#honest to gods can Not tell how well I did in the written tests. like I finished all of them with at least ten minutes to spare

[b4kuch1n]

good luck w the testing and a happy early new year!!

thank you it's already happened when this was sent but we all did get one free point for the listening section bc the audio fucked up and we didn't get to hear the part with the last question's answer. but I will now think this is luck borrowed from the future when this ask was sent

[greyspirehollow]

Bound. For... Science. [Request]

Pairing : Quaestor Valdemar x gn! reader

Fandom : The Arcana visual novel

Warnings : brief depiction of scientific stuff ; fluff

Summary : Could you have imagined that the scary and mysterious Quaestor Valdemar would become the person you see on a daily basis? Probably not. You even have a surprise for them...

They didn't pay much attention to you at first. Nor did you pay much attention to them. If you were honest with yourself, you probably couldn't have seen it coming. Once they started looking into your general direction however, you couldn't be any more nervous. You can't exactly remember how or when it started, but they had crept up on you so many times that you couldn't keep count anymore. Good thing your heart wasn't too jumpy (to their greatest disappointment).

You were minding your own business in the library, devouring a tome written by probably your favorite scientist : the genius who is Wilfried Magnes, an eminent biologist who had just published the third part of his theory on the evolution of species, this volume being dedicated to camouflages. You were so absorbed by the author's words that Valdemar had to clear their throat to get your attention. Your head whipped around at the sound, and you let out a relieved sigh. You were about to speak but they interrupted you : "Come. I would like to show you something..." and with that, they tugged three books out of the library's bookshelf, opening a secret passage. Your eyes widened as they grinned. Oh they were going to have fun scaring the sweet heavens out of you. You reluctantly closed your book, tucked it under your arm and went down with them.

You'd half expected the elevator to just give up and drive you both down to your respective deaths, but it seemed to be holding itself together. And that is the days you reached Valdemar's dungeons. They looked... Undeniably giddy. It was fun to scare mortals after all. And well... You didn't feel... the best. You hesitantly followed them, the strong smell of blood and iron hitting your nostrils, making your nose scrunch and a discreet cough escape you. And they seemed unfazed, inhaling the dungeon's scent blissfully. The more steps you took forward, the less you were sure you'd come out of this alive. You two then reached the main hall, operation tables lined across the walls and seemingly frozen in time since the last time they were used. Your eyebrows knitted in worry, your gaze falling onto Valdemar who had a wide, sharp-toothy grin on full display. "This-" they gestured around "-is *my* haven. The heart of all my works, where lies the remains of the most unspeakable procedures one can think of. Feast your eyes, maybe this is, who knows... the last thing you'll see~" your heart thumped violently against your ribs, and your eyes couldn't look away from- oh, what was that?

Your gaze landed on something behind them, in the faint distance : a shelf, upon which rested various things, but it is the white spot that caught your attention. You gasped, and it is as if all your fears... vanished. Wiped out in a snap of fingers. You excitedly walked over to the shelf, put your book aside, and took the human skull in your hands. "Gods, that's a beautiful specimen!" you exclaimed "how did you manage to extract it- i-it's in perfect condition ! what did you use to clean it? no don't tell me- let me guess- uh hydrogen peroxide* ? or did you clean it by hand?? Who- no wait ; I think it's... it's definitely a man's, and I'd say in their... in their 40's? something? did you-" you interrupted yourself with another gasp as you spotted the wet specimen of a heart sitting on the shelf. You carefully put the skull down "wait wait wait- you do not have a heart contaminated by a dark magical parasite- you do !!! How did you even get your hands on that ?? How did you remove it without getting- no way, you have- NO, stop it-" then your hands reached for a small closed test tube "you do not have a sample of a necromancer's magical decay !!! Where the hell do you even go to get that ?!" you gasped and picked up and examined specimen after specimen, object after object, rambling aloud. Valdemar could only watch with utter confusion as you rummaged excitedly through the shelf, all giddy. But soon, they grinned ; they seemed genuinely excited at the idea of explaining each and every single procedure they went through for each item, and so they went to stand by your side as they started rambling themselves. Your excitement was contagious - mainly because they didn't exactly have anyone else to share their passion with. And so when they started to go on about every recent experiment they'd done you clasped your hands together, looked them in the eyes, and said, determined : "teach me."

And that's when you became Quaestor Valdemar's apprentice. You two would spend most of your time in the dungeons, and at times you would giggle excitedly when performing a dissection with them, or when you found something exciting. Ah, science. Wonderful science. The word got around eventually, when people saw you practically live at the Palace and with your very own labcoat, gloves and apron. Countess Nadia eventually gave you one of the guest rooms to reside in, and that's basically when your new life began. At times, you would conduct experiments of your own in your basement. You did it before you'd met Valdemar, but now that you had a person to show your work to, one can say you'd become productive. You had obviously endlessly rambled about Magnes' theories of evolution to them, and they happily reflected upon it with you. The Quaestor had even brought up a few names they knew, and well, despite being somewhat outdated (and for some proven wrong and so put a little on the side in scientific history), and when I mean outdated I do mean dating at least a millenia back, you had heard of or read about some. Sometimes you would pester them with tons of questions about the scientific breakthroughs and theories of their own epoch, and they did reluctantly reply to some of them, despite your unquenchable thirst for every piece of knowledge you could get your hands on (the mind of a great scientist).

You loved the time you spent with them. But there was one thing you were particularly excited about... You hadn't told them yet. You'd simply mentioned how it would be nice to go for a simple walk in the streets of Vesuvia, enjoy the sunlight and the fresh air -because as much as you liked the dungeons and your basement, you didn't exactly appreciate the smell down there, unlike them- and to your surprise, they'd agreed. You'd reserved your places in advance, thankfully, because you knew that despite being relatively niche still, it was nonetheless booked by all the other scientists of the city. And of neighboring cities. And countries. Now that you thought about it- the scientific field was a rather closed circle, but people really came from everywhere. Anyways. As D-day approached, you couldn't help but feel both excited and anxious. Valdemar seemed to have noticed : you were talking a lot faster than usual, and your movements were a bit less organized than they usually were. You'd always dismissed it, saying it was only 'seasonal'. Not sure how you could prove that to them, but they didn't question you further. When the day finally came, you were absolutely restless. You laid there in your bed, it was probably... 3 AM. And you were successively falling asleep and waking up by periods of thirty minutes. Gods, this was torture... You tried tiring your eyes by reading Magnes, and... It worked, actually. You sighed as you finally managed to sleep through a few more hours before sunrise.

But once you did wake up for good... Oh you were worse than a grasshoper. You couldn't even focus on the experiment with Valdemar- you couldn't even stay sitting for more than two seconds. When the clock struck noon, you agitated even more, insisting that you and them go on that walk in Vesuvia NOW. They initially resisted, but their patience ran thinner and thinner with your insistence. "fine, FINE ! We'll go on that stupid walk!" they said, irritated. If you were honest with yourself, you would've dragged them by the horns if they'd continued to refuse. They sighed, annoyed, as you gripped their arm and pulled them out of the dungeon. Valdemar knew something was up. No human -especially not you- was so excited about a walk in the streets. You were definitely up to something, and they didn't like the fact that they didn't know what it was. But your (nearly feral) eagerness did ease a bit of their concern : it was entertaining to see you so jumpy. You'd not talked about anything scientific on the way to your... surprise. You were afraid that you might accidentally spill the beans. And you wanted it to remain the most surprise it could be. You both walked the busy streets of Vesuvia, the sun hitting your labcoats, reminding you that they were actually a clear color, nearly white, making you squint your eyes every time you glanced at Valdemar. Now that they thought about it... They weren't exactly used to the outdoors. They haven't been recently, anyway. It was nice to feel the warm sun on the skin of their face again... They allowed themselves a small smile behind their mask.

After what felt like endless turns, you smiled with undeniable joy as you both reached your destination. You walked a few steps ahead of them and cheerfully announced : "Tadaaa ! Welcome to the Third Edition of Vesuvia's annual Scientific Exhibition !!", with a wide and toothy smile. Valdemar's eyes widened slightly. They'd never heard of this event before... They looked at the building which hosted it, and the crowd of what were definitely scientists -or at least curious souls- lined up at the entrance, the sun hitting the bright red of the laid out carpet and the banners on the walls, embroided with the event's symbol. You excitedly waited for their reaction. They smiled and looked back at you "ooh, so that's what you were all jumpy about..." you chuckled, slightly embarrassed "I really wanted it to be a surprise..." you said sheepishly. They hummed : "well, that is definitely a pleasant surprise... Shall we go in?" You nodded eagerly as you went to wait in line with them. They struck conversation as you both waited :

"What does... what happens there, if I may ask?

-Well, it is an event that allows scientists of all backgrounds to come and show off either their discoveries or their handiwork. There are also often books and manuals being sold, as well as materials and products -ouh, I could definitely use a few brand new scalpels- but there can also be specimens. Last year I've seen reconstruction of animal skeletons, things like that.

-My, that is most interesting... *they replied, their eyes sparkling with interest* I do hope this will be a fruitful experience.

-Oh, it most definitely will!

-How come I have not been informed of such event? You said it was annual?

-Well, it's still very niche, and not many people outside the scientific field know about it.

-But the Countess must've known, no? Third edition- meaning this is the third year they're doing this. Ooh, or maybe it was put on hold during the years of the Plague... Meaning it was Lucio who-... Hm. He most definitely wouldn't have told me. He must've said yes for the event to be hosted without even giving it proper attention. Tsk.

*you chuckled*

-Well, now we're here, and I'm pretty sure the Countess will give the exhibition a bit more care and attention from now on..."

You both arrived at the reception, and the man behind the desk looked up to both of you "Ah, greetings, Misters.. Misses...?"

"Doctor." you both replied at the same time, on a nearly identical tone. The receptionist raised an eyebrow and blinked, before reading over his list "hm.. Ah yes ! I do have two Doctors : Dr. Y/N and Dr. Valdemar?" you beamed "that is us!" the receptionist nodded and handed you a quill "I'm just going to need you both yo sign here..." and you both did. The man bid you a good visit and you both walked into the building, excited to see what would the exhibition hold for your curious eyes. Valdemar had noticed the little paper at the entrance, and decided to tease you about it : "You didn't take the couple's discount?" you briefly froze in your tracks and stammered "wh- uhm I didnt- I ju- uh... Should I have?" They laughed "No, I just thought maybe you could've spared a little bit of money... Those places were expensive, no?" your cheeks reddened and you frowned "don't worry about that- Let us enjoy science!!" They nodded and followed you through the building.

And the event did NOT disappoint. You went from person to person, lingering on some more interesting than others. you bought supplies, both for the dungeons and for your own little experiments at home, and you and Valdemar spent a copious amount of time with a surgeon, Dr. Milestone, who had successfully extracted a whole human nervous system, which was on full display under a glass protection for you to admire. Both of you swarmed him with questions, undoubtedly interested. Maybe you had even... Intimidated him somewhat. If it weren't for the exhibition's most interesting part, you would probably have spent a lot more time with him. You both walked into a separate room, which was basically a small amphitheater, and when you sat down, an auction began. There were various specimens -live or dead- being sold, but you hadn't managed to get your hands on any, despite the juicy offer of an amnesic brain and two hundred coins for a complete collection of the tools of the late scientist Oscar McArthy, a reference in the world of science... But that was a very little loss compared to the amazing afternoon you spent with Quaestor Valdemar. And they seemed to be thinking the same thing. However, around 5PM, you'd lost them in the crowd. Unable to catch a glimpse of them, you went and waited by the entrance, thinking it would be the most logical thing to do. They appeared again around half an hour later, and before you could scold them, they apologized, and you weren't so upset anymore.

Eventually, you both returned to the Palace around the evening. You didn't head straight for the dungeons however... Your legs felt weak and all the excitement, all the attention and focus you gave the exhibition had drained you. You let yourself slump down onto the couch of one of the drawing rooms with a groan, already feeling your eyelids begin to weight and threaten to close. Valdemar only chuckled at the sight "Can I at least sit down, too?" you briefly sat up "oh- yes, sure.. sorry" and made room for them. But as soon as they sat down, they grabbed a pillow, placed it on their lap and patted it gently. Your eyes widened at the invitation, and before you could wonder why they'd even done that, they said : "it's the least I can do for such a wonderful afternoon.". You didn't need to be told twice. Your head slumped down on the pillow on their lap and your eyes closed with a comfortable sigh.

It's not before they were sure that you were knocked out asleep that they started gently running their fingers through your hair...

*nota bene : I am in no way a scientist, so I may give inaccurate depictions of certain elements in the story.

Bonus !!______________________________

The following day, around breakfast, Valdemar came up to you : "I didn't have time to give you that yesterday - you were pretty tired." they handed you your copy of Magnes' theory on camouflage and you raised an eyebrow "what do you mean? I hadn't lost it..." you opened it and your eyes nearly popped out of your sockets- there, on the first page, was a handwritten dedication :

"Y/N, may your thirst for science and knowledge never quench"

-W. Magnes

"you.... when did you ...?" your voice squeaked as you stood up from your seat. Valdemar only smiled smugly. "He was surrounded by quite the crowd... We didn't even notice him, near the auction room. But I did manage to capture his attention briefly." You didn't even question how they'd gotten the book -since you were pretty sure you'd left it at the Palace- or the fact you missed the chance to see your favorite scientist, you were nearly crying, this was just so sweet of them to do-

You nearly knocked them off their feet with the force of your hug "oooowhhh, Valdemar !!" you squeaked out "there there, it's nothing." they said, patting your back, seemingly amused "I could kiss you-" you said. "ah- maybe not for such a futile favor?" the replied, a little embarrassed. You didn't care, but if they didn't want to be kissed, you wouldn't kiss. But you wouldn't let go of them either.

"Y/N, will you let me go now, it's roughly been three hours-"

[not-so-lost-after-all]

You're right that it's also Larian's fault (through marketing but also some of the writing) that's been causing "fans" to believe that Astarion is truly some sex obsessed horny vampire who would be up for any kink or fantasy or infidelity they and their self-insert Tavs may have. Most people don't check datamined lines and fandom spaces, they didn't know his lack of reaction to Mizora was a bug, so why believe otherwise considering he had nothing against other horny fan service stuff the game offers? And there are quite a few people out there complaining about his new reaction all over social media, more than expected��You could literally fuck anything that moves and he was okay with it. You still can do that, mostly. For example someone said on the Larian forums this feels like moralizing the player, and it makes no sense for an immortal vampire who's had hundreds of lovers to be against Tav sleeping around lol.

Oh and by the way, you don't even have to run a deception or a persuasion check on him to forgive you for cheating on him. I tested it and every time he says something you have to say you're sorry and/or that it didn't mean anything and he will forgive Tav. So Larian STILL provided a lot of fanservice when they could've written Astarion the same way they wrote Gale, Lae'zel and the others who will automatically break up with Tav, with no option to gaslight and manipulate. But they didn't, I wonder why…

To be honest I don't even care much about this, it was added so late to the game that it doesn't matter anymore. In the long run, WOTC will still use Act 1 Astarion in any future content regardless. It's not even about AA vs Spawn anymore. They know this horny crap sells, most fans want it as well so why bother portray him as anything else other than your generic sexy carefree hedonistic vampire? Wanna bet the next cards will show Astarion in a brothel or perhaps riding a certain bear with some random Tav besides him? God knows what they have in store for him.

Hello, Nonnie. For the marketing, I agree. For the writing not so much. Even Neil and the animation team did a great job in showing his discomfort, despite of what he´s saying. It´s not their problems that many of his "fans" have no reading skills and don´t see that or just want to project whatever kinks they have on him because he´s fictional (that Larian should have seen coming). I have to laugh - how does a vampire who´s been used as a whore for two centuries wanting to have his newfound love on a pedestal not making any sense? :D Too bad for them Larian thought it´s important enough to add at least now and it won´t change anymore because they are only going to do maintance for the game from now on.

Yes, it´s easy to get him to forgive you because he lacks self esteem and very much wants to believe you. It´s so sad when the player gaslight him, really, the supposed love of his life. The only scene when he´s complete aware of his value is suprisingly when you offer the poly situation after completing his personal quest - he tells you in nicer words not to screw it up because he´ll be fine with or without you.

Now, the brothel I can´t justify but all romanced companions are just worried about you when you sleep with Haarlep and don´t comment on the Emperor.

I seriously wonder if we´re ever going to see such nuanced character in a game again when it´s easier to just throw tropes at the players. Sadly, I´ve talked about how the thirsthy WOTC cards are most probably his only future. But thank you for the mental picture of a huge bear with Astarion and Tav on his back having a laugh :D

[inflamea]

hi! first off i love your blog. as a certified lp expert, i was hoping you could help me understand a few things. i'm reading the secret diary of laura palmer (beautifully written but so so heartbreaking) and i guess i'm having trouble understanding the division between bob and leland. was leland always bob from the start of the abuse? how much was leland vs bob? how did laura know bob's name, as written in her diary? when does the veil between them lift? i haven't watched the show in a while so i don't remember how clear it makes these things. thank you so much! i'm really enjoying (or... something like that) this read and i might be back to hear your thoughts when i'm done!

firstly, thank you for saying nice things about my blog! secondly, i am happy to answer your questions, but with a major disclaimer: that i can only tell you how i read things, and that i basically… do not pay attention to anything that ma/rk fr/ost was in charge of [i.e. most of s2]. i do not think he understood the show’s ethos and i think there’s an excellent reason that the return literally introduced time travel to retcon it entirely. to put that as kindly as i can.

(also, like, this is an rp blog, and i’ve been writing laura for years, so inevitably there are going to be ideas that i’ve gotten in my head that i fully think are ‘canon’ that i’ve just forgotten i made up. obviously, i’ll try to keep that to a minimum, but it could happen. i’ve read the book several times, i’ve seen the movie… well, i seem to see it at least a few times a month, but i’m not much of a “here’s the receipts” kind of guy. alas.)

so, anyway: bob. like all the lodge spirits / entities / whatever you want to call them, he does exist. and — like all the lodge spirits, again, if i were guessing — he’s been a presence in laura’s life since she was a little kid (pre-diary). she writes about that a bit at some point. he’s this guy she knows, probably from around the great northern, who befriends her and plays games with her and grooms her, basically. she refers to him as a friend of her father’s. so that’s how she knows his name and his face. if that description reminds you of another guy, well! i think it should! but we’ll get to that eventually.

now, the other aspect of the spirits is that yes, they can inhabit people — and yes, we know that leland has been bob’s host for most of his life. i DON’T know the specifics of how that works, physically: obviously, we’ve seen bob where we know leland isn’t, but it’s usually in the black lodge / the Other Place in general. but we also know that laura has access to those places well before she is confined to them, so. you can run yourself ragged in circles on that one. but the way i see it, it kind of just doesn’t matter. one of the main threads of the show is that humans create their own problems (like, the reason the gang ended up on earth to begin with was because they were part of the nuclear fallout from the trinity test / the manhattan project: in this specific sense, albert is spot-on when he says “maybe that’s all bob is: the evil that men do”). the spirits clearly do have influence of a sort, but when it comes to actually manipulating human behavior, their track record is shit (consider that the giant, presumably the de facto leader,  spends almost literally ALL his screen time desperately trying to get coop to make better decisions — at some points honest-to-god waving his hands in the air and yelling “no!” — to absolutely no avail). 

another thing about the lodge crew is that they all seem more or less morally neutral: they are not ‘good’ or ‘evil’. they have their own agendas and personalities — they maintain, as a group, a sort of cosmic balance —  but mostly, they’re just trying to vibe. and bob is kind of like a chaos spirit. he wants everybody to give into their worst impulses just so he can see what happens (and, yes, literally feed on those emotional repercussions). he sucks. but if his host had been a completely different person, his influence would have also looked much different (this is something else that tp:tr expands on: still a violent piece of shit, but a far cry from devoting his life to tormenting little girls). so to answer, i suppose, the ultimate™ question here: it’s always leland. it is never not leland. if leland were the kind of man who would actually be repulsed by these actions, he wouldn’t be doing them. bob might be enabling him, but he is not controlling him. the film confirms this quite eloquently, i think. lynch is careful to only ever show bob when it’s decidedly Laura’s Point of View / Laura’s Perception, because what he is, essentially, is her boogeyman. he was this weird and unpleasant presence in her life at a formative time, and he then became — when she could not process what was truly happening to her and dissociated from it — THE weird and unpleasant presence in her life. and if you ask me, there are several points throughout the diary where she does seem to realize the truth about her father, only to re-repress it (this also happens in the film itself: the first time we see her confronted with his identity, she freaks out, but then she pushes it down, not having a safe way to do anything else). the ‘veil’ between bob and leland is really just laura’s ability to comprehend that there IS no true veil between bob and leland. 

i also suspect that laura’s dissociation / psychosis likely does not only ‘absolve’ her dad, but also ben, whose intentions she seems completely in the dark about until very late in the book, which… does not make much sense, if you’re reading her mental state any other way, since even audrey — hindsight being what it is — tells cooper that he’d probably been abusing laura for a long time. so for me (i.e. what i’m doing on this, my rp blog, at least), ben and leland fall together under a sort of Bob Umbrella. they’re always enabling each other and competing with each other and they’re both just fucking horrible people. they’re supposed to be her family. they’re supposed to look out for her. and she just cannot make it make sense that they wouldn’t — her whole world has been constructed around it! so generally, when laura is looking at them and seeing this kind of fairytale villain from her childhood, it isn’t that they aren’t present: it’s that she isn’t.

the same goes for when she’s writing ‘as’ bob in her diary: like, yes, it’s very real to HER, but he is not literally, factually, an omnipotent being who can read and control her mind. i think that people tend to fall into a trap here where they feel like believing laura means taking for granted that she’s a reliable narrator, and she just isn’t. there’s no scenario in which she would be. she’s telling you the truth as she understands it, but the truth is that there’s so much she doesn’t understand. that she can't. she’s just a kid. she thinks she has so much agency that she doesn’t actually have, and — since once, she actually WAS a very ‘normal’, well-adjusted child — she trusts people. she trusts the adults in her life to look out for her, even when they’re literally trafficking her (one of the most haunting bits in the book, imo, is when she’s basically like, “yeah, leo has his issues, but he likes me! i’m pretty sure he’d have my back if anything bad ever happened!”… and then he’s, you know, the one person who could have potentially saved her life that night, but instead he just tied her up and left her there).

so... yeah. i hope this helps! there's perpetually more to dig into with peaks, depending on what your interests and opinions are, but i tried to keep to what you were asking and, obviously, my focus here is laura and what makes the most sense for her narrative, specifically.

[beevean]

So!

Those first 3 episodes

What can I say?

The plot was written

The backstories were told

The characters were characterized

The social issues were commentated on

The pacing was....paced

100/10, best show ever

On a more serious note I'm genuinely impressed that they managed to make these 3 episodes feel even more rushed to fuck than Season 1, which in its 4 episodes was able to at least establish each of the main characters and the main villain, their respective motivations and you know was mostly just a testing season made to see if there was public interest plus it was made using the scraps of a cancelled movie from 10 years earlier

This shit right here is awful. Genuinely awful, just the most stereotypically fanficy writing I can think of, the pacing goes by so quickly it feels like they're speedrunning the whole thing and there's no way to properly establish each character without it feeling like a 5 minute digression at best and then on with the fight scenes!

