#its...not normal or good to look at two gay men living their life and go 'EW GROSS MEN BLEGH DISGUSTING'

[spitblaze]

Men and masculinity are not inherently bad or untrustworthy things and I don't mean that in a 'misandry is real and a problem' way, I mean that in a 'I think some of you might have contracted minor radfem poisoning' way

[cvntluver444]

7 mins in heaven w ellie😇😇😇😇

thank you so much for your request and your support love!! <3

✞ 7 minutes ✞

✿ summary : the request!

✿ warnings : smut minors/men (boys) dni, puss rubbing, dirtyy talk, shy reader, sweet ellie, ellie teaching reader, reader is in closest!!!!!!, mentions of reader in str@ight relationship, almost getting caught!, if i missed any lmk pls!

✿ a/n : thank you for supporting my works as always! this is not my best work bc i used all my creative brain juice on my last fic so i am so sorry! unfortunately, i am headed back to school this weekend so my writing is going to slow down, but i'm not stopping don't worry babies. im hoping to put out 2-3 fics a week still!!!! keep sending in those requests! I have one more to work on, so to the anon who requested it its coming i promise my love!!!!

ALSO i did kind of make this a personal fic im so sorry LMAO basically i just explain how when i finally realized i was gay YAYAYA !!!!!!! but yeah warning again the reader in this is based on me so it is like finding out you're into girls later on kind of thing so if this is something you're not interested in feel free to skip! I hope you like it lucy!!! (idk if that's your real name im just going to call u that teehee) i love you all so much! muah

✿ as always, please remember to keep spreading information on and support Palestine!!

daily click

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you anxiously played with your fingers as the last of the party guest gathered around the huge circle. your friends and you decided to spend your saturday night at one of your classmates party, resulting in you now dreading your turn in the 'truth or dare' game.

"you okay?" you turn your head to your left as your eyes land on your friend, who clearly could pick up on how nervous you looked.

"yeah i'm fine," you tell her. "just hope i don't have to do anything stupid or embarrassing. she laughs at your comment.

"don't worry, i doubt you'll even get picked. there's a lot of people here and were all drunk so, who cares!'. her shouts fills the room, drawing a couple eyes toward the two of you. you giggle and hide your face, trying to tell her to keep it down. in the midst of shushing her, your eyes graze the room, watching people roll their eyes at her behavior. but your eyes catch someone else's and you freeze.

ellie williams

she sends you a soft smile, a dark look in her eyes. you gulp and look away quickly. god, she was so hot you thought. you hope she couldn't how flustered she made you. you hope no one could. your whole life, you've always had no problems catching boys' attention. you could have a whoever, whenever, but with this luxury came its flaw. you never actually liked the boys you went out with, you just loved being loved, being in a relationship. you never understood why you felt that way, but just continued on normally, not giving yourself a chance to actually explore more about yourself. but when you first met ellie freshmen year, the feelings finally became visible, especially after finding out she was also into girls; however, you were still not sure if she felt the same. This caused you to once again burry your feelings and close yourself up. You were too scared, and way too sober to even try to talk to ellie.

suddenly, a loud voice can be heard yelling throughout the house. "truth or dare starting now in living room," on boy shouted. your palms became sweaty and you prayed that everyone would pick up on your uncomfortableness and just leave you alone. as always though, the world likes to work in funny ways, and you feel a large presence sit next to you and tap you on the shoulder.

"hey," the boy smiles, "cool if i sit here?" you just give me a simple nod of your head and continue your attention elsewhere, your thoughts interrupted once again. "you look good tonight, by the way". you turn back around, and give him a quiet thanks, and before he could respond, everyone around you begins to pick who will go first for the game.

after three or four people went, you began to grow annoyed. the man next to you could not take the hint, and you were the only person here not having a good time.

"alright williams," the room cheers silently, "truth or dare". your attention is now fully on ellie. she stares up at her friend who just picked on her, small smirk on her face as she answers with a confident dare. "hmmm," her friend hums out loud, looking around the room. you swear you see their eyes stop on yours for a second, before they get an idea. "i dare you to do 7 minutes in heaven," they pause and the room is filled with oooo's. your heart drops a bit. "a person of your choosing." now everyone was going crazy. everyone knew ellie was gay, and everyone knew she made every girl gay, so it was a pretty heavy dare.

ellie smiles up at her friend, sage you think their name is, before she slowly starts scanning the room. you quickly look down, hoping that your avoided eye contact would make you more invisible. your only focus now was watching your fidgeting fingers and giving back half asses answers to the man beside you who still will not shut up.

you hear ellie suck in her breathe before she slowly gets up from the ground. all you wanted to do in this moment was sink into the ground, not sure how you were going to handle seeing ellie pick another girl that isn't you and go fuck her in the closet. too deep in your thoughts, you don't hear the air leave your friends lungs as a certain someone stalks towards you. you only know ellie is right in front of you once you see the beat up sneakers sneak right under your vision.

your eyes widen and you cant breathe. there has to be someone behind you right? no, she could not pick you. in fear that you would be disappointed when looking up, you keep your head down, telling yourself that you're just-

your friend next to you quietly says your name, excitement laced in her voice. she was the only one you told, the only one you could trust with something so personal to you, so to say she was absolutely ecstatic to see ellie pick her best friend, well that was an understatement.

after your quick reality check, your line of vision trails from the top of her feet, all the way to her line of vision, where you see hear towering over you, smirk on her face. you felt like you were going to throw up.

"wanna come with me?" she asks you, that little smile never leaving her face. you look around the room, everyone in just as much shock as you. you look back at ellie, and without thinking twice, you nod your head yes.

she grabs her hand out for you to take, and you two make your way into the closet in between the living room and kitchen, but not before ellie yells something along the lines of keep yourselves busy, and don't be pervs. you feel like you're dreaming, you can't believe ellie williams picked you. but suddenly, you're brought back into reality when she closes the closet and turns on her phone flashlight.

"so," she begins, "how's your night been." you now grow extremely insecure at how little you've been talking to her, not knowing exactly what to do next considering you've never been with a girl.

"oh uh," you begin, "it's been okay. what about yours?" stupid stupid stupid.

"pretty good. saw that guy talking to you. you looked uncomfortable so thought i would save you." she gives a light giggle, but your heart drops and you look at her with sad eyes.

"oh uh yeah haha thanks," you attempt to say, sadness clearly laced in your voice. ellie picks up on it.

"are you okay? did he do anything?" she asks you, coming closer, concern reading all over her face. you blush at how much she cares about you.

"no, no, he didn't do anything, just was annoying," you let out a breathy laugh. "i guess i just thought that we were gonna, ya know, since you picked me, um, never mind this is stupid." your cheeks are now red with embarrassment, and ellies face softens at your rambling.

"aw, no sweetie. just because i picked you doesn't mean we have to do anything. i know you're not into girls." she gives you a friendly tap on the shoulder. ouch. your heart has now sank completely, and you slowly go to reach for the closet door handle. ellie looks confused, before she panics and grabs your hand.

"where are you going? it hasnt been 7 minutes yet sweetheart," she asks you.

"i was just gonna go back. kinda boring just doing nothing here." you tell her sadly.

"well, what do you want to do?" she still hasn't caught on? at this point, you feel like you will never get another chance again. with your ego still a little boosted that she chose you, you answer her.

"i wanna kiss you, ellie," you tell her. she freezes in the spot she's in before she slowly relaxes and relief washes over her face.

"i wanna kiss you too." she tells you. you look up at her, hope in your eyes, and she slowly grabs yours chin with her fingers and pulls you towards her. your lips meet and you both slowly start to make out. now you know why it was called 7 minutes in heaven. pleasure rushed through your body, and you instantly melted into the kiss. it was the first time you actually felt something when kissing someone, and in the bliss of this new feeling, you now put your arms around her shoulders.

the kiss deepens and turns more sinful as ellies hands now trail down to your ass and give it a light squeeze. you moan into her mouth and she groans back in response. her hands now start exploring your body, covering every inch of you until they make their way down towards your loose jeans. you quickly pull away, feeling like a complete virgin even though this kind of stuff is nothing new to you.

"woah, hey, you okay? we can stop if you want," ellie tells you, scared that she may have gone too far.

"no ellie its not you, its just," you try to find the right words. "i've never actually been with a girl before." you tell her, shame written all over your features. she lightly grabs your face once more as she gives you another passionate kiss.

"im happy to help you through it, and if you ever want me to stop, you just tell me." she explains, leaving light kisses all over you exposed next and chest. you moan out as you give her your permission to continue. her lips find her way back to yours, taking control of the kiss. in between each breath, she made sure to tell you how beautiful you were, and how much she had been dreaming of this. you return the compliments, gasping when ellie now picks you up and leans you down on the closet floor.

now on top, she puts all her weight on her elbow, as the other one trails down from your chest, then your stomach, to finally the place where you needed her the most. still kissing you, her fingers undo your buttons. once your jeans were shoved down, and your panties moved to the side, ellie breaks the kiss.

you whine from the loss of contact, and she shushes you. "is it ok if i touch you?" she asks you politely.

"yes, ellie. please touch me," you beg her. "want you so bad." her lips suddenly reconnect with yours, and her fingers start rubbing light circles on your clit. you moan as she teases you, never feeling this way with any guy you've ever been with.

"you make the prettiest noises," she tells you, nipping at your lips. "fuck, and you're so wet too." her talking alone brings you even closer to your high, another new feeling.

you feel her fingers now trail down and tease your entrance, making the most sinful sound. she bites her lips, then starts pumping two fingers inside of you.

your eyes now roll to the back of your head and ellie falls to your side, the new position allowing her to finger you even faster. your head leans into her shoulder, and tears brim in your eyes from how good shes making you feel.

"faster, please," you beg, now staring into her eyes. the innocent look on your face causes her pussy the clench.

"yeah baby? you want me to go faster?" she teases you. "ill do anything for you beautiful." that was enough to send you over the edge, and you start to shake and she speeds up her motions.

"els" is all you can get out, but she knows exactly what you're trying to say, telling you to let go and cum all over her fingers.

and you're about to, until you hear yelling outside the closest door, and people are banging on your door, telling you seven minutes has passed.

you and ellie groan, and you're about to scream out of frustration, before ellies low voice cuts you off.

"i want you to get dressed and meet me outside my car, we can finish this at me." she tells you, a loving look on her face. you giggle and give her a quick peck, before jumping up and putting on your clothes.

you two come out of the closet, rushing towards the front door, completely ignoring all your friends and strangers random questions flying your way.

"where are they going?"

"are they holding hands?"

"do you think they did anything?"

"they so fucked."

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✿ a/n: heh, they came out the closet. anyways, like i said, very personalized im sorry i hit my penjamin and im in my feels but i really hope you guys liked it! my requests are still open! love you all so much and don't forget to follow because i post frequently!! <3

[sdv-confessions]

there are people keep saying sebastian is a loser while alex is some popular kid just because they look like the stereotypes of nerdy emo kid and a jock. saying this with whole my heart as a male alex liker, but sorry, you are wrong. sebastian didnt go to college but he managed to self taught coding and getting money out of it is fucking impressive. he has his own motorbike, and he has a group of friend who love and support him. he is pretty direct with his emotions and struggles once you get to know him on a certain level. and as for alex, this boy only has one friend (two, if you count emily in if thinking about the fact that he knew her through haley). he wished there were more girls in the town, but he never directly went out to talk with them besides haley,like boy what are you doing, but i kinda understand given how george was not much of a good figure good is not nice remember folks. alex did have a job, but it's more like a side gig given how his ice cream stand only open in summer and only in a certain time. and the fact that he tried to uphold his tough persona instead of opening up to anyone except dusty and the farmer, who accidentally caught him being sad, or how only after marriage he said that he never had many friends and didnt know what to do if the farmer didnt come here. that boy is a loser more than sebastian! but i love him for that <3

they are like "well sebastian lives with his parents" as if he didnt have a plan to move out. and not just him, there are many townies who are adults still live with their family like sam, shane, penny, haley and emily live with their parents before those two went travelling, etc, even his sister maru. and not to mention in some cultures, its normal to stay with your parents until you get married, hell, some households even have 2 or more generations living together. and living alone? in this economy? no fucking way my siblings in christ, saying this as an atheist

ok i know its getting too long but i also dont like how the fandom saying that alex is only good with male farmer and dismiss his sexist views towards female farmer at the beginning by saying it was because hes gay, given how there are gay men who are very misogynistic in real life. we all saw how george was when you married alex as a guy, and if you think deep enough, homophobia and sexist usually go hand in hand. like dont you look at me and tell me that peepaw doesnt have at least a sexist thought once. its good for both of them to grow out of it with both female and male farmer, but i think its worth mentioning that in male farmers route, we get to understand why alex turned out like that, as usually you would reflect some of your parents or caretakers behaviors, whether they taught it to you or you mimic them unintentionally. so i dont like anyone who hates him making alex being sexist as an engraved trait, he changed! he apologized and grew out of it later. also people who post character hate in their tags im watching you when you sleep if anything, pierre should get a fair share of hate for being sexist towards abby and caroline too, but i dont see people talk about it enough like how he acts towards the farmer and their products and stuffs

.

[anauro]

I’ve been going through my Google docs and found this alternative ending to ch20 of Drugs and surgical scrubs aka what would happen if Regulus didnt blurt out “the Barty and Rel thing”

“You know how sometimes friends decide to fuck up the friendship with sex?” Evan didn’t wait for an answer, before carrying on, “they say it’s just gonna be a one time thing, that it won’t change anything, but it actually does change pretty much everything. And then the other person expects things to get back to normal and I want it too, don’t get me wrong, I really do. But I can’t.” Evan looked at him pleadingly. “I can’t.”

Regulus felt anxiety weave its way into his brain. He set down his coffee and looked Evan in the eyes.

“What exactly are you telling me, Evan?”

In the peripheries of his vision, Regulus could see Evan’s nails digging into his palm. His breath hitched in his chest as Evan opened his mouth.

“Me and Barty slept together.”

Oh.

The air got knocked out of Regulus’ lung and his vision went black as Evan’s words settled in.

Evan and Barty slept together.

His two best friends. Straight. Fucked each other.

This better be a fucking joke.

But Evan didn’t look like he was joking. Instead, he mirrored Regulus’ terror, both of them staring at each other with pure fear.

Regulus cleared his throat. “Come again, sorry?”

“I slept with Barty.”

The pain that exploded in Regulus’ heart was overwhelming, each heartbeat spreading it further around his body.

“But…but you’re both straight,” he managed to squeak out.

“No, that’s the problem, Reg.” Evan reached forward and grabbed Regulus’ hand. Regulus allowed it, too shocked to protest. “I don’t think I’m straight and it scares the crap out of me,” he said in hushed voice. “I… you’ve known me since I was a little kid, so tell me. Am I different now? Does this change anything?”

Regulus wanted nothing more than to run away from here and be sick in some bathroom and then challenge Barty about this new development.

The pain in his chest was not easing off and Evan’s fingers around his hand felt like blades, seeping the poisonous venom into Regulus.

The same fingers held Barty’s hand. Touched him.

Regulus closed his eyes shut.

“Liking men isn’t a bad thing, Evan,” he forced the words out of his mouth. “It doesn’t change who you are. You were always like this, you just didn’t realise until now.”

“So I lived over twenty six years of my life without knowing? What other things am I hiding from myself then, huh? From you?”

Regulus shook his head, biting on his bottom lip. He didn’t want to have this conversation with Evan, least of all now. But when he opened his eyes and saw the desperate look on Evan’s face… Evan was still his friend. Even if Regulus hated him at that very moment.

“I’m gay, Evan.”

Surprised flickered through Evan’s face.

“You… what?”

“I’m gay, Evan,” Regulus repeated, wringling his hand free. “I’m gay and I always have been and there’s nothing wrong with me, so there’s nothing wrong with you either.”

Evan watched him, utterly astonished.

“Don’t give me this look, Ev,” Regulus sighed. “I didn’t tell you before, because it wasn’t relevant. You guys were doing your girls and I… I was hooking up with men all along.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Regulus scrunched up his nose. “What are you sorry for?”

“For making you feel like your sexuality wasn’t relevant. For not being enough of a good friend that you felt safe coming out to. For that… I’m sorry.”

Oh.

A warmer feeling started to spread through Regulus’ body, originating at the fingertips Evan held just a moment ago. It eased Regulus’ heartache, an aloe vera to his soul.

“It’s okay, Evan,” he said quietly. “It was me who didn’t want to come out to you guys rather than you doing anything.”

“Man, look at us,” Evan mused. “We could have been having awesome gay sex all throughout uni.”

Regulus swallowed down the bile that was coming up his throat.

“Yeah. We could have.”

He could have had Barty all along. For years, he could have had him.

If only he had said something.

“How did it happen?” The question was out of Regulus before he realised.

Evan gave him a confused look. “You mean me realizing I like women and men?”

“I mean you and Barty.” Even saying the words out loud burnt in Regulus’ throat. “How did it happen?”

“Oh.” Evan’s smile faltered. “It… just kind of did? I said I’ve been having thoughts about men and he offered and I agreed.”

“He offered?” Regulus all but choked out.

Was that how easy it was to get Barty all this time?

All he had to do was ask and Barty would offer?

[t0ast-ghost]

Episode 25 (This Side Of Paradise) is this the fuck flower one? Only one way to find out; through:

- Dangerous fucking planet. “Living tissues disintegrates under its exposure” I’m worried the suggested “limited exposure” might become less and less limited

- did they? Make McCoy’s eyebrows thicker? Like does he have eyebrow pencil on? I just wanna know

- “On pure speculation… just an educated guess— I’d say that man is alive.” Kirk gives him a *look* how does he survive around McCoy and Spock’s sass

- I feel like having warm flesh isn’t necessarily the ultimate test to see if someone is alive. But what do I know, I’m an actor not a doctor.

- McCoy and Spock are so handsome in this episode

- how do I explain that this photo reminded me of this video?

- what in the kuleshov effect?? Why does Spock like this random- nvm not random but why?

- “I wouldn’t know right or wrong if it was two feet away from me.” Sits right next to the flowers. Sulu move away from the flowers please

- not ominous not threatening and completely normal (my mantra for thinking about the planet inhabitants when they say something like “he has no choice but to stay” or “you’ll find no weaklings here”)

- girl, he is GAY

- “Emotions are alien to me I am a scientist.” What do you study? Men? (I’m sorry I’ll stop now)

- DID THAT PLANT JUST- nope can’t say that

- “It shouldn’t hurt” HES ALLERGIC

- “Would you like me to use a butterfly net on him, Jim?” (Note to self draw Bones with a butterfly net and one of those stupid drawstring sunhats)

- Spock’s cloud watching.. HES SEEN A DRAGON WHAT KIND OF LORE IS THAT

- “No I don’t think so, *sir*” YES FULL SASSY SPOCK YES

- “That didn’t sound at all like Spock, Jim.” “No… I thought you said you might like him if he mellowed a little.” “I didn’t say that, I!-” “You said that, I-” “Not exactly… He might be in trouble.”

- Spock in a tree? How’d he get up there?

- THE PLANTS THEY- no no don’t say that.

- “Hiya, Jimmy boy!” It’s kinda funny how Bones becomes more southern (and happy) every time he’s mind controlled

- Jim alone on the bridge :(

- THE FLOWER JUST FUCKIN- no…just… no

- Jim: Time to go piss off my crew and get beaten up by Spock

- NO JIM TOO FAR

- All they have to do to get McCoy back is put him in a room with Spock and let them go at it (edit: I meant arguing)

- “You wanna see how fast I can put you in a hospital.” WHOA WHOA WOW

- McCoy not afraid TO PUNCH A BITCH!

(I’ve got all three of them now :D)

- Jim’s surrounded by people on the bridge again! Yippee!!

- I’m reminded how much I need subtitles on this show

- “For the first time in my life… I was happy.” WHAT SPOCK THATS INSANE! LET HIM BE HAPPY???

Okay good fuck plant episode. See you next time

Masterpost

[hei3355]

aight im just saying it this once. anyone who has the idea of 'yaoi (an outdated term)/asian bl is toxic and fetishize gay men' please do not follow me because one of the thing i draw is bl. and because this is an incredibly racist, transphobic, sexist and even anti-queer take.

bl is just a term for mlm stories, it encompass a wide varieties of genre from romance, drama, slice of life...etc to straight up pwp. whoever said 'asian bl is only sex and toxic fetishist shit' only read like one or two random r18 doujin which was recommended as mockery and never actually look into what it has to offer. there are so many wholesome bl out there, you are just blinded by stigma about this type of media. so many bl have complex and touching stories wayyy ahead of time but got no recognition but when some westerners did the exact same thing it is 'ground breaking queer presentation'?

but even then what is wrong with just portraying sex? isnt sex a normal human activity? how come is it ok to watch all kind of illogical porn on the internet but god forbid some asian ppl drawing some weird porn. people who got proper education know that porn is not reflection of reality. its for KINK AND FETISH. then why is asian queer adult drawn porn is treated differently??? why are people saying 'it portray gay men in a bad light' when its just fiction???? why suddenly some small artists works are considered text book case stidy for how gay men behave?

then theres 'toxic and fetishize'. the human nature is messy. life is messy. and so can queer experience be messy. please acknowledge that not everyone's experience is all rainbow and sunshine. so what is wrong with asian choosing to express their experiences in a more messy, brazen and disturbing way? these media are always created by asian for asian. if you dont find them enjoyable or fitting of your value then the least you could do is click back and not talk shit abt it.

'i am ok if the bad got portrayed as bad and not romanticized' if a single fictional story can led your moral compass astray then the problem is on you. not everything have a good ending. especially in the real world. good people die unfulfilling deaths while evil people continue to live happy fulfilling lives. and there are people who want to portray that in their works. art is to invoke emotion. and negative emotion is also emotion. there are many who find such emotion from fictional work carthatic. if you dont and prefer happy go lucky story then go find those.

and lastly. saying 'bl is created to please cishet women' is transphobic and sexist. just because someone has a feminine pen name doesnt mean they are a woman. and what is wrong with women enjoying and creating fictional work? all of that talk about feminism but then you choose to side with the sexist dudebro men to talk down on women's hobby and interest? dunking on the word 'fujoshi' is not a cool take as you think it is. fujoshi was created to shame women for not conforming to their role of a good housewives serving men, to shame women for having hobby and interest. but the jpnese women fought hard to reclaim that term. only for you people to appropriate it back to the sexist term in the beginning? very progressive.

[livvyofthelake]

please talk about your fuckass book you just finished <3

ok yay :) i literally neeeeeed to talk about it in relation to other books i’ve read recently so that’s what i’m gonna do here i heart making every book a conversation with each other… so you’ll all have to forgive me for comparing call me by your name to the dream thieves of raven cycle fame but i need to. its a comparison that literally begs to be spoken about. to me. i also need to compare it to the secret history and the sun and the star and most importantly. well we all saw the timeless video. we need to get into that as well!!

obviously what sets it apart from all of my genre bullshit is that it is NOT genre bullshit, like it's just set in italy 1983 in the normal universe. which made it one of the most unique books i've read this year to be honest and real.... i have NOT been reading normal ass books... earlier i compared elio's narration to the great gatsby but i literally have just only read very few real world narrative novels i've got gatsby, richard, and this i guess. i'm working on it though!

anyway it was veryyy richard core in the sense that it's being narrated from some point in the future where elio is reflecting on that summer and oliver and what it meant to his life at large, where richard does the same thing with narrating his time at college with his greek class and bunny's murder. reflecting on two very different things unless you wanna look at it with the keen eye of a total nutcase and then i could say that they're both simply reflecting on what it was like to be seen and known by someone who turned out to not be what you hoped and you didn't end up with him despite it all. richard papen you would have loveddd call me by your name... wow. elio pearlman you would have loved the secret history...

it was ALSO very the dream thieves core in the sense that um. well me when i'm gay and having kind of a hard time working with that and there's a guy who's just like me in a bad way who wants to fuck me so bad we both look stupid as hell... but through it all there is the through line of intimacy that comes from being Recognized… rip joseph kavinsky you would have LOVED call me by your name!!!!!!!!!!! (would ronan lynch love cmbyn? well no!)

i ALSO only wanted to talk about it in relation to the sun and the star because they’re both like. ok Gay Representation is not a genre but they’re both books about gay people that i read recently so like. yeah. it’s crazy how glaring the difference between those two books is for things that both get tagged “lgbtq+” on storygraph or however many of those letters that website uses idk. like one of them is clearly written so some dude could pat himself on the back for giving the kiddos Representation in his stupid ass franchise and the other is just some fuckass book written by a totalllll freak that happens to be about gay people. in essence one made me so mad to read and the other was fine. i would never go so far as to describe a man’s work as great though. chappell roan voice i don’t think men make good art. !!! and i really believe that sorry. when a man impresses me i will let you all know but it is very rare…

which brings us to the timeless video. for everyone who somehow missed that that means (you’re fake btw 🙄) the timeless video is an amv i made last summer when i wanted to make an amv for my guys from my books but obviously they’re from books. so what i did instead was gather a bunch of characters from movies and shows that reminded me of MY guys and edit them to taylor swift’s timeless. because it’s like. other lives and i see them in everything. anyway so elio and oliver made it into the timeless video despite all the sort of mean stuff i’ve said about oliver lately (not even my fault he fuckin sucks btw) and the fact that their relationship is not like. Endgame. BECAUSE of my favorite scene. from the movie not the book. this scene was lame as hell in the book it’s the part that made me go wow i think perhaps the film is much better!! the “is it better to speak or to die” scene… i talked about it earlier but genuinely that happened to my buddy kit herondale…. and then he said something and it didn’t go very well!!!!

anyway. yay i <3 blogging on my break at work!

