#granted this is an idea i've been sitting on for a very VERY long time

[queen-scribbles]

lmao I mention wanting to write Endrali a bday fic and guess who starts chatting away? xD (Never mind her bday isn't for another month, apparently we're doing this now)

[natsaffection]

heyyy so i have this idea and i think no one can write it like you so yeah.

forced marriage between Natasha and reader in the present time. they both don't like each other because of this situation yk but with time they come around each other.

i know this is a really classic one but I've been thinking about this for a long time and sending a request to you seemed like a good idea considering your beautiful writing. but of course it's okay if you don't want to write it! hope you're having a good day!!! (or night idk😭😭) 💗

I see you. | N.R

Warnings: Forced Marriage for a Mission, a lot of arguments, Drinking, mentioned of sex while beeing drunk (both)

Word count: 6,7k

A/n: I hope it makes sense. I thought for a long time about how best to implement this scenario and found this solution to be the most plausible..(The beginning takes place before the invasion of Loki)

Natasha sat stiffly, her gaze sharp and unforgiving, fixed on the man sitting across from her. Nick leaned back in his chair, his one good eye studying her with an intensity that matched her own. “So, what’s this about, Fury?” Natasha’s voice was as cold as the steel walls surrounding them in the underground briefing room of the Avengers headquarters. She had been urgently summoned, pulled out of a mission briefing that had been weeks in the making, and the weight of this interruption hung heavy in the air.

Fury exhaled slowly, his fingers drumming on the edge of the sleek metal table. The silence stretched just long enough that Natasha’s patience nearly snapped. “It’s about alliances.” he finally said, his tone measured, as if he was still deciding how much to reveal. Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “I thought we had our alliances sorted out. Stark has the tech, Banner is working on the gamma projects, and I’m ready to handle the intel with Rogers. What’s missing?”

Fury’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he leaned forward, his hands tightly clasped together as if preparing for what he was about to say. “What’s missing is political stability. The kind that can’t be bought with technology or power. We need trust, and that’s in short supply these days.”

“Trust?” Natasha scoffed. “From whom? What aren’t you telling me?” He met her gaze, unwavering. “There’s a situation with Y/n.”

Natasha’s brow furrowed slightly. The name struck a nerve. You were no stranger in her world. Known for your diplomatic skills and sharp intellect, you were a key figure in international negotiations, often brokering deals that kept the world from chaos. You weren’t just a diplomat, you were a force, wielding influence in ways even Natasha respected. But that didn’t explain why you were the subject of this mysterious meeting.

“And what does that have to do with us?” Natasha asked, her voice low and laced with suspicion. Fury’s next words fell like a hammer. “You’re going to marry her.” For a moment, the words didn’t register. Natasha stared at Fury, waiting for the punchline to a joke that never came. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me right, Romanoff." Fury replied, his tone unyielding. “This marriage is the only way to secure the alliance we need. Your influence can grant us access to certain..resources and information that we desperately need. This goes beyond SHIELD, it’s about global security.”

Natasha leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. “And you think a forced marriage is magically going to solve all these problems?”

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy.” Fury admitted. “But this isn’t about love or personal happiness. It’s about necessity. We need a visible, undeniable alliance, something that other nations and organizations can see and recognize as a commitment. A marriage between you and Y/L/N would achieve that.”

Natasha’s jaw tightened. She was a soldier, a spy, a warrior..she had never allowed anyone to dictate the terms of her life, let alone something as personal as marriage. The very idea was repugnant to her, and yet..Fury’s expression told her this wasn’t just an idea, it was an order. The stakes were high, as they always were in her line of work, but this felt different. This felt personal in a way she hadn’t expected.

“And what makes you think she’ll agree to this?” Natasha asked, struggling to keep her voice steady. She wasn’t ready to show more emotion than necessary. “She’s already agreed.” Fury said, and Natasha felt the ground shift beneath her feet. “She understands how important this alliance is. She’s as reluctant as you are, but she knows what’s at stake.”

Natasha let that sink in for a moment. She didn’t know you well, but she knew of you, respected you even. You were someone who didn’t back down easily, who saw through lies and acted on your convictions. If you had agreed, then the situation was worse than Natasha had thought.

“And if I refuse?” she asked, though she knew the answer, but she needed to hear it. Fury’s expression hardened. “You won’t refuse. You’re too smart for that, Natasha. You know what’s at stake. You’ve always done what was necessary.”

Natasha exhaled slowly, her mind racing. She didn’t want this, she didn’t want to be tied down by something as archaic as marriage, especially not to someone she barely knew. But Fury was right. She had always done what was necessary, no matter the cost. And this, it seemed, was just another mission, one that would require all her skills to navigate.

“Fine..” she said finally, her voice clipped. “I’ll do it. But don’t expect me to play the happy housewife.” Fury almost smiled, but it was a cold, thin smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Natasha’s mind raced as she left the cold, sterile briefing room. Fury’s words echoed in her ears, a reminder that her life was no longer entirely her own. As she walked through the corridors of the SHIELD headquarters, her footsteps echoed ominously, each step bringing her closer to a fate she hadn’t chosen.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket, pulling her out of her thoughts. It was a message from Fury again:

Meeting with Y/N in conference room in five minutes. Be there.

No time to think, no time to prepare. Typical. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself before heading to the designated room. Natasha arrived at the conference room a few minutes early. The room was empty, the lights dimmed, casting long shadows across the table. It felt oddly impersonal, a stark contrast to the gravity of what was about to be discussed. She stood by the window, staring out at the headquarters’ grounds, trying to gather her thoughts.

The door opened behind her, and Natasha turned as you entered the room. You were dressed in a tailored suit, exuding the same sovereign confidence that had made you a respected figure in the diplomatic world. But there was something else in your eyes. A hint of irritation, maybe even anger. Clearly, you weren’t any happier about this situation than she was.

“Natasha.” you greeted her with a curt nod, your voice cool and distant. “Y/n.” Natasha replied just as coolly. She crossed her arms and leaned against the windowsill, her eyes narrowing as she studied the person in front of her. “So, I guess we’re getting married.”

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Looks that way. Not that either of us had a choice.” Natasha raised an eyebrow. “And whose fault is that? If you and your people hadn’t been so secretive, we might not be in this mess.” Your face hardened, a flicker of anger crossing your features. “Oh, please. Don’t act like SHIELD is any better. You’re all about secrets and manipulation. This marriage is just another one of your little games.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed further. “You think I want this? To be tied to someone I barely know, just to fulfill a political agenda? Don’t kid yourself.”

“Kid myself?” You scoffed and took a step closer, your voice rising. “Do you think it’s any easier for me? Being forced to marry the Black Widow, of all people? I know your reputation, Natasha. You’re a manipulator, a killer. This is the last thing I wanted.” Natasha’s jaw clenched, her anger boiling up. “And what about you? You’re no saint either, Y/n. You’ve played your games, made your deals behind closed doors, pulled strings to get what you want. Don’t pretend you’re any better.”

Anger flashed in your eyes. “At least I don’t hide behind a mask of false righteousness. I do what needs to be done for the greater good, just like you. But don’t mistake necessity for desire. I have no interest in playing house with someone who doesn’t even know what trust means.”

Natasha felt a sharp sting of anger mixed with something else, something she didn’t want to name. “Trust? That’s rich, coming from you. You’ve built your career on deception. And now you expect me to believe you’re the victim here?” You stepped closer, your voice low and sharp. “I don’t care what you believe. We’re both victims of this situation, but if you think I’m just going to roll over for you, you’re sorely mistaken.”

Natasha’s anger flared again, her voice turning icy. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Let’s get one thing straight, I’m not here to make you happy. This is a business arrangement, nothing more. We’ll play the part when necessary, but other than that, stay out of my way.”

For a moment, they stood facing each other, only inches apart, the tension crackling between them like a live wire. Finally, Natasha turned away, breaking the tense silence. She moved to the table and sat down, forcing herself to focus. “Let’s talk logistics. The sooner we get this sorted, the sooner we can get it over with.”

You took a deep breath, regaining your composure, and sat down across from her. “Agreed. But don’t expect me to make it easy for you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Natasha shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I have an apartment in Brooklyn. It’s secure, and there’s enough space for both of us without stepping on each other’s toes. We can start moving your things tomorrow.” Your eyes narrowed. “Brooklyn? How convenient for you. Always need to have the home-field advantage, don’t you?”

Natasha offered a crooked smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m practical. It’s close to headquarters, and it’s safe. Unless you have a better suggestion?” Your lips pressed into a thin line, clearly dissatisfied but unwilling to argue further. “Fine. But don’t expect me to play the obedient spouse. I need my space, my own office, my own schedule.”

“Fine.” Natasha responded sharply. “I don’t want you around me all the time anyway. We’ll do what’s necessary to make this look real, public appearances, a few shared events, then back to our own lives.” You leaned back in your chair, arms crossed. “And what about the media? They’re going to follow us everywhere, looking for any crack in the facade.”

Natasha waved a hand dismissively. “We’ll handle it. Stick to the script, and we won’t have any problems. There’s no need to make this more complicated than it needs to be.” You remained unconvinced. “You’re acting like this is so simple. But we both know there’s nothing simple about this.”

Natasha’s eyes hardened. “We don’t have a choice, Y/n. We do this because we have to, not because we want to.” Your jaw clenched, your voice turning icy. “Believe me, Natasha, the last thing I want is for this to work. But I’ll do what needs to be done. Just don’t expect anything more from me.” The two of you sat in silence for a moment, the weight of your mutual dislike hanging heavy in the air. This was going to be a nightmare..

In this silent moment, an agent came in with a pile of paper stuff. He sensed the tension immediately and just put it on the table and quickly left the room.

Thebtable was now filled with details on how your upcoming marriage would be presented to the world. It was an intricately crafted plan, covering everything from the official story of how you met to the timeline of your relationship and your behavior in public. Every detail had been meticulously planned by SHIELD’s PR team to ensure that the marriage appeared genuine.

You flipped through the pages with a grim expression, your fingers gripping the edges of the paper as if you wanted to tear them apart. “This is ridiculous..” you muttered, not bothering to hide your frustration. “They expect us to memorize a script? Like we’re actors playing a part?”

Natasha, sitting across from you, “That’s exactly what we are.” she said coolly. “This isn’t a real marriage, remember? We’re playing a role for the public.”

You shot her a sharp look. “I’m well aware. But this..” you gestured contemptuously at the file “is insulting. ‘Shared interest in global politics and mutual respect for each other’s abilities’? Really?” You read the lines aloud, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “They’re acting like we’re two diplomats who fell in love over a discussion on trade agreements.” Natasha’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Would you prefer they invent a fairy tale romance? At least this version is believable. It’s not like we have a real story to fall back on.”

You slammed the file shut with a loud bang that echoed in the small room. “We wouldn’t need to make anything up if we weren’t being forced into this situation.” Natasha’s jaw tightened. “No one’s forcing you to stay. If you have a better solution, by all means, let me know.”

You sighed in frustration, rubbing your temples. “You know as well as I do that there isn’t one! Fury made sure of that.” Natasha watched you silently for a moment, her expression unreadable. “Then we make the best of it. We memorize the script, play the show, and get it over with.”

You looked up at her, your eyes flashing with anger. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re used to lying, aren’t you? Playing different roles, lying to people’s faces. But this..this isn’t just another mission, Natasha. This is our lives.”

Natasha's eyes hardened at the accusation. "You think I don't know that? You think I enjoy being paraded around like a puppet? I've spent my entire life fighting for control over my own decisions, and now I'm being told who I have to marry. So don't act like you're the only one angry about this." Your lips pressed into a thin line, your anger momentarily softened by a flicker of understanding. "Then why are you so calm? Why aren't you angrier?"

Natasha exhaled slowly, working to keep her emotions in check. "Because anger won't change anything. We're stuck in this, whether we like it or not. The sooner we accept that, the sooner we can figure out how to deal with it." You stared at her for a long moment, your expression softening just a little. "So we learn the script, smile for the cameras, and pretend we don’t hate each other?"

Natasha leaned forward slightly, her voice low and controlled. "Yes, we pretend we don't hate each other. But we have to make it believable. People will be watching us closely, if they sense something is off, the whole show falls apart. That means we need to know each other, at least enough to sell the act."

You raised an eyebrow, skepticism evident on your face. "And how do you suggest we do that? Some getting-to-know-you games? Maybe ‘Two Truths and a Lie’?" Natasha gave a humorless smile. "We start with the basics. We go through the script and fill in the gaps with real information. What's your favorite food? What do you do in your spare time? What’s your biggest pet peeve? Things that couples know about each other."

You leaned back in your chair, arms crossed, clearly not thrilled with the idea. "Fine. But don't expect me to share my deepest secrets."

"I wouldn't dream of it." She opened the file again and flipped to a page titled *Personal Details*. "It says here that you enjoy hiking and reading. Is that accurate, or did they make it up?" You rolled your eyes. "It's true. I like hiking when I have the time, and I read a lot, mostly history and politics, but they don't need to know that in detail."

Natasha nodded, making a mental note. "Good. We can work with that. Mine says I'm into physical fitness and strategy games." She paused and looked at you with a raised eyebrow. "Is there anything else we should add?" You looked at her thoughtfully before replying. "You like ballet, right? I read that somewhere." Natasha blinked, surprised by this observation. "Yes, that's true. Not many people know that."

"Well, it’s part of who you are.." you said, your tone less confrontational now. "We could use that." Natasha nodded, slightly impressed by this small concession. "Good. We'll add it to the list." You continued to go through the script, exchanging brief, factual information about yourselves, preferences, dislikes and childhood memories that could be used to support your fake story. But every answer was tinged with tension, each of you holding something back, building walls around yourselves.

After nearly an hour of discussion, you closed the file with a sigh and rubbed the back of your neck. "This is going to be a disaster." Natasha leaned back and crossed her arms. "Not if we're careful. We stick to the plan, stay on script, and give them no reason to doubt us."

You met her gaze, your expression weary but determined. "I just don't know how long we can keep this up. People will expect us to act like we actually care."

"We don't have to care." Natasha said, her voice cold and distant. "We just have to pretend we do." You shook your head, frustration evident in your voice. "And what happens if we slip up? If one of us says something off-script? We can't be perfect all the time."

"We won't slip up." Natasha said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "We're both professionals. We've been in situations far more stressful than this. We'll manage." You stared at her for a moment, searching her face for a crack in her ironclad facade. "You really believe that, don't you? That we can just fake our way through this lie without any consequences?"

Natasha's gaze remained unchanged, unyielding. "I believe we don't have a choice." The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of your situation pressing down on both of you. This wasn't just about memorizing lines or putting on a good show, it was about maintaining a facade that could crumble at any moment, exposing you both to public scrutiny and potential danger. Finally, you stood up, your movements stiff with unresolved tension. "I guess we'll see, won't we?" Natasha stood as well, her posture mirroring yours. "Yes. We will."

The days passed in a blurred whirl of public appearances, each one a carefully staged performance that only deepened the rift between you and Natasha. Every event, every gesture, every word was meticulously planned, yet the underlying tension between you was impossible to ignore. The first major event you attended as a married couple was a high-profile gala, the kind of glittering affair where the rich and powerful gathered under chandeliers to sip champagne and discuss global affairs. Natasha had attended similar events countless times before, but never under these circumstances.

You wore an elegant black evening gown that accentuated your every movement, while Natasha was dressed in a sharp suit. As you walked into the ballroom, her hand rested lightly on your back, a gesture meant to appear familiar, but to you, it felt like a shackle. "Ready to charm the masses?" she murmured with a sarcastic edge as you entered the room.

The night was a marathon of forced smiles and carefully calculated interactions. You moved through the crowd like seasoned professionals, your hand never leaving Natasha's back as you met with diplomats and high society, maintaining the facade of a loving couple. But beneath the surface, Natasha could feel your simmering anger, mirroring her own. At one point in the evening, as you were cornered by a particularly nosy journalist, Natasha's patience was put to the test. The journalist smiled broadly and inquisitively as she fired off questions about your supposed whirlwind romance.

"How did you two meet?" the journalist asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. Natasha suppressed an eye roll, but her voice remained smooth and warm as she responded. "We met at a diplomatic conference. We were both there on separate missions, but we kept running into each other. Things developed from there."

You seamlessly picked up the conversation, though your smile was a bit too stiff. "It didn’t take long for us to realize how much we had in common. After that, everything just fell into place naturally." The journalist seemed satisfied with the answer but continued to probe. "And when did you know it was love?"

You hesitated, your smile faltering for a split second before you recovered. "It wasn't just one moment. It was a lot of little things that made us realize we couldn’t imagine our lives without each other." Natasha forced herself to smile at you, her fingers lightly brushing your arm in a gesture meant to appear affectionate. "Yes, it was all those little moments that made it clear."

As the journalist moved on, Natasha could feel the tension in your posture, your hand pressing a little more firmly against her back, as if you were reminding her of your shared discomfort. "That was close.." you muttered as you both retreated to a quieter corner of the room. "We handled it." Natasha replied curtly, her voice barely above a whisper. "That’s what we do."

The rest of the night proceeded in much the same way, the two of you moving through the room, presenting the perfect image of a loving couple. But every touch, every smile, every word was carefully calculated, and by the time you finally left the gala, Natasha felt as if she were about to snap from the strain.

The ride back to your shared apartment was suffocatingly silent. The driver, a SHIELD agent, wisely kept his eyes on the road, leaving you both to your thoughts. When you arrived 'home', you immediately went to the kitchen to pour yourself a stiff drink. Natasha followed you, already on edge, her patience worn thin by the constant charade.

You turned to her, your expression hard. "You're really good at this, you know that? At pretending. It’s almost like it’s second nature to you." Natasha tensed as she heard the accusation in your words. "I had to be good at it. It's my job."

You let out a humorless laugh. "Your job. Right. I guess that's what happens when you're trained to be a spy from childhood. You learn to play whatever role is required." The words hit a sore spot, and Natasha's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Careful, Y/n. You don't know what you're talking about."

You took a step closer, your voice dropping to a near growl. "Don't I? You’ve spent your whole life being prepared for this, haven’t you? To lie, to manipulate, to make people believe whatever you want them to. This whole marriage..this whole act..probably means nothing to you."

Natasha felt her anger flare, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. "You think this is easy for me? You think I enjoy lying about every aspect of my life, pretending to be someone I’m not?" You didn’t back down, your eyes burning with frustration. "But you're damn good at it, aren’t you? Must be all those years in that room. They made you the perfect little actress."

That was the breaking point for Natasha. Her eyes flashed with anger as she stepped forward and closed the distance between you. "You have no idea what the Red Room did to me. What it took from me. So don’t you dare try to twist that into some kind of compliment!" You stood your ground, your own anger flaring in response. "I’m not giving you a compliment, Natasha. I’m saying it’s terrifying how easily you slip into these roles. How convincing you are at pretending to care."

