#plus... I feel a lot better now that I’ve written it

[rainaer]

okay update I’ve been Instagram stalking and I think I can put pieces together. This is such a long deep dive so bear with me.

January: "I have two that I've written the first draft of and will go into revision soon. I have one that I'm writing now and I'm about halfway through. I have another that I'm planning." (source)

I will label these four books, in order, Mystery Book, Big Book, Paper Model Book, and Little Graceling Book. We'll follow them over the course of the year, and you'll see where the names come from.

The one that she was writing at the time, we're going to call Paper Model Book, because she said this about it: "My WIP includes a character who’s building a paper model of a castle and does other paper art too. Butterflies and moths are also an important part of the book." (source)

This draft was started many months earlier, pre-brain surgery, and went on pause for obvious reasons. From earlier notes, it appears the main character may have an M name. (source) I believe the draft was started all the way back in September 2023, and just took a while due to the aforementioned brain surgery, as well as copyediting for There Is a Door in this Darkness. (source)

She continued working on Paper Model Book for several months. She finished and submitted the manuscript around late April/early May. Several of the notebooks for this book have fox stickers on them, and she also had fox socks and fox art on her desk, which could mean there are foxes in it, but could also mean that she was just in a fox mood.

May: "With this draft done, I now have three entire books in revision, plus There Is a Door in This Darkness releasing on June 11." (source)

In May, she was on a bit of a vacation, but mentioned at one point that she was "listening to a lot of math podcasts and books to help me with a character I’m brainstorming." (source) Guessing this was for Little Graceling Book, the book she started writing in September; it's the only one she would have been planning/brainstorming for.

In June, she began revising a 430-page book. She described this revision as "so complicated" and the novel as "pretty complex". (source) The first draft of that book was written, in part, summer 2023. (source) This should be the one we have called Big Book. She continued revising Big Book for several months, while also doing release stuff for There Is A Door in this Darkness.

Peeks from that revision:

(source 1, source 2)

In September, she started plotting a new book, which we will call Little Graceling Book. Two posts about it have been tagged #gracelingrealm, implying that it's the next Graceling book.

Words I have caught in her notes for this book include: “fox” “castle” “heartless world” “the reader has guessed what A is up to and so has O; move on to other mysteries” (who’s A?? could it be adventure the fox??). Stickers include at least two foxes and a very Graceling-feeling castle.

On November 10, she mentioned writing “a bunch of pages, in a book about a world where things can change for the better (as they can in our world).” <3 (source)

A few days ago (December 21), she posted that she will be setting aside the partial first draft of Little Graceling Book to return to Big Book, her next book to come out. This book has gone through two drafts, and she’s about to get editorial letters back that will allow her to start on the third draft. There appears to be a grandfather clock and a horse sticker on the cover of its notebook, but we don't know anything else about it as far as I can tell. (source)

She also shared that two other books (Mystery Book and Paper Model Book, as far as I can tell) are in progress and hanging out on a shelf. They appear to be printouts with sticky notes in them, which indicates that they're further along in the revision process.

So. That's what I have. Hopefully this is of interest to someone besides me that will justify the several hours I spent back-scrolling Kristin Cashore's Instagram lol

hi excuse me kristin cashore is working on FOUR books rn ??

what do we think they are 👀

[verdantglow]

Fuck it, time to be loudly cringe & find my 30 weirdos.

Trafficstuck AU

Because even 12 years after starting Homestuck, I still found myself in bed one night, trying to sleep, but unable to because all I could think about was Griann <> Gudtym Wiscar.

(I’ve got so much figured out for this AU that I don’t know how to share. Please send me asks about your fave/anything you’re curious about so that I can have some direction for this lore vomit!)

[veinpursuer]

WHERE’S MY FUKING CAPO

[jokeroutsubs]

[📝ENG translation] 'My Parents Gave Me a Strong Sense of Identity'

An interview with Bojan Cvjetićanin.

Original article written by Teja Roglič for Ona plus, published 05.11.2024. English translation by @kurooscoffee, review by @weolucbasu, proofread by IG Gboleyn123.

Full article and Spotify link under the cut 👇

🎧 Article available in audio form on Spotify.

Last year’s craze at Stožice, summer festival performances, the Eurovision Song Contest, international success. And then everyone asks, what could be bigger, what could be better? But as the band Joker Out releases their new album, they consciously follow the motto "I want less". Singer Bojan Cvjetićanin explains why: "This is our home, this is our base. If we don’t feel good at home, we can’t feel good anywhere. We need to rediscover love in our base, that’s what we told ourselves."

With the song Bluza, you’re returning to love. Why?

We went through a lot. The songs we released after Eurovision dealt with the most acute situational changes in our lives—touring, exhaustion, questioning ourselves. Now, it’s time to have a bit of fun again. And there's probably nothing more beautiful than being in love. (smiles)

I’ve been looking into people’s stories, into the lives of those around me, seeking beauty.

What did you discover?

That I enjoy writing about love the most. When you write from a place of uncertainty, it’s nice to get those feelings out; when you write about love, you search for timeless beats within yourself, not something that’s only fleeting. I write about the ideals of love I held as a child, and in the future, I’ll see how these have either evolved or fallen apart.

It's best to write about love...

When you have a broken heart.

Your Eurovision song was more socially critical, though it might seem, at first glance, to be about joy. In it, you say: "We won’t take part in your games or your divisions." Did the song’s message reach people?

Undoubtedly. A lot has changed in a year and a half, not only personally but also in terms of our views of social issues. For the first time, we've connected with young people from abroad. It was fascinating to see how connected the fans from different countries became, encouraging each other, learning new languages—even a lot of Slovene. The desire for peace and unity is very strong at our concerts, so our messages have touched them. But of course, you can never reach everyone. (smiles)

You mention changed perspectives with regards to society. Have any ideals been shattered?

Many ideals have crumbled. In school, learning about war, it always seemed odd to me that the world could just go on at the same time, despite the ongoing disruption in the system. Now, I see that we have access to all the information, that we see and hear what’s happening, that we witness an influx of people coming from regions where this is happening, yet everything literally carries on as usual.

War has become more of a trend on TikTok or Instagram than something people feel hurt about. This makes me very sad.

A lot of ideals that have shattered relate to the life of a musician. We’ve achieved things we could only have dreamed of—not just as kids; even two years ago, what’s happening now would have seemed impossible to me. But the ideal that’s crumbled is this one: I don’t always know how to appreciate what I have.

On tour, I often slipped into negative thoughts, didn’t appreciate everything happening to us. This links to the idea that this kind of life is easy, that as a successful musician, you only have fun. This, of course, isn’t true; it’s incredibly exhausting, both mentally and physically. I could go on until tomorrow, listing everything that’s fallen apart, but fortunately, a lot of new things have also come to be.

You’re the idols of generations; do you feel pressure because of that? After all, you’re still young guys too…

No. We already lost the childlike joy of music because we had to start working so much so early and get to know so many new systems. If we also take on the responsibility of raising generations of kids, we could truly fall into a black hole.

We need to be role models, but we can’t shape our work around that. On the upcoming album, there’s a song, 'Muzika za decu' ('Music for children'), which touches on this very point. We want to convey that we’re not addressing generations who think all younger people are lazy bums who only hinder the world’s progress. We’re addressing everyone who is young enough at heart to believe in a better world, a brighter tomorrow.

Photo: Vita Orehek

More and more musicians are stopping concerts at large venues when fans are in distress or overcrowding happens. You too?

Absolutely. This summer, we constantly stopped concerts if people were packed tightly indoors or out in the sun. We handed out a lot of water from the stage, and I even paused a concert if some listener (m.) was treating another listener (f.) disrespectfully. A concert is a safe space; there’s no place there for infringing on the rights of others.

That’s an interesting topic I wanted to touch on anyway. So what is the rock ‘n’ roll world of the new generation like?

It’s a lot better. I’m glad we’re not a group of drugged-out dudes living only for today. Carpe Diem really means seize the day, but for us, that doesn’t mean picking every fruit that exists in the world. Waking up healthy and energised, wanting to go to a concert, being open to meeting new people, our fans, being creative...

That’s what it means to seize the day. Sure, sometimes we go on a trip, we do have fun too. But I’m glad that sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll aren’t our guiding principles in the band. When we watched the documentary about Mötley Crüe, we saw how they started with heroin and opiates and ended with smoothies and fruit. Well, we’re already at the fruit and smoothies stage. (laughs)

“We’re constantly building a relationship that gets deeper every day, even though it seems like it can’t get any deeper,” you told me before the Stožice concert, as I was stunned when you said you were going on holiday with the guys right after the concert. How much do you invest in relationships within the band? We know it’s sometimes challenging to nurture a relationship between two people, let alone five.

