#I just-why. Why. Why did they make such a season at all.

[joeyfranchise]

clouds in my coffee

joe burrow x fem!reader

summary: everyone says joe is cocky, arrogant, self-centered… why do you keep letting him take you home?

warnings: explicit sexual content 18+, MDNI. mentions of alcohol/drinking.

word count: 2.2k. (much like general grievous, this fic was shorter than i expected.)

note: omg it’s been a while since i posted a joe fic… but i’m so back. i miss you guys and love you ♥️

every head in the building turned to watch joe burrow stroll through the door. you’d seen it happen many times, any time you wound up at the same event he was at, his natural gravitational pull drew all eyes and all attention.

he waded through the bodies with an effortless confidence, his aura hung heavy over the room like a fresh blanket of fog rolling in. his sunglasses sat low on the bridge of his nose and you could’ve sworn you saw him eyeing himself in one of the windows he passed - but could you blame him?

any man who looked that good, had that physique, that confidence… joe deserved to feel good about himself. the stats didn’t lie, despite the difficult seasons he’d unfortunately endured the past few years, he was the best in the league. nobody could really argue that he wasn’t, and anyone who did spewed baseless nonsense in defense of their own sub-par quarterback.

his friends flanked his sides as he continued to roam farther into the party, they were all poised just like joe, their heads were held high.

you knew all the girls here dreamt of being his partner, those who surrounded him at every gathering hung on to his every word… but you also had the strange satisfaction of knowing that at every shared event you both attended, he’d end up taking you home.

despite his big reputation, you liked joe. there was just something about him that drew you in.

at some point in the night he’d make his way over to you and buy you a drink, or lean in and whisper in your ear seductively - and sometimes he didn’t have to say a word to you. he’d glance over his shoulder toward the door and you would follow him wordlessly out to his car.

this time would be no different, but you intended to play coy. you sat alone at the bar, your presence innocuous as the party raged on around you. you were hyper-aware that joe had already seen you, and you could feel his gaze burning into your back as your body was faced in the opposite direction.

you ordered a rum and coke, something fairly light, and you didn’t plan on finishing it. you took a few sips as you listened to the chatter of conversations around you, and you took out your phone to lazily check your notifications.

the girl next to you droned on to her friend about the boy problems she was having and you forced back a giggle as you saw her friend roll her eyes for what seemed like the fiftieth time. you scrolled through your text notifications and your instagram feed as you waited for joe to approach you, just like you knew he would.

after waiting for what felt like forever, you turned your head to see if you could find joe somewhere in the crowd, and you did. he sat at a round table with his friends. a few girls sat close to them, but they weren’t necessarily on top of the group. as if he could feel you looking, joe’s eyes met yours and he raised an eyebrow playfully. you jokingly rolled your eyes at him before turning back to your phone and taking a sip of your drink.

seconds later you could feel his dominating aura behind you, and the girls next to you suddenly went quiet. joe picked up your drink and took a swig, slightly grimacing at the rum as it burned his throat.

you bit back a laugh as you eyed him up and down. “you look good,” you told him, a careful attempt at complimenting him without stroking his ego. “mhm,” he agreed, leaning into you, “so do you.”

the girls next to you were now completely enthralled with the scene playing out before them, their eyes wide with bewilderment. joe’s breath fanned over your face as he continued to lean in, all the way down until his lips ghosted over the shell of your ear. “wanna leave?” he teased, his teeth grazing over your earlobe.

“what if i don’t wanna go with you tonight?” you countered, much to his surprise. he pulled back, wide eyes searching yours as he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “you… don’t want to come with me?” he asked, pointing back and forth between the two of you. you giggled at him before hopping off your stool and grabbing your things. you extended your hand toward his and he took it, eyeing you up and down.

“take me home, hot-shot,” you winked.

he didn’t need any further coercing. joe led you out of the crowded party and immediately to his car, opening the door for you so you could slide in just as you had many times before.

you weren’t sure what spurred it, what always kept you naturally drawn to each other like this — but you weren’t complaining. he quickly backed the car out and pulled into the road, heading straight for his house.

his hand found purchase on your thigh, his long calloused fingers squeezing over the flesh as his other hand white-knuckled the steering wheel. had your attempt at a joke pissed him off? you weren’t sure.

you kept your eyes trained on the road as your breathing started to quicken, all due to joe’s hand slowly sliding up your leg and closer to your throbbing core. you gasped as you approached a red light and joe finally turned his gaze toward you, the apples of his cheeks burning red as he dipped his fingers into your panties and scooped up some of your wetness before he traced the calloused pads over your clit.

that was why he was gripping the steering wheel so hard… it wasn’t that he was angry, he was just ridiculously horny. maybe it had been the alcohol he consumed, maybe it was knowing he’d get to take you home and fuck you silly… maybe it was all that wrapped up together.

the light turned green but joe didn’t notice, his focus was on the soft gasps he was pulling from your mouth as his fingertips continued to work over your sensitive nub. you’d begun to spread your legs wider for him, arching your back against the seat as he quickly worked you up to your high.

but then, a car behind you beeped their horn rapidly. joe pulled his fingers from your heat and gripped the wheel again, his foot pressing down on the gas hard to accelerate the car. you weren’t far from his house, and you silently pleaded not to hit any more red lights, you needed him bad.

joe continued to speed all the way home and quickly whipped his car into the driveway, barely putting it in park before he was jumping out and running over to your side and opening your door. you stepped out too, walking the short distance to the stairs and following him up.

joe quickly unlocked the door and pulled you inside, his hands finding your hips immediately as he pushed your back against the wall in the entryway. he leaned into you and pressed his lips to yours, his tongue immediately sliding into your mouth as his knee slipped between your legs. he moved it up, slightly bumping it against your clit and you whined into his mouth. he pulled back from you and smirked at your already disheveled looks.

you gave him a wide-eyed gaze and he laughed before gesturing down the hallway. “you know where my room is, go ahead. i’ll be there in a sec.”

you furrowed your brow at him before following his command and heading to his room. once inside you slipped off your shoes before sitting gingerly on the edge of his bed, your hands resting on your knees.

he strolled in moments later and your mouth gaped open as you noticed he was already shirtless. “not in the mood for games tonight, i take it?” you asked him, looking him up and down.

“i’m not,” he shrugged, walking over and closing the distance between you. his hands reached around you until the found the zipper of your dress and he pulled it down as far as he could while you were sitting.

you stood from the bed and shrugged it off unceremoniously — you’d been with joe too many times to care about something so trivial. your clothes would end up on the floor each time anyway, so who cared about looking sexy while taking them off?

joe smirked at you and looked you up and down again, appreciating the navy blue lingerie set you had worn underneath your dress.

he slid his finger under the strap of your bra, pulling it forward and letting it go so that it smacked back against your shoulder with a loud pop. “this one’s pretty, baby,” he teased, walking you backwards until your body met the bed again, “too bad it won’t be on much longer.”

joe lifted you and sat you on top of the bed before reconnecting his lips to yours. his hands skillfully undid the clasp of your bra and he tossed it aside before attacking the column of your neck and shoulders with kisses and nips. when his lips finally wrapped around one of your pert nipples your body shuddered, and he laughed.

he used his thumb and forefinger to roll and pinch the nipple that wasn’t in his mouth, leaving you a whiny mess already beneath his touch. your hands tangled into his hair and you pull him off your breast with a loud pop to look him directly in the eyes.

“i’m not in the mood for games either, okay?” you challenged, a weak attempt at letting him know you meant business. he let out another low laugh. you could see he was already rock hard, it was evident by the very large tent in his pants, and you could feel how sticky wet you were with every shift of your panties against your core.

joe knew you wanted it and you were ready, the ball was in his court now. he pulled away from you to shuck off his pants and boxers and you used the opportunity to move up toward the pillows, encasing yourself with his scent as you waited for him to please you.

he crawled on top of you and pressed soft kisses to your stomach as he slid your panties down your legs, adding them to the pile of clothing that was accumulating on his bedroom floor. before he could continue to press any more kisses to your body you grabbed him, hauling him up toward you and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

“no games, please. i need you, i need this. fuck me,” you pleaded… and who would he be to deny you of that? he pressed your legs to your chest and held them there with one arm as his other hand gripped his cock, pumping it a few times before slowly sliding into you. the pleasure was immediate, the feeling of being stuffed full took over your senses as joe pushed all the way into you and rested there.

you barely waited any time before you were scratching your nails down his forearm, signaling for him to move. he started with slow shallow thrusts and you let a few soft moans fall from your lips. joe let go of your legs so you could spread wider for him and pressed his chest to yours.

his hands were now holding a bruising grip on your hips and he dug his fingers into your skin as he began to thrust harder. the room was filled with the sounds of skin slapping and laboured breathing, and soft moans that fell from both of your lips.

joe’s fingers skillfully found your clit again and he began rubbing tight circles into you. your climax was approaching fast but you didn’t care, you knew you’d end up going a few more rounds before the night was over, that’s how it always worked.

joe knew the ins-and-outs of the exchange too, so when you warned him you were close and he said he was too, you knew he wouldn’t bother pulling out to cum. he knew very well that you were on birth control, he’d been in this situation with you far too many times to count.

he continued pistoning his hips into yours and the force kept driving you up the bed, so much so that you had to press a hand to the headboard to keep your head from smacking against it. joe was determined to get you both there quickly and with one more particularly hard thrust you were knocked over the edge, enveloped into toe curling pleasure.

you took deep breaths as joe worked you through it, he came just as you did. both of you were sweaty and needed a moment to catch your breath. he rolled off you quickly and gathered all of your clothes, throwing them into a bin next to his dresser.

you sat up and watched as he trudged toward the door, most likely headed to get some water. you admired your lovely partner’s ass and the way his back muscles rippled as he reached out for the door handle.

“babe?” you called, waiting for his response. your boyfriend then turned to look at you, a mischievous glint in his eye as he answered. “yeah?” he said, laughing as he saw you waddling toward the bathroom.

“next time we do this role-play shit, i’m picking you up from the bar,” you giggle, wiggling your eyebrows at him.

he laughs too, then answers. “better not ever tell me you aren’t coming home with me again, then.”

photos and dividers used are not mine. cred to owners.

taglist: @joeyburrrow @starsinthesky5 @joeyb1989 @kykysinlovewithafairytale @burrowdarling @bengals-barnesbabe @loveyatopluto @toterry @unhingedfangirl @superheroprincess22 @burreauxsworld @slimshiesty @yelenasbraid

[linddzz]

Sat here and combed through all your jayvik analysis posts giggling and kicking my feet but PLEASE tell me more about the whole dom/sub thing, especially the whole “they have absolutely not discussed that this is the dynamic, it just happens and neither of them acknowledge it” because that is genuinely so interesting. Like I could already tell Viktor had hella ‘quiet calm collected dom’ vibes especially compared to jayce’s ‘excited protective puppy who would FOLD at being called a good boy’ energy…

But the whole bit on the bridge where Viktor smacks his hand away without even looking? And Jayce EARNS BACK TOUCHING PRIVELEGES? Fucking scrumptious please tell me more.

god i need to get to writing my fic bc I feel like "talk more about it" would be solved just by me dropping the link This ended up being TOO LONG so I split it between me going feral about that bridge scene and then me going feral at other moments of nonverbal communication that I use to feed my Dom/sub "oh you two are just LIKE THAT" interpretation. So. here's part one

That bridge scene tho...im so normal about it

hhhggg god that bridge scene is one that I rotate in my brain so much because it is such a small moment that makes so much of their dynamic click. For me, specifically, it clicks the "submissive like a guard dog is submissive" dynamic, where Jayce is, on a surface level, the stronger and more forceful of the two while Viktor is the one actually holding the leash (until he's too tired to because he's dying, and I only half joke when I say that their issues at the end of season 1 are because Jayce is suddenly the equivalent of a dog holding it's own leash and getting stressed out about it.

Jayce's touching before the bridge come across as pretty overbearing honestly. He's holding his hand out to keep Viktor from speaking out...

Heck, while the still screenshot doesn't show it too well, Jayce slings an arm around Viktor with enough force that it knocks Viktor off balance for a second and shoves him forward a little.

Viktor got dragged to the hexgate when Jayce is looking into shipping discrepancies happening there, even though it obviously doesn't involve him and he does NOT want to be there.

(In hindsight this is a hilarious bit of showing that it did not occur to either of them that there's no goddamn reason for Viktor to be here. This is council business, Jayce outright says "I'm a councilor now Viktor" which does not answer why tf Viktor needs to be there. these twits just handle all problems as a unit lmao. The tragic flip is that this is could then be a breaking moment when Viktor goes back to the lab, realizing that him and Jayce are not, in actuality, a single unit anymore. because Jayce got a second job that is not Lab With Viktor oh my god you codependent dweebs)

Up until that point it would be really easy to see Jayce as being presumptive and unintentionally overpowering Viktor in personality. Heck, it's what I thought the dynamic was as I was watching Season 1, though even as I thought that it seemed somehow...not quite correct.

And then the bridge scene.

Even before the hand-smack, there's a flip on the reading up to this point that Jayce has been accidentally bowling over Viktor by force of personality/physicality. Jayce comes in hot, upset, angrily standing over Viktor and chewing him out, and Viktor is just like "....and??"

Viktor is calm if baffled and annoyed at Jayce's frustration (also; Viktor just rolling his eyes and shaking his head at the actual riot happening a few yards away? hilarious. i love him.) His almost nonchalantly confused tone when he asks "what difference does that make?" always gets me. the entire back and forth says, to me anyway, that Jayce may be more brash and socially competent, but he's not overpowering Viktor at all, actually.

Viktor is going to do whatever the fuck Viktor wants.

This is immediately made clear by the much beloved hand smack. Viktor doesn't even look up, and his smack shows that he is perfectly capable of setting a hard boundary on Jayce's touching, and that Jayce will IMMEDIATELY fold and apologize when that boundary is set. That smack makes it suddenly clear that when Jayce goes for the shoulder touch right after apologizing, Viktor consciously allows it.

idk WHY but I also love this little tiniest moment when Jayce is going for the second touch. Viktor glances back as Jayce approaches him (looking like a cat with its ears pinned back lmao), then looks away as he accepts the second touch and they move on. It's such a tiny detail of showing Viktor, who is still pretty pissed at Jayce, seeing the touch as it comes in and then deciding to let it happen. im rotating them in my mind. please send help

In my framing of them being a guard dog/handler dynamic, the bridge scene is us seeing a moment of the leash getting a sudden sharp tug to bring the guard dog to heel. It resets all the earlier instances as being ones that Viktor allows to happen, because he doesn't see a need to correct it.

fuck man this doesn't even get into the bridge scene as a major crack between them as the moment Viktor loses his trust that Jayce will understand his decision. i am unwell

[holdmytesseract]

One Night or Forever?

Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader

Summary: When one thing leads to another, you and Daryl spend a passionate night together at the CDC. Unfortunately, neither of you is interpreting the signals right afterwards...

Warnings: 18+! MDNI! smut (not entirely graphic, but it's definitely there - like, you know exactly what's going on), uhhh sub and dom Daryl? unprotected rough-ish sex? Daryl gets a bj (yes, you read that right), he's a bit mean, too - but also a cutie patootie, uhh slight angst? bit of drama, alcohol - drunk-ish Daryl and tipsy reader, fluff, swear words, bickering

Set in Season 1!

Word Count: 4,5k

a/n: You want it, you got it, friends. I don't know what this is, though - or which demons possessed me as I wrote it. I really don't. I also don't know how I should feel about it. Embarrassed? Proud? Send help, lol.

Anyways, I hope you like this! Please go easy on me. Smut isn't really my forte...

EoH Masterlist °☆• LITRM Masterlist °☆• Daryl Masterlist °☆• Masterlist

"Booyah!"

Daryl's toast had been the starting shot for an evening full of conversation, fun, laughter - and alcohol. Some would say reams of alcohol. Wine, booze, beer - you and the group stopped at nothing. That was probably the reason why everyone staggered somewhere on a scale between tipsy and shit faced drunk at the end of the evening.

You were currently on your way to your personal room - something you'd describe as a luxury. Sure, back at the quarry you had your own tent, but there was a huge difference between that and a whole goddamn room. With a own freaking shower! It was crazy. Who would've thought that something so plain and simple would become such a valued, precious thing? Most likely nobody, because it was something taken for granted.

Well... Not anymore. Not since the world went to shit.

After passing a very drunk Glenn on the way, you more or less stumbled into your room. Tipsy... You were definitely tipsy. Without a single care in the world, you started to shed your clothes the moment the door shut close behind you. All you wanted to do was sleep. You had too much alcohol coursing through your veins to search for something you could use as a pyjama. You hadn't a problem with sleeping naked. Not tonight.

Unfortunately had your plan a catch... One that you weren't aware of yet.