Natasha's breathing quickened, her pulse pounding in her ears. "You think I want to be convincing, huh? You think I want to be good at this? I’ve spent my entire life fighting to break free of what the Red Room made me, and now I’m stuck in another damn role..and it’s with you."

Your jaw tightened, your anger now tinged with something that looked like guilt. "Maybe it’s not just a role for you. Maybe you don’t even know who you are when you’re not on a mission." The words cut deep, and for a moment, Natasha didn’t know how to respond. But the anger was too strong, too raw to let go. "You don’t know anything about me. Nothing about what I’ve been through, what I’ve had to do to survive."

You both stood there, staring each other down, the air between you crackling with fury and unspoken pain. Natasha's chest heaved with the force of her emotions, her mind a whirlwind of anger and hurt that she could barely keep in check. You set your glass down with a sharp clink, your face tight with suppressed frustration. "You know what? Maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t know you. But it sure as hell feels like you’re more comfortable in this lie than I am."

Natasha turned away, her hands trembling with the effort to contain her rage. "Go to bed, Y/n." You didn’t respond, simply turning on your heel and leaving the room, your footsteps echoing through the apartment. Natasha waited until she heard the door to your shared bedroom close before she finally let out a shaky breath. She was too good at pretending, far too good. And that was the problem. Because despite all her skills, all the years of training and missions, this felt different. It felt personal in a way she hadn’t anticipated, and your words had struck a nerve deep within her.

As Natasha stood alone in the kitchen, she couldn’t shake the feeling that you had seen through her facade in a way no one else ever had. The truth was, this marriage, this charade, was wearing her down in ways she hadn’t expected. And the more time she spent around you, the harder it became to maintain the mask she had worn for so long. She wanted to dismiss your words as just another argument, another clash of wills between two people who were forced into a situation neither wanted. But the truth was, you had hit on something she didn’t want to admit, even to herself. With a heavy sigh, she finally turned off the lights and headed to bed, her mind still racing. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep this up, but she knew one thing for certain. Whatever this was between the two of you, it was far from over.

The days that followed were intense, with both Natasha and you deeply immersed in your respective missions. Despite the tension between you, you had found a certain rhythm, maintaining your cover as a married couple while focusing on the tasks at hand. Your partnership was more functional than personal, efficient, strategic, and devoid of unnecessary emotional entanglements.

But that all changed when Loki appeared.

When chaos erupted in New York, the two of you were thrown right into the conflict, working side by side with the newly formed Avengers. The stakes were higher than ever, and there was no room for mistakes. You fought shoulder to shoulder, defeating Chitauri soldiers and securing key positions as you tried to save the city from destruction.

It was during one of those intense moments, after Natasha's confrontation with Loki, that everything changed. Loki had made it a point to bring up Natasha's past, the "red" in her ledger, the sins she had committed, the people she had hurt. He taunted her with names and events that Natasha had long tried to forget, using her guilt as a weapon to break her. The words were meant to destroy her, to make her doubt her worth, and they hit harder than any physical blow. But Natasha, the eternal professional, pressed on, using her pain as fuel to outmaneuver Loki and secure the information they needed. But the damage was done. The conversation with Loki had revealed more about Natasha’s past than she ever wanted anyone, especially you, to know.

After the battle, when the Avengers had won and the immediate threat had passed, Natasha returned to the SHIELD Helicarrier. The city was still in chaos, but the focus had shifted to recovery and rebuilding. Natasha was exhausted, both physically and mentally, the weight of Loki's words hanging over her like a dark cloud.

You had always had a keen sense for people, always quick to pick up on the smallest changes in mood or behavior. It was one of the reasons you were so good at your job. But now that sharp intuition was focused on Natasha, and it made her feel exposed in a way she wasn’t prepared for.

After debriefing with Fury, Natasha retreated to the quiet of your shared apartment, hoping to find a moment of peace. She had barely sat down on the edge of the bed when she heard the door open behind her.

“Natasha?” Your voice was soft, cautious, as you entered the room. Natasha didn’t turn around, but she could feel your probing gaze on her.

“What is it, Y/n?” Natasha’s tone was curt. She was too tired for this conversation, too drained to face another confrontation. You hesitated, the silence between you stretched out. “I..wanted to talk to you.” Natasha closed her eyes, bracing herself for another argument. “About what?”

“About Loki.” you said, your voice carefully measured. "We need to talk about what he said." Natasha’s muscles tensed, her back straightening as she tried to suppress the rising wave of fear in her chest. “I’m fine, Y/n. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“That’s the point, Natasha.” you continued, taking a few steps closer. “I am worried. I know I’ve pushed you before, teased you about your past, but I didn’t..I didn’t realize it was something so serious.” Natasha’s jaw tightened, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She didn’t want to have this conversation, not now, not ever. “I’ve already told you, my past is none of your concern.���

“But it is, Natasha!” Your voice was firmer now, the frustration evident. “We’re supposed to be partners, and I feel like I don’t know you at all.” Natasha finally turned to face you, her eyes narrowing as she stood. “You don’t know me, Y/n. And that’s how it’s supposed to be. I didn’t ask for your sympathy, and I don’t need your pity.”

Your expression hardened, but there was a flicker of pain in your eyes. “This isn’t about pity, and you know it. I’m just trying to understand.”

“Understand what?” Natasha snapped, her voice rising. “That I’ve done things I’m not proud of? That my past is full of blood and darkness you can’t even imagine?” You flinched at the sharpness in her voice, but you didn’t back down. “You’re right. I don’t know everything, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care. I’m trying to apologize, Natasha. For pushing you, for not realizing.”

Natasha stared at you, her anger battling with something deeper, something she didn’t want to name. “Why? So you can feel better? So you can feel like you’ve done the right thing?” Your eyes flashed with frustration. “No, damn it! I’m doing this because I care about you. Because, despite everything, I don’t want to keep fighting against you! Its draining..”

For a moment, you stood facing each other, the air between you charged with tension. Natasha felt her defenses beginning to crumble, the walls she had built around herself starting to give way under the weight of your words. Finally, she let out a shaky breath, her shoulders sagging as the fight drained out of her. “You want to know the truth?"

Natasha sat down on the edge of the bed, her hands resting on her knees as if she needed to hold herself together. “The Red Room..it destroyed me. It took everything I was and made something else out of it. Something that had no choice, no control.” You sat down beside her, but you kept your distance, respecting the space she needed. “You didn’t have a choice, Natasha. You were a child.”

“That doesn’t change what I did ” Natasha said quietly, her voice trembling slightly. “I killed people. Innocent people. And I..I enjoyed it, Y/n. Back then, I enjoyed it because that’s what they made me.” You reached out, placing your hand gently over hers, but you said nothing. You knew this was a moment where words couldn’t do much.

Her voice was soft and laced with pain. “The things I’ve done..the people I’ve hurt..you can’t just brush that aside. The Red Room wasn’t just training, it was torture, it was conditioning, it was turning little girls into weapons. I did terrible things because I was programmed to. Because I didn’t know any better.” She paused, as the memories came flooding back with painful clarity. “And even after I got out, even after I tried to make up for it, the past still haunts me. Loki knew exactly where to strike, exactly how to remind me of the monster I once was.”

You listened in silence, your heart aching at the pain in Natasha’s voice. “You’re not a monster, Natasha.” She shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “That’s easy for you to say. But you didn’t see what I did. You didn’t live it.”

“No, I didn’t. But I’ve seen who you are now. I’ve seen how hard you fight to do the right thing, how much you sacrifice. That’s not the work of a monster. That’s someone trying to make things right.” Natasha turned to you, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “But what if it’s not enough? What if it doesn’t matter what I do, and I can never atone for what I’ve done?”

You took her hands in yours. “You don’t have to do it alone, Natasha. You don’t have to carry this burden by yourself. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.” Natasha looked down at your hands, the warmth of your touch grounding her in a way she hadn’t expected. For so long, she had believed that her past was something she had to face alone, that no one could understand the shadow that had shaped her. But in this moment, with you by her side, she realized that maybe, just maybe she didn’t have to be alone anymore.

“I’m sorry.” Natasha whispered, her voice breaking. “For pushing you away.” You squeezed her hands gently. “I’m sorry too. For not seeing how much you were hurting.” You sat there for a long moment in silence, the weight of the past finally beginning to lift, replaced by something new..something fragile, but real. It wasn’t love, not yet, but it was trust, and for now, that was enough.

The days after your late-night conversation were different, marked by an unspoken understanding that hadn’t been there before. Natasha and you continued with your missions, and the world was still recovering from the chaos of Loki’s attack, but something between you had shifted. Where there had once been tension and unspoken resentment, there was now a cautious, growing trust.

You moved around each other more easily, your conversations were less strained, your silences less heavy. The sharp edges of your interactions had softened, replaced by a tentative camaraderie that surprised you both. You weren’t friends yet, and certainly not lovers, but you were no longer just colleagues forced into a marriage of convenience. You were partners..genuine partners.

One evening, after a particularly exhausting mission, you returned to the Helicarrier and noticed the weariness weighing on Natasha. Her shoulders were slumped, and her usually sharp eyes were dulled with fatigue. But there was also something else, a lightness that hadn’t been there before, as if the burden she carried was now a little less heavy. “You look like you could use a break.” you said, your voice light but laced with concern. Natasha glanced at you, a small, tired smile playing on her lips. “You’re not wrong. This week has been hell.”

“More than usual.” you agreed. “How about we grab a drink? No talk about missions, just..a chance to unwind.” Natasha hesitated for a moment, her instinct to decline warring with the realization that maybe, just this once, she didn’t have to handle everything on her own. “Yeah, okay. That sounds good.”

You headed to one of the quieter lounges on the Helicarrier, a small, dimly lit room where off-duty agents could relax. It wasn’t exactly cozy, but it was private enough to talk without the weight of your roles hanging over you. You ordered a couple of drinks, and the two of you sat down at a small table near the window, through which the vast, dark night could be seen. For a while, you drank in silence, the easy silence between you a far cry from the tense moments of the past.

“You know..” you began after a while, swirling your drink in your glass, “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About carrying this burden alone.” Natasha looked at you, her gaze steady but curious. “Yeah?”

“I’ve just..been thinking about how we’re supposed to be partners in this, but we’ve been so focused on keeping our walls up that we forgot what that really means." you said thoughtfully. “It’s not just about watching each other’s backs in a fight. It’s about being there for each other when things get tough, when the past tries to drag you down.”

Natasha nodded slowly, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “I’m not used to that, you know. Letting someone in.”

“I figured..” you said with a small smile. “But you let me in, at least a little. And I want you to know that it meant something. It made me realize that maybe I haven’t been as fair to you as I could have been.” Natasha’s expression softened, a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability in her eyes. “You don’t need to apologize, Y/n. We were both just doing our jobs.”

“I know.” you replied. “But still, I’m sorry. For pushing you, for not seeing how much you’ve been through. I was so caught up in the mission and the cover that I didn’t take the time to really see you.” Natasha took a sip of her drink, letting the warmth of the alcohol ease the tension in her shoulders. “You see me now.” she said quietly. “And that’s more than I’ve let anyone do in a long time.”

You sat in companionable silence for a few more minutes, the atmosphere between you relaxed and open. Natasha realized that it was a relief not to have to be constantly on guard, not to have to keep everyone at a distance. “You know.." you said after a while, your tone lighter, “I’ve been thinking that when all this mess is over, we should take a break. Do something normal. I hear married couples go on vacations.” Natasha chuckled, the sound low and genuine. “I’m not sure we pass as a normal married couple.”

“Who said anything about normal?” you grinned. “We could do something out of the ordinary. Like..I don’t know, skydiving or rock climbing. Something that gets the adrenaline pumping without the life-and-death stakes.” Natasha raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in her eyes. “So you want us to jump out of a plane..for fun?”

You shrugged, a mischievous smile on your lips. “Why not? After everything we’ve been through, it might be nice to do something that gets the heart racing without our lives depending on it.” Natasha considered it for a moment, then smiled, a real smile, not the practiced one she used in public. “You know what? That actually doesn’t sound so bad.”

You clinked your glasses together, and as the evening wore on, you talked about everything and nothing. Trivial things like favorite foods and music, and deeper topics like your dreams and fears. The walls between you continued to crumble, and by the time you finally returned to your apartment, there was a new understanding between you. “Thank you, Y/n. For tonight.” You smiled back, your voice warm. “Anytime, Natasha. We’re in this together.”

“Yeah.” Natasha replied, the words feeling truer than ever before. “We are.” As you parted ways for the night, Natasha felt a lightness in her chest that she hadn’t felt in a long time. It wasn’t just the drink or the fact that she had survived another day, it was the knowledge that she wasn’t alone anymore. That for the first time in years, she had someone she could trust.

The following weeks were different. Natasha and you continued to work together, your partnership now stronger as the initial tension had eased. You were still far from being a typical married couple, but the foundation of trust you had begun to build made all the difference. One day, after a particularly successful mission, Fury called you both into his office. His expression was as unreadable as ever, but there was a hint of something, perhaps approval in his gaze.

“You two have done good work.” Fury said, his voice even. “The mission was a success, and your cover held under pressure. I have to admit, I wasn’t sure how this partnership would work, but you’ve exceeded expectations.”

Natasha glanced at you briefly, and you shared a small, knowing smile. “Thank you, sir.” Natasha replied. Fury nodded, then leaned back in his chair, his gaze sharpening. “That said, I’m not sure how much longer we can maintain the appearance of this marriage.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” Fury sighed, a rare sign of weariness passing over his face. “The situation has stabilized for now, but I have a feeling more trouble is on the horizon. You two have done your job well, but I’m giving you the option to dissolve the marriage if you think it’s the right move.”

Natasha felt a pang of something she couldn’t quite identify, regret? Uncertainty? She looked at you, searching your face for a clue as to what you were thinking. You met her gaze, your expression thoughtful. “I think..we should talk about it. See where we both stand.”

Natasha nodded slowly, a strange mix of emotions swirling in her chest. “Yeah. We’ll figure it out.” Fury watched you both for a moment, then gave a curt nod. “Take your time." With that, he dismissed you, and you left the office in silence, the weight of the decision heavy on your minds.

As you walked through the corridors, Natasha felt a sense of unease rising in her stomach. She hadn’t expected this, hadn’t expected to feel anything at the thought of ending the marriage. But now, the idea left a strange emptiness inside her. “So..” you said quietly as you reached your quarters, “what do you want to do?”

Natasha took a deep breath, turning to face you. “I don’t know." she admitted. “This started as a mission, as a cover. But now..I don’t know.” You nodded, your expression understanding. “I get it. It’s complicated.”

Natasha hesitated, then reached out and took your hand in hers. “But I know one thing. Whatever happens, I don’t want to lose what we’ve built. I don’t want to lose this..partnership.”

You stood there for a long moment, holding each other’s gaze, the air between you charged with unspoken possibilities. Finally, you smiled, a genuine, warm smile that made Natasha’s heart skip a beat. "I have a good Idea where we can talk further.."

The lounge was quiet, with only the occasional murmur of conversations on the other side of the room. Natasha and you had had a few drinks again, the alcohol warming your bodies and loosening your tongues. You had been talking for hours, the conversation flowing easily between you in a way it hadn’t before. The heaviness of your earlier tensions had lifted, replaced by a comfortable, almost intimate atmosphere.

Natasha took another sip of her drink, enjoying the burn as it slid down her throat. She looked at you, watching as you swirled the last bit of your whiskey in your glass, your eyes slightly glazed from the alcohol. Your words slightly slurred, “I never thought we’d end up here. Not like this.”

Natasha laughed, her own voice tinged with the effects of the alcohol. “Yeah, me neither. This whole thing… was unexpected.” You leaned back in your chair, your gaze fixed on Natasha. “But..I’m glad we’re here. I’m glad we’re talking like this.” Natasha felt a warmth spread through her, one that had nothing to do with the alcohol. “Me too.” she admitted, her voice softening. “It’s nice…not feeling alone.”

You smiled, a crooked, slightly drunken smile that made Natasha’s heart skip a beat as she felt a surge of emotions she wasn’t entirely ready to name. “You’re not alone, Natasha. Not anymore.” There was a charged moment between you, the air thick with unspoken words and the weight of your shared experiences. The alcohol had lowered your defenses, leaving you both more vulnerable and open than you had been in a long time.

Natasha set her glass down, her fingers lightly brushing against yours on the table. The touch was electric, sending a shiver of awareness through her. She looked up and met your gaze, and in your eyes, she saw the same spark of attraction that she felt. For a moment, neither of you moved, the tension between you growing more intense with each passing second. Then, as if drawn by an invisible force, you leaned across the table, and your lips met Natasha’s in a gentle, hesitant kiss.

Natasha’s breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding as she responded to the kiss, her lips moving against yours in a way that felt both familiar and completely new. The kiss was tentative at first, an exploration of boundaries, but it quickly deepened as the need for each other became overwhelming.

Without breaking the kiss, you stood and pulled Natasha up with you. Your hands found each other’s bodies, exploring, touching, as you made your way out of the lounge and down the corridor to a quarter. Your kisses grew hotter, more desperate, as you neared the room. You fumbled with the keycard, finally managing to open the door, and the two of you tumbled inside, your bodies pressed tightly together. As you finally made it to the bed, the rest of the world seemed to disappear. There was only the two of you, entwined with one another, your kisses hungry, your touches urgent. The alcohol had stripped away your inhibitions, leaving only the raw desire for each other.

The night passed in a blur of passionate moments and whispered names, your bodies intertwined as you lost yourselves completely in each other. The connection between you deepened with every touch, every kiss, until there was no distance left between you, no more walls to keep you apart. When you finally fell asleep, your bodies were still entwined, your breaths mingling as you drifted into a deep, contented sleep. The alcohol had done its job, lowering your defenses and bringing you together in a way neither of you had expected.

The first thing Natasha felt as she slowly woke up was the dull pounding in her head. She groaned softly, turning over and pulling the blanket tighter around herself, trying to block out the morning light seeping through the curtains. But as she moved, she realized something was off, something warm and solid was lying beside her. She froze, her senses suddenly sharp despite the hangover. Slowly, she opened one eye and was immediately met with the sight of you lying next to her, your face turned toward her, still fast asleep.

Natasha’s breath hitched as the events of the previous night came rushing back to her. The drinks, the laughter, the conversation that had unexpectedly turned personal..and then how you had ended up here, wrapped in each other’s arms. Her heart pounded in her chest as she tried to piece everything together. You had both been drunk, very drunk but that didn’t explain everything. How had you gone from reluctant partners in a forced marriage to this point? What had driven you to cross a line she hadn’t even realized you were approaching?

