#or just someone w a wild back story

[terrorbitch]

open to: w & nb, over twenty-five.

plot: dax picked up your muse hitchhiking and is slowly offering to compensate him. 👀

she was cute, standing out in the middle of nowhere with her thumb sticking out. he had a bunch of books piled in the back of the cab, and the vintage truck he was driving had been fixed up to a point where it looked immaculate. he didn't want to come off as creepy when he pulled over, so he was thankful that he was driving to a book signing in the city instead of a hunting trip. not that he'd go on one... "you don't have to thank me. i suppose i worried about the potentially odd people that might pick you up, and decided that a grumpy old man such as myself was a much better option than what could have been." but her hand was on his thigh, and he was swallowing thickly. "consider it my good deed of the day."

[ohsweetflips]

my neutral dragon age trait is that 50% of the time i'm like "the more i critique the games, the more i love them. i can appreciate each game for what they are but my criticism and frustration over what they could be are a sign of love" and the other 50% is like "this is the writing of the dragon age series. sure. why not. this may as well happen."

[kedreeva]

Okay so, I don't think I've spoken of the saga here yet but! Gather round. I shall tell you a long story about the bird I just acquired and why she is VERY IMPORTANT.

At the beginning of last fall, I started looking into quail genetics a little more, because I got tired of not being able to sex my Celadon quail by their feathers. Originally I thought I could kill 2 birds (ok maybe more) with 1 stone and order nice jumbo wild type (which MANY places advertised as wild type jumbo) hatching eggs, and this would help me put some size on the Celadons (jumbo) while also making them feather sexable (wild type). Perfect!

But then I come to find out that pretty much all jumbo lines are jumbo BROWNS, as in they all have the sex linked brown (SLB) gene. So, I was a little confused and a LOT annoyed because I wanted to work specifically with the wild type color/pattern. No mutations just straight, plain wild type.

And EVERYWHERE I looked - major production hatcheries, private breeders through websites, Facebook groups, local swaps, craigslist, e v e r y w h e r e -

People ONLY had SLB.

This spring I came across a video showing about the differences between SLB and wild type and I figured if the person who made it can tell, maybe she will have some. So I looked her up (not in a stalker way, her farm name was stamped on the video and took me to the website), and what luck! She was in Michigan! Upper Michigan, so still a hike, but not California, y'know?

So I shot her an email and explained that I was looking for WT and that her site said she bred them and that people could do local pickup. She responded yeah she's totally got a bunch! And I said great, I'm also in Michigan, albeit far away, but I don't mind driving 7+ hours each way, because I really need actual, trusted WT for sure birds for my celadon project, can I come pick them up?

Cue the most frankly bizarre email chain in my short life. As soon as I mentioned that I was going to drive, or perhaps that I had a genetics plan in place, she got super sketchy and started saying how she hadn't really paid as close attention to SLB vs. WT, that it mattered less than she thought it would when she started, that I shouldn't focus on that either, and also that "fawn celadon is practically unheard of" in the hobby and "you should focus on a clean Tibetan because it's hard to find without roux in it) implying that I should concentrate on those things instead. And concluded by telling me if I really want WT, to contact this other person (why happens to be someone I can't stand). It all sounded VERY much like she didn't have wild type males, after all, and had thought I didn't know the difference so it wouldn't actually matter. But, it does. It actually matters a lot to me.

So I messaged back to say, well, I don't want to do any of those things, I specifically want to work with this set of genetics and you said you have them so I shouldn't have to go to anyone else??

And then she went radio silent for a week. I kind of figured I'd called a bluff, and that she was one of dozens of people I'd contacted who'd said they had WT only to find out they had SLB. I get that it's difficult to see the difference, but this particular person was the president of the American Coturnix Breeders Association or whatever (found out it's actually just a club formed by her and her friends a year ago, so not as impressive as it sounds, considering they don't actually DO anything- no putting on shows, no newsletters, no certifications, no public breeder directory, no finished SOP, nada), so I kind of expected she should know what she's talking about, if anyone does.

Eventually, after a week, she responded that she had been judging at a county fair, but she had a few heterozygous males (WT het roux, which is fine) and she could set a hatch for me for more if I wanted to come at the end of the month, but she's in WI now, not MI. I said sure, since where she was in WI was actually closer than where she'd been in the UP, and we arranged date/time.

The day of, my neighbor friend, Jude, comes with me for company/keeping me awake through the 15 hours driving round trip. It's a pleasant enough drive. We arrived at a cutesy little house on the edge of town that looks like anyone's house in a neighborhood, with a spacious lawn. The person meets us and takes me around the side of the house to a 6x6x1.5 or so chicken tractor, where she's got some male coturnix. She pulls the available males for me to look through and... fam, they ALL looked SLB, to me.

Now, she swore to me up and down that they couldn't be anything except WT het for roux, because of the way she is breeding them. But I've put these birds next to my SLB males and if I didn't have my males banded, I would not ever have told the difference between them. I still picked up 4 of them, because I will give it a go- worst case, I can produce plain Roux hens/plain Roux males for use in breeding later, best case they do actually produce WT hens and they just LOOK SLB and I have to figure out what the differences are. I don't want to leave without seeing her hens, which she has told me are all WT (which is why the males HAVE to be het for it), and she takes me back. Now the hens, the hens are easy to see the difference. White bellies first of all, but the chest feathers are also wildly different! The shafts are white, the dot around the shaft is dark, ringed in red, ringed in white. On an SLB, the shafts aren't white, it's just a black dot surrounded in a red feather, and the belly is all red/buff/cream, not white.

This is what an SLB hen looks like:

So I take a nice long look to memorize the color, and thank her for showing me and meeting, and we head back home.

I do fecals when I get home because all of the males are VERY thin, no meat on them at all, and since she said she'd been feeding Purina (garbage for fowl feeds), I figured that was why, but no- HUGE coccidia loads in all of them. So I treated them and got them on a better feed. They immediately began putting on meat, and they're find now.

The rest of this summer, I have spent going to local bird swaps and inspecting all of the quail I could find, hoping to find one (1) actual wild-type phenotype bird. Hundreds and hundreds of birds, I have pawed through them all, being super obnoxious to the owners I'm sure, holding and inspecting males. I found ONE suspected WT male (and this is a HUGE "suspected," he could very well be SLB with low red expression). I compared him when I got home and I'm doubting myself still, so I don't know if I will ever actually pair him with the SLB hens or if I'll just wait til I have a roux set.

Regardless, it's been a dry season for getting what I want. It's been a dry YEAR. Yesterday was another swap and more hundreds of quail and me pawing through all of them.

Until.

My eyes landed upon.... her.

If you've only lived in an area that has american crows and not ravens, you find yourself wondering if crows are ravens. You see a big crow and you think wow! maybe that is a raven! It could be a crow, but it's seems bigger so maybe it's a raven. But, if you take a trip to a place with ravens, and you see one for the first time, you realize that there is no question, when you see a raven. When you see a raven in person, there's no question and not only is there no question, you wonder how you could ever have thought a crow was a raven. It's laughable, while looking at the raven.

That's how finding this bird felt. I'd been picking up every SLB hen and going maybe this is actually WT? It could be SLB but maybe it's WT? But the second I laid eyes on her in the middle of a pack of SLB with some mixed colors, I knew I was looking at WT hen, and I can't imagine how I ever thought maybe an SLB hen was WT.

Here's a better photo of her chest and belly (she's beat UP from her previous home, the back of her head and most of her rump are plucked clean from males). You can see the white shafts and the white belly.

And some other pics of her, showing the grey-brown on her side and back- VERY different than the SLB hens

I can't express how stoked I am about this bird. This is the first time after a LOT of effort and time, that I have felt confident I am holding the bird I want.

She's also the indicator that I have a LOT of work ahead of me.

My end goal is to have birds that look like her, weigh 12-14oz, and lay large, blue eggs. I have birds that lay large, blue eggs, I have birds that weigh 12-14oz live weigh, and now I have at least 1 bird that looks like her, which means I can make more that look like her. The first step is cleaning the color mutations out of the celadon line without losing the celadon eggs. This is going to be a bit of a nightmare, BUT, I have a friend helping me out with getting a few celadons that are either WT or SLB (I'm guessing SLB all things considered) to start the work with. I will work over the winter to get a few more actual WT birds here, and to start crossing out the celadons with the SLB jumbos to clean out the other feather color mutations. Once I'm down to just SLB and celadon for mutations, I can clean the SLB out with the WT and roux lines.

This project will likely take me a good 2 years, maybe 3, to complete and then test breed to ensure I haven't lost the celadon gene and I don't have any hidden recessives lingering about. But just having the fucking materials to do it all on hand now is a huge step forward from where I was when I decided to start the project.

[ducksido]

Aussie! Yuu

General Reactions

Grim:

“What do ya mean ya wrestled a kangaroo once?! What kinda wild place did ya come from?!”

Absolutely horrified when Yuu casually picks up a spider and yeets it outside like it’s nothing.

The NRC Student Body:

Confused but entertained by Yuu’s constant use of Aussie slang.

“Oi, mate, pass me that potion.” Mate? Are we friends now?

Slowly start copying Yuu’s lingo without realizing it. Azul starts saying "no worries" and doesn’t know why.

Crowley:

Keeps trying to get Yuu to "tame" magical creatures because he assumes all Australians are Steve Irwin.

Yuu: “I ain’t wrangling a fucking chimera, mate.”

Crowley: disappointed bird noises

Individual Reactions

Riddle:

Appalled at how informal Yuu is. "You called me what?! A 'legend'?! I—w-well, I suppose that’s acceptable..."

Dies inside when Yuu calls Trey "Trey-o" and Cater "Caito".

Absolutely loses it when Yuu casually drinks boiling hot tea without flinching.

Leona:

“So you’re from a place where the sun tries to kill you?”

“...Respect.”

Starts calling Yuu “Roo” just to mess with them.

Intrigued when Yuu tells him that Australians just don’t show fear when faced with dangerous animals because it makes them more aggressive.

Azul:

Horrified when Yuu tells him about box Steve Irwin and the dangerous sea creatures

“And you swim with these?!”

Yuu: “Yeah, nah, you just don’t step on ‘em.”

Azul, who has spent his whole life in the ocean: distressed octopus noises

Floyd & Jade:

Floyd thinks Yuu is the funniest thing he’s ever met. "A shrimp that fights back?! Hahaha!"

Jade is actually really interested in Yuu’s survival skills. "You regularly handle venomous snakes?"

Yuu: "Yeah, ya just grab ‘em behind the head like this—"

Everyone: SCREAMING

Kalim:

Loves the slang. Thinks "G'day" is the greatest greeting of all time.

“What’s a sausage sizzle? That sounds amazing!”

Will absolutely try Vegemite and pretend to like it even if it nearly kills him.

Jamil:

Watches Yuu eat absurdly spicy food and just nods in understanding.

“I see. You are immune to pain.”

HATES Yuu's bugs

Vil:

Disgusted when he hears Yuu doesn’t wear shoes outside sometimes.

“Your skincare routine is what? You just use aloe vera straight from the plant? I—well, actually, that’s not terrible…”

Reluctantly approves of some Australian remedies.

Epel:

Loves that Yuu swears like a sailor. Finally, someone who talks like him!

“Wait, so callin’ someone a ‘sick cunt’ is a good thing?!”

Adopts Aussie insults immediately. Rook is both fascinated and terrified.

Rook:

Enthralled. “Oho, mon chasseur, you live in a land where nature itself is your greatest foe! Magnifique!”

Thinks drop bears are real because Yuu refuses to tell him otherwise.

Constantly calls Yuu "mon kangourou bondissant" (my bouncing kangaroo).

Idia:

“Australia sounds like a survival horror game.”

“Wait, you just accept that there are huge spiders everywhere? You co-exist with them???”

Never setting foot in Australia, ever.

Ortho:

“Big brother, did you know that in Australia, magpies attack people during breeding season?”