This wasn't your room.

You were just about to free your body of the last piece of fabric you were wearing - a pair of admittedly beautiful dark blue lace panties, when a sudden voice managed to almost send you into cardiac arrest.

"Wha' the fuck 'r ya doin' in my room?!"

You startled so bad, that you almost lost balance and fell flat on your ass. Your balance was a bit off-track anyways, due to the wine...

With wide eyes you turned around to face the intruder.

"Daryl?"

You blinked. "What are you doing here?" He scoffed; his cheeks puffed out and reddened. He had been drinking way more than you did, and it showed. The archer's hands were fumbling clumsily with the fly of his jeans. "Jus' been taken a damn piss, 'n 'm comin' back to find ya standin' in my room." You crossed your arms over your bare - an information which hadn't reached Daryl's brain yet - chest. "This is clearly my room, Dixon." He scoffed again. "'S not!" "Yes, it is!" "'S not!" The man took a few wobbly steps closer. "Go bullshit someone else, I-" He stopped abruptly in the middle of his sentence; eyes widening to the size of plates. Now the information had been received and processed.

"Yer almost naked," he stated; bluntly staring.

Oh, you suddenly realised and remembered as well. He was right.

In any other situation, you'd have frantically tried to cover yourself up and perhaps even threw an insult at the man standing across from you, but the alcohol lowered your boundary of shame and loosened you up; making you see things more relaxed.

You huffed out a breath. "Yeah, no shit, Sherlock." Daryl still blinked and tried very hard to not let his eyes drop, but that was an almost impossible task for the alcoholized man. "Why?" You shrugged your shoulders. "'Cause I wanted to go to sleep." The archer swallowed hard. "In my room? Naked? Ya lost yer damn mind, woman?" "It's my room," your tipsy self was still profoundly convinced, while you made your way over to the bed on slightly wobbly legs. Daryl just watched you; flabbergasted, speechless, shocked - and incredibly turned on. After all, he had a damn pretty woman in his room - no, bed. Half naked!

"You could join me, Dixon." He scoffed again and tried to walk in a straight line over to the armchair; accepting his fate. "In yer damn dreams. 'S ain't gonna help me - or my hard-on." You giggled at his words like a schoolgirl and rolled around in the sheets. "That the reason why you can't get that zipper up? You like me, Daryl? Like what you see?" You pestered him with questions; smirking, and watched his cheeks redden even more - if that was physically possible and your eyes didn't betray you. "Shuddup," Daryl just growled in response. You giggled again, before a long beat of silence passed between the both of you.

The alcohol didn't just lower your boundary of shame... It also caused you to become bolder. "I could help you with that, you know..." You tried to sound as flirty and seductive as possible and turned in the sheets once more, but now to face the man sitting across from the bed. You perched yourself onto your stomach and crossed your ankles in the air; swaying your legs.

Gods, you felt like a teenager again. Damn the alcohol and your crush on the archer. It was a dangerous combination, since you hadn't planned to actually act on said crush. Well, and here you were now in his - nu.uh, your - bed, almost naked and trying to seduce him.

Some might say this escalated quickly...

"Help me with wha'?" The archer finally responded after a long moment; dumbfounded. His usually very smart and witty brain slowed down by the alcohol. You thought for a hot minute that he had already fallen asleep on you. You rolled your eyes and groaned - acting like Daryl just said the stupidest thing in the world. "Your boner," you deadpanned - as if it was the most normal thing to say.

The archer swallowed hard; feeling his chest (and pants) tightening.

"Wha'?" He crooked out. The normally so talkative, glibly redneck seemingly rendered speechless by your boldness.

Once again, you rolled your eyes. "Do you reaaaaally want me to spell it out for you, D?" Daryl clearly needed a moment to recover, but once he did, he scoffed.

"Pf, yer bluffin'."

"I'm not."

"Yeah, ya 'r."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, ya 'r. Can tell. Yer way to innocent fer shit like tha', sunshine."

"Are you challenging me, Dixon?"

"Nah, jus' statin' facts."

Now you were the one who scoffed. He really asked for it, didn't he? You smirked and hid your face in the blanket beneath you. Oh, you were so going to prove him wrong.

You rolled your barely covered body around a third time, but this time to get up from the bed - which was a much more difficult task than expected, but you made it in the end - even though not gracefully and certainly not seductively. "Facts, huh?" You asked the crossbow-wielding archer then with a raised eyebrow and your hands on your hips. He crossed his arms over his plaid beige-brown shirt clad chest; bare forearms and biceps bulging with the movement. "Yes, facts." Although he stared into your eyes with his blue coloured irises, he still had a hard time for them to actually stay on your face.

"Well, you can go screw your opinions - or me. Your choice, pretty boy," you stated and shrugged your shoulders as you bridged the short distance between the bed and the armchair. Before the younger Dixon could even do as much as open his mouth for a snarky respond, you had dropped to your knees in front of him - between his manspread legs.

Daryl's eyes widened and his jaw slacked. "Wha' 'r ya doin'?!" He literally screeched and gripped the armrests of the armchair. "Proofing you wrong, pretty boy." You smiled up at him like a Cheshire cat; hands and fingers clumsily trying to open his jeans. "F-Fuckin' hell, wha'?! Yer insane, woman!" The archer cursed above you, but also didn't make any moves to stop you. So, you took that as a sign to continue. And continuing you did...

It took you a hot minute to get your eye-hand coordination straight and overcome the obstacles which were his jeans and boxers, but once you did, there was no holding back. "Ya really gonna do th- F-Fuck..."

You did.

"Told you, Dixon," you stated with a mischievous glimmer in your eyes; hands firmly cupping him. Daryl answered nothing. The archer had a hard time to control his breathing and rapidly beating heart. He was still gripping the armrests like a vice - his knuckles already turning white. He really couldn't believe this was happening right now. Was he asleep and dreaming? Was he hallucinating? Did the wine manage to fog up his brain so much that his eyes were deceiving him? But when he felt your lips wrap around him, he instantly threw all those thoughts overboard again. This was real. It had to be real. After all, he was feeling it, right?

"F-Fuckin' hell," he cursed again; feeling waves of pleasure crash over him. One of his hands loosened its grip on the armrest and went in your hair instead - tying your loose hair into a makeshift ponytail. You were already too far gone to care; the taste of him addictive.

Working your magic, you tried to grant the man above you as much pleasure as possible - and it seemed to work. Within a few minutes, Daryl was a whimpering mess - a side you'd never thought you were ever going to see of him. Not in your wildest dreams.

"Ain't... Ain't g-gonna last," the archer panted breathlessly; the hand in your hair twitching. You didn't want him to. You wanted him to fall apart. A gentle squeeze of your hand was all it took. "Y-Y/N, damnit, 'm gon'- Gonna cu-" His sentence got interrupted by a low moan that paved its way to the forefront of his lips. The hand in your hair twitched again as he attempted to pull you off him. You didn't let him, though, and easily dodged his lousy attempt. Instead, you helped him ride the wave. His thighs twitched; muscles tensing as his high crashed into him. Daryl felt like he had been hit by an eighteen-wheeler - but in the best way possible. It had been so long...

The gentle grip he had of your hair slackened; hand falling limply to his side. You lifted your head to look at him to witness his blissed-out state. Daryl's eyes were closed, and his breathing laboured. You smiled; hands gently caressing his clothed thighs. "You believe me now, D?" He gave you a mere nod. Clearly he needed another few moments to get his head straight again. Your smile never ceased as you kept up your fingers movements. Your knees protested by now, but you didn't care.

Another few moments passed, before the archer peeled his eyes open again. Seeing you still on your knees for him managed to send another shockwave of arousal throughout his entire body.

Wide-blown eyes stared at you intensely; the gears turning in his fogged up head.

"T-Thanks, I guess," he whispered then. His voice was still hoarse. You smiled up at him. "You're welcome, pretty boy. Said I'm gonna help you." Daryl nodded almost shyly and clumsily stuffed himself back inside his boxers. You eyed him thoroughly and started to giggle. "Didn't think you'd loose it so fast. Wouldn't have pecked you to be a... premature guy." Not that it mattered to you, but you couldn't help yourself but to tease him a bit. It was meant to be a playful comment, but you seemed to hit a sore spot...

You could practically see how his eyes darkened, before he narrowed them. "Whatcha say, huh?" He asked in a gruff voice and stood up; towering over you. You blinked - were a bit taken aback by the sudden shift in his demeanour. "I-I, uh... Said I didn't think you'd be one t-to, uh, come too early..." The archer growled under his breath. "Ya better watch yer mouth, sunshine," he said in a threatening tone and grabbed your arms to pull you up on your feet. Daryl quickly noticed, though, that his legs were even more wobbly now that they've already been before; forcing him to take cautious steps. "What are we doing, pretty boy? You gonna make me pay for saying that?" You gave another sassy remark; provoking him and tickling his nerve ends even further. A grunt passed his chapped lips as he dragged you with him. Once close to the bed, he wrapped his arms firmly around your bare midsection and literally threw you onto the bed - wobbly legs be damned. You giggled at his eagerness and slid upwards to rest your head on one of the pillows; giving the man a confident look. "C'mon then, pretty boy, show me what you got. I know you want to." He scoffed and crawled on the bed. "Pretty boy my ass." You just giggled again. You felt intoxicated by the wine you had consumed and definitely aroused - which got only worse when you felt calloused, deft hands gripping your delicate skin. Daryl parted your legs and settled on his knees between them. His eyes were directed on your face. He looked like a predator - ready to attack his prey. It was incredibly hot.

"'M gonna shut tha' sassy mouth 'a yers, just ya wait," he growled in a deep voice, and wrapped his arms and hands around your thighs like a snake - holding them firmly and simultaneously keeping you splayed open for him, before he literally yanked you down; bringing your hips closer to his.

Your breath hitched in your throat at his sudden movement and the upcoming anticipation.

His fingertips danced over the skin on your hips then - and suddenly got your dark blue lace panties ripped into shreds.

"Daryl!" You shrieked, then gasped. "Those were my favourites, I-" "'S jus' a damn piece 'a fabric. Dun be such a crybaby," he interrupted you; instantly putting you in your place. Your mouth clapped shut. This was yet another new side of him. Sure, you knew he was hotheaded, but he literally just went from kinda submissive to dominant within the blink of an eye. Was it the alcohol? Or truly his temper?

The clinking of his belt ripped you out of your thoughts. Some shuffling and the rustling of fabric was the only premonition you got, before you felt him against your hot and pulsating center. Your hips instantly bucked; trying to get closer.

More friction.

More pleasure.

More of Daryl.

The archer hovering above you scoffed. "Look how needy ya are. Dun even hafta prepare ya." You could see the corners of his mouth twitching into a small smirk. "Tis all jus' from gettin' me off, huh?" You nodded and bit your lip. Daryl on the contrary shook his head, "Yer tha' desperate? Pf... Pathetic." and lined himself up, before hitting home.

Stars exploded in front of your eyes as his hips met yours. The most sinful moan the archer had ever heard in his life slipped past your lips; only spurring him on more. He picked up a firm, steady pace - leaving you a mess beneath him barely within a few minutes. Just what you did to him.

Revenge was sweet, wasn't it?

His precise, powerful thrusts carried you from one high to the next - and Daryl enjoyed it. He loved to see you fall apart beneath him. And this time, he was the one lasting longer. "Who's commin' too soon now, huh? 'S not me, sunshine. Told ya I'd shut tha' sassy mouth 'a yers," he growled lowly; slowing his pace to just give you a few moments of recovery. You moaned at the sheer endless pleasure he granted you. Your hands gripped his thick arms like a vice after he had planted both palms firmly in the mattress beside your head to gain more leverage. "F-Fuck, Daryl," you whimpered; fingernails digging into his sweaty biceps. "I know. Jus' one more, 'kay? Can ya give me one more?" You nodded wordlessly. "Good girl," the archer praised and picked up his speed once again; pulling another sweet moan alongside some incoherent noises from you.

Your hands travelled. They left his arms to rest on his chest, where they fisted the fabric of his plaid shirt with the ripped off sleeves. The fabric held a darkened stain - a puddle of sweat formed on his chest.

Your hands continued to fist his shirt, as you pulled - an attempt to undo a few buttons. But once the archer noticed what your mission was, he stopped dead in his movements. "Nah, dun do tha'," he scolded you instantly and peeled your hands away from the fabric covering his upper body. "W-Why?" You asked breathlessly; not understanding his sudden mood shift. "'"Cause I told ya to!" He snapped.

Just in that moment, you realised that you must've hit another sore spot... But this time one that actually seemed to get to him. Not one that managed to turn him on.

"S-Sorry, D-Daryl, I-" You immediately apologised, but got interrupted once more. "Keep holdin' on ta my arms, if yer need sum'thin' to hold on to." His voice was gruff, but way more soft than a few moments ago. The archer redirected your hands and placed them once more around his sweaty biceps. Without another word, he continued where he left off, causing your grip to instantly tighten. "There ya go," he praised you again and readjusted your legs with his thighs. Just the slight change of angle was enough to send you a third time over the edge. This time, though, you dragged him right with you.

A broken sound - close to a cry, left the man's lips as he pulled out and coated the supple skin of your stomach with his release. A single droplet of sweat rolled down his neck as he threw his head back in ecstasy. It was a sight to behold. A sight you might never forget for the rest of your life - no matter how long your life was going to be.

A few moments later collapsed Daryl on the mattress beside you. He was clearly spent. Perhaps this had been something you both needed. Who knew?

"Imma take a shower," the archer announced after a while and left the bed - but not before gentleman-like wiping the mess he made on your stomach away with his hand. Without another word, he left, while you just laid there - still naked and staring at the ceiling; recalling in your mind what just happened. The sex managed to sober you up a bit. Did that really just happen? Had you been dreaming this?

You heard the water run, but not how Daryl returned to the room and settled down for the night in the armchair. You had ventured off to dreamland at some point.

To say the next morning was awkward was an absolute understatement. Awkward was not even remotely enough to describe the vibe between the both of you.

When you woke up again, the archer was nowhere to be seen. Now sober, you left the bed, picked up your clothes, noticed that you truly were - in fact in his room, and tiptoed butt naked down the hallway into your room. Luckily nobody had seen you. That would've been scandalous, right?

Your luck was also that everybody was quite hungover from last night. Some more, some less. Therefore noticed nobody the way you and Daryl acted around each other.

You could barely manage to look into his eyes.

You felt ashamed; thinking that you pushed him too far yesterday night. Thinking, that you were too bold and unable to control your damn feelings. Thinking that you pushed him away, instead of drawing him in. You anticipated that the archer must hate you now - and you couldn't even blame him...

Nevertheless seemed a conversation inevitable. You didn't want to destroy the friendship - if you could even call it that - the both of you had before last night.

It took you days to bite the bullet and ask him to talk, though. Sure, you had been on the road again since the CDC was a dead end, but that wasn't an excuse in your eyes.

"D-Daryl?" You approached him cautiously as you found him alone in the stables of the Greene farm; saddling a horse to go looking for Sophia. "Whatcha want?" He asked you and gave you a short look. You swallowed nervously. "Can we, uh, can we talk?" "'Bout wha'?" You watched him work for a moment, while your fingers fumbled with the hem of your t-shirt; trying to gather all the courage you could find. "That, uh, night at the CDC..." Your words came out as a whisper, but Daryl heard them nonetheless - and froze in all his tracks.

"Why'd ya wanna talk 'bout tha'?" He asked nonchalantly after a beat of silence and continued his work; had seemingly shaken off the small 'shock' quite quick. "I-I..." You started and sighed. "Things f-feel so weird between us since that n-night, and... I don't want that. I-I'm sorry for what I did. I'm s-sorry for making you sleep with me." Your eyes were stuck on him. You watched him and tried to gauge his reaction - afraid of what was going to happen.

"Yer sorry 'bout it?" Daryl asked then - almost in disbelief. Then he scoffed. "Do ya regret it?"

That was a question you didn't see coming. A question you haven't thought about yet. Did you regret it? Your memories took you back in time; letting you relive that night you shared with him. The answer was clear - as you quickly discovered.

"No, I don't, but... It was wrong. I shouldn't have-" "Wrong?" He interrupted you. His voice appalled. "Tha's what ya think 'bout this? 'Bout... us?" Daryl accused you with a grimace on his face. Was that... sadness you could detect in his blue orbs? Hurt?

You blinked; "U-Us?" were definitely confused by his words. "W-What do you mean 'us'?" "Ya know wha' I mean, Y/N." You shook your head. "No, Daryl. No, I don't. We've been practically ignoring each other since the CDC. We can't even talk properly! Neither of us can look into the other's eyes! Everything is just... weird, and you talk about an 'us'? No, I don't get it. Tell me. Explain it."

