappear into the house and gave him a wink before walking away from the window. He loved how forward you were for being an innocent young woman. You hoped that he would show up, and you made sure to wear your favorite skirt and red lip. As the time grew closer to midnight the knot in your stomach grew. 

All of this could be a mistake, maybe the flirting was all in your head, he pity you for being so innocent and ate the attention he gave. You made sure everyone in the house was asleep, you climbed out the window and started walking to the end of the dirt road. There was the truck with no headlights, Javi leaned against the front of the truck waiting for you. The moonlight guiding you to him. 

You smiled and ran to him like a little kid, Javier embraced you and picked you up off the ground, and spun you around in his arms. Your giggle was music to his ears. He set you back on your feet and cupped your face, the moonlight highlighting the whites of your eyes. 

"I thought you wouldn't show," You whispered as you took in what he wearing, a simple white tee and light-wash Levi jeans. He looked like James Dean, your very own heartthrob.

"Why would you think that?" Javier asked, he was a bit hurt that you had doubts.

"Because I thought you would think I'm that stupid young girl who had the wrong idea," Your eyes danced around his face, if you looked into his eyes you would start crying. 

"Don't call yourself stupid, because you had the right idea." Javier watched your lips curl into a smile,

"¿Puedo besarte, hermosa?" ( Can I kiss you, beautiful?) he asks, and your heart jumps in your chest.

"The question is why haven't you kissed me yet?" You smirked, he laugh and shook his head.

"Because I thought I had the wrong idea," He retorted, you leaned into his touch and loved how warm he was in the cool night.

He pressed your frame against his and dropped his head as his lips caught between yours. Your arms throw themselves around his neck, his hands moved to your neck as he deepens the kiss. 

Javier leans you against the hood of the truck, his lips tasted like whiskey and cigarettes. Your lips parted as his tongue slips into your mouth. A soft moan leaves your mouth and into his, your fingers pull on his hair while his right hand slides down your body and slips underneath the short skirt. 

Your body shivers as his hand draws shapes on your upper thigh. You gently pull his bottom lip between your teeth, causing him to moan into you.

"Get in the truck, we're going for a ride." Javi breathed heavily as his lips left yours. You looked at your lipstick staining his lips. His thumb swipes away the lipstick that is smeared along the bottom of your lip. 

Your necklace was shining in the moonlight, he looked at the pendant and laughed himself. A young woman who is so innocent making out with an older man in the dead of night was such a paradox. He opens the passenger door for you and helped in the truck, he quickly ran to the driver's side and started the truck. 

The radio came on as soft background noise, you scooted across the bench and sat as close as you possibly could without being on his lap. You leaned your head on his shoulder as he took you away from the ranch. 

He drove the truck to the property he had just bought, a small ranch home with many trees lining the driveway. The truck stopped at the end of the property line meeting the river. The moon was right over the bed of the truck where you made yourselves comfortable in each other's arms.

Your fingers trace the features of his, and he melts under your touch. You make him forget about everything he has done, all the bad things, you make him into a different person. A gentle person who doesn't have any anger in his heart, no sadness dwelling inside of him. 

-

You spent many nights with Javier under the stars, he would find himself opening up to you about his time in Colombia and how you shouldn't like a man with blood on his hands. Always reassured him that it did not change the way you felt about him. 

"You help me forget," Javier moans as you kiss down his neck, you straddle his waist in the bed of the truck.

Clothes littered the grass just leaving you both in your undergarments. His hands resting on your hips as you grind yourself against his hardened length. 

"You deserve more," his words stop you, your heart was being pulled by the strings. You panicked inside as you could hear the rejection in his voice. You sit up and look at him with tears forming in your eyes.

"You don't want me?" You sounded like a child,

"No, no I do want you, mi amor, you're my angel." He sits up and your chests meet and he holds your cheek in his hand. 