Idia: logs off

Malleus:

LOVES hearing about Dreamtime stories and Aboriginal legends.

Yuu tells him about bunyips and he’s instantly obsessed.

“So, your homeland is filled with creatures that lurk in the dark and attack the unaware? …How delightful.”

Lilia:

“You eat what? Kangaroo meat? Crocodile? How fascinating!”

Probably asks Yuu to cook for him, assuming Australians have insane cooking skills due to their ability to survive in such a dangerous place.

Yuu: “Nah, mate, I just chuck a snag on the barbie.”

Sebek:

Thinks Yuu is insane for casually swearing at dangerous animals.

“HUMANS SHOULD FEAR SUCH BEASTS!”

Yuu: kicks a huntsman spider off the wall with zero reaction

Sebek: stunned silence

Ace:

“Wait, so you’re telling me that in Australia, if you see a random dog, it might actually be a dingo?”

Laughs his ass off when Yuu calls Riddle "Ridz" and gets collared instantly.

Constantly tries to get Yuu to teach him Aussie slang. “So if I call someone a ‘drongo,’ that’s an insult, right?”

Tries Vegemite the wrong way (straight from the jar with a spoon) and nearly dies.

Deuce:

Shocked at how casually Yuu talks about deadly animals.

“Wait, so you just had spiders the size of my hand in your house? And you just left them alone?!”

Starts calling Ace a "bloody galah" without realizing it’s an insult.

Lowkey impressed that Yuu knows how to throw a proper punch. If they ever get into a fight, he backs them up 100%.

Cater:

Obsessed with the slang. Uses it wrong constantly.

“Oi, mate! Let’s hit up Sam’s for some snags, yeah? No wuckas!”

“Cater, what the actual hell did you just say?”

Loves that Yuu calls him "Caito." Absolutely adopts the nickname.

Takes a Magicam pic of himself drinking tea while wearing a cork hat. #OutbackAesthetic

Trey:

Concerned about Yuu’s diet.

“So you regularly eat crocodile?”

Yuu: “Yeah, tastes like chicken.”

Accepts the challenge of making a proper Aussie meat pie and succeeds. Yuu is forever loyal to him now.

Tries a Tim Tam Slam and nearly ascends to another plane of existence.

Ruggie:

“Wait, so you had to fight ibises for your food growing up?”

Deep respect unlocked.

Also loves that Yuu can survive on cheap food like two-minute noodles. “You get it, dude.”

Learns about the Great Emu War and refuses to believe Yuu is telling the truth.

Starts calling Leona "King Ding-a-ling" just because Yuu does.

Jack:

Is the only one who isn’t fazed when Yuu talks about fighting wild animals.

“So you just learned how to handle snakes as a kid? Yeah, that checks out.”

Secretly loves it when Yuu calls him "Jacko."

Takes Yuu seriously when they warn him about magpies. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

Puts his hood up for the first time ever when Yuu says, “If you hear a loud swooping sound, run.”

Silver:

Falls asleep standing up outside. Gets woken up by Yuu yelling, “BRO, YOU’RE GONNA GET SWOOPED.”

Yuu fully believes Silver is part koala because he sleeps anywhere and is unbothered by loud noises.

“You remind me of a bloke I knew back home. He fell asleep in a tree once.”

Thinks it’s cool that Yuu knows survival skills but gets worried when they mention how often Australians just deal with dangerous animals.

Professor Crewel:

Hears about how Yuu has picked up snakes before and immediately gives them a 45-minute lecture on safety.

“You cannot just grab a snake by the head, Prefect!”

Absolutely bans Yuu from bringing any Australian creatures into his classroom.

Secretly approves of their blunt attitude. If they weren’t so chaotic, they’d be a model student.

Professor Trein:

“Wait, you refer to your teachers by their first names in some schools?”

Horrified at Yuu’s casual disrespect of authority figures.

Starts carrying a spray bottle because Yuu keeps swearing in class.

Lucius actually likes Yuu because they instinctively respect him like an Aussie street cat.

Sam:

“Ooooh, I like your vibe, little kangaroo~”

Absolutely starts selling Aussie snacks when he realizes how much Yuu misses them.

“I got some Tim Tams, some Milo, and even some fairy bread for ya~”

Yuu nearly cries tears of joy.

Sells Vegemite to unsuspecting students with no warning. Capitalism wins.

Event Characters

Neige:

Thinks Yuu’s accent is the cutest thing ever.

“Oh wow! You sound so cool when you say ‘G’day!’”

Accidentally eats Vegemite by the spoonful because Yuu forgot to warn him. Regrets it instantly.

Chenya:

Thinks Yuu’s chaotic energy is incredible.

“Wait, so your homeland is just one big Wonderland?”

Steals their hat if they ever wear one. "You don’t need this, right?"

Rollo:

Immediately assumes Yuu is more of a menace than the NRC students.

“What do you mean you used to surf in waters filled with sharks?”

His soul leaves his body when Yuu talks about deadly animals with zero concern.

“Surely you exaggerate.”

Yuu: shows a picture of a huntsman spider

Rollo: praying in French

Meleanor & Lilia (when younger):

Meleanor thinks Yuu is the funniest human she’s ever met. "You do what with a shoe?!"

Lilia, even at a young age, respects the chaos.

“So, you just... coexist with nature trying to kill you?”

Yuu: “Yeah, mate. You just don’t show fear.”

Meleanor: “I like this one.”

Other Random Aussie Moments

Yuu introduces everyone to Tim Tams. The entire school becomes addicted.

Someone asks Yuu what’s the most dangerous animal in Australia. Yuu: “The emus.”

Yuu doesn’t flinch when something big crashes outside. NRC students: “Aren’t you going to check?” Yuu: “Eh, probably just a possum.”

Introduces Vegemite to everyone. The reactions range from horrified (Azul) to pretending to enjoy it (Kalim) to “this is fine” (Leona).

Tries to teach everyone how to do a shoey. Vil bans it immediately.

Gets into a fistfight with a goose during a visit to Noble Bell College.

More Random Aussie Moments

Yuu kicks off their shoes and Trein looks personally offended.

They call the cafeteria the ‘tuck shop’ and confuse everyone.

Someone asks Yuu for an energy drink recommendation. Yuu: “Yeah, nah, get a Monster. Maybe a Red Bull if you wanna fight God.”

Rook asks Yuu to track something. Yuu: sniffs air “Yeah, mate, I can track that.” (Has no idea what they’re doing but commits anyway.)

During an event in a desert-like location, Yuu just goes full Aussie survival mode. They thrive while everyone else struggles.

Someone calls Yuu soft. Yuu: "Mate, I survived living in a country where even the plants can kill ya."

They try to ride a broom and end up treating it like a surfboard.

[singleactionjack]

Mh wilds spoilers

I'm genuinely surprised how frequent it seems people are misrepresenting Nata's character arc and saying that they don't like him, every time it feels like they're actively leaving something out. I don't know if it's a lack of critical thinking or failure of narrative comprehension but idk

Like, it's not the most well written dialog but I think the kid has a pretty fleshed out set of motivations, his arc makes sense and none of it felt rushed to me.

Like, kid is in an isolated secret civilization, he doesn't know shit, he seems almost too innocent to be informed of anything. The most he seems to know is that monsters are dangerous, which seems very informed by his experiences in the intro. He doesn't know shit, his village is attacked by a terrifying creature he doesn't know much about, and his elder pushes him out of the village to "find help". His only community being presumably destroyed, everyone he cares about presumed dead, as a kid seemingly no older than 12 or something.

He gets picked up by hunters from the West or whatever, and they start an expedition to the forbidden lands because this kid is the first proof that there is /any/ civilization out there, and this traumatized child is having to be a part of this expedition because he's the only one alive they know who has any knowledge of the land. But the fucked up part is, he doesn't really know the land.

He spent the last few days (?) running scared out of his mind, luckily avoiding anything too particularly dangerous, across lands so large and dense the player needs a super fast dinosaur to navigate. The kid doesn't know much of anything about the land, only hoping he recognizes enough of the way out to see the way back home.

So you have a kid who's scared shitless, having to help an expedition to his home that /no one else/ knows about, through lands he doesn't know anything about, with the implicit expectation that his entire people are dead at the hands of a creature that still lingers in his nightmares. The glimpses of the brutality of Arkveld still plastered in his mind. And it seems until he travels with Alma and the player, this brutality has no context.

As he follows along with the party, he starts to see reasons for the behavior of monsters (which is probably subtly indicating that his home isn't a place where regular monsters live) He sees an ecosystem thriving, a cycle of life and death, things doing things to survive. This further stokes the growing hatred he has, survivors guilt and thinking he's the last survivor of Arkveld. He thinks his people are probably gone, and he can't see any reason why a creature would do that. Narratively, Arkveld isn't a Monster™️, but a Monster, who does things out of maliciousness, cruelty, with no rhyme or reason.

Later, Nata and friends actually spot his White Wraith, attacking the Apexes, draining power from Rey Dau. In this part of the story, this "Villain Arkveld" conceptualization is firm in his mind, a target of revenge for his fallen kin. He is too weak to enact any meaningful revenge, just wishing to stop Arkveld from hurting anyone else in the way his people were hurt. The Hunters he's with prevent him from doing anything reckless, but he's fully in the fuck Arkveld club.

All the while, he's still a child. Optimistic, still has hope. They're able to actually find his home, in Sild, and he (despite really thinking everyone would be dead) still calls out for Tasheen. He hopes that someone else survived the horrors he was saved from. And lo and behold, Tasheen lives, among many others. His people weren't wiped out, many did survive. Tasheen then does something that changes Nata's path directly.

Tasheen tells Nata about his people and their actual purpose/role as the ones who reside and look over this land filled with guardians, artificial monster shaped constructs who only exist to be tools for a civilization that no longer exists. And that the "White Wraith" was simply one of these creations who was behaving erratically, unable to be controlled.

Tasheen specifically does this reveal in combination with celebrating Nata for successfully escaping and getting help as something they were not supposed to be able to do. The people in Sild weren't supposed to be able to leave really, bound by duty and second hand shame from a civilization that no longer exists, but Nata was freed from that cycle of imprisonment.

In doing all this, Tasheen gives purpose for Arkveld AND Nata. No longer just a child, he was supposed to be one of these protectors. Arkveld, no longer a creature without direction, but a guardian who is acting strangely.

This information is given to him with the explicit understanding that Nata's purpose (as ascribed to him) isn't set in stone, and by him leaving and finding help he has already been given agency to be his own person and make choices his people could/would not. In this part of the narrative, the vengeance seeking Nata is largely replaced with concerned curiosity. He knows /what/ Arkveld is, but not why it's doing what it's doing.

They eventually discover a reason why. Arkveld, seemingly too powerful a construct, is attempting to revert to it's original status as the wyvern it was before extinction. Trying to engage in the behaviors it knows it should do, either from instincts or seeing other monsters in the wild. Predation, subsistence. Arkveld, as an extinct predator reinvented, has all the tools to hunt but not all the tools to survive, leading to it seemingly rampaging in acts of violence as it attempts to overcorrect by eating and hunting despite not needing to.

When Nata understands this, his perspective on Arkveld is informed and he becomes very sympathetic to it. It isn't the monster he was lead to believe. It's a creature who's agency was taken from it, that found freedom and sought to behave in a way it felt right over what it was predestined to do. In a very literal sense, Arkveld and Nata /ARE/ the same. Both are children of the ancient civilization, given purpose by people who no longer exist. They are both given opportunity to understand the outside world, and in doing so are given chances to make choices for themselves. If Nata decided to stay in Sild once he knew people were safe, this wouldn't be the case. He was given opportunity to do more and see more and he took it because his horizons were broadened. By Arkveld's attack both of them were unchained by fate.