And the social commentary is as subtle as a jack hammer of course, i'm treally curious to see if they'll explain how a vampire elite can control society from the shadows so fully when they souldn't even be able to make public appearences during the day. Are you really telling me the citizen of France are so dense they never thought to set the royal palace ablaze during the morning?

Oh and then there's Maria

Called it about her

I have a honest-to-god headache.

Where do I begin?

Well... Richter is fine, so far, although he didn't do much. He's pretty laidback without being too vulgar. That's honestly how I'd imagine the real Richter to be. I wish they advertised those moments instead of showing him crying. I have to wonder, though, why did he use to be a prominent ice magic user of all things. Are they going to say that he inherited Juste's magic? (also where is the morning star?)

But then... big oof.

The pacing is shit. That was painful to go through. These three episodes were full of flashbacks and fight scenes: the latter to shoehorn tragic backstories instead of organically weaving them in the story, and the latter to pad out time, because they were just "oh there are monsters now! Go smash them!"

also I didn't see a single enemy from the games. We're back to S1's generic monsters. Nice.

Also, what's with those backstories? Richter has a Dead Mom, Annette has a Dead Mom + Slavery, Tera is Russian has a Dead Sister... really? That's the best you can do? It's so fucking cheap!

And the show really deadass killed Edouard, a nobody just introduced, in the second episode, and then expected me to feel bad about him because Annette, another nobody, misses him and cries with the most narmtastic voice acting so far. This is literally the same thing they did with Cho, except at least we weren't meant to feel sorry for her.

Maria is insufferable. She's the rudest and crassest of them all, can't talk about anything that isn't "liberty, equality, fraternity" and she's terrible to Richter - why is NFCV's idea of friendship insulting each other? We don't even know how they know each other! At least NFCV showed us how the gang was formed!

(Annette is too bland as of now, but justifying her metalbending with "she descends from gods" is... something)

Can we talk about that worldbuilding? There are still Devil Forgemasters? Who are they? Did Hector and/or Isaac have descendants (good god i do not want to imagine n!isaac impregnating a woman), or it's yet another person, diminishing the uniqueness of the art? And they're using machines to turn humans into Night Creatures? MACHINES??????? What the fuck is this, Sonic SatAM??????

(also bullshit that Night Creatures are only made, not born. Hector said, and I'm quoting from S2E3, "Before the war, night creatures were simply a species in hiding. They either reproduced naturally or were created by acts of wild magic." bro c'mon I'm not even a fan and I remember your worldbuilding, why can't you guys)

But also. Man they didn't even try to be subtle with these vampires. They are the entire French elite, they are the "white slave owners". Wow, deep commentary right there. And tell me, how can they go out in the open and show themselves to humans like that? How can they walk in the sunlight, like Drolta is seen to be doing? I know the original show had vampire lords like Carmilla and Cho, but they're really saying "yep, all the evil nobility is made of vampires" now, and everyone is aware of it.

And fucking Drolta. What the fuck are those shoes. They look like horse hooves. Isaac was neutered to keep her stupid hair and boobs, and also Olrox sitting on the-guy-who-looks-like-agent-stone-from-the-sonic-movies' chest. Okay. I'm normal about it.

and speaking of sonic references, edouard singing at the bird's funeral is peak NANANANANANANANANAAAAA energy.

Don't know what else to add. It was extremely boring and rushed and while we're not hitting the peak of offensiveness of the original show, this is still so, so bad from a writing standpoint.

And, as expected, the only thing that connects it to CV is that Richter has a whip. The story so far looks like a shitty period drama fusing the French Revolution and that good ol' american slavery story. They haven't learned a thing.

How in the hell are they going to butcher SoTN...?

[sometimesanalice]

Ollie! 💖🫶🏼

I am over the moon that you enjoyed this! There's nothing more that I love than some flirty banter and a meet cute!

more for you friend!

oh my GOD!!! i cannot tell you how much i loved this!! one of the sweetest stories i've ever read!! so much more to say but sorta spoilers?! also the details, and the buildup?? so amazing. i could picture everything so clearly! truly a beautiful story!

first off let me say i was so scared bradley was the one who stood her up! so evil! (it was amazing thank you!)-- there's nothing I enjoy more than a sneaky little twist, lol. It was a surprise to me too, because I had started this fic last year and had written like 500 words of it half delirious before I tested for COVID, lmao. And I was down for the count for the rest of the month and then put this little fic to the wip graveyard, and forgot about it until this January! And when I opened the doc to read it, I was like "that was so cheeky of me to do that"! Haha! (but also that man would neverrrrrr. his mom raised him right!)

"And let a dress like that go to waste? Now that would be a shame." i would fold immediately i fear-- he is well and truly doing the absolute most here, and means every word of it!

"Because if I'm being honest, if that asshole had actually shown up, I don't know if I would have played fair." the italicized oh was so necessary after this because oh! im BLUSHING!-- the italicized oh agenda for the win! how can two little letters pack so much punch?! and can be so lethal when used in just the right spot, lmao! when I was drafting this, I think I had thoughts of it being a Bradley POV when I was first marinating on it, and then when I started it, her POV just came more naturally? (i noodled on a dual POV because I did have some tidbits from his, but liked the idea of just seeing him pull out all the stops from her perspective instead). But just know from the moment that jake nudged him to check out the girl in the dress who'd walked in, he was like all focused in on her. those 30 minutes felt like a few hours to him because every time the door opened and she was looking to see who it was, he was watching her to see if her face changed, and not wanting to hope that she'd see the person she was waiting for, but also like hoping he'd be able to make a move. (also if that guy had shown up, and Bradley sensed the first date vibes, you just know he'd have dialed up the Rooster charm of it all to like an 11, lol)

"Because you should know, I would have come over sooner- the second I saw you, actually- if I'd known. That's some dress, sweetheart," i'm gonna say oh again bc OH!-- Bradley 'Rooster (no chill)' Bradshaw everyone! but also in case you're curious, here's the dress I used as a reference, lol.

"Will you stop with the big cow eyes, if I agree?" he really does have big cows, and i bet he uses them to get what he wants so often-- I MEANNNNNNN..... (I know I'd never stand a chance, lmao)

"Yeah, sweetheart, I'll show you my move." i've fainted. i'm swooninh. it reminds me of the big musical number in 10 things i hate about you, i love it.-- i highkey loved that she called him out for having one, because with confident charm like that, there's no way he wouldn't have a big move he'd pull out. it amused me to know end. but yes, we LOVE a man who puts that extroverted energy to good use! I just know teen bradley watched that movie and made NOTES, lol.

I LIKE SHINY THINGS BUT I'D MARRY YOU WITH PAPER RINGS. YES I WOULD BRADLEY!!-- bts fun fact, I almost had her bring of box of conversation hearts (that was also one of the titles I was contemplating too, lol) with her , and she would have swapped him. (but decided against it because I didn't want her to give him that when they were originally for someone else, she ended up on the date she was supposed to be on though). but we adore a crafty man! if anyone was going to do the most and appreciate the extra mile she went, it's him!

i want bradley to help me off a stool! the whole pool scene?? i was giggling, especially when she calls jake malibu ken.-- the way I got paid to read up on tips and tricks for how to play pool, lmaoooo. I spent like 2 hours on reddit and billiards sites for research for that game, cursing myself for making miss ma'am a little pool shark when I know nothing about the game, ahahahhaha! the malibu ken bit absolutely gave me a chuckle, he deserved to get a little roasted with that line.

HE MADE AN ACCOUNT JUST FOR HER??? oh my god i would kill to have a bradley bradshaw in my life!!-- that was a last minute burst of inspiration! it was always going to end with her on the couch watching her favorite movie (and with a heart shaped pizza in the oven-- i ended up trimming the opening a bit, and part of the reason she accepted the original date in the first place is because she didn't want to have the same v-day that she had for the last few year, but now instead of it feeling lonely, it felt hopeful like she was having her own romance movie moment), but then I had a what-if idea that instead of her deleting the app she gets one last message from a certain someone. 🥰 and since he knew what app she was on because he got to snoop on the guy who stood her up, he knew where to start (but also, he's very please when she pops up for him as a compatible match, and happily will share that tidbit with her on their next date!)

¡ loved this so so so so much!!-- 🥰 🥰 🥰 🥰 🥰 🥰

For the Plot

Summary: Things aren't looking too good for you, sitting alone at the Hard Deck waiting for a man who might not show. Until Bradley Bradshaw sits down across from you and turns your entire night upside down.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Reader

Length: 7.7k

Warnings: fluff, so much flirting, and an italicized oh

Going on a first date on Valentine’s Day is unarguably the worst possible idea that anyone has ever had.And while the sure to be terrible, no good, horribly bad idea hadn’t been yours, you weren’t entirely sure what you were thinking when you’d even agreed to it in the first place.

The guy you were planning to meet tonight was cute enough, even if you were still undecided about the mustache. And while the chats between the two of you had been pretty good as far as it goes getting to know a literal stranger, you were hopeful that it could be even better in person. The fact he was in the Navy was still a bit of a consideration for you, but not a deal breaker.

In retrospect, the name of the bar should have been your first clue and the location paired with the causal beachy exterior covered in planes should have been the second.

You had been expecting to see more than one girl all done up in pinks and reds tonight, but you couldn’t have been more wrong. And you swear to god, somewhere you hear a record scratch as you step into the Hard Deck, because you are surrounded by nothing but a sea of olive green and khaki and denim.

And you have never been so clearly out of place in your entire life.

There was nothing about your ensemble that was even remotely fitting for the literal Navy bar you’d found yourself in.

The ice pink mini slip dress you’d dug out of your closet was admittedly a little much for a first date, but since it was Valentine’s Day you figured why not lean into it a bit. And well, if your date didn’t appreciate it, then that was a him problem.

Or so you’d thought at the time, because now it was a decidedly you problem.

The silhouette was simple enough, with the gentle drape of the cowl neck and the barely-there spaghetti straps, but the shiny sheen of the fabric made a statement of its own. It wasn’t something you got to wear very often for as much as you loved it.

But then you’d gone ahead and paired it with the tallest, most ostentation heels you had. The effort had been worth it though because the pearl encrusted block heels made your legs look like they went on for days. Even if it had been a feat trying to get the dainty buckle done with the way you’d been rushing out of the house with your beaded bag in tow.

The whole look was something you’d sure would come with Cher Horowitz’s seal of approval. However, the patrons of the Hard Deck you were less sure about. And even though there were civilians- like yourself- scattered about the bar, none were anywhere near as dressed up as you.

There are more than a few pairs of eyes on you as you stand there with your feet glued to the uneven wooden floors, as the door with its porthole-shaped window slowly closes behind you with a squeaky creak. The twinkle lights above your head felt more like a spotlight, illuminating how out of place you are in this moment.

Your hand is still clutched on the handle unsure whether you’re going to make a run for it or not. You are more than a little tempted to hightail it back to the parking lot and text your date to claim a bout of food poisoning from the safety of the driver’s seat in your car.

But chances are if your date is here then he has already seen you. A bright beacon of pink amongst varying shades of brown and woodgrain.

“Oh my god,” you mutter under your breath, trying not to panic. Officially a victim of your own bad decision making.

You take a quick scan of the room, trying to decide what your next move should be. There’s a woman behind the bar with kind but clearly inquisitive eyes. A blonde with a wolfish smile eyes you from where he stands next to a man with broad shoulders bent over what must be the pool table, hidden behind the paneled half wall. By a dart board, there are a couple men with their heads turned towards you, the game seemingly forgotten as they discuss the spectacle that is you.

There are hundreds of planes dangling over the bar, patches and plaques littering the walls and rafters, rounders suspended from the ceiling laden with too many ceramic mugs to count. It was all done with a heavy-handed, maximalistic approach that you’d take a moment to appreciate under any other given circumstances.

When you spot an open table tucked away in the corner of the room it feels like life raft to the iceberg of a situation you’ve put yourself in. Mindful of the scuffed, uneven floors- because the last thing you need is to eat shit or twist an ankle in front of room full of curious onlookers- you hustle over to the spot in hopes of having a moment to regroup.  

Once you’re situated- shrugging off the ivory cardigan you’d topped your outfit, trying to keep the nervous sweat that wanted to break out over your body at bay- you pull out your phone and check the time only to realize you’re devastatingly on time. Five minutes early, to be specific.

So you wait.

And check your phone again and the notifications in the dating app, just in case you missed something.

And wait.

You try to play it cool, skimming posts on Instagram and replying to some overdue texts. Finding anything you can to keep yourself occupied to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach the longer you sit there. Alone.

Now you’re not just simply embarrassed, you’re mortified.

You can still feel the eyes, the energy steadily shifting from curiosity to sympathy over the last thirty minutes you’ve been waiting all alone in the corner of a Navy bar you had no business being in for a man who clearly wasn’t going to show.

So much for doing it for the plot, you think to yourself with a shake of your head.

Another minute ticks by with no message and you decide you’re more than ready to hightail it out of there. Fully aware that you’re about to become a topic of conversation that won’t have to be restricted to only covert glances and muffled whispers. But hopefully, they’ll at least wait until the door closes behind you before the chatter starts up for real.

With a sigh, you reach for your beaded bag, just as a large body slips into the chair across from you, with an ease that is in contrast to the bulk of muscles you catch in your peripheral vision.

“You look like you’re in need of a date,” a warm, raspy voice offers.

It’s the smile that you catch first. Not quite a grin, but something familiar and friendly and charming in the way it crookedly pulled to the left. Followed closely by the rich chocolate brown eyes that were squarely trained on you with a look that was just as earnest as it was playful. But what surprised you the most was the way he was sitting in the stool across from you just as comfortably as if he was supposed to be there all along.

There was no way you could have prepared yourself for the sheer level of attractiveness of this man.

He was in a league of his own with those curls and wide shoulders. The white and olive green stripped crochet shirt he was wearing didn’t hurt either, especially the way the top buttons were undone giving you glimpse of a chain around his neck and the chest underneath it. He didn’t need to be in uniform- or even in a Navy bar- for you to tell he was a military man. Not with the confident way he held himself.

Even if the mustache he was sporting made it feel like the universe was playing tricks on you, but he more than wore it well.

You huff out a self-deprecating laugh. “What gave it away?” you ask. “The way I’ve been watching the door? Or just the general look of regret and embarrassment?”

“Embarrassed? What do you have to be embarrassed about?” His eyebrows pull together, perplexed. He shakes his head like he disagrees with even the suggestion of it. “I think the only person who should be embarrassed is the guy who is missing out on sitting across from you right now.”

You give him a soft smile of your own in return for the cinnamon sweet words. There’s a genuineness in his tone that makes some of the tightness that had settled in your shoulders from the moment you’d walked in release.

“That’s kind of you, but I think I’m going to head out,” you say, nodding to the door you never should have stepped through in the first place.

He gives you a teasing tsk. “And let a dress like that go to waste? Now that would be a shame.”

The appreciative look in his gaze that sets off a swarm of butterflies in your stomach. And then his eyebrow ticks up, just a little. Part invitation, part dare. And you can’t say you’re not intrigued.

There’s a decision to make.

You could leave now and cut your losses. There was a reason you had a back-up pizza in the fridge and had left you well-loved copy of You’ve Got Mail sitting out on your coffee table.

Or you could stick around and see what happens next.

You tilt your head at him, just as teasing. “Would it now?”

“It would,” he states, sincerely.

Before you can reply, your phone lights up with a new notification, pulling you out of the whisky haze you’d found yourself in. 

His eyes dip down to your illuminated screen. “Is that him?”

“It is,” you confirm, almost regretfully. You open the app and skim the message. And then read it again.

There’s no sorry, no apology for cancelling a half an hour after the time for the date that had been his idea in the first place. And then he’d even had the audacity to tack on a cavalier maybe another time at the end.

Unbelievable.

He lets out a low whistle. “That bad, huh?”

“Apparently, I should have been the one to remind him that the fourteenth of February is a calendar holiday and a fan favorite day of the greeting card companies.” It’s so ridiculous you’d laugh if you weren’t so annoyed by the lack of consideration and the not-so-subtle blame he’d tried to shift on you. “Even though I did double check if he was sure about meeting up today, I guess I didn’t realize I actually needed to spell out ‘Valentine’s Day’ for him.”

The man across from you doesn’t bother holding back the less than impressed look on his face. And you decide you like that about him, that he wears his thoughts so openly. It’s refreshing.

“Do you mind if I take a look at his profile?”

You shrug and pass your phone over. You were planning on blocking West the second you had a moment anyways. You see him roll his eyes and guess it has something to do with the amount of shirtless gym selfies.

He snorts as he scrolls, “Please, his mustache has nothing on mine.”

An amused laugh escapes you. “Are we ranking mustaches now? Because if that’s the case, I’m sorry to say that I’d have to give it to Selleck.”

“Fair enough,” he concedes good-naturedly, as he hands you back your phone. “But am I at least a close second?” There’s no mistaking the flirtatious tone in his voice.

You hum and take full advantage of the opportunity to look at him unabashedly, mapping the contours of his face because you can.

To simply call him handsome would be an understatement.

The way the golden light of the sunset is hitting him you catch some sunkissed strands in those soft looking waves of his hair. There’s the beginning of some crinkles around the edges of his eyes. You notice the scars on his face, some that look long healed and others that are still a light pink- like the one on the side of his neck and beneath is ear. And that mustache on him worked for you, one hundred percent.

There’s a playful glint in his eyes as he lets you assess him that leaves no question as to whether or not he’s been flirting with you. You like the way he’s looking at you and the way he’s easily made you forget about being overdressed and how uncomfortable you were even just five minutes ago. You’re having fun. And while you still haven’t answered his question from earlier, you have no doubt that he’d show you a good time if you let him.

“Maybe not a close second, but yours is certainly up there,” you tease.

He grins. “I can work with that.” There’s something about the way he adds on for now that has a spark dancing up along your spine. And then he sticks out his hand, “I’m Bradley.”

It’s a good name. It suits him. It’s one you think you’ll enjoy the way your tongue will curl around the letters of it in your mouth.

When you give him yours in return, he sits up straighter in his seat, like he’s won a small victory.

You don’t doubt that he’s the chivalrous type, the fact that he’s gone out of his way to come over to try and turn this evening around for you says more about him than any dating profile with nonsense questions and overthought answers ever could. But with a man like him, one who’d swoop in to save the night of a stranger because she looks like a damsel in distress, there’s an answer to a question you need to hear first.

“Bradley, this isn’t a pity thing, is it?” You were right, you like the way saying his name feels. You drop your hands into your lap, as you search his eyes. “Because if it is, that’ll make me feel worse than being stood up did.”

The way the words were sitting out and open on the table between the two of you made you feel vulnerable in a way you didn’t like. But you’d rather know now before anything goes further. Doing it for the plot or not, your ego could only take so much bruising in one evening.

He pins you with a look so serious that you feel it down to your toes. “Trust me, this is furthest thing from a ‘pity thing’, as you put it,” Bradley says, his tone slipping down a few gravelly notes. “Because if I’m being honest, if that asshole had actually shown up, I don’t know if I would have played fair.”

Oh.

A thrilling rush of warmth courses through you as your cheeks heat up.

You nod, trying to not look as affected as you feel. “Ok, I believe you.”

“Good,” he smirks, his gaze dropping down and lingering on your lips. You didn’t realize you’d trapped your lower lip between your teeth, you release it immediately. “Because you should know, I would have come over sooner- the second I saw you, actually- if I’d known. That’s some dress, sweetheart,” Bradley continues, “Plus, you’d be doing me a favor.”

You couldn’t help but be curious, so you lean in closer. “Oh, how so?”

Bradley mirrors you, crossing his thick forearms over each other and leans in that much closer. “I haven’t had a Valentine in years,” he says it like he’s letting you in on a secret.

For the first time all night, you don’t regret wearing the dress. You don’t regret the ostentatious shoes or the glimmering beaded bag. You don’t regret walking through that creaky door. You don’t regret showing up tonight.

How could you when you’ve just been served the best plot twist you’ve possibly ever experienced? A meetcute you never could have seen coming.

You realize just how close your faces have gotten and lean back in your seat, from fear of thinking you might do something stupid, like kiss him. “Will you stop with the big cow eyes, if I agree?”

Those crinkles around his eyes deepen, “Good to know they still work, I wasn’t sure if I still had it.”

You press your lips together trying to hide your smile, all too thoroughly charmed, but the corners of your mouth curl up all the same.

“Trust me, you have plenty.”

And Bradley’s own smile gets even wider.

Anyone in the bar can see how pleased with himself he is at your words. It rolls off of him in steady waves and swirls around your shins and ankles.

He makes a show of settling further into his seat, now that it is officially his seat. “What’re we thinking? One milkshake, two straws?”

You play along and pretend to ponder the offer for a moment. “That seems more like a second date type of activity, does it not?”

“You’re right, something to look forward to for next time,” he responds, not missing a beat. “So, can I buy you a drink?”

“I’ll allow it.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

There wasn’t a menu or anything on the table when you sat down, so you aren’t sure what all is offered here. You thought you might have caught a glimpse of a laminated stack near register when you’d first walked in, but you hadn’t wanted to draw any more attention to yourself at the time by getting up again and wandering around and reminding people just how out of place you’d been.

You look around and see a mix of ceramic steins, pint glasses, beer bottles, and a few stems of wine on tabletops and in the hands of the other patrons.

The noise of the bar had become a faint white noise in your ears as the two of you talked, but it comes back in full force now.

“If they have rosé, I’d take a glass of that.” It isn’t hard to miss the hesitation in your voice, feeling a little silly defaulting to your usual go-to. You don’t imagine they go through a ton of pink wine here. “But, uhm, anything on tap would be fine too, if they don’t.”

Bradley’s lips twitch up. Not in a smirk, but something caught between amused and something else you can’t quite describe.

You try not to fidget under his warm gaze, “What?”

He slides out of his stool and rounds the table, setting a big hand on the armrest near your elbow, “There’s something you should know about me, sweetheart.”

“And what’s that?” you ask, more than a little breathlessly. Feeling a little high off of the smell of his leather and vanilla cologne, and something underneath that that reminds you of kerosene in a way that makes you want to breathe him in even more.

Bradley dips down close, his lips just a whisper from your ear, and murmurs, “Pink is my favorite color.”

Your head tips back on its own as you laugh. Its unabashedly loud and bright and delighted thing that fills the nooks and crannies of the corner you’d tucked yourself away into. And if a few heads turn your way because of it, that’s alright with you.

You don’t believe him, not one little bit. But that’s part of the fun. The back and forth, the flirting, the banter, the teasing. He’s so quickly turned this night around for you, you already know your cheeks are going to hurt by the end of it.

The sound of Bradley’s own laughter chases after yours. It’s warm and raspy and boyish, and you like the sound of it. You like him.

“One rosé, coming up,” he says, giving your shoulder a light squeeze before he steps out of your space. “There’s nothing I like more than a girl who commits to a theme.”

You catch his wrist, his skin warm under your palm. “Wait, what’s it really?”