“shit." Natasha muttered quietly, careful not to disturb you as she tried to extricate herself from the sheets. But as she moved, you stirred beside her, your eyes slowly fluttering open. For a moment, you both simply stared at each other, your expressions mirroring the shock and confusion that Natasha was feeling. “Morning.” you finally said, your voice rough and uncertain.

“Morning.” Natasha echoed, her voice just as hesitant. There was a long, awkward silence as you both tried to process the situation. Natasha could see the same questions in your eyes that were running through her own mind: How had this happened? What did it mean? And where do you go from here?

“I..uh..did we…?” you began, clearly struggling to find the right words. Natasha’s cheeks flushed slightly as she nodded. “Yeah. I think we did.”

You rubbed your hand over your face, slowly sitting up as you tried to shake off the remnants of sleep and alcohol. “Okay, so…how did we end up here?” Natasha bit her lip, trying to recall the details. “We were talking..had a lot to drink. And then..I don’t know. One thing led to another, I guess.” She managed a small, ironic smile. “But at least we don’t have to invent any lies if someone asks us about our sex life now.”

You chuckled at her comment, and the tension in the room eased slightly. “True. It’s almost like we’ve fully embraced our roles now. Now that she's finished.” Natasha rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “I guess we’re just overachievers.”

The laughter died down, and once again, the reality of your situation set in. Things had gotten personal in a way neither of you had anticipated. “So…what do we do now?” you asked, your tone more serious this time.

Natasha sighed, sitting up and wrapping the sheet around herself. “I don’t know. We could just pretend nothing happened, but… that feels like we’d be lying to ourselves.”

“Yeah, and we’ve done enough pretending to last a lifetime.” you agreed, your expression thoughtful. “But we also can’t ignore the fact that this all started as a mission. A mission where we were supposed to pretend to be in love, even though we didn’t really like each other.” Natasha nodded, the weight of that truth pressing down on her. “Right. And now we’ve crossed a line, and I don’t think we can just go back.”

You frowned, deep in thought. “But do we need to go back? I mean, we’ve been through a lot together, and… I don’t know. Maybe this was just..inevitable?” Natasha looked at you, searching your face for any hint of what you were really feeling. “Maybe. But now it’s complicated. We can’t just act like everything is the same as before.”

Your smile, “Hey, at least we’re dedicated to the mission, right?” Natasha laughed, the sound easing some of the tension. “Right. We’ve more than fulfilled our duties.”

You both laughed, the tension between you beginning to dissipate. The humor was a relief, a way to ease the confusion and discomfort that came with waking up in each other’s bed after what was supposed to be just another night of playing your roles. But as the laughter faded, the reality of your situation remained. You couldn’t just laugh your way out of this, you had to figure out what it meant for you.

“So…what do we do now?” you asked again, your tone more serious this time. Natasha sighed, running a hand through her hair as she tried to organize her thoughts. “We figure it out. No more lies, no more excuses. We take it one step at a time.” You nodded, your expression softening. “I can do that. One step at a time.”

Natasha felt a strange sense of relief at your words. This was new territory for both of you, but at least you didn’t have to navigate it alone. You had each other, and while it was still a complicated mess, it was something you could rely on. As you both got out of bed and began to dress, the weight of your new reality settled over you. This wasn’t going to be easy, but you were in it together, and for now, that was enough.

“Hey, Natasha?” you said as you pulled your shirt over your head. “Yeah?”

You paused for a moment, your expression thoughtful. “I know this isn’t what either of us expected, but..I’m glad we’re here." Natasha smiled, a warm feeling spreading through her chest. “Me too, Y/n. Me too.”

As you left the room and stepped back into the world, you did so with a new understanding of each other. You had started as reluctant partners, forced together by a mission, but now…now there was something more. Something worth exploring, even if it was still messy and confusing. The mission had brought you together, but it was your shared experiences and growing bond that would keep you together. And as you walked side by side, ready to face whatever came next, you both knew that this was only the beginning of something new.

[artsekey]

Disney's Wish

Look, Disney's Wish has been universally panned across the internet, and for good reason.

It’s just…kind of okay.

 When we sit down to watch a Disney film—you know, from the company that dominated the animation industry from 1989 to (arguably) the mid 2010’s and defined the medium of animation for decades—we expect something magnificent. Now, I could sit here and tell you everything that I thought was wrong with Wish, but if you’re reading this review, then I imagine that you’ve already heard the most popular gripes from other users across the web. So, let me focus in:

The biggest problem with Wish—in fact, the only problem with Wish—is Magnifico.

Whoa, that’s crazy! There’re so many things about Wish that could’ve been better! The original concept was stronger! The music was bad--

I hear you, I do. But stay with me here, okay? Take my hand. I studied under artists from the Disney renaissance. I teach an adapted model of Disney’s story pipeline at a University level. I spent a ridiculous amount of time getting degrees in this, and I am about to dissect this character and the narrative to a stupid degree.

First, we need to understand that a good story doesn’t start and end with what we see on the screen. Characters aren’t just fictional people; when used well, characters are tools the author uses (or in this case, the director) to convey their message to the audience. Each character’s struggle should in some way engage with the story’s message, and consequently, the story’s theme. Similarly, when we look at our protagonist and our antagonist, we should see their characters and their journeys reflected in one-another.

So, what went wrong between Asha & Magnifico in terms of narrative structure?

Act I

In Wish, we’re introduced to our hero not long into the runtime—Asha. She’s ambitious, caring, and community-oriented; in fact, Asha is truly introduced to the audience through her love of Rosas (in “Welcome to Rosas”).  She’s surrounded by a colorful cast of friends who act as servants in the palace, furthering her connection with the idea of community but also telling us that she’s not of status, and then she makes her way to meet Magnifico for her chance to become his next apprentice.

Quick aside: I'm not going to harp on Asha as a character in the context of Disney's overall canon. Almost every review I've seen covers her as a new addition to Disney's ever-growing repertoire of "Cute Quirky Heroines", and I think to be fair to Asha as an actor in the narrative, it serves her best to be weighed within the context of the story she's part of.

As Asha heads upstairs for her interview, we're introduced to the man of the hour: Magnifico. He lives in a tower high above the population of Rosas, immediately showing us how he differs from Asha; he’s disconnected from his community. He lives above them. He has status. While the broader context of the narrative wants us to believe that this also represents a sense of superiority, I would argue that isn’t what Magnifico’s introduction conveys; he's isolated.

Despite this distance, he does connect with Asha in “At All Costs”. For a moment, their goals and values align. In fact, they align so well that Magnifico sees Asha as someone who cares as much about Rosas as he does, and almost offers her the position.

… Until she asks him to grant Saba’s wish.

This is framed by the narrative as a misstep. The resonance between their ideals snaps immediately, and Magnifico says something along the line of “Wow. Most people wait at least a year before asking for something.”

This disappointment isn't played as coming from a place of power or superiority. He was excited by the idea of working with someone who had the same values as he did, who viewed Rosas in the same way he does, and then learns that Asha’s motivations at least partially stem from a place of personal gain.

Well, wait, is that really Asha's goal?

While it's not wholistically her goal, it's very explicitly stated & implied that getting Saba's wish granted is at least a part of it. The audience learns (through Asha's conversation with her friends before the interview) that every apprentice Magnifico has ever had gets not only their wish granted, but the wishes of their family, too!  Asha doesn’t deny that this is a perk that she’s interested in, and I don't think this is a bad thing.

So, Is Asha’s commitment to Saba selfless, or selfish? I’m sure the director wanted it to seem selfless, wherein she believes her family member has waited long enough and deserves his wish granted, but we can’t ignore the broader context of Asha essentially trying to… skip the line.

Then, we get our first point of tension. Magnifico reveals his “true colors” in snapping at Asha, telling her that he “decides what people deserve”. This is supposed to be the great motivator, it’s meant to incite anger in the audience—after all, no one gets to decide what you deserve, right? But unfortunately for the integrity of the film and the audience's suspension of disbelief, at least part of Magnifico’s argument is a little too sound to ignore:

Some wishes are too vague and dangerous to grant. Now, there’s visual irony here; he says this after looking at a 100 old man playing the lute. The idea that something so innocuous could be dangerous is absurd, and the audience is meant to agree.

... But we’ve also seen plenty of other wishes that might be chaotic—flying on a rocket to space, anyone? The use of the word vague is important, too—this implies wording matters, and that a wish can be misinterpreted or evolve into something that is dangerous even if the original intent was innocuous. His reasoning for people forgetting their wish (protecting them from the sadness of being unable to attain their dreams) is much weaker, but still justifiable (in the way an antagonist’s flawed views can be justified). The film even introduces a facet of Magnifico’s backstory that implies he has personal experience with the grief of losing a dream (in the destruction of his home), but that thread is never touched on again.

              What is the audience supposed to take from this encounter? If we’re looking at the director’s intent, I’d argue that we’ve been introduced to a well-meaning young girl and a king who’s locked away everyone’s greatest aspiration because he believes he deserves to have the power to decide who gets to be happy.

              But what are we shown? Our heroine, backed by her friends, strives to be Magnifico’s apprentice because she loves the city but also would really like to see her family's wishes granted. When this request is denied and she loses the opportunity to be his apprentice, she deems Magnifico’s judgement unfair & thus begins her journey to free the dreams of Rosas’ people.

              In fairness, Magnifico doesn’t exhibit sound judgement or kindness through this act of the film. He’s shown to be fickle, and once his composure cracks, he can be vindictive and sharp. He's not a good guy, but I'd argue he's not outright evil. He's just got the makings of a good villain, and those spikes of volatility do give us a foundation to work off of as he spirals, but as we’ll discuss in a bit, the foreshadowing established here isn’t used to the ends it implies.

              While I was watching this film, I was sure Magnifico was going to be a redeemable villain. He can’t connect with people because he's sure they value what he provides more than they value him (as seen in “At All Costs” and the aftermath), and Asha’s asking for more was going to be framed as a mistake. His flaw was keeping his people too safe and never giving them the chance to sink or swim, and he's too far removed from his citizens to see that he is appreciated. Asha does identify this, and the culmination of her journey is giving people the right to choose their path, but the way Magnifico becomes the “true” villain and his motivations for doing so are strangely divorced from what we’re shown in Act I.  

Act II:

His song, “This is the Thanks I Get!?” furthers the idea that Magnifico’s ire—and tipping point—is the fact that he thinks the people he’s built a kingdom for still want more. Over the course of this 3:14 song, we suddenly learn that Magnifico sends other people to help his community and doesn’t personally get involved (we never see this outside of this song), and that he’s incredibly vain/narcissistic (he's definitely a narcissist). I think feeling under-appreciated is actually a very strong motivation for Magnifico as a character-turning-villain, and it works very well. It’s justified based on what we’ve seen on screen so far: he feels under-appreciated (even though he’s decidedly not—the town adores him), he snaps and acts irrationally under stress (as seen with his outburst with Asha), and he’s frustrated that people seem to want more from him (again, as seen with his conversation with Asha in Act I).

              But then… he opens the book.

Ah, the book. As an object on screen, we know that it's filled with ancient and evil magic, well-known to be cursed by every relevant character in the film, and kept well-secured under lock and key. But what does it stand for in the context of the narrative's structure? A quick path to power? We're never told that it has any redeeming qualities; Magnifico himself doesn't seem to know what he's looking for when he opens it. It feels... convenient.

I think it's also worth noting that he only turns to the book when he's alone; once again, the idea of connection and community rears it's ugly head! Earlier in the film, Amaya-- his wife-- is present and turns him away from taking that path. In her absence, he makes the wrong choice.

This decision could make sense; it contains powerful magic, and if it were framed in such a way that the people of Rosas were losing faith in Magnifico’s magic, as if what he can do might not be enough anymore after what they felt from Star, going for the book that we know contains spells that go above and beyond what he can already do would be logical. Along the lines of, “If they’re not happy with what I do for them, fine. I, ever the “martyr”, will do the unthinkable for you, because you want more.”

            It would keeps with the idea that Magnifico believes he's still trying to help people, but his motivation has taken his self-imposed pity party and turned it into resentment and spite.

 But, that’s not the case. Instead he talks about reversing that “light”, which has had no real negative or tangible consequences on Rosas. Everyone had a warm feeling for a few seconds. Again, it’s meant to paint him as a vain control freak, but… he hasn’t lost any power. The citizens of Rosas even assume the great showing of magic was Magnifico.

Act III

              Then, we get to the consequences of opening the book (and perhaps my biggest qualm with this film). The book is established as being cursed. Magnifico knows it, Asha knows it, and Amaya—who is introduced as loyal-- knows it. The characters understand his behavior is a direct result of the book, and search for a way to save him. This is only the focus of the film for a few seconds, but if you think about it, the fact that his own wife cannot find a way to free him of the curse he’s been put under is unbelievably tragic. Worse still, upon discovering there is no way to reverse the curse, Magnifico—the king who built the city & “protected it” in his own flawed way for what seems to be centuries—is thrown out by his wife. You know, the wife who's stood loyal at his side for years?

              It’s played for laughs, but there’s something unsettling about a character who’s clearly and explicitly under the influence of a malevolent entity being left… unsaved. If you follow the idea of Magnifico being disconnected from community being a driving force behind his arc, the end of the film sees him in a worse situation he was in at the start: truly, fully alone.

              They bring in so many opportunities for Magnifico to be sympathetic and act as a foil for Asha; he’s jaded, she’s not. He’s overly cautious (even paranoid), she’s a risk-taker. He turns to power/magic at his lowest point, Asha turns to her friends at her lowest point. Because this dichotomy isn’t present, and Magnifico—who should be redeemable—isn’t, the film is so much weaker than it could’ve been. The lack of a strong core dynamic between the protagonist and antagonist echoes through every facet of the film from the music to the characterization to the pacing, and I believe if Magnifico had been more consistent, the film would’ve greatly improved across the board.

I mean, come on! Imagine if at the end of the film, Asha—who, if you remember, did resonate with Magnifico’s values at the start of the film—recognizes that he's twisted his original ideals and urges him to see the value in the people he’s helped, in their ingenuity, in their gratitude, & that what he was able to do before was enough. Going further, asking what his wish is or was—likely something he’s never been asked— and showing empathy! We’d come full circle to the start of the film where Asha asks him to grant her wish.

Pushing that further, if Magnifico’s wish is to see Rosas flourish or to be a good/beloved king, he'd have the the opportunity to see the value in failing and how pursuing the dream is its own complex and valuable journey, and how not even he is perfect.

 The curse and the book (which, for the purposes of this adjustment, would need to be established as representing the idea of stepping on others to further your own goals/the fast way to success), then serve as the final antagonist, that same curse taking root in the people of Rosas who’ve had their dreams destroyed, and Asha works with the community to quell it. Asha’s learned her lesson, so has Magnifico, and the true source of evil in the film—the book—is handled independently. Magnifico steps back from his role as King, Amaya still ends up as Queen, and Asha takes her place as the new wish-granter.

This route could even give us the true “Disney villain” everyone’s craving; giving the book sentience and having it lure Magnifico in during “This is the Thanks I Get!?” leaves it as its own chaotic evil entity.

All in all, Magnifico's introduction paved a road to redemption that the rest of the film aggressively refused to deliver on, instead doubling down on weaker motivations that seem to appear out of thin air. Once the audience thinks, hey, that bad guy might have a point, the protagonist has to do a little more heavy lifting to convince us they're wrong.

Look at the big-bad-greats from Disney's library. There isn't a point in the Lion King where we pause and think, "Wait a second, maybe Scar should be the guy who rules the Pridelands." Ursula from the Little Mermaid, though motivated by her banishment from King Triton's Seas, never seems to be the right gal for the throne. Maybe Maleficent doesn't get invited to the princess's birthday party, but we don't watch her curse a baby and think, Yeah, go curse that baby, that's a reasonable response to getting left out.

What do they all have in common? Their motivation is simple, their goal is clear, and they don't care who they hurt in pursuit of what they want.

Magnifico simply doesn't fall into that category. He's motivated by the idea of losing power, which is never a clear or impactful threat. His goal at the start seems to be to protect Rosas, then it turns into protecting his own power, and then-- once he's corrupted-- he wants to capture Star. The problem is, there's no objective to put this power toward. Power for power's sake is useless. Scar craves power because he feels robbed of status. Ursula believes the throne is rightfully hers. Maleficent wanted to make a statement. Magnifico... well, I'm not really sure.

[goodnightmemes]

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON SEASON TWO SENTENCE STARTERS

❛ Duty is sacrifice. It eclipses all things, even blood. All men of honor must pay its price.