Nata at this point starts to truly empathize with Arkveld for two reasons: one being the stuff listed above, but also his learned understanding of the ecosystem. Arkveld is just doing what any other monsters are doing. He's seen several environments where the monsters fight and struggle for survival. Arkveld is textually (for Nata) really "just like him frfr". Steeped in wylk, finally able to see the sun, able to eat the cheese (animal flesh) and be their own person.

When it is deemed Arkveld has overcorrected and is too dangerous for the ecosystem, Nata objects, but he does so purely from empathy. Before Arkveld had no purpose in its cruelty, now its cruelty is somewhat overstated and its purpose is no different from anything else. Why must it die for doing what everything else does? Why must it die when it was finally free?(Like Nata himself has come to recognize in himself)

It's very straightforward honestly. None of his arc feels rushed, he is a scared and traumatized boy who is then given new information and hope, and that hope informs his empathy. It's like if a kid grew up in a cult and his whole family got attacked by a knife guy ™️, they escape into the outside world to find out that Knife Guy was actually kidnapped and kept in his cult family basement. Knife Guy only did what they did to escape but now they're too maladjusted to society to not be knife guy other places. I'd probably feel bad for Knife Guy ™️ too if I was the kid who escaped.

[ruegarding]

so. percy's arc in boo (learning to step back, allowing leo to sacrifice himself despite his loyalty/fatal flaw) sucks. for many reasons.

for one, percy yielding is such an integral part of pjo. all of pjo. but even if u somehow missed it in the first four books, tlo explicitly spells it out. "sometimes the hardest power to master is the power of yielding" hestia says to percy. "i yield when necessary. can you do this?" and then this is the climax of the story. "you are not the hero...it will affect what you do." percy has spent the last five books being told that he's the super powerful chosen one able to save or destroy the world, and he still chooses to yield to someone that has done nothing but betray him. "the line from the great prophecy echoed in my head...my whole world tipped upside down, and i gave the knife to luke." hoo acting like this is a lesson percy needs to learn is an affront to reading comprehension. percy lives bc he yields. and then he does it (yielding) again when he surrenders godhood, and power, to choose other demigods instead. this is not subtle writing.

for two, percy has rejected power, and his title, for the entirety of his story. percy doesn't even fully recognize how powerful he is until the volcano in botl. and he had to be told directly that it wasn't a fluke. then in son, percy immediately rejects the power and status offered to him. repeatedly. reyna offers him praetorship, he turns it down. frank is abt to let percy climb the wall first in the war games, percy says it was frank's claim. percy doesn't even want to go on the son quest but relents bc frank asked him. in moa, percy never demands that he lead. instead, he includes frank where he probably wasn't necessary, supports hazel, encourages annabeth, follows leo and piper's lead, and strategizes w jason. he isn't acting as a leader, but rather as part of a team. percy didn't need to "step back," the writing for the other characters needed to step up.

for three, percy had to be kidnapped and manipulated to be on this entire quest. he's not there bc he has a hero complex. acting like he has to learn to step back when he was quite literally shoved into place is wild.

for four, an integral part of percy's character is freedom, autonomy, and he extends this to the ppl he's loyal to. this is pretty explicitly established in tlt: "you're enough like me to understand," sally says. "if my life is going to mean anything, i have to live it myself." percy respects ppl's decisions. this is one of the first lessons he learns when he becomes a hero and an integral part of pjo: percy has to let sally save herself. percy has to let tyson go to the boiler. percy has to let bianca defeat talos. percy has to let nico walk away. percy has to let annabeth fight. if he loves them, he's going to let their lives mean something. even in hoo, percy still lets annabeth go on her quest alone, despite hating it, despite disagreeing w it, bc it's not his place to tell her what she can and can't do. this is her life. she has to live it. so this plotline doesn't even work it we ignore all of pjo and focus solely on hoo.

this theme of autonomy is especially important bc pjo is abt disability. one of the first things ppl try to take away from u when ur disabled is ur autonomy. the fact that percy vehemently defends it not just for himself but for others is essential to the narrative. percy advocates for other demigods, other disabled kids, and tyson, and he does so while maintaining their autonomy. it's why he's the leader, it's why he's the protagonist, it's why there is a callback to it in every pjo book. trying to act like he wouldn't respect someone's autonomy is a bastardization of this entire theme. which is actually fitting for hoo considering it bastardizes the rest of pjo anyway.

[amirasainz]

Hello! Could I request some Amira where Lando kind of wants her attention after the Bahrain race, but Oscar has it.

Thank you! I miss your stories so much. You havent written anything in a very long time.

Hey guys! Enjoy reading this story and send some requests! I will focus more on the 'Amira Sainz series' again.

-xoxo, Amira🧡

Having her attention

The Bahrain paddock was buzzing, lights still shining bright under the desert night as teams packed up and fans screamed from behind the barriers. It had been a hell of a race.

Oscar had won it—clean, clinical, brilliant. Lando had driven the race of his life too, finishing third after a wild series of overtakes and wheel-to-wheel drama. Everyone was pumped, sweaty, and buzzing with adrenaline.

But none more than Lando.

He'd pulled himself out of the McLaren hospitality suite, eager eyes scanning the crowd. There was only one person he wanted to see. One person he wanted to celebrate with. Amira.

Amira was Carlos' little sister. Twenty-one, radiant, and far too charming for her own good. Every single driver on the grid was in love with her, Lando included. Hell, even the drivers' girlfriends were probably a little in love with her.

She had this way of listening—really listening—that made you feel like you were the only person in the world. When she laughed, it was the kind that made you feel like you’d won something.

And Lando wanted to win. Her.

He found her near the back of the McLaren hospitality, her long brown curls bouncing as she laughed at something someone was saying. He smiled instinctively, already imagining her throwing her arms around him and gushing about his overtakes.

Then he saw who she was talking to.

Oscar.

Of course.

Oscar had a hand on her waist—her waist—and was talking animatedly, his face lit up with boyish excitement. Amira’s eyes sparkled up at him, completely enraptured.

Lando’s smile dropped.

He walked toward them anyway, fixing on a more casual, lopsided grin. “Hey,” he said brightly, leaning in to press a kiss to Amira’s cheek. “There’s my favorite girl.”

Amira turned her head slightly, offering him her cheek but not her attention. “Hey, Lando,” she said warmly, but her gaze never left Oscar.

Lando cleared his throat and launched right in. “Did you see that battle with George? Lap 49? Honestly thought I was done for, but I sent it.”

Amira nodded absently, eyes still locked on Oscar. “Mm-hmm.”

Oscar chuckled, finally turning to glance at Lando. “It was a good one, mate.”

“Oh, come on,” Lando said, trying to laugh. “She’s not even listening to me!”

Amira blinked and turned, smiling sweetly. “I heard you. Lap 49. George. You sent it. Very cool.”

Oscar snorted, clearly trying to suppress a laugh.

“I mean, I was side by side with three cars at one point. And I kept the podium.” Lando insisted.

“That’s amazing,” Amira said politely. “Anyway, Oscar, you were saying about the pit stop?”

Lando stared in disbelief as Oscar smoothly picked up the story again, sliding his arm more firmly around her waist and guiding her away from him.

Lando blinked. “Are you—are you seriously—”

Oscar turned over his shoulder, walking backward for a second, and smirked. “Better luck next time, mate.” He pulled Amira even closer.

Lando was left standing there, seething.

“Hey!” came Carlos’ voice.

Lando tensed.

Carlos appeared beside him, eyes sharp as knives. “Are you looking at my sister again?”

Lando hesitated. “No? Maybe? She’s literally right there.”

Carlos followed his gaze, jaw clenching as he spotted Oscar and Amira—now practically whispering to each other under the string lights.

“Óscar,” Carlos muttered in disgust. “Of course it’s Óscar.”

Lando sighed. “She didn’t even care about my race, man.”

Carlos turned slowly to him. “And you’re upset?”

“Yes!”

“Well I’m upset that you’re upset, because that means you think you had a chance in the first place!”

Lando threw his arms up. “Mate, you know everyone’s in love with her. I’m just being honest.”

Carlos narrowed his eyes. “I will throw you into the Gulf.”

“Join the queue,” Lando muttered.

Just then, Charles strolled by, holding a very aesthetically pleasing glass of something suspiciously expensive-looking. He took a long, deliberate sip, then fixed Lando with a perfectly blank look.

“I wouldn’t want to be you right now,” Charles said lightly, then walked off.

Lando’s jaw dropped. “What the hell does that even mean?”

Carlos patted him once—very hard—on the back. “Means you should go home, cry in the shower, and rethink your life choices.”

Lando groaned.

Meanwhile, Oscar was telling Amira about every tiny moment of his race, and she was hanging onto every word like he was Shakespeare behind the wheel.

Carlos started marching toward them.

“Wait, wait—are you seriously going to ruin this for her?” Lando asked.

Carlos didn’t look back. “I’m going to ruin it for him.”

Lando stayed behind, jaw clenched, watching Amira throw her head back laughing at something Oscar said.

Charles passed by again, now with Pierre.

Pierre gave Lando a sympathetic nod. “She likes the quiet ones.”

“I’M a quiet one!” Lando protested.

Charles sipped again. “You’re loudly quiet.” Again, he walked away like nothing happened.

Lando sat down on the nearest crate, stunned, as Oscar dipped his head and whispered something into Amira’s ear, making her blush.

He was still sitting there when Carlos exploded onto the scene like an angry hurricane.

Let’s just say, the post-race celebrations were a little more chaotic than usual that night.

And Lando? Lando was plotting his redemption arc.

[tqlepatia]

─ Headcanons young ambessa

Certified big spoon

Ambessa was always the big spoon, no negotiations. She loved wrapping herself around you, making you feel safe and snug. It wasn’t just a comfort thing; it was her way of saying, “I’ve got you, don’t worry about a thing.” If you ever tried to switch it up and be the big spoon? She’d just laugh and drag you right back into her arms like, “Nah, nice try, but this is my job.”

Cigarette Hater with her soul

Smoking? no. She hated the smell with a burning passion. If someone lit up near her, she’d literally wave the smoke away and hit them with a “Do you have to do that right now?” If you smoked, she’d pull some petty drama like refusing to kiss you until you brushed your teeth or popped a mint. “Kiss me when you don’t smell like an ashtray, babe.”

if mess w/you, is messing with her

She was ride or die for the people she cared about. If someone even looked at you funny or the wrong way, Ambessa was already cracking her knuckles, ready to throw hands. She wouldn’t always make a scene (unless it was deserved), but trust, she’d have a very direct convo with anyone who crossed the line. Messing with her loved ones = bad life choice.

Morning mushball

She acted all tough, but mornings were her soft hours. She’d stay in bed, groaning about “five more minutes” while pulling you into a bear hug. Honestly, it was the only time you’d catch her all cuddly and vulnerable without her usual walls up. Nights? Whole different story—she’d be all business and focus, but you could still sneak in and bug her for affection if you were bold.

Lowkey Sentimental

Ambessa had a secret stash of sentimental stuff she’d never admit to keeping. That random flower you gave her one time? Pressed in a book. A doodle you left on her notes? Saved. She wasn’t gonna talk about it, but if you ever found the stash, she’d play it off like, “What? It’s nothing. Don’t make it weird.”

Goofy, but only in private

Around other people, she was all stoic and intimidating, but when it was just you? Full clown behavior. She loved teasing you, throwing sarcastic one-liners, or doing dumb stuff like dramatically mimicking your expressions just to make you laugh. Catch her laughing at her own jokes? All bets are off.

Stubborn af

If Ambessa thought she was right about something, good luck changing her mind. She’d dig her heels in and argue for hours. The only way to win? Either outsmart her with some clever logic or just kiss her mid-rant. She’d roll her eyes and be like, “Fine, you win—for now.”

Thrived on chaos

She had this wild side where she’d do things just for the adrenaline rush. Climbing something dangerous? Breaking a rule just because she could? All in a day’s work. If you hesitated, she’d smirk and say, “What’s life without a little chaos, babe?” Then drag you into whatever nonsense she had planned.