This is like a partnership with five people. Except for intimacy, all the other elements of partnership are there. We’re companions. We often live together, work together; the dynamics are demanding. I talk a lot about this with fellow musicians. Recently, I was talking to Mr. Vlado Kreslin, and we concluded that being in a band requires a touch of madness.

Even if it ends someday—nothing is guaranteed—I know I have four lifelong friends. We exist as friends even beyond the band.

Success demands hard work; you’ve told me before how sure you were of your path in the band, of your decisions, and how hard you worked to achieve what you have. And we’re back to the topic that some might say your generation isn’t hardworking, that you’re quick to say what you won’t do at the work place...

The young people I know could hardly be described as not hardworking. I’d rather say we’re diligent, and the drive to work comes from the strong pressure that you need to achieve a lot very quickly, or else you won’t make it in this world. As for them being quicker to say no... Maybe they know they can’t live that way if something doesn’t work. And to live is very costly.

Young people feel they don’t have to stick rigidly to one profession, that they can change courses, jobs, and find something that suits them. We’re far from the days when the son was a blacksmith because the father was a blacksmith, and the daughter stayed home as a housewife. But we also have to know that there’s more and more uncertainty, precarious work.

If Gen Z is the way it is, I wouldn’t attribute that to the generation itself but rather to the Boomer generation. Everything that makes life harder for us isn’t the product of our ideas and actions. But it’s also true that sometimes, you need to stop, think, and make a decision. I’d like to do something today, something different tomorrow, but that’s not realistic. When you’re bombarded by choices from all ends, you have to make decisions. If there are three shirts in a store, I’ll pick one; if there are 250, I might end up buying sneakers instead. (laughs)

You performed at a concert aimed at contributing to the best possible care, treatment, and support for women with gynaecological cancer. You probably get invited to participate in quite a few charitable events; how do you choose them? This concert likely wasn’t a hard choice, as both of your parents are doctors...

My father is a gynaecologist, my mother is a pediatrician, so naturally, when I got the invitation, I immediately thought my dad would be happy if I could perform there. Otherwise, I choose events based on two criteria: whether it’s something important and whether I’m home at that time. I've often had to turn down an event I would have really liked to participate in simply because I wasn’t here.

Life has taken you all over in recent years. What have your parents given you that has stayed with you and has been proven most useful today?

They gave me a sense of normality. I'm an ordinary person who takes everything in moderation. I didn’t become a hedonist, nor did I give in to the patterns that the environment might impose. They gave me a strong sense of who I am and what I am, unconditional self-confidence, and self-respect. And the certainty that I’m never alone in anything.

Recently, the dramaturg Nina Kuclar Stiković and I talked about how Generation Z might be the first to actively work through its traumas, though she noted that taking on such responsibility across generations is a huge task. In the end, you might even feel worse. If you only become aware of your baggage but can’t overcome it, it can feel even worse than if you had never been made aware of it at all, she said. What do you observe around you, in your own generation?

Mental health has never been as openly discussed as it is today. I know many people who go to therapy. It’s actually strange that mental health was never treated before, that this stigma existed. If you have a cold, you stay home, you also heal a broken arm. Today's generations have managed to break free from these shackles. The individual is becoming increasingly more important.

People are working through the things in their minds. And this bothers many people from generations who suppressed everything and unleashed their traumas onto others. I often think how unfortunate it is that we don’t practice everyday therapy in our surroundings. Everyone surely has someone whom they trust. We talk about all sorts of things, but we never ask each other how we are and share that honestly. Now, I do this with a few friends, and it’s really nice. I go to my friends for therapy. (smiles)

Nina also mentioned that patriarchy has wronged not only women but men too. It’s unfair that men couldn’t show emotions and always had to be strong. It always helps if you can share your feelings with someone. What do you think?

The Neanderthal perception of masculinity is passé. We can all first tell ourselves, and then tell others, how we feel and what’s going on in our heads.

This summer, you performed at festivals. Now you have a new album, and you’ll be performing at various venues again, with tickets quickly selling out. It's a carousel that never stops. You mentioned earlier that you caught yourself maybe not appreciating it anymore. What do you do now to keep that from happening?

For the tour that’s coming with the release of the new album, we consciously followed the motto, "I want less." Last year, we played in Stožice, before that in Križanke. This year, we toured Europe, and everyone was asking us what big thing we’re preparing next. But we were only talking about how nice it would be to play at Ljubljana's Cvetličarna again.

Pass by Maribor too, go a bit to the clubs in the Balkans, and that’s it. This is our home; this is our base. If we don’t feel good at home, we can’t feel good anywhere. We told ourselves that we need to find love in our base again. I’m glad we recognise this, that we’re not just banging our heads against a brick wall. The purpose of this tour is simply to enjoy it.

A few years ago, you told my colleague Robert Rebolj, my fellow journalist, and your fellow musician, that you’d like to have kids while still young. Yet you also say that you're in a period where several of your ideals have collapsed as you look at the world around you. Does the desire still remain?

When I said that, I was thinking I’d have my first child between the ages of 28 and 30. Then Robert told me that having a child young doesn’t necessarily mean that. (laughs) I see it now, too, as some of my friends already have children, and some even their second. My calendar no longer just has friends’ birthdays, but, for instance, the first birthday of a friend’s child. (laughs) Yes, I think a lot about how this world is in many ways not what I imagined it would be, but I guess it’s always been that way throughout history—things have never been ideal. I think everyone, in every era, has felt the world is going to- hmmm, well, that’s how it seems to me too. (laughs)

[soralymystaken]

I think a lot about Lloyd and Harumi, solely because they have one of the most unique yet complex relationship dynamics in all of Ninjago, and it’s something I don’t feel like we talk about enough.

So often I see online that their dynamic is overly simplified. I so often see people arguing between them being “true-love” or “friends to lovers to enemies,” but stating it’s just one of those is overlooking all of the complexities. Even stating it as a one-sided thing from Lloyd isn’t looking at the whole picture. Of course, there can be many interpretations of how they interact. Again, that’s the reason I adore this dynamic so much. This, however, is my personal interpretation:

Also, warning, spoilers plus some swearing.

At the beginning, we see Lloyd have the whole “love-at-first-sight” trope, and we learn that Harumi invited him into the castle. While, of course this immediately is seemed as a positive interaction, later events reveal otherwise. It continues like this: Lloyd falls deeper in love with Harumi whilst she continues manipulating him to keep him on strings. She eventually realizes his feelings, and wants plays on that, making the process work exponentially better. Finally, we learn Harumi’s motives and her reasoning, and, in the episode, Lloyd is devastated. However, I have some additions on this, but I’m gonna finish up my review of canon before getting to that. We do also know that Lloyd still has feelings, though. We primarily see thing from Lloyd still trying to save her from Garmadon’s grasp along with his sadness from her death.

The next time we see her and Lloyd’s dynamic (at least as far as I want to mention,) is Crystalized. When Lloyd is captured, he apologizes. He still clearly has feelings for Harumi, and, in a turn of events, it seems that Harumi does as well, as she convinces the Overlord to spare him and to try to get him on their side.

Okay, enough about prior knowledge, lets discuss headcanons. So, firstly, I’m 100% sure that Lloyd was tormented by Harumi’s origin story. We know how high of a standard he holds himself to, and we also know how morally-driven he is. Him learning about the real stories of the real people who he had really hurt couldn’t have been taken easily. I’ve actually written a whole fic that revolves on that fact, and how Lloyd’s lingering feelings would have amplified that feeling to oblivion. Also, for people who assume he would immediately drop his feelings when he learned Harumi’s true motives, literally just look at how he talks about Garmadon and you’ll see he can’t exactly move on that easily. Things like this take time, and, again, he has guilt because of this whole thing. Moving on from a relationship when you believe you were the reason the person tried to destroy the entire world and subsequently died isn’t the same as a high school breakup. That’s fucking devastating, and especially for someone who hasn’t had the best relationships up to that point.

However, this dynamic really starts to become cloudy when you look at Harumi. Now, look: I’m like 90% sure she only had feelings for Lloyd in S15 as fan-service, but, fan-service or not, it’s canon, and therefore I’m still gonna cover it.