[9902sgirl]

Gays, Girls, Theys and Those, and everyone in between. I have so much to say about this piece. This was so so good, and to keep a long MF story short, READ THIS, RIGHT NOW!!!

Long, detailed deep dive below. Lets begin

Now, those who are interested in my gushing, we have arrived.

Lets start this off, by saying I am 100% behind you on the fact that Hunter cries. He will shed tears, and we will all be the better for it. Right off the bat, haven't even gotten to the content yet, and I am here for it. (also the sent & Breeding Kink??? I'M SAT)

Back to the crying thing. This man, if we are following Fanon Lore, LIVES in sensory overstimulation. That combined with all of these nerves (at this point I would classify this as anxiety) I fully expect there to be an equally releasing emotional reaction.

"That was before the Republic fell, and every Jedi across the galaxy was marked for death. Before the purge and the Empire's reign began. Before you were forced to go into hiding on your own. And he hasn't spoken to you since."

That alone, would make me want to disappear into nothingness with how worried I would be about my partner. LIKE??? Lets really break all of the time down, you say right after that, that its been months. This would be the #1 thing on my mind at all times, and I do not blame Hunter for being as nervous as he was.

"He's scared you'll look at him differently, scared you won't look at him at all."

Oh my precious, foolish man. The only thing that she wants in this life is to see you, to know you are okay, and have you by her side. She has lost so much already, she refuses to lose you as well.

"Hunter hasn’t been startled like that in ages, not since he was a cadet, but here he is, nearly falling out of his seat at the sudden contact."

I. Want. Cadet. Stories. For like all of our Copy & Paste men. We deserve more because of how tragic this whole subset of Star Wars truly is. I fear I am far too attached to them all, and I don't believe I will ever get over it.

"He should have known Wrecker would notice something was wrong, even if the others hadn't. He'd always been perceptive, despite what people thought of him"

THANK YOU!!!! Wrecker Bad Batch does not get enough credit, and I will always be looking for tidbits of things like this. I am so tired of the 'He's just a big Himbo, with no thoughts' thing and I am so so so glad that he is finally getting the (correct) attention that he deserves.

"You had been rendered speechless after he'd told you about his feelings for you, your face flushed red, mouth hanging open in surprise, and he hadn't been able to keep from grinning at your reaction. You couldn’t form a single sentence until after you'd kissed him, and by then, it was his turn to be caught off guard."

Yeah me fuckin to MC, I would not be able to keep my shit together. Like at all. Even a little bit.

Like I would be these two, at the same time.

"He doesn't realize he's crying until he hears you whisper his name, but then you're laughing, soft and beautiful, and all he can do is hold you tighter, your scent enveloping him as he breathes you in."

I would simply cease to exist in this scenario, I've decided. Just reading this reunion and picturing it, that is enough, cut the show.

Also, rereading this part, this story is so Work Song by Hozier Coded. He would move all of the stars in the galaxy to come back to her. Nothing would have stopped him from this moment.

Like, excuse the boneage (lol) but these exact lyrics, this is the vibe. I am truly living my best life right now. Just the *right* amount of pain.

THESE FOOLS IN LOVE (also shameless song plug) HAVEN'T BEEN CAUGHT IN YEARS???? And Hunter thought she was gonna get over him as if he was a fling??? They all need therapy. Asap. I'm so sorry Mr. Hunter Bad Batch, that you cannot see your own self-worth.

"He knows you wouldn't care about the dangers, though. You'd risk everything for a chance at a normal life, a family"

The fact that he was right about this is so so delicious. I remember reading that part earlier and barely resisting the urge to bite something because of how damn sweet that is.

"Not that he wasn't always talking about her," Echo teases."

The sibling dog-pile here is some well deserved payback for what he had been hiding from them for so long lmao I love that so much. 10/10 sibling energy here.

"He leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours, and the contact makes you sigh. "I'm gonna take care of you," he says softly, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek."

The words in literature that resonate with us the most are often words that we need to hear. That we long to hear said to us. This made me feel something, and that being said, your work usually makes me feel something. Thank you for what you do Roy.

"He's willing to wait, no matter how badly he wants you."

A king of consent, we love to see it in all forms. I love that, this is so in character for him. He could be (and is at this point, lets be real) the most desperate man in the galaxy for her attention, but that doesn't matter at this moment. She matters more to him than anything he could want/need.

"Good." He kisses you again, deep and slow, and his hands drift lower. "I've got a lot of time to make up for."

I WOULD HAVE HIM ON THAT LITTLE DOCK ON THE LAKE SO FAST. if in that reality, there was no potential for an audience. Like, feral, freak nasty, down bad. All day, all night. or however that TikTok sound goes.

"Maybe, this was where you were supposed to end up all along."

If my heart warms up any more, I am pretty sure I will need paramedics. FOUND FAMILY IS MY FAVORITE TROPE THAT HAS EVER EXISTED.

"Good," Wrecker grins. He nudges him with his elbow, giving him a wink. "She's good for you, Sarge. And we're not gonna let anyone take that away from you. No matter what happens."

Oh, Wrecker, my protective, sweet, smart man. You will always be the one for me. This actually made my heart flutter. Your Honor, I love him.

“Omega, would you like to help me dismantle this ship? It will give you a chance to learn more about the components of different models."

Tech, ever the wingman. He is getting Omega out of that house for at LEAST the next couple hours. They need this so badly.

"He doesn't want to stop. He wants to keep going, wants to drag his mouth across every inch of you until there's no part untouched, until the taste of you is burned into his memory for good."

OKAY...I DO NOT SEE A PROBLEM HERE. DO IT?? NOW??

I have never, and will never be "okay" in times such as these.

Moving on!!

"You're here, and he's here, and nothing is going to take him away from you. Not again."

Further evidence for my Hozier claim.

"There's no more hiding, no more sneaking around, no more worrying about being seen standing too close together or his hands lingering too long. It's freeing, not having to hide how he feels, not having to pretend like his feelings don't exist."

For real, a weight that has been taken completely off of him. This being lifted off of him, and after all of the sex, he is going to get the best sleep he has gotten since coming out the decanter.

"It doesn't matter, anyway. Nothing does, except the two of you."

(Kronk voice) Oh yeah, its all coming together.

I am here for the simp, freaky, feral sex that is about to happen. I am so invested in this.

"In a hurry, are we?" "You have no idea," he mutters. He kicks the door to your bedroom open, shutting it behind him with his foot, and strides across the room. "Been wanting this for too damn long."

I am physically prepared. This is going to be amazing, and I can tell just from this one part.

*WARNING* I am going to be expressing the THOTS as well as general commentary. Brainless activity is happening after this. Be Warned and Prepared.

"Your fingers trace the outline of his tattoo"

I want to know what it tastes like, I am being so fucking for real right now.

"Do you ever think about what it could've been like? If we hadn't lost each other? If...things had gone differently, and the war had ended the way it was supposed to?"

this is heartbreaking to think about on its own. Like yes, the fall of the Jedi Order is a tragedy and I, like many others in the fandom, read the AUs of "it never happened!" But for these specific characters, in this setting. I believe this was the best possible outcome. The Republic would have NEVER let the squad go. They are way too multi skilled to ever lose. They would be the best, deadliest tools of the Republic, especially knowing that it would have been up to the Senate to determine what would happen to the Clones. Anyway, made myself upset in my own brain. Moving on!

"I would've married you," he whispers. His voice breaks on the word, and he has to pause, taking a deep breath before continuing. "If I could. I would've married you, and given you everything I had."

Okay, now you and your wordsmithing made me sad. I love this story so much. The "falling over themselves" type of love in this type of world, is my Achilles heel.

"He doesn't say a word. He can't. His brain can't seem to form a coherent thought, not when you're looking at him like that"

Brainless Hunter matches my freak so so well. I am a huge fan.

"Here, let me," you murmur as your fingers work to unclip his armor."

Girl, ME TOO. I will take it all off with my teeth if you give me enough time, so help me.

"Everything," he growls. His mouth moves along your neck, biting and sucking, leaving a trail of bruises in its wake. "Anything you want. I'd do anything for you."

Uh, fucking, uhhh you know, I just, I need some water. I need to breathe. I need to keep reading. My right mind has stopped working. I read that "Everything" in the "Negative.." tone and I am not able to breathe properly.

"I missed touching you, kissing you, being inside you."

Well, if you insist sir, by all means

"What's that, sweetheart?"

Who, me?? I did not say a word. Keep doing what you're doing. Now.

"How do you want me?" "I don't care,"

FELT THAT GIRL, REAL STATEMENT

"He eats you out with enthusiasm"

My man has a scent, and if I can expand, a Flavor kink. This feral thing is the same man that was all heart eyes and anxiety earlier. I am a true supporter of the "Hunter eats pussy like a man who has had no food or water in days" trope and I always will be.

"The fact that it's you, that he's the one who got you here, who made you come undone, is enough to send a wave of pleasure coursing through him."

I also to my core believe that the first time this man ate MC out to completion, he came untouched. This is a number one theory for me for Hunter in general honestly.

PT 1.

“I think you forgot what I am, Hunter."

I love this so much!! There is absolutely no power imbalance here. They were truly made for each other.

"He wonders if this is what they mean when they talk about being lost in someone. Because he is. He's completely and utterly lost. Lost in you. Lost in the warmth of your gaze, the softness of your touch, the scent of your skin, the feeling of your body surrounding him, your heart beating in sync with his own."

This is the true definition of love being shared, being tangible. This is an incredible explanation, truly!

"You're staring at him, concern etched across your features, and he realizes, with a start, that tears are rolling down his cheeks. He hadn't noticed."

HE IS A SIMP AND HE IS MADLY IN LOVE IN A CRUEL WORLD/UNIVERSE. HE HAS HER BACK AND HE IS CRYING! I am completely fine, and normal about this. (I would be crying as well)

"Never forget it." "I won't," you promise. He holds you there, your foreheads pressed together, your noses touching. He closes his eyes, inhaling deeply, letting the scent of you wash over him. It calms him, soothes him, and he feels his heart slow, his breathing evening out."

She is his grounding point. This is everything to me. I can't even articulate everything I feel about this, other than the fact that it is everything to me.

"Slow," you order. "Can't," he groans."

FERAL HUNTER MY MAN

PT 2

"He tries to move, to thrust up into you, but a weight presses down on him, holding him in place. He knows without looking that the Force is holding him down, keeping him still, and a thrill runs through him, the realization making him even harder."

*INAPPROPRIATE USE OF THE FORCE SMASHES THROUGH THE WALL AND GRABS ME BY THE THROAT*

Hello old friend, haven't thought of you in quite some time. MAKE HIM EAT HIS OWN WORDS

"You wanna feel it, don't you?" he murmurs.

Yes, everywhere. Please for the love of God Hunter.

"There it is," he growls. The weight pressing down on him disappears, and he grabs your waist, flipping you over."

The words are not gonna work for a while after this. I finished reading this today, before I started work this morning, and I was not okay!!! I had to be professional, and talk to real life people!!! I am going to make that mistake again, you can count on that.

"Good." Hunter grins, capturing your mouth in another searing kiss. "Because I'm nowhere near done with you."

I hope not, I am here for it, like I said earlier, all day, all night, freak nasty feral.

"He doesn't remember the last time he slept, and he can't even recall the last time he was able to relax. It feels like forever since he's felt this good, this safe."

Fuckin called it earlier. Best sleep of his life incoming.

"I'm not letting you go again," he mumbles, his forehead pressed against yours. "I don't care what it takes, I'm not letting anyone or anything take you from me."

Excuse me,

Okay, I'm good now.

I am so so so happy with this piece. This was amazing. FERAL SIMP HUNTER SUPREMACY!!!!

Thank you for putting this into our world!

Always

Pairing: Hunter x Jedi!Reader / Hunter x fem!Reader

Words: 16,083

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! fluff, hurt/comfort, forbidden relationship, a very heartfelt reunion, Hunter is a crier no I won't be accepting any criticism, smut, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, nipple play, marking, primal kink, scent kink?, breeding kink

Summary: Months after you went into hiding, Hunter hasn't stopped hoping, waiting for the day when you can finally be together again. Now that it's here, and there's no reason to hide his feelings for you anymore, he can't help but be a little overwhelmed.

A/N: I'm sure no one believes me at this point but I had no intention of writing this much. I was possessed by the spirit of romance, true love, etc. etc. Anyway, please enjoy some very soft, very protective, very affectionate Hunter. Thank you so much to @dindjarins1ut for the prompt!

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Hunter is nervous.

He tries his best to hide it, keeping to himself while Tech and Echo bicker in the cockpit, but he can't ignore the butterflies in his stomach, nor the clammy hands threatening to soak through his gloves. It's ridiculous. He's faced off against far worse than this. He shouldn't be getting worked up over something so small.

But it isn't really small, not when you think about it. He hasn’t seen you in months. No comms, no messages. Nothing. He knows you’re alive, and even that was a miracle. The last words he said to you were in person, when you were standing right in front of him and he told you he loved you, and he'd kissed you and then left with the promise to come back as soon as he could.

That was before the Republic fell, and every Jedi across the galaxy was marked for death. Before the purge and the Empire's reign began. Before you were forced to go into hiding on your own.

And he hasn't spoken to you since.

You haven't seen each other in months, and Hunter is terrified that the feelings aren't mutual anymore. That you've grown apart during your time away, and what he had thought was love, you now see as nothing more than a fling. He's scared you'll look at him differently, scared you won't look at him at all.

He doesn't know what he'll do if you don’t want him anymore. If he loses the best thing that's ever happened to him.

It's stupid, Hunter knows that, because even if you don't love him the same way you used to, you'll still be friends. He should just be happy you're alive and not worrying about something so trivial as his emotions, but he can't help it. He can't shake the feeling, and it's eating him up inside.

A hand settles on his shoulder, and he jumps.

Hunter hasn’t been startled like that in ages, not since he was a cadet, but here he is, nearly falling out of his seat at the sudden contact. It takes him a moment to get over his shock, his heart pounding, before he looks up to see Wrecker looking down at him with a frown.

"Hey, we're almost there," Wrecker says, his voice uncharacteristically soft, and Hunter swallows the lump in his throat.

"I'm fine," he says, but it comes out rough. He clears his throat, tries again. "I'm fine."

Wrecker’s eyebrows raise, and Hunter realizes a moment too late Wrecker never asked how he was doing. But his brother doesn't call him out on it, only gives him a look, one that Hunter recognizes as his attempt to look serious.

“You sure?”

"Yeah," Hunter replies automatically. He can feel the anxiety creeping into his gut, and he pushes it down, looking away. "Why wouldn’t I be?”

"I dunno," Wrecker shrugs, leaning back against the bulkhead. "You've been real tense all day."

Hunter sighs. He should have known Wrecker would notice something was wrong, even if the others hadn't. He'd always been perceptive, despite what people thought of him, and Hunter’s never been able to get away with hiding his feelings, not even when they were kids.

"I just..." he hesitates, wondering how to explain his feelings without making himself seem pathetic. Wrecker might not care, but Hunter still has his pride. He still has the strong desire to protect you, to keep you secret and safe. He knows Wrecker would never betray his trust, but still, he doesn't want to admit how anxious he's been, or how much the anticipation is killing him.

"It's nothing," Hunter decides. He turns back to look out the viewport through the doors of the cockpit. They’ll be landing in a few minutes, and he doesn't want to miss the moment you step into view. "Just... worried, is all."

"What for?"

"I..."

He can't say it, can't get the words past his lips, but the hand on his shoulder squeezes gently, and the unspoken encouragement makes the admission easier.

"It's been a long time," Hunter says finally, and the rest comes tumbling out of him, unable to be held back anymore, “We haven’t seen her in months, Wrecker. What if she's... I don’t know. Things have changed, is all. For her. For us."

"So?" Wrecker scoffs, and his dismissal of the problem only makes Hunter feel worse. He scowls, glaring up at his brother.

"So," he echoes, trying to sound stern, but he can't even bring himself to look mad, not really. His shoulders slump, the fight leaving him, and he looks away. "It might not be the same anymore."

For a moment, the silence is deafening, but then Wrecker lets out a laugh, loud enough to echo throughout the ship, and Hunter bristles, his eyes darting to the cockpit. Tech and Echo are still arguing about the finer details of landing, but he doesn't doubt they can hear every word they're saying.

"What?" Hunter snaps, glaring at his brother, but Wrecker only laughs harder.

"I'm pretty sure she won't have changed that much," he says, nudging Hunter's shoulder hard enough to make him sway. "I bet she's gonna be so happy to see us, she'll probably forget how to talk. Just like last time."

Hunter huffs, but he can't help the twitch of his lips at the memory of your first meeting, of how nervous you'd been, unable to string two words together without stumbling over your own tongue. You always did tend to trip over your own words when you were flustered. 

You had been rendered speechless after he'd told you about his feelings for you, your face flushed red, mouth hanging open in surprise, and he hadn't been able to keep from grinning at your reaction. You couldn’t form a single sentence until after you'd kissed him, and by then, it was his turn to be caught off guard.

He can remember the look on your face like it was yesterday, and the thought of seeing you again, of seeing your eyes light up as you smile up at him, fills him with a familiar warmth. He wants so badly to believe that your reunion will go well, that things haven't changed and that your relationship is the same, but a part of him, the pessimistic part that's kept him alive all these years, knows that it can't possibly be true. 

And Wrecker has no idea what you mean to him, because Hunter has never told him, has never told any of them. You're his secret, his one solace in the galaxy, the one thing he keeps from his brothers, the only thing he's ever wanted that's completely his.

And you were taken from him.

It hurts just thinking about it, knowing you were alone, afraid, with no one to turn to for help, while Hunter was hundreds of thousands of parsecs away. They'd spent weeks trying to find you after the Empire was established, scouring the holonet and every contact he could find, but it was like you had fallen off the face of the galaxy.

Hunter had never felt so helpless in his life.

So yes, he's a little scared of how this is going to play out. You were taken from him once, and it broke his heart. He's terrified that if you don't want him anymore, he won't survive losing you a second time.

"Yeah," Hunter murmurs, glancing out the window. Your home planet is starting to take shape in the viewport, the blue and green and brown and white all blending together. "You're probably right."

Wrecker chuckles, patting his shoulder.

"You know I am," Wrecker says cheerfully, and then he's walking away, back towards the cockpit to interrupt the debate Tech and Echo are having.

Hunter stares after him, not sure if he should be offended by the comment or not. He chooses not to dwell on it, pushing himself out of his chair to follow his brother. Tech spares them a quick glance, rolling his eyes when he sees Wrecker is already pushing his way into his space.

"Would you mind," he grumbles, elbowing the bigger clone, but Wrecker is unfazed, squeezing into the small space behind Tech's chair.

"Nah," he says, grinning down at him.

"Then could you at least wait until we've landed?"

"Where's the fun in that?"

"It would certainly make things less complicated."

"Guys, come on," Echo groans, his head hitting the back of his seat. "We're almost there."

"And what a relief that will be," Tech grumbles, pushing his goggles up his nose, and he looks at Hunter, his brow raised. "What is the matter with you?"

"Nothing," Hunter says, but he's a little too fast to reply, and Tech doesn't buy it. His gaze turns suspicious, but he doesn't push. Instead, he shoves Wrecker's hands away from the controls and starts his descent, taking the ship down in a controlled spiral towards the planet's surface.

Omega drops into the seat beside him and secures her restraints, and Hunter follows suit, though he can't help the nervous energy building in his limbs. He can't keep still, his fingers tapping an unsteady rhythm against his thigh, and when Omega's small hand covers his, he startles.

"Are you excited?" she asks him, and Hunter hesitates for a moment before he nods.

"Yeah, kid," he answers, and it's not a lie. Not really. He is excited, in his own way. "I'm glad we get to see her."

"Me too," Omega smiles as she pulls her hand away, and she turns to watch the clouds disappear as they sink below the atmosphere. "I can't wait to meet her."

"She's gonna love you," Wrecker says, his arms braced on Tech's chair. "You're gonna love her, too. She's real nice."

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah," Hunter replies, leaning back in his seat. He can't keep the fondness out of his voice when he speaks, the memory of your laugh echoing in his head. "She's one of a kind."

Tech glances over his shoulder. "It has been some time since we last saw her," he says, and Hunter feels his heart stutter in his chest. He knows Tech doesn't mean anything by it, but he can't help but hear the implication in his words.

It's been a long time, and people change.

"Well," Echo says, turning in his seat to grin at Hunter. "Let's hope she hasn't forgotten all about us."

Hunter swallows the lump in his throat and forces a smile, nodding along with the rest of them, but he can't ignore the pit in his stomach. He wants so desperately to believe they're right, that your reunion will go well and it won't be awkward, that everything will be just like it used to, but no matter how hard he tries, he can't shake the feeling.

"It'll be... nice, to see her again," Tech says. "Even if it has been awhile."

"Aw, you missed her too, huh?" Wrecker grins, clapping a hand on Tech's shoulder, who swats him away irritably.

"She was a competent general, and she is a valuable ally," Tech replies, adjusting his goggles. "I didn't say I missed her. Simply that it will be nice to see her."

"It's okay to admit you like her, you know," Echo teases. "We won't tell anyone."

Tech shoots him a glare, but he doesn't say anything. He's focused on the descent now, the ground growing closer and closer, and when they break through the cloud cover, the land below them comes into focus.

Hunter leans forward in his seat, eyes straining against the sun. You live on a small colony in the southern hemisphere, surrounded by a large forest. It's isolated, and perfect for someone trying to lay low, but it's also a bit difficult to find, and Hunter doesn't spot your house until they're nearly on top of it.

It's small, a cabin tucked neatly among the trees, with a yard and a path that leads to a dock down by the lake. There's a ship parked outside, a tiny thing, and Tech guides the Marauder down beside it.

"There she is!" Wrecker booms, pointing out the viewport. Hunter stands up, ignoring the nausea building in his stomach, and scans the house.

And there you are.

You're sitting on the porch, a datapad in your lap, and you glance up with a hand shielding your eyes. It's impossible to make out your expression, but when the Marauder slows to land, you're already standing and hurrying down the dirt path towards them.

It's been so long since he's seen you, and even though he knows your face, has it memorized and replayed in his head so many times it's burned into his mind, the sight of you is enough to knock the wind out of him. You're smiling, waving up at the ship, and you look so happy that he can't stop himself from mirroring your expression.

You're here.

Hunter has dreamed of this moment for months, the day he gets to see you again, and the reality of it is even better than he'd hoped. He's barely aware of his feet moving, taking him towards the hatch as soon as the ship has touched down.

"Hunter?" Wrecker's voice is far away, barely registering in Hunter's mind as he practically runs towards the exit. "You okay?"

"Fine," he calls over his shoulder, his hand slamming into the button. The door hisses as it slides open, and a rush of warm, fresh air washes over him. The second his feet hit the ground, he's moving, his legs carrying him as fast as he can.

"Hey!" Wrecker shouts, but Hunter doesn't answer. He's halfway down the path, his eyes locked on your figure as you hurry towards him, and when you're close enough to touch, he's pulling you into his arms.

Your hands slide around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as he crushes you to his chest. He doesn't realize he's crying until he hears you whisper his name, but then you're laughing, soft and beautiful, and all he can do is hold you tighter, your scent enveloping him as he breathes you in. He can't keep himself from pressing his lips to the skin behind your ear, needing to feel the warmth of you, the solidness, the realness of you here, alive, with him.