The moonlight reflecting in your tears made you look so pretty to him. You still felt a pain in your heart from his words. His eyes flickered to the gold necklace that decorated your neck beautifully.

"Do you want me?" He asks as he licks his lips, he wipes the tears running down your face.

"Yes, more than anything...I'm yours, Javi." You confessed as you looked into his eyes, your words made him want to run. How could you just give yourself so easily to him? 

He buries his face in your chest and breathed in your perfume, rose water and ivy.

"Te adoro," you whispered to him, he laid you down on your back and locks your lips together. His hands stripped your bra off your body, and your nipples hardened from the cool air of the night.

Javier takes one nipple into his mouth and kneads your other breast. Your back arches into his hold, the sensation of his mouth on your body, his mustache against your soft skin. Your hips buckled needing friction.

"I need you," You whimpered as Javier made his way down to your clothed heat, without missing a beat he pulls down your lace panties and threw them behind him.

Your dripping cunt glistened in the moonlight. Javier lowers his head and starts licking your wet fold and then sucking your clit.

"I knew you would be sweet," He hums against your pussy, and you threw your head back as he kisses your clit. His fingers parted your lips and collected your wetness with his tongue, he slips his thick digits into your entrance and curled them.

You were a whimpering mess underneath him. You sounded like a choir of angels with the moans that left your lips. You were like a stained glass cathedral that he was worshipping in.  

He replaced his fingers with his tongue, drinking from you like it was wine during communion, savoring the taste of the sweetness.

"Fuck, you're amazing," You let out a breathy moan, you could feel yourself getting closer to the edge. Javier sucks on your throbbing clit and his fingers start fucking you. Your walls clenched around his digits as they went in and out of your aching cunt. 

"Cum for me, querida," Javi moans, your fingers pulled on his hair harder at the moment your release came. Your thighs trembled as he worked through your high. The sweat glistening on you, looked like holy water baptizing your soft skin in sin.

"Such a good girl," he said like he was in prayer. You smiled at him and brought Javier to your lips, you could taste yourself on his tongue. His hands caress the curve of your hips to your breasts.

"I've never been touched before," You confessed to him, Javier felt himself become even more hard by how pure you were.

"Please fuck me, Javi," you whined to him, he looked again at the Virgin Mary on your necklace. 

"Are you sure, baby?" He asked, realizing that he would be your first and hopefully your one and only.

"Yes, please," your doe eyes were his weakness. Javier plants open-mouth kisses along your collarbone taking in the necklace in his mouth, his cock glides along your slit and pushes himself into your heat. 

You whimpered at the feeling of him inside of you, the stretch stung a bit but it was welcoming pain.

"You're doing so well taking my cock, mi amor." Javier drops the necklace from his mouth into yours. You suck the metal, the two pendants falling at the corners of your lips.  

He pushes the rest of himself in and his thick cock was in your tight pussy, your walls wrap around him tightly. You loved this feeling of being so full,

"So tight, bebita" Javier was in love with how you felt around him. The pace of his thrust were slow but hard, he loved how your breasts bounced at each thrust. 

Your hips roll to meet his.

"Faster," you mewled with a lustful look in your eye. Your red lipstick smeared across your lips made you look divine. Your cunt clenched around his cock when his finger rubs your clit,

"I-I'm gonna cum, Javi." You screamed out, the feeling of his hands on your body made you feel like you were in on a cloud. 

"Te sientes como el cielo," (You feel like heaven) Javier grunts while his thrust became uneven, his words made you drunk. A string of moans left your mouth as you came undone.

"I love how you cum around my cock," He confessed in your neck, you loved the feeling of how deep he was in you.

"I'm gonna cum, baby, where-"

"Inside of me, please" You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist. Javier's hand wraps around your neck pulling you into a hungry kiss as his cum spills into your tight cunt. He continues to fuck into you as he rides out his high. 