“Red,” Bradley says, then gives you a slow once over, making your pulse spark in your veins. “But you’ve got me second guessing myself now.” He gives you a wink and then heads towards the bar.

You watch stunned as he saunters away, admiring the way the light wash jeans he’s wearing form to his long legs, before taking a moment to send a string of words punctuated with more than a few exclamation points to the group chat.

When he comes back, only a few minutes later, he has glass of familiar pink wine in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. And oddly enough, a straw tucked into the pocket on his shirt.

“It’s almost a perfect match,” he notes, when he sets it in front of you.

“At least I won’t have to worry about staining if I end up spilling on myself.”

Bradley chuckles and moves his stool in closer to yours, sitting back down with more smooth grace than a man with his build has any right to move. He tips the neck of his beer towards you, and you lightly tap your wine glass against it.

You take a sweet sip. “So.”

“So,” he repeats, with a teasing lift of his eyebrow.

“What’s your move?” you ask, running a glossy tipped finger around the rim of your wineglass.

“My move?” And there’s that grin again, one he doesn’t try to hide as he takes a sip of his own.  “‘m pretty sure I’ve been showing you my moves since I sat down. I’ve never been good at being subtle.”

Bradley pulls the straw from his pocket and taps it a few times against the shellacked woodgrain table top. He takes the flimsy wrapper carefully starts twisting it, a little furrow of concentration forms between his brows, spiraling it until it’s pulled taut against itself.  

You set an elbow on the edge, resting your chin on your hand as you study him. “But what’s the big move? I know you have one,” you press further.

His hands are big, calloused and rough, but capable. You want to know the story behind the scar that’s near the base of his thumb. You note that he wears his watch on the right instead of the left, and you pocket that new discovery for yourself the way a kid enthusiastically collects rocks in a park.

Bradley takes that piece of paper and folds it in half before twisting it again.

You watch in fascination as that pleased grin transforms into a confident smirk, like he’s enjoying even just the thought of showing you his big move. He looks like good trouble.

Bradley’s eyes slowly lift to yours, his hands pausing whatever he’s doing with that wrapper. He shoots a thumb to the left towards the end of the oval shaped bar. “You see that piano over there?”

“Mhm.” It’s an almost purr.

“That’s my big move.”

You feel your eyebrows lift in surprise. Bradley gave off such hometown golden boy vibes, you’d never have expected that he’d be the musical type too. The idea of seeing those hands fly over a set of black and white piano keys made your stomach tighten deliciously in anticipation.

“Am I going to get to see it?”

His gaze is steady on you when he replies, “Yeah, sweetheart, I’ll show you my move.”

A grin stretches across your face and you feel downright giddy, as you wiggle your shoulders in triumph.

Bradley shakes his head amused, and then refocuses his efforts on the task he’d started with the straw wrapper. He struggles only for a moment- those large fingers getting in the way- as he tries to open the end just enough to slip the tail though. He gives it one more final twist, securing the loop, before inspecting his handiwork.

“Now, since we’re valentines and all, it seemed only fitting that I get you- well, make you- a little something.” Bradley gives you a soft, boyish smile as he holds out his palm towards you, and in the center of it is a perfectly crafted paper ring. “Sorry, I couldn’t find you a Ring Pop on short notice.”

The words escape you for a moment at the sheer sweetness of the gesture.

Gently, you take it from his outstretched hand, and slip it onto the pointer finger of your right hand, adjusting it with care until you have it situated just right.

“I usually wouldn’t be able to accept something so grand on a first date. But for you, I’ll make an exception,” you say, liltingly. “Thank you, Bradley.”

You look down to appreciate it again, more than a little tempted to take it off and tuck it securely into your purse for safekeeping. For as much as you liked your dress and bag and your shoes, that little paper ring was now your favorite piece of the outfit you were wearing.

When you glance back up at him, his cheeks have the faintest pink hue to them. The little nonchalant shrug he tries to give you does nothing to hide how pleased he looks. “I make a mean daisy chain too. We might have to wait a couple months for Spring, but I’m good for it.”

Your mind flashes with an image of you and him in a park with a picnic basket sat between the two of you, and those large hands of his threading celery green stems together. It’s a pretty picture.

“Well, aren’t you just a regular modern day Renaissance man.”

“I’m a man of many talents,” he rasps, silky smooth. It makes goosebumps raise along your arms. “Now, I’ve told you mine. Can’t say I’m not dying to know what your big move is. Am I going to get to see it, sweetheart?”

“Maybe,” you muse, lifting your glass to take another sip, “If you’re good.”

Bradley hooks a foot under you stool and tugs you just a few inches closer. “Just out of curiosity, what’s your position on kissing on a first date?”

You bend forward towards him and think you hear his breath hitch, you smile. “I’ll keep you posted.”

You’re still looking at his lips when a shout from across the bar startles you both.

“Bradshaw!”

Bradley mutters a string of curses and then blows out a breath, giving you a smoldering look that tells you that the conversation is far from over. You’re more than willing to let him try and change your mind about where he lands in the mustache rankings.

You look over your shoulder to see the with the sharp smile from earlier waving your date over to the pool table. “I take it you know, Malibu Ken?”

“Unfortunately.” A mischievous look coasts over his face. “But I’ll get you all the Ring Pops you could ever want if you say that to his face.”

You laugh. “I’m holding out for that daisy chain.”

Another holler rings out from across the room, the same Southern drawl as before.

“Seems like he wants your attention. Is he a Leo?”

He snorts. “You know what, he just might be. But more like he’s been waiting for the right moment to annoy me since I ditched him to come talk to a pretty girl instead.”

You try not to preen at the compliment.

“The relentless type, huh?”

“You don’t know the half of it. I think I’m about thirty seconds from him queuing up “You Make Me Feel So Young” on repeat just to fuck with me,” Bradley explains. There’s a story there and you want to know more. “I know I still owe you the big move, but is it alright if I try to show off a little for you now? Just to get off my back for the rest of the night, then I’m all yours.”

You feel like you’ve just pulled an ace from your pocket.

“What are the stakes?” you ask, intrigued.

“Two hundred dollars and a whiskey,” Bradley replies.

You let out a low whistle, trying to school the catlike grin that wants to overtake your face. “That’s a lot of Ring Pops.”

The corners of his mouth curl up. “I was thinking dinner for our third date,” he says. “I’m buying for our second, of course. But it’s only right that we split the spoils of war.”

The sound of a brass band rings out over the staticky speakers and Bradley hangs his head down and lets out a long-suffering groan. You playfully pat his shoulder in faux commiseration.

You pretend to consider it for a moment, but you already know your answer. “Okay,” you agree, “Just as long as you’re okay with a little respectful ogling. You like my dress, and I like those jeans you’re wearing.”

He laughs, it’s a throaty rich sound. “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

You gather for you purse and sweater as Bradley stands. His hands come to your waist, helping you off the chair, your bodies closer than close. It’s a forward move- he knows it, you know it- but with him, you don’t mind at all.

Bradley offers you his hand and you take it in yours; his fingers slip between yours easily like the two of you have already done this before.  

The two of you only make it a few steps before you tug on his hand, waiting until he looks at you from over his shoulder before asking, with a lifted brow, “Bradley Bradshaw?”

He huffs out a not-so-exasperated sigh, “I blame it on the 80’s.”

“Whatever you say, Brad-Brad.” It’s the one and only time you’re ever going to say it, you decide. You like saying his name too much to shorten it. And his back may be turned to you now, but that now familiar chuckle still makes its way to your ears.

Bradley leads you to the bar first, where he buys another glass of rosé and a beer for himself. When you try to pass your credit card to the woman behind the counter, he takes it, and rasps into your ear, “Let me.”

He tucks it right back into your purse as the sound of brass instruments starts up yet again.

“Like a dog with a goddamn bone,” you hear him mumble. And you press your lips together to keep from laughing. Sure, you’d rather be seeing his big move, but you can’t claim not to be amused by all of this.

He nods to a group of people in the corner near the popcorn machine when the two of you enter the alcove with pool table. Some of his other friends of his you assume.

You send them a little wave, one that they return in greeting. You can tell they’re curious, but you’re grateful when they resume their conversation instead of making you feel like your date with Bradley had become a spectator sport for their viewing entertainment.

The first thing Bradley does is introduce you to his friend. It’s a little thing, but he does it without prompt or awkwardly leaving you to take the initiative yourself. You appreciate the way he is still prioritizing your comfort the way he’s been doing it since he first sat down across from you.

The second thing he does is pull out a chair for you. Not with a fanfare, not with a flourish. But like it’s something that’s innately ingrained in him. You get the sense that the gentleman thing isn’t an act with him, it’s who he is.

Jake rests a hip against the table. “Sorry to interrupt your date, but Bradshaw and I had some unfinished business.”

You wave him off, it’s not a big deal. Not when you’ll have the rest of the night with Bradley. Plus, you’re eager to watch this play out between them, curious about their gameplay.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get this over with,” Bradley rumbles, as he arranges the balls in the rack. And you wonder if he lost the lag before he’d made his way over to your table for one.

He comes back over to you, and leans on the ledge next to you as he chalks his cue. You’d thought about slipping your sweater back on, with the outside chill pressing against the line of glass windows at your back, but Bradley had more than enough warmth radiating off of him that you didn’t need to.

“You that eager to be out a couple hundred, Bradshaw?” Jake grins, as he leans over the side of the table. He turns his gaze to you and sends you a wink right before he breaks, sending the cue ball barreling into the others with a resounding clack, scattering them across the table.

And then they’re off.

It’s a rapid fire of back-and-forth banter between the men as they take their shots. Mostly good natured, but undeniably competitive. Smirking when they land their shots, and snarking over fouls. Clear that neither of them wants to lose.

Jake is all confident posturing, playing low over the cue with a lightly too tight grip. It’s the only thing that gives him away that he’s not the easygoing player as he wants people to think he is. Choosing higher risk shots that would highlight his ability versus some of the more straightforward options laid out for him, and skilled enough that it pays off most of the time. But after a couple rounds you note he’s too quick to stand up after taking his shot, not enough follow through because he’s too eager to see if his gamble pays off.

Bradley is all loose-limbed ease, clearly comfortable in both his skin and at the table. You can tell he’s probably playing quicker than he normally does, clearly trying to hurry up the game for your sake, even though he doesn’t need to. Although he does take his time as he positions himself around the table, only adjusting his bridge every now and then. Always with a 1-2 shot, a warm-up stroke followed by a steady hit. Watching him you catch his tendency to throw out his elbow of the follow through.

The two are pretty well matched in skill, you observe with keen eyes, as the balls skate across the Top Gun insignia, against the rails, and into pockets.

When Bradley’s not up to play, he’s by your side, right at your elbow. And when he is, it’s your eyes he’s looking into the moment he stands back up, seeking out your reaction. But more than once you feel his eyes on you as you watch them play.

True to your word, you to admire him in those snug fitting jeans. And when he catches your appreciative gaze, he sends you a wink before lining up his next shot.

Jake sinks another solid into the pocket he’d called only moments ago, and turns his dimpled smile at you, “You still sure about your date with the old man, chickadee? I bet I could show him up in that department too.”

The way he says it, you know he’s just teasing, probably just to rile you date up and get a reaction from him.

“Unfortunately for you, I think I have a thing for mustaches now,” you toss back, unbothered. And Bradley smiles into his drink.

You watch as Jake lines up his next shot and hits the white with a compact stroke.

“Double hit,” you declare.

“Dammit,” Jake curses.

You look over to see Bradley looking at you with a focused look on his face. Like there’s a theory clicking into place, one he needs the answer to. Wordlessly, he hands you the cue.

“You sure?” you ask.

“Two hundred dollars sure,” he states.

You take it from him with a sly grin.

Bradley’s thighs brush against the front of your knees, you know if you parted them even a couple inches, that he’d fit just right between them. His hands landing on your waist again as he assists you off the stool you’ve been perched on. And you’re starting to think he just likes an excuse to touch you, not that he needs one because you already more than like the feel of his hands on your body.

You walk the pool table, running a finger around the rails as you do. Evaluating the balls on the table like they’re chess pieces. The slow clip of your heels on the floor like the tick of a clock as you take your time deciding your approach.

“You’re the stripes,” Jake offers helpfully. “Don’t worry, I’ll even let you have a free shot.”

And you can’t help but laugh because this is going to be fun.

“Bradley?” you ask, leisurely chalking your cue.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Do you mind?” You gesture to the spot behind you, and he catches on quick with a not-so-subtle glance at the short hem of your skirt.

He sets his beer down and comes to stand behind you, there’s just enough space between the two of you that you don’t have to worry about hitting him with the cue, his broad from proving you the coverage you needed to bend over the table. While you don’t think you’d mind Bradley seeing the silk thong you had on underneath your dress, you weren’t exactly up for flashing the whole bar.

You haven’t played in a while, but it’s a muscle memory at this point, as you map out your moves. Seeing the lines and angles and arcs in your mind’s eye before anchoring your bridge.

You look at Bradley from over your shoulder, only to see his eyes are trained on the ceiling with his tongue pressed against his cheek. A gentleman, albeit not an unaffected one. A tendril of smokey gratification curls its way along your spine. You turn your head back to the pool table looking between the cue, target, cue ball, target.

It’s a smooth stroke with a satisfying crack. A clean three-rail shot that lands the striped five into the pock you’d intended for it.

“Damn” is all Jake says. His eyes you up, clearly impressed.

“You sure about that free shot, Jake?” You stand up and smooth out your dress, just for the show of it. “Or do you want to make it double or nothing instead, Malibu Ken?” You hear Bradley snort from behind you.

And just like you thought, he wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, “Deal.” Jake turns to Bradley. “I just let your girl hustle me, didn’t I?”

“You sure did,” Bradley says with a grin, but his eyes are on you.

Neither are surprised when you sink your next shot too. The six sailing into the left corner pocket.

On your next shot, you may or may not deliberately foul. A tactical choice that sets Jake up with a less than ideal position on the table, knowing it’ll be a difficult shot for him to make.

“Now you’re just toying with me, aren’t you?” Jake grouses.

You just smile and take a sip of the rosé that Bradley hands you, neither confirming or denying.

Surprisingly, he banks it.  But his good luck only lasting through that one play. Because on his next, the ball glances off the side rail at too acute an angle to reach the intended pocket and he groans.

Not quite ready to be done, you ease off a little. Enough that they both know you’re going easy on him to extend the game longer, just so that he can catch up to you.

But soon enough, soon there’s only your eight ball left on the table.

“Looks like you’re about to be out four hundred dollars, Jake,” you say with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Just put me out of my misery already.”

You turn to Bradley, who has been carefully positioning himself behind you the whole time. You hold out the cue to him and ask, “Do you want the honors?”

He shakes his head. “Go on, finish him off, sweetheart. I’m enjoying the show.”

And when your final ball tips into the side pocket, Jakes resounding groan is drown out by the whistle Bradley lets loose between his thumb and pointer finger, as you turn towards him beaming.

“The atm’s by the restroom.” Bradley sounds only too happy to remind Jake as he closes the gap between the two of you.

You look over his wide shoulder, “As for the whiskey, something expensive please, Malibu Ken.”

Jake huffs a grumble but nods all the same as he goes to round up your winnings.

“Scored four hundred dollars and a valentine, that’s not too shabby, if I do say so myself,” you preen to Bradley.

“Think that might have been the best thing I’ve seen all year,” Bradley announces. “The hottest too, if I’m being honest.” You feel your cheeks heat under his gaze. His finger slips under the thin strap of your dress that had fallen off your shoulder somewhere along the way. He slides it back up and into place, treating it like some delicate thing the same way he did that paper wrapper. “Where’d you learn to play like that?”

Normally, this is when you’d rerack, but you’ve never had a Bradley Bradshaw looking at you before.

“I took a class in college over the summer as an elective credit, and it turns out I had a knack for it,” you explain with a playful little shrug.

“I’ll say.” He takes another step closer. “Did you just show me your move, sweetheart?”

“One of them,” you grin.

You don’t have to press up to his height, not with your pearly heels.

You wrap your arms around his neck and bring his lips to yours for a kiss. A sound of surprise escapes from his throat. You feel the curve of a smile before his hands slide around your waist to pull you closer.

The scrape of his mustache against your upper lip sends electricity racing along every nerve ending in your body. In that moment you are Midas touched, the blood thrumming through your veins feels like liquid gold. It’s unhurried, like he’s been waiting to savor the feel of your mouth against his. Exciting and new as you learn the taste and touch of him. You knew it was going to be good, but even so, it’s better than you could have expected.

“Think you just snagged that number one spot of my list of favorite mustached men,” you say against his lips.

“Suck it, Selleck,” he rasps.

You inhale the amusement of his light chuckle, letting it go to your head like champagne bubbles, before he slips a hand around the base of your neck and pulling you in close once again.

A couple hours later, you find yourself at home on the couch. Your cheeks a little sore from how much smiling you’d done tonight, as Tom and Meg trade words over a plate of caviar on screen.

It was only much later that night you’d gotten to see Bradley’s big move.

He’d surprised you with his voice and the talented way his fingers glided over the white and black keys. An expensive glass of amber colored liquor sitting atop the old piano as he played, and four hundred dollars tucked safely away in your purse.

You’d given him your number when he’d walked you to your car, only distracting you for a few extra minutes with his mouth, before you’d left for the night, hoping that you’d hear from him soon.

A notification lights up your phone, and a ribbon of thrill unspools through you.

You sigh when you see that it’s a notification from your dating app. You’re wary to open it, not wanting anything to color your night, but you figure now is as good of time as any to block the guy who had nothing on the one you’d spent your evening with.

When you see the name of the person who’d sent you a message, you click into his profile with lightning-fast fingers, skimming all the details to things you hadn’t had a chance to learn yet.

𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰

𝐀𝐠𝐞: 𝟑𝟓

𝐉𝐨𝐛 𝐓𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: 𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐭

𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥: 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐚

𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬: 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥

𝐙𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐜 𝐒𝐢𝐠𝐧: 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫

There is a picture of him in uniform, grinning to someone out of the frame. And another one of him shirtless on the beach, surrounded by some of the faces you’d seen tonight at the Hard Deck.

But it’s the answers to the prompts that he’d picked, that set your heart fluttering.

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭: 𝐈 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲. (𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐞𝐫.)

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐬: 𝐈 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬, 𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬.

𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭: 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬.

That one makes you laugh.

You open the message from him, one that had been sent with a rose.

𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰: 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐈 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞? 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧? 𝐈 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐈 𝐨𝐰𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐨𝐩.

You don’t even have to think.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝?

And you can’t help but grin to yourself as look at that paper ring still on your finger. Because you know, this app won’t be on your phone for much longer.

Not now that you’ve met him.

Happy Hearts Day, friends! Thank you for reading!

And a big thank you to Jordan ( @gretagerwigsmuse) for all the support and encouragement and general woogirling over Bradley Bradshaw!

You can read my other stories here!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken  @callsignspark @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @ofstoriesandstardust @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

[beautiful-monsters-raging]

but use your freedom of choice

(while you still can) Title taken from the song Freedom of Choice by DEVOVision.

Leo has something to tell Usagi.

_____

Trigger warnings include vomiting, fears of rejection, brief mentions of dysphoria, discussion of abortion and abortion-related politics (although the last one you should already be prepared for on this blog).

This is a story from a larger collection that you can read on my AO3 (that series has its own tags, make sure to read them all)

"I'm pregnant."  

The words don't emerge so much as escape, slipping from Leo's mouth as he and Usagi wash dishes together. He wants to grab them from the air, take them back, but it's too late. A dish slips from Usagi's hands and crashes into the sink, pieces shattering everywhere.  

Leo had had a plan. A scheme, really, a cunning and clever scheme. He'd be subtle about it, carefully feel out Usagi's perspective on choice and free will and whatnot, test the waters. He'd do it all himself, this time, so his brothers wouldn't accidentally help him into a disaster like his coming out had been (would have been, but Usagi had been so understanding, and really there was no way Leo could be so lucky twice, but)  

Anyway. He'd planned to get Usagi alone after dinner, make out with him a little, that would help things, right? Or would Usagi feel manipulated? He should have looked up the role horniness played in these types of conversations; someone must have written something. He should have, should have, should have...  

The thing is, Leo's brain is on the whole a whirling mess by now, and he's not thinking nearly as clearly or carefully as he ought to. So, when Usagi comments about how Leo’s been moving a little stiffly recently, is everything all right, all those carefully planned excuses go straight to hell and what comes out is the absolute, damning truth.  

"You guys okay?" Mikey calls from the living room, where Leo's brothers are watching TV and pretending not to be staying nearby "just in case." Like Leo wouldn't be able to handle Usagi on his own if...if he....  

Maybe it's considering the possible consequences of his latest fuckup, maybe it's just the fact that his body has been hijacked by a goddamn parasite, but Leo's dashing to the trash can before he can think, falling to his knees and throwing up. Ice Cream Kitty sticks her head out of the freezer, giving him a sympathetic whine, and oh god, the fucking cat's going to hear whatever comes next, isn't she?  

"We're fine!" Usagi calls back, voice slightly strangled. He hurries over to Leo's side, dropping to his knees and rubbing his shell.  

"Breathe, Leonardo, it's all right." His voice is so fucking tender Leo wants to sob, so he does, spitting up tears and snot and vomit and ugh, he's so gross. But that doesn't faze Usagi, it never has, and he holds on to Leo until the puking stops.  

Leo slumps over the edge of the trash can, panting, staring directly down at his radically altered dinner. For a wild moment he thinks he's somehow managed to spit it up, pulled off a miracle reverse miscarriage to get out of this conversation, but no such luck.  

Usagi stops rubbing his back, taking a slow, deep breath. "Leonardo--"  

"I'm getting rid of it." He doesn't look away, can't face hope or rage or whatever nightmare he's going to see in Usagi's eyes. "I...I can't--I'm not ready to be a parent, 'Sagi. I don't know if I'll ever be ready, and if I did it wouldn't be by--" He cuts himself off, breath suddenly strangled in his throat.  

The thought of laying an egg is sickening; Leo doesn't know what he would have done if Donnie, amazing Donnie, hadn't studied his unique anatomy over the years, until he was prepared for such an eventuality to give Leo the exact kind of care he needed. If it hadn't been for him, Leo would be...  

Well. Probably as screwed over as a significant chunk of birthing humans in America at the moment, to be honest.  

But he might be still screwed, in his own way. Leo forces himself to sit up and turn to face Usagi, blinking away tears. Fucking hormones making him want to cry all the time.  

"I'm sorry," he gasps. "I'm so sorry, Usagi, I don't want to take this away from you, but I have to, I need to, and I'm sorry, I know you wanted to give Jotaro a sibling someday, maybe, but I--"  

"Leonardo," Usagi cuts him off. He looks, he looks almost angry and Leo's going to fucking hurl again--  

"Leonardo, why in all the worlds would you think little enough of me to assume I would deny you your choice?"  

Leo blinks, stares. "....What?"  

"Maybe," Usagi reminds him gently, "and some day. And never in a million years, not if the price meant bringing pain to someone I loved."  

"I..." Leo's heart is fluttering, or maybe it's the parasite sucking his innards dry.  