So, first off, when and how did Harumi develop feelings? Personally, I think there could be three main reasons. For one, gaslighting. The whole time, she was gaslighting Lloyd into loving her. Sometimes, when you keep up a lie like that for so long and with that level of commitment, you can convince even yourself of these feelings. Do I think this is the case for Harumi? Well, it depends. If you truly do believe there is a spark between them, then no. However, if you really don’t like the fact that they were given a romantic storyline in S15, then this is a totally valid reasoning.

The second reason that comes to mind is Lloyd’s persistence. Now, just to cover all our basis, reminder that “being persistent” and “never giving up on a love that could be” are not cutesy tropes and relationship goals, and no means no. I see too much stuff online saying shit like “I never gave up on her and, even though she said no 20 times, she gave in in the end.” This is not something to romanticize. If someone rejects you, fucking respect that and move tf on. That being said, though, I think that could actually be the case in this dynamic, albeit in a much less creepy way than some fuckers online do it. Lloyd clearly, even after all of the shit Harumi pulled, still has lingering feelings: a mix of platonic and romantic. I truly believe Lloyd is someone who believes that anyone can change for the better, and applies this to Harumi. The fact that, even after all the pain Harumi caused, he still searched for her in the rubble could be the reason she developed feelings. In my opinion, this is the most likely option.

The final one is a bit colder, and is for y’all who believe Harumi is evil through-and-through. Lloyd is fucking overpowered. Harumi’s reasoning to the Overlord could be just that: the reason. I personally don’t love this one as much, but if this is something you resonate with, I would totally understand why.

All of these factors strung together make Lloyd and Harumi one of my favorite dynamics. There is so much more that I didn’t even discuss here. Is it romantic or platonic or just romantic for one of them? Did Harumi develop feelings even sooner yet denied them solely because of her hatred? Is Lloyd’s relationship with Harumi less to do with Harumi herself and more-so to do with trying to rebuild a relationship with his father through her to prove he can hold onto someone he loves? All of these are questions I’d love to dive into but simply do not have time.

Hopefully you enjoyed my little rant. I love overthinking stuff like this and also love chatting about over-the-top headcanons. If you have any thoughts on this (or other headcanons you want to share), please do!

[mxltifxnd0m]

dazzling starlet, bardot reincarnate ⟢ s. winchester

summary: unrequited love is a bitch; inspired/based on the song lacy by olivia rodrigo

pairings: stanford era! sam winchester x gn! reader (unrequited), sam winchester x afab! reader, sam winchester x jessica moore

word count: 2.3K

warnings: canon compliant, angst, lot of angst, unrequited love, mentions of sex/masturbation, some cursing, no happy ending, kinda edited

a/n: i had written this around this time last year and then finished it in the summer but i hated how it turned out so i finally was able to rewrite and it think it turned out much better. also i'd recommend giving the song a listen before reading!

but enjoy the fic! please like, comment, and reblog!! your feedback fuels me!

𝘴𝘢𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

You didn’t know if you hated Jessica or hated the fact that she was everything you weren’t. You couldn’t help but feel like something was punching at your ribs anytime you saw her. Jessica was the epitome of beauty; she was tall, had curly blonde hair that never seemed to get frizzy, big blue eyes that were always wide with kindness,  and a sickly sweet smile that never failed to make you feel like your teeth could rot at the sight of it.

Not only was she beautiful on the outside, but it was like she didn’t have a bad bone in her body. Jessica was caring, intelligent, witty, strong-willed, and generous. You knew she had a big heart after meeting her a few times. She was practically an angel. 

You knew it from the moment Sam introduced you to her as his girlfriend that you had lost him. 

You tugged at the sleeves of your form-fitting black shirt at your wrists as you lingered outside of the apartment where Sam told you to meet him. Some of your mutual friends were hosting a small get-together before you guys went on fall break.

Just go in, mingle for a little, meet Sam’s girlfriend while you feel your heartbreak, and then leave. You think back to the plan that you made while you were getting ready. 

You take a deep breath and let it out before knocking on the door.

When the door swings open, you’re met with a tipsy Brady.  

“Jinx! You’re fin-finally here!” Brady’s words are slurred as he welcomes you into the apartment.

You gave him a tight smile in response. “Yeah, I’m here, Brady. I got held up with some homework.” You never really understood why Brady started to call you Jinx, but he’s called you that nickname so many times. Now you’re stuck with it, and now everyone in his circle (barring Sam) calls you by it.  

You tolerated it, but you’ve always gotten weird vibes from Brady when Sam introduced the two of you.

Brady swung an arm around your shoulders, and you could smell the alcohol on his breath as he leaned down to speak to you.

“You ready to meet Sam’s girl?” Brady asked you slyly.

You raised an eyebrow at him. How did he know that you were meeting her for the first time?

“Oh, wipe that look off of your face, Jinxy. Sam told me before this that he was introducing his best friend to Jessica.”

“Did he tell you before or after you consumed an entire liquor cabinet?” You quipped, trying to hide the inner turmoil you were feeling.

Brady straightened up like he hadn’t been tipsy the entire time. “For your information, it was before, plus I’ve only had a couple of drinks. Besides, who do you think introduced him to Jess in the first place.” He had an all-knowing smirk on his face like he knew something that you didn’t before it turned into a sly grin.

Brady tapped your nose once before letting you go and stalking off into the living room, where you could hear everyone laughing and chatting. You huffed as you slipped off your sneakers and left them in the doorway. You wiped your hands on the back of the jeans you were wearing and decided to head to the kitchen for a drink. Being stone-cold sober while meeting Sam’s new girlfriend was not on your to-do list.

As you strolled into the kitchen, the counters covered with various bottles of liquor and red solo cups, you froze as you saw Sam leaning on one of the counters and talking animatedly with a blonde who was almost his height and was standing right in front of him.

From the entryway of the kitchen, you saw the adoration for this girl in his eyes as he spoke. Suddenly, his hazel eyes were torn away from the woman standing in front of him as he glanced around the kitchen before they landed on your form. Sam brightened, the dimples on his face becoming more prominent as he called out your name and gestured for you to come closer.

As you made your way over to the pair, the blonde turned around to face you, and you faltered in your steps as your eyes studied her.

God, she was stunning. You thought as you approached the two of them. 

Sam had stopped leaning on the counter by the time you made it to him and wrapped you up in a big bear hug. You stumbled from its sudden force, but you couldn’t help but melt into his embrace as you chuckled at his antics.

“You’ve had a few already, haven’t you?” You asked as you pulled back to see the tell-tale signs of Sam being tipsy. His cheeks were flushed as his bangs kept falling in his eyes, but a big silly smile was on his face as he nodded.

You pulled away from him entirely as he pulled Jessica into his side.

“Jess, this is my best friend.” He gave her your name. “And this is Jessica, my girlfriend,” Sam said with a toothy smile and shot Jessica a loving look.  

“It’s so nice to meet you! Sam’s told me so much about you, but he forgot to mention how pretty you were!”

You were taken aback by the sudden compliment from Jessica. “It’s nice to meet you too.” You said it with a kind smile, though it felt like you were pulling teeth as the words fell from your mouth.

The three of you fell into a comfortable conversation as you went and grabbed a drink for yourself. But, as the night went on and the three of you eventually moved into the living room, you got separated from the two of them.

As you were talking to some of your friends there, your eyes always looked at Sam and Jessica. You can see why Sam had fallen for Jess as you saw them interact with each other. You hated it so much. You quickly excused yourself as you saw them cozy up to one another and sharing stolen glances and touches.

You managed to escape to the bathroom, which was empty (thankfully), and you locked yourself in the small space to try and compose yourself. A lump formed in your throat as you stared at yourself in the mirror, feeling like the world was closing in on itself. 

When did they meet? It’s not fair; I have known him longer than she has. I’ve loved him longer. Why did he choose her? Why couldn’t he have chosen me? Your mind was spiraling, and all you wanted to do was scream.

Jessica had everything you wanted.

Without realizing it, hot tears started to stream down your face. You quickly wiped away your tears and made sure you looked like you hadn’t been crying. You made your way out of the bathroom and almost bumped into Jess in the process.

Excellent, the one person I didn’t want to see. You thought bitterly to yourself.

“Sorry.” You muttered as you kept your head down and made room for Jess to go into the bathroom.

“Hey, wait!” Jess called out to you before you could take another step down the hallway. You grit your teeth before plastering on a small smile and turning around.

“Yeah?” You ask.

“Are you okay?” She questioned kindly as she stood in the doorway of the bathroom. The warm lighting simulated the glow of a halo that surrounded her.

Not trusting my voice, I nodded at her in response.