❛ War is coming, to the whole of the realm.❜

❛ I am indebted to you. ❜

❛ I'm afraid. ❜

❛ We should've just killed her when we had the chance. ❜

❛ When the king speaks, Your Grace, all hear it. ❜

❛ I find myself wondering...do we pursue the same end? ❜

❛ You must accept that the path to victory now is one of violence. ❜

❛ Did you think I would wither in your absence? ❜

❛ You only blame me because your true enemies are out of reach. ❜

❛ She holds love for our enemy. That makes her a fool. ❜

❛ I promise you, you will have all the vengeance that you seek, but you must keep a grip on your impulses. ❜

❛ Do anything but what I ask, and I'll bleed the whole lot of ya. ❜

❛ The gods punish us. They punish me. ❜

❛ This is not the time for blind accusations. We'll know who did this soon enough. ❜

❛ I will not be seen as weak. ❜

❛ Sometimes, we have to pretend. ❜

❛ I cannot trust you. I've never trusted you, wholly, much though I wished to, willed myself to. But now I have seen that your heart belongs only to you. ❜

❛ You think me some kind of monster. ❜

❛ You're pathetic. ❜

❛ We can afford no further mistakes. ❜

❛ You are mad. Mad! You cannot think that I did this! ❜

❛ You would send me to my death. ❜

❛ I would remind you only that when princes lose their temper, it is often others who suffer. ❜

❛ I see all your great adventures have done nothing for your looks. ❜

❛ For too long, I made it my aim to be of consequence. But now, I see that was the wish of a child. ❜

❛ I wish to spill blood, not ink! ❜

❛ Instead of judgment, you display impetuousness, and diminish us in the eyes of our enemy! ❜

❛ Fuck dignity! I want revenge. ❜

❛ They wish now not for the good of the realm, but for the petty satisfaction of vengeance. ❜

❛ Soon they will not even remember what it was that began the war in the first place. ❜

❛ There is no war so hateful to the gods as a war between kin. ❜

❛ I'm as fearsome as any of them. ❜

❛ You showed me grace when you could have withheld it. I'm not often surprised. ❜

❛ I cannot promise to make you happy. But I ask you: make this sacrifice willingly, for all of us. ❜

❛ If you've not yet surmised, you are welcome here. ❜

❛ Sin begets sin begets sin. ❜

❛ If dragons begin fighting dragons, we invite our own destruction. ❜

❛ Do not coddle me. Grant me at least that dignity. ❜

❛ Sadness is a condition of motherhood. ❜

❛ You have as much claim to grief as anyone. ❜

❛ Tales take on a life of their own, like weeds. Unless they are tended. ❜

❛ Always coming and going, aren't you? And I have to clean up afterwards. ❜

❛ You will die in this place. ❜

❛ I have been, at times, unkind, but never untrue. ❜

❛ You must go before you are discovered. ❜

❛ Your mother must've been very beautiful. ❜

❛ You should've burned them when you had the chance. ❜

❛ Is there no honor left in this world? ❜

❛ This is a better death than a traitor deserves. You should thank me for it. ❜

❛ I will not be made to look a fool in front of my allies and enemies. ❜

❛ I believe it is a sin to deny your appetites. They are what make us fully alive as mortal men. ❜

❛ If I may be so bold, you have not seemed yourself of late. ❜

❛ I've barely had the hours to grieve one tragedy before suffering the next. ❜

❛ I've come to know the face of tortured rest well enough. ❜

❛ Do you think simply wearing the crown imbues you with wisdom? ❜

❛ You have no idea the sacrifices that were made to put you on that throne. ❜

❛ What would you have me do? ❜

❛ Do simply what is needed of you: nothing. ❜

❛ Where have you been, these last days? You vanished without so much as a word.❜

❛ There are those who have mistaken my caution for weakness. Let that be their undoing. ❜

❛ If you die, all is lost. ❜

❛ The horrors I have just loosed cannot be for a crown alone. ❜

❛ Do you take issue with me? ❜

❛ I can sit still no longer. I must act. ❜

❛ I did not think they would be so eager to die. ❜

❛ I need them alive. I came here to raise swords, not corpses. ❜

❛ Will you goad me? When your bread and shelter now depend on my pleasure? ❜

❛ I mislike feeling powerless. ❜

❛ I do not know my part. The path I walk has never been trod. ❜

❛ What you cannot do, let others do for you. ❜

❛ There is more than one way to fight a war. ❜

❛ I do not wish to stand alone. ❜

❛ Has your loyalty faded? Or does it flourish only at night and flee the sunrise like a moth? ❜

❛ What we must do now is... terrible. ❜

❛ This is not war. These are crimes against the innocent, that any upright man would repudiate. ❜

❛ And once again, in the name of power, it's the weak and the women who must endure. ❜

❛ Was it worth the price? ❜

❛ I caution you, boldness is one thing, but overconfidence… ❜

❛ You have the impetuousness of youth, and its arrogance, neither of which is to be desired in a king. ❜

❛ Have the indignities of your childhood not yet sufficiently been avenged? ❜

❛ To claim a dragon, you must also be prepared to die. ❜

❛ You can't possibly still be angry about this. ❜

❛ You weren't going to bid me farewell? ❜

❛ It is your way, is it not? When something does not please you, you run. ❜

❛ There are older things in this world than you or I, or living memory. ❜

❛ You are not the player, but a piece on the board. As am I, for that matter. ❜

❛ It is my fault, I think, that you have forgotten to fear me. ❜

❛ It was worth the risk, no matter the outcome. ❜

❛ The enemy without may be fought with swords. The enemy within is more insidious. ❜

❛ Do you take me for a fool? ❜

❛ Oh, you make an art of provoking me. ❜

❛ Stop wasting your life waiting for something that'll never come. ❜

❛ I'm sure you did your best. ❜

❛ They will underestimate you, and this will be your advantage. ❜

❛ If the gods call me to greater things, who am I to refuse them? ❜

❛ Nothing is clean here. ❜

❛ The order of things has changed. Why not embrace it? ❜

❛ It does seem to me that you've made rather a mess here. ❜

❛ I don't need their love. I need their swords. ❜

❛ Mind your tongue. ❜

❛ I mislike all of this. ❜

❛ It seems you need us more than we need you. ❜

❛ So, what was the fucking point in all this then? ❜

❛ It's best to live, I think. However you do it. ❜

❛ You are not alone. ❜

❛ Will you prepare to face such an enemy? Or will you stay here and make yourself easy? ❜

❛ If you hinder our efforts through sloth or unreadiness, I will see you hanged, and your body fed to the dogs in the street. ❜

❛ You've arrived just in time to see my new army. What do you think of it? ❜

❛ This place will have you barking at the moon. ❜

❛ We must all make our sacrifices. ❜

❛ 'Tis no longer our rule that is threatened, our very lives. ❜

❛ Perhaps all men are corrupt and true honor is a mist that melts in the morning. ❜

❛ The dragons dance, and men are like dust under their feet. ❜

❛ We march now toward our annihilation. ❜

❛ There will be time enough to see which one of us is a coward. ❜

❛ There are omens here for those who seek them. ❜

❛ It's all a story and you are but one part in it. You know your part. ❜

❛ I am meant to serve you, and all of these with me, until death or the end of our story. ❜

❛ Be strong. You know you are just. ❜

❛ History will paint you a villain. ❜

❛ I am at last myself, with no ambition greater than to walk where I please and to breathe the open air. To die unremarked and unnoticed and be free. ❜

❛ You speak as if from a distant dream. ❜

❛ Come with me. ❜

❛ My part is here, whether I will or no. It was decided for me long ago. ❜

[lovings4turn]

ᯓ★ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐖𝐎 (𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒)

— or, lando wants to make your birthday special from the start

+ aka. some short and sweet fluff about lando celebrating your birthday with you . considering this a little gift to the absolutely wonderful @wintfleur who turned twenty today !!!! happiest of birthdays bestie ,, i love you so much !!!

you're unsure of the time as your eyes slowly blink open, heavy with a good night of sleep. birthdays, you believe, are the perfect excuse to wake up whenever you feel like it, no alarms necessary.

just as you push yourself up onto your elbows, a loud yawn escaping your lips, the bedroom door moves ajar to reveal a smiling lando, hair still messy and tousled like it normally is in the mornings.

"ah, so you're finally awake," he teases, wasting no time in making his way over to your side of the bed. "i've been popping in and out every ten minutes for like, the past hour."

lando stoops down to press a gentle kiss to your lips, pushing your hair away from your face as he pulls back with a fond smile. as he takes in your barely awake form, you swear you can see the amount of love radiating from his features; it's damn near golden, and you bask in his glow. 

"happy birthday baby."

"thank you," you smile, puckering your lips up for one more kiss. lando would have to be heartless to deny the birthday girl, after all, and so he grants your wishes instantly. 

"as much as i'd love to stand here 'nd keep kissing you, i have something i need to do. someone's special day, apparently."

lando’s expression is mischievous, and he wiggles his eyebrows at you as he slowly backs towards the door. 

over the course of your relationship with lando, you’ve learnt one very crucial lesson: never question him. especially not in moments like these, when he clearly has a trick or two hidden up his sleeve. and so you allow him to slink away, your curiosity piqued as to what he could have planned for you.

gentle clattering and a few mumbled curse words provide background noise as you slowly wake up further, the haze of sleepiness lifting the longer you sit upright. phone in hand, you scroll through the barrage of birthday texts and messages from your friends and family. a wide smile tugs at your lips as you allow the excitement of the day to bubble below your skin, electric and bright.

you sniff once, then once again, as a sugary, warm scent floats through the half-open doorway. you can hear lando hiss a little as the sound of a pan clashing into the sink prompts a laugh to escape you.

it doesn’t take a genius to work it out: he’s cooking. what he’s making, though, is still to be revealed. it’s far too late for him to think about baking a cake for you, yet the scent is no where similar to his usual breakfast of eggs or toast.

“you okay?” you call out, mirth lacing your tone.

“perfect!” comes lando’s response. “just stay put, gorgeous, i won’t be long!”

convinced, you do as told. and god, is it worth the wait.

lando swiftly reappears, an adorably out of tune ‘happy birthday’ accompanying his arrival. a large gift bag hangs from his wrist, and balancing precariously in his hand is a plate of pancakes.

they’re quite clearly homemade, a little uneven in size and shape, and topped with copious amounts of fruit and cream. baby blue candles are stuck into the top of the stack, the flames flickering mildly, and you think you could cry.

lando has never made you feel anything less than the luckiest girl in the world, but in this moment, you truly have no idea what you’ve done to deserve him.

he places one foot in front of the other, all of his focus directed to delivering your birthday breakfast to your lap safely. as his song comes to an end, lando presents you with your pancakes, his bright grin another sweet side.

the gift bag is placed onto the ground, and lando perches next to you on your bed, hand resting on your knee above the bedsheets.

“happy birthday, baby,” lando says, voice sincere. “make a wish.”

and when you blow out the candles, you don’t even need to make a wish; all you could ever want is right in front of you.

[awellboiledicicle]

I wanna throw out a reccomendation for @shopwitchvamp's skirts and joggers.

For those of you who don't know, i'm fat. I have problems finding cloths that both fit and are cute. Them lasting against the gauntlet of my thighs rubbing together is a wholly separate concern that comes about 50 feet before the concern of if pockets exist in the thing. Somewhere in there is "and how long until the elastic cracks out and i'm screwed?" And that's not covering the sensory issues of if the fabric is ok or it'll feel like satan is rubbing his pubes on my skin every time i move.

I know well that i'm not the only big person to have these issues. I would wager it's common enough that several people are nodding along and waiting to see me go "and these clothes cover some of these issues".

HOWEVER

I would like to say that they cover ALL these issues very well!

First off: I first purchased a skirt from this store and generally assumed it'd be too small. Because even when things say they fit a certain size, i get skeptical. It not only fit over my belly comfortably-- the elastic not cutting in and sitting smoothly--but i could pull it up and the band would rest easily around my chest so I could wear the maxi skirt as a dress! It also has pockets that can fit my wallet, phone, keys, and nintendo switch. Granted, if you distribute them lopsided, it'll pull that way, but it is only a mortal garment. It's not a miracle worker. That said, i've had it for a year + and not only has the smooth texture not changed, but the elastic hasn't lost tension. It's been well worth the money.

Second off: the joggers. I purchased a pair of joggers with stars and moons and clouds. I believe it was one of the jester's patterns, but i could be wrong. Point is, i had yet another spike in trepidation because skirts? easier to not be a problem. And yet, the joggers not only fit very well, but stretch with little issue. The only problems i've ever run into was whenever i'd eaten/drank a lot and then did a lot of bending. Then the waistband would press in, but that's a folly of pants as a garment. The elastic continues to hold up, both on the waist and the ankles. They're breathable enough to wear during summer, but insulated enough that they're rapidly taking the place of the ol standard "jeans until you need layers". The pockets are also well sized, though not as spacious as the skirts. This is literally the only serious mark against them and that's on me trying to shove a switch in my pants pocket and kneel down to pet a cat.

THIRD: i ordered a jesters privilege tank top and the literal only downside i have with it is i overestimated the idea that it'd shrink with washing. Upside is that it makes my chest look GREAT when i wear it to see my partners. Does wonders as a sleep shirt. And if i tuck it in or wear a jacket over it, it does great at work too. There is less to talk about here, expressly because there are no pockets to review.

I will also shout out their quick customer service-- i once sent an ask about the drawstring in the joggers turning so the end of the string was inside the pants and i couldn't get it out. Within a few hours they responded with a solution to a problem that literally most people let alone companies wouldn't bother with.

"But Mok" you might say, dear assumed reader. "What's the catch? Do they cost an arm and a leg? Do they cost a soul? One pure and untarnished soul from a small child?"

They do not. That said, as someone with a lower income Witchvamp clothes are certainly a "save up for when what you want drops and then treat yourself" deal. They're worth the cost, though. I'd say it's well worth getting a couple pairs of joggers and a skirt for like $150 ONCE in a while, that will LAST and FIT and look nice, than continually dropping $20 on clothes that'll wear out in a season or less.

Also sometimes you get a free rock with your order.

Go forth.

[ronearoundblindly]

Okay, so, hear me out.

I know I've got a Beauty and the Beast AU coming for skinny!Steve, but @darsynia gave me/let me have this idea of a Cinderella AU with him, too, except he is the Cinderella character who gets transformed to live his dream for a day.

I present to you the setup of:

*All photos from Pinterest

Steven is the only child of an exiled prince, and due to happenstance of the aged Warrior King Phillips having no male heir of his own, Steve becomes true royalty overnight.

His cousins, Princesses Margaret and Sharon, angry at the circumstance of their demotions at court, offer no help to the young, small, and often sickly new king.

No one is allowed to see him until his coronation. The few knights and advisors who have laid eyes on Steve are sworn to secrecy, and though he has a mind for strategy, Steve is burdened by his appearance.

Given the coronation crown the night before the big ceremony, Steve stares deep into the massive yellow gem at its front and wishes to look like the "ruler they all want to see."

And he does.

He wears the heavy crown easily, he stands tall over most of the court, and he carries a heavy, steel sword at his hip for the first time ever without the blade dragging across the stone floor.

The court is elated. No one looks twice, not even the handful of men who knew, but that's the magic of the stone...

Steve meets a seemingly endless stream of people, but the most curious is the apprentice of King Phillips' military advisor, a young man he saw befriending a stray cat in the courtyard while everyone else ogled and angled for him. The apprentice's eyes...there's just something about them...

After a long celebration feast where he charmed the nobility with humility, practicality, and honor, Steve falls asleep small again, but certain he can win over the whole realm if he can simply be known for his actions, not his physique.

That becomes the plan; Steve will work behind the scenes, make the kingdom better for people high and low, and then he'll be loved and accepted for who he is. In the meantime, he, in his natural form, can act as a sort of messenger or page boy 'for King Steven' and move around freely. Why not? They all are on the lookout for a man standing two hands higher and broader than him.

One of his first visits is to his inherited military advisor. Of course, Steve doesn't expect the apprentice to live inside the family home, possibly somewhere on the estate maybe, but after a long ride to get there and a long discussion while sitting in the man's study, Steve asks if he might walk the garden before leaving.

He asks about the woman by the roses, and his advisor simply replies "that's my daughter."

Of course, he won't bother to introduce him. Steve's an untitled nobody like he's been his entire life thus far.

Steve might not have seen the resemblance, truly, if not for the exact movement of your finger to gently lift a wilting petal back into place.

It's the move the apprentice made when scratching beneath the cat's chin, and he'll never forget that smile.

"You," he blurts, startled at the otherwise drastic change in your appearance.

You jump back before composing yourself, shielding your eyes from the bright sun above as you look him over.

He's more alarmed by your curtsy than you are by him, watching you bow deeply where moments ago your father dismissed him offhand.

"Your Majesty," you say to the ground.

You...

You recognize him like this? How? How is that possible?

His wish was granted. They all saw a perfect soldier, but that's just the thing: you didn't want to be ruled by a perfect soldier.

You wanted a good man.

You, who secretly longs to offer more to your father and family than a bartering chip for marriage, same as his cousins, need the king to be a good man because then he'll understand this...

A/N: Ok, full disclosure, I might already be very protective of this one, so we'll see if I can bring myself to put it all out there. Anyway! Thank you for the gif, Brandy! It was a great opportunity to get this down.

Also, if it's just an idea/intro, do I include the taglist? Idk. I hate pinging y'all if it's not like a lot of content.

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[gaiathemexicanbeauty]

it only takes a taste | mike schmidt x reader

word count: 1.6k

warnings: none! this is just pure fluff and maybe kind of slowburnish lol

this was loosely based off of it only takes a taste from the waitress musical! :3

idk i just really like the idea of late nights with mike even if he's too tired to even think straight lmao

also don't ask what time period this takes place in, i was born in 2004 and know like 2 things about the 70s-90s or whenever the movie takes place bc its never explicitly mentioned

i also do not regularly bake or cook so do not be afraid to go to my comment section and tell me if something sounds off

i love this man ok, i have said it 1000 times already but i've been in love with him ever since i first saw him when i was like 12 or 13 and was even more so obsessed with rebornica's mike design for YEARS. 12 year old me would have an aneurism if she knew about the fnaf movie

you let out a long yawn, one hand reaching up cover your mouth so as not to potentially ruin the mood of any customers around; granted, there was only two and they were graveyard shifters from somewhere outside of town but customers are customers. you'd been working at sparky's for a couple of months now, figuring it was an easy way to make some cash and keep food on the table. of course, you hadn't accounted for the very long hours that passed where you half debated trying to sneak away since no was around from 2-4:00 am: your boss would kill you, though, and you wanted to stay employed.

soft oldies music plays in the background as you glance over at the clock ticking away on the wall. just as you move to grab a rag to clean the counters for the 5th time during your shift, you hear the bell above the entrance jingle and don't even have to look up to know who it is.

mike wasn't a regular at first, just someone who popped in at random and very quietly asked for a coffee. after a while of starting a new job, he started coming in at almost 11:00 pm everyday and always asking for the same thing: just a plain, black coffee. "seriously?" you had said with a smirk the first time he said his order to you, your eyes widening at the attitude you had just given a customer. fortunately, mike was quick to respond with a tired but good natured laugh, his hands folded in front of him. "i'm all ears if you have other recommendations." he mumbled with a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, giving you instant relief.

now, it was just clockwork. "hey." mike sighs with a soft sigh, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he takes a seat at a chair by the counter you were standing behind. "coffee machine is kind of acting up tonight, you're gonna have to give it a minute. want anything else while you wait?" you say as you approach the counter, giving him a quick smile. mike is about to decline your offer, his lips parting to say something before his eyes land on something on the farther end of the counter. "what about that? still good?" "you're just in time. i was going to take the rest of it home." you say with a smile, walking over to the cake stand holding an apple pie with only 3 slices left of it. you take the lid off to plate it, handing it over to mike with a hum before bringing him utensils. you don't even get the chance to bring up to him that the slices have been sitting there for a couple of hours, blinking in shock at the way he's quick to start eating.

you turn your back to start taking down the chalkboard advertising the special from the day before, giving mike his one moment of quiet you were sure he needed. you start to think about what your day will consist of once you're done with your shift, dreading having to clean your room before you can actually sleep. "did you make this?" "yeah. why, is it bad?" you say with a chuckle, turning to look at mike again; your eyes widen a bit at the way mike is looking at you, his own eyes looking at you like he can't believe what he just put it in his mouth. "no, no, it's..it's really good, like. really good." your cheeks redden a bit at the sudden compliment, pushing a piece of hair behind your ear as you occasionally glance at him enjoying the pie you'd made; you wouldn't say you were amazing at cooking but you definitely knew enough to make a meal that would do more than just feed you.

it also didn't help that you'd been harboring a crush on mike for the past month. that you were aware of, he didn't have a partner of any kind but that might have been more to do with the fact he didn't have time for one than anything else. you at first brushed it off as just not having contact with anyone your age that late at night, just enjoying his company when nights got lonely. but you couldn't deny the way you would style your hair a bit differently or try a new perfume in the hopes of getting a compliment from mike; to your absolute pleasure, he almost always pointed it out. now to hear this sudden praise for your cooking took you out of your element.