"You are real, Leonardo. You will always be more important to me than some dry possibility. And if I was a man who felt otherwise, I would not be worth your time."  

Leo stares at him for a few seconds, then bursts into tears, slumping forward into Usagi's arms and weeping like a fucking child. Relief shudders through his bones, relief and the raw aftereffects of fear, pressure popped like a balloon.  

"I love you, Leonardo," Usagi says, planting a kiss on his head. "I always will. Nothing you do with your body can change that."  

He holds Leo until the crying stops, just like he did with the puking, only Leo doesn't feel disgusting anymore. He feels safe, he feels loved, and he clings on to that feeling--to Usagi--with everything he has.

______

Author's Note:

I am, thankfully, in a state that is still firmly pro-choice. But this attack on my rights is sickening, and I wish allsupport and compassion in the world to my sisters, brothers, and siblings who aren't so lucky. I love you.

[fanonical]

I've been wanting to make this post for a while.

So I got into fanfiction in a kinda weird way (my first fandom was Cats the Musical, fun fact) and the way that manifested was through badfic communities. At first it was on Livejournal, with people dedicated to posting and making fun of bad fanfiction, but then it spread into this group that did the same thing. I won't name them, but I read a lot of their stuff and even briefly joined them back in the day. Their whole thing was a fictional agency dedicated to finding and destroying bad fanfiction and specifically 'Mary-Sues' - they'd post links to a fic judged to be bad, someone would claim it, and then write about their OCs (agents of this organisation) going in to destroy it, and mock it along the way.

I was about thirteen when I found and joined this group, and at the time, I had this big thing about being 'intelligent'. I'd always type with correct spelling and punctuation, I'd pepper in references to stuff that'd make me look smart, I had this conception that I was inherently just a better writer than most people because I used more caps lock. You don't need to tell me that was insufferably pretentious, I know. I was thirteen! To be honest, over a decade later, this sort of overachieving mindset is something I still struggle with. Anyway, the fanfic I was actually writing at that age, while not The Worst Thing Ever, was actually just pretty standard for someone my age at the time. But back then, I thought I was practically God's gift to fandom.

So I joined this group, because of course I did, I was better than everyone else. And I passed their test of how well you can write. I was all geared up to start posting these little hateful stories, ripping apart other people's work, and then...

Someone did it to me.

Oh, not from that community, and not even that bad in retrospect, but I posted something I was proud of and got a few mocking reviews from people. Looking back at the fic in question, it was bad, I'm not gonna deny that. Out of character, emotionally all over the place, not good. But that really made me think about this thing I wanted to do, this community I wanted to be a part of.

I'd justified the behaviour of this community to myself by thinking that it was, ultimately, to help people write better. To point out the flaws in their current writing, and help lead them towards improving. But that wasn't what we were doing. We were making fun of people behind their backs, calling them stupid, calling them bad writers, calling them a poison on fandom or whatever hyperbolic insults were in vogue back then. So I stopped. I stopped reading their stuff, I stopped being in that community. To be honest, I hadn't been a part of it for long enough to anyone to notice, but still. I couldn't justify this kind of bullying any more.

And...I suppose the point of me telling this story now is that I see a lot of that behaviour still around in fandom. I'm not gonna claim to be all Wise and Old now, I'm in my fucking twenties, but that experience is always something I go back to when I see people acting like all stories - especially those written for fun, by inexperienced authors - need to be free of any flaws or they're the worst thing to happen to the world ever.

(Note: if someone's posting fics that are bigoted and questionable in any way that has a real-life impact, like racism or homophobia or similar, that is not what I'm talking about here. The flaws I mean here are poor spelling and grammar, or characterisation, or plotting, that sort of thing, not bigotry.)

We're all doing this for fun. Let people learn, let people grow. If you want to give critical feedback, make sure the author actually wants feedback of that sort. Some people just post fic because they want to get an idea out there, they aren't really writers, and that's fine! Some of my favourite fics have had huge, obvious flaws, but I wouldn't trade them for anything else because I fell in love with their characterisation, or their dialogue, or their creativity - something about them that shines through.

And if you're cyberbullying someone because they wrote a self-insert into a fanfic? Go fuck yourself, honestly. Get some perspective. It's fun, and that's all it needs to be. Cringe is dead. Long live having fun.

[mypoisonedvine]

Reader and Steve end up exposed to something on a mission that cause them to body swap. It would be hot as hell if one of them was seeing Bucky too and he decides to have fun with their misfortune.

(okay so this is kind of a crack fic so im sorry in advance asgjakhsagdj this is the WEIRDEST SMUT I’VE EVER WRITTEN... very nsfw and a slight touch of dubcon beneath the cut.)

you’d only been in Steve’s body for a few hours when you began to understand how deprived this man was.

you hadn’t gotten his memories.  you didn’t really understand how this had happened at all but you knew that for sure, because you distinctly recalled being you yesterday and now you were him.  and he was fucking horny.

maybe it was you, a little bit, but this was definitely his body acting of its own accord more than it was your mind inside of it.  it felt different in a guy’s body, for one.  it felt so different to have need like this, so much more all-encompassing than the subtle tingling in your gut that you normally felt when you were turned on.  damn, is this what it was always like for men?  you weren’t sure how they ever managed to get any work done.  maybe they don’t.

my cock is hard, you thought to yourself, trying to wrap your head around the concept.  you tried not to look down at it as you leaned back in your chair-- his chair, actually-- but you could feel it, not just the arousal coursing through it but the head curving back and digging into your hip.  

I can’t touch it, you decided, it would be invasive.  he’s not here to consent to me touching his body.  and you firmly believed that logic, and yet you felt your hand-- his hand-- reaching into the waistband of his uniform and pulling it out.  you whimpered just to feel warmth on it, though the sound was foreign to your ears as you realized you had his voice.

you had never been good at handjobs, but it was like instinct was guiding you as you stroked the cock you found in your palm.  his hands were sort of rough, something you normally liked but was not well-received in this body.  but it was enough-- it was just enough to satisfy this desperation that burned in your chest.  you could tell it had been so long since this cock had gotten attention from anything but this hand, you could feel how much he needed more but you, as his friend, understood why he didn’t get it.  he always told you he was too busy for dating.  frankly, if you got to this point, you wouldn’t really be worried about “dating” so much as “hooking up” but he was, understandably, not the type.

your head fell back as you bucked up into your hand, biting down on your lip-- and you’d always dreamed of tasting his lips, just not like this.  “fuck,” you hissed, the sound of his voice mundane to his body but driving your mind wild inside his stupidly beautiful head.  there was an urge to moan your own name, just to know how it would sound if he said it like this, but the idea was too weird for you go through with it.

then again, you were stuck in Steve’s body and jerking off so, ‘too weird’ was kind of a moot point.

you were jolted out of your rhythm when there was a knock at your-- his-- door.

“wh-who is it?” you stammered.

“it’s me!” you heard from the other side of the door. “or, well, it’s you!”

“shit,” you mumbled as you rushed to redress, running to the door-- you were so much faster in this body, unsurprisingly.  you weren’t really psychologically prepared to open the door and see yourself there.  you weren’t ready to be pierced by your own gaze, your own arms crossed in confusion.

“do you always get wet when you look at me?” Steve asked you suddenly.  “or is this just me... knowing it’s you?”

you swallowed, feeling an Adam’s apple bob in your neck-- what an odd sensation.

“does my voice always sound like that?” you asked when you heard his words from your mouth.

“we need to fix this before Bucky finds me again,” he demanded, “I barely managed to toss him off me.”

“... so I guess you found out about us too?” you winced, your secret fuckbuddies relationship now out in the open.

“more than I ever wanted to know,” he frowned.  his expression shifted as he looked up at you again.  “what were you doing?”

“what?” you asked, and you heard your own breathlessness.  “I wasn’t doing anything.  you always breathe like this.  don’t you have asthma?”

“I used to have asthma,” he corrected.

“yes, and now you have a vagina-- my vagina!-- so maybe we should focus on that and not you giving me this random third degree here?”

“whatever,” he scoffed, brushing past you to step into the room as you shut the door.  

“you didn’t... look, did you?” you asked nervously.

“uh, no,” he answered quickly, “did you?”

“I made a specific point not to,” you announced proudly.

“oh...” he mumbled, “good...”

“sooooo...” you changed the subject awkwardly, “any plans on how to fix this?”

“I was thinking we’ll start by trying everything we can think of, and work from there,” he offered.

“good plan,” you decided.  “maybe.... maybe, uh... we have to... go... somewhere?  or do something?”

“go somewhere and do something?” steve repeated incredulously. “you’re a real genius.”

“don’t make that face at me, you’re gonna give me frown lines,” you sneered.  “I can’t help it, okay?  I can’t think!  I’m distracted!”

“by what?”

“by... by stuff!” you defended, scratching the back of your neck-- it was your nervous habit, rendered entirely different by his short hair.

steve sighed, your chest rising and falling with his breath.  “it’s hard, isn’t it?”

“well, yeah, switching bodies is hard--”

“no.  it’s hard... isn’t it?”

your eyes went a little wide.  “ohhh. uh, yeah, it is.”

“god, I’m sorry,” he groaned, hiding your face in your hands, “it does that a lot.”

“how do you do anything?” you squawked.  “it’s like all I can think about is... is how bad I just need to be in something, something... warm!”

“welcome to my world,” he shrugged.

“you have to let me...” you began, but stopped yourself.  “no, no, we-- no.”

“what is it?” he asked.

“you have to let me fuck you.  me.  you have to let... you fuck me...?”

“won’t that be, you know... scarring?” 

you nodded.  “but I’m not sure we have a choice, please just-- just let me-- I know I want it.  I mean, I know my body wants it.  didn’t you say I’m wet?  I’m probably drenched by now, huh?”

he stammered a bit before answering. “um... I think so...”

“it feels warm, right?  warm and sensitive and like you need to be filled with something?”

“...kinda...” he replied hesitantly.

“please,” you groaned, “don’t tell me I’m the only one that’s ever thought about it.”

“no,” he answered, quicker than ever, “no, you aren’t.  you’re... you’re sure it’s okay?”

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” you finally admitted, “not like this, but I’ll take what I can get--”

“fuck it,” he mumbled before pulling you into a heated kiss, and with your eyes closed you couldn’t really tell the difference of who was who anymore, you just knew that it was him touching you and you didn’t really care that his hands were smaller and that his lips were softer.

you undressed each other at lightning speed, and there was a hand on your cock-- clearly he was pulling from his own experience with his own cock, because wow, he knew exactly how to touch it to make you gasp and whimper.

“you can look,” he offered to you when he pulled back from the kiss, “I know I did.”

“did you like what you saw?” you asked hesitantly.

“better than I ever imagined,” he grinned.  “I even put a finger inside you.  I’ll be honest, I’m not sure I’m gonna fit.”

“neither am I,” you sighed as you looked down at the thick member your own slender hand was wrapped around.  “fuck, steve... it’ll probably hurt you.”

“let’s just hope we can fix this tonight and you get to be sore tomorrow, not me,” he chuckled a little.

“k-keep stroking it, please,” you sighed, “I’m already-- I think I’m close.  I can’t really tell...”

“you should be able to feel it here,” he explained as he slipped his touch lower to cup your balls--

“oh,” you breathed, “this is... new...”

“oh please, it’s nothing compared to a clit,” he laughed, “that thing is sensitive.”

you realized that steve was taking much better advantage of this than you were-- while you had his body at your disposal, you needed to test out the superhuman strength.  it took you almost nothing to lift your own weight onto the desk, grinning as you saw him gasp at the show of strength.

“been a while since somebody lifted you?” you asked him with a smirk.  he didn’t reply, just spread his-- your-- legs and let you grind against him, just the warmth of a body enough for now even if you weren’t inside of it.  you kissed him again as you pulled him closer, thrusting to let that poor, sensitive cock slide over the delicate skin beneath you.

“well, well, well,” a voice echoed from the doorway.  you sat up and spun around to find Bucky, leaning around the wall with crossed arms and a satisfied smirk.  “it was just a matter of time before you two got together-- we all knew it.  no wonder you ran off so fast, babygirl... you had another engagement to attend to.”

“Buck, hold on--” Steve began.

“Bucky, this is not what it looks like,” you interrupted.

“then what is it?” Bucky asked with faux innocence.

you and Steve looked at each other, neither of you sure exactly how to answer that.  “it’s complicated,” you answered in unison.

“don’t worry about me, I’m not jealous,” he explained.  “we never said we were exclusive, no hard feelings,” he addressed Steve-- but he was talking to you.  well, he was trying to talk to you, but he didn’t know he was looking at Steve.  well, he was looking at you, but just your body-- oh fuck it, even you couldn’t make sense of it. “but Steve?” he chuckled. “he doesn’t even know what he’s doing.  he can’t make you feel as good as I can, I know it.”

he was like a blur as he pounced on you-- your body, at least, but it was Steve that was arching his back and moaning as Bucky licked and sucked at your neck, slipped his metal hand into your shorts and apparently found your most sensitive spots instantly.  Steve was already bucking up into his touch, your own moans echoing over the walls even if you weren’t the one making them.

“B-Buck, wait,” Steve protested, but he was too weak now to push him off, and too far gone into the pleasure to want to.

“feels good, hm?” Bucky purred, throwing a stray glance at you.  “are you jealous?” he asked you tauntingly.

“yes,” you admitted.

“jealous cause you know how good it feels when I make you come like this?” he pressed, and you froze.  

“do... do I?” you asked Steve anxiously.

“don’t look at him, look at me,” Bucky corrected firmly.  him? you wondered, but before you could ask, he answered your question, turning to address Steve pinned under him.  “I know it’s you, Steve.”

“what?!” you both gaped.

“she would never call me ‘pal’ like you did earlier,” Buck explained, “and she would never say no to me like you also did earlier.”

“hey!” you protested.

“and you,” he laughed, “I’d know that deer-in-the-headlights look anywhere, even on a different face.”

as embarrassing as this whole situation was, it was sort of nice to have someone else acknowledge it.  it made you feel less crazy.

“I can’t keep track of this conversation while there are fingers inside of me,” Steve shivered.

“it’s weird, isn’t it?” you smiled at him.  “good weird.”

“very good, very weird,” he agreed, breathing heavier as Bucky’s arm flexed from pumping his hand back and forth.

“she usually comes in just a few minutes from this,” Bucky explained to Steve, making you feel oddly exposed-- and not just because you knew they could both see the achingly-hard cock threatening to burst from the hastily-zipped pants.  “I know it’s you in there, but it’s still her body... so it should still be the same, right?”

“I-I’m close,” Steve replied, making Bucky laugh.

“oh, you’re even faster, damn.  go ahead and come for me-- don’t you wanna hear how she sounds when she comes?”

“yes.”

“don’t you wanna see that pussy cream all over my fingers?” 

“yes.”

“then beg me not to stop,” Bucky demanded, and instinct took over.

“please don’t stop,” you found yourself saying before Steve could answer, making them both turn to you.

“I’ve got you so well-trained,” Bucky grinned before looking back down at Steve beneath him.  “just like that, doll,” he repeated his instruction.

“don’t call me ‘doll,’” Steve barely managed to protest between loud moans.

“okay,” Bucky relented, “beg for me just like that, Stevie.”

“please!” Steve shouted instantly.  “please... please don’t stop.”

“one more time?”

“damn it, Buck, don’t stop!” he sobbed, and you wondered if you always looked like that when you came or if it was Steve’s expression painted on your own features.  Bucky, as always, wasn’t content with just one, and Steve’s eyes shot wide open as he realized that this could just keep going, over and over.  

“you’re-- you’re really not gonna stop,” Steve gasped.

“he’s mean like that,” you explained with a little smirk.  you were looking forward to getting back in your own body just for the multiple orgasms alone.

“how’s it feel, Stevie?” Bucky asked proudly.

“s-so good,” he answered dutifully, “so good it almost hurts.  fuck it hurts... but I want more, I wanna come again.”

“mm, so greedy,” Bucky praised.  “just one more, then we need to give our lonely friend some love... I bet she’s ready to make a mess in your pants just from watching me finger you--” he turned to you suddenly-- “isn’t that right?”

“yes,” you answered quickly.  “p-please, Bucky, I feel so... I need you.”

“I know, babygirl, it won’t be much longer,” he promised, “I can feel your cunt clenching on me already-- come on over here and feel for yourself.”

you hesitantly stepped closer, hissing a little as Bucky’s free hand grabbed your wrist and pulled your hand closer.  “see?  just put your finger in beside mine, I want you to know how tight you get when I make you come.”

you took a shaky breath but did as he asked, hearing Steve’s gasp as you inserted his thick finger into your slickened channel.  it definitely felt different than when you put your own fingers in yourself-- for him and for you.  it was different to feel your pussy around your finger when you couldn’t feel the finger in your pussy... if that made any sense.

“three’s too many,” Steve complained.

“and yet, here we are,” Bucky winked.

“I can’t,” Steve clarified, “it’s too big.”

“aw, she always says that but then she changes her mind... you will too,” Bucky decided.  “now just move like this,” he explained to you as you started to move with him, feeling the way your body responded instantly.  it built up so fast as you tried to keep up with Bucky’s pace, watching Steve cry out at the same time as your walls tightened around the assortment of fingers-- Steve and Bucky’s, flesh and metal-- inside you.

“you’re close,” Bucky informed both of you.  “feel the way that pretty pussy is getting so wet, holding on so tight?”

“y-yes,” you shivered, trying your best to ignore the pangs of need coursing through the cock you still struggled to acknowledge as your own.

“go ahead and come, Stevie,” Bucky encouraged, and that was all it took; Steve cried out as your whole body spasmed-- not just your body, but the body you were in.  You were coming, much to your dismay, without even being touched, ropes of hot come creating a wet patch on Steve’s uniform, and you couldn’t bit back the groans of pleasure as your gut flexed with each wave of the orgasm.

“oh, now look at that,” Bucky purred as he looked back and forth between Steve and yourself.  “you two both made a mess.”

“aw damn it, my uniform!” Steve protested as he looked at you.

“I think you need to help our girl clean up that mess,” Bucky cooed as Steve shot him a look.  “it’s been too long since you got your dick sucked... and I’ve always felt it’s your responsibility to solve your own problems.”

“I... I don’t know how,” Steve protested.

“I’ll show you,” Bucky promised as he guided Steve to kneel in front of you, helping you push down your trousers.  “just lick up some of that come first, nice and slow.”

you gasped the second you felt a warm tongue against your skin, your hands reaching out and finding a comfortable place to grip on your own hair-- and Steve moaned when you pulled on it.

“you like the taste of your own come, Stevie?” Bucky purred. “now put it in your mouth-- just the head, you might not be able to fit much else.  suck on it like a popsicle.”

you bit back a moan that wouldn’t been embarrassingly loud when you felt a warm, slick mouth wrap around where you were now much too sensitive.  

“look down, babygirl,” Bucky whispered to you.

“I-- I can’t,” you denied, “I can’t look.”

“but you look so pretty when you suck cock, doll, haven’t I told you a million times?”

you sighed but obeyed, opening your eyes and looking down at Steve looking up at you, but with your eyes, and with your lips stretch around his thick shaft.  “I... I do look pretty,” you agreed nervously.

“did you always wonder what Steve looks like when he’s getting his cock sucked?” Bucky asked you as he knelt down beside your body where Steve was using it for the moment.  “The answer is... very confused.”

“that might be unique to this situation,” Steve explained as he pulled away from you.

“keep sucking, whore, I didn’t say you could stop.”

that language made you both moan softly, but Steve obeyed.

“oh, we are going to have so much fun,” Bucky chuckled excitedly, and you already knew that you were in for a very long night.

[missymurphy1985]

The Writer (part4)

Warnings - Angst

Request? Yep

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @peakyciills @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @noctvrnalmoth @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x @namelesslosers @misscarolineshelby @screemqueen @cilleveryone @peaky-cillian @misselsbells06 @datewithgianni @heidimoreton

You woke alone - checking the clock on the dressing table you darted out of bed. 6:45am, Tommy said his driver would be taking you home at 7. You rushed as quickly as your sore thighs would allow you back to your bedroom so no one spotted you run across the landing completely naked.

Pulling your clothes on, gathering your notepads and stuffing them in the small bag you had brought, you turned and nearly jumped out of your skin as a young woman of maybe 22/23 stood in the doorway. You vaguely recognised her as one of the maids who made your tea the night before. She had a strange look in her eyes that made you feel uneasy.

"I believe Mr Shelby has arranged a car for me this morning?" You asked, ignoring her gaze.

"He has. It's outside. He gave me this to pass onto you." She smiled wryly, handing you the envelope. You thanked her, and left the room heading down to the waiting car.

You opened the envelope once you were en route. Two £1 notes fell out, alongside a letter. Your heart froze in your chest as you read it, feeling like a complete fool.

Ms. Y/L/N,

Since you enjoyed being treated as a two-bob whore, I suppose it's only fitting I pay you for your services.

The article can proceed, but I'd prefer if someone with more professionalism could attend next time.

Yours,

T. Shelby

The tears were falling from your eyes as you pulled up outside your apartment. How could you have been so stupid... A millionaire like him shacking up with you? A penniless widow with more debt than you cared to admit to.. trying to make a name for yourself in a man's world. He clearly thought you were nothing more than a whore. You left the money on the back seat and exited the car, your heart shattered as you unlocked your door and stepped inside.

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

"So how did it go?" David asked as you sat opposite him in his office an hour later.

"Honestly? The interview was difficult. He wouldn't reveal much about himself."

"Laura said you didn't come home last night." Laura was your roommate, she was also dating David. You should have known she'd tell him. He raised an eyebrow at you, smirking.

"The storm." You voice caught in your throat, emotions threatening to spill over. David quickly stood and closed the office door, kneeling in front of you.

"What happened Y/n? Come on, don't cry..." You fell into your big brother's arms and you let yourself cry. The only man you allowed to see you like this. You told him about the night before, in not as much detail, and then the note this morning.

"Fucking asshole... I never should have sent you to him!! This is all my fault... Oh sis I'm so fucking sorry, come here...." He held you tight. "Go home. Run a bath. I'll send Laura over with a bottle of wine. Just get him out of your head. God I sent you right into his filthy little hands didn't I..."

"David this isn't your fault. I wanted it as much as he did okay? He was just so different last night.. he asked me to stay, he put me into his bed, he held me.. then that note. And the money.. the fucking money?! Like a fucking whore!"

"Y/n go home. That's an order. You're not to go back again. I'll send Frank, he can do the article."

"No you won't! This is MY story and I will be the one to tell it! That halfwit doesn't even know which end of the pen to use!"

"He's already demanded someone else, you saw it for yourself. Now go home, I'll let Laura know you're on your way."

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

It was a week later that you finally felt strong enough to leave the house. Your confidence at an all time low, your heart completely broken, but your cupboards were empty as your soul felt and Laura was away for a few days with family back in Scotland. You had no choice but to face it and go to the store in the next town. Glancing at yourself in the mirror, you took a deep breath and headed out.

Waiting in line, you felt a tap on your shoulder. A dark haired woman with hard but kind eyes stood behind you.

"Are you Y/n?" She asked. You nodded, before quickly realising who she was.

