#I don’t know where this gifset comes from

[annwrites]

—the fox & the flower

playlist | gifset | quotes

& your heart's against my chest, your lips pressed to my neck. i'm falling for your eyes, but they don't know me yet. — gwayne hightower x niece!reader ; ✧ ˚ ·𓆸

“Please, mother, may I go?” You ask excitedly, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet with elation.

Meanwhile, your mother merely stares down at the invitation in her hand, carefully considering.

The corner of her mouth tugs down into a frown and you begin to deflate. 

Her eyes meets yours and she gives you a forced smile. “It is all the way at Highgarden, my love. You would need a royal escort, a chaperone, not to mention—”

“I don’t…”

You pause. “I understand I will need protection. But it is for one night. One evening where I may be someone else for just a few hours. Not the princess that others are expected to prostrate themselves before, not a Targaryen, not royalty. Just…whomever I choose to be. I hardly ever ask you for anything—have been the least troublesome of my siblings, besides Helaena. Please, mother, please,” you beg, taking her hands in yours. 

“But you are a princess, sweetling,” she states, cupping your cheek. “And should be treated as such. Protection will be required. You know this. It concerns me how desperately you wish to play pretend for an evening. What you might…have in mind.”

You take a small step back.

“Have I ever disappointed you? Stepped out of line? Done anything untoward, or sullied myself in any shape or form in my entire life? I’ve been nothing but a perfect, shining example of what a highborn lady—a princess—should be. I hold even myself to an impossibly high standard, because I know I must, lest I let everyone down. Lest I be chastised for there being a…a crack in my porcelain. 

“Please just… Guards may accompany me. But the night of the masquerade, I would prefer to be…my own company. Elsewise, everyone will know who I am, and crowds will flock to me all evening. If I wanted for that, I may as well remain here instead.”

You take the letter from her, clutching it to your chest.

“Please, mother. Soon enough, I will be wed to someone of your and father’s choosing—some stranger whom I may not even love,” tears sting your eyes at the words. “And this chance for one night of joy and celebration forever stolen from me.”

She chews the inside of her cheek. “Perhaps Aemond should accompany—”

You groan, throwing your head back. “So he may complain during the entire journey, as well as all night about how he’d rather be here riding Vhagar, or practicing with a sword in the yard, or getting up to Gods know what else. And he’ll be attached to my side all night, acting the protective elder brother, driving me insane. If he comes with me, so help me, I’ll take his other eye.”

She draws in a sharp gasp. “Young lady!”

You shrink into yourself, your cheeks warming. 

“Forgive me,” you mutter.

“It’s not as if he’s never threatened to feed me to Vhagar,” you mumble.

She rolls her eyes, padding across the room. “A jest, obviously. Not that I am excusing such behavior.”

She turns back to you. “You know he is very protective over you. Aemond would never lay a hand upon you.”

You cross your arms. “I’m done talking about Aemond.”

You know she’s trying to change the subject, even if the mention of him is clearly connected to the matter at-hand.

Finally, she sighs, seating herself upon a lounge near the balcony. “I will need speak with your father about this.”

You shift on your feet. 

“Will he…understand what it is which you’re asking?” You say quietly.

She pats the cushion beside her, so you seat yourself. 

“I’ll go to him first thing in the morn when his mind is most clear and we shall discuss it. But, once I give you our answer—the King’s answer—you must accept it, even if it is not that which you wish to hear.”

You think for a moment.

“What if the two of you agree, and I go, and he…” Your chin wobbles. “He slips away while…”

She softly clicks her tongue, pulling you into her arms, cradling the back of your head while she gently rocks you to and fro. “Let us not think of such things, my sweet girl.”

She pulls away, tucking a silver lock of hair behind your ear. “But if he did…”

She sniffles. “His suffering would be at an end. We would have that to comfort us, my darling. That he would finally have peaceful rest at last.”

You nod, rubbing your fingertips nervously into the palm of your hand. “If I am allowed to go, I will sit with him before. Talk to him.”

Say goodbye, just incase….

She nods with a solemn smile, pressing a warm kiss to your forehead.

Not only have you been given permission from your father, the King himself, but your mother has written to your uncle in Oldtown, asking if he would kindly host you once the celebrations at Highgarden are at an end.

She wishes for you to see the place of her birth, and you also wish to see your brother, and to meet your uncle for the first time in all your life.

He had agreed in kind, promising he shall meet you at the site itself, as he has been invited as well to the ball.

You cannot recall a time where you've felt more pleased or excited than you do now with all you have to look forward to.

You fill with relief when the gossip you’d heard in the gardens proves to be true: more than one head wears silver hair tonight—somehow allowing your own head of such hair to be a disguise for once, instead of a beacon like that atop the Hightower.

You stand off to the side—for once all on your own, and it makes you feel, for the first time in your entire life, like a woman grown.

You sip idly from a crystal glass of champagne, a small smile playing on your lips at the grand ballroom which lies before you.

Sparkling chandeliers lit by countless candles hangs from a high, painted ceiling. The marble floor has been polished so well you can practically see your own reflection upon it. Bouquets of roses and tulips and lilac and more fill large pots, and painted ivy climbs up large pillars throughout the room. 

High tables hold flowing towers of more champagne, and silver trays advertise decadent treats of cake and pastel-colored macaroons, small sandwiches and tiny sausages, fresh fruits and vegetables, among a selection of other finger-foods. 

Lovely music plays from a group of musicians at the head of the hall: a harp, violins, flutes, trumpets, drums… And women in glittering gowns with ornate masks spin round and round as men in well-tailored suits hold them close in their arms.

It’s true: this place—Highgarden—is something out of a fairytale.

Oh, how you never wish to leave.

“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.”

You turn with pleased surprise that someone is finally speaking to you—and he is quite handsome, even with a mask, which resembles a golden fox—tied to his face. Tall and lean, with reddish-golden strands and emerald-green eyes, a smirk upon his feline lips.

He comes closer, taking your free hand in his, and he leans down, pressing a firm kiss to the back of it.

“My Lady,” he greets lowly.

You curtsy, blushing. “My Lord.”

He takes a small step closer, gazing into your eyes. “Not the first Targaryen, or Valyrian princess—or, mayhaps, lady—I’ve had the pleasure of encountering this evening, but you are the first to have violet eyes. How did you accomplish that facet of your costume?”

Your lip twitches. “I shall never tell.”

He raises a brow in interest. “I’m most adept at acquiring secrets from comely young maidens. I’ve yet to meet one which is a match for my silver tongue.”

You take another sip of your champagne, staring at him all the while in interest.

He shrugs slightly. “There are…other ways of confirming, of course.”

“Confirming?” You question.

“Mm, if you are who you claim to be. If the hair on your head is merely an illusion, or if you are truly a daughter of the King.”

You blink at him in ignorance. “How would you do that?”

He smirks, sipping from his own glass. “Mayhaps you will allow me to show you later tonight.”

He glances outside, through open stained-glass doors, toward the large, expansive gardens just down the steps that lead out from the castle.

“In the hedge maze?” He suggests, meeting your lovely eyes once more.

You shift nervously on your feet, which he takes note of, knowing he needs treat his prey more gently if he is to win this hunt.

“I…do not know. It’s very large, and I would fear getting lost within.”

He gives you a charming wink. “Lucky for you that I have an excellent sense of direction.”

You force a smile, turning back to the dancing courtiers before you.

He remains silent for a moment, merely admiring you: your curled silver hair done in an intricate style—pearl and jewel pins littered throughout, along with tiny flowers—your lovely pink gown, which flows from your body like water, your bare, slender shoulders, even the finely-designed mask you don—simple, yet beautiful, with its opalescent colors. And round your neck hangs a long pearl necklace that rests atop your soft breasts, your dainty fingers which grip your glass house a few silver rings upon them.

He can only imagine how comely those most intimate parts of you that’re currently hidden from him are in comparison to the rest of you. 

He intends to discover such hidden treasures for himself before this night is through and the morning sun rises high above the clouds.

As a servant with a silver tray balanced upon their palm goes to pass, he rests his glass upon it—being so bold as to take yours as well—before offering you his hand.

“Would you care to dance? I’ve a difficult time believing you decided to attend merely to spectate. And to let a jewel as rare as you stand to the side as a wallflower all night would be a waste indeed.”

You’ve already deigned that he is most certainly a flirt in every essence of the sense, but you know that you are in control of yourself.

That nothing occurs tonight without your say-so. So long as you go nowhere alone with him, all’s well that ends well.

Now that it is dark, you do not intend to leave the castle’s confines anyway, so you take his hand.

“I would like that very much.”

He smiles, flashing a set of brilliant white teeth, sweeping you onto the dance floor. 

You quickly rest a hand upon his strong shoulder, while he continues to hold your other, sliding his opposite to rest in the middle of your back, and the two of you step this way and that, spinning round and round, and you smile all the while with your heart fluttering in your chest.

Yes, you for once feel just like a princess from the stories. And he, a handsome young lord or knight or prince, come to save you from your sorrows.

“So,” he says. “It is up to us to be whomever we wish to be tonight. To make our story as we want it. Tell me, my lovely lady, who are you?”

You smile contentedly. 

“I…” You pause for a moment, thinking. “Am, in truth, a swan."

He raises a brow in interest, chuckling. "Are you?"

You nod. "Indeed, I am. I come from a faraway land, a deep blue pond the color of rare sapphires my home. And, for one night every year, I am given the gift of having a human form bestowed upon me to do with as I wish."

He thinks on what you've said for a moment.

"It seems to me we should make the absolute most of this evening we share, then, should we not? Before you are stolen away from me come the morn."

You lip twitches, deciding not to reply to that. "And who are you, my handsome suitor?"

"I, myself, am merely a lowly huntsman. But naught would know, what with my fine attire and mask which hides my true face."

He pulls you closer to him. "I believe I have for myself a most comely and graceful bird, however."

He lowers his lips to your ear. "And I do not intend to part with my quarry until she disappears into a fit of white feathers, leaving me heartbroken and yearning once more."

You grin, shaking your head in amusement. "Do most ladies usually fall for such an act?"

He shrugs, glancing around the room. "I've yet to hear a complaint in regards to my...chivalrous nature. I do so love to tend to damsels in distress."

You stare up into his jewel-hued eyes, while he begins to slide his hand lower, and lower...and then the song comes to an end, with a room full of people clapping in appreciation.

You break from him, taking a step back, and he bows to you.

You renege on your resolve to remain indoors for the rest of the evening then, deigning that you need air. This room is far too cramped—too hot, and too busy.

You go to walk past the unnamed gentleman before you, until he lightly grasps your fingertips.

"Shall I escort you outside, my swan maiden?"

You hesitate for a moment. "Can...can I trust you?"

He takes a step closer, resting a palm against your upper-arm, growing quite serious. "I would never harm a woman. Nothing occurs between us tonight that you do not wish. I give you my word. I want only those who want me in return."

You fill with relief then, and you nod.

The two of you are silent as you walk through grand gardens, your arm draped over his, occasionally passing giggling girls, or pairs of lords and ladies too enamored with each other to notice either of you.

He glances ahead, toward the seemingly endless expanse of greenery that lies before you. "Shall we?"

You waver. "I've never gone through one before."

"There's a trick to it. You needn't worry: once you're ready to leave, I'll guide you out."

You consider.

You know you most likely shouldn't. That you should turn around and go back inside instead.

But with masks on—with the two of you having no bloody idea who the other is—what would it truly matter if something more is...shared in private corners with only marble statues to bear witness?

You take a small step forward, he following along beside you.

You know you've reached the middle when a large bubbling fountain comes into view—polished wooden benches on either side, and statues of cherubs and women draped in gossamer in each corner.

You break from him, kicking your shoes off your aching feet, and you pick up your skirts as you climb up the stone ledge of the fountain before stepping into the cool water.

Meanwhile, your escort for the evening watches with a wide smile. "Well, you are certainly not a Targaryen princess. That much has been confirmed."

Your lip twitches while you gaze into the distance with a knowing look.

"I told you: I am a swan. We are naturally drawn to water, after all."

He nods. "Ah, yes, how foolish of me."

He cocks his head to the side, and you sway from side to side in interest.

"Have you ever considered allowing those perfect feathers to be ruffled, my little swan maiden?"

You look him over briefly before stepping out, dropping your skirts, and merrily hopping down.

And for the first time in all your life, you throw propriety and decorum to the wind.

"Kiss me."

He smirks, most pleasantly surprised. "Are you sure?"

You take a step closer, fisting his doublet in your hand.

"Kiss me," you repeat.

He leans down, cradling the back of your head while his other hand cups your cheek, and he presses his lips to yours.

And your heart explodes like fireworks in the air.

A kiss. Your first kiss. And on your own terms—by your own deciding.

And as his soft lips move gently against your own, you determine that it is perfect, and everything you've ever dreamt it should be.

He flicks his tongue against yours and you still.

And he pulls back, but only slightly.

"It's alright. You may as well, if you like," he says, encouraging you gently, before giving himself to you once more.

And so you do.

Your tongue dances with his, just as your body had in that marvelous hall, your desire deepening in your core as he kisses past your lips, down your chin, to your neck.

Your eyes flutter closed and you sigh quietly as he slides his hands up your back, holding you impossibly close.

He presses his lips firmly up a hot trail all the way to your ear. "Would you like for me to go further?"

Slowly, your eyes open. "How?"

He smirks slightly. "There are other lips I might pleasure on your body."

You jerky slightly. "I don't—"

He gazes down, into your eyes, the moon casting his red-gold curls in a silver glow. "It is just the two of us. I wish for tonight to be all you want it to."

He kisses you again. "Let me touch you. I beg of you."

He kisses your neck again, mumbling against it, "Let me please you. End my agony, My Lady."

You remain silent—for a long while—he continuing to kiss and tease with delicate flicks of his tongue against your hot, flushed skin.

You shouldn't, but Gods how you want to.

"What if...someone happens upon us—sees?"

He looks at you once more, brushing his thumb against your cheek. "Then they are welcome to spectate."

You frown at him.

"I've excellent hearing," he assures you. "No one will catch us. And if they do, it is not as if any would have an idea of who either of us are. Most importantly you."

Your heart pounds between your breasts while another pulse, which began long ago between your legs due to his experienced lips and hands and words, grows in fervor.

You know your mother would be most disappointed—heartbroken—but all your life you've let yourself be locked in a pretty gilded cage because others have willed it so.

Tonight, you spread your wings.

"Yes."

He sits upon the ledge of the fountain while you sit in his lap with your skirts bunched up around your waist.

He'd refused to look between your legs—telling you that he refuses to 'spoil the surprise' for himself, and it was only then that you finally understood his earlier comment about discovering your true identity in other ways.

You keep one arm wrapped around his neck while you cup his cheek in your other hand—his free arm holding your waist as the two of you kiss passionately while his fingers tease the sensitive pearl between your thighs.

You jerk and whimper and sigh contentedly while his tongue explores your mouth—his fingers exploring elsewhere—as you hum in contentment.

"Gods," you whisper. "Is it always like this?"

"What might that be, sweetling?" He asks between breaths—for his heart does pound as his cock strains against his trousers.

"So...wonderful. Warm and passionate and—oh, Gods."

You ease your head back, biting your lower lip, holding desperately to him.

He circles and circles that bundle of nerves with slick digits, desperate to see you come undone in his arms.

"Only if the man is a very good lover," he answers with a grin that you do not see.

"My body feels as if every inch of me is on fire."

"Perhaps," he grunts—his fingers slipping between your hot folds. "You should cool yourself by unlacing your bodice."

Your eyes meet his—your lips swollen and red and your face flushed as you reach behind you without second thought—tugging with desperation against the strings which bind you.

And then you pull down the top of your dress, exposing your perfect, round breasts to him, and he dives forward, taking a pert nipple into his mouth.

Your jaw falls slightly open at the feeling—at the overwhelming sensation of all of it. Of him.

You feel your body tightening, your thighs attempting to close as you grow ever-closer.

"I'm nearly—"

He kisses between your breasts before crushing his lips to yours. "There you are, darling, show yourself to me. Allow me to see it. Let me watch you."

You press your forehead to his, cupping the back of his head, tangling your fingers in his hair as you squeeze your eyes shut.

You lift your hips, desperate to find your peak.

"Yes, Gods, please—"

He strums ever-faster, like a musician playing the most delectable of tunes upon his lute, and then you shatter.

You whimper and moan and cry softly as you press numerous open-mouthed kisses to his lips, his hand sliding up and into your hair while he chuckles in satisfaction.

"Gods, you are magnificent, aren't you? An astounding spectacle to behold, My Lady."

Eventually, his hand begins to slow, as do your hearts and breaths as the pair of you calm.

Once he has aided you in situating your gown once more, you rub your palm against your opposing arm nervously. "I should...perhaps say thank you?"

He chuckles, shaking his head. "The pleasure was all mine, my Lady Swan."

He steps closer, nodding slightly, shrugging as he settles his arms behind his back. "But, if you wish to repay me, we could come to an agreement."

"Agreement?" You ask with uncertainty.

He cups your cheek. "Come the stroke of midnight, we reveal our true identities to one another."

He presses his lips to yours once more. "I must know who you are. Who it is which I've held in my arms all night. Who it is that I've had the pleasure of pleasing by mine own hand."

You chew your lip nervously. "How...how do I know that by morn all will not know? If anyone discovered—"

He lowers himself onto one knee then and your eyes grow wide. "What're you—"

He takes your hand into his. "I make you this solemn vow, My Lady: I will guard the secret which is your identity with all that I am. That this night—our brief love story—shall follow me to my grave. None shall know, I assure you. You've my word. And my word is my bond."

He is absolutely ridiculous, but you smile nevertheless. "You may be in for quite the surprise when I remove my mask."

He rises again, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "I assume I most certainly will when my lady turns into a swan and flies away home, leaving me adrift."

You snort, shaking your head, soft curls falling over your shoulder. "Are you always like this?"

He smirks. "Only if I can help it."

The two of you listen as the bell tower tolls loudly for all to hear—signaling the end of the most perfect day you've ever had the pleasure of experiencing, and the beginning of a new.

He reaches up, clasping a hand over the front of his mask, reaching around to the back of it.

"Stop."

He stills.

You come toward him, taking his hands within your own, lacing your fingers together. "Before...before we reveal ourselves, I need you to know what this night has meant to me."

You run your fingers gently through his hair before taking his hand within your own again. "My entire life I've strived to be perfect in every way I possibly can. Because I have to be—I've no other choice. Until tonight. Until meeting you, and allowing myself to, for once, be impulsive. Mayhaps even a tad reckless. And I've never felt happier. More...myself. So, one day, when I am wed to a stranger and shipped off to an even stranger land among strange people, I will have this night to hold onto."

You stand on tiptoes, pressing a kiss to his lips.

