#i’ve barely recovered from the last season????

[chheese-mmmhh]

DECEMBER 19???!!!/$:):)?????!!!!!!!

[vantetaes]

SPOILED BRAT 🫧🥂

SUGARDADDY!CONNIE! X SPOILED!BLACKFEM!READER

SUMMARY!!! connie tells yn no

WARNINGS!!! overstimulation, oral (f receiving), daddy kink, implied ‘age gap’, mentions of drug dealing, sex 18+!!

you’d been together with connie for a 6 years at this point. the two do you did everything together. he always made sure you were straight no matter what.

you’re his woman. his pride and joy. his headache.

just today: he’d taken you to brunch to help recover for your god awful hangover acquired by spending the night before taking shots of don julio with your friends. he took you to the hair store, buying you new bundles for the season change, then payed for the install. taking you to lunch after your hair was done. deciding you were getting tired of walking, you requested one last lap around the mall, which ultimately ended with connie wanting to see your nails a different color and a new set of lashes.

you’ve been gifted birkins, 24 karat bracelets, trips out of country just because, and even receiving a maybach for getting through your first year of college. everything you ever wanted, he made sure you got. no if, ands, or buts.

bouncing on the tippy toes of your pretty pink chanel slippers. the fresh white pedicure compliments the white lettering on your shoes. your eyes glaze over the stores extensive amount of new products. you wonder in awe as connie walked behind you, carrying your bags while his face is buried in his phone.

“oo! they have the two piece i’ve been wanting!” only hearing the paddling of your shoes, connie barely has time to look up before you and a PINK store associate were talking about the newly released thong set.

“you want it?” he asks simply, hand caressing the small of your exposed back.

“no i already have too much!” you shake your head, your fresh set of lashes batting against your face as you eyed the clothing. connie’s hand flags down the worker from earlier.

“can we get all if the color for this set, medium.” he places a few hundreds in the woman’s hands before she scurries off to fulfill the purchase.

“thank you, baby.” you giggle , giving him a small kiss on the cheek. the strawberry scented lipgloss leaves a transparent pink path on his face. which stays there. before you could bring up the fact that you were eyeing one more thing in the store, connie’s ringtone went off. he peers down before gazing back at you. placing a quick kiss to your lips, he slides away.

“give me one second, baby.”

he basically stormed out of the store, face twisted up.

from your view through the glass it looked like someone fucked something up. connie’s tattooed had runs across his head, sighing into the phone before shaking his head a final time, hanging up.

once he returned, the worker rushes a few bags over and the left over money from the exchange.

“keep it. ♡︎, let’s go.” he takes the bags carefully before heading for the exit. his tone was firm but still gentle enough that you didn’t feel offended.

-

finally back home, washing every piece of clothing you got today, you noticed your fiance was a little quieter than usual.

changing into something a little more comfortable, you walk out into the large penthouse living room.

“what’s wrong?” you quiz. his head shoots up from its resting position on his hand to shake his head.

“nothing princess. just some stuff i have to go handle in a few, you good?” he asked concerned.

“yeah you’ve just been like.. preoccupied away from me all day today! i just want some attention. can i come with?” the long red fur lined robe moved swiftly against your exposed brown skin as you did your little begging dance.

“whatchu’ mean i’ve been ignoring you? and not this time, princess. it’s something real important and i can’t risk some shit happening to you. we not finna do this.”

your motion stops as you stare a little dumbfounded. no? no?? jokingly sticking your acrylic inside your ear, wiggling it, pulling your finger back out to check. he got used to the dramatics years ago.

“what do you mean not this time, connie?” you only used his government when you were mad at him.

connie leans back in the leather chair, pinching the bridge of his nose as he watches you from across the room. he’s always been the one to say yes, to pull strings, to make things happen. you’ve always reveled in that—his power, his ability to hand you everything you could ever want, no questions asked. but this time, the look on his face is different.

“not. this. time.♡︎.” he says, his tone firm, his jaw tight.

“you’re joking?” you say, voice sharp, tinged with indignation. a small flabbergasted smile making its way into your face slowly.

he shakes his head, slow and deliberate.

“i’m serious, ♡︎. i can’t do this. not this time.”

for a moment, you’re stunned, the words hanging in the air between you like a challenge. then, like a flame catching kindling, the fury ignites.

“can’t ?” you spit, laughing abruptly, your voice rising. “or won’t?”

he doesn’t flinch. that only makes it worse.

“you’ll do everything else-” you continue, pacing now, your anger spilling out unchecked.

“-you’ll risk everything for everyone else, but the one time i ask for something that matters to me, suddenly it’s a problem?”

“♡︎, it’s not like that.” his voice is calm, measured, and it infuriates you more.

“then what is it like, connie? hm? you basically ignore me all day and now you wanna leave me here?” you shout, spinning to face him.

“because to me, it looks like you’re picking and choosing when i matter.”

he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. you know he hates this side of you, the part that lashes out when things don’t go your way, but right now, you don’t care.

“im saying no because it’s not safe. you don’t see the bigger picture.” he says, his voice hardening slightly.

“don’t give me that fucking bullshit!” you scoff, crossing your arms.

“you think i don’t know what you’re wrapped up in? you think i don’t know how you make all this happen?” you gesture around, the designer bags, the jewelry, the life he’s built for you.

his silence speaks volumes, and it only fuels your rage.

“yn. im being polite with you. please don’t start this shit. and watch your fucking mouth, mama. im being calm.” his eyes growing more irritated and narrow. laughing in his face, you turn on your heels, walking back to the bedroom. disappearing down the lengthy hallway. you could hear the slow pads of connie’s feet following after you.

“fine! fuck you! didn’t wanna fucking go anyways.” you huff under your breath, slamming the tall room door behind you.

the man immediately flings the door back open, pointing to the bed.

“sit down. im not fucking asking you.” his jaw clenched tight.

finding yourself crawling onto the white king sized bed, sitting on your knees. the lacey black lingerie set underneath the red fur peeking through.

“what in the hell is wrong with you today, princess?” his voice is growing agitated and upset.

avoiding his gaze, you can only play with the hem of your clothing, ignoring him fully.

“yea we not about to do this shit.”

before you had a chance to react, he was on the bed, pushing your body backwards, and hovering above you.

“why you actin like this, baby, hm?” you couldn’t help but to melt looking at his eyes. everything about how close he is to you is just turning you on. ignoring him again, he’s starting to get fed up.

“im gonna ask you one more time and after, i don’t wanna hear about it.” his right hand held both your hands in front of you and his left was on the outside of your thigh. you could feel his warmth.

“just want attention, daddy.” you mumble, face whipping to the side. his hand shoots up to fix your chin back his direction.

“uhn uhn, speak up.” gently shaking your head side to side, he’s looking at you gently still.

“i want attention. why are you being such a fucking bitch con?”

immediately regretting your choice of words, the man rears up off your body, fixing his shirt and pants. you rush to sit upright, closing the robe, watching as the man put his shoes on.

“baby, you know i didn’t me-“ you start. he just laughs, walking through the open door. chasing behind him, anxiety creeping up your neck.

“baby, im sorry.” your voice barely above a whisper, watching as he grabs his cars keys, then he’s out the door.

-

“just calm down, im sure he’s fine.” mikasa chats on the other end of the phone call. you’re using your other phone to repeatedly dial connie’s number, all chances failing.

“what if he’s not though? he wont even answer!” the salivas getting caught in your throat to think he’s upset with you but who else to blame?

“drink a glass of wine and relax! i just talked to him, he’s fine.” you hear onyankopon on the other side of the line.

“what? how? what did he say?” you couldn’t help but to shove all the questions down his throat.

“chill chill. he’s fine, he said he’s heading back home now. go relax, ♡︎.” the man said on the other end of the line.

“okay thank you, i’ll see you guys later.” the phone beeps off.

making your way to the kitchen, you grab a wine glass. hand skimming over the wall collection you and connie built over the years, you pull out a red wine from italy you got last summer. pouring a generous amount, you decide to just bring the bottle to the living room. waiting for the man to walk through your doors.

cuddled underneath a large white blanket, halfway through a movie, you make it more than halfway through the bottle, unfortunately still slightly sober from anxiety.

until the sound of keys being turned broke you from staring off into space.

he slides in, immediately kicking his shoes off and placing them on the rack. he removes his jacket, hand wiping off some lint from the inside off his shirt. your body jerks into a standing position, blanket laying at your feet.

“baby-“ you start.

“room. now.” he doesn’t even look up at you, he just begins to walk down the hallway. shuffling confused and worried behind him, he turns on a single lamp on his side of the bed.

“lay down.”

crossing your arms, standing firmly.

“not until you tell me where you went and why i couldn’t go!” your lips pull into a line and your eyebrows furrowed.

“lay the hell down. if i have to say it again i swear to god you’ll hate me afterwards.”

still standing firm, you’re unmoved and unwilling. fed up, he walks over to you, his height towers you, throwing you over his shoulder. he tosses you onto the bed, yanking off your robe in the process.

“you want attention? strip.” he begins “and if i have to repeat myself this time, ♡︎, you won’t leave this bed tomorrow.” his jaw gripped tight, words spoken through gritted teeth, he was 100% serious.

without hesitation, you pull the set off with ease. he smiles before digging in his nightstand. pulling out two pairs of fuzzy pink handcuffs and your sleep mask. plopping everything down beside you, you feel his strong hands pick up up from under your arms, pressing your back against the cold bedframe. he reaches behind him, grabbing the supplies. cuffing both your arms to the posts, he gives you a small kiss before covering your eyes.

“connie why are you doing this?” voice unable to hold water, you were a mix of turned on and scared. you knew how he could treat you when he was this angry.

his hand goes back into the nightstand, all you can hear is him place it down beside you. the rattling from his belt being undone causes a reflex in your lower region, clamping your legs closed to gain some kind of traction. you can hear the laugh come from your fiance.

“don’t worry baby, you’re about to get all the attention you wanted.” the sound of his belt buckle hitting the ground followed by the sound of him removing his pants.

before you could try to listen for anything else, all you feel is his lips pressed against your pussy and his hands keeping your knees spread. his tongue licks long strides up and down, from your entrance to the throbbing, swollen bud. his lips pucker around your clit, giving it a few gentle tugs and licks. his hands move close to your core, squeezing every inch of your thighs, humming into your warmth.

“oh- shit con.” moaning, you start to feel a little vibration start to happen. “what’s that-“

he put the vibrator flush against your clit, using his tongue to pump slowly in and out of your clenching hole. flailing against the restraints, you can’t help but to cry out for him.

“please- please daddy, fuck me. im sorry i swear, please.” you feel him pinch the inside of your thigh, causing you to flinch a little.

“don’t tell me what the fuck to do. im gone take you how i want you.” he goes back to abusing your pussy, face covered in your slick and his spit. he’s always been obsessed with eating you. removing one of his hands from your leg, he begins to use his long slender fingers inside while he took turns sucking your clit and then replacing it with the vibrator.

you can’t see anything but little stars floating across the darkness of your eye covering. the intense feeling in your abdomen building up. his fingers slide in and out agonizingly slow, tongue writing love spells on your swollen bud.

“shit connie im gonna- oh fuck!” your body begins to shake as you release. that doesn’t stop him. he continues, his mouth attached to you, unable to pull away.

“that’s my girl. give me some more of that shit, come on baby. this what you wanted right?” his mouth forms an o-shape, licking at the swollen bud while humming. you try to force your knees together, only for him to pin you down into a middle spilt. every inch of you was being sucked, licked, and bitten.

he pulls the vibrator back out, hooking his fingers into you, teasing your g-spot while his other hand switched modes on the wand.

“pretty ass pussy baby. she so wet for me, didn’ even have to do much. yeah, i feel it. make a mess, cum all over my fingers baby.”

the mix of the vibrations, connie’s fingers slowly fucking your hole, and the way he talked to you, you came undone. again. body shriveling up in overstimulation, you can only feel him turn the vibrations off, hoping to be done with this whole thing. you’re already fucked out and a mess.

“fuck baby, youre so filthy for me. but i don’t think im satisfied, ma.” you shake your head a little, knowing that you fucked up. repositioning a pillow under your butt, the man reattaches his lips, going slower than he ever had. mouth frozen in an o shape, you couldn’t help but to cry out.

“it’s too much daddy, be nice!” you cry, eyes brimming with tears, feeling as his warm, wet tongue slowly circles your swollen clit.

“mm- mm.” he offers in a hum, extending his arms up to play with your nipples, tugging gently at them. it seemed like his tongue never stopped moving, sometimes slipping into your clenching hole to collect more of your wetness. the burn in your stomach was intense. you could barely breathe, only pushing out large exhales of air, moans strangled in there alone the string of ‘please’s and ‘fuck’s.

he was eating you like it was a competition and he wanted that fucking gold.

“again, again, connie oh- fuuck.” you’re now full blown crying. the orgasm shaking your body beyond control. the man gently pulls away, softly running his hands around your body. his hands remove your blindfold, wiping some of the fallen tears. the readjustment to light wasn’t too bad but once you saw his face, he just gives you a look.

“im- fine.” you choke out, tears still rolling. he laughs a little, wiping your face before standing and using his should to wipe his.

“im giving you two minutes.”

you swore those two minutes went by quicker than a hellcat in atlanta traffic.

he was now pinning your knees to your ears, dropping his throbbing cock inside you slowly, bottoming out. you let you a cry, in pure bliss. he pulls out quickly, slamming back into you. the sound of sex filled the room.

“pussy so fucking good. taking that shit so good.” he throws his head back, mercilessly pounding into you. he pulls out of you slowly, before pushing back into you. your hands grip at the chains of the handcuffs, bracing yourself for the man’s abuse on your hole. the veins of his cock rubbing the inside of your gummy walls. without warning , you’re squirting all over his dick, making a mess of the bed in the process.

“daddy! i’m sorry!”

“it’s too late for that shit now. let me take these off you.” he reaches up, undoing the cuffs swiftly before tossing them to the side. thinking youre free, you try to roll off the bed, only to be caught by him.

he tosses you over onto all fours, grabbing your arms from your side so your face down into the mattress.

“you know i love you right?” he asks, gripping both your wrists firmly behind your back.

“yes baby i know.” you say, head tilted to the side.

“good cause im about to treat you like i dont.”

slamming into you, he’s relentless. the tip of his cock abusing your poor cervix, digging completely into you. large hands grab hold of your breast, chest stuck in a heavy breathing pattern.

pounding into you, not letting up, you know he’s pissed. trying your hardest to pull away to give yourself so slack, he yanks you back into his length by the wrist.

“nah whatchu’ running for? this what you wanted right? you wanted me to fuck you like this, huh? you gone take this dick.”

he could feel you clenching around him, the slick dripping from your abused hole to to your ass. he could feel how close you were.

“ooo shit, let that shit go baby. imma fucking cum.”

your hands dig into his arms instinctively, eyes rolled to the back of your head, saliva spilling from the sides of your mouth in euphoria. it was so much yet you never wanted it to end. babbling nonsense and hitting connie with the palms of your hand, you release over him, again.

he delivers a few more thrusts, violating your cunt, sopping up every second of being inside you until he’s filling you up.

pulling away from his position, your body lay unmoving.

“was that enough attention for you?” climbing to your side, his large arms pulls you on-top of him. placing gentle kisses to your head, he rubs his hand along your back, giving you a small massage.

“im sorry.”

“shh, it’s all fine now baby.”

connie cleaned the both of you up, tossed the sheets in the wash, replaced them with new sheets he bought while out, and even prepared a small dinner. sitting on the couch, both heads in a silk bonnet, watching love island.

© vantetaes. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarize any of my works. ageless/blank blogs dni.

inspo pics

[futfemfantasies]

New year, new beginnings ~ Leah Williamson x Catley!reader

The days between Christmas and New Years always felt strange. The Christmas tree still stood with lights twinkling faintly, but the excitement of the season had dimmed. For Leah, the quiet wasn’t restful, but unnerving. Mainly because it was filled with thoughts of you.

You’re Steph’s younger sister. You transferred to Arsenal in the last transfer window and you have come into Leah‘s life like a whirlwind. Over the past few months, Leah has learned so much about you – your laugh, quirks, the way you tilted your head when you were concentrating. You two weren’t officially together. Friends. yes. Maybe more, but in Leah’s heart though you were already hers.

Well, you were in Melbourne, spending the holiday break with your family, Leah was back in London. Leah was missing you more than she thought possible. She sat in her mum‘s recliner, cuddled into a blanket looking at photos Steph had sent over the past few days. You were laughing in most of them, your eyes bright with happiness. Leah‘s thumb hovered over Steph‘s contact for several minutes, going back-and-forth in her head whether to call. She finally pressed it, bringing the phone up to her ear before moving out of the room,

“Leah!” Steph answered a little too cheery. “Shouldn’t you be recovering from all those mince pies?”

Leah let out a nervous laugh. “I’ve had my fair share of Christmas goodies thank you but that’s not why I’m calling.”

“Oh? It’s about my sister isn’t it?”

Leah‘s pulse quickens. “Yeah, it is.”

Steph chuckled knowingly. “What’s going on? She hasn’t stopped talking about you since we got here.”

“She hasn’t?” Leah’s voice softened.

“Leah, she misses you. She’s been moping around all week since she opened your present.”

“I can’t start the New Year like this Steph, I need to see her. No more tiptoeing around it, I need to ask her to be my girlfriend,”

“Finally!” Steph exclaimed. “When are you flying in? You can stay with us, obviously. We’ll figure out the minor details later.”

Relief washed over Leah. “You’re amazing Steph, thank you, I owe you.”

“Just make sure my sister says yes, that’s payment enough.”

Two days later, Leah is greeted by the warm summer sun in Melbourne. The plane ride was long, especially with a delay in the layover. After collecting her bag, Leah scanned the arrivals area and spotted Steph waving at her with a grin stretching across her face.

“Welcome to Australia!” Steph greeted, giving Leah a quick hug. “How was the flight?”

“Long, but worth every mile,” Leah replied nervously. “But I’m too nervous to think about it.”

Steph smirked, nudging Leah playfully on their way to the car. “You’re going to be fine. Honestly, she will probably faint when she sees you. Y/N’s been unbearable, by the way. Keeps asking if I’ve heard from you, like you two don’t talk all the time.”

The thought made Leah smile. You missed her too.

During the drive, Steph filled Leah in on the plan. She would pretend to go to the shops. Not really a lie, she did get some food to cover the surprise.

“So I’ll go in and call Y/N out of her room then I’ll give you a signal and you’ll come through the door.” Leah nodded, her palms clammy.

As Steph pulled up to the house, Leah thought she was going to die of nervousness. You’d be going crazy with no responses to texts or missed calls, Leah thought. Steph sneakily poked her head inside to see you chilling in the lounge room watching re-runs of your favourite tv show. Steph signalled Leah to come up the stairs but wait outside.

“Hey, I got your favourite.” Steph called out casually. Leah peaked inside, you didn’t move from the couch.

Your voice carried through the living room, curious and playful. “What did you get?”

“Come see for yourself.” Steph replied, barely containing her excitement. Leah moved more into view as you slowly rolled off the couch.

Moments later, you appeared in the doorway. The sight of Leah standing in your family’s kitchen looking nervous and out of place made you freeze.

“Leah?” You whispered.

“Hi love.” Leah said softly, her smile tentative.

You didn’t move for a second. Then something snapped and you ran towards her, throwing yourself in her arms. Leah caught you easily, her laugh mixing with yours.

“I can’t believe you’re here.” You murmured, your voice thick with emotion.

“I couldn’t stay away any longer,” Leah admitted as her arms tightened around you. “I missed you”

“I missed you too. So much”

That night, you both decided to go into the city to watch the New Years Eve fireworks. You luckily found a spot along the Yarra River, the crowds around you buzzing with excitement. Leah moved close, her fingers brushing against yours as the countdown begins.

“Ten…nine”

Leah turned to you, her smile soft. “Y/N?”

“Eight…seven”

Leah swallowed hard, her heart pounding against her chest. “I need to tell you something.”

“Six…five”

You tilted your head, waiting. “What is it?”

“Four…three”

Leah held your hands, her voice slightly trembling. “I don’t want to go into next year without you being mine, officially. Will you be my girlfriend?”

“Two…one”

As the fireworks exploded above, you leaned in and kissed Leah. When you pulled back, your eyes filled with tears but your smile was radiant.

“Yes Leah,” you whispered. “I’ll be yours, always.”

Leah couldn’t stop staring at you, her mind capturing every detail - the way the colours of the fireworks illuminated your face, the way your eyes sparkled with emotion, and the way your lips curled into a smile just for her.

She cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing ever so gently on your skin as she murmured, “you’ve made this the best New Year’s Eve ever.”

“You’ve outdone yourself. Showing up like this? You’ve set the bar impossibly high for next year.”

Leah grinned, her arms around your waist pulling you somewhat closer. “Don’t worry. I plan on being by your side for all the New Year’s Eves to come.”

Your heart swelled at her admission, and you felt the urge to pull her into another kiss. But the crowd around you erupted in chairs as another round of fireworks filled the sky.

“Did you plan all this on your own?” You asked, your voice barely audible over the distant booms.

“ I had some help. Steph might’ve been a little too enthusiastic about the whole thing.” Leah chuckled.

You grown playfully. “ That explains why she’s been acting so smug the past few days. She can’t keep a secret to save her life.”

“She kept this one,” Leah pointed out, smirking. “Barely.”

You laughed again, shaking your head. “Well, I’ll forgive her, just this once.”

When the fireworks ended the two of you lying by the river, watching as a crowd began to disperse. It was quiet now except for the occasional burst of laughter or distant car horn.

“I can’t believe you’re actually here,” you said, your fingers lacing with hers.

Leah looked at you, her expression soft. “Neither can I, honestly. But the thought of not being here, not asking you to be mine, didn’t sit right. I couldn’t imagine starting the year without you.”

“Leah… I don’t think you realise how much this means to me. You being here, doing all of this… I’ve never felt so-“

“Loved?” Leah finished for you, her voice tender.

You nodded, blinking back tears. “Yeah. Loved”

Leah stepped closer, her free hand coming up to tuck strand of hair behind your ear. “Yhat’s because you are. And I’m going to spend every day proving it to you.”

You leaned into her touch, your eyes searching hers. “You already have.”

When you finally returned to your family home, it was late. The house was quiet, with the faint of the air-conditioning in the background. Steph was waiting in the living room, knowing green on her face as you and Leah walked in hand-in-hand.

“Well?” Steph asked, sitting up straighter. “How’d it go?”

You shot her a mock glare. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

Steph raised an eyebrow. “Is that a ‘thank you,’ or…?”

Leah laughed, squeezing your hand. “It went perfectly. Thanks for everything, Steph.”

Steph waved her hand dismissively. “Please. I’m just glad you finally sorted yourselves out. It was painful to watch.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile didn’t fade. “I’ll deal with you tomorrow.” You said teasingly, tingly towards the stairs. “We’re calling it a night.”

“Good night, lovebirds.” Steph called after you, her laughed echoing as you disappeared down the hallway.

Later, as you and Leah lay in bed, tangled together beneath the sheets, you couldn’t help it feel a sense of peace wash over you. The weight of the past year, the uncertainty, and the longing had all melted away, leaving only the warmth of Leah’s presence.

“Leah?” You mermaid, your head resting against her chest.

“Hmm?” She replied sleepily, her fingers tracing idle patterns on your back.

“I’m really glad you came.”

Leah smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Me too. I couldn’t let another year pass without making sure you knew how I felt.”

You tilted your head up to look at her, your heart swelling with affection. “Well, now you’re stuck with me.”

“Good,” Leah whispered, her eyes shining with love. “Because there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

[604to647]

Barón Tovar Takes a Wife

Third Movement (Presto agitato)

11K / Bridgerton AU Regency!Pero Tovar x fem!reader, a childhood best friends to lovers story

Summary: What do you do now that you realize you have feelings for the Barón?

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please). Pining and Angst. Semi public kissing, groping and sex. Someone comes in his breeches 🤷🏻‍♀️. F!oral, fingering, thigh riding, unprotected PiV. Pet names (spanish), Pero catches reader and gives her a little twirl once.

A/N: I'm sorry for the word count 😅😅 I feel like the pacing of this final part is kind of like season 1 of Bridgerton where it was like 5 episodes of flirting and then SMUTSMUTSMUT 🤭🤭 Just wanted to give our Spaniard and his Dulce a HEA, that's all! Please please correct my Spanish!! Google won't be offended! Thank you for reading along and hope you're looking forward to Season 3 of Bridgerton next week!

Series Masterlist 🎼 First Movement 🎼 Second Movement 🎼

The following morning you wake to your ladies’ maid gently shaking you and a massive headache.  Barely able open your eyes, so puffy from crying, you’re sure you gave her a terrible fright.  After asking for and drinking some water, you try using the cool glass to depuff your eyes and alleviate the pounding in your head, but no difference is made; you continue to feel positively awful.  Daphne comes into your room at the behest of the maid and immediately sees you’re much too unwell to entertain visitors today; it’s an easy decision to send all your suitors away and have them come back when you’re better.  When you start to apologize for causing a fuss, she immediately shushes you and insists you get rest - she will have the maids bring up some soothing tea.  You lay back down, exhausted, and drift off in the middle of telling her how much you love her.

---

Pero steps into Bridgerton House just as several young men are leaving; as they brush past him, he spots Colin speaking with a maid in the main foyer.

“Tovar! It’s been ages – how have you been?” Colin beams when he sees his friend. 

In truth, Pero is here to see you; he can’t quite get over the look of distress on your face when you left him last night.  Not for the first time, Pero silently curses Lord Ridlington for having sent over women to his house unsolicited last night, his apparent idea of a prank.  Leaving the women to themselves in a waiting room, Pero had been discussing with his butler the next course of action when you had surprised him beneath his window.  After you left, he made the proper arrangements for the women to leave discreetly, and had gone to bed thinking of you as usual. 

“I’ve been well, thank you.  Hope things have been going well here?  Have today’s suitors started their visits earlier than usual?” He gestures to another three men now descending the stairs and making towards the exit in an orderly line.

“No, my Lord,” the maid explains, “Miss is ill today.  Her suitors have been sent away and asked to return when she has recovered and is ready to receive visitors again.”

“Ill?!” How could you have taken ill when he just saw you?  Instantly Pero admonishes himself for having kept you standing outside last night - the night chill must have disagreed with you.  “Please,” he begs, “take me to see her.”

The maid looks panic stricken.  Surely this Spanish nobleman must understand the impropriety of a man being let in to the bed chambers of an unmarried woman.

Colin diverts her attention, “Marie, it will be okay.  Barón Tovar is an old family friend of the Count’s.  There is nothing improper afoot.  The door will remain open and you and I shall both be but a step away.”

With Mr. Bridgerton’s assurance, Marie the maid leads the two men to your door and opens it wide before stepping back to wait outside with Colin.  Pero walks into darkness, the curtains still drawn to help you sleep and ease the pain of your headache, but your magnetic pull leads him to you with no issue.

Kneeling by your bedside, Pero says your name softly, but you do not stir.  He goes to push aside some hair that’s fallen across your forehead and is alarmed when it feels hot to the touch; using the back of his hand to check your forehead and cheeks, he finds you clammy and feverish.  Shouting for Marie, both Colin and the maid rush in to Pero’s call, “Please find the Duchess!  Her friend is running a fever and a doctor needs to be called.  And please bring me a basin of cold water and a clean washcloth at once!”

Daphne rushes in minutes later to find Pero dabbing your forehead with the wet cloth that Marie procured, “Oh no!  I saw her this morning and knew she was unwell, but I did not think to check for a temperature!”

Shaking his head softly, Pero entreats the Duchess, “Do not blame yourself, your Grace.  Likely this morning she was not feverish when you saw her.  Please, has a doctor been called?”

The Duchess nods tearfully, grateful for Pero’s kind words and feeling a kinship with this man who clearly shares her tremendous concern for your well being. 

When the doctor arrives, Daphne stays in the room and gives Pero a nod of reassurance; he leaves begrudgingly though he knows you are in safe hands with the Duchess.  Hovering impatiently never more than a step away from the door, Pero breathes a sigh of relief when he overhears the doctor say that your temperature is no longer increasing, and that if kept cool and comfortable, your fever should easily break over the next day or two.  He vows to ensure both conditions are met to the best of his abilities until the moment you awake.

After the doctor leaves and Daphne has gone in search of a servant to fetch your father, Pero stays by your side, continuously stroking your hair gently and dabbing your hot skin with a cool cloth.  Every time Daphne passes by the open door of your room, she looks in to find Pero watching over you, brows furrowed, eyes full of concern and worry.  Sometimes the Duchess will see Pero’s lips moving, speaking gently to you - though she never hears the words he says, she can tell they’re heartfelt.  It becomes crystal clear to her that two weeks ago she had simply asked the Barón the wrong question; instead of “Do you intend to court her?”, she should have asked Pero: “Do you love her?”  The answer obvious. 

Pero never leaves your side, not when the Bridgerton women visit, or even when your father comes.  He just tucks himself into the corner of the room until their visits are over, as if afraid to leave you.  When it’s just him and you alone, he tries his best to make sure you’re comfortable, arranging your blankets nicely and propping up your pillows so that your sleep is restful and serene.  He requests that cool water and clean cloths are at his constant disposal, and makes sure to dab your face, neck, and decolletage at consistent intervals in order to keep your temperature down.  And while he does so, Pero continuously talks to you, encouraging you to get better, coaxing you back to him. 

He calls you carino, hermosa, princesa, mi reina, mi amor, and all the other endearments he doesn’t ever let himself call you save for in his head.  He lavishes you with compliments and words of praise that he's never allowed to slip past his lips - how perfect you are, how sweet and smart, that he doesn’t know anyone else like you and that your cheerful demeanor and melodic voice are the only things that can ever make him smile.  He tells you how he hasn’t smiled as much as he has since he reunited with you at the Danbury ball in years.  He confesses that every time he holds you while you dance, he has trouble letting go when the music ends, and when he sees another man take your hand and spin you around the room, he has to hold himself back from physically stepping in and pulling you back into his arms.  He tells you that he finds you beautiful and intoxicating, and describes every last inch of you that he can’t stop dreaming about, but lingers the longest in his description of your eyes and the richness of expressions they make that leave him breathless.  He tells you all these things because if he doesn’t say them out loud, he thinks he will burst from having to hold his feelings in all the time.  He tells you these things because he knows you will never hear them.

As the doctor predicted, the fever breaks late the following day and you start to stir shortly after.  Blinking your eyes open slowly, they come into focus to your father’s worry lined face and you watch as it cracks with relief, “Welcome back, dearest.  How do you feel?”

Not sure you can trust your voice right now, you give your father a small smile and nod when he says he needs to get the doctor.  In the few minutes you have alone, you try to get your bearings; the last thing you remember is waking to a terrible headache and falling back asleep after Daphne told you she would be sending your suitors away.  You swear you have vague memories of Pero’s voice and soft touch, but that couldn’t have been real.  Pero.  Oh.  You remember now the reason for having woken up before feeling empty and sad, but you don’t have too long to linger on it because your father returns swiftly with the doctor.

After declaring you well on your way to a full recovery, the doctor leaves you with your father; the Count, looking like the weight of the world has been lifted off his shoulders, hugs you tightly and clasps his hands tightly over yours, “I am so glad you are better, dearest.  Now, will you please tell your suffering father what is troubling that heart of yours?”

You’re shocked.  How could your father know about your feelings for Pero when you only realized them a few nights ago?  Your surprise must be written all over your face because the Count gently explains, “My dear, in the entirety of your life, you have only ever had such a fever twice, both times due to crying yourself sick from heartbreak.  The first time was when you were a young girl and I read you The Little Mermaid - the ending saddened you to tears.  The other was when we were leaving Portugal and I didn’t let you keep the stray puppy you had been feeding for a month.  This is how I know something ails your heart terribly.  Please.  Tell your father so he can help you.”

Your heart swells with affection for your father - he has always been the most loving and caring man, attentive to your feelings and understanding of your nature.  There is no one on this earth who you trust so whole heartedly and with whom you feel so safe.  Except for Pero, you suddenly realize. 

You tell your father everything.  You tell him about how Pero lets you be yourself without reservation, and that with him you don’t need to temper down your enthusiasm for your interests or make your experiences seem smaller than they are.  How he encourages you in everything you do and makes you feel like you’re capable of anything and everything.  He respects you and approaches you with kindness, always making you feel safe and taken care of.  That he makes you laugh all the time.  And that you’ve taken Pero and his wonderfulness for granted, not realizing just how rare and valuable all his amazing qualities are because if you had you would have figured out earlier that you’re completely in love with him.  You cry softly and confess to your father that your heart is broken because you’re in love with a man who will never see you more than a childhood compatriot, and that you may never get over this sad truth.

The Count listens to you sympathetically, and when you’re finished, he simply tilts his head thoughtfully and asks, “How do you know he does not care for you in the same manner?”

You can hardly tell your father that you snuck out of Bridgerton House and interrupted Pero when he had company over, so you have to cite another reason you’re so certain of how Pero feels about you.  But you find yourself struggling to come up with any concrete examples or reasoning that satisfy even yourself; all you can say is, “Because he wishes for me to find a husband.  He encourages me to do so.  I’m simply the daughter of his father’s friend.”

Something like bemusement dances over your father’s face, “It seems to a me that a man who thinks of you as simply the daughter of his father’s friend would not have purchased my shares in the fleet.”

You’re absolutely stunned.  Pero purchased your father’s shares?  But why?  There was no inherent income from the investment, the dividends benefitted you and your future children only, “Why would Pero do that?”

“You will have to ask him yourself, dearest.  It shouldn’t be too long before he visits himself now that he’s likely heard you’re awake.  He had not left your bedside for nearly two days and it was only at my insistence that he let me sit vigil so he could go home and change his clothes.”

Again, you’re astonished; is it possible that your vague recollections of Pero’s voice and gentle touches while you were ill are real? 

“I will say, when I asked him the same question of why, his answer was that he did not want the hard work you and I put into our happy venture to be squandered.  He said he knew that would break your heart.”

It’s true, it would.

“With his experience, I know the fleet would be in good hands.”

Nodding, you have to agree.

“… and you would be in good hands.”

You look up to see your father looking at you with an expression you can’t quite place.  You’re about to ask him about it when you hear a quiet knocking and you look over to see Pero standing in the open doorway, as if you had summoned him with your conversation.

“My apologies, I do not mean to interrupt.  I thought I heard your voice and wanted to see if you were awake,” Pero looks tired, but hopeful.

The Count waves him in and gets up, whispering in your ear, “Be kind to him, dearest.  The man has been in anguish and has not left your bedside for more than a few minutes these past two days.”  Kissing you on the cheek, he tells you he will go and find the Duchess to give her the good news of your recovery if the doctor has not yet done so himself.  After he pulls away, you notice for the first time that your room is filled with peonies, every flat surface covered with the most splendid displays in the prettiest pastel colours – your heart soars at the sight.  When Pero takes your father’s place in the chair across from you, neither of you notice that the Count closes the door behind him.

“Dulce, how are you feeling,” asks Pero with as much feeling as you’ve ever heard from him.

You tell him you’re much better, and that although no one has said so explicitly, you suspect that much of your recovery is due to his diligent care and watch over you.

“It was nothing, Dulce.  I was worried about you.  I am glad you are okay now,” he says, relief evident in his voice.

“Thank you for taking care of me.  I really don't know what I have done to deserve your kindness, Pero.  And not only these past two days when I’ve taken ill, but over the entire course of this season – I do not think I have ever properly thanked you for being there for me, supporting and encouraging me, and bringing me such peace and joy so that I did not buckle under the pressure of my debut.  Please allow me to do so right now.  Thank you, Pero,” you look at him with adoration and admiration, pouring all your feelings out and disguising them as simple gratitude.

“It has been my absolute pleasure, truly.  I am so very proud of the woman you have grown up to be: beautiful, smart, funny, and so, so very caring.  You are one of kind, Dulce – and the lucky man who marries you needs to know just how special you are.  There isn’t anyone else who has your vibrant spirit, your sweet disposition, your fun-loving heart.  He needs to know and nurture all these wonderful qualities so that your light never goes out,” Pero espouses your virtues and merits with eyes fixed upon yours, wishing he could express just how deep his admiration truly runs.

To say you’re affected would be an understatement, and it makes you bold and brave.

“Pero, I cannot tell you how much your kind words mean to me.  I have never known a man to be more genuine and earnest that you; when you say something, you mean it.  I find you so very thoughtful this way.  And in other ways as well – I know, for example, it must have been you who filled this room with my favourite flowers.”  Pero nods indulgently and you carry on, “… and I know you purchased the shares in the fleet from my father.  Thank you, Pero.”

Pero is surprised, although he had not asked the Count to keep the sale from you, he didn’t expect you to know already.

You’re looking at him with an expression he won’t let himself name, eyes soft, almost pleading, “Why would you do something so generous, Pero?”

Pero remains quiet, as if wrestling with how he wishes to answer and you wait patiently, not sure what to expect.

“The owner of the shares has custody of a great gift.  The fleet is an impressive venture - it has potential to do considerable good in this world, and much of that is thanks to you and your father’s dedication and contributions – the holder of these shares cannot squander that opportunity; he needs to honour you and your father’s legacy by carrying on the good work you’ve started together.  But that in and of itself is not the gift.  The man who holds these shares is also given the gift of being able to take care of you, to have a small hand in ensuring a prosperous future for you and your children.  I… could not take the risk that someone who did not understand the honour of this charge would hold these shares.  I hope you can understand and not think it imprudent of me.”

You don’t know what to say.  Pero is so generous and considerate – how could he ever think you would view his gesture as anything but deeply caring?  Unsure of your silence, Pero attempts to lighten the mood, “This way, I can still be in your life.  I can come to see you when I need to discuss matters of the fleet.”

“Pero, you’re my friend!  You do not need to have a business pretense to see me.”

He shakes his head sadly, “You will be married, Dulce.  Your husband would not like a man like me visiting his wife frequently.”

“A man like you?” you’re not sure what he means.

“A man who looks at you the way I look at you.”

You inhale sharply, hardly allowing yourself to breathe, “And how do you look at me, Pero?”

“Like you are the sun, Dulce.  Like everything you touch is made brighter and better from the light of your smile and the warmth of your sweet laugh.  As if under your care and attention, everything and everyone, including me, grows – stronger, brighter, better.  I look at you like I dream about the graceful notes of your voice every night and wish to hear your melody of thoughts and opinions on all things.  I look at you like I am hypnotized just by the sway of your hips and even the lilt of your fingers.  Everyday, I’m ever more enchanted with the tilt of your head and curve of your mouth.  I look at you like I could never get enough.”

“And what if I don’t want that?”

“Then I will stay away, mi reina.  Anything you wish,” though crushed, Pero knows that he would do whatever you asked.

“No, Pero, you misunderstand.  What if I don’t want a husband who does not want you looking at me like that?  What if I want you to look at me like that?  What if I do not want a husband who isn’t you?”

“Dulce…” Pero’s heart has leapt into his throat, he can hardly allow himself to believe what he’s hearing, “… you do not know what you’re saying.  You would not want me for a husband.”

You smile kindly, “And why not?”

Pero looks at you so sadly it breaks your heart, “You would not wish to separate from your friends and leave England to be mistress of a lowly Barón’s estate in a foreign land where you know no one and do not speak the language.  Not when you have suitors with much grander fortunes, with estates nearer to your friends, and where you and your children would grow up in the style befitting the daughter of a British Count.  You would not want a husband who is never home and spends more time on the seas and in far off lands than he does on home soil; one you never see and for whom you would worry all the time, not knowing where he is or what he is doing.”

“Would you not be willing to take me with you on your travels, Pero?”

“Of course, I would,” Pero never second guesses his answer.

Heart still aflutter at Pero’s romantic declarations, you press ahead, determined.  “Well.  It seems then that no one would be better suited to be my husband than you!  You must know me well enough to know that I do not care for grand fortunes and estates, and my dear father and now you have made sure that I will never be financially dependent on any husband.  What I care for is freedom and adventure!  And exploration and not being kept from the joys this life has to offer because I am a woman, or just somebody’s wife.  As for my friends, I can always visit!  And I am fortunate enough that the strength of our bonds is not dependent on having to see each other constantly.  Honestly!  This would not be the first time in my life I have gone to live in a foreign country where I do not speak the native tongue – it’s practically second nature to me now!  But I can see how it would be useful to be able to fluently converse with servants and locals - I suppose I would just have to commit myself to learning Spanish.  That is,” you’re suddenly embarrassed upon realizing that Pero hasn’t actually asked you to be his wife, and instead, you’re espousing all the reasons you find the match to be agreeable when he himself hasn’t expressed any desire for it, “if you would wish to have me.” 