“You sure? I don’t mean to pry-” Then don’t. “But your eyes are a little red.” Jess gestured to her own eyes as an example.

You waved her concern off. “I’m fine, my allergies are acting up right now.”

Jess didn’t look convinced, but she let it go. “Oh, before I forget, I was wondering if you wanted to hang out with me sometime?”

Not really. “Yeah, I would love to.” I gave her a tight smile.  

Jess smiled brightly before gesturing she was heading into the bathroom and closing the door. My smile fell as I sighed deeply. I ran my hand down my face tiredly as I stalked down the dim hallway and back into the living room, where everyone was hanging out. I saw Sam throw his head back in laughter, making me smile, and my heart beat a little faster before my smile faltered.

The image of Jessica's blinding smile when she looked at Sam and his loving gaze on his blonde bombshell of a girlfriend slithered into my mind and started to poison it. So before anyone could spot me, I quickly made my way to the doorway, put on my shoes, and left.

Ever since that night, Jessica managed to worm her way into your life and yours into hers. She managed to get your number and texted you if you wanted to meet up and hang out. At first, you tried to say no to her outright, but Jess managed to break through your defenses, and you found yourself hanging out with her after class. 

You despised the fact that you grew to enjoy her company, but Jess made it hard to hate her, and it seemed that she genuinely liked you and considered you a good friend. You hated when she gave you compliments, whether it was on your quick wit or looks.

You hated the warm feeling that would bloom in your chest, and she made it a point to do it often, making it feel like bullets raining down on your skin every time she did. 

Phantom blood ran down from your imaginary wounds as you responded to her compliments with a tight smile and a 'thank you' being forced from your lips as you tried to swallow the lump at the back of your throat.

She’d confide in you, and you couldn’t help but be drawn to do the same. 

“You know, I was worried that you weren’t going to like me at first,” Jess expressed to you when you were hanging out at her and Sam’s apartment. 

You looked up from the book you were reading. “What do you mean?” You felt your stomach twist and knot up at her admission. 

Jess stopped crocheting the scarf she was planning to give to Sam for Christmas. “I heard so much about you from Sam.” She paused, biting her bottom lip before continuing. “I guess I was just worried that I wouldn’t make a good impression.” 

“Oh.” You were surprised that she had to worry about her impressing you. “If it makes you feel any better I felt the same way when we first met.” You sent her a reassuring smile, but you weren’t sure if it came off genuine, trying to conceal your own inner conflict, but considering how Jess’s eyes brightened and sent a dazzling smile at your admission, it was. 

From then on, the three of you became as close as the three musketeers, hanging out often and sticking by each other’s sides. Sam and Jess never tried to make you feel like a third wheel.

Still, you would catch the loving looks they would send each other or catch them sharing a soft kiss whenever they thought you weren’t paying attention when you guys would have movie nights at their apartment. 

Those nights would be the worst, having Sam and Jess insist that you sleep over at their apartment when it was too late to go back to your dorm that was on campus. You could hear the low groans and high-pitched whines coming from their shared room, trying to be quiet, thinking that you were dead asleep.

So you had to pretend that you were sound asleep and not clutching the blanket that they gave you close to your chest, trying to ignore the sounds spilling out from their room and into your ears. The ugly monster that emerged ever since you met Jess tried to claw its way out from your chest. You had to pretend that you didn’t slip your hand in between your legs and get off at the sound of them, coming at the same time Jess did and imagined that you were either Sam or Jess (sometimes you thought about being in between them). 

You tried distancing yourself from them for your own sanity and salvaging the pieces of your heart that had broken a long time ago. But Jess, she was insistent, and you couldn’t ignore the beacon of light she emitted. You didn’t know if you wanted to be her or be Sam more. 

Sam wasn’t yours, you knew that. Jess had him the second Brady introduced them, and it fucking sucked. Sam only saw you as his best friend, one of the first ones he made when he came to Stanford all of those years ago. The monster that lived inside of you only grew the longer you saw Sam and Jess together. It morphed into something that you could never imagine could grow inside of you. You managed to mask it and push it down, but it always loomed over you like a storm cloud threatening to strike you down at any moment. 

You felt like some higher power was mocking you and rubbing it in your face that Sam and Jess were the perfect couple. Both of them were gorgeous, incredibly smart, empathetic, and kind. They were incredible human beings, and it was practically a match made in heaven, especially the way that they were together. 

But there was always some part of you, more specifically the monster, who wanted them to break up, hoping that Jess was secretly a terrible person so you’d be the person to pick up the pieces for Sam. But your hopes were dashed, and your heart splintered even more, the monster, roaring, screaming, clawing at your throat, trying to escape the confines of your body when Sam asked you to come along to pick out engagement rings. 

[here's my taglist; read rules before sending in an ask]

[mrdixon]

Work in Progress

pairing: pre-negan Alexandria Daryl x f!reader

wc: 8.1k (sorry.)

warnings: 18+ content, unprotected sex, p-in-v, fingering, oral (fem. receiving), alcohol (sober sex.), mild swearing, some fluff,,,

summary: Your friends peer pressure you into asking Daryl out to the cookout that's taking place tonight.

A/N: this is like my first ever smut officially written and OH MY GOD im so sorry if its terrible i was cringing at some parts. sooooo cliche but i promise ill be better. i realize reading this back that so many of them are slightly out of character but ignore it, i was drunk writing half of this. i also never intended this to be that long and i freaked out reading the word count so. anyways i hope you enjoy and feel free to request anything more!! id be happy to write more for you all.

masterlist!

“I’m telling you, he likes you.” You roll your eyes from your spot at your desk after hearing Maggie’s comment, continuing to focus on your work rather than the idiotic conversation taking place.

“How and why would Daryl like me?” You ask and look up at your three friends Maggie, Carol, and Rosita. It’s like you can pinpoint the exact moment they all mentally facepalm at your question, “I’m just saying.” You mutter under your breath, looking back down at the plans for the reinforcement of Alexandria’s walls. The silence was too loud but you could tell the three of them were all glancing at each other while trying to figure out what to say to you.

“Well for starters, he visits you a lot.” Carol tried to reason, earning a scoff from you. “No I’m serious, he doesn’t even stay home that often. That prick has only stayed for food recently.” The corner of your mouth curls up slightly at her comment, still looking down at your notes.

“Plus he smiles a lot around you, I’ve never seen him smile that hard before… Let alone at all.” Rosita adds. You sigh, finally looking up at your friends and immediately getting startled by all of them looking towards you. You think about what Rosita said and contemplate it for a moment, well he has been hanging around you recently…

“Nope, no way.” They all audibly groan as they turn away from you, “besides. I don’t even like him like that.” Now that earns a scoff from them.

“Oh please. You can hardly keep eye contact with him, let alone speak coherent sentences when he’s around.” Carol retorts, tending to the carnations in a vase in the corner of your study room. You scoff again at the exaggerated example whilst shaking your head.

“Uh uh, I can keep eye contact with him. In fact I have no problem interacting with him because he’s just a friend.” You state bluntly before getting up and putting your notes into a folder behind your seat.

“Oh my god hey Daryl!” Rosita calls out, causing you to quickly fix your hair and spin around with a bright smile on your face. All just to slouch back down onto your chair once you realize it was just to catch you off guard. The three of them laugh silently to themselves while muttering a “we told you so” in unison.

“Fine. I guess I do like him but that does not mean I’m going to do anything about it.” You look down at your lap, hearing clothes shuffling from how quickly they all snap their heads in your direction.

“Why the hell not?” Maggie exclaims, “you know it’s nice. Being in a relationship, plus you guys complement each other well.

You sigh as you spin around in your chair, staring up at the ceiling in thought. “Well… Even if he does like me, I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

“Bullshit.” Carol says bluntly before walking up to you, “just ask him out. He won’t say no.” You roll your eyes and spin away from her, staring at your wall.

Rosita spins the chair around back so you can face them, “Carol’s right. Daryl has been pining you for like months, maybe even years now.”

“How am I even supposed to ask him out? Like should I ask him to hang out like usual and pop the question or should I ask him to dinner?” You nibble at the end of your finger anxiously, even considering asking him out is terrifying.

“Oh! You should ask him out to the cookout tonight, it’ll be perfect.” Maggie grabs your hands excitedly, flashing her bright smile at you.

“Oh god no I’m not going.” You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. Rosita grabs your hands, forcing you to look at her. You can tell she has an idea, one you won’t like.