"I have you to thank for that. So...thank you," you whisper.

He threads his fingers in your hair. "You're most welcome."

"One," he says.

"Two," you continue.

"Three," you each whisper in unison.

He is as handsome as you'd expected him to be—his skin unblemished—small red freckles littered across his fair complexion that is complete with high cheekbones and well-groomed brows.

He crosses his arms, his lip twitching as he nods to you. "Now the wig."

You laugh nervously.

He takes a step forward. "Is it terribly difficult to remove? I would not be surprised, it's excellently made."

You giggle. "It's real, I'm afraid."

You reach up then, tugging against silver strands, before settling your clasped hands against your stomach once again.

His smile immediately fades, the light going from his eyes—all indication of his mischievous nature fleeing him in an instant.

"You—You mean to say—" He swallows thickly. "You are a daughter of the King? One of the Targaryen princesses?"

You nod slowly, coming toward him.

"Oh Gods, what the fuck have I done?"

You shake your head, your eyes growing wide as you quickly take one of his hands again. "It's alright, shh, it's alright, look at me."

You cup his cheek, turning his gaze back to you. "No one will know about tonight—what occurred between us. You needn't worry for your safety; your wellbeing. Just as we agreed: this remains solely between you and I. I would never betray your confidence. Not after what you've given me—how much it means to me in my heart of hearts."

His expression morphs into incredulity.

"You've no fucking idea what we've done!" He shouts, causing you to flinch in fear.

He rips his hand from your grip, stepping away, running his hands down his face.

He doubles over, planting his hands atop his knees as he draws in shallow breaths.

"I don't...I don't understand," you say quietly, tears stinging your eyes.

You take a small step closer. "Please, don't ruin this. I beg of you. Please."

Finally, he stands, wrapping an arm around himself while resting his opposite elbow atop it, cradling his chin in his hand as he stares at you, as if he is contemplating some impossibly important matter within his mind.

And then his arms flail out from his sides, palms slapping against his trousers.

"Well," he says, gesturing to you. "Since I now know your true identity, I suppose it is time I reveal mine own."

You remain silent as he takes a step closer, and then another and another, until only an arm's-width worth of space remains between the pair of you.

"My name is Gwayne."

Your body twitches.

It can't be...

"Hightower," he finishes. "Your uncle."

Your eyes grow impossibly wide as you stare at him, your face growing as red as a freshly-plucked cherry, your body that had felt alight, as if from dragonfire, just a handful of moments ago growing cold.

And then you bury your face in your hands groaning in irritation.

"Pleasure to meet you, niece," he says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Your lower your hands, tears shimmering in your eyes. "I don't care."

He raises a brow, hands planted firmly upon his hips. "I beg your pardon?" He asks with furrowed brows.

"I care not if you are my uncle," you proclaim. "It makes no difference. Not to me."

He lets out a silent curse, shaking his head.

"Of course you wouldn't. Being," he waves his hand along the length of your body. "What you are—a Targaryen. But things are not...done this way among those like I. Even if..."

He rolls his eyes, searching for the right words.

"I dishonored you. Do you've any idea what we just did?"

"Nothing I did not desire," you reply, holding your chin high.

"Nothing you did not..." he says quietly, trailing off. "Your mother will have my fucking head for this."

"Apologies," he quickly mutters. "Such words are not fit for your ears."

You cross your arms in irritation. "Well, I don't intend on telling her, and I seriously doubt you do either unless you wish to meet the executioner's block."

He seats himself upon the edge of the fountain again.

"I'm...I'm glad it was with you."

He gives you a look of disbelief.

"I am," you state, stepping closer, then seating yourself beside him. "I would rather my first intimate experience have been with mine own uncle—my blood—than some stranger who...who I cannot truly trust. But you, I do."

You cup his cheek, but he bats your hand away, so you then rest it upon his knee, rubbing your thumb soothingly against it.

"I do not regret it. I wish you would not either."

"You are my niece," he reiterates, as if you cannot possibly understand that yourself. "A royal princess, the King's—"

You stand. "I know very well what I am! I need not for you to remind me, as everyone else, including your sister—my mother—has most-assuredly done as such repeatedly since the day I was born! I have a mind of my own, you know?"

He looks up to you then.

"I am capable of thinking for myself. Of...of wanting what I want. I am not some empty-headed doll, despite what everyone else around me clearly thinks when they look at me."

His eyes trail along your body, your gown, before he bobs his head to the side, indicating you should seat yourself again.

And so you do.

"I am meant to take you back to Oldtown with me. To spend weeks at your side. How...how can we be expected to keep one another's company with this hanging between us now?"

You shrug, lightly swinging your feet. "We just do, I suppose."

He hangs his head between his shoulders, his hands clasped between his spread knees.

"My own niece," he mutters quietly.

You stare at the back of his head.

"At least my uncle is a very good lover," you remark, causing his head to shoot up, and you quickly blush.

He shakes his head. "Gods, what have I gotten myself into?"

He plants a palm atop his thigh, leaning back as he stares into your violet eyes. "Was that truly your first experience, or—"

"Do you take me for some trollop?" You exclaim.

He falters. "Forgive me."

"Yes, you were my first. My first kiss, my first...what you did between my legs."

He sighs. "If I had been anyone else—the wrong man—do you've any idea what could've happened to you? Blackmail, for instance. Some power-hungry fourth-born son would not hesitate to threaten ruining your reputation until you gave him...more."

You stare ahead at a marble statue which silently judges you from afar. "Well, that's not what happened here. So I needn't worry."

"Fortunate for you," he grumbles.

Finally, he stands with a sigh, offering you his hand. "Come, I'll escort you back to your chambers. Come the morn, we depart for Oldtown. We each need our rest."

You blink at him for a moment, then resign yourself.

You slide your palm against his and he helps you down before taking your hand and wrapping your arm around his own.

"I think I would've preferred you be a swan now," he says, the corner of his feline lips twitching in jest.

He glances to you.

"I suppose my huntsman nevertheless caught his prey."

He grins. "What a prize it is."

You rest your cheek against the crown of his shoulder.

Your uncle’s retinue makes a midday stop near a riverbank to break for lunch and water the horses. 

You take for yourself a bit of meat and fruit to feast upon, and settle yourself back against a large oak tree as you enjoy the day—colorful birds flitting through the air and singing to one another while small fish jump, breaking the surface of the water before plopping back in. 

Once you’ve filled yourself, you remove your shoes, gather your skirts, and decide to wade for awhile. 

And it is in such a state that Gwayne finds you as he seats himself upon a small boulder, watching you with a smirk playing upon his lips. 

“I see this is repeat behavior,” he calls to you.

You whirl around, silver curls falling over your shoulders as you fight back a smile.

You step up, onto the bank. “You could always join me?”

He chuckles, shaking his head, looking at you from under his lashes. “I would say not, considering what sort of…position that placed the pair of us in last time.”

You shift your weight from one foot to the other. “I thought you said we were not to speak of it?”

A muscle in his jaw feathers. “So I did. Forgive me.”

He retrieves your shoes then, holding them up with a raised brow. 

And then you shake your head, a mischievous grin spreading across your lips as you enter the water once again…and splash him.

He stands. “Young lady!”

You giggle. “You sound just like mother. Gods, the two of you are just alike!”

He rests his hands upon his hips with a raised brow. “I resent that insinuation. I am the fun one.”

You splash him again. “Are you?”

He shakes his head, then doubles over, tugging off his boots, rolling up his pant legs, and he promptly marches himself into the river.

You do not get to splash him a third time as he throws you over his shoulder, carrying you out. 

“Ah! Let me down!” You say between all-consuming laughter.

“Certainly,” he says, seating you upon the very rock he’d previously occupied.

You frown at him. 

“I’ll simply get back in,” you say, attempting to stand.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” he replies, gripping your hips, holding you in-place.

You stare at him, your cheeks warming.

He kneels then, tugging his tunic from his trousers.

Your brows furrow, but for only a moment as he begins wiping your feet dry with the hem of it, staring into your eyes all the while before slipping your shoes back onto your feet with a wink.

The carriage stops and the door swiftly opens as your uncle climbs inside, attempting to escape the sudden downpour.

He slams the door behind him, slamming his fist against the roof, and the wooden wheels begin to roll once more. 

You smile warmly at him before gazing back out the window, enjoying the smell of rain upon damp earth.

Until you are unsettled by the feeling of a pair of eyes consistently resting upon you.

You turn back to Gwayne with a nervous smile. “What?”

He merely shrugs. “Nothing. May I not look upon beautiful things?”

A grin crawls across your lips and you lightly shake your head. 

“You’re blushing.”

You clear your throat, adjusting your skirt. “It’s very warm in here.”

He hums in response. “Is it? Hm, I thought it was a bit cold. I’d considered that, perhaps, I might keep you warm. It would be a great travesty for my darling niece to catch cold while under my protection, would it not? And so early in her trip, at that.”

You grow quiet then, returning to staring out the window. “I feel perfectly well.”

Finally, he sighs, seating himself beside you.

“What’re—”

He interrupts. “How much longer do we need continue with this pretense?”

Your brows furrow. “I’m sorry?”

He turns more toward you, resting an arm behind you. “Ignoring this secret which lay between us.”

You scoff. “It just—it only just happened a few days ago. And you were the one who suggested we…we not speak of it. You suggested the pretense.”

“Yes, well, mayhaps I’ve now changed my mind.”

You throw your head back, groaning as you stare up at the roof. “What would you suggest, then? We write to all corners of the Seven Kingdoms and inform them of our dalliance?”

“Perhaps we just allow ourselves a bit of indulgence, just as we did that night.”

You roll your head to the side, staring at him. “Indulgence?”

He nods, his lip twitching. “Mm, so as to keep our mutual…frustrations at bay. We merely need come to an understanding, I suppose.”

You blink at him, your body growing warm all over at the way he looks at you. “What…do you have in mind?”

You cannot seriously be considering this.

He can’t.

Gods, what has gotten into you since that night at Highgarden? This isn’t like you. Or…mayhaps it is. Just a version of yourself you’ve never had a chance to become familiar with, due to always being forced to bury any form of behavior which is not ‘appropriate’ to court, thus all you know how to be is a pretty, singing bird. A comely talking doll.

He reaches up, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, cupping your cheek. “Nothing more than…courtly romance. All very prim and proper, for your sake, of course—I know how precious your virtue is—just enough to titillate,” he says, leaning in with a grin, gently pressing his lips to your own.

You kiss him back for a moment—nearly losing yourself to the sensation before you pull back. “I believe you mean to corrupt me.”

He snorts, resting a hand over his heart, feigning at being offended. “Me? I am the very image of a perfect, chivalrous knight.”

You do not smile at the jest.

He sighs, growing serious, taking one of your hands within his own, brushing his thumb along your knuckles. 

“I fancy you. I cannot…move past that evening. How we met. Who I initially thought you to be. I know you are my niece. I do. I just…instead choose to see you as a comely young woman who brings me joy. And I merely wish to return the favor and the feelings you stir within me.”

His eyes flit to yours. “Will you allow me that opportunity? So as to make your visit more enjoyable? For the both of us?”

You glance down to his hand. “What am I to you? Some toy for you to play with in your idle boredom between political dealings?”

He shakes his head, scooting impossibly closer to you, tipping your chin up with the tip of his forefinger. “No. You are my niece. My family. My blood.”

He pauses. “My princess. But also a woman who takes my breath away. Who, despite my absolute best efforts, I cannot manage to get out of my fucking head. All I do is want for you.”

He releases your hand, raising his own—palm facing toward you. “Tell me you do not feel the same in the least, and this conversation ends here. We will speak no further of it. You have my word.”

You remain silent, merely staring back at him with an uneasy expression.

He sighs. "You think me trying to take advantage of you."

"How else am I supposed to see this situation?"

"Did you not do the same to me the night we met? You wished for an evening to be someone else, and you utilized me to accomplish that end."

You shift uncomfortably, filling with guilt, until he caresses your cheek.

"I am not faulting you for it. I am merely saying… You are not the only one who is lonely."

You scoff sarcastically.

"I know." He slides his hand down your arm then.

"It is not as if I have any shortage of female suitors. But… They, like with your own, see me for what I am. Not whom. A man of a great house, son of the Hand of the King, brother to the queen, a gallant knight who has won many a joust, a future statesman. The list rows on.

"But when I am with you… For the first time in all my life, I am merely Gwayne. Mayhaps uncle as well, but that is it. A familial bond is far more meaningful to me than a title bestowed upon me in an attempt to garner glory and notoriety."

He presses a soft kiss to your cheek. "Do I not make you feel the same? Do I not make you forget what you are, while instead reminding you of who?"

Your eyes flit between each of his—guilt settling into the pit of your stomach.

Who is to say you are not instead the one to blame here? Your mother raised you devotedly in the light of the Seven. And you have shirked your Gods for what? Continued dishonourment of yourself and they?

You are going to burn the Seven Hells for this.

Your chin wobbles and then you break into a fit of sobs, covering your face with your hands. "I have disappointed the Maiden. I've betrayed the Gods!"

Gwayne sighs, softly shaking his head. Truly your mother's child, he now sees quite plainly.

He wraps his arms around you then, pulling you to his chest while he presses a kiss to your hair.

"I believe in the Gods and pray to them myself. But, let me ask you something: in all your life of confiding in them, have they ever granted you that which you most desire? That which will bring you joy, and save you from your solitude and woe? Or, have they, instead, remained silent pillars of stone?

"Who is to say that this—what we've found—each other, is not a gift from them? It is said they work in mysterious ways. Mayhaps this is their answer to your prayers and mine own: bringing the two of us together in such a manner."

after receiving an invitation from the lord & lady tyrell to attend a masquerade ball held at the grand castle of highgarden, you beg your mother to allow you to attend.

reluctantly, she agrees, as does your ailing father, only wishing—as ever—for you to be happy.

and the night is like something directly out of a fairytale. including the dashing young man who remains by your side all evening, bestowing upon you his flirtatious attentions.

come midnight, the two of you find yourselves at the heart of the estate's hedge maze after having just shared an incredibly intimate moment together. & then you each remove your masks, revealing your true selves.

only to discover that some secrets...are best kept hidden instead.

headcanons:

gwayne comes to love & adore & worship reader with everything he is & has.

spoils her rotten while she is in oldtown.

[inkscriptions]

Hi there! I don’t know why, but this gifset/scene ALWAYS reminds me of a first look for arranged marriage Paul x reader. I wanted to reach out and make a request for your take on something like that!!!

https://www.tumblr.com/inkscriptions/761991097328271360/timoth%C3%A9e-chalamet-as-paul-atreides-dune-part-one

remember, beloved

in which paul atreides sees you for the very first time on the day of your wedding. flashbacks to the first time you ever spoke to him, it being just the two of you. [4.6K]

or ↬ act i of the remember, beloved extended universe.

warnings. fem!reader, strong language, a little bit of angst, my take on the arranged marriage trope, fighting / sparring, a reference to how reader and paul will eventually have sex if you really squint

navigation. send a request.

Drawing in deep breaths through his nose, letting the oxygen that hangs in the air fill his lungs to the very brim, before releasing it back out through his mouth, Paul stands still, almost as if having frozen in time.

His eyes fixed on the far horizon, the picture before him clouded by a thick mist -- glimpses of moisture very much visible to the eye, sliding down the outside surface of his bedroom window in thin, river-like streams. The sunlight nothing more than a faint gleam over it all, for the heavy veil of clouds that rests upon Caladan is nearly impossible for light to push through. Still, just every now and then, Paul can see how the crests of the waves in the ocean glisten like tiny little jewels, when being kissed by the light.

Apart from the dress jacket that still lays untouched on top of his bed, Paul is fully dressed in his ceremonials. His body wrapped in dark green fabrics -- in pieces, that have been carefully tailored to fit him just right; to sit around his shoulders nice and snug, to stretch over the planes of his chest like the forest stretches over Caladan.

There’s a sense of unease holding him in its embrace, making it feel as if the collar of his shirt would slowly, minute by minute, sit tighter and tighter around his neck -- making his fingers itch to reach up there and pull it looser.

A sound of footsteps approaching from somewhere not too far in the distance pulls Paul from his thoughts, right before the voice of Duncan Idaho echoes through his bedroom -- an ever so low rumble, at best, “You doing alright there, my boy?”

“Duncan,” Paul says, tearing his eyes away from the scene that stands proud behind his bedroom window, and turning to face the man addressing him.

He, too, is dressed nice and formal. A military dress uniform resting upon the broad of his frame, the dark fabric nearly black in this light. The Atreides house crest embroidered to his dress jacket, right to the spot where his heart lays underneath. He wears it with pride -- of course he does, for he is known for his loyalty to the Atreides family.

“What’s going on?” Duncan asks, coming to stand before Paul. His features are stern -- a few, deep wrinkles sitting in between his eyebrows, for something close to worry swims in the green of his eyes as he stares down at the young man who he thinks of as his little brother.

“Nothing,” Paul says, a hint of something -- nothing but a joyless smile, really -- washing over his lips. “I’m alright.”

Duncan, knowing that what Paul is telling him isn’t the full truth, but also knowing better than to ask him about it, only hums in an answer. “It’s a big day today,” he then goes on to say, putting his hand on Paul’s shoulder and giving it a firm squeeze -- a small gesture that on any other given day, Paul would, indeed, find comforting.

“Yeah,” Paul says, nodding once. “I guess it is.”

Duncan is right -- it is a big day today.

Today is the day that Paul Atreides, son of Duke Leto Atreides, takes your hand in marriage.

Though Paul has grown up knowing that one day, sooner or later, he will marry not for love, but for something else entirely -- for an union of sorts to be formed in between two Great Houses --, he would be lying if he said that he still, despite his upbringing, didn’t find the idea unsettling. And really, there is no blaming him -- after all, he is about to marry a woman with whom he has spoken alone only once before.

It is late at night, far in the quiet hours beyond dusk, for the training hall of Castle Atreides stands bare of life. There is not a singular soul in sight, nor a singular, faintest trace of a sound of life to be heard. You don’t know it yet, but only in a few, short weeks’ time, you will learn that it is quite the rare occurrence, indeed, to find the training quarters like this; enveloped in such a state of peace and quiet.

A large window, stretching all the way from the ground to the ceiling. Beautiful fixtures set before it, filtering out most of the light that wishes to stream into the room. The moonlight, bright, white and beautiful, only a faint glow when it reaches you -- caresses your forehead and kisses your cheek, all the while tracing your footsteps in the form of a long shadow.

Your feet, all cold and clammy for they are bare, carry you across the room with footsteps so quiet that you barely hear them yourself.

Coming to stand beside a large, oak table, on top of which a collection of all kinds of different swords, knives and shields rests untouched, you think about it -- think about how one day, the stone walls of this castle will be all you know. So foreign and unfamiliar now, yet still something that one day, you will learn to call home.