A frustrated huff left the archer's lips, before he started to gnaw at the pad of his thumb; averting your eyes. All of a sudden, the usually so confident redneck became all shy and insecure. "Dunno how," he started; merely shrugging his shoulders. "'S difficult, 'n I ain't good with words." "Try it, D," you encouraged him and gave him a soft smile. "Please. I want to make things right between us again." The archer nodded and took another moment - most likely to gather his thoughts. "'S tha' feeling, ya know? Can't pin it down. Always feelin' so strange whenever yer close to me."

Your heart skipped more than just one beat as his words urged to your ears. Could it be...? No...

"W-What do you feel? Can you... describe it?" Daryl lowered his gaze to the ground. The little stone laying beside his left foot suddenly became really interesting. "Jus' strange. Gets harder to breathe, 'n... My stomach's all messed up. Feels like an itch I can't scratch." You couldn't believe this was happening. Did that night cause Daryl to fall in love with you? "You're doing good, D. Keep going. What else?" You had to know.

He grunted; his foot playing with that little stone, before kicking it aimlessly over the concrete ground. "I... always go back to tha' night in my head. Can't forget it. Yer look. Yer touch. The way ya felt, I-" He stopped himself to take a deep breath. And you smiled. Perhaps having slept with him hadn't been a mistake. Perhaps you interpreted his behaviour wrong. Perhaps you just misread the signs...

"I jus' dunno how to act 'round ya. I dunno wha's happening to me. Tha's why I ain't talkin' to ya. Didn't mean to ignore ya..." Daryl apologised with his head still lowered.

You stepped closer to him and cautiously reached for his hand. He flinched, but didn't pull away. "Daryl, I... I think I know what happened to you," you whispered. "'N wha's tha'?" He asked; finally brave enough to lift his head to look into your eyes. You smiled and squeezed his hand. "I think you... are in love."

As quick as the man had lowered his guard, as quick was it up again.

He pulled his hand out of your grasp and scoffed, before he took a few steps back. "Pf. Love? Me? Tha's ridiculous, woman - 'n we both know it!" "Is it, yeah? You really think so?" "Yes!" He yelled, and wanted to rush past you - but you stopped him with your palm splayed on his chest. You didn't know if what your heart made you do was a wise decision, but it acted on its own will. Your head was powerless anyway.

Daryl's eyes travelled from yours to the hand on his chest and back. "Whatcha doin', woman?! Leave me the hell alo-" You had heard enough. You had held yourself back long enough. This was the only option you had left. It was do or die.

You cut the man off with standing on your tiptoes and connecting your lips to his. It was a chaste, gentle kiss - but nonetheless meaningful. It felt so right. So good. His lips so soft and warm - compared to his seemingly rough exterior. His blond-brown goatee tickled your skin in the best way possible.

Once more, Daryl froze to the ground; not moving a muscle.

When your lips left his again with a soft pop and you reopened your eyes, you could see how his eyelids fluttered slowly open as well. You could feel his heart galloping underneath your palm. "What do you feel now, Daryl?" You asked in a hushed tone. Your eyes never left his. The archer swallowed hard. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. "I-I-I..." He stammered out; his cheeks heating up. "G-Good," he croaked out. "R-Real good." You smiled - happy that your heart had made the right decision. "Wanna do it again?" He blinked. The tips of his ears got red as well. "I-If yer willin' t-to k-kiss me again?" Your smile even widened, before you reached up to cup his beardy, red cheeks in your palms to pull him into another kiss. Daryl gasped against your lips; eyes falling shut and lips following your lead. It caused the kiss to get more intimate. More demanding. More passionate.

His hands acted on their own will, as they settled on your waist and pulled you closer. Your body crashed against his. You could tell that he hadn't kissed a lot in his life; his movements clumsy and messy - but perfectly Daryl. And you loved it. You didn't care how experienced or skilled he was. All you cared about was him - and all the love he deserved you wanted to give him.

He was far from perfect; had his flaws - but so were you.

"What do you say now about love, pretty boy?" You asked in a playful, yet loving manner; your hands crossed behind his neck. Daryl's hands gently squeezed your sides, "Shuddup." before he dipped his head to indulge you into yet another kiss.

Yeah... He was definitely whipped.

Tags: @angelwings-crossbowstrings @belitoxx @fictive-sl0th @marvelcasey05 @loz-3 @whore4romance @stitchintimefan @bigbaldheadname @making-the-most-0f-it @erebus-et-eigengrau @km-ffluv @0-aubrie0 @sweetz1919 @mikaela-granger @secretsicanthideanymore @dilfdixon @txtttttttttttttt @dixons-sunshine @cakesandtom @mayday2007 @dixonsdarkelf @huntedmusicgardenn @ffsjustletmesleep

[theonottsbxtch]

SPORTS CAR | OP81

an: so far for the last t8 songs ive given them to lando, time to give our boy oscar some love. i cant promise im back for good, its exam season at the school im working at so busy busy busy but anyway enjoy this op81 piece

wc: 4k

THE GALA WAS THE SORT OF EVENT where champagne flowed endlessly, and the air was thick with the weight of old money. Oscar, dressed in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo, leaned casually against the bar, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. The soft strains of classical music filled the grand hall, but his attention wasn’t on the string quartet or the ridiculously expensive artwork on the walls. It was on her.

She glided through the crowd as though she owned the place—because, in a way, she did. Her gown, a shimmering cascade of silver, caught the light with every deliberate step she took, and her smile was just shy of predatory. She was the kind of woman who never had to hear the word “no,” a little princess who always got exactly what she wanted. And tonight, it was clear that what she wanted was him.

Oscar swirled the amber liquid in his glass, suppressing the smirk threatening to spread across his face. He recognised that look—had seen it on her at least twice tonight when their gazes met from across the room. It was bold, unrelenting, and entirely unapologetic. She didn’t just want him; she wanted to make sure he knew it.

“Enjoying yourself?” Her voice broke through the small space between them as she appeared beside him at the bar. Her perfume—a heady mix of jasmine and something darker—wrapped around him as she leaned in, close enough for him to feel the warmth of her skin.

Oscar glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. “As much as one can at an event like this.”

She laughed softly, the sound smooth and syrupy. “A man with all the toys in the world, bored at a gala? I thought you’d be used to this sort of thing by now.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to enjoy it,” he replied, setting his glass down and turning to face her fully. His dark eyes flicked to her lips for a fraction of a second before meeting her gaze again. “What about you? Enjoying holding court?”

Her smile widened, a little wicked now. “The only fun I’m planning on having tonight isn’t going to be on the dance floor.” She tilted her head slightly, her voice dropping lower, meant only for him. “You brought one of your cars, didn’t you?”

Oscar’s smirk finally broke through. “I might’ve. Why?”

She stepped closer, her hand brushing the lapel of his tuxedo, and tilted her head as though her question was entirely innocent. “Because I’ve always wondered what the fuss is about. The leather seats, the thrill of it all... You should show me.”

He chuckled, low and dangerous, leaning in just enough for her breath to catch. “You think you can handle that, princess?”

Her eyes glinted with a mix of mischief and challenge. “Why don’t you take me for a spin and find out?”

Oscar shook his head, a low chuckle escaping him as he leaned back slightly. “Your dad would kill me,” he said, his tone light but edged with something darker.

She didn’t flinch. Instead, she tilted her head, her lips curling into a slow, knowing smile. “He doesn’t need to find out,” she murmured, her voice smooth as silk.

Oscar raised an eyebrow, watching her carefully. She was bold—too bold for her own good—and she knew it. “You’re not exactly the subtle type,” he pointed out, his tone laced with amusement.

She shrugged, utterly unbothered. “Subtlety is overrated. Besides, you’re clever. You’d figure something out.” She stepped closer, her fingers grazing the cuff of his sleeve, feather-light. “Unless you’re scared, of course.”

He let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “Scared? Of you?” His gaze flicked down to her hand before returning to her eyes, dark and steady. “You don’t scare me, princess.”

“Good,” she said simply, her voice soft but laced with that same unshakable confidence. “Because I’m not leaving here tonight without what I want.”

Her words hung in the air between them, the weight of her challenge impossible to ignore. Oscar let the silence stretch for a moment, his eyes locked on hers, weighing up the consequences. He could already feel the heat of her expectation, the daring glint in her gaze that made it clear she wasn’t bluffing.

Finally, he leaned in, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

Her smile widened, shamelessly triumphant. “Always.”

He exhaled, shaking his head again as though he were trying to convince himself he wasn’t about to make a very stupid decision. But the way she was looking at him—like he was a prize she’d already claimed—made it impossible to resist.

“Fine,” he said at last, his voice a low rumble. “Meet me out front in five minutes. Don’t make me regret this.”

She didn’t respond, only grinned as she stepped back, smoothing the skirt of her gown as if nothing had happened. “You won’t,” she said, her tone light and breezy, as if they weren’t on the brink of scandal.

With one last look over her shoulder, she disappeared into the crowd, leaving Oscar standing there, shaking his head and wondering just how far he was about to let this go.

The air outside the gala was cool, the faint hum of engines and distant chatter filling the night. She stood near the grand entrance, the shimmer of her gown catching the soft glow of the streetlights. A few partygoers lingered around her, but she didn’t pay them any attention. Her focus was on the sleek McLaren pulling up to the curb, its low, aggressive stance impossible to ignore.

Oscar was behind the wheel of the dark grey 765LT Spider, its polished finish gleaming like liquid metal under the lights. The car exuded power and precision, its growl unmistakable even in neutral. As the passenger door lifted upwards, Oscar leaned over slightly, his dark eyes locking onto hers.

“Get in,” he said, his voice low and steady.

She didn’t hesitate, her heels clicking softly against the pavement as she slid into the seat. The leather interior cocooned her, the faint smell of luxury and petrol filling her senses. With the door closing seamlessly behind her, Oscar revved the engine once before pulling away from the gala, leaving the murmurs of curious onlookers behind.

The streets of Monaco unfurled ahead of them, glittering like a dream. The McLaren hugged the curves effortlessly as Oscar navigated the winding roads, the sound of the engine echoing off the buildings and cliffs. The city lights reflected in the water, casting a golden hue over everything, and the occasional roar of other supercars in the distance only added to the energy of the night.

She leaned back in her seat, her head tilted slightly as she watched him. He looked completely at ease, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gear shift. His focus was sharp, the faint glow of the dashboard illuminating his sharp features.

“No girlfriend with you tonight?” she asked suddenly, her voice cutting through the soft hum of the engine.

Oscar’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Don’t have one,” he replied, not taking his eyes off the road.

“Why?”

He glanced at her briefly, his dark eyes filled with quiet amusement. “Why do you think?”

She turned slightly in her seat, her smile coy. “Don’t you think it’s time to change that?”

Oscar’s grip on the wheel tightened slightly, the words hanging in the air between them. For a moment, the only sound was the steady purr of the McLaren as they sped along the coastline. Then, as if making a split-second decision, he downshifted and pulled the car off the road, steering into a quiet lookout point overlooking the sparkling bay below.

The engine rumbled to a stop, leaving the world in near silence save for the distant waves crashing against the shore. Oscar turned to her, his dark eyes unreadable, the weight of her words still lingering.

“You really don’t know when to stop, do you?” he murmured, his voice low and thick with something she couldn’t quite place.

Her smile didn’t waver. “Why would I, when I’m getting exactly what I want?”

For a moment, he just stared at her, the tension between them crackling like static electricity. Then, without another word, he leaned in, one hand reaching up to cup her jaw as his lips crashed against hers. The kiss was electric, heated and unapologetic, the kind of kiss that left no room for second guesses.

She responded instantly, her fingers tangling in the lapels of his jacket as she pulled him closer. The cool leather of the seat beneath her was a stark contrast to the heat radiating between them, their breaths mingling as the kiss deepened.

When they finally broke apart, both of them slightly breathless, she grinned up at him, her confidence as unshakable as ever.

“Told you I’d get what I wanted,” she murmured.

Oscar let out a low laugh, shaking his head as his thumb brushed against her cheek. “You’re going to ruin me, princess.”

She leaned in again, her lips ghosting over his. “You’ll survive.”

Oscar’s gaze lingered on her, his lips still tingling from their kiss. He leaned in again, his hand slipping to her waist as his breath ghosted over her lips, but just as he closed the distance, she pulled back.

Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she settled against the seat, her smile playful yet maddeningly smug. “Patience,” she whispered, her tone dripping with teasing sweetness. “What’s the rush?”

Oscar narrowed his eyes, his jaw tightening slightly. “You’re enjoying this too much,” he muttered, his voice low and rough.

“Am I?” she said, tilting her head, her fingers tracing the edge of her seatbelt as though she hadn’t just pulled away from him. “Or am I just keeping you on your toes?”

His lips twitched into a smirk, though there was a dangerous edge to it now. “You like playing games, don’t you?”

Before she could respond, Oscar reached out, his hand tangling in her hair with surprising firmness. The suddenness of it made her breath hitch, her teasing smile faltering for the first time. He pulled her towards him, his grip gentle but commanding, and the shift in his energy sent a spark of heat straight through her.

“You forget,” he murmured, his voice a low growl against her ear, “I don’t like to lose.”

And then he kissed her, harder this time, with none of the hesitation from before. It was all hunger and heat, his lips claiming hers as though he was determined to remind her who was in control. She didn’t resist—in fact, the soft sound that escaped her as he deepened the kiss made it clear she wasn’t protesting at all.

Without breaking the kiss, Oscar shifted her effortlessly. His hands gripped her waist as he pulled her onto his lap, her gown gathering around her as she straddled him. The space in the McLaren was tight, but neither of them seemed to care. Her hands slid up his chest, clutching at his shirt as she kissed him back with equal fervour, her earlier teasing entirely abandoned.

Oscar’s hand moved from her hair to the curve of her back, holding her close as their lips moved in sync, the heat between them building with every second. Her perfume wrapped around him, intoxicating, and the soft hum of her breathing against his skin only made him want more.

When they finally broke apart, her lips were swollen, her chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath. She looked down at him, her composure shaken but her eyes still alight with that same daring spark.

“You’re full of surprises,” she murmured, her voice breathless.

Oscar smirked, his hand still resting on her back as he looked up at her. “And you’re full of trouble,” he countered, his voice low and gravelly. “But I don’t mind.”

She laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face as she leaned in again, her lips hovering just inches from his. “Good. Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Oscar’s hand lingered on her back as he leaned back slightly, his smirk firmly in place. “We should probably head back before someone notices we’re gone,” he said, though the heat in his voice made it clear he wasn’t entirely committed to the idea.

She tilted her head, her fingers tracing along the edge of his collar. “Fine,” she said, her tone soft but full of something mischievous. Then she added, “But can I drive?”

Oscar blinked, surprised, before letting out a low chuckle. “Drive?” He raised a brow, glancing around the interior of the McLaren. “You want to drive this?”

“Why not?” she teased, sliding off his lap into her seat while adjusting her gown. Her hand brushed along the leather of the steering wheel as she looked at him with a grin. “What, don’t think I can handle it?”

He hesitated for a moment. Letting someone else—especially her—behind the wheel of his prized McLaren felt like madness. But there was something about the way she looked at him, that mix of challenge and confidence, that made it impossible to say no.

“Fine,” he said finally, his voice low and measured. “But if you so much as scratch it—”

She laughed, cutting him off as she opened her door ready to claim her seat. “Relax, Oscar. I know how to handle expensive toys.”

He climbed into the passenger seat, watching as she adjusted the seat and placed her hands on the wheel with a kind of natural ease that caught him off guard. She turned the key, and the car roared back to life, purring under her control.

“Careful,” he muttered as she pulled out of the lookout point, her silver gown shimmering in the glow of the dashboard.

But careful wasn’t really her style.

The McLaren glided through the winding streets of Monaco, her movements smooth and deliberate. She drove with the kind of confidence that made it impossible not to watch her—one hand on the wheel, the other shifting gears effortlessly. Her gaze was sharp, focused, but there was a small, satisfied smile tugging at her lips, as though she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

Oscar leaned back in his seat, his eyes fixed on her. There was something undeniably hot about watching her handle the car. The way her fingers gripped the wheel, the slight tilt of her head as she navigated the sharp turns, the soft hum of concentration she made under her breath—it was intoxicating.

His jaw tightened as he shifted in his seat, trying to focus on anything other than the growing heat building inside him. “You’re enjoying this a little too much,” he muttered.

She glanced at him briefly, her smile widening. “What, you don’t think I’m doing a good job?”

“You’re doing fine,” he admitted grudgingly, though his tone betrayed just how much more he was thinking.

But instead of heading back to the gala, she veered off, turning down a quieter road that led toward the waterfront. Oscar frowned, sitting up slightly.

“Where are we going?” he asked, his voice laced with suspicion.