"Hunter," you whisper, and his name has never sounded so sweet. Your voice, your hands, the sound of your breath as it ghosts across his skin, the way you say his name. All of it is like a balm to his soul, soothing his worry, and for a moment, everything feels right again.

Hunter lifts his head and cups your cheeks in his hands, forcing you to look at him, and you do.

Your eyes are shining, tears brimming along the edges, and when you blink, they spill over. He thumbs them away, smiling so wide his cheeks ache.

"Hi," he whispers. You laugh, a sob escaping with it, and he feels his heart soar at the sound.

"Hi," you say back, and then you're surging forward, capturing his lips with yours.

It's a desperate kiss, the kind that says how much you've missed each other, how afraid you were of never seeing the other again. It's the first kiss you've shared in months, and it's the best damn kiss Hunter's ever had. The world narrows down to just the two of you, and nothing else exists, not the trees or the ship or his family watching from the hatch, their jaws hanging open.

It's just him and you, finally, blissfully, reunited.

He kisses you hard, and you return the pressure, clutching him close. His arms slip around your waist, lifting you off the ground for a moment, and you gasp against his mouth, laughing when he sets you down again.

"Miss me?" you ask, a teasing note to your voice, and Hunter pulls back just enough to meet your eyes.

"Yeah," he replies, and then he's kissing you again, softer this time. Gentler. His lips move against yours, slow and deliberate, and your fingers tighten their grip in his hair. 

He doesn't know how long it's been since he's started kissed you, or how long you've been kissing him, but it doesn't matter. It's not enough, could never be enough. He needs more of you, needs every part of you pressed against him, so close he can feel your heartbeat.

You hum, your hand moving to cup the back of his head, and the kiss deepens. Hunter's hands drift, sliding down the curve of your spine until his palms are pressed flat against the small of your back, and he pulls you closer. Your body molds to his perfectly, and you're warm and soft and so unbelievably real, and he never wants to let you go.

"Uh..."

The sudden intrusion startles him, and he pulls away from the kiss with a jerk, looking over his shoulder. The rest of his squad is staring at him, dumbfounded, and he can't keep the blush from creeping up his neck.

"Uh," he repeats, his face flushing. "Hey."

Wrecker's jaw is hanging open, and so is Tech's. Hunter doesn't think he's ever seen either of his brothers at a loss for words.

"We, uh..." Hunter clears his throat, glancing back at you. Your cheeks are flushed, lips swollen from the kiss, but you're grinning up at him, your eyes dancing. You give him a little nod, a silent permission to tell them the truth, and his heart flutters. "We were going to tell you, but things... got in the way."

Wrecker is the first to recover, his surprise shifting into a massive smile.

"I knew it!" he yells, pumping his fist in the air. "I told ya, didn't I? Didn't I?"

"That you did," Tech replies. His mouth is still open, but he closes it quickly, pushing his goggles up his nose before reaching up to scratch the back of his head. "Well, this is... certainly unexpected."

"That's an understatement," Echo mutters. He glances at Hunter, his brow raised. "So, how long has this been going on?"

"Uh..." Hunter's eyes dart to you, but you only smile at him. He swallows the lump in his throat and takes a deep breath. "It's been a couple years."

"A couple years?"

"Yeah."

"Years," Echo repeats. "Right. Okay."

"You could have told us," Tech says. He's looking at Hunter now, his face impassive, but Hunter can read the hurt in his eyes hidden behind the mask of indifference. "We wouldn't have betrayed your trust."

"I know," Hunter sighs, running a hand over his head. "We just... we wanted to keep it quiet."

"It was my idea," you say, and Hunter's surprised to see you look guilty. Your eyes are fixed on the ground, and he watches the way your bottom lip wobbles before you suck it into your mouth. You look up at him through your lashes, and he offers you a reassuring smile. You return it, but it's hesitant. "The Order's views on attachment were... a little different, to say the least. It would have put both of us at risk if anyone found out. So we kept it secret."

"Well, now you don't have to," Wrecker grins.

"No, I suppose not," you reply, smiling at him, but there's a sadness to your expression that makes Hunter's chest tighten. He can only imagine how difficult the last few months have been for you, what it's like to be in hiding, constantly looking over your shoulder. His arms ache to wrap around you again, to pull you into his chest and hold you close, to protect you from everything and everyone.

But he can't.

The Empire is everywhere, always watching. The war might be over, but the danger isn't gone, not yet. Not for him, and not for you.

"Can I come out now?" a voice voice drifts from the ship, and Hunter looks up, surprised. His eyes land on Omega, her arms crossed over her chest. She looks irritated, a frown pulling at her lips, and he chuckles.

"Yeah, kid," he says, nodding his head towards the ramp. "Come on."

Omega wastes no time in running out of the ship, her irritation forgotten in her excitement. She skids to a stop a few feet away, her eyes wide as she stares at you. You kneel down, a warm smile spreading across your face, and Hunter feels his heart squeeze in his chest.

"Hey," you say softly. "You must be Omega. I've heard a lot about you."

Omega steps forward, holding her hand out for you to shake, and you take it.

"Nice to meet you," she says politely.

"And you," you reply, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before letting go. Your eyes are soft as you study her face, a fondness to your expression that Hunter's only seen a few times.

He knows how much you love children. The Order never allowed its members to have families, but that hasn't stopped you from falling in love with kids everywhere you go. He's seen the way your eyes light up when you're around them, how gently you speak to them, like they're the most important people in the galaxy. 

He knows it's just the way you are, but sometimes, he wonders if it's something more. If maybe, someday, you'd want to have kids of your own.

And the thought terrifies him.

Not because he doesn't want a family with you, but because the world is changing, and he's not sure there's any place for it. You're in hiding, and he's a traitor to the Republic. How would it ever work?

He knows you wouldn't care about the dangers, though. You'd risk everything for a chance at a normal life, a family, and while he'd give anything for that too, he doesn't think he can allow himself to get his hopes up.

Not now. Not yet.

He's lost in thought, his gaze drifting to the trees surrounding the house, when a tug on his arm brings him back. You're looking up at him, an eyebrow raised, and when he blinks, you roll your eyes, a fond smile twitching at your lips.

"Sorry," he murmurs. "What did you say?"

"I was asking how long you're staying," you repeat, but he can tell by the look on your face you know what's going on in his head. You're giving him a moment to compose himself, a distraction to keep him from slipping into another spiral.

It's a common occurrence these days.

"Well," Hunter starts, glancing at the rest of his team. "We're kind of... between jobs, right now."

"That's putting it lightly," Echo scoffs.

"So we figured we could use a little vacation," Hunter finishes. He looks back at you. "If you'll have us."

"Of course I will," you smile, and Hunter doesn't miss the way your shoulders relax, the relief in your eyes. "Stay as long as you want."

"We don't want to intrude," Hunter says, his gaze softening. "If you need some space, we understand. We can—"

"Don't be ridiculous," you huff, nudging his shoulder. "I'd love to have you."

"Really?"

"Yeah, of course," you nod, glancing at the others. "All of you."

"Good," Hunter breathes, unable to keep the sigh of relief from escaping his lips. "I didn't really wanna leave anyway."

"Good," you say, leaning into his side. You rest your head against his shoulder, and Hunter's arm wraps around you almost automatically, pulling you against him. "I've missed you."

"Yeah," Hunter says softly. "Me too."

"Oh, yeah," Wrecker grins. "He hasn't shut up about you."

"Wrecker," Hunter hisses.

"No, really," Tech nods, adjusting his goggles. "Ever since we lost contact, he hasn't stopped talking about you."

"Not that he wasn't always talking about her," Echo teases.

"Hey," Hunter protests, but he can feel his cheeks burning, and he knows the blush is starting to creep up his neck. You're smiling, a knowing glint in your eye as you glance up at him, and Hunter rolls his eyes. "They're exaggerating."

"We are not," Tech says, frowning at him.

"Maybe not," Echo smirks, his gaze settling on you. "But now we know why he's been so weird about seeing you again."

"He's been weird?" you ask. You're trying to hold back a laugh, but Hunter can see the mirth in your eyes.

"He hasn't stopped pacing for days."

"He nearly fell over his own feet trying to get off the ship."

"Oh, yeah, he was nervous all right," Wrecker chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest. "Never seen him like that before. I was startin' to get worried."

"Guys," Hunter grumbles. "Come on."

"Well," you smile, patting his chest. "I'm glad you came. All of you."

"Us too," Omega says. Her face is scrunched up, like she's trying not to laugh. "Hunter was so nervous he forgot how to breathe."

"Alright, that's enough," Hunter huffs. He can feel his ears burning, and he shoots Omega a pointed look. "Everyone, inside."

"Aw, but—"

"Now," Hunter snaps, cutting Wrecker off. He's not mad, not really, but he can't help the embarrassment. "We'll be there in a minute."

Wrecker opens his mouth to protest, but Echo nudges him, nodding his head towards the house. Tech doesn't wait for either of them, heading inside without another word, and Wrecker reluctantly follows after him, grumbling under his breath. Omega casts one last look over her shoulder, waving at you before disappearing inside.

The silence that settles over the two of you is heavy, and Hunter lets out a long breath. He runs a hand over his hair, avoiding your eyes.

"I can't believe they told you that," he mutters, but he can feel your gaze on him, the smile in your eyes, and his irritation fades.

"They're only teasing," you say, resting a hand on his cheek. You brush your thumb over his skin, and he closes his eyes, letting out a shaky breath. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he replies, opening his eyes to look at you. Your smile is soft, gentle, and he melts under your gaze. "Just a little overwhelmed."

"Me too," you chuckle, dropping your hand. He quickly grabs it, pulling it to his chest, and your expression shifts. "I've been so worried, Hunter. I thought..."

"I know," he whispers. His grip tightens on your hand. "I've missed you so much."

"I missed you too," you whisper back. Your voice wavers, and Hunter tugs on your arm, bringing you closer.

"I'm here now," he murmurs, tilting his head down. "I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

You nod, but the fear is still shining in your eyes. He knows that feeling all too well, the uncertainty, the constant worry, the doubt. And it's hard to believe him, he knows, when the past few months have been nothing but fear and anxiety. But he's determined to make it better, to do whatever it takes to ease your mind, even if it's just for a little while.

He leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours, and the contact makes you sigh.

"I'm gonna take care of you," he says softly, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek. He strokes the skin with his thumb, his fingers gentle, and his heart stutters in his chest at the way your eyes flutter closed. "You don't have to worry anymore. I'll make sure nothing happens to you, I promise."

"You don't have to—"

"I know," he cuts you off, brushing his nose against yours. "But I'm going to. We're gonna protect you, sweetheart. All of us."

"Thank you," you whisper, opening your eyes. He's startled by the emotion swimming in your gaze, the tears pooling along the edges, and the sight breaks his heart. “But I can’t put you guys in danger. The Empire—”

"The Empire won't do anything," he assures you. "You're safe. We'll keep you safe."

"But what if—"

"Listen," he murmurs, stroking his thumb over your cheek. You suck your lip into your mouth, chewing on the flesh, and he gently pries it from your teeth. "None of that. I won't let anything happen to you. Neither will they. You're part of the team, and we take care of our own. No matter what."

"You don't have to do this, Hunter."

"I know," he says, his voice low. He doesn't want to push, doesn't want to force you to come with them, but he needs you to believe him. Needs you to understand. "But I want to. Please. Let me take care of you. It'll be good for all of us."

You're quiet for a moment, your brow furrowed, but then you let out a soft sigh, your shoulders slumping, and your eyes drop to the ground.

"Okay," you whisper. "Okay."

"Hey," Hunter says. His free hand tilts your chin up, forcing you to look at him. "Trust me, alright? You're safe now."

You nod, but you don't look convinced. He sighs, leaning forward until his lips brush against yours, featherlight, barely there.

"We can talk more later," he murmurs. He's desperate to kiss you again, his whole body aching for it, but he doesn't want to rush you. He's willing to wait, no matter how badly he wants you. "If you're okay with it."

"Yes," you breathe, your hands coming up to clutch at his armor, and you press a soft kiss to his jaw. "I'd like that."

He lets out a shaky breath, fighting the urge to press his hips into yours, but then your hands slide up over his shoulders to tangle in his hair, and he groans. You chuckle, a sweet, breathy sound that has his blood singing, and Hunter's restraint crumbles.

He kisses you, slow and deliberate, and his hands are moving on their own. He lifts you into his arms, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. You're pliant under his touch, letting him guide the kiss, and he licks at your lips, begging for entrance. You give it easily, and his tongue sweeps into your mouth, curling against yours.

His hips press against yours, and your body is hot against him, so soft and perfect. You taste so good, and feel even better, and the sounds you're making, the little whines and gasps, are driving him crazy.

"I'm not letting you out of my sight," he murmurs, pulling away from the kiss. He's breathing hard, his pulse thrumming, and he can't keep the smirk off his face. You look beautiful, flushed and breathless, and his desire spikes when your fingers tug at his hair.

"Fine with me," you smile.

"Good." He kisses you again, deep and slow, and his hands drift lower. "I've got a lot of time to make up for."

"Mmm," you hum, your head falling back. Hunter can't resist the urge to kiss your throat, his teeth grazing over the delicate skin, and you shudder. A breathy moan falls from your lips, soft and quiet, but Hunter hears it. He always does.

"Fuck," he growls. "You sound so pretty."

"Hunter," you sigh. His name is the sweetest thing he's ever heard, and he has to fight the urge to take you right then and there.

"We should go inside," he murmurs, brushing his lips over the shell of your ear.

"Mmhmm," you reply. You're nuzzling his neck, your hot breath sending shivers down his spine, and his hold on you tightens.

"Sweetheart," he groans. "I can't think straight when you do that."

"That's the idea."

"Come on," he says. He's reluctant to put you down, but he does, his hands lingering on your waist for a moment.

You look at him, your eyes bright, and your smile makes his chest ache. He wants so badly to stay with you, to pull you into his lap and bury himself in your warmth, to have the freedom to kiss you, touch you, love you, without having to worry about getting caught. He's never been able to do that before, always keeping you a secret, always worried about being found out, but the Order doesn't exist anymore, and now he has the chance.

And he's going to take it.

He's not going to hide his feelings anymore. You deserve more than that.

You reach up and touch his cheek, the gentle gesture enough to calm his racing heart.

"Let's go," you say, your thumb stroking over his skin. "Before they get suspicious."

"I'm pretty sure they're already suspicious," he chuckles, glancing towards the house.

"It's a little obvious, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he admits, his face heating up. "A little."

You laugh, taking his hand in yours. You're leading him towards the door, but he stops, giving you a gentle tug.

"Hey," he murmurs, waiting for you to turn around. You do, a small smile tugging at your lips, and he can't help the way his eyes dart down to your mouth, the memory of your kiss sending a thrill down his spine.

"What?"

"I love you," he whispers. He's not sure why he says it. You know how he feels, you've known it for a long time, but something about it feels different, now. Like it means more than it did before.

Maybe it does.

Your expression softens, the corners of your mouth twitching upwards, and he can see the happiness in your eyes, the fondness. It's a look he's familiar with, one he's seen many times, but the knowledge that he can see it as much as he wants now, without having to hide or sneak around, makes his heart flutter in his chest.

"I love you, too," you whisper, a smile spreading across your face.

"Come here," he says. You're in his arms again before you can say a word, his mouth finding yours, and you're melting into his touch, the kiss deepening, turning desperate. He has to pull away before his brain completely shuts down, and when he does, he rests his forehead against yours, breathing heavily.

"Later," he promises, his voice a rasp.

"Later," you agree.

He lets out a long breath, nodding his head once before stepping back. His hand slides down to rest at the small of your back, and he gives you a gentle nudge, nodding towards the house. You smile, reaching up to straighten his bandana, and Hunter can't help but chuckle at the action.

"Lead the way," you say.

"Always," he grins, and then you're walking up the path, the warmth of the sun enveloping you as you step onto the porch.

The door slides open before Hunter can even reach for the panel, Wrecker's smiling face poking out.

"Oh, good," he says, looking at the two of you. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about us."

"Of course not," you reply.

Wrecker's grin widens, and then he's stepping aside, his arm sweeping towards the inside of the house.

"After you, General."

"Thanks," you smile, nodding your head in appreciation. Hunter follows behind, his hand hovering at the base of your spine. Wrecker doesn't miss the movement, his eyebrows shooting up, but he doesn't say anything. He just watches, a knowing look in his eyes, and Hunter rolls his own.

"Not a word," he warns.

"Wasn't gonna say anything," Wrecker smirks, his gaze flickering to the hand resting on your back. "Not sure I need to."

"Don't start," Hunter sighs. He slows to a stop, crossing his arms over his chest, and you keep walking, a laugh spilling from your lips as you head towards the kitchen.

"Hey," Wrecker raises his hands in surrender, but the grin doesn't fade. "I'm happy for you. Both of you."

Hunter blinks. "Thanks," he says slowly.

"I mean it." Wrecker smiles. He claps a hand on Hunter's shoulder, a silent confirmation of his words, and Hunter returns the gesture. "You two deserve each other."

"Yeah," Hunter says, looking over at you. You're already in the kitchen, Tech at your side, and the two of you are talking rapidly at each other with Omega sitting on the counter between you. Tech's arms are waving wildly, a datapad gripped tightly in his hands, and you're grinning at him, the excitement obvious on your face. Echo is stirring a pot of something, the delicious smell of dinner drifting through the house, and he chimes in every now and then, his smile growing wider each time.

Omega glances up at him, and she gives him a little wave, her grin so wide her cheeks must ache. Hunter smiles back, his heart swelling, and he can't help but think, maybe everything is going to be alright.

You look so at home with his family, like you've always been a part of it, like you've always belonged there. And maybe you have. Maybe, this was where you were supposed to end up all along.

It's funny, how things work out sometimes. How, even after losing so much, even after having nearly everything taken from him, he somehow still managed to find something good.

"I guess we do,” Hunter finally replies, his gaze settling on you. He can't tear his eyes away, can't stop looking at the way the setting sun dances over your face, lighting you up in the most beautiful glow, the way your smile makes his heart beat faster.

Wrecker follows his gaze, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. "So, does this mean she agreed to stay with us?"

"Yeah," Hunter sighs, unable to keep the smile off his face. "Yeah, she is."

"Good," Wrecker says. His smile widens. "That's good."

"It's going to be hard, keeping things quiet," Hunter says, glancing at his brother. "We've got a target on our backs, and I'm not sure how much longer we can hide. The Empire will find us eventually, and when they do—"

"It's okay," Wrecker interrupts, holding his hand up. "I know. But it's worth it, right? To keep her safe? And Omega?”

"Yeah," Hunter says without hesitation. "It is."

"Then we'll do whatever we have to," Wrecker replies. He nods towards the kitchen. "They'll understand. ‘Sides, Omega's gotta have a mom at some point. Might as well be her."

Hunter's breath catches, his chest tightening. "Wrecker—"

"You're happy," he continues, ignoring Hunter's protest. "You haven't been happy since... well, not since I can remember. And she makes you happy. And she's good with the kid, too. I can see how much she loves you, and how much you love her. So, what's the problem?"

Hunter stares at him, the surprise clear on his face.

"I, uh... nothing. There's no problem," he stammers, his brow furrowing.

"Good," Wrecker grins. He nudges him with his elbow, giving him a wink. "She's good for you, Sarge. And we're not gonna let anyone take that away from you. No matter what happens."

"Thanks," Hunter replies. He swallows the lump in his throat and blinks back the sudden moisture in his eyes. Wrecker squeezes his shoulder, smiling down at him, and Hunter takes a shaky breath.

"Don't mention it," Wrecker says. "Come on. I‘m starving."

"You're always hungry."

"Well, yeah," he scoffs. "We gotta keep our strength up, right? Especially if we're gonna be fighting off Imperials."

He mimes a punch, his fist slamming into his palm, and Hunter chuckles.

"Yeah, alright," he agrees. "Let's go eat."

The two of them walk into the kitchen, Wrecker immediately making a beeline for the pot Echo is stirring, and Hunter makes his way over to where you're standing with Tech.

He stands beside you, close enough for his arm to brush against yours, but he doesn't touch you. He keeps his hands at his sides, his fingers curling into his palms, but the desire to wrap his arms around you is overwhelming.

He knows you'll let him, but it's only been a few hours, and he's afraid if he touches you again, he won't be able to stop.

Tech is explaining something to you, his hands moving rapidly as he talks, and Hunter watches, his head tilted to the side. He's only half listening to what his brother is saying, but he's content to just watch the two of you interact. You're so invested in the conversation, asking questions, listening intently as Tech answers, and Hunter can't help but smile at the sight.

"So, what do you think?"

Tech's voice startles him out of his thoughts, and he shakes his head, forcing his attention back to the present.

"Uh... sorry," he mutters, glancing at you. "What was that?"

“Tech wants to gut my ship for parts like a bantha carcass," you huff. You're smirking at him, amusement shining in your eyes. "He's trying to convince me to let him take it apart."

"It's not as though we have much use for it," Tech argues. "And besides, it would give me something to do while we're here."

“Aren’t you all supposed to be relaxing?”

“I happen to find tinkering with electronics quite relaxing," Tech replies. "Especially old ones. And it will keep me busy, which means I won’t be pestering you. So really, you would be doing yourself a favor by allowing me to do this.”

Hunter smirks. “He’s got a point.”

“Traitor,” you mutter, nudging his shoulder.

He nudges you back, his grin widening, and you roll your eyes.

"Alright, fine," you sigh.

"Excellent," Tech smiles. He turns his attention back to the datapad in his hands, his eyes darting across the screen. “Omega, would you like to help me dismantle this ship? It will give you a chance to learn more about the components of different models."

"Sure," she nods. She jumps down from the counter, landing with a soft thud. 

Hunter watches the two of them disappear into the living room before looking at you. You're smiling softly, your head tilted to the side, and he can't stop his gaze from wandering, taking in every detail of your face.

"You're staring," you murmur. You look at him out of the corner of your eye, and the hint of a smile tugging at your lips betrays your feigned irritation.

"Can’t help it,” he replies. He reaches out, his fingers brushing against your hip. The simple touch is enough to send a spark shooting through him, a warmth blooming low in his stomach, and his grip tightens, pulling you closer.

"Hunter," you laugh, your eyes widening.

"Hmm?"

"We're not alone."

"We're not?" He arches an eyebrow. "Didn't notice."

"Hunter," you hiss, but there's no bite to your words, just a soft laugh. "Stop it."

"No," he grins, leaning forward to brush his lips over your cheek. You shiver, goosebumps erupting across your skin, and he feels a rush of pride at the reaction.

"You're impossible."

"Only because I can be," he murmurs, pressing another kiss to your cheek. You sigh, your eyelids fluttering shut, and Hunter can't resist the urge to brush his mouth over the soft skin, trailing gentle kisses down your neck. You let out a soft whine, the noise so quiet only he can hear it, and his body reacts instinctively, his hands tightening, his hips shifting closer.

"Hunter," you gasp, your voice low.

"You smell so good," he groans. His nose brushes against your throat, and he inhales deeply, breathing in the sweet scent. It sends a thrill through him, a burst of heat washing over his body, and he nuzzles the skin, his lips ghosting along the edge of your jaw.

He doesn't want to stop. He wants to keep going, wants to drag his mouth across every inch of you until there's no part untouched, until the taste of you is burned into his memory for good. But he's aware of the others in the room, and he forces himself to pull away. He puts some distance between you, enough so that he can breathe, but he can't bring himself to move too far away.

"Tonight," Hunter says, his voice rough. He glances over his shoulder, making sure the others are still distracted, before continuing, "I'm gonna take care of you."

"Mm," you nod. You look dazed, your cheeks flushed, and Hunter feels a surge of satisfaction knowing it's his fault. "You'd better."

"Oh, I will," he smirks. "All night, if you want."

You bite your lip, your eyes sparkling. "Promise?"

"I—"

"Alright, I’m no chef, but I think it’s ready," Echo calls, Wrecker already heading towards the pot with a stack of bowls. He turns around, a spoon in one hand, and Hunter catches a glimpse of a wicked smile. "If you can pry yourselves apart long enough to eat."

"We were just talking," you argue, but your face is red, and Hunter has to bite back a grin.

"Right," Echo laughs, his gaze flickering between you. "Just talking. Got it."

"Echo," Hunter warns.

"I didn't say anything," he replies innocently. He waves his spoon at the two of you, his grin widening. "You can have your little chat after dinner.”

“Enough talking,” Wrecker groans, snatching the spoon from Echo’s hand and shoving him out of the way. "Food first."

"We'll finish this later," Hunter whispers, and you nod.