A part of you wonders if this place, though your home, will ever truly feel like one.

You give your head a slight shake, in hopes that the movement would ease your mind -- that it would strip away the weight that is resting so heavy on your shoulders, that it would soothe the pain that throbs so very persistent on your temples, that it would ease the pressure on your chest that presses so firm against every single breath you take --, only to witness the attempt falling short.

A groan -- a low sound that echoes nothing but frustration -- rumbles somewhere deep inside your throat. And really, though you would never admit it out loud, it feels liberating -- being able to voice your thoughts, even if it is only through something as little as a mere groan.

Being raised better than to act out, up until this very moment, you have not once voiced your frustrations. Not when your parents informed you about the forthcoming union between you and your now betrothed, Paul Atreides, for the very first time, nor when they encouraged you to pack your bags shortly after, for as by their wishes, you were to leave to pay a short, three-day-long visit to Caladan the following day. Not even earlier tonight had you said a word, while sitting at the dinner table together with the Atreides family, discussing matters regarding the quickly approaching wedding that, by the sound of it, will not be a wedding that looks anything like you.

Knitting your eyebrows together, you catch a hold of the knife that lays closest to you, and make your way to a training dummy.

Fingers wrapped around the leather handle of the knife nice and tight, you strike the dummy once, then twice -- the swooshing sound the blade makes as it cuts through the air soon being the only thing you’re able to hear, and for that you are the utmost grateful, for as of now it seems that fighting is the only thing that manages to silence the screams of turmoil that have been haunting your head for days now.

“I didn’t think I’d find you here,” a voice echoes through the training hall. It is a familiar voice, you realize -- or, rather, a voice that you have recently gotten familiar with.

Upon turning around, you are met with the image of your now betrothed, Paul Atreides, standing in the doorframe. Leaning his weight against the casing, wearing nothing but a white tunic and a pair of simple, black trousers, with the raven of his hair a lot messier than you’ve ever seen it before, he almost looks as if he would have rolled out of bed just moments before.

“My lord,” you pay formalities to him with a small nod of your head.

He mirrors you, nodding once, “My lady.”

And for a little while, the two of you sit in silence. Only holding each other’s gazes from the opposite sides of the room, both, unbeknownst to the other, thinking about the exact same thing -- thinking about how this might just be the very first time you are seeing each other, it being just the two of you.

What an odd world it is, indeed, that you live in.

He is the first one to break the silence. “I didn’t take you for a fighter.”

You hum, a hint of a smile washing over your lips. “I’m afraid there’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, my lord.”

“Paul,” he says, the tone of his voice calm and kind -- soothing, almost.

A small frown of your eyebrows, for you are not quite certain you heard him right. “I beg your pardon?”

“Paul,” he repeats. “You can call me Paul.”

You press your lips together, a tight, thin-lipped smile raising to adorn them. Though polite, it is still a smile that doesn’t suit anyone -- a smile that couldn’t be anything but the very product of one’s attempt to keep the turmoil of their mind from showing through their features.

“Paul,” you then say, his name nothing but an echo of uncertainty as it falls from your lips. Those four letters unfamiliar in your mouth -- a kind of taste that you are not certain whether you like or not.

He offers you a smile. It’s a nice smile, kind and warm. His parents must have done a better job at raising him than yours did raising you, you figure, for the smile that is now gracing his lips doesn’t look the least bit forced -- something that can’t be said of the one that you wear.

Pushing his weight off the doorframe, back onto his legs, Paul enters the room. Long strides carry him through the vast emptiness of the training hall, before bringing him to a stop beside the great oak table, on top of which rests now an incomplete collection of various different kinds of weapons -- for one of the knives still sits tightly secured inside your fist.

“I don’t mean to intrude,” you start, fingers twiddling with the leather handle of your knife. It has got to be a rather old knife you chose to practice with, you think, for the leather covering of its handle is so very worn-looking -- traces of leather sticking out from here and there. “But if I may ask, what’s got you coming down here this late at night?”

Paul lifts his gaze up to meet yours, something swirling in the bluish-hazel of his eyes -- something that says, The same thing that brought you here, I believe. And yet, though his eyes are saying something very different, he goes on to say, “I couldn’t sleep.”

A part of you wants to ask him about it -- ask him how he feels about all of this --, while another part of you wants to shelve the topic for the rest of your days. Seal it away in a lockbox and drop it to the bottom of the ocean -- a conversation to be never thought of again.

Another silence falls upon the two of you. It isn’t an uncomfortable one, but quite the opposite, actually. Something warm lingering in the air, as you share the room with the only person in the entire known universe who is going through the exact same thing you are.

“So, Paul,” you then say, his name still nothing but an odd, unfamiliar taste on your tongue. “You wanna go a few rounds?”

Paul raises his eyebrows, a somewhat questioning look etching onto his features. “So you are a fighter, then?”

You chuckle, a hint of an amused smile washing over your lips right before you go on to tell him, “I can hold my own.”

Paul is looking at you now -- like, really looking at you. He hasn’t seen you like this before.

Dressed in all-black clothing, a loose tunic and a matching pair of trousers resting upon your frame. A couple beads of sweat glistening on your forehead, and a few more running down your temples in thin, current-like streams. A small pendant only faintly visible from this far, for it sits partially under the collar of your shirt -- right there, where your collarbones are only inches from meeting. Paul doesn’t know it yet, but that very pendant, has nothing but your family’s house crest engraved to it, and thus makes it the only piece of clothing you never strip.

Truth be told, Paul doesn’t think that he has ever seen any woman, of any Great House, like this.

Paul hums, as if deep in thought, and dons his shield. Flashes of blue light lingering around his figure for a mere moment, before vanishing to thin air. His eyes never leaving yours, for he finds the challenge that twinkles just right there, in the corner of your eye, somewhat captivating.

“We’ll see about that,” he says, smiling now, as he rounds the table with a knife in his hand.

A laugh -- a real, serene one -- bubbles somewhere deep inside your chest. You don’t think about it now, but if you were to, you would realize that this is the first laugh anyone has heard coming from you in days.

“You’re funny, Paul Atreides,” you say, smiling now too. Mirroring him, you come to stand in the middle of the training mat, donning your shield -- something blue flashing before your eyes, a low buzzing sound to be heard in your ears, as a protective energy shield forms around you.

It is just then, as Paul takes a fighting stance, his gaze still holding onto yours, that he thinks it -- for things to be as they are, this isn’t a bad start.

You lunge towards him, your blade crashing against his. Knives firmly pressed against one another, the two of you stay still for a mere moment, only squinting your eyes, as if contemplating each other’s next moves.

It’s refreshing, you think -- fighting someone you have never fought before.

And soon, the state of peace and quiet that once rested upon the training hall of Castle Atreides, is long gone. Replaced with the sounds of blades clashing together time after time again -- each strike harder, more furious than the last.

You are quickly informed of the skill of your betrothed. He is quick in his movements -- smart, too. It’s almost as if every single move of his, even the smallest twitch of one of his muscles, was carefully measured out before coming to life right before your eyes. God, he makes it all look so easy, too -- he must have spent hundreds, if not thousands of hours within the four walls of this very room, you figure, for suddenly you find it difficult to hold your own.

It is only a matter of minutes before the both of you are out of breath.

Heart beating fast -- thumping against your ribs with such force that it damn near makes you dizzy. The muscles that sit on top of your chest aching as they’re being stretched to their very breaking point with every breath you draw in, lungs screaming for more air -- for more oxygen. Sweat running down the back of your neck, your sides -- hell, even your hands are sweaty now, for holding your knife feels now harder than it did before.

You put up a good fight, Paul thinks, receiving a kick straight to his ribs. Everything your muscles have to give, straight through the sole of your foot -- air being pushed out of his lungs, leaving him breathless for a good few seconds.

“That’s rude,” he says, spinning his knife around his wrist once, then twice, before going for a strike.

“Perhaps,” you say, your knife clashing against his, a screeching sound to be heard as the blades of your knives scrape against each other. “But all’s fair in love and war, isn’t it?”

“Mhm,” Paul simply hums in an answer, something close to intrigue etching across the entirety of his irises.

Not once did you think that you would actually have it in you to best Paul Atreides in a fight, but losing to him so quickly wasn’t what you were expecting either. He is swift in his movements -- using his blade to push your upper body away from him, all the while his leg moves to knock yours from underneath you.

And so he has got you.

His forearm pressed firm against your chest, holding you in place -- unwavering despite the very best of your efforts trying to wriggle yourself free. Every inch of your back soon forced flat against the mat, for it seems the more you struggle, the better of a hold he gets of you. Your shield now flashing red under his blade, as there is nothing more than the thin fabric of your tunic left in between the tip of his knife and your skin.

Really, you are no match for Paul. A panting mess underneath him. Beads of sweat glistening on every part of the little of your skin that is exposed -- a few of them hanging onto your lashes, even. The tiny muscles in your jaw aching now, too, from gritting your teeth together so damn hard -- just another reminder of just how good of a fight this man put up.

“I have you,” he then says. His tone is lower now, more husky, for he too is out of breath.

You don’t say anything, but only let your grip loosen over the handle of your knife. Paul drops his knife, too -- and just like that, the fight is over.

Backing away, Paul proceeds to offer you his hand. His fingers all hot and sweaty, his grip tight around the palm of your hand, as he pulls you up to sit beside him. The training hall falling silent again -- the only sounds soon to be heard echoing through the room being the ones caused by both, your and his heavy breathing.

It is here, that you get a good look at him -- get a good look at the sharp of his features, at the high of his cheekbone, at the crisp of his jawline. It’s almost as if he was carefully carved out of clay, you think, by someone whose touch is nothing less than ever so precise.

He looks beautiful. He really does. Though, given the circumstances, you are not entirely sure if you should be thinking that.

“You okay?” you then ask him, something warm and kind laced to the tone of your voice -- something that wasn’t there before.

Paul chuckles, not even a fraction of joy to be seen on his features. “I think I should be the one asking you that,” he says. “I mean -- I’m home, at least.”

Your chest tightens at the reminder. It is an odd thought; having the Castle Atreides as your home, instead of the one you grew up in -- instead of the place that holds all the memories dearest to your heart.

Not really knowing what to say, you stay silent. Teeth sinking into the flesh of your bottom lip, working on chewing it raw -- the iron-like tang there is to the taste of blood soon prickling the tip of your tongue.

Paul looks at you, his eyes searching your features. Something different in the way his eyes look now -- not just two, infinite pools stained with all different shades of blue and hazel, but something more; something that almost looks as if he was feeling sorry for you. Maybe in some ways he is.

“You’re leaving tomorrow,” Paul then goes on to say. What he thinks, but doesn’t say, is, And when you come back, it is for us to get married. The thought still doesn’t sit quite right with him.

“Yeah,” you say, holding on to your breath for a while, before adding, “It’s weird, you know -- all of this.”

Paul nods, listening.

“I don’t like it,” you then say.

He hums, a subtle smile etching onto the pink of his lips. It is nice talking to you about this -- like this. “Me neither.”

The two of you sit in silence for a while. Only eyeing each other carefully, something serene lingering in the air -- a new found understanding, perhaps. Two people -- nothing but strangers to each other, really -- realizing that all this time, they have understood each other better than anyone else ever could.

“I hope we can make it work,” he says quietly. He doesn’t mean his words in the sense that he hopes the two of you will fall in love, for he knows it is unlikely for one to fall in love with someone they’re being forced upon, but in the sense that he hopes you can live alongside each other -- to continue to understand each other.

And it is just then, that you think it, too -- for things to be as they are, this isn’t a bad start.

“Maybe we’ll find a way,” you muse, a soft smile on your lips.

Paul hums, smiling now too. “Maybe we’ll find a way.”

Duncan sighs -- a heavy, rustling thing --, for the older brother that lives inside of him hates seeing Paul like this; lost somewhere deep in thought, far away from where he needs to be -- far away from where one is able to make things happen.

“She seems alright,” he then goes on to say, something like reassurance woven into the tone of his voice -- a gentle reminder of how he will always be standing there, right beside Paul, come what may.

“Yeah,” Paul says quietly. “She is alright.”

He means it, he really does -- you are alright. Though, he is fairly certain that given the kind of upbringing you have had, it would’ve been practically impossible for you to have turned out anything less, than alright.

Long, heavy strides carry Duncan across the room. Coming to stand by the edge of Paul’s bed, he bends down at the waist just enough so that he is able to reach out and catch a hold of the dress jacket of Paul’s ceremonials that still rests there, upon his unmade bed, untouched. The fabric freshly cleaned and pressed, almost coarse-feeling in between his fingers.

“C’mon, my boy,” he says, holding the jacket open for Paul. “It’s go time.”

A sigh falling from Paul’s lips, too, right before he goes on to slip into the dress jacket that Duncan is holding up for him.

And really, it is quite the nice moment the two of them share here -- a big brother of sorts, helping his little one get dressed before what is arguably going to be one of the biggest moments of his life; fastening the buttons of his jacket for him and smoothing the fabric over with the palms of his hands, and to finish it all off, hitting Paul to the plane of his chest in a playful manner -- a small gesture, yes, yet still something that perfectly portrays their relationship.

It is not too long after, that Paul finds himself standing outside the Castle Atreides. On the edge of a cliff, looking over Caladan as it stands there, proud before him, in all its glory -- a picture ever so green and gloomy, stretching as far as the eye can see. The ocean opening vast behind him, furious in its movements, for the wind has gotten a hold of the waves -- has gotten them crashing against the shore time after time again, each time seemingly more aggressive than the last.

It is a subtle, yet elegant setting -- a true testament to the fact that a marriage among two Great Houses serves more as a political proposition, than anything else. The castle grounds decorated with shades of dark green and blue, reflecting the beauty of the oceanic, forest-filled planet that is Caladan, the home of House Atreides. Flags with the family’s crest embroidered to them dancing to a rhythm set by the wind -- a reminder to everyone present, upon whose ground they are standing.

Paul’s heart is beating hard against his ribs, moving to a cadence so relentless that it has got even the very tips of his fingers feeling warm, despite it being quite cold out here this time of year. His chest feels tight, too -- though, truth be told, his chest has felt tight for quite some time now.

“I’m proud of you, son,” Duke Leto Atreides says from behind him, his tone low and firm.

Turning his head to the side, just ever so slightly, Paul glances at his father over his shoulder. His features are stern, not even a fraction of emotion showing through them. Duke Leto Atreides really is that kind of a man -- a man, who is difficult to get a read on at all times, no matter how close you are with him.

Paul simply nods in an answer, not saying anything.

Upon turning his head back to face forwards, Paul is met with the image of you walking towards him. Still quite far in the distance, for he can’t see much else than your figure just yet. Body wrapped in white, silky material that reaches all the way down to your ankles -- kissing the grass with each and every one of your steps. What is perhaps the longest veil ever seen following you like a white shadow, bright against the gloom that sits upon Caladan.

Your father is there, too. Walking by your side, glad to have been able to show up for you on a day such as this. His arm extended out for you to have something to hold on to -- your fingers curled around his forearm tight as ever, for the fabric of his dress jacket is now all wrinkled from your touch.

Breathing in, for that is all Paul knows to do, he can almost feel the sea salt prickling his nose. The scent of the ocean thick and rich in the air -- moisture clinging to oxygen, the feel of air soothing as it enters his lungs.

And soon, it is just you and Paul. Standing opposite each other on the edge of a cliff, about to jump head first into something that neither of you have ever experienced before. A few, short feet’ distance between your bodies, for Paul can see you clear now -- can see the way your veil flows around your face with movements much like those of the ocean on a quiet day. Can see the way the fabric of your dress slopes off your shoulders, leaving them bare. Can see the way your chest rises high only to fall down low soon after, as you let air flow in and out of your lungs -- the pendant that still sits there, in the spot right between your collarbones, glistening under the faint sunlight.

For suddenly there is a lump in his throat. One that doesn’t move, not even an inch, when he swallows, but rather feels as if it would only press against his airways harder, keeping him from getting a nice, deep breath in.

You look beautiful. You are beautiful.

A fanfare erupts from somewhere not too far in the distance, signaling that the ceremony has begun. Everything falling quiet right after -- a kind of silence that carries a sense of calm and peace in its presence settling upon the grounds of Castle Atreides, like an invisible, weighted blanket.

And it is just then, when you raise your eyes up to meet his, that Paul sees it, clear as day -- something in the ever-expanding infinity of your eyes that says, We’ll find a way.

author's note : thank you for this request, sweet anon! this was SO much fun to write! kinda want to do a part two now where they get busy for the first time :’) please let me know all your thoughts! kisses!

[atopvisenyashill]

why do you think jonsa is happening tho? jonerys is different bc they are going to be enemies, but i don’t see what jonsa does for the story

so let me first lay out roughly what i think is going to happen should jonsa become canon. I personally love going down meta and graphic spirals, so I'm including links to other people’s theories/explanations/graphics of events too - also I would like to shout out @istumpysk because half these metas and gifsets were stuff I found on their blog initially, and also was the one who really convinced me that jonsa is less of a crackship and more of a contender for an actual canon theory, and from there i really found my niche in this fandom. specifically this meta about jon being the mummer's dragon is what pulled me out of my "we're never getting twow and if we do it's just gonna be that stupid dany has jon's magical baby while tyrion watches, then they all die theory" slump and lit my brain on fire again. let's goooo:

The Ashford Tourney Theory - Something Shady goes down at the tourney Petyr has planned that requires Sansa to make a quick getaway, and likely causes her to run into Brienne while fleeing. This theory for me is about hinting at Sansa's romantic future, allies, and how she's getting the hell out of the Vale: both the dark haired, Not Targ Looking Targ Prince that is the son of A Great Prince That Never Was being her romantic endgame but also it's about Brienne (/Dunk) getting her the hell out of there and becoming Sansa's number one ally and protector (with Sansa's number two being Bronze Yohn!! But he's not fleeing with her - if he helps her get out of the Vale, it'll be to cause a distraction or a fight so Sansa can slip away unnoticed. Bronze Yohn is coming with the knights of the Vale later to help defend his girl!).

The Girl In Grey - Out of options on where to go, Sansa & Brienne makes a long, fast, and dangerous trek to the only family she knows is still alive: Jon Snow at the Wall. No, I don't think Alys Karstark is the girl in grey on a dying horse; I think she's a red herring, the same as the scene where Sweetrobin destroys the snow castle, and that the real girl in grey (who slays the savage giant) is Sansa. Melisandre says that she sees "Jon's sister" but doesn't specify more than that, or how she knows it's Jon's sister, even - why would she assume Alys is Jon's sister and not some random Northern girl? Why was she so sure that it was his sister? It's because Alys isn't the girl in grey, it's Sansa, her horse dying because she's traveled halfway across the continent with Brienne and Pod, desperately trying to keep ahead of the dozens of people hunting her down.