"thanks, really, but i make it all the time. i can make thousands like it and they'll all be the same." you say with a light chuckle, crossing your arms against your chest as you look over at the cake stand sheepishly. "then maybe you should consider getting a day job making these instead." mike says between bites, giving you a playful smile. you can't help but scoff despite the smile on your face, looking over at mike again. "well, if it's that easy, maybe YOU should quit your job and come and join me. keep me company." the two of you have a quiet laugh, your cheeks reddening at the indirect compliment you had paid him. once his plate is empty, you take it away from him just to have an excuse to do something with your hands (also to get away from the almost fond look that mike was giving you right now, definitely not on par for him). there's a tense silence between the two of you before mike speaks up, clearing his throat when he speaks. "uh, i tried making that at home. the pie, i mean. i don't remember what kind it was right now, but it definitely didn't end as well as that." he says with a nervous laugh, hands folded in front of him again as you hear the coffee machine start to pour out his drink.

"well, what exactly did you do wrong?" with surprisingly no hesitance, mike goes on to tell the story of how sure he was about this recipe he'd seen in a catalogue, going above and beyond to make sure this "stupid thing" (his words) came out right. little did he know leaving his creation unattended for even a second would result in smoke pouring out of the oven and having to throw out a charred-black pastry; "and then abby went and acted like we could just go and do it all over again and.." mike starts, hands waving around uncharacteristically as he finished off his story. he caught the way you were trying to hold back a laugh, fingers pressed to your lips that were etched into a small smile. "it's ok, you can laugh all you want. i never tried doing it again." you can't help the laugh that leaves you once he gives you his full permission, still trying to keep your voice down. "i-i'm sorry, really.." you giggle once you've calmed down, rubbing your hands over your face before you start to walk around the counter to where mike is sitting. "but that's not how making a pie works. you can't just leave it like that or give up on the process that easily."

mike makes a face that says 'i'm listening', shrugging his shoulders when you sit on the stool next to him. "making a pie is like.." you start with a sigh, hands propping up your chin in thought as you look up at the clock. "you just know when some things feel right. if something is too much or too little, whether you need to start again or not. lord knows i've had to redo entire pies because the crust wasn't flaky enough or the filling didn't taste like apples enough." you say, chuckling a bit as you remember all the times you'd slaved away for almost entire days trying to nail down the perfect home recipe. you take a minute to think again, sitting back a bit as you smooth down your apron tied around your waist. "and it also doesn't help if you make something just to make something. when you bake or just cook a plain old steak, you have to make it like you're crafting a story or making a song. all of my best meals were made with someone or something in mind."

your cheeks go red again when you realize the very unprompted ramble you went on, a nervous laugh leaving you as you look down at your lap. "sorry, you totally don't have to-" "no, no, i-" the two of you jump a bit at the way you both try to speak first, sheepish smiles tugging at your lips before you go quiet again. the bell above the door jingles and you don't have to look up to know the two of you are alone now. "i like hearing about that sort of stuff. i really only hear about it when i'm here with you and it's..nice. different." your heart soars and you can only hope that mike can't somehow feel or hear it, trying to give him a warm smile without saying something you'll regret. you get up from your seat with a when he checks his watch, knowing that's code for 'i need to go' even before he stands. you're almost sure he'll leave without saying anything which you are simultaneously grateful for and hoped he wouldn't do, already busying yourself with some other menial task. "hey."

you look up almost as soon as he speaks, seeing the smile tugging at his lips and not able to contain your own. "save those leftovers for me. i hope it still tastes like you were trying to make it for me when i get back." he says, a smug look in his eyes as your lips part a bit in shock. you try to call out to him before he jogs out to his car, taking off accordingly.

-> ta da its done! :D <-

this was honestly less romantic than i wanted it to be but i promise that my brain is racked with thoughts of him literally EVERY DAY so mayhaps i can write something else that's more up to par one of these days

but thank yall for reading! :D i haven't been able to pump out a oneshot like this for a while and it felt good to write something longer than a couple of paragraphs, i have missed this account sm 🐺💗 love yall and i hope that you all are having a fantastic day!

[chronically-ghosted]

i totally agree that it’s ridiculous for people to write fics for films that haven’t been released yet, but the problem isn’t the smut itself. people have every right to write porn if that scratches the itch.

i think your main point is the most important: it’s impossible to write a thoughtful, inspired fic when we don’t even know the story it’s based on. no one knows who this character is or what he’s like.

at this point, everyone should just call a spade a spade and write pedro rpf. all they care about is seeing his face in different situations.

so my earlier post was not so much a statement on Pedro Pascal Character fanfiction/porn, but the commercialization of art and I interpreted the thoughts and opinions of others through the lens of the medium I most often express myself with, which is fanfiction.

let me be clear: i have no problem with smut - pwp or otherwise. people are allowed to write whatever they want, about whoever they want, with whatever tropes make them happy.

my overall focus (and granted it was probably very muddled by the end of those - what, like three reblogs?) was an interrogation of fanfiction as art, and the state of art in this modern era. and after doing some more thinking and listening to more people much smarter than me (thank you to everyone who dm-ed me directly to talk further about this), my opinion is thus: the creation of content (not art) is more ubiquitous today is not because we are getting more stupid as a society, not because of our failing attention spans, not because we are on the brink of moral collapse but because we physically do not have the mental strength to be intellectually curious as a direct result of constant, distracting, emotionally-draining stimuli.

i can explain what i mean below the cut with two primary examples, specifically regarding the shift in fanfiction cult, and yes, the prominence of smutty oneshots in the pedro pascal character fandom of which this blog is a part of.

I have been in various fandoms for almost twenty years. I have been writing fanfiction for almost that same amount of time. In recent years, I've noticed two trends that initially discouraged me, but that I now believe is a symptom of our adjustment to a modern, constantly online era.

A severe lack of engagement within the artistic artifacts of a fandom

The quality of the fanfiction itself (because yes I do consider fanfiction to be an artform) has gone down hill - mostly.

Lack of engagement:

Art is inherently created to be shared. This is especially true for fandom because the community lives or dies by how many people are interacting with each other and sharing ideas (news, theories, fanart, fanfic, etc). If you say a fandom is dead, it means there haven't been any new posts or fic about it in years. So I don't wanna hear it when people say, "oh write for yourself, you shouldn't be chasing engagement" because that is antithetical to the very concept of fanfiction.

In recent years, I have seen and experienced myself engagement in my work only so far as a like or kudo. This is not how it used to be. Message boards (yes I am that old) and niche fandom sites were constantly abuzz with media sharing and excitement, and everyone enjoyed some version of praise (unless you got hit by the antis but they're never fun anyway). Initially I blamed this drop in engagement on laziness: people just want the next thing, they can't be bothered to appreciate the hard work writers put in and they just see content and art as the same thing - stuff to consume.

But I myself am GUILTY of minimal reblogs and comments and I LOVE what I'm writing - the impact certain works leave me with is long, long lasting but for some goddamn reason, I can't sit down and praise the author's works. Am I lazy? Possibly, but this is also not an isolated behavior and it's on the rise: people do not have time to engage with fandom/fanfic like they used to. Most people I know have worked at least two or three jobs at some point in their lives to just to make rent. This gen z is the first generation in DECADES to be worse off economically than their parents. With an interest rate at 8%, who the fuck can afford the security of a home anymore? We work ourselves to the bone for scraps and the realization that The Dream has officially died. And so what do we want to do in the free time we do have? Engage with the very bare minimum. We want to read things that we can at best skim, things we don't have to think about or engage with in any meaningful way. We want a way to turn off the noise of the next apocalypse and sometimes the best we can do is the tap of a thumb.

Which brings me to my next point: what the fuck happened to thoughtful fanfiction?

But this question is inextricably linked to the points above: oneshots are easier to write, faster to write, and if you write fic that is basically "Mad libs porn" (without ever engaging in the actual medium because it is literally not released yet), you are doing the most minimal work for the most amount of engagement. But I can't fault ANYONE for doing that. It feels good to be told your smut is "so hot" or "this exploded my panties" and in this era where the time available to create is so fucking small and minimized of course you're going to write for the most popular character, whether or not you're interested in the source material because we want our art to matter to someone. Intellectual pundits loooove to lambast our "shorter attention spans" but fuck, when are we allowed the time to think - in between this "100 year storm" that's happened twice in the past five years, or the global pandemic that turned millions of deaths into a political punching bag, or the next video of a white woman crying wolf to the police over an innocent black man, or - or - or - or

In a day where reality and the world as we know seems to be holding onto a thread, we turn to comfort: comforting tropes (dbf to rape/kidnap fantasies), comforting fanfic (pwp), and comforting ways to engage with fandom. There is nothing wrong with wanting your art to be appreciated and there's nothing wrong with inherently wrong with pwp - but I do believe its symptomatic of a MUCH larger and more sinister movement within ALL art right now.

I come from the generation who banished fanfic authors for scrubbing off the filing numbers to their fics and publishing it as original content because, in our communities, they were selling out. Fanfiction is inherently an act of rebellion. Every time you write fanfiction you break canon, an established structure with its own rules and boundaries. So by trying to appeal to the masses, to curb your own writing to fit whatever is mainstream, you are doing a disservice to yourself AND to the art of fanfiction. If something you write becomes popular, wonderful, great, you are very lucky and there is nothing wrong with that either. But do not sell out your 13 beloved fans who WILL take the time to leave a comment, who WILL take the time to reblog because your weird little fic spoke to them on a fundamental level and now is with them for the rest of their lives - in favor of a 100 thumb taps.

If you've made it here, thank you very much for reading. I've added some links to some additional references to see how this concept of "populist" art is having a serious negative down turn in the quality of art, but is also not any one individuals personal failings:

Why the world is addicted to background tv by Kayleigh Day

How Modern Audience are failing cinema by Like Stories of Old

Rupi Kaur episode of Rehash podcast

I'm always here to talk fic and art and what makes you excited about your writing. Much love and please rest. We need you here.

[apomaro-mellow]

Whatever Stevie Wants 12

Part 11

Somehow, Steve was able to convince Eleanor that the twins had been sent away to one of the houses his parents kept on the other side of the country and that her services were no longer needed. She would be paid through the month, however. He assumed that, plus his heavy sobbing convinced her to go home. While on his own, Steve searched and searched through the cabinets until he found it. A charger. The phone already had plenty of juice but Steve wanted to be sure it wouldn’t die on him.

Keeping it on silent was vital. As was always having it on him. Steve knew his mother still snooped around his room when he wasn’t in it, so he couldn’t even risk hiding it away somewhere. His room was also where his mother kept the wedding dress, hung on a mannequin with a figure he didn’t have anymore and he’s not sure if he ever did. 

Alone in his room, Steve took the phone out and looked at the video. It had gotten traction and a few comments.

This is the creepiest thing I've seen in a long while!!

When you find Steve can you drop his parents’ location? I just wanna talk

This is gonna be one of those things new CC fans will think us oldheads are lying about in a few years.

That was when Steve got an idea. The phone was just to help coordinate his own escape now that the girls were free. But he had a good opportunity to document what he was going through here. He turned the camera on, first on himself.

“Steve Munson again. This is my room. It’s the same room I’ve been in since I outgrew the nursery. And that”, he flipped the camera around to the dress. “Is my wedding dress. Long time fans of Corroded Coffin might be aware that I am already married. And no we did not get a divorce-”

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

Eddie was bouncing a fussy Violet in his arms. It was one of those days where nothing calmed or satisfied her. He knew she was cranky and needed a nap but she just wouldn’t go down. Her diaper was fresh, her belly was full, she had on her most comfortable onesie. And yet she writhed and her face was red.

Eddie was at his wit’s end when Jeff came up to him. Vanessa was already down for her nap. Jeff held out a shirt and Eddie caught a whiff of Steve’s scent easily. He held it up to Violet, practically wrapping her in it and she calmed down almost right away. She cooed and Eddie held her to his chest, letting his heartbeat lull her to sleep before letting her down gently into her crib. 

“Thanks”, he whispered to Jeff on the way out.

“I didn’t just come to give you that. You’re gonna wanna see this”, Jeff said as he took out his phone.

Steve had been busy.

If it wasn’t videos of him explicitly narrating points about his childhood or day, it was simply a recording of a conversation his parents’ had. It was never heartwarming or flattering. And it had been days since they’d gotten the girls and yet no messages from Steve.

“What’s his plan now? Why’s he still there?”

Eddie did what he always did when he was nervous and searching for answers which was sit while bouncing his legs uncontrollably and fidgeting with his fingers.

“He’s gathering evidence”, Grant said.

“If his parents did this once, they’d probably try again. If not Steve then maybe even the babies”, Gareth said, arms crossed.

Eddie had already been considering murder when he found out about all this. He would make good on that if the Harringtons ever tried anything like this again. He took a deep breath.

Jeff nudged him with his shoulder. “We need to do what we can on our end and be ready for him.”

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

It had been a couple of weeks since Vanessa and Violet’s escape and incredibly, his parents hadn’t noticed a thing. Steve remembered his father having very little presence in his life before he hit puberty, but his mother’s lack of care would have been worrying had she not been a whirlwind of preparations for this party.

On the surface it was Steve’s official homecoming after ‘being away abroad’. His other two suitors would be here tonight. Ridwan West, the politician and Ethan McBride, the one who had wanted Steve to leave behind his beautiful pups and have new ones by him. Before tonight, his parents had argued about whether Steve should wear a suit or a dress. 

He preferred pants most days but he liked dresses and skirts too. He’d worn a dress at his wedding, having found a perfect one. But it wasn’t about what he wanted; what his preference was or anything like that. It was about the image his parents wanted him to project and at first they couldn’t agree. Eventually, his father convinced his mother that a suit was more appropriate and so that was what Steve wore.

Steve wasn’t brought in front of his would-be suitors right away, no that would be tacky to get it all out of the way right when the party started. Instead, Steve knew his role was to tail his parents as they greeted other guests. But soon enough, he had to meet them, starting with Ridwan. 

“Heard this one’s feisty”, Ridwan waggled his brows.

His mother put on a laugh but Steve could tell there was a nervous edge to it. She had put this whole thing together as quickly as possible to keep the rumor mill from spreading what Steve had done to Findlay but there was no stopping that machine. Steve either had a tight smile or a neutral expression. But sometimes his neutral read as bitchy and he got pinched by his mother, so he tried to keep the smile on.

Ridwan kept talking to his parents, barely engaging Steve in conversation, but having no problem leering like he was trying to see through his clothes. It made Steve feel like he was on display despite being fully clothed. It wasn’t that long ago that he was on display in a good way, the memory of the beach seemed so far away. When this was all over, he needed another vacation. 

Layton and Ridwan went off to talk together and Margaret took Steve with her to talk with one of her friends. Steve had learned how to block out most of these kinds of conversations but he was pulled back into it when his father returned with Ridwan and asked to borrow Steve for a bit. So Steve went along. 

Steve didn’t say a word as the other two men discussed how’d they’d done in golf the other day and how’d they’d fare the next time they got on the green. They got to one of the sitting rooms, the ones where usually his father drank and smoked with the other men after gathering like this. There was a pool table and a bar and places to sit. It was too early in the party for anyone to be here yet, so the three of them were alone.

“Steve, Ridwan here has been wanting to get to know you better”, Layton said. “Away from prying eyes.”

“Privacy is such a scarce thing nowadays”, Ridwan said.

Steve didn’t realize what was happening until his father was already out of the room, door closing behind him. Steve didn’t call out, begging his father to have some decency, to care for him, to want him to retain some dignity. All he could think of was that this was what his father had known. What his mother had known. Perhaps years ago they had been in the same position. His mother, coerced into letting a man she barely knew feel her up just so he would choose her over someone else.

Whether or not this had happened to them didn’t matter. They should still be better than their own parents and not want this for their son. Before Ridwan could touch him, Steve slapped his hands away.

“Don’t you fucking touch me.”

“What did you just say to me?”

“You heard me. What a fucking sleaze.”

Ridwan frowned. “Now what am I going to tell your father? That you’re a bad sport?”

“Fuck him! And you! And my mother while I’m at it!”

“So you’ll spread for that band but now you’ll cross your legs. Goddamn slut-” He let out a groan as Steve kicked him in the chest. A mere slap wasn’t enough for this man.

Steve burst from the room, stomping out. He remembered the day he’d left for college. His parents had put on a party then too, hoping to keep him from leaving and making a scene. They hadn’t approved of where he was going. Steve had screamed and shouted and walked out in a blaze then, leaving a mark. 

This time, he walked with his head held high and without haste. He went right up to the door and walked out, leaving behind the clinking glasses and fake laughter. He’d never look back. It was dark out but he still had the phone and used the flashlight to guide his way from the house, to the gate, then out to the road.

He wasn’t walking for long before headlights flashed from behind. He could tell the car was moving slowly. Shit. He should have grabbed a knife or something before leaving. He could probably use the phone as a weapon though…Steve braced himself as the car slowed up beside him. God, Eddie was going to give him so much shit if he got kidnapped twice-

“Hey good lookin’ you come out here often?”

“Eddie!”

Thank goodness the door opened in time because Steve all but threw himself at the car. Eddie hadn’t even had time to unbuckle his seatbelt and get out. His arms wrapped around Steve all the same. Steve was in his lap, legs hanging out of the car but he didn’t care as he kissed Eddie like it had been an eternity. 

“Can we at least close the door so I can start driving away?”, Jeff asked.

Steve pulled away, panting a little. “Don’t be jealous”, he said before leaning over and kissing him square on the mouth. 

His body was completely in the car, so Eddie was able to close the door. When Steve released his lips, Jeff took off. 

“How did you know to be here?”, Steve asked, settling into Eddie’s lap, seatbelts be damned.

Eddie looked sheepish and Jeff had to answer for him. “We’ve basically been stalking the place.”

“Casing, we were casing the joint”, Eddie amended. His arms went around Steve in a tight hold and he nuzzled his neck, inhaling his scent. “Ready to go home, baby?”

Steve relaxed for the first time in weeks, his whole body sagging and his brain getting fuzzy already. “Yes, daddy.”

Part 13 (final)

[pekoehoneyncream]

Ghoaptober # 25

Prompt: Alone

Words: 1200~

TW: Unkind Mental Dialogue, Hamfisted Flower Metaphors (sfw)

This version of Ghoaptober was created by @spadesandshovels

I've no idea what else to tag this as, but if you've any ideas please let me know

Enjoy!

Soap had been informed that he was being granted a freeday. That Friday would be entirely his, to do with as he pleased. If what pleased him was within regulations, of course. He’s been dreading it from the very moment he was first told and while he was stuck-still fearing it, it came.