"I'll hold you to that," you whisper, brushing a kiss against his cheek before you pull away, stepping towards the counter. You glance over your shoulder at him, a sly smile curling your lips, and Hunter has to force himself not to follow after you. He waits until you're busy helping Wrecker dish out the food before moving, and even then, he makes sure to keep his distance.

It's difficult.

The need to be near you is overwhelming, and he can't stand the thought of leaving you for even a moment. But he doesn't want to crowd you, either, and he has to remind himself that you're not going anywhere.

You're here, and he's here, and nothing is going to take him away from you. Not again.

The thought settles over him, calming the ache in his chest, and he finally allows himself to relax, falling into an easy rhythm with the others as the six of you gather around the table. He takes a seat next to you, his leg pressed against yours, and his arm is draped over the back of your chair, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin. You lean into his side, your body fitting against his like it was made to, and the warmth of you is enough to ease the last bit of tension that's been lingering beneath the surface.

The rest of the night passes in a blur. Hunter loses track of how many times his hand drifts to your side, or his fingers slip into your own, or his lips press against your temple. Every time he does it, he expects a reaction from you, a protest or an admonishment or a roll of the eyes, but each time, you simply smile, your eyes crinkling at the corners, and he finds himself doing it again, unable to stop himself.

It’s easy, familiar, like this is how it was always meant to be, and the fact that he can finally hold you without fear of getting caught is a relief that's impossible to put to words. There's no more hiding, no more sneaking around, no more worrying about being seen standing too close together or his hands lingering too long. It's freeing, not having to hide how he feels, not having to pretend like his feelings don't exist.

It's the most natural thing in the world.

And he's going to enjoy every second of it.

Eventually, the meal ends, the food vanishing into Wrecker's stomach, and Hunter helps you clean up while the others disappear outside. The setting sun guides them toward your ship with Tech in the lead, and Hunter watches them go, his eyes lingering on the door for a moment before returning to you. You're scrubbing at a pot, your brow furrowed in concentration, and he can't help the fond smile that spreads across his face. He leans against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest, content to watch you work.

"You're staring again," you mumble, not bothering to look at him.

"How did you know?"

"I can feel it," you chuckle. You set the pot aside and dry your hands before hanging up the towel. "I always know."

"It's not my fault," he says, pushing off the counter. Hunter closes the distance between the two of you, his hands resting on your hips. "You're hard to resist. And I can't keep my eyes off you."

"You're such a flatterer."

"It's not flattery if it's true."

You shake your head, a smile spreading across your face.

"What?"

"Nothing," you laugh. "Just... the way you're acting. It's kind of cute."

"Cute?" He frowns, his nose wrinkling. "I don't know about that."

"It is." Your arms snake around his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair, and you tilt your head to the side. "I'm used to the serious, stoic Hunter. I like this one, too."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Mmhmm," you hum. Your lips press against his jaw, a soft kiss that has his eyes fluttering shut, and his hands slide down to grip your thighs. He lifts you onto the counter, and your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer.

"Is that so?"

"Uh-huh," you nod, and you kiss him again. This time, it's lower, right where his pulse is jumping under his skin, and he groans, his eyes falling shut.

"I didn't know you liked him so much," he manages to say, his breath hitching.

"I love him," you murmur. "As much as the other one."

"Well," he chuckles. He pulls away just enough to look at you, his hands cradling your face. "I think I can live with that."

You lean forward, and he meets you halfway, his mouth finding yours.

It starts off slow, a lazy kiss, his hands moving from your face to tangle in your hair. But then your lips part, and the soft sound you make is enough to light a fire in his veins, and he's kissing you with everything he has, pouring all his emotion into it. You return it eagerly, matching him stroke for stroke, and when his tongue brushes against yours, the groan he lets out is so loud he can't even hear the others yelling outside.

It doesn't matter, anyway. Nothing does, except the two of you.

"Bedroom," you gasp, breaking the kiss. "Now."

"Yeah," he pants. He grabs your thighs, pulling you off the counter, and you wrap your legs around his waist, his arms hooking under your knees.

He doesn't say anything else. He can't. He just kisses you, his tongue sliding past your parted lips, and your nails dig into his shoulders, a desperate moan spilling from your throat.

He carries you through the house, navigating the halls blindly, too focused on kissing you to care where he's going. He nearly trips over a chair, but he manages to keep his balance, and you laugh, the sound vibrating against his mouth. He breaks the kiss long enough to shoot you a playful glare, and you beam back.

"In a hurry, are we?"

"You have no idea," he mutters. He kicks the door to your bedroom open, shutting it behind him with his foot, and strides across the room. "Been wanting this for too damn long."

"Mm," you sigh. You're kissing his neck now, your tongue lapping at his skin, and his pace quickens. He feels the softness of the mattress hit the back of his legs, and he sits, his hands shifting to cup your thighs.

"Missed you," he rasps as you settle into his lap. You're straddling him now, and the heat of you against him is driving him crazy. "Missed you so much."

"Missed you too," you whisper, and your hands are cupping his face, pulling him towards you. Your fingers trace the outline of his tattoo, your touch gentle, almost reverent. He closes his eyes, savoring the feeling, and his breath hitches as you brush your lips over his temple.

"I can't believe this is real," he admits, his voice low. "I keep thinking it's some kind of dream, that I'm gonna wake up and find myself back on the ship."

"It's not a dream," you promise. You press a kiss to his forehead, his cheek, his nose, and then, finally, his mouth. It's soft, chaste, but no less intense, and Hunter sighs, his hands sliding up to curl around your waist.

"You're really here," he whispers. "I didn't think..."

"I'm not going anywhere," you assure him, and the conviction in your voice makes his heart ache. Your forehead is resting against his, your lips barely an inch apart, and he can feel your breath ghosting across his skin. "I love you."

"I'm sorry," he breathes. "For not coming to you sooner. For not—"

"Hunter, stop," you cut him off, your fingers pressing against his mouth. He quiets instantly, his gaze locked with yours. "It's not your fault. There was nothing you could've done."

"I could've tried harder," he protests. "Could've tried to find you."

"You couldn't," you sigh, shaking your head. "You know that. I didn't want to be found. I'm not even supposed to be here. If anyone finds me, I'm as good as dead."

"I won't let that happen."

"I know," you smile. Your thumbs rub gentle circles against his cheeks, and you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "And I love you for it. But we can't change the past. We just have to make the most of the time we have now."

"Right," he nods. He swallows the lump in his throat, trying to push away the guilt, the anger, the regret. "I just..."

"What?"

He lets out a long breath, his shoulders slumping. "Do you ever think about what it could've been like? If we hadn't lost each other? If...things had gone differently, and the war had ended the way it was supposed to?"

"Yeah," you admit, and you give him a sad smile, the corners of your mouth twitching upwards. "Sometimes."

"Me too," Hunter whispers. He pulls you closer, burying his face in your neck. You hold him there, your arms wrapping around him, and his hands drift up to clutch at the back of your shirt. He inhales deeply, taking in the scent of you, letting it fill him up, ground him.

"Sometimes I wonder," you murmur, your voice low, "what would've happened if we'd met in a different life. If we were just people, with no obligations or duties, no expectations or responsibilities. No wars, no battles, no death. Just us."

"A life together," he mumbles, the words muffled against your skin.

"Yeah," you say, and you sigh, a wistful sound that sends a pang through his chest. "A life together."

"We'd have a place like this," he says. He glances up at you, his chin resting on your chest. "A home."

You hum in agreement, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. "We would."

"We'd be happy," he continues. He smiles at you, a small, sad thing, and your fingers trace the curve of his lips. "We'd have a family. Maybe even kids. And we wouldn't have to hide."

"We wouldn't," you agree, a tear slipping down your cheek. He reaches up, catching it before it can fall, and brushes his thumb over your cheekbone, wiping away the dampness.

"I would've married you," he whispers. His voice breaks on the word, and he has to pause, taking a deep breath before continuing. "If I could. I would've married you, and given you everything I had."

"Hunter," you whisper, your voice breaking.

"I'm sorry," he sighs. "I just—"

"No, no," you cut him off with a shake of your head. You kiss him again, and he melts into it, the feel of your lips against his enough to soothe the ache in his chest.

"We could still have it," he breathes, his mouth moving over your jaw, the skin so soft and warm and inviting. "We could."

"I know," you reply, and you tilt your head back, allowing him access to your neck. He nips at the sensitive skin, and you shudder, a whimper falling from your lips.

"Do you want it?" he asks, his voice low. He's not sure why he does, not sure what he wants the answer to be, but the question falls from his mouth without thought.

"More than anything," you admit, and Hunter feels his heart skip a beat.

"Then we'll make it happen," he promises. "If you'll have me."

"I already do," you whisper, and then you're kissing him again, harder this time, with more desperation, like you need to prove how much you mean it.

His hands wander, mapping out every curve, every contour, every inch of your body, and your own exploration isn't far behind, the two of you touching and caressing and stroking in a way that leaves him panting, his heart racing.

"Please," you whimper, and the sound goes straight to his cock.

"Anything," he rasps. "Whatever you want."

"I just want you."

"You have me," he breathes. "You'll always have me."

You're kissing him again, the desperation in your touch increasing with every second that passes. He feels like his entire body is on fire, like the slightest touch could set him off, and he groans into your mouth, his tongue darting out to trace the seam of your lips.

He knows what you want, and he gives it to you without hesitation, his mouth opening wide as he dips his tongue inside, his fingers digging into your hips. You gasp, and he swallows the noise, his hands gripping the fabric of your shirt.

He pulls it up and over your head, breaking the kiss for only a moment, and he takes the opportunity to drink in the sight of you, his gaze sweeping over every inch of exposed skin.

You're so beautiful, it almost hurts to look at you.

You stare back, your chest heaving, your eyes dark with lust. You're biting your lip, and his own mouth falls open, his eyes widening.

He doesn't say a word. He can't. His brain can't seem to form a coherent thought, not when you're looking at him like that, and he swallows, his eyes darting to the swell of your breasts. You're wearing a bra, but it's not much, a scrap of lace and silk that leaves nothing to the imagination. He can see the outline of your nipples, the stiff peaks pressing against the fabric, and he can't help but reach up and run his thumb over one, the contact making him shiver.

"Hunter," you whimper, your eyelids fluttering shut. He repeats the action, watching in fascination as your chest rises and falls, and he does it again, the soft whine that falls from your lips spurring him on.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his hand cupping your breast. "So perfect."

He leans down, his mouth closing over the soft mound, and he sucks gently, his tongue lapping at the hard nub through the fabric. Your back arches, a broken moan escaping your lips, and Hunter feels a rush of heat shoot through him, his cock straining against the confines of his pants.

"Fuck," he curses, his breath hot against your skin, his hands moving to undo his belt. It's a struggle, his fingers shaking, but he manages, tugging it free and tossing it to the side. As soon as it hits the ground, you're pushing his hands away, taking over, and he grins, letting you take the lead.

"Here, let me," you murmur as your fingers work to unclip his armor. He nods, sitting back on his hands and admiring the view as you remove each piece, dropping them to the floor. The way your brow furrows in concentration, the softness of your skin, the swell of your breasts as they rise and fall with every breath, the warmth of your hands, the gentleness of your touch, all of it sends another wave of heat crashing through him.

It's breathtaking, the sight of you, and Hunter can't help the pride that swells in his chest. It’s not the first time he’s felt it, the rush of joy that comes with seeing the woman he loves, but it still catches him off guard.

He wonders, briefly, if he'll ever get used to the feeling. If he ever stops being amazed by how incredible you are, how lucky he is to have found you.

"What are you thinking about?"

You're kneeling in front of him now, your hands resting on his knees, and the question startles him out of his thoughts.

"Nothing," he says, and you tilt your head to the side, giving him a knowing look. He chuckles, reaching out to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking along your jaw. "Just admiring the view."

"Oh, really?"

"Really," he replies, his gaze dropping to the exposed flesh of your chest. He can't stop himself from leaning forward, his fingers skimming along the lace, before brushing over the delicate skin of your cleavage.

"Hunter," you whimper, arching into him.

"Beautiful," he says. His eyes meet yours, a wicked grin pulling at his lips. "I can't wait to get my mouth on you."

You blush, the heat creeping up your neck, and Hunter chuckles, pulling you towards him. He wraps his arms around you, burying his face in your chest.

“But first,” he murmurs against your chest. His lips brush over your sternum, his nose skimming the tops of your breasts, and his hands find the waistband of your pants, tugging the fabric down. “I want to see all of you.”

You moan, letting him pull the material down your thighs, your eyes slipping shut as his hands glide along your legs. You step out of the clothing, them aside, and he takes the opportunity to remove his pants and shirt, tossing them into the growing pile of clothes.

You stand between his legs, staring down at him in nothing but your bra and panties, and Hunter has to take a deep breath. The sight of you is almost too much, the need coiling in his belly threatening to overwhelm him, but he manages to rein himself in.

"Gorgeous," he whispers. His hands are on your thighs, his thumbs rubbing slow circles into the sensitive flesh. "Come here."

He pulls you into his lap, guiding you to straddle his hips, and you go willingly, settling yourself onto his thighs. He presses a kiss to the hollow of your throat, his teeth grazing the skin, and you sigh, tilting your head to the side, granting him access.

"You smell so good," he murmurs. His nose traces the column of your neck, breathing in the sweet scent. It sends a thrill through him, a wave of desire surging forward, and his hips jerk involuntarily, grinding against yours. His cock is straining against the fabric of his underwear, aching for release, and he can't stop himself from groaning.

"Fuck," he rasps, his teeth scraping against your collarbone as you shift. You're moving against him, a slow roll of your hips, and Hunter can feel his restraint slipping.

"Hunter," you sigh. His mouth moves down, his lips trailing over the swell of your breast, his tongue darting out to lap at the lace covering your nipple.

"You're driving me crazy, sweetheart," he breathes, his breath hot against your skin. "The things I wanna do to you."

"What do you want to do to me?"

He can't stop the groan that escapes him. He grabs your hips, his fingers digging into the flesh, and tugs you down, grinding his clothed erection against you.

"Everything," he growls. His mouth moves along your neck, biting and sucking, leaving a trail of bruises in its wake. "Anything you want. I'd do anything for you."

"Anything?"

"Mmhm," he murmurs, nuzzling your chest. He can't stop himself from licking and sucking, the taste of your skin intoxicating. His hands are roaming up and down your sides, squeezing and caressing, and you arch into him, your body reacting to his touch.

He slides a hand down your spine, his fingers finding the clasp of your bra. He makes quick work of it, unhooking the latch and pulling the straps down your arms. You sit back, letting the fabric fall away, and he can't help but stare, his mouth hanging open.

Your nipples are hard, pebbled and straining, and he can't resist the urge to flick his tongue across one, teasing the stiff peak. You let out a whimper, your fingers tangling in his hair, and he grins, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud.

"Oh," you gasp. Your eyes are closed, your head tipped back, and Hunter smiles against your skin. He continues his assault, licking and sucking, his teeth grazing over the stiff nub.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" he purrs. You nod, a soft moan falling from your lips. He switches to the other nipple, giving it the same attention, and you squirm in his lap, your hips rocking against his.

"Force, yes," you pant, tugging at his hair. "I missed this. Missed you."

"Me too, sweetheart," he murmurs. His hands move to cup your breasts, squeezing and kneading, and you let out a shaky breath, rolling your hips against his. "I missed touching you, kissing you, being inside you."

"Yes," you whimper. His fingers are plucking at your nipples, pinching and tugging, and you grind down on his lap, desperate for friction. "Please, Hunter."

"Don't worry," he promises. He kisses his way up your chest, along the curve of your neck, and nips at your earlobe. "I'm gonna take care of you."

"Good," you huff, wrapping your arms around his neck. "I've waited long enough."

"Too long," he agrees. He lifts his head, his gaze meeting yours. "But we've got all the time in the world."

You smile at him, cupping his face. For a moment, the two of you simply stare at each other, neither saying a word. He can see the desire in your eyes, the need shining bright, but there's something else, something deeper, and his heart swells, his chest filling with warmth.

Then, without warning, Hunter flips you over, pressing you down into the mattress. He hovers above you, his weight resting on his forearms, and he smirks when you let out a surprised squeal.

"Hunter!"

"Hmm?" he hums, dipping his head to kiss the underside of your jaw. You arch into him, a soft moan escaping you.

"What are you—mm, that feels good," you sigh, tipping your head to the side.

"What's that, sweetheart?"

"Nothing," you murmur. Your arms are draped over his shoulders, your fingers threading through his hair. He presses a kiss to your throat, his teeth scraping over the sensitive skin, and you groan. “Keep going.”

Hunter chuckles, his hands sliding up your thighs. He reaches your hips, his fingers hooking under the waistband of your underwear.

"Lift your hips for me," he says, his breath ghosting across your ear. You obey, lifting yourself up off the mattress, and Hunter pulls the fabric down your legs. He tosses it over his shoulder, not bothering to see where it lands, before turning his attention back to you.

"Perfect," he breathes.

You're spread out in front of him, completely naked, your cheeks flushed, chest heaving, and he's mesmerized. It's not the first time he's seen you like this, but it's been too long, and his memory can't compare to the real thing.

He traces a finger along your inner thigh as he settles between your legs, his hand gliding over the soft flesh, and he watches as goosebumps erupt across your skin. You're trembling, the anticipation clear in your eyes, and Hunter grins, enjoying the effect he has on you.

"Tell me what you want," he says, his fingers ghosting along your slit. He's not surprised to find you wet, the scent of your arousal thick in the air, and he inhales deeply, relishing the familiar aroma.

"I want you," you whimper, your hips bucking upwards. He places a hand on your stomach, holding you down.

"How do you want me?"

"I don't care," you pant, reaching for him. Your fingers wrap around his wrist, your nails digging into the skin, and he bites back a groan. "I just need you. Please."

"Soon," he promises. He kisses your thigh, his lips trailing over the smooth flesh. "Let me take care of you first."

"You don't have to," you insist.

"Oh, I want to," he murmurs, his mouth inches from your center. "So badly."

"Oh," you moan, your back arching as his breath ghosts over your sensitive skin. You're trembling beneath him, and Hunter can't help but smile. It's intoxicating, knowing how badly you want him, and he can't stop the pride that swells in his chest.

His tongue flicks out, teasingly brushing against your folds, and you let out a breathy sigh, your body tensing.

"Stop teasing,” you plead.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he says, though he can’t find it in him to sound apologetic. His fingers part your folds, and his tongue slides through your slick heat, circling your entrance before dragging up to flick over your clit.

"Ah, fuck," you moan as your eyes roll back. Your hands are clutching the sheets, and he grins, swirling his tongue around the bundle of nerves. You gasp, your hips jerking, and he grabs them, holding you in place as he begins to lick and suck.

He wastes no time, his tongue and lips reacquainting themselves with your folds, and the taste of you is enough to make him dizzy. It's sweet and salty, familiar and unfamiliar, and Hunter can't get enough. He buries his face in your cunt, his nose rubbing against your clit as his tongue probes your entrance.

"Oh, Hunter, yes," you pant, your hand shooting down to tangle in his hair. He grins against you at the praise, his tongue plunging inside, and you let out a strangled moan.

He eats you out with enthusiasm, his tongue exploring every inch of your pussy. He's not sure how long he spends there, his face buried between your thighs, his mouth sucking and licking at your cunt. It could be hours, or mere minutes, but he doesn't care. It's perfect, the feeling of you underneath him, the way your body writhes, the noises falling from your lips.

He fucks you with his tongue, his grip on your thighs tightening, and your back arches, a desperate whine escaping you.

"Fuck, yes, Hunter," you cry out, your legs wrapping around his head, locking him in place. He moans, his tongue plunging deeper, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. He can't stop himself, his movements becoming frantic, desperate.

He needs more, craves it. Wants to feel you come apart, to know that it's his name on your lips. That it's his touch making you lose your careful composure.

"That's it," he groans, his breath hot against your pussy. "Come on my face, sweetheart."

He's not sure if it's the words or the way he thrusts his tongue inside, curling and stroking, but something sends you over the edge, and he's rewarded with a choked cry and a gush of slick heat as you clamp down around him.

Your toes curl, your back arching off the bed, and Hunter has to hold you down, his grip tightening as his mouth continues its relentless assault. Your walls pulse around him, clenching and releasing, and he lets out a growl, his tongue pushing deeper.

"Kriff," you moan, your hands clutching at his hair, pulling and tugging. He lets out a muffled groan, his eyes slipping shut, and he savors the feeling, the taste, the smell.

The fact that it's you, that he's the one who got you here, who made you come undone, is enough to send a wave of pleasure coursing through him. It's addicting, the feeling of having you like this, and he can't help the surge of satisfaction that comes with the knowledge that no one else has ever seen you this way. And if he has his way, no one ever will.

"Force, I missed that," he says once you finally relax, your legs falling from his shoulders. He licks his lips, grinning, and wipes his chin with the back of his hand.

"Me too," you breathe, propping yourself up on your elbows. "That was incredible."

"Yeah?" he asks, crawling up your body. He plants a kiss on your sternum, moving higher until his mouth finds yours. You return his messy kiss eagerly, moaning when you taste yourself on his tongue, and he chuckles, cupping your cheek.

"Mmhm," you sigh.

"Good," he murmurs, kissing you again. His tongue probes your mouth, searching for every last drop of sweetness. You cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders, and he grunts, his cock twitching at the feeling.

"Need you," you whisper, breaking the kiss. Your hands slip down, coming to rest on his ass. You give him a squeeze, a playful grin on your lips, and Hunter can't stop the smirk that pulls at his mouth.

"Patience, sweetheart," he says. "We've got all the time in the galaxy."

"No," you shake your head, hooking your leg around his waist. You pull him closer, the hard line of his clothed cock rubbing against your clit, and you moan, grinding against him. "I need you now."

"Kriff," he groans, his head falling forward. The heat is radiating off of you, and he can't stop himself from pushing against you, seeking relief. "Yeah, alright. But I wanna take my time with you."

"We can take our time later," you promise. You tug at his underwear, pulling the fabric down his thighs, and he kicks them off, sighing in relief as his cock springs free. A pleased noise escapes you at the sight of him, hard and straining, and your other leg wraps around him, urging him on.

"Sweetheart," he breathes, his hips rolling. His cock is trapped between the two of you, sliding through your slick folds, and the sensation is almost too much.

"Please," you beg, tilting your hips upwards. You're soaking wet, the head of his cock sliding through the mess, and it's all he can do not to sink inside you.

"Fuck," he hisses. His grip on your waist tightens, and he presses a kiss to your neck, his lips tracing a path along the curve. You moan, arching into him, and he takes the opportunity to capture your lips in another messy kiss. He can feel the desire pouring off you, the need coursing through your veins, and it's overwhelming. He doesn’t even notice your legs tightening around him, not until you flip him over, and suddenly you're on top of him, straddling his lap.

"Shit," he gasps, his eyes wide. "That was—"

"Fast?" you finish. He nods, swallowing hard, and you laugh, the sound sending a shiver down his spine. “I think you forgot what I am, Hunter."

"Never," he whispers, his hands roaming up and down your thighs. He takes in the view, his eyes trailing over the length of your body, from the flush on your cheeks to the way your breasts sway with every breath, to the glistening wetness coating your thighs and the base of his cock. "You're incredible."

"Yeah?"

"Mmhm," he hums. His gaze drifts up, meeting yours, and he smiles, the sight of you making his heart swell. "You're perfect."

"I love you," you say, and Hunter can't help the warmth that spreads through him at the words. He's heard them a hundred times before, but each time, it still feels new. Like the first time.

"I love you, too," he replies. His fingers brush over your clit, gathering the wetness, and he slides his hand down, taking himself in his fist. "Ready?"

"Yes," you breathe.

You rise up onto your knees, placing a hand on his chest for balance, and Hunter guides himself to your entrance. His cock slides between your folds, the tip nudging at your entrance, and you both moan, the sound mixing together.

Hunter has to fight to keep his eyes open, to keep his hands steady. He wants to watch as you sink down on his cock, to see the pleasure wash over you as he fills you. He knows what it feels like, to be buried inside you, and it's always been intoxicating, but now? After everything that's happened, after the fear and the pain and the longing, to have you back in his arms?

It's beyond words. Beyond comprehension.

He doesn't deserve it. Doesn't deserve you.

But he'll never stop trying.

You let out a gasp as he pushes inside, his cock stretching and filling you, and Hunter has to grit his teeth, his hands tightening on your hips. The heat is incredible, the feeling of being buried deep inside, and he groans, the sound coming from deep within his chest.