The Blood of Winterfell - Sansa and Jon will reclaim winterfell together. This one is similar to above; just like Alys was a red herring, the scene where Sansa rebuilds the castle has a lot of foreshadowing (imo) but that isn't the moment in the prophecy Arya hears. The Savage Giant is Littlefinger, the castle of snow is Winterfell, and Sansa is going to liberate her home alongside Jon and what's left of the Northern lords.

Stone and Snow Remains - THIS is where Sansa and Jon will fall in love while fighting for the North. This is also the part where you lose a lot of people, because they think the evidence is real weak sauce but like, I also think the Jonerys "evidence" is weak af too (and no wonder, we have at minimum 2k pages left to get through!!). There's several believed foreshadowing points to this one, bare with me for this weird ass formatting because I can't do sub bullet points on tumblr:

1. Sansa's linking of snow with love and affection - "drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover’s kisses, and melted on her cheeks...She could feel the snow on her lashes, taste it on her lips. It was the taste of Winterfell. The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams." along with her snow maiden and snow knight.

2. Bael the Bard and the Rose of Winterfell - the chapter where Sansa gets her period for the first time, Cersei refers to it as “flowering” a dozen times, linking being a maiden (a young girl, not quite of age or just barely of age) to flowers and several people refer to sex as ~plucking. Also notice the one who stole her from KL is Lord BAELish.

3. Aemon the Dragonknight & Queen Naerys - Sansa compares herself to Naerys, Joffrey to Aegon, and wishes for an Aemon, among the many similarities between her life and Naerys'. Jon not only calls himself Aemon, he has a deep connection with a different Aemon Targaryen. And if you’re thinking “Sansa isn’t Naerys, X is Naerys” I would remind you that Sansa as a character existed first, George purposefully had her compare herself to Naerys, and parallels don't belong to just one character.

4. Jenny of Oldstones and The Prince of Dragonflies - there's honestly a lot of parallels between them but like the Aemon/Naerys parallel, the Jenny/Duncan one stands out to me.

5. Janos Slynt - I mean. Iconic. This was the scene that made me first think about what their relationship could be in the future and there’s a reason Jonsas fixate on it. It’s about Sansa being desperate for a hero and the hero she dreamed about being Jon the whole time. 6. Societal Alienation - There's the bastard parallels here, the "it would be so sweet to see him again", the "Winterfell belongs to my sister, Sansa." It's about how Jon, through circumstances of his birth, finds himself alienated from the rest of society and reconnects with his prim and proper sister Sansa, who finds herself alienated from the rest of society as well but for vastly different reasons.

Robb’s Will - Howland is going to show up in the North, along with Maege and Galbert, with some WILD news about why Jon can’t rule Winterfell. There’s a lot of contention around this. Bran probably shows up around this time too, and Arya gets to the Riverlands to discover Lady Stoneheart and give her the gift of mercy. This is where all the inheritance stuff is going to happen and I have no idea how it's going to go down besides it's going to be messy as all fuck.

The Pact Of Ice And Fire - Jon & Sansa get secret married bc they’re in love, not siblings, & jon is the only man she trusts not to steal her claim. This isn't the only possible foreshadowing instance of a marriage either - some believe the Sandor/Sansa scene during the Battle of the Blackwater is foreshadowing as well (personally I feel that's a bit of a stretch but I wanted to include it anyway).

Jon As An Envoy - I talked about this in my "what's Jon's ending" a little but I believe Jon will act as an envoy for either Sansa or Bran to Aegon VI, essentially playing out a similar story that he does in the show with Daenerys. By which I mean, Jon is not the King because the ruler themselves do not go as an envoy, that’s stupid and dangerous, but he goes as an ambassador for Sansa or Bran, to treat with a new claimant to the Iron Throne that is gaining support - Aegon VI & Jon Connington. They will probably clash, Jon will probably have yet another identity crisis, there had BETTER be gay incest subtext, then Aegon dies, and Jon has his sixth quarter life crisis in a row.

“King” of the Gift - again, something I touched on in my Jon meta is that I think he’s going to have a hand in resettling the Gift. Personally, I think it's likely that Jon leaves to protect the claims of his siblings (see: Duncan and Jenny) and goes to the Gift to help resettle it to keep out of the way. This ending is typically referred to as the "bael the bard" ending but i like to think of it as the "brandon's gift" ending instead - though he is not physically with his family, Jon feels fulfilled having confirmed his family loves him through reclaiming Winterfell and marrying Sansa, being reunited with Arya, and being given the Gift by Bran. Sansa claims her children were fathered by a wolf.

So…what does all this do for the story?

Well, in my opinion, several things.

I think the main barrier here is that most people in the greater fandom describe Sansa's story as ~growing past childish wants~ and Jon's as ~rejecting love~ and I do not agree with either of those takes even a little bit. This is where (imo) the dividing line between Jonsas and the rest of the fandom is. I don’t think the answer to Sansa’s question “will anyone ever marry me for love” is going to be “nah" - that's not just a sad story to me (wanting to be married isn't childish! craving intimacy and understanding isn't childish! it's also not wrong for a child to be childish!), I think the idea that Sansa (or Jon) will not find another love just doesn't line up with how George approaches his story. Who Sansa's husband will be has been such a big question, and her story is so heavy into the more romantic tropes like courtly love and chivalry and the line between politics and love and identity, that the question of Sansa's hand in marriage will be plot relevant. I also think it's kinda naive of people to pretend like George isn't very interested in the sexual dynamics of the characters he writes about (yeah, sure, no woman needs a man but "needing a man" is not what this is about. look at everything this man wrote in F&B and tell me he is going to write a female character that longs for sex and desire and doesn't get it!).

After AGOT, nearly every time Sansa thinks about marriage involves her longing for love but believing she will never get it because a man will only ever love her for her claim. Giving her a man - like Jon - who not only will not steal her claim and in fact has defended it twice over already, who will love her for who she is and not what she can give him, is a really important aspect of her story in my opinion.

As for Jon, I am even more firmly against the opinion that his story is about rejecting love; Jon’s story is about wanting to be a good man, to measure up to his father ~despite~ his bastard blood. When Aemon asks if Ned would choose honor over love and Jon stubbornly says yes, Jon is wrong and it’s important to not forget that. Ned has never once in his entire life chosen honor over love; he chooses his daughter’s life over his honor, he chooses his sister & her son’s life over honor, he chooses Arya & Nymeria over honor, and on and on!!! Ned chooses love at almost turn but none of his children know that just yet - look at Robb choosing Jeyne’s honor over his own and how upset he is at the idea that Ned would be disappointed despite the fact that Ned would have understand Robb’s decision! Jon's whole arc is tied up in realizing that it is not wrong or dirty to feel and choose love, passion, and desire and if he never has another romantic arc again, I think you lose the second part of that lesson which is "you are responsible for how you act when you feel love but that doesn't mean that simply choosing love makes you a bad person."

There's also the fact that George has talked a lot about "who lives, who dies, who gets married" and yet we have not one marriage at the end of the show AND there's not a lot of guesses at what "who gets married" means besides Jon/erys (and even if Jonsa doesn't happen, I simply do not see Jon/erys happening. they are not similar enough, they will not be in the same space for long enough, and they are on wildlly different trajectories for their story, they are not getting married let alone having sex). I think Jonsa fits that bill very well.

These various theories - from Sansa being queen, Jon living in exile, The Ashford Tourney Theory, the secret marriage, every one of them - are ideas and themes that I have really been thinking about for about 12 years now. I think Jon and Sansa's relationship could fit with the themes in their stories, the overarching themes in the books, and my own personal opinions. I think it gives George a great opportunity to delve into the courtly love aspects he enjoys so much, as well as delve into inheritance, legacy, legitimacy, honor, incest (yes, that too), and above all, what George himself has said the whole series is about - love. The human heart in conflict with itself is what I think Jon and Sansa as a romantic couple does for the series.

[birdversary]

What is Tanabemas?

Tanabemas is a Christmas event for fans of Yellow Tanabe’s works, including Kekkaishi, Laughter at the World’s End, BIRDMEN, and Kai-Hen Wizards!

Participants will post a wishlist containing prompts for fanworks they would like to receive. During the holiday season, everyone will receive at least 1 thing on their wishlist, courtesy of the moderators! Gifts can be drawings, fics, moodboards, playlists, gifsets, or anything else your gifter can think of.

You do not need to create gifts for anyone to receive something, but if you would like to participate in gifting, all wishlists will be available for public viewing. Happy gifting!

Important Dates

Wishlist submissions will be open from October 18th, 2024 to December 6th, 2024. While you will still be able to edit your wishlist after that, gifts may not reflect changes made after November 15th.

Gift posting will begin on December 20th, 2024, and run until January 10th, 2025. Feel free to post any gifts in this time period. The tag for this event is #tanabemas2024.

If you do not share a social media website with your giftee, you may contact the moderators, who will share your gift with your giftee.

Writing Your Wishlist

Please format your wishlist like so:

Name: Your name

Gift Address: Social media accounts where you are accepting gifts

Wishlist: 

(Fandom) Specifics about your wish

(Fandom) Specifics about your wish

…and so on.

Do Not Want: Things you do not want to receive, such as blood, gore, suggestive art, etc.

Additional: Additional information that may help your gifter make you the perfect gift

Please include at least 3 wishes (at least 5 recommended, but the more the merrier), but feel free to be as vague or as specific as you like.

An example of a wishlist can be found on the Padlet where wishes are posted.

What can I wish for?

You can wish for anything! I want this to be an event where you receive fanworks you have always wanted.

That being said, if your wish makes gifters uncomfortable, you may not receive a gift of that prompt. Please don’t be too disappointed. 

NSFW will be allowed in this event, but please make sure at least 3 of your wishes are SFW. If you are a minor, please do not request or fulfill NSFW wishes.

You may wish for original fan characters or specific AUs, but please provide visual or written references if applicable. 

Posting Your Wishlist

Post your wishlist on this Padlet: https://padlet.com/karaeishi/tanabemas-wishlists-2tg12ibinnn1vyjj

You can create your own post by clicking the “+” button at the bottom right corner.

You do not need to create a Padlet account to make a post. You can also come back to this link at any time to edit or add to your wishlist by clicking on your post. Please refrain from editing the wishlists of other people.

Frequently Asked Questions

Do I have to keep my gift a secret from my giftee?

Not at all. This is not a Secret Santa event, merely a Santa event. If you would like to reach out to your giftee to make sure they are okay with aspects of your gift, go ahead! If you want to post your works in progress, feel free to do that as well. I just ask that you finish any works in progress you post.

Can my requests all be from 1 fandom?

Yes, of course. This was originally a BIRDMEN event, but I wanted to include the long-neglected Kekkaishi fans, and the new Kaihen fans as well, so it was broadened to include all of these series. But I know many people are only in one or two of these fandoms. There will be someone to fulfill your wishes even if you only request from one fandom.

What if someone else has already fulfilled the wish I want to fulfill?

That’s okay! Then your giftee will receive two gifts! How wonderful!

I’m going to be too busy to make any gifts this year. Are you sure it’s okay to wish for things, even if I won’t be able to give anything in return?

YES! I want you to get a little gift just for existing! It would be cool if other people participated in gifting as well but I have zero expectations for anyone else to do so! I just want to do this!!

What if my head is empty and I don't have any wishes? Can I still make gifts?

ALSO YES! Sometimes there is just nothing in particular you want but you still want to gift things. That is okay too!! You are important to the ecosystem as well!!

Moderated by: Soh (Tumblr: @birdmenmanga, X: @arsquare3) and Kitsoa (Tumblr: @kitsoa)

Any additional questions can be sent to our askbox!

[olderthannetfic]

Most of my dash is people moving to cohost or mastodon or bluesky over the photomatt thing and posting goodbyes. I don’t know if *tumblr* is dying, but the specific community I love here appears to be leaving. This isn’t my first time seeing a social media community crumble, but I feel particularly adrift rn, especially with the collapse of the NaNoWriMo forums, which were my main social platform for years and years.

Any advice as to how I can find a new social platform that fits me? Ideally it would be a space that supports longform text and back-and-forths in the comments.

--

The key thing to realize is that lots of platforms we loved in the past had absolutely garbage features—at least at the point when we set up camp there. Both LJ and Tumblr had features that were absolute ass and then somewhat improved before tanking again in various ways. The next hot platform will also suck, just like the last 10.

If you want longform text and discussion, start by posting longform text and responding to anything even remotely response-worthy that anyone sends you.

Granted, twitter clones directly prevent longform text, but a lot of the time, the main sticking point is culture. Everyone told me that Tumblr wasn't good for longform text, that it violates social norms to post it without a readmore, etc. Years of How To Tumblr posts discouraged this behavior. Tumblr haters pining for LJ still constantly tell me that discussion is impossible here due to the lack of threaded comments...

To that, I say it's only impossible for cowards who aren't willing to fill people's dashboards with 37 of the same post and all its chatty reblogs on the same day.

Cowards, I tell you!

Who says I can't post 90% text-only and a million long-ass posts to the gifset-and-no-commentary website?

--

The actual features are only marginally important. Social conventions like linking to the ask you're referencing or snipping irrelevant stuff from the prior e-mail chain can take care of most feature issues.

The important part is either following a community or making the community come to you. Being consistently active is a huge part of it. If you're publicly findable and friendly, people will come hang out where you are or invite you places. It can take a while to get visible enough, but it does work. It's a matter of having the energy and time to invest.

Another key is to recognize that a lot of people feel adrift. If your blog/forum/discord server is the logical place for them to collect, they will do so. They have to know it exists and they have to find it welcoming, but that's all it really takes to collect up people who are feeling lonely and unmoored.

[hotvintagepoll]

Welcome to the HOT AND VINTAGE MOVIE STARS tournament! We are now finished with the Hot & Vintage Men Tournament; The Hot & Vintage Movie Women Tournament is ongoing. Submissions for hot vintage women are now closed, but we are accepting propaganda for those already in the bracket. If you are here for the Dracula Daily polls, those will be posted regularly following the progress of the Substack newsletters.

The finals of the Hot & Vintage Women Tournament will be posted just after midnight on Sunday, June 2nd, and last 24 hours. All polls—including ongoing polls, previous rounds, old tournaments, the various shadow brackets, the Dracula Daily polls, and fun mini polls—can be found in the #hotvintagepoll tag. Every poll in the Hot & Vintage Women Tournament will be tagged with the hottie in it if you need to search for someone in particular.

FAQs:

“Where is [my favorite hot woman]?” It depends. Have you checked all the polls in the tag? Have you done a tag search for her? If you still haven’t found her, either nobody submitted her or she did not fit the criteria of being a movie woman from 1910-1970.

“Can I still submit hot women?” No, the submission window has closed. Please do not send in women you wish had made it into the bracket. I can’t do anything with those asks and they just make me sad.

“I have additional propaganda for the hot women!” Great! Send me an ask or reblog the poll and add your propaganda to it. You can also tag me in posts (this is the best way to submit gifsets or fancams). I don’t boost all the propaganda I see or receive, but I try to boost the best of the best.

If you’re submitting propaganda for your hot woman, I don’t accept propaganda that’s from beyond the end of this tournament’s era (ie don’t send me pics of them from before 1910 or after 1970). I also don’t accept propaganda of TV appearances unless it’s clearly a cameo where they’re playing themselves. Please break long asks full of photos up into a few short ones so I don't clog everyone's dashes. I watch every video I receive to tag for trigger warnings, so please don't send me super long videos.

I don’t post or boost negative propaganda about any hot woman. If you really hate that a certain hot woman is winning, send me positive propaganda for their hot opponent. If you think a hottie shouldn’t even be included in the tournament because of things they did in their lifetime, please read my take on it here.

If I see repetitive, trolling, and/or bigoted remarks in the comments, I may block you from this bracket. If you want to point out a hot woman’s stances, problems, or misdemeanors, that’s fine, but if I see consistent bad-faith trolling, you will be blocked.

The views expressed in the propaganda are not my own. I don’t submit my own propaganda, and I don’t change what’s submitted beyond fixing obvious spelling mistakes. If you hate a poll bio or a pic, let me know and send me something I can use instead.

"Where are the hot men?" Most of them are in the shadow realm! Toshiro Mifune was crowned the winner of the Hot & Vintage Men Tournament, and the rest were banished where the sun never comes. You can find all the round 1 matchups here (thank you @markwatnae!), or you can do a tag search to find out what happened to a specific hot man.

"Tell me more about this shadow realm?" There is too much lore. Send me an ask about this.

"What's up with the vents?" There is too much lore. Send me an ask about this.

"Why are you always talking about James Cagney?" Bing Crosby took him out in Round 1 and I've never forgiven him.

“My FAQ isn’t on here :(” send me an ask! I love hearing from you guys—just please check these basics first.

Thank you for being here! Enjoy the tournament.

If you want to search through the different rounds of the tournaments, or see the schedule for future tournaments, I'm including links under the cut.

Relevant tags:

First round of the hot men—#round 1 archive, #round 1 blog

Second round of the hot men—#round 2 archive, #round 2 blog

Third round of the hot men—#round 3 archive, #round 3 blog

Fourth round of the hot men—#round 4 archive, #round 4 blog

Quarterfinals of the hot men—#round 5 archive, #round 5 blog

Semifinals—#TWO KINGS archive, #TWO KINGS blog

Finals—#hot men finals

First round of the hot women—#ladies 1 archive, ladies 1 blog

Second round of the hot women—#ladies 2 archive, #ladies 2 blog

Third round of the hot women—#ladies 3 archive, #ladies 3 blog

Fourth round of the hot women—#ladies 4 archive, #ladies 4 blog

Dracula polls: #dracula daily

Fifth round of the hot women—#ladies 5 archive, #ladies 5 blog

Other featured tags: #housekeeping (organization updates), #family lore (personal anecdotes in asks relating to the hotties or stories about sharing this poll with family members), #hollywood creatures (pets named after old movie stars), and #silly times (what it says on the tin).

Tournament schedule (may still change or adjust):

Hot & Vintage Movie Man Tournament (completed)

Hot & Vintage Movie Woman Tournament (ongoing)

Dracula Daily movie cast polls (ongoing)

Ultimate Hottie Tournament (top brackets of the hot men & hot women competing together)

Scrungly Little Guys tournament (gender neutral)

TBD: Horror Hotties (Frankensteins, Draculas, Brides, etc.)