“Dulce, all I have done since the moment I laid eyes on you at the Danbury Ball is wish to have you.  Do you know how hard it was for me to see you entertaining all those suitors when I was certain none of them could ever appreciate you for even half the wonderful person you are?  None of them had any idea what a smar-“

You crash your lips to his, and after the initial surprise, Pero kisses you back with the fervent need that’s been building in his soul the past few months.  Throwing your arms around him, you open your mouth to his just as his hands pull you flush to his chest; it’s the warmest, hungriest first kiss to have ever been kissed.  Your mind having only recently caught up to your heart, and Pero’s constrained feelings finally being set free, your tongues press together over and over, spilling all the unspoken words between the both of you.  On instinct you fist Pero’s shirt and pull him down with you onto the bed, Pero’s eyes darkening as he climbs on top of you, placing one knee in between your legs while keeping the other on the ground.  You finally run your hands through his soft curls and it feels as incredible as you had imagined two nights ago; you both moan softly at the sensation.

“Dulce, you make the prettiest noises…”

You purr softly at Pero’s praise, leading him to groan deeper into your mouth and you feel the hand that isn’t braced on the pillow next to your head start to skate up your side, landing near your breast and tentatively drawing circles on the underside of your plush curves with its thumb. You arch into Pero’s hand to encourage him to touch you, and he responds as he always promised he would if he had the chance which is to give in to your every desire.  Groping your breast and finding your nipple between his fingers, Pero rolls and pinches so expertly that you can’t help but writhe beneath him.  He shifts to kiss down your neck as he continues his attentions on your peak and when his knee brushes your throbbing centre, you gasp loudly before covering your mouth with your hands.  Still breathing heavily, the two of you giggle and smile stupidly at each other in the tender moment.  Pressing his forehead against yours, Pero whispers, “Mi reina, we should stop, I still need to ask your father for your hand.  Tomorrow, I am sure he will come here for breakfast and I will ask to speak with him after.”

Looking deep into is eyes, you nod; you know Pero’s right, though there’s a warmth radiating from your very being that wishes to invite scandal and tell him to never stop touching you, knowing by the way he’s making you feel right now that it would be worth it.

Not without regret, Pero pulls himself off of you and stands; after he helps you sit up, Pero tips your chin with his finger so you look at him squarely.  A seriousness takes over his face, an expression he usually reserves for others, “Are you sure you want me, mi amor?  You have so many suitors, so many options.”

Your eyes shine with sincerity and so much softness for this man that does not seem to understand just how much you love him.  You vow to spend the rest of your days showing him, “There are no options when there’s you, Pero.”

You can’t help but shriek a little in laughter as Pero falls on you and crushes his lips to yours, pinning your body to your bed with his large and solid frame.  Kissing you over and over, Pero punctuates his affection with barely strung together words of love - So perfect.  So perfect.  Can’t believe it.  How.  How did I get so.  Damn.  Lucky.  Beautiful. Perfect girl.

Right before your giggles can turn into moans, a knock on your door freezes you both.  The noise is quickly followed by the Duchess’ slightly amused voice, “Is everything okay?  We have brought up dinner.  Please let me know when it is decent for us to come in.”

Giving you one last peck on your lips before chuckling lightly, Pero pulls you up and whispers, “Tomorrow,” before going to open the door for Daphne.

The next morning you find Pero waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs when you come down.  Checking quickly to make sure there aren’t any lingering servants, you step off the third to last step and fling yourself into his arms.  Pero catches you easily and gives you a twirl before placing you gently on your feet, then places a less gentle kiss to your lips.  With a few hurried murmurings of devotion - I missed you.  You look beautiful. I still can’t believe you’re mine - you break apart and head to breakfast.

When the two of you enter the dining room, you’re greeted exuberantly by your friends congratulating you on your recovery and expressing their delight that you’re well enough to rejoin them.  Your father hugs you and you think you detect a knowing smile gracing his face, but you’re too soon seated with platters of food being offered and pushed towards you for you to be sure.  It’s a happy occasion but also slightly awkward – you’re seated next to Pero, but you have to pretend that nothing has changed between the two of you.  Trying to cheerfully chat with your father and friends, you find yourself unable to give the conversation your full attention because you trying with all your might to hold in the most wonderful news of your life, and with it, your overflowing happiness.  It doesn’t help that Pero finds increasingly mischievous ways to secretly touch you throughout breakfast: foot reaching over to playfully nudge yours, gently squeezing your thigh under the table.  When he purposefully brushes his hand down your arm and over yours in order to reach for the butter dish, you gasp in surprise - his touch out in the open sending a warm thrill through to your heart.  In response to your friends’ concerns, you have to lie and say you may still be feeling fatigued, and Pero, ever the menace, pats your shoulder affectionately and reminds you not to overexert yourself before buttering his scone with a smirk.

After your father finishes his meal, you nervously watch Pero hastily shove his last piece of food into his mouth before asking the Viscount for use of his office, and entreats your father for a word.  Finishing your own breakfast as quickly as you can without drawing suspicion, you find your way to the closed office doors and pace outside impatiently.  Try as you may, you cannot make out any of what is being spoken in the office, even when you press your ear up to the door.  After what feels like an eternity, the door opens and Pero exits; not the least bit surprise to find you outside, he whispers in your ear as he walks by, “Your father wishes to see you now, Dulce.  Come find me afterwards.  I will be upstairs writing a letter.”

The Count welcomes you into the office with open arms and you immediately fly into your father’s loving embrace.  As he continues to envelope you in the warmth of his joy, he chuckles, “Well, dearest, I think your old father deserves some acknowledgement for being right.”

Pulling away from him, you look at the face that’s so much like your own, eyes crinkled in mirth and a smile big enough to rival yours, “I concede, Father - you were right.  And I have never been so happy to have been wrong!”

Your father’s already expressive eyes shine with an extra brightness, “All I have ever hoped for is your happiness, my dear.  Pero is a good man, like his father before him and he has given me every assurance that he will cherish and take care of you the way you deserve.  I shall rest easily knowing that you will be in his capable hands… and he in yours.”

What did you ever do to deserve such a brilliant father who has given you the most wonderful life?  You ponder this as you walk up the stairs after telling your father that you love him and saying goodbye for the day.  You suspect you’ll never discover a satisfactory answer, but can only hope you can one day bestow the same unconditional love and support upon your own children.

You find Pero sitting at the corner desk in the drawing room where some of the Bridgertons are relaxing: Eloise and Colin reading, Francesca tinkering at the piano forte, Daphne looking over some correspondence of her own.  Approaching him silently, you look over his shoulder and whisper, “Mi rey, to whom are you writing?”

Smiling at your Spanish endearment of choice, Pero responds without looking up from his task, “I am writing my king, Dulce, and asking him for his permission to marry.”

Ah right, you consider that the Count could very well be penning a similar letter to the queen at this same moment, “What happens if he refuses, Pero?” 

“Then I abscond with my new bride and we live like pirates on the run,” smiles Pero, still not looking up.

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” you grin.

Pero finally sets his soft gaze upon you, “Nothing can be so bad if you are by my side, mi reina.”

He looks at you with such devotion and affection, you can’t help yourself - you cup his perfect face in your hands and bend down to kiss him.  Pero returns your soft, gentle kisses with his own, nothing urgent, nothing hurried – just a moment of tenderness that couldn’t have been restrained.

You don’t break apart even when you hear the successive gasps of your friends or even when Colin cheers, unable to part from Pero’s lips even a moment sooner than you need to.  When the two of your finally look up, it’s to the sight of the Duchess standing with her hands on her hips and a beaming smile on her face, “Do you two have something to tell us?”

You and Pero attend all of the remaining season events as a happily engaged couple.  Pero, no longer scowling all by his lonesome against the wall, but standing tall and proud next to you; his hand laced through yours or comforting and firm on your lower back as the two of you receive congratulations from the ton.  He drinks in the jealous looks from your former suitors and inwardly chuckles a little at the conceding grumbles from the mamas who proclaim with surprise that they didn’t know he had been looking for a wife.  His stoic countenance cracking just a little at their poorly concealed scandalized faces when he replies that he hadn’t been.  For your part, you don’t notice any of this; you only have eyes and ears for Pero.  Your face hurts from smiling so much – it’s all you can do to tear your eyes away from your handsome fiancé in order to respond politely to the questions you receive from curious members of the ton.

You still dance every dance, floating on air as you traverse the floor in the strong arms of your dashing Spaniard; now that there is no danger of some other man whisking you away from him for the next dance, Pero quite enjoys the dance floor.  He holds you closer than he probably should, chests touching and faces so close that the gentle fan of your breath curls over his lips; his hands find themselves placed low on your back during the waltz, dipping scandalously close to where he really wants them to be, itching to squeeze the plush globes of your ass.  If anyone was to make a comment to you about it, you would giggle and simply say that your fiancé is a passionate man.

And he is.  A passionate man, that is.  Under his grave and steely visage, Pero is a man who yearns for and craves the woman he loves, hungry for you at all times.  Such a man is not made of infinite restraint - the limits of Pero’s self control having already been sorely tested for the past few months.  As such, whenever an opportunity to escape the rigid formality of these events would arise, Pero wasted no time whisking you away for himself.

At the Grand Picnic, he steals you away to a secluded spot in the gardens where he proceeds to kiss you so fervently and passionately that you actually get dizzy.  He presses you against the base of some winged sculpture and hungrily licks and sucks down your neck, all while you cover your mouth with your hands, hoping against hope to contain your moans and soft whimpers.  The stone angel watches from its perch as Pero trails his mouth down past your collar towards the swell of your breasts, already rapidly rising and falling.  Pressing feather light kisses to the tops of your breasts, Pero drinks in your breathy giggles when his scruff tickles you, before diving in devilishly, lapping at your ample curves and the valley in between.  As you start to pant from arousal, Pero finds himself most ardently wishing that your tits would break free of their fine silk confines and spill into his mouth. 

A la mierda, he thinks and glides his tongue into the sliver of space between your dress and skin, dragging it across your chest until he hits your hardened nipple; having found his prize, Pero dives in, straining with his tongue to stroke your peak harder and faster.  When he leverages enough space with his chin to wedge in between your soft skin and the fabric of your dress, Pero takes your breast into his mouth and sucks while groping your other breast with his hand, finding the twin nipple already straining against your gown, aching to be played with.  The combined sensation has you grabbing at Pero’s hair and pressing him closer to you; with your hands now otherwise occupied, your gasps and moans spill unfiltered from your open mouth.  The obscene sounds Pero pulls from you must start to carry, because soon you hear voices getting nearer to where you and Pero have now frozen, his mouth buried in your chest; he places one last chaste kiss to tops of each of your breasts before the two of you giggle and run hand-in-hand out of the gardens.

At the Opera, Pero secures a box on the second mezzanine for the two of you.  With most of the ton preferring the orchestra seats or boxes closer to the stage, you find yourselves alone in the secluded alcove nearer to the house balcony.  Once the lights dim and the overture starts, Pero takes your hand in his and you lean on his shoulder, relaxing into his closeness.  By the time the audience is enjoying the soprano’s heart-breaking aria in the third act, Pero has his left arm thrown around you and the knuckles of his right hand are ghosting over the front of your panties where he finds them already damp from want. 

“Keep your eyes on the stage, Dulce,” he whispers in your ear as his thumb draws slow circles over your clit.  You have to bite your lip to stop yourself from crying out, trying with all your might not to let your whole body react to Pero’s teasing lest it draws the attention of the opera house attendees sitting on the balcony or in the boxes on the opposite side of the hall.

Pero is patient.  And thorough.  He takes an inordinate time exploring the shape of your pussy - running his thumb then fingers over the outline of your slit and the hardening form of your clit, eventually cupping your mound and letting you grind down on his palm to give you some of the friction you so desperately seek.  He toys with you over the fabric of your underwear for the remainder of the 3rd act until your panties are completely soaked through.  Only once the 4th act is underway does he slip his hand down the front of your underwear and start to run his forefinger through your folds.

“Pero…” you sigh, spreading your legs wider to allow him more freedom of movement.

“Doing so good for me, mi amor,” he whispers back, continuing his smooth, teasing strokes, dragging your sticky arousal through the valleys of your seam and trailing it up to your clit, spreading it over and around your bundle of nerves before returning his fingers to your wet core.  He repeats this over and over, alternating the speed and pressure of his fingers, never letting you settle into a complacent state.  Quite the opposite – you feel like your body is on fire. 

Willing yourself to breathe through your nose as evenly as you can, you focus on the soprano’s finale song before the ensemble gathers for the finale; just as the singer hits the high notes of her solo with a warm vibrato, Pero pushes a finger straight into your heat and you whine in harmony with her.  Slowly he pumps his finger in and out of your tight hole, nearly losing control with the way you clench as he drags along your warm warms; Pero feels you hum around him as pleasure you’ve never felt before radiates throughout your entire body.  The squelching sound of Pero working your cunt are thankfully masked by the musical drama unfolding on the stage, and Pero uses the opportunity to ask you if you’re ready for another. 

Seeing you nod as subtly as you can, Pero murmurs, “Good girl,” before adding a second finger to join the first.  Oh.  You’re so full.  It’s a stretch, but the sting pairs perfectly with the devastating pleasure now coursing through your veins as Pero slowly drives his fingers into you.  Staying with a slower pace until you start dripping down his wrist, Pero’s fingers now start to thrust faster, keeping tempo with the musical build that the ton in the orchestra is enjoying, clueless to your lascivious activities above them.

When Pero presses his thumb to your slippery clit, you surge forward and grab onto the balcony banister for stability, nearly in danger of drawing the attention of unwanted eyes.  Refusing to ease up in his efforts on your cunt, Pero continues to push you closer and closer to your high, his fingers never faltering from their punishing pace until you come and cry out in tune with the finale’s final chorus.  While the rest of the audience applauses when the curtain falls, Pero’s praise is only for you - purring that you did so good for him and kissing you gently as his slips his slick covered hand back into his glove. 

At the Hastings Ball, you’re the one feeling bold.  Having arrived at your friend’s estate a week prior to help the Duchess with preparations, you familiarize yourself with the grounds and all the intimate, secret corners perfect for intimate, secret things.  Once all the guests have arrived and the festivities have begun in earnest, you sneak off with your fiancé, leading him down a hidden staircase into the Duke’s impressive wine cellar.  With all of tonight’s refreshments having already been pulled from inventory, you know no one will be coming down here during the ball; you’re free to touch, feel and love on Pero in all the ways you desire.  Once Pero realizes the amount of privacy you’ve been afforded, he’s like a dog unleashed, stalking and cornering you into a wall with a growl, sniping at your neck with his teeth and lips, pawing at your soft curves already on display for him in your pretty ballgown. 

Here in the cellar, while you still cannot be loud, but you don’t have to be quiet – the cavernous room echos your quiet moans and Pero’s deep grunts like a soundtrack of pleasure that’s percussed by heavy breathing as the two of you drown in one another.  Lips attached to yours, but eyes kept open to take in your lustful expression, Pero spies an unopened crate out of the corner of his eye and smiles against your mouth, “Come here, Dulce.  Let me show you something.”

After letting him lead you to the crate, you allow Pero to help you on top before scooting you back so your legs no longer dangle over the edge.   Grinning, you ask playfully, “What, pray tell, do you wish to show me, Barón?”

“Want to show you how I’m going to make my pretty wife feel good every day we are married,” Pero looks at you, eyes dark, as his starts to ruffle up the many layers of your dress.  You giggle as his pushes through the yards of fabric with a feigned annoyance, bunching it up for you to hold against your chest like an overstuffed pillow.  Once Pero is satisfied with his unfettered access, he gently pushes you to lean back on your elbows, hands still laid prettily on your pillow of dress skirts, eyes watching your handsome fiancé’s movements.  Pero leans over the edge of the crate and rubs your silk stocking covered calves with his big firm hands as he starts kissing up your leg starting from where your stockings end mid thigh.  Every kiss he leaves on your skin gives you a shiver as the cool cellar air hits the imprint his lips leaves behind; then, as he gets closer to your heat, he starts to open mouth kiss where you’re the most sensitive, dragging his tongue back and forth over these tender spot and leading you to throw you head back and close your eyes in heady desire.  When he repeats this fog inducing pattern on the inside of your other thigh, you start begging, “Pero, please… please, my Lord, ple-pl-please!”

Nipping at your sensitive flesh with his teeth, Pero smirks against your leg, “What do you need, mi reina?”

Opening your eyes, you nearly buck into his face when you see Pero’s roguish expression peeking up at you from between your wide spread legs, “Touch me please, mi rey.”

“Here?” he asks, with pretend innocence before he dives in and starts devouring your pussy over the fabric of your underwear without waiting for your answer.  This feels different.  So much like his fingers but even more sensual, intimate, wild.  Pero mouths and nuzzles your cunt with a precision only rivalled by that of his tongue; his tongue has a mind of his own, gently prodding, exploring, reaching where his lips can’t. Pero's hands reach up your legs and hook under the band of your soaked panties and you catch him look at you before he murmurs “May I?” directly into your cunt.  The vibrations of his question run through to your chest and it’s all you can do to nod quickly before you watch him pull the frilly undergarment down your legs and have them drop to the ground.  Already completely wrecked, Pero takes in your glistening folds, wet and primed, and growls, “Look at this perfect pussy.  And she’s all mine.”

You run one hand through his soft curls and grip his hair so he’ll look at you, smiling lazily, already unbelievably blissed out, you promise, “All yours.”

“Mine,” Pero repeats, and then he buries his face into heaven.

The sensation is overwhelming in the very best way.  Pero is eating you, no, devouring you like a man starved; every press of his lips to your pussy somehow deeper and hungrier than the last, as his tongue licks every crest and wave of your core and marks them for his own.  Your slick pools from you, down your backside and dampens your gown beneath you; the wet noises from Pero’s mouth against your folds echo obscenely around you and your voice cannot help but try to add in its own harmony.  All of this makes you feel like a worshiped goddess about to ascend her alter and simultaneously like a wanton whore who knows that true heaven lies in the bodily pleasures of this mortal realm.  Then, as Pero’s mouth closes over your clit and he starts to flick your throbbing nub with his tongue, you realize in your daze that no, what you are is something better than either of those two things: you’re the woman who is marrying Barón Pero Tovar.  That’s the thought that overflows from your thumping heart and pushes you over the edge, coming on Pero’s face as you chant his name in a grateful prayer.

After the Ball, you’re positively exhausted from purposefully overdoing the socializing after returning from the wine cellar so no one would recall your long absence.  Yawning, you’re giving your hair a final brush when you hear a soft clink against your bedroom window, followed shortly by another, then another. 

Confused, you approach your window with slight trepidation, and upon looking out, you think at first that your tired eyes must be deceiving you.  Below your window, gazing up at you, is Pero.  He looks devastatingly handsome; yet to undress – Pero is still in his formal breeches, but his white shirt has been unbuttoned to the middle of his chest, exposing his smooth, tanned skin to your admiring gaze.  You might lick your lips at the sight.  Giggling as you tiptoe down the stairs, you walk out onto the terrace that hangs off the sitting room directly below your bedroom, greeted by Pero’s blinding smile, “Barón, what are you doing here?”

It's an easy climb up the side of the wall to the terrace level for Pero and his long legs; once he’s standing directly in front of you, he answers, “I could not sleep without seeing you one last time, Dulce.”

Where did this man who adores you so openly and without reservation come from?  You throw your arms around his neck and pull him in for a gleeful kiss; you adore him too, after all. 

Still grinning, Pero jokes, “And as I recall, it is my turn to call upon you in the dead of night from beneath your window in order to rouse you from the comfort of your bed chamber.”

Although he has no such intent, Pero’s words immediately transport you back to the night you realized your feelings for him… and how you had left his house, devastated upon the discovery that he was not alone.  Stilling in your movements, you shrink away from Pero a little; none of this goes without notice.

“Dulce, are you okay?  I’m sorry, I did not mean to imply there was anything wrong with these late-night meetings, but if you prefer to go back inside, I understand.”

You shake your head to let him know you’re not upset by that, but still your expression remains slightly sad and hurt.  Pero bends at the knee to meet your eye, “Mi amor?”

You’ve never lied or kept anything from Pero in all the time you’ve known him, and now that you’re his fiancé, you’re not about to start.  Looking at the ground next to you, you mumble, “I’m sorry, I was just remembering the night you’re alluding to; when I interrupted you… with those two women.”