“You are going. No questions asked, no objections. And you will ask him out.” You bite your bottom lip, “c’mon…. If you’re lucky you’ll get laid-” Maggie’s hand flies over Rosita’s mouth to stop her but the statement was already heard.

“I’m not going to fuck him on the first date!” You exclaim, your eyes wide in disbelief.

“It’s a date!” Maggie yells, Rosita says the same but muffled from Maggie’s hand over her mouth. You shake your head profusely, waving your hands around as you panic, not wanting to admit asking him out.

The door opens suddenly, all four of your heads snapping towards the door. A very confused Daryl pokes his head in, furrowing his brows at the scene. “Am I interrupting?”

Carol grabs Maggie and Rosita, dragging them towards the door. “Nope, in fact (Y/N) has something to ask you so we’ll leave you to it.” Carol grins “unsuspiciously” at him whilst dragging the other two out. Rosita mouths a “we’ll come back later” while exiting the room, Maggie giving a thumbs up. You groan, putting your head in your hands as you run your fingers through your hair.

You can hear heavy footsteps walk towards you, the squeak of a chair being pulled up next to your desk before that familiar gruff voice speaks. “What was it that you wanted to ask?”

You lift your head to look at Daryl, your heart jumping at the close proximity you two were in. For a moment you contemplate whether to bail on the question or just go for it. You clear your throat, sitting up and crossing your arms, “are you going to the cookout tonight?” Quickly looking away in embarrassment. Nothing even happened yet.

He grunts, shifting in his seat. “Was just gonna go fer a little bit, don’ really feel like stickin’ around.” You nod slowly, muttering a mutual statement.

“Wanna go together?” You look up once more, mentally cringing and hitting yourself. For a moment you could swear his eyes lit up, he nibbled the inside of his bottom lip. A habit of his which you silently found endearing.

“Yeah. Yeah sure.” He grumbles, looking to the side. His hair falling over his face, you had an urge to reach up and brush it away but you held back, not wanting to be too bold. You hum silently, awkwardly shifting away from him in your seat.

“Oh, why’d you come here? Did you need something?” You look over at him, realizing he came here on his own free will. He clears his throat, brushing his bangs out of his face with his hand as he looks at you. Reaching into his pocket and handing you a little fox figurine, he had a slight smile on his face as he handed it to you.

You giggled, inspecting it as you held it in your hands. Unbeknownst to you, he was staring at you. Looking at your features and studying them, if someone walked in it would look as if he were a painter and you were his subject. “I jus’ found it on a run earlier, thought ‘cha might like it.” He murmured sheepishly, playing with his fingers.

You looked towards him, smiling at him with those eyes that made his heart skip a beat every time you even glanced in his direction. “I do like it, thanks Daryl.” You placed the figurine on your desk, next to a picture frame of you and the group. Daryl suddenly stood up, looking down at you softly before turning towards the door.

“I’ll pick ya up later tonight then?” He smiled slightly and you nodded, waving to him as he left. Once the door shut you spun around in your chair, your face heating up as you just processed everything that just happened. But now you were left to dread about the upcoming cookout in a few hours.

“No, not happening.” You crossed your arms at the dress presented to you by Rosita and Maggie. It was a very flattering dress for sure, it was a deep red colour, the length ended just above mid thigh, and the neckline was pretty low. It was something you probably wouldn’t ever wear, even pre-apocalypse. “Sorry Rosita but your style just doesn’t fit me. If anything, I’d like to try one of Maggie's dresses.” You shrug and Maggie stifles a laugh.

“Hun this is my dress.” She smirks at you while you frown, “farmer’s daughter can be pretty outrageous too y’know.” Rosita laughs, tossing the dress at you.

“At least try it on, just humour us.” Rosita mockingly pleads with you. Rolling your eyes you walk towards the bathroom with the dress in hand, hearing a quiet cheer from the both of them as you shut the door.

You stare down at the garment in your hands, trying it on couldn’t hurt… Right? You sigh, taking off your shirt and shorts before slipping the dress on. You audibly gasp at your reflection in the mirror, a hand going over your mouth. The dress hugged your body perfectly, it wasn’t tight but it fit in all the right places. You looked hot.

“Everything alright?” Maggie knocked on the door. You rushed over to the door, opening it.

“Dude…” You mutter in disbelief as you show yourself off to them. Maggie clasped her hands together laughing.

“Girl. If I wasn’t helping you get with Daryl I’d be all over you right now.” Rosita smirks, looking you up and down as you smack her shoulder playfully.

“Well are you gonna wear it or not? I think you should, if you have Rosita thirsting over you then imagine how Daryl is going to react when he picks you up like this.” Maggie giggles, fixing the back of your dress.

You bite your lip in thought, “I don’t know….” Rosita almost slaps you with how fast she turns around to grab you.

“Why not!? You look so fucking hot right now and I swear to god Daryl will think the same.” You laugh slightly at Rosita’s shock, Maggie murmuring agreement with her.

You let out a breath, shaking your head as you turn to the mirror. Fixing your hair a bit and brushing over the dress, a small smiling tugging at your lips as you nod. “Okay fine I’ll wear it, but only because I want to. Not because I want to impress Daryl.” Maggie rolls her eyes playfully as Rosita jumps up clapping.

“Okay well don’t let us bother you, and have fun tonight.” Maggie giggles, taking Rosita to leave, “not too much fun.” She jokes while winking and leaving the room causing you to shoot a glare at her as the door closes behind them.

You go to grab some small heels which surprisingly matches the colour of the dress and quickly look yourself over. Fixing your hair properly this time. Now all that’s left is to wait for Daryl to come pick you up… You take a deep breath, muttering a small affirmation before exiting your room and going downstairs to wait for Daryl.

After what feels like an eternity of waiting, a familiar three beat knock shatters your thoughts. Immediately standing up and walking over to the door, taking yet another deep breath before opening the door.

There he was. Daryl was standing there dressed in his normal attire but neater. His eyes widened at the sight of you, discreetly looking you up and down. A small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips before averting his gaze after a moment, causing you to blush and look down at your feet.

“You look… great.” He breathes out, a small smile playing at your lips as you mumble a small thank you. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, not noticing the way his eyes sparkled as he looked down at you. He cleared his throat, moving to the side to let you exit your house, “well let’s get going then.”

You guys started walking towards the middle of Alexandria where the cookout was being held, you felt a bit nervous for tonight as you were worried about fucking everything up. You glanced up at Daryl who had a slight smile playing at his lips, you sighed softly as you looked back down. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

You two walked in silence, the air was tense. Neither of you said anything before you got to the cookout. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when you saw Carol cooking up some rabbit stew by one of the picnic tables. “I’ll be right back.” You muttered to Daryl, giving him a pat on the shoulder before darting towards Carol. Daryl stared after you for a moment, a slight frown on his face when you left him.

Carol shook when you approached her from behind and smacked a hand on her shoulder, placing down a large pot of soup as she looked at you with furrowed brows. “Don’t do that, I could’ve dropped that and I bet a lot of people here would be very mad at you for destroying everyone’s favourite rabbit stew in town….” You rolled your eyes, turning your head to find Daryl before nodding your head over to him. Carol narrowed her eyes confused as she looked at you, “you got a neck problem or something?”

You sighed, rolling your eyes as you muttered to her. “Daryl’s over there.” Her eyes lit up before immediately smacking you on the head, causing you to yelp and hit her back.

“What are you doing here with me? Go talk to him you idiot.” She grinned, taking a wooden spoon and stirring the pot of soup. Before you could argue she pushed you away, “go, I’m busy anyway.” She giggled as you glared at her, taking a deep breath and turning to walk in Daryl’s direction. He was over by the drink table, pouring himself a glass of whiskey and taking a sip. Your eyes traveled down to his throat in which his adam’s apple bobbed when swallowing the liquid, his bicep flexing when he moved his arm. You immediately shook your head to escape those thoughts and looked around to make sure no one was watching you practically drooling over him.

You took a deep breath before approaching him, a soft smile on your face as you looked up at him. He glanced down at you, his usual tough demeanour faltering and he flashed you a quick smile. “You wan’ a drink?” He offered, gesturing to the table. Your gaze moved towards the table, scanning over it before eyeing the bottle of red wine. He immediately followed, picking up a glass and pouring some for you. He shyly handed you the glass before taking your hand and dragging you along with him. The contact of his hand holding yours was enough to make your knees shake, looking at the back of his head as he led you through the crowd.