TBD: Dandy Detectives (Marples, Sherlocks, Nancy Drews, etc.)

fun mini polls that pits sets of characters from the same movie together, like the Philadelphia Story or Seven Brides for Seven Brothers ones (these can be found in the #minis tag)

[scoobydoodean]

I feel like you’re one of the few people I’d trust to ask this of, but I always find myself wondering at the different reactions Dean has to hunting, i.e: Sam and others. Like I don’t think at all that he forced Sam back or was dragging him around or anything like that. But even way back then with Jo he was always like “get away from this life”. And still, especially early on, he seemed to be offended/angry that Sam didn’t like the life/want it for himself. I always personally understood it as a mix of sibling bickering like “ohh you think you’re so much better”, a front so as to pretend “hey everything is fine don’t look too closely” and Sam himself kinda conflating hunting = family and thus had to cut both out to be free of it, so in turn Dean also associated Sam walking away from hunting as walking away from family (reinforced by Heaven and Purgatory, later on, in slightly different ways) (although which came first and/or how much that was influenced by John first is ultimately a chicken and egg situation, I suppose). But I’d like to know if you have thoughts on this? Sorry for the long ask, I hope it was coherent?

NOTE: For anyone looking for commentary on Dean absolutely not forcing Sam back into hunting, my tags #sam the hunter, #sam the family man, and #in which... I am too lazy to write all that out may be of use.

So if I understand correctly, what we're getting at here is that Dean pretty consistently tries to talk people (especially younger people) out of the life or objects to involving them. For example, Jo (2.06), Adam (4.19), Jimmy (4.20), Krissy and her dad (7.11), Krissy's friends (8.18), Claire (10.20). He tries to protect Jesse and Cesar's retirement. But when it comes to Sam, Dean isn't so into trying to talk him out of the life.

To discuss the premise itself first, I can think of the following instances where Dean is hurt, skeptical, or displays some other sort of objection to Sam vs normal life: 1.01, 1.16, 4.22, 5.16, 8.01 (Pine's rewatch notes help me out here too). On the other hand, I can also think of many moments where Dean is supportive of Sam having a normal life or wishes that for him. Starting from 1.06 and 1.18, Dean says that he wishes Sam could just be normal. By 1.07, Dean is suggesting they just stay in the college town representing Sam's wistful desire for normality. I have a compilation gifset of these and a few other season 1 moments here. In 2.20, Dean beams with happiness that Sam is living a normal life and has Jess by his side—this is also despite the fact that he and Sam are estranged in the Djinn dream universe. In season 8, while Dean is hurt and angry that Sam left him to die and abandoned Kevin, when the opportunity presents itself for Sam to get back together with Amelia in 8.10 and go be normal, Dean tells Sam he should go to her if that's what would make him happy. In 8.14, Dean says he wants to do The Trials so that Sam can survive and go be normal. Basically what I'm getting at is that while moments occur where Dean seems hurt by Sam wanting a normal life or has some other objection, there are more moments where the exact opposite is true. This contrast also opens the door for questions about why Dean sometimes reacts negatively and sometimes doesn't (or maybe has to "come around" to the idea). The mixed bag suggests a lot of different and sometimes conflicting emotions, which is very realistic I think.

I don't think every single one of these reasons factors into every single one of the five episodes I mentioned where Dean seems hurt/skeptical about Sam + normal life, but here we go:

First, while Dean tries to push a lot of people out of the life and is also shown to crave a normal life for himself at various points (ex: 2.20, 3.10, 5.17), he does believe that being involved with the supernatural world is physically unavoidable for some people, and that it psychologically gets its hooks into others to the point they eventually can't get out/turn back (ex: 4.19). Jack, Jesse, and Kevin (and Sam and Dean themselves eventually) are examples of people Sam and Dean see as stuck in the life practically, because demons and angels are after them for reasons out of all of their control. However, Sam and Dean were both psychologically stuck in hunting first. For Dean, the house fire and how he was raised leave him feeling stuck in the hunting world. Sam doesn't remember the fire, but follows on John's heels when Jess dies in the same manner that Mary did. The trauma of losing Jess creates a commonality and drive that wasn't present before, causing Sam to say that he and his father aren't different anymore—in fact, they have more in common than just about anyone (1.20). On many occasions, Sam also talks about hunting as an inevitability/something he can't "come back" from at this point even if he wanted to (ex: 2.10, 4.19, 4.21). Closely interrelated, at various points, Sam also says that hunting has become a life he loves and/or prefers to normality (ex: 2.02, 2.20, 4.08, 4.17, 5.12a, 5.12b, 5.12c, 10.18).

Dean's language in 1.01 "Sooner or later, you're going to have to face up to who you really are" suggests part of Dean sees Sam as a hunter at the core from the beginning who is hiding from who he really is deep down. I think there is some truth to this (see my #sam the hunter tag). In that scene in 1.01, Dean generally expresses skepticism that Sam is really capable of leading the life he's trying to live long term. I think Dean also has reason to think that way, given that Sam outright admits he plans to lie to Jess forever... which kind of means Sam stays in the hunter mindset (where you lie to normal people every day to keep up appearances) and never really gets to be himself either way. Dean doesn't think this is practical or healthy and says so (and he's not wrong). All this to say—I think in 1.01, Dean has difficulty understanding that Sam has not (quite yet) fallen into the hunting world. Dean and John are kind of bonded by the shared trauma of losing Mary, but Sam doesn't share that trauma (as Sam himself points out on the bridge, saying he doesn't even remember Mary). Of course, that changes by the end of the episode. 8.01, Dean is just "?!?!?!?!?" because Sam has told Dean point blank on multiple occasions at that point that he prefers hunting to being normal (2.20, 4.08, 5.12) and has been overall rather into hunting, and has voiced the same thinking as Dean in regards to not being able to get out psychologically even if he wanted to (4.19, 5.12). There's a reason that when Sam says he doesn't hunt anymore in 8.01, Dean thinks he's joking at first. (I talk about why Sam left hunting between seasons 7 and 8 here). The thing is is that (unless driven by a burning desire for revenge as in the season 3-4 gap and the season 9-10 gap) Sam will not hunt without Dean. Not because Dean "makes" him hunt, but because Sam doesn't have the heart for the work without Dean by his side. (See the "I can't do it without my brother" 10.18 speech).

SAM: You know, when Dean came to get me at school, I-I told myself… one last job, you know? One more job. And then when – when I, um…. When I lost Jess, I, again, told myself one more job. There’s always one more job, you know? And one more job, and one more job, and then I was gonna go back to law and – and to my life. CHARLIE: You were the Dread Pirate Roberts of hunting. SAM: Yeah. I guess I really understand now that….this is my life. I love it. But I can’t do it without my brother. I don’t want to do it without my brother. And if he’s gone, then I don’t….

Interrelated to the concept of hunting as inescapable and as something Sam voices his enjoyment of multiple times—in 1.01, Dean also (though part bravado) still romanticizes hunting to an extent (though not for much longer—we see this by the time he meets Jo). This definitely factors into how Dean approaches the subject in 1.01, though I don't think it factors into later moments.

Second, Dean is the heart character, and as the heart character, he feels a responsibility to protect people. When he tells Sam in the pilot "You have a responsibility", I think what Dean means is "saving people, hunting things, the family business". It isn't revenge that they have a responsibility toward (Dean will be the one to say he hopes they never find the demon if it means Sam or John killing themselves to end it (1.22) but that from Dean's perspective, Dean's knowledge of what's out there and his proficiency at the job gives him a moral obligation to try and save people in harms way. On the other hand, I don't think Sam feels this way—at least not nearly so strongly. Sam's approach to hunting has always been more family focused imo. Both brothers hunt as a means of coping to an extent, but more largely, Dean hunts because he feels deeply for others and wants—and even feels a duty to—protect people. Sam hunts because hunting makes him feel close to his family and makes him feel known, and because it is where he feels he can be himself (ex: 4.17). More succinctly—for Dean, the order goes, "Saving people, hunting things, the family business" and for Sam, the order goes, "The family business, saving people, hunting things" I think. This difference in motivations occasionally creates interesting tension on the hunt, but it is also creates confusion when Sam has left hunting pre-series, and again in season 8.

SAM: Look, it wasn't like I was... just oblivious. I mean, I read the paper every day. I saw the weird stories… the kind of stuff we used to chase. DEAN: And you said what? "Not my problem"? SAM: Yes. And you know what? The world went on.

8.01 "We Need To Talk About Kevin"

Dean doesn't understand this. He can't wrap his head around it because Dean doesn't think this way, and I'm not sure Dean ever gets exactly why Sam is driven to hunt. He doesn't really get the strength of the family connection for Sam... and Dean has reason not to, because from the outside looking in, Sam cutting Dean out of his life every time he decides he doesn't want to hunt anymore sounds like he doesn't actually care about Dean that much deep down... or at all. So how on earth could Sam's interest in and love for hunting be connected to caring about his brother DEAN???

That brings me to the third reason for some of this occasional hurt from Dean, which is that you're right about Sam (and then Dean in turn) associating normal life with cutting Dean off, because that's what Sam does. Any time Sam goes after a normal life, there seems to be no room for contact with Dean in it. When Sam goes to school, even though his fight was with John, it's implied that he wouldn't take Dean's calls which is why Dean showed up in person (1.01).

NOTE: This period is a little tricky, because the script was supposed to say they hadn't spoken since Sam left at 18, but what accidentally made it into the show is that they may have been in contact for the first two years. The two years wouldn't make things much better though, because with Dean's dialogue "You know, in almost two years I've never bothered you, never asked you for a thing." It still seems like Sam is the one who cut ties.

In 1.16 "Shadow", when Dean brings up wanting to stay together and "be a family again" even after the business with the demon is concluded, Sam makes it clear he's returning to school—which is perfectly fine. However, buried within this conversation is the implication that Dean doesn't want to lose contact with Sam again, and Sam doesn't give any assurances about calling or staying in contact because... he plans to cut Dean off again, even while telling Dean he loves him.

"Dean, we are a family. I’d do anything for you. But things will never be the way they were before. [...] I don’t want them to be. I'm not gonna live this life forever. Dean, when this is all over, you’re gonna have to let me go my own way."

Dean looks at this and goes "?????" because how can Sam talk about how much he cares for Dean and then in the same breath, essentially say he doesn't want to see him anymore after this? That makes no sense... right? And the self-hating part of Dean who believes Meg's manipulative framing in 1.16 about him dragging Sam everywhere even though Sam has repeatedly been the race horse raring for revenge and getting angry when Dean can't pull leads on John or the demon out of his ass thinks maybe he IS somehow responsible for every horrible thing that has happened to Sam and how Sam's life is now. And Dean's insecurities are reinforced too because Sam has thrown it in his face that it's his fault in moments where he was angry and felt a loss of control. So Dean doesn't understand how hunting is actually positively connected to family and him for Sam, and Sam doesn't understand how Dean doesn't understand and doesn't know how to reassure him (5.16), and that's how we get Dean unloading his insecurities about Sam not loving him in 4.22 (to Bobby) and 5.16 (to Sam). In both discussions, Dean's lack of belief in Sam's care for him is closely connected to Sam's desire for normality and how Dean felt tossed away like garbage and like his efforts were never enough. I talk about the dialogue in 4.22 more in depth here (added context of Sam calling Dean weak for his trauma and strangling Dean near unconscious matters lmao). In 5.16, Zachariah (imo) repeatedly pushes the brothers toward Sam's memories of normality and being away from Dean as part of his psychological ploy, and it works even though Sam's strongly stated lack of interest in normality is (arguably) at its zenith (4.08, 4.19, 5.12) because the brothers relationship is so weak from season 4. If we didn't already get it, we as viewers realize Sam loves his brother very much and has many happy memories with him despite appearances in 5.22 when happy memories with Dean are what pulls Sam from Lucifer's control.

Another important episode here in regards to Dean’s perceptions of Sam's feelings versus how Sam actually sees Dean is 2.20 "What Is And What Should Never Be". There's a variety of things to be said about how in Dean's dream, he envisions himself as someone his family would look down upon even in a paradise scenario. However, one of the bits we get from the whole dream is that Dean believes that in normal life scenario, Sam wouldn't want to be around him. Dean envisions himself as kind of a terrible person (and as usual, he is being really ugly about himself in a way that isn't at all warranted), but undoubtably, there's also a classist stench to the scenario—Dean the blue collar worker, Sam the hot shot lawyer who looks down his nose at Dean. I don't doubt that deep down, Dean kind of believes the real Sam sees himself as upwardly mobile and Dean as beneath him. One of the ways Dean potentially forms that conclusion is how Sam treats him over money early in the series. That said, the REAL Sam is surprised by their lack of connection in Dean's "paradise". When Dean suggests that without hunting, they never would have connected, Sam makes it clear that he's glad they have.

But yeah! Those scenes in 4.22 and 5.16 aren't even about Sam wanting to be normal—they're about how Dean feels discarded every time Sam goes after normal (and it happens again in 8.01).

Lastly, Dean's also dealing with jealousy in a couple of these moments. Before we ever met him, Dean had his own wistful desires for normal (9.07, 1.06, 1.13). Safety and a home and normality were things he felt he couldn't ever really have (this also comes post-breakup with Cassie). Even in 8.10, when Dean tells Sam to get back with Amelia if he can, he adds,

And, you know, maybe I'm a little bit jealous. I could never separate myself from the job like you could.

I think this line leads directly back to Dean as the heart character who has extreme difficulty with the concept of burying his head in the sand—something Sam was able to do easily (like... too easily RE: Kevin). I think Dean kind of judges Sam for doing that, but at the same time, Dean also knows he has an overactive sense of responsibility—he just can't shake it despite knowing that (2.20, 5.11, 7.04). So he envies that Sam can even if he thinks Sam leans too far the other direction sometimes.

I also don't think this bit from Shifter!Dean in 1.06 was too off:

You got to go to college. He had to stay home. I mean, I had to stay home. With Dad. You don’t think I had dreams of my own? But Dad needed me. Where the hell were you? [...] See, deep down, I’m just jealous. You got friends. You could have a life. Me? I know I’m a freak. And sooner or later, everybody’s gonna leave me.

I think coupled with that jealousy in 1.01, we also see Dean's resentment, because he sacrificed everything for their family. He sacrificed his childhood to take care of his father who was a mess, and play mother and father to his brother, and he had a gun in his hand meant to kill before he was even 10, and Dean resents all of this. Dean was made to be the responsible one when he was just a child out of necessity, and John (someone Dean repeatedly calls a deadbeat in season 5) took advantage and then discarded him (a part of Dean does know he deserves better), and Sam cut Dean out of his life the moment he was no longer of use. It isn't just that Sam doesn't feel the weight of the burdens Dean was made to shoulder—Sam doesn't even seem to realize they exist, and Dean is resentful. He wants someone in his family besides him to shoulder some of the family responsibilities Dean has spent so long carrying alone. His feelings are misdirected toward Sam in 1.01 in that regard, but they're also very human.

Even so, Dean's love supersedes jealousy and resentment. We see this clearly in 1.18 "Something Wicked", which is all about Dean's childhood being stolen and him being burdened with responsibilities that were too big and blamed for people dying when he was just a child and it wasn't his fault, but at the end of the episode, Dean doesn't wish innocence for himself—he wishes it for Sam. Even though the episode is all about Dean's memory of his own trauma. And in 2.20, in his "paradise" dream, Sam gets to be normal, and he and Sam don't even get along, and Dean doesn't care—he's just over the moon that his brother gets to live a normal life.

[deepdisireslonging]

Necklace

The Reader is drenched in a sudden downpour. She has to borrow some dry clothes. Ricky likes seeing her in his things, and makes sure she know it in the most intimate way possible.

Pairing: Ricky Starks x Reader

Warnings/Promises: SMUT, boss/underling dynamic (consensual), oral (female receiving), P-in-V, Ricky’s hand as a necklace/light choking, cream pie

Word Count: 3330

Note: Holy shit, this is filth. Can you tell I miss seeing this man on my screen on Dynamite and the like? Also, I used to work at a place that sold those snap-sided joggers. They were murder to keep on the hanger, and probably annoying in practice. But in theory... inspirational.

Bonus: the gifset that inspired this fic

There’s nothing like getting caught in a New Orleans humidity shower. The weatherman can warn all he likes. They’re always sudden. They come out of nowhere. And you are guaranteed to be soaked in seconds.

Which was why Ricky laughed in your face when he finally answered his door.

“Sorry about that.” He stepped to one side so you could drip your way into his house. “I was on the back porch when you rang and—”

“Mhmm. Sure.” You playfully shot him a glare. There was a bucket by his door for such occasions. You rung out your shirt into it. Even having been in the deluge, you were still surprised how much water came out of the fabric.

“Strip.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Ricky laughed and stepped back. “You’re soaked through. Leave your clothes here. I’ll be back in a minute with a towel and some of my things.” He quickly kissed your cheek on his way out.

To his credit, he didn’t peek when he brought back a brightly colored beach towel and an extra set of his training clothes. The sweatshirt was oversized and would have been coverage enough. But Ricky’s house was equipped with that Louisiana AC. You knew the second you stepped into the living room, as damp as you were, you’d freeze. His long track pants were the kind that had snaps up the side. Easy to get out of for runners before meets, and for wrestlers before matches. You made sure they were snapped together at least as low as your knee, leaving the rest of the fabric to sway. As for your underclothes, you added them to the pile that you tossed into his dryer. When you stepped into the living room, you almost thought to snap the track pants down to your ankles and to ask for socks.

You sat on the edge of the couch where you could reach the coffee table. “Why do you keep your house so cold?” At your fingertips was all the paperwork planning and plotting out his next couple of feuds. You picked up the one closest: a half-baked plan to take revenge on Big Bill for abandoning him to join Jericho.

Ricky settled next to you in matching snap-pants and a tank top. “Because it’s hot outside. And it’s better to freeze the humidity in the house than to try and survive it. Trust me.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

He bumped his shoulder into yours. “Don’t call me that.”

“Whatever you say. Boss.”

For the next two hours you two fleshed out the plans. Especially that first one with Bill. Together you came up with how to initiate the feud. The number of matches and how many weeks Ricky would take up screentime. You tweaked the climax fight, suggesting parallels to their tag matches, and adding moments to deal with Jericho at ringside. Bill liked you, and liked working with you when he and Ricky were a team. So, you had no reservations about pitching him some ideas later for promos and such.

About forty-five minutes into planning was when you noticed something hanging from Ricky’s neck. It was that little gold cross pendant. With the way he was leaned forward, it dangled into thin air. And your mind wandered. The pendant dangling in your face as he filled you, whispering the dirty things he was yet to do to you. But you had cleared your throat and moved on. There was work to do.

About twenty minutes after that, Ricky had released some of his snaps; up to his mid-thigh. Your mind wandered again. Riding that thigh. Rolling your hips as best you could, but his hands guiding your hips. All the while his mouth working miracles on your throat. But you shuffled the papers in your hands and moved on. It had been ages since you two had enjoyed each other’s company. And today didn’t have time for another fling.

