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faerievampling · 8 months ago

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Killing Time

Chapter 16: Bad Religion

Word Count: 2.5k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Vampire Tav (Female Reader)

Warnings: 18+. Masturbation. Tav’s patron is being naughty.

Link to Ao3 | Killing Time M.List

Last Chapter | Next Chapter

Hours later, you’re in and out of a drunken slumber. You thirst for blood, but you decide you won’t be leaving the library, and you aren’t really hungry anyway: you just want to, thinking it would make you feel better. Unfortunately, basking in the sun with the best wine Toril has to offer must be enough for you for now, because in your waking moments, you cry for Astarion, guilt, and loathing seeping through your body at the thought of him.

“I hate you. I hate you. I hate you!” Your words reverberate through your rather thick-feeling skull. You can’t believe you even said that to him. I'm such a horrible wife.

“Wha’ happened to ‘Tav Ancunín’,” You say aloud, a hiccup interrupting your speech, “The ‘True ‘ero of Baldur’s Gate’?”

You sit up, pretending to be some lord or lady with a stick up their ass – with a pinky up, you down another glass of wine, making the room spin just a bit. “‘Don’t you know? She’s become queen of the rats!’ Or whatever it is he said!”

Angel sits cross-legged at your feet – you don’t know how long he’s been there before you notice him. You see him focused on the silver band that still defaces your right ankle. The two of you make eye contact: you scowl at his pretty face.

“Tell me, ‘ight now, Angel, what he meant by that,” You point at him, poking your nail into his shoulder. “Can’t you see in my mind? Tell me!”

“I don’t know,” Angel answers, clearly not his usual chipper self. He’s distracted, you can tell, but it only makes you angrier. “Your mind isn’t very clear right now, and you don’t remember it that well.”

You don’t like his answer; your drunken playfulness quickly turns malevolent.

“Why the fuck are you even here? This is all your fault, y’know!” You’re angry now and rather wasted. You level with him, finding your way to the floor as you sink off the daybed, sitting back on your knees as you face him.

“I…” Angel looks at a loss. “I knew what was going to happen when I said that aloud, about the spawn army. But I didn’t know it would make me and you feel, like, this bad.”

You shoot him an incredulous look before groaning as your fangs hit the rim of the bottle, abandoning your glass as you take another swig. You messily set the bottle back on the floor. Looking back at Angel, you know he is also quite upset: his lips are in a pout. It looks almost comical, being the giant that he is. His head dropped low, doe-eyes boring into you; his black hair frames his pretty face, cascading down his muscular back, tousling a bit at his shoulders, and he looks so fucking pretty.

“You’re apologizing?” You ask, poking him once again with your nail.

Angel looks very uncertain, as if he’s hearing the word for the first time. It’s not like he hasn’t apologized to you before – you know that he probably just doesn’t want to, or maybe he doesn’t think he should: but you’re in pain, and he’s in pain because of your pain, so if he is sorry, he’s only sorry he got caught in the crosshairs. “I don’t know…I did try to warn you.”

Your face is beyond incredulous at this point. “Warn me? ‘Bout things Astarion did like a thousand years ago?” When you say it like this, it feels silly that you’re even upset – but secrets are secrets, and it still exhibited just how much control Astarion had taken over your life. You knew, but you guess you just didn’t understand to what extent.

Angel offers you a shrug. “Secrets are secrets. And when I heard your plan, I couldn’t let you give the sword over to Lae’zel when Astarion has plenty of spawn to choose from. The letters thing just kinda came out…”

“You just like to provoke him,” You snap. “And me.”

“I don’t know what you mean, beautiful,” Angel flirts, grabbing the ends of your hair in his hand before placing a kiss to its length.

Reaching over, you flick Angel on the tip of his nose. He grabs your wrist, pulling you closer to him. You stumble, and you’re practically in his lap now, his hold on you loose, as if to let you know that you could leave at any time.

“Let me go…” You whine, your words sloshing from your mouth. But part of you doesn’t want him to let you go – you want to be held, to be comforted without having some sort of meltdown. You’d prefer the warm skin of your beautiful pale lover, but Angel isn’t a bad second choice – he’s beautiful, his skin is smooth and soft, and Angel allows you to feel his body warmth.

“I’m going to have to do, for now,” Angel whispers, wrapping his arms around you to pull you into a tender embrace. The sensation tears you apart in several ways: comfort, desire, fear, loathing. “Feels good to have you close…”

There isn’t anything sexual about the way Angel holds you, and yet, everything he does is sex, and you feel that flame Angel ignites within you right between your legs. And when this happens…

Geldon Moth. He told you that he would make it so you cannot live without him. And here you are, unable to shake him away from your most intimate moments.

“You know he can’t hurt you anymore, right?” Angel whispers, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. It makes you shiver. “His memory can. But that’s it. You killed him yourself, Tav. He’s, like, super dead.”

Angel pulls away from you, his familiar eyes settling into your gaze. His wings have settled behind him. “His memory hurts you.”

You already feel so vulnerable, that you can’t bring yourself to agree with him. But Angel knows – you hiccup when tears begin falling down your cheeks. Angel mutely watches you cry for a few moments before a shadow comes over his eyes.

“I could take it away for you.” Angel’s voice is low, the vibrations nearly rumbling through your body. Or maybe it was just the energy in the room. Whatever he’s offering, you probably don’t want – unless he has some magical solution to your problems with Astarion, you aren’t interested. Especially since Angel’s last boon nearly drove you mad on the battlefield, and even changed your day-to-day perception of reality: seeing auras isn’t something you are easily adjusting to.

Angel looks disheartened at your thoughts and feelings, a melancholy overcoming him. “I just need you to feel better. I can’t feel better until you do.”

Angel looks away from you for a moment before his eyes settle back on you. “Y’know, Geldon had me locked away too. I saw a lot of what he did.”

You can’t help but focus on Angel’s golden eye, nodding at him to continue.

“Fucking is in my nature. I love fucking. It’s how I maintain my body here in the material plane. I love watching people do it, too. But…” Angel takes a deep breath before continuing, “You’re pretty much the only thing I can think about when I fuck, no matter who is it, and sometimes, I remember what I saw Geldon do to you, and it – makes me have to stop, sometimes.”

Angel’s hold on you is gentle, but he pulls you closer, your faces only inches away from each other. You have to take a deep breath. You hadn’t anticipated Angel to have seen some of what Lord Moth had done to you, but it made sense – the moment Lord Moth left his estate, Angel was there, so surely he had been watching.

“I guess, I’m saying I’m sorry that happened to you. I really wish it hadn’t.” He stares at your lips. You become keenly aware of how Angel’s holding you, of how you’re practically sitting in the palm of his large hand. You know if Angel meant to hurt you, he’d probably have done so already – you know he only means to be close to you.

“Can I ask you something?” You say tentatively, your question hanging in the air for just a moment, as Angel seems to have gotten lost in your eyes. He still looks a little sad.

“Duh,” Angel says softly, giving you a small smile.

“When did you have a yellow watermelon?”

Angel's smile grows at your question. “A long time ago. They grow somewhere in Amn. I’ll bring you one – I swear conjured ones don’t taste as good as the real thing.”

Angel’s smile turns sly. “Speaking of the sweetest fruit in the realms…your scent is pretty distracting, y’know?”

If you were alive, your heart would be wildly thumping, and a blush would rise to your cheeks. Perhaps it already is – you have consumed a lot of blood, and your core…Angel’s words are like silk being spun through his plush lips, eyes narrowing devastatingly at you.

You’re about to stutter out something about how he shouldn’t say stuff like that, but Angel continues.“I do know something that would probably fix a lot of your problems, Tav, and it’s an easy solution. I think you need to cum.”

Your eyes go wide, and you think you squeak, because the next thing you know, Angel is laughing at you, having placed you on your back on the daybed. He sits beside you on the floor next to you, placing a kiss on your temple. Suddenly, Angel grabs your wrist, leading your hand right between your legs, his fingers brushing the top of your mound…

When your fingers meet your core, you’re already soaked. Your labia is wet with your sticky juices, and for some reason, this surprises you. Your index and your middle finger slide into your slick hole with ease, but you only allow yourself to go as deep as your first knuckle before you realize what the hells you’re doing. You pull your hand away, looking at the wetness of your arousal; it sticks between two fingers, making you realize just how lusty you truly are. You look over to Angel, who can’t take his eyes off you.

“Y-you should go, now…” You say, thinking about Astarion and how you already went too far even allowing Angel to hold you, nonetheless seeing your wet fingers – you know your husband will be angrier about the latter. Your body, your juices – he is so selfish with you. It explains his actions of the past, why he kept you away from others: those who would defile your relationship with him. You think you understand Astarion – but how could that change your feelings of grief and terror? Your desire for true freedom? You’re close to sober, now, and you still can’t reconcile these things. And now you have a very wet problem. Shit.

You move to wipe off the slick on your hand, but before you can, Angel grabs your wrist again, his lips moving around your two fingers. His tongue laps at your juices and the moment is so lewd, that you almost lose all control – a knot is forming in your lower belly, your core pulsating, your holes contracting with every motion of Angel’s tongue. It stimulates your nipples, your clit, bringing them to attention as you can’t help but imagine his lips on your core. Angel closes his eyes, losing himself to your taste, licking and sucking at you.

“Angel!” You yelp, swiftly pulling your hand away, pushing yourself away from him.

Angel can hardly tear himself from you. His face is pink, the blush apparent on all his features, even the tip of his cock. His lids are heavy, lips parted in a breathless desire – his blown pupils give away just how much he enjoys your taste.“‘Beholden.’ That doesn't sound so bad to me.”

“What?” You ask, truly unsure of what the hells he’s talking about. Is he still thinking about what Lae’zel had said back in the ruins of Baldur’s Gate? “I’m your warlock, Angel. What we have is merely contractual.”

Angel narrows his eyes at you. He doesn’t look upset with your response, merely annoyed that you aren’t taking him seriously. “We’re beyond that. Speaking of the contract, one of us isn’t exactly honoring it, if we’re going to talk about that right now, Tav.”

You cross your arms, hiding the hand that smells strongly of you. You’re desperately trying to change the subject. “It’s not exactly the best-written contract. You know, Astarion could probably write contract circles around you.”

Angel purses his lips. “It was my first one. I did my best.”

“Whatever. Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

Angel’s mouth is lopsided, in a half-frown. “What, want me to go?”

You have to clear your throat. “Yes.” No. Yes. You really don’t know anymore. You’re honestly just tired of thinking for yourself.

“You’re like, a rebel without a cause, or whatever it is they say,” Angel says with a light tone. “You even fight yourself. When are you gonna admit to yourself what you really want, girl?”

You think Angel can’t know what you want: how could he when you hardly know yourself? Angel looks a bit frustrated as he leaves you, knowing you won’t answer him. When he departs, he disappears into thin air as he always does. You meant to give him more grief about the boon, his disruption of your marriage, and probably a few things you can’t think of right now because Angel has pointed out a very…well, the issue of your slick folds.

You hadn’t had a proper, toe-curling orgasm in months – Astarion had given you several, but all experienced with a flashback of terror and loathing, not able to be fully enjoyed; it crushes you. You know your sex life was something that had always been important to Astarion – and now, here you are, disturbing his freedom and desires and happiness…

No. It’s all far more complicated than that, and yet, all you can do is close your eyes as you draw your hand back down your body, parting your robe as you find your soaked folds, so soft and warm…you think of Astarion, of the way he worships your body, telling you how beautiful you are. You focus on his perfect, pale skin, his shoulders, his nose, his ears; you imagine kissing him on these parts, treating him like your little sweetheart, putting Astarion on his back and taking charge of his cock, riding him all night, edging him, until he’s all but a whimpering mess, drunk on you, your fangs, and your pussy. You dip your fingers into your drenched cunt, reaching up within yourself, trying to touch your most intimate parts; your other hand works your swollen clit, and you continue like this for some time before you realize your efforts are in vain. There's too much that’s uncertain, too much unresolved between you, Astarion, Angel – even the Githyanki people. Your desire quickly becomes a storm in your stomach, twisting and churning in upset.

You go back to your wine.

#astarion x reader #ascended astarion #astarion x you #astarion fanfiction #ascended astarion x you #astarion x female reader #Killing Time

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aflippedflop · 21 days ago

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These are just some images I've been meaning to post here.

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Hiya! Sorry for the weird silence in terms of what is actually happening with the comic. I suck at making the schedule and get distracted like a dog after it sees a squirrel... like all the time.

But I figured I should probably release some Flipflopped stuff that I never really posted here for some reason. Some of these are teasers for the comic! Here you guys go!

"S-She's one of the nicest people you'll ever meet... Once y-you get to know her..."

So we won't be hitting the Snowdin Chapter for a long while now, but I love making mockups like these, and I especially love how this one turned out, so I had to show it! This area of Snowdin is meant to be Undyne's sentry station and is a little further ahead in Snowdin from when you meet Alphys and get ambushed by Undyne.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Some NPCs and an incredibly small piece of "The Theater"

Here are some sprites of some NPCs that'll be appearing in "The Theater." As mentioned before in previous posts, Mettaton doesn't lock the doors to the Ruins in this AU like Classic Toriel. Mettaton pretty much turned the ruins into a tourist trap, with gold statues and merchandise of himself everywhere. The theater is pretty much the opposite of the ruins, and it's a little crowded compared to the empty ruins. You'd be traveling through stage rooms, back rooms, lobbys, and much more with several monsters just begging to see the next show. There will also be some cameos of characters from different AUs you might recognize...

TS!Underswap's Koffin-K by @tsunderswapofficial

Undertale Yellow's Ceroba and Axis by @undertaleyellow

@wheeloffateau's Domino (the dog in the cool jacket) by a buddy of mine, Myriad.

Welp! That's about all I got for now in terms of updates. I hope you like them. Sorry about slow updates for the AU. Maybe for my New years resolutions, I'll try to be better at updating the damn blog. LMFAO.

Thank you all so so much for continuing to check out my silly little AU. It means the world to me, guys.

As always, I hope you all have a fantastic rest of your day/night.

Stay determined.

~ProctorDorkchop

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oh-no-its-bird · 6 months ago

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Ok so updated list of my WIPS;

Actually in progress;

- Offal and All (Kakashi's relationship with food throughout the years, mostly told through the eyes of others) I'm activley focusing on this one rn and hoping to post it like, this week actually. It's a mash up of a lot of different tiny Kakashi hc's I've posted about and should be very fun (and depressing, but that's kind of my brand, so.)