"Polly Gray?" You gasped, and she nodded, pulling you into a huge hug.

"Oh y/n... It's been so long!! My goodness how you've grown!!!" You hugged her back, she'd always been so kind to you as a child knocking about with John. She was the only member of the family that knew you were close to him.

"Come for a drink! The Garrison is only down the street!" She grinned, as you paid for your groceries. You were about to answer before she linked arms with you and was almost frog marching you down the road. To be honest, you didn't mind. She clearly didn't know about your liaison with her nephew a week earlier, and a drink sounded very appealing.

Sitting in the small side room as she went to the bar, you felt yourself relax. She doesn't know, you won't tell her, it's one drink, no harm done.

"Perks of Arthur owning the pub - Peaky women get served at the bar without question!" She grinned, placing a bottle of whiskey and two glasses on the table in front of you. So much of one drink....

You both knocked the first one back quickly, before sipping your second a little slower. She enquired about your life up to now, squeezing your hand gently as you told her about Jack and his death. She smiled as you told her about your work, confessing to her your pen name in the Herald which made her howl with laughter.

"They're always my favourite articles in that newspaper!! I always felt they had a woman's touch to them, so well written! If only you could use your own name eh? Bloody men, ruin everything for us women."

"Yes. Yes they do." You eyes glanced out the window and she noticed them misting up slightly.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

"Oh nothing, nothing, I'm fine. Just being silly."

"There's a man, isn't there? A new man?"

"Pol..."

"And he's hurt you, hasn't he? I'll rip his balls off... Let me guess, fucked you and fucked you off?"

"Pol, it's fine honestly."

"Your eyes tell me it's not fine y/n."

"It was a silly, drunken mistake. On both parts. It won't happen again."

"No one hurts my y/n and gets away with it. Name." Her voice was forceful now. She was angry, you could see it in her eyes.

"Polly please! It was a one night thing that shouldn't have happened in the first place! Just let it go, okay?"

"Y/n, when my daughter was taken away, you were closest thing I had left. I was heartbroken when you moved away. I can't allow some nasty little shit to break your heart after what you've been through!"

Your resolve was breaking, your patience was being tested, and your emotions were about to spill over, when the door to the room opened and your heart stopped.

"Tommy!!! Look who I found in the store down the street!" Polly exclaimed, and his blue eyes met your watery ones. He smiled, you scowled. Polly looked between the two of you, and you could honestly have heard a pin drop. You gathered your shopping up and stood up, still glaring at Tommy who never took his eyes from yours. You scoffed at him, thanked Polly for the drink, and hurried out the room.

"Oh Thomas... Thomas Shelby you have some fucking explaining to do!" You heard Polly shout from behind you but you didn't stick around to hear anymore.

[scintillasofbeomgyu]

˚ · . 𝘁𝘅𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻! — 𝙙𝙧𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙨/𝙤

pairing: txt x gn!reader

genre: fluff; crack

word count: 725

warning(s): none

a/n: this is written with the members being able to drive, but like i don't think any of them can 😔🙏🏻 also, they’re driving a whole ✨manual✨

᠃ ⚘ choi yeonjun:

as in anything, would be hyping you up the entire time

“they wish they could make turns like my baby!”

even though he had explained 2828288 times and you actually just cannot make proper turns to save your own life

might actually be scared, but will constantly tell you that you’ve got this and that you're doing great– pretty much trying to convince himself too LMAO

does breathing exercises with you when you hard-break after nearly hitting someone (for his own sake too 🤧)

“a deep breath in, and out” gestures towards the chest “in and out. i'm okay, you’re okay, they’re okay, you’ve got this. we can try again.”

pecks your lips when you return safely to the yard, and is going to brag to the members about his talented yn

᠃ ⚘ choi soobin:

we all know this man is going to baby you, be honest

is going to instruct you with a very calm, gentle tone, but will also hype you up whenever you get something right

when you finally managed to pull straight into the parking bay, would clap excitedly, “that’s my yn!! you did such a good job i’m so proud of you!!”

when you pull out of the parking lot and onto the road, he’d constantly be reassuring you— even when you jumped 3 redlights in panic and the car keeps rolling back at stop streets 😭

“shh, it’s okay babe. you’re doing just fine. focus on the road infront of you, breathe.”

your wheel goes up on the pavement when you make a left?

“eyy, it’s all part of the road anyway, you’re ‘slaying’ as they say!”

᠃ ⚘ choi beomgyu:

puts his seatbelt on, says his prayers, tells you where his will is and says that he just wants you to know that no matter what happens, he loves you

except you haven’t even turned the car on yet

but don’t get him wrong, he has the utmost faith that you’ll do a good job !!

and even though you’re going 30 in a 60 zone, he will tell you to ignore them and focus, then turn around and shout at them from his window in your stead

a loud™ car ride; he’s supposed to be instructing you but he isn’t

“yn yn yn watch out for the cat!” “woohoo good job on that turn!” “OH MY GOD BE CAREFUL YOU ALMOST HIT THAT GUY” “wAIT YOU NEED TO BREAK SOONER” smh. but headpats when you safely return to the yard 🥺

᠃ ⚘ kang taehyun:

is about to be the best driving instructor you have ever met; he is now an instructor before he is your boyfriend

bet he studied the entire manual before your he took you for your first lesson

makes extra sure your seatbelt is fixed properly, shows you how you should set the rearview mirror and reminds you to do your checks

is very calm, guides your hands in the steering wheel to assist you

“yes, good. very good, angel. just take your foot a little slower off the clutch? there we go.”

is very patient !! when repeated attempts at parallel parking frustrates you (as it would anyone tbh 😔), he’ll give your cheek a squeeze

“take it easy. rome wasn’t built in a day. here, i brought some water and snacks.”

᠃ ⚘ huening kai:

would try to cover up his worry with excitement so that he didn’t make you any more nervous, but he’s pretty easy to read so 😭

would panic like beomgyu, but would also be as reassuring as soobin !!

instead of really instructing, he’d go “ah, don’t you want to speed up a little more before changing gears? oh, i think you should keep a little more to the middle of the road, jagi!”

life flashes before his eyes when you encounter a circle on your trip

“no, no, it’s going to be okay !! AHAHAHA THAT CAR ALMOST HIT US! but that’s totally okay, you’re doing so well!!”

breathes again when you make it back to the yard, and claps his hands excitedly “you’re going to ace this test, yn! you’re an even better driver than me!”

[batsandbugs]

The Great IKEA Game

Chapter 1 - Meet the Players

Marinette originally came to the IKEA an hour outside of Gotham to buy twinkle lights for her new living room. She eventually extended her trip into obtaining new dishes since all she had right now was empty takeout containers she kept rewashing. She would have been very content getting what she needed and being on her way, (no, she wasn't lonely Plagg, she had two dozen mini-gods to keep her company, shut up) but halfway between the bedding and lights sections, Marinette’s life changed forever. 

For the better, if she was being honest. 

She never would have realized it if she hadn’t ducked into a showroom to test out a couch. She settled against the fluffy folds, knowing it would be destroyed within minutes if she ever brought it home when she noticed him. A boy, no man, about her age, hiding behind a desk looking for all the world as if he were plotting world domination or someone’s demise. 

They looked at each other in shock for a moment. 

“Are… are you ok-”

“Shhh!” his green eyes narrowed, and boy, Marinette had been on the receiving end of death glares before, but this one had to take the cake. 

“Sorry,” she whispered. 

He rolled his eyes. “Do you see a group of dark-haired obnoxious idiots out there?” he asked. 

The request was an odd one, but Marinette rose from the couch and glanced around outside of the showroom. She didn’t see anyone fitting his description. She shook her head. 

He smirked. “My idiot older brothers dragged me along for a “family bonding experience”." He made the little quotation marks, and Marinette never thought anyone could look cool doing that, but somehow this person nailed it. "Tt. I’ve successfully avoided them for an hour. Didn’t know when the coast would be clear though.” He rose gracefully from the ground, looking all the more like a prince, rather than a crazy person hiding from his family. 

It was absurd. 

Marinette found herself instantly amused. 

“I have friends exactly like that, I totally get it,” she said, thinking how Adrian would be beside himself when she told him the story later. The pang of loneliness that had been present since she’d left her friends in Paris, for college in America re-emerged. She shook her head of the maudlin thoughts. 

The Kwamis would have had a field day with this idea too, thankfully she had left them in her severely under-furnished apartment for the day in order to avoid the squabbling that came with only taking a few of them out of the house.  

Marinette looked back out at the hallway again, wondering if the man's brothers would soon appear, finding herself invested in what would happen. “What are you going to do now?” 

“Well, Drake has the keys, and those idiots will be at their shenanigans till the store closes, so…” he shrugged. 

“Are they like… furnishing a whole house?” Marinette didn’t know how you could spend an entire day here. Sure, it was big, but… 

“No. We’re engaged in a no holds barred game of hide-and-seek.” Marinette’s mouth dropped open. “If one of them catches me I become the seeker.” 

“Why?” 

He smirked, “Because I’ve held out the longest.” 

"No, I mean, why are you playing hide-and-seek?" It seemed an odd choice for a bunch of adults. Well, Marinette and her friends would do it. But they also willing became superheroes at the age of fourteen so their judgment was already in question.   

He shrugged. "My oldest brother thought it would be fun, and our father is... out of town at the moment," he said with a bit of hesitation. 

“So, you’re just going to hide in this showroom till the store closes?” 

A devious smile spread across the man’s handsome features. “No. I intend to troll them. If Grayson wants my participation, I'm going to make him regret it.” 

It was at that moment she crossed the point of no return, not that Marinette knew it yet.

Throwing away any idea of finishing her shopping today she returned his smirk. “Any chance I could join you in your crusade?” 

The guy looked her over suspiciously. “Why should I allow a stranger to join me and potentially ruin my chances at victory?” 

Marinette thought for a moment. “Well, your brothers know you well?” He nodded. “Then they likely know what you’ll do to avoid and troll them. You need a fresh perspective. Plus, I can operate out in the open, I’m not officially a part of the game.” 

“Hmm...” his face was impassive; Marinette couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “You make some good points, but I’m not fully convinced.” 

Marinette huffed, “I also grew up in Paris without being akumatized.” 

He looked at her oddly. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Paris had a terrorist for five years that turned people into monsterized versions of themselves if they felt negative feelings. They were called Akuamas. Everyone in my class had it happen to them at least once. More for some particularly loose cannons.” 

The guy looked bewildered. “Why didn’t anyone hear about this?” 

Marinette shrugged, trying to play off her knowledge as what a normal civilian would know. “Combination of corrupt politicians, social media blackouts, and magic. People died during these attacks, but everything was put to rights at the end of every fight due to the superheroes powers.” 

His mouth dropped, but he recovered quickly looking contemplative. “I want to know more about this at a later time, but if what you say is true you can control yourself better than the average peon. But my brothers and I are a combination of street orphans, circus brats, gymnastics freaks, and geniuses - are you sure you can keep up?” 

Marinette nearly laughed at his description but managed to keep a straight face. “Positive.” 

“Alright, I'll do whatever it takes to win.” He offered her his hand. “I’m Damian.” 

She took it, feeling a slight shock as her fingers touched his. “I’m Marinette, nice to meet you, Damian.” 

“You won’t be saying that soon enough,” he said with a slight smirk. He looked over her shoulder. “Shit.” He dove beneath the desk he’d been hiding behind earlier. “Tall guy with the white streak in his hair.” Marinette turned to look. “Don’t make it too obvious,” he hissed. 

Marinette grabbed her phone and leaned against the desk. With small side glances, she saw a man probably mid to late twenties with two-toned hair. He wore a leather jacket and seemed to be searching for something, or someone. 

“Who’s that?” she asked quietly. 

“Second oldest brother, Jason Todd - arguably the most and least dangerous.” 

“Why both?” 

“He did not want to participate initially, so he’s reluctant, but at the same time, he hates losing.  He’ll hang on to the bitter end. More resourceful than the other two, and more violent, although less sophisticated.” 

Jason moved closer to their showroom. 

“Hush, he’s headed this way,” she whispered. Damian remained quiet and Marinette tried to make herself look busy. 

“Quick question miss?” Marinette glanced up from her phone. Jason stood at the entrance to the showroom. 

“Oh, uh, oui? Non, non, I mean yes?” Marinette said in an exaggerated accent, playing into the oblivious tourist stereotype always came in handy. 

“Oh French, shit, haven’t spoken that in a while,” he muttered. “Um...” 

“Non, it iz okay, I speak English well. Can I help you?” She batted her eyes just a bit. Marinette had long since grown from the days of not using all her advantages - courtesy of forced confidence from Chole. A friendship no one had seen coming but had grown quick and strong once they reached an understanding. 

“Oh, I’m looking for my little brother, about yay high, black hair, green eyes, permanent scowl. Have you seen him?” 

Marinette pretended to think for a second. “Non... I do not theenk so, perhaps help desk at zee front?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Jason said, Marinette could see he had already written her off as useless. “Thanks, anyway.” He walked away quickly. 

There was a minute of silence. “Coast is clear,” said Marinette once Jason was out of sight. 

Damian popped up, a gleam in his eyes. “Your lying skills are adequate; we may just win this yet.” 

“I’m glad to meet such high approval, monsieur. Let’s get going.” 

Chapter 2 

Chapter 3 

Chapter 4

[zeetasposts]

Vincent - Better together

Fandom: Ikevamp

Pairings: Vincent x Reader

Genre: Fluffffff

Words: 1100+

Comments: Eeeeep so ill let yall guess who this is for hehe! Eeeek so excited! Whooop Whooop! //dances around ❤❤ ❤😳🥺! 🥺😳❤🌈

.*:・’ﾟ:｡.*:ﾟ･’ﾟﾟ:。’ .*:・’ﾟ:｡.*:ﾟ･’ﾟﾟ:。’･ﾟ｡.*:・’ﾟ: ｡.*:・’ﾟ:｡.*:ﾟ･’ﾟﾟ:

Oh, how you were truly a sucker for getting roped into all sorts of time-consuming tasks. You were too kind, honestly, and you worked far too hard. Your latest task? To grade the various exams of the learners attending the makeshift school founded by Napoleon and Isaac. To be honest, it wasn’t even your task to start with; it was fostered onto as the result of a bet lost.

Lessons had been learned the hard way, NEVER EVER challenge Arthur to a friendly wager, as you would be so lucky to leave with more than the socks on your feet. Regardless, the task allocated to him was now shifted to you, unfortunate really, but alas, what were you to do.

You sat at your writing desk burning that good ol midnight oil, clock tick ticking away. Naturally, neither Napoleon nor Isaac wanted to grade the students’ papers as that would be too biased—or that was the lame excuse they used—but you knew the truth.

Not that you minded this kind of work, it reminded you of your part-time job back home, the fond memories washing over you of helping out lecturers and students alike.

But this, this was different, this was hell! You must have read the first paper over and over, hells if you could only understand what was written. Chemistry, math, and the theory of relativity. Just how old were these kids, heck you studied these subjects at a university level and still, the words seemed like gibberish?

After the third paper, you were practically banging your head on the table in frustration; the least they could have done was given you a decent memo to follow. Losing all hope and succumbing to the darkness, it appeared as though the universe had heard your silent prayers and sent to you your very own ray of sunshine.

The soft knocks at the door were like a God sent, with Vincent peeking into your room, gentle blue eyes finding your own, ”oh, if you’re busy, I can always come back later,” his soft voice spoke with hints of hopefulness. 'NO NO NO, don’t leave me alone with these papers. I might just go mad', you wanted to shout out in desperation, but instead, you shot a weak smile over in his direction, gesturing for him to come inside.

“Nah, I’m just grading these papers, but if you are not busy, I’d love the company,” you offered, hoping, nay, praying he would stay. It had been a while since the two of you had spent some time together, with him being busy with painting and you, well, we all know Sabastian is a slave driver.

You mentally danced for joy when Vincent indeed did take up residence beside you, curious china blues gazing at the papers sprawled before you. “Need some help?” he offered, picking up one of the papers to examine the contents.

“How much do you know about maths and science?” you prompted

Vincent scratched the back of his neck, blue eyes never once losing their sparkle. ”Nothing! But I’m willing to learn or help out any way I can,” he affirmed cheerfully, tilting his head to the side, trying to decipher the string of numbers and letters.

His sunny features clouded over the longer he looked at the paper, and you could tell he was just as much out of his depth as you were.

Just then, an idea popped into your head, ”oh, I know! How about I mark, and you count them up and write the final score!”

“I can do that!!” he exclaimed happily, clouds dispersing and sunshine illuminating the room once more.

And so you marked and Vincent... drew?

You watched Vincent from the corner of your eyes, counting up the marks and charting them down in a little circle. His brows furrowed in concentration, voice barely above a whisper, letting go of a little sigh, “oh, this won’t do.” Honestly, his hands moved to their own accord sketching out cute little doodles next to the circled score.

You noticed he had been taking a while with each test handed to him, but you assumed he just double/triple checked his counting and final tallying of the scores. Not thinking much of it at the time, it was only after the last test was marked and handed off to him that your eyes dared to drift across the table to see what he was up to.

They widened slightly in surprise as you struggled to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “Cent? What are you drawing,” came the curious question, after watching him doodle out the smiling sunflower with the words’ Good Job’ neatly written beneath

Vincent’s face bloomed into a bright smile as he proudly held up the newest motivational doodle, “well,” he started to trail off, “you know how some of the students did really badly?”

You nodded, humming thoughtfully as you urged him to continue,” I just thought it would make them sad to see they did so terribly, so I decided a little sketch might cheer them up.”

Oooh, bless his little angel heart, for only Vincent could be so sweet. You smiled back at him, eyes falling to each of the papers to take in the various little motivational sketches and messages left for the students to find. Although soon, your eyes found one test in particular that piqued your interest.

A test in which the student managed to score a near-perfect score, you held up the paper in confusion, “but, what about this one?”

“Ah, well, you see, I thought it would make the students who achieved top scores happy to receive a little sketch in acknowledgement of their hard work,” he continued to beam with pride.

You chuckled, shaking your head, “so what you’re saying is everybody gets a doodle?”

“Jip”

You almost had to laugh; it reminded you so very much of an Oprah show. You get a sketch; you get a sketch; everybody gets a sketch. “You are honestly too cute, Vincent,” you beamed at him, collecting the paper into a neat pile, shaking your head with a chuckle.

Vincent returned your smile with a sunny one of his own, taking your hand in his and squeezing it affectionately. “You are the cute one,” he said in all seriousness, bumping his shoulder against yours playfully.

You rested your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes and simply enjoying the moment. After a few seconds, you peeked your eyes open to gaze up at him, “hey, vincent? Thanks so much for helping.”

With a brush of his soft lips against your forehead, he spoke tenderly, closing his eyes as he reaffirmed his love for you. “I promised you, didn’t I? Whenever there is a problem, I will always be there to help find a solution together.”

[cjsinkythoughts]

A History Lesson

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 4741

Warnings: Vulgar language, I think that’s it (it’s mainly fluff like Bucky’s)

Summary: You never were fond of history...but if history gives you a man like that? Maybe you could deal with it.

A/N: Here it is! A little later than I had hoped, but my brother is visiting, it was his birthday this week, work’s been a bit hectic, and I ended up writing a little something for Bucky’s birthday on Wednesday, which I didn’t mean to. I got it done, though! First Date with our dear Cap’n Spangles! I have all the First Date ideas for the other Avengers lined up, but I think I’m gonna put this on hiatus for now. I’m gonna try focusing on my College!AU at the moment. If you guys want, I’ll share my First Date plans, though. If I find time, I’ll write the next one. If you haven’t noticed, I have a fondness for collages, so I might do what I’m doing for my College!AU Project and make collages for the other First Dates before writing them. Anyways, enough with my ramblings. Enjoy the date!

You keep checking the clock, waiting for this lecture to be done. You typically enjoy school, but history isn’t a strong suit for you. You try in history, you really do, but all the information - the dates, people, places - it’s too much. You constantly mix things up, no matter how hard you study. And you don’t really get the hype. Who cares what these dead guys did? It happened, it’s done, and it’s time to move on.

“That’s all for today! Don’t forget your papers are due on Monday! You’re dismissed!”

You let out a groan at the mention of the cursed research paper. You had stayed up for hours the previous nights working on it, but so far you have squat. The essay is on the Second World War (more specifically the differences of life between Americans and Europeans at the time), and you know you should’ve done it when it was given a week ago, but your shitty memory makes it difficult to write a paper without five million textbooks in front of you and you don’t have time to go to the library every night between work, friends, and other projects. So, you haven’t done it yet.

Exhausted, mentally and physically, you collect your things and head out of the lecture hall. You pull out your phone to text your friends, telling them you have to work on a paper tonight and you can’t meet up for dinner like you all usually do on Fridays. Deciding to take a breather before working, you start out to the bench overlooking the Potomac River, which you always sat at to relax and just…be. The scenic walk through DC and the sight of the steady river flowing besides the busy city always calms you. 

You sit there for a few moments, letting the slight breeze chill the skin that’s warmed by the sun, listening to it ruffle the trees. The blush pink blossoms that appear when Spring sings her song and chases away Winter flutter to the newly grown, bright green grass below. You enjoy all the seasons, unable to help but love the unique beauty each brings, and Spring is no exception, despite the allergies and tests she brings.

And speaking of tests…

A soft sigh passes your lips as you get out your laptop. You might as well start writing, or at least researching, that paper. You never were good at relaxing when there’s work to be done.

You’re so engrossed in getting the stupid essay done and over with that you don’t notice the jogger who pauses in his run by the very bench you are slaving away on. “Savin’ this seat for anyone?”

“Huh? Oh, uh, no. Go ahead.” You answer distractedly, not even looking up from your screen as the owner of the deep voice sits besides you.

A few more minutes pass in comfortable silence, before you ruin it with a grumble and delete half the paragraph you just wrote. “That doesn’t make sense.” You change tabs to look over the information on the page you have pulled up again, only to furrow your eyebrows. You’re pretty sure the information is wrong. You may have a shitty memory, but you’re sure that the information given on this page is in contrast to the information given in the book you were reading a couple days ago.

“What’re you workin’ so hard on there, honey?”

You let out a huff, throwing your hands up in the air in defeat. “Some dumb research paper for school! It’s on World War Two, and I can’t remember what’s right and what’s wrong and it’s a stupid topic anyways that my stupid teacher assigned! Who fucking cares about a hundred years ago? And how the hell am I supposed to know this? I wasn’t alive! You know what I…”

The words die on your tongue as you finally glance over at the stranger keeping you company.

Blonde hair that seems gold with the way the sun is hitting the strands, which are damp and in slight disarray due to his exercise. Bright blue eyes reflecting the sky above, hidden beneath long lashes that you’re immediately envious of. Pretty pink lips, matching the cherry blossoms on the trees surrounding you, pulling up into an amused sort of smile. The makings of a beard lining his jaw and littering his cheeks.

Steve Rogers. Captain America. You just ranted about how stupid history is to Captain fucking America. You just ranted about how you have to write a dumb essay on World War Two to Captain fucking America.