He finally let go of your hand once you guys got to a more secluded spot of the area, he took a seat by the tree nearby. You quickly followed suit, making sure to hold your dress down as you went to sit beside him, once you sat you took a sip of your wine to calm your nerves. He slowly shifted closer to you, taking his vest off and placing it over your lap which made you look up at him.

“Don’ wan’ anyone to look up yer skirt.” He mumbled, sitting back against the tree and taking a swig of his whiskey. You blushed, hiding your face by drinking some more of your wine. He noticed and chuckled a bit, tucking your hair behind your ear. He immediately retracted his hand, “sorry.”

You shook your head giggling as he watched you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “It’s fine.”

“You really are pretty tonight.” He mumbled, clearing his throat as he looked you over again. You chuckle, placing your hand on his knee.

“Thanks, you look good too y’know. Clean.” He snorts at your statement, hiding a grin behind his glass. You try to grab his head and turn him to you, the both of you giggling as you quickly discard your glass of wine, the substance seeping into the ground beneath you.

“Stop hiding… You’re so cute when you smile.” You blurt out, causing Daryl to pause for a moment before scoffing and shaking his head. You were glad you drank, the alcohol probably aiding you with even looking at him. “You are.” You insisted, brushing his bangs out of his face.

He pulls back which makes your brows furrow together, worried that you may have made him uncomfortable. “Don’ say things like tha’.” He murmurs, only fueling your confusion.

You tilted your head to try and read his expression, but like always you couldn’t tell exactly what he was thinking. He was hiding behind his hair again, you tried to reach up to brush it away. To look into those piercing blue eyes you grew to love but he backed away. “Stop, ya shouldn’. We shouldn’t.” He said gruffly. You frowned, moving closer to him.

“What do you mean?” You asked quietly, a twinge of hope in your tone as you placed a hand on his knee. He shifted away and cleared his throat, running his fingers through his hair.

“We shouldn’ do things or say stuff we don’ mean.” Your heart broke at his sentence. Maybe you were right, he didn’t like you like that. You moved away slightly, a gap in between the both of you as you sat in silence. You played with your fingers, a lump in your throat as you realized you probably made him uncomfortable. You beat yourself up mentally for being too bold with him, thinking about how you should’ve just stayed home tonight.

He glanced at you, nibbling the inside of his bottom lip before grunting, moving closer to you before speaking softly. “What I mean is, I don’t wanna do somethin’ you don’ want an’ scare ya off.” You looked at him, tilting your head as you bite the edge of your thumb.

You took a deep breath as you processed his words, still looking up at him as you narrowed your eyes questioningly. “I like ya, (Y/N).” He mumbled, scratching the back of his head as he again, shifted away from you. You said nothing for awhile which only piqued Daryl’s anxiety, making him wonder if you even heard him.

“I like you too.” You physically cringed hearing the words come out of your mouth, feeling like you were in middle school again. He chuckled, leaning back against the tree and staring up at the purple sky. You looked at him for a moment, the soft summer breeze was blowing his hair gently and causing it to occasionally fly into his eyes, giggling when he grunted about it. You also leaned against the tree, your head turned towards him the entire time as you stared at him with eyes he never thought would be directed towards him. He turned his head to look back at you, a soft smile playing at his lips before he opening his mouth to speak.

“Wanna get outta here?” Once you nodded he smiled, standing up and offering his hand which you gratefully accepted. He took his vest back and wrapped it around your shoulders to keep you warm which didn’t really help due to there being no sleeves, but the feeling of his affection did. You interlocked your fingers together with his as he led you through the crowd for the last time tonight, his heart skipped a beat when you initiated the hand holding and he felt a warm feeling in his chest. One he never knew he’d get to experience.

He eventually brought you over to his house in which he shared with Carol, letting you enter first as he came in behind you. His large hand lingering over the small of your back while you took off his vest, mumbling gratitude as you handed it back to him. He chuckled, placing the vest on the couch as he took a seat, gesturing for you to join him.

“Carol won’t be home ‘til late tonigh’, reckon it’s gotta do with the cookout.” He grumbled, watching you sit down. He took time to watch you, noticing the way more of your thighs were exposed when your dress rode up. He quickly averted his gaze, biting his bottom lip as he rubbed the scruff on his chin. You just nodded, silently leaning over to rest your head on his shoulder.

He laughed silently, “yer awfully quiet tonight. Why’d the sudden confession change the way you act aroun’ me?” You slapped his chest gently, hearing a quiet “there it is” from him as you lifted your head up.

“It’s just… different. I guess it’s just me seeing you in a different way, officially.” He snorted, glancing over at you. His eyes caught a glimpse of the low cut neckline of your dress, your cleavage practically flaunting in his face. His head shot up towards the ceiling, a gruff chuckle escaping him.

“What kinda way you see me before?” He grunts as he mocks your words slightly, you shake your head and placed your head against his shoulder once more.

“Never wanted to admit my feelings for you, not even to myself. I always just thought you saw me as a friend and nothing more.” You mumbled, absentmindedly tracing shapes into the back of his hand with your finger. He smiled at the gesture before looking up in thought.

“It was the same fer me.” He rubbed over his face with his left hand, “if you didn’ ask me out today I probably never would’ve.” You hummed softly in acknowledgement, silently happy you were literally peer pressured into asking him out.

His hand grasped yours, rubbing circles into your hand with his thumb, sighing softly. “I’d probably still be sneaking glances at you. Who am I kiddin’ I’ll probably still do that.” He chuckled softly as you grinned stupidly. His heart swelled at your smile. Wanting to see more of it he lifted your hand to his lips, kissing it gently while you giggled at his stubble scratching against it. “I love the way you sound.” He added softly, looking at you with eyes you never knew was possible for him to make. This Daryl was way different from the one you met all those years back at the quarry, you weren’t complaining. You just hoped you’d be the only person he looked at this way.

You both sat in silence as you stared at each other, gradually leaning closer. You closed your eyes as his lips pressed against yours. The way his lips felt against yours was perfect, better than any pair of lips that fell upon your own. The kiss went on for awhile, it was soft, innocent. His hand moved to your cheek, tilting your head as he tried to deepen the kiss, his tongue prodding at your lips for entrance. You gratefully granted it and his tongue slipped into your mouth, the faint taste of whiskey and tobacco lingering on his tongue. You hummed into the kiss and felt his breath hitch from the vibration, reluctantly you both pulled back for air, your foreheads pressed together.

“Daryl… can we go to your room?” You broke the silence, feeling his hot breath against your face. He stroked your hair and pulled back with his brows furrowed.

“Ya sure…? I don’ wanna do anything you don’ want to do.” He was serious, looking into your eyes. Once you nodded he hesitantly grabbed your hand and gently guided you towards the basement where he claimed his bedroom. His hand no longer lingered on the small of your back, now fully pressing against it as he held your hand with his free one, guiding you down the stairs and into his bedroom.

He closed the door behind him, turning back to you as you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down to your lips. He let out a shocked noise which you found cute, his arms wrapped around your waist as he kissed you back. The kiss quickly deepened, your tongues moving together in a sensual dance as he backed you up towards his bed, gently placing you down.

He pulled back, sitting next to you. You immediately sat up to try and kiss him again but he stopped you, “(Y/N), you drank earlier. ‘m not gonna do anythin’ if yer drunk, ya know that.”

You shook your head, moving closer. “I had two sips, barely enough to get me drunk. And I know I want this, especially with you. Only you Daryl.” You whispered, noticing the way his breathing became shallow as you moved closer.

“Ya sure? (Y/N), I need you to be absolutely sure. I—I don’ wanna hurt ya.” He nibbled his bottom lip anxiously. You placed a hand on his chest, your eyes clouded with desire, feeling the way his heart beat faster. He watched as you lowered your head towards his neck, kissing and licking the skin there, closing your eyes as he groaned quietly.

“I’m sure.” You whispered against his skin and caused him to shiver before he took you by the shoulders, pushing you onto the bed. No further words were needed as he started kissing your neck, his teeth grazing over your skin. You shook underneath him as small pleas escaped your lips.

He growled quietly, nibbling you and leaving small bites on your neck, searching for one spot. You let out a louder than intended moan, there it is. There was one thing about Daryl, he was good at finding things. He continued to kiss and suck on the soft spot of your neck, quiet noises left your mouth almost pathetically as you fell apart underneath him. He pulled back to look at you, his breath hitching as he saw the state you were in. Your face was flushed, eyes closed, and your lips were parted. Red and swollen from your previous making out. You whined softly, raising your hands to try and feel him again. He swallowed hard. He barely even touched you and yet you were so… so needy.