When Pero doesn’t answer, you wonder if he’s upset with you for having disturbed him that night, and you look up to meet his eye finally, trying to give him a brave smile, “Please do not be upset with me.  I did not know you had company, which would have been entirely your private business, to which I know I am not entitled.  But if I must be honest, I do not particularly enjoy imagining you with other women.”

Pero has to stifle a laugh; if only you understood the war that raged in his chest every time a suitor placed his hand on your waist for a dance or when you would laugh at their jokes with that twinkle in your eye he loves so much – then you would not feel as if you had to hide these feelings from him.

Stroking your jaw gently, Pero tips your face to his, “Dulce, I could never be upset with you.  Firstly, you are entitled to all my business, private or not.  Secondly, the women to which you refer were not there by my invitation – Lord Ridlington had sent them to my house that evening as some sort of prank.  In his words, maybe if the Barón got laid, he would not be such a stick in the mud.  Nothing happened with those women, I promise, mi amor.  When you arrived, I was right in the middle of arranging for a carriage to take them home.  And thirdly,” Pero walks you backward until your back hits the wall; he braces an arm above your head, and towering over you, grips firmly onto your waist with his other hand, “how could I ever even think of another woman when there is you?  You with your pretty face, and your sweet smile, and your heavenly laugh.  You with your witty quips, and your melodic voice that says the smartest things, and this gorgeous body…” 

Pero’s voice trails off as he starts to kiss down your neck and his strong hands start to move up and down your sides in unison, then separating so one can reach up to massage your breast and the other down to grope your ass.  Your head tips back to allow Pero more access as you melt into his touch - he’s everywhere at once, overwhelming all of your senses.  Kissing down to your breasts, Pero finds them available to him in a way he has yet to experience, your thin night dress much flimsier than the gowns you wear during the day; he can already see your nipples poking up through the fabric, hard and inviting.  Without warning, he ducks and takes one in his mouth, teasing and sucking in tandem with your loud gasps and moans.

“Oh Pero, right there, oh- nghhh, please that feels so good!” you cry out breathily.  Spurned on by your praise, Pero frantically rucks up the skirts of your nightgown and slots his thigh between your legs, pulling you down to sit.�� The pressure and friction on your cunt sends a wave of pleasure through you, amplified and extended by Pero’s tongue and lips laving their attention on your breasts.  He encourages you to rock against his thigh, using his grip on your waist to help you find an enjoyable rhythm, and once you’ve found one that catches your clit on the flex of his leg, his hands leave you to your work and travel up your body to pull down the front of your night dress, exposing your tits to the cool night air and Pero’s darkened gaze.

“Beautiful,” he breathes, as he leans back to admire everything before him: your naked curves, your hardened peaks begging for his attention, and the sight of the woman he loves getting off by rubbing her pretty pussy all over his thigh.  He thinks he’s minutes away from combusting.

Instead, he dives right into your chest, mouth and tongue licking, kissing and nibbling, hands groping, pinching and pulling all your delicious parts so that he can bring you to your second orgasm of the night.  While tugging at your nipple with his teeth, he hisses low, “Were you jealous, Dulce?”

Half out of your mind from pleasure you gasp back, “Yes!”

Growling, “Good,” Pero sucks in a mouthful of your breast and kneads what he can’t fit into his mouth with his hands, panting out words when he should be taking in breaths of much needed air -

Now you know how I felt.

When some other man would touch you.

When you would smile at your suitors.

When you didn’t know I would burn the world for you.

You cry out at his confessions, gripping the back of his head and pulling him closer to you still; increasing your rocking, you’re chasing your own high when your knee brushes up against something hard, something big.  When it jumps at your touch, you use your knee to stroke Pero’s length with every pass of your pussy over his thigh. 

Your breasts now wet from Pero’s mouth, the cool night air’s chill against your skin causes you to tighten in Pero’s arms as he continues to electrify you with his hands, his mouth, his tongue, his words -

Never need to be jealous ever again, Dulce.

There’s only you.

Never want anyone else.

Don’t need anyone else.

You’re my everything.

Mine.

You come to his loving and possessive declarations, singing back your own - Yours, yours, yours.  Body violently seizing and shuddering, Pero holds you close as you ride out your high.  As you continue to buck against him, he crests to your desperate whimpers and breathless panting – his eyes never leaving your face, mesmerized by the sweet blissed out expression that he pulled from you.  Finally opening your eyes, you grin lazily at the sight of your lover smiling at you, calming down from his own summit; and when you feel the dampness of his trousers against your bare knee, you giggle in pride and pull Pero back to you lips for a flutter of happy kisses.  As he walks you to the door to the waiting room, you hardly give him a moment without a light peck on his lips, cheeks, neck – not sure you’ll be able to stand being apart from Pero for even a few hours of sleep.

Before he leaves you, Pero cups your face in his large hands, whispering against your lips, “I’m yours,” and you smile back and press your mouth to his before returning, “Mine.”

You marry at the end of the season in late June with the blessing of the Spanish king to do so in England.  The ceremony itself is wonderful and your gown is gorgeous, but you hardly remember anything save for how handsome Pero looks waiting for you at the end of the aisle and how he and the Count both had tears in their eyes for most of the wedding.  What you remember much more vividly is the fun you and your friends had when preparing for the nuptials.  Days and nights filled with laughter, play fighting over flower arrangements, tearful promises to never let distance impact your friendship – you thank the Bridgertons over and over for their love and support during this season and bringing you to Pero; you can never repay them.  When you board the ship to your new home, it’s not without tears as you say goodbye to your friends and father; everyone sends you off with mirroring sentiments and promises to visit soon.

If the Tovar estate servants had any concerns or misgivings about having a foreigner as mistress of the house, you soon win them over with your kind and gentle nature; your cheerful and easy-going demeanor overriding any language barrier, which with their help and your dedication, you were overcoming more and more every day.  And if there were any remaining whispers, be they among the members of the Spanish court, villagers, or any one else, they were quickly quieted once the concerned party bore witness to the ferocity of your love for your husband and his obvious and complete devotion to you.  The older house staff observed quite readily that they hadn’t seen the Barón smile as much as he did since he was a boy.  The newer servants declared that prior to his marriage, they had not seen him smile at all.

One morning, only two months after landing in Spain, you wake to find yourself alone in bed for the first time since you and Pero got married.  Deciding it unnecessary to ring for your ladies’ maid (Lucia, a delightful woman whose English was improving as much as your Spanish), you throw on a dressing robe over your night dress and pad downstairs, sure you’ll find your husband in the dining room having breakfast. 

As usual, you’re right; for a few minutes you remain standing in the doorway, admiring your handsome hulk of a husband as he shovels the remainder of his breakfast into his mouth.  You love the way he eats… everything - with voracity, unabashed hunger, like he can never get enough.  Strolling in only when you see him push aside his empty plate in favour of a pile of letters and paperwork to begin reading, you thank the footman who had already seen you and plated you a warm breakfast, before you approach Pero’s chair.  Dancing your fingers across his broad shoulders, you slide onto your husband’s lap before laying a soft morning kiss to his lips, “Buenos días, mi rey.”

“Buenos días, mi reina,” Pero kisses back, turning his full attention to you as he always does.

“Te echo de menos esta mañana (I missed you this morning),” you pout, although you’re not really upset with him in any way.

Pero smiles at you indulgently, “I thought you might like to get some extra sleep.”  He nuzzles your ear and you can hear him smile, “Considered you might be tired after your activities last night, Baronesa.”

You giggle and pull him in for another kiss, your cheeks get hot just thinking about the multiple orgasms that Pero pulled from you with his talented fingers, mouth and cock; you purr back and pepper his scruff with kisses, “Very thoughtful of you, Barón.”  Your eyes soften, “No me gusta despertar sin ti, Pero (I hate waking up without you, Pero).”

Pero kisses your temple, “My apologies, Dulce.  How can I make it up to my pretty wife?”

You squirm in his lap; a thrill still runs through you when you hear him refer to you as his wife, and you start to plant breathy kisses to the spot right behind his ear that you know drives him crazy.

“Already?  Is my wife so insatiable?” chuckles Pero, though his voice his has dropped to that low baritone register that makes your stomach flip.  You nod into his neck and start to run your fingers through his soft curls, tugging impatiently at the ones at the base of his neck.

“Déjanos por favor (leave us please),” Pero calls out politely.  The servants in the dining room leave at once and close the doors, some smirking - all the servants having gotten used to their master and new mistress’ voracious appetite for one another.  The younger servants were mainly amused and some even found it romantic; the older servants acting scandalized, but secretly pleased to see such a happy marriage on the estate after so long.

 “Sit up here, mi amor,” Pero pulls you off his lap gently and directs you up onto the dining room table; you move his papers aside and push his flatware out of the way.  Teasing him, you quip, “I thought you already had breakfast, my lord?”

“I’m ready for seconds,” growls Pero as he pulls up his chair and seats himself between your legs.  Licking his lips greedily, he unties your robe and peels it open to reveal your lacey nightgown underneath. Lifting up the skirt to reveal your already wet and waiting naked cunt, he murmurs, "Delicious," before lowering himself to meet you where you already need him so desperately.  Aware that you might still be sensitive from the previous night’s sex, Pero is careful with you – his licks and strokes to your folds are gentle and slow, he mouths and sucks your clit with tenderness and reverence, and when he presses two, then three fingers into your tight hole, he does so with restrained worship.  It’s only when you cry out for more, more, more, that he quickens his pace and fully presses his mouth to you, tongue tangling with your sensitive bud before nibbling it between his teeth.  Your moans and debauched sounds of rapture have never been restrained in this house, your house – and you come with a desperate and enchanting scream befitting the blinding pleasure now electrifying your body. 

Kissing up your nightgown and planting loving open mouth kisses to your breasts before letting you taste yourself, Pero licks into your mouth and whispers, “Te amo, mi reina,” before standing back to unlace his pants.

Your mouth waters as you watch your husband free his cock; no matter how many times you’ve taken him in your hands, your mouth, your cunt, you’re still in awe of its size and the things that Pero’s length can do to you.  Whenever you feel the stretch of him entering you, you always recall the first time and how gentle he was as he pushed in.  When you remember the tenderness in his voice and face as he made sure you were comfortable, putting your pleasure before his – your heart always blooms with overflowing love for this man.  How did you get so lucky?  Pero would of course always say that he’s the lucky one, and then show you just how deep his affection for you runs by thrusting with intensity, punching that spot inside that makes you see stars, over and over – the exact way he’s doing so now.  “¡Cómo te amo, Pero!” you whimper again and again, and by the way he continues to drive into you, you know he believes you.  Folding himself over you so that he can bury his face into your neck and nip at the delicate spot at the base, Pero's pants and groans have you arching your back and fisting his hair just for something to hold on to lest you float away.

“I’m close, Dulce.  Come with me,” Pero growls, snaking a hand between your bodies and finding your clit with ease.  Drawing quick circles over your swollen nub, you feel the coil beneath your belly tighten and tighten until it snaps and you throw you head back chanting your husband’s name as you fall over the cliff.  Not far behind, Pero’s pace falters before he spills into you with a long and low grunt in your ear that shoots straight to where you’re joined as one. 

Weak, limp and perfectly satisfied, you let Pero pull you into a sitting position and kiss him deeply and sweetly as both of your breaths start to even, the heaving of your chests slowing in unison.

Forehead resting against yours, Pero catches your still dazed eyes and gives a small nod towards the papers that had been pushed aside and forgotten, “Dulce, I’ve been charged with accompanying His Majesty’s naval fleet to Naples, Italy.  Would you join me?”

Smiling because you know he already knows the answer, you nod, “Of course, mi amor.  I’ll start making the necessary arrangements today.”

Pero tilts his head, eyes soft and reassuring, “Are you okay with leaving?  We will have only been home for a few short months.”

Cupping your husband’s face in your hands, you gaze adoringly into his eyes, “My home is where you are, Pero.”

Pero closes his eyes and pulls you flush against him, with him still softening inside you, you’re as close as two people can be.  He tips your face to his and whispers, “You’re my home, Dulce,” and all you can do is sigh in unsurpassable happiness as he presses his lips to yours once again.

I've never done a tag list before so please let me know if it doesn't work, or you don't/do want to be on it, or it sets your phone on fire 😅 @drewharrisonwriter @inept-the-magnificent @tuquoquebrute @stcrrjoon @anoverwhelmingdin

@callsignmedusa @wintersquirrel @toobsessedsstuff @starwarslover-81 @la-vie-est-une-fleur29

[goddessofroyalty]

Fandom: Arcane

Pairing: Vander/Silco

I waited so long to edit the 'Silco trying to get Claggor out of him' fic that Season 2 came out and then I knew I had to write a scene with Felicia. Not that any actual method is tested in this scene just discussed.

Extra Felicia scene is below. Full fic can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62547778

Tags: Omegaverse, mpreg, some discussion of childbirth

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

“Oh, you poor thing, they’re still in there are they?” Felicia asks when Silco emerges from the Last Drop despite the fact she can damn well see with her own eyes the answer. Silco’s stomach still huge from his and Vander’s child.

She hadn’t heard any news of the now long-awaited pup being born but she had held out hope that it just hadn’t been announced yet as the new parents adapted to life with a new born and that Vander would have told her Silco wouldn’t be joining her today because he was recovering from birth when she showed up. She had already planned in her head that she’d have time to pop back home to get the small gift she’d brought them and make it to the market before the fresher produce got snapped up.

“Unfortunately,” Silco says with a tight smile, reaching out to tickle at Vi’s face where it peaks out of the wrap Felicia has her in. Not as safe as when she was still inside her but still close enough that Felicia can feel her warmth. “You'll have to wait a little longer to meet your friend.”

Vi babbles back as she’s taken to at anyone or anything that catches her interest.

“I don’t think she’s the one that’s impatient about it,” Felicia says as they start on their way down the road. She keeps pace with Silco because it wasn’t too long ago she was the one waddling around heavy with a pup and he’d been patient with her. Probably because he knew this time would come but that’s not here nor there.

Silco gives her a look.

“What have you heard?”

“Nothing! Nothing!” Felicia raises her hands in defense. “But you’ve both been saying any day now for a few weeks and I know if it was me I’d be starting to go crazy from the wait.”

Vi had been just about spot-on with what the midwife had predicted from the date of Felicia’s last heat. Not that that had helped with their panic about when it happened or made the pain any easier but at least she hadn’t been left waiting for it to get started and only getting bigger by the day like Silco is.

“I’ve tried everything and yet still nothing. Not even a false contraction. Just Vander’s huge pup making my hips ache so much I struggle to sleep,” Silco tells her, his hands busy giving his belly and back as much support as they can.

“Everything?”

“Yes - everything! Even that disgusting tea that costs a fortune. And still no signs of labor.”

“So you’ve tried fucking?” Felicia asks, barely even dropping her voice. They’ve both made now a baby with their alpha so clearly know how to do it.

“That was the first thing I tried,” Silco says, with a roll of his eyes. “Doesn’t cost anything and Vander’s not hard to convince.”

“Gotten on top?”

“Yes. Not that I would recommend it to anyone in a similar state. It was exhausting and uncomfortable and I still do not have the baby out for it.”

Felicia hums at it, already thinking of the next option. Silco peers at her suspiciously.

“What?” he asks.

“Have you gotten him to suck on your tits?” She does lean in close that time, mostly to enjoy the horrified expression it earns her.

“How is that meant to help?” Silco demands. “Probably something alphas made up to give them an excuse.”

“No it’s meant to help get things going,” Felicia says, pressing her hand over Vi about where her heart would be. “Brings your milk in as well, apparently. Your body figures that, well, it had better get the baby out of your so they can start drinking it. Makes you contract as well, the midwife had Vi on my boob almost as soon as she was born to help pass the afterbirth. I’m sure Vander would be happy to help out to get this over with-”

“Vander helping out is not the problem with it,” Silco interrupts. “No, he would be very happy to help out in that way.”

“Then why not?”

“Because I am not having him suck my tits right now,” Silco hisses at her. He’d be a lot more intimidating if he wasn’t also literally waddling with an over 9 month pregnant belly on him.

“Well, then, you clearly don’t want them out all that much,” Felicia says more to tease than anything as Silco bats her away. Even if he doesn’t take her suggestion on board she does hope it won’t be a much longer wait for him and Vander for their pup to be born. They deserve to not have to wait any longer to hold the result of all Silco’s effort.

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 68

Clammask, Lemmy, and Harvest have all recovered from birth.

[Image ID: Harvest, Clammask, and Lemmy stand together with - CONDITION: RECOVERING FROM BIRTH (X3) written under them.]

(Clammask: 63, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Lemmy: 45, female, codekeeper, cold, deep StarClan bond)

(Harvest: 56, female, queen, nervous, good fighter)

Silverkit finds jay feathers and decides to wear them. She and Anchovykit ask Weedfoot how kits are made after she announces her third litter.

[Image ID: Anchovykit and Silverkit talk to Weedfoot, who says “Let’s talk about something else…” Under her, it says + CONDITION: PREGNANT. Silverkit now has blue feathers in her fur. Under her, it says + ACCESSORY: JAY FEATHERS.]

(Silverkit: 3, female, kit, daydreamer, always asking questions)

(Anchovykit: 3, male, kit, charming, curious about StarClan)

(Weedfoot: 117, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

Spikecrash is surprised to hear Wolfkit’s life isn’t as easy as she assumed.

[Image ID: Wolfkit asks Spikecrash, “Is something wrong with me?” Under her, it says - CONDITION: BRUISES.]

---

That day, Spikecrash had what she jokingly referred to as “feelings duty”; she would stay around camp, offering her services to any Clanmates who needed a gentle ear. She expected that to mean lounging about with Darkkick, sharing tongues and enjoying the first signs of spring. Instead, she found herself at the Resting Place, deep into a conversation with Rattlepelt.

A skinny pine overlooking the ocean had given way over the season and finally tumbled on its side, a feast for the bugs. Slush clung to the bottom of the dead trunk, a reminder that winter had yet to release the Clans from her cold jaws. Wood-boring weevils made their homes under the dull bark. When the tree finally fell, Mitepaw insisted on naming it the Resting Place, as cats could easily lounge on the trunk as they studied the death of plant life or watched the sunrise or simply enjoyed a chat. It was perfect for private conversations between a mediator and Clanmate. And by the stars, did Rattlepelt need privacy.

“I’m not trying to get mad,” Rattlepelt grunted. She laid on the trunk, curled under her fox pelt while Spikecrash laid in front of her, a hind leg dangling off. “There’s no good reason for me to get mad at some of these things. I know that. But then I’ll be working with Mitepaw or spending time with Wildclaw, and the next thing I know, I’ve yowled at them and scared them. I barely remember doing it.”

“Like that argument you told me about with Honeybuzz last moon?” Spikecrash sighed. Rattlepelt curled her lip. She groaned again, throwing a paw over her face. “Why don’t we step back from this? Can you tell me what exactly makes you mad? What are you thinking in those moments?”

“I don’t know,” Rattlepelt grumbled. She sat up, fox pelt slipping around her flank. Her copper eyes seemed unfocused, looking inward. “Um… I think about how much I hate what someone’s doing. I feel like they’re doing it to hurt me. Suddenly I want to hurt them back. That’s not me! I don’t know why I’m like this lately.” She pointed her self-loathing to the sea, her spine poking against her thin skin. Spikecrash shivered at the idea of not having her fur to block the late winter cold, but even with her fox pelt slipping off the tree, Rattlepelt seemed unfazed. The only sign she sensed the chill at all was a single twitch of her white ear.

“Even if you may not have noticed,” Spikecrash said, “this sort of change in behavior isn’t immediate. It’s developed over time. It could be a reaction to a lot of small events. Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle’s litter, maybe?”

“I love Tallowkit and Slushkit!” Rattlepelt cried. The many wrinkles of her gray face made her look like a true rattlesnake as she rounded on Spikecrash. When her ribs stuck out against her torso, they were the stripes of a snake ready to strike.

“Just an idea,” Spikecrash said softly, lowering herself deeper into the Resting Place’s bark. “If you want my help, I think figuring out the root of your anger is a good step forward.” Rattlepelt slipped back into herself, catching her forked tongue. 

“Spikecrash?” A short ways west, Darkkick waved her tail, lingering near the walls of camp. The shipwreck’s comforting presence made the Resting Place that much more restful, a reminder that home was only a few steps away. 

“I’ll be with you shortly, Mother!” Spikecrash called. “Let me finish my conversation.”

“I think I’ve had enough for now,” Rattlepelt muttered. She slipped her fox pelt back over herself. The hollow gaps that once housed the fox’s eyes glared at Spikecrash. 