She didn’t answer immediately, her smile remaining as she continued to drive. The glow of the city faded slightly as she pulled into the circular drive of a luxury hotel, its grand façade glittering under the night sky.

She parked smoothly, turning off the engine before looking over at him with that same maddeningly smug expression. “Thought we could use a change of scenery,” she said casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Oscar stared at her, caught somewhere between annoyance and intrigue. “You know, this wasn’t exactly part of the plan.”

She leaned back in her seat, one hand still resting on the wheel, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Since when do you strike me as a man who follows a plan?”

He opened his mouth to retort, but the sight of her—smug, gorgeous, completely in control—had him swallowing his words. There was no denying it: watching her drive his car, taking charge like that, had done something to him.

“You’re trouble,” he muttered under his breath, his voice rough with something more than frustration.

Her grin widened, her confidence unwavering as she leaned towards him slightly. “And you love it.”

For a moment, he just looked at her, the tension between them crackling like static electricity. Then, without a word, he leaned in, his hand gripping her jaw as he kissed her again, this time with more intensity than before.

Oscar was just starting to lose himself in the kiss when she abruptly pulled away, leaving him momentarily stunned. She smirked at him, her confidence maddeningly intact, and reached for the car door.

“Wait—what are you doing?” he asked, still catching his breath.

But she didn’t answer. Instead, she stepped out of the McLaren, smoothing her gown as if nothing had happened. Before he could process what was going on, she tossed the car keys to the valet standing nearby. The poor man fumbled but managed to catch them, staring wide-eyed at the sleek car she’d just stepped out of.

“Take care of it,” she said breezily, her tone one of casual authority.

Oscar remained in the passenger seat, stunned. He wasn’t used to people taking charge—especially not with his car—but somehow, the way she did it was effortlessly sexy. She didn’t even glance back at him as she strode toward the grand entrance of the hotel, the soft click of her heels against the pavement leaving him momentarily frozen.

It wasn’t until the valet awkwardly cleared his throat that Oscar snapped out of it. He scrambled out of the car, muttering, “Don’t scratch it,” before hurrying after her.

By the time he reached the hotel lobby, she was already stepping into the lift, her silver gown shimmering under the chandelier’s light. The lift doors were beginning to close, and for a second, he thought she might leave him behind. But just as the gap narrowed, her gaze met his, and she pressed the button to hold the doors.

Oscar stepped in, his breathing slightly uneven—not from the chase, but from the way she was looking at him, all challenge and heat.

“You’re impossible,” he said, his voice low and rough.

She tilted her head, her lips curving into a wicked smile. “You’re the one who followed me.”

The doors slid shut, sealing them inside. The moment they were alone, the tension between them became unbearable. The soft hum of the lift seemed deafening in the silence as Oscar took a step closer, his eyes locked on hers.

“You’re going to drive me insane,” he muttered, his voice thick with frustration and desire.

Her smile widened, her confidence as infuriating as it was intoxicating. “Good,” she whispered.

That was all it took.

Oscar closed the distance in an instant, backing her against the wall of the lift as his lips found hers again. This time, there was no hesitation, no space for games. His hands gripped her waist, pulling her flush against him as he kissed her deeply, his frustration pouring into every movement.

She responded with equal fervour, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him closer, her back pressing against the cold metal of the lift wall. The contrast between the chill of the wall and the heat of his touch sent shivers through her, but she didn’t pull away. If anything, she pushed closer, her body arching into his.

Oscar’s hand slid to the small of her back, holding her firmly in place as his lips moved to her jaw, then down to the curve of her neck. Her breath hitched, and he felt the slight tremor that ran through her.

“Still want to play games?” he murmured against her skin, his voice a low growl.

She let out a soft laugh, her nails grazing the back of his neck as she tilted her head to give him more access. “Only if I keep winning,” she whispered, her voice breathless.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his dark eyes smouldering. “Not this time.”

Before she could respond, he captured her lips again, silencing whatever quip she was about to throw at him. The kiss was fiery, intense, and left no room for second-guessing. The soft chime of the lift was barely a blip in the haze of their heated embrace. By the time the doors slid open, neither of them made any move to stop. Oscar’s lips were still locked on hers, his hands gripping her waist as though letting go wasn’t an option. She tugged him forward, their steps hurried and uncoordinated as they stumbled out of the lift.

“Which one?” he murmured against her lips, his voice thick and breathless.

She broke the kiss just long enough to motion toward the double doors at the end of the corridor. “Penthouse,” she whispered, her tone teasing but drenched with desire.

Oscar didn’t need more instruction. His hand found hers as they hurried toward the doors, her soft laughter echoing in the hallway as they fumbled to get inside. She reached into her clutch, pulling out the key card and sliding it through the reader with a practiced flick of her wrist. The lock clicked, and before the door could even swing fully open, Oscar had her pinned against the frame, his mouth crashing onto hers again.

She gasped against his lips, her hands finding their way under his jacket, fingers splaying against the hard lines of his chest. He pushed her through the doorway, their movements clumsy but urgent, and the door slammed shut behind them with a soft thud.

The suite was breathtaking, all glittering chandeliers and floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a panoramic view of Monaco’s sparkling coastline. But neither of them paid it any mind. She walked him backward toward the plush sofa in the centre of the room, her lips never leaving his.

His hands roamed her body with a possessive hunger, sliding down her back to the curve of her hips. The silky fabric of her gown was smooth beneath his fingertips, but he was already imagining what was underneath. His lips trailed from her mouth to her jaw, then to the delicate column of her neck, eliciting a soft moan from her that made his blood run hotter.

Her own hands were equally adventurous, pushing his jacket from his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor with a soft rustle. She tugged at the buttons of his shirt, her impatience making quick work of them as she revealed the toned muscles beneath.

“Impressive,” she murmured, her voice teasing but shaky with anticipation.

Oscar smirked against her skin, his lips grazing the hollow of her throat. “Thought you’d appreciate it.”

Her laugh was cut short by the way his hands gripped her thighs, lifting her slightly as he flipped her toward the sofa. She let out a breathless gasp as he set her down on the edge, his body immediately pressing against hers. His hand trailed up her bare thigh, pushing the slit of her gown further aside as his lips found hers again.

Her hands tangled in his hair, tugging gently as she pulled him closer, her own control slipping with every passing second. His other hand travelled south, his touch firm yet teasing as it inched along her skin, setting her nerves alight.

“Still feeling in charge?” he murmured against her lips, his voice low and rough.

Her response was a soft moan, her head falling back against the cushion as he kissed a line down her neck, his hand exploring further. The sound of her breaths, quick and shallow, filled the air between them, mingling with the faint hum of the city outside.

He smirked, his lips grazing the sensitive spot just below her ear. “That’s what I thought.”

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow

[avatarofthearchives]

The Magnus Archives ends with Jon's tapes, and therefore the fears, being released into our reality. It's a really clever ending because A: It explains why TMA is a podcast. Because we're listening to the "tapes." B: It's one final jolt of horror before closing the series. C: It makes us really consider Jon's choice, and if we still agree with it knowing that our universe would be one of the one's affected by the fears being unleashed. 

However, something else I think this ending implies is that the audience as a whole is connected to The Eye. (Which is ironic because TMA isn't a visual media. But I digress)

We're listeners who have spent five seasons learning forbidden knowledge about another universe and the entities that reside in it. But not just that, we've interacted with that universe in the worst ways. We're shown in the series that the more someone learns about the world of TMA the further they're pulled into it, and the best thing to do is "turn a blind eye" and walk away. Yet, like Jon, we've kept listening/reading anyway. We've pushed the limits of our knowledge until we've reached the final conclusion: that, in-universe, the fears are real and now we're aware of their existence. 

We ceaselessly watched until we learned everything there was to know. We fed the The Eye just as much as Jon did.

All of us are eye coded. It came free with our Magnus Archive subscription. But on a real slightly less memey note: I think it's neat how TMA decided to wrap up the story in a way that gives the audience a real role as a watcher. In universe we are characters just as much as Jon, Martin, Tim, and Sasha are, and I love that from a writing perspective. However, that could just be my eye coding. 

[nickfowlerrr]

once more with feeling

pairing: professor!bucky barnes x curvy!actress!reader (reader is not a student)

warnings: mdni. no smut. flirting. i’d label this as soft horny if that were a thing lol. edward/guy moratz makes a short appearance. not much else really but self-indulgence at its finest. reader is probably minimum twenty five but you can imagine whatever age 21 and up you'd like and it should read alright.

words: 5185

notes: this was originally going to be a professor bucky x reader fic but then i got the idea for auditioning reader and then i thought oh! what if i wrote for my latest obsession - edward/guy! so then it was gonna be guy x actress reader but then i realized i kept picturing bucky and i’ve missed writing for him so then it changed again into professor bucky but now with actress reader and that’s where i landed with it even though i think this would work so well with guy as our guy and truth be told upon rereading myself i did start to picture him instead of bucky ha but ANYWAY this is buckys fic but if you wanna picture guy that works pretty well too 🤭 writing this was a nice distraction from the craziness of life lately and i hope you enjoy it. also just to say it - if you haven’t had the chance to watch a different man yet, you absolutely should. it’s great.

pls lmk your thoughts! i’d love to hear what you think. thank you in advance for reading! as always, comments and reblogs are so appreciated and more than welcome. 🩵

Goosebumps have risen all over your skin as you sit in the uncomfortable auditorium seat. Your legs are freezing thanks to the dress you don; despite its length, the fabric doesn’t provide much warmth and you can’t help but shake just a touch as another chill comes over you. You wrap your arms as tightly as you can around yourself but it too does little to help. The shrug cropped cardigan keeps your arms covered but the cold still chills - even inside the walls of this classroom auditorium.

This was a stupid idea, you accept far too late.

Granted, your planned outfit originally saw you in lined leggings to help fight the cold of the season, but after your little trip down the stairs on your way here - despite having held the skirt of the dress up to avoid such a fall to begin with! - you decided to toss the ripped and coffee soaked leggings and keep on instead of doing what the universe clearly was screaming at you to do: Go back to your apartment, take those god forsaken heeled shoes off, and put on something simpler. You were trying too hard.

Maybe you were. But you couldn’t care. You needed this. And when do you get to wear a dress like this on the daily? It fits the mood and works for the role without being a costume. You may feel a little uncomfortable, you don’t wear dresses out often, but you don’t think you’ve really made the wrong choice.

You were last on the audition sign in sheet so thankfully no one would be left to watch you the way you’d just studied the twelve other girls reading for this role.

They all dressed casually, had book bags with them, it was obvious they all attended this school. And here you were! A college dropout, overdressed in comparison, and clearly out of place.

Ah, you’re getting too in your head again. Always looking for a reason why something won’t go your way. But you’ve been working on that, and calling yourself out seems to help.

You take a deep breath as the last girl clears the stage and the casting table speaks amongst themselves.

You haven’t been able to see any of their faces, only the backs of their heads. You aren’t sure if there are students or faculty at the table with them but you figure it doesn’t really matter.

The casting call said all were welcome to audition - student or not. The location was only at the college because of renovations on the theatre in the city.

…It did say that, right? You’re not auditioning for a college show, right?

Your heart begins to pick up speed as you worry. Did you read it wrong? Were you making things up? You scramble for your phone and as you pull up the email the city theatre sent out last week, your name is called.

You don’t have the chance to reread it before you shut your phone off and tuck it away in your bag, placing it on your seat as you stand. You take a breath as you smile as confidently and friendly as you can and make your way down to the stage.

“That’s me,” you say as they watch you.

Finally you’re able to see their faces and as you make eye contact with each of them you can feel them sizing you up. Three people sit at the folding table before the stage and one man sits a bit further back in the second row of auditorium seats. He has yet to look up from his book and you realize you hadn’t noticed him at all earlier.

A younger man at the casting table, no more than 30 if you’d had to guess, tilts his head as he watches you ascend the few steps to the stage.

“So,” he states your name again, “do you attend classes here?”

“No,” you answer with a small shake of your head, “no I’m not a student.” You work to maintain your easy smile as you feel all eyes on you.

The man nods and turns to speak to the man still sitting and reading behind him. “Well, Mr. Barnes,” he gets his attention finally, “no pressure to stay. All the students have been seen, you’re free to go. This is the last audition for the day then we’ll be out of your hair.”

“Until tomorrow when you’ll take over my auditorium again,” he rumbles lowly as he stares at the man who is still looking at him.

You swallow hard as you do the same. His eyes are bright despite his obvious annoyance, his dark hair pushed back as he tries to keep it out of his face, only a couple silver strands shining through the dark chestnut brown; the stubble that covers his jaw adds to his air of gruffness - the spot of gray near his chin adding to his appeal. He’s tall, you gather as your eyes move down his body, his long legs. He wears dark slacks and a baby blue button up dress shirt tucked into his pants. The sleeves are rolled up his forearms and the top couple buttons of his shirt are undone, giving just a hint at his chest hair and the chain that hangs around his neck.

You realize you’re staring as you hear the voice of the younger man responding to Mr. Barnes, but you don’t hear what he’s saying as you force yourself to look away. Your eyes blink up and you’re caught. His blue eyes are on you, brows furrowed and his expression unreadable. You quickly look away and pretend you weren’t doing a thing as you wait for them to give you the go ahead.

Some more words are exchanged as they seem to try and appease the man whose classroom they are in. You’re not entirely paying attention to the conversation as you run your lines in your head for the millionth time.

You know the words. You know the part. You’re not worried, necessarily. But you haven’t booked a single thing in the past eight months and to say that hasn’t shaken your confidence in yourself even just a little bit would be a lie. But you’re getting back to your roots. You’ve missed the theatre. It was and will forever be your first love. This is your first stage audition in a while though, and your first experience with this theatre. Since moving to the city, you swore you’d audition for one of their shows but just never got around to it as your focus shifted to film. This is your time now. Is it going exactly how you’d envisioned it’d go? Well, you’re standing in a university campus auditorium instead of the stage at the Fervent Fires Theatre to audition, so, no. But that’s okay! You have a good feeling about this. And as you stand here, you feel more and more relaxed. It’s kind of bringing you back to your high school days - the annoyed teacher having to share the auditorium with the annoying theatre people. It’s funny.

And after seeing the other girls audition you really don’t feel too stressed. Most of them were late teens auditioning for Elmire. Despite the fact you played her in your late teens, too, that was simply because the production was full of other teens and young adults. You’re definitely more of the right fit even now. You’ve seen some of the theatre's productions before and who and how they tend to cast. Granted this is second day auditions and everyone else who has been seen might be in your league, but you won’t dwell on who you may be compared to - and you kind of needed the confidence boost today.

You take a breath and remind yourself you know what you’re doing. Whether you get a callback or not, just being on a stage again, acting in front of people again, you’ve needed this. It’s good.

You come back to yourself, out of your head and more at ease and hear Mr. Barnes as he speaks.

“And I appreciate being ‘free to go’ but I’m fine right where I am. Seeing as how this is my classroom, I’m sure that won’t be a problem.”

“Oh, no, of course not. I just meant that if you wanted to go, you were free to, are free to, do, ya know, whatever you want. We were under the impression you were required to be here as a faculty member during student’s auditions, but, uhm, yes, of course. We aren’t trying to push you out or anything,” he smiles before nervously clearing his throat and turning back to face the table. He shuffles around the papers before him and you see him pull your headshot and resume to the front of his stack, grabbing his notes and pen before turning his gaze to you.

“Alright, sorry about that. You can start whenever you’re ready.”

Their eyes are all on you. The casting table, and the man behind them. He’s set his book down next to him, has his hands folded in his lap as he sits back in his seat, casual and intent all at once, while his brilliant blue gaze is set right on you.

-

The audition is a blur, it goes by so fast. As you thank them for their time, you’re surprised when they offer you more information they hadn’t given out before.

“Callbacks will be next Tuesday and they’ll be at the actual theatre. We’ve been under construction all month but should be good to go next week. We appreciate you taking the time to come audition here, we know it’s a little out of the way in comparison.”

“Not a problem at all, it actually isn’t too far from me,” you smile.

“Good, well, keep a look out for an email with more details and…” the director on the end of the table looks up to you as if she’s catching herself from revealing a secret, then sighs, “ah, screw it, you’re definitely on the callback list,” she smiles, “we’ll see you there.”

“Amazing,” you breathe, “I’m looking forward to it. Thank you again, so much,” you can’t help your grin as you walk closer to the steps of the stage.

The casting table packs their things as you walk past them back to where you were sitting before. You’d left your bag and half drinken coffee so you make to go get it. As you pass the first few rows, you feel Barnes’ stare again, this time only fleeting as his name is called from the young man who spoke to him before.

“This table?”

“You can leave it,” he states, sounding bored.

“Okay. Thank you again for letting us use the stage, we really do appreciate it.”