“Jesus (Y/N)…” He muttered under his breath, lightly tracing over your knees before pushing them apart. Rubbing his chin as he stared down at you, grabbing you by your shoulders, “sit up girl.” He helped you sit up, kissing your lips softly before looking into your eyes once more. His hand moved to your back, playing with the zipper of your dress. He looked up at you for permission, you gave a nod and he smiled softly, kissing your temple before slowly unzipping your dress. He slowly slipped your dress down, kissing your shoulder gently as his left hand rubbed your knee comfortingly.

Soon he pulled your dress off, leaving you in your undergarments. His eyes traced over your body, thinking he’d never live to see this moment. You shivered as the cold air hit your body and he immediately encircled you, his arms moved around your body as he went to press his lips against yours once more.

Your eyes fluttered shut and giggled into the kiss when his stubble tickled you, his hand running through your hair gently. The feeling of his nails scratching your scalp made you shiver excitedly. Gently, his hands moved down your body but they moved with hesitation. It was like he was treating you as if you were fragile and would crumble if he moved too quickly.

“Don’t hold back Daryl…” You whispered, stroking his cheek with your thumb. He nodded, looking back down as his hands moved with more force. He lightly traced over the straps of your bra, playing with the little bits of lace as he moved down to kiss your collarbone. His tongue darting out to lick over to the bra strap, kissing your shoulder before slipping the strap off your shoulder. All while glancing up at you to make sure there were no signs of discomfort, you looked back down at him and smiled softly causing his heart to skip a beat. He pressed another loving kiss to your lips before slipping the other strap off your shoulder, his hands moving behind you to unclasp your bra with ease. He tossed your bra onto the floor, backing up to look at you. After he said nothing you felt a rush of embarrassment, shyly covering your breasts from him.

“No, no, no…” He whispered, taking your hands and moving them to your side, “don’ hide ‘em. Yer beautiful.” He quickly kissed your cheek, then your chin, your neck, and then finally the valley of your breasts. You let out a soft whimper as his lips moved over to your left breast, kissing the flesh gently before parting his lips and placing it over your nipple. A shocked but pleased moan exited your mouth while his left hand moved to massage your other breast, his tongue swirling around. Your eyes fluttered shut when his mouth moved to give your other breast attention, your lips parted and let out soft gasps of pleasure. Your hand moved to the back of his head, running your fingers through his hair and gripping it gently, causing him to grunt against you.

He moved back giving your chest one last kiss before unbuttoning his shirt, you reached up to help him. Hands shaking with anticipation as each button was undone, pushing the shirt off his shoulders and onto the floor. He kissed you intensely, pushing you down onto the bed and pressing a knee in between your legs. Your hands moved to touch his chest, tracing over the scarred skin. He flinched back, suddenly self conscious about the scars all over his back and chest. You knew about his trauma, you were one of the only people he opened up to, but this was your first time seeing it. Noticing his anxiety, you leaned up on your elbows, tracing the scars gently. Pressing your lips against them, feeling his tense body relax under your touch, he let out a deep sigh as you showed affection towards him like this. Closing his eyes as his love for you only grew deeper, never in his life would he have thought someone would creep this deep into his heart.

He pushed you back, his lips finding yours as his hand lingered down over the waistband of your panties. You groaned into his mouth as his fingers slipped under and over to your wet pussy, his breath faltered at how wet you were. How eager you were for him.

“Daryl.” You breathed out when he parted from your mouth, his fingers gently rubbing your clit.

“Mm?” He hummed next to your ear, his middle finger dipping through your slick as he continued to rub your sensitive nub. A choked moan escaped you as he did this, his other hand running his fingers through your hair as he shushed you. “Easy…” You bit your lip as the hand in your hair left to pull your panties down, tossing it onto the floor to join the other clothes.

His fingers left you momentarily as he moved down the bed slowly to look at your glistening pussy. He placed a hand on your thigh, spreading your open further while you looked down at him. Your brows were furrowed in pleasure, lips parted as your breathing came out shallow and ragged. He pushed his index finger past your folds, groaning at how wet you were as he teased your entrance. Your whining was enough to make him twitch in his pants, suddenly realizing how tight his pants felt. He let his index push into your entrance, feeling your tight walls convulse around the digit and hearing a moan escape you. He smirked from his place as he looked up at you, “alrigh’ up there?” Your eyes were shut tight while your brows were pressed together, you let out a shaky breath and nodded. He took your confirmation as a sign to start pumping his finger in and out of you, your legs shaking.

You were kind of embarrassed by how this man had you shaking just by one finger, but it’s been awhile since you’ve last done this with anyone. Plus it was Daryl fucking Dixon… You let out yet another pathetic moan, your hand coming up to cover your noises out of embarrassment. He stopped moving his finger and you whine, looking down at him. He had a frown on his face.

“Don’ cover yer mouth, lemme hear those pretty noises from you darlin’.” He drawled lowly, you whimpered as you slowly lowered your hand and he continued moving his finger. He eventually slipped a second into you, stretching you out. You threw your head back against the bed as you cried out in pleasure. After a moment he removed his fingers, only to replace it with something warm. You gasped out once you realized it was his tongue pressing against your clit.

“D—Daryl…” You stuttered, your fingers finding themselves in his hair. He lapped at your pussy, eating you out as if you were the most delicious meal he’d ever eaten in his entire life. Loud moans echoed through his room as you tugged on his hair, lifting your hips to grind against his face. He grunted against you, holding your hips with his large hands as he held you down, slurping up your arousal.

Moans kept spilling out of you as he kept sucking at your clit, feeling a familiar feeling building up in your stomach. You whimpered, pushing his head further down against you. “Fuck Daryl… I’m gonna…” You groaned when he slipped a finger into you again, his tongue still lapping at your clit, “I’m gonna cum.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, the vibrations almost sending you over the edge as another finger pumped into you. The amount of attention he was giving your pussy was overwhelming as his fingers curled inside of you, fingertips just barely brushing over your sweet spot. You mewled, pulling his hair hard as he curled his fingers again, sucking on your clit in the process. He could tell you were close and he pumped and curled his fingers faster, finally hitting that sweet spot inside of you. A loud moan spilling out of your mouth as your head pushed back further into the bed.

“Tha’s it… come fer me..” He mumbled against your clit, sending you over the edge and reaching that climax. Your fluids rushing onto his fingers, which he pulled out. His tongue darting towards your juices and licking it all up. You let out a small whimper as lewd noises of him slurping all your juices up rang through your ears. He licked you clean, lifting his head up and wiping his chin with his forearm, covered in your release. The corner of his lips curled into a smirk as he watched you breathe heavily, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you come down from your high. He licked his fingers clean, rolling his eyes back with a low groan. “So sweet…” He whispered, eliciting a whine from you.

He quickly started unbuckling his belt, needing to free his almost painful erection. You whimpered again, his hands twitching at the noise. “Daryl…” You whispered so desperately you normally would’ve been embarrassed, but the ache between your thighs and the desire for him was too strong for you to even care.

“Shh.. I got ya..” He whispered, moving closer to you as one hand gently caressed your cheek, the other continuing to unbutton his pants. He placed a sweet kiss to your temple while the hand on your cheek moved to push your hair out of your face. “So beautiful.”

He planted another kiss to your head before moving back to shove his pants down, you eyed the bulge in his boxers. You moved to sit up and grabbed his hips, pulling him closer. He chuckled lowly, caressing your head as he looked down at you. His lustful eyes peered down at you as you looked up at him with your own desperate ones. Before you could pull him out of his underwear he stopped you, pulling back.

“Hold on.” He whispered softly, moving to his bedside table and rummaging through it. Your gaze followed him, crawling over on the bed towards him, “shit.” He muttered, a frown on his face. You furrowed your brows in confusion, sitting on your knees as he went to cup your face. He kissed your lips sweetly, apologetically. “Sorry (Y/N)… I think we have to do this another time, I don’ got any condoms.”

You took his hands from your face, kissing his knuckles. Feeling his calloused fingertips run against your palms. “It’s okay… I don’t mind.” You said gently and looked down at his fingers laced with yours. His eyes widened and he frowned once again, rubbing the back of your hands with his thumbs.

“Ya sure? I don’… I don’ think tha’s a good idea (Y/N),” he murmured softly. You sighed, lowering your hand to palm him through his briefs, earning a grunt from him as his hand gripped your wrist. You looked into his eyes, begging him to just continue without it. His grip on your wrist loosened and you continued to move your hand against him, a low groan escaping him. “(Y/N).”