Ignoring the way your body heats up, starting in your toes and climbing up your legs, chest, and neck to reach the tips of your ears, a nervous little chuckle is all you can give. You clear your throat, trying to think of how to apologize. “I guess you wouldn’t know what I mean, huh?”

What in the ever loving fuck was that? That was not an apology!

You clear your throat and try again. “I-I mean…sorry. It’s not - I didn’t mean-”

“No, no. It’s fine, sweetheart.” The grin he shoots you makes you glad you aren’t standing up, knowing full well your knees would’ve buckled if you were. You open your mouth to apologize again, but he shakes his head before you can speak. “Really. It’s okay. I get it. I used to be a student too. And you’re right; it was a long time ago and there’s a lot of things that happened. Even I have a hard time keeping track of everything that went down.”

You merely blink at him, nodding slowly. Say something. For the love of God, please just say something. Anything! “Yeah. I can barely remember what I had for breakfast this morning.” Really? You’re sitting besides the one and only Captain America and that’s what you decide to say?

You feel yourself slump your shoulders slightly, trying to shrink down into absolute nothingness. But even that wouldn’t work because he’s got that friend of his that could shrink and he’d find you. It seems that you were destined to be embarrassed in front of one of the most beautiful human beings on the planet. Screw the universe.

Instead of teasing you or embarrassing you further, he chuckles and nods in agreement, his eyes lighting up. “You’re not the only one. My pal Clint has got the absolute worst memory. We tease him all the time for it. How he became an agent with the memory of a goldfish, I’ll never know.” You laugh at that, your muscles relaxing and your anxiety easing up.

“Yeah, well, I’ve gotta get through college before I’m in the clear.”

“Don’t worry about it, honey. I’m sure you’ll be fine. Uh…so, a World War Two paper, huh? Need some help? I’m kind of an expert on the topic.”

Breath hitching as he scoots closer, you swallow thickly and shrug. “I don’t want to bother you. You look like you’re in the middle of a run.” You gesture to the tight ass t-shirt hugging his torso that you’re sure is sizes too small for him and the joggers hanging off his hips.

Following your gesture, he looks down, before shaking his head. “Nah. I’ve already ran a few more miles than I was going to today.”

“Are-are you sure?”

There’s that grin again. You’re not sure you’ll be able to survive him tutoring you if he keeps  giving you that adorable toothy smile. “Honest. I’ve got the rest of the day. We can go to the library if you want. Or we can stay here. Whatever works best for you. I don’t mind either way.”

You blink again, like an idiot, as you process his words. Whatever works best for you. What a gentleman. “Uhh…I was about to head to the library anyways, but I really don’t want to bother you-”

“Trust me, honey. It’d be my pleasure.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

You let out a soft laugh and nod at his insistence, starting to pack up your things. “Okay. I’m Y/N, by the way.” You stand up as he does and offer your hand.

“Steve. But I guess you figured that out.” Taking your hand, you expect him to shake it, but he squeezes it softly and brings it to his lips instead.

Clearing your throat, you tease him a bit to hide your bashfulness at his actions. “You’re a real gentleman, aren’t you?”

He shrugs with a slight smirk, gently dropping your hand and letting it go after another squeeze. “My momma raised nothing less.”

“I’m sure she’d be proud.”

His playful eyes go slightly more somber at that, his smirk morphing into a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

Giving no reply, you smile softly and nod your head to the path. He nods back before quickly falling into step besides you, asking you more about your paper as you walk to the library.

* * * * * * * *

Giggling behind your hand to stay quiet, or at least attempt to since you both had already been berated by the librarians for being too loud, your attention is once again diverted to Steve and his stories.

It started out fine; he helped you find reliable books and told you which things were true. But not even half an hour passed before Steve told you a story about the Howling Commandos after something in a book reminded him of it. Your concentration since then has been split between your paper and Steve’s retelling of his past.

“Sorry. I keep distracting you. What’s next?”

You snicker again and shake your head. “No, no. It’s okay. I’m almost done anyways. I’ve actually written down a few things you said, if you don’t mind me using them. My professor can’t exactly argue with Captain America, now can he?”

His lips pull up and his shoulders shake in silent laughter. “I guess not. Of course I don’t mind. You can quote me anytime. See?” He nudges you with his shoulder playfully. “History isn’t so bad.”

“Not when you’re telling it.” You respond earnestly, grinning up at him.

“Eh, Bucky’s always been a better storyteller than me.” He gives a little shrug and rubs the back of his neck.

You shake your head at his modesty. “Well I think you do just fine. You’re the first person to get me interested in history. Hey, can you read this over for me? I just need to finalize this paragraph and do the conclusion.”

When you receive silence as an answer, you look over at the blonde with an eyebrow raised. The ocean eyes scanning over you make you a bit self conscious, so you shift slightly in your seat, making him come back from whatever thoughts overtook his mind. “Sorry. Of course I can, honey. That’s what I’m here for. Let me see.”

He gives you a few pointers on what to add and what to get rid of, before you finally finish, saving your work and closing your laptop with a huff. 

“What a mind workout. I’m sure my brain’s got abs now.”

Heads swivel towards you two as Steve guffaws, a lady a few tables down shushing him. He apologizes, still snickering. “Abs, huh?”

“I mean, not as good as yours but…” You freeze, inwardly facepalming. And you were doing so well.

He gives you a cheeky grin. “I’ve got good abs?”

“Oh don’t give me that!” You hiss out quietly. “You know you have good abs. I’m just stating facts is all.”

Another soft chuckle leaves those pretty lips and he twists in his seat to crack his back before standing to collect the books you both got out. “When’s the paper due again?”

You stand to help him, but you get a case of the butterfingers just as you go to pick the books up, making the pile tumble to the floor. “Ah shit.” Steve smiles gently at you as you huff and give him an exasperated look. “My bad.”

He snickers, bending down to help you despite having his own books to carry, like the gentleman he is. “So? Due date?”

“Monday.” You answer with a sigh, straightening up. You carefully set the books on the table to pile them better. “We should get the grade back by Friday.”

He hums, taking a few more books in those strong arms of his. “Ah, well, you’ll get a good grade. I believe in you.”

You smirk at him as you shift your bag so you could carry books under your arms. “I’m sure I will with your help, Captain.” He scoffs and rolls his eyes at your teasing manner. “Thank you, by the way.”

“Of course. I had a good time.” He sends that stunning smile your way and this time you are standing. Luckily you have a table to lean on casually instead of falling on your face. “Plus, now you’ve got a free weekend.”

“Ugh. I wish.” You shake your head. “This is my final semester before I graduate. There’s loads to do. But this makes it easier.” Heading through the aisles of the library, you catch sight of the time on a clock on the wall and your eyes widen. You’d been there for a little over three hours! “Damn! I’m sorry I took up your Friday, though. I’m sure there’s things you want to do before you have to go back to New York, huh?”

Shrugging his broad shoulders, he runs a hand through his golden locks and drops the books he had in his arms on the desk for returns. “Not really. I’m here for the next couple weeks, actually. Meetings and stuff. Plus, it doesn’t even take me an hour to get here, so I can really come whenever I want.”

“That’s nice.” You follow his lead and set your books down, readjusting your bag on your shoulder. “I wish I could go to New York whenever I want. I’m way too poor for that.”

He chuckles again. You’ll never get tired of the sound of his laughter. “I’m sure you’ll get there one day.”

You shrug half heartedly, not really believing him. You’re barely making it in DC. There’s no way you could make it in the Big Apple. “Sure. Someday. I’m serious, though. I’m sorry you wasted  your time with some stressed out college student instead of enjoying time with your friends.”

“I’m serious too, honey. It’s no problem; I enjoyed it. And it’s not a waste of my time. Not as long as you get a good grade.”

You laugh as the two of you head out of the building, stopping on the steps and facing each other. “How will you know if I get a good grade?”

He purses his lips in thought. “Meet me at the bench next Friday.” He finally said, his eyes sparkling. “Then we’ll see. Until then, Y/N.”

You grin, taking the large hand he offers you, firmly shaking it before he can kiss your knuckles, making him snicker. “Until then, Steve.”

* * * * * * * *

Feet pounding against the concrete, you practically jump when you spot the man already sitting at the bench. “Steve!” You shout happily, waving your paper in the air. The blonde shoots up, a brow raised in curiosity. “I got a 97!”

You come to a halt in front of him, but it’s too quick, so your clumsy feet trip over each other. Before you can fall, he catches you with ease, smiling down at you in amusement. Small pants leave your lips as sweat trickles down your spine. Where’s that breeze when you need it?

“Uhm…oops?” What the hell was that?! That was embarrassing, that’s what it was!

He chuckles, straightening you up. “You were saying?” 

With pride lifting up the corners of your mouth, you shove the paper at his chest, once again grateful that he ignored your blunderings. “97%!”

“I told you you’d be fine. And I knew it wasn’t a waste of my time.” Steve looks up from the paper to give you a toothy grin.

“Thank you again.” You take the paper he hands back to you and shove it in your bag. “I probably would’ve failed the class without this grade. Is there really nothing I can do to pay you back for your time?”

He taps his chin in faux-thought, before tilting his head innocently. “You can loan me some of your time on Sunday.”

You purse your lips, confusion written over your features. “My time? On Sunday? Oh!” You light up, figuring he just needs help with something. “Yeah, duh. Okay. What do you need help with? I can promise I’ll try my hardest, but I might not-”

“No, no. Honey, that’s not-” he laughs, shaking his head and grabbing your hand to make you stop rambling. “I’m askin’ you out.”

“Out?” You pause, registering what that meant. “Like…on a date?” Is he serious? There’s no way he wants to go on a date with you. You pretty much called his life story boring, to his face, and then made him spend three hours on a Friday evening at the library working on a college paper with you.

He snickers with a nod. “Yes, on a date. So whaddya say, sweetheart?”

“Yes!” You blurt out without thinking, before you shy back, feeling yourself heat up as you tend to do around this God of a man. “Y-yeah. Yeah, I’d love to. Sunday. I can do that.”

He beams adorably, like a child being allowed to buy his favorite candy bar. Or a puppy with his favorite toy. Yeah…he reminds you of a puppy. Which only makes him that much cuter.

“Awesome! Meet me here at noon. Does that work?”

You nod vigorously. “That works perfectly.”

“Perfect.” He repeats, before taking your hand and bringing your knuckles to his lips once more.

* * * * * * * *

You’re sitting on the bench, tapping your toes nervously and checking your phone every minute. He said noon and it’s only eleven thirty. It’s a bit inconvenient, to say the least, when the place you go to relax is the place you’re meeting the person making you anxious. You could barely sleep the previous night, too many doubts lingering in your head. You seem to always be making a fool of yourself in front of him, but he was the one who asked you out, so that had to count for something.

You try not to think too hard about it, instead thinking back to last Friday in the library and how his features lifted when he told stories of his childhood and the Howling Commandos and the grin he got when he told you about the things they used to do that would get them in trouble.

“But I’m Captain America, and who’s gonna say no to this face?”

A little giggle leaves your lips as you remember his words, before you’re startled back to reality as a familiar smooth voice sounds besides you.

“Whatcha giggling at, honey?”

You whip over to see Steve grinning in amusement, leaning on the back of the bench. Your eyes drag down his figure. Another too tight t-shirt showing every ridge and curve on his torso, a jacket over his broad shoulders along with a casual pair of jeans. You had seen a meme about Steve having the proportions of a Dorito and, looking at him now, you can see how true it was. It almost makes you laugh again, but you remember what exactly is happening, and you suddenly can’t find anything funny.

“Sweetheart? You alright?”

“Huh? Oh. Yes. Yeah. I’m fine. I was just…thinking.”

He raised an eyebrow, smirking and leaning his forearms against the back of the bench next to where you’re sat. “And those adorable little giggles?”

There’s that familiar flush that you’ve learned to ignore, praying to God he didn’t notice your heart skipping a beat. “Uh, I just remembered something. That’s all.”

He gives a little hum, before hopping over the back and landing besides you. “Seems like we both had the same idea. Gettin’ here early.”

“If you must know, I was just…” You shrug. “To be honest, I’m a little anxious.”

“I’m not that scary, am I?” He teases, nudging you gently.

You roll your eyes and give him a look. “I don’t think there’s a bone in your body capable of being scary. I’m just…I’m nervous I’m gonna embarrass myself…again.”

Steve shakes his head, looking at you earnestly. “You’re not gonna embarrass yourself.”

Picking at the hem of your shirt, you scoff, shaking your head. “I already have. The amount of times I’ve tripped or said something stupid or rambled, which I’m doing right now, or-”

“Honey, honey. Slow down.” The blonde chuckles. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I find all of those things endearing. Now, the amount of times I’ve seen my teammates slip and fall on their faces while chasing an enemy? That’s embarrassing. Just the other day, Buck tripped on the roof of a car. Sam has it recorded.”

You let out a laugh at that and nod. “Okay, okay. Sorry. I didn’t mean to get all insecure on you-”

“It’s fine, Y/N.” Steve insists. “Now,” he stands and offers his hand. “Let’s go get some lunch, yeah?”

You look at his hand before looking up at him and taking it without hesitation. “Okay.”

* * * * * * * *

After rounds of questions during lunch, Steve took you around the Smithsonian to all the different museums. Just like history, you had never been overly fond of museums. You typically walked around for a little bit, never really reading the information, only enjoying the pictures.

It’s different with Steve. Just like how it was different writing the research paper with him. He makes everything interesting, telling you his own facts and stories. Especially once you get to his exhibit in the Air and Space Museum.

Once you arrive, he puts on a hat and ducks his head, trying not to bring attention to you both while on a date. You tease him a bit, swinging your linked hands as you walk in with a cheeky grin. He nudges you with his elbow, his own smile painted on his lips.

You can’t help but listen and hold onto his every word, as if you’d die if you forget a single sentence. The light in his eyes as he talks about his past, showing you the pictures and plaques excitedly. Like a child during show and tell, he’s practically skipping from exhibit to exhibit, dragging you along behind him.

Giggling at his elation, you eagerly, and with no resistance, let him take you through his story. “They keep updating it.” He explains as you leave the area with World War Two and the Howling Commandos, entering through a corridor with modern pictures of him and the Avengers. “Every couple years or so they call me and tell me they’re adding another thing.”

“Doesn’t that get annoying?” You wonder, reading a wall about the Battle of Manhattan with interest. “Your whole life being put on display for everyone to see?”

Steve shrugs. “I dunno. I’ve never really minded. They don’t put in personal things, so it’s not too bad. You could learn more from the internet about me.”

You nod, knowing how true that really was. “You’ve got a point. Still. It must be a bit weird being a national icon.”

“I’ll admit, people stopping me on the street is getting a little old. I used to wish to be someone who changed the world. Now I have and sometimes I wish I could be normal. But I wouldn’t change what I’ve done. Who I am. Not if people can learn from it. Not if I can keep people safe.”

Turning away from the wall to glance at Steve, who has his hands in his pockets studying the wall, you smile and tilt your head. “You’re a good man, Steve Rogers.”

He turns to you, his lips pulling up. “That’s all I hope for.” His voice is quiet, earnest, before it becomes lighter as he gestures back to the wall. “You know the first thing we did after winning was go out for shawarma? It was Tony’s idea.”

“No way.” You laugh. “All six of you?”

“Yeah! We go there for every Battle of Manhattan Anniversary, now. I’ll take you some time. It’s a nice place.”

“Is that a promise?”

He smirks at your teasing tone. “Absolutely.”

* * * * * * * *

After your museum hopping, he takes you to Arlington Cemetery to show you a few friends and fellow soldiers he met all those years ago. It’s such a personal intimate thing that he shares, and you think you shouldn’t be there to witness it, but he’s quick to reassure you that’s not the case. That he wouldn’t have anyone else by his side, listening to his stories.

By the time you get back to the city, it’s getting dark, so you two head out for dinner before Steve takes you up the Washington Monument to look at the city lights. He makes sure you have the top all to yourselves; there’s perks of being an Avenger - especially one of the leaders.

“Alright, alright.” Leaning on the rail, you turn to him with a smile. “So maybe history isn’t as bad as I originally thought.”

“Yeah? I convinced you, did I?”

You roll your eyes at his smirk, shoving his shoulder lightly. “Maybe a bit. But only when you’re telling it. You think there’s any way you could come to history with me?” You joke with a laugh, feeling yourself flush at the chuckle and grin he gives you.

“I wish I could, honey.” He spoke softly, running a thumb over your knuckles. “Unfortunately, I’ve got work to do. I’m heading back to New York tomorrow. I’ll be back on Friday, though. If you would want to-”

You beam and nod energetically. “I’d love to go out again, Stevie.”

Giving your hand a squeeze, he beams back. “Fantastic.” He looks back out to the window and gives a little sigh. “It’s gettin’ late and you’ve got class tomorrow.”

“Yeah. I should probably get going. Do you, I mean, would you mind walking me home?” You blink up at him through your lashes hopefully.

“Of course!” His eyes - which you found throughout the day weren’t entirely blue, but had some green hues to them - lit up as you two start towards the elevator. He tucks you under his strong arm, pulling you close. “You wanna get ice cream or something on the way?”

“You read my mind, Captain.”

* * * * * * * *

By the time you reach your door, you’ve both finished your ice cream and he’s telling yet another story while you laugh, once again swinging your linked hands. 

When it comes time to say goodbye, you can’t help but wish your hand could stay in his for a while longer. Knowing that you’d be saying farewell, you hold on a bit tighter. “Pick me up on Friday?”

He nods, squeezing your hand before letting it go and brushing his fingertips along your cheek. “I’ll call you later too, alright, sweetheart?”

“Okay.” You agree eagerly. “You gonna kiss me goodnight now, soldier?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He chuckles softly, before gently grabbing your chin. Using his other hand, he pulls you closer by the waist, pressing his lips to yours. It’s soft and sweet and perfect, just like him, but it ends too quickly for your liking. He pulls back, nudging his nose against yours, and murmuring against your lips. “Sleep well.”

You smile, leaning your forehead against his. “Good night, Stevie.”

Stepping away, he lifts your knuckles to his lips. “G’night.”

You stop him before he could turn all the way. “Steve?” He pauses to look over his shoulder at you with an eyebrow raised. You have a question, and you can’t help but ask it, it having been on your mind for days. “Why’d you stop your run just to sit by me?”

“And leave a beautiful dame like yourself before I could get your name? I may be a super soldier, honey, but I’m still a man. Abyssinia Friday, Y/N.”

[k-s-morgan]

The Evolution of Will Graham’s Darkness

This meta is mostly written for new viewers who find themselves confused by Will as a character. I’ll incorporate some bits of analysis I’ve written before into it. Let’s start with a thesis of a sort: Will is a dark character who had this darkness from the very start, even before his encounter with Hannibal: he was terrified and disgusted with it, but after meeting Hannibal, slowly, he began to embrace himself, getting bolder and bolder in his violence.

**Before the show**  

Will initially tried to get into the FBI but he didn’t pass the tests. It’s revealed in E1 of S1 when he’s ambushed by Beverly.

Beverly: Never been an F.B.I. Agent?

Will: Strict screening procedures.

Beverly: Detects instability. You’re unstable?

At the same time, Will became a police officer, working in the Homicide department. These decisions show that he's been stubbornly and rather hopelessly drawn to darkness, seeking ways to interact with it while remaining on the side of law. However, he had to leave the police, too, because he was incapable of pulling the trigger even when his life depended on it. He preferred to allow himself to get stabbed rather than to fight back and kill someone, which points to him having very serious issues with his violence. He knew that once the door in him opens, it might not close again, that if he kills or harms another person, he might be unable to stop (this is proven when he shoots Hobbs and then immediately tries to kill Stammets).

And still, Will chooses to stay close to darkness, only in safer ways. He becomes a teacher in the FBI Academy, letting himself delve into the ugliest cases from a theoretical perspective. This constant pull and struggle leave Will lonely and hostile to everyone. He avoids eye contact with people; Jack’s first impression of him was that he’s rude and arrogant (when they clashed about the name of the museum). Will is rude and haughty with his students, too – but more about it later. Alana refuses to stay alone in the room with him, thinking his instability is too fascinating and she might want to dissect it. Will has no friends; he lives in isolation with his dogs, someone who would never judge him. There are a lot of rumors about him going around, and most people don’t like him (based on Price’s and Zeller’s initial reactions as well as their later conversations on this topic). Will is lonely and pretty miserable.

S1

The first real words we hear from Will are:

Will: Everyone has thought about killing someone.

It is very demonstrative of his personality. We also get evidence right here that Will is drawn to darkness primarily, not to the idea of saving lives (although the latter helps him feel better about his urges). He delves into the minds of killers even when he isn’t involved in the investigation. He had no other reason to explore the Marlows’ murder like he did at the start of the episode, when he was simply teaching students. It’s proof that he willingly craves contact with violent and disturbed minds — it’s not like he actually tries to solve this case for real, he just imagined himself there.

Will’s first conversation with Hannibal speaks volumes about who he is — because Hannibal senses it seconds after meeting him.

Hannibal: Do you have trouble with taste?

Will: My thoughts are often not tasty.

Hannibal: Nor mine. No effective barriers.

Will: I make forts.

This exchange has Will confess that his thoughts are often dark and that he dislikes it. To hold this darkness at bay, he literally builds forts around it, not letting it spread to other parts of his mind.

Hannibal: Your values and decency are present yet shocked at your associations, appalled at your dreams. No forts in the bone arena of your skull for things you love.

Hannibal almost directly calls Will out on his struggle with his inner darkness. He’s saying that he sees it, that he knows it’s there, in Will, in his mind, and Will is very disturbed by this — because Hannibal is right. The script even explicitly backs it up:

Hannibal has just described Will Graham to a letter.

Will is immediately wary and hostile, and he ends the conversation with snappy,

Will: Please don’t psychoanalyze me. You won’t like me when I’m psychoanalyzed.

What does it mean? It’s simple: Will assumes that Hannibal is a typical psychiatrist who wants to dissect him, so he says that once it happens, Hannibal won’t like what he finds (darkness and ugliness Will carries inside).

His hostility to Hannibal lasts up until the moment when Hannibal acknowledges him as a predator and shows approval of it. This is how it happens: Hannibal tries to subtly tell him that it’s all right to be who he is, hinting that they are the same.

Hannibal: You and I are just alike. Problem free. Nothing about us to feel horrible about.

He’s obviously talking about their darkness, but Will doesn’t react, so Hannibal continues. He tells him that Jack views him as a fragile tea cup, and Will genuinely laughs, amused by this (which is also very telling). Then Hannibal says:

Hannibal: [I see you as the] mongoose I want under the house when the snakes slither by.

Will grows quiet after this, and then his interactions with Hannibal become much more relaxed. Will takes him to search the property and even bothers to explain how they reached their conclusions and what they are about to do. Him grumbling, “What are you smiling at?” shows a much higher level of familiarity they now share. Something in Hannibal’s words made Will open up a bit, and everything indicates that it’s the acknowledgement of his predatory nature that played its part in it.

Will kills Hobbs by shooting him 10 times. This is his first kill, one he’s been trying to avoid for so long, ever since his police work. It’s not surprising that Hobbs haunts him later because his death became a breaking point for Will. A door did open in him, and he was unable to close it again.