He leaves himself inside of you not wanting to leave your warmth. You both try to catch your breath, Javier holds you close to him like you would disappear if he let go of your body. You felt like heaven was a place on earth with him.

"Are you okay?" Javier asks as he pulled himself out of you, suddenly cold from the emptiness inside of you.

"More than okay," you giggled as you left a soft kiss on his nose.

"Do I need to worry about-"

"No, I'm on birth control." your words put him at ease.

"I should've asked before," he said while laying kisses around your face.

"It's all okay." you melted in his arms, and the cool air blew making you shiver. Javier pulls the blanket underneath you over your naked bodies. 

"I'm going to miss you when I leave at the end of summer." You said while feeling a tear drip from your eye, he stroke your hair.

Javier wanted to be selfish and ask you to stay and you wanted him to ask you to stay. You wanted him to read your mind and ask but the moment passed when he helped you get dressed. 

-

Maybe this doesn't mean a thing to him, maybe it's a summer fling. You were packing up your bags and getting ready to leave Laredo until next summer. You thought he would show up and stop you from leaving.

You dragged out every second, his truck comes speeding down the driveway and Javier jumps out of the truck and grabs you by the waist, and pulled you in for a kiss. Your brother and abuela looked at each other wondering when did this all happen. 

You dropped your bags and jumped into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist.

"Tell me you're mine, tell me I'm all you want." You cried into the kiss, Javier put you down and looked deeply into your eyes.

"You are everything and more, please stay, please you're the one thing that makes me feel okay." He begs, and you could see him starting to tear up. 

"That's what all I needed to hear." You beamed at him and nodded your head. You kissed him again with even more passion.

"This whole summer I was working my ass off and you were having a fucking summer romance," Your brother gagged,

"Cudia tu idioma! Gideon," (watch your language) your grandmother smacked the back of his head.

"You let your sister be, she deserves it." you felt even better knowing that she was on your side.

"Javier, you better take care of my princesa." She looked at him with narrowed eyes.

"I swear on my life," Javier smiles at you. It was like someone answered your prayers, you have your piece of heaven in front of you. 

[mintytealfox]

Any headcanons about Detective Orpheus?

Yeeeeeeeeeeeee~ The creepy gremlin man who doesn't realize how scary he is lol

and sniffing all the gosh dang drugs like Alice, and him taking it a step further and DRINKING THE ONE IIMMMMM???????? Just like he did when he was still the Novelist 10 years prior LOL Alice maybe doing the same (likely and hopefully not pff) since he finds that same BOTTLE on HER DESK in HER ROOM THE FUUUUHHH???

What are these two DOIN LOL

(side note Alice is familiar with the drug cause the forgetting one was replaced with this hydra one and she was able to escape 👀:

the sticker behind the forgetting one has a hint of one of the hooks of the hydra mark but I totally could be in delusion land again loool)

ANYWAY! (gosh DANG I keep getting side tracked lol)

HEADCANONS GOSH LOL

-Bro has a HORRIBLE case of dual personality(or at least he is convinced he has dual personality. Like he is trying to convince himself he is a good person and would never do anything that he did and its just his alter ego). Where one is aware of everything and trying to lead the other who has control. But the naughty one is able to do 'minor' things such as making him see things and potentially carving clues into his skin 😱but most likely just making him see it not actually doing it, but I wouldn't put the carving past him either honestly.

-Bro hasn't slept in ages, I mean look at him lol he barely 35 and looking in his 50s (which reminds me that Norton would be 38 with 40 around the corner lol old jk jk 🤣 I bet he would age well if he has the opportunity to. I mean look at him, after all he has been through, he should be looking ROUGH considering, but here he is and still looks like a baby bean with his 30s are around the corner looool)

-I don't think he ('or his alter ego') know what happened to everyone after that night. I don't think they know if Alice is alive or not. One seeking for answers the other seeking Alice.