Around the two-hour mark, he was animated and working through one of the promos you’d outlined. His hands moved through the air like punctuation. He didn’t speak at ring-volume. But you could still hear the passion in his voice. He ran through it a few times; adjusting where he added emphasis here, or lowering his voice instead of raising it there. All the while, you couldn’t take your eyes off his hands.

How they gripped the air. How his fingers splayed wide, or curled, or any other series of movements that made you shift in your seat.

He was oblivious. Until he came to the end of his run-through. “How was that?” When you didn’t answer, he finally glanced over at you, still holding up his hands where they’d been. “Hello?” Ricky’s slow grin spread as he followed you gaze. Bringing his posed hand closer to your face, he finally snapped his fingers. “Now, Ms. Y/L/N. What have I told you about objectifying me?”

Startled, you stammered. “I’m- I’m not objectifying you.” Clearing your throat, you sat down one stack of papers to pick up another. “I was… deep in thought. That last run was good. The pause was better than the last run.”

“Mhmm. Sure.” Ricky darted his tongue out to wet his lips, catching you staring from the corner of your eyes. “We should take a break.” Slapping his hands on the tops of his thighs, he ignored the way you jumped and headed towards his kitchen. “What’cha want? I made lemonade yesterday, or there’s always Coke…”

“No,” you squeaked. “I’m good.”

His silence lulled you into thinking he was long gone. You glanced over the sheets you picked up. Another half-baked feud. Wouldn’t take much to work it out though. Oh, but you’d have to call- You gasped as Ricky’s hands gently landed on your shoulders, sliding down your arms. They kept traveling down until Ricky could lean comfortably and press his cheek to yours.

“Perhaps you’d like a different kind of break?”

Your breath stuttered in your chest. All you could manage was to shake your head.

“Are you sure?” He nuzzled his nose behind your ear, smiling when you let out a shuddering sigh. “We’ve been working so hard. You deserve to take it easy.”

“To take what easy?”

Chuckling, he smiled against your cheek. “Mmm. I can think of at least one thing.” He began to kiss under your jaw. And to squeeze your arms still caught in his strong hands.

You tried, “it’s too hot-”

“You’ve been freezing since you walked in the door.”

“I wonder why that is?” you teased, glancing up at him. “Mr. Starks… have you been planning this since the beginning?”

He inhaled deeply, bobbing his head to one side in thought. “Not entirely. But I do feel bad that you got all wet,” he drawled. “Maybe I want to make it up to you.”

His kisses traveled from one side of your neck, back under your hair, to the other side. He stretched a hand across your chest to run over your collarbone. When it reached your other shoulder, you leaned into the forearm that caught under your chin.

“We should get back to work,” you breathed.

“We should.”

His hands caught your wrists where you tried to disengage yourself. Taking both into one hand, he held your arms to one side so the other could play with the neckline of your borrowed sweatshirt.

“People talk enough as it is.”

“Do they?”

“You’re my boss.”

“And what about it?”

His roaming touch dipped under the fabric to feel how your chest heaved.

“You’ll – you’ll stretch out the neckline.”

Ricky growled in your ear. “Does it feel like I give a damn?” He searched for your bra strap so he could snap it against your shoulder like he usually did. But all he could find was your flushed skin. “Where – where is it?”

“In the dryer with the rest of my clothes.”

“Hmm.” Sliding his hands under your arms, he lifted you up to sit on the back of the plush couch. He turned you around so he could slot himself between your thighs. To keep you from toppling backwards into the seats, he wrapped his arms around your waist. Which brough you nose to nose. “Tell me again. Whose been planning what from the start?”

Your lips trembled, and your hands flexed where they rested on his biceps. The hunger to kiss him as deeply as you were able was growing. “I wasn’t planning anything. I was just trying not to catch a cold.”

His lips ghosted over yours. “Alright. Then let’s warm you up, shall we?”

You met him tilt for tilt. While you leaned into his chest, he leaned towards you. It kept you precariously leaned back over the couch. The angle also further pressed your front into his, where you could feel what he had prepared. You dug your hands into his hair. Lightly dragging your nails across his scalp pushed his moan into your waiting mouth, and rolled his hips into yours.

“Ricky—”

“Hmm?”

“Need you.”

“You’ve got me.”

You had to roll your eyes. He knew he had you. But, like when you first started working for him, he didn’t have a more distant plan. You did. “No. Need you… on something flat.” Though he resisted, eventually you were able to push him away.

His head tilted to the side. “Flat? Like… the floor?” He wasn’t averse to the idea and was strongly considering taking you across his whole house when you spoke up.

“I was thinking somewhere more comfortable. Like… your bed?” Taking his wrist, you began to lead him that direction.

But he spun you, pinning you to the wall outside his bedroom door. “This is flat.”

“It’s vertical.”

His heated gaze across your skin took on a wicked gleam. Gently, he smoothed his thumb over your bottom lip. Softly he noted, “when has that ever stopped us?”

He had a point. There was that time in Nashville when he filled you against a bathroom stall wall in some honky-tonk. Or Toledo. When he was so jazzed up after his match that you didn’t make it to his dressing room, using some dark spot in a hallway. Or San Antonio. Where he ate you out while you were pinned to the inside of your hotel room door. You had held both hands over your mouth to keep from waking the whole floor. And there were so many other times. Most of them clandestine and hidden from the rest of the roster. But here of late, Ricky was less and less prone to hiding his feelings for you.

While you reminisced, Ricky’s hand slid up your front to around your neck. His thumb and forefinger squeezed lightly at your sweet spots to bring you back to the moment. His mouth hung open. With his eyes greedily drinking up how your body reacted to the memories. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip.

“No,” you murmured, “it’s never stopped us before.”

Just as you leaned forward to kiss him, he leaned back with a smirk. He dragged you the rest of the way into his bedroom. His mouth was all over before you finally toppled onto his sheets. He kept you pinned there, at the foot of the bed, instead of letting you shimmy your way up. Pulling the neckline of his sweatshirt to the side, he sucked what would turn into a dark mark into your skin. It would only be a little difficult to hide. His fingertips toyed with the bottom edge of the fabric.

“I like you in my sweatshirt. Maybe the next show, I’ll make you wear one of my t-shirts.”

“People might talk.”

“Does it look like I give a damn?” He smothered you with a deep, possessive kiss. But trepidation stilled his movements. He leaned back. “Do you give a damn?”

After a pause, you smiled. “Not in the slightest.” You dragged him back down to you. When you broke away for air, the cross pendant was dangling in your face. You were dazzled by it. Arching up, you nosed at it, making it spin, and caught it between your teeth.

Ricky watched you, enraptured. When he leaned down to press a chaste kiss to your forehead, the cool metal draped across the side of your face. His hands finally travelled up your torso under his sweatshirt. Flipping up the fabric, he was finally rewarded with one of his favorite views. His hands, warm and trembling against your skin, slid up to cup under your breasts. He kneaded them, squeezing them and rolling the buds between his fingers. You arched into each touch and shift. You twirled your fingers into his hair. With the way Ricky had his body leaning over you, you couldn’t roll your hips into his. So there was nothing to relieve the growing desire between your thighs.

The kiss Ricky placed between your breasts stole your breath away. As did each following touch of his lips to your skin as he traveled down your body. He drifted fare enough down that your hands lost their grip in his locks.

The you heard the snaps.

One by one, Ricky worked his way up one leg, then the other, to help you out of his trackpants. Soon, only the four paired snaps kept the fabric attached around your waist. Instead of releasing you, he began to kiss up and down the inside of your thighs.

You groaned out, “Ricky—”

“Hmm?”

“Please…”

He smirked against your skin. “What, Cherie?”

Inwardly, your groan stretched out. He was planning something. Probably your sex-led demise. With a whimper, you thought about begging. “Why are you taking so long? I thought-“

“I said we needed a break. Maybe it needs to be a one-to-one break. We worked for a couple of hours, so now I can take a couple of hours to take care of you.”

With a groan, you fell back into the sheets. This man could accomplish a lot in just ten minutes. And infinitely more with hours to spend.

Distracted by that threat, you didn’t hear the last few snaps. Or feel Ricky smoothing his hands up and down your thighs. But when he dove in to flatten his tongue against your sex, you gasped loudly. His ministrations were just as loud. You covered your mouth so you could hear his pleased sounds.

“Nuh-uh,” he warned, leaning his head against the inside of your thigh. “Wanna hear you. Come on. We don’t have to hide here.”

Again, you thought about that time in San Antonio, pinned to the door inside your hotel room. But you also thought about that one time at the Buck’s summer party when he bent you over the bathroom sink while everyone else was outside watching the fireworks. And New Years in Atlanta. Counting down the seconds when everyone would shout, trying to time it to cover up your own shout of release.

Ricky was thinking about those times too. Among others. His devouring of you quickened. Eyes drifting shut, soon the only thing firing in his mind was the taste of you on his tongue, the sound of you on his sheets, and the pulsing of you around his curling fingers. You tried to warn him of your incoming release. But he knew you to well. He saw the signs. And sped up his movements until you fell apart. He grinned, hearing you cry out his name. Your release, he did his best to taste every drop of it. But now he couldn’t ignore the overwhelming presence of his own pressure. He let loose the last remaining snaps on his pants to give himself room to breathe.

But when he stood up, your thighs clamped down around one of his. Ricky watched as you slid your slick up and down his thigh. He leaned into it. When your whines finally passed through the haze glazing his view, he reached out to thumb over your clit. Here was another one of his favorite views. Looking up there was another. Your hair was slicking to the side of your face. Your eyes were closed. Your mouth open, panting and making the most adorable sounds. All for him.

“Ricky,” you breathed, cracking open your eyes, “need you. Please.” You held out your hand.

He slid his hand into yours. And slid his hard length between your folds covered in slick. Still sensitive, you shivered. But he kept moving. Each thrust of his hips sparkled your every nerve ending, while he frantically chased the sensation of you. You, just like this; already sexed-out and wanting more from him. More that he was very willing to give.

You clawed your free hand his bicep as he filled you. The stretch of him blurred your vision. Once he was completely surrounded by you, he braced his forearms on either side of your head. The necklace around his throat dragged across the valley between your breasts. Cool at first, it soon warmed. As if warmed by the friction of it moving across your skin. Or maybe it was warmed by the friction of Ricky filling and pulling away from you, and filing you.

Nose to nose, you tried to remember to breathe while Ricky had his wonderfully wicked way with you. He was whispering things into your forehead, and into the curve of your neck. But you could only catch every third word or so. “Mine,” and “so good,” and “perfect” and “mine.”

You also tried to keep your eyes open. But that was futile until he pleaded with you.

“Come on, baby. Let me see you. Open your eyes. So close. You gonna cum with me?”

All you could manage was to nod and rapidly blink your vision into focus.

Which is when he reached between you and heavily circled his fingers over your clit. Vision blurring again, it whited out at the corners. You dug your nails into his back, whimpering his name.

“There you are,” he said. “There’s my woman. Only mine.”

He kept moving.

You gave up trying to match rolling your hips to his pace. Ricky would be done when he was done with you. And that could be forever. But he wanted to see you.

Ricky’s hand gently settled at the base of your throat. The barest of squeezes helped you focus.

“Come on. Baby. Stick with me. Almost there.”

His grip tightened the closer he got. Your breath came out tighter and tighter. Each pant was shorter, desperate for air and his release.

As his pace statured, he let you go. Your whole body reacted to the influx of oxygen, and carried Ricky down into a spiral of relief. He did his best to not crush you underneath as his arms gave out. But you didn’t have a care in the living world. You were thrumming. And full of him. And glowing from the inside out. He heaved himself to one side, curling you into his embrace while you both caught your breath.

After a few minutes, Ricky got up for some running shorts. He came back with a warm towel, cleaning you up with a gentle tenderness. He also gently removed the snap-pants from under your body. Teasing, he tsked, “oh, no. You’ve made a mess of my runners.” He tossed the pants to one side and stood between your thighs. “I’m out of other things for you to wear. Whatever shall we do?”

You pushed him away so you could stand, if a bit wobbly at first. Staring him down, you tugged down his sweatshirt till it, barely, covered you ass. “We go over more paperwork.” You reached up to adjust his necklace so it didn’t hang sideways. He was close behind when following you back to the living room. And it didn’t take two hours the next time for him to lose composure and ravage you again.

***

Fanfiction Masterlist

Wrestling/WWE Masterlist

[cringefaecompilation]

not to dunk on junior year again but i am noticing a pattern here with the treatment of certain storytelling elements here.

both bell’s hells and the ratgrinders were pcs that gained sapience. the difference is that the ratgrinders were villains and the hells are heroes.

one of the most love-it-or-hate-it aspects of campaign 3 is that it does not only focus on the main 7 or 8 characters and everybody else is tossed to the wayside unless they benefit them like usual. all npcs (with downfall, that's including the gods!) deserve a chance to have their story told and they are all written to be that. the generic runaway prince you have to help escape to a life of freedom! the cute little helper robot npc! generic spooky evil minions based on public domain monsters! the quirky quest-giving fae! the rough and tumble hired goon! the brave captain of the guard protecting a strong lady in charge!  yes, even imogen, who in any other story would be the sad little abandoned daughter of the bbeg who would mourn the hero killing her mother but understand that the hero had to do what needed to be done.

and again, you don’t have to like it!

but there is a weird sort of thing i noticed amongst all the critical role c3 criticism that reminded me of people defending fhjy. an undercurrent of insisting that all the ratgrinders (who were teenagers. who were groomed and then murdered.) were pure evil spoiled brats and just wanted to be handed everything on a platter because they didn’t deserve what the main cast earned their place as the main characters and made passive aggressive posts saying things to the tune of you know they’re evil right. very Watsonian with a staunch refusal to look at a Doylist explanation. it got so bad to the point where people were insisting that if you liked the ratgrinders and sympathized with them then you were a fascism apologist.

astoundingly enough c3 criticism has only scraped the surface of this sort of overdramatic accusation, but it goes in the opposite direction. if you like where the story is going and how it's being told, then you’re not a real critical role fan. the story should have just been about the characters fighting evil fae or just wiping out the ruby vanguard and everyone in it without all this stupid introspective discussion on power because it’s retconning the gods being bad guys! grey morality sucks, why can’t good guys just be good? they all feel like npcs except for imogen because she’s the only one with a chosen birthright!

(of course, if they say that last part out loud, that might not look so good for them)

 yes, we know the gods are imperfect. that’s what we’ve been saying this whole time. but all these passive aggressive gifsets of liam-as-orym saying that the gods aren’t pure evil and it’s stupid to think so or laura and matt ooc saying that the gods have a grey area don’t mean fucking jack if you turn around and insist the gods have zero flaws and everything they do is good, actually and Aeor Had It Coming.

important caveats:

the actors on d20 could not react to things they were doing in the moment. they were tired after filiming 3 episodes back to back and wrapped up their season faster than usual to join the sag-aftra strike. i am aware of this.

yes i know that d20 is a comedy improv series! that does not prevent it from having deep themes and character introspection! ayda aguefort and zelda donovan still very much exist and had their own arcs despite being npcs!

yes the ratgrinders were working with a man trying to kill and replace a goddess and yes he is a colonizing twat. however, doesn’t that also make it the fandom’s insistence that liking the kids is bad and fascistic but making ship art of him and the other teacher that killed all of them is totally okay? rules for he but not for thee? 

[annebonnydyke]

So you’ve had fun Goncharov posting and now you actually want it to be real

(Disclaimer that this is my own opinion based on the vibes I get from Goncharov and you might not necessarily agree with me. Also blanket content warning most of these work deal heavily with domestic abuse, violence, racism, and sexual assualt)

1. The Godfather Part 1 and 2- as far as I can tell this is where most of the Goncharov gifsets come from. This is one of those movies people constantly tell you is amazing and when you finally sit down and watch you get upset bc they were right. They’re regarded as some of the best and most important movies in the film canon for a reason. Mafia movies about the corruption of the soul, inescapable cycles, being doomed by The Narrative™ and of course young hot and sexy Al Pacino and Robert De Niro.

2. House of Leaves- for people who enjoy the interpretation of a nonexistent work part of Goncharov, House of Leaves is partly a horror story about a house that bigger on the inside, partly an academic analysis of the nonexistent record of that horror, partly the story of a man’s psychological unraveling, partly a critique of cold academic analysis, and partly a love story. If your favorite part of Goncharov was the metanalysis of a work that doesn’t exist and trying to fit all the pieces together this ones for you.

3. The Handmaiden- for all the people who love Katya and Sofia, two women stuck in their place in the world, who love each other but end up betraying each other. The Handmaiden is psychological thriller about a Korean pickpocket who is sent to con a Japanese noblewoman out of her fortune. Deals heavily with themes of deceit, betrayal, queer love, imperialism, and a woman’s place in a world controlled by men. My favorite movie of all time, highly recommend.

4. Black Sails- truthfully only tangentially similar vibe-wise to Goncharov but as a black sails blog the mutuals would have my head if I didn’t include it on this list and trust me the Goncharov to Black Sails pipeline is very real. Fans of clock symbolism and being being trapped by The Narrative™ will greatly enjoy this one. also that Katya/Sofia and Eleanor/Max/Anne parallels are real and I can prove it and don’t get me started on the Silver and Andrey parallels.

5. Bound (1996)- another one for the Katya/Sofia girlies out there. Two women hatch a plot to steal millions from the mafia, but will they make it out alive? Great style and cinematography and much more punchy and action heavy than the the rest of these. Its a very good modern film noir and the first feature film directed by the Wachowski sisters. Also a much shorter movie (1 hour and 48 minutes) if longer runtimes aren’t your thing.

Honorable Mentions

1. Goodfellas- I personally haven’t seen Goodfellas yet so can’t really give my opinion on it however if you actually want a mafia movie directed by Martin Scorsese starring Robert De Niro here’s one you can actually watch. My friend Angel says this ones really good and I trust their opinion

2. War and Peace 1966-67- again I haven’t seen this one but my friend Bianca really liked this one and tells me whenever she pictures Goncharov she imagines this. From what I gather people who are interested in how soviet history affected the art of the time and enjoy complicated relationship drama will enjoy this one. Also if you’re into very long media this one is split into 4 parts and clocks in at a crisp 7 hours.

If anyone has other suggestions let me know! I love getting recommendations :)

[jeonginsdiary]

omg Omggggg for the minho gifset idea thing.

how about he was just faking being asleep so that the ler (who’s been on quite a ler mood recently and had finally chosen his victim) just gives up. But the ler is better than that and clearly knows he’s just faking and starts to gently tickle him as he tries to stay quiet (he fails miserably) and when he finally giggles out “leave me alone!” In a grumpy voice, that the ler goes all in (pun intended)

- tickletober day 27

- hysterical

- lee! minho | ler! chan

—————

“minho?”

chan shook the younger who was laying face flat on the bed. “are you sleeping?”

lee know’s heart thumped so loud he was sure anyone could hear it from a mile away. no, he wasn’t sleeping, but he couldn’t let chan know that. the oldest was in one of his moods again and was searching the dorm for someone to tickle.

now if minho knew one thing, he was not going to be the boy’s target. so he laid there, face squished into the mattress and body limp. he was glad chan couldn’t see his red face.