He’d gone to bed Thursday night with one last bit of traitorous hope still crying ‘maybe this time will be different’ from a dandelion clock in his soul’s weedful garden, and had awoken this morning to find hope’s stem bare. His garden grown wild with windflowers, plume thistle, hairbells, and nettles once more. 

Staring up at the ceiling tiles of his bunk, Soap tried to convince himself to get up, to sit up at the very least, to make that first step towards facing the day, but found himself unmoving. Laying there with a dull sense of despair as he fails and fails again. Purposeless slackens his limbs, feels sunk into his very bones, unaccountability a leaden weight that anchors him where he is. 

Alone, with nothing to do, no one counting on him, and not a soul to be disappointed in his inaction, he finds himself unable to unstick himself from his rut. 

Just as he'd known would happen. 

His phone dings and he finds it in his hand within the next moment, without any conscious decision to pick it up off his floor from where it lays under the edge of his cot while he’s sleeping. It’s Ghost, he’s texted over just one singular question mark.

Checking the time Soap realizes with impotent urgency that breakfast time had blown past while he’d been busy festering in his bed. He doesn’t know how to respond, he has no explanation, no excuse, he hadn’t turned off his reminders, he’d heard his phone buzzing with the silent alarms he’d long ago set to help keep him on track. It had just felt so unimportant to him at the time.

What had been the point of going to breakfast when he had nothing to do after breakfast, what would he be eating for, why should he fuel a body that was going to be languishing in inutility all day. It was pointless, so he hadn’t. Hadn’t even bothered to stop the alarm, just letting it vibrate itself out. 

But he’d worried Ghost, or else he’d confused him enough by not appearing for breakfast that his L.T had felt obligated to seek an explanation. Soap mustered himself and sent back three thumbs-ups. One would be too abrupt, two was too eager, but three felt inoffensively joking enough to be worth sending. 

Another question marked dinged onto his screen within the same minute of Soap responding. He stared, puzzled. What could Ghost be asking about now? Scrolling back up to check if he’d missed a question Ghost had sent or something, Soap could have smacked himself, and did let his phone drop despairingly onto his chest. He’d forgotten that he never sends Ghost emojis on their own, he only does that with his siblings, with Ghost he barely ever uses them, and when he does it's mostly as tone indicators for difficult to parse statements. Soap liked actually talking to Ghost too much to ever be so taciturn as to just use emojis, normally that is.

“Sorry, LT. Didn’t feel up to bkfst” He types out and forces himself to send, after watching precious minutes keep ticking by while he agonized over it.

“Whats wrong” Ghost's response pops in, then “Sick?” in a separate text immediately after.

Soap knows he’s really worried Ghost now, if the man is skipping apostrophes and sending stacked texts. He's devastatingly tempted to agree, to say he’s sick, instead of just a useless layabout. 

“Johnny?” Ghost’s concern bleeds from the screen as Soap’s fingers hover over the keyboard and with a grimace he punches in his response.

“No. Just didnt feel up to it”

Knowing that Ghost knew of his sudden onset of redundancy was a horrible sick feeling that sloshed about his gut, but Soap also knew that lying to him would have felt worse. 

A simple “Okay” from Ghost and Soap lets his phone drop again, hanging his hand off the bed to abandon the device back onto the floor. 

Losing himself to the ceiling tiles and the yawning pit that's echoing all his many failures back to him from the depths of his heart, Soap wallows. If rot and decay weren’t progression his garden would be wilting and blackening. Instead it follows his lead and stagnates. Unmoving as still-water and twice as toxic. Time is meaningless to him on a normal day, but now he torments himself with guesses at how long he’s spent just laying there, doing absolutely nothing.

It can’t have been more than five minutes, but what did he know, full hours could have run by him now and he’d be none the wiser to it. 

A rap at his door pulls him from that spiral and he stumbles off his cot to open it. Ghost is stood there, a banana in hand. Carried with the same reverence he gives mission objectives. 

“L.T?” Soap steps out of the way and lets Ghost stalk into his bunk, flushing when Ghost’s scan of the room lingers on his cot with its freshly disturbed sheets.

“Brought you this,” Ghost presses the fruit into Soap’s hands,

“Uh, ‘hanks, Ghostie. Ye didnae-”

“An’ this,” Ghost wields a bottle of Lucozade now, and Soap hasn’t a singular clue where in fuck he could have pulled it from. 

An incredulous snerck of laughter jolts free of Soap’s chest. He folds over, bracing his hands on his knees and staring hard at the floor as he tried to suppress his giggles. A glance over at Ghost ruins him, the energy drink was being pointed at him with intent, Ghost’s serious eyes staring Soap down from just above. Gales of semi-hysterical laughter pour free of him and Soap collapses to the floor as his knees give out. Dropping onto his back, he presses the back of his hands to his eyes, careful not to blind himself with the banana he’s still holding. He can feel his garden blooming under the sun Ghost’s brought in with him, running over with ivy, snowdrops, primroses, and wild arum. 

“Where awn god’s green earth,” He giggles out, dropping his hands to look up at Ghost with a humored smile, “Were ye keepin’ tha’?” 

“Need to know info, Johnny,” Ghost rebuffs him, “You don’t have that kind of clearance.” 

More incredulous giggles wrack through the Sergeant and he rocks himself a little on the floor as he tries to rein himself in. Joyous tears leaking from the corners of his squeezed shut eyes. 

“It’s blue flavour,” Ghost advertises, waggling the bottle at him.

“Well iffin it’s blue,” Soap jokes, his voice bouncing with the remnants of his laughing fit. He leans up, taking Ghost’s extended hand to lever back to his feet, then sits himself back onto his cot and accepts the drink that is a truly lurid shade of blue, as promised. 

Soap pats at the open spot beside him and rides out the subsequent tremor when Ghost plunks himself down with no aplomb. 

“‘hanks, Si.” Johnny mumbles as he starts peeling his Ghost allocated banana, keeping the Lucozade pinned securely between his knees, so he wouldn’t lose it somehow. 

“All good, Johnny.” Ghost assures, watching him spend his full concentration on opening the banana with the least amount of stringy bits left behind. The unspoken warmth that Ghost carried in his soul for this man, finally banking from the blaze it’d been stoked into by Johnny’s uncharacteristic morning. 

Whatever Johnny was going though, Ghost was determined to not let him face it alone.

Thank You For Reading!

Yep, Scots call dandelion puffballs 'clocks', apparently.

Here's the flower meanings, I've a book of them that I took these from, if looking them up tell you something different ┐(•_•)┌

Windflowers - Forsaken Plume Thistle - Misanthropy Hairbells - Grief/death Nettles - Cruelty Primrose - Eternal love/I cannot be without you/Obsessive love Ivy - Happy Love/Affection/Fidelity/Marriage Wild Arum - Ardor/Zeal Snowdrop - Consolation/Hope/Hope in sorrow

All of these should grow wild in Scotland or Britain, if my bit of surface level research didn't steer me wrong.

PekoeHoneynCream's Masterlist

[missielynne]

There's so much to unpack when it comes to Isaac and his relationships. I still think the biggest problem between him and Nigel is simply that they moved too fast from crush to wedding and they never had a real conversation about their relationship. In Nigel's case, I'm not sure that he actually realized that he was Isaac's first boyfriend and that he might actually need to slow down because of that. In Isaac's case... I'm starting to think that's just how he thought relationships were supposed to work. Clearly, he and Beatrice weren't a love match, and it's likely that they got married because they got along well enough and it was socially advantageous. And I think he does accept that they both cared for each other in their own ways and that she didn't hate him. But there are some uncomfortable parallels between his first marriage and his proposal to Nigel, which really reads like Isaac was uncomfortable with how fast the relationship was moving and decided that once they got married they'd figure things out. I think maybe Isaac's realizing that he and Nigel were never quite on the same page relationship-wise, and it's making him second guess some of what he took for granted in his first marriage.

So, so true. I think that finding out Nigel was immediately in the shed with Jenkins when he hesitated about taking the kissing step just made nervousness that was already there about him and Nigel even worse. And like, he didn't want to lose him, he KNEW that Nigel thought things were going too slow, so he did what he thought Nigel would want, which is...a proposal, or at least a sign that he was in it for the long haul, even though he was still not sure yet.

I also completely agree that Nigel didn't perhaps know he was Isaac's first relationship because he himself is more comfortable with having actual relationships with men prior to being with Isaac. Like we know...we see that he is openly puzzled when Isaac's reaction to being asked to move in with him is to panic, make excuses, and run away.

And of course, you know, being men of their time or whatever, they don't sit down and talk about it. They don't talk about anything. Isaac just does whatever Nigel wants to do, or Nigel goes and is with Jenkins.

I definitely feel like between marrying Beatrice for whatever reason and his panicked proposal to Nigel, Isaac really has no idea what it means to be in a typical, loving, supportive relationship. To be in something that has stability. Like even along with his romantic relationships, his life in general seems very unsettled and uncertain because his parents were on the run from debt collectors and who knows what else so maybe he spent a lot of his life trying to figure out what stability, relationship-wise or otherwise looked like. Like he could have joined the army to try and start that process. And maybe Woodstone is giving him some of that. I agree that having the stability of the marriage or the life is the most important thing to him, and to prove competence through that: Society says that normal successful people have marriages so I got married, for instance. And yes, once he can look society or whoever in the eye and say "Look, I've been successful this way," then they can deal with the other stuff. And as a consequence, interpersonal relationships are what he's terrible at because he's always worried about how his relationships will make HIM look or what they'll do for him (or what they won't, or how they could be ruined), instead of taking time to focus how things are between him and his partner as a unit, which is what would help him in the long run more than ruminating on his own guilt.

[ngc-5194]

yknow i could very easily accept someone not liking the mobile kh games if people actually gave... understandable reasons??

mostly i've heard that they're 'inaccesable'. which. they're in general more accessable since the console they run on is a phone, a device more people have than a ps4. though, granted, it is the offline version of both games only.

however, if you don't have a phone, have limited space on your phone, or are uninterested in a mostly unplayable game, all of which are understandable, there are cutscene compilations (ux (story important, all), dr) available on youtube too!

if the lots of reading is the issue then there is a completely dubbed version of the cutscenes of ux and you can easily find voiced playthroughs of both union x and dark road on youtube as well.

(for instance, here is a playthrough of dark road that i watched as my phone needed repairs by the time i had caught up with the series enough to move onto khdr. but, of course, there are many more options if you simply search up 'kingdom hearts [dark road/union x] playthrough' on youtube. find whichever one suits the kind of videos you like to watch best!)

if you don't have the time to sit through all of the cutscenes, there are summaries also avaliable! here is a video one for union x, and though unfortunately i can't find a similar one for dark road, it is also always acceptable to just read the wiki section on the story of the game! (here is the union x wiki section as well)

the other major complaint i've heard is that it's 'too confusing' or that the story 'doesn't make sense in parts'.

to which i first must ask, what part of kingdom hearts does make sense to you then? many many signifigant, heavily important parts of this series can be the most mind boggling things you have ever read or heard. so much so that we are known as the fans of that overly complex and insane disney game. that is what we are known for!!

and more to an actual point, there are many many people out there in this fandom who would be thrilled to talk to you about parts of the plot you found confusing. who have posts pages and pages long on minute details.

we are all fans of this weird ass game series and we all can. i don't know. help each other, newcomers and people who have been here awhile alike. us fans who like the mobile games are no different. we are willing to share and help and explain anything you need.

and as for the take that the mobile games are 'unimportant'.

strelitzia, someone deeply important to marluxia, larxene, and ventus' backstories, is seemingly implied to be one of the main characters in kh4 and if you have no knowledge of union x, then you likely have zero idea who she is.

the foretellers and the master of masters are being set up as potential villians in the next arc of the series. all of these characters were introduced in union x, four years before back cover released. and while yes, back cover gives the perspective of the foretellers more while union x is from the eyes of the keykids, there are many interactions with the foretellers in union x, beyond the scope of back cover, that are deeply important to the plot and establishment of their characters.

while yes, dark road has drastically less set up for the future in it, as all of the characters featured are now dead, it gives a lot of depth to xehanort and eraqus both. eraqus' behaviours and motivations are given reason—not necessarily morally good ones, and certainly not ones that always provide justification for his actions, but actual fully defined reasons for it all.

as it has always been with kh, every game is important to understand the story. you couldn't simply play kh1 kh2 and kh3 and expect to understand everything, and you can not expect to understand everything if you don't at least know surface level of the stories of the mobile games too.

you do not have to play them yourself. they do not have to be your favourite games in the series. if you are reading this and you hate them, you can stay not liking them even for all i care.

but you have to accept that they are important to the plot of the series. that they can not simply be ignored if you want to grasp the entire story of kingdom hearts.

[cilil]

Hiiii I’ve been following you on ao3 but I found you here as well:)

Can I ask you would you write a short story about Maedhros X Thuringwethil?

I know it’s a very rare ship😂

𝑩𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒂 𝑭𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒏 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆

AN: Sure! A short story it is indeed (hope nobody is disappointed) - I've just been playing around with some ideas and would be down to revisit this plot line sometime in the future; not right now, though, as I'll be quite busy the next few months x) Anyway: Enjoy!

.☾. Pairings: Maedhros x Thuringwethil; implied/background Melkor x Mairon .☾. Synopsis: Whenever they're not being watched, Thuringwethil sneaks into the dungeons of Angband to see her favorite Elven prince - and secret lover. .☾. Warnings: Implied violence/torture, injuries (not too graphic), blood, blood drinking, vampiric Maiar .☾. AO3

A scream echoed through the hallway. 

Thuringwethil's ears twitched, alert. Could it be his voice? She hoped so, and at the same time that it was not. It would be a sign that he still had the strength to scream, but she didn't want him to be in pain. 

With bated breath, hidden in the shadows of Angband's heigh ceilings where she perched, she waited for her Maiarin brethren to exit the dungeons so she could check on him. Her prince. Her favourite. 

Wings folded, claws digging into tiny cracks within the stone that she had grown to know intimately, she waited. It took hours, but Thuringwethil had to be patient; it had to be safe to go or else she would risk both of them being punished. Her master had seen her prince's beauty as well and didn't like others coming near him; hopefully Mairon kept him too busy to watch his favourite captive all the time. 

When all had left and she sensed no more Maiar nearby, Thuringwethil descended from her vantage point, swift and silent. Gliding through the shadows with ease, she retraced paths and steps she had long since memorised, would find in her sleep if she had to; especially once she caught his scent. Faint it was these days and often laced with the smell of blood and fear, yet that only made her crave it more. 

It was a dark and lonely cell they kept him in, deep within the fortress and away from even the other prisoners. Thuringwethil willed her fána to become formless for a moment, allowing her to pass through indestructible iron bars, and appeared in front the Noldorin prince trapped inside. 

Maedhros was chained to the wall as usual, though through some miracle somebody appeared to have granted him the mercy of loosening his chains enough for him to sit. He was hunched over, a shadow of the proud, glorious prince who had made Thuringwethil's heart beat faster when the Balrogs brought him in, and his head hung low, red locks obscuring his face. 

"My love," she whispered, kneeling in front of him. "My love, I have returned." 

Slowly, Maedhros raised his head. He seemed tired, but his blue eyes regained their usual gleam when he saw her, relieved that it was the one being in this fortress who wouldn't hurt him. Not on purpose at least; Thuringwethil had bitten him by accident a few times. 

"Be careful," he rasped, "Sauron was here earlier–" 

She recoiled. She knew of course which names the Elves had taken to calling her master and her peers, but to hear them spoken in front of her remained jarring.

"You must not use such names here," Thuringwethil cautioned. "They will punish you if they hear." 

"More than they already do?" Defiance lit up his face for a moment, then it was gone again. Maedhros sighed. 

"Call him what you wish, but the fact is that he visited earlier and I fear he may return in time." 

"Don't worry," Thuringwethil moved closer to wrap her wings around him. "He has sought out our master for the night. We won't see him here for a while." 

Maedhros made a low noise of disgust upon hearing this news, but leaned into Thuringwethil's touch as she cupped his cheeks with both hands. There were a few fresh wounds on him, she could see them clearly now; scratch marks across his face, neck and chest. His earlier encounter with Mairon had to have gone as well as one would expect from a jealous Maia who despised incarnates. 

"Let me take care of you," she said gently, bringing their foreheads together. 

"Hungry?" Maedhros retorted, flashing her a crooked smile. 

He was beautiful when he smiled. Thuringwethil wished she could see it more often. 

"For you? Always," she admitted shamelessly and pulled him closer with her wings, pressing her body against his. 

Maedhros let her. He never fought back when she wanted to touch him or drink from him, and Thuringwethil adored him for it. A willing victim, especially one as pretty as him, was always a special treat. 

She licked the scratches on his face first, carefully tracing them with her tongue. There was still some fresh blood underneath, flowing into her mouth as she cleaned his wounds. His neck was next, and she had to stop herself from biting down when her lips caressed the soft, vulnerable skin of his throat and felt veins pulsing underneath. She could easily kill him if she lost control, and sometimes she felt as if he wouldn't mind that; though perhaps less because it was her and more so because it would allow him to escape this place. 

Thuringwethil shook off the thought. It wasn't like she could blame him for it — if she was trapped like he was, she might feel the same. In fact she herself had been trapped and lost once upon a time, and her master had rescued her, though she couldn't remember what had happened. 

Gentle, she tugged at the collar of Maedhros' tunic to expose one of his shoulders and began licking the wounds on his chest, right above his heart. He let his head fall back and was breathing deeply, enjoying the sensation of her warm tongue's rhythmic strokes. 

"Thuri..." His voice sounded rough, almost desperate, and it sent a shudder through the Maia. It felt as though something inside her lower body twisted into a knot, desperate to be undone, and Thuringwethil lifted her head, eyes dark with desire. 

She kissed him then, her beautiful prince, and tasted his blood — from her own tongue or from his, she couldn't tell. Maedhros' lips were dry and chapped, yet when he kissed her back she felt enraptured; she could imagine how amazing he would feel and taste if he wasn't chained up in her master's dungeon, but instead living in a palace or a forest full of trees and sunlight, the ones his kind loved so much. For him, she would even go to such a place. 

Thuringwethil withdrew to let him breathe, caressing his hair in the meantime. "I am so glad to have found you," she whispered, "yet even so, I wish things could be different. I would offer to set you free if I had the power, but I owe my master my life and he is much greater and stronger than any other of our kind." 

Maedhros shook his head. "You forget that I am oath-bound to reclaim my father's jewels which are now set in your master's crown. Even if you freed me, where would I go? Even if I fled, which path would I take that wouldn't inevitably lead me back here?" 

"So even after all this time you insist that you must suffer and ruin yourself for the sake of your dead father?" 