-Orpheus seemed to have gone on with his life and just lived as a detective for 10 years until he got a letter again, then he started loosing his marbles again. So all this time he hasn't been looking or searching, just kind of living. (what if he gave himself that letter and he is so messed up he genuinely doesn't realize like. All of his stuff is so messy I would believe that as a possibility lol everything he says is wild and everywhere oh my gosh)

I wish I had more headcanons but this dude baffles me so much, with all of his stuff being confusing and contradictory and unreliable oh my gosh LOL but he puts on the airs that he has two personalities, one trying to be a good person and find his memories while the other is like "NAHHHHH I GOT PLANS"

bro baffles me so bad man orz I want to give him the benefit of the doubt like this detective version of him does for himself, but I don't trust a darn thing cause he is so unreliable as a narrator lol

-But after all of these events and he gets all those memories again and goes back on his mess? I betcha he would hunt down Alice whether she is alive or not. orz I bet he would try to hunt down all of da capo (if they are alive or not) honestly, and try a REDO, sort of thing, to make sure it all goes RIGHT this time orz He either finds them if he can or finds people like them to try and recreate it orz I feel like Da Capo would HAUNT that 'alter ego' and its a wrong that needs to be made right 🙃

but of course these are just some thoughts/ponderings heh

[mushiemellows]

You mentioned you had some tricks to better write brook? Did you mind sharing?

Tbh brook is still pretty tricky for me, I've only given him one attempt, and that was mostly uhhhh well if you know the brook fic you know. It is what it is. Here's how I prioritize the flow of words when I write from brook's pov:

Like Franky, Brook is an Isolation Monster. You're gonna close your eyes and put yourself back in like Winter 2020. Lose it a little bit. He talks to himself, and he talks to himself narratively. He offers his comments, he is actively internally commentating. He's telling this story to himself, not an outside reader. Blur them lines.

He is a gentleman before he's a perv. He's sweet, he's old fashioned, he's a boundary-less idiot, but in an old man way.

He thinks in music. I looooooove giving him a music metaphor. The comment I had about learning a lot from writing brook, I was thinking about because I've been writing Sanji this week. I realized I can lean on a similar instinct and focus a bit on Sanji thinking in food. Process, time, senses, courses, construction, etc. Brook's similar, so I did work to tie what I was writing about sex with music. Those are two of the most interconnected human sensations. Drums, tempo, instruments, volume, the sensation of playing, the sensation of listening. I do a lot of word association work when I set up my more metaphor heavy sections, and you have to be unafraid to take a metaphor two or three steps beyond the first association.

He is easily awed. It's the simple things that make him sit back and go "My goodness, how lovely." Brook (like, admitedly, Sanji) has a complex relationship to Lack and Desire. The longer he has been without, the more he treasures what he has. He Wants, but he doesn't want huge things. He wants friends, he wants contact, he wants a glass of milk.

THe fact that he asks to see big mom's panties is the most radical thing anyone has ever dared to vocalize in the entire series. This is key to his character. He is a Whore, but all he has are those gosh darn Pelvis Bones. He is genderless. He is bisexual.

when in doubt go Peepaw Mode. Oh peepaw, at it again. You're so funny peepaw. He probably Grandpappy Sneezes. He'll ask anyone to sit on his lap even tho there's no way you could. I'm begging him to pick up knitting.

[thedinonuggetthief]

Hello hello it’s me again!! I saw that you know about eddsworld:,,,, Im a little shy to ask but do you think you could do the neighbors caregiver headcannons? Or just Eduardo if that’s easier!!

🥪 The neighbor's as CGS {Eddsworld} 🏡

🎀 ;; of course! (-from someone who was a fan of Eddsworld since 2014.) That show is very goated! This would probably make 12 year old me happy jsjs. I wasn't sure if you wanted all of the neighbors or just Eduardo in particular, so I decided to do everyone but Eduardo has more Headcanons than the other two <3 I didn't add Todd since he isn't really in the show, but if you wish to see a headcanon with them I would be more than happy to write something about them:] anyways enjoy! Ty for requesting!