- One Step Three Steps chapter 10, it's going well so far actually I just keep writing it at work then being forced to stop bc like. Work. Might go up this week, hopefully

- Chasing Shadows chapter 4, it's like 20% done? Ish? I just need to find the head space to get back to writing it, will go up within the next 2 weeks for sure but idk when exactly. It'll be great tho ur gonna get Hikaku, Fugaku, Shisui, Mikoto, just all the cool Uchiha. Lots of politics, lots of drama, the works

- Itama and the secret senju weed empire fic,,,, it will be long and it will be beautiful which means it'll take me forever to do, sorry

- Magical Girl Izuna AU (my beloved) I got distracted by other projects midway through writing chapter 1 but I'll get there eventually

- Little lab mystery where kid edo-tensei reincarnations of Madara and Tobirama wake up with no memories and immediately stage a jail break

- Nin burger!!!!! Yes this is a real thing yes I meant to post it like the same week I started making it but then I got distracted and didn't. But I swear to fucking GOD I will see it complete. Nin Burger is my favorite real naruto restaurant that is real

- That one oneshot where Madara and Tobirama spend a festival night in the capital together as children, and Madara develops his very first crush on the fox masked boy, but seems to be doomed never to meet him again— till Konoha's first festival is held and he sees a man wearing the very same mask, waiting for him in the crowds. Might not actually finish this one tbh but also maybe I'll save it for tbmd week?? Idk

Considering / Planning;

- Hikaku as the Uchiha clan head after Madara's betrayal comic,,, not an actual fic but I wanna make this so bad. I've written notes for it I just need to get along to drawing it

- Izuna in Wonderland comic, honestly I'll probably end up doing the entire thing in one go one night when I get hit in the face w a brick w motivation. So it'll be a surprise for both u guys and me when I post that! I always do my comics in one go bc I physically can't bring myself to return to art projects if interrupted, which means I tend to do longer ones on my days off where I have literally nothing else to do or distract me, but I haven't had one of those in like. 2 months now. So. But I will soon!! Umm. Maybe.

- Here Before and After Me chapter 2, I'll probably make one eventually but who tf knows when. I have a very specific vision of Kakashi following Tobirama onto the battlefield and scaring the shit out of a very alarmed and confused Izuna

- Tobirama and Izuna's field trip through time and space, I don't think I want to commit to a full fic bc it'd be seriously long and I'm already commiting to Chasing Shadows and One Step Three Steps as my regular update long fics, then the MG Izuna au and Itama fic as my "write it all behind the scenes then post" long fics. One shots only for me, sorry. But I do wanna write a silly one shot of the boys crash landing face first into a konoha council meeting during their field trip

Dropped / Abandoned;

- That one mdtb space mermaid au, rip. Maybe I'll come back to u one day but for now I have a lot to focus on, sorry

- mdtb fish in a pond fic where Tobirama is half spirit and turns into a koifish that Tajima then brings home and tosses into the families koi pond

I think that's everything? I have a shit memory and do everything on my notes app then forget to categorize the notes half the time so I honestly wouldn't be surprised if I'd lost smthn else in my like billion different notes.

Those are the important ones tho, so, good enough!

#birds fic talk #naruto #one step three steps #chasing shadows #wip list

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carmenized-onions · 7 months ago

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Yap sheet, live and in color!!

I wrote this as I was reading it, so it very well may be incoherent since I read the chapter almost immediately upon waking up. 😍 OH OH OH before i forget this is going to be really long, so my apologies, BUT !! Can i get put on the taglist? Pretty please 😛 .... wait adding this later I think im already on it 🤔

1.) I can taste what is happening here, i think, and I swear to god, if it ends up that he calls tony, calls ME THE READER, a distraction, I'll cry. Onion, you will have made me cry. Sigh. A dish getting sent back making him all wiggy does make a lot of sense, though, I fear.

2.) "He’s not meant to be a good person. He’s meant to be a good chef." :< i hate u that's so sad and isolating, and so on the nose for Carmy :<

-side note idk why but this :< and :> have become my absolute favorite lil emojis lately so silly

3.) Cue my eyes widening all comical and shit cause ONION "you should be dead" NOOOOOOOOOO L major L cause wtf

This yap sheet is gonna be mega long if i keep doing it like this, I'm ngl. But i think you'll enjoy it, so I might keep it up

4.) Yes, match our clothes to Carmy's eyes... or whatever !!!

5.) Poor Fak. "So Fak is gonna be our server?" "Yessir." "He any good?" "No Sir." And that's so real, actually. Okay, just read more, and Neil really is a small train wreck, and "Oh wow" definitely made me giggle

6.) I feel like im taking notes for class here, and i usually hate taking notes, so that's how you know you've got me by the balls with this story, Onion. Also, this is its own point bc ik ur gonna reply to these in order like this so this is me telling u that if u don't want me to send these this long i will not be offended cause this is gonna be so much. ALSO did this just for u bc I'll see in other asks when ur lamenting abt people not pointing out certain things (I TOTALLY get that btw) and I usually notice them but forget them in my yap sheet cause i do them after the fact so :> also this point is so long now okay this backfired on me.

7.) NOT TONY REFERRING TO THEIR RELATIONSHIP AS A RESERVATION thats so silly. I love that Fak was all. Oh, is that Carmy's jacket?? And Richie jumps straight to oh yall are fucking. NOT A SEX PAINTING OHMYGOD

8.) :< that's all I have to say about that sequence with Carmy that made me very :<

9.) Anyway, um Tony screaming at the sight of him is also very :< also him immediately thinking he is the problem or like the self loathing taking over is also so :< bc like UGH this poor man I really just want to give him the biggest hug in the world. But in Tony's defense, I, too, would get jumpscared by slicked back hair Carmen. I mean, I guess that tracks since Tony IS me, technically.

10.) Okay Fak appears like he's going to be this bad the whole time so unless theres smth specific to say, I'll just cap the Fak interaction here and say I feel for my man Neil bc I, too, am a very slow learner and I would probably also fall flat on my face just like this.

11.) Richie is so dear to me as a character, like that man held everything together in his two hands and got zero appreciation for it. And like, that is something I relate so heavily to. Richie watching Tiff move on must be so :< even if he does seem like he's made his peace with it

12.) Okay, so i just read for a lil while, but um. CARMY'S OLD BOSS SHOWING UP??? DIABOLICAL!! YOU ARE AN EVIL ONION FR like that's so vile. Also I will say that the syd comforting is so slay. Tony just going immediately into caretaker mode is so me actually

13.) THE RACIALLY TARGETED MILES MORALES BANDAIDS !!!!

14.) Anyway I love Syd and Tony and the let me love you is so URGHHHHH i just love them sm

15.) Okay so I hate that fucking guy but ,,, GO TONY !! Love that she basically just handed them their asses by being smart n shit.

16.) RATATOUILLE MENTION !!! Love

17.) Okay the fact that tony questions whether or not Carmen would defend her over impressing chef asshole is so UGH UGH UGH makes my chest all tight bc like, yes, I think he would, i think he absolutely would choose Tony over all of it but... then again.... UGH

18.) OH MY GODDDDDDDD CARMY WROTE TONY A NOTE FOR HER MEAL THATS SO. ITS SO. OH MY GODDD. Even when hes being a grade a dickface hes so sweet :<

19.) LOVE??? Yeah im so gone goodbye

20.) Oh im so dead the moment she got the plate I knew she was gonna give it to chef asshole but STILL IT STILL HURTS

21.) Okay yes im like very :< abt the nat and carmy convo but what is this did mikey have a lil folder abt chip tony like a journal type shit wtf onion

22.) NO THIS IS TERRIBLE NEWS CARMY THINKING SHE DATED MIKEY??? NOOOOO THIS IS EVEN WORSE ACTUALLY THIS IS SO BAD??

23.) I hate you. Thats all 🫶 that cliffhanger was abhorrent

No but fr that was phenomenal and i really hope you like this ugh. Ur writing so fucking good im like crying at the optometrist rn

ALRIGHT SPOILERS AHEAD IF YOU SKIPPED TO MY ANSWER N DIDN'T READ THE ASK !!! goin' under the keep reading for this one. Will this be the only ask I get through before I have to go run errands? We'll find out. Will there be a snapshot of the next chapter under the cut as a little treat? I honestly don't know, I'll have to look to see if there's anything I can give you that doesn't give away everything lmao.

Before we start though, I do want to note somewhere, I have finished the draft for the next chapter-- I usually don't do to much rework at this point, but I do think it'll need some decent edits-- It's very hard to write like, after a fight, yknow? Like I'm trying to do a very organic aftermath, as well, it's not just a complete cliffhanger, where I can time skip the awkwardness-- And that's like. Woo. Need to revise and make sure it's good.

Anyways, this is all to say:

Thank God I split this from the last chapter, eh? Almost dropped fucking 20k straight on your heads like a comical boulder.

Anyways time to actually REVIEW THIS WONDERFUL YAP SHEET LETS GO

YES you're on the taglist and never apologize for yapping, I do it all the time. And I love to be yapped back to. I know how much work goes into taking notes, so it genuinely really warms my fuckin' heart that you'd take that time for me thank you my love!!

OOH. I think bro gets very close to saying distraction, I think he says that he gets distracted, but never actually calls Tony one straight up. I do think Tony basically calls herself one at some point... Which... Baby, your self image pleaasse. AND YEAH, THE PLATE SENT BACK-- You'd all laugh if I showed you my notes app drafts, I literally have a note titled 'carmy mental snap' and a list of things to fuck with him psychologically that come to me throughout the day

Writing the not a good person, good chef, actually did make me realize what the fuck bro was yapping about in the Season 2 finale. I always like got the amusement or enjoyment line, but I don't think I fully understood what he meant because I was like-- You make food baby, that's a form of enjoyment-- It's not to him. It's money. He doesn't get joy out of being a chef, right now. UGH. I'M RUINED.

Yeah babyyyyy, the voice in his head is still his exeeccccc lets goooooo-- Pulled up the NYC scene dialogue, for that whole morning routine. Pulled all those lines straight from it. Major L to Jeff from Community. He had a major change in character smh

or WHATEVER!!!!!!

I promise I wasn't planning on dogging on Fak this much as a server, and then I watched the trailer, and no spoilers, he fucking bombs and I was like , well, okay, that's the game we're playing Mr Storer? I'll play,,,

DAWWW, again, I know how much this takes, and I should say-- Never feel pressure, lmao-- Whenever I poke at people for not noting things, it's just me poking fun i swear. I never want it to feel STRESSFUL to read these chapters, though (well, i guess i did want THIS one to feel stressful lmao), so please don't feel like you have to do this-- Do i love it? Yes. Do I also beg for essays? Yeah.,,, but like, like yknow what I mean-- Go at thine pace, baby

Richie and Syd are Tony's two besties, and them both immediately going SO YALL ARE FUCKING???? Feels very correct, to me. Sex painting also, I just think is such a Fak thing to whisper. I mean those canvases couples FUCK on, with paint covering, by the way, if that wasn't clear. I don't know how well known a thing that is. I went to art school, so. When worlds collide, yknow.

:< Zero Pulse Carmy L Count: 2 (the morning scene was rough)

I love seeing the different reactions to Tony yelling, because it's either like: AWE POOR CARMY or THATS SO FUCKING SCARY SHE SHOULD BE SCREAMING, WHAT IS WRONG WITH HIM?-- And I love to see that.

I would 100% flail like this. Fak is me at my new admin job every day.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again, I went from a certified Richie Hater to a lover. Writing this fic I think also aided to that, alot, because it forced me to think very critically about like, what it fucking meant to stick around, when your best friend dies. Like me and my best girlfriend-- The Syd to my Tony, essentially, have both said repeatedly if one of us kicks the bucket, the other one is immediately yeeting it. Like. Richie staying alive let alone in the same place, that takes a lot of fucking strength. Love him.

DIABOLICALLLLLL HAAAAA, I did a little dance, when everyone started tweaking in the comments with that one. Love to see it. Got your asses with that surprise-- Got Carmen with it too, lmao. Can you imagine going to work already in a bad fuckin mood and then the Devil from your shoulder is like 'i'll be there in 30'? Ohhhh bitcchh--- I'd be doin worse than Carmy, tbh.

I would've dug so much more into the RACIALLY TARGETED MILES MORALES BANDAIDS!!!! if I was explicitly writing Tony as a POC, but I needed to give her a tamer response with 'i hate you'-- But to note, if I was going full WOC besties, it would've been fuckin' 'oh so you'd prefer peter parker?? racissstttttttt'-- Nothing says solidarity in the black/brown community like calling your fellow POC racist.

LET ME!!!! LET ME!!! Had that line written in my head for quite some time-- I've been planning this chapter since chapter 2, so it's like, like I really got to LIVEEE writing Tony/Syd, I adore them.

GO TONYYYYYY, I was worried I gave her too many talents, tbh. But like. Her title and nickname is Jack of All Trades, and it makes a lot of sense to me that being a Lead Paramedic = Fantastic under pressure, great at giving direction/leading, decent bedside manner + Repairman Level Memory + Wine Fascination since highschool = Not that many actual skills, but they all transfer into so many different branches. So I think she's not to OP lmao. WE'VE GOT TO NERF TONY.

The rat chef!!! I'm shocked no one found it frankly offensive Carmen hasn't seen Ratatouille-- But I do think that would be canon. I think Carmen's life would change dramatically for the better if he just fuckin' relaxed and watched Ratatouille.

RIGHT? I'm literally still debating the idea of what Carmen would do, in the scenario. Like, a lot rides on the idea of a star. His whole life and everyone elses--- Would he prioritize Tony? Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm let's not think about it

The note, bah. What a sweetie. It's also like, written on the recipe card he drafted, too, so technically if she gained all the Michelin skills rn herself she could make it. Theoretically.

LOVEEEE...... moving on....

Speaking of Love, I have loved seeing the handful of people saying they knew immediately when she got that plate what Tony was gonna do about it. Like that is both touching to me as an author and also heartbreaking that on a story and character level, you immediately knew what Tony would do to herself there--- Bah.

JOURNAL IS INTERESTNG-- I wonder if Mikey would be the logging type. Maybe entirely unmarked in his notes app.

WOOOOFFFFFF

I'm sorry but I'm not sorry and I hope the OPTOMETRIST APPOINTMENT WAS GOOD DESPITE DA EMOTIONS HAHA

Now let's see, is there anything in the water I can give you here... Anything that won't spoil something,,,

There's not really much that isn't really emotionally charged, so I'll give you this, at least. Feels like any context of the next chapter is spoilery, but eh, read it if you'd LIKE to. haha. AGAIN-- THANK YOU LOVE!!!

#yapping #extensive yapping #ask #catsrdabestsocks101 #onion wip

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tortoise-bearing-cups · 2 days ago

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Identity Crisis

More early Tim. Please look at these panels that they arranged so it looks like there's a gargoyle on the back of the bus stop:

I wasn't taking this very seriously but the reveal that the random masked shooter is a little old lady, paired with the opening quote about masks taking you outside of normal behavior, has me intrigued.

Vicki Vale is doing a piece on homelessness. This is not how I see her characterized in fic.

LOL the little old lady is proud of herself. Two dead from her first crime, "that's not bad"!

Aw, Tim's nightmare. The parts about Tim's grief feel real. He wants there to be meaning where there is none, and he's angry.

Because this is comics, Vicki Vale develops photos topless. As you do. And she finds a clue! The police are useless, naturally. If only she could hand it to Batman directly, she'd have a far easier time here.