Maedhros leaned forward, letting his lips brush against hers once more. "Forgive me, my love, but out of all beings on Arda I hoped that a Maia would understand." 

Wordlessly, Thuringwethil nodded. It was true, her kind knew all too well how it was to be bound by fate and oaths of fealty. Maedhros couldn't betray his father just like she couldn't betray her master, and even if they could never be together outside of secret rendezvous and stolen moments, this fate they would share, for good and for ill. But for a few precious moments even that would be meaningless, as she lost herself in another kiss. 

Thanks for reading! Thuringwethil's "debt" to Melkor is a reference to my general headcanons for her (tldr: She got lost in the Void and he found her), but whether you want to go along with that or assume he deceived her about her past and took advantage is up to you ;)

taglist: @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @blauerregen @elanna-elrondiel @i-did-not-mean-to @urwendii

[lonesome-witching]

A Play in Three Acts

This might have been the most ambitious prompt I've gotten so far. Which is why this is quite long. Shockingly long actually. And I even tried to shorten it. Thank you for the prompt @allnewtpir. Hope this fits with what you had in mind.

You can send me prompts or find the previous ones right here.

Robin’s mom had often described her love story as a play in three acts. It was a story Robin had grown sick of. As a child she had hoped she’d be granted the same type of love story. But that was before her mother had started to sound like a broken record and long before Robin realized she’d never be granted that same fairytale. Because Robin wasn’t like her mother, she wasn’t like most girls. And while some saw that as a blessing, Robin knew it as a curse. So, she’d bury that stupid play in three acts into the depths of her memory and hoped it would fade away.

But it never did. She could still recount the three acts and how they were supposed to unfold. 

Act I

The first meeting 

The first time Robin met Nancy wasn’t really the first time they met. Their real first time meeting was in kindergarten when each of the children in the circle had been forced to state their name as they were introduced to each other. Nancy had been sitting neatly on her chair, her hands clasped in her lap and Robin had thought she looked so mature. She herself had sat with one leg pulled up on her chair and hugging her knee, a habit she still hadn’t gotten rid off. 

But it wasn’t about that first meeting. It was about the first time they really met, the first time they actually spoke to each other, the moment they went from strangers to acquaintances. 

That happened at the beginning of Christmas break 1984. Robin had been in no mood to leave the house, the cold kept biting into her skin whenever she so much as opened a window. But despite the fact her winter coat had torn at the seams, her parents thought it was a great idea for Robin to walk to the grocery store for some last minute shopping. Very last minute, seeing as her extended family was already on the way to Hawkins. 

So, Robin found herself wandering around the endless isles of chips and drinks and candies. She was searching for orange juice when she noticed her. Standing in front of the fridge filled with different brands of orange juice and sodas stood Nancy Wheeler, eyes glazed over, staring at something beyond the glass. 

“Are you alright?” Robin approached cautiously, keeping her voice low and kind. She never liked being pulled out of her own concentration and she probably wouldn’t have even said anything if she didn’t need the access to that particular fridge. 

Nancy jumped back, her eyes now directed at Robin. She wasn’t sure whether she should be grateful or ashamed to have Nancy’s attention. 

“Huh?” Nancy frowned and Robin thought she might have been crying. 

“Are you alright?” Robin repeated, just as soft as before. 

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” 

She didn’t look fine. “Are you sure? Because I’m not. My partners are being… they’re acting like they know how they’re supposed to act but all it’s doing is making me do stuff I don’t want to do. Like I didn’t even want to leave the house today and I begged them to not invite my drunk aunt over for Christmas but mother knows best, you know? She does whatever she likes and then pretends it’s for my own good.” Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Why was she still talking? 

“Who are you?” Nancy asked and somehow Robin sensed that Nancy was wondering the same thing, why was she still talking to her? 

“Robin. Robin Buckley. We have chemistry. The class. We have chemistry class together at school. Hawkins High.” She refrained herself from adding Go, Tigers to her speech. 

“Right.” 

“Sorry, you probably have your own holidays to get to, let me just…” She pointed her thumb toward the fridge and Nancy stepped aside. 

Robin looked at the different selection of bottles. She wasn’t sure which one her cousins would prefer. At least she assumed she was buying it for the minors and not for some type of special cocktail her mom was thinking up. Those never tasted good. She noticed a bottle that looked somewhat familiar, maybe a brand her parents had bought her when she was a kid. Her hands grabbed it, all under the watchful eye of Nancy Wheeler. 

She knew Nancy was still watching her, could feel those blue eyes staring holes in the side of her face, which is exactly why she continued staring at the bottle she now held in her hands. 

“Robin?” Something had changed in Nancy’s voice and Robin wanted to learn what it was. 

“Yeah?” 

“Do you have anywhere to be right now?” 

Act II

Strangers to friends

Everything had changed after that first meeting. When school started up in January, Nancy sought her out. Third period on Monday, Nancy dropped down in the seat next to Robin for their shared chemistry class with a shy smile. Robin’s own smile bright enough to light up the Christmas tree her parents forgot to take down. 

“Is this okay?” Nancy had asked. 

“Of course, this is great.” Robin replied and maybe she shouldn’t have sounded so eager. But her words eased the tension in Nancy’s shoulders and she really couldn’t regret anything that had that effect. 

So, they sat together during chemistry. And then they started sitting together during lunch twice a week. Mondays and Thursdays, the two lunches Nancy’s boyfriend spent in the darkroom to develop pictures. And then they started sitting together during lunch all the time. Even when Jonathan sat next to her, Nancy’s attention wouldn’t waver from Robin. And then they started calling each other, late at night. 

It was during those calls that Robin really got to know Nancy. Somehow the distance between them made it easier for Nancy to open up. Robin learned that Nancy wanted to become a journalist, that she’d always loved writing in any capacity but that with age and experience she had gotten addicted to diving into mysteries and unraveling them for all to see. Robin had wanted to ask about this experience but she had bitten her tongue. 

She learned that Nancy didn’t like the cold. And the way she had said it made Robin wonder if there was a reason for it. 

She learned that Barb hadn’t run away. The night they had that conversation they both ended up crying on the phone until they fell asleep. According to Nancy, Barb had gotten into an accident. She had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Robin didn’t want to accept this answer but she didn’t really have a choice. 

She learned that Nancy was determined and stubborn and smart. She learned that Nancy didn’t see herself that same way. She learned that maybe deep down she was falling in love with Nancy. 

And then summer approached and Nancy got a wonderful internship at the Hawkins Post, she had been ecstatic when she called Robin to tell her the good news, and Robin… Well, Robin had applied to every single store that had opened at the mall and had only gotten a chance from Scoops Ahoy. It hadn’t been her first choice, or her second or third, but it was a job and she needed the money. 

Nancy had been sitting on the Buckley couch when Robin had gotten the call. Nancy had seen the way Robin wasn’t all that excited for her own summer endeavors. And Nancy had tried to cheer her up instantly. 

And Robin had appreciated it. 

It was only when she learned that Nancy had gotten Jonathan a spot at the paper that something started to burn in her chest. It hadn’t helped that she had been informed of that on the same day Steve Harrington was hired at Scoops Ahoy. She’d be spending her summer with her nemesis while Nancy and Jonathan got to live out their dream, and it stung a little. 

It stung a little less when Nancy came into Scoops Ahoy on her days off. Always right around Robin’s lunch break. Always ordering a different flavor and tipping royally. Always wearing a skirt. 

“And I know I shouldn’t care what they think but it’s too much for me to take at this point. It’s humiliating.” Nancy pushed a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth. 

“Who said you shouldn’t care?” Robin frowned at her lunch, no ice cream for her, she’d gotten sick of the treat after two weeks. 

“Jonathan. He said I shouldn’t care because they don’t know what they’re talking about but-”

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t care. I mean yeah, fuck these man for talking shit about you. You are better than them. But that doesn’t mean they should just get away with it. You’re brilliant and they should regret ever saying otherwise.” 

Maybe that had been a bit too much. There would come a moment when Nancy saw right through her and maybe that would be now. Because Nancy was looking at her with her mouth slightly agape, the spoon still resting on her tongue and her eyes wide. 

“Thank you. I think I really needed to hear that. Jonathan keeps telling me to suck it up because it’s such an amazing experience but I can’t just sit still and look pretty and do nothing.” 

Okay maybe Robin got away with it this time. 

“Don’t suck it up, Nance. Stand up for yourself. If you think there is potential in this article then write it and please, Nance, don’t give up. If Jonathan won’t stand by your side, I will.”

Nancy smiled. “Enough about me, tell me about your week. I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.” 

So Robin did. “Somehow Steve is getting worse at flirting and I didn’t know that was possible. I still can’t believe he got you to date him.” 

“He was different in high school, you know that.” 

“Was he really that different?” 

“I guess so.” 

And maybe it was wishful thinking but there almost seemed to be a new glint, a new spark, in Nancy’s eyes. 

Act III

Love confessions

“Have you ever been in love?” Robin wasn’t sure where the words came from. Maybe because in the back of her mind a soft voice kept chanting Nancy, Nancy, Nancy. 

“Yep, Nancy Wheeler. First semester, senior year.” Steve followed the words with a sound that must be mimicking a gun. And Robin felt her own heart break. 

Somehow she and Steve had become friends. Through the translations and the scheming and the Russian layer with its doctors and drugs, it really wasn’t that hard to bond. 

“Oh my God, she’s such a priss.” And maybe the truth serum was wearing off because she didn’t really mean that. Nancy was more than a priss. 

“Turns out, not really.” 

Robin wanted to know more. But her own envy got in the way. She couldn’t bear to hear of all that Steve and Nancy had gotten up to. 

“Are you still in love with Nancy?” 

Please say no, please say no, please for the love of God say no. 

“No.” 

Oh thank God.

“Why not?” How could anyone not be in love with Nancy Wheeler? 

“I think it’s because I found someone who’s a little bit better for me.” What? “It’s crazy. Ever since Dustin got home, he’s been saying ‘you know you gotta find your Suzie, you gotta find your Suzie’-“

“Wait, who’s Suzie?” Robin interrupted.

“It’s some girl from camp, I guess his girlfriend. To be honest with you, I’m not 100% sure she’s even real. But that’s not- that’s not really the point. That doesn’t matter. The point is there is this girl, you know, the one that I like, it’s somebody that I… didn’t even talk to in school.” 

Oh God no, don’t say that. Robin exhaled, feeling this anxious tension crawl up her body. 

“And I don’t even know why. Maybe cause Tommy H. would’ve made fun of me or… I wouldn’t be… prom king. It’s stupid, I mean, Dustin’s right, it’s all just a bunch of bullshit anyway. Because when I think about it I should’ve been hanging out with this girl the whole time. First of all, she’s hilarious. She’s so funny. I feel like this summer I have laughed harder than I have laughed… in a really long time.”

Robin couldn’t help but smile a little. She did like Steve. She liked Steve a lot. Just not like this. She had finally found her people. Nancy and Steve. And yet she had fallen in love with the first one and was about to be forced to reject the other. Life wasn’t fair. 

“And she’s smart. Way smarter than me. You know, she can crack, like, top secret Russian codes and… you know? She’s honestly unlike anyone I’ve ever even met before.” 

Goddamit Steve! Why? 

Robin put her head in between her knees. She was going to throw up. 

“Robin?” Steve knocked on the wooden stall. Robin looked up, but Steve couldn’t see that. He couldn’t see the uncomfortable smile on her face. “Robin, did you just OD in there?”

“No.” Robin sighed heavily. “I… am still alive.” Unfortunately. She took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. 

And then Steve was sliding under the stall toward her. 

“The floor is disgusting.” Robin said, more out of instinct than anything else. She’d never been good at keeping her mouth shut. 

“Yeah, well, I already got a bunch of blood and puke on my shirt, so… What do you think?” 

“About?”

“This girl.”

“She sounds awesome.” 

“She is awesome. And what about the guy?” 

“I think he’s on drugs, and he’s not thinking straight.” 

“Really? Cause I think he’s thinking a lot more clearly than usual.” 

“He’s not.” Robin prided herself on her stern gaze. “Look… he doesn’t even know this girl. And if he did know her, like- like really know her, I don’t think he’d even want to be her friend.” Was she actually doing this? Was she actually about to confess her biggest secret to Steve Harrington in the dirty Starcourt mall bathroom. 

“No, that’s not true. No way is that true.” Steve leaned forward. 

“Listen to me, Steve. It’s shocked me to my core but I like you. I really like you. But I’m not like your other friends.” 

“Robin, that’s exactly why I like you.” 

Oh God, she was actually going to do this. “Steve, earlier when I talked about being jealous and, like, obsessed, it wasn’t because I had a crush on you. It’s because you got to kiss her.” 

“Who?” 

“Nancy Wheeler. You got to kiss her and hold her and you got to call her yours. And all I can do is be her friend and endure the lengthy conversations about her boyfriend just so she’ll look at me. Because it might be torture to hear about Jonathan or about what things were like with you, but it is worth it for that smile on her face and that spark in her eyes. I’d give everything for her to feel that way about me.” 

“What?” The door to the bathroom fell shut. Steve and Robin turned their heads towards the intrusion. There stood Nancy Wheeler for once sporting a pair of high waisted pants and a black and red striped shirt. 

“Nancy?” Robin exhaled the name. “I can explain.” 

“Okay.” Nancy stood there blinking at her and Robin wasn’t sure she could explain, her mind was still fuzzy. 

“What are you doing here?” She said instead and maybe she should have started with that question. She crawled to her feet. 

“Dustin, he radioed. He was worried. I rushed over as soon as I could. Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, just injected with truth serum.” Robin chuckled uncomfortably.

“Is that why you said… what you said?” 

Robin wasn’t sure what to reply. She wasn’t even sure that was why she had said it. Indirectly it surely had been the cause. So, for perhaps the first time in her life, Robin said nothing. 

“Robin, do you like me?” Nancy took a careful step forward. 

“Of course I like you, we’re friends. I like my friends, everyone likes their friends.” She quickly looked at Steve but saw nothing but confusion on his face. 

“That’s not what I meant.” Another step. 

“Oh.” 

“Robin, do you like me?” Nancy repeated, slowly closing the distance between them. 

Her mouth felt dry, like she had been roaming the desert instead of a Russian layer under the local mall. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t get a word out. With a resigned sigh she nodded her head. 

“Oh God.” Nancy exhaled as if she had been holding her breath. “That’s good. That is so good.” She laughed softly. 

“It is?” Robin croaked out. 

“I thought… I thought I was imagining things. That you were just being nice when you complimented me and made grand speeches but now I know I wasn’t going crazy.” 

“You weren’t.” 

“I like you too, Robin.” 

“You what?” Robin nearly shouted the words. There was no way. Nancy must have misunderstood her. 

“I like you. You listen and you always know what to say. You know a little bit about everything, you’re so smart. You’re so beautiful. How could I not like you?” Nancy was standing close now, very close. 

“But you’re Nancy Wheeler?” 

“I am.” 

“What about Jonathan?” 

“We broke up. He didn’t understand me. Not like you do.” Nancy was staring up at her through her lashes. And then she was leaning in, closing the last bit of distance between them and pressing her lips against Robin’s in a featherlight kiss. 

“Oh my God, I’m never going to hear the end of this.” Steve groaned. 

“What?” Robin had almost forgotten he was there. 

“I’ve been flirting with girls all summer and they’ve all turned me down. You flirt with one girl and she ends up kissing you. We both know you are never shutting up about this, Robin.” 

Nancy laughed as she intertwined their hands.

[tolietpaperdreams]

Hysteria Chp 4 (Hartbreak)

Okay fine! Five parts it is, but that’s it, I have too many other ideas I need to write lol. Plus I really like the ending I have planned for this story.

Comments n stuff are always appreciated, hope you enjoy! K here’s your smut byyyyeeee <3

The time passed slowly. It always did whenever Bret needed to keep his mind occupied. He trained for an extra hour every day, he spent more time with his friends. Anything to shut up the noise in his head, but when it came time for him to lie down at night, there was always that empty space.

Granted, it hadn't been very long. Maybe two weeks since the fight with Shawn, but that didn't change how it affected him.

The most he'd seen of the blonde was backstage or in the locker room. He wanted to talk to him, tried to talk to him, but every time there seemed to be a different excuse. Shawn would need to go warm up or he couldn't talk because he had a meeting. The worst was when he approached Shawn in the locker room one day only to have Hunter step in his path and give him an ‘eat shit’ look.

They still had to work together; the pay-per-view was coming up fast and they needed to sort out their match. But that couldn't happen unless Shawn was willing to talk to him.

Bret truly thought about begging. He considered finding Shawn’s hotel room and pleading on his hands and knees for just a second of his time, but that would be ridiculous. He thought about the Orchids and the old lady who said they meant strength and unity, but Bret had never felt more alone.

It all seemed like a load of bullshit now, but Bret wasn't so easily deterred. He resisted the urge to go back to his old ways of sticking his head down and keeping his nose to the grind, but there wasn’t much else he could focus on besides work.

Owen, Jim, and Davey had forgiven him for being so caught up in everything that he’d essentially abandoned them. Bret would make sure he never lost sight of how important they were in his life again. They also encouraged him to win back Shawn’s affection.

The problem was that he had no idea where to start. Approaching Shawn directly hadn’t worked, so now what? Should he wait for the blonde to come to him? Or was there a more discreet option?

“You could give him a note,” Jim offered after training one day.

“We’re not in middle school Jim, a note would be useless,” Bret disregarded that information as he wiped the sweat off his face with a towel.

“He could be onto something,” Davey added, unlacing his boots, “That way Shawn’s dogs won’t get in your way.”

Davey referring to Hunter and the other guys as ‘Shawn’s dogs’ didn't really sit right with Bret, but he let the insult roll off his shoulders.

“What would I even write?” He did his best to keep an open mind.

“Ask him out,” Owen finally chimed in, “You guys never even went on a real date before you dived head-first into whatever it was that you guys were doing.”

That was a good point. He and Shawn had moved so fast that Bret never once thought to take him out. Shawn probably wanted to be wined and dined; he wanted to feel worth something, and Bret had neglected that part of their budding relationship. He didn't even know what kind of restaurant to take him to.

“I don't know, I've never-”

Owen cut him off, “Stop hesitating. Do you want Shawn back or not? You need to show him he’s worth it.”

That was enough encouragement for Bret to start brainstorming.

***

“What if he says no?” Bret adjusted his black button-down shirt in the mirror; he felt like he looked crazy but Owen insisted he dress nice.

“He won’t,” His little brother rolled his eyes as he sat on the hotel bed.

Bret took the advice of his brother and friends and decided to send Shawn a note. Through some networking the night prior, he was able to find what hotel room the other man was staying in and slid the note under the door like a lovesick teenager. It was a simple note, maybe too simple. All it said was, ‘Dinner, tomorrow? -Bret. RM 102.’