Jon 👑!

👑 ; probably the most sweetest out of the trio. He doesn't agree with any mischief you think of, but is too shy to stop you from doing it.

👑 ; howeverrr if this mischief ends up with you or someone in danger, then he steps in. He wants to act tough but can't if you are so gosh darn adorable

👑 ; dressups and play dates with stuffies. He always gets so excited when he's invited to these! Literally invite him with your stuffies, he will get just as excited as you and your stuffies are

👑 ; very childish, you could even mistake him as a little at times instead of a CG. But in his opinion he thinks it adds wholesomeness into your regression. Everyone needs wholesomeness right?

👑 ; princess/prince/princex/majesty is the most common petnames he will call you! Really anything involving royalty is your petnames. Besides the occasionally slipping in the petname "bunny"

👑 ; baby spoiler without knowing it. Want cookies? He will get you them. Want to stay up later than normal? He will let you. Want a stuffie from the store? He will get it for you. Just do the baby eyes and you get what you want. Sometimes just a "please" will win him over

👑 ; no thought. Just Jon ✨

👑 ; oh yeah, this man loves cuddles. can you tell?

Mark 💌!

💌 ; full of himself with alot of mistakes in his caregiver life

💌 ; don't get me wrong. He isn't doing anything on purpose, but he's doing the good in the wrong ways

💌 ; with Eduardo's help and Jon's advice he is doing his best he could for his little

💌 ; though he isn't bad at his job! He isn't a baby spoiler, but he LOVES giving you physical attention

💌 ; combing/styling your hair (if you have any), dressing you up like you're at a concert, and doing mini fashion shows! In his opinion those are the best to do

💌 ; the type of caregiver to be like "where does this go..??" While holding a sippy cup of yours. He's trying I promise

💌 ; not big on petnames, however he refers to you as "little one" when talking about you

💌 ; more like a big brother who just wants to make their little sibling happy

💌 ; usually refuses to watch the shows you want to watch with him, but the second it's on he is glued to the TV

Eduardo 🦸

🦸 ; when you asked for this man to be your caregiver my man CRIED. (Happy tears of course)

🦸 ; acts like he's a strict CG at first glance. But is very patient and sweet to you

🦸 ; not at all a spoiler, but if you did something to earn it he'll buy you anything you want.

🦸 ; loves LOVES super heros. He has a habit of rambling it to his little about it. And sometimes would encourage you to dress up as super heros with him

🦸 ; (general headcanon) he's autistic! And he stims alot, and it's most just sounds. Such as; "yippee!, Yay!, Eee!, Yeee!" Or sometimes just straight up screaming. He tries to cut back the yelling part, but sometimes he just can't help but get excited

🦸 ; collects figurines of heros you can play with, you just have to be a bit careful with them

🦸 ; moderates the amount of sugar you drink/eat, knowing it's important to limit things like this. Even if it is a pain, you'll thank him later

🦸 ; "bud/little one/sweetheart/kiddo" is what he calls you. Of course adding ones you wish to be called If anything at all. But he respects your decision if you don't want to be called petnames

🦸 ; matching pajamas! He squeals whenever you two end up matching together. It's one of his favorite things to do

🦸 ; once when you had to be away from him for a few days (let's say school, college, work, whatever) he was too emotional about it for an entire week. Once you came back regressed, he ran to you and hugged you before spinning you in the air. (He misses you alot)

🦸 ; reads you bedtime stories literally every night before bed. He can never do without it

🦸 ; like jon, he's a cuddler. As a cuddler, he is a huge big spoon. Occasionally a head rester when you are sitting in his lap. He likes being touchy if you were comfortable with it

🦸 ; doesn't mind any petnames you call him, but melts if you were to call him "my hero/hero" he would get all stimmy and happy for a whole week