Fun bit with Tim and Batman about why he can't put on the suit. Tim thinks Batman is forbidding him, but he's making Tim say why he hasn't yet put on the suit, and he's echoing Tim's stuff about symbols back to him. And also saying, I think, that Tim wants to be Robin to get strength from it and move past his fear, but it won't really change how he feels. (Which ... Batman would know, but also putting on a suit to deal with grief is literally your thing, Bats.)

Still, part of being Robin is disobeying orders ... but only if you can pull it off!

WHAT IS THIS FACE?

This should be the era of "Batman's just an urban legend" but not only does Tim have newspaper photos, Batman saving people is being announced on the radio. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Also this is early enough that Batman doesn't have a grapple gun, he's throwing the damn thing!

This is the second issue where Batman made a quip while grappling away. I find this silly but delightful.

Batman ragging on Vicki Vale for "sticking her nose in" is not delightful. She's the one doing actual detective work!

Alfred bullies Tim for working Christmas Eve. He just buried his mom, let him grieve how he wants. (Even if that is looking longingly at a "magic" suit.)

I love the pink boxes. Just going whole hog.

Why do I not see more about Tim having visions? (Though technically this one is just another dream.)

We are already establishing Jason as being a hot-head who got himself killed, and Tim being the guy who figures stuff out and has a plan.

Tim says that Batman will be all right, he's always all right ... but him not being all right is why he's here. And Tim's off!

This cover is badass, that is all.

"The pleasure of slowly ... unwrapping you!" ????? Do you mean finding out his secret identity? Removing his skin? I would be less distracted by the sexual overtones of this threat if I knew what you were talking about.

So the victims really were random. Once they got that rich guy involved, I thought he was clearing people out of homes he wanted or something. But no, these guys are just doing it for money. I also expected the masks themselves to have the mind control, but they were just for fun, boo. You said the victims showed no signs of toxins, so shouldn't the mind control be in the masks? (That would make this a Mad Hatter crime instead, I guess.)

I can hear these lines in my head. BTAS voices, of course.

Oh, when the Scarecrow said "unwrapping", he meant Batman's mind. That makes more sense.

Tim, why did you fucking ANNOUNCE YOURSELF, just hit him! Hit him while his back is turned! Vicki Vale had to save herself! ...and they both get fear gassed. Honestly, the encouraging Robin hallucinations are kind of cute. Saved by the hyperfixation.

Other people have already compared Tim disobeying Batman here to Steph doing it later ... I feel like Batman's order comes off pretty strongly as "I don't believe in you because you don't believe in yourself"--but also that Tim did try every other option to warn Batman, and he didn't even go out as Robin because he takes it very seriously. And he still expected to be fired. Whereas they seemed to go out of their way to make Steph look as hotheaded and wrong in the situation as possible (even numbered Robins hated by editorial represent!) so they aren't that comparable.

Though it would've been extremely funny if Tim had saved Batman's life only for him to be immediately fired, because you know this would just keep happening. Tim would still be like "Whoops, Batman needs me!!" and Batman would have even less control over him, lol.

(Though it would also be extremely sad and awkward. Tim's mom's funeral was this morning. His dad's still in a coma. He's living with the Waynes ... unofficially??)

Also ... Bruce already went to all the trouble of making a new costume with fancy gadgets. And pants!

I like that they include a diagram of all its nifty features. The little rolls on his sleeves are storage spaces?! The cape has more kevlar layers than the armor? Why do the boots need motion sensors? Whatever, tech is cool, put some everywhere. He's Robin!

#tim drake #dc comics #live read

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bluejaysandblackbats · 10 months ago

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Heels Over Head

Fandom: DC Comics, Flashfam

Summary: Young Don tries to impress Meloni with some help.

Chapters: 1/?

Characters: Don Allen, Meloni Thawne, Dawn Allen, Jeven Ognats, Barry Allen, Iris Allen, Wally West

Relationships: Don Allen/Meloni Thawne, Dawn Allen/Jeven Ognats, BarryIris

Additional Tags: No Capes AU, No Powers AU, College AU, Don Allen and Meloni Thawne First Meet, POV Don Allen, Romance, Fluff, Silly Antics in Flashfam

Chapter One: Origami

I didn’t usually run late. I stopped to grab a coffee at the campus cafe. But buying a coffee took longer than I expected. I ran across the quad with coffee before running into a beautiful woman with tousled hair and stylish sunglasses. She held me still while she looked me over. “Did I hurt you? I’m such a clumsy ox… Jeez, and I—. I spilled your coffee!” she shouted in Interlac. “Oh, let me buy you another.” I smiled, picking up the cup to toss it in the trash.

“No, it’s alright. I should be apologizing to you—.”

“Please. My conscience will eat at me if you don’t let me buy you another,” the young woman insisted. I attempted to shrug it off.

“Sorry… I’m already running late for class—.”

“Give me your classroom number and your order,” she interrupted. I opened my mouth to protest, and she took out a notepad from her skirt pocket. I could tell she wasn’t willing to let me go without replacing it. So, I wrote my room number and order, not expecting her to follow through. I just wanted to get to class on time. She took her notepad, and we went our separate ways.

I snuck into the back of my auditorium class and got my notes and pens together.

The professor was a few minutes late getting started, so I didn’t lose any time. My professor started every class with music and had us journal our feelings. We journaled for ten minutes before touching on the curriculum, and I almost forgot about my run-in with the woman. The door opened, and I glanced to my left to see the woman from earlier creeping toward me. She sat next to me and slid my coffee to me. “Oh, um—.” She held her pointer finger to her lips to discreetly shush me. Then, I watched as she took her journal out and took notes as if she were in the class. I sipped my coffee and smiled. It was perfect. We sat next to each other, taking notes for the duration of the class while she drank a smoothie.

She was peculiar in every way imaginable. She never took her sunglasses off, leaned in to sip her drink without using her hands, and silently clapped whenever someone said something interesting. There was an alienness to her that was so prevalent that her beauty didn’t distract from it. It almost felt like a fever dream to interact with her. When the class ended, she collected her things and left without a word. I followed her, trying to keep up as she rushed across the street and stopped at the park. She sifted through a crowd of children at an ice cream truck, reached into her bag, and handed the ice cream man a sizeable amount of cash. The children cheered as the girl stepped aside and let the kids get their ice creams. After they dispersed, she got her ice cream and pointed in my direction. I assumed she wasn’t talking about me, but there was no denying it once she sat beside me on the bench.

“Do you want the Oreo Klondike or the wonky Spider-Man? Wait… Are you vegan or lactose intolerant?” she asked. I shook my head.

“Thank you… Could I have the weird Spider-Man?” I asked. She giggled and nodded.

“I have that class later in the day… I won’t have to go now,” she explained. I opened my ice cream and started eating. “Do you ever wonder what it feels like to be a child?”

I tilted my head, staring at her, waiting for an explanation. She ate her ice cream, stopping once to clutch her head with brain freeze. The girl pressed her thumb to the roof of her mouth and ate the rest of her ice cream sandwich. I wanted to tell her she was beautiful, but it wouldn’t have meant anything… Not to someone like her. “You say that as if you weren’t a child. Don’t you remember?” I asked. She shook her head.

“Me? Oh, no. I was never a child… Just—. I was younger and smaller,” she whispered, pausing with fingers dancing on her chin. “No… I don’t believe I was a child. I was something else entirely.” I chewed my lip. “Were you a child?”

“I was… I think,” I replied.

She leaned close, lowering her sunglasses until we were almost close enough to kiss. “You probably were… But you don’t remember,” she replied, “Thank you for having an ice cream with me.”

I opened my mouth to tell her something, but she stood up to leave. “Do you have to go?” I asked. She pinched my cheek.

“We’ll see each other again. I’m sure of it,” the girl replied, “And maybe … Maybe you’ll remember what being a child was like… I hope you’ll tell me.”

I nodded, speechless, as I watched her walk away. I finished my ice cream and stared up at the clouds. Something about that exchange felt so genuine and intimate. I didn’t want to forget, so I went over it in my head a million times. After several minutes, I decided to take the streetcar home.

I liked the scenery. The trees and the sunlight through the dirty windows. It was a pretty picture of home. My parents were American, but we grew up in another country, Interla. I’d never known any other place. I watched the city unfold in colors. Blurs of lavender, pink, and greens. I saw murals and beautiful bricks. I saw my world at over one hundred miles an hour… And it was lovely. Meeting that young woman felt like riding in the streetcar. I met her when my mind was going one hundred miles an hour, and before I knew it, our interaction was over.

How do you forget someone who makes you feel that way? How do you go on walking around after meeting someone so uniquely beautiful? There was no one like her. No one that I could think of. It isn’t every day you meet someone who gives you a task you want to follow through on. Not out of mere duty to someone… No.

I wanted to remember childhood in the purest sense to understand her. If I could return to the things that made me smile and laugh as a child, I could understand what she asked of me. I took it seriously. I had to. I was convinced she was curious and that I could win her affection —or attention— by giving her words honest consideration. It was my semi-scientific approach to a peculiar crush. I knew nothing about her outside of the things I observed. She was considerably wealthy. She was a college student… And she was kind. I didn’t know her name, dreams, or aspirations, but I wanted to know. I wanted to know everything there was to learn about her. I desired to unfold her bit by bit like a story. First, I became interested in the look. Then, I noticed the outward quality… And I would later fall in love with the everything. The truth. The person. The flaws that hid behind the cover. I’d never been more in love in my life.

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flywolfwriting · 4 years ago

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Together

Hello! Time for another oneshot. This is inspired by a comic strip done by @10yrsyart a while ago, which you can find here.

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

Armageddon had been averted and Aziraphale and Crowley were just returning to the bookshop to settle in for a night of drinking when the phone rang.

Crowley flopped across his favorite settee while Aziraphale answered, but sat up when he heard the angel say, “How did you get this number?” There was a moment of silence, where Crowley stared intently at Aziraphale, before the angel said, “Well, I suppose it couldn’t hurt... where...? Ah. Yes. Okay, we will be there soon,” and hung up.

“What was that about?” Crowley asked cautiously.

“We’ve been invited to dinner in Taddfield,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley stiffened.

“The Anti-”

Aziraphale shook his head. “That young woman with the book, who you hit with your car, Anathema.”

Crowley blew a raspberry. “She hit me,” he said, and if his voice was a little petulant then that was his business.

His complaint went ignored as Aziraphale collected his coat from where he’d just hung it up and gestured to Crowley to get up.

“Angel-”

“Come on, Crowley. It’s rude to leave her waiting.”

“But we have plans.”

“We can drink together every night of the week if we so desire,” Aziraphale pointed out primly. “It’s not every day we get the chance to meet a descendant of as esteemed a witch as Agnes Nutter.”

“But we’ve already met her!” Crowley whined, dragging himself upright and sulking after his friend. “We’ve met her twice!”

Aziraphale held the door open for Crowley and shooed him out of the bookshop before closing and locking it behind them. “Well yes, my dear boy, but now we can actually talk to her.”

Crowley shoved his hands in his pockets as they made their way to the Bently. “I bet she’s going to be talking to us,” he muttered.

It wasn’t that he really minded going to dinner with someone, but really... he did. There was a reason they avoided extended associations with humans – beyond the business association each of them apparently had with Shadwell, who Crowley had come to find out what scamming him and really he ought to make all of his shoelaces disappear for that. No, they avoided friendships with humans because they always went sour. Humans aged and died, and had a nasty habit of noticing when angels and demons didn’t age, and sometimes they got very burn-at-the-stake-y.

Which Crowley knew from experience. A very, very unpleasant experience. Fortunately, Aziraphale had made a timely arrival and engineered a distraction to get Crowley down.

But back to the point.

Humans were unpredictable, as the last week should have shown. Humans with supernatural powers were even more suspect, and ones that at the very least suspected, and at worst knew, what they were...

Disaster waiting to happen, in Crowley’s opinion.

Never the less, he drove them to Jasmine Cottage with his usual pedal-to-the-metal attitude and satisfied himself with enjoying Aziraphale’s usual complaints.

The girl – Anathema, Aziraphale reminded him – met them outside and greeted them with a warm, if somewhat wary, smile.

Crowley halted before the porch and glowered.

“Whatever is the matter my dear?” Aziraphale asked from the doorway.

“Can’t come in.”

“Whyever not?”

Crowley pointed at the horseshoe over the door.

“Ah,” Aziraphale said with a small wince, then glanced guiltily at Anathema.

“I can take it down for now,” she said, albeit reluctantly, and stepped inside to retrieve a hammer and stool. Crowley wished she’d insisted on leaving it so he’d have an excuse to wait in the car. Or, better yet, go home and make Aziraphale catch the bus or a cab, since he’d insisted on coming out here anyway.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said warmly as Anathema stepped down and placed the horseshoe aside. He looked meaningfully at Crowley, who also mumbled a thank you and followed them inside.

An awkward-looking man was in the kitchen. He looked up and stuttered a greeting. “I’m Newt,” he said as he shook their hands. “I was at the airbase with Anathema when-” his brow furrowed.

“He has a hard time remembering it,” Anathema explained. “I think Adam did something.”

“Hardly difficult to believe,” Aziraphale said. “There are just some things the human mind cannot comprehend. Would you like a hand with dinner?”

Crowley groaned and slunk off to the side to let them finish setting the table.

Dinner itself was mostly uneventful, but Crowley was pleased to find that he was right and Anathema was peppering them with questions about Heaven and Hell and all the things they weren’t supposed to talk about with humans.

Aziraphale, of course, was answering evasively, but still giving her more information than he should have. Crowley, for his part, sat there with his arms folded on the table and tried to keep Aziraphale from wandering too far off topic.

Finally, as midnight drew close, Newt excused himself to bed and the conversation began to wind down.

“So...” Anathema rested her chin on her palm. “Are you two like, y’know...”

Crowley, who had previously been leaned back in his chair, sat up and raised a palm. “No, we’re not ‘together,’” he said before Aziraphale could answer. He didn’t need his best friend feeling awkward after the madness that had been the last week.

“Whatever do you mean, dear?”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale, hand drooping, to find the angel frowning at him. With a jolt Crowley realized what Aziraphale meant and he whipped back around toward Anathema. “I misspoke. We are, in fact, ‘together.’”

Aziraphale finished his tea with a satisfied smile. “Thank you for dinner, Anathema,” he said, standing. “We really must be getting on, but do call if you’d ever like to get together again. Crowley, dear.”

Crowley gave a half-hearted wave to Anathema and followed Aziraphale outside, stomach fluttering and face warm.

Together.

“Honestly, my dear,” Aziraphale said with an exasperated sigh as they pulled into the street. “Six thousand years and you still don’t think...?”

Crowley shrugged. “Didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Aziraphale huffed and took one of Crowley’s hands off the steering wheel to lace their fingers together. “Oh, Crowley.”

It really didn’t feel that out of place, now that Crowley was thinking about it. Quite obvious, really. He felt a little silly. “Yeah, well...” he grinned at Aziraphale and hit the gas.

“Both hands on the wheel!” Aziraphale flung Crowley’s hand back at him and grasped at the seat, eyes clenched shut but a small smile on his face.