Affection

Once Ambessa decided you were her person, that was it. She’d back you up no matter what and stand by you through thick and thin. But if you betrayed her? Game over. She wasn’t about giving second chances easily—she’d cut you off so fast your head would spin.

Loyal to the bone

Young Ambessa was basically a mix of “don’t mess with me” energy and “I’ll secretly spoil the people I love.” She’d act tough, but if you were lucky enough to get close, you’d see that big ol’ heart under all the sharp edges.

[cameronsbabydoll]

BUFFALO 66 AU — CHAPTER TWO

WARNINGS — kidnapping, mean!rafe, creepy!rafe

the car reeks of cigarettes and something sharp — oil, maybe. gasoline. whatever it is, it makes your throat burn as you curl up small against the door, knees pulled tight to your chest like maybe you can disappear there.

but you can’t.

because he’s still here. he’s still driving.

and you’re still stolen.

your soft little sniffles turn into quiet, hiccuping sobs — hands shaking, wiping at your wet face uselessly, mascara smudging down your cheeks. the baby blue dress you'd been so proud to wear tonight feels stupid now — cheap and childish under his rough grip.

why.

it's all you can think. over and over.

why you.

why now.

why him.

“w-why are you—” you try, voice cracking — but the words fall apart around your crying, hopeless and messy and small.

you see it — the way his jaw tics. the way his hand tightens around the steering wheel, knuckles flexing hard enough to go pale.

“shut up,” he mutters. not cruel — just tired. tired in a way that sounds dangerous.

but you don't.

you can’t.

“w-why are you doing this to me?” you whisper, breaking on the last word.

and that’s when he snaps.

he grabs you — fast — a rough hand shooting out to grip your tear-streaked face, big palm curling around your jaw to force you to look at him. it hurts. everything he does feels like it hurts.

his eyes are so blue they almost look fake.

cold. mean. but there's something wild underneath them. something worse.

“i told you,” he growls low, “don’t talk. not unless i tell you to. not unless you wanna make this worse for yourself.”

your breath stutters out in a panicked little whimper. you flinch when he lets go — shoving his hand back through his hair like he hates that he even touched you.

the rest of the drive is dead quiet except for your shaky breathing and the roar of the shitty engine.

he pulls into a run-down, roadside motel hours later — flickering sign, soda machines out front, no cameras. It looks like the kinda place people go to disappear.

perfect for someone like him.

he kills the engine.

looks over at you.

his voice is low. steady.

“this is what’s gonna happen.”

you stare at him — wide-eyed, teary, pathetic.

“we go in there. you don’t say shit about tonight. you don’t tell them your name. you don’t tell them anything.”

a pause.

“you’re my girl. you’ve been my girl. that’s the story.”

it makes your heart drop.

he says it like it’s easy. like it's already true.

like it should be.

“and if you run?” he leans in slow — so close you can smell the sweat on his skin, the cigarettes clinging to his clothes. “if you fuck this up for me?”

that fake softness in his tone curls cold.

“i’ll find you. and i’ll be worse.”

you don’t say a word at the check-in.

you just stand there — limp and quiet, in your wrinkled dress and ruined makeup — while rafe gives some fake name and throws cash on the counter like it means nothing to him.

and then you're in the room — some gross little single bed, yellow-stained lamp, scratchy sheets. you stand there awkwardly by the door until he looks at you like you’re stupid.

“well?” his voice is rough, tired. “get in.”

you move slow — crawl onto the bed like a girl waiting for something worse.

but all he does is kick his shoes off and collapse down beside you — arm thrown over his eyes, like he’s the one stuck with you.

it’s quiet for a long time.

then — low, grudging, like it’s costing him something — you hear him rasp:

“go to sleep, angel.”

[ashprince-of-bel-air]

A Late-Night Session.

A/N: I'm not gonna lie, this is purely self serving one-shot, I'm sure I dreamt about this so I wanted to write it.

Summary: You were part of the Hellfire crew and had just finished your most recent campaign, Eddie invited you over for the night after the rest of the club had left.

Warnings: reader is afab. It does include smut so 18+, both the reader and Eddie are at least 21.

Eddie slumped back into his throne with a smile, he had been in charge of this story for a while, and it had finally come to conclusion. The cheers from the rest of your party made Eddie smile enthusiastically, you could not help but look at him, you loved seeing how happy DnD made him. Eddie’s smile was intoxicating to you and was pretty much the only reason you attended the weekly Hellfire meetings at this point. Yes you had enjoyed DnD in your younger years but now all you went for was the enigmatic leader, Eddie Munson. He was so energetic and passionate, you had never met a dungeon master like him. You were almost sad that your current campaign had ended, hoping he would come up with another one so you could all play together again and you could be in his company.

You all cheered wildly at the end of the campaign, your group being victorious against Asmodeus. It was a difficult campaign, but you and your team made it through, celebrating your win thoroughly. The night of your win was a wild one by DnD standards, you all ate too much and tried not to drink yet in front of the younger players, you could do that later. The young ones spilled out of the room, leaving to catch their rides early into the night. The older ones, like Gareth and Jeff, left a little later leaving you to clean up, not that you minded. It left you and Eddie alone, this was something that you had become used to, each week everyone would have a reason why they could not stay and help clear up. You did not mind though, you enjoyed your private time with Eddie, just the two of you, it was the favourite part of your week, you both flirted with each other, but neither would be brave enough to make an actual move. There had always been a palpable chemistry between the two of you, it was obvious to everyone that saw you together, however you both seemed to tiptoe around it.

This week, Eddie told himself it would be different, he would ask you back to his place and he would finally make a move against you. It had burned up inside of him each day he saw you that he did not act upon his attraction to you, he wanted to claim you as his before anyone else had the chance to. The air was quiet as you had both started to clear the chairs and cards away, you never wanted to interrupt Eddies workflow, he had a system for how he worked, and you respected it. You both tidied up in silence for a while until Eddie’s deep voice broke the silence between you.

“So, Y/N…. You got any plans for tonight?” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously as he asked, he wanted to seem cool and confident, but his current form was betraying him, you turned to focus on him and your heart melted. He looked so cute and anxious that it made you smile.

“Eddie, I’m actually flattered that you think I have any sort of social life outside of DnD” You joke and smile softly at him. Eddie had always loved your playful nature, he had often wondered why you were not more popular than you were, you seemed so approachable and enigmatic to him, you were due to leave for college this year and he wanted to try and shoot his shot before you left and found someone whilst you were away.

“Well, I don’t know what you get up to in your spare time, Princess” You turned back around to stack the chairs away but you could almost feel the smirk that was plastered on his face, he was the only one that was allowed to call you Princess, you hated hearing the name from any of the other guys but Eddie got a free pass with it, for some reason the name coming from his lips made you blush and go warm, the way he called you it was almost as if he knew what effect he had on you.

You rolled your eyes at him playfully as you finished clearing up, you walked over to him. “Well actually, Munson, I don’t have any sordid plans tonight, why do you ask?” you chuckle at him, trying not to be distracted by those big brown eyes of his. They were your biggest weakness; he could commit any crime known to man but if he looked at you with his big brown doe eyes you would melt. Many a time you had to tell him playfully “You put those big brown eyes away mister” because you were annoyed at him and did not want him to worm his way out of a telling off.

Eddie had finished collecting up any figures and cards that were laid out on the table as he replied to you. “Well, I was just wondering if you wanted to come to mine for a drink. My uncle is away for work, so I have the trailer to myself?” He tried to seem smooth as he asked but his heart thumped wildly in his chest, he had never been this forward with you, but he wanted to try his chances with you, the moment he met you he was enthralled with you.

A soft blush crept upon your face as you responded, pretending to be interested in something else to hide it from him. “Sounds good to me chief.” You would love nothing more than to be alone with him in his trailer, you had spent time alone with him after each DnD session but being alone with him in his trailer was different, it was more intimate and was something that you had craved, you wanted a chance to be with him in an intimate setting, you were not sure what you would do but you wanted the chance nonetheless.

A smile erupted across Eddie’s face, you had actually agreed to spend time together, just you and him. His nervous sweaty palm ran through his hair trying to tame the wild curls somewhat. “I’ve got some good films we can watch whilst we have a drink, it’s completely your choice” his voice was slightly nervous as he spoke, he wanted to make sure you enjoyed your time with him. You chuckled and shook your head at him. “I was more than happy with the idea of free drinks, don’t give me the stress of choosing a movie to go with them”.

The final bits of the gathering were cleared away as Eddie chuckled, he spun his car keys in his hand and nodded his head towards the door. “C’mon then Princess, I’ve got a few beers with your name on them.” You rolled your eyes playfully at his smile, trying to hide how much it made you weak at the knees. You followed him outside and made yourself comfy in his truck, you had been in it many times, but this felt different, you felt there was a tension in the air between the both of you. The ride to his trailer was mostly uneventful, filled with pleasantries, asking how you both were and how he was doing with work and whatnot, he told you that he was adamant that he would graduate this year, 86 was going to be his year. It was not long until you pulled up outside of his trailer. The gentleman he was, Eddie made sure that he quickly walked around to open the car door for you, eliciting a playful eyeroll from you.

Eddie opened the door to his trailer, inviting you in. Giving you a playful bow before escorting you in, you had been in his trailer many times and he did that stupid bow every time. “So, you want a drink yeah?” Eddie called from the kitchen as you stood in the living room adjacent to it.

“Yeah sure thanks” You were not overly bothered about having a drink, but you just wanted an excuse to spend time alone with him. You both took a seat on the sofa an made yourself comfy, Eddie sat there, his legs wide apart and holding his beer bottle between his legs. You decide to test the waters and softly and drape your legs over his and lay down on the sofa, pretending to be nonchalant about it. Eddies eyes went wide as he felt your legs drape over his waist, his hand instinctively landed on your thigh. You were wearing criminally short shorts in Eddie’s mind; how could he resist touching you.

Eddie groaned internally as his hand rested on your bare thigh, he squeezed it softly causing a soft moan to emanate from your lips. You felt his rings dig into the flesh of your thighs and you could not help but moan against the feeling of the metal digging against your skin. The soft moan caused Eddie to grip your thigh even harder as he leant towards you with a smirk. “Are you okay, Darling?” His hand started to stroke further up your thigh and rested just beneath the hem of your shirt, his fingertips grazing the skin of your stomach, waiting for confirmation that you wanted more from him. You blushed at the fact you let the audible moan slip from your lips, it was hard to catch your breath knowing where his hands were on your body, desperately wanting them to explore further. Eddie leant towards you on the sofa, his hand ever so slight trailing up underneath your shirt, feeling his calloused palm against the soft skin of your waist.

“Cat got your tongue sweetheart?” He purred, that stupid smirk on his face caused your heart to flutter, but you would not be bested by him. You leant forward and left barely any room between his lips; he could feel your breath hot against his face. “I’m more than okay, Munson” You could sense that this was your opportunity, if you were ever going to get him then it was now, you held your composure despite your heart feeling like a jackhammer in your chest, trying not to look into those deep brown eyes that were now raking over you.

Your response and eagerness to lean closer to him was all the confirmation that Eddie needed, His free hand came swiftly to the back of your head and pulled you into him, your lips crashing together. You felt yourself moan into the kiss as his hand on your waist squeezed the delicate skin there, it felt like bliss as his hand gripped you and pulled you closer. You lost yourself in the kiss and moved closer to him, your aim to straddle yourself over his lap on the couch. An aim that Eddie did not stop you from achieving, he let out a throaty groan against your lips as he felt you move onto his lap, his hands devouring your body hungrily, he wanted to feel all of you. His lips released yours and found your neck, placing wet open-mouthed kisses along your neck and collar bone. You back arched towards him, wanting him to explore all of your body with his mouth and tongue. Your hands travelled up his arms until they reached the base of his neck, where you slowly tangled your hands into his soft curls and gripped softly, pulling yourself against him even more.