In E2, Will is distraught. But first, we get a glimpse into how rude and insensitive he generally is. Look at how he treats his students. He tersely thanks them for clapping and then snaps for them to stop. He devises a little malicious test for them.

Will: It’s [Hobbs’] resignation letter. Anybody see the clue?

A few hands go into the air. Will ignores them.

Will: There isn’t one.

He looks so long-suffering with them, as if they are idiots. The fact that he asks a question, waits for people to think and raise their hands, and only then he tells them there is actually no answer is petty at best. He also admits to Jack that he doesn’t consider lessons socialization because he doesn’t have to actually talk to students, he talks at them. Not good for a teacher or even for a person who works with other people like this.

But Will has more serious problems. He keeps imagining Hobbs, and after his messy kill, Jack becomes worried about him. He makes Will go visit Hannibal for one-time evaluation. Will is naturally not fond of the idea, but he and Hannibal have a pretty personal talk. Hannibal ends it with an even more explicit hint at Will’s own darkness:

Hannibal: And Will… the mirrors in your mind can reflect the best of yourself, not the worst of someone else.

Hannibal is talking about Will’s personal brand of violence again. He’s trying to tell him that it’s fine to be a murderer in every way he can, that Will’s darkness might be the best part of him. He also gives him a fake official approval to work in the field, showing that Will can trust him. But their obligatory session ends and Will leaves — only to return after he tries to kill Stammets and misses (their talk about it was cut from the episode but is echoed in the conversation below).

Hannibal: [You are here to] prove that sprig of zest you feel is from saving Abigail, not killing her dad.

Will: I didn't feel a sprig of zest when I shot Eldon Stammets.

Hannibal: You didn't kill Eldon Stammets.

Will: I thought about it. I'm still not entirely sure that wasn't my intention when pulling the trigger.

This is a huge evidence of Will struggling with his violence. It proves that he had it before becoming actively involved with Hannibal — all Hannibal did was recognize it and coax it to come to the surface. Will has always been like this, and after finally killing a person, he found himself unable to stop because he liked the feeling too much.

Hannibal: It wasn't the act of killing Hobbs that got you down, was it? Did you really feel so bad because killing him felt so good?*

Will: I liked killing Hobbs.

Hannibal is pleased to receive the confirmation of what he sensed in Will. Seeing that Will is terrified about his own confession, he comforts him.

Hannibal: Killing must feel good to God, too. He does it all the time, and are we not created in his image?

Let’s be honest, every sane person would have run for the hills after hearing this. Hannibal literally justifies the fact that Will liked murder by drawing a parallel with God. That’s such a narcissistic, serial killer thing to do, and yet Will welcomes it with open arms. He’s happy to find someone who doesn’t think he’s a monster — he’s relieved to be able to finally discuss his darkest impulses freely. This is the reason why Will started coming back to see Hannibal on a constant basis, to Jack’s surprise.

The next huge proof of Will’s ever-present darkness is found in E5 (actually, every episode has some bits, but I’ll cover only the major ones). The Angel Maker, a killer-of-the-week, has a unique gift of being able to see if a person is good or evil. First, Hannibal tries to tell Will that he doesn’t have to self-destruct because of his darkness like he’s been doing.

Hannibal: Angel Maker will be destroyed by what’s happening inside his head. You don’t have to be.

When Angel Maker dies, Will suddenly sees himself through his eyes. And he sees a demon. He sees himself as evil. It proves that Will’s darkness is inherent since he hasn’t done anything really bad at this point. It also proves that he’s perfectly aware of who he is and the darkness he has. He has the following conversation with the imagined Angel Maker.

Angel Maker: I see what you are.

Will: What do you see?

Angel Maker: Inside. I can bring it out of you.

Will: Not all the way out.

So, Will acknowledges that his darkness is rooted so deeply inside him, it can’t even be extracted fully. It’s an inseparable part of him.

Will is shown admiring the Ripper’s murders, calling them elegant and referring to them as art. Meanwhile, he’s trying to half-heartedly flirt with Alana, but they don’t have a meaningful connection because Will can’t be happy with a person who doesn’t know him. He wants to be normal but he just isn’t. If you’re interested in my opinion about their relationship, it’s here.

Will’s next morally gray action happens when he agrees to cover murder for Hannibal and Abigail in E9. He agrees quickly and then he’s shown being fiercely devoted to it. He doesn’t seem to care that Abigail killed someone much — in fact, he basically threatens Freddie, another person who sees him for who he is, to make her write a book favorable toward Abigail.

In E13, Hannibal says what he wants from Will directly.

Hannibal: If you followed the urges you kept down for so long, cultivated them as the inspirations they are, you’d become someone other than yourself.

Will remembers this phrase (he later throws it back into Hannibal’s face), but for now, he’s too angry and bitter to listen.

S2

Will is healthy again and he struggles with realization that Hannibal betrayed him. He starts a dark game of his own: he pretends he’s vulnerable, moving Alana to tears in the process, and asks Hannibal for help. He’s still drawn to him, but he also wants to take him down — for himself and for Abigail.

In E1, Hannibal tells Will the purpose of all their past meetings, how they were aimed at helping Will Become.

Hannibal: Our conversations, Will, were only ever about you opening your eyes to the truth of who you are.

Alana tries to hypnotize Will to help him remember what happened.

Alana: Imagine yourself in a safe and relaxing place... safe and secure here, safe to relax completely...

What does Will imagine? He sees Hannibal’s room and them sitting at the murder table together. He’s freaked out by it, but it proves how twisted his perception is: regardless of the betrayal, a part of him understands that Hannibal is the only person who’s ready to accept him, and he feels safe with him. @bloodsmile wrote a great meta about it here.

Will coldly manipulates Beverly, refusing to help her save lives unless she helps him as well. In E5, he engages in yet another manipulation. He gets Matthew Brown to try to kill Hannibal. This is the first premeditated murder attempt Will is responsible for. That is why we see him growing horns, that is why he sees a sink full of blood — his darkness starts progressing in noticeable ways. By E7, Will has figured out that Hannibal really did everything to open his eyes to the truth of who he is and that he wants to be his friend, but as he still wants revenge, he decides to honey-trap him with Jack.

In E8, Will is dealing with his complex feelings for Hannibal and explores his darkness further. He admits that Hannibal made him feel less alone and that he doesn’t hate him, no matter what; that he has no idea what he feels for him. Then Will tries to kill Ingram in cold blood as revenge for Peter. He asks him to pick up the hammer, indicating that he plans for the murder to look like self-defense. Hannibal tries to talk him out of it, but Will still pulls the trigger. It’s by a miraculous accident that Hannibal manages to stop him. This is the second conscious murder attempt by Will.

In E9, Will has a dream about Hannibal, love, and darkness.

Dream Hannibal: Must I denounce myself as a monster while you still refuse to see the one growing inside you?

Meaning: Will is fully aware of both the presence of this monster inside him and his attempts to ignore it since this is his dream.

Dream Hannibal: No one can be fully aware of another human being unless we love them. By that love we see potential in our beloved. Through that love we allow our beloved to see their potential. Expressing that love, our beloved's potential comes true.

So, a part of Will realizes that Hannibal loves him, and that he really wants him to Become, to realize all his potential.

Will is shown as feeling bitter at Hannibal for not letting him kill Ingram.

Will: I regret what I did in the stables.

Hannibal (thinking Will means murder attempt): Then you were lucky I was there.

Will: Being lucky isn't the same as making a mistake. Mistake was allowing you to stop me.

Hannibal: So it’s not pulling the trigger that you regret. It’s not pulling it effectively.

Will: That would be more accurate.

Hannibal: I want you to close your eyes, Will, and imagine a version of events you wouldn't have regretted.

Will obeys, and he sees himself murdering Ingram. It proves that every word he says to Hannibal is true — he really does regret not killing him. But there is an even creepier dialogue ahead.

Hannibal: What did you see?

Will: A missed opportunity… to feel like I felt when I killed Garret Jacob Hobbs. To feel like I felt when I thought I killed you … a quiet sense of power.

This is disturbing. It proves once again that Will isn’t just a righteous killer, he enjoys the act of murder itself, and like many serial killers, he craves the feeling of power that comes with it.

He and Hannibal talk about the intimacy of murder, how Will was hiding behind a gun when he tried to kill Hannibal back in E5. Will takes note of it. Hannibal, remembering Will’s complaint about a missed opportunity, sends Randall to him as a gift. When Randall breaks into Will’s house, Will is shown thinking and then deliberately throwing the gun away. He doesn’t want to hide this time — he attacks Randall with his bare hands. This isn’t about self-defense or justice, this is about Will trying to experience a more intimate kind of murder. He beats Randall up until he’s incapacitated and then he snaps his neck, even though there was no reason to do it. He could easily call Jack and have Randall arrested at this point (since he was barely conscious and not fighting back). This could help him in his plan to catch Hannibal. But Will isn’t particularly concerned about it, he’s more interested in realizing his darkness.

He takes the body to Hannibal. This moment got deleted, but Will actually had to stick a note to it:

A piece of paper is pinned to his chest. On it is written: "Return to Sender."

Which excellently shows Will’s dark humor. He laughs with Hannibal a little as they talk about murder right above the corpse. Then Hannibal is treating his hands, and he says:

Hannibal: Stay with me.

Will: Where else would I go?

Nowhere — because Will understands that Hannibal is the only person who can understand his darkness and accept him for who he is.

Will: I've never felt more alive than when I was killing him.

This is, once again, huge. Will is a murderer who can get dangerously high on the act. The moment when he felt most alive is the moment when he took a life from another person — and he was vicious about it. Will is very, very dark in these scenes — and it’s going to get worse.

Will mutilates the body and places it in the museum. He keeps Randall’s suit in his house as a trophy, and he keeps his butchered parts of meat in his fridge. In the following discussion, Will confirms that he enjoyed doing all that. When Hannibal suggests that Randall’s killer felt disdain for him in front of Jack, Will disagrees.

Will: He isn't mocking him. This isn't disdain. He's commemorating him.

Hannibal: This killer has no fear for the consequences of what he's done.

Will: No guilt.

Then Will retreats into his mind to talk to Randall’s corpse.

Will: Hello again.

Randall: Come closer … Can you see you?

Will: Clearer and clearer.

This proves Will’s honesty in all his discussions with Hannibal. He really is exploring his violence, not just pretending to do it, coming to the realization of what kind of monster he is.

Will: You forced me to kill you.

Randall: I didn't force you to enjoy it.

This takes place in Will’s head, so every word is genuine.

Will: I gave you what you want. This is who you are. What you feel finally matches the reality of what I see.

Randall: This is my becoming. And yours.

Will shakes his head, this is not his becoming.

Will: This is my design.

So, what do we have here? Will calls murder, mutilation, and storage of Randall’s meat his design. It’s not his Becoming, not yet, Will isn’t ready to fully embrace himself, but this is a start. He understands his design now.

In the same E10, Will attacks Freddie when she discovered his trophies. We know he didn’t kill her, but would he have done it if she hadn’t called Jack? We can only guess. Will sure took his chance to be creepy and physically violent with her. At the end of the episode, he brought Randall’s meat to Hannibal and they cooked as well as ate it together. This was not about getting Hannibal to trust him. Hannibal already did, especially after thinking Will killed Freddie, so there was simply no need for it. Bryan Fuller confirmed Jack had no idea this happened, so Will was acting on his own, out of his genuine curiosity. This is where he willingly became a cannibal.

In E11, Will dreams of burning fake Freddie and hears himself screaming. It’s easy to interpret this dream: he feels guilty for betraying Hannibal. Alana comes by and Will is being deliberately creepy again. He gives her a gun for protection, but later, it almost becomes her undoing. Will is equally creepy during the funeral. He enjoys being dark, and he feels free to act like this because technically, he has an excuse.

In E12, Will is freshly angry at Hannibal. He fantasizes about murdering Hannibal in the most violent way possible. Then he makes three deals. The first one is with Mason: they agree to kill Hannibal together. The second one is with Hannibal: they tentatively agree to target Mason together. The third one is with Jack: they agree that when Hannibal tries to kill Mason, Will is going to arrest him. Will goes with his and Mason’s plan at first. Hannibal is kidnapped and presented in front of Will just like in his fantasy. But instead of acting on it, Will chooses Hannibal and frees him, getting all Mason’s people killed in the process. Later, he watches Hannibal mutilate Mason, approach him to kill him, and snap his neck. He does nothing: he ignores his deal with Jack completely and covers for Hannibal. Yet another proof that Will is siding with Hannibal more and more, and that his initial honey-trapping plan is almost a formality at this point. At the end of the episode, Will offers Hannibal to kill Jack.

In E13, Hannibal and Will are getting ready to kill Jack while Will and Jack are getting ready to arrest Hannibal. Will doesn’t seem to know on whose side he is until the end. At the same time, he lies to Jack about where the attack is supposed to take place. He helps Hannibal burn all evidence, even though he could have easily preserved some of it to use it later. He burns the evidence related to himself as well. Will doesn’t take Hannibal’s chance to run away before dinner, but he does hesitate and wonder about it. When the final moment comes, he calls Hannibal to warn him — he chooses him above everyone. Justice for Abigail, justice for himself, the desire to save other people — none of it matters to Will now. He made his choice, he chose his side, but he did it too late. When he goes to Hannibal’s house, Alana tells him that Jack is still inside, and Will takes out his gun. He doesn’t even try to point it at Hannibal. When Hannibal accuses him of lying, Will implies that he’s wrong.

Hannibal: I gave you a rare gift… But you didn't want it.

Will isn't so definitive.

Will: Didn't I?

Because yes, Will wanted it. He was ready to accept it. But he did so too late.

S3

Will’s thoughts are only about Hannibal and Abigail. He breaks into Hannibal’s empty house and sits there in silence. When Alana comes to find him and tries to talk to him, he coldly sends her away. He’s repairing a boat to go after Hannibal. When Jack comes to him to ask about his motivations, Will is very open — he doesn’t care about hiding any more.

Jack: Do you remember when you decided to call Hannibal?

Will: I wasn't decided when I called him. I just called him. I deliberated while the phone rang. I decided when I heard his voice.

Jack: You told him we knew.

Will: I told him to leave. Because I wanted him to run.

Jack: Why?

Will: Because he was my friend. And because I wanted to run away with him.

In Italy, Will is full of regret over his actions. He blames himself for what happened, admonishes himself for lying to Hannibal. E2 shows his state of mind perfectly – Hannibal is his everything and he admits he wants to be with him. He doesn’t care about justice at all.

Will: I do feel closer to Hannibal here. God only knows where I would be without him … He left [me] his broken heart. He misses [me]. [I] still want to go to him? Yes.

He admires the corpse twisted into a heart, touching it and then lying at the place where it was located. He intimidates Pazzi who tries to talk sense into him and indicates that he’s not here to catch Hannibal.

Will: You couldn't catch him when he was just a kid, what makes you think you're going to catch him now?

Pazzi: You.

A small, polite scoff from Will, unable to take his eyes off the small stairwell to the catacombs.

Will: What makes you think I want to catch him?

Later:

Will: You shouldn't be down here alone.

Pazzi: I’m not alone. I'm with you.

Will: You don’t know whose side I’m on.

Pazzi stares at Will, cautious.

Pazzi: What are you going to do when you find him? Your Il Mostro?

Will: I'm curious about that myself.

Pazzi: You're already dead, aren't you?

Other people realize how dark Will is, too.

Then we move toward Will’s trip to Lithuania in E3. His reverent attitude to Hannibal begins to change once he meets Chiyoh, but he admits the following:

Will: I’ve never known myself as well as I know myself when I’m with him.

Will learns that Chiyoh has been staying here for all these years because she doesn’t want to kill another person. He notes that they can’t be sure whether her prisoner really killed Mischa because Hannibal is the only person who knows the truth. Despite all this, Will sets Chiyoh up to kill or be killed, releasing her prisoner secretly. Chiyoh rightfully accuses him of it:

Chiyoh: You said Hannibal was curious if I would kill. You were curious, too.

He was, if he is honest with himself.

What Will did was cruel and violent. Hannibal just left Chiyoh be, he openly and boldly risked her life, not caring about her safety or about whether her tortured prisoner deserves this. Will stays behind to make the body into art in Hannibal’s style, in accordance with his own design from when he killed Randall. This Will is dark and confident, and very in touch with his dark side. He dreams of killing Chiyoh and keeps asking her whether she saw what a monster she was, unable to accept the idea that only he has real darkness while Chiyoh doesn’t and that murder didn’t make her feel good. He repeats to Jack that a part of him will always want to be with Hannibal. Sadly, he then sees Bedelia as his replacement, grows even bitterer, and tries to attack Hannibal with the knife.

In E7, Will bites into Cordell’s cheek and tears a piece of meat out of it. Then he looks at Hannibal to see his reaction, waiting for his pride. He shows zero reaction to the news that Jack is alive — he doesn’t care about it. He rebukes Alana and shows that he still sees himself and Hannibal as a team, referring to them as “we”.

Will: You helped Mason Verger find us.

Alana: I helped Mason find Hannibal. We followed Bâtard-Montrachet when we should have just followed you.

Will: Almost as ugly as what Mason wants to do to us is the fact that he can do it with the tacit agreement of people sworn to uphold the law.

Alana: I was trying to get to Hannibal before you. I knew you couldn't stop yourself. So I had to try.

Will: By facilitating torture and death.

Alana: I can abide the thought of Hannibal tortured, not necessarily to death. I'd say he has it coming, wouldn't you? Or maybe you wouldn't.

Alana can no longer deny Will’s twisted morals. Will tries to push Alana to a darker side, manipulating her into releasing Hannibal, by telling her almost exactly what he and Hannibal were discussing in S2.

Will: Then you have to evolve, Alana. You have to spill blood. By your own hand or someone else's.

After the escape, Hannibal says the words that define Will perfectly:

Hannibal: You delight in wickedness and then berate yourself for the delight.

This is exactly what Will does — he acts on his darkness again and again, but then he gets scared and makes two steps back. He’s not ready to fully let go of the idea of a normal life yet.

Will sends Hannibal away. When Jack arrives, Will doesn’t even bother to pretend he tried to arrest him — he just says that Hannibal is gone. Jack clearly has zero trust in him at this point since he sends people to break into Will’s house without asking his permission. Will has completely discredited himself, proving himself as someone dark and twisted.

But Hannibal gives himself up and 3 years pass. After the epic Europe failure and his new insecurities, Will tries to retreat again. He decides to try being normal one more time, despite his previous failures at suppressing his darkness and his feelings for Hannibal. So he marries Molly, and it goes as well as expected. Their relationship is shown as weak from the start. The first time we see them, they are apart: Molly and Walter have gone fishing, which is what Will loves and dreamed of sharing with Abigail, yet he stays behind. He didn't let go of the past. He subtly manipulates Jack into talking Molly into urging him to come join the investigation — he deliberately leaves them alone under a weak excuse, knowing very well what Jack is about to do. Will is bored with his normal life and he misses Hannibal, even if he isn’t ready to fully admit it yet.

His treatment of Molly deserves a separate mention: this is the woman he lies to through his teeth, the woman whose “I love you” he doesn’t bother to return and who he doesn’t want to interact with the second she raises the topic he finds personally uncomfortable, someone he leaves her at the first opportunity. He never told her the truth about himself. The way Molly tries to joke about him having a criminal mind proves that she knows nothing of Will's dark struggles, and the way Will immediately shuts down demonstrates their incompatibility and his unwillingness to be honest and open with her.

On the very first day, Will demands to see Hannibal, lying about having to restore his mindset. We know it’s a lie because we’ve just seen him reconstruct Francis’ murder perfectly. He just wanted to see him because he missed him, and both Hannibal and later Bedelia call him out on it.

E9:

Hannibal: You just came here to look at me. Came to get the old scent again. Why don't you just smell yourself?

E10:

Bedelia: Have you been to see him?

Will: Yes.

Bedelia: Haven't learned anything, have you? Or did you just miss him that much?

This is what Hannibal says about Will’s marriage — and another reference to his darkness:

Hannibal: How did you choose yours? Readymade wife and child to serve your needs. A stepson or daughter – (off his look) – a stepson absolves you of any biological blame. You know better than to breed. Can’t pass on those terrible traits you fear the most.

This is very accurate and Will doesn’t bother to deny it. He’s more concerned about stalking Bedelia and asking her about her relationship with Hannibal than anything else. He makes zero efforts to preserve his family, which shows how irrelevant they are to him. This makes him a very cold and cruel person. Also, the way he acts with Bedelia is very different from how he acts with others. With her, he can be himself. He’s dark, relatively confident, and dangerous — which is likely why he keeps coming back to her. With others, he still puts on a rather meek mask.

There is quite a solid idea that a part of Will knew Hannibal might target Molly and Walter and send Francis after them (it’s up to interpretation, though). Hannibal gives Will very clear hints.

Will: Tell me who [the killer] is.

Hannibal: I don’t know who he is. When you close your eyes, Will... is that your family you see?

[Will scoffs at this.]

Will: Do you know who they are?

Hannibal: Yes. 

Will: And you're willing to let them die.

Hannibal: They're not my family, Will. And I'm not letting them die. You are.

These are huge hints, and since Will is supposed to be an excellent profiler — more than that, a profiler who understands Hannibal intimately, it’s strange that he didn’t even suspect anything. Maybe a part of him subconsciously wanted proof that Hannibal is in love with him — since he goes to Bedelia with his question right after the attack. Maybe he wanted reassurance that the passion is still there. Maybe he even wanted an excuse to abandon Molly and Walter (and he does it very easily an episode later).

Ultimately, Will seems genuinely infuriated by the attack, but it’s possible that “the enemy inside him” secretly hoped for such outcome. He spends about a minute being truly angry at Hannibal — then he becomes concerned that he’s competing with Francis for Hannibal’s attention, which underlines the irrelevance of his family to him once more. When talking to Walter, Will doesn’t try to hug him or actually comfort him. They are like strangers, and Will shows resentment about having to explain some facts about himself to Walter later.

Will: He read about me in a Freddie Lounds article. I had to justify myself to an eleven year old.

Not “to my son”, but an indifferent and impersonal “11 year old”. Another reminder that Will is a cold person.

This attack made Will realize Hannibal is in love with him, and it finally started the process of his Becoming. Will is shown as full of resentment toward Jack and Alana. He callously sets up Chilton, an innocent person, for torture and death in E12. He explicitly says that he did it deliberately and doesn’t regret it.

Will: Damn if I'll feel … The divine punishment of the sinner mirrors the sin being punished. Chilton languished unrecognized until Hannibal the Cannibal. He wanted the world to know his face.

Bedelia: Now he doesn't have one.

At first, Will makes a half-hearted attempt at denial.

Will: I put my hand on his shoulder for authenticity.

Bedelia: To establish he really told you those insults about the Dragon? Or had you wanted to put Dr. Chilton at risk? Just a little?

Will: I wonder.

Bedelia: Do you really have to wonder?

Will: No.

Bedelia: You were curious what would happen, that's apparent. Is this what you expected?

Will sounds very ironic.

Will: I can't say I'm surprised.

Bedelia: Then you may as well have struck the match. That's participation. Hannibal Lecter does indeed have agency in the world. He has you.