Crowley cackled as he accelerated.

Together.

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givemethatgold · 4 years ago

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Fix’er Upper Pt. 4

Pairing: Eventual Frankie Morales x Reader Warnings: Injury, swearing, mentions of ptsd and drug use Length: 2k Notes: Hello my Freaky Darlings! I was watching The Martian while writing this and didn’t edit so bear with me and forgive errors!

Part One, Two, Three

Damn your stubborn pride. Damn it, and your swollen wrist, all to hell. Now that you were back at home, nursing your previously ignored injury, it was easy to forget why you had felt the need to work through the pain. Prime harvesting season was ending and all the old farmers in town were predicting an early frost. Knowing how this would destroy any unpicked apples, you had worked hard all day.

Frankie had grumbled at you once, an hour into the workday when he saw you emptying your half-full basket into one of the tractor-pulled bins. You didn't feel like explaining your stupid injury, or risk drawing his memory to when you eye-fucked him, so you just grumbled back an assurance that your total count would be the same.

He was slightly more attentive than usual, and you were worried he had read more into your glances than you had meant. Because, you still hated the guy, right? His... what was it again? Arrogance? Yes! That was it.

Not wanting to encourage any more misconceptions, and still trying to hide your damn swollen wrist, you worked through your breaks and barely stopped for lunch.

Frankie had finally put his foot down when Jacquie had arrived with stew and biscuits for dinner, forcing you off the ladder and stashing it away to make sure you didn’t get the idea to head up again that day.

You had successfully hidden your swollen wrist from him but knew that Jacquie had a much keener eye. So while you were remiss to leave the company of your friend you begged off dinner, citing exhaustion, and went home.

Now though, with a meal that paled in comparison to Jacquie’s cooking, and your bound wrist on ice, you wished you had stayed.

That is until you remember the moment when you had stared at your boss's lips for an inappropriately long time. With a groan, you decided to leave the dishes for tomorrow, just wanting to bury your head under your blankets and try to bury your embarrassment as well.

The sound of rain pelting against the window woke you a few short hours later. You would have just gone back to sleep but the memory of leaving a few windows open forced you out of bed. By the time you made it downstairs, the gentle rain had turned to a downpour of sleet and you could feel the cold air blowing through the house.

Your mind immediately went to the orchard. If this storm got any worse, a sizeable section of un-picked trees would be rendered worthless. Grabbing your boots and discarded coat off the floor, you rushed to your truck with freezing rain stinging your face. It wasn't until you were near the end of the driveway that you realized you hadn't closed any of the windows.

That wasn't what caused you to slam on the brakes, though. Frankie's truck had just turned down your driveway, fishtailing around the bend as he barely slowed down in his hurry. Seeing you at the last minute, he braked hard but the slush already accumulating on the ground caused him to skid. The impact wasn't hard but your smaller truck wouldn't be road-worthy any longer.

Wrenching your doors open and coming around the assess the damage Frankie was swearing while you were trying to decide whether to laugh or cry.

"What the hell are you doing?" Frankie called to you from across your crumpled hood.

"Me? ME?!" You countered, voice becoming shrill from panic and stress. "What the hell are YOU doing?!"

"Coming you help you and save your damn house from this storm!" He yelled back, giving a little jump and waving his arms out of frustration. It would have been comical under different circumstances. "This is gonna flood your fuckin' house!"

"Your orchard!" You were hollering now "This is going to ruin the rest of the apples!"

Jerking his head back Frankie looked at you with confusion, "What the hell are you worried about them for?"

His query forced you to stop and wonder that for yourself.

"I-" you stuttered, feeling a little silly "I don't know? Are you really going to argue with me though?! We've wasted enough time..."

Heaving a sigh, Frankie jerked his head towards his truck and growled, "Get in."

In a desperate bid to save as much of the fruit as possible, you and Frankie laid tarps down under as many trees as you could. Shaking the branches caused the ripened fruit to fall and you just prayed the rest would survive the sudden storm which had now turned to snow.

Working together you dragged each tarp towards the tractor and took turns driving the filled bins into the barn. It wasn’t a heated cab but still a nice respite from the blizzard.

By five a.m. you had done as much as possible and the adrenaline that had once been surging through the both of you had long faded. The snow had now slowed to a light drizzle but the ground was a slippery, muddy mess, as so were the both of you. Once Frankie noticed the shivers that wracked your body he ushered you into the barn and up the side stairs into his loft.

“It’s not much but it’s enough.” was his way of welcoming you into the space. It was cozy but lacking in luxuries or personal touches.

While Frankie got busy making tea and warming soup in the kitchen you explored the loft. It was one large room broken into three basic areas: his bed in one corner with a small bathroom just off the side, a kitchenette along the opposite wall, and a couch flanked by rocking chairs faced a fireplace at the end. Making your way over to the fireplace you intended on getting a fire going but were distracted by the photos decorating the mantel.

“You served?” Your voice came out sounding loud and strained, not at all the casual way you had intended. Frankie had been gruff with you but never unkind, however, seeing photos of him in uniform instantly raised your hackles. It was an automatic response from being reminded of your husband and you hated it.

Shaking the thought of Brad from your mind, you realized Frankie hadn’t answered and was just standing next to you, staring at the photos with a blank look on his face.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pried” you spoke softly, not wanting to spook him from his reverie.

You had seen that far-off look on your husband’s face when he had been home between tours. It had always been best to stay quiet and out of sight when he had gotten like that.

Frankie took a sudden step in your direction. That movement, mixed with the current memories swirling in the forefront of your brain, caused you to reflexively throw your arms up to cover your face. Hot tea spilled out of the mug Frankie had been passing to you and immediately burned the skin on your hands and arm.

“I’m sorry!” you cry out, immediately, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” Tears were spilling down your cheeks and you had instantly curled up, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

“Shhhhhh, no, nononono, shhhhhh” Frankie was frantically trying to reassure you while simultaneously trying to get close enough to assess how bad the damage to your skin was. He seemed to know that you were feeling unsafe so he made himself small and lowered himself to the floor. “That was completely my fault, right? Can I see?”

Taking a deep, shuddering breath you calmed yourself enough to see the warmth and worry in his eyes. Your heart immediately constricted for an entirely new reason when you noticed his posturing, how he had made himself smaller than you and had his hands out wide where you could see them, waiting for you to show him the severity of the burns.

This man had dealt with PTSD before.

Nodding, you reached out both hands for Frankie to take and tried to swallow the embarrassment you felt from your little breakdown. That emotion was quickly forgotten, however, when Frankie finally got a look at you and noticed, for the first time, just how swollen your wrist was.

“What happened here?” he asked, sternly “Were you working all day like this?”

“It’s nothing,” you assured him, trying to pull your hands out of his firm but gentle grip, “just a little mishap from this morning. Don’t worry, though, I was able to work just fine.”

He let out of huff of frustration. “You think I’m worried about how many apples you picked? Jesus Christ, you must think I’m the biggest asshole around.”

“No,” you said quietly, still trying to calm down but also wanting to relieve the tension, “that title belonged to my husband. You,” you continued, ignoring the way his head snapped up to your face then back down to check your bare ring finger, “are just the biggest grump around and it’s intimidating.”

Frankie was silent again and watched his jaw tic as he digested this new information. He was still staring at your hands, cradled in his. The bright red hue of your skin must have jarred him from his thoughts because he quickly but carefully stood up, pulling you up with him, and ushered you towards the kitchen. As you sat on the counter with cold tap water flowing over your burning skin, Frankie flitted about searching for salves and gauze to protect the skin once it had been sufficiently cooled. You tried to reassure him that you would be fine but he wasn't hearing it.

He was talking now, hadn't stopped rambling, but of nothing consequential. You had a feeling there were a lot of secrets stored in his heart but knew you weren't in a position to be trusted with them. You found yourself wishing that you were. You hadn't realized you were nodding off, the strain of the past 24 hours finally catching up on you, until Frankie had called your name for the fourth time. He was, respectfully, keeping his distance not wanting to startle you again, but hovering close enough by to catch you if you slumped over in your doze.

"Come on," he murmured sleepily, "let me take you home. We're not getting any more work done here for a while so take a few days to rest."

"Oh Christ," you guffawed in a very unladylike manner, "how did I forget?"

"It looks worse in the light of day." Frankie chimed in, ruefully.

The two of you sat in the idling truck staring at the crumpled hood of your poor truck, which was inconveniently blocking your driveway.

"I'll call for a tow."

While he was on the phone he climbed out of the cab, assessing the damage and trying to figure out how much this was going to cost him. A few minutes later he made his way back into the warmth of his truck, "He won't be here till tomor-". Frankie let the sentence trail off once he noticed you'd fallen asleep, bundled up in the fleece jacket he had lent you. Sitting back in his seat, watching the sunrise dance across your face, Frank took a moment to think about everything that had transpired in such a short amount of time.

Closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the seat, he figured he'd let you sleep for a few more minutes before making you wake and have to walk the rest of the way to your house.

"As I live and breath..."

Jacquie's jubilant voice woke the both of you with a start. It was evening and Frankie's truck had been idling in your driveway for nearly 8 hours with the two of you passed out cold in the cab. At some point, you had shifted and were resting against Frankie's chest, his body turned toward yours and his arms wrapped tightly around you.

"Mark!" She continued to yell, "You owe me fifty bucks!"

PART FIVE

#Frankie Morales x Reader #Frankie Catfish Morales x you #triple frontier fanfiction #Frankie morales x you #catfish x reader #frankie catfish morales x reader #catfish x you

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sollucets · 3 years ago

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twcposting advanced special: back half of book 2

mason, it’s very cute of you to acknowledge this and i love masonivy friendship, but like, why were you surprised. ivy is 500000000% team nate in like every possible situation at this point they are fully on the nate train and with ivy this usually means protective violence, so like, (ed: i Meant this rest in rip sanja)

ohhhh. gah that conversation with n and a is super cute what the fuck. “i don’t want your gratitude i want you to be happy” i am actually so much more endeared to a from this route?? this is so sweet. ;u;

sigh. in the most resigned tone possible, n thinks boomer memes are funny. they do don’t they. somewhere in my soul i know it. they have a reasonable chuckle over newspaper comics about people who are obsessed with their phones

n’s route has a Eye Contact thing sure, but i think now that its specific quirk is actually a Hand Thing, isn’t it. wrapping their hand on that first patrol, warming up their hands on the walk, the finger kiss, holding hands all the time, snapping them out of the mirror trance by holding hands... yeah its a hand thing. i gotta think that with ivynate, with the height difference (it’s fully 10 inches, nearly a foot) their hands have gotta be real different sizes too.... ah. tender

seeing the combat scene on this route confirms my earlier suspicions about Hot Sparring Scene, so i’m gonna have to go through this way on the m route.... like. i actively HAVE to. if m doesn’t pin them to the floor and kiss them what is even the point

heehee. i love the “taking advantage of someone’s romantic distraction during sparring” thing....... yes. yes that is where it’s at. that said the height difference makes that description of them back hugging him very funny their nose is going to be like in the middle of his back

m being a little shit to n on this route is So Fuckign Funny compared to n --> m. m is like a Selective Dumbass

im really delighted by ivymason friendship actually. they’re kind of similar, honestly? ivy is a lot nicer, mind, not that that’s a high bar, but they hit back when pushed. i like seeing mason being nice without all the extra romance baggage. it’s cute.

i really liked their nighttime talk except how i couldn’t control the detective going “hey nate have you killed anyone” because..... like..... why would you do that,,,,,, LMAO. also the silly little moisturizer joke i want him to wear a facemask and cucumbers.

“the way that man looks at you could inspire a thousand love poems” oh hell. also i’m fairly certain i’ve Seen sonnets about this lol

i like elidor please don’t let him be evil. he’s the first character i’ve gotten to hug

can’t help but think there’s a missing opportunity after the maalused break all the glass in the living room for injury take care. wouldnt you have glass shards embedded in your hands. fucked up

ivymason do the cannonball special!!!! what a delight. again mason is unreasonably taller than ivy so this definitely works

yeah i mean i hate to fail the mission but there’s fully no world where ivy doesn’t choose their li lmao. it will Never happen

it’s kind of cute a being protective over them against falk. like i understand it’s probably just what happens whether you’re friends or not but a and ivy did not get along for a long time so it’s kinda fun to see them wearing a down

i got the treaty this time! even though sanja died! wild. not sure how i managed that one when i failed with her alive last time. game works in mysterious ways i guess?

that said uh rereading that ambush.... goddammit elidor’s definitely sus, isn’t he. like we know the agency has a leak, specifically about their blood tests, and he took care of them after that.... dammit. :( oh well. at least ivy’s complete and utter trust of him will make for drama should it be true

HELL YEAH FERRIS WHEEL KISS

in conclusion: yes i think i was right to put ivy here. yes nate Does have some ... some edgy shit going on, re: fortune teller and that mysterious “oooh can i tell them everything” thing but i think it needs more emotional damage and that’s exactly what they’re for lmao. it’s... a little less canon i think? or i need to play it a little different. but still godtier i like it. anyway this was nice. had fun. tired now we sleep

#twcposting #cut for 'this is a long post' reasons #gods i sure am talking about m a lot for a post that is hypothetically about ivynate huh #i am so predictable #rowan chatter #i think this is also technically #ocposting #and i am sorry for that

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yeojaa · 4 years ago

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finders keep hers, iii.

read parts one and two! the long awaited conclusion! i’m sorry it turned into a friggin’ novel. i hope it does the first two parts justice, though. these kids are... idiots. i love them and you (and also the best beta reader @hobi-gif)! 💖

pairing. jjk x named f!reader. rating. explicit, ofc. tags. this is... really soft at certain parts. and then really raunchy at others. oops? but fr - mainly fluff with some smut at the end. you might need a filling. wc. 5.4k.

You’re buzzed into the building without a moment’s hesitation, the kind concierge with the gummy smile and greying temples beaming at you as you enter. “Nice to see you, Miss Lee.”

“You too, Mr. Choi.” A grin of your own is offered, gym bag hiked higher over your shoulder as you pause to chat. You’re in no rush. “Is he home?”

“I don’t believe so.” The sudden look of disapproval that colours the older gentleman’s features is almost comical, reminiscent of a disparaging parent. It’s the same expression you’re greeted with nearly every time you visit. “He left in a town car yesterday afternoon and I don’t think he’s been back since. That boy’s going to get himself in trouble one day.” As if Jungkook didn’t already - as if it didn’t follow him around, glued to the bottoms of his Italian leather shoes.

“Tell me about it.”

“You know…” There’s that twinkle in Mr. Choi’s eyes again - the one that tells you he’s about to repeat the same words he always does when he catches you alone. “A nice girl like you could get him to settle down.”

Your response is what it always is - a scoff and a laugh rolled into one. It careens off your tongue, ringing in the spacious lobby. “I don’t think anyone will ever get him to settle down.”

How true that is, you’re not sure. For your sake, you try not to think about it too much.