“i guess so…” the australian slowly got up and walked towards the door, the dancer nearly sighing in relief until he heard the sound of a lock clicking. his stomach dropped.

chan had locked the two of them in the bedroom together and was now advancing on him.

the older carefully sat on lee know’s back and dug his two pointer fingers into said boy’s lower ribs.

no reaction.

surprised the dancer had managed to keep quiet, he teasingly walked his fingers up the younger’s ribs, watching minho’s arms slowly start to come down the higher he got. “oh?” the leader grinned and went for the kill as he dug into the dancer’s armpits. the poor boy tried his hardest to stay quiet but it was too late because the giggles escaping his mouth were inevitable. “ticklish?” chan teased, and minho finally gave up his act.

“leave me alohohohohone!” he whined, clamping his arms to his sides and attempting to turn his body around. unfortunately, the australian kept him where he was, digging into his sides from behind and relishing in the little shriek he received.

“why would i leave you alone? i haven’t even had my fun yet!” chan cooed, scoffing when minho tried grabbing onto his wrists.

the younger groaned through his giggles. “stahahahahap! thahat tickles so bahahahahad!” he cried when the australian pushed his thumbs into his lower sides.

“plehehehahahaha— no! NOOHOHOHOHOHO!!” the dancer’s laughter came high pitched and frantic when the leader found his hips, knuckling and massaging deep into the bone.

chan smirked. “you telling me it tickles just makes me want to wreck you more.” all ten of his fingers clawed torturously at both of minho’s hips and the younger screamed hysterically, pushing at the leader’s fingers and trying his best to curl up.

“THEHEHEN IT DOHOESN’T TICKLE! IT DOESN’T TIHIHIHIHICKLE GET OHOHOHOFF!!” lee know pleaded, throwing his head around in desperation, causing chan to get a glimpse of his flushed, teary eyed face.

the producer’s eyes sparkled in adoration. “if it doesn’t tickle then why do i see you smiling?” he asked in faux confusion.

minho gasped in a breath of air. “no more! no more hyung! please don’t! do—OHOHOHOHOHON’T!” the leader dug roughly into the boy’s armpits, forcing a choked squeal out of him. “IHIHIHI’M SAHAHAHAHARRY!!” lee know drummed his legs against the mattress frantically.

“sorry for what..?” chan giggled, getting off of the clearly desperate dancer’s back and watching him roll over in defeat.

“don’t tickle me.” minho deadpanned despite the toothy smile plastered to his face.

chan patted his back. “no promises.”

—————

?? idk what to feel abt this tbh😔

i’ll write another fic soon so i can redeem myself hopefully😋

[moonlightspencie]

hear me out… washing the impala at the bunker with dean when you’re bored. please and thank you 🫶🏼

literally rbed a gifset of him doing that exact thing earlier today. i’m feral for this scene {and the entire episode} so my brain is running wild rn hehe (also the quote from said episode, “i’m mostly confused” was one of my first handles on tumblr)

pairing: dean winchester x gn!reader

—————

You strolled around the bunker, frankly unsure what to do with yourself without the absolute urgency of chasing down some big bad. Not even a casual case had come up in a couple days, and you were growing a bit restless.

You finally ran into Sam after wandering for a while, catching him as he made a sandwich in the kitchen.

“Hey,” you greeted briefly, walking over to steal a piece of ham.

You chewed on it as he glanced at you with a quirked brow. He chuckled softly, then sighed.

“Hey,” he finally said. “You done eating my sandwich ingredients?”

“It was one piece of ham, Sammy.”

“Sam,” he corrected.

“I’ve been living with y’all for how long?”

He paused, then shook his head softly with a smile.

“You doing anything today?” you asked, hopping up on the counter.

He watched you for a moment. “Not really.”

“Ugh,” you groaned.

“What?” he asked, laughing.

“I’m bored,” you exclaimed. “We’re all cooped up, I need to… I need to do something.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” he shrugged. “I’m gonna eat my sandwich.”

You sighed hard. “Where’s Dean?”

“Garage. I think he’s washing the cars.”

“All of em?”

“Probably,” he said with a smirk. “Go bother him.”

“Bother him? You think I’m bothering you?”

“Yes.”

You scoffed playfully, hopping off the counter. You started walking away, but made sure to get the last word in.

“One of these days I’ll be long gone and you’re gonna miss me like crazy, Sammy.”

He smiled again, not able to get in a word as you left for the garage.

You heard music playing before you even got to the door, opening it carefully and walking inside. You saw him, soaking the impala in soap and water, just a black t-shirt and jeans.

At least he wasn’t wearing the short-shorts this time.

You let yourself watch him for a few moments, never not in awe as to how someone could look so good in a plain black t-shirt. Eventually you decided to stop creeping on him and headed towards him instead.

“Hey,” he said as soon as he saw you.

“Hey. You need help?” you asked, lingering near the hood as he wiped down the windshield. “And by that I mean, please let me help. I’m dying to do something.”

He smiled, nodding towards the suds-filled bucket.

“Grab a sponge.”

You picked up the other sponge from the bucket, wasting no time in scrubbing down the roof of the car. You both listened to the music, slowly but surely getting every nook and cranny of the vehicle. You were working on one of the back wheel wells when Dean grabbed your attention.

“Hey, trade-off,” he said, tossing a newly-wet sponge in your direction.

Unfortunately for you, he didn’t give enough of a verbal warning. The heavy sponge hit you in the leg, knocking you off your balance and making you land straight on your butt. You opened your mouth in a feigned offense.

“You dick,” you said, laughing lightly.

He laughed at you, not even bothering to help you back up. You scrambled up, slamming the sponge on top of the car and grabbing the hose. You called for him, stopping him from laughing right as you sprayed him with the hose, effectively soaking his shirt.

His eyes went wide, freezing in his motions for a few seconds.

“You little—”

He started after you, not stopping even as you started spraying him again.

“No!” you squealed.

He closed in, grabbing you and effectively trapping you against the car. He wrestled the hose from your hand, turning it on you.

“How do you like it?”

You screamed and laughed, trying to push him off. He was relentless, giggling with glee as he soaked you completely. You reached behind you to get the sponge, wringing it out over his head. Luckily for you, it shocked him enough to get out of his grip. Unluckily for you, he quickly recovered and caught up to you before you could get far.

“You’re not getting away that easy,” he muttered.

He grabbed you from behind as you tried running, pulling you into his chest. His arms wrapped around you, holding your arms to your chest. You laughed hard, trying to wriggle away.

“You’re so mean,” you yelled, his grip only tightening.

“Don’t start what you can’t finish,” he said into your ear, clearly proud of himself.

“Whoa,” you heard Sam’s voice. “Should I give you two some privacy?”

You stood up a little straighter, looking in his direction. Dean only slightly loosened his grip.

“We’re washing the car,” you stated as if he didn’t just walk in with fully functional eyes.

He merely quirked a brow. “You two look cleaner than the car.”

“She started it,” Dean said quickly.

You craned your neck to see him behind you, giving him a sour look.

“You threw a sponge at me.”

“You hosed me down.”

Sam nodded slowly, backing out of the room quietly to retreat.

“Not fair,” you said, almost smiling again.

“Very fair,” he stated.

“Let me go,” you laughed.

“No way,” he said, only holding on tighter. “This is your punishment.”

You smirked. “If you really wanted to cuddle this bad, you could’ve just asked, you know?”

“How much you gonna let me ask for?”

“Not much I wouldn’t,” you said, hoping this wasn’t crossing any lines.

He hummed, an obvious smile in his voice, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Apparently, he didn’t care much about a crossed line or two.

check out the drabble masterlist | send requests for more

[lucienarcheron]

Boner for You [Elorcan]

Prompt: Fake Dating College AU where Lorcan just wants Elide to be his girlfriend for a party and Elide wants to pretend she isn’t thrilled about it. |

Genre: Fluff/Humor Rating: SFW despite the title lol. Recommended listen: Born by OneRepublic Author’s note: Inspired by this gifset here. I saw it and it screamed Elorcan. I just had to find a way to fit it in and what better way than fake dating?

She stood scowling, rooted in her spot.

If it was up to her, she would stay rooted to this spot forever rather than step into that frat party and have to embarrass herself for him.

Elide’s eyes shifted up to glare at Lorcan who was glancing down at her with a smirk.

“Scared?”

“No.” she scoffed. “More annoyed with myself for letting you put me in this position.”

He grinned at her and brought an arm around her shoulder, pulling her closely into him. “Now now, you agreed on your own. All I did was ask.”

“Desperately.” Elide gritted out and his grin widened.  “You asked very desperately.”

“And then you agreed to come to this party with me.” He said, leaning down to meet her gaze. His smile was wicked and Elide wanted to reach up and choke him. “You agreed to come with me to the party and be my girlfriend so that my ex would leave me alone.”

“Pretend. I am pretending to be your girlfriend.” Elide emphasized then pointed at him with narrowed eyes. “And what if your crazy ex-girlfriend decides to turn her crazy on me, hm? What happens then?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll protect you, kitten.” he replied, his voice low and he playfully tried to bite her finger which she retracted immediately with a growl.

“I’m not your kitten. Don’t call me that.”

“I didn’t say my kitten but I see how you like the possessiveness of the term.” he replied, grinning at her and she scowled again. “I’ll make sure to call you that in front of people so that they know what my girlfriend likes.”

“I’m going to punch you in the face if you don’t stop.”

“You can’t reach my face, kitten.”

Elide pulled away from his arm and used every bit of strength she had to yank him down by the front of his shirt until they were inches apart.

“Yes, I can.” she replied, glaring. “Don’t push your damn luck, Salvaterre.”

“Feisty. I’m hella turned on right now.” he said, grinning obnoxiously and Elide nearly did punched him right then and there.

“Lorcan.”

“Elide.”

“I hate you.”

“Yet, you’re still here.”

Elide groaned and shot him another glare then pointedly gestured towards the door. “Let’s get this over with, you giant barbarian.”

It had been so stupid of her. So stupid.

Did she know that this would happen when she agreed to tutor his stupid ass in their Calculus course? No.

Did she think she would start crushing on this giant jock with a handsome face and really nice body while she was tutoring him? Definitely not.

Despite how annoying he was now, Lorcan was actually a good student. So when he spent the majority of their last lesson completely zoned out, she snapped at him until he confessed. He had caught her completely off guard when he asked her to go with him to a party that Fenrys was hosting. She had gotten invited alongside all her friends but hadn’t planned on going — she had even forgotten about the whole thing, until he asked.

It had taken every ounce of willpower in her not to blush and not to get too happy about it.

-Two days ago-

“Why?”

“Why what?” he had asked her confused.

“Why are you asking me?”

He shrugged. “I need someone to play my girlfriend for the party.”

“And you thought of me?”

“Yeah.” he had replied. “You’re smart and hot. Plus you're tiny and it makes me look bigger than I already am.”

Her expression flattened. “So you want me to go with you because I help inflate your ego?”

“Yup.” he smirked.

She squinted at him then said, “No.”

“Come on,” he insisted, attempting a pleading look. “I know your friends are going and it’ll be fun.”

“You think I want my friends to see me pretending to be your girlfriend?”

“They’d love it.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“What if I told you it was because my ex was there and I really don’t want to deal with her?” he asked and Elide pursed her lips at what seemed to be a genuine expression. As if Lorcan Salvaterre couldn’t handle his ex-girlfriend.

“So you want me to play buffer between you and your ex?”

“No. When she sees you with me, she won’t approach at all.”

Elide snorted. “I doubt Maeve will be intimidated by me at all, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”

“Oh, Maeve will never see you coming. She’ll be too shocked.” Lorcan replied with a small smile.

“Shocked that you’ll stoop low enough to date a girl like me?” she asked, glowering at him.

“Shocked that a beautiful, smart girl like you would even look at a guy like me.” he corrected with a grin and Elide had wanted to punch herself for blushing.

“Well...there’s so much of you, you’re not exactly hard to miss.” she muttered, intensely gazing at her textbook. “Giant beefcake.”

Lorcan burst out laughing at that and Elide shot him a dirty look.

“If you haven’t already put that as my name on your contact list, please change it to that.” he said after it took him a few minutes to calm himself in which Elide thought of multiple ways to stab him to death with her pencil.

“I already have you down as ‘Annoying asshole’. I think it suits you better.” she huffed and he smirked at her.

“Fair enough.” he had replied, leaning closer to her. “So will you go with me? I’d be honored to have you as my pretend girlfriend.”

After a few moments of silence, she had finally agreed, on the condition that no intimate gestures would take place.

He laughed for another ten minutes at that and then Elide almost really did stab him with her pencil.

~

Currently, Elide wished she had stabbed him just to avoid stepping into this jungle.

Music was blaring, people were drunk all over the place, not to mention all over each other. Elide grimaced slightly. Lorcan’s gaze fell on her expression and he smirked before turning back to face the hallway, maneuvering them through the bodies.

“So which room do you want to start in first?”

“We will not be going into any rooms at all.” she snarled. “Open spaces only.”

Lorcan turned suddenly, causing Elide to crash into him. She staggered for a moment but Lorcan’s arm easily came around her waist, holding her tight against his chest. “Why? You’ve been in a room alone with me before, Elide.”

“That was the library. We’re never really alone in there.” she said, her arms crossed over her chest, glaring at him with flushed cheeks. “I already told you no funny business!”

Lorcan laughed and brought his face down to the crook of her neck, nuzzling his nose there before moving to her ear and speaking quietly, “Trust me, Elide. Business between us would be anything but funny.”

Her whole body heated at his words as he pulled away with another one of his wicked smiles and Elide let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding.

“You giant animal.” she hissed and he snickered.

“You know kitten, you keep mentioning how much of a giant I am.” he purred. “I’m starting to think you’re hella attracted to how much of me there is. You like that I dwarf you, don’t you?”

Elide could almost feel the steam coming out of her ears as she glared at him but he only laughed and winked at her.

She wanted to run at him and pound his face in. Elide was well aware he was making fun of her and yeah she was attracted to him because he was really handsome. And tall. And beefy. She did like that he dwarfed her. In her low moments, she often wondered what it would be like to actually have his giant body on hers.

Despite how annoying he was, she had to admit, he had charmed her in one way or another. The time they spent together working on calculus was ridiculous and he infuriated her to no end. But then he also brought her a cup of coffee and a snack for every tutoring session. He pissed her off but he made her laugh too. Lorcan was nice to her, even when he was being annoying.

Sighing, she followed him. Elide would play his girlfriend. Maybe she’d enjoy it. In fact, maybe she’d be the one to surprise him. With a determined expression on her face, she followed where Lorcan was now heading towards his friends.

What Elide didn’t know was that Lorcan was giddy as hell on the inside. He had taken a risk asking her that day but he’ll be damned if he didn’t at least try with her. This wasn’t about Maeve at all. That bitch wasn’t even at the party but Lorcan was willing to use her as an excuse if only to get Elide to come with him. Tutoring had been the first excuse so he could get her number. He was crushing on this tiny girl so badly, it made Lorcan want to dig a hole and die in it. She was too good for him. Way too pure. But he saw the way she looked at him sometimes. And he saw the way she blushed at the things he said and that had given him hope. Also, it gave his imagination a lot to work with.

“Elide! You CAME!” Fenrys half screamed, already drunk. He came and threw himself on her and Elide yelped at his weight.

“Hi, Fenrys.” she choked out and Lorcan quickly yanked his giggling friend off Elide.

“Don’t crush my girlfriend. I haven’t tortured her enough yet.”

Elide shot him a glare and Fenrys let out a loud gasp.

“YOU GUYS ARE DATING?”

“Yup.” Lorcan replied, grinning obnoxiously at Elide, the glare still in his direction.

“Nope.”  She countered and Lorcan raised a brow.

“SINCE WHEN? UGH FINALLY LORCAN.” Fenrys continued, leaning against the wall for support and it was Elide’s turn to raise a brow.

“Finally?” Elide asked and Lorcan smirked.

“Don’t worry about it, kitten.”

Elide narrowed her eyes then broke out into a devilish smile. She leaned closer into Lorcan, bringing an arm around his waist. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’ve been pining over me all this time.” she said and it was Lorcan’s turn to narrow his eyes at her. “If I didn’t know you were truly clueless at calculus, I’d think it was an excuse to spend time with me...babe.”

Lorcan blinked and prayed his body wouldn’t betray him because Elide was touching him all on her own and he felt that death was near. Her delicate hands were on his body and he felt both blessed and cursed. Fenrys giggled drunkenly.

“SHE CALLED YOU BABE. AW SHIT. YOU’RE IN DEEP LORCAN.”

“Is he now?” Elide asked, looking over at Fenrys. “Do tell.”

“Shut up, Fenrys.”  Lorcan snarled softly and Elide’s mischievous grin returned.

“Oh please, Fenrys, tell me.”

“PFFT, HE’S HAD A BONER FOR YOU FOR LIKE — MONTHS NOW.”

“Does he now?” Elide asked sweetly, lifting her eyes to meet Lorcan’s, pulling away from him and he scowled at her.

“YEAH. LIKE — HE NEVER SHUTS UP ABOUT YOU. HE ALWAYS STARES AT YOU LIKE A CREEP.”

Fenrys clearly wanted to die today. Lorcan’s scowl deepened but it was mixed with a slight panic and he bopped his friend on the side of his head causing Fenrys to yelp in return. He wanted to tell Elide he liked her. But not like this and certainly not through Fenrys.

“He’s drunk. Don’t flatter yourself and believe him.” Lorcan muttered to her, attempting the bravado he had when they first came in.

Elide blinked, her lips forming a small pout and she saw his eyes flash for a moment. “Well, geez, relax beefy.” she said quietly. “I already know you wouldn’t stoop for a girl like me. You’re the one who insisted I come with you.”

“That’s not what I meant.” he quickly amended and surprise colored Elide’s face at the red staining his cheeks. “I just — don’t listen to Fenrys — he’s being stupid —”

Elide waved a hand and cut him off, trying not to let the way her heart dropped at his words show in her expression. “Don’t worry about it. You should go get your girlfriend a drink.” she said, looking anywhere but him. “I’m going to need several if I have to keep pretending to like you.”

She could’ve swore hurt, then regret, flashed in his eyes before he reluctantly left her side to find the drinks. Elide watched him as he left and let out a sigh then her eyes scanned the room for any of her other friends.

“You know — hiccup — he really does like you.” Fenrys said, still rubbing the spot where Lorcan hit him. Elide turned to him with a raised brow.