Eddie was in heaven, he had you on his lap and his mouth was exploring your body, he craved more though, he had wanted you from the day he first met you and this was not enough. His lips found your neck again and his voice vibrated against your skin. “Fuck…. I need you, Princess” His deep voice against your neck made you groan into him desperately, you needed him just as bad as he needed you. You gripped your hands tighter into his hair and kissed along his jawbone, your voice soft and breathy as you spoke. “Eddie…. please.” His eyes rolled back in his head at your breathy plea and gripped your thighs roughly. Eddie regained his composure slightly and positioned his hands under your thighs. He stood up from the sofa, lifting you with him and carried you towards his bedroom down the hall. You wrapped your legs around his waist and carried on kissing along his jaw and neck, now feeling his excitement thick against your thighs.

He dropped you roughly on his bed, resting on his forearms above you on the unkempt bed with pure lust in his eyes, he had wanted you for so long and now you were here in his bed, he would make sure that you enjoyed it and would want more from him. His plump lips found your neck again, his teeth grazing against your skin causing you to moan softly and grip his hair, spurring him on even further as he nipped his way down to your chest. You helped him swiftly remove your t shirt, laying bare chested before him. Eddie’s eyes laid on you half naked form, fuck you were beautiful to him, he needed just a moment to commit this vison to memory before his lips found your skin again. He kissed along your breasts, his teeth teasing you and nipping at your soft delicate skin. You felt him suck at your soft skin, leaving his marks upon your body, this aroused you even more, knowing that he was claiming you as his, knowing that he wanted nobody else to touch you.

The kisses along your breast and stomach were sloppy and desperate, until he reached the waistband of your shorts, you looked down and could see his beautiful eyes, asking for permission to remove them, a soft nod from you was all it took, and he quickly took them off and threw them on the floor. His teeth now grazed against your inner thigh, and you moaned desperately, he was teasing you and he knew it.

“So needy Princess, good girls wait patiently” You felt his smirk against your thigh as his tongue roamed your skin, wanting to taste every inch of you. Your hips bucked towards him involuntarily, you wanted him to relieve you of the heat that was swimming in your lower stomach, you were desperate for his touch. Finally you felt his lips upon you, you were already soaking wet for him, a fact that made him chuckle against you as you felt his tongue against your clit, moving in slow languid circles to torture you further Your soft moans were like music to his ears, whilst his hands roamed your skin, his big calloused hands finding your breasts, squeezing them causing your back to arch further into his touch.

“Eddie….” You moaned softly as he continued to tease you, you wanted to feel him and let him relieve you of the pressure building inside of you. He smiled and left one final kiss against you, lifting his head from your thighs, you could see your juices dripping from his face and thought he had never looked sexier. In one quick move he removed his t shirt and leant his body against yours, revelling in the feeling of your breasts against his bare chest now. His lips found yours again, kissing you passionately as he tried desperately to undo his jeans. You could feel his thick length against your thigh through the denim of his jeans so when you felt him bare against you, you moaned desperately. You had imagined what Eddie would feel like many a night, you craved it desperately, even pleasuring yourself over the thought, something Eddie did over the thought of you as well. Eddie steeled himself and took a deep breath, he had wanted this for so long and he would savour the moment, he held his cock in his hand and swiped it against your wet folds, chuckling to himself at your desperate moans. He loved seeing you so desperate and needy beneath him, knowing that he was the one causing you to come undone like this. He slowly pressed his throbbing tip into you, feeling you stretch around his girth, squeezing his eyes closed as he felt how good you were around him.

A deep breathy moan escaped your lips as you felt him inside of you, you had been with other people before but you were not used to this size, it was almost sinful how good he was making you feel just from pressing slowly inside of you. “Fuck…..” Eddie whispered as he felt himself stretch your cunt, you felt so good already and he wasn’t sure he would last too long at this rate. He started to thrust a slow and steady pace, one that felt torturous to you, your hips bucked against him as you wanted to feel him thick and fast against you. “Baby…. Please I can’t” He whispered against your neck, he wanted to, so badly he wanted to fulfil your desire and drill into you.

“Eddie… I’m so close… please” your voice desperate for him now, your nails digging into the skin on his back, he looked at you, your eyes almost in tears because you were so desperate for him now. His hands gripped on your hips, pulling you even closer to him, as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, he wanted to be close and hear your moans for him. He pounded into you roughly and after a few thrusts he felt your walls clench around him tightly, your moans were like heaven to him, he told himself that he would commit that sound to memory. One more thrust and he was spent, he felt himself tremble inside of you as he collapsed on top of your body, leaving soft wet kisses on your neck.

You were both laid together, sweaty and gasping, feeling the afterglow of your orgasm. Your hand softly stroked Eddie’s hair behind his ear, loving how the fringe of his hair was slick against the sweat of his forehead. You looked deep into his deep brown eyes and smiled, you both felt happy and at peace in each other’s arms.

Eddie finally rolled off the top of you, laying beside you he pulled you into his arms, stroking the soft skin of your back affectionately. You both laid there silently for a while enjoying each other’s embrace until Eddie spoke up, hooking a finger under you chin pulling your face up to look at him. “So, is this going to be a regular after session thing or not?” You rolled your eyes playfully at his smirk, answering him with a deep kiss. You knew this would be more than an after-session activity.

[sturn777]

soft launch w rapper chris gone wrong

YOU SHOULD’VE KNOWN BETTER. you did know better. but the lighting was too good, his watch sitting pretty against your wrist, a quiet little flex. nothing too obvious. just enough to make people wonder.

but within minutes, your phone was going crazy. dms, texts from your girls: is that chris’ watch?? girl… you’re wild for that.

you barely had time to react before you clicked his profile, only to see he’d unfollowed you.

nah. no way. you checked on your burner. same thing. over that?

you stared at your screen, irritation bubbling under your skin. he could do whatever he wanted, fuck around, move however he pleased, but the second you hinted at something, even subtly, he shut it down?

fine. bet.

so you went out that night, let some random guy buy you drinks, let him get a little too close, let the camera catch his hand on your thigh before you posted it to your story.

if chris wanted to act cold, you could match his energy.

but when you got home, heels in your hand, half-tipsy and smug, he was already there, leaned against your doorframe, hood up, thumb scrolling on his phone like he’d been waiting.

"take that shit down."

his voice was calm, unreadable, but you knew him too well.

"take what down?" you feigned innocence, stepping past him to unlock your door.

he scoffed, a quiet exhale through his nose. "you know what."

"ohhh, you mean my instagram story?" you smirked, tilting your head. "why do you care? thought you didn’t even follow me."

he didn’t answer, just ran a slow tongue over his teeth.

you folded your arms. "that’s crazy, though. ‘cause you can do whatever the fuck you want, but the second i—"

"you don’t listen," he cut in, voice even.

"or maybe you just don’t like seeing me with someone else," you shot back.

his eyes flicked down to your lips before meeting your gaze again. "you finished?"

you scoffed, pushing open your door. "whatever, chris."

but before you could step inside, his hand was on the doorframe, blocking you. not touching you, not forcing you. just standing there, too close, watching you too carefully.

"once they know, they'll ruin it."

your breath caught.

his voice was quieter now, his face unreadable. "people start talking, assuming shit. then it’s done."

you swallowed, looking away.

"you know that, right?"

you did. and that was the worst part.

🏷 : ( @emely9274 ; @bluestriips ; @loveparqdise ; @st4rcs ; @starwebber9 ; @conspiracy-ash ; @sweetrelieef ; @chris-hallelujah ; @leoslaboratory ; @matttsangel ; @awnmaneez ; @heartss4clauu ; @mattsstarlet ; @madisturni ; @marrykisskilled ; @inspiredangel ; @mattsdemi ; @sturnioloangell ; @ivyandthebeans ; @amelia-sturniolo3 ; @dominicfikeenthusiast ; @sophand4n4 ; @ch6rm ; @et6rnalsun; @sturniolossss ; @jetaimevous ; @chrissweetheart ; @secretlocket ; @courta13 ; @mattsleftball ; @chrislova ; @etherealval ; @throatgoat4u ; @oopsiedaisydeer ; @dearsoulmate3 ; @leaningoutthewindow ; @izzylovesmatt ; @rinnsgalaxy ; @espressqe ; @pair-of-pantaloons ; @chericherrybaby ; @cockettechris ; @sirenedeslily ; @sturnsxplr-25 ; @stevelacylovebot )

[cherrygarcia-07]

🍎Apple Dumplin’ // Spencer Reid🍎

Spencer meets a quirky girl at a bookstore and is instantly smitten

pairing: spencer x kitschy! sunshine! reader (no y/n or pre-chose name though reader is nicknamed Apple)

genre: fluff

content: meet cute, spencer rambles about fungi and alice in wonderland, spencer being absolutely pathetically whipped

notes: i picture this as early seasons reid but it’s not specified, 3rd person but no physical descriptions of the reader besides what she’s wearing

word count: 2.3k

I love apple dumplin’ and i have other things planned for this so I hope you like it🫶

masterlist

——————————————————————————-🍎——————————————————————————

Spencer often found himself in his favourite bookstore on his days off. It was small, quaint, tucked far away in the quiet side streets like a well kept secret. It was a magical hidden world you had to stumble across, and finding it felt like if you kept walking just that bit further you might feel the ground grow cold beneath your feet, the floor becoming the glistening snow of Narnia and if you listened closely you might just hear the faint trotting of Mr Tumnus in the distance. It was humble in size yet rich in the form of bookshelf upon bookshelf reaching floor to ceiling, the comforting woody smell of the pages filling them drifting through the air, encompassing Spencer in a gentle hug as it pulled him through the door. He took a sip of the coffee that seemed to be a permanent accessory of his, letting the warmth spread through his chest as he glanced over the leaves of the potted plants dotted around the store glowing in the warm light that shone from strings of fairy lights bordering the shelves. It was near silent, the words between the pages before him saying everything that needed to be said, though they were occasionally interrupted by a stifled cough or a sniffle from the shopkeeper leaning over a desk, sipping on coffee of his own. Spencer offered him a friendly smile, which was politely returned, before succumbing to the beckoning calls coming from the books before him, strolling over to raise his hand to their spines in greeting.

Where usually he would be drawn to textbooks and other non fiction works, today he found himself gazing upon the classics and fantasy novels, a habit of his after a rough case. While he loved to learn far more than he could ever express, sometimes he just needed a new world to lose himself in, someplace magical and adventurous, far, far away from the violent reality he found himself in far too often. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his job- he did-, but there was also an eternal childlike wonder within him yearning for the exciting freedom of swashbuckling pirates or for the thrilling tales of cowboys in the wild west. It was carefree, it was fearless, things that he could never allow himself to be but looked up to with boyish admiration, though this he’d never admit. Behind him, a bell rang signalling the entrance of another customer but he kept his eyes locked on the aged book spines in front of him, gold lettering jumping out at him and keeping him firmly in place.

Some time passed, spindly fingers having flicked through book after book, keen eyes having soaked up story after story as he gently pushed another back into its spot on the shelf. He stepped back slightly, eyes now looking up and scanning for something else to read when he rather roughly collided paths with someone behind him, the force of the crash bursting the bubble of tranquility he’d been so content in as a book dropped to the floor with a heavy thud.

‘Oh my goodness, I am so, so sorry!!” Spilled a sweet voice from the person beside him as Spencer instinctively ducked to the floor to retrieve her book.

As he prepared to stand up his eyes met a pair of bright red tights tucked into a similarly bright pair of green mary-jane shoes. Rising to his feet, he took in the complete kaleidoscope of colour staring back at him with wide, apologetic eyes outlined with sharp, brown wings and long, curled lashes. Shiny hair either side of colourfully clad shoulders bounced as she shook her head, apologising once again as she tried to adjust the apple shaped crossbody bag resting against her hip despite the stack of books in her arms.

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it” Spencer said as he placed the book on top of the pile with a small smile.

“Are you hurt at all?” She asked, batting painted eyelids in his direction.