The old man is undeterred though, shrugging his narrow shoulders beneath the neat uniform he wears. It’s a little loose in the chest but immaculate otherwise, tie knotted in a classic Windsor and collar ironed perfectly. He levels you with that shrewd stare of his but says nothing further, simply engaging you in an unspoken staring contest.

Sometimes, you wonder how much he sees. How much he knows .

You break before he does, tearing your gaze away and blinking rapidly. He laughs, full bellied and deep from the chest. “Get on upstairs, Miss Lee.” You aren’t offended by the dismissal. “It’s always nice chatting with you.”

You remind yourself to bring him chocolates the next time you’re by. The ones with hazelnuts, because those are his favourite. A fact you only know because you’ve helped your best friend pick up a box for him every Christmas, writing the card and having him sign it right before it gets left behind the desk.

Actually, you helped Jungkook with a lot of things. Always had. It was simply the nature of your friendship - passed down by your parents and forged stronger by childhood playdates, your fair share of teenage squabbling, and college hangovers so bad they’d created an unbreakable bond.

Whenever he would need you, you’d be there - whether that meant picking him up at 4 AM from the airport because he wanted “some shitty fast food and to see you” or helping him pick gifts for Mother’s Day. There was no task too small, no moment too inconsequential.

Unconditional love, they called it.

It’s why you have no problem swanning into his apartment with the extra key you’ve had since he moved in, kicking off your trainers and tucking them neatly alongside the rows of black leather and expensive sneakers.

You do so much for him that you take where you can, indulging in all of the luxuries you��ve never been afforded. Unparalleled view, stupidly expensive toiletries, a damn jacuzzi tub .

You pull your sweater over your head - truthfully, one of Jungkook’s from college that you’d never felt inclined to give back - and toss it over the back of a barstool on your way into the guest suite. Your bag follows shortly after, deposited at the foot of the bed that exists as a rotating welcome mat to your and Jungkook’s circle of friends.

The rest of your clothes - sports bra, shorts, thong, socks - are stripped, folded, and tucked into the laundry bag you keep handy. You know you could leave them here and Jungkook’s housekeeper would take care of it, but you’ve never been too comfortable with that. Different upbringings.

The spray is like sweet relief the moment you step beneath the rainforest shower. It’s the perfect temperature and pressure, melting the sweat and tension from your bones.

But it isn't why you’re here, so you make quick work in the glass enclosure, scrubbing your body bare and lathering and conditioning your hair into a squeaky clean mess. Any other time, you’d just spend a good half hour standing beneath the head but you’re feeling particularly indulgent today.

Call it a spa day, courtesy of one Jeon Jungkook.

You don’t bother to dry off, water splashing across the floor as you step from the shower and sink into the spacious tub that overlooks the heart of Seoul. Diptyque bath oil encapsulates the room in a bubble of sweet almond, similarly branded candle burning on the ledge. The jets release a steady stream against your tired back and legs, massaging your limbs into jelly.

You can’t help the sigh of utter relaxation that rolls off your tongue, sinking into water in the same instance your shoulders do.

This is what dreams are made of. Anyone who says differently is an idiot and a liar.

“When are you going to tell her?”

You’re not expecting the voice and it breaks the silence like a thousand pound weight, shattering the calm and nearly startling you enough for you to knock your head on the edge of the tub.

There’s no reason for you to be surprised. Not really. This isn’t your home, after all. You aren’t entitled to any sort of privacy.

It doesn’t matter, though. The discomfort in your chest is unfolding regardless, lodging rocks in your throat.

Because it’s a female voice. Lilting, soft, draped in familiarity. Not someone brand new.

Your heart stutters at the realisation. The rush of blood against your eardrums is so loud you momentarily wonder whether they can hear it all the way in the living room. They must be able to - it’s practically deafening. You can’t even hear the rest of their conversation.

Their conversation .

Which seems to have ended, leaving only silence.

You suddenly remember your shoes, your sweater. Traces of you littered throughout the apartment that isn’t yours. God, you’re an idiot. He was going to kill you - or she was. You’re not sure which is worse.

You’re reaching for the fluffy white towel on the rack when you’re scared near half to death yet again. This time, by your best friend who cuts an imposing figure in the doorway, broad form resting casually against the frame. He looks surprisingly unbothered, curls pushed back from his forehead by a pair of sunglasses and arms folded over his chest.

“Jesus!” The shriek comes four octaves higher than it normally would, pitching into the open so loudly you wince. “You scared me!”

You can’t help the way you peek past his shoulder for a sign of the girl he’d brought home.

“Enjoying yourself?” There’s something amused dancing in the darks of his eyes, his mouth curving around the same emotion as he steps into the bathroom. You’d be bothered if he were anyone else, unnecessarily long legs carrying him to you in three strides.

“I didn’t know you were home.” You can’t quite meet his stare, still far too distracted by the mystery woman. Had he left her on the couch? Maybe his bedroom as he snuck you out? What excuse could he come up with?

“Didn’t know you were home either.”

He’s made himself comfortable right on the ledge of the tub, marked fingers dragging lazily through the still-scalding water. He doesn’t seem terribly in a rush. That puts you on edge.

Was he going to hide you in here?

“I wanted to relax after my run.” You don’t owe him an explanation - not really - but you offer it anyway. You figure you need to, when you might’ve ruined his Sunday morning romp session. You can’t bring yourself to address it, though. The words just won’t come, sitting on the tip of your tongue like thorns. It hurts to swallow.

Jungkook doesn’t further the conversation - a first for him. He’s normally a chatterbox.

The silence stretches on. Suffocating.

You force yourself to speak, staring down at your hands that are slowly pruning beneath the water. “Should I… go?” The way it comes is feeble, soft, uncertain. You hate it.

By the look of surprise on his face, he does, too. He cackles suddenly, like a goddamn witch. “Why?”

Heat floods across your cheeks. You wish you could blame it on the bath or the steam that still collects on the mirrors. It pulls high over your ears, colouring them tomato red and embarrassed. Surely, he knows why.

When he repeats himself, it’s harder, without any of the laughter from before.

Rather than answer, you wave a hand through the air, fingers wiggling. The universal sign for you know . It should be enough - you hope it’s enough. Your ego won’t let you verbalise it.

“Suddenly mute, baby?”

It isn’t quite mocking - teasing, maybe - but it stokes the fire that burns in the pit of your stomach and licks uncomfortably at the organ in your chest. You don’t even look at him as you nearly spit the words, petulant and far more bothered than you should be. “You’ve got a girl here.”

A laugh that isn’t quite a laugh comes, swathed in velvet and coloured blue. The effort you make to not shoot him a glare is herculean.

He’s still snickering when he speaks. “You mean my sister?”

“Your sister?” It’s more surprise at yourself that has you whipping to look at him, bewilderment tossing all other emotion out the window. Because his sister was practically your sister. How had you not recognised her voice? You feel silly all at once, the embarrassment from earlier fading into reticence.

“Yeah. I spent the night babysitting the twins.”

You sometimes forget how much Jungkook loves children - especially his sisters’. It’s hard to reconcile the family man he effortlessly transforms into when he spends most of his waking hours playing the perfect part of unaffected bachelor.

“How are they?” You ask because you care - you adore Minseo and Minhyuk - but also so you can move the conversation along. The last thing you want to do is dwell on your mistake.

“They’re good. Getting big.” He’s got that smile on his face - the one that’s softer than any other, with deep lines at the corners of his eyes. Reserved especially for the people he cares about most. Your favourite sight. “You can come with me next time. Minnie asked about you, anyway.”

Warmth blossoms in your chest.

Being liked by peers? Great. Being respected by your superiors? Rewarding. But being loved by children? It was in a league all its own - better than ice cream on a hot day.

“Sure.” You can’t keep the grin away.

That is, until he speaks again, circling the conversation back. “So, were you jealous?” His ability to piss you off is uncanny. It’s like it’s written into his genetic code, each molecule of his body tasked with ruining your day.

“No.” It’s meant to be a scoff. It’s not very believable.

“You sure, princess?” The fingers on your chin are wholly unnecessary - he’s got you caught in his stare, locked in place with nowhere to go.

“Yes, Bunny .” You know how much he hates the nickname, only tolerating it because it’s you. You can’t deny the pleasure that comes at the sight of his jaw tensing, muscle jumping in agitation. Just as he’s your weakness, you’re his, too. “Now let me finish—”

He cuts you off, sharp and unrelenting: “Get out.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Get out of the tub or I’m pulling you out myself.” Risen to his full height, he’s an imposing figure. Even worse, there’s something you can’t read in his expression - something that has your nerves firing wildly. Your heart rattles around in your chest, uncertain.

He leaves you without another word.

You scramble out of the bath as quickly as your confused limbs allow you, knotting the towel beneath your arms. You’re not quite sure what to do next, caught between pulling your clean clothes out of your workout bag and demanding an answer from your sphinx of a best friend.

What the hell was his problem?

Your impatience wins out as you’re tugging a brush through your hair, fumbling uncharacteristically through knots until you’re too frustrated to continue. You’re ready to tear into him when you storm out of the guestroom; you’ve got a barrage of insults on your tongue, proverbial gun cocked and ready to unload.

They melt away when you spy him on the couch, neatly wrapped bouquet laid across the coffee table.

“Come here.” It’s not a request so much as a demand - commanding and soft all at once. A small part of you wants to fire off a rebuttal; that part dies when he repeats himself, louder this time.

The seat you take beside him is begrudging, a good foot of space held between your bodies. You fiddle with the hem of your towel, turning a loose thread over and over your index finger.

“What?” It’s snippy, discontent - kerosene on the fire that burns beneath Jungkook’s skin.

“Watch it,” he retorts, though there’s no acid to his words. Frankly, he sounds more frustrated than angry, more exasperated than pissed off.

That makes one of you.

Only he can bring out this side of you - brusque and biting. “ You watch it, Bunny.”

Fingers find the bridge of his nose, a gesture you don’t see very often. Guilt blooms behind your ribcage as he rubs at the tension between his eyes. For someone who has it all, he looks like he’s a moment away from losing it.

“You’re a brat, you know that?”

“Takes one to know one,” you retort, not unkindly.

“You’re making this really hard,” he snaps in the same instant he all but throws the overwhelming bunch of flowers at you.

You nearly drop them you’re so surprised.

“What are these for?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Did I stutter?”

If you weren’t so busy studying the arrangement of florals, you’d have some witty comeback. As it stands, you’re preoccupied by the pretty bunch of peonies and tulips. You wonder what he’s done wrong - why he’s found it necessary to soften the blow with your favourite flowers.

Your thoughts drift back to his sister’s words: when are you going to tell her?

All at once, you want nothing more than to leave. You don’t want whatever heartbreak is about to come. You’re not ready for it.

“Listen—”

He cuts you off, again. “I love you.”

You’re not sure how your face looks. You imagine you could look up flabbergasted in the dictionary and you’d find a photo of your expression right now. “What?”

Jungkook won’t quite look at you, intently focused on an indiscernible point against the far wall. When he speaks the words again, they’re full of uncertainty - but not in the way you expect. The confession is as believable as any you’ve ever heard - he really does sound like he loves you - but somehow, it’s draped in dread and held aloft by hummingbird wings. “I love you.”

He’s nervous, you realise in amazement.

“Come again?”

He meets your stare then, brow knitting with unease. He doesn’t say it again, though.

“Are you messing around with me?” You don’t mean it how it comes - a little accusatory.

“I’m not an asshole.” Except both of you know he certainly can be. You don’t call him on it, though, opting instead to peer curiously at him, hands fisted around the bouquet in your lap. “I talked to my sister. She…” He shrugs once, an almost helpless roll of his shoulders. “She told me I was an idiot.”

You’re not surprised by that. Lina had always been the one to give it to him straight.

“She said I would lose you if I didn’t get my shit together.” There’s a bit of childish petulance that works its way into each syllable - he hates being told what to do. “Said I needed to tell you or I’d regret it. Which is stupid, because we’ve been best friends forever and she’s younger than me so what does she know—” He must realise he’s rambling, something he never does. “But—”

“But?” Quiet, hopeful, coaxing.

There’s a warmth in your chest - illuminating and golden and so bright it hurts to think about. It grows with each moment that passes, spurred on by the look in his eyes and how they find yours.

Hesitation pulls the silence a beat too long. The light wanes. You wonder if the moment has passed.

And then he continues, a little more earnestly. “Was she right? Am I going to lose you?”

You’re not entirely sure what he’s asking. You don’t think he even knows what he’s asking. You try to answer anyway, as honest as you can without pinning your heart directly on your sleeve. “You’ll never lose me.”

“You know what I mean.”

Did you? “You’ll never lose me.” You’re the one repeating yourself this time, just that bit harder.

“Then say it.” Again, not a request. A prayer, perhaps. Ardent and needy - a world away from the Jeon Jungkook you know.

You don’t hesitate. “I love you.”

He doesn’t either - upon you so quickly you don’t have time to blink or think.

How he kisses you now feels different. More . It’s like being consumed entirely - changed from the inside out in ways you never thought possible. Where he touches, sparks fly, filling you like stars in the night sky. Lava rolls over every inch, dragging heat and want and need from the soles of your feet to the tip of your nose. You’re gasping rather than breathing, clawing against the front of his shirt and twining your fingers into the strands that curl over his nape.

“You never told me you could kiss like that.” It’s lacking coherence, made by a partial inhale and wild, wondrous eyes.

His response is a laugh and another kiss, forceful and adoring and utterly devastating. “Shut up,” he mouths against your lips, tongue licking over your teeth and gums like he’s trying to memorise every inch of you. Hands follow in the same amorous motions, tugging and pulling and aching for you closer; the tips of his fingers sear white hot heat over your hips, the small of your waist, the delicate bones of your ribcage.

“I’m serious...” You really are - far more than you should be. You’d been missing out on this ? It’s incomprehensible.

The sound he makes is more of a growl, playful and resounding in the cavern of his chest. It rattles your own, sending your heart on a downward spiral into the pit of your stomach. His nose traces the column of your throat, soft lips guiding him further until he’s mouthing hotly over the bare skin of your shoulder. Tongue teases, delves ever so gently into the dip of your collarbone, and swipes back up, laving over the maroon that peeks around the edge of his teeth. You can’t help but keen, holding him so closely you wonder if you’re suffocating him.

“So am I.” Each syllable is punctuated by another nip, another nibble. It seems like his goal is to bloom roses across your skin - a wreath to welcome him home, made by his own touch.

You don’t mind.

“Say it again,” he demands, hopeful and unashamed from his place against your neck.

The admission comes easily, as if it’s always lived on the tip of your tongue. “I love you.”

“Again.” You’re not ready for the way he stares at you - like he’s never done before. Like he’s seeing you for the first time and he’s awestruck. “Say it again.”

“I love you.” Hands find the familiar contours of his face, thumbs brushing over the hollows of his eyes, over the beauty mark that sits front and centre beneath his lip. Each graze follows a repetition of the confession, as if you might burn the three simple words beneath his skin - write it into his DNA like he’s written into yours. “I love you. I love you. I love you, Bunny .”