“Does he now?”

Fenrys nodded then winced, rubbing his head again. “He just has a s-shitty way of showing it.” he slurred softly. “Maeve was a manipulative b-bitch. She totally — hiccup — fucked him up.”

Elide’s eyebrows furrowed and a small frown came on her face. Maybe Fenrys was right but that was certainly too much to hope for. Sure, he flirted with her nonstop and she had been attracted to him but Elide wasn’t really experienced and he most certainly was and —

“You’re overthinking it, t-tiny one.” Fenrys said with a drunk chuckle. “I can see it on your pretty face.”

Elide rolled her eyes but her cheeks heated nonetheless. “You’re drunk. You don’t even know what you’re saying right now.”

“Listen, I’m drunk cupid.” he said with a hiccup. “You got a b-boner for him like he has one for you. Just DO IT.”

Elide winced as he yelled the last two words, the blush deepening on her face before she waved Fenrys off. “Stop it. If he comes back just tell him I went to find the girls.”

“When you guys bone, I w-want a gift in exchange for this encouragement!” he called out after her and she flipped him off, causing him to laugh.

Elide’s eyes took in the mess of the room around her. People making out, people dancing, people laughing and drinking. She really wasn’t big on parties so she only came from time to time and each time, she was sure it would be her last.

“Well, it certainly isn’t a Fenrys party unless he’s getting flipped off by multiple people.” Aelin’s voice came from behind her and she turned with a wide grin to find her close friend.

“There you are! I was just starting to look for you and the girls!” Elide said, hugging her. “Where are they?”

“Manon and Dorian ran off doing things I don’t want to think about and Lysandra is kicking Aedion’s ass at beer pong.” Aelin replied with a laugh and Elide grinned.

“What about you and Rowan? I’m surprised you’re not all over each other at the moment.” she teased and Aelin gave her a smirk.

“We break up our intense make-outs and inappropriate touching into sessions so we don’t miss the party. You missed the first two times.” she replied with a nonchalance shrug and Elide burst out laughing.

“I’ll try to avoid any further sessions, thanks.” Elide said with an eye roll, her eyes scanning the room again, and fell on a current arm wrestling match going on between Rowan and Gavriel. Her eyes fell on the hulking figure of Lorcan intensely cheering the two on, the drink he was supposed to be getting her still in his hands.

“Forget about me...what about you?” Aelin asked and her tone made Elide meet her gaze. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

“What do you mean?”

Elide knew what she meant. Her cheeks heating on their own indicated she knew exactly what Aelin was asking and the way Aelin’s smirked at her made Elide want to run from this stupid party.

“You walking in with Lorcan? Lorcan having his hands all over you when you first came in? His face buried in your neck? You having your hands all over him moments ago? Fenrys screaming something about boners and for you two to just do it?” Aelin rattled off and Elide groaned. “I mean, Elide, when were you going to tell me you guys were boning? Everyone has been taking bets on how long it’ll take for the two of you to go for it.”

Elide’s expression turned to horror and Aelin started laughing hysterically. “I-It’s not like that!” Elide quickly explained, her face burning. “I — we — it’s not like that! I’m just pretending to be his girlfriend! I’m doing him a favor!”

“Elide, Elide, Elide.” Aelin tutted, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “I may dislike Lorcan because he’s an annoying pig, but the heart wants what it wants. I will support you. And cut his balls off if he does anything stupid.”

Elide was about to protest again but Aelin pulled away to give her a look and she let her eyes wander back to where Lorcan was.  As if feeling her gaze, his eyes flickered to hers and Elide tried not to let his expression unnerve her. She braced herself as he started walking towards her and slowly handed her a drink.

“Sorry. I got distracted.” he said quietly and Elide took the drink, their fingers brushing as they had many times during their tutoring sessions. She curled a loose strand of hair behind her ear and gave him a thin smile.

“It’s fine. You guys look like you’re having fun.”

“Yeah.” he replied and his free hand came up to rub on the back of his neck. He shot Aelin a look before looking back at Elide and leaned closer to her. “I’m sorry. About earlier too. I didn’t mean what I said.”

She raised a brow at him. Lorcan’s expression was that of a scolded child. She almost laughed.

“It’s fine.” she repeated. “I get it. Fenrys riles up everyone.”

Lorcan chuckled then his expression turned serious again as if weighing his next words carefully. His eyes flashed to Aelin again but Aelin only crossed her arms, rooted to her spot and watched earnestly. Lorcan scowled and Elide bit back a smile then brought a hand to his chin, bringing his attention back to hers.

“What’s wrong?” she asked and Lorcan’s jaw clenched when she pulled her hand away. Elide had no idea what was going on in his mind but his eyes gave away to the hurricane which were his emotions. He cleared his throat and took a step back, taking the drink he had handed her moments ago then finished the entire cup in one go.

“I just wanted to say…” he began, then licked his lips. “Fenrys wasn’t wrong. He’s...he’s right.”

Elide blinked, looking between her empty hand and his earnest face. “W-what?”

“He’s right. I do. You know.” he said and Elide saw color heat his cheeks as he waved his hand, looking anywhere but at her. “Have a boner for you or whatever.”

Her eyebrows shot up as Aelin snorted behind her but the two ignored her.

“What I meant — I mean — that isn’t how —” Lorcan growled then stopped himself, crushing the empty plastic cup in his hand. He cleared his throat and then locked eyes with her. “I like you. I’ve liked you for a while. It doesn’t mean you have to do anything about it. I’m just — I’m being upfront with you.”

Elide stared at him. She heard the words he was saying but she wasn’t sure she could comprehend it. Lorcan watched her expression of shock and swallowed.

“So uh. You don’t have to pretend to be my girlfriend anymore. Maeve was just an excuse for me to ask you to the party.” he said and gave her an embarrassed smile. “I uh...I’m just going to go. Have fun with the girls.”

Elide blinked again and watched him go. Her body lurched forward after him but then she paused, turning to Aelin with a dumbfounded expression.

“Did he just —?”

“Yup.”

“Does he really —?”

“Yup.”

Elide’s whole body flushed and Aelin burst into giggles.

“I can’t believe he actually likes me.” she mumbled and Aelin squinted at her.

“Why wouldn’t he? You’re amazing, El.”

Elide shook her head. “I just...never thought I was his type.”

“You are very much his type.” Aelin confirmed and Elide looked at her curiously. “He’s whined to Rowan about you before when he doesn’t think I’m around. Jokes on him, Rowan tells me everything anyways.”

Elide’s cheeks flushed and she bit her lip. “So...so this is real? He isn’t...playing a game or anything?”

Aelin shook her head with a smile. “Definitely not. He knows you’re the real deal.” she said and Elide’s eyes flickered back to where Lorcan had returned to an even more intense arm wrestling match than before. He was seated in the place of Rowan, giving his opponent a menacing look as they got ready to go.

Elide watched him. She watched the curve of his body as he sat, barely putting in any effort to knock his opponent down. The corner of her lip went up when he started sniggering at the poor fellow clenching his arm and at the two who took his place. Idiots. She thought. He was a giant beast, none of them would actually be able to beat him.

“Jeez, Elide. Get a damn room.” Aelin said with a snort. Elide shot her a look.

“That’s rich coming from you.”

Aelin grinned. “Maybe. But at least I’m usually in his lap when I stare at Rowan like that.” she said then gently pushed Elide. “You should probably move along if you would like the same fate.”

“You think he’s annoying.” she said incredulously.

“Yes, he is and I would love to stab him if pulls anything.” Aelin said and then shrugged. “But he's not a total loser. What can I say? I’m a sucker for love.”

Elide blushed then bit her lip. He had been upfront with her. Maybe it was time she returned the favor.

Taking one last look at Aelin, Elide moved. She weaved her way through the bodies, her eyes locked on Lorcan and his bulging muscles that easily knocked over the two opponents across from him. She watched him laugh at his success but the laugh quickly died in his throat when Elide slid into the seat across from him.

She heard the murmur of confusion that her move had caused but her eyes were locked on the male across from her as he gazed at her with a raised brow.

Elide rested her elbow on the table and held her hand up, in position for the silly arm wrestling game he’d been playing. She gestured with her chin to his arm and with a tilt of his head, he slowly reached out to clasp his palm in hers.

“What are you doing?”

“Did you mean what you said?” she asked quietly, her heart racing at their linked palms. She really did like how his hand completely enveloped hers.

Lorcan held her gaze and she saw the sincerity in them when he answered. “Yes.”

“You have a boner for me then?” she asked with a small smile and his lips twitched.

“I do. A big boner.” he replied, a grin spreading on his face now. “Both emotionally and physically.”

“That’s good.” she said and leaned her body across the table, planting a quick kiss on his lips. His eyes widened in surprise and Elide took that moment to bring his arm down, giving her a cheater’s win in the arm wrestling match. “Because I have a boner for you too.”

At that moment, with him gaping at her stupidly, it felt like the rest of that room had vanished. It was just the two of them and a thrill rushed through her body. Lorcan stared at her for a few seconds before his head leaned back and he barked out a loud laugh.

Cheeks burning, Elide pulled back with a grin of her own.

“You owe me a date, Salvaterre. I expect you to deliver.”

He leaned back in his chair and gave her a look that made heat flood low in her belly. Oh, how she hated him.

“I owe you several dates and I plan to deliver on every single one of them.” he replied smoothly.

“Don’t expect me to go any easier on you during our tutoring though. I’m a dedicated instructor.” she said and leaned against the table, crossing her arms over her chest. His eyes lingered there a little too long before meeting her gaze and leaning forward against the table as well.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from my girlfriend.”

“Actual girlfriend now, huh?”

“Mm. This plays into so many of my fantasies.”

“Does it now?”

“I’ve been a very bad student, kitten.”

“I honestly cannot stand you.” she replied incredulously, but the knowing grin he gave her had her toes curling and cheeks burning again. He held his palm open to her.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asked quietly and she slipped her hand into his. She really liked how much he dwarfed her.

“I most definitely do.”

[antiadvil]

what are some phancoded songs?

okay i have been sitting on this for a while bc i feel like all of my suggestions are basic but i've been emboldened by the recent phan song posting. a lot of the songs on my phlaylist i added because i associate them with wad/ii/etc but here are the ones i can actually lyrically defend:

the tortured poet's department (taylor swift): look. this song is way more toxic than i usually like to imagine dan and phil. but some lyrics are just SO. look.

But you're in self-sabotage mode Throwing spikes down on the road But I've seen this episode and still loved the show

imagine: it is 2010. dan is saying he doesn't know if he and phil should move in together because phil makes him too happy and complacent in life. self sabotage mode!! throwing spikes down on the road!!

Who else decodes you? And who's gonna hold you like me? And who's gonna know you, if not me?

like. when you just click with someone. and you're like: this is it for me. if they leave me i will never love or be loved again. one of the things i like about this song is just how intense it is- i think it captures the intensity of their relationship (especially their early relationship) or at least, the intensity i feel about their relationship lmao

I chose this cyclone with you

this is probably my favorite lyric on the song and i think it's something many mentally ill people want to hear from our partners: you're an intense, dramatic mess, but you're my intense, dramatic mess, and i love you.

they don't know about us (one direction): okay this one is a little more self explanatory and like, thank god, because if i go to that level of depth on every song i'm going to be here all night.

They don't know about the things we do They don't know about the I love you's But I bet you, if they only knew (They don't know) They would just be jealous of us They don't know about the up all nights They don't know I've waited all my life Just to find a love that feels this right (They don't know) Baby, they don't know about, they don't know about us

like. you get it right? it's just. it's just them

that's so us (allie x): this one is sooo basic but i just had to put it. "we've been a wreck together since 2009." <3333333333

danny don't you know (ninja sex party) just has some really crazy parallels lmao, i saw someone use its lyrics once for a gifset and i was never able to unsee it:

Hey little Danny, don’t you cry I am you from much later in your life I know your hair is wild, I know you have no style

Danny, don’t you know that you are cool as fuck on the inside? You’re just going through an awkward phase from 12 to 29

Now you’re on tour and they want more! You step on stage and they come alive No one cares that you’re 35 You’re a rock star on a centaur! Where'd he get a centaur? You’re still a nerdy kid inside But now you’ve finally found your tribe Hear the crowd roar! Give ‘em what they came for!

like!!! they even got the hair!!! (dan has always had a sense of style though i think. not always a good one. but he had one)

sinners (lauren aquilina): this song just reminds me a lot of how dan talks about his internalized homophobia (and of my own experiences with that).

And judgement taught us that our hearts were wrong

The rules say our emotions don't comply But we'll defy the rules until we die

The world may disapprove But my world is only you

You showed me feelings I've never felt before We're making enemies, knocking on the devil's door And how can you expect me not to eat When the forbidden fruit tastes so sweet?

yeah this is like half the song. deal with it. like. i think there can be something very healing about entering into a queer relationship with someone who makes you feel loved and safe after years of being told that was wrong. "how can you expect me not to eat / when the forbidden fruit tastes so sweet?" when i was young i had a very powerful sort of reverse conversion experience, where i had been struggling to make sense of catholic teachings on homosexuality because like... it just didn't seem that bad. but everyone around me was saying it was. parents, teachers, family friends. and i was like, 14, and at that age, you kind of assume that adults do know more than you. they wouldn't all be against this if there was no reason, right? and then i fell in love with a girl and i was just like. wow. okay. these people are just wrong?? because this feels so good and normal and right?? like. yeah. the forbidden fruit tastes good. and is good for you, actually.

the alchemy (taylor swift) is just like, a power couple song. i don't know that any lyrics are super specifically phan coded (phoded if you will) like i just hear anything about love and go "oh my god that's so dan and phil coded." but:

Call the amateurs and cut 'em from the team Ditch the clowns, get the crown Baby, I'm the one to beat

These blokes warm the benches We've been on a winning streak

like! they are THE youtube couple sorry everyone else is just trying to be as cool as them.

'Cause the sign on your heart Said it's still reserved for me

gay

Where's the trophy? He just comes runnin' over to me

boncas anyone????

okay this is like so long and i have so many chores to do so i'll cut it here but not without adding still into you (paramore). self explanatory

[guardian-angle22]

I am so upset. They could have tied this into Owen being obsessed after 9/11 and that triggering TK, especially since they were talking about the horse being triggered, but they're not connecting them at all. I started watching the show because of the relationship between Owen and TK, but they're not even in any scenes together anymore. It would be nice to see them even knowing each other, let alone being father and son.

I'm sorry you're upset! I know it's rough when a show you really enjoy doesn't delve into the aspects you find most enjoyable or doesn't focus on the the parts that drew you to it in the first place. I've certainly struggled with the things the show has chosen to focus on in the past as well. I think I've just come to a place of acceptance that this show is working with limited time for characters while balancing the emergencies of the week and will just sometimes go in directions that aren't my favorite. and the fandom spaces are where we go to further explore the parts we wished got more emphasis or exploration.

Regarding this specific plot... I just don’t think they made that connection because frankly this episode wasn’t about TK being triggered. It was about Carlos needing to realize how precious his time with TK is and how much he needed to shift his priorities because of it. It was about TK recognizing signs of addiction and obsession within Carlos' behavior and doing his best to address those things in the most supportive and loving way possible. It was about the two of them as a unit working through their problems together. and I feel like they portrayed those things pretty well.

Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely think the show has made some clear parallels between Carlos and Owen. In fact, I made a whole gifset about it before the episode aired that you can find here! But they also already tied those two things together... in 4.18. Carlos and Owen had a scene together and Owen said the following to him:

"Let me tell you something about obsession. You might think it's sustaining you, that it's giving you purpose. But what it's really doing is just eating alive everything that is good in your life and believe me… eventually there's nothing good left."

Carlos' arc thus far this season has essentially been the same arc he went on in 4.18 but less condensed and with more room to breathe. and while I don't love that Carlos has basically ignored Owen's advice, I do fully understand the writers' choice to not recycle the story in the exact same way and have it involve Owen again.

As far as TK and Owen, it really feels like the arc with Jonah & Enzo coming to town in eps 7-9 are going to bring Owen and TK back into the same orbit and is going to result in some great scenes between the two of them. I personally cannot wait to see the full circle of their relationship from season one when TK told Owen that he became a firefighter because he wanted his father back (and Owen just steamrolled over it to defend himself) to this final season when they finally get to address those things and I think heal from them and come out the other side with a stronger father/son bond because of it. Hopefully you get to enjoy those things too!

[eddiegettingshot]

i'm sorry this is so long😭 i saw something and got annoyed lol

i feel mean saying it but some of the gifsets i'm seeing compiling all the convos from s6 about buck having to figure out whether he's at ease, having to find answers about happiness on his own, not knowing what he's looking for, feeling different after the lightning strike and not knowing how to act, etc. then framing the kiss and buck saying he's free as the resolution is almost comical to me. jumping into a new relationship is not gonna help any of that regardless of the person's gender! finding and defining what happiness means to you and what your identity is can certainly be related to exploring your sexuality but it's not a magic solution to all of your problems, esp when buck seems to have had no fucking clue he even wanted that until tommy kissed him. he's literally just running w something new and shiny atp. the fact that he spent an entire episode w literally no clue what was happening in his own head which culminated in acting like an idiot to the point of physically hurting his closest friend then uncharacteristically avoiding the issue entirely is also not a good sign in terms of him being at all closer to figuring any of this out for himself. god ppl recognized this immediately w natalia but are blind to it now - it's nice that ppl are excited and it was a good kiss but it's not a magic solution, it's buck continuing to avoid his problems.

no, you’re so right lmao. and like don’t get me wrong i understand why people are saying this, i understand the emotional connection, and i even understand that for some reason the show/writers want us to think that it is a magic solution…? i can’t fault anyone for feeling happy about this, i’m not interested in doing that.

but, like… if the question we’re focusing on for this season (which, whether i think this was the right question or not is a different story) is, why can’t buck keep a long-term romantic relationship? his sexuality is probably part of the answer, but it is far from the primary reason, which is closer to what you pointed out - buck has genuinely no fucking idea what he wants until someone decides for him, and that hasn’t changed at all. in fact, it’s gotten worse, because at least before his struggle to understand his own emotions didn’t end up with a loved one hurt.

there’s this weird narrative about tommy where everyone thinks he’s gonna heal buck or otherwise save buck from himself. but like, at this point, buck has zero agency in his relationships. he has zero interest in taking any agency in his relationships. tommy soothing his inner child is not gonna change that. literally nothing tommy has done has been different from anything that’s come before. i’m sure that they’ll say this is Different for the sake of the plot, but i maintain that buck should have been doing some self-reflection on his own. my ideal outcome is that after a few episodes, he comes to the conclusion that he had a good time, but he’s not ready to be in a relationship again (keep in mind he JUST broke up with natalia!!!) and tells tommy as much 🤷🏾‍♀️