There were no flowers or extravagant gifts; it was just Bret in a button-down that hugged his chest a little too tight and a desperate plea for Shawn to open back up.

“I didn't even give him a time,” Bret was so focused on the semantics of everything that he was starting to sweat. What if Shawn just didn't show up or never even noticed the note in the first place? What if Hunter or one of the other guys got to it first and trashed it? The collar around his throat was starting to feel tight.

“Will you relax? He’ll show up,” Owen said nonchalantly as he stood to look Bret over once or twice.

All he wanted was a chance to show Shawn that he wasn't a screw-up. He’d dress nice, wear uncomfortable clothes, and buy all the stupid Orchids in the world if it gave him the opportunity to tell Shawn he wanted the real thing too.

“I should do one of those grand gesture things like they do in the movies,” Bret started to fidget with the shirt collar.

“You definitely should not,” Owen grabbed Bret’s hands and pushed them down to his side, so he’d stop fidgeting, “Relax, dude. It’s just Shawn.”

“There’s no such thing as ‘just’ Shawn,” Bret emphasized to his brother, “He’s- y’know… he's Shawn.”

Owen gave him a look that must have been a mixture of disgust and confusion, “You’re weird.”

Bret couldn't do anything besides laugh at Owen’s remark; he was so grateful for his brother’s help but of course, he’d have to pay the price at the same time.

After making sure Bret looked his best and was as emotionally ready as he could be, Owen left. He told Bret to wait for half an hour and call him if Shawn never showed. He couldn't help but feel like he’d be calling his little brother sooner rather than later.

Again, the time passed slowly. Bret was so wound up he was starting to sweat. He didn't know what he would say to Shawn if he even showed up.

The minutes felt like hours before finally, at the twenty-minute mark, there was a soft knock on the door.

Bret stood and tried to flatten his button-down that got crinkled from him being hunched over on the couch. He was already so uncomfortable, but if this was what it took, he’d do it.

He walked over to the door and took a deep breath before opening it. Shawn stood there with a nervous look on his face. The blonde wore a button-down of his own with nice jeans and boots, a gold necklace laid around his neck, and his hair was styled down.

Bret tried to speak, but he was caught ogling before he could get a word out.

“What?” Shawn crossed his arms and did his best to convey annoyance even though his cheeks were turning pink, “Are you gonna let me in?”

“Yeah, of course,” Bret said, moving out of the way.

He wasn't entirely sure how to greet Shawn. Obviously, he'd have to earn a kiss, but would a hug be too much? He decided at the moment to play it safe and let Shawn take the lead.

“You look nice,” Bret turned, following Shawn into the room.

The jeans Shawn wore hugged his ass perfectly and Bret had to remind himself to breathe.

“I know,” The blonde said curtly and leaned against the nearby table.

If Shawn wanted to have an attitude that was fine, Bret could handle that. If anything, it was a good sign because at least Shawn was talking to him.

“Right,” Bret figured the best thing to do would be to push through the awkwardness, “Thanks for coming.”

Shawn huffed and rolled his eyes, “What is this? An interview? Are you taking me to dinner or what?”

So much for the stoic apology act Bret had planned, “Shawn, I would love to, but you're already making it difficult.”

“You invite me out over a note after we haven't spoken in weeks and you just expect me to be cool about it?” Shawn spat back.

“I want to fix this,” Bret tried as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Then why did it take you so long?”

“Because you wouldn't talk to me!”

“You hardly tried!”

They were suddenly nose to nose, neither man willing to step down.

“I did try,” Bret grabbed the front of Shawn’s shirt, “More than you think.”

“You should have sent that note weeks ago,” Shawn’s voice softened.

Bret could finally feel how close they were. Shawn still leaned against the table, hands clutching the edge. Bret could feel the blonde’s breath against his own and once Shawn’s gaze met his, he knew there would be no fancy dinner tonight.

Their lips met in a frenzy, Shawn essentially throwing himself at Bret. It was hungry and urgent like they needed each other to breathe. Shawn moaned into Bret’s mouth as he pulled the blonde’s hips flush with his own.

The feeling of having Shawn back in his arms again overtook anything he originally planned to say or do. The smell of Shawn’s cologne overwhelmed his senses as he kissed and sucked bruises into his neck and collarbone; he’d never get enough of it.

The distance had been agonizing, and Bret was more than willing to make up for it.

“Fucking jerk,” Shawn grunted as he sunk a hand into Bret’s hair and pulled him back.

Bret winced slightly at the pain before letting out, “Do you want me to fuck you or not?”

“God, yes,” Shawn yanked him in for another kiss.

He bit at Bret’s lower lip hard enough to make him whine at the pain before Shawn pushed him back onto the bed. Bret didn't see the more dominant side of Shawn very often, but he couldn't complain. They climbed to the top of the bed, Shawn straddling Bret’s lap.

The kisses they shared were hungry and wet as they both tried to hastily discard their shirts. Shawn ground his hips against Bret’s, both groaning at the feeling of their still-clothed erections against each other.

Bret needed to say something, but Shawn was busy devouring his mouth so he turned his head to the side, “Shawn,” he could barely get out, the blonde having moved down to kiss his chest.

Shawn took a nipple into his mouth causing Bret to cry out. He bit and sucked at both of them until they were pert and swollen then sat back and allowed both of them to catch their breath.

“What is it?” He panted, a smug look plastered on his face.

The way Shawn’s wavy hair laid past his shoulders was a sight to behold - the way his chest heaved and how he looked down at Bret, those gorgeous blue eyes, and the curves of his muscles - Shawn’s body was intoxicating.

“I need to see you,” Bret breathed, hands sliding up Shawn’s thighs to grab his hips.

Shawn didn’t say anything for a moment, a small smile grew on his face as the words sunk in.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” Bret added, “I've never felt like this before.”

It was a declaration of his own. Shawn made him feel utterly insane, but in the time their relationship had grown, he’d never been happier. The highs were so high and the lows were so low, but if it was for Shawn, he’d go through hell.

“I was so wrong about everything-”

Shawn shut him up with a kiss, this one softer. They weren't good with words, but they could communicate through their bodies. Bret didn't know if he was entirely forgiven, but it seemed like he was off to a good enough start.

Placing soft kisses along Bret’s jawline, Shawn reached down and began to undo his jeans. Soon they were discarded along with Bret’s and neither was denied full access any longer. Shawn sank down, his tongue tracing from Bret’s neck to his nape as fingers teased his already sensitive nipples.

Bret inhaled sharply, knowing his reaction would only encourage Shawn to continue, but he was saved once Shawn brought his hands down, wrapped one around Bret’s cock, and licked from base to tip. Bret let out a groan as soon as Shawn took him all the way into his mouth and threaded a hand into the blonde’s hair.

“So gorgeous,” He breathed, meeting those icy blue eyes with his own.

It was controlled and slow at first, Shawn bobbing his head in time with the stroke of his hand. The warmth and wetness of his mouth on Bret’s cock was almost too much and he had to use all his self-control in order not to buck his hips into Shawn’s mouth.

Tightening the hand in the blonde’s hair, Bret talked him through it, “That’s it, baby.”

Shawn moaned around Bret’s length and hallowed out his cheeks to create more friction. Bret knew he wouldn't last long with the type of head Shawn gave and he didn't want to end the fun before it even started.

He gave Shawn’s hair a slight tug so he would pull off and the blonde did so without hesitation; a long string of spit still connected the tip to Shawn’s swollen lips.

“Don’t move,” Shawn exhaled and climbed up to straddle Bret’s thighs again, “I wanna ride you.”

Who was he to deny Shawn that right? Bret reached up to pull the blonde down for a searing kiss.

They stayed like that for a moment before Shawn pulled away briefly to ask, “Do you still have everything?”

Bret knew that Shawn was referring to condoms and lube; he shook his head, “I didn’t think I’d get this far.”

He playfully smacked at Bret’s chest, “You’re lucky I'm prepared.”

He quickly hopped off the bed and went searching for his jeans.

“Wait,” Bret furrowed his brow, watching Shawn dig through his pockets, “You brought condoms and lube even though you were pissed at me?”

Shrugging, Shawn climbed back onto the bed and back onto Bret after finding what he was looking for, “I only bought them after I found your note. Knew you’d say all the right things,” He winked.

Bret couldn't help the chuckle that he let out as he ran his hands up Shawn’s toned thighs, “I haven't said much of anything.”

“Will fix that later,” Shawn set aside the condom and handed Bret the lube.

A question wracked his mind, one he wasn't sure Shawn was ready to hear yet, but now was as good as any time, “What if we ditch the condom?”

“That depends,” Shawn watched Bret spread lube on his fingers, “Who else are you fucking?”

The fact that Shawn said ‘who else’ instead of asking if there was ‘anyone else’ struck a chord with Bret. He hadn't made his intentions with Shawn clear enough.

Using his free hand, Bret urged Shawn forward slightly by the hip so he could have easier access. He traced a lubed finger over Shawn’s entrance, making the blonde inhale sharply and dig his fingers into Bret’s chest.

“You know very well,” Bret used his other hand to palm at Shawn’s ass, adding a smack for emphasis, “That I only have eyes for you.” He sunk the first finger in.

Shawn let out a whine and pushed back with his hips, already wanting more, “That- Ah! Doesn't answer the question-”

Bret always loved the way Shawn took his fingers so eagerly, but it did make it increasingly more difficult to restrain himself.

“No one else has even crossed my mind,” He cooed, adding another finger.

“Nnnh- Bret I can't take it,” Shawn whined, his cock hard and dripping pre-cum, “I need it.”

Normally, Bret would use at least three fingers to prep, but Shawn’s eagerness put that concern at ease.

“You sure?” Bret didn't want to hurt him.

“Yes-” Shawn clenched his eyes shut, “Now, Bret. Please-”

With that, Bret removed his fingers and urged Shawn to sit up on his knees higher. He slicked himself up with the leftover lube from his fingers and did his best to line himself up.

Shawn pushed his hips back, taking in the tip of Bret’s cock. As he slowly sank fully onto it, they both groaned at the delicious feeling. It felt even better knowing there was no barrier between them now, Bret could fully experience Shawn.

With his chest heaving as he adjusted to the feeling of being full, Shawn let out, “There hasn't been anyone else,” He paused for a moment, “I don't want anyone else-”

Bret reached up and traced a thumb across Shawn’s jaw, “Me neither.”

He pulled Shawn down into a kiss; it was settled. Bret couldn't even fathom the thought of someone else. Ever since that first kiss at the bar, as rushed and panicked as it was, Shawn had grabbed Bret’s heart and ran with it. Maybe even before then, but he was just too blind to see.

Finally, after sitting back, Shawn started to move his hips.

“God, Shawn…” Bret dug his fingers into the blonde’s hips, holding himself back from thrusting up into him, “You feel so good.”

It felt so different with no condom, physically and emotionally. There was a new trust that hadn’t been there before, one that said ‘I’m yours and you're mine.’

Shawn moved at an agonizing pace, his hips rocking forward and back in order to take Bret fully. It wasn't slow, but it was a more intimate pace.

Shawn grabbed Bret’s wrists and pinned them over his head as he rode him, fully taking control.

“Fuck-” Bret groaned. He wanted nothing more than to flip positions and fuck Shawn into the mattress but it wasn't his turn. Shawn was running things now.

“What is it?” Shawn breathed as he continued his movements, “Tell me what you want.”

It was killing him, he wanted to touch Shawn- wanted to run his hands all over his skin- to feel how the blonde shivered under his touch. He pushed against Shawn’s grip weakly, his brain too foggy to do much about it. Bret wouldn't last much longer.

Shawn continued his onslaught, grinding his hips quicker, “C’mon baby, tell me what you want.”

Bret couldn't help the moan that escaped his throat before he panted, “Please Shawn-”

The moment Shawn let go of his wrists, Bret pulled the blonde down to his level; one hand gripping the back of his neck and the other squeezing a hip so hard it would probably leave bruises. Bret fucked Shawn from underneath at a brutal pace.

Shawn let out a series of cries, each moan in time with the sound of skin slapping against skin. Bret's thrusts were sharp and brutal but quickly became erratic as he felt the heat pooling in his gut.

“Don’t stop- don’t stop-” Shawn whined, his own release building up.

Bret managed to keep Shawn’s request, thrusting a few more times before he couldn't hold back his orgasm. He stalled his hips as he came, pulling Shawn into a hard kiss.

Before he could come down from the moment, Bret flipped Shawn onto his back, the blonde letting out a small yelp as he did so. Bret smoothly pulled out and leaned down to take Shawn into his mouth.

It didn't take long for Shawn to cum, the feeling of Bret’s mouth around him was just enough to bring him over the edge. Shawn bucked his hips as he came and Bret did his best to take him deeper into his mouth before swallowing. He pulled off and licked Shawn’s cock from base to tip, relishing in the sight of him shivering at the overstimulation.

Shawn caught his breath for a moment before speaking, “We should fight more often.”

Bret chuckled and laid his head on Shawn’s thigh, “I think we can have good sex without the fighting.”

It was quiet for a moment, both parties basking in the afterglow of makeup sex. A tension had been lifted between them, but there was still a small air of uncertainty. Bret almost got up to get a towel and help Shawn get cleaned up, but was stopped for the time being.

Shawn reached down and gently cupped Bret’s cheek, “I missed you.”

Such tender words. Something Bret still needed to work on, but it seemed like Shawn was willing to try. He placed a kiss on Shawn’s thigh before climbing to the top of the bed and taking him into his arms.

“I missed you, too,” Bret sighed contentedly and inhaled the scent of Shawn’s hair while he nuzzled into Bret’s chest.

Shawn got comfortable and started playing with the hairs of Bret’s happy trail, “Owen told me you cried,” He said nonchalantly, “A couple weeks ago.”

Bret huffed, a small trigger of annoyance came and went. He was too tired to get upset, albeit a little embarrassed, “Are you always in cahoots with my brother?”

“Him and Hunter are good buddies,” Shawn turned his head to look at Bret, “I’m surprised you hadn't noticed.”

He hadn’t, “Guess I was too caught up,” Bret traced a finger up and down Shawn’s shoulder.

“About Hunter,” Shawn started, pausing briefly to see Bret’s reaction.

He didn't really want to talk about Hunter right after sex, but Bret made a promise to himself that tonight he would fix what he could in his relationship with Shawn.

“Go on,” He tried not to sound on edge.

“You’re not actually jealous of him, are you?” Shawn questioned.

Bret exhaled before answering, “I don't really think so. I think I was just looking for a reason to be mad,” He paused for a moment, making sure there was eye contact, “And I don't want to be with anyone else, Shawn.”

He wanted Shawn to understand that there was no one else for him and that Shawn would never have to worry about anyone else. Bret also knew that he was never truly jealous of Hunter- he was jealous of the bond Shawn had with him- the trust that he put into Hunter. Bret wanted that trust put in himself as well.

“Even though I drive you crazy?” A sly smile crept onto Shawn’s face.

“If you make me crazy, then I don't ever want to be sane.”

***

It was crunch time. There was only a week left before the pay-per-view and Bret needed to ramp up his training. He was glad that he and Shawn had made up, even though there were still some unspoken hiccups they hadn't discussed. Bret hadn't yet apologized for being unwilling to drop the belt to Shawn all those weeks ago.

There was only so much that words could do, though. Bret knew the best way to prove that he thought Shawn would be a great champion, was to put him over. He’d done it before with others, he could do it again. This time, tenfold.

“You’re getting up slower, go again,” Jim coached, diligently.

Bret tried not to wince as he got up and ran the ropes again before throwing himself into a breakfall. It was the most basic of wrestling skills, but it was one that had to be maintained. He was sweaty and his heart rate was through the roof; they’d been at it for over thirty minutes.

The work never stopped. Even though he finally had a few days at home before hitting the road again, he couldn’t lose sight of the end goal. That’s how Bret ended up training on a rest day at his in-home ring in the basement; it was his very own version of The Dungeon.

Shawn offered to come back to Calgary with him, but Bret insisted he go home and rest. They both had time off after the pay-per-view and Bret promised to show Shawn his home after. As excited as he was for that, it felt very far away. Bret’s main focus was making sure he performed well enough to make sure Shawn looked good in their match.

“C’mon Bret, don’t lose focus,” Jim said as he leaned against the turnbuckle, watching Bret run from one end of the ring to the other.

He kept going for what felt like forever, his lungs were burning and his body ached, but it was a feeling he loved. After that, they ran drills and talked through the match. With Shawn, Bret was able to think on the fly, but he didn’t want to do that for such a big match so they agreed on certain big spots to practice while at home.

Jim did his best to fill in for Shawn, but with his big size, there were just some things they couldn’t practice together.

”Tell me how you did it,” Jim nudged Bret in the ribs as he wiped the sweat off his face with a rag.

“Did what?” Bret huffed, rubbing the area where Jim had jabbed him. His brother-in-law never realized his own strength.

”How an ugly mug like you managed to snag someone like the Heartbreak Kid?” Jim teased.

Bret scoffed as he grabbed a nearby water bottle, “Says you, you look like a bulldog.”

Jim shrugged, “It got me your sister.”

Bret didn’t get the chance to jab back because his phone started to ring from upstairs.

”You’re so lucky,” He said, pointing a menacing finger in Jim’s direction as he got out of the ring and ran up the stairs.

He barely made it to the phone in his kitchen before it stopped ringing.

”Hello?”

There was a beautiful raspy voice on the other line, “Hey, Bret.”

His knees could buckle every time he heard Shawn say his name.

“Everything okay?” He wasn’t expecting Shawn to call.

”Yeah everything’s fine, just thinking about the match.”

Bret leaned against the counter, figuring he might be there for a minute.

”Me too, you nervous?” He asked.

Shawn scoffed, “No, I’ve never been nervous a day in my life.”

It was very obvious that Shawn was mortified, but Bret knew now wasn’t the time to tease him, “You’re going to do great, baby.”

“We’re gonna do great,” Shawn corrected.

”Yes, of course,” Bret took a moment to think about his words, “You’re going to be an incredible champion.”

He was met with silence on the other line.

”I mean it,” Bret continued, hoping he hadn’t scared Shawn, “You were meant for this.”

“Bret, can I tell you something?” Shawn’s voice had gotten quieter.

“Of course,” Bret mentally prepared himself for the worst.

There was a longer stretch of silence. Bret could feel his palms starting to sweat at the anticipation. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.

Finally, after what felt like forever, Shawn spoke, “I think I’m in love with you.”

It was a good thing after all, wasn’t it? Bret felt his mouth go dry, unsure how to respond he immediately began to stumble over his words, “I- um- Shawn that’s-“

”It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything. I just needed you to know, it’s been eating at me. I’ll see you in a few days, okay?” Shawn sounded like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

Before Bret could respond, the line clicked.