"Fucking hell, sweetheart," he grunts. His eyes are locked on where the two of you are joined, watching as you slowly slide down the length of his cock. "You're so tight."

"It's been a while," you say, your breath coming in short pants. Your brow is furrowed, your teeth biting into your bottom lip, and Hunter has to bite back a groan.

"I know," he breathes. His hands caress your sides, his fingers skimming over the soft skin, and he feels your body relax. You're fully seated on his cock now, and Hunter can feel the way your cunt flutters around him, squeezing him tight. You tremble, and he reaches up, cupping your face.

"You alright?" he asks, stroking his thumb over your cheek. You nod, the corners of your mouth curling upwards.

"It's been a long time. Need a minute."

"Take all the time you need," he says.

"Thank you," you smile, turning your head to press a kiss to his palm.

You sit there, staring into his eyes, the two of you just existing. He doesn't mind it. Doesn't care about anything other than the feeling of being inside you. He can't believe he forgot what this was like, how perfect it is, how much he loves it. How much he loves you.

The urge to keep you here, to never let you go, to keep you safe and warm and loved and happy is overwhelming, and he can't help but reach out, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw. He wonders if this is what it feels like to drown. If this is how people describe being swept away, pulled under the waves by the current, never to surface again.

He wonders if this is what they mean when they talk about being lost in someone.

Because he is. He's completely and utterly lost. Lost in you. Lost in the warmth of your gaze, the softness of your touch, the scent of your skin, the feeling of your body surrounding him, your heart beating in sync with his own.

He knows, in this moment, that he's not just in love with you. That he's not just madly infatuated with the woman in his arms. He's lost, and there's no coming back. He's yours. And he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that you belong to him. That the two of you are bound together. That there's no one else for him. No one else he wants. Just you.

It's not the first time he's felt it, this overwhelming sense of love. But it's the first time it's hit him so hard. Maybe because it's the first time it's been this intense, this all-consuming. Maybe because it's the first time he's actually understood what it means. What it truly means.

Maybe because it's the first time he's truly believed it.

"Hunter?"

You're staring at him, concern etched across your features, and he realizes, with a start, that tears are rolling down his cheeks. He hadn't noticed.

"Sorry," he mutters, hastily wiping his face.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he says.

"Are you sure?" you ask. "Because I've never seen you cry before."

"I'm okay," he says, smiling softly. "I'm fine. Just... overwhelmed, I guess."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," he nods. He sits up, bracing his back against the headboard as his hands cup your cheeks. "I'm more than fine."

"Okay," you say, giving him a worried smile. His thumb smooths the crease between your brows, and he presses a gentle kiss in its place.

"I promise," he murmurs as he leans his forehead against yours. "I love you."

"Love you too," you whisper. You place a hand on his chest, just above his heart, and he wraps his arms around you, holding you close.

"I don't say it enough," he says, his voice hoarse. "But I mean it. Every time."

"I know," you assure him. You kiss his cheek, your lips trailing over the curve. "You don't have to say it. I know. I can feel it. I always have."

"Good," he sighs. His hands move up and down your back, the tips of his fingers gliding over your spine. "Never forget it."

"I won't," you promise.

He holds you there, your foreheads pressed together, your noses touching. He closes his eyes, inhaling deeply, letting the scent of you wash over him. It calms him, soothes him, and he feels his heart slow, his breathing evening out.

You shift, lifting your hips, and he gasps, the feeling of your cunt gripping his cock sending a jolt of pleasure through him. You smile, kissing the corner of his mouth.

"I'm okay," he whispers, his hands moving to grip your hips.

"Good," you say, your lips brushing over his. You start to move, rising up onto your knees before sinking back down. You both groan, the feeling of being joined sending a surge of warmth through him.

"Kriff," Hunter rasps as your hands find his shoulders, your fingers digging into the muscle, and you lift yourself up again, repeating the motion. His head falls back against the headboard with a dull thump, and you smile, your teeth scraping over the sensitive spot where his neck meets his shoulder.

"How's that feel?"

"So good," he breathes.

"Yeah?" you hum, rocking against him.

You're moving slowly, the pace torturous, and Hunter can't help but grind his hips upwards, trying to speed things along. You're having none of it, placing a hand on his chest, pushing him back against the bed.

"Slow," you order.

"Can't," he groans. His grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, and he pulls you down, forcing himself deeper as his hips buck up into you.

"Why not?"

"Need more," he pants.

"Hmm," you murmur, nipping at his throat. "I thought we were going to take our time."

"Changed my mind."

"Too bad," you smirk.

Your lips find his, capturing him in a heated kiss, and Hunter moans, his mouth parting for you. Your tongue sweeps through his mouth, seeking his own, and he can't stop the desperate noise that escapes him as you taste him. He tries to move, to thrust up into you, but a weight presses down on him, holding him in place. He knows without looking that the Force is holding him down, keeping him still, and a thrill runs through him, the realization making him even harder.

"Fuck," he hisses.

"What was that?"

"Kriff, I hate when you do that," he mutters, glaring up at you.

"Do what?" you ask, feigning innocence.

"That." He jerks his chin towards the invisible pressure pinning him to the bed. "You know exactly what."

"No idea what you're talking about," you grin. You're still moving, the movement slow and steady, and Hunter lets out a low whine, his eyes slipping shut.

"You're insufferable," he huffs, his head falling back.

"I think you're the one being insufferable," you tease, placing a hand on his chest. You run your fingers through the coarse hair, dragging them down until they brush over the base of his cock. "If I recall, you were the one who said we should take our time."

"Well, maybe I was wrong."

"Oh, I don't know," you say, your fingers tracing the edge of his hip bone. "I think it's nice."

"It is," he concedes, hissing as you squeeze his balls. "But it's not enough."

"No?"

"No," he says, opening his eyes. He looks up at you, taking in the sight. Your skin is flushed, your lips swollen and parted, your eyes glassy and filled with desire. He swallows hard, his hands tightening on your hips. He knows there will be marks tomorrow, a reminder of what happened tonight, and the thought makes him twitch inside you.

"So impatient," you tut.

"Yeah," he agrees. "You're so kriffing gorgeous. And I want you so badly. Always. I can't get enough of you."

"Hunter," you gasp, grinding down on him.

"Yeah," he breathes, his eyes drifting down to where the two of you are joined. Your cunt is stretched tight around his cock, and Hunter lets out a moan, the sight making his mouth water. He's always loved watching you take his cock, loved the way it looked as it slid in and out of your wet heat, loved the way it felt, being inside you. But now, after everything? After almost losing you?

"Force, I can't get over how beautiful you are," he whispers.

You're moving faster now, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease, and the room fills with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and heavy breathing.

"Fuck," you cry out as he hits that spot deep inside, and Hunter lets out a grunt, his hands finding your breasts.

"There you go," he says. He palms the soft flesh, his fingers finding your nipples, and he pinches them, rolling the stiff buds between his thumb and forefinger.

"Oh," you moan, arching into his touch. "Oh, that feels good."

"Yeah?" he breathes.

"Yes," you nod, rocking against him. You're bouncing on his cock, the bed shaking with each thrust, and Hunter can't tear his eyes away. He's transfixed, unable to look anywhere else. You're a vision, sweat beading on your brow, your body trembling as the pleasure builds.

His hands find your ass, pulling you down onto his cock, and he can feel the muscles flexing beneath his fingertips. He can feel his climax approaching, his balls tightening, the pressure building. He's not ready for this to end, not yet, so he grits his teeth, biting the inside of his cheek.

"You gonna come for me, sweetheart?" he pants, his hands roaming over the curve of your ass, squeezing and groping.

"Mmhm," you nod. You're leaning forward now, your hands braced on his chest as you ride him. Your nails rake across his chest, leaving angry red lines in their wake, and his hips twitch, trying to thrust up into you. The weight keeps him in place, and he lets out a frustrated groan.

"That's it," he coos. He can feel the tension in your thighs, the way your legs are shaking, and he knows you're close. He grips your ass tighter, helping you keep pace, and you whimper, your movements becoming erratic.

"Please," you plead, and he can't deny you, not when you're begging.

His fingers find your clit, his thumb rubbing the swollen bundle of nerves. Your head falls forward, your hair falling over your face, and Hunter reaches up, brushing the strands aside.

"Come for me," he says, his voice hoarse. “Come for me, and then I’m gonna fill you up."

"Yes," you gasp.

"You wanna feel it, don't you?" he murmurs. He's barely holding on now, the heat pooling in his belly threatening to overwhelm him. "Want me to fill you up, mark you as mine. Make you mine."

"Yes, yes, yes," you chant, grinding against him. "More, please, please, please, I need—"

He flicks his thumb over your clit, pressing down hard. Your breath hitches, your walls fluttering around his cock, and Hunter watches, mesmerized, as you shudder above him. You're staring at him, your pupils blown wide, your hair a mess, your skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat, your mouth hanging open in a silent scream.

"There it is," he growls. The weight pressing down on him disappears, and he grabs your waist, flipping you over. Your back hits the mattress, your legs wrapped around his hips, and he pounds into you, chasing his own release.

"Yes," you cry out, wrapping your arms around his neck. Your mouth finds his, swallowing his moans, as his cock pistons in and out of your dripping cunt.

He fucks you, hard and fast, the bed creaking underneath the two of you. You're clinging to him, your nails scratching his back, and he knows there will be marks, knows that he's probably hurting you, but he can't stop, can't slow down. He's so close, the pressure building, the pleasure coiling deep inside, and he's desperate for it, his thrusts becoming frantic.

"Gonna fill you up," he gasps.

"Please," you beg, and that's all it takes.

His orgasm hits him hard, and he cries out, his hips jerking erratically as he spills inside you. He buries his face in your neck, biting and sucking, and you whimper, your legs tightening around his waist.

"Fuck, yes," you groan, and Hunter can feel the warmth of his spend leaking out of you, the mess coating his cock, dripping down his thighs. It's intoxicating, and he can't stop himself from thrusting deeper, trying to make sure every drop is buried inside you.

"Oh, Hunter," you moan. Your hands are on his ass, pulling him closer, urging him on. He grinds his hips against you, and you sigh, a lazy smile spreading across your lips.

"Good?" he asks, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

"Perfect," you whisper. You cup his face, and he leans into the touch, his eyelids fluttering as he savors the feeling.

He doesn't want to move, doesn't want to let go. He's perfectly content to stay like this, holding you, his cock buried deep inside you, your hands stroking his face. You're watching him, your eyes roaming over his body, and he preens under the attention, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Well," he huffs, "I hope that was worth the wait."

"It was," you nod. You pull him closer, his head resting on your chest, and he lets out a sigh, his body relaxing.

"You alright?" he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the swell of your breast.

"Mmhm," you nod. Your hands are tracing patterns over his skin, fingers trailing across his back, and he can't help but shiver, goosebumps erupting in their wake.

"I'm not too heavy?"

"Not at all," you say. Your fingers move up, combing through his hair, and Hunter practically purrs, a low rumble rising from his chest.

"Good," he sighs. He tilts his head, his nose brushing against the hollow of your throat, and he inhales deeply, the scent of your arousal still thick in the air. He can feel the heat radiating off your body, and he shivers, the sensation sending a tingle down his spine.

"Hey," you murmur, and he hums in response. He shifts his weight, settling his elbows on either side of your head, and kisses your cheek.

"Hi," he whispers, his breath ghosting across your skin. He leans forward, brushing his lips against yours. You return the kiss eagerly, a soft moan escaping you. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and he goes willingly, his hips grinding against you.

"Mm, again?" you giggle, your teeth scraping over his bottom lip.

"If you're up for it," he says, grinning.

"I'm always up for it," you smirk. You roll your hips, your legs wrapping around his waist. He's still half-hard, his cock slowly swelling, and he can't stop the groan that rumbles in his chest.

"Good." Hunter grins, capturing your mouth in another searing kiss. "Because I'm nowhere near done with you."

"Well, we've got plenty of time," you breathe.

"Plenty," he echoes, his hands finding your hips. "Let's make the most of it, then."

And he does.

He spends the rest of the night worshiping you, his mouth and hands mapping every inch of your skin. He leaves no part of you untouched, his lips and tongue and fingers exploring every inch, and you do the same. The two of you take turns, exploring and teasing, pleasuring and loving, until you're both too exhausted to continue.

Afterwards, you lie together, his arm draped over your waist, his nose buried in the crook of your neck. Hunter inhales deeply, the familiar scent filling his nostrils, and he lets out a content sigh. He can feel the ache in his limbs, and he's suddenly aware of how tired he is. He doesn't remember the last time he slept, and he can't even recall the last time he was able to relax. It feels like forever since he's felt this good, this safe.

This happy.

"I love you,” you murmur as you press a kiss to the top of his head.

"I love you, too," he whispers, his voice thick.

"I know," you chuckle, and he smiles against your neck.

You're both still breathing hard, chests heaving, bodies sticky with sweat, and he revels in the feeling, his arms tightening around you. He can't stop himself from kissing you, peppering your neck with gentle kisses, his lips ghosting over the delicate skin.

He makes his way up to your jaw, then your cheek, before finally meeting your mouth. It's slow, tender, filled with a sense of intimacy he hasn't felt in a long time, and it's enough to make him tear up. His hand cradles your cheek, his thumb stroking the skin, and he closes his eyes, savoring the moment.

He never thought he'd have this. Never thought he'd get a chance.

And now that he does? Now that he's got you here, in his arms, where he's meant to be?

"I'm not letting you go again," he mumbles, his forehead pressed against yours. "I don't care what it takes, I'm not letting anyone or anything take you from me."

"Hunter," you start, but he cuts you off.

"I know. I know, you can handle yourself, you're more than capable. I know all that. But I'm still going to be there. I'm always going to be there."

"I know," you say, your hand cupping his cheek.

"Do you?"

His eyes search yours, searching for any hint of hesitation, any sign of doubt. He finds none. Just warmth. Just love.

"Yes," you whisper.

"Good," he nods. He pulls back, just enough to look into your eyes. He doesn't think he'll ever get tired of seeing you like this, bare and vulnerable, looking at him like that. Like he's the only person who matters.

"I meant what I said earlier," he says. "About wanting a family. A future."

"Me too," you smile.

"Really?"

"Yes," you nod, placing a hand on his chest. Your fingertips trace over the curve of his collarbone, and he shivers. "I want that with you. I always have."

"Even after everything?"

"Especially after everything," you assure him. "I've always wanted a future with you, Hunter. Ever since we met. I know you're scared. I am too. But I love you, and I want this. Us. All of it."

"Okay," he says, smiling.

"Okay," you repeat, returning the smile.

He pulls you into another kiss, his hand cradling the back of your neck, and the two of you stay like that, kissing and touching and loving, until exhaustion takes over. You curl up against him, your head on his chest, his arms wrapped around you, and he feels his eyes begin to droop. He can't remember the last time he was this relaxed, the last time he was this comfortable. The last time he felt so safe. So loved.

And for the first time in a long time, Hunter doesn't worry. He doesn't stress. He doesn't plan.

Instead, he closes his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips, and he lets the world fade away.

Taglist: @baddest-batchers @covert1ntrovert @stellarbit @bruh-myguy-what @qvnthesia

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@marchingviolinist @deerspringdreams

[denimbex1986]

'Forty-something Adam ( Andrew Scott ) has become lonely. He spends his life in a flat in London, in an almost empty block of flats, where he tries to write a TV script based on his parents, who died in a car accident just before he turned 12.

The work is tiring. It will mostly be weed and bad TV. One evening, Harry ( Paul Mescal ) shows up at his door, with a fake booze in his fist. Harry has felt that Adam has been watching him. Should they maybe …, is Adam possibly …, is there any chance that the two of them … ?

Adam closes the door, with a smile that is both resigned and hopeful. Harry is significantly younger, apparently quite out and about, and besides: Adam is and will remain alone .

The next day, Adam takes the train to the streets of his childhood, looking for inspiration for the script work. Once there, he enters an advanced daydream: Mom ( Claire Foy ) and Dad ( Jamie Bell ) are in their old house, the age they were when he lost them (younger than he is now).

They will of course like to hear about how their boy has fared after he moved to big, scary London.

Author, you say? Something so great! They knew there was going to be something from him! What Adam struggles to tell them is that he is gay. He never made it then, and he doesn't dare now. He is afraid of what these 1980s people will think.

"Isn't it a very lonely life?", asks his mother when he returns a few days later, having gathered courage. The son tells her that fortunately "everything" is different in 2024, 30 years later.

He fails to add that - yes, he is very lonely. Has been that way all his adult life.

The combination of the "visits" to the childhood home, the conversations with parents and continued attention from the ongoing Harry (as well as, for that matter, a ketamine trip ), brings about a kind of spring break in Harry, both creatively and emotionally.

The man is coming out of the shell of grief he has so carefully built around himself. At the same time, he is put in a bind: How much should he allow himself to think about the unchanging past? Is he so obsessed with the theoretical thought exercises of the irrevocable that he is unable to live in the present?

"All Of Us Strangers" is first and foremost an insanely well -acted film. By Foy , as the mother who is afraid that her son's homosexuality was "her fault". Of the versatile Bell as the more understanding father. By Mescal, who has used the "Normal People" success in the best possible way: to choose good roles in interesting films .

Most of all, it is a showcase for Scott, who can often be seen in theater and TV ( among others as Terje Rød-Larsen ), but could benefit from more work in "proper" films.

Scott's ability to hold two or more thoughts in his head at the same time, and convey them to us via the most subtle facial expressions, is formidable. He is never one thing. Always a reliable, volatile combination.

With its magical realism, exemplary acting and sober aesthetic, "All Of Us Strangers" is a fancy romantic tearjerker for people who are actually above romantic tearjerkers. A "ghost story" for people who rise above ghost stories.

A perhaps rather elegant and delicious story about post-traumatic stress, detachment and the healing potential of love. With an ambiguous dispute at the end.

It is a film that I suspect is not quite as good as I currently imagine it to be. "All Of Us Strangers" is undeniably successful. It also has its sentimental, swarming weaknesses.'

[martyfromgiant]

thinking about how pretty much every single show with lesbian representation has been cancelled or ended by the network in the last year. it hurts so fucking much to see shows being cancelled that have a huge fan base or killing off lesbian characters without a second thought. it’s not gay shows that are being canceled, no, it is wlw shows. mlm shows have continued to go on getting praise and renewals where shows like first kill, even though they’re cheesy and shitty, that have lesbian main characters one being a black woman and having a half black cast are cancelled. it had twice the viewing of shows like heartstopper, a show with two white gay men leads, that got renewed in the first few weeks of its release. even with netflix setting first kill up to fail by releasing it at the same time as huge shows like stranger things and umbrella academy, it still was a huge hit and had such a loving fan base.

the wilds with a lesbian main couple and diverse female cast literally centered around the concept of girl power. huge and dedicated fan base. cancelled. killing eve lesbian main characters one of them being sandra fucking oh that explores the dark side of ourselves while giving really good rep. one of the most dedicated fan bases i’ve seen. cancelled. and not just that, what could have so easily been a happy ending for the couple was ripped from us in the last five minutes right after the characters finally admitted feelings after four fucking seasons. one of them is murdered right in front of the other.

i can’t speak much to shows like everything sucks and the society because i haven’t bothered to watch them knowing they get cancelled. i don’t want to get attached to beautifully written and relatable characters for some big rich homophobic network to tell me no, no you can’t have this anymore. that’s happened too many times to me. right as the couple is happy and things are okay, one of them dies in front of the other like clexa, villaneve, dani and jamie from bly manor. some don’t even really get the opportunity to get to that point and others are just left with their relationship unfinished, with things left unsaid. and don’t even get me started on queer baiting.

yeah gay shows in general with good representation are fucking hard to come by but i’m sorry. mlm don’t face the same kind of hardships that wlw do. there’s a reason burying your lesbians became such a well known trope. because lesbians in shows die all of the fucking time for no good reason. i wish companies like netflix, hbo, and prime would stop fucking being cowards and admit the real reason they’re cancelling these shows. it’s not because they’re not being viewed enough or don’t have a strong fan base. it’s because they’re fucking lesbophobic i don’t want to hear anything else about it or any bullshit that it wasn’t a big enough hit. it may be the 21st century but lesbians aren’t magically equal even within the lgbtq community. the only place to get good representation these days is from fan made sources like fan fiction and fan art. made by people who understand how hard it is.

it’s where we get to see what we’ve always wanted to see, the characters we love, loving each other and being happy. we don’t have big writers scratching ideas because it “wouldn’t look good or be good for ratings”. we get a world where villanelle and eve lived happily ever after instead of villanelle dying in front of eves eyes and and floating into the abyss. not some bullshit from laura fucking neal who knows absolutely nothing about the characters we know telling us it’s what they felt was right. glad burying your lesbians feels right to people. but in our fan spaces we get to see villanelle make it out alive, we get to see them have a normal life and watch movies together. we also get to see and express what we feel is right with the fuck ton of queer coding in media. we get to see nancy and robin fall in love, emma and regina confess their feelings for one another, and any of the endless amount of amazing ships that we desire. there is a reason we flock to those spaces, it’s where we feel safe, seen, and where we feel like maybe one day we can have a relationship like that, to be loved like that. but it sometimes doesn’t make up for seeing it all play out endorsed by a company and written by people that actually care about representation and their viewers instead of just money. we all want to be loved and feel accepted and seen but sadly, because of the events of the last year, i’m not gonna hold my fucking breath.

sorry this is a lot, i’m just so fucking pissed

[aoitrinity]

Why Do I Have to Feel Like a Fucking Conspiracy Theorist -- OR -- How I Find a Semblance of Peace on Sunday Night

I’m also going to start this out with a GIANT DISCLAIMER.

I am about to theorize about what may have happened to the SPN finale. I have absolutely no insider knowledge. I am merely speculating here based on the panels and a bunch of Twitter and Tumblr posts that I have been reading over the last few days. If you are not in a good place to read such things, TURN BACK PLEASE. Go take care of yourself and your mental health. You and your feelings are valid and deserve to be handled gently right now.

Additionally, if you are here to give me shit for being unhappy with the ending, please walk away as well. I am here to reach out and share my feelings with people who might be struggling to make sense of something that upset some of us in very deep-seated ways. I am not here to bother you or critique you or tell you that you’re lesser because you liked the ending. If you felt it was good, then go enjoy it.

Long-ass post beneath the cut, everyone.

Alrighty folks...I debated whether or not to do this because I have been spiraling down the hell that is the SPN finale since Thursday. The travesty of what happened to our show--to this beloved show that seemed to have been so perfectly and precisely written for at least four years that it had basically already paved its own tarmac on which to land its plane and we all thought we knew exactly what we were going to get. And then we didn’t. We had a nigh Cas-less and entirely Eileen-less ending. We had no goodbye between Cas and Jack. We had Dean dying young after finally finding his freedom, only to ascend to heaven with no one but Bobby. We had the weird, weird, weird incest-y death scene. We had the bridge crane shot thing because...sure. You do you, Robert Singer.

It was so terrible, so truly awful, and I couldn’t seem to square any of it with anything we had known going in. I tossed and turned and cried and didn’t eat or sleep all weekend. I spent hours just reloading tumblr and twitter, going to the Misha panel, reading and reading and listening and trying to figure out what the fucking hell is going on because I needed to know exactly where to direct my anger. And after a fuckton of talking with @winchester-reload, I think we have at least a very plausible theory about what happened here--I’m laying it out below as much for my own peace of mind as anything else, because otherwise all of these thoughts are going to continue to spin around in my head for weeks and I won’t be able to do jack shit.

Now to start off, unfortunately I do think Dean was slated to die from the beginning of this season. I don’t know WHY they thought that was the best way to go, and I wish they had listened to Jensen on this one. Part of me wonders if it was an order from on high based on the discussion between Becky and Chuck earlier this season--the writers knew it wasn’t a great choice, but they were trying to signal to us that we should feel free to write our own endings to the story because they’d be better (I can wax poetic on the signs of why many of the writers probably wanted Dean to live, but that’s another post). I’m not defending that choice by any means, just laying it out there that I think they didn’t necessarily all want to kill Dean like they did.

However, what I THINK I can explain now is what happened with Misha and why we got so jerked around with Cas’s story. Consider what we know (I can’t immediately source all of it, but I did my best):

At the end of episode 15x19, Lucifer has been returned to the Empty after being killed AGAIN. He talks with Cas. Maybe harasses him a bit about Dean, idk. But then...Jack shows up. New God Jack. And he picks up Cas and pulls him out of the Empty, leaving Lucifer behind, because seriously. Fuck that guy (also leaving behind his abusive father is character growth for Jack, so yay for that).