You don’t hear him reply as you hear the casting team leave out the door.

The realization you’re the last one left intruding on this man has you hurrying up.

Until you hear his voice again.

“You were good.”

You turn at the compliment, wide eyed as you see him coming closer up the steps. Your heart seems to skip a beat and you wonder what he’s doing until he bends down a few rows before you and picks up an empty coffee cup someone must have left earlier.

You’re caught a bit off guard but force your mouth to work after a second, “Thank you.”

“Yeah,” he nods as he stands back up straight. You watch as he tosses it easily into the trash can at the bottom of the stairs before he turns back to look at you again.

You were right. He’s tall, and somehow even more attractive than you’d originally thought now that you’re seeing him even closer.

“I’m no director, but from what I’ve seen yesterday and today, if I was casting, you’d be it.”

“Oh,” you feel your face warm despite how cold the auditorium still is, “that’s,” you laugh a little under your breath, “that’s really nice to hear, thank you.” You have to look down as his gaze is just a little too much for you right now. You don’t need to fall down another set of stairs today and if you let yourself get lost in those ocean blue eyes of his, you’re almost certain you will.

“You seem more shy off stage than you do on,” he comments, taking another step up the stairs, another step closer to you.

“Yeah,” you titter nervously, “um, I’m an actor, ‘m pretty good at faking it when I have to.”

He raises his brow at your unintentional innuendo and immediately you catch yourself. You feel like you’re on fire and you see something in his eyes, almost like he’s working himself up to reply as he takes the last step he needs to be on the same level as you.

“You fake it a lot?”

Your lips move as if you have words to speak but nothing comes out as he stares at you and you stare back.

God, he smells good. And he’s so tall. And muscular. And pretty.

You blink as you try to break yourself free from this trance.

Is he hitting on you? You don’t even know this man’s name and yet there’s a fluttering in your tummy at the way he’s eyeing you. His gaze roves down your body, over your soft curves that are accentuated by the corset dress hugging you. His tongue darts out as he wets his lips seemingly without thought and that familiar desire that’s been plaguing you the last six months since your breakup has you fidgeting where you stand. He’s so effortlessly hot and the thought of getting on your knees right here and now for him hits you out of nowhere and only burns you further. Wow, where did that come from?

You haven’t been with anyone since you ended things with Nick, and you may be horny, but you’re not desperate… Are you?

You swallow hard and extend your hand to him, offering him your name as you do. He smiles with a deft chuckle, looking from your hand back up to your eyes before he takes your hand in his, seeming to ease some tension in him you hadn’t noticed before. Maybe not tension, maybe anxiousness? But no, that couldn’t be it. His smile is so easy there’s no way the word confident wouldn’t be in your top choices to describe him.

“James,” he supplies as you shake his hand. His big, warm hand that you can’t help but imagine the weight of if he were to place it on your waist. He squeezes you just a bit and another wave of your sudden desire rolls through you.

“Nice to meet you,” you say, sounding a lot more sultry than you ever intended. His lips quirk and he takes a second before he responds, again, you get the funny feeling he’s working himself up to say what he does.

“Can I be honest with you?” he asks bluntly, waiting for your nod before he continues. “I saw you staring at me when you were on stage.”

Okay. Ha. Wow. You’re so hot you wouldn’t be surprised if steam was coming off your cheeks. God, you could just explode from your mortification at his words. Is he really calling you out like this, right to your face? Your cheeks are burning and you don’t know what to say. You suck your lips in your nervousness as you inhale a breath through your nose, letting your lips go as you suck your teeth when you release them. You look down as your tongue runs along the edges of your teeth. A nervous habit when you’re at a loss for words as you let out a breathy titter at being caught and having it brought up.

You hear a light laugh from him before your breath is stilled when he gently touches your chin, his touch warm as he tilts your face up so you’re looking at him once again.

You’re stalled in a sort of awe as his eyes seem to twinkle at you.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed,” he assures you, his voice smooth as silk, “I was staring back.”

The soft smirk on his lips lights you up as you unthinkingly wet your own. In any imagined scenario you would never have thought you’d be so receptive to a stranger coming on this strongly - so boldly and up front. But here you are. Receptive as hell. There’s something about him, about his approach, that has you even more attracted to him than you were at first glance…er, stare. His voice, his attitude, the way he’s looking at you. As if he knows exactly what he wants, and he’s going for it. As if the very thing he wants right now, is you.

“Your eyes alone are captivating, but there’s something else about you,” he muses, “you got on stage and it was like I couldn’t look away.”

You almost have to force yourself to take a breath before you can talk. “The dress,” you quip with a small shrug.

“The dress,” he looks down at your body once more, a funny fluttering setting your core alight under his gaze, “well it definitely helped. It’s nice,” he compliments, his hand reaching to touch the fabric and grazing your hip. At his touch his eyes flick up to gauge your reaction and, seeing what you’re sure is a dreamy like haze, he goes on. “Look, I have to teach a class here in half an hour so I’m just gonna cut to the chase,” he says, a hint of an east coast accent slipping in and becoming clearer in his voice as he speaks, “I think you’re gorgeous. And I think you might think I’m not so bad myself,” he half smiles as his lips twitch. “I know this is forward,” his eyes meet yours once more, “and there’s no expectation here.”

Your brows raise despite yourself as you wait for him to go on. He licks his lips again and takes a step closer to you.

“Do you wanna have sex with me?”

You inhale sharply as you pause, your lips parting with the breath.

Weirdly some far off part of you was kind of expecting that was where this was leading, but in the very same breath, you really were not expecting him to say that. Your mouth goes dry and your mind goes blank as you try and process his words. You know your immediate, no thought involved answer. But surely, this calls for some thought, doesn’t it?... It’s not like anonymous sex isn’t a thing, it’s just never been your thing. But you do have the rest of the day free and you’re riding on a kind of confidence high at the moment, and god is this man tempting.

A small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he stares at you, studying you and waiting for your yes or no.

“You do this a lot?” you ask instead.

He breathes a soft chuckle, “Never, actually,” he shakes his head, “but I’ve been out of the game for a while, recently been told I need to put myself out there, and I guess I don’t really know how to be anything other than direct these days.”

“Hm,” you look into his bright eyes, a sincerity there you don’t find in people often these days, “I guess I can appreciate that.”

“Is that a yes?”

Fuck it, you think. You’ve been pushing past your normal comfort zones all day. What’s a little sex with a hot stranger? …Right? You’re seconds away from saying yes, how could you not, you egg yourself on, but you figure you should make this as clear as you can. Not that his answer has much chance of changing yours.

“Is this just sex? Or…” you trail off.

“At the very present moment,” he specifies, “just sex.”

You nod in easy understanding, readily taking it for what it is, but he continues on.

“And if you wanna leave it at that, we’ll leave it at that, but if you’re interested in dinner later tonight, too, I’d be glad to buy. Pick you up and everything.”

“Oh, what a gentleman,” you simper with a titter you can’t suppress. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Mhm,”

“Sex?”

You nod with a smirk as he closes the gap between your bodies.

“Right now?” he adds again, getting the same response as you smile against his lips when he leans in closer.

He kisses you. You’re immediately lost to him as his lips touch yours, his stubble tickling your soft skin. It’s surprisingly tentative, slow and soft at first, like he’s testing the waters between you. After a long moment, he decides to pull away, not too far, only parting for a split second. You're struck by the fleeting feeling of his lips being on yours, it steals your breath as you mindlessly lean into him immediately looking for more. Your eyes meet again, there’s a glimmer of shared recognition and you know he feels the same, and then his lips are on yours even more hotly. You’ve always thought people were dramatic when they spoke about having sparks with someone, that it wasn’t a real experience, just hyperbole… exaggeration, but you’re realizing now you just hadn’t ever experienced it before. That spark, that zing, it is real. It must be, because as crazy and sudden as it is, you think you have it here.

His hand comes to hold your head, keeping you close as he leads you. You might be embarrassed by the way you melt into him if you were thinking of anything other than how good his touch is and how perfect his lips seem to meld with yours.

You’re filled with a thrilling excitement you don’t know you can compare to anything you’ve felt before. This is new and nice and as the kiss deepens, your nerves turn from jittery butterflies in your belly to a smoldering desire that burns lower and lower. His firm body is pressed to your soft one and his free hand falls to the tail of your back, holding you closer and keeping you there against him before his hand snakes to your hip, wandering up your curves as he feels as much of you as he can. Your own hands are against his stomach as you chase his kiss, fingers fisting the fabric of his button down shirt.

James nips at your bottom lip and you give him entry without a pause, his tongue slipping in your mouth as he kisses you fervently, like something out of a movie. You’ve never been in a situation like this, and you can say with certainty you’ve never been kissed like this either.

You let your hands slide up his torso until you find the first button. As if you’ve done it a million times, you easily begin the tedious task of unbuttoning each one - though you take your time, not wanting to break any as you’re still caught in his hold, still lost in his kiss.

You hate having to break away but you need a breath and despite the loss of contact with your lips, James’ continues to travel along your skin. From your cheek to your jaw and down your neck as you angle yourself to allow him more access, all the while your fingers do their work and your breathing turns heavier. Once the buttons are undone you pull the tails of his shirt from his pants. His hands are still on you, feeling you as he kisses your delicate skin.

Your hands stabilize yourself by holding his sides as he yanks you closer to him still. He’s much thicker than he looked, you realize as you touch him. Your hands wander up his back, wanting to get his undertank off as soon as humanly possible so you can really feel the muscles there.

He brings an arm around your waist and his other hand glides down your back until he gets to your bottom, groaning in your neck as he squeezes you there.

“Buck?”

A loud voice breaks the trance the two of you have been under and causes you to jump as you hear the doors closing and footsteps coming around the side staircase, bringing a different man into view.

You’re startled, and James gallantly moves you just behind him despite your still fully clothed state. You’re still grateful though, you know you must look a little mussed, your cardigan falling down your arms and James’ undone shirt hardly producing any air of innocence about what was unfolding just moments ago.

“Oh, sorry,” the man starts with inquiring eyes, looking between the both of you. He’s just as tall as James and has eyes just as blue. He’s clean shaven, though and not as bulky. Still, they look like they could be brothers. “Professor?” he asks, “Am I interrupting something?���

“She’s not a student, Guy,” James responds, annoyance clear as day in his voice. “I’m not Drysdale.”

“Right,” Guy says on a light, breathy laugh, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He seems uncomfortable at the mention. You see him as he eyes James’ still undone shirt.

“What do you need, Guy?” James asks firmly, getting his eyes back on him.

“It can wait,” he brushes off, “just wanted to say thanks for letting the theatre use the stage again, we appreciate it.” His eyes flick to you and he seems to make a connection. “Elmire?”

Your eyes meet his in surprise, “Um, yeah,” you nod with a small smile, shifting your weight from one leg to the other, arms crossed over your chest.

“Tartuffe,” he gestures to himself with a smile of his own. You suddenly recognize him and take a step forward.

“Wait, did I see you in Death of a Salesman the other month?”

“Yes,” he smiles even more sincerely now, “yes, it’s the year of the classics at the theatre,” he chuckles.

“Right, yeah, you were incredible. Really great performance,” you compliment him.

“Thank you very much. I heard good things just now about your audition, I’m assuming you’re -,”

James interrupts Guy by supplying your name himself, causing you both to look at him. You fight a smile at the sound of it on his lips.

“Well then,” Guy looks back toward you, clearing his throat a bit, “I will be seeing you at your callback,” he turns to James, “and I will be seeing you in the office later.”

He takes a step back, “It was nice to meet you, and thank you again, Bucky.”

The name catches your attention as Guy walks off and James turns back to face you.

He sighs as he looks at you, reaching for your hand which you allow him to take.

His touch is deceptively delicate and you can’t pretend you don’t like it.

“Bucky?” you question. He meets your gaze and gives a sheepish half smile.

“Nickname.”

You nod, “Ah. Makes sense,” you lilt, holding his eye. “Suits you.”

“You can call me Bucky if you’d like. Like the way it sounds when you say it.”

You huff a laugh, looking away. He continues on, “I’m sorry for that interruption, I uhm,” he let’s go of your hand and moves to start buttoning his shirt back up, “I think we’re gonna have to try this again later,” he pauses, glancing back to you, “if you’re still-,”

“I am,” you smile, cutting him off.

He finishes tucking in his shirt and then immediately takes another step closer to you.

His eyes are scrutinizing in the best way as he takes your face gently in his hands, your own coming to hold his wrists; his bright gaze shining into your own. It feels intimate but strangely…right.

“I guess I should be thanking Guy,” he muses. Your brows furrow in unvoiced questioning. His lips quirk at the face you make. “I was taking the advice of someone I’d never normally take advice from being so forward with you. Honestly, it’s not really me,” he admits, admiring the soft smile of your own gracing your lips at his words. “I’m more of the courting type.” You laugh brightly at his choice of words as he smirks. “Old fashioned, I know.”

“No, that’s..That’s good. More my speed. I was uh, stepping a little ways out of my comfort zone with this myself.”

The want that had been burning between you two wasn’t exactly boiling over at the moment, but despite the space between you now, it was still there... Call it a low simmer.

He pulls you closer as you wet your lips and his nose brushes yours. You’re certain he’s about to kiss you and your eyes flutter shut but instead, Bucky pulls away. He lets you go as he bites his own lip and you both hear the opening of the door again before you hear multiple footsteps follow in.

“My class is starting soon. But,” he gets his phone from his back pocket and hands it to you, “we’re still on for dinner?”

You take his phone with a demure smile, feeling somewhat grateful for the shift in direction, and send yourself a text message, saving your contact in his phone before handing it back, his fingers grazing your own. “I’d really like that.”

Students begin to file in and get seated around the auditorium as you stand with Bucky.

You turn to grab your bag and your coffee cup, then face him again. You glance around and notice you’re still relatively alone, most of the students have sat toward the middle of the auditorium, and no eyes seem to be on you, but you keep your voice low anyway.

“And I do get it if you really want to go slow here, but, if you want to…ya know, try this,” you raise your brows, hoping to communicate your meaning, “again, tonight, I’d be up for that, too.”

He nods, a schoolboy smile on his lips as he admires you.

Your lips twitch with a smile of their own, “I’ll see you later.”

You feel a renewed giddiness as you turn from him and he returns your ‘bye’. His eyes are on you as you make your way down the steps and follow you until he can’t any further. You liked the feeling.

Call you crazy, but you think you just might be developing feelings for Bucky already as it is, despite not knowing much more than he seems to be a kind man, gentle, confident, insanely attractive…. You wouldn’t be surprised if this dinner solidified those feelings and more, even further. You’re looking forward to talking with him, really getting to know him.

You may not be one for sex with a stranger, but sex after the first date doesn’t sound too out there for you... Especially not when that date is with Bucky.

[nataliescatorccioapologist]

Season 3 Official Trailer Breakdown

*Huge disclaimer that this show is so unpredictable that all of my guesses will probably be wrong. I know many of these shots are probably misdirections and missing important context.*

Lottie spotted alive and well and looking great (with a bodyguard? Or just a very well dressed man?)

A series of scenes that imply Nat is definitely in some hot water this season. It seems that she might have known where Coach Ben was but didn’t tell the group to protect him, which pisses the rest of the group off enough to question her leadership. Unlike Lottie, Nat wasn’t chosen by the group to lead them, which will likely result in tension and resentment from those who feel like she didn’t earn her new title. The group is shifting towards ferocity and darker morals, so maybe Nat can't meet the group’s needs or take them down the path they want to go on. Maybe the trial we saw in the first trailer was actually related to Nat? But why would Coach Ben be there in the background for that?

With the way Nat looks on her knees in the middle of the group and the vitriol she seems to be facing, I am so interested to see how she makes it out of this alive. However, I do think it’s important to note that, in the close up shot we get of her with blood on her face, there are no actual wounds visible. It could be someone else’s blood!

And related to that, we see the group setting up what appears to be a makeshift table. As we saw with Javi, I wonder if this table is being set up to butcher something (or someone) on. Or just to have a nice innocent family feast on.

I think it’s interesting to note that the clip immediately following this is Nat in what appears to be an apron with her hair pulled back. To me this looks like Nat is going to be the one doing the butchering in this scene (the apron and her hair being pulled back implies that she’s trying not to get blood on her clothes and hair). Could Nat be relegated to Shauna’s role as the butcher after Shauna becomes the new leader? Or is she just filling in for the moment?

It looks like Travis might be getting bit here (by Shauna?) while Lottie laughs. I really have no guesses as to what’s going on here. Maybe Travis stood up for Nat and therefore was attacked? I have a feeling Travis is going to be very conflicted as to where his loyalties lie this season, which might make him a target. The first image could actually be Mari getting the chomp, though, as we have already seen a clip of Shauna biting her hand in the previous trailer.