He holds you close - so tightly it feels almost as if he’ll crush you - and captures your mouth again. It’s more gentle but just as lovesick. A thousand unspoken words spill from his tongue to yours, swallowed whole with greed you don’t bother to hide.

“I need you.” It’s whiny, framed by a pout that could end wars and paired with doe eyes so wide and innocent you almost want to roll your own.

“You have me.”

“Do I?” There’s a very deliberate roll of his hips, denim of his jeans rough against the exposed softness of your inner thighs, hands manoeuvring over the partially covered swell of your hips. The press of his fingers is purposeful, digging tension into every inch. As if he might transfer some of the unadulterated need that thrums through his veins, turning his heart to jelly and brain to mush.

“Since when do you ask?” You have a point.

“You’re right,” his grin is almost lazy, drawing over his mouth in a measured crawl. “Good girls just do what they’re told, right?” His grips tightens almost imperceptibly, holding you to him almost effortlessly. You’ve been in this position a hundred times before but it’s never been this easy - like breathing.

The gasp you offer is all mock affront, hand laid palm-down across your chest. You don’t miss the way his gaze follows it before ticking lower, unabashed in its admiration. “Are you saying I’m not?”

“Don’t know, baby.” The war on your neck has resumed, teeth traded seamlessly for the softer promise of his tongue, the dry brush of his lips. It’s almost sinful, garnering sighs of affection and need from somewhere low in your throat. “Want to be a good girl for me?”

You’re not quite used to this version of him - playful and needy and not nearly as demanding as usual. A part of you wants to draw out the side of him you know is there, hidden just beneath the surface; the other wants to bask in this, all feather soft and cotton candy sweet.

“Always,” you return, with a coquettish smile and fluttering lashes.

“Always,” he murmurs, tasting it for the first time. He sounds almost giddy when he repeats it once, then twice, then a third time for good measure. You think it’ll come again, laughter rolling off your tongue as you stare into the eyes of the boy you love. Instead, he speaks in a voice full of gravel and grit, all traces of your sunshine boy suddenly swallowed whole by the darks of his pupils. “Fuck - I can’t wait to have you.”

“Then what’re you waiting for?” You don’t need to push him. You like to do it anyway. It feels right .

“You’re the worst.” What Jungkook means is you’re the best and I love you and I’m going to fuck you six ways into next week . What he means is this is the scariest thing he’s ever done but it’s all right because he has you. What he means is thank you - and how he shows it is through worship.

On the way to the bedroom, he crowds every inch of you, holding you so closely you wonder if he’s trying to carve himself into your bones. He’s firm and unrelenting, balancing you against his chest as he smothers every available inch of your shoulders in sweet, sloppy kisses. He revels in the way you cling to him like you’ve never needed anything else.

In his bed, he lays you out and strips you bare. He offers devotion with every pass of his fingers, every trail of his tongue. He wants you so badly it’s hard to focus on giving you everything you deserve, but he tries anyway. He sucks love into your neck and over your breasts, pinching your nipples between his fingers until you’re panting and he’s aching for the same treatment.

On his knees, he prays at the altar of your body, taking his time to map the constellations on your skin, the memories written into each scar and dot. His tongue follows the raised flesh that sits across your hip - an unfortunate mishap from a schoolyard dare. You whine and he nearly cries, soothing over the sensitive spot with hands and lips and tenderness. He lays kisses on each freckle, each irregular mark. From your navel to your knee and everywhere in between, he caresses and comforts, turning those blemishes into stars.

He also teases - subtly, quietly, with wandering hands and focused breaths. You don’t realise it until it’s too late, your insides molten, your pulse a thunderclap in your ears.

“Jungkook.” It sounds more like begging than anything. Exactly what he wants.

“What’s up, princess?” Spoken so casually, as if he isn’t between your legs, long fingers tracing through the slick that coats your thighs. He gazes up from behind too long strands, all wide-eyed and terribly sweet - until he pops a digit into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks around the taste of you. “Something wrong?”

“Stop teasing.” You hear yourself whine but it doesn’t quite sound like you, higher pitched and needier than you’ve ever been.

“I thought you were going to be good for me,” he returns with a tut and a push of that same finger deep into your cunt. He flexes it experimentally, beaming up at you when you clench around the intrusion that’s too much and not even close to being enough all at once. “You’re so wet, baby. I just slide right in.”

As if to drive his point home, he drives another finger in, scissoring them languidly to stretch you open. It’s such a pretty sight, messy and inviting. He can’t resist a taste, dragging the flat of his tongue over and around the fingers that continue to fuck into you at a faster pace.

“ Jungkook! ” You’re shrieking, bucking against the onslaught of sensations. A shapely arm immediately cages you against the bed, palm splayed across your hips.

“Stay still.” It’s a growl, teeth bared against the sensitive pearl between your legs. Words are punctuated with the softest pressure - a silent threat that goes no further. You wonder what he’ll do if he has to repeat himself. “Good girls listen, remember?”

You’re fumbling across his shoulders, nails digging crescents everywhere you can reach. You need him so badly it hurts . “Please.”

“Please what?” That patented, stupid smirk cradles his mouth, tongue peeking out as he stares at you expectantly. “If you’re going to be so demanding, at least use your words.” He watches the way your eyes roll back into your head when he slots another finger in with the others and curls them against that particular spot that has you seeing stars. The bastard has the audacity to coo at you. “What’s wrong, baby? Can’t speak?”

You’re near wailing, gasping and whining around words that sound like his name. Angry red lines sprout across his shoulders, his arms - demands carved into flesh.

He makes a sound, wistful and resigned. You think - try to think, beyond the pleasure that’s building steadily in the pit of your stomach - that he’s finally going to give you what you need. You’re almost crying for it, moisture crowding your lashes and threatening to spill over.

Then he withdraws, all at once.

You could scream. In fact, you do, red in the face and chest heaving. “I hate you!��

“No.” He’s upon you in an instant, insistent and terribly smug. There’s a playground in his smile, childish laughter spilling into the spaces between you. “You actually love me.” He noses at your neck, the heat of his palm searing against your side as he sighs almost dreamily. “Say it again.”

You answer him with something more than love - frustration and annoyance and so much devotion you can’t keep it out no matter how hard you try. “No.”

It’s a challenge more than anything. He knows it; you know it.

He accepts it readily, just as you expect him to.

“Say it.” Enamel presses steady, heavy, into the sensitive spot right beneath your ear. He mouths over the skin that blows out red and inviting beneath his ministrations, the firm press of his fingers gripping you without hesitation. You can feel the entire weight of him against you, length nestled comfortably against your core. He repeats himself as he rocks against you, dragging the swollen, leaking head of his cock through your folds with an agonising slowness that has you clenching around nothing. “Come on, baby.”

You’re keening, adjusting your hips and grinding against him. You still won’t say it, hoping to find a rhythm in the quiet that’s punctuated by your laboured breaths and his occasional laughter.

“Just say it and I’ll give you what you want. I’ll give you everything. Promise, sweetheart.”

Framed against the late morning sun, hair spilling across his forehead in curls of india ink, he’s so handsome your heart leaps into your throat. “I love you.” It’s a wet confession, carried by a wave of emotion you don’t expect.

“I love you,” he echoes, sinking into you so gradually you feel like you’re caught in slow motion, all of your focus balanced on the tip of a needle.

It’s never been like this before. Each inch is a delicious stretch, filling you and claiming you. The drag is incredible, your walls fluttering around the intrusion and aching for more. You bite back a sob, digging into the wide expanse of his back with your nails as your mouth seeks purchase anywhere it can - over his jaw, up his neck, across his shoulders. He soothes you as he presses deeper, reassurances whispered against your temple.

“I’ve got you, baby. Let me make you feel good.” When he bottoms out, you demand more - somehow, somehow - locking your ankles against the small of his waist. He doesn’t miss the way you clench, so tight around him it almost hurts , when he says those three words once again. “I love you.”

His lips find yours and he brushes them over and over - a salve for the burn he ignites beneath your skin. It doesn’t matter that he’s both the calm and the chaos. Jungkook’s always been everything to you.

The rhythm he sets is unhurried and perfect. Each snap of his hips has his cock dragging against your walls, filling and stretching you so well; everywhere his skin brushes yours, you’re alive. There are a million nerve endings going haywire beneath your skin, flashing bright as holiday lights.

That’s what it’s like - Christmas morning . Picture perfect and filled with wonder.

He’s completely smitten when he draws back just enough to see the entirety of you - your fucked-out expression, the rose-wreath he’s wrought around your neck, the sweat that beads between your tits and tempts him to duck his head. “I love you.” It’s almost hypnotising - watching you take him, pussy dripping and needy around his cock.

“I love you,” you parrot back - or try to. It’s not very coherent, driven to a point of nonsense when his hips begin to stutter and he makes up for the loss of rhythm by slipping his fingers over your clit in circle eights.

You’re at your breaking point. He knows - can read you like the back of his hand - and holds you there, back bowing to kiss you breathless, pressure unrelenting against the bundle of nerves.

“That’s it, princess. Right there.”

The coil snaps at the third pass and there are hot tears streaming down your cheeks, his name spilling off your tongue in tandem with the erratic thudding of your heart. White spots your vision, entire body electrified as you crash headlong into an abyss of bliss. You hear him join you with a hoarse whine, a mix of your cum slipping out of you as he rides out his own high with shallow thrusts, mouth open and panting against your shoulder.

The comedown is hazy, dusted in exhaustion and a thin sheen of sweat. When he slips from you, he doesn’t go far, tugging you comfortably against his side like you’re not both a little gross. It’s not the first time you’ve fucked but it feels different.

“I love you, baby.”

“I love you, Bunny.”

You realise - it feels exactly like that. Making love.

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problematicfavesareproblematic · 4 years ago

Text

The Splendor of These Exploding Skies (Yet All I See Is You)

Chuck Grant x Reader

Warnings: SMUT, drug use to combat PTSD (also y’all’re in California and weed just happens sometimes I’m sorry but it’s very true), light angst, light jealousy, fluff bc I’M FEELING LONELY AND COULD USE SOME CUDDLES, fireworks (both literal and metaphorical).

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Even after knowing and loving you for almost half a decade at this point, Chuck Grant still found himself in awe of how beautiful you were.

Despite the fact that for the first year at Toccoa the two of you hadn’t been able to stand being in each other’s presence for more than five minutes at a time- he still was able to acknowledge how attractive he found you. If anything, that awareness only added to his resentment of you and anything to do with you.

You were too easy on the eyes to be as annoying as he found you. It just wasn’t fair.

In hindsight, he’d made a complete ass of himself during your first interaction- he’d been too drunk and too confident in his abilities to sweet talk women and too hyped up from his friend’s encouragement when he’d decided to make a move on you. Chuck couldn’t remember exactly what he’d said, but what he did remember was putting his hand on your ass and being slapped so hard his ears were left ringing for the next few days.

And, because he was young and cocky, he’d immediately labeled you as a prude and made it his mission to hate your guts. Even though he knew that he was in the wrong. Because that’s just how he was back then.

Had anyone asked Chuck then if he’d one day willingly share a home with you, let alone a bed, he probably would’ve punched them in the mouth. He imagined your response would’ve been similar.

My, how far the two of you had come.

Chuck leaned against the doorframe at the mouth of your bedroom, crossing his arms across his chest and smiling at the sight before him. As much as he knew that you got embarrassed by his open admiration, he still couldn’t find it within himself to curb this bad habit.

The vision of you at ease was a sight to behold- especially after seeing you on edge for years on end.

Right now, you were sprawled on top of the bed the two of you had bought a month ago, dressed in one of your old stretched-out t-shirts and thick-knit socks and a pair of black underpants that showed the cute divet where your buttcheek met your thigh (a part of you that you also scolded him for paying so much attention to). The window towards the foot of the bed was open and the cool air from the ocean delicately tossed the finer strands of your hair around your head, the lights of the city at night making each hair glow like some radiant halo.

All of the lights in the bedroom were off, the skyline illuminating the room in a warm blue cast that never failed to make him feel at ease. Your head was propped up on your hand as you gracefully brought your joint to your lips and took a deep drag, tapping the train of ash onto the clay plate you’d made at a pottery class sometime before the war. Purple grey smoke slipped through your parted lips attractively, and Cuck felt his chest ache at the knowledge that only he got to see you like this.

“Are you going to stand there like a creep all night, silly boy?”

When Chuck refocuses, he realizes that you can see his silhouette reflected in the window’s glass, and he can hear the teasing smile in your voice. Stubbing out the smoldering joint onto the plate, he watches you press yourself up onto your elbow and turn to look over your shoulder at him.

He bites back a smile of his own as he hits the light switch in the hallway so the room is entirely dark, closing the door softly behind him as he starts to toe off his shoes.

“Sorry, Dollface,” he says in faux seriousness, using the terrible pet name he’d called you the first night he’d met you. “Got distracted by the view…”

You snort a laugh at that, turning back to look out the window and shaking your head.

“Careful, buddy- my boyfriend’s got a mean right hook.”

He rolls his eyes despite the fact that he knows you can’t see it, stripping down to his shirt and boxers and coming to join you.

“I don’t know,” he grumbles. “I’ve heard you’ve got a nasty backhand as well.”

Using his hands to map out where your legs are, he carefully fits himself behind you like a familiar and comforting puzzle piece. While the side effects of his head injury were relatively minor compared to the severity of the wound, he still wasn’t always able to trust his eyes when it came to their depth perception. You didn’t seem to mind his way of accommodating this certain handicap.

You weren’t shy to admit how much you liked his hands on you.

With the sort of ease that only comes from years of routine, you turn your head at just the right time for him to pluck a kiss from your lips, the taste of chocolate and cannabis on your lips. Chuck lets his legs tangle with yours as he rests on his elbow beside you, bringing his other hand up to cup the back of your head and keep your lips on his for a few moments longer. When you hum happily, he can’t help but smile.

He knows that today is difficult for you- the noise and the bright light and the cool bay breeze bringing back memories of foxholes and biting frost and heartbreaking exhaustion. You didn’t smoke weed often, even less now that you’d been out of the military for a few years, so he knew that when you did that you just wanted to not remember for a little while.

You wanted to forget the bad and go back to the days when these festivities brought you joy and wonder. Chuck got that. The desire to shut it all off and just live was too familiar to him.

And if you were willing to be there for him, he’d be damned if he didn’t do the same for you.

Pulling back, he lightly presses his fingers to the base of your skull, chuckling warmly when you nearly moan in relief.

“Hey there.”

You slowly open your eyes at his greeting, gaze open and slightly lethargic.

“Hey yourself,” you say with a sigh. “I missed you today.”

Chuck knew what you meant. After living together day in and day out for so long, coming home and establishing lives and routines of your own had initially been difficult. He’d felt bad about leaving you this morning, knowing how difficult this day in particular was for you.

“Such a sap.”

Your easy expression twists into a comical scowl, your eyes rolling as you turn back to the window and make a sound of annoyance.

“Of all the idiots who propositioned me, I had to go and pick the most obnoxious—”

Chuck freezes at that, furrowing his brow in surprise and using the hand on the back of your head to gently fist a handful of your hair and turn you back to face him.