-Misha was contracted to film 15 episodes this season. He was only in 14.

-Misha told Michael Sheen he had to go back to film 1.5 episodes after the shutdown in March. (Starts at 6:13)

-Misha was in Vancouver during filming of the finale.

-Mark P said at Darklight Con that the last scene he filmed was with Alex and Misha (and Mark P was only in episode 19).

-Misha implied that he was present for various filming moments, including Dean’s death (start at 35:15), and said that it felt like a “mini-reunion.”

-Various sources have mentioned that Jimmy Novak was supposed to be in the finale.

-After episode 18, Stands tweeted a fan who was angered and hurt by Cas's death that they could talk about the “bury the gays” issue after the finale aired.

-In episode 19 we know there were takes of the parking lot scene where the only thing fans observing could hear was Dean yelling “CAS” at Chuck (fuck I can’t find this one right now, but it’s definitely out there)

-Also in episode 19, we had a very strange, awkward montage at the end of the episode.

-In episode 20, we know there were a FUCKTON of missing scenes

-We also had no opening montage, but three other separate montages.

-Carry on My Wayward Son was played TWICE, back-to-back at the end of the episode.

-Episode 20 was shorter than normal and had surprisingly little dialogue. The pacing was VERY strange.

-The cast and crew has been almost completely silent about the finale since it came out. When they have spoken, it has been with an awkward excuse of “Uh...COVID?”

-Samantha Ferris has specifically noted that, despite the Harvelle’s being back in play and a big heaven reunion having been planned pre-COVID, neither she nor Chad Lindberg received any such invitation to return.

-Cas and Dean POP Funko figures were pictured together in a replica of Harvelle’s in 15x04.

NOW with all of this in mind (and I’m probably missing some stuff too because there is so much--feel free to add on to that list), please bear with me because here is what I think we were SUPPOSED to get POST-COVID (after it was determined that the reunion couldn’t happen because of the virus):

In episode 20, we start with our NORMAL OPENING MONTAGE, like always. It traces everything that happened during the season. We are reminded of Cas. The confession. Rowena. Eileen. Jack. Billie, God, the Empty, all of it. 

Things then follow along in the episode where they did up until Dean dies and wakes up in heaven. After his conversation with Bobby, he drives off to find Cas (who, in the script, was listed as “Jimmy Novak” in order to protect against script leaks--who wouldn’t want to do their best to avoid spoilers about the finale with the wrapping of a fifteen-year show?). He does indeed find Cas. We get Dean’s end of the confession. Hell, maybe we even get a kiss. And then Dean sets up his new heaven home in the recreated Harvelle’s. Maybe Cas even fucking moves in. 

Years pass. We get Sam having his life on Earth (still can’t explain why they cut Eileen and couldn’t even have Sam signing vaguely to the blurry brunette in the background; if anyone wants to take that on, go for it). Eventually, Cas tells Dean that it’s almost Sam’s time. Dean takes Baby and goes to meet Sam at the bridge. The cover of Carry on My Wayward Son plays during this much shorter sequence. End of episode.

But that’s not what we got. Instead, much of what I just wrote about was excised from the episode. The remnants were stitched together after shooting had been wrapped. Filler was added in the form of montages and long, unnecessary extra shots to get the episode to something approaching a reasonable length. 

But why? Why would they spend all that time and money and quarantining on Misha, only to almost completely cut him out of the finale? I struggled with why the fuck the CW would want this mammoth show to go down as the greatest queerbait in TV history when they had the chance to do something truly beautiful and monumental with it? It couldn’t just be sheer homophobia, right? Well, I think that factored into it, my friends, but here is where my head is at right now.

It was about cold, hard cash.

Now I could be wrong, but this is what I’m thinking at the moment: Supernatural is going off of the air. Supernatural, the CW’s cash cow for fifteen years. Sure there is still money to be made on blu-rays and merchandise and cons...but they need people watching their shows. They need that sweet advertising revenue. And you know what show they have about to premiere? A show that could, potentially, bring with it a chunk of that SPN revenue?

Walker.

And if any of you know anything about the original Walker Texas Ranger, you know that the show was predominantly a show about a very heterosexual white man being very excessively heterosexual. And for SOME REASON over the years, many of the execs at the CW still seem to think that this show, Supernatural, is really attractive to a lot of middle-American white men...whom they desperately want to watch this new show with this guy from Supernatural that they already know.

Now here’s where COVID fucked us. I think Destiel was greenlit by TPTB, at least in SOME form, before COVID. But then the pandemic happened, and they panicked. They got the cut of the last two episodes and watched them in their original, probably queer form. And then, the execs at CW looked at the economy. They looked at their cash cow, about to make its journey to the great beyond. And they looked at this new little calf Walker that they were so desperately worried about. And they made a choice.

They decided that it would be too risky to take the step with Destiel. They were worried about frightening off their ever-so-valuable hetero male demographic with the possibility that a traditionally masculine man in his 40s could be in love with another man in an overt way. It was homophobia mixed with greed, spun up by fear for their revenues because of COVID.

So they called in Singer, possibly Dabb, although I wouldn’t be surprised if they went straight to Singer. They told them that Destiel had to go: executive orders. And the only way to make it go in a way that removed any trace of what had been there was to rewrite what happened to Cas and cut him out from the last two episodes entirely. It was too late to reshoot anything. They had to just cut and stitch and fill with bullshit montages. 

They removed the scene at the end of 19, probably because Cas and Lucifer discussed Dean. All that was left of Misha there was his voice on that fake phone call. They may have cut other things too, but I would bet my life that they cut a scene from the end of the episode and replaced it with that very strange montage. Then they moved onto 20. They cut out every scene with Cas. And left in only two platonic mentions of him, neither made by Dean. They tried to imply that Cas might show up in Dean’s heaven at some point, but that was as far as the editors could go in the time they had. They filled in with montages, awkwardly long shots, anything they could do to fill all of those missing scenes.

And they even had to take the opening montage, because literally everything in it pointed to Cas being there at the end of it all. They wouldn’t be able to leave out his scenes, they were too critical to the season. They couldn’t cut his confession without raising eyebrows. So they cut the whole thing and moved “Carry On My Wayward Son” to one of the newly-added driving montages at the end. Which is why we awkwardly had both songs play back-to-back--again, such a strange choice unless they were out of options and couldn’t exactly buy rights to a new track or compose anything else.

And so we were left with the shadow of the finale that we deserved, that Cas and Dean deserved. We were left without resolution or happiness or words. Bobo told us the most important thing about happiness is just “saying it” and our characters were silenced without anyone ever knowing the truth.

I think the writers might have known and been given the new party line that “Misha never filmed, he couldn’t, sorry, it was COVID, no one’s fault!” But I don’t think most of the cast even knew it had happened until they watched the finale on Thursday with us (though they might have been confused why the bit from 15x19 was sliced, they could reasonably have assumed it was a time thing and also BL episodes don’t make sense anyway). Why do I say that?

Well, first of all, Misha started sending out a bunch of excited texts to fans with some old BTS pictures about an hour before the show started airing on EST. He also wanted his children to see the episode, his YOUNG children. Why would he show them such a traumatic episode if their Dad wasn’t in it? What if it was because he wanted them to witness what was going to be a monumental moment in queer television history that their DAD got to be a part of? And then that was all dashed.

Which is why I think the cast and crew went almost completely radio silent the next day. I don’t think they knew. And based on how they have been acting on social media since then, I think many of them are absolutely furious, but they have been silenced because of NDAs, because they want to find work again in a cutthroat industry, because they don’t want to bring down the hellfire of Warner Brothers Entertainment upon themselves. So the most we have gotten is a little acknowledgement from the MERCHANDISING COMPANY trying to validate our pain (god bless Shirts, she is a LIFESAVER) and a response to my salty tweet about keeping good stuff in the closet from Adam Williams (the VFX coordinator) that seemed to acknowledge the validity of my complaint.

Then there was a scramble behind the scenes, I would bet my life. Talking points were fed to the boys who had panels today, to CE, to all the cast and crew:

Toe the party line. Misha never filmed. This was always about COVID. Do not mention Destiel. Do not mention Dean’s feelings for Cas. Do not promote the Castiel Project or anything that validates the idea that this was anything less than a superb ending.

And that is why we have heard so little from the cast on this front, and what we have heard has been muddled and contradictory. That is why the writers are saying nothing. That is why we have been left adrift.

Now before I close this out, I do want to say that I really, genuinely do not think this was on the writers at all. I feel like they tried to give us the best ending that they could, in a writers room that we know is notorious for splitting along party lines about the overall story (BL and Singer, who have always been about the brothers and their man-pain vs. Dabb and the rest who always seemed to want more for them and for Cas). I think they did everything in their power to at least end with Dean and Cas happy together. If they could give us nothing else, they wanted to give us that. And then the network took it from them. From us. From everyone.

For the sake of fucking money. 

And the WORST PART OF IT ALL, for me, is that in the wake of this disaster, the fans have been left to try and figure out what happened. We have had to wade through a mire of conflicting information in the midst of all of our collective anger and grief over this garbage ending of a show many of us have loved and even relied on for YEARS, all the while wondering if we’re just fucking crazy, if we have all fallen collectively into the hole of conspiracy theories. That hurts ESPECIALLY badly because we have taken so many hits over the years from other groups on social media saying we were crazy for seeing things that weren’t there (especially Destiel), for writing meta and analyzing tropes and believing the evidence of our eyes and ears. The network has made us relive that entire nightmare WHILE processing our grief for a show we wanted so badly to celebrate and which instead we now have to mourn.

So again guys, I cannot prove that this is exactly what happened at all; this is simply my idea of what may have happened. But right now, it’s the most sense I can make from this mess, and to be honest, the act of typing it out has helped me enormously in my processing of it all. I feel like I can see more clearly, like I know where to target my outrage and where to direct empathy. I feel like just fucking maybe, I might be able to do my job tomorrow without bursting into tears at random moments. 

I really hope that this post has helped some of you to, in some small way, process this too. We get through this the way that Misha told us at his panel this morning, the way the writers have told us to do all season long...we throw out the story God gave us and we make it better. We write our characters the happy endings they deserve. 

We save them.

One last thing--if you have not already, please consider channeling your rage into a donation to one of the five causes our fandom has put together to pay tribute to our beloved show and to mourn the ending it should have had:

-The Castiel Project

-Dean Winchester is Love

-Sam Winchester Project

-The National Association of the Deaf

-The Jack Kline Project

[lupismaris]

The Opening Act of Spring- a Black Sails Fic. Chapter 1.

The Silverflinthamilton modern au that I’ve been drawing for over a year (where Flint owns a gay bar) is being written! Set five-ish years after a modern canon which will be somewhat told through flashbacks and exposition.

(Chapter one of idk how many but until more is written it’s going to live entirely on tumblr. )

Somewhere in the Village, Silver was counting Rolex and Cartier wristwatches, drop diamond earrings, plated gold layered necklaces, and birkins that were made to look well worn. He was counting, and noting the clear bell-like tone of the glass ware as it clinked together- crystal, the real stuff with the faintest etchings, but understated enough to look like it belonged in an effortless rooftop lounge. He didn’t usually enjoy rooftops, the only way out was the elevator unless he wanted to make an outfit change and that was usually too much work, and most rooftops only had one reserved for the restaurant, bar, or lounge. It was poor design for emergencies, poorer still for anyone looking to make a clean exit.

“Oh, enough already.”

Silver blinked and the room around him hummed loudly, violently, back to life, the carefully selected sounds of glassware and certain voices drowned out by a wave of noise.

Rackham sat across the small marble topped table, dressed neatly in a silk shirt that was unbuttoned nearly to the navel, tight high wasted trousers that made him seem even taller than he already was, and an assortment of jewelry that Silver knew half belonged to his sister. The exasperated look on his face, and the amusement that couldn’t be hidden behind his rose tinted glasses, made Silver smile.

“Sorry. Old habits.”

“I didn’t invite you here specifically for a job. This is called drinks, aperitif even- its what normal people do,” Rackham waved a hand and Silver watched the way his gold bangles caught the soft light of the room, accented further by the late afternoon sun. “No need to case the joint, cause if you get caught lifting anything worth less than 20k I’m not covering for you.”

Silver rolled his eyes. “As if I’d settle for anything less than that. You know me better, Jack.”

“Well I’d like to think so but your last few jobs have me a trifle concerned, sweetums.”

Their second round of drinks were delivered, Rackham flashing the waiter a smile and placing an order for an assortment of small plates. Silver wasn’t particularly hungry, not that he had eaten, it was more that the sudden summons to Manhattan had gone from generally positive to somewhat suspicious, once Rackham had started suggesting things that weren’t entirely business. And that suspicious feeling left his stomach a little too uneasy for overpriced appetizers with colorful garnishes.

But Rackham seemed unbothered by the tension in Silver’s shoulders.

“Is this a critique then? I thought I was being invited as a glorified house guest. At least that’s how my sister makes it sound. Not like I’m much good in your fashion designer games now am I?” He asked, taking up his glass. “Unless you want to truss me up like a prized poodle in whatever your newest designs are.”

“I can hear the note of condescension and it is unappreciated you fuck. Honest business is honest business and your sister and I happen to be doing very well for ourselves, thank you very much. Two of our designs are in this room alone,” Rackham said, and while his posture remained relaxed and unbothered, the knife like edge to his words made Silver smile brightly.

“Oh don’t twist up your thong, if you’re going to insult my skill it’s only fair I take a dig at yours don’t you think?”

“No. Because my skill has rogue fashion studios in Paris and now Manhattan,” Rackham says flatly. “That are giving the design houses a legitimate challenge and strong arming our way into fashion week. You, sir, are back to swindling old men for their investment portfolios or old women for their opera jewels. Things you have long since out grown.”

The noise of the room shifted again, as Silver sat back in his seat and scowled. “So this is a critique.”

“Would you prefer round one of an intervention?”

“Not really.”

Rackham sighed and set his drink down, propping his elbows on the table. “Look- you are, without risk of inflating your ego, the smartest man I know. I hate it, believe me. And you are wasting your time and talent on jobs that are going to get you caught. Your sister knows this. I know this. Even Chaz knows this-”

“Oh for fucks sake-”

“Ah let me finish- It’s been what, five years now? Six? Since the big one- since the glory that was our shared retirement.” Rackham spread his hands wide as if that simple gesture could, somehow by some miracle, encompass everything that had happened in the short, harrowing year that lead up to their so called retirement. “And you have not managed to retire.”

“No- no that’s not true. I did retire. I did. And it was awful. Okay?” Silver argued. “It was the worst fucking thing I’ve ever done. I mean my god you think people actually enjoy just laying around on a beach all day? I just-”

“You didn’t have to actually retire you idiot but you were supposed to find something else to do other than this-” Rackham waved at Silver, again as if the simple gesture could encompass everything that was his current state. “You could have done just about anything, conned your way into, I dunno, vineyard ownership, art collecting, travel writing solely for the sake of writing, writing bad romance novels for sexless married straight people, romance novels for the queers, literally anything-”

“I tried- and it was all just-” Silver sighed, giving up on an answer and instead sipping his whiskey cocktail. It was easier than trying to explain the fact that somehow, in that short, impossible year, he’d finally become someone real, someone tangible, and now he couldn’t be anyone else. And that at least, by being a con man, he was staying true to himself in the one way he knew how.

Rackham sat back in his seat again and pushed his glasses up on his head, tussling his carefully mismanaged curly mullet.  “I know. Its not easy, finding a new life to lead. It took all of us time to find the people we were before it all happened. To find the people we wanted to be in the ashes the were left behind. I can… only imagine it’s much harder for you.”

Wasn’t that a laughable notion. A truth of course, Silver conceded, but a laughable one.

Everyone had lost something that year, you don’t go into a con of that level without taking risks. You don’t challenge men of that stature, companies of that wealth, collections of that value, without putting everything you value on the line.

But everyone else had walked away with something, someone. Some semblance of themselves.

Everyone but Silver.

“Your letter had said this was about a job,” Silver said finally. A letter. An actual letter too, on nice paper with a letter head and a wax seal and everything because Rackham was, if nothing else, authentic to the core and spared no detail, even in gently bribing a friend, nae, colleague, into what was starting to feel a little bit like a trap, though Silver couldn’t put his finger on why. “Does Max know about it?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t summon her brother without consulting her first. I like my dick well enough were it is thanks.”

“What Job?”

Rackham smiled and shook his head. “That’s not what this is. This is aperitif, drinks, catching up, remember?”

“We don’t do that, Jack.”

“We never had the opportunity.”

“Hardly have to start now.”

“I disagree.” He tilted his head. “By the way, what name is it you’re using these days.”

Ah.

That was why it was starting to feel like a trap.

The amusement had faded from Rackham’s eyes. He was watching Silver like a Cat, the way he used to in the Islands all those years ago, when he was hoping to catch Silver’s tell, catch his bluff. The faintest, thoughtless smile hung at the corners of his lips, accented by his curled mustache.

Silver held his gaze and said nothing.

“Mmm. That’s what I thought.”

“Jack-”

“Still using the name he gave you.”

Rackham’s smile grew as he sipped his drink, something golden like sunlight as it swirled around it’s coupe glass. Silver fought for calm, keeping his face impassive as he watching Rackham scan the room like any diner would.

“I chose the name, thank you.”

“Oh pish posh, you chose it, he chose it, tomato, tomahto. We all know the truth, Silver.”

Rackham fixed him with a hard look, arm hooked over the back of his chair and a cold light in his eyes.

“He’s the one who pinned you with that name like the tag on a fucking corpse. You’ve worn a hundred names in this life and the last, and whats it matter now? Oh nothing, just that your own personal god gave meaning to the empty promises you made the day you tried to rob him blind.”

There was a knife on the table. Sharp. Cerated. But that would be more than the moment deserved, even if the curdled taste on Silvers tongue demanded a bitter iron accompaniment. He could get up and walk away, that was the civil thing to do, and they were now civil people, feral things made clean and tame in the eyes of the well mannered world, or so his sister would remind him every so often during their calls.

But the hard look in Rackham’s eyes softened and he set aside his drink, reaching across the table for Silver’s hand. Silver stared at it for a moment before reaching to take it.

“You’re not the only one sour about the fact you got stuck. I’m just sorry yours…”

“Went up in smoke?” Silver offered with a tired smile.

Rackham laughed softly. “Well yes, but then faking one’s death is a pretty clean way out of the game. It was kind of you, offering him such a way out, when he didn’t deserve it.”

The uneasy feeling that had twisted Silver’s stomach up into knots was starting to reach his chest, twisting and churning it like the old sea before a storm. Silver pulled his hand away and sipped his drink, giving the waiter a moment to drop off the small plates Rackham had ordered.

The lounge, with the reflections in the glass of nearby buildings, felt a bit untethered to Silver, crowded and empty depending on where you looked, people coming and going in large groups and small. The decor was clean and simple, well placed greenery taking the place of abstract art, and two art deco inspired bars placed at opposite ends of the rooftop to give a sense of wide open space. Among the movement and the noise, it was easy to feel like one’s eyes were playing tricks, and with his nerves on edge, Silver felt like he was seeing ghosts in the corner of his eyes. He knew it was just the conversation, summoning them, that he wasn’t seeing old allies and enemies amongst the Manhattan socialites on a Tuesday evening.

He knew Rackham wouldn’t risk him like that.

Didn’t he?

“That isn’t fair to him,” Silver said once the waiter had left, Rackham glancing up from his plate. “To Flint-”

The rest quietly disappeared, exchanged to the Spanish government for a very lucrative payout (was it the total value? No but near enough that everyone would land on their feet, made sweeter by what they cleared out from Woodes’ investments), which then of course had been divided up into the appropriate accounts via wire so that, ideally, no one would ever have to see each other ever again.

The mention of the name alone shifted the air in the room, only for Silver of course No one else had any reason to notice the delicate way he uttered the single syllable. He wasn’t even sure if he was still using the name these days.

Their names had never fully gone public, during The Con. Sure they’d all been in the Islands, engaged in various events and jobs for The Guthrie Shipping Company, now out of business permanently, but records were lost, names smudged, burned, deleted, hard-drives wiped, the usual clean up that needs to be done after a dozen deaths, a minor workers rebellion, and the disappearance of 5 million in Spanish gold.

A portion of the gold had been seized on a private flight out of Nassau, in the luggage of one Woodes Rogers, who even five years later was still claiming he was framed, despite a plethora of evidence linking him and other English investors to various aspects of the Con.

It had after all been a very hectic year, a bit of time apart was in order.

They were meant to scatter.

Except Max and Anne and Jack and Charles, the Rangers as they had affectionately become known, who wandered off to Europe, to rusticate in Italy if Silver remembered correctly. Of course they were destined to stay together, the world now their oyster to bend to their mighty wills, and Silver was, truly, glad for them. No one quite deserved a soft and joyful ending, free of blood and non-consenting bondage, quite like his sister and her lover, and her lover’s men. Italy had become France, once the plan for their “Rogue Fashion House” as Jack called it, had come to fruition. Max and Jack each worked on the designs, Jack tailored them almost entirely himself and Max acted as head model. It was art for Art’s sake, they didn’t need the money (They’d swindled a few wealthy tourists and retirees on their Italian tour, and they were comfortable), they just wanted the magazines frothing at the bit, club kids and fashion week hipsters wearing their designs instead of Dior.

To disrupt and irritate and make their name stick.  A bit of glory all their own.

Silver could support that.

Rackham tilted his head, toothpick from one of the plates between his teeth. “Don’t do that. Don’t go giving the man grace when you already gave him a miracle. Christ above Silver I’ll start wondering about that bleeding old heart of yours next.”

Silver smiled wryly. “Nothing to worry about there. That’s cold and hollow and tired. And done with, thank you very much.”

“Oh is that so?”

“Yes. I don’t have it in me and I’d like it if you’d just left it alone, I can smell the meddling,” Silver warned him, “I’m not interested. If I was  I’d have gone to London and looked him up.”

“London?” Rackham frowned.

“Yeah. London. Or I dunno, maybe he went to Scotland, he’d probably be much happier up that way. He could go on for hours about how much he hated England but with-” Silver shook his head. The ghost was in the corner of his eye again, not quite the man he once knew but unnerving all the same.

His Flint had worn his hair short near the end, shaved clean cut in a military style with a haunted, gaunt look to his face. Still handsome, still the kind of man to hold the room’s attention and breath in the palm of his hand without so much as a spoken word, all he needed was a look. But the darkness that had come to live inside them both had graced Flint’s shoulders like a mantle, well worn, well loved, regal in it’s weight and grief and echoing in every facet of his body.

Silver cleared his throat. “With his husband being alive I’m sure he’d want to go home, pick up the pieces of their old lives and everything. I figured they made their way back to the UK once he broke him out of the hospital. I let him. That’s why it’s not fair, to say he didn’t deserve such a way out,” he clarified, as Rackham listened. “He didn’t- I was supposed to meet him. Once he’d found his husband and gotten him safely home.”

“… you chose not to.”

“It was never formally arranged.” Silver shrugged and sipped his drink. The whiskey had lost it’s flavor, only the burn remained. “When I showed him the file, all the evidence that his husband was alive in that facility, after all these years- he didn’t wait to make a plan, Jack. He left. That night with what few essentials he could pack and a kiss goodbye.”

There was a look in Rackham’s eye now, as Silver explained, that seemed almost pitying. There were few things Silver hated as much as pity.

“He left for one airport. I left for another. By the time he was in Austria I was on my way to New Zealand with a new phone number that only Max had and everything else burned and scrapped completely. Put the little I had into secured storage.”

Rackham sighed. “Fucking hell, John.”

“It was for the best.”

“Oh is that what you’ve been telling yourself?”

“Fuck you-”

“Yes yes, fuck me, you’re a good enough lay. The point stands, you made a choice, again. And you’re living with the fallout. Well maybe not living.”

“I am. And I’d like to keep doing that if it’s all the same to you.”

Rackham shook his head. “It’s not. And it’s not to your sister. We both came to the decision to call you and ask you here, not just for a job, which there is one I promise though that will be discussed once we are all together. So you have to stay long enough for that to happen no matter how sick of me you get,” he smiled sweetly and Silver considered the risks of punching him. Fighting Anne later was never worth it. Throwing a drink? No that came with public reaction. “Look I can see you debating your exit and whether or not you can subtly fillet me with that knife, but before you do, can I please just say my piece and then it will rest, for good, and I’ll not bring it up again?”

Silver held his gaze for a moment, looking for a tell, a bluff, anything.

The trouble was Rackham was as good a card shark as Silver.

There was nothing.

“Fine.”