It looks like Tai is attacking Van here (!!), which I'm willing to bet is Other Tai taking over, and we also see Tai screaming and crying (which I'm guessing is related to her attacking Van?). I'm wondering if this could be some kind of nightmare Taissa is having of losing control and hurting Van, which reflects how she is afraid of herself and her lack of control over her darker alternate. Or it could be her actually attacking Van. And is it just me or does it look like they are wearing the same outfits in the attacking scene and the scene where they're running through the street?

It looks like Shauna (and likely the other survivors) will be receiving some threatening letters and tape recordings from an unknown source (Shauna says that someone is trying to kill them for what they did in the wilderness). It looks like Shauna received both a letter (notably addressed to Shauna Shipman, not Sadecki, which could be a way of hinting that this person knows her past) and a tape? And then it looks like she is trying to secretly play the tape in her bathroom (trying to hide it from Callie and Jeff?).

There's another clip of Mari running from the group again and hiding behind a tree, very reminiscent of when Nat hid behind the tree after drawing the Queen card in S2. Even though Mari does look genuinely scared here, the second clip of Mari laughing with Van in what appears to be the same scene makes me wonder if this is actually not Mari running for her life and rather just a fun game the YJs are playing. Maybe they're literally playing tag or something? Or maybe they were playing a harmless game which quickly devolved into something darker.

A closer shot of Tai holding the gun. This time, we can see she is not as stoic as she appeared in the promotional images we saw before. She's crying, and I feel like that combined with the following clip of blood splattered on some leaves nearby confirms that Tai put to the task of shooting someone in this scene. Mari is in the background, so its not her, so is it Coach Ben? Why is Tai the one chosen to carry it out?

We see more of that scene where Shauna is being pulled down into the lake by someone/something. I truly have no idea what is going on in this scene. I am kind of hoping that its Nat taking revenge and trying to threaten her/drown her but I am 90% sure that's not going to happen. Who do we think would try to drown Shauna?

Pretty sure this is Mari spraying Shauna with some kind of mace! And by the looks of it, Shauna probably deserves it (sorry). Maybe this is following the scene where Shauna is trying to bite Mari's hand and then Mari sprays her with whatever this is to defend herself?

A shot of a hooded figure holding the rifle, with some other hooded figures following behind. To me this looks like some kind of search party, like they are hunting someone down who ran away and hid. I wonder if they're looking for Nat? Especially after Shauna's "We'll give the wilderness what it wants" line. They could also be searching for Coach Ben or Mari.

Tai and Misty about to smother someone to death in a hospital?? I would think this person must know too much about what they did in the wilderness and therefore they have to kill him. Another part of me is really just hoping they're smothering Lottie's dad to death because I know he's going to be in this season and I really hate that guy, but I am also pretty sure that's just wishful thinking on my part.

Things aren't looking too good for Akilah. The expression on her face and the way she's being held up by someone make it seem like she just got shot or stabbed/is actively dying. But not sure if they would be bold enough to show that in the trailer. Whatever is happening to Akilah here, she definitely doesn't look like she's doing too great.

I'll say it: I think we're getting a Pit Girl reveal this season! Or at least we will get up to the point in the storyline right before Pit Girl. These are the same outfits we see the group donning in the opening scene of the pilot episode. We can clearly see the skunk head (referred to as The Hunter in the script) who was standing over the pit trap looking down at Pit Girl's body. It is still pretty impossible to tell who's who. But I think this tells us that Season 3 will go through spring, summer, and into the beginning of the second winter (or we could just be getting flash-forwards to winter). Looks like they've gone full feral at this point, they've got spears and they are definitely hunting someone down. I wonder if this is actually the Pit Girl scene itself, just from the perspective of the hunters now instead of the prey.

This is pretty much confirmed to be Lottie given that we have behind the scenes photos of Simone Kessell wearing this exact dress and heels. Lottie, I am so scared for you, please be okay. hoping she's just passed out or something. Or maybe she just got tired and she's taking a nap...on a dark mysterious concrete floor surrounded by candles.

And last but absolutely not least we have Lottie eating the fuck out of someone with blood all over her face. The cannibalism in this season has been turned up to 11 for sure.

--

There are some shots that I left out because I ran out of room! There are just so many details in this trailer that I want to unpack, but I tried to pick out the ones I found most important. Some other important shots not mentioned were the arrow in the tree trunk (I'm guessing this is actually the adult timeline since I'm really not sure where the girls would get an arrow like that in the wilderness, unless it belongs to someone outside of the group👀), a Queen card being picked up off the street in the adult timeline, the floating lantern scene we have seen in promotional photos, the girls having a feast, Travis walking with the rifle, and the girls running around their makeshift huts having fun (wholesome).

[wellofdean]

got these tags today from prev: #i think it's beautiful bc it didn't set out to be queer#life uh finds a way#it's not the best television ever#like not legit among the greats#but it had some incredible moments

And like... I have made a LOT of posts, at great length saying why I think Dean was always imagined as a queer character, and where the queerness was baked into the DNA of the show from episode one, and which I will not reprise here, but as much as I disagree that the queer glory of Supernatural is something it tripped and fell into by accident somehow, and without everyone involved knowing that queerness was part of what they were making, I do agree with something here: it's beautiful because it was a fucking journey.

Supernatural was not like today's prestige television with a tight 8-10 episodes and a fully planned narrative from day one, it was old-timey TV that arose out of things like Twin Peaks and The X-Files, falling somewhere between a weekly procedural and a serial. It had broad plot arcs sketched out, but the day-to-day grind of writing and making it was driven by characters that took on depth and meaning as it went along; network television long seasons with lots of filler that did nothing to further the serial plot, but let us get to know the characters, who became more and more lovable and real the more time we spent with them, in an organic way.

Maybe my Gen-X is showing here, but there's something beautiful about something that feels open-ended, isn't there? I mean, Supernatural STILL feels open-ended. Like, any moment now patient zero Jensen is going to suit up and tell us more of Dean's story, and we won't know where it's going and it will be fucking GREAT just to spend any time whatsoever with Dean? Television nowadays feels so PLANNED and yeah, there's some great stuff out there, but Supernatural had something special and fucking great that doesn't really exist anymore.

Like, what does it mean "one of the best" or "legit among the greats"? Supernatural was 15 years of storytelling, and for all the fucking kvetching on this, the Supernatural website, about its vagaries, it was pretty consistently well written. Jensen Ackles is a legit great actor who is seriously underrated for his sheer fucking craft, and as much as it is undeniable that Supernatural has some genuinely silly episodes, taken as a whole, when all of it is in your mind, the themes and threads in it are unironically epic in scope, and it has legitimately interesting things to say about those themes. AND it has incredible moments. AND the most devastaingly romantic love story I can think of.

Like, fellas, it's one of the best TO ME. It's legit among MY greats, and I would argue it deserves a place up there.

I got this one hobby horse, and god knows I'm gonna saddle up and ride it: Supernatural was a legitimately good show and it was queer as hell in its very bones.

[ragingbookdragon]

Note To Self, Can't Make Somebody Be Made For You

Tyler Owens x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 1.6K Warnings: Angst

Author's Note: A teeny tiny filler for the series! Read the previous part here!

**********************************************************************

She sat in the back of her father’s workshop, attention focused on the piece of wood she was whittling away at. Her gaze barely lifted as her father walked in and set his cup of coffee on the workshop table, pulling up another chair beside her as he sat down and began reading the morning paper. The morning sun cast rays through the glass panes along the wooden floor, dust shimmering in the warm air, and she sat in a comfortable silence with the man, listening to the sound of pages flicking.

“That supposed to be a duck?” he asked, eyes not moving from the paper he read, and she huffed through her nose.

“Well, I was going for a pigeon,” she answered humoredly, and he smiled, sipping his coffee; she looked at him. “Mom send you out here?”

His nose scrunched. “You’re in my workshop. What if I came out here to do work things?” She simply looked at him with an arched brow and he huffed. “Your mom’s worried, sweetheart. You’ve been awfully…quiet since you came back from Oklahoma.”

“I’m fine,” she said. “I’m just dealing with things.”

He looked at her. “Talk to me, pumpkin. What’s going on?” his hand found hers and he brushed his thumb over the back of hers. “You don’t leave during storm seasons unless something is really wrong.”

She looked away, gently pulling her hand back to continue whittling; she stayed silent for a moment, then murmured, “You remember Tyler?”

“Hillbilly from Arkansas you never shut up about?” he smiled when she glared at him. “Yes, I remember Tyler. He only comes to the house for every other summer.”

“I’m in love with him.” when he didn’t say anything, she glanced at him, seeing him staring back expectingly. “What?”

“I asked what’s wrong, not what’s obvious.”

“That’s what’s wrong!” she griped. “I’m in love with him and he’s in love with another woman.” She shoved his side. “You’re a man. Tell me why he didn’t notice sooner.”

“You really don’t want me to, pumpkin.”

“Hit me.”

“Men are idiots,” he deadpanned, and she made a noise in agreement; he took another sip of his coffee. “So, you left because he didn’t love you back.”

“No,” she growled. “I left because I couldn’t stand watching him fall in love with her.”

“Who’s her?”

“Kate,” she snapped. “All perfect and pretty and…and…” she deflated. “And smart, and funny, and kind…and all the things Tyler likes.”

“But not you,” he murmured, and she lowered her head.

“Dad, he called me and told me he missed me making his coffee.”

“Did he say it exactly like that?”

“What?”

“I mean did he literally say, ‘hey I missed how you made my coffee since I left’?”

She frowned. “I mean…not exactly. I…didn’t exactly give him a chance to explain how he felt.”

“Because you were mad?”

She looked down. “Hurt.” She sighed. “Dad, I did so much for Tyler and the group. I called and made motel reservations, I called weather agencies ahead of time. I made sure everyone had food and drinks, and gear ready, and so much more. And I did it all for him and he never noticed a single time that I did it because I loved him.”

He watched her for a moment before he murmured, “I loved a woman before I met your mother.” Her gaze lifted, but he looked far away. “Her name was Rosita. And…she was my everything. I loved that woman more than life itself.” He stared into his coffee cup. “And I did everything for her. Everything I could to make her feel loved, and happy, and comfortable.”

“But it wasn’t enough?” she asked softly.

He smiled sadly. “She never knew I loved her,” he said, and her eyes widened.

“You never…?”

“She was married to my best friend,” he answered. “And I had to watch as the woman I would’ve given everything for just a moment of her time, fall in love with the man I was supposed to support through anything.” He looked at her, and firmly, but lovingly said, “Pumpkin, you can’t make somebody be made for you. And you can’t make Tyler’s heart be yours just because you did everything for him.”

Tears swam in her vision, and she felt her chest tighten. “I just…I just wanted it to be him.”

“I know, pumpkin,” he murmured, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “But Tyler’s his own man just as you’re your own woman. And your hearts are your own to give to whoever you choose, not to who you’re indebted to. If Tyler loves another woman, you should be happy that he found someone he loves and who loves him too.” He looked her in her eyes. “Your other half is out there, even if it isn’t him, and you need to let him know that. It’s not his fault that he doesn’t feel the same. Just like it wasn’t Rosita’s fault she didn’t feel the same for me.”

She bit her lip to keep it from wobbling. “I don’t know if I can, dad,” she whispered.

“Why not, pumpkin?” he asked softly.

“I told him I didn’t want him to call or text me…or talk to me…”

He sighed wistfully. “Women, their emotions, and their broken hearts.” He laughed when she swatted at him. “Give him a call, pumpkin. He’ll answer.”

“What if he doesn’t?” she asked, and he shrugged.

“Men are idiots, I don’t know, send that pigeon-duck you’ve got there,” he said, nodding to the carving in her hand.

“If I send it, I’m throwing it at him.”

“Good deal, give him a real headache to deal with other than you. Now, get out of my workshop. I’ve got work to do,” he ushered her from the chair and up towards the door.

“What work?” she shot back. “You sit in here and do nothing the entire day.”

“Out,” he swatted with the newspaper, and she paused as she stopped by the door.

“Thanks, dad,” she said, and he smiled.

“Anytime, pumpkin.”

***

She kept thumping at the steering wheel of her truck, fingers twitching to call, but the worry in her chest kept her from it.

What if he didn’t answer?

What if he did and he was angry?

What if he did answer and he told her that he loved her?

She groaned and grabbed her phone, flicking through her contacts until she found his; with a sharp breath, she pressed “Call” and waited.

It rang.

And rang.

And rang, until,

Hey, you’ve reached Tyler Owens. I’m busy at the moment but if you leave me your name and number, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks!

She felt her heart tighten, but then it beeped, and she exhaled.

“Hey…Tyler, it’s me. I know…I know I said I didn’t want you to call or text, and, well, I’m calling. I…look, I owe you…an apology.” She let out a breath as she saw the light turn green. “It wasn’t fair of me to put my feelings on you. And I’m sorry. My feelings are mine to deal with and I shouldn’t have left you and the team high and dry.” She stepped on the gas and began turning. “Look, I know you asked if we could still be friends…and I’d like that. I’d like to keep being friends. If you could give me a call when you get this message…I’d like to talk again.” She pulled out into the center of the intersection. “You mean a lot to me, Tyler. You…your friendship means a lot to me. And again, I just wanted to say—”

Metal tore against metal as 40 tons of steel t-boned the side of her Dodge, slamming her against the driver’s side door as the truck lurched and rolled across the asphalt, glass and shards of semi and truck scattered across the road. Her phone lay in the back seat somewhere, still recording as countless other drivers got out of their cars and began running over.

***

Tyler watched as Kate smiled at the cashier as she ordered, a warmth in his chest at the sight of her. They’d certainly grown closer since going into the storm chasing business together. Two meteorologists sticking their heads together worked better than one. He felt his phone vibrating in his pocket, and he pulled it out, a frown crossing his lips as he saw her name flashing across the screen. He hesitated, thumb hovering over the answer button, but something stopped him, and he waited, watching as it rang and went to voicemail. It went on for what seemed like forever until his screen went black and then he tapped it, looking down at the notification of her voicemail.

Something twisted uncomfortably in his gut as he unlocked his phone and went to his voice messages. His thumb hovered over the message, but he struggled with what he wanted to do. She wanted to be left alone. She didn't want him to call or text her, and here she was, calling and leaving him a message. Tyler stared at her name, feeling a mix of emotions, and he slid his thumb over it until the red bar covered it, and it disappeared.

"Tyler?" Kate called softly, holding the to-go boxes of their food. "You, okay?"

He looked up at her, feeling a calm settle over his chest and he nodded. "Yeah, I'm good. Here, lemme get that for you. Ladies shouldn't carry heavy things." He took the bags from her and looped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close as he led her back to his truck. “Now, you have got to tell me more stories about you as a kid, ‘cause the ones your mom told back in Oklahoma were hilarious.”

Kate huffed. “I am not telling you anymore stories from my childhood.”

“Why not?” he teased. “Afraid I’ll laugh.”

She smiled. “No…”

“Yes…” he smiled back at her. “Tell me, I wanna hear them.”

Kate sighed. “Oh fine…but only because you sound so sincere.”

[miwiheroes]

Dropping Byler Evidence Every Day Until Season 5

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ Day 20: Phonegate . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Here I am today talking about whether phonegate is canon or not, but I also want to point out a new point that I feel like no one talks about because apparently you're only ever allowed to be completely on one side of things and never on the fence on this tag but hello:

If phonegate is real, it is a byler proof.

If phonegate is not real, it is also a byler proof.

Um okay hear me out.

Firstly, let's talk about Phonegate being REAL, then I'll get onto my explanation of the possibility of it not being real still being a byler proof.

REAL

First of all, let me clarify, I truly believe that phonegate is canon. But on the slight chance that it is not, it still doesn't negate byler. Anyways, onto the Real.

Will and Mike both have an argument in Rink o Mania about not being able to contact each other. It's clear that Will is angry about the fact that Mike hasn't called and believes that he doesn't care as much as Mike about their friendship. This is a misunderstanding.

Mike then throws this back at Will because he also has the misunderstanding that Will doesn't care as much about his friendship. We find out that this is because: Mike can't seem to get in touch with Will on the phone -> Mike hears from El that Will is painting for someone else (which is their thing) -> Mike finds out that the painting 'is not for him' in the airport and that it's 'nothing' -> Mike notices that Will has been acting strange all day and is annoyed that he's ignoring him -> Mike says that he's sorry he acted so offended, but he only did that because he was scared that he'd lost Will.

Therefore, something must have happened for Mike to have felt like he'd lost Will. He would never have felt that way if he hadn't tried to call him.