‘I’m sorry, what did you just say?”

Your eyes scan his face before a slow smile breaks across your lips, clicking your tongue admonishingly at whatever it was that you saw.

“Charles Grant, as I live and breathe,” your voice has taken on a wicked quality, one that he both loves and hates at the same time. “Is that jealousy I detect?”

He frowns at that, hating how well you can read him- even in your slightly intoxicated state.

When he doesn’t reply right away, you purposefully lift your backside and press it against his stirring cock. God, you knew how to irritate him- you could be such a brat sometimes.

Luckily, he had learned long ago the most effective way of curbing your obnoxious provocations.

Tightening his grip on your hair infinitesimally, you let him crane your head back and hiss quietly at the sweet sting of it.

“Y/N, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you were trying to make me jealous.”

You smirk, wetting your lips before rolling your hips against him once again.

“Me? I’m just being honest- you can’t truly think you were the only one to make a move….shoot your shot, if you will….”

Chuck feels heat curl in his stomach, shaking his head at your insinuation. When he angles your head to bite at the lobe of your ear, you tremble beneath him with excitement- your antagonizing behavior had become a strange turn on somewhere between Alderborne and Normandy.

“Who?”

You said nothing, your breath hitching in your throat as you feel the press of him against your backside. You knew how much he hated when you did that- knew how frustrated your silence made him. It’d been your silence that had led him to kiss you for the first time- the arrogant way you’d held your tongue to his baiting teases driving him so crazy he was willing to risk your wrath just to get a response from you.

With an angry sigh, he fixes you with a glare.

“Fine. Don’t tell me. I know how to get what I want out of that pretty mouth.”

Chuck swears he sees a self-satisfied glint in your eye, but before you can revel in your mirth he pulls away from you and makes you whine.

“Chuck, don’t go—oh!”

The feeling of his hands gripping your ass tears a gasp from your throat, your head bowing into the mattress as he grips your hips and pulls them up so he can reach beneath you and squeeze your sex possessively. As expected, you’re wet and warm for him- a confirmation of your desire for more.

His name sounds sweet on your tongue, your voice muffled in the soft down of the comforter as you arch into his touch. Chuck’s mouth waters at the sight of your shirt’s hem sliding up your spine and revealing the bare skin of your back to him, and he doesn’t hesitate to press hot kisses to the newly revealed skin by your hip bones.

“How about this, Sweetheart?” he asks innocently, using the hand not rubbing at your sex to yank your underwear down your thighs. “I’ll give you a name, and you tell me if they were stupid enough to try something with you, hm?”

Your groan is unintelligible and unclear but when he looks down the slope of your back he sees you nodding vehemently.

God, you were perfect.

Using his index and ring finger, he holds open the petals of your sex and begins to play with your clit.

“Luz?”

Even with your face in the blanket, he can make out your scoff of ‘no’. Good. he hadn’t thought so, but it still made him glad to hear it.

“Shifty?”

One of your hands swats at his thigh, and you turn your face so you can make your words clear.

“Charles, you were there when Shifty accidentally saw me changing- what do you think?”

Chuck chuckles at the memory of that- the poor kid had been so embarrassed that he’d nearly run into a wall in his attempt to escape the ‘improper sight’.

When you open your mouth to say something else, CHuck smacks your ass and your words are lost in a yelp of surprise.

“Chuck—”

“Bull?”

“No. Obviously no, geez…”

He goes through the roster of Easy Company, getting the obvious ‘no’s out of the way: Buck, Winters, Sink, Strayer, Sobel, Blithe, Lipton, Speirs, Welsh. With each negative response, he lets you roll yourself against his hand- the sight of you so desperate for him working him up so high that he knew he was going to have to get inside of you soon.

The first ‘yes’ you gave was for Talbert, which earned you a bite on the curve of your buttcheek despite the fact that Chuck had already figured as much. Same went for Christenson- which he’d known already because he and Pat had first bonded over the fact that you’d rejected both of their advances.

Then came the first surprise- Nixon.

“What?! Are you serious? Lewis Nixon?”

“Does that piss you off, Silly Boy?”

Your tone is teasing, but there’s a hint of genuine curiosity in your voice that catches him off guard.

It did, actually- piss him off, that is. Chuck didn’t want to think too hard about why.

Not when this little game of yours just started to get interesting.

With another resounding smack to your backside, Chuck grips himself in his fest and coats his cock with the slick from your sex that had soaked his fingers. The idea of you with someone like Nix simultaneously inspired rage and pride in his chest- anger at the concept of a married man, your SO, looking at you in a way that was less than professional and pride at the fact that you’d still chosen him despite Nix’s advances.

“Chuck,”

When he looks back at you, he sees that you’re looking over your shoulder at him with desperation, your face flushed with arousal and subsequent denial.

“I want you, please don’t make me wait anymore…”

Well, he never had been very good at making you wait.

The sound you make when he slips inside of you almost has him bursting right then and there- the sound so broken and full of want and lewd promise that it almost hurts him to hold himself back. Your hand has reached up and behind your head to grip his hair, pulling him down and over you in a haunting pantomime of how he’d covered you from enemy fire in the hellish woods outside of Foy.

You’re chanting his name like a prayer, babbling as you slip into a state of carnal bliss. When he kisses you it’s desperate and messy but you are still craning your head back at an angle that must be painful in order to continue it.

All jealousy takes a back seat to the feeling of this- your skin under his hands and your breath on his lips and the squeeze of you around him. It doesn’t matter, none of those other men and their understandable attraction to you matters because you are undeniably his.

You chose him- you chose him when he was the picture of health and when he was nearly dead on an operating table. You’d held his hand as he healed and you’d taken him as your husband in a shelled out Austrian church with a priest and Ron Speirs and God as your witnesses.

You were his, and that was all because you wanted to be.

His throat feels tight with emotion as he slowly thrusts in and out of you, resting his forehead between your shoulder blades as you cry for more- taking each rough rut of his hips into yours with a beautiful moan and a challenge for another.

Sex with you was more than a physical release, it’s a renewal of unspoken vows of devotion and dedication despite the knowledge that neither of you had escaped your war unscathed. His promise that he’d be yours each and every night when the horrors of memory plagued your dreams, and your reassurance that you saw him for more than his experiences, his trauma.

It was more than he ever could have hoped for in this life. Pre and post war.

Your chest vibrates beneath his, and when he is finally able to refocus he realizes that you’ve been trying to talk to him.

“Look!”

The fireworks show has begun, the bursts of light looking magical and surreal over the glass surface of the bay. It’s beautiful, and he knows that despite your fear of the sound of explosives you cannot help but find yourself entranced by its splendor as well.

Chuck turns his face so he can see the reflection of your face in the mirror, the fireworks making the drawn pleasure on your face clear and coloring you in its brilliance.

When he makes you come apart beneath him, you’re awash in purple light and infinitely more glorious than the celebration outside. The bite of your nails into the meat of his thigh sends him tumbling into pleasure right behind you, and when he squeezes his eyes shut he feels like a firework himself- hot and infinite and sparkling in the cold air coming through the open window.

Your body is quaking beneath him, the electricity of your orgasm still dancing through you and making you clench around him painfully every so often.

Blind from his own pleasure, Chuck moves his hands up your sides to get a feel for where you are, repositioning his weight so he isn’t crushing you with his boneless body. The boom of the next firework shakes through his chest, and as he feels you coming down he smooths your hair from your face clumsily.

“You married me.” his voice sounds far away, his mind just as lost as he reminds himself of the most important part of his life. “You married me and you make me happier than I can say.”

The feeling of your lips kissing his palm has him opening his hazy eyes to take in your state of disarray. You were looking at him with more love than he had ever thought to wish for, and when you nod it brings tears to his eyes.

“Happy Fourth of July, Chuck Grant.”

Lifting his gaze, he looks back out of the window, where the firework show is coming to an end and soon the two of you will be left with the warm blue light once more.

You were right. This was a happy Fourth of July.

~ ~ ~

THIS IS JUST OKAY AND I UNDERSTAND THAT BUT THANK YOU FOR READING IT ANYWAY!

Taglist: @mrseasycompany @itswormtrain @mrsalwayswrite @happyveday @sunsetmando @teenmagazines @liebgotttme

#band of brothers imagines #band of brothers x reader #chuck grant x reader #chuck grant imagines

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itsonlystrange · 4 years ago

Text

First off, I am not sending hate to any Mileven shipper. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion. I will only be providing actual facts and evidence, and hopefully will be staying relatively unbiased. As always, this is a PRO-BYLER account. If you do not ship Byler you do not have to read all the way through :).

This will be a 2 part series. The first part will address MILEVEN and how they will not be endgame. The second part will address the likely hood of BYLER being endgame.

So, I’ve been sucked into the Mileven side of Instagram after liking ONE Mileven edit, which is besides the point. Recently I’ve noticed a lot of people say that “They were love at first sight!” Or that “Why would they break up now if they’ve had 3 seasons of development?!” So I’m going to go ahead and supply you all with:

MILEVEN VS BYLER.

PART ONE (MILEVEN)

To start off with the first statement, “They were love at first sight!”

May I remind you how utterly mortified Mike was when he found Eleven. As any 12 year old boy would be. He did not give her any form of “heart eyes”. He looked genuinely scared. He took her home as a courtesy, not because he was “madly in love with her!”. Obviously not everyone would take home a random 12 year old bald girl, but El being taken to the Wheelers was not meant to be seen as a romantic gesture, it was literally just a plot device for the Kids to figure out she had powers.

May I also remind you that Mike wanted to get rid of her. He stated multiple times that she was just a weapon, and a device to find Will. He only let her stay BECAUSE she knew who Will was. He was fully ready to let her go, and send her back to wherever she came from. In the end of it all, he only cared about Will and finding Will. El was simply used as a device to find him. Obviously, now, I do think Mike cares about El. But not in a romantic way, more so a “cute puppy way”. I think he loves her, but that he’s not IN LOVE with her, romantically.

The show has shown constantly how horribly they work together. El’s most confident and prideful moments were when she was AWAY from Mike. Mike’s most loyal and selfless moments was when he was AWAY from El. They do not compliment eachother like that.

Second of all, they have nothing in common. In season one when Mike was explaining his figurines to El, she looked genuinely disinterested. Now some may say that this could be because she didn’t quite understand what she liked back then, which just further proves that she shouldn’t be in a relationship! If she can’t decide if she likes a dinosaur toy or not, how is she supposed to decide if she likes Mike! And we also know that she did have the ability to differentiate between things she liked as she seemed genuinely interested in Nancy’s clothes and photos. The only thing they have in common is shared trauma! Notice how all the other couples share something:

JANCY: love for writing and adventuring

LUMAX: both are comical and enjoy the cinema and the outdoors

DUZIE: science

Along with most of the other couples. But what does Mileven have In common? Can anyone please name ONE good memory between the two when they weren’t in danger. All the “good memories” they have are from when the world was ending.

If you said “Oh, but they make out a lot!” That’s not a ‘good memory’, hell, that’s hardly memorable at at all. Hoppper, Will, and Lucas even admit that for those 6 months in between season 2 and season 3, all they did was make out. That is not love, that is infatuation. Infatuation is a strong desire for someone, mainly romantic, that focuses on the physical aspects of their relationship rather than the emotional. Love is a deep rooted feeling. You do not need to make out all the time to be in love. Love is emotional, of course it can be physical, but you need that strong feeling before any physical aspect of love can be genuine.

Mileven have nothing in common. It’s very clear that Mike is still into D&D and is a nerd. Especially as he might be in the Hellfire Club next season (a D&D club) and also because we’ve seen that D&D is going to be a big aspect of season 4, meaning he’ll most likely be infatuated with it again. It’s obvious that El needs to figure herself out first. She needs to develop into her own human being. She’s still learning. She’s into poppy colors and magazines and makeup (which is great!), but even on a more basic level, they still share nothing in common. Mike is a nerd, we have established that. And notice how in s3 (when he was with El) he felt the least like himself. He acted so out of character. He didn’t use weird Star Wars analogies or gush about the new movie coming out like previous seasons. Now of course one could say that he’s growing up, but we see that he is genuinely still a nerd as when he’s in time of crisis he goes back to those analogies. He goes back to gushing about the new toys he’s getting at Christmas, he goes back to being a nerd. It’s almost as if he’s wearing this mask, and at the end of s3 he forgets to put it on. And then El kisses him, and he realizes that he didn’t enjoy that. So we know for a fact that he is very much still into D&D and those other shenanigans atleast to an extent, considering how happy he was to hear that Will wasnt giving up the party or D&D. Shouldn’t Mike be with someone who is atleast a little similar to him? Regardless of his sexuality, shouldn’t he be with someone that allows him to be his true self? He was incredibly Cocky and arrogant in season 3, almost like he had to be a “man” for El, and in his mind, being a ‘man’ was giving up all of the things he loved, and only kissing El, almost as if she was an object he had to obtain more than an actual human. Which Max agrees with! He treats her more so of a mask he has to wear to cover his true self. Shouldn’t el be with someone who likes the same thing she does? But then again, what does el like?! Exactly! She needs to figure out who she is before she dates anyone. She didn’t even know what shirt she would like to wear!

Now I just find this silly. Development? Really? Okay let me show you their “development”

SEASON ONE: El could only speak 4 or 5 words. They had essentially zero romantic interactions besides the kiss at the end. If El and Mike never kissed (excluding the time they almost kissed in the bathroom), people would most likely only see them as a friendship. Let’s flip the tables a bit. If El was a boy and Mike and El never kissed, this would further prove that they don’t have any romantic tension. Lucas says it the best: “You only like her because she’s the only girl who isn’t grossed out by you!” Which I agree with completely. It’s more of an infatuation. Mike is infatuated with the idea of finally having a girlfriend. Because he knows something is wrong inside him and wants to ‘fix it’ by dating a girl, as if suddenly his sexuality identity issues would disappear. El doesn’t know anything about Mike, and to El, Mike is a hero. To El, Mike is fearless warrior. And Mike knows that isn’t true. But with el, it gave him the chance to start fresh. It gave him the chance to start and become a different person. He puts on his persona of being “strong” and being able to stand up for himself, yet in the end, it’s El who does the saving. The reason he ‘likes’ El so much is because she isn’t disgusted by him. But mike is afraid that if he shows his true self, El wouldn’t like him anymore, and he’d lose that mask. And without a girl to cling to, he’d finally have to confront his sexuality. Which is why we never see Mike being his true self around El. In every single season, he is this false person. He’s wearing a facade, to keep up with these lies. Because he fears that If El knew how nerdy he really was, she’d be uninterested, and he ‘can’t lose her’ because he knows that El is most likely the only girl who will never be grossed out by him. Because all the other girls in this town know who he is. That nerdy guy from the AV club. And he needs a girlfriend. He feels safe that way. Because if he doesn’t have a distraction from his sexuality then he might take an extra step on accident and accidently act on those feelings

Ep 1: making out

Ep2: breaking up

Ep 3-6: fighting

Ep 7: neutral

Ep 8 ½ : neutral

Very end of ep 8: together?