“Thank you.” Rackham picked up his drink again and sat back in his seat, sipping at it as he looked Silver over for a moment. “Now. I am grateful that you told me your side of things in a very adorable attempt to try and, for whatever reason be it delirium or lingering feelings, give some grace to Flint and the fact that while you have been drifting aimlessly from con to con and mark to mark, he and his impeccably well dressed trophy husband have been living out their quaint little fairy tail.”

“Is this going to be a long final piece?”

“Hush. Now where was I-”

“The fairy tale.” Silver gritted out.

The ghost was sitting in the corner of his right eye now. Sitting there by the bar, not fluttering in and out, just sitting. It wasn’t Flint, just a man with similar red hair, longer of course, heavier built, but the fucked up wiring in Silver’s fucked up brain so desperately wanted it to be a ghost, so desperately wanted it to be Flint. Not for any good reason.

They had nothing to say to each other.

“Yes the fairy tale. You’ve gone to the ends of the proverbial earth because you, god forbid, fell in love with the worst possible man you could have fallen in love with, and we’ve forgiven you for that, and you give him this miracle, yes? You do this because you love him. You give him the impossible, his husband, who was dead. And instead of living out this fairy tale with him and his husband who, if I may, is a specimen, you commit yourself to a-” Rackham paused for a moment, sipping his drink as he mulled over the words.

“Life of my own?”

Rackham scoffed. “A mockery of one but fine, a life of your own, without even having a conversation. Fine. I’d be a bit allergic to such a conversation too but what I don’t understand, is why that bastard, with all the shit he’s done in his life, get’s the fairy tale.”

“Because he does. And that’s how it needed to be. If he didn’t things wouldn’t have ended. You know that, Jack.” Silver finished his drink. “The con would have gone on for ever, the gold would have become another treasure, another smugglers business to bring down, another union uprising, you know it would have gone on-”

“And so you bring him down with his Achilles heel and condemn yourself to purgatory. How noble for a man who claimed to never have morals.”

“Your point, Jack. If you please.”

“The point is, I have two reasons for you being back in Manhattan. The first is a very selfish cause, the job. The second,” Rackham waved a hand with a easy smile, “let’s call a spiteful settling of the scales.”

“The fuck are you talking about-”

The ghost.

The ghost in the corner of his eye.

Silver felt his blood run cold and his heart drop, a lead weight into the pit of his empty stomach. He sat, still as a man possibly could with fear clawing it’s way up his throat like a caged animal desperate for air.

Rackham watched him, carefully, sipping his cocktail. “Do you know why I picked this spot? It’s a new place, just opened a couple weeks ago and still very precious, hard to get a table. The dream of a whiz kid from the Bronx so I’m told, incredibly talented, next to no formal training, just a devotion and ambition. And of course,” a tilt of the head towards the bar, “the right sympathetic ear with a very sexy bank account. Takes a bit of digging online to find the investors, they prefer privacy, not to overshadow the stars they patron-”

“Jack-” Silver’s voice barely registered over the echoing noise of the lounge.

The ghost was moving, greeting someone at the bar, someone in a chef’s coat.

“But if you do go digging, if it interested you, you’d find one Lord Thomas Hamilton,” Rackham said looking Silver over. “He’s a devoted patron of well deserving cases it seems. Especially now that he’s got his old man’s money on top of whatever share Flint still has in the vault.”

There was a knife in his hand. Silver didn’t remember reaching for it, the cerated dinner knife clutched in a white knuckle grip so that the blade was parallel with his wrist, sharp edge outward. But holding it, solid and real and sure, was a comfort all the same. Even if the ghost was just some man with red hair.

The room felt impossibly small, suffocating, the sound muted save for Rackham’s voice. His hands rested on his lap, knife in the right, the left clutching tightly at his left knee, that ached with an old, vengeful pain.

“They’re not in the UK, Silver. They spent six months there I think, long enough to get the paperwork resolved for the inheritance and make sure the Lady Barlow was comfortable situated in her new digs. She’s doing well by the way. But once Thomas Hamilton was cleared from the hospital? Flint brought him back to New York far as I can tell, before finding a quiet spot up in New England for a time to weather the worst of it. But they tell me it was only a year or so before they were settling down in the City properly.”

“They- they Tell you?” Silver forced himself to ask.

Rackham nodded. “Considering Flint hunted us down the moment he realized you’d flown the fucking coop?Yeah. They tell us quite a bit these days. We kept our mouths shut in the beginning, other than to tell him you were alive. Had a feeling if we didn’t do that he’d topple back into the old ways over night, but what can you do hmm? Anyway, He let it go once the trail went cold. You did the job rather neatly, for what it’s worth.”

The terror, the grief, or whatever feelings Silver was forced to withstand in that moment must have shown on his face. Rackham sighed, and sipped his drink, his smile soft and indulgent around the rim of his coupe glass.

“What was that you were saying before? Your heart being cold and hollow? Sounds a bit like that grave you should have put him in when you had the chance, don’t you think?” he asked softly. “Before love snared you like the rest of us?”

Again the ghost was moving in the corner of his vision, talking to the person in the chef’s coat, shaking his hand, turning away from the bar to face the room- cold icy panic filled Silver to the core. Everything left unsaid, every goodbye rehearsed in hotel bathrooms at 3 in the morning, every broken apology, every canceled phone call from burner cells and hotel lobby phones- everything began to echo through his mind with the urgency of a siren.

And the grief.

Oh the grief.

He felt like he was drown all over again.

“He hasn’t spotted you yet,” Rackham said, confirming the fear. “But he’s close. He’s scanned the room twice, glanced this way with a curious look but I think that’s cause of me. He won’t acknowledge me in public without his husband though. In truth, I wasn’t sure he’d be here tonight but it was as good a chance as any.”

“Jack please-” Silver was willing to beg. He’d never begged before, but this seemed like a good enough reason to start.

“You have a clear path to the exit and the elevator, with what should be enough cover once the kitchen door opens. I’ve been watching them, they have a rhythm.” He pulled a card out from his wallet and passed it to Silver. “I know you have a room but this is the hotel suite your Sister booked for you. It’s closer to us but not so much so that he’ll find you with that irritatingly smart brain of his.”

Silver took the card and pocketed it. He’d only arrived the night before, checked in to a little boutique hotel by Grand Central to keep his head down. But whatever Max had planned was what he’d do, he was too worried about Flint right now to argue with her, and she had probably planned for this anyhow.

 “Take a deep breath and count to ten,” Rackham said firmly. “On ten, get up and walk calmly for the exit. Calmly, do you understand me?”

Silver nodded.

“If he follows you I’ll do what I can to slow him down. He’s not going to catch you. I promise you John.”

Silver knew Rackham’s word was good.

All tricks and lies and charm aside, he knew that to be true.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

“From 10. Starting now.”

Silver inhaled all the way to five and exhaled from five to ten, at which point he smiled and thanked Jack for the drinks, made a quick excuse about having to run. He got up from the table, placing the knife back with the rest of the silverware, and made sure to turn his back to the bar. Rackham grabbed his hand briefly, giving it a quick squeeze.

“Run, Rabbit,” Rackham said with a wink, and Silver made for the exit.

They timed it well enough, Silver headed for the door just as a wave of orders came out from the kitchen. The floor was confused for a moment, a chaotic dances of servers in white aprons and newly arriving diners trying to get to their tables and other patrons flagging someone down for their bill. Silver did his best to weave in and out of the various moving bodies, keeping his head down and eyes on the door, wondering to himself if this was how Orpheus had felt in that fateful challenge.

Fuck if that wasn’t proof he was still in hell over it all, ruined to the day he finally died by the secret romantic that Flint had been. There he was terrified of facing Flint again for the first time in over five years and he was thinking of Orpheus and Eurydice.

What a joke.

Just a few more tables to clear, and the hostess stand, and then Silver would be free, able to disappear around the corner and into the crowds of millions below, reveling in the springtime evening. He’d be free, he told himself, as he carefully sidestepped around a waitress who nearly dropped a tray on him.

“God I’m sorry sir, you good?” the waitress asked as she steadied herself, already taking a few steps away.

“I’m alright, I’m alright,” Silver assured her, only to find himself looking back at Rackham, and in turn, the bar where his ghost had been standing.

His ghost who was staring right at him, as if he too was looking a dead man in the eye.

Flint was wearing white.

It was Flint, of course, a bit older. He’d grown his hair back, it was falling in loose waves across his shoulders even with the more pronounced widows peak. There was more gray in it now, bright streaks of it along the temples and woven into it like starlight, combed into his beard and mustache that he still wore thick and well groomed the way he had when Silver had kissed him goodbye. Silver’s skin prickled with the phantom touch of it, the way it had felt to be kissed by him, the tickle of his beard along his skin. He’d filled out at long last it was easy to see even at this distance, his soft barrel chested torso, broad shoulders no longer weighed down with an impossible weight. He was dressed in simple, elegant clothes- a cleanly pressed button down and well fitted suit pants, leather loafers, a bit of jewelry that caught the light, all subtle and understated the way he always had been.

But what nearly broken Silver, what nearly kept his feet from moving and let him be caught? The silliest thing of all really.

Silver could hardly remember a time the man wore anything that wasn’t a mourning color.

He heard Rackham’s voice, a loud overly smarmy greeting as he moved to join Flint at the bar and intercept him before he could catch up to Silver and that served to force Silver’s feet to start moving again. He didn’t wait to watch as Flint no doubt shoved his way past Rackham, with whatever niceties or lack there of he could muster in his anger. He cleared the hostess stand and rounded the corner, nearly sprinting as best as he could on his prosthetic for the elevators as everything he’d fought to keep down for so many years tore its way back up his throat. He had to wonder what scars it would leave, whether it would match the rest of his collection.

“Silver!” came Flint’s voice from behind him. “Will you- Silver stop!”

A moment of divine providence, the elevator was waiting. A kind couple, clearly on a date, held the doors for him and Silver slipped inside with a bright smile and a sweet note of thanks. He pressed himself against the back wall and took a slow breath.

“Sir? Elevator?” the couple asked, still holding the door.

Silver lifted his head to see Flint standing there on the other side of the open door, arms limp at his sides.

His hands were shaking.

“No,” Flint said with a polite smile, “No sorry I realize I forgot my phone, I’ll get the next one, thank you.” He bowed his head and backed away so the doors could close, the couple turning to each other to continue their conversation.

It took a moment for the doors to chime and close, and all the while they waited, Silver was pinned under the fierce, familiar deep sea gaze he’d come to love. He could only hope his own expression was empty, impassive maybe, cold, quiet, anything besides what he was actually feeling. He was a con man for fucks sake he should be able to manage in moments like this.

But Flint looked the way he had the day they said goodbye, without knowing it was going to be goodbye. The day he’d learned that Thomas was alive, and had been all those long years, kept from him just out of reach. Haunted, with a new kind of rage brewing beneath the surface of the sea.

And Silver felt himself beginning the grieving processes all over again as the doors closed and his Captain disappeared from view.

[ayamturd]

bisexual│mcyt hc

warnings: small mentions of hate, fluff

prompt: (requested 1 & 2) “Hello uh I saw one of your posts about the dream smp reacting to you coming out so I was wondering if you haven't already done it can you do dream smp reacting to you coming out as bisexual?” 

“Hello yamturd so I was wondering if maybe you could do tubbo, Tommy and Ranboo reacting to reader coming out as bisexual or lesbian if you haven't already done it :)” 

pairings: irl platonic! dream, ranboo, tommy and tubbo ; c!technoblade

a/n: if i offend or misinterpret anything in this hc, please feel free to message and correct me otherwise. i will always try to correct or delete this post if asked so <33

sending my love to all those who identify as bisexual <33

wc: (1.5k) - m.list

dream - 

considering his prideful personality sometimes, you probably wanted to play with his ego and drop subtle hints

not anything too obvious, but enough to make him kick himself when he realizes

though it was admittedly difficult since he plays into the dnf ship so much that he thinks you’re also joking more than half the time 

imagine you two were in a voice call one evening and randomly discussing the recent fanon and what would be funny to turn into canon (to mess with the fandom)

you’ve been recently shipped with two other content creators, both of opposing female and male gender, separately and together

“Honestly, I wouldn’t mind hitting that.” “Which one?” “Both.”

He’d laugh, but you didn’t.

“Wait, you’re serious? You actually identify as…?” “Bisexual. Yeah, I’m pretty sure anyway.” “Y/n, that’s amazing.”

takes pride in the fact that you trust him, but would feign being upset that you messed with him for as long as you did

be jokingly offended if he found out someone knew before him

“Wait…” “Yes?” “You told Bad??” “Yeah, he was one of the first.” “W— Why??”

It was your turn to laugh while he gawked in disbelief.

“It’s Bad! Of course I told him.” “… Fair enough.”

hate is a given, and he’ll always be there to support and defend you

he’ll always ask your permission before taking any action, however, because he respects you too much and knows you can fight your own battles

dream is someone will show relentless support, whether that be through words or moral support, he’ll always be there for you 

c!technoblade - 

i honestly feel like you never officially came out to techno

as you began to recognize yourself as bisexual, you slowly expressed yourself around him more openly to the point where he unconsciously knew

it’d probably would have hit him in the most random moment after months of assuming he knew

imagine you’re in the midst of battle when techno paused entirely with wide eyes 

“Y/n!” “What!?” “Are you gay??”

you would tease him when discussing your love life in one-sided conversations with him; him basically choosing to ignore you when you talk to him

“Honestly, Techno, how could you not want to hit that?” “Please, just stop.”

(i’ve written this before but will stand by this that) he truly doesn’t care for your sexuality

you’re a friend, someone he trusts and relies on, he doesn’t need to consider who you’re attracted to since he sees you for your skills and friendship

the only, and only time he is mindful of your sexuality depends on others unnecessary comments about it

the smp is a known judgement free land, but there will always be someone with ignorant opinions that he is always quick to shut down (or kill)

nothing much can be said besides the fact that you’ll always be y/n to him: a loyal friend and someone he would fight the world for

ranboo - 

oh sweet ranboo, dear ranboo

considering how openly supportive and kind he naturally is, you didn’t question the idea of telling him

i’d like to imagine that unlike most where you planned or waited to tell, the moment you knew, he would know soon after

imagine you called him before he began his lore stream to hype him up

you both were talking about more mundane things to calm his nerves as people joined when you brought it up

“Oh actually, before you start, I wanted to tell you something.” “Sure, what is it?” “Well, I— I’m Bisexual.” “…You’re tELLING ME THIS WHEN I’M ABOUT TO START MY STREAM??” “Y/n! I’m so happy for you, that’s amazing!”

he’s incredibly patient concerning how you wanted others to know or when you were ready to be completely out

similar to c!techno with the same beliefs you’re still y/n, and nothing has changed besides you coming out as yourself

he’s your go to when days are rough, because he knows how to help you understand you’re still loved as the same y/n and nothing less

“Hey, hey, listen to me. I love you, y/n. We all do, and you’ll never be alone when things get rough, alright?” (love /p)

knows how to silently deal with hate in his chat unless it becomes evident enough to address it (doesn’t want to bring attention to meaningless words until it becomes serious)

ranboo’s your rock and makes show that he’ll never believe anything other than that you deserve love

tommyinnit - 

as someone who took pride in defending the LGBTQ+ community, you had no hesitation when coming out to tommy

if any, your reluctance would come from accepting yourself to the point to be open with other people

it’s not as if he didn’t accept you, he could never imagine doing so in the slightest, but he probably wouldn’t know what to say initially

imagine you both were in the midst of playing bedwars together in a recording for a video

he had been busy gathering emeralds while you remained at the base, and the comforting silence gave you the confidence to blindly address it

“Hey Tommy?” “What, y/n? I’m in the middle of something right now.” “Oh, um, I’m pretty sure I’m bisexual.” “…” “…Tommy?” “…” “T— Tommy?”

it’d be dead quiet for a few seconds before you heard the noise of him rustling in realization

“Wait wait wait, you’re serious? You’re bisexual?” “Haha yeah, yeah, I am.” “WHA—!”

he was happy for you, to say the least

tommy loves to joke, and one he loved to make would be your attraction to both genders

you like women? pog!

you like men? a shame, honestly

if you were publicly out, his favorite bit would be to include you in his obnoxious swooning

imagine he was streaming while talking about his love for women

“Boys, honestly, the ladies just can’t resist me.”

The ding of discord notified you entering the call, the sound of your laughter immediately coming through.

“I agree, Tommy, I definitely agree.” “Y/n! You are attracted to women, and I am also attracted to women. You can agree women are amazing, yes?” “I can, Tommy. Women are indeed amazing.” “Good lad!” “Tommy, you do realize I’m not only attracted to w—” “Shush, we don’t speak of that.”

he showed his support by normalizing your sexuality, his acceptance quick and easily integrated into your lives

(this is getting long but—) tommy was well aware he lacked some knowledge when being in the LGBTQ+ community, but openly voiced his ignorance as a sign of awareness itself

he was always quick to correct either himself or others, he refused to accept slander of any type in his streams

would probably try to keep it light heartedly, but scold nonetheless

tommy was your figurative cheerleader, always there to include and uplift you, whether that be through the smallest gestures or loudest cheers

tubbo - 

poor tubbo

since he wasn’t the most careful with secrets, you probably withheld telling him till you were ready for most to know

this isn’t to deter anything of not trusting him, he’s still supportive and loving tubbo that wouldn’t dare do anything purposeful against you

if anything, you might have forgotten that he didn’t know when you were casually taking about it within a group

imagine you and Ranboo were trying to get him to sleep one early morning but gave up

you started talking about personal stuff and the topic of your love life came up, specifically the attraction to someone of the same gender

“I don’t know, Ranboo, I mean, I think I like them but at the same time I’m not sure.” “That’s fai—” “Wait, y/n. You’re gay??” “Bisexual, actually.” “WaAA—”

his very sleep deprived state was extremely happy and emotional for you

he’s like the little duckling with a knife, like he loves you completely but will try to hurt anyone that offends you

like tommy, he has no personal knowledge when being in the LGBTQ+ community but will solely learn for your sake

whether you’re younger or not, tubbo never fails to remind you that he looks up to you

he gives his all and won’t hesitate to provide in any way he can if needed

“You matter,” he’ll always say, “you’re important and no one else’s opinion matter.”

is proud to be your friend and expresses his platonic love in full, for you’re you and are so brave to be yourself despite all

choosing not to tag my usual taglist just cause its a headcanon with a specific request <33 (huge ty to @basilly​ and @inniterhq​ though for the advice/motivation to finish this)

[spaceorphan18]

99 Perspectives on a Single Love Story #99

A/N: The Story of Kurt and Blaine told through the eyes of everyone else but them. Each chapter is a different perspective in the ongoing tale of their love story.

I started something like this a while back - and now I’m taking the idea and really running with it. Each chapter is a ficlet of a different character at a different point in Kurt and Blaine’s life - documenting their love story. This starts in Audition, and each chapter will be paired with a different episode until reaching Dreams Come True.

[Ao3]

***

Sue Sylvester (Dreams Come True) 

“It’s been over ten years now since I started on this journey. I was much younger then - in my late twenties, and naïve about how much of a magnetic pull this story would have on me. Oh, I know you think I’m a bitter old pill, but my heart isn’t completely made of stone. Even I succumbed to the saccharine sappiness of this beautiful and ridiculous love story. Did I know then that I would become obsessed with what the historians will deem one of the most provocative and inspiring love stories? Did I know then that I’d end up spending a large part of my time to the utter secret devotion to these two young men? Did I know then that I’d slave away creating the most perfect shrine for them? Let me tell you this - I did not know then. But I have no regrets now.

“And I get it. What’s so appealing you ask? Kurt Hummel, my dear, sweet Porcelain, was just your stereotypical gay kid with a creepy crush on his would-be brother and a rocky, yet overly sentimental relationship with his dad that would make most Hallmark movies seem like Pulp Fiction. And true, Blaine Anderson seemed like an over eager puppy with too much product in his hair and a personality that seemed to change year after year. I never expected such outwardly annoying people to captivate me. And yet, they did…

“You see, one day, my drones were on their normal routine course after hours at McKinley, and what they caught on tape shook me to my core. What they captured was a moment - an expression of love between two men on an empty stage that was so earnest, so innocent, so mind boggling simple in its sweetness that my cold, dead heart felt something stir. There’s magic here, I thought when I watched that tape. And I spent all of my time - the time that I hadn’t set aside to win Cheerio champions or take down Will Schuester or plot my epic take down of Principal Figgins - to make sure that they had a happily ever after.

“It’s true, their love story hasn’t been perfect. Did they really have to break up twice? Blaine sticking his lighthouse up someone else just did not seem like good character development to me. And there’s no way Porcelain would ditch his one true love once they found their scarcely decorated and much too unbelievably expensive for college students home in New York. And also true that I may have had a hand in manipulating and shaping their story to move in the direction I wanted to go. But even if they would deny it themselves, I don’t think any of us could escape the inevitable merging of these two young men into one - welding themselves together to become the juggernaut that is Klaine.

“Klaine, Klaine, Klaine… It’s a hypnotizing sound if you say it enough times in your head, is it not?

“Oh, so even now, even after the union of their souls, I revel in their love. I’ve been to all the performances of over indulgent takes on classic plays with questionably gender swapped roles that they’ve landed themselves in these days. And I was there the day that Rachel Berry pushed out of her vagina their curly haired, blue-eyed perfect baby girl, who impossibly looks like both of them, and will undoubtedly end up penniless in a thankless fine arts career. And now that they’ve put that restraining order on me, I may no longer be able to share that love as closely as I once did - but their love story will forever live on in the hearts of all of us.”

Sue Sylvester leans back in her beach chair, looking out at the sunrise on the ocean. Ah, the dawn of a new day, she thinks as she sips a Piña Colada out of a coconut. It’s a bit muggy and warm out, and the breeze is getting sand everywhere, but at least she doesn’t need to stay in Florida for that long.

“I don’t understand why you’re telling me all of this.” Sitting beside her on the beach is a very grumpy and unappreciative Ken Tanaka. “You’re the Vice President of the United States, and you’ve just wasted hours of your time, pulling me out of my peaceful retirement at an ungodly hour in the morning just to update me on a student I had over a decade ago, and his boyfriend?”

“Husband…”

“You’re insane, Sue Sylvester. I hate to break it to you - but nobody cares. I’d rather hear about those two cheerleaders who used to make out for all the football players.”

“Well, then.” Sue gets up, promptly throwing the Piña Colada in Ken Tanaka’s face - making him stupidly gape like a fish as the coconut drops into the sand. She then adjusts her tracksuit, brushes the sand off her pants, and takes out a pair of sunglasses, putting them on as she signals for her secret servicemen. Clearly, she is done here. “I suppose it’s all just a matter of perspective.”

[postmodernmulticoloredcloak]

I decided to watch the Walker pilot so you don’t have to. #1

I don’t know why I’m doing this, but I’m doing this and the more I put it off the less I’ll want to do this. So. Let’s start.

The fist thing we see is Jared Padalecki, em Walker, driving. He’s vaguely smiling and there’s the sun behind him. He seems happy. He’s driving a truck, for some reason my mind goes to Twilight. I’d rather watch that. At least there are vampires (not dressed like clowns) there. Anyway. Walker is meeting someone. He’s meeting his wife! “Look at you!” she says. The camera makes us look at him. He looks like this

I am unsure whether we’re supposed to see this as sexy or cool. It looks frankly ridiculous. I don’t know if I’m just not American enough to appreciate the aesthetic of this. But I didn’t go through 15 seasons of Americana-in-British-Columbia for nothing. If a character appeared like this on Supernatural, it wouldn’t be presented seriously. It would be played for a chuckle or in a light-hearted way at least. Not even Dean Winchester would find this hot.

The Padaleckis tell something to each other. Apparently he needs to go home with the kids and his parents because it’s game night. My mind immediately goes to Game Night the episode and I am sad now. But Walker lifts my mood in its own weird way.  He doesn’t know the rules because every time she tells him the rules, he blacks out. I would make a fun quip about this, but the truth is that I relate to him a lot right now because I blacked out during the entire scene. I’m not sure what they said other than the game thing because I wrote it here. I already forgot the rest.

Anyway. What we’re supposed to get from this scene that they’re Very In Love (see that soft warm light?), and that he’s anxious because he’s not great at being a father because he’s shit at games apparently, but his wife is like ~don’t worry so much~ because she’s a kind, understanding wife. He tells her to be safe, because the Texan countryside is dangerous or something. She needs to stay on a route he approved for some reason. Is she traveling with supersoldier serum in her car? Is Hydra going to murder her? [cue the Marvel snipers shooting me to death because they don’t want Marvel to be associated to this]

Later, everyone is having fun playing fake monopoly, but Walker (whose mannerism is just Jared, he’s not even trying) is apparently too stupid to understand a game for kids. Plot twist, this is anti-cop propaganda because it says cops are dumb.