“Come talk to me when you find yourself getting frustrated,” Spikecrash suggested as Rattlepelt jumped off the Resting Place. Rattlepelt nodded, not looking at Spikecrash. She wandered toward the coastline, red pelt burning in the diluted afternoon light peeking through the thin ceiling of gray clouds. Spikecrash bit down her worry. She trotted up to Darkkick, trying to put Rattlepelt’s situation to the side for now.

“Wolfkit’s been asking to speak with you,” Darkkick explained, flicking her short ears back into camp. “She seems bothered.” Spikecrash tried not to purr. What could a little kit like Wolfkit be bothered about? A fight with her littermates? Her biggest challenges were still moons away, but if something itched at her pelt now, Spikecrash would do her duty.

“Why don’t we let her join me at the Resting Place?” Spikecrash suggested. “That sort of special treat may cheer her up.”

“I’m blaming you when the other kits get mad,” Darkkick muttered, going back into camp. Spikecrash waited outside. A minute later, Wolfkit’s fluffy face peeked around the thorny entrance. She glanced over her shoulder, making sure no one would yowl at her before she stepped out of the embrace of RippleClan’s camp. 

“I thought you would like to speak to me somewhere your sisters wouldn’t overhear,” Spikecrash purred. She nodded toward the Resting Place. “We’ll sit on that tree there.”

“Will Downstar be mad that I left camp?” Wolfkit asked. She took a hesitant step where the sand met the grass. She ran her paw over the itchy tan blades, momentarily distracted.

“Kits can leave on occasion,” Spikecrash promised. “Now let’s chat.” Spikecrash looped her tail around Wolfkit and nudged her toward the Resting Place. Wolfkit stumbled, but kept pace with Spikecrash. While Spikecrash could get onto the tree with a single simple jump, Wolfkit had to brace herself, flank wiggling. She smacked against the side of the Resting Place and scaled the bark, a few chunks crumbling under her claws. Weevil larva squirmed in the revealed gaps. Wolfkit sat tall and proper in front of Spikecrash, paws tucked neatly together.

“So what’s on your heart, Wolfkit?” Spikecrash asked. “Is it apprenticeship worries? That’s a common problem at your age.”

“What’s the name of that disease that makes you see things that aren’t happening?” Wolfkit asked. Her thick frame rippled with nervous energy.

“That sounds like false visions,” Spikecrash guessed, cocking her head. “Did you want to learn about them?”

“I think I’m having them,” Wolfkit gulped. Well then. Spikecrash certainly wasn’t expecting to deal with that today.

“Well, I’ll start with this,” Spikecrash said hesitantly, collecting her thoughts. “I don’t think you have false visions. Tell me why you think that, though.”

“It happened while I was playing codebreakers,” Wolfkit gulped. “I was the codekeeper, and Yarrowkit had just killed Robinkit. All the other kits were with Troutpool exploring the medicine den, but Mom and Harvest let us stay in the nursery and play. We don’t like medicine. I chased Yarrowkit around the den, and when I got in front of her, I ordered her to stop. She did, but she stopped too well, Spikecrash. She didn’t breathe or blink or anything. She stopped everything.” That was a new one.

“Did Robinkit notice this?” 

“He was dead, remember?”

“Ah, yes, of course. But I’m guessing Yarrowkit isn’t still standing frozen in the nursery, right?”

“Well, I got scared when she wouldn’t answer me. I was gonna get her mom, but when I turned around, Yarrowkit tackled me.”

“So she was back to normal? It sounds like she was trying to trick you.”

“No, it wasn’t a trick, I swear! I asked her why she froze like that. She didn’t know what I was talking about!” Wolfkit violently shook her head. Her big ears laid flat. “It was scary, Spikecrash!”

“Big breaths, Wolfkit.” Spikecrash laid along the cold bark, head at Wolfkit’s level. “Did this just happen?”

“It happened this morning.” Wolfkit forced herself to listen, chest heaving dramatically as she sucked in as much air as she could. “Is something wrong with me?”

“No, Wolfkit, I promise you.” Spikecrash set her paw on Wolfkit’s, its size covering both front paws. “I think you just got a little confused. You don’t have false visions.”

“I hope not.” Wolfkit’s whiskers twitched as she swallowed hard. “I got really, really scared. I don’t want to be wrong, Spikecrash.”

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” Spikecrash insisted, eyes as soft as they could be. “You’re as right as they come, Wolfkit.”

If only Spikecrash understood.

(Spikecrash: 42, female, mediator, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

(Rattlepelt: 51, female, artisan, bloodthirsty, leather artist)

(Darkkick: 128, trans female, lonesome, talented swimmer, understands nature)

(Wolfkit: 3, female, kit, polite, curious about StarClan, confident with words)

[tapwater118]

The Post-Split Rant, Part 2

a.k.a.: Grown Adult somehow whines about Baby Cartoon for even longer

Part 1

BFB Post-Split is my least favorite season, so I’m gonna keep whinging on about it. As a reminder to all who bother to read this, this is my opinion. It is fine if you disagree with me about something, and you probably will. This is a good thing! Disagreement invites discussion, as long as all involved are willing to discuss.

Ok let’s just get right into it.

BFB 22

THE LEAFY PLUSH IS NOW AVAILABLE!!!!! I don’t have really anything to say about the ad intro other than it’s become a vocal stim for me. Moving on.

erm taco got out and she was my favortie character so this js the wrost epistioe

Ok, but seriously.

Overall, this is a pretty fun episode! “Court case” doesn’t really sound like it would make for that good of a challenge, but they make it work! A lot of funny moments all around. Jet-flying class is a top tier bit.

That being said, I have two VERY BIG ISSUES with this episode that keep it out of my favorites list. The second one I want to save for later (after BFB 24), so let’s talk about that first one.

This episode, and the resulting elimination segment in the following episode, is the biggest middle finger to Bubble Post-Split ever pulls. She is killed off very early into the challenge, and is not recovered until the next episode. I believe this is directly responsible for her elimination. Leafy gets her moment with Firey (more on that later), Lollipop and Gelatin form their Newbie Alliance, and Teardrop has some cute moments with the typewriter. Every Have Cotter gets to do something intriguing or endearing this episode, except for Bubble. She is, quite literally, written out of the show. It’s not even like she did nothing because she’s a boring character; Bubble is a very interesting character! She was just killed off. (Honestly reminds me of how in season 1 they were pretty obviously trying to get people to vote Ice Cube out near the end, only this time they didn’t have to resort to a contestant vote to do so.)

Like I said, we’ll get to that second issue in a bit.

BFB 23

One last one-two combo on Bubble for really no reason or payoff here. Pretty much nobody remembers she even died last episode, and her elimination is by far one of the most anticlimactic in the entire series. No drum roll or anything, and she barely even gets to say bye. Spongy, the character everyone always seems to point to when people talk about characters being mistreated by the writers (rightfully so imo), had a more impactful elimination.

This episode is just bland. Challenge-wise it’s the exact opposite of BFB 22; the premise for the challenge is really interesting (A jailbreak! That’s exciting!), but they execute it in probably the most boring way possible. One team spends the whole time jumping on boxing gloves, and the other basically has a repeat of BFB 21. The Flower and Purple Face stinger is the best part of the episode.

Just wanted to mention Flower here because I’ll probably forget to do this later; she’s actually written pretty well, by Post-Split standards. I’ve seen people say she wasn’t done well by Post-Split, but I honestly don’t really see it. Post continues her character quite cleanly from Pre-Split; she wants to make friends and make amends for her past behavior, while also still being a bit rude and off-putting. Don’t really see where the issue is here. (As for why she’s like this versus her BFDI/A self, we’ll probably have to wait for IDFB to pick back up.)

BFB 24

Unless something really dumb happens in BFB 28-30 that I’m forgetting (haven’t got there on my rewatch yet), this is probably the worst episode in all of Post-Split, and maybe even the whole series. I know this is the worst episode because it was the only one during my rewatch where I checked how much time was left, saw I still had half the episode to go, and audibly groaned. Nothing happens the entire challenge except for people shitting around and talking, and the overall payoff for most of the contestants not doing the challenges is like one and a half kinda funny jokes. We barely get to see any of them getting the supplies for their parties, or setting them up, or even anything related to the parties until it comes time to judge. The intro/Cake at Stake are so much more engaging than the actual challenge portion. The best part is the Flower and Leafy team-up and even then barely anything happens. Definitely up there with the likes of BFDI 16, BFDIA 1, and BFB 5 for the “real stinker challenge segment” award.

Purple Face becomes a mainstay here, so I guess I’ll comment on him. He’s whatever. He has some good bits, but overall feels like he doesn’t bring anything new to the table. Kinda unnecessary for what Post-Split goes for (or at least tries to go for).

I’ll be completely honest and say I completely forgot about this Gelatin-Teardrop “arc” before this rewatch. It kinda comes out of nowhere too; their moments of “conflict” are not brought up as such (not even any subtle insinuation) until this point. But hey, maybe if they expand on it, Post-Split could really have something intere—aaaaaand it’s over. The same episode this “arc” is established, it gets entirely resolved. Glad that that conflict totally got fleshed out and developed to its full potential. Yup.

Ok, I said we would talk about it after BFB 24, so here we go. My second main reason for making this rant:

I do not like how Post-Split resolved Firey and Leafy’s arc

If you’re gonna disagree with me on anything in this rant, it’ll probably be this.

Let’s start with BFB 22.

First off, bozo, she DID try to talk with you, you just slammed the (soundproof) door in her face before she could get a point across. Ok time to talk about the actual writing.

As a whole, this whole scene comes off as extremely biased towards Firey. Yes, Leafy never apologized for stealing Dream Island, but Firey never apologized for both excluding her for an extremely petty reason and for ignoring her in the years since. This SHOULD have been a mutual make-up between the two. Both apologize for their misdeeds towards the other, and both promise to do better with each other moving forward.

Instead, we this one-sided argument wherein Firey is given much more pity than Leafy by the show. He isn’t even all that remorseful about how he’s treated Leafy, he’s more distraught over potentially being eliminated for stealing the diary. And Leafy, of course, offers to throw the challenge to make sure he isn’t up for elimination. Ok. Sure. Maybe that is in Leafy’s character, to help save Firey from elimination when he’s done something the viewers won’t like; she is the super nice one after all.

Anyway here’s a completely unrelated screenshot from BFB 15. Just putting this here for no particular reason.

Episode ends with them being friends again, and Firey’s only punishment for stealing the diary is to clean the railway. Yippee.

Fast forward to BFB 24: Lollipop snarks in Leafy’s direction, and Leafy tells Firey she’s upset about him not standing up for her, as well as all the time he spent ignoring her. And Firey apologizes! Great!

THIS SHOULD NOT HAVE TAKEN 2 MORE EPISODES TO GET TO!!! THIS SHOULD HAVE BEEN IN BFB 22 WITH THE REST OF THE MAKE-UP SCENE (aside from the ferris wheel probably)!!!!! I can only imagine the crew realized how one-sided BFB 22 was to Firey, so they decide to shoehorn in this scene into BFB 24 to try and fix it. It doesn’t, and this moment feels so phoned in.

Overall, my main issue with how Post-Split handles this reconciliation is that it feels sloppy. It’s too biased towards one side, and they try and correct for that too little too late. It feels like rather than something they wanted to write, it was something they had to write, as they (correctly) predicted Firey didn’t have much more time in the game left, and if they didn’t do this now they wouldn’t get a chance to later.

Anyway, Firey gets eliminated so no more of this arc for a bit. Let’s move on.

BFB 25

Just want to mention it here, because this episode has a perfect example of it, but Four has definitely changed from Pre to Post-Split. Here Gelatin slaps Four, and instead of Four giving him a face full of zappies like Four most certainly would have in Pre-Split, Four just kinda insults him and then the episode moves on. I won’t really say whether this is a good or a bad change, but I will say I like Four much more in TPOT than in Post-Split.

SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP

Meme-slop aside, this is a very whatever episode. More just walking and talking, you know how I feel about these already. I do like both the detail of how Flower’s vomit-repelling sweater was what was causing the vomit-filled totem to run away from her, as well as the fact this detail goes pretty much unspoken. Certainly a nice change of pace from the amount of over-explaining characters tend to do (COUGH COUGH LOLLIPOP COUGH).

The best part of the episode happens near the very end. You know what part I’m talking about.

i need her

BFB 26

It’s the Profily episode! I guess I’ll touch on them a bit. They’re a pretty funny joke character! I can’t decide whether it’s funnier for them to have been there all along and nobody noticed, or for them to straight up be lying about everything. This is a good thing. Past that though, they’re just ok. Some good bits here and there, but after this episode they just become another face in BFDI’s minor character menagerie with nothing to really set them apart.

Nothing really to complain about here. Fun episode! Lots of silly things, and nothing stays still for too long. This and BFB 20 really show how good Post-Split could have been, I think. I do prefer 20 a good bit more, but I’d rank this one above 22.

Time to ditch the Pillary Ruins.

BFB 27

The thumbnail is the worst thing about this episode. Just look at it. Why is there just an ugly chartreuse slab on the side. Why are the characters arranged so haphazardly. What even is this composition. It barely even fits with the rest of the Post-Split thumbnails. I hate it.

What gets me is that there was a scrapped thumbnail that looked a lot better! No clue why they switched it.

I do like the desert as a setting more than the Pillary Ruins, which might be an uncommon opinion idk. The ruins always felt too cluttered to be good default backdrops, so going to something simpler is nice.

Yeah I don’t have much to say about this one, another “whatever talky bluh bluh” episode, but this does have some more funny moments than others like it so there’s that. The Flower and TD montage was silly, and it seems like they kinda set Leafy up for elimination solely because they didn’t want her in the top 3 again. Nothing really much else to say.

Actually, come to think of it, this is the last “regular” challenge before the final all-in-one challenge. Maybe escaping the oven was a callback to BFDI 22’s escaping the volcano? If so, BFDI 22 did it better.

This seems like a good time to stop for now. They’re about to bring back all of the eliminated contestants, so I’ll be touching on both Taco and Firey/Leafy again in the next and final part of this rant. We’ll also get to the third main reason I’m making this rant: BFB 30.

Part 3

[mynicosensesaretingling]

The Parc Fermé Spectacle

A Fernando Alonso crack fic

summary: After mistakingly being put in parc fermé , Fernando duels Brad in a wrench fight.

note: don’t ask me anything, this is an absolute crack fic written in my notes app.

ENJOY x

——-

It was a blistering day at the Hungarian Grand Prix, but the real heat was in the pit lane, where tensions between Fernando Alonso and Brad Pitt had reached their boiling point. What started as a simple misunderstanding with a movie car had spiraled into an all-out grudge match.

Fernando climbed out of his car, tossing his helmet aside as his eyes blazed with fury. Making his way over to the Apex car, he grabbed a massive wrench from a toolbox, twirling it like a seasoned knight wielding a broadsword. “You’ve messed with the wrong driver, Pitt!” He bellowed. “You better prepare yourself, because today you face the Matador of the Asphalt!”

Brad, never one to back down from a fight, grabbed a similarly oversized wrench, brandishing it with the confidence of someone currently filming their self-insert dream scenario . “Bring it on, Alonso! Let’s see if you’re as tough off the track as you are on it!”

Noticing the brawl between the men, mechanics and crew members quickly formed a circle around them, eagerly anticipating the duel of the century. Bets were placed, phones were out, and chants were started.

With a dramatic clash, their wrenches met in mid-air, the sound echoing through the pit lane like a thunderclap. Fernando moved with the precision and grace of a dancer, his wrench a blur as he launched a series of rapid strikes. Brad parried wildly, his eyes wide with a mix of determination and growing panic.

“You call that a swing?” Fernando taunted, easily dodging Brad’s clumsy attempts. “My grandmother could hit harder!”

Brad, now red-faced and desperate, attempted a spin move, only to lose his balance and stumble , face first, into a stack of tires. The pit crew erupted in laughter, but Fernando wasn’t done yet. He leaped onto a nearby crate, using it as a makeshift podium.

“Is this the best Hollywood has to offer?” Fernando shouted, dramatically pointing at Brad, before executing a flawless backflip off the toolbox and landing perfectly behind the actor. Before Brad could react, Fernando lightly tapped on his shoulder with the wrench. “Tag, you’re it,” he said with a smirk.

Brad whirled around, swinging his wrench with all his might, but Fernando was quicker. He dodged Brad’s wild swings with the agility of a cat, occasionally spinning around in a mock dance-like fashion.

“Careful now, Pitt,” Fernando taunted as he dodged another overzealous strike. “You’re making this look like a bad B-movie fight scene. Where’s the stunt double when you need one?”

Brad, fuming and clearly flustered, tried to recover his composure. “I’m just warming up!” he yelled, lunging forward again.

Fernando sidestepped effortlessly and used the wrench to gently tap Brad on the nose. “Oh, is that what they call ‘action’ in Hollywood? I’d hate to see what you call ‘drama.’ Maybe it involves a lot of falling down and looking surprised?”

The pit lane crowd burst into laughter, some doubling over as Brad, now red-faced and visibly irate, tried to mount a comeback. He lunged with renewed determination, only for Fernando to casually step aside and give Brad a playful pat on the back with the wrench.

“You know, I’ve seen more finesse in a bumper car derby,” Fernando said, barely suppressing his chuckles. “Is this your ‘intense’ acting face? Because it looks like you’re trying to remember your lines.” Brad, clearly frustrated and out of breath, made one last desperate attempt to regain control. He charged forward, but Fernando sidestepped with the ease of someone casually stepping around a puddle.

In a burst of creativity, Fernando grabbed a nearby spare tire and rolled it towards Brad, who tripped over it and went tumbling into a stack of toolboxes.

As Brad lay there, dazed and disheveled, Fernando couldn't help but notice his dramatic, almost theatrical fall.

With a dramatic flourish, Fernando raised his wrench high above his head and surveyed Brad with an exaggerated critical eye. He paused for a moment, then walked over to the checkered flag that had been left nearby, originally meant for celebrating race wins. He picked it up with a grand, sweeping gesture.

“This is truly a sight to behold!” Fernando announced loudly, waving the checkered flag like a matador ready to end a bullfight. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a champion of the clumsy! An artist of the absurd!”

He circled Brad, twirling the flag with the precision of a seasoned performer. “Behold the dramatic pose!” Fernando declared, waving the flag dramatically above Brad’s head. “A true masterclass in unintentional comedy!”

Brad, still sprawled on the ground, glared up at Fernando with a mixture of embarrassment and fury. “Okay, okay, I get it!” he shouted. “You’ve proven your point. Can we call it a day?”

Fernando paused, striking a pose with the flag as if he were declaring victory in an epic showdown. Lowering the flag, Fernando extended a hand to help Brad up. “Come on, Pitt,” he said, his voice full of mock warmth. “Let’s get you cleaned up and ready for your next role—perhaps as a human prop in a slapstick comedy?”

[houseboatisland]

I'm curious, have you any lore on The Old Iron Bridge?

Sorry for the wait answering; my mind’s been occupied with other cartoons hehe.

Uhh, let’s see.

This one “Duncan Gets Spooked” Audio Production from Sodor Island Forums (ick) interpreted the bridge to belong to some other impoverished, unnamed 2’ 3” gauge railway besides the Skarloey or Mid Sodor Railways, but apparently being not too far from the former. It then goes on to say that the reason the Skarloey engines are now on it is because it has been absorbed as an extension of their railway after it had laid closed for several years and never connected to the Skarloey. My headcanon basically aligns with that.

For a while, on this blog too, I flirted with the idea of the Skarloey and the Mid Sodor Railways briefly, and unsuccessfully, being a single company for a few years in the vain hope that it would help them survive their ongoing hardships. They would then split up, and the MSR close while the SR limped on. The railway The Old Iron Bridge used to belong to, would’ve been part of the connection between the two separate railways.

Now though, I’ve decided to revamp my headcanon: The SR and MSR never united. (They did think about it, though.) The railway that The Old Iron Bridge belonged to, (let’s call it “The Third Railway” for the sake of this post since I can’t properly name it right now) existed east of what became the SR’s Lakeside Station, and again, never connected with either the SR or MSR.

The Third Railway was built not long after the Skarloey Railway, in the 1870s, also to exploit minerals, (slate I guess, and maybe theirs would turn out practically worthless for selling,) and hopefully drum up tourism. The railway was more of a speculators’ toy than an actual railway with a purpose: it had very little going for it on its own, and its backers were betting everything on the SR buying them out once they got started up. The SR never did, and The Third Railway eked a miserable, hand-to-mouth existence, never profiting and usually not breaking even either.