How is that romantic? So from what we know, Mileven got a kiss in season 1, a kiss in season 2, 2 make out sessions, and then they fought. HOW IS THAT A GOOD RELATIONSHIP?

90% of their relationship throughout all 3 seasons has been kissing and fighting. That’s literally it. Not once have we seen them just hanging out and talking. Not once have we seen them go on dates. And as Hopper, Lucas, and Will put: that’s all they do! The Duffer’s purposefully put that line in to show that, it’s really all they did for those 6 months. There was no emotion to that. Just kissing. That’s it. Kissing and fighting is all Mileven has been. And honestly they would have been pretty cute in season 3 if the Duffer’s hadn’t messed it up. But the duffers aren’t stupid! They did this on purpose! Because they wanted us to disagree with Mileven. They wanted us to find it obnoxious. Because they know that they don’t have chemistry! Finn and Millie are brilliant actors and could have definitely pulled that off, meaning the Duffers had to have specifically said to “not act in love”. Mileven is a summer fling, Finn said so himself. They are their true selves when they are apart, and when they are together romantically, they stunt each other’s growth. They’re way better as bestfriends. El needs to figure herself out before she can date anyone.

Thank you for reading part one! Part two will be up soon, and will follow why I believe Byler will be end game!

Heavy inspiration from @kaypeace21 & @hawkinsschoolcounselor

#stranger things 4 #stranger things #byler #byler rights #byler theory #stranger things theory #anti mileven #byler is endgame #st4

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lizacstuff · 4 years ago

Note

Another very good episode despite the sad ending which was very well executed by hande. What did you think of the episode?

Very good episode. One nice thing about these new writers, so far, is that the episodes flow a bit better than they used to flow. I think the prior team had trouble putting 2+ hour story without it being disjointed. These guys seem to be able to manage the format better.

So much to love in this chapter. So much comedy. So much fun. So much ripping my heart out and stopping on it and then kicking it a little and then throwing it into a fiery lava volcano pit for good measure.

All those emotions were felt.

Edser to come, but let's start with Babaanne and the Prince. It really feels like these characters were introduced with another story in mind, and then the show pivoted. Perhaps the new writers wanted something else, or maybe Fox wanted to renew but wanted the show to get back to basics so they changed course to this reset of sorts? It all feels unfinished.

(continued under the cut)

I think we were all expecting more trouble from both characters. Not that kidnapping Eda isn't causing trouble, it clearly is, but the fact that it was resolved in the first 5 minutes is notable. What was the point? It did give them a cliffhanger, a chance for Serkan to be a hero, a reason for Serkan to fire Balca, and a reason for Babaanne to change her tune, so it wasn't completely pointless, it served some plots, however it was very anticlimactic.

Babaanne was pretty anticlimactic too. She comes on like a house on fire in 25, having Serkan arrested on serious charges that could have stuck, framing Alptekin, ruining the project the team had won via the tender. She manipulates Eda into breaking Serkan's heart, goes full matchmaker with the Prince, but then when Eda decides, "Nah, I'm not only not going to give up on Serkan, I'm gonna marry him." she backs off all her threats?

It does make me wonder if both or either (offscreen) the Prince or Babaanne have something to do with Serkan's plane going missing. Just so they can fulfill their evil potential. Either of them is powerful enough to pull that off, and it makes more sense than either of them giving up so easily.

As for Aydan and Ayfer, they made for some pretty good laughs this episode. I think the friction caused by their inherent differences is much more funny, than the fighting over Chef Alexander. As I said in another ask, Ayfer worked my last nerve in her very first scene this episode. She wakes up after being dosed by her mother's choice of life-mate for Eda, but immediately blames the Bolats. Fuck off with that. She enabled her mother, she is more to blame for this situation than anyone but the villains. If she would have stood up to her mother and supported Eda instead of choosing to further Babaanne's agenda by opposing the wedding, maybe Eda's life wouldn't have been put in such danger. I can't with her. She would deserve it if Eda puts a little distance between them.

GO DETECTIVE MELO! Love her tenacity in putting together the pieces of Henna night and rightly figuring out Balca's duplicity. For a second there I thought they weren't going to tell Serkan what they found, which made me nervous, but then at the first opportunity she blurts it out. Well done! We should have known Serkan would be two steps ahead of them except that he's been two steps behind when it comes to Balca since the very beginning. It was very satisfying to watch him fire her. Though, I do wish we would have seen him find out she purposely put strawberry in his drink. Good riddance! The ILYs between Serkan and Melo were very sweet, it speaks so well of Serkan that he has such a soft spot for her. Of course it is only natural since Melo has been an unwavering supporter of his since the beginning, Serkan picks his allies well.

Now onto the couples. The tension between all the romantic pairs this episode was fun, and obviously done for over-the-top comic relief, but also very silly, lmao. Those boys are so DUMB! Engin has the sensibility of a preteen boy and Ferit never knows when to shut up, he's so naive and he can't read a room.

However, who didn't love the friendship growth between Serkan and Ferit? They planned a 15-day bike trip? I'm dying! And crying! However, I fully believe that Eda-broke-up-with-me-I-have-a-sad-and-need-a-distraction Serkan planned that trip and I found it preposterous that Serkan would have any desire to still go right after he got married. We're supposed to believe that schmoopy, smitten, horny Serkan is ready to leave his newlywed bride for that length of time? Puh-lease he's planning every way he's going to sex her up over the next 6 months, and it's going to take every free minute. Also they can't even find time to get to Paris for the night, but he's going away for that?? NOPE. Maybe next year, Ferit... but also invite the girls to the bike portion.

The tension between Eda and Serkan in the first half hour of the ep was a nice little truncated story of the stress wedding planning and a looming, giant life change can put on a couple. Edser started the day in a very schmoopy place, but by the time they left Aydan's they were already starting to feel the pressure. The bickering between Ayfer and Aydan felt typical, and I felt myself being more sympathetic with Aydan. They're rich, why wouldn't they hire a wedding coordinator? That's a helluva lot of work to do in 3 days! Why would Ayfer want to spent that time doing centerpieces when she could be enjoying the pre wedding festivities? Dumb. The gems as favors do seem a little over-the-top, but I'd like to take home one of those aquamarines when I attend their wedding, so I won't complain. As far as where they're going to live, both ladies need to step off! They need to be at least 15 minutes of driving distance from both of them. Not living on the Bolat property and not living in Ayfer's neighborhood. Geez. I'm stressed just typing it up, no wonder it set the betrothed couple on edge. Obviously, they were having a major disconnect when they got to work. Serkan was dealing with a crisis and probably should have just told Eda that instead of burying himself in work, ignoring her, and getting irritated with her. Meanwhile, Eda should have noticed he was more focused than even the typical workaholic robot, and that meant something important.

The misunderstanding that fueled their full day stand-off was so silly, and preventable, but also led to hilarity and one of my favorite scenes ever so I won't be too hard on how manufactured it was. Each of these things-- family wedding planning stress, Serkan being inattentive due to work crisis, and Serkan acting a little "the old ball and chain" when Ferit was blundering along about guys trips and postponing the wedding-- all led to an Eda who was already feeling a bit insecure, so when she overheard Serkan's phone conversation it's not shocking she took it the wrong way. However, it takes a bit more handwaving to believe Serkan took the conversation the wrong way and went right to freezing her out. Come on, Serkan, you're less emotional and have less reasons to be feeling vulnerable at that moment. She was in your office trying to get your attention on wedding planning and your home and future. You were the one too busy to engage! Though, I suppose it's believable that these two stubborn souls would allow the misunderstanding to fester out of pride, rather than confront it head on and clear it up right away. It's pretty consistent that when one of them gets their feelings hurt and feels rejected by the other, their defensive walls go up and they both revert to pretending they're just fine and the other's rejection can't hurt them. They need to get over this asap.

That poor wedding planner. She has a couple insisting they get married in 3 days, they're entirely unhelpful and now they aren't even speaking to one another? I understand her frustration and don't ding her for asking if they're sure they're ready to get married, but her saying that was definitely one of the things that contributed to the insecurities they were both already feeling. They were both so sad when they had the last conversation in the office, each one suggesting the other to take time to think and rest. Their video call that night was equally as fraught and sad. Sweet, dumb babies.

The entire sequence of the girls stealthing into the hotel and hiding on the couch was hilarious. I love that Eda doesn't realize that crashing the bachelor party could be embarrassing until she's flat on her back on that couch, hiding behind lobby foliage. As for the boys, they redeemed themselves a little bit, by being too upset to enjoy themselves.

One of my favorite parts is Eda trying to be breezy as if the girls being there has nothing to do with the bachelor party. I laughed at Melo taking the blame for suggesting the resort. The single gal always takes the blame, just like the unmarried/not engaged Ferit gets the blame later. This moment (click here) is one of my favorites of the episode. I still am not sure what she's trying to say with her looping gestures and pointing upstairs and then her haughty pose, and I don't think Serkan knows either, but yet he just gets a kick out of her. The guy who Engin said never smiled, smiles pretty damn easily these days. Also j’adored the wardrobe that had them matching perfectly in shades of cream and olive. In sync and gorgeous.

Speaking of wardrobe, during that fireplace conversation Serkan looked so huggable in that fleece pullover (more casual Serkan, please!) that I felt terrible that they were not in a place where she could cuddle up to him in front of the fire. Come on! We deserved to see that. That was the biggest tragedy in that scene, slightly ahead of them postponing the wedding. As for that, they were both so convinced that the other thinks they're going too fast, that neither of them was listening to how the other positioned it. Each positioning it as the other's preference. That illustrated the trouble that a little insecurity and a lot of pride can cause.

Now on to my favorite scene of the episode! Seriously, immediately after watching it I mentally vaulted it to my top 10 scenes list (no such list exists, and if it did it would change all the time, lol). First, can I say how I appreciated that the friends were all shocked at the news they were postponing the wedding? Ferit and Engin couldn't believe it, and Melo, Ceren and Piril all actively questioned the idea that Serkan would want to postpone. Thank you! You just know if Ayfer were there she would have tried to say "Oh, that's too bad, but really for the best, let's celebrate!"

Anyway, I loved every second from the moment Serkan says, "Eda, can we talk?" until the apology. Finally, instead of being led by their pride, they both show some hurt which is the catalyst for the heated conversation that clears everything up.

It's impressive how consistent they've been with some characterizations and how Serkan and Eda yin/yang each other. Eda has always had trouble saying, "I love you." It just doesn't come easy to her. She illustrated that in episode 12, she can handle the sentiment and agree with it, "our feelings are mutual" but it's hard for her to say the words.

Conversely, Serkan has never had that problem. From the minute he confessed he has told her how much he loves her many, many times and in many, many different ways. What Serkan has trouble with is "I'm sorry". It is so hard for him to say those words. In episode 9, all it would have taken to get Eda back was a simple apology, instead he spent an entire episode doing everything to get her back, but the very simple act of saying, "I'm sorry. That is some next level aversion to apologizing. Whereas Eda doesn't have that problem, she can own her mistakes and apologize pretty easily.

These scenes outside showcased this dynamic beautifully. After the misunderstanding is rectified, Eda very easily apologizes, but Serkan goes with a "me too" type of response. The sentiment is there, but he doesn't say the words. A few minutes later, after the crew joins them, Serkan goes all romantic robot and tells her how much he loves her, then prompts her, but instead Eda teases and teases until she finally whispers it.

Obviously, she loves him and obviously he is sorry about the misunderstanding, but I like the consistency that they both still have trouble vocalizing these specific things.

The fact that Serkan was ready to chuck the guys and his bachelor party in order to have a romantic night with her is very sweet, and also points out how silly the notion of him wanting to travel extensively without her right after they get married. I don't mind things that are exaggerated for humor, but still humor shouldn't need you to completely change the attitudes of the characters in order to hit. And playing on jokes about how marriage and a wife might be viewed as a burden, especially in context of a couple who aren't even married yet, isn't awesome. Which I get, the fact that it is a shitty attitude and a crappy joke fueled the fights between the couples, so at least there was that. It wasn't accepted.

The lovely montage by the lake was a wonderful way to show us some quiet, romantic moments between them. That's one of the great things about this format, they have time to occasionally gift us with scenes that don't drive the plot, don't move forward any story or character development or even have dialogue, they just exist to make us swoon and fall even more in love with this couple. Mission accomplished! The fact that Kerem is the one who found that location just makes it sweeter.

Engin, Engin, Engin. What makes you think it is a good idea to judge a beauty pageant? Your wife is in the hotel! Not that she would be jealous, but, you know, assigning a number value to women based on their looks... it's not great. Also I realize that it's a necessity while shooting with Covid, and we just have to suspend disbelief in scenes that should have tons of extras but are barren, but the hotel holding a beauty pageant and the only people in attendance are three dudes who just happened to be bored in the lobby is funny in and of itself. But glad the girls got a chance to take their revenge and make the boys feel what it's like to be judged in such a way. Plus it was worth some laughs and gave us a way to unite the bachelor party with the pajama party.

For me the next scenes only exist to have Edser draped all over each other in the bar. I didn't really pay too much attention, I think Piril/Engin and Ceren/Ferit all made up, but I do know Serkan wanted to ditch everyone and go back to the room and since we know what happened next.... we know why! Though I did wonder, did he have a massage appointment for like 10pm? Or was it the next day? It matters not at all, but it did strike me while watching. I CAN'T BELIEVE HOW MUCH WE GOT OF THEM IN THE TUB!!! *flings self into the sun* That was quite something. Bless these new writers and their willingness to go there. I love that scene so much. Serkan's smile is just... something else.

One nitpick is the lighting. Obviously, with the timeline they shoot on, some production value will go by the wayside, though mostly I think they do a decent job despite all the constraints. However, one place that is consistently lacking is lighting in indoor, one-off locations. The coffee shop in ep 12 is an example, and this was another one. I can understand they need to get in and out quickly. In this case the crew wouldn't have been able to probably prep as much as they'd like, because you're probably not going to put any stand-ins in the water, and you can't take time to perfect it once your big stars are in the tub, mostly naked, submerged and pruning, but the harsh shadows across each of their faces is distracting. Where were the bounce boards? Even those lines out.

But obviously we don't care. WE GOT THEM BEING SEXY AND PLAYFUL IN THE TUB! What a bounty. That's all that matters. Loved all the wedding prep, especially the lovely Aydan and Eda scenes. There was SO MUCH JOY... until there wasn't.

I'm not going to spend much time on the contrivance that led us to the final scenes. I mean, first, Erdem... why are you so incompetent? And, second, do they not have E-signature in Turkey? Or scanners? Or even fax machines? The idea of having to fly to Italy just to sign something is ridiculous. Oh well, whatever drives their plot, I guess.

The final Edser scene was brilliant and beautiful and heartfelt and romantic and ominous and painful. All the things it should have been for what happens next. Poor Serkan! Poor Eda! Why can't they catch a break?

#Edser #sen cal kapimi #Sen Çal Kapımı #sck 1x28 #sck episode discussion #edser discussion #edser meta #sckask #asklizac #Anonymous

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