Now, one thing that I've noticed is that Will never tried to call Mike. And I was like, well, I guess Mike has the right to question that of Will right? Well, this misunderstanding gets fixed by the painting. This is because the painting proves that while Will didn't call Mike, he was still thinking about him. He was still thinking about Mike and doing something for him. So while Mike thought he had lost Will, he really had Will this whole time. Which is why the painting being commissioned by El is such a disappointment for him.

The painting, when it gets revealed to him, is proof to Mike that Will hadn't been lost during that time period. YAY! But when Will says it was commissioned from El, Mike gets disappointed because it means to him that Will hadn't been thinking of Mike the whole time, in his eyes. If that makes sense??

AND THEN.... we get the thing about "Mike won't stop whining about it."

This is not about El.

Mike talks about 'stealing Cerebro from Dustin' at the end of S3 in relation to calling El, not discussing the phone at all. As you can see in this image as well, there is a radio in the Mike box, implying that El uses this specific radio to talk to Mike. It is also a major plot point in season 4 that the government are looking for El and that El has to be called Jane because the government are looking for her, so Mike cannot call her on the phone because the government listens to phone calls.

I think that Dustin saying "Mike won't stop whining about it" proves that Mike has been trying to get into contact with Will this entire time, proving that the Rink o Mania scene was one of those classic "letters? you wrote me letters?" tropes that happens super often with romantic couples.

Also the fact that DUSTIN says this is interesting because he was the one trying to get into contact with Suzie in S3. The fact that he is also Will's friend as well as Mike shows that only Mike whining about it implies something deeper about their friendship. Surely Dustin and Lucas should be whining about it too if Will's their friend? But no, it's just Mike, showing that his feelings are more than friendship.

So there's one more discrepancy left in this narrative: If Mike had called, why didn't he just tell Will? And solve their argument?

And to that I say: because he's gay and has internalised homophobia my guy. All this previous proof SHOWS that he definitely called Will. So why did he lie? He lied because he would rather have Will get annoyed at him than look incriminating. Calling Will over and over is something that he has romanticised in his head, and this is simply confirmed by the fact he doesn't say it. Mike was calling Will because he loves him, therefore he doesn't want to say it because it would seem that way to Will. Therefore, Will not talking to him is the best case scenario for him. He would rather Will not talk to him for this reason than the other one.

This was not an act of selfishness. It was an act of self-sacrifice. It seems, on the surface, that Mike is being bitchy about Will not calling him back, but underneath OH BOY he's prioritising Will like he always has..... just in a different way, by not making him uncomfortable by his romantic actions.

More Proof that this is a plot point in the show is the Stranger Things game leaving a litttleee Easter egg:

UM EXCUSE ME WHAT IS THIS????? A very very obvious clue if you ask me holy shit.

Overall, PHONEGATE IS FUCKING HUGE. There are also many other little easter eggs that I don't even think I can go into right now. (For example, little subtle focuses on the Byers' phone and the phone being something associated with Will constantly) I truly think that phonegate is canon and proves that Mike romanticises his actions surrounding Will, that Mike really did think he lost Will and this means the painting plot is just made even more painful.

But there is another possibility.....

NOT REAL

On the off chance that the Duffers did not write this plot extremely seamlessly, and that Mike is just a jerk who did not even try to contact Will and just blames it all on him, it still kind of seems like a byler proof to me even if he didn't call.

Not calling kind of implies that something is keeping him from wanting to call. He also ends up apologising for this, feeling like he had lost Will. This means that the reason for not calling him was being too afraid that Will was having fun without him. And we can see from the ending of S3, that Mike has just realised something big about Will.

So, if we want to go with the narrative of Mike having internalised homophobia, it makes sense for him to have either phoned Will a bunch of times but doesn't tell him because it would be too incriminating..... OR

It also makes sense for him to have not phoned at all because that action would ALSO be too incriminating for him to do, because he sees phoning him and writing letters to him as a romantic thing to do.

SOOOOO basically, phonegate being canon would be the best way to write this storyline and proves that Mike must have internalised homophobia because he sees him calling Will all the time as a romantic, incriminating thing (also it makes the painting lie more devastating so it would be a cool plot point) BUT if it is not canon, while this won't be the best writing choice, it would still prove Mike has internalised homophobia because it means he romanticises calling Will, and doesn't do it in the first place, because it would be incriminating.

[loverangels]

HRSJIDJE IM BACK HII 🫰😋 I HAVE SOME MORE IDEAS since exams r finally done.

What about percy x cluess!reader that doesnt seem to get all the flirty action percy has been showing and thinks he's just friendly like that. Maybe throw in a hc about reader being in an aphrodite kid, and doesnt think that anyone could like them romantically cause they thinks its just due to them being aphrodite's child, and percy tries to show them that regardless of what god parent they have, he still likes us.

Can you tell my brain is fried?

-🌸

sooner

pairings: percy jackson x daughter of aphrodite!reader

a/n: I'm in love with this request you never fail to serve with your requests nonnie!!! I wish you all the best for your exams and I hope this can be a little treat since I know how horrible exam season can be! Make sure to take care of yourself love!! 🩷🌸

The sun hung low in the sky, casting golden hues across Camp Half-Blood as you walked alongside Percy. He was smiling in that easy, boyish way he always did, his hands casually shoved in his pockets as he glanced at you.

“So,” Percy said, bumping your shoulder lightly. “What’s the latest from Aphrodite cabin? You guys always seem to have, like, ten soap operas running at once.”

You laughed. “You’re not wrong. Yesterday, Drew tried to use a love potion on one of the Apollo kids, but she mixed it wrong, and now he won’t stop declaring his undying love for a watermelon.”

Percy chuckled. “Classic. But what about you? Any love drama of your own? Got your eye on anyone special?”

You tilted your head, considering. “Me? No, no one. Why?”

Percy stumbled a little, but quickly covered it up with a shrug. “Oh, no reason. Just curious.”

He glanced at you, waiting for some kind of reaction, hoping for even the tiniest flicker of realization. But you just smiled at him, completely oblivious. Percy sighed internally. How could you not see it? The way he went out of his way to make you laugh, the way he made excuses to spend time with you, the way he felt like his heart might actually explode every time you smiled at him.

But to you, Percy was just a friend. And no matter how many hints he dropped, you didn’t seem to noticem

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Later that evening, Percy found himself standing outside the Aphrodite cabin. Again. He stared at the door for a moment, debating whether to turn around, but then he sighed and knocked.

When the door swung open, your older brother leaned against the frame, looking completely unimpressed.

“Seriously?” he said, crossing his arms. “You’ve been here so much, we’re starting to think you’re an honorary sibling.”

Percy flushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, uh… I just… I need advice. Again.”

The brother groaned and stepped aside, yelling over his shoulder, “Hey, lovebirds! Seaweed Brain’s back!”

Your siblings erupted in laughter as Percy shuffled in, his face red as a tomato.

“You’re still trying to get through to her, huh?” one of your sisters teased, lounging on her bed. “This is, what, the fourth time this week?”

“Sixth,” your brother corrected, smirking. “At this rate, we’re gonna have to start charging you.”

Percy sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what else to do! I flirt with her constantly, but she just smiles and changes the subject. I even asked her today if she liked anyone, and she said no!”

The group collectively groaned, and your brother flopped dramatically onto a couch.

“She is so oblivious,” one of your sisters muttered. “I love her, but gods, it’s painful to watch.”

“Have you tried being direct?” your brother asked, giving Percy a pointed look.

Percy frowned. “I’ve been trying! I’ve dropped hints, I’ve asked leading questions, I’ve been—”

“No, no, no,” your brother interrupted, waving his hand. “You don’t ‘hint’ at things with her. That’s like trying to teach a rock to swim. You have to be blunt. Like, hit-her-over-the-head-with-it blunt.”

“Tell her,” one of your sisters added. “Straight up. No room for her to misinterpret it.”

“She’s gonna think I’m crazy…” Percy mumbled.

“She already thinks you’re crazy,” your brother deadpanned. “Just own it. March up to her, look her in the eye, and say, ‘Hey, I like you. I’ve been flirting with you for weeks, and you haven’t noticed, so now I’m telling you.’”

The room went silent for a beat, everyone nodding in agreement. Percy groaned. “This is a terrible idea.”

“It’s your only shot, Jackson,” your brother said, patting him on the back. “Go get her.”

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The next day, Percy found you by the canoe lake, skipping stones across the water. He took a deep breath, his heart racing, and walked over.

“Hey,” he said, smiling nervously. “Got room for one more?”

You glanced up, your face lighting up when you saw him. “Of course. You’re always welcome, Percy.”

His heart skipped a beat. You had no idea what you did to him when you said things like that.

For a while, the two of you sat in companionable silence, watching the ripples spread across the lake. Then Percy cleared his throat, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

“So,” he began, his voice a little shaky. “There’s, uh… there’s something I need to tell you.”

You turned to him, your brow furrowing in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Percy said quickly. “It’s just… I’ve been trying to tell you something for a while now, but I don’t think I’ve done a very good job of it.”

You tilted your head, confused. “What do you mean?”

Percy took a deep breath, summoning every ounce of courage he had. “I like you. Like, like-like you. And before you say anything, no, it’s not just as a friend. I think you’re amazing, and funny, and brave, and honestly, you’re all I think about.”

You blinked at him, completely stunned. “Wait… what?”

“I like you,” Percy repeated, his face turning red. “As in, I’ve been flirting with you for weeks because I have a massive crush on you.”

You stared at him, your brain struggling to process his words. “But… I thought you were just being nice!”

Percy groaned, running a hand down his face. “How could you possibly think that? I literally asked your siblings for advice because I didn’t know how to tell you!”

“You talked to my siblings?” you asked, wide-eyed.

“Yes!” Percy exclaimed. “Half the Aphrodite cabin is sick of me because I’ve been driving them crazy trying to figure out how to get you to notice me.”

You blinked again, the pieces finally clicking into place. “Oh…”

Percy laughed weakly. “Yeah. Oh.”

There was a long silence as you stared at each other, Percy’s heart pounding in his chest. Finally, you smiled.

“Well,” you said softly, “you could’ve just told me sooner.”

Percy groaned. “You’re impossible.”

But then you leaned in, pressing a quick, soft kiss to his lips. When you pulled away, Percy’s face was bright red, but he was grinning like an idiot.

“Yeah,” he said breathlessly. “Totally worth it.”

[lesbianalanwake]

Severance S2E2:

--holy shit. I see why the season is 10 episodes instead of 9. two episodes to resolve the S1 finale and wind up to the pitch. there was so much legwork in this episode, and so much tension that I could barely sit still.

--I hope they paid Milchick a big overtime bonus in addition to his new salary!!! man did all that in 48 hours!!!

--Mark and Devon.... Mark being in denial about the possibility that Mark S could have been talking about Gemma, when we later see that it's been weighing on him heavily and he needed to talk to Cobel to confront it. it's such a small, small hope.... if he believes in the possibility that Gemma is alive, and it turns out that she is not, it would destroy him completely, and he's already come so close to destroying himself while grieving the first time. but Devon! Devon is so sharp! she knows her brother, and she glimpsed a younger, lighter version of her brother that she hasn't seen in a long time, and she clocked his tone and body language and everything about the situation correctly! and she can't live with the unanswered question of whether Gemma could be alive, because she misses her sister-in-law and misses who her brother used to be! she can't stop thinking about it while Mark is doing everything in his power to not think about it! aaaaah!

--Cobel bookending this episode by being as unhinged and mysterious as ever. we don't even know if she accepted the advisory council position! what is she up to! the final scene is so fucking good because I was like "I bet she's thinking about hitting Mark with her car," and then she screams like a bat out of hell and almost does just that LMAO. and she's still telling him to quit, even though Lumon is doing something significant with Gemma and "Cold Harbor," enough that they need Mark back to finish it, and Cobel knows what it is and wants something from it, and now Mark knows for sure that Gemma is alive because he needed to look Cobel in the eye and ask. I love their weird fucking dynamic. she's so fucking mad at Lumon, but maybe cares about Mark in her own unhinged way?? and his feelings were HURT that she lied to him because he went straight for the only thing that could maybe hurt her feelings a little bit in turn ("I ate your shitty fucking cookies").

--makes me hope that Cobel gets a "villain turned weird ally" arc, and that Milchick is right behind her, because he's already getting a taste of how thankless the severed floor manager position is, getting no guidance beyond "let Kier guide your heart" and having to defend the feat he managed to pull together in 48 hours.

--which brings me to: HELENA. HELENAAA. class traitor arc INCOMING. the "behind the scenes" bit reinforced this too: she is living in a gilded cage (the shot of her on the top floor with the windows acting as bars!) and seeing that her innie of all people gets affection and respect in a way that she never has, and she is enthralled. you can do it baby! I hope you kill your dad!

- I'm glad they clarified that the correct term for complex innie/outie romantic dynamics is "throuple" because Mark/Helly is finally compelling. by itself = eh. as part of Helena's development and possibly some kind of villainous fixation that can't possibly end well no matter how you slice it because Mark/Mark S is also going through a throuple thing with his dead wife who is actually alive, and don't think I've forgotten whatever thing that Helena and Milchick had going on in S1 (which is the only thing I was missing from this ep and hope they revisit) = now we're cooking with gas. not to mention Burt spying on Irving! throuples for days.

--tentatively believing that it really is Helena down there, and they sent her to play the part of Helly R to keep Mark complacent so that Cold Harbor gets finished, because Helly is too much of an unpredictable wild card but Helena is controllable (for now!). which would add another juicy flavor to Mark/Helly. they really did it, they really made the ship pop.

--it is so, so compelling how innies/outies are opposites. Helly is bold and rebellious, Helena is calm and subservient. Mark S is sweet and mild-mannered, Mark is cold and sarcastic. Dylan G is confident and driven, Dylan George is nervous and hesitant. Irving B is obedient and proper, Irving Bailiff is defiant and unconventional. and yet! bits of the other shine through, and we see it more and more, and they're slowly but surely on a collision course.

--the Good Doors interviewer says "you remind me of myself" and looks like Dylan, and I love this show because I can't tell if it's to continue the visual motif of doubling/reflections and show a "what could have been" path for Dylan, or if it's because there is truly something FUCKED going on across this whole town. or both.

--Lumon is in such a precarious position. they're a major global corporation, and they have politicians in their pocket, but there is also a lot of hostility and mistrust from the general public, enough to make a severed employee unhireable. (which further entraps their employees and keeps them dependent on Lumon.... Dylan. 😭) Lumon has to walk a fine line to continue, uh, whatever it is they're doing, without turning the public against them in a way that they couldn't recover from, hence the placating attempts at damage control. but all it would take would be a sufficiently strong spark to light that powder keg.

--because like, man.... I hope Helena and Cobel and Milchick all get their "fuck you Lumon" arcs. god. so many threads poised to unravel out of control and snap with the right push because the line that Lumon is walking is THIN. they do the most to try to control their severed employees, but they seem to take their non-severed employees for granted, and I'm wondering if that will be their undoing.

[pleasantspark]

Hello, I am the one who started the Tumblr!HelluvaVerse Critical Self Aware Blog Trend, AMA!

As people wonder why I did them? Well you can shoot an ask and I'll answer for now this is what the Self Aware AU is like.

Everyone BUT Stolas is self aware of how stupid everything is, the reasoning for WHY Stolas is singled out is because why not? We're strictly ANTI-STOLAS here.

All blogs run by the same concept but the people behind the blogs have their own Headcanons and takes on the characters, the only things that remain are based on @mammoncriticizes, @seraphinacriticizes and @pentiouscriticizes sides.

Satan is the true ruler of Hell and has a DAUGHTER named Jezebel.

Infodumps and Loredumps made by all three of the mainblogs will be posted between asks, so it's a blink and you miss type deal.

Why did you make this?

I don't know, wanted to have fun with working together with the Critical Community, by taking inspo by the Instagram!HelluvaVerse but do it with Tumblr a united front that has similarities to most things.

I'd like to thank @moxxiecriticizes for being the first person to join then recruiting @0ctaviacr1tical as well. I was doing this for shits and giggles and it looks like we MIGHT actually pull this off.

I'd like to join where can we start?

Well, goodie! There's a way you can do it!

Just make an account and shoot me an ask! I usually respond to them as fast as I can!

Join the Self Aware AU Community Tumblr and shoot your shot there. (https://www.tumblr.com/join/pnuZQ40)

Or request a character in a google forum which had NOT yet been made.

Also, make sure your name has some variant of critical or criticizes in it! With the characters name and what they are in the bio so we can identify us!

What's the AU about?

Mammon, being the first to break free from this illusion began to realize that 2 + 2 does not indeed equal fish as he questioned around early season one, and realized he was forced to do things that he normally wouldn't do under any circumstances. With the help of online Hellblr he is able to contact people through OUR tumblr space somehow to connect with a wider audience through some means.