The Third Railway of course wouldn’t have had many engines, because there wouldn’t be much work for them to do in the first place. I’m sure it wasn’t more than three. By the 1920s, one had already been sold or scrapped for funds, and the railway should’ve considered itself lucky to have lived this long. As with the Talyllyn Railway in real life, the surviving engines’ work would have been so undemanding that they would have existed for eternity with the minimum amount of care, quick patchup on basic engine designs and no excessive damage. Then, in the 1930s, The Third Railway decides it needs more money again, and sells/sells for scrap their second engine. Reeeeally playing with fire, now. Goose laying golden eggs, etc.

That leaves one engine: the engine later made infamous by Rusty’s story. He falls off The Bridge heading home one night, is never recovered, people claim to see his ghost, etc. His death is definitely the last straw for The Third Railway; they close immediately after they’ve collected their pittance of an insurance payout. The railway hadn’t had hope for its entire life, and they were lucky to have enough work for ONE engine at the time of his demise. (Why was he returning home at night if he barely had work to do in the day? I have to figure that out.)

Uhh. In terms of when the accident was, I’m gonna say it was immediately after the Second World War, (1946-48) and NOT during it, because then it instantly would have been eaten up for scrap metal, including The Old Iron Bridge. You’d think The Third Railway’s Company would have sold off the track and everything to pay off its debts, but I guess for one reason or another they were just never able to. That’s how the Skarloey engines can find it in one (crappy) piece when the events of “Duncan Gets Spooked” happen. My headcanon is that Season 5 basically was the Seventies, so at that time the SR is buying The Third Railway’s remnants and cleaning them up for expansion. Hence “clearing the railway of branches and overgrowth.” It wasn’t the Skarloey Railway that was all crummy and shrub-ridden in the episode: it was their new assets, the former Third Railway.

So, in my headcanon, the supernatural is real. Ghosts and crap. (It’s a show about choochoos with faces. Some kooky presence or non-mortal plain/dimension/whatever existing isn’t entirely off the table.)

Duncan definitely saw The Engine’s Ghost, and what workmen at night have seen him too from Rusty’s retelling. It’s a good time now to note that what happens in my headcanon doesn’t follow that what the show and books show is gospel, and some things may happen differently than what’s onscreen. So while the episode may show The Engine’s Ghost to merely have been fireflies, in my version of the episode it was deadass, on God and his Timberlands, the ghost. Duncan’s freakout was waaay worse too, (oh, and his crew, don’t forget them,) and the fireflies explanation was merely his way of coping with what he saw. He spent many a sleepless night rewriting his memory to be that it was fireflies, however stupid that was. (I’m not gonna go into detail but I’ll just say The Engine’s Ghost’s face was absolutely unmistakable with a bunch of flickering bugs. If you saw what Duncan saw, you’d see just how stupid his rationalization sounds. “Dude are you blind??? That was NOT bugs, yeesh😱💀” you’d say.)

I have little in the way of headcanon for The Engine himself set in stone, headcanon-wise. But I can say for certain he felt cheated by life, and that’s why his restless spirit still roams the place of his death. In my headcanon, The Engine’s Ghost must have heard Duncan calling Rusty’s story rubbish, and that’s why Duncan’s the only engine to ever, as I said, come face to horrific-gross-terrifying-ghost face with him. The Ghost was livid and thought Duncan had earned himself a one way ticket to Scare the Soot Out Of Youville for his insulting him. Duncan’s also the only engine to ever “face off” with him all this time later. This particular spooking seems to have sated The Ghost’s hunger for attention for several years, for he wasn’t seen again for at least a decade.

But The Ghost does start appearing again after that, just to keep his legacy going and, truth be told, he revels in the new attention his story has gotten since the comparably tame TV adaption. He’ll appear if he knows people are camping out to see him, or maybe during the day, become invisible and secretly be responsible for something non-maliciously being where it shouldn’t. (You have to pity the poor coach or truck that happens to be moved, though. What a freaky thing to live through and then just keep living with after the fact.) Lots of the campers have seen him making his usual “round” on his bridge, and as you can imagine try to record it, but I guess ghosts in this world never show up in photos or video the same way vampires don’t appear in reflections, and because ghosts are seen so rarely, that’s what helps along a majority of people into thinking ghosts aren’t “real” when they are.

The Skarloey Railway still runs the former Third Railway since buying it and reviving it. (It’s barely recognizable with the old thing. Much prettier.) Duncan, naturally, is banned from being scheduled to run on it for PTSD reasons. It just makes sense to do, if you’re a railway traffic coordinator.

[wildestdreamcatcher]

Impulse

Summary: Jude tries to navigate Summer's pregnancy and the issues with his parents

TW: Pregnancy, mentions of vomiting, abortion, arguing

A/N: Shoutout to Eesa for helping me make this more accurate

Sitting in Summer’s bedroom felt weird now. She lay beside me on the bed, quiet and tired. It was 10 p.m., and I should’ve been at home, but I stopped caring about being grounded 4 months ago when I found out Summer was pregnant. They knew she was pregnant and if things kept going the way they were, I don’t know if things would ever be the same between us.  Everything had been a blur since then. She told me she was pregnant a month and half after her parents found out about us; the night when her parents walked in on us. She wasn’t sure about keeping the baby but her grandparents were so pushy about it. Her grandparents were incredibly religious Catholics and they were appalled when they found out that their closest grandchild and potential favorite, was pregnant with an out-of-wedlock baby from an agnostic recovering addict. They scared her into not even thinking about getting an abortion. They told her she’d be permanently ruined if she got an abortion and that she’d have no choice but to go to hell if she did it. That lasted for 2 weeks, all the fear-mongering shit. Summer was already scared and on the fence. 

I still remember the day she told me she was pregnant. Summer looked like she was going to pass out the whole time but she didn’t beat around the bush. She told me she hadn’t gotten her period in a month, she was vomiting all the time, and her pregnancy tests all came back positive. I paid constant attention to her now: we had study hall together with Aria and I’d follow them out of the auditorium while Aria tried to comfort her whenever she’d throw up. I just stood outside of the girls' bathroom like a fucking weirdo, trying not to get written up for sneaking. She’d thought it’d all let up after the first trimester but it didn’t, she kept getting sick and she quit soccer this upcoming season because there was no way she could be on the team like this. She was probably going to have to go home bound like most of the pregnant girls at our school did. 

I didn’t plan to tell my parents about Summer’s pregnancy until the 8th to 9th-month mark. Summer and I thought this was best because then I’d already be moved out for college, and they wouldn’t have a say. That didn’t happen, though. Nothing had been going the way either of us wanted. They found out a week ago and things were still so tense. They found out when Ruby and Andrew had brought up one of Summer’s appointments. My parents usually tried to speak calmly whenever they were angry at me, but I don’t think I’d ever seen them so pissed before. When I came home from school that day they told Kai and Marley to go to their rooms so they could talk to me privately, but it wasn’t a private conversation when you’re in a screaming so loud that the neighbors could hear.

“You’ve done so much stupid shit, Jude, but this bad. Really fucking bad! Do you not understand that?! You’re bringing a fucking baby into this shitshow!” My dad was fuming. My life wasn’t a shit show but they never wanted to see that. I’d been sober for almost a year now, I was gonna go to college, I could get a better job, I could really fucking do this. 

“And in the last 4 fucking months, almost 5, you lied to us again! Do you think I wanted to find out that you got Summer pregnant because Ruby brought it up at lunch?  Do you ever think about how your actions have consequences?” My mom was shaking because she was so mad.

“It’s not that much fucking different then you get pregnant with me! You were an unmarried couple who’d only been dating and knew each other for 6 months! I’ve known Summer longer than you and Dad did! You don’t want to fucking admit that maybe I could be a good father!”

“That is not the same and you know that! You’re barely 17 and 18 years old!  You haven’t even finished high school yet. You lie, you’re irresponsible, impulsive, immature, and you haven’t taken responsibility for your actions! If you decide you don’t want to be a father anymore, we can’t fucking fix that for you! You couldn’t even be responsible enough to tell us when you found out! Were you just gonna hide it until she’s in the delivery room?” 

“You just think I’m such a fuck up, don’t you! I don’t fucking need this, I don’t need you! I figured out 4 months of the pregnancy and I can figure out the other 5! She’s giving birth in September so I’ll be out of the house before you fucking know it and who knows, you might not even see my daughter at all. As a matter of fact, I’m leaving tonight!” 

I was so pissed that night. My parents were still yelling at me and telling me not to leave, that it would be another bad idea but they couldn’t stop me. When I walked into my room, Kai was already sitting on my bed. 

“You’re not serious about leaving, are you?” 

“I need to get out and cool off. I’m not skipping town or anything, I’m just gonna sleep in my van or crash at Summer’s. I’ll be fine, I promise.” I wasn’t even looking at him as I started shoving my clothes into bags

“I know what it’s like to have parents who aren’t ready for you at all and never figured out how to raise a kid. I don’t want that for you, Summer, or your kid. It’s not fair.”

Kai was always right. He was living with us because of how awful his parents were to him. Calliope wouldn’t be in that situation with Summer and I as her parents, though. It wouldn’t be perfect but I wasn’t going the ruin my child’s life like my parents wanted to believe. 

“We’ll be fine. I just need someone to trust me. Please, just believe me.” 

I walked out after and I spent 3 days at Summer’s house. She didn’t mind me staying but I got the sense her parents and Lennon wanted me out as soon as I got there. It’s been 7 days since I came back and things were still so fucking tense. 

______________________________________________________________

I thought Summer was asleep by now. She hadn’t spoken in a while and the "Last Unicorn" VHS had already ended. 

“We need to start looking at apartments again.” She said, her hands lying on her bump. 

We were already starting to pack up some of the stuff in her bedroom. Her collectibles were packed neatly in boxes, all of the clothes and toys were packed away in containers, and there were huge boxes of pampers already stored in her closet. We were going to try to find a place by August and it was only April, but I was worried we wouldn’t be able to find one. 

“We can start looking more tomorrow.” 

“I just don’t know what we’re gonna do. I don’t know if we’re gonna have enough money when she’s born, I highly doubt I’m getting the money from my grandparents when I turn 18. They don’t even look at me the same way anymore. I just want it all to be enough for her.”

I didn’t know if we’d be okay. I could ask my parents for money and pay them back in the future, I could start working more hours, and I would still be getting money for performing. Summer didn’t want me to quit Wine Cellar, and I honestly didn’t either. I just want my girlfriend and daughter to be happy. 

@jackvaginal @blowflygrls @sadlonelyyogurt @vommitgirl

[ladylooch]

Timo and Emma hot tub sex.

Whew!!!! This is hot 🥵 I'm not sorry for what this does to you. If it had to happen to me, it has to happen to you too!

Timo sinks deeper into the hot tub, letting his head fall back onto the edge as his eyes close. His body aches after training hard the last week. Tomorrow and Saturday are recover days, which he is thankful for. He can barely pick his kids up right now with how sore his chest and arms are. But, he wanted to add even more strength this off season, so it’s his own damn fault.

The sliding glass door opens and Emma steps out with two plastic cups of wine. She’s in her skimpy, white bikini causing her to stick out in the dark night. 

“Fuck, baby.” He groans as he watches her slowly wade in. She keeps the wine up, smirking at Timo’s wanting eyes. 

“You wanna?” She raises her eyebrows.

“In here?”

“Yeah. Be a little reckless like we used to before you knocked me up… twice.”

“Mmm, maybe I can again.” Emma looks down at the hot, bubbling water.

“I doubt it with this climate.” Timo rolls his eyes at her rational response. 

“Give me a few more minutes. My body hurts.” Timo wishes he didn’t have to say that to her, but he’s not wanting to prolong his suffering. His eyes are closed again when Emma straddles his lap.

“Keep relaxing. I’ll do the work, baby.” Emma whispers to him. Her hands come to his neck, pushing his jaw up so she can work her mouth against his. He sighs into their kiss, bringing a hand to her ass. “I’ve been wanting you all day.” Emma says against his throat. “Had to take care of myself earlier.”

“Whoa? What?” Timo whines. “You should have called me.”

“I did. You were with Nico and ‘couldn’t talk right now’.”

“Fuck! You didn’t say….” He trails off when she slides her hand into his board shorts. She pulls back, watching his mouth drop open in pleasure. He hardens in her hand immediately. He licks his lips. “Kiss me.” He demands. She puts her mouth on him, hot and yearning as their tongues collide. “Tell me how you touched yourself.”

“I used my vibrator.”

“Which one.”

“The pink one.”

“I love using that one on you.”

“I know.” She grins, squeezing the base of his shaft.

“Had you cumming in under a minute the other night.” He wraps his large hand around her neck, forcing their kiss deeper and wetter with his tongue. Timo tugs at the bottom of her swimsuit, pulling it down her thighs until she has to lean back to take them off completely. Timo tosses them out of the hot tub with a wet slap against the concrete. 

“Um…I am going to need those to get out.” She laughs. “No. Top stays on.” She bats his hands away from her neck ties. “We have neighbors.”

“Damn it.” He growls, then picks her up. His sore muscles groan as he sits her back atop his thighs with her back to his chest. Emma leans forward, bracing the heels of her hands between Timo’s thighs on the seat. She pushes herself up, letting Timo place himself at her entrance. He guides her back onto him and they both groan. The combination of the hot water and her hot pussy has Timo sweating. “Wooooow.” He moans as she begins to move. The water helps levitate her up and down easier. Timo lets his head fall back again, letting his wife fuck him like the vixen she is. She grinds on him, pretty noises escaping her lips into the Swiss night.

Timo strokes his fingers up her thigh, then out of the water. He leans slightly forward to cup her breasts, massaging them in his hands. He pinches her nipples, causing her bucking to falter. He takes over, forcefully thrusting into her while keeping her nipples clamped between his fingers. Emma reaches down, spreading her folds with her fingers to roll her clit. The hot tub bubbles splash over the sides as Timo’s powerful thighs push them closer to the edge. 

“Fuck, Emma. You’re so tight like this.” His use of her full name and fervid tone have her core muscles tightening. “Feel so good around my cock, baby. Love when I get to have you like this. Couldn’t even wait until we were done in here to have me, huh? You think of this when you were touching yourself this morning.”

“Yeah.” Emma says blissfully, feeling the first flutter of her orgasm around him. 

“That’s it. You’re taking me so well, baby. You can do it. Come undone for me.” 

Emma whimpers as she takes him hard and deep. Her fingernails dig into the lower, thick part of his quads.

“T, I’m…” She can’t finish, collapsing into her orgasm with full force down onto him. Timo fucks her deep, barely pulling out as he finishes inside of her. As she continues to convulse on him, Timo gently pulls her back, letting himself fall out of her to keep her steady against his chest. He kisses the side of her wet neck and cheek, easing her down from her high in the warm climate. Emma slumps against him when her muscles finally relax.

“Fuck.” She whines, holding his face to hers.

“Mhm.” He chuckles. He brushes her damp hair away from her cheek. “You look so beautiful right now. Wanna mark you up.”

“Don’t you dare. We have family vacation coming up.”

“Your brother needs to get over himself. I saw hickeys on Lexi last week.”

“Hush.” Emma puts her hand over Timo’s mouth. “It’s my parents I care about.”

“Baby, we have kids.” 

“So if Liv shows up at home with hickeys you’re okay with that?”

“Oh fuck no.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, we are married. Liv is never getting married.”

“She probably is, honey.” 

“I don’t wanna talk about that. Let’s go start round two in the shower. Wanna taste you next.” 

Emma stands up, no longer carrying about her lack of swimsuit bottoms. Timo chuckles, covering her from the side where the neighbor’s lights are on, then tossing her over his shoulder to bring her inside. 

[cloudbersoo]

easy for you to say｜sung hanbin

synopsis: what happens when bloom dance academy's golden boy sung hanbin needs a new duet partner and y/n is the only one available? 

or; will y/n be able to fall in love with dance again? perhaps they'll fall for someone in the process.

tags: sung hanbin x gn!reader, dancer au, fluff, attempt at angst, insecure reader, miscommunication, happy ending, featuring: zb1 matthew and jiwoong, twice momo, exo kai, itzy yeji, ryujin and chaeryeong!!

word count: 5.4k

a/n: this whole fic was inspired by the ‘i like that’ dance hanbin recreated on weekly idol. i’ve never been more attracted to a man in my life, so here is a very self indulgent fic i wrote!! also this is barely proofread, so sorry for any grammar mistakes! hihi enjoy

my playlist while writing: easy for you to say & bleach by 5sos, sugarcoat (natty solo) by kiss of life, thanks to by woodz, blooming day by exo-cbx, anywhere but home by seulgi

i. that’s not good

every dancer has their bad days. but when those bad days turn into weeks and weeks turn into months, suddenly your entire dance season has been nothing but awful. that’s how your previous season went, and this year hasn’t been any different either. you weren’t chosen for any of the small groups this year for any competition. you didn’t even dare to dream of a solo, even when you had one just a few years ago.

you used to be at the top, one of the coaches favourites. you’ve danced at bloom dance academy since you were three, and had gained a good reputation at the studio over the years. though, now that seems so far in the past. you were in a deep slump, one that you couldn’t get out of no matter how much you practiced. you think you’d do anything to love dancing again the way you used to. 

you were currently at the studio, waiting for the full group rehearsal to start, while one of the small groups was going over their dance with coach momo. you were sitting in a corner alone, while others were socialising or going through other dances on their own. your eyes were completely fixated on one particular dancer, one that probably made you more insecure than any other – sung hanbin.

hanbin was basically your complete opposite. he only started dancing in middle school, and joined bloom dance academy only last season. everyone around him loved him, and rightfully so, as hanbin was truly amazing. his body control and facial expressions were something you could only dream of right now. his skills didn’t come out of nowhere though, everyone knew how hard he worked. and unlike you, his hard work paid off.

looking at hanbin made you feel horrible about yourself, but you couldn’t look away. he was so mesmerising to you, the way he carried himself through choreography, and how he helped those around him. you were in too deep thought to notice a couple of your teammates approaching you. it took for one of them to speak for you to finally notice your friends. “y/n, did you hear about yeji?” your teammate matthew asked you as he sat down next to you. 

“no i haven’t, did something happen?” you responded, finally taking your eyes off of hanbin. you noticed besides matthew, chaeryeong and ryujin had approached you. “she injured her knee really badly at practice yesterday, she’s still at the doctors, they’re trying to figure out what’s wrong” chaeryeong opened up, clearly worried for her friend. injuries at this point of the season were the worst, but they happen every time. last year jiwoong dislocated his elbow a week before competition and all formations had to be redone.

“that doesn’t sound too good” you said, taking a sip from your water bottle. yeji won’t recover in time for the competition in four weeks, you assumed. not only will you have to redo all the formations for the full group performance and for her small group, your team will need a new female soloist and a duet partner for hanbin as well. “yeah, she’s out” ryujin confirmed your suspicions. “momo asked me for the solo, but i don’t think i can do it” she continued, brushing her hand through her hair. 

“i feel so bad for yeji, but at least there's a little more time than last year” matthew said in an attempt to lighten the mood. his comment did get a few chuckles out of you. 

after a moment of silence, ryujin spoke once again. “how about you y/n? could you do the solo?” ryujin asked a question that almost made you laugh. “coach would never even consider me, and… i don’t even have anything ready” you replied lowering your head in shame. it was true though, you were probably the last person momo would consider as yeji’s replacement for anything.

“okay guys! let’s start going over the new formations!” your coach declared, clapping her hands to get the whole room's attention.

ii. y/n coming to the rescue!

you were exhausted, just like everyone else in the room. your coach had said “one more time” at least ten times tonight, but finally practice had officially come to an end. today’s rehearsal had gladly eased most people's minds from yeji’s injury. however, you could only worry about your own performance, as today’s practice had barely helped you improve at all. you were packing your stuff, as you heard your coach calling your name. “hey y/n, could i talk to you for a second?” momo asked.

your mind could only think of the worst. momo was going to tell you that you’re cut from the full group completely, because you can’t get your shit together. it made sense, today’s new formations were going to look better with one less dancer, and obviously you were the first in line to go. you tried to hide your nervousness, answering her with a hum. you stuffed the last of your things into your bag and walked to your coach. “yeah, is this about the full group?” you went straight to the point.