Spencer felt momentarily lost for words in her gaze, involuntarily letting out a quiet gasp as his brain scrambled to answer the simple question. The sudden ache in his chest probably didn’t qualify as a ‘yes’ anyway. He felt like asking if she had perhaps stepped out of one of the books he had been flicking through, her aura unlike anything he’d ever been in the presence of and he couldn’t help the way his heartbeat sped up and his stomach flipped.

Mouth opening and closing in a fish-like manner, he realised he still hadn’t answered her.

“Uh, um no- not at all. I- are you okay?” He choked out, trying to ignore the small wobble in his voice but then she smiled- a wide, enamouring smile that reached her twinkling eyes and he felt his breath catch in his throat as he took a long swig of coffee to soothe the feeling.

“Oh thank goodness! I’m just fine, don’t you worry about me.” Polka dotted nails twitched against the bottom book on the pile as she struggled to keep hold of the tower in her arms, clearly carrying more than she anticipated buying.

Spencer’s brows furrowed with intrigue as he took in the myriad of topics written on the spines: there was a cheesy romance novel or two; a book about plants and fungi; about astronomy and constellations; mythology; philosophy; and finally what looked like a collector’s edition of Alice In Wonderland, the book which he had picked off the ground for her. If she was studying anything specific he couldn’t tell what it was.

“Do you need a hand with those?” He asked, nodding towards the pile and a blush crept up his neck when she let out a candied giggle and said yes. Carefully, he took the top 3 books in one hand with his coffee in the other, leaving her with 4 which she could hold tucked in one arm instead.

“Thank you so much, you’re a life saver!” She beamed, introducing herself before adding, “but my friends call me Apple, bet you can’t guess why.” She joked, referencing the several apple themed accessories adorning her outfit.

Spencer had to admit she did kind of look like a fruit had grown legs and come to life, but it was endearing, refreshing.

Laughing, he responded, “I’m Spencer.” Usually he would be thankful both his hands were full to give him an excuse to refuse a handshake from a stranger yet for some reason with her he found himself cursing the fact, wanting to reach out for her hand and admire the chunky rings that sat around her fingers.

They turned around, heading to the counter side by side, a shy silence between the two of them until she tilted her head up at him, “oh, by the way I really like your mismatched socks” she said, nodding down to where one red and one green ankle peeked out of his converse. “We’re totally matching, I must’ve been destined to run into you today.”

At this, Spencer turned to face her, and if her words weren’t enough to completely fluster him, the newfound proximity to her face certainly was. To say she was beautiful was an understatement. She was indescribable, unlike anyone he had ever met. It wasn’t even conventional attractiveness, though she certainly had that too: it was the way she looked at him with nothing but kindness as if they had known one another forever; the way the freckles on her rosy cheeks bunched up as her grin illuminated her whole face; the way her eyes twinkled so clearly he felt the urge to throw away the astronomy book she still held for he could already see the constellations staring right back at him. He cringed at himself a little, realising how starved he must be to be so whipped from such a short interaction- but then again who wouldn’t feel the same after hearing that honey-like voice and that sugary laugh of hers. Blushing even harder than before, he quickly faced away from her again, keeping his head forward.

“Thank you. I uh, I like your outfit too. Very colourful.” He forced out, silently cursing himself for how simple his vocabulary had become around her.

“Really? Oh, that’s so sweet of you.” She beamed, and although Spencer couldn’t see it he could still feel the joyous energy radiating from her. “I’ve been told I’m kinda clown like, not that I mind. I guess I should learn some magic tricks or something to complete the look, huh?” Apple joked again, and Spencer’s ears turned pink as she giggled.

“Actually, if you were going to pursue modern clowning you’d need to tackle more than just magic tricks; like juggling, stilt walking or even ventriloquism-“ He cut himself off with a quick apology, not that she seemed to mind his impending ramble much to his surprise. “But I’m pretty good at practical magic myself if you ever need a tutor,” he humoured her before realising how oddly flirty that had sounded and if it were even possible he turned a whole shade redder as he resisted the urge to slap himself in the side of the head, now also feeling ridiculously uncool for having boasted about practical magic in the first place.

To his disbelief, she seemed almost impressed and said “well then, if I ever go into the magic business I know just who to call”, offering him a playful wink which he caught out of the corner of his eye, heart threatening to beat out of his chest.

Figuring it the best way to protect his brain from becoming mush entirely, he shifted the focus back to the books they now both carried.

“What are you studying, exactly?” He asked, clearing his throat and regaining some stability in his voice as they set the books down on the counter, the shopkeeper’s eyes darting between them with a seemingly amused look Spencer couldn’t quite place.

“Nothing in particular, actually.” She sighed fondly, tracing the spine of one of the books with a white and red nail, “I find myself interested in just about everything. There’s nothing better than curling up on the couch with some kind of encyclopaedia, I think.”

Spencer’s eyes fell back to the astronomy book on the counter as he wondered just where in the sky this shooting star of a woman had fallen from.

“No way, me too!” He exclaimed excitedly, feeling childishly giddy all of a sudden.

“At the risk of sounding like a nerd I’d say I’m pretty into fungi at the minute.” Apple looked away sheepishly, watching as the shopkeeper scanned her book on the very topic and placed it into a paper bag.

Picking up the copy of Alice In Wonderland, a grin tugged at Spencer’s lips. “Not at all, I find fungi fascinating myself. In fact, the Amanita Muscaria- more commonly known as the Fly Agaric or Fly Amanita- is heavily featured in Alice In Wonderland and is said to have been an inspiration in the creation of the story, so much so that the effects caused by it’s hallucinogenic properties are often referred to as ‘Alice In Wonderland syndrome’ as it distorts the consumers perception of reality much like it does in the novel.” He glanced up with a nervous smile on his face, embarrassed slightly at his inability to keep his ravings to himself and he hoped that he hadn’t bored the young woman beside him.

Much to the excitement of the butterflies in his stomach, Apple seemed enthused, nodding intently as she clung onto every word, and they flapped their wings hard, fluttering around in every direction as Spencer tried to catch his breath which had faltered once again in an attempt to calm them. Her skin seemed to glow under the light of the string lights of the bookstore, like some kind of eccentric angel sent down just for him and he noticed how the fruity scent of her perfume waltzed around the room, mingling with the earthy smell of the books in a heavenly dance, like they were meant to be, her world and his. He traced the line of her jaw with his eyes as she turned to pay the shopkeeper, it’s shape surely carved by only the finest of craftsmen, the same one who must’ve been responsible for the elegant shape of her nose that ended in a curve atop the cupids bow of her soft, pink lips.

A delicate hand reached over the counter, retrieving the bag of books with a smile and a sugary ‘thank you’ that rang in Spencer’s ears like wedding bells.

“You know, I work at the bakery across the street from here. You have to come in sometime and pick something out, as a thanks for helping me today.” She spoke, gesturing out the window to a cosy looking pale yellow building with chalk drawings of apples and flowers in the window.

“You don’t have to do that, it was nothing really.” Spencer murmured bashfully, sticking his hands in his pockets.

“It was gentlemanly.” Apple tilted forward in her kitschy shoes, forcing him to meet her gaze, which he struggled to do so given the way these 3 words had managed to turn him to jelly where he stood, “I want to pay you back.” She batted her lashes at him once again, as if she knew he wouldn’t be able to say no to her.

A breathy chuckle escaping him, Spencer agreed and felt his heart swell as she squealed in delight, waving goodbye as she turned on her heels and practically skipped out the door.

In a daze, he returned to the books he had been browsing earlier, only to leave empty handed because what story could possibly compare to the fairy tale he had just experienced right there?

[stump-not-found]

hellooo haiii :]

i saw a while ago that you said that you were fiddleford hater among lovers… do you mind speaking more on that? (sorry i really liek hearing ur views on stuff)

uhh yeah you know what i'll talk a lil about it . why not . i can share some analysis as a treat . will tuck my thoughts gently behind a readmore, so sweet and softlys

i think fiddleford is a fine character its just irritating when narratively he's treated as this very tragic figure when he's an adult man capable of making his own choices . this is a flaw with the books, to be clear - i do not think the actions of fiddleford align with the explicit narrative he has as a nice guy who had a terrible thing happen to him, which stanford must feel soul-crushing guilt over .

this is what bothers me about him: that he is intended to be read as just an all around good dude with tragic circumstances, rather than a messy guy who made shit-ass terrible decisions every step of the way

not even talking about fandom mischaracterization. that's a given in any collaborative fan space and i don't really hold it against people for doing that . fandom is fun, play with your dolls, do whatever - all that mostly means is im not gonna vibe w/ a lot of fanart, it's not going to impact my opinion of the character . i do think it's funny how the collective fanonization of him is simultaneously the wettest meow-meow, but also a total badass when . he's so fundamentally conflict adverse he destroys his own life and body over it .

my man fucks raccoons . i guess that's badass in it's own way . i guess

the thing that is compelling about fidds to me is he is a bit of a worm, and that worminess winds up destroying him from the inside out . he really embodies the entire concept of 'inaction is action', in a way that's deeply frustrating in both fun and not so fun ways

some of the fun things we know about fiddleford:

leveled the downtown area of palo alto

built a robot to try and kill his wife when she tried to divorce him

built robots to kill kids because his son wasnt paying attention to them

brain blasts people to get free labor out of them

started a cult to brain blast people

so horny for Cthulhu Columbo that he did not get his son a christmas present . not a single Tonking Truck . i know your brain is half melted at this point but cmon man

i don't really think the whole leaving his wife in the 70's is all that cute either . it's a one off joke, and there's something interesting about the fact that it's a one off joke . like what kind of financial freedom do people think a single mother is gonna have in this time period? why is that something that goes unchallenged?

and the fact he leaves them for a year is just like . that's also fucked man . i can personally attest to how fucked it is to have your dad just piss off for a year to do contractor work . what a wild subplot to be treated with such little narrative importance to his character . like . the fact that it holds so little importance to fidds is a narrative all on its own

it's just weird how the story treats him, man . he's not that endearing of a dude, which is what i like about him . i like that he makes bad decisions . i like that he doesn't respect when people say "no" . characters should make bad decisions and be bad people . i just really hate this presentation of his own actions being the fault of anyone other than fiddleford

oh also the research paper stint was insane . wild to me that that was presented in the story as like a cool or kind thing to do to someone . like that's a very reasonable boundary for stanford to be upset about being crossed, and its wild how that's presented as him being a jackass . there are MANY things that make ford a piece of shit . being upset about a guy doing something like that behind your back is not one of them

tho that's a whole other conversation about how ford as a character is defined by never having his boundaries respected, and this never being challenged, and in fact he should just be okay with it when it happens by the "right" sorts of people . once an object, always an object . love him

[guiltyc0nscience]

⋆˙⟡ lacy, oh, lacy, matt sturniolo

ex!matt sturniolo x ex!fem reader

synopsis. in which your ex boyfriend matt gets a new girlfriend and you envy her.

warnings. angst, self comparison, ex!matt, jealousy.

word count. 700 words.

authors note. this is my fav song on guts :(

you were scrolling mindlessly through instagram, half-distracted by the show playing in the background, when it hits you like a punch in the gut.

matt’s name.

you almost swipe past it, the little blue checkmark drawing your attention before your brain has time to catch up. the first photo in the carousel is enough to make your chest tighten; matt’s unmistakable smile, wild and carefree, his arm slung casually around the waist of a girl who is undeniably beautiful.

she’s perfect in a way that feels cruel. her hair is shiny and soft, her skin glowing like she exists in some perpetually golden hour. she’s wearing a baby pink skirt and a white tank top, that made you second-guess every piece of clothing you ever owned. and matt—he’s looking at her like she’s the only thing that matters, his gaze full of that rare blend of comfort and adoration that used to be reserved for you.

your fingers hovered over the screen, but the curiosity wins. you click on her profile—never a good idea.