With that, there's been an influx of people joining the cause, and with every new critical blog popping up that means more and more characters are currently realizing just how fucked up their world truly is.

Status on Redesigns.

As we stand, we do accept redesigns as we would like to rebrand the characters and we're using this AU to reinvent the new storyline so if you end up drawing the posts we make then we accept it. Reblog it as well.

Blogs In Order of Creation

@mammoncriticizes @seraphinacriticizes @moxxiecriticizes @pentiouscriticizes @0ctaviacr1tical

@fizzcriticizes @bartendinggamblincat

REFER TO THE ABOVE IF YOU HAVE ONE ALREADY. It's recommended you make it a side blog, we might actually have people run the Seraphina and Pentious blogs if people wanna join.

[alacants]

The source of those rumors is a guy from Carlos's family's tennis club who is close to Kiko Navarro & knows some members of Carlos's team & is a regular collaborator with Punto de Break. According to him (he's said this before) Carlos & Juanki had a significant fight towards the end of 2023. But the claim that they nearly split up back then came from someone else who's less reliable.

As for 2025, the first guy says Carlos's dad has apparently not been happy with what Juanki is doing for a while... but it seems like Carlos doesn't agree. If things don't turn around after clay season his family might push for changes to the team.

From my perspective it's hard to understand the coaching strategy sometimes. Like you said Juanki's strength is not tactics but it seems like that's what Carlos really needs. This is just one example but I think it's crazy that he sat on court in silence for three sets without suggesting Carlos change his return position v Djokovic - Carlos eventually figured it out... in the last game of the match. And that was honestly the main factor in him losing. You could argue Juanki wanted him to figure it out himself but why on earth did they not discuss that beforehand when it also cost him massively at the Olympics (which Carlos said he didn't even think about before the match?)

I know Juanki's whole thing is treating team like family but there are a lot top coaches who say that after 5ish years a coach has nothing to give a player anymore & I wonder if their partnership has run its natural course. Carlos doesn't seem any more tactically equipped than he was two years ago & his technicals have mostly not improved either (return... backhand...).

thanks for this background - after replying to some earlier asks i dug around and saw some folks citing punto de break but not any specifics so this is appreciated. this does immediately increase the credibility to me bc i know pdb values their access and would not jeopardize it for nothing lmao. tho if it's like, a guy who sometimes writes for them and is mostly posting on his own time... i guess that's somewhere in the middle. (btw i still haven't seen anything other than reports of reports of reports? if you've got links i would very much appreciate them!)

as usual i think we're looking at two questions here: could carlos benefit from a different coach, and does carlos want a different coach.

i think we are all in agreement that for carlos to continue to develop as a player he needs something he's not getting at the moment, whether we're thinking in terms of incorporating a new addition to the team or making a wholesale switch. and i don't disagree with you at all about the natural lifespan of a coaching relationship. i've cited this before in discussions of juanki's own career (stuck with one guy; was it a mistake?) and of ferru's (split but waited too long; chalked the delay up to personal feelings).

but as long as it's presented to carlos as an all-or-nothing choice i don't think he's there yet and i would not be surprised to find out that his recent post-match declarations were a message. (tbc it very much MIGHT be an all-or-nothing choice, regulars here know i have plenty of thoughts about the academy lmao.)

the thing is that at this point the unknowns are still really, really risky. if you've had the same coach for most of your teen/adult years and you're ready to strike out and try something new, then that's exciting and stimulating and you're in a good place to make the best of it. but if you're dragging your feet? if you feel like you've been pushed? maybe someone else could give you more, but you have to be ready to receive it, you know? if you're an environment that you know enables you overall to perform at a high level (4 grand slams), where you feel overall confident and supported even if you're lacking direction in some big matches, where you get value from your coach's presence above and beyond the specifics of tennis--it is inherently going to be a risk to make a big change and if you're not all in on doing so the risks will be even more likely to find you.

that's why i keep saying is that i don't see it happening unless carlos' results gets much worse than this--or, potentially, unless a voice that holds as much weight with him as juanki's (so, his dad) gets strong enough that he listens to it. that might be where we're headed!

(incidentally i have feinted at this without saying so explicitly, but there is an unbelievable amount of money riding on carlos' success or lack thereof--i don't mean prize money, i mean his brand as a star--and it would be naive to pretend that's not a factor in decision-making. that's one of the reasons i've pointed to a sustained slump, rather than one or two disappointing slams. when the results start to affect the brand.)

just talked this over with friend who compared the ideal set-up to darren/simone for jannik--supervisory coach + tactical/court coach. if so, then the question is whether they come to that same conclusion and get the set-up in place before the decision is out of their hands, so to speak.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Regarding the “Is Marinette a Stalker?” post, I want to say thank you! Because I did something like Marinette and self-doubted my younger-self’s actions. A bit of context, I’m (37 y/o, female) one of the many adults that loved MLBCN when it started airing. When I came disappointed at the show by S4, I turned to the fandom to look out for fanfics, and was surprised by the salty side.

Don’t get me wrong, I kinda get the why’s and the reasons, and even though I enjoyed a Mari-salt fic titled “The Schedule” (iirc), I… sorta felt ashamed at myself? When I was 19, I fell in love with this guy, and it seemed that he liked me too. Our university had a system only for students where we could do lots of administrative stuff, like choosing our classes. At my time, there used to be a search tool on it to look out for our classmates’ schedules; in my curiosity, I searched for his just to see if we shared free periods. (Btw, today I do feel that it was wrong that my university had that function).

At my defense, after finding my crush’s schedule, I also searched for my friends’, just so I could organize with them to set up a table for our LAN parties. At the end my feelings weren’t reciprocated, my heartbreak ocurred close the next semester’s start, so I searched his schedule one more time, but just to avoid having classes with him.

When I read that Mari having Adrien’s schedule was “stalker behavior” I was like “OMG, was I a stalker? And worse, I was legally an adult!”, but I can’t remember my friends being creeped out by me. I don’t know if it is a subject whose meaning has evolved as time went on, or maybe it can change according to our different cultural/countries’ POV. But we do crazy stuff when we are young-adults, and worse when we are adolescents, add first love/crush feelings, and well… (just look at Hey, Arnold!’s Helga, she had it bad for Arnold and went to do stuff that by today’s standards is a serious case of bullying).

If the issue is the “breach of privacy” and the “3 years”, well, the first one isn’t touched on the show, maybe Mari got the pattern by observation, or Alya helped by asking Nino, or maybe even Chloe said something loudly, or my personal fan-favorite: as Class Rep, Marinette has access to that information to make easy her duties! And as for the second issue, they are 13-14 years old, my bet is that if their school makes fixated schedules for its students, so it wouldn’t be difficult to guess Adrien’s schedule for the next 3-years, and since his father was Marinette’s favorite designer, she might have followed his seasons releases, and might been easy for her to add it to Adrien’s schedule.

I want to clarify that I’m not looking to invalidate people’s feelings about this, or saying that they are wrong. In the end, we all must remember that Marinette is just a fictional adolescent character in a cartoon show, and cartoons will exaggerate actions just for the sake of the plot. We don’t like something about the characters’ actions and/or personalities? We teach and explain to the children why is wrong; and as adults, we tell ourselves to be wary if anything about it is in our daily actions, so we don’t fall into the “hating something that is a reflection of us” projection.

I like to think that I was a good adolescent and young adult that didn’t do anything morally or ethically bad, so it really freaked me out that part of the Marinette salt fandom. So, a thousand thanks! And sorry that your friend, cousin and you had to deal with that stuff.

(Post this ask is in reference to)

Before we get started, I wanted to say that your university having that feature seems incredibly dangerous. Most people are going to use it the harmless way that you did, but boy does that have the potential for misuse. Way better to let students decide if they want to share schedules on their own.

Anyway, while I will absolutely agree that the show occasionally takes Marinette too far, leading me to understand why her behavior bothers people, I think that biggest issue in her writing is actually something you sort of brought up:

I fell in love with this guy, and it seemed that he liked me too.

It sounds like you had some sort of relationship with your crush and that makes a world of difference to how your actions are going to be perceived by others. Checking the schedule of a guy you don't know? Kinda creepy. Checking the schedule of your friends including the friend you have a crush on? Normal.

Let's look at a personal example to show you what I mean. When I was in high school, I learned parts of my crush's schedule. On my way to lunch, I would purposely walk by the area where he hung out so that I could say "hi" to him as I walked past.

This statement probably raises some questions in your mind like how did I learn that he'd be there? The answer is incredibly innocent. I learned that part of his schedule by accident because his hangout spot because was also my hangout spot during my free periods. I just happened to go by one day to see a different friend and ran into him, thereby learning a bit of his schedule. After that, I took path A to lunch instead of path B because they took the same amount of time and I liked seeing him for two seconds every day.

It's also worth noting that we had the same hangout spot because we had a mutual friend group! We were in the same small club and spent a lot of time together. We even hung out together outside of school and club activities. We eventually dates for several years because he asked me out! So when I said, "hi" to him every day, it didn't shock anyone or creep him out because I wasn't some random girl. I was a friend taking a moment to acknowledge his existence before going about the rest of my day.

An additional mitigating detail is the fact that I could have told you details about several platonic friends' schedules because that's just what happens when you know people and pay attention to their lives. We all know random crap about the people we care about. Crushes simply enhance your attention, making you way more aware of everything you do, say, or think about this person. That heightened attention might make you feel creepy at times, but that feeling doesn't automatically make you creepy. It's more complicated than that. The details of the situation matter because there's a ton of nuance around this topic. Nuance that actually makes it hard to give examples because this stuff can be incredibly personal. What person A find cute and charming is a hard no for person B.

That nuances goes beyond crushes on people you're close with. For example, you don't need to stop going to your favorite coffee shop because the new barista is cute! You are not stalking them by maintaining your usual habits! You're not a bad person for experiencing attraction toward a person who is working! It only gets weird if you start crossing social boundaries like if you start asking them on a date every time you see them even though they are very clearly uninterested and you've never actually talked to them beyond simple pleasantries.

This is where we circle back to Miraculous.

While the early seasons of Miraculous gave Adrien and Marinette a few moments of friendship like playing games together in Gamer, those moments quickly stopped. By season three, they barely interacted. This happened for an obvious reasons. Miraculous is an episodic formula show in almost the purest sense of those terms. The writers have made it clear that the episodes are designed so that they can be watched in any order leading to all sorts of weird moments like Felix telling Marinette that Gabriel is Monarch only for her to act like this is new information in the next episode. This was explicitly done so that people who missed the first reveal didn't feel left out:

Talking about previous episodes, [the writers] then say that... the 5 last episodes of season 5 (Collusion - Revolution - Representation - Conformation - Recreation) go together and there is a direct continuation between them. (However, one of their rules as Miraculous writers is that these episodes can also be watched and understood independently.)

This ridiculous rule* means that the on-screen relationships can't develop and grow as that makes the show feel too serialized. This limitation meant that Adrien and Marinette could NOT become functional friends with a developing relationship as that would require a certain viewing order. The same was true for Ladybug and Chat Noir's relationship. They could not become stronger over time. They had to stay stagnant.

Without those friendships, Adrienette was reduced to being all about Marinette being unable to function around Adrien and Ladynoir was reduced to being all about Chat Noir flirting relentlessly while Ladybug constantly shot him down. The only side of the square that was allowed to be a true friendship was Marichat because they could interact without it leading to a romance since they weren't in love, which is a major problem since Adrienette is what became canon in spite of it having the substance of unset jello. How are we supposed to ship a couple that never knowingly interacted???

This inability to have developing relationships is why the writers wrote Marinette more like a fangirl than a friend with a crush. But fangirl behavior only plays well when there's a level of separation between the fan and the object of their affections. The fan can't actually know their crush because that makes the fan feel creepy and weird. This is Marinette's main problem. The thing that understandably turns a lot of viewers off. The way her crush is written simply doesn't fit the story canon is going with.

If Marinette and Adrien had been written as true friends and were allowed to have more of those early show moments where they did non-romantic things together, then Marinette would come across light-years more relatable than she does in canon even if her actions didn't change.

It's not that Marinette never has questionable moments, she absolutely does! It's just that a lot of those moments are only questionable because of the nature of her relationship with Adrien. They would all feel wildly different if Adrien was her close friend or boyfriend.

To see what I mean, think about how much less creepy it would have been if Marinette claimed to have Adrien's schedule after she and Adrien started dating. Your instant assumption becomes that he gave it to her! You also have the addition of Gabriel's controlling nature to mitigate the way Marinette's rickshaw date plan comes across. It goes from awkwardly over-the-top to sweet because she's just trying to find a way to spend a few minutes with her boyfriend whose life is too controlled to allow for proper dates. Same exact episode setup, wildly different read because context matters.

It really is sad how much the writing failed Marinette because it's normal to be a little weird around your crush. Wanting to get to know them better and spend time with them is completely understandable and common behavior! But the writers didn't just decide to keep Marinette and Adrien from being good friends. They also decided to give Marinette an active running gag of trying and failing to confess. This gag requires her crush to be extremely active while the show's formulaic nature meant that the crush could never have true progress. This lead to the show constantly putting Marinette in awkward positions and questionable situations. It's a terrible call if your goal is to actually tell a romance. They would have been way better off to make Marinette shy and afraid to confess as a contrast to Chat Noir's bold flirting. The most I'd do in that setup is to let her have the occasional secrete admirer thing where she leaves Adrien a gift or sends him a note like we saw in The Bubbler. That way a much stronger way to play Marinette's crush.

*Quick note: status quo rules are fine in shows that don't have overarching plots, but Miraculous is a romance with an overarching plot. Both of those elements require you to have some level of serialization to your story. I recently used ABC's Castle as an example of this. Almost every episode it a unique murder mystery, but the characters' relationships progress over time. There are also several plot lines that run through the show, leading to a handful of episodes that do need to be watched in order. Notably, all of the major status quo changes happen in that handful of serialized episodes. This is the type of show that Miraculous needed to be for its main story lines to work.

[aprillikesthings]

*sobs*

....don't judge me

I really, really love the random scenes where they let Aimee (Adora's voice actor) go off the rails a little

(one of my other faves being the bit in Promise where she's like "clearly nothing in this place is listening to me!!")

speaking of comic relief in this episode lolol

the way Catra's eyes go back and forth really quick right here as she's forced to remember what's happening--it's just so well done

hah, you'll carry her like that again in uhhhhhhhh a season and a half

I've said it before and I'll say it again: how much do they think about all of this, during the year or so they barely speak after this? Like. Catra. Girlie. The universe was shattering into pieces--because of something you did--and she still attempts to rescue you.

I say this knowing damn well why Catra rejects it--even if she was ready to give up on being The Villain, the lack of autonomy here, being "rescued" by Adora, would sting too much. Adora still zapped her into unconsciousness (which is a little too close to the way SW tortured her--not only as a child but recently, like an episode ago!) and carried her onto the skiff even knowing Catra didn't want that.

From Adora's POV she's trying to save Catra

From Catra's POV Adora is rejecting Catra

UGGGH I'M NOT OVER IT I'm not not over this. Catra's furious at Adora refusing to play along in the fake portal reality just a tiny bit longer, she's so angry about it, and then Adora decides to just take Catra out of the Fright Zone. This was always going to fail. This was always going to end up going this badly--Adora thinking she knows what's right for Catra without asking her, and Catra being angry at Adora for rejecting the portal reality (and from her POV, herself)

Like, don't get me wrong, the shit Catra does leading up to the portal is so awful, I know, I've talked about it before

But this episode is nearly Greek tragedy levels of them misunderstanding each other, with disastrous results. They're both trying so hard to love each other in their own way, but their circumstances and previous history mean they're just making each other even more convinced the other doesn't give a single flying fuck about them. Aaaaaaaugh. Jfc no wonder they both get worse after this.

look at her!! she's so conflicted!!!!!! augh it fucking kills me aughghghghdka;hgkd;ajkl she wants to listen to Adora and she just can't let herself do it. she can't. it's going to take her getting everything she thought she wanted only for it to be nothing but ashes, until she thinks she has nothing left but deciding how she'll die, before she can bring herself to stop pushing Adora away.

AAAAUGH FUCK

the nuances of "Come with me" vs "Stay with me" is so much of their problem, fuck

y'know, you just SAID you'd rather let the world end then let her win, and then you grab her collar and yank in an attempt to keep her from falling into the abyss

not screenshotting the look of "eh, fuck it" Catra does before letting go and falling herself

anyway

eheheh

okay. look. i'mma just. watch the kinky bit okay.

i don't need to screenshot that distorted "hey adora" i've done it so many times but lemme just tell you, the physical reaction i have every time is just ridiculous

don't mind me

Can’t wait to engage in one of my fave midnight hobbies: get high as balls and rewatch bits of She-Ra and sometimes post screenshots with overemotional/horny captions