“actually no” she started, sitting down on a chair. you were relieved, but only partly, as you had no idea where the conversation was going. “it’s about yeji’s and hanbin’s duet” momo continued, your coach visibly stressed. you could only imagine what had been going through her head the past 24 hours since yeji’s injury. she let out a loud sigh. “y/n i know you’ve had quite rough year, but i think it could be a great challenge for you”

“what do you mean? sorry coach, i’m not following” you questioned. she couldn't possibly be offering you a spot in a duet, let alone one with hanbin.

“you should do the duet with hanbin, i think you could handle it” momo said hopefully. she took your hands into hers, looking at you with pleading eyes. it was almost working, but something in you couldn't agree to it. you couldn’t possibly handle the duet, not when someone else could do a much better job than you. “i don’t know momo…” you responded.

“hanbin! please convince her to do the duet with you” momo suddenly said, her eyes leaving yours. while your talk with the coach, you had failed to notice the presence of hanbin behind you. you freed yourself from momo’s hold as you turned around to see the boy. “i just think someone else would be a much better match for the duet, i’ve seen it myself” you tried to reason.

“no! i think you’d be perfect!” hanbin said, which felt like an exaggeration to you. truthfully, you’d love to do a duet with someone so amazing as hanbin, you would be dumb not to, but your insecurities were holding you back. the duet was difficult, and with the little time you had, you weren’t sure if you could pick it up. few years ago it would’ve been easy, but now you weren’t so sure. “c’mon y/n, i need you” he begged. 

“you don’t have any other dances besides the full group, so you’ll have enough time to rehearse” momo added. you looked at both of them, the two of them looking at you hopefully. while you still didn't quite understand why they were so determined to get you to do the duet, you were beginning to yield to them.

“well, when would we start then?” you asked carefully. your words made both of them squeal out of joy. hanbin wrapped his hands around you and squished you into a hug. “thank you thank you thank you” he rejoiced, spinning you around in the air. you weren’t sure if this was going to work, but having people who believed in you definitely helped.

iii. cries and confessions

the duet was not going well, at least not as well as it should be at this point. you had rehearsed for almost a week with hanbin, and while you had picked up some of the choreography, most of it was still not clicking for you. hanbin had been more than patient with you, but his patience wasn’t getting you that far.

you groaned out of frustration for the thirtieth time in the past hour. you were having difficulty with your footwork for a fast part in the choreography, and no matter how many times hanbin went slowly over it, you were not getting the timing right. “y/n it’s okay, you’ll get it eventually” he tried comforting you once again. you sighed, wiping the sweat off your forehead. “no hanbin, i’m not getting it” you snapped back, your words coming out much harsher than you intended. “i’m sorry, i just- i hate that i can’t seem to get anything right” you apologised, covering your face with your hands out of embarrassment. 

“do you wanna talk about it?” he asked carefully. you’ve been asked this question many times over the past two years. your teammates, momo, your parents, even the studio head, jongin had asked you if you needed to talk about whatever mental block you were going through. but you never did, because there wasn’t anything to talk about, at least that’s how you felt, and you told hanbin that. “you sure? i mean there’s clearly something going on… i get it if you don’t want to talk to me about it, but i’m here for you if you need me” he responded to you.

“what would you even know? you joined the studio after my good days” you mumbled, choosing to sit down onto the dance floor, not expecting hanbin to hear you. the boy sat down next to you, sitting close to you, your shoulders almost touching. the close proximity shouldn’t have made your heart race the way it did, at least not after dancing so close to each other for hours to an end for the past week.

“i saw your solo couple years ago at a competition, and i thought you were amazing” he confessed. hanbin was looking at you delicately, his words filled with sincerity. you never thought someone so skilled and awesome dancer like hanbin would ever say something like that to you. “you’re pretty much the reason i'm here, at bloom” he continued, his words making you speechless. “i mean, if the studio had someone as cool as you, the teachers must be something too” hanbin kept rambling, getting slightly shy over his confession, his cheeks flushed. 

hanbin’s confession made you feel appreciated and sad at the same time. your eyesight was getting blurry from the tears that were about to break through. “well, that was me few years ago” you started, trying your hardest not to start crying in front of him. you locked eyes with him and he was looking at you with sorrowness. “and this is me now, someone that can barely keep up with everyone” your voice cracked, tears finally sliding down your cheeks. 

hanbin didn’t say anything after that. he wrapped his hand around shoulders, lowering your head to rest on his chest. he just held you as you sobbed. it was slightly uncomfortable, the two of you were still sweaty from practice, but you couldn’t care about that for now. you were starting to calm down as hanbin stroked your arm up and down. you brought your hands to wipe out your tears, apologising to the boy for drenching his shirt even more. “i’m just wasting our time by crying like this” you said.

“it’s okay y/n, you know, sometimes letting your emotions out can help you to move on” hanbin claimed, smiling softly at you. letting go of your shoulder, he brushed some of your hair behind your ear. “should we end practice for today? i could drive you home if you’d like” the boy suggested.

“i think i’d rather walk and cool down a little, but thanks” you gave hanbin a weak smile and started getting up. he seemed to take your word, as he got up as well and started cleaning up the practice room with you. the room was filled with comfortable silence, and you were glad you had someone like hanbin to rely on.

iv. nothing happened!

after your heart to heart with hanbin, rehearsals had started to go much smoother. some days were better than others, but at least you weren’t pouring out your frustration onto him. aside from a few lifts, you two had finished the whole choreography, and you felt good about it. even momo was pleased with your work, after you had shown her your progress. while the duet was still far from perfect, you and hanbin were confident you could do well at the competition. 

hanbin had also become more friendly with you over the past few weeks. he always greeted you with a hug, asked how you were doing, and kept insisting on driving you home after you were done, which was something you could no longer deny. he’d come up to you during practice if he ever noticed you frustrated, cheering you up and giving you much needed advice, while also offering to refill your water bottle. thanks to hanbin, you were slowly starting to enjoy dance again, and you think you’ll be forever grateful to him for that.

it was late friday night, only you and hanbin were left at the studio. hanbin had convinced you to stay for another hour to practice one of the lifts for your duet. while you thought it would be safer to practice with momo around, hanbin assured you he wouldn’t let you get hurt. so there you were, forty minutes later, probably at your hundred attempt of the lift. you had never been the best at any tricks or lifts, and at this point you didn’t think you'd ever quite get them.

however, hanbin was determined to get the lift right before you went home. “it’s not that hard y/n” he said, his hands on both sides of your hips. there was no hint of impatience in his voice, while he looked at you with such care. “easy for you to say, mr. i’m perfect at everything” you teased, getting a laugh out of him.

“hey! none of that!” he scolded you with a pout. “just trust me, i’m gonna catch you no matter what, okay?” he continued, squeezing your hips for reassurance. you only nodded, and on the count of three, hanbin lifted you in the air again. everything was going well, until you felt one of your hands slip, and the next moment you were laying on top of habin on the floor.

his hands were tightly wrapped around your body, and you could feel his heart beating fast into his chest. hanbin’s face was mere centimetres away from yours. “oh my god! are you okay?” you worried, trying to get off of him, but his grip only tightened. the act made you stop in your tracks, your cheeks warming up. “h-hanbin” you stuttered, now worried the boy had hit his head or something. 

“see? i said i wasn’t going to let you hit the floor” he only laughed. sighing out of relief, you brushed his bangs out of the way of his eyes. hanbin looked beautiful, even when he was all worn out from the hours of practice. you’ve always thought so, but now seeing it up close you were certain about it. he smiled at you, showing off his famous whisker dimples. you smiled back, as your hands laid against his chest. you noticed his eyes travelling down your face, to your lips, and at that moment you couldn’t stop yourself from hesitantly leaning into him. 

“oh sorry, didn’t know you guys were still here” you heard a voice coming from the door. being snapped back to reality, hanbin finally let go of you. you standed up and helped hanbin to do the same, the two of you now recognizing the person that had entered the room as jiwoong. “did i interrupt something?” his voice was filled with amusement. 

“no not at all, we were just about to finish” hanbin’s whole face and neck hued the colour pink, as he spitted out the biggest lie of his life.

v. flirting 101

you couldn’t stop thinking about hanbin all weekend, how the two of you almost kissed if only jiwoong hadn’t interrupted you. when did you even start liking him? 

while you could’ve just texted him, you never found the right thing to send. what were you supposed to say to him? you thought about asking for advice from some of your teammates but eventually decided against it, knowing they wouldn’t have anything smart to say. you could almost hear chaeryeong’s teasing words just thinking about it. 

you had yet to find time to rehearse your duet together, as hanbin needed time to practice his solo. you had tried to talk to him multiple times, but snitched out last second each time, claiming that it was only because you couldn’t bother him at the moment. in reality, you felt nervous around him. you don’t remember the last time you’ve felt this way towards someone, let alone almost kissed someone.

you had stayed at the studio after practice to help momo with your team’s costumes for the competition. it seemed that you struggled with saying no when someone asks for your help. it was late again, the studio nearly empty, when you were finally ready to go home. walking towards the exit, you noticed one of the practice rooms was still in use. curiosity getting the best of you, you decided to take a look at who was still practicing at the late hour. in the room was hanbin, rehearsing alone again. 

hanbin was fully focused on the music, his body hitting every beat of the song. the way he moved was captivating to you, like he was putting some type of spell on you. it wasn’t that surprising that you fell for him so easily. you thought hanbin was the most beautiful when he was in his element, when he danced.

he was too concentrated to notice you at the door. as the song came to an end, he was completely out of breath. you couldn’t help but to clap, finally revealing yourself to the boy. the act made hanbin burst out of his own bubble, seeing you in the mirror first, giving you a tired smile before turning around. “that was amazing” you praised the boy as you fully stepped into the room.

“thank you” hanbin shyly responded, walking towards his stuff and taking a towel to wipe the sweat out of his face. you went up to him and offered him his water bottle. he smiled at you before speaking up again, “what are you still doing here this late?” his voice was filled with worry, but he was still glad to see you regardless.

“you should worry about yourself” you replied, your comment getting a small chuckle out of him. hanbin seemed tired, his eyes sleepy and hair all over the place. he must’ve had a lot of pressure on him, when so many people were counting on him to do well. you took a step closer to the boy, reaching up to fix his hair. “you’re doing great hanbin” you felt the need to reassure him, his face finally relaxing from your touch. after a while of playing with his hair, you lowered your hand to his cheek, wiping the last of sweat that was left. 

“i didn’t take you for a touchy person” hanbin said teasingly, making you quickly retreat your hand from his face. your cheeks started to warm up from embarrassment. was this how you acted when you liked someone? you made an attempt at hiding by turning your face away. the boy in front of you just giggled, mumbling about how cute you were being. 

“do you have time tomorrow? to practice our duet i mean” you asked, trying to change the subject. 

“hmm, let me think about that” hanbin pretended to think about your question for a while. “yes! but only on one condition” he said with a mischievous smile. his behaviour made you suspicious, you had yet to get used to hanbin’s playful side. hanbin took your confused face as a sign to continue, “when we win with our duet, i can take you on a date”

his straightfulness caught you off guard, but you couldn’t hold back the smile that broke into your face. knowing there were mutual feelings between the two of you gave you butterflies in your stomach. there was a hint of nervousness in hanbin, so you didn’t want to keep him waiting for an answer for too long. “if we win” you said, emphasising the word if.

“so it’s a date?” his wide smile matched yours. you nodded as confirmation, and before you knew it, hanbin quickly embraced you in his arms. you laughed how gross and sweaty he was, as he leaned back to look at you, with a pout on his lips.

“let’s go home then, i’ll drive you.”

vi. heartbreaks

your heart dropped the moment you saw yeji walk into the studio, her knee seemingly fine. everyone was shocked to see her going into jongin’s office. it was one week before the competition, and no one knew what yeji’s return could mean for the team. were jongin and momo going to let her dance? what could that mean for you and hanbin’s duet? you couldn’t hear their conversation where you were, and the suspense was killing you. 

deciding you could no longer sit around waiting, you went over to the office door to eavesdrop. “we finally got the formation to work for the full group! we can’t just go and change them all over again for you!” momo’s voice said, notably worked up by yeji’s sudden appearance. yeji kept on pleading for the two to let her come, as she didn’t want to miss the competition, “then at least let me do the rest!”

“i don’t think it’d be fair for the others, ryujin has worked hard on the solo” jongin tried to explain. 

“i already talked with everyone! ryujin, hanbin, they’re all okay with it!” yeji claimed. 

hearing hanbin’s name mentioned made you freeze on your spot. your insecurities were starting to creep in again, your mind filled up with questions. did hanbin rather do the duet yeji instead? when did they even talk about it together? it hadn’t even been twelve hours since you last saw him. 

maybe hanbin was relieved after hearing that yeji was okay. he had a much bigger chance to win with her than with you. maybe this whole time you’ve just been one big project to him, while he waited for yeji to get better.

you thought you were already over all this, being the second choice – but no, you weren’t even an option at this point. the past weeks have been the first time in years when you’ve felt great when you danced. you felt like you had finally improved, able to move on from your slump. you must’ve been just a joke to him, to everyone. tears were falling down your cheeks, your chest feeling too tight to breathe. 

“there you are y/n!” you heard a very familiar voice calling you, but you couldn’t even move to see him. hanbin sounded out of breath as he finally approached you. “i was looking for you, there’s something i need to tell you” he continued, putting his hand on your shoulder. his touch finally made you shift, as you moved out of the boy's touch, you saw his concerned face. you could only watch him for a second, before you knew you had to get out of there. 

“good luck with that duet” you said before taking your leave.

vii. making up and making …out?

since getting cut off from the duet, you've been avoiding hanbin like plague all week. he had tried to talk to you multiple times, but you ran off each time. you’ve tried to distract yourself by practicing on your own, and offering to help chaeryeong, matthew and jiwoong with their trio. it only helped you for awhile, because most times hanbin would show up and try to explain himself. you don’t know how many times you’ve told him to just focus on the competition instead of running after you.

you weren’t really mad at him, it wasn’t his fault that yeji came back. deep down you knew he probably had an explanation for everything, he wouldn’t have tried to talk to you otherwise. after calming down you could no longer blame yeji for losing your duet either, you would’ve likely done the same thing if you were her. she worked hard too, even to the point of injuring herself. you were mostly just mad at yourself, embarrassed how you’ve handled the whole thing, and letting your insecurities get the best of you again. 

it was the last day of competition, and you were sitting in the audience, as you didn’t have any dances left. there was a small break between the small group category and the solos. your team did well, however, you could tell something was off with hanbin as he danced. it wasn’t something the judges could notice, but you knew hanbin, and something was clearly off. you were worried, but you didn’t think it would be a good idea to talk to him right now, as he was somewhere probably getting ready for his solo. 

“hi, can i sit with you?” you were surprised to see yeji out here in the audience, let alone approaching you of all people. you nodded as a response, and she sat down next to you. there was an awkward silence between the two of you. you thought about what you should say to her, if you were even supposed to. both of you sat stiff, looking everywhere but each other. “shouldn’t you be getting ready for your solo?” you tried testing the waters.

“i’m not doing it” she replied, her hands gripping the corners of her chair, as she looked down to her legs. it quickly got quiet again, neither of you saying anything. you wondered if yeji’s knee wasn’t as fine as she made it seem or if something else was going on. yeji didn’t let you think for long as she finally spoke again, “i couldn’t take it away from ryujin…”

“but you could take it from me?” your words coming out of your mouth more harshly than you intended. regretting what you said, you shook your head, telling yeji to forget what you just said.

“no y/n, i should’ve asked you first, i’m sorry” she interrupted you. “i just- i was so excited to dance again… too excited even, i failed to notice that hanbin would’ve much rather danced with you. but you know him, he’s too nice to say anything” yeji explained, the last bit making you both chuckle. you were glad yeji apologised to you, even when you were never angry with her in the first place.

“do you really think that? that he would’ve rather danced with me?” you asked, wanting to believe what she said, you just needed some more reassurance. 

“obviously! i might not have been around when the two of you got closer but i’ve heard some stories from jiwoong and chaeryeong” she teased, nudging your shoulder. your cheeks blushed, as you figured yeji was referring to the night jiwoong had caught you two almost kissing at the studio. “i bet he’s already halfway through choreographing your duet for next season” she continued. yeji’s words made you feel shy and giddy, they gave you the sudden urge to see him, to talk to him.

“i think i should go find him” you stood up from your seat, looking around for the fastest route to your team’s dressing room. yeji gave you an encouraging push, telling you to hurry before he needs to go up on stage.

you ended up finding hanbin before you even got to the dressing room. you found him warming up close to the stage, already in his costume. he noticed you coming right away, giving you a small smile and a wave. saying your hello’s, you stopped awkwardly few steps away from him. “how are you feeling?” you asked carefully, not sure how he’d react to you suddenly showing up.

“i’m okay, just a little nervous” he answered quietly, continuing his stretching. you just stood there, awkwardly, not knowing what to say. you didn’t really plan ahead when you suddenly decided to find him. hanbin got up, now fully looking at you, but he didn’t say anything like you hoped he would. the two of you just stared at one another, neither knowing what to say. you could no longer bear the silence, so you finally spoke, “i’m sorry.”

“no, i’m sorry, i should’ve talked to you” hanbin took your hands to his, holding onto them like his life depended on it. his eyes were sorrowful, all this must have pained him the past week, and it was mostly your fault.

“i mean you tried to…” you reminded him, hoping that he would stop blaming himself. he let out an airy laugh, a smile finally breaking to his face. announcement could be heard in the background, telling everyone that the solo category would be starting in a few minutes, and you could see hanbin tense up. 

“you’re going to kill it, don’t worry” you reassured him, deciding to embrace the boy in a hug. he wrapped his arms around in a second, squeezing you tight. “you think so?” he mumbled next to your ear.

“hanbin, let’s go!” you could hear jongin yell from a distance. you took a look at hanbin, not quite ready to let go yet. “yes, and i’ll be right here watching” you said, with one more thing in your mind that you thought would help him. you looked around your surroundings, hoping that jongin wouldn’t be looking, before doing something you should’ve done weeks ago. you leaned in and kissed the boy, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

hanbin kissed you back after a moment of shock, and you could feel him smile against your lips. parting ways, the two of you now giggling like little kids. “I’ll be back” he let go of you, starting to walk towards jongin, who had an amused smile on his face. 

to put it simply, hanbin had never danced as well as he did then, and he was sure it was all thanks to you.

viii. lets dance

“are your eyes closed?” hanbin asked you for the fifth time, as he was moving you towards his surprise. it had been a few days since the competition, and today hanbin had been acting really suspicious. you were informed by matthew that you should stay at the studio after practice, and he left without telling you why. your questions were finally answered, when hanbin started dragging you out of the dressing room, putting his hands in front of your eyes. 

“yes, you’ve made sure of it” you answered, acting bothered by his antics. “okay okay, but no lurking!” he said excitingly, helping you to get over a higher threshold. you could tell you had entered one of the practice rooms, but you had no idea what hanbin had planned. you two stopped walking, and hanbin finally let you open your eyes, “you can open now!”

once you did open them, you wouldn't believe what laid in front your eyes. the entire room was decorated with fairy lights all over the room. the view was beautiful, and you were in complete awe. you never thought hanbin would do something like this. “hanbin…” you were completely speechless. 

“shh, that’s not all” he said, as a familiar song started playing from the speakers. you turned to hanbin as you recognized the song, it was the song for your duet. he smiled at you, offering you his hand. “dance with me”  he said quietly. you took his hand without hesitation, and he pulled you into the middle of the dance floor. you started dancing the choreography, the room filling up with laugh and giggles. 

dancing with hanbin just felt right. it made you feel at ease, moves coming easily to you as the two of you spinned around the dance floor. you never wanted this moment to end, that’s how much you were enjoying it. for a long time you haven’t enjoyed dance as much as you did right now, with hanbin. and suddenly it hit you – you loved dancing again. 

…and maybe you loved hanbin too.

- end

bonus:

“y/n, will you be my duet partner?”

“only if you’ll be my boyfriend as well”

“i like this deal”

[jor-elsemissary]

Fall

Summary: Set some time during/after the last season, the real Lionel Luthor survived his son’s attempt on his life and seeks vengeance against those who wronged him. They wanted a villain, he would give it to them. He just needs to overcome his feelings for a certain widow.

———

When he came back from prison, his enemies thought his fangs had been pulled, what with the way he had tried to seek redemption through charitable foundations and such. But his son’s evil twin had merely proven them wrong, that the old wolf was still in there waiting to claw its way back to the surface and onto center stage.

Then his son believed him to have grown sentimental and weak over his obsession with a certain farmer’s widow and her son. But the younger Luthor simply was not aware of the truth about him and the son, and how much stronger his conviction was with that knowledge.