her name is lacy, a name as delicate and ethereal as she looks. her bio is full of cute emojis, and her feed is an endless stream of photos that make her seem both unreachable heartbreakingly real. there are candids of her laughing with friends, aesthetic shots of iced-lattes and sunsets, flawless photos of her, and of course, more pictures of her with matt.

each photo was a dagger.

you scroll further, unable to stop yourself. there’s a photo of her in a bikini that hugged her perfect body in all the right ways, standing on the beach, her arms wrapped around matt as he leans down to kiss her forehead. the stunning sunset in the background really setting the scene.

you hate her. you hate how easily she seems to slot into the life that used to be yours. you hate the way she seems so effortlessly happy, like she’s never had to sit in her room crying after seeing someone else post photos like this. most of all, you hate how much she reminds you of everything you’re not.

lacy was kind. you could tell by the way people commented under her posts, by the stories where she’s tagged with the captions like “the sweetest person alive” and “my literal angel.” she’s funny, too, with captions that actually made you laugh even though you resented her for it. and then there’s the way she looks at matt in every picture. it’s the kind of look you recognised because it used to be yours.

and matt—he’s happy. he looks like he’s found the thing he’s been searching for.

it feels like a slap in the face.

you tell yourself to stop. to close the app, put your phone down, and do literally anything else. but instead, you go back to his post, lingering on the comment section. the flood of heart emojis and “you two are perfect” messages like tiny arrows, each one reminding you that this is his life now.

he doesn’t think about you anymore.

the realisation hits harder than you expect. it’s not like you thought he was still pining for you, but seeing it laid out in front of you—proof that he’s moved on, that he’s happy—makes your stomach churn.

you close instagram and toss your phone onto your bed next to you, but the damage is done. lacy is burned into your mind now, an image you can’t shake. you think about her at random moments, comparing yourself to her in ways that feel pathetic but impossible to stop.

would matt have loved you more if you’d been more like her? if you’d laughed more or dressed better or been softer around the edges?

you hate how much you care.

it’s not just jealousy—it’s grief. for what you had with matt, for the person you were when you were with him. for the version of you that thought she was enough.

you try to tell yourself it’s just a passing feeling, that in a few days this ache will dull into something manageable. but tonight, it’s sharp and all-consuming, and it’s hard not to feel like lacy has taken more than matt from you.

she’s taken the version of yourself that felt loved.

and you can’t stop wondering if you’ll ever get her back.

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (5 - The Truth)

Chapter Summary: A nuisance at your workplace forces you to re-evaluate your entire existence in Westview—and Wanda's hand, too. Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 3.8k+ | Chapter Tags/Warnings: Gaslighting

A/N: Thank you to everyone who's commented on the story so far. Please, bear with me! // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

It doesn’t make any sense.

Geraldine had just stepped out to grab lunch for both of you. “Back in a jiffy!” she'd chirped before leaving. Now, an email sits in your inbox, unread, but the subject tells you everything you need to know. 

Resignation letter, it says, effective immediately.

You stare at the screen, stunned. Geraldine loved her job. If something was wrong, she would’ve said something—wouldn’t she?

You try calling her number, but it goes straight to voicemail. Growing uneasy, you decide to ask around the office.

“Hey guys, have you seen Geraldine?” you ask a group of your coworkers near the copier.

They shrug. “Last I saw, she was heading out for lunch,” one of them offers.

Frowning, you make your way to the lobby. Maybe the receptionist noticed something.

“Did Geraldine pass by here recently?” you ask.

She looks up. “Yeah, about an hour ago.”

“Was she with anyone?”

“I didn't notice, sorry.”

“Sure, no worries.” You head to the security desk next. The guard gives you a smile and a warm greeting before noticing the crease on your brows.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“Hey, Norm. I’m looking for Geraldine. She went out for lunch and then sent in her resignation. Did you see her leave?”

Norm rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Now that you mention it, I did see her talking to someone outside earlier.”

“Who?”

“A woman. Late twenties, about 5'7". Red hair, pretty. Looked like they knew each other.”

Redheads around that age aren’t exactly common in town—certainly not ones who could be mistaken for your wife.

“Did you catch her name?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “No, sorry.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, stepping away from the desk.

Even if it is Wanda, it’s hard to connect her directly to Geraldine’s sudden resignation. Wanda has her moments of jealousy—which has been frequent as of late—but would she really go as far as to push someone out of their job over it?

Back in your office, you open Geraldine’s resignation email again, scanning for any hint you might have missed. That’s when you notice an attachment you hadn’t seen before. Curious, you click it.

An official-looking document appears on your screen, bearing a logo you don’t recognize: a circle with a sword piercing through it.

At the top, bold letters read: S.W.O.R.D. Alert: Westview Anomaly

Your eyes skim down the page.

*"To all Westview residents,

This is an urgent notice from the Sentient Weapon Observation and Response Division (S.W.O.R.D.).

An anomaly has been detected in your area. For your safety and the safety of those around you, please remain indoors and avoid any attempts to leave town until further notice.

We are working diligently to resolve the situation.

Thank you for your cooperation."*

You lean back in your chair, your mouth twisted into a humorless smile. Is this some kind of joke?

“What’s that?” a voice asks from behind you.

Before you can close the window, Alex, your co-worker is already bent over, eyes scanning the message. As he reads, his face pales, eyes widening with something between fear and recognition.

“Alex?”

He stumbles back, his movements jittery, like a cornered animal. “No… I-I can’t. Please, no more,” he mutters under his breath.

“W-What's wrong?” You take a cautious step forward, reaching out, but he jerks away from your hand like it burns.

Suddenly, he seizes the lapels of your jacket, gripping them so tightly his knuckles blanch. 

“Please, I beg you,” he implores. “Make her stop.”

“Stop who? What are you talking about?”

His eyes dart around, wild and frantic. “She’s doing this. Controlling everything.”

“Alex, you're not making any sense.”

He grabs your arm, eyes pleading. “Please, you have to make her stop!”

“Who? Who am I supposed to stop?” you ask weakly. Deep down, you have a sinking feeling about who he's referring to, but you can't—or won't—acknowledge it.

Wanda is a good person.

She wouldn’t—couldn’t—do this.

If this is some kind of elaborate prank the entire office has set up for you, you swear you'll be the next one handing in your resignation first thing tomorrow.

But instead of the charade ending or Alex cracking a grin, he becomes even more hysterical.

“You have to help us! She’ll only listen to you. I can’t take this anymore—I feel everything she feels—”

You whip your head around and shout, “Are you guys seeing this?!”

No one—not a single soul—acknowledges you. They go about their business like you and Alex don’t even exist. Alex’s hands move from your jacket to your shoulders until he's gripping them hard, pushing you with surprising strength, his eyes panicked and unblinking as he begs you over and over for help. 

When he shoves you again, something in you snaps. You push back, hard.

Perhaps, too hard. 

Alex stumbles, losing his grip. He crashes to the floor, the back of his head colliding with the armrest of a nearby chair with a sickening whack.

“Oh my god! Alex, I’m sorry!”

You drop to your knees beside him, helping him sit up and checking for any sign of injury. He groans, rubbing the back of his head where it hit the chair, then turns to you with a dazed expression.

“What happened?” he asks, wincing slightly. “Why am I on the floor?”

You stare at him in disbelief. “You... you don't remember?”

He blinks, confusion clouding his eyes. “Remember what? Did I miss something?”

“You—” you start, then stop yourself. The frantic look in his eyes from moments ago, his desperate pleas—it’s like it never happened. “Y-You lost your balance,” you say carefully, watching him for any sign of recognition. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He laughs nervously. “Oh, great. That’s embarrassing.”

You nod, forcing a smile. It doesn’t sit right with you—lying to him—but the thought of him slipping back into that earlier state terrifies you. Part of you is relieved to see him acting normal again, yet you can’t shake the feeling that something is seriously wrong.

You help him to his feet, though your own legs feel wobbly. “Maybe you should sit down for a bit,” you suggest.

“Nah, I’m good,” he says, brushing himself off. “Actually, I could go for a coffee and a bagel. Want to join me?”

You glance quickly at the monitor of your computer. The message from S.W.O.R.D. is still there, glaring proof that the last two minutes weren’t just in your head. Right?

“I—uh, sure,” you stammer. Maybe a walk will help clear your head—or at least help you figure out how to deal with this. “Let me grab my wallet.”

–

Monica Rambeau is back in the real world, but reality feels no less surreal. 

She spends half her day in a makeshift clinic just outside the nightmare she barely escaped, repeatedly telling Hayward she’s fine—ready to work, even—but her clearance is being held off for some reason.

Perched on a flimsy cot, Monica fiddles with the hospital bracelet still looped around her wrist. How could she even begin to explain what it was like? Being trapped in that town, her thoughts—no, her very self—locked away in some distant corner of her mind. She’d been a prisoner, forced to watch herself perform a role she couldn’t control.

Worse, she hadn’t just been aware of Wanda’s grief, guilt, anger, and longing—she’d felt them. They’d coursed through her like her own emotions, impossible to separate, impossible to ignore.

“How are you feeling? Any dizziness? Headaches?” The doctor asks her.

Monica musters a tight smile. “I'm fine, really.” But it's not entirely true. Her head throbs—not from any physical pain, but from the collision of two conflicting realities vying for space in her mind: the life she knows as Monica, and the fabricated existence of Geraldine—no matter how fleeting that life had been.

“So, am I cleared?” Monica asks.

“We need to review all your lab results first.”

“And my uniform?”

“It’s still in analysis.”

“I need to get back out there,” Monica murmurs. The doctor says nothing, retreating to her charts.

Jimmy steps into the tent, catching the tail end of the conversation. “Mighty glad to have you back, Captain. How are you feeling?”

“Like myself,” Monica answers, though she’s not entirely sure she believes it.

“Thank heavens for that.”

Monica’s notices a woman standing beside Jimmy, someone she hasn’t seen before.

“Uh, what’s the latest?” she asks, eyeing the bundle in the woman’s arms—clothes, from the look of it. Something other than another hospital gown, hopefully.

The woman answers, “There’s a briefing in ten. Pants are encouraged.” She hands Monica the aforementioned pants and Monica sighs in relief. Finally, some proper clothes.

“This is Dr. Darcy Lewis,” Jimmy says. “She’s the one who discovered the broadcast.” 

Monica’s about to introduce herself when Darcy beats her to it, adding that she’s a huge fan of hers. 

Before Monica can comment on that, the doctor approaches, holding a tablet. “We need to take these again,” she says, showing Monica the imaging results.

“Those are blank,” Darcy points out with a curious tilt of her head. The doctor explains the need for another blood draw and more tests, but Monica refuses. 

“No, no, no. We’re done here,” she says with finality, before sliding off the gurney and heading toward her new uniform.

—

Nothing unusual happens for the rest of the day. Wanda is in the kitchen, as always—just like every other time you come home. She spends her days cooking, cleaning, keeping everything perfect. Not that you’re complaining, but there was a time when Wanda had hobbies. She used to keep a guitar in her room back at the Avengers compound—

Avengers?

What the hell is an ‘Avengers’? 

And, more importantly, where did that thought come from?

“You're home early!” Wanda says, waltzing into the living room, an apron tied around her waist—exactly as you’d expected.

“Yeah, I wasn't feeling well,” you say, your eyes tracking her carefully.

She crosses over to you in concern. “Oh no, what's wrong?”

“Just a rough day,” you murmur. “Where are the boys?”

“They’re at Agnes’s,” she says with a small smile. “I thought we could have a nice dinner—just the two of us. It’s been a while since we had a proper date.”

You nod slowly. “That sounds nice.”

“Perfect!” Wanda beams. “I’ll just finish up in the kitchen. It’ll only take a few more minutes.”

As she turns away, you’re unable to stop yourself from dragging this out any longer. 

“Wanda, wait.”

She stops, glancing back at you. “Yes?”

You take a deep breath. “We need to talk.”

“About what?”