Considering the timing, Chilton looks like Will’s courtship gift to Hannibal. This is the second time Will harms an innocent person, which makes him far darker than a righteous killer should be. And why? Just because. His darkness is really evolving.

When Will visits Chilton with Jack, he openly lies to him (Jack) and tells him Hannibal is responsible for what happened.

In E13, Will stages another deadly game. He plots with Francis to break Hannibal free — the immediacy of his plan makes it look like Will has already been thinking about it before. He lies to Jack and Alana. He hides the fact that Francis is alive from them, and when they discover it by themselves, he offers a plan: to use Hannibal as a bait and stage his escape. Jack begins to plan everything. If Will had actually followed this plan, it would have gotten Hannibal and Francis killed. But Will doesn’t care about justice — he wants Hannibal free and he doesn’t give a damn about the consequences. He shares his true intentions with Bedelia and threatens her.

Will: I don't intend Hannibal to be caught a second time.

Bedelia studies Will. Sensing where he might be going. Hoping she is wrong. A flicker of alarm plays in her eyes.

Bedelia: Can't live with him. Can't live without him. Is that what this is?

Will: I guess… this is my Becoming . I'd pack my bags if I were you, Bedelia. Meat's back on the menu … Ready or not… here he comes.

This is a crucial moment because while in S2, Will called Randall’s murder his design, now he’s finally Becoming. It’s the climax of everything. He leaks info about Hannibal’s transfer to Francis (who, if you recall, has attacked Will’s wife and her son). He gets many officers murdered by proxy; he sets up Jack and destroys him professionally again; he endangers Alana and her family as well as Molly and Walter. Without showing even an ounce of regret toward the dead officers, Will climbs out of the car. We don’t get to see it, but this is what he does according to the script:

Will takes the gun off the dead cop.

Still with no care, he watches how Hannibal throws another body out of the car and offers Will to take a seat. Will looks long-suffering and fond, even though he has just gotten about 5 people killed. He goes with Hannibal.

In the cliff house, he admits he’s not sure if he can “save” himself by killing Hannibal.

Will: I don't know if I can save myself. And maybe that's just fine. 

He intends to try, though, but when Francis attacks, Will naturally chooses Hannibal because he can’t see him killed. He reaches for his gun and the fight begins. Seeing Francis strangling Hannibal, Will pulls out the knife from his body and rushes to protect him. He and Hannibal kill Francis together, and Will plunges the knife into him with obvious relish. Then he admires the way the blood looks on his hand.

Will: It really does look black in the moonlight.

This is proof of how Will remembers everything Hannibal has ever said to him. He reaches out to embrace Hannibal, finally allowing himself this weakness, finally accepting that this is who he is and that there is no way back.

Hannibal: See? This is all I ever wanted for you, Will. For both of us.

Will: It’s beautiful.

These words have a tremendous worth. Hannibal’s dream for them, the one he has been hoping for since early S1, has just become realized, and Will found it beautiful. The script confirms it additionally:

A moment as Will considers the brutal pack hunting he shared with Hannibal Lecter. He genuinely feels it is beautiful.

Upon this realization, Will gives the fate the last chance to stop himself and Hannibal, knowing that if they live, they’ll unleash their mutual darkness on the world. He pushes them off the cliff that has been confirmed to have no rocks by Hannibal, giving them a chance to survive. And they do — and they stay together and hunt. Will threatened Bedelia with being eaten and he kept his promise. The deleted epilogue to the series shows him and Hannibal in perfect harmony with each other.

Note that this is far from the only moments and details of Will’s long Becoming. There are many more, but if I addressed them, this meta would be even longer. However, here’s a quick analysis of Will’s softer sides — because they also aren’t as simple as it might seem at first. Will seems to sympathize only with people he can relate to personally, who remind him of himself in some way, and most often, they are murderers. He’s bitter about not being able to save killer-children in E4 because like them, he struggles with understanding what family means; he feels close to Georgia because he also thinks he’s losing his mind and no one can understand him; he’s gentle with Peter because he sees him as his fragile mirror; he’s soft with Reba because like Bryan said, they are both people in love with serial killers. With everyone else, Will is indifferent or cold. These traits were less visible in S1, but after he started to Become, they began to come to the surface. His softer sides still have a degree of selfishness to them.

So, Will has always had darkness in him. He has always been a rather cold person despite his genuine struggles, confusion, and the desire to be normal. Hannibal changed his life, helping him embrace himself and find unconditional love and acceptance. Will’s journey was very long, it had many setbacks, but in the end, he made it. They both did, and now they are free to enjoy their new life together.

Tagging some old fans who might be interested! @typicalher @hannibalized @bloodsmile @victorineb @he-s-dead-jim

[inskz]

lucky charm - lee minho

pairing - lee minho x reader

genre - college!au, best friends to lovers, very cliche fluff (lucky girl starring lindsey lohan kinda vibes???)

words - 4k

note - this is just a cute little drabble i wrote while im still waiting for my covid test results to come back so that i can leave my room and see the sun again 🤪 pls be careful everybody take care of your health 💚 enjoy!!!

- - - - -

“You must be kidding me,” you sigh when you see Minho’s hand has turned into a fist, his rock crushing miserably your scissors. Once again, you lost at rock, paper, scissors. And once again, you’re the one that is going to wash your best friend’s dishes that have piled up in is tiny kitchen sink throughout the week.

“Fuck that. This is so unfair,” you grumble, throwing the dishtowel in Minho’s stupid yet perfectly chiseled face.

You make a beeline for his bed, which is actually only a few steps away from the kitchen. Being a broke college student definitely doesn’t allow him to rent a spacious studio, let alone a two-room apartment. You throw yourself headfirst onto his uncomfortable mattress, whose springs always poke your back at night.

“Life is so unfair,” your friend mocks you, dragging out every vowel of his sentence dramatically.

No doubt, you would be strangling him at that very moment if you weren’t so busy playing dead, hoping he would forget about your pitiful existence.

But there is no way mister Lee Minho would miss out on an opportunity to have his gross plates cleaned by someone else. Grabbing onto your ankle, he drags you out of bed until you plop down on the dirty carpeted floor (Minho has the unfortunate tendency to procrastinate vacuuming too). At this point, you are fake crying, throwing a literal tantrum, like a 6 years old child would.

“Life is unfair!” you yell, your feet kicking in the air in pure anger.

At least it is to you. You can’t remember the last time you’ve been lucky. The only instance you got remotely close to it was when you found a four-leaf clover last summer. Well, only if you disregard the fact you stepped into dog poop  on your way to picking it. Oh and that you were wearing brand new white Converse. 

On the other hand, it seems like the boy has the whole crew of the Olympus gods on his side. Not one day goes by without his guardian angel manifesting its presence. 

Minho has always been the lucky type. The type to get an extra nugget in his box of 10. To find 20 dollars bills on the ground. To win every single Instagram giveaway he participates to (and lord knows how much he likes participating to them). 

But how can you be mad at him when he always happily shares his food with you, invites you to the restaurant without you even asking, and gives you his prizes, pretending he doesn’t need them? You don’t believe him when he says he see no use in a panda onesie or a waterproof bluetooth speaker. Deep down, you know it’s his way to silently love you. 

But well, you can still blame him for occasionally taking advantage of your misfortune to make you do his dreaded house chores, just like right now. 

Everyone thinks you are a bizarre duo. Even you can’t fathom how in hell you two became best friends, considering how awfully your first encounter went three years ago. 

On orientation day, he asked you for the time, probably because his phone was dead (or maybe because he was dying to talk to you?)

Without hesitation, you lifted and rotated your wrist so that you could see your watch. Little did you remember; you never actually owned a watch and you were holding a fancy 7 dollars iced coffee, which, of course, did not have a lid on because plastic is bad for the environment (duh). 

Minho couldn’t help but burst out in hysterical laughter when the whole drink spilled on your jeans. For your defense, you didn’t sleep at all the night before  since you were terrified of being alone in your new dorm room the first few days (weird stuff happens all the time in dorms, okay?). If he had asked you for your name, you probably wouldn’t even have been able to tell him. 

But Minho thought you were the funniest person on campus, and he really needed a clown like you to entertain him throughout his endless college semesters. That’s what he told you anyways. Not that he thought you were the cutest human being he had ever seen. 

Why would he when you are the literal definition of a mess: always having toothpaste stains on your sweater, bags under your eyes, messy hair, tripping and falling, missing buses, breaking things, losing stuff. 

Most of the time, you just forget your keys and Minho lets you crash at his place since he hasn’t got any roommate and he isn’t used to sleeping alone, especially without his cats. It surely isn’t because he loves waking up next to a very groggy but adorable you every single morning, no.  

Minho manages to bring you back to the countertop despite your reluctance. Positioned behind you, his arms trapping your body to make sure you can’t run away from your duties, he dips your hands into the soapy water, and you can’t help but squirm at the touch of an unknown substance sticking to a plate that has probably been soaking here for a week. You despise doing the dishes and your friend knows it.

You hear him giggle in your ear while he is playing with your arms like you are some type of marionette, making you to take the sponge and squeeze dish soap onto it. 

You’ve never been the kind to like proximity nor seemed to be Minho, but for some reason, you always end up glued to each other. You hate public displays of attention and pet names a little less when it comes from him. Or maybe you don’t hate it at all and actually crave it every single minute that goes by.

Before he has the time to come up with the Machiavellian idea to soak your pajamas in dirty water (because you know he would inevitably have at some point), you yank his hands off of you and start scrubbing angrily the dirty cups. 

Minho stays behind you anyways, observing your every move, his chin propped up on your shoulder like a curious little bird. To be honest, his presence is kind of getting overwhelming. But whatever, it’s not like his slightest touch makes your heart warm up in comfort or that he smells like fresh linen drying out on the porch of a cottage house on a sunny Sunday morning or anything. 

“You missed a spot. Here” he murmurs teasingly, his lips almost touching your earlobe, while he points at the handle of his hideous ‘world’s greatest dad’ mug Jisung gifted him last christmas. 

You know he has noticed the way you shivered violently at the feeling of his breath tickling your skin because he starts snickering loudly. 

“I swear to god if you don’t shut up and go seat on the couch, I’ll slap you so hard with this spatula you’ll regret you were even born,” you say, turning around suddenly to menace him with the plastic utensil. 

Of course, he isn’t afraid one bit. Right now, you really wish you could make the smug, but oh so attractive, look on his face disappear. 

“Alright, ma’am” he laughs, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’ll let you do your thing”. He lets himself fall onto his dingy couch. 

You can hear him humming one of his favorite songs above the sound of the water running. It would probably be getting on your nerves if his voice wasn’t so pretty.  

“Chan’s sick, so we’re not going to the gym tomorrow night. Do you wanna eat tacos? El Huero has even better deals than usual” he asks you, scrolling mindlessly through his phone. 

“Aren’t the deals supposed to be on Tuesdays?” You frown and scrub a little harder the frying pan Minho has burnt the night before while trying to make chocolate chips pancakes for diner, because why eat savory food when you can have dessert for every meal, right? It is one of the few advantages of living without your parents you both truly enjoy. 

“Yeah, that’s what I said. Tomorrow,” he yawns, probably exhausted after what you put him through last night. You forced him to catch up on the entire season of Love Island because you desperately needed someone to bitch with, and what better partner than Lee Minho.  

You take a quick glance at him and see him stretching himself across the cushions like a cat. You always thought there was something feline about his features. While you’re drying the mugs with the dishtowel, your mind wanders uncontrollably, thinking about his piercing eyes, his delicate nose, the corners of his lips that curl up a little… 

All of the sudden, your hands freeze. Minho is too immersed in TikToks to notice the stupor on your face. “Wait. Today is… Monday?” you stutter. 

Alarmed by the sound of your voice, his eyes finally leave his phone’s screen to look up at you. “Yeah” he repeats slowly as if you are the dumbest person he has ever encountered. 

And you truly are. You are pretty sure your heart has stopped beating. Minho’s “world’s greatest dad” mug you’re holding slips between your fingers and comes crashing on the floor with a deafening sound. The pieces are now scattered all around you, making you unable to make out what’s written on it anymore. Not a big loss, if you ask. 

“Y/N, you know that’s my favorite mug!” he exclaims, leaping up from the couch. “I’m sure you did it on purpose,” he mutters while he’s trying to collect the small fragments, in vain. 

But you’re too shocked at this very moment to pay attention to the glare your friend is giving you. To be honest, Minho has only two moods: glaring at you or teasing you.  

“My interview,” you finally manage to say, and Minho’s eyes go wide as he realizes the critical situation you’re in. 

You check the time on the microwave: 10:45. In 30 minutes, you’re supposed to be on the other side of town, being interrogated by boring businessmen that are going to decide whether or not you’ll be accepted for a paid internship in one of the most reputable music label of the country. Basically, decide whether you’ll live a happy and fulfilling life, working in the sector you’ve always dreamed of or end up miserable with a boring office job and a massive college debt. 

“Holy shit,” Minho whispers. You can see a wave of panic washing across his face for a split second, but, as always, he manages to find his composure back immediately. 

He has never been the kind to lose his cool, except to scold you when you forget the names of his cats and their respective coats’ color (which you unfortunately often did forget). 

“What are you doing? Get dressed!” He tells you when he sees you’re still standing there dumbfounded in the kitchen, like the famous Robert Pattinson meme, wearing an oversize Kermit the frog shirt with a dozen holes in it and his favorite Adidas sweatpants you always stole from him.

“No, it’s too late. I can’t make it,” you mutter, your breath short. You’re paralyzed, as if there is a 20lbs rock sitting at the bottom of your stomach, pinning you to the ground. 

This isn’t bad luck, you think. This is karma. This is what you get for skipping classes to watch telereality shows in your bed with your best friend and not even realizing it isn’t the weekend anymore.

“Miss me with that bullshit.” He runs to his closet and rummages through his drawers, throwing every piece of clothing that’s on his way to find an appropriate outfit that would fit you. 

“You’re gonna go do this interview even if I have to drag you all the way there.” He pushes you into his bathroom since you still haven’t moved an inch. 

You manage to brush your teeth and your hair, fighting through the nauseous feeling that is building up in your tummy. 

When you come back to the living room, Minho has found dress pants and a sweater that might not look utterly ridiculous on you. He lets you change in a corner, while he runs around the room collecting all your essentials. 

“You’re coming?” you ask him when you see he is already wearing his puffer jacket.  

“You really think I’m gonna let you go all by yourself when you’re literally not even able to put your shoes on properly”. You are, indeed, struggling with your laces, as if your fingers are suddenly made out of butter. 

Minho ties them up for you and you literally feel like he’s your babysitter. You know you’re gonna hear about this for months – what are you saying- years! But all you can think about at the moment though, is the fact that sneakers are definitely not appropriate for an interview. 

He throws your warmest coat at you, grab his keys, and by some type of miracle, you’re both out to the door in less than 10 minutes. 

You try to call the elevator, but Minho grabs your arm and leads you to the staircase. His hand never leaving yours, he runs down the stairs and you have no choice but to follow him as fast as you can. 

You can’t count how many times you missed a step and fell at this particularly slippery spot, between the 5th and the 4th floor, but weirdly enough, it doesn’t happen today. 

When you finally reach the ground floor, you exit the complex and Minho hops on his old and rusty bike that he had attached to nearest tree the night before.

“There’s no way I’m riding behind you on this death machine,” you laugh nervously. The memory of that one time Minho convinced you to seat into his bicycle basket (as if you could even realistically fit in it) and you both fell seconds after he started to pedal is coming back to your mind.

Sure, it was after a long night of drinking, you were both tipsy and it was the only way to get you home since you had spent all your uber money at the bar, but still! You’re pretty sure the bruise on your butt hasn’t disappeared to this day.  

“Hurry up,” Minho groans, ignoring your complaint. You unwillingly seat on his flimsy pannier rack and wrap your arms around his torso. 

You haven’t even left, yet you’re already holding onto his puffer jacket for dear life. A giggle escapes your friend’s mouth (which you think is very inappropriate in such a desperate situation) before he lifts his feet off the ground and starts pedaling. 

You try to ignore the loud squeaking of the bicycle drive by shutting your eyes tighter and rehearsing your introduction you have prepared over and over in your head. No matter how hard you are trying, you can’t remember what you are supposed to say just after your age (which, as you can imagine, isn’t really far into your monologue). 

By the way the wind is lashing your face, you can tell Minho has picked up the speed. His breathing is getting louder, his heartbeat faster and you can’t help but think you’re probably way too heavy for him to bike you around like that. Maybe he shouldn’t skip his gym sessions with Chan so often. Or maybe you shouldn’t have eaten the leftover pancakes for breakfast after all.

You find the courage to open your eyelids and are pleased to see you’re already halfway there, probably because every single one of the traffic lights you encounter is green, and your friend is going surprisingly fast. Is luck finally starting to smile upon you? 

Your mad race comes to a halt when you reach the address of your interview. You hop off the bike and so does Minho who, by the way, is a panting mess. He’s barely able to catch his breath, strands of hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, but he’s beaming at you when he realizes you’re just on time. 

“Go” he gasps, pushing you in the direction of the building’s hall. 

You walk up to the glass door but as your hands are about to push it, you pull a 180. Your friend sighs loudly, already knowing what’s coming next. 

“Wait. No. I can’t do this. I’m not prepared” you tell him frantically. “I’m freaking out. I think I’m gonna pass out.” You are now walking in circles, mumbling incoherently. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

Your heart is racing in your chest and your hands are getting clammy at the simple thought of failure. But guess what? You can’t fail if you don’t even try! One more good reason to just go back to bed and forget about your sad life for a good 8 hours, right? 

“Y/N, you’re the most talented person I know, you’re gonna do just fine” Minho catches you in his arm to stop your endless pacing. You would probably think this gesture is endearing if it wasn’t just meant to make sure you couldn’t run for your life.  

“No, I’m not. What if I throw up in front of everybody like that one time during the Romeo and Juliet musical?” You look up at him and his face is only inches away from yours. You’re sure you would be swooning at how beautiful he looks if you weren’t so terrified at this very moment.

“You were nine,” your best friend says, and you swear you have never heard him speak to you in such a sweet tone before. His voice is like honey and lavander but it doesn’t soothe you like it should. 

You manage to break free from his embrace to crouch down, in an attempt to slow down your breathing. If only you had data left, you could be watching those short relaxing videos on your phone. They always work. But no, you had to spent it all on online games, just one week into the month. You really are beyond help.  

“Y/N I know you’re scared, but if you miss out on this opportunity, you’re gonna regret it for the rest of your life.” Minho is lowering himself so that you can hear him, even though you’re curled up in a ball. 

“And I’m warning you, I won’t want to hear you complain about it,” he adds, this whole situation obviously starting to get on his nerves. 

If you were him, you would have probably left a long time ago. But this isn’t your best friend’s way of behaving. You know he would never abandon you no matter how annoying you could be (and you could be very annoying sometimes). After all, he is always the one holding your hair while you puke in the toilets when you had a couple too many drinks.

It takes all your willpower to stand up but there is no other way, you have to do it. You can hear the time ticking dangerously in your mind, as if your brain had turned into a clock.

“You’re right. Slap me,” you say, looking at him straight in the eyes, dead serious. 

“Wha -“

“Slap some sense into me. They do that in movies when people are panicking. It’s like throwing a bucket of cold water in someone’s face. But clearly we don’t have a bucket and we don’t have cold wa- “ you start blabbering. 

“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not gonna slap you!” Your friend isn’t usually that horrified at the thought of beating your ass. In fact, he has felt the desire to rip your head off more than once, especially when you’d steal all the duvet at night, but at this moment he is just scared you might have actually lost your mind.  

“Just fucking do it Minho!” you scream, your hands clenching the front of his grey hoodie he always looks so divine in. 

Minho has never obeyed you, and this is not the day he is going to start. 

He puts both of his hands on the sides of your face and crashes his lips onto yours. 

You would be lying if you said you have never imagined the day your best friend would kiss you. It happens pretty much every single time you look at his cute pout a little too long. But one thing is certain, it isn’t like you pictured it to be at all.

You were convinced your heart would go so wild it would burst out of your chest and your head would spin so furiously you’d lose your balance. You thought your stomach would fill with butterflies to the brim and your whole body would be on fire.

But none of that is happening. On the contrary, every single muscle in your body relaxes under his touch. The way his soft mouth presses gently against yours makes you calmer, almost at peace amongst all this turmoil. 

Minho is kissing all your tension and stress away and you catch yourself letting a sigh of relief escape your parted lips.

As if you have kissed him already hundreds of times in your past life, Minho feels like home. He’s a safe haven you can always take refuge in during troubled times. Ever since the day you met, he has never left your side.

When he breaks away from the kiss, you notice your breath isn’t so ragged and your mind isn’t so foggy anymore. You’re serene. His cold hands are still cupping your face, slightly squishing your cheeks, and you feel like an idiot sandwich for asking him to slap you seconds before.

“That can work too, I guess…” you mutter.  

“You’re okay?” he asks, staring at you with the softest eyes you’ve ever seen.

You just nod, unable to say one more word, and sprint to the entrance, not wanting to make your interviewers wait any longer than they already have.

“Good luck!” You hear him yell just before the door closes behind you and you can’t help but grin from ear to ear.

- - - - - 

Thirty minutes later, you finally step out of the fancy lobby to find a very bored Minho leaning against a tree, patiently waiting for you.

“You’re still here?”

“Of course, I am,” he says, his mouth full of croissant. He gives you a large iced coffee he probably went buying to kill time. Your lips unconsciously curl up into a smile when you notice it comes from the same chain that the one you spilled on your lap on the day you first met him. 

“How did it go?” he asks you, sticking his buttery pastry into your mouth so that you can take a bite.

“Way better than I thought” you answer, right after you swallowed. You hate the way flakes would always get stuck between your teeth. But Minho is always there to warn you about it before anyone else notices, and even pick them for you if you can’t manage to, which, when you think about it, is kind of gross. 

There are two things the boy knows about you: you’re the greatest pessimist on earth and you’d rather die than admit you were wrong (especially if it meant he was right). So for you to even say it wasn’t that bad, means it went phenomenal. 

“I don’t want to say ‘I told you so’ but I told you so.” He smiles so wide you can barely see his eyes anymore. You have to look away, otherwise you know you might become instantly blinded by love.

“Maybe I could use some more of your luck” you mumble, staring at your shoes and kicking the red leaves that were surrounding your feet on this sunny autumn morning. 

“Really? And what makes you think I’ll share it with you,” he teases you, leaning forward to incite you to look at him in the eyes. 

“That.”

Your hand finds the back of his neck and pulls him in, in order to close the space that is still left between your mouths.

At first, Minho stiffens, taken aback by your bold move. But soon enough, he caves into your touch. He kisses you back fervently, like he means it. 

His fingers entagle in your hair, his arm wraps around your waist and his chest presses against your body. You’re melting in his embrace, submerged by a wave of bliss which he alone seems to know the recipe. 

It feels new, yet so familiar. Like it was supposed to happen, like it was written in the stars. 

He tastes like croissant and Americano. Like fortune and fate. 

And you can’t help but think you’re the luckiest person on earth.

Who cares about winning the lottery when Lee Minho is your lucky charm?