It hadn’t been enough to spare him the pain of a eighty story fall though. Barely alive. Declared dead to protect him from his murderer. It took years for him to recover. Years lost in a hospital far away from Metropolis and Smallville. And when he finally returned to get his revenge, his son had gotten himself killed and a doppelgänger tried to take his place.

It all could have been avoided, of course.

All they had to do was simply listen to him. But they chose to believe in the lies his son had crafted. Ignored his warnings and his pleading for clemency. They wanted to paint him as the villain, believing he had never truly changed, and so now, that is what he will give them.

With Kal-el gone and John Jones too busy elsewhere, and Jor-el’s construct no longer wracking his brain with head splitting migraines, he could easily slip into the role of the treacherous and ruthless CEO of LuthorCorp again. He would give them what they wanted.

A villain to fear and hate.

He just needed to overcome his feelings for a certain widow first.

“I don’t know what happened to you, Lionel,” Martha Kent firmly spoke but there was a sadness in her eyes that he could see. Behind him were two of her son’s friends, bound and gagged, though the latter was to grant him some peace and quiet from Miss Lane’s insistent chatter. “But I know this isn’t you.”

“It’s always been me,” he answered back nonchalantly. He dismissively gestured with the gun he held while he paced back and forth in front of the Senator. “I’ve simply allowed sentimentality to rule my judgement. That ends now, Martha.”

“It doesn’t have to. You have friends here, people who care…”

“No one cares about me! Not even you!” he snarled and whirled around unexpectedly at her, the cold steel now pointing at her. “The only person to dare defy my murderer and come to my funeral was your son. Where were these so called friends? Where were you?!”

She fell quiet and he felt a pang of guilt. He knew where she had been. She did not have her son’s gifts to traverse the distance quickly. There hadn’t been enough time from his death to the funeral to allow her to come.

Lionel lowered the weapon and looked away, knowing that if he continued to meet her gaze, her will would overcome his own. He chose to glare at Miss Sullivan who returned it with a look of defiant bravado. “It doesn’t matter anymore. They want a villain, they will have one. Go back to Washington, Martha. Forget about me.”

“No.” She was so stubborn. That strong will and determination was one of many traits he had come to cherish about her. Right now, though, it was becoming an inconvenience. “You were abandoned when you needed them the most. I will not do that to you.”

Lionel Luthor looked upon the one woman he had been willing to give his life for. She still amazed him even after he had gone cold and bitter with hatred. He wondered once more if she actually loved him but her loyalty to Jonathan kept her from acknowledging and exploring it.

“Why must you do this to me?” he demanded to know from her. Why was she willing to risk everything for him? He was a murderer, a liar, and a conman. He only protected Clark because that was what Jor-el wanted.

“Because I… do care about you, Lionel.” She dared to touch him, a gentle hand on his forearm and he could feel himself unraveling to that touch alone. He feared it wouldn’t take much for him to completely fall apart. She always had that effect on him.

“Do you?” he questioned, hazel eyes meeting blue in challenge. “Or is it Clark’s friends you’re more worried about?”

“Of course I’m worried,” she tells him while stepping closer to him. Lionel found himself swallowing thickly at her closeness. “But I still care for you as well. You must know that.”

She wasn’t wrong. It’s why he loved her in the first place. Despite all that he has said and done over the years, she still found it in herself to care about his wellbeing. He felt tender fingers brush across his cheek before a hand lovingly rested against his face.

“Let them go, Lionel,” she pleaded with him, her other hand gliding down his arm to the hand holding the gun. He didn’t want to let them off for what they had done to him, but he also wanted to make her happy. To be proud of him. To trust him again. He was hurting, he knew she could see that. She always seemed to know exactly how he was feeling and why. A mother’s intuition perhaps?

“They let him murder me.” The words came out in a quiet whisper and he felt his shoulders drop as he found himself leaning into her touch. “I didn’t deserve that fate, Martha.”

“No one does.” Her thumb caressed across his cheekbone and he felt himself close his eyes. Maybe, just maybe, he could forget everything and just be with her. “But this is not the way to get justice.” He let her take the weapon from him and he heard the safety click into place before it was discarded.

Martha Kent once more found a way to disarm him and he allowed it as she took him into her arms and simply held him. It took Lionel a few moments to overcome his own defensiveness to embrace this remarkable woman and rest his head against her own.

With eyes shut tightly, and Martha soothingly rubbing his back, Lionel Luthor came undone in her arms. Quiet sobs wracked his shoulders and his body trembled in her embrace. He needed help and Martha gave him her promise that she would, that he would not see the inside of a prison cell this time.

He didn’t resist when the police came in a few moments later and bound his arms behind him. He didn’t fight back when they took him away from her. He kept his eyes on Martha until he couldn’t see her anymore and his head lowered in defeat and despair.

The turmoil of betrayal and anger left him feeling hallow inside, except for that tiny spark of light that Martha Kent left behind in him. He decided then and there that he would endure whatever the courts decided. He would endure the mistrust and scornful tongues of Clark’s friends. He would endure the public humiliation he knows Lois Lane would put him through with her articles. He would endure it all so long as Martha Kent was there to guide him through it all.

He had set out to be the villain this time. Instead, he felt every bit as his son’s victim all over again.

[ivysangel]

wally’s death was the first character death that i ever experienced from a character that i LOVED. like i was crushed and i cried so hard my mom thought someone actually died so i understand your pain!! and when they did the kind of flashback thing in season 3 where dick was hallucinating about being robin with the team and wally was back while fighting on granny goodness’s ship??? the writers were SICK for that!!

also dinah mentioning the sanctuary part at the end of season 4 is supposed to be how wally comes back but i don’t see how cause in the comics he’s stuck in the speedforce but the writers say there is no speedforce?? which why not??

the time jump was the dumbest thing i’ve ever seen cause why??? we missed tula joining the team and then dying, we missed kaldur discovering who his real father is and going to the light’s side (even if it was just undercover), we missed dick becoming nightwing, and we missed ALL of jason. don’t get me wrong cause i love tim and i wanted to see him as robin too but jason is such an important part of tim and dick’s stories so what gives??

and the writers are especially sick for how they did wally and artemis!! cause why tease us with them for the whole season, finally give us spitfire in the last episode of season 1, then have their ENTIRE relationship off screen, and then they kill wally?? we really got no time with them!! like spitfire is arguably the best couple on the show even if the writers clearly do favor connor and m’gann. especially m’gann and i love her but why was dick barely in season 4???

i don't think i cried when wally died bc i'm p sure i spoiled it for myself but i was still GUTTED. me and one of my friends who also watched yj have talked about it so many times. she actually stopped after he died and said she wouldn't continue the show unless they brought him back. i think dc knows what young justice fans want i just don't think they gaf bc that have quite literally not implemented a single thing that fans have REALLY asked for. you'll say "we want wally back!!" and they'll be like "ohhh okay let's remind everyone that he's dead and literally nobodies truly recovered!!!"

also, once again, FUCK that five year time jump. the young justice writers' room utilized the FUCK out of time jumps like every season has at least one or two??? mid-season they'll be like "1 year later" WHAT??? but like i said, nothing is worse than that five year time jump between s1 and s2 because five years is such a long time, especially because the team were practically babies at the beginning. they had so much potential and then the show just jumped to them as adults and a whole new team.

i also fully hate that they introduced rocket in the second to last episode or smth and pretty much benched her as a superhero for the entire rest of the show, i do not understand that decision AT ALL.

and yes, the fourth season being advertised as a season about the og team only for it to be so heavily m'gann and conner centric was so…i did enjoy that we finally got some real zatanna screen time but ugh god i wish it was with the team. like i don't really know how to explain it or if this even makes sense, but even though the show is about a team i feel like we barely get to see the team do actual team stuff like they used to. it feels like a lot of solo plotlines that happen to be going on in the same show with coincidental correlation.

also i think it might've been season 4? maybe 3? but WAY TOO MANY CUTS TO VANDAL SAVAGE'S LIFE STORY. I DON'T GIVE A FUCK.

[reviewdiaries]

Be still my beating heart - examining that Nancy x Ace moment from 4x03

I am a wreck. Sure I went into this episode expecting to have my heart smushed into many tiny pieces, but that just, yeah, I’m going to need some time to recover. This season is unhinged, unhinged I tell you and I am absolutely here for it. It gets long beneath the cut…

We left Nancy and Ace in a cautiously optimistic place at the end of the last episode - a fragile bloom of hope, a desperate shared yearning, finally, finally in the same space of wanting to try. And once Nancy commits to something, she is all in. You see that building all episode, this breathless anticipation and want. Because finally they’re being open with each other, they’re talking honestly about their feelings and it is soft and beautiful, framed in warmer light and lingering looks in place of touch.

I’ve talked before about how the curse is forcing them both into actually talking with each other, and we see that so clearly in the beautiful little moments - how long have they known they liked the other? What do they want to do first when the curse is lifted? It’s intimate and raw and filled with So Much Eye Contact. After so long avoiding how they feel, letting the other one know, acting on it, suddenly we see Nancy and Ace in a much more stable place. Everything is laid bare, and now it’s just the two of them working together to defeat the big bad and it is beautiful to watch. 

GIF Credit  @nacesource

But nothing as beautiful as the moment we’ve all been waiting for, that kiss. You know it’s coming, right from the moment when Bess says early on that they’ll need to activate the curse. The kiss has been a delicious promise hanging over everything. And it’s a study in light. That first breathless almost where they were in near darkness at Icarus Hall, when the work of uncovering their feelings had barely just begun. The soft lamplight of Ace’s apartment as Nancy told him about the parallel timeline, of the kisses and intimacy they shared. And now this. Full, beautiful light, candles everywhere, not a shadow to hide in, nothing but the raw truth on display for everyone.

Ace has been so confident, settled in his feelings, the knowledge that they’re returned. A new stillness that has infused him right from the start, until this moment. Suddenly faced with Nancy in a circle of petals, faced with the reality of her, of this moment, his nerves return. He can’t hold her gaze anymore, suddenly filled with the scent of her shampoo this close, the knowledge that she’s already done this, and maybe he won’t live up to the hallucination - even though it was technically him and he knows it’s ridiculous he can’t help the fear that maybe this will ruin it, somehow this moment, this start, will be the end. 

GIF Credit @nancy-drew

Even as he stammers out an apology, a buffer, a rationalisation for his nerves, he’s reaching for her. He’s held himself in check for so long, laced his hands together to keep from touching her since the last time he tried to kiss her when he was testing his theory, and now finally he can let his desires off their leash and touch her. She’s so beautiful, so steady and sure, she doesn’t look nervous at all and somehow that helps him, as he reaches out to cup her cheek and the side of her neck. 

GIF Credit @nancy-drew

He doesn’t so much draw her to him as use his fingers tangled in her hair to anchor himself to her, stop himself from floating away on the breathless anticipation of finally stepping in and closing that last distance between them. 

GIF Credit @nancy-drew

And at that moment where every other time he’s had to pause, to stop, to back away, Nancy finally reaches for him. Mirroring where his own hand is cradling her face, mouth opening underneath his and god this is so much more than he could ever have imagined. And he has imagined it so much. Hundreds of idle moments in school, washing dishes at the Claw, watching her kiss Park and Gil and wishing so much that it was him she was with. And these last days, after she told him about the parallel timeline and her eyes fluttered shut as she breathlessly recounted kisses and skin and hot murmured words against skin. He can’t help but pull her close, tug her into him so she’s flush against him and he can feel her warm and alive and real. 

GIF Credit @nancy-drew

There’s nothing now for him but her. Nothing but her fingernails scraping through his hair and using it to tug him closer, angle his head to deepen the kiss. Tongue sliding against his, that soft breathless noise he’s heard her make when the pieces slot into place in a particularly difficult mystery, that sound of satisfaction, of a complete whole, of the world tipping back onto its axis. 

GIF Credit @nancy-drew

He never wants to let her go now he’s found this, torn between wanting to cradle her like something precious and fist his hands in her hair to pull her head back for easier access to her neck. Lost in the desperate longing he’s kept so deeply buried for so long and the slow dawning realisation that this is her, this is Nancy, his Nancy, finally in his arm and beneath his lips and god he wants to just live in this moment forever.

GIF Credit @nancy-drew

The sigil burns as the curse fights to take hold, Temperance fighting for control even now, furious at their open defiance. He pulls back slightly, taken aback by the stinging reminder after being so lost in the feel of her. But she follows him and he cannot resist, not now, tugging her in deeper, never wanting this moment to end.

GIF Credit @nancy-drew

For a moment light flares behind his eyelids, but Nancy’s hands are in his hair and pulling him closer to her, and she’s lifting up onto her tiptoes, trying to get closer, closer, always closer. He can feel it in the rapid pulse beneath his fingers, the stuttering inhalations against his cheek. She is as undone by this as he is, ripped open by hope and longing and this sudden freedom to actually touch and taste and love.

GIF Credit @nancy-drew

He doesn’t feel steady on his feet, like the world is spinning and the only fixed point are the ten places he can feel Nancy’s fingers pinning him in place like a trapped moth. The world feels like it’s burning and his chest is burning and suddenly he’s being pushed away from her by the curse exiting him, eyes still closed, like if he just doesn’t open them then he can stay suspended in this moment forever. Lips still seeking hers, brushing his nose against hers to just stay in this moment of being close to her without knowing if it’s worked or not for just a heartbeat longer.

But it’s there and it’s real in a way the abstract thought of it never was, and he still lingers, still holds on to Nancy, his fixed point, his north star, hands on her arms, her fingers, still struggling to catch his breath when Nancy has stolen it so thoroughly, kissed away every thought and feeling beyond the desire to step back in and claim her lips again. 

And it’s beautiful and it’s terrifying and for a moment staring at it Ace is so completely lost, frightened by the enormity of it and the desperate hope that maybe maybe, just maybe, this will work and he can kiss her again in a moment. And as soon as he thinks of her, as soon as he looks at her again, he steadies. Because Nancy is it, she is worth anything, and if this hasn’t worked, if this is his last moment then he will go having finally known what it feels like to kiss her, to pull her close and show her just how much he loves her.

GIF Credit @horseshoe-bay-ledger

But it’s Nancy who crumples into him, and you can see the moment that he knows this hasn’t worked, that this has gone wrong and god damn it he just wants to be with the woman he loves and he could kill Temperance for doing this to them, for causing so much heartache and pain and predicting every way they were going to try and break the curse. But he can’t even allow himself to fully feel that despair and fury before he’s catching Nancy and calling for water and then more panicked for someone to call an ambulance, because he was fully prepared to put his life on the line but never Nancy’s. That was the only reason he pushed so hard, because he knew she’d be safe, that it was all him and he could take that chance if it meant trying, if it meant the chance to finally kiss her lips and pull her close. 

GIF Credit  @livelovecaliforniadreams

But Nancy suddenly pale and unconscious in his arms is terrifying in a way he hadn’t anticipated, hadn’t prepared for in all his musings about hope and trying and dying being worth it. A tiny voice in the back of his head telling him this is why Nancy didn’t want to try, that this was what she’d experienced with him and no it’s too much, too real, too terrifying and why won’t she open her eyes?! 

GIF Credit  @livelovecaliforniadreams

The adrenaline from a few moments ago replaced with something sour and terrifying that makes him want to scream at the world, promise he’ll behave, never push her again, never underestimate how much it hurt, god never kiss her again if she’ll just be ok. Anything, anything, please. Just open her eyes and breathe and tell him she’s ok. He can’t bear the thought of a world without her in it - her smile, her laugh, her brilliant brilliant mind. He’d do anything, rocked by the desperate high to low of having her and losing her and now the memory of their first kiss (their only kiss) will always be entwined with the thought of her limp and lifeless body in his arms, hair spread around them like blood, and the taste of fear in his mouth.

[scrollsfromarebornrealm]

Bad Blood: Trusted Individuals and Not-So-Very-Good-Ideas

Brucemont pushed himself up on his elbows, the sheets rustling around him.

“War from the New World?”  He asked.

“That’s what Wuk Lamat said told us.”  Sebastian finished tying the laces of his pants.  Spotting his slippers nearby, he wriggled his feet into them.  “None of us sensed that she was lying, especially Augustine.” 

“And she’s a princess of their people?”

“One of three siblings.  Don’t know if there are any others.”  Sebastian turned his head, watching Brucemont frown. 

“I imagine a scenario like this never came to mind?”

“The New World’s…come up as a possibility as a place where some of our ancestors may have fled to.”  The dragoon began, carefully choosing his words.  “But from what I’ve at least seen on the maps, it would be a difficult trip.  The dragon could fly without any problems.  Their knight on the other hand…would have to travel by boat.  And I have yet to hear back from Old Sharlayan regarding my request.”  Brucemont paused, thinking.  “And according to Clan Centro, the aetherical currents bring some of the New World’s creatures into Dravania during the summer.  Other than that…”  He shrugged.  “Church teachings, everything outside of Coerthas was nothing but godless heathenry.  An attitude that will have to be rectified if there is a threat.” 

“The hope is there won’t be one.”  Sebastian replied.  Brucemont sat up fully, crossing his legs under the bedsheets. 

“Do you plan on warning the Eorzean Alliance?”

“We’re…at loggerheads over that.”  Sebastian replied.  “A warning would probably be a good idea, but what if it turns out to be bluster?  Everyone’s getting along now, the city-states are still recovering from the Final Days…”  The gunbreaker shrugged helplessly.  “Pointing fingers, especially if it turns out to be nothing but tough talk, would make for an ugly political incident.” Brucemont hummed, feeling Bastion mull over the dilemma in the back of his mind.   

“You’re telling me, however.”  He pointed out.

 “The most we could agree to was letting Wuk’s warning be kept to what Scions are present and a few trusted individuals.”  Sebastian’s cheeks flamed red as Brucemont blinked in surprise.  Hurriedly, he pressed on.  “However, we figured the Alliance would find out anyway, and not from us.  The moment anyone from Eorzea spots us over in Tural…”

“Every adventurer and fortune-seeker will descend upon the area looking to make their own names.”  Brucemont finished.  “Is that the real reason you all agreed then?”  Sebastian flushed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“…Part of it.”  He began. “It’s also a new place to explore, and…”  Then he stopped as Brucemont pushed the covers to the side. The dragoon got out of the bed, padding over to him on bare feet.  Without hesitation he hooked two fingers in Sebastian’s pants, pulling the hyur over for a deep kiss.  After several moments, the dragoon pulled back, smiling as the gunbreaker blinked owlishly up at him.

“You don’t have to explain it to me.  We’re both wanderers in this relationship.”  A faint smile crossed Sebastian’s face.  He lifted a hand to rest it on Brucemont’s chest, spreading his fingers.

“We…won’t be leaving right away.”  He whispered.  “Wuk apparently came on the last ship before their storm-season hit.  And the contest itself doesn’t begin for some time.”  Brucemont reached up to cover Sebastian’s hand with his own, pressing a kiss to his fingers.

“Good news for us, then?”  He whispered back.  Sebastian smiled.

“If you want it to be.”  He invited; his voice warm.  A toothy smile was Brucemont’s response, and he squeezed Sebastian’s hand before letting go.  Turning back to the bed, he bent over to gather his clothing.

“Continuing on that cheerful note, you get time to prepare.”  He began, stepping into his pants and pulling up the fabric.  “But bad news…so do your opponents.  Especially if this princess had loose lips before her departure.”

“I don’t think so.”  Sebastian replied.  “I think—and Riven is of the same mind—that when Erenville told her about us, she made up her mind and left on that last ship.  But that could be wrong.”

“How are you planning on presenting yourselves over there?”  Brucemont turned around, tying off his own laces.

“We were just going to be the hired help.”  Sebastian blinked as the elezen stopped what he was doing to stare at him.  “What?”

“…The hired help.”  Brucemont repeated.

“Yes!  Just an average group of adventurers.”  Sebastian replied.  Brucemont kept staring at him with an incredulous expression on his face.  “What?  What’s wrong with that?”

<<You can pretend being an ‘average adventurer’ as well as I can pretend to be a mortal.>> Bastion was loud enough for Sebastian to hear. 

“Hey!” 

“That’s not a good idea.”  Brucemont was firmly on his dragon’s side.  “It’s not.  I cannot even begin to describe how you’re not going to be able to fool anyone into thinking you’re average.  And I’m only just discussing you!”

<<There is no way in your hells that Riven can pass herself off as that.  Or the Bishops.  Or Reinhardt.  You’re supposed to be smart, you’re Sharlayan, come up with a better plan than that!>>

“Bastion!!”