Rubbing your temples, the frustrations of the past week crash down all at once. “Can we sit down? Please, just come here.”

She obediently takes a seat beside you, her expression unreadable.

“Wanda, something strange is happening,” you say, having a hard time meeting her eyes as you say this. 

“Like what?” You hear Wanda ask beside you, her voice surprisingly even.

“Alex had some kind of breakdown. He was begging me to 'stop her.' When I asked who he meant, he wouldn't say. And Geraldine—she just up and quit without a word.”

“That sounds serious. Maybe he should see someone,” Wanda says. 

“I think that…” You trail off, gathering courage before turning to face her. 

Wanda’s still smiling like nothing’s wrong, her features so exquisitely composed that it's hard to tell whether she has anything to do with this or if you've been unfairly suspicious of her. 

But her eyes tell you something else. All you see is a storm brewing. She has never been able to hide her emotions from you, no matter how hard she tries. Wanda’s eyes have always given her away.

“I think that he was talking about you,” you say slowly, testing the waters. Wanda’s temper isn’t something you shy away from—it’s part of who she is—but right now, you’re treading lightly.

She laughs nervously. “Me? That's ridiculous.”

“Wanda,” you say softly. “I love you. But I need to know the truth.”

She stands abruptly, turning her back to you. “I think you're exhausted. You should go ahead and take a shower—”

You get to your feet as well. “Don't dismiss me! I feel like I'm losing my mind.”

She whirls around, eyes glistening. “What do you want me to say?”

“The fucking truth!”

Wanda flinches, and you freeze, immediately covering your mouth. You’ve never sworn in front of her before—not even during your worst arguments. Which, strangely, you can’t quite recall right now. You know you’ve had fights. Wanda’s had hobbies. You’ve traveled beyond Westview. These memories feel real, even as the details slip through your grasp like water.

She studies you for a long, silent moment, something clearly churning behind her eyes. Once you've simmered down, you know you should probably say sorry for lashing out like that.

“Wanda, I didn’t mean to—”

“The truth,” she cuts in sharply, “is that you're overworked and stressed. You've been distant, imagining things that aren't real.”

“Don't turn this around on me,” you retort, feeling your anger rising again. “Ever since the Harvest Festival, you know things have been off. When Agnes asked me about places I've been outside of Westview, I realized—I couldn't remember anything. It's like my life started the day we moved here.”

She forces a laugh, brittle and unnatural. “That's absurd. We've been here for years. Memories fade. It's normal.”

“No, Wanda, it's not normal,” you say through gritted teeth. “I can't recall our wedding, our honeymoon, the day the twins were born. It's all—”

“The albums are downstairs, Y/N, but we’ll get to them once you’re feeling better. Stress can do strange things to the mind, and—”

“Stop deflecting!” you snarl, your fists clenching at your sides. “It’s not just Alex, or Geraldine. People are acting weird, Wanda. And I think you know why.”

Her arms fold tightly across her chest, a wall going up between you. “I don't have to listen to this,” she says.

“Yes, you do!” You step closer, your voice softening as you try a different approach. “Wanda, I'm scared. I feel like I'm losing my grip on reality.”

She sighs deeply. “I understand you're feeling overwhelmed. But accusing me of... what exactly? Manipulating everyone? I can’t believe you’d even consider it.”

“Should I not have?” you whisper. “I got an email from an organization called S.W.O.R.D. about a ‘Westview Anomaly’. They think something's seriously wrong here.”

Wanda scoffs, rolling her eyes. “An email? It’s probably just spam. I don’t need to be working in an office to know better than to open suspicious messages.”

Tears prick your eyes. Why is she being like this? Why does it feel like she’s making you question your own sanity?

“Wanda, please.”

She places her hands on your shoulder, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Maybe you should rest. We can talk about this later.”

“No!” You shove her hands away with more force than intended, startling her. “Why won't you talk to me?”

Wanda’s expression hardens. Without a word, she turns on her heel and starts walking away.

“Because you’re being irrational,” she finally throws over her shoulder. “You’re not yourself.”

“Maybe because I don't know who I am anymore!”

Wanda stops in her tracks, slowly turning back to face you. “What do you mean?”

“I can't remember my life before Westview,” you say, your voice trembling. “I have no memories beyond this town. Is this all real? Are the boys? Am I—”

Wanda closes the distance between you in an instant. “You’re very real.” Her hands find your face, cradling it with a tenderness that almost feels like an apology. “You’re Y/N. You’re my wife, the mother of my children. You’re my everything.”

“I…” you murmur, your gaze dropping to the floor. You wish her reassurances could sweep away all your doubts and fears, but they just don't.

They’re not enough.

“How do I fix this?” Wanda's voice cracks, her hands dropping to her sides.

You’re desperate to believe her, to feel the truth in her touch, so you reach out. Your hands find her waist, fingers gripping softly as if the contact could tether her to you. As if holding her could make her words real.

“Just tell me what’s going on,” you plead, pulling her closer to you. “Please.”

Wanda looks at you, and you can see the internal struggle play across her face. After a moment, she takes a shaky breath, exhaling like it costs her something.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

Wanda’s always underestimated how much you get her, how deeply you care and are willing to understand whatever she’s keeping inside. You’ve been the only one who really got her, next to Pietro. But this is different. 

This truth she’s holding could shatter everything. Telling you could mean losing you again—and maybe for the very last time.

Her eyes lift to meet yours again, and there’s a faint smile on her lips. For a split-second, you think she's about to give you what you’re asking, but then—

“It’s better if you don’t know,” Wanda says softly. 

Before you can protest, her hands cradle your temples, and her eyes burn crimson. A warm sensation washes over you, and your vision blurs.

“Wanda?” you manage, a note of alarm creeping into your voice. 

But the world is already blurring, dissolving into a haze, the memories of this conversation fading like a forgotten dream. 

When you blink, she’s smiling at you from the kitchen doorway, her hair tied back and an apron dusted with flour wrapped snugly around her waist.

“You're home early!” she exclaims brightly.

“Yeah, I guess I am,” you reply, feeling a bit disoriented.

Her smile widens. “Perfect timing,” she says, turning back toward the stove. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Where are the boys?” you ask.

“They're at a friend's house for the evening,” she replies. “I thought we could have a nice dinner, just the two of us.”

You nod slowly. “That sounds nice.”

She returns to the kitchen, and you sink into the couch, rubbing your temples. A nagging feeling tugs at the back of your mind, like you’re forgetting something important.  It’s probably nothing, you tell yourself. Just exhaustion.

In the kitchen, Wanda quickly dabs a tear from her cheek and takes a deep breath.

“Everything will be okay,” she whispers to herself, just as the oven dings to signal that dinner is ready.

—

The briefing concluded on a sour note.

Hayward has officially escalated the situation, branding Wanda a hostile entity and moving toward full confrontation. Monica, Jimmy, and Darcy protest vehemently, but their objections are dismissed without a second thought. 

It’s hard to justify the reality of Wanda's influence over the town: controlling the residents like puppets, violating their rights every second—it’s not an act of benevolence.

Monica, however, knows grief intimately. She regrets opening up to Hayward about her experiences in Westview, naively believing he might empathize with Wanda’s pain. Instead, he’s weaponized it, twisting her insights to justify his growing hostility. She realizes now just how misplaced her trust was.

“By the way, there’s something we’ve been meaning to ask,” Jimmy says as they are leaving the tent. “Do you happen to know Wanda’s wife in there? Y/N?”

Monica freezes for half a beat before glancing at him. “Yeah, but I didn’t meet her until I was pulled into the Hex. Why?”

“You know she’s dead, right?” Darcy says bluntly.

“I—” Monica's expression darkens with surprise. It's been just a few weeks since she returned from the Snap, vanishing for five years, and she's still trying to catch up on who else has come back and who hasn't.

Darcy picks up the thread of conversation as they walk. “What was Y/N like? Did you get a sense of her personality inside the Hex?”

Monica takes a moment to think. To be honest, she’d worried about you ever since Wanda cast her out. Knowing now that you’re dead should bring some closure, ease her concern—but that only made her regret coming back here without solid answers.

“From what I saw, she seemed like a wonderful person—kind, gentle,” Monica says.

“And she's under Wanda's control, right?” Darcy asks.

Monica shakes her head. “I don't think so. I believe Wanda had everyone in town playing a role, but not her family. I don't have concrete proof, but I could tell they were real.”

“So, it really was Y/N in there? It wasn't someone else just wearing her face?” Darcy presses in disbelief. 

The idea is staggering. Wanda is immensely powerful—everyone saw what she could do with the Hex, reshaping reality itself. But bringing someone back from the dead? That seems like a step too far, even for her. Doesn’t it?

“I honestly don’t know,” Monica sighs, feeling the fatigue settle deep in her bones. “With Wanda, it’s hard to say what’s possible anymore.”

“Do you think talking to Wanda would get her to release the town?” Jimmy wonders.

“We can’t say for certain. All I know is that Wanda had the ability to cast me out. We can’t even confirm if she’s doing it alone. Hayward’s jumped to conclusions, and I hate the direction we’re going with this,” Monica says.

Darcy arches an eyebrow. “Hold up. Are you saying you think Wanda has an accomplice in there?”

“I’m just trying to cover all bases,” Monica says. “Maybe someone else knows what’s going on here and they’re stirring the pot too. We can't rule anything out.”

She turns to Jimmy. “But maybe you’re right. Maybe we can find a way to resolve this diplomatically. I truly believe Wanda means well. She’s just... been through so much, like all of us.”

Jimmy nods in agreement while Darcy shrugs, still skeptical but on board with the plan.

“How do you suggest we do that?” Darcy asks.

“By learning more about Y/N,” Monica says. “Think about it—remember how Wanda reacted at the deli? She was worried about Y/N, right before she threw me out of the Hex. I think Y/N figuring out the truth about their life in Westview is the key to all of this.”

“Wait, what deli?” Darcy grumbles, throwing her hands up like she’s just missed the season finale of her favorite show. And in a way, she has. “That never showed up on the broadcast!”

“Maybe Wanda's editing the footage real-time?” Jimmy suggests.

Monica nods. “It’s possible.”

“Well, Jimmy and I have scoured everything on Y/N,” Darcy interjects, pulling out her pad and scrolling through her notes. “All we found was a measly file in Stark’s database—barely more than a footnote.”

Monica crosses her arms and ponders for a moment. “I think I might know someone who can help,” she finally says.

Jimmy and Darcy exchange a look before speaking in unison. “Who?”

“You’ll see,” she says cryptically, dialing a number as she walks away.

[zepskies]

The Honorable Choice || Series Masterlist

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC 

Summary: June 1872. Captain Dean Winchester of the U.S. Cavalry is tasked with one job: break a wild mustang. He just didn’t expect the woman who infiltrates his camp, intent on freeing her tribe’s horse.

AN: I got inspired after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (literally a perfect movie), as well as having Yellowstone in the back of my brain. I thought this idea might be a good fit for @jacklesversebingo.

**Disclaimer: I’ve done extensive research for this one, both on the American Indian Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s (AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars and the Sioux Wars). Of course, one of my main goals is to avoid inaccuracies, both historical and cultural.

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Western AU

Series Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Racism, angst, violence, protective Dean, eventual smut, perilous situations, fluff and spice, along with other chapter-specific tags.

🎵 Listen while you read: The Spirit Soundtrack

Chapters:

Part 1 - Pride & Prejudice

Part 2 - Death & Sacrifice

Part 3 - Worthy

Series Complete!

Sequel Stories:

Outlander

Summary: Dean Winchester has been stripped of his military rank, but he’s living happier with his new wife, trying to adjust to a new life in her tribe. What will it take for her people to accept him, especially when the battle for her heart might not be completely won? 

Series Complete!

🎙️ Podcast Fics:

A “podfic” is where you can listen to the story narrated - in this case by my amazing friend Sandra - @talltalesandbedtimestories.

Listen to Part 1 -

Listen to Part 2 -

Listen to Part 3 -

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