“Et tu Brute” Jared says when the kids point out he broke a rule so they get an extra turn. I thought I was safe from hearing Jared speak Latin! I thought I was safe! I am never safe!

Emily (Gen) suddenly texts him “SOS. Answer” which is OMINOUS! Oh my god! Aren’t you feeling the tension. The rest of the family keeps playing fake monopoly. Someone throws dice. Are we supposed to go “oh! The dice are ~symbolic because someone’s playing dice with her life” or have I been watching too much good tv.

She is running somewhere in the countryside, wearing a white shirt (is this the cowboy lady equivalent of the Wife Nightgown?). She says something is not right. He’s worried. Then he hears gunshot and her scream. He does the Alarmed Jared face, presses lips together and does a Upset Jared face.

Then he goes out, tries to call her again, and again, does a Jared Upset Sniff--

Oh! We actually see her! She’s alive, but she’s been shot in the stomach. Her white shirt is definitely the cowboy lady equivalent of the Wife Nightgown! Ah the blood coming from the stomach! How terrible! Her phone is ringing but she cannot reach it. She is definitely alive right now, though. She’s breathing heavily because of the wound, which is breathing, which is the opposite of being dead.

He decides that she’s dead, and lets out the already infamous manly scream of anguish.

It would be sad if it wasn’t that literally one second ago we saw her wounded but alive. Her turning out alive in the season finale or so will shock everyone. Nobody will have seen it coming. Who wrote this? They should have just shown the ringing phone and her bloody hand/side, making the audience assume she was dead, instead of showing her breathing. Now the audience is gonna assume she didn’t actually die, and wonder “why didn’t he call someone or went looking for her” but apparently Jared’s characters have forgotten that, like, ambulances are a thing. Jared’s manly screams of anguish are more important than common sense.

I’m not going to say anything about the manly scream of anguish. I’m not going to say anything about the manly scream of anguish. I’m n

We’re just 4 minutes in, guys. Why am I doing this?

Eleven months later, says the screen.

It’s night, outside a house. The son is waiting for him. The daughter doesn’t think he’s coming. On the porch there are two men, one is his brother and one is apparently his former partner, now new boss. He’s dressed like you’d expect a normal person to be dressed in a casual Texan night, hat and tie and all. If you are law enforcement in Texas and don’t wear a cowboy hat at any moment, you will be executed. That’s what the death penalty in Texas is for.

Somebody arrives, but to the kids’ disappointment is some dude whose function is to tell us the men’s names. The brother is Liam, the cop dude I forgot.

Walker is being sad on the back of his truck and drinking alcohol, which is the only way television can express a man having trauma. Holy shit - he reminisces of his wife like this is some emotional Lord of the Rings scene in a place where Elves live except this is not the Lord of the Rings and is just ridiculous, look

She’s seen running towards the gazebo, then she turns

This is exactly shot like the scene where Arwen has a vision of her son. Flowy hair and all. I cannot take this seriously.

He smiles sadly. Then a cop car arrives.

Mexican Lady Cop(TM), whose function in the story is to be a Mexican Lady Cop(TM) asks for his licence since he’s drinking alcohol in a public place.

“You ask so nicely” drunk Walker says. Ew. “Yeah, they train the girls special” Oh! Can you see? She is the Feminist Icon who Takes No Shit from the Dude! I’m so excited. I am slowly losing the will to live.

She drives him home on the police car. His legs don’t fit. At least this is realistic.

He does exposition in the car, including “I needed to visit a ghost instead”. There-there was no need to say it. What’s the demographic they’re aiming for? Five year olds? Do they have to spell everything out loud?

“It’s been a while since I had an actual conversation” he says, which supposedly explains why he’s making awkward exposition, but it’s just bad writing. At least they acknowledge it’s bad writing.

She figures he’s law enforcement coming back from an undercover mission from some drunken ramble he makes. This is worse than the Sherlock phone cable port thing.

She says she just got promoted from state trooper, ehe she will work with him wink wink nudge nudge. Is she going to be a cop-buddy-character slash love interest except when they’re almost about to realize they’re into each other, his wife comes back and draa~ama? I can already see it.

He goes home, makes some Jared grunts, and falls asleep on the couch.

Next morning, he goes out and jogs to where he left the truck. He puts on a cowboy hat which is supposed to be an artistic shot.

I’m slowly dying. He makes some Jared Deep Breaths, at least this made me laugh.

Wait, he’s now wearing a black hat. He’s in mourning, see? What.

He drives to his father’s ranch. His father is Super Not Impressed. It’s awkward. They took about horses. Mitch Pileggi is thinking that at least the other show was more exciting and there was Jensen Ackles in it.

He gets into his parents’ house and the dogs run to him, he does the Jared Dog Chuckle. He hugs his mom. He hugs his son - “August, my boy!” he says, like a normal person his age says.

He hugs his brother and they joke-wrestle and he says “I’m still the big brother” and did I mention I’m dying inside. I just can tell this is SUPPOSED to be reminiscent of Dean and Sam’s first meeting at Stanford in the pilot except Jared is the big brother now. Ew.

We learn that the brother is a DA and gay. All pilots suffer from Forced Exposition Syndrome but it’s like this isn’t even trying.

He goes to work and hugs (very manly hug of course) his friend-now-boss, who is called James. James asks him if he’s good and he’s like yeah I’m good, which our I’m Fine Lie Moment #1. Some things never change.

Enter the case of the week - a cop offered roadside assistance but he was assaulted. We’re already starting with a “Oh No Poor Cop :( Someone Doesn’t Like Cops And Gets Violent” plot. Yay.

Ta-da! Mexican Lady Cop appears, cowboy hat and all. James says she’s Walker’s new partner. My heart cries while Walker says “figured you’d be a guy” and she replies “so did my mom”. The feminism is so strong :’) She’s such a strong female character :’) I’m so happy :’)

Then Walker makes such a quintessential Jared thing with his mouth that I need to stop this here and take a break.

It’s been 13 minutes. So much still to go. I’m bored. Why am I doing this.

[spencerspecifics]

HI HI HI PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE WRITE MOREID AT PRIDE AND SOME PINING AND SPENCER THINKS DEREK IS STRAIGHT BUT HE ISN'T AND THEY KIIIITTTTTHHHHH

I absolutely love your energy fuck yes!! I’m so sorry this took forever, ive got school, work and some other personal things happening so I appreciate your patience!

No TW, B u t, a creep hits on Spencer at pride, so if that is upsetting please note that! Thanks :)

———————————————————————

Pride

———————————————————————

Garcia had been pestering Spencer about going to pride for the past week now, and it was slowly driving him insane.

He used almost every excuse he could think of. When he first turned her down, he had simply said, “Sorry, I’m going to be busy that week.” And of course, Garcia being Garcia, she stole his calendar to see what he was busy with (spoiler alert: he had nothing. Except a reminder to go grocery shopping, and email some professors and research scientists back).

So, she persisted, and he came up with a dozen more excuses; “I was considering flying out to see my mom”, “The local museum has a new interactive archeology exhibit for adults, and I want to learn more about ancient structures”, “I have to do a presentation on thermodynamics”.

None of those excuses work, as she sniffed out every lie, “Spencer, you hate flying to Vegas last minute, that archaeology exhibit has been open for months, and your calendar is empty!”

So with her persistence, and legitimate bullying, Spencer found himself finally agreeing. “Fine, but come over to my apartment before we leave so you can help me.” After all, he wasn’t really familiar with pride parades, and what the scene was like there. He was going to be a fish out of water, he already knew that for certain.

~

True to her word, Garcia showed up an hour before the pride parade was set to start, carrying a coffee in each hand- how she possibly knocked on his apartment door, Spencer didn’t know.

“I brought you a pick me up, that way you have no excuse to be in a bad mood!” She spoke in her signature sing song voice as Spencer let her inside, she barreled in like a hurricane. God, Spencer wasn’t ready for this.

“Thanks..” Spencer decided to reply with that lame response, and not with what he was actually thinking. He took the coffee from her wordlessly as she stepped in further, going to sit down on his couch.

“You excited?” Garcia asked as she set her cup down on his cluttered coffee table. Reid just shrugged, “I don’t know. I don’t do great with crowds.”

“But you do great with disarming murderers?” “You know that’s different-” Spencer said, doing his best to argue, “Reid it is literally not. Both are anxiety inducing, but one is life or death, and it’s not pride. So you can do this.”

Spencer sighed, resigning himself to not arguing with Garcia. Because she was right, though at times her arguments sounded wild. He just had to get over this anxiety and show up at pride, he could do this, right?

~

Wrong. So, very, wrong. They had left his apartment with thirty minutes to spare, deciding to walk over to where pride was being held- as it was only a few blocks away in a public park.

And as soon as they got there, Spencer wanted out. There were so many people, more than he estimated (and his estimations were usually spot on.), and there was just chaos everywhere. Music, dancing, shouting, singing, drag queens running around happily. Spencer wasn’t sure what to do. He was out of his element.

Garcia seemed to sense that, though, as she dragged Spencer over to some stalls that sold pride flags, pins, and other miscellaneous pride related things.

“C’mon Reid, why don’t you look around and find something you like?” She offered up, something for him to do- something for him to stay busy with. He could do that. Spencer nodded simply, Garcia stayed by his side- looking at pride related wear for herself.

~

Spencer ended up deciding on a small pin that simply said; “love all”, planning to stick it on his messenger bag strap. Garcia bought a pin as well, but hers just had her pronouns on them; “she/her/hers”.

Looking at all the pride apparel was a good distraction for Spencer, he felt a lot more calmer now- though that didn’t stop him from feeling like he stuck out like a sore thumb. He’s just not familiar with this world, and it’s awkward to suddenly be in the middle of it.

Spencer was in the middle of looking at another booth that sold flags, possibly considering buying himself a small one to stick in his pencil cup at work, because Garcia left him to go compliment a drag queen- when a voice broke through.

“Hey, pretty boy!”

That was a voice all too familiar, what on earth was Morgan doing here? Spencer looked up at him as he made his way towards him. “Hey,” Spencer spoke awkwardly. Not sure what to say.

Spencer was gay. He was fine with admitting he was gay, but he hadn’t really told the team. He thought they figured it out on their own. And they probably had, but still, having his coworker see him at a pride event- it was anxiety inducing.

“What’re- what’re you doing here?” Spencer asked, stumbling over his words as he dropped the small flag he was holding back onto the vendors table.

“Oh, well I’m on the local PFLAG committee. I’m just here to hand out flyers and stuff. But I’m glad to see you’re here, I’m guessing Garcia’s here too?” He asked Spencer casually, as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on Spencer.

He was on the PFLAG committee? Why? To help queer people, obviously, but that had to mean he was gay or something- Spencer couldn’t stop his mind from coming up with every possible answer to why Derek was on the committee.

Spencer just nodded in response, he moved himself back from the vendors table to get out of the way, so other customers could look at the flags being sold.

“Yeah, she’s- there.” Reid pointed her out, as if on cue she came out of the thick crowd that had started to gather back up, the parade portion of pride had concluded by now, and people were coming over to the vendors section.

“Hey, Babygirl!” Derek called over to her, and Garcia somehow lit up with a smile brighter than the one she was wearing before, “Well, hey!” She responded enthusiastically, walking up swiftly to give Derek a quick embrace, which he happily returned.

“I wasn’t sure how long you were staying for, but I’m glad I caught you!” Garcia started rambling to Derek, about how the drag queen she met was so nice; “Her name was Mysteria Hysteria. Isn’t that genius?”.

~

Spencer just stepped back from them both, not sure what to do, not sure if he fully belonged. Pride was a nice event, it was. But the longer he stood around, the more he felt like he should be leaving. Everyone was laughing and smiling, everyone was just happy. And Spencer couldn’t stop racking his brain. In the beginning, he couldn’t stop thinking because of his anxiety, but now he was searching his brain for a reason why Derek was here and what it meant.

Of course, a stupid large portion of Spencer’s mind went to “maybe Morgan likes men”, and then an even larger and stupider portion of his mind had the absurdity to think; “maybe he’s interested in me”. Which Spencer did not even want to remotely entertain, because if he fell down that rabbit hole, he’d never climb back out.

Because yes, he did like Derek. He liked him a lot, the start for his liking towards the man was innocuous enough- which is why it was a problem for Spencer. He didn’t realized he liked Morgan until it was too late. And now he had been battling these feelings for years. Spencer wasn’t ever going to act on them, he just had to live with them- which he had been doing, which he has been content with. But this new information, about Morgan being here, being part of PFLAG- it was going to make Reid’s mind implode in on itself.

~

Reid decided the best thing was to say; “I’m gonna get some water, I’ll be back.” To which Derek and Garcia both nodded to, and Spencer was off, away from the vendors stand and the only two people he knew at pride.

And while that was a good thing, it was simultaneously not so good. Because now he was alone, overwhelmed, and thinking too much. And now he had a task to do, find himself some water.

~

That task seemed to be more difficult than anticipated, as the prides layout was a confusing maze, spencer had to pass in front of a group of drag queens in order to get to the food trucks that were on site- but he eventually got there.

He walked up to the first food truck he saw, it didn’t matter what they sold, he wasn’t getting it.

“What can I get for you?” The cashier asked him, “Just a water, please.” He ordered, the cashier nodded and pulled a bottle out from a cooler that was nearby within the truck, handing it over to spencer as they told him his total, a dollar twenty five. Spencer paid quickly, stepping back and away from the food truck, as he wasn’t sure where else to go now. He didn’t want to go back towards Derek or Garcia, he honestly wanted to go home.

He just needed a minute, some space and time to breathe and relax. He was stressing himself out. And about what? Nothing of goddamn importance, just a stupid crush he had been living with for a while now.

~

Spencer had been leaning against the back the food truck for not long, only a couple of minutes as he was absorbed in thought as he fiddled with the cap on the water bottle.

He was doing his best to follow the grounding techniques he had learned, something to help him calm down, when suddenly- a stranger emerged out of the crowd.

“Hey there, handsome.” The man said confidently as he strode up to introduce himself Spencer. Spencer looked up to meet his eyes, the man in question was a fine looking guy, chiseled jawline, long shoulder length hair, a bit of facial stubble. He was handsome. “Hello,” Spencer answered hollowly in response. In an ordinary situation, he would try and seem more lively- but he wasn’t in a normal situation, not at all.

The anxiety of attending pride was stress enough on its own, but now knowing the guy he had been drooling over for years was here- and worked as a PFLAG volunteer? It was enough to make him lose his mind.

The man didn’t seem to notice Spencer’s empty response, however, as he answered suavely in response; “I couldn’t help but notice you from across the way. I’m Fabian,” Thankfully, the man- Fabian, didn’t stick his hand out for a handshake, instead casually pushing his hair back a bit.

“I’m Spencer,” Reid replied simply, knowing it was best to ride this odd social interaction out, rather than try and fight it. “That’s a lovely name,” Fabian complimented, “Is this your first time at pride, Spencer?” He asked him casually, taking a step forward, closer to Spencer. He was all too confident for Spencer, he too comfortable with invading Spencer’s space. If Spencer could’ve, he would’ve stepped back.

“Uh, yeah. My friend dragged me along.” Reid explained, twisting the bottle cap back onto his half empty water bottle. Fabian nodded, “Your boyfriend didn’t take you?” Fabian asked him. That was a leading question, Spencer had alarm bells ringing in his head the second he heard it. “No. He- um- he met up with us here.” Spencer replied unconvincingly, Fabian obviously did not believe a word he said.

“Well,” Fabian took another step forward, practically blocking Reid in against the back of the food truck, leaning in farther to whisper in Spencer’s ear; “I don’t see him around. So, why don’t you and I get out of here? Hm?”

Spencer wasn’t sure of what to do. He wanted to kick this guy in the crotch and just book it, but he wasn’t sure if his FBI status would protect him in this scenario. He wasn’t sure what could protect him in this scenario.

“Pretty boy! There you are!” A saving grace broke through, and suddenly Fabian was stepping back, and Morgan was walking up.

Thank god, thank fucking god, that’s all Spencer could manage to think as Derek came to stand beside him. “Hey, babe.” Spencer said, cringing at his voice, at what he just said. But that feeling only lasted for a moment as Fabian was still standing right there, staring them both down now.

Spencer could only throw his wish in the sky and hope Derek caught it coming down, ‘please catch along to why I’m calling you babe’ Reid was trying to say.

And Derek caught it, “Hey, baby, was worried about you. Who’s your friend?” He said in his smooth voice, a voice Spencer couldn’t forget. He especially couldn’t forget now, being called ‘baby’ was something Spencer especially could not forget.

“I’m Fabian, you’re Spencer’s boyfriend?” Fabian asked, as if them both calling each other ‘babe’ counted for nothing. “Yeah, I’m Derek.” Morgan responded simply, sliding his hand around Spencer’s waist as if to prove a point. Fabian just nodded, looking between Spencer and Derek one last time before talking; “Well, it was nice to meet you, I’ve gotta get going. See you.”

And then, he was off, fast walking away from Derek and Reid, escaping the terrible situation he had created. Fabian quickly disappeared into the thick crowd, and by then Spencer had his hand squeezing his water bottle all too tightly- as evident by the terrible crunch sound it made. He was too anxious to let go.

“Hey, are you okay?” Derek asked him softly, pulling his hand away from Spencer’s waist. “Can we find somewhere else- can we go sit down?” Spencer asked him quickly. Reid didn’t want to talk about it right this second, right where it had happened. He wanted to leave, he wanted to leave pride and never come back.

~

Derek didn’t ask a single follow up question as he led Reid away from the food trucks, taking him back towards the vendors stands, and then a bit further back, into the normal-not-so-pride-parade-filled park area. Somewhere less stressful, less scary.

“What did that guy want?” Derek asked Spencer casually as they made their way towards a bench that was sat under a large oak tree. Spencer didn’t speak right away, instead he waited until they were seated to start talking.

“He was trying to flirt, but then he wanted me to leave with him.” Spencer explained as he took a deep breath in, just being away from all the loud sounds and sights was helping him calm down. Derek rubbed Spencer’s back in slow, circular motions as Spencer kept talking.

“He was a classic example of a narcissistic personality, it just made me so uncomfortable- he invaded my space.”

“He was a creep, Reid. Simple as that,” Derek kept rubbing Spencer’s back slowly, Spencer nodded. “I know. Sorry, it shook me up.” Spencer attempted to apologized, and Derek was immediately having none of that.

“Reid, no. Don’t apologize for that, don’t you dare. He was a creep, I’m sorry you got caught up with him. It’s okay if you’re shaken up. We can stay here until you feel up to going back, or we can leave. But I’m not leaving you.”

~

And so they sat for a good amount of time on that park bench, at one point Derek stopped rubbing Spencer’s back, instead just keeping his arm stretched out against the back of the bench and against Spencer’s back. Spencer loved it, but he knew if he thought about it for too long he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking. That was his biggest problem, he couldn’t stop thinking.

He had to know, he decided, he couldn’t just wonder why Derek was on the committee for PFLAG. He wanted to know, he had to.

“Derek?” He spoke up softly, sounds of laughing and shouting and music were still heard in the distance, but they were safe from the sounds under the tree. “Mhm?” Derek hummed in response, looking up at the aforementioned tree that was providing shade for them.

His eyes were tracing the way the branches curved and bent around each other, it was something he did to pass the time. Spencer thought he was extraordinary for it, Derek loved to see where things went; he was curious- after all these years, and all the bad they had seen together, Derek still loved to search and find the beauty.

“Why are you on the PFLAG committee ?” Spencer asked him, it was thankfully an innocuous enough ask to not draw too much of Derek profilings side out to pry apart his question. Derek shrugged, and was quiet for a second before responding, “I know what it’s like to be a scared kid, unsure of his identity. If I can help someone through that, that’s all that matters. Same reason I’m in the BAU, to help people.”

Spencer stayed quiet, Derek’s reason was so sincere and so sweet and kind- and only driving him to think further. Was Derek still unsure of his identity? Was he an ally? Why did he have to make Spencer swoon so hard without even trying?

“So, you’re just an ally?” Spencer approached Derek carefully with that question, not wanting to impose or be rude- but just feign simple curiosity, praying Derek wasn’t using his profiling skills right now to decode Spencer’s fake motive.

Derek didn’t notice, thankfully, as he chuckled lowly in response; “No, pretty boy, I’m bisexual. I don’t really tell the team, but it’s not confidential information. Plus, Garcia found Grindr on my phone. Can’t hide anything from that girl.”

Spencer nodded, mumbling something in response about how Garcia had hacked his email to make sure he was free for pride. And then, the two fell into silence again. But it didn’t last for long, because Derek wanted to know just as much, why was Spencer here?

“What about you, Reid?” Derek asked him cautiously, the way you approach a puppy you find on the side of the road. Calm and slow, trying to get him to trust him bit by bit. “What about me?” Spencer asked, not wanting to answer anything about himself unless Derek was specific.

“Are you an ally?” Morgan asked him, leaving the question open ended. Spencer could say as little or as much as he wanted. This is how you get him to open up, Derek knew that for a fact. “Um.. yeah, I mean- who isn’t? I just- I have to be. I’m.. gay.” Spencer admitted all too awkwardly, not at all in a normal fashion. But nothing about Spencer was in normal fashion.

Derek nodded slowly, not responding as he stared back up, tracing his eyes over the tree branches yet again.

~

A few hours had passed, Spencer and Derek eventually left their peaceful bench under the large oak tree, and instead moved back towards the parking lot.

“Garcia’s got a ride home already- I think she got that drag queen to get her home.” Derek explained as they approached his truck, Spencer nodded as he followed Derek. “Anyways,” Derek continued speaking, “I can give you a ride home. Let’s get going.”

“You don’t have to-“ Spencer started, Derek immediately shut him down. “I want to, c’mon. It’s late, you’re tired. I know you are. Let me take you home.” Spencer just nodded in agreement, he couldn’t argue with Derek, even if he did try. Morgan was a stubborn man.

So, Spencer followed Derek into his truck, and they sat in comfortable silence as they started on their journey back to Spencer’s safe space, his apartment.

~

By the time Derek pulled his truck into the apartments parking lot, Spencer knew something was just the slightest bit wrong. Derek had barely spoken for the entire ride, and usually he loves to say something, to make Spencer smile or laugh, or even just nod and mumble in agreement. But he had done none of that on the way to Spencers.

“Are you alright?” Spencer asked, turning to face Derek as he put the vehicle in park. Derek didn’t meet his eyes, staring at the steering wheel instead as he spoke; “Yeah. Sorry. I’m just thinking.”

“About what?” Spencer pried, absentmindedly unbuckling his seatbelt as he spoke, “About today.” Derek said, not explaining further. “Was today bad?”

Derek shook his head, “No. It started weird, it’s ending pretty good, though. But I’m gonna regret today forever if I don’t do something right now.”

Now, Spencer was confused. Not sure at all what Derek could be talking about, “What do you mean?” He asked, voice quieter than before.

Derek said nothing as he unbuckled his own seatbelt, turning to face Spencer as well, and then he leaned in- closer than they had ever been before. Their noses were almost touching, and Spencer didn’t move. Instead, he watched Derek’s eyes expectantly.

Then, Derek broke through, they were no longer intersecting each other’s personal space- now they were fully destroying each other’s atmospheres. Derek’s lips were on Spencer’s, a chaste, soft, quick kiss- something Spencer would have wanted to go for a lot longer. But then, he pulled away just as fast.

“...That’s what I meant..” He mumbled after a second, looking back towards the steering wheel, looking away from Spencer- and more importantly, not seeing the smile on Spencer’s face.

Spencer couldn’t help it. He knew it was terrible to be smiling right now- he should jump and say something to fix what was happening. But he had to smile, he couldn’t believe that had actually just happened, his brain was still computing and re-circuiting, trying to savor the memory and not forget how Derek’s lips felt against his.

Spencer dragged himself out of his own head quickly, though. He did all he could think of to do in the moment, get Derek back. “Morgan.” Spencer said, tugging on Derek’s sleeve as he did so, forcing him to look back at Spencer and meet his eyes again.

But Spencer didn’t say anything, and he didn’t give Derek the chance to speak, either. Instead, he leant forward, pressing his lips against Derek’s. This is all he had wanted to know for the longest time, and now he had it.

~

Maybe pride wasn’t so bad after all, you just have to be with the right people for it to work out.

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