“Please Daryl… I don’t care. Just pull out.” You pleaded with him, you just needed him inside of you. Feeling more aroused the more he kept you waiting. His bangs were over his eyes again, ”I’ll have to trim those soon.” You thought to yourself, he kept silent as if contemplating the idea. He nodded slowly, taking your chin and lifting your face to his before smashing his lips onto yours in a heated kiss.

His tongue met yours messily as he pushed you down onto the bed, his hands finding your breasts again. Kissing him was addicting, it felt right. You let out a small moan into his mouth, his grip on your breast tightening as he caught your bottom lip between his teeth. A low growl escaped him as he pulled back, slipping off his boxers. Your eyes travelled down to see his cock, your breath catching from how hard it was. Not to mention how huge he was. He groaned, taking hold of himself and stroking himself slowly to relieve some of that tension, precum starting to dribble out of his tip. You pulled him down by his neck, connecting your lips once more while you replaced his hand with your own. Jerking him off slowly as he groaned deeply into your mouth.

“Hol’ on baby.” He whispered sweetly, taking your hand away from him. He moved back, keeping his hands on your knees as you looked up at him. Your expression one of pure lust and desire, the dim light of his lamp highlighting your curves, your body scarred from past battles and years of being in the apocalypse. Your hair was perfectly splayed around the pillow framing your head and your lips were parted, swollen. The hands on your knees slowly pushed them apart, spreading you open for him. He groaned at the sight unravelling in front of him, his cock twitching as his gaze wandered down to your dripping cunt. “Fuck, (Y/N).”

His finger dipped down to touch your pussy as he jerked himself off slowly, a mewl spilling out of your mouth at the sensation. His touch was so light and delicate it almost hurt. “Daryl please.” You pleaded, not wanting to continue this any longer. You needed him inside of you. He got the memo, nodding while grabbing your hips with one hand as the other grabbed his dick and positioned it at your entrance.

“Fuck yer so wet.” He drawled, his tip running through your folds as you whined impatiently. He chuckled quietly, lowering his head to kiss your jaw, sucking gently. “So impatient.” He growled, kissing down your neck and over to your breasts. His tip pushing into you slowly.

You let out a cry as he slowly pushed into you, his thick dick stretching you, your walls convulsing around him as you struggled to adjust. He cursed into your neck, kissing the sweet spot on your neck while a hand moved into your hair to try and distract you from the pain. You whimpered, closing your eyes as you tried to focus on anything but the pain as he continued to push in slowly. He caressed your hair and kissed up your neck and over to your jaw, shushing you. Murmuring sweet nothings into your ear as he bottomed out, halting once he fully entered. You weren’t necessarily a virgin but the last time you’ve ever had sex was before the apocalypse, and he wasn’t as big as Daryl.

“Move.” You whimpered breathlessly, he looked up at you for confirmation and when you nodded he slowly pulled out. Only to push back in, eliciting a whine from you. He hesitantly continued and soon the pain turned into pleasure, a deep moan erupting from you as he kept his face buried in your neck. His hot breath turning you on further as he started to bite at your neck, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease.

He let out a low groan into your ear, sending shivers down your spine as he moved down to your breasts once more. His tongue darting out and licking your nipple while his hand moved to pinch the other. Everything quickly became overwhelming as your back arched off the bed and into him, a loud moan escaping you once more. You didn’t care about being too loud, you were too in bliss to even think about someone hearing you. Your hands moved into his hair, tugging it and causing him to grunt in your ear. His pace quickened and the squelch of his dick pumping into your wet cunt echoed through the room.

His lips returned back to yours, your tongues meeting in an intimate dance as his hips snapped relentlessly into you. You could do nothing but moan into his mouth and tug his hair, his own hands gripping at your hips, probably going to leave bruises in the morning from how tight he was holding onto you. The kiss was sloppy and messy, your teeth clashing together while moans and whines poured out of your mouth and into his. He swallowed up your noises, pressing his mouth right up against yours to muffle your sounds. All while pounding into you at a rough pace.

One of your hands trailed down his neck and onto his back, digging your nails into his skin and releasing your mouth from his. He buried his face into your neck, groaning more as you scratched his back and pulled his hair. His hips stuttering slightly. You held him close, wrapping your legs around his waist while he tried to speed up again. The headboard was hitting the wall now and the bed was creaking with every thrust he gave. Your moans blended perfectly together with his heavy groans, the sound of his balls hitting your ass echoing through his room.

You started to shake, that same feeling building up in your stomach as your walls throbbed around him, eliciting a choked moan from him as he slipped an arm under you. Soft gasps came out of your mouth, your throat hoarse from all your screaming and moaning, but they kept on coming. He held you close to him, acknowledging the fact you’re close.

“Almost there baby, hold on fer me.” He grunted into your ear, his thrusts becoming more sloppy and irregular as he also chased towards his climax. You quietly whined into his ear, your pussy clenching around his dick. His eyes rolled back into his head as your walls trapped him inside of you, thrusting deeper into you and hitting that sweet spot.

You threw your head back, arching off the bed as you let out a loud moan of his name. Releasing all over his cock and onto his bedsheets.

“So tight…” He moaned softly, pulling out and cumming on your stomach. He collapsed on top of you, not fully pressing his body weight on you. The two of you breathing heavily as you try to catch your breaths. After a moment he lifted off of you, kissing your jaw. You kept your eyes closed, lips parted in a soft breathing while he whispered into your ear. “Be righ’ back.”

You can hear him walk into the bathroom, a bit of shuffling around before he comes back into the room. You were right where he left you, eyes closed and covered in cum. You could hear him chuckle quietly before a cold feeling hits your skin, your eyes snap open in shock and he shushes you. You look down and notice he’s wiping you clean with a wet towel. Relaxing, you lay your head back down on the pillow, enjoying the cold feeling on your hot skin as he wipes you completely clean. He leaves for a second time to throw the towel into a laundry bin, walking back up to you and smiling softly as he watches you wrap yourself up in his blanket.

“Got some room fer me?” He drawled, chuckling softly. You open your eyes a bit, lifting your arm to welcome him. He quickly got into bed with you, shutting off his lamp as he pulled the covers over the both of you, kissing your forehead. “Okay?” He asked quietly, stroking your hair out of your face.

“Better than okay.” Your voice cracked, hoarse from all the moaning. He just breathed out softly in response, holding you into his chest.

“Y’know I wanted our first time to be special…. but ‘m not entirely upset with how this went.” He snorted, squeezing you gently. You laughed gently, lifting your head to peck his lips.

“It was special.” You argued lightly, kissing his cheek before relaxing in his arms. He looked down at you, there wasn’t much light in the room but he could still make out your features. He smiled to himself, glad that tonight happened the way it did. Nothing else was said as you both slowly succumbed to sleep.

You woke up when you felt no one beside you, panicked you sat up and looked around for Daryl. Your shoulders relaxing when you heard the sink in the bathroom, quickly getting up and slipping on your underwear along with your bra. You didn’t have any place to be so you decided to just stay here for the morning, grinning as you found one of his shirts. Bringing it up to your nose and smelling it, tobacco and his natural musk filling your senses. You put it on, blushing at the fact that you could now wear his clothes.

“Oh my god.” You turned around at the sound of Daryl’s voice, he stood there at the doorframe of the bathroom. Looking you up and down before walking up to you and wrapping his arms around your waist, “you look so gorgeous (Y/N)…” He kissed the top of your head, rocking you side to side slowly as you giggled.

“You going out?” You beamed up at him, knowing he usually wakes up early to hunt. He nodded, kissing your head again before ruffling your hair and letting you go.

“Yeah, ya should probably go get somethin’ to eat. Wouldn’ want yer pretty self to be hungry.” You giggled, nodding before turning to go upstairs. He smirked as he watched you leave, his eyes trailing over the marks on your neck. He shook his head grinning to himself as he got his gear ready.

You walked into the kitchen, looking through the fridge and grabbing some leftover food from the cookout. Jumping when you closed the door and saw Carol, “jesus fucking christ.”

“So you did fuck him on the first date.” Carol smirked at you, following you over to the table. You rolled your eyes, hiding a grin. “So are you together now? Finally? After months and months of painful interactions that I had to witness and hear about with my own two ears and eyes???”

You scoffed, opening your mouth to answer before Daryl stepped into the room.

“Mornin’.” He gruffed, waving to Carol and kissing your head before heading towards the front door. “See ya later, (Y/N)…” He looked you over once again before leaving, crossbow in hand.

You turn your head back to Carol, a light blush on your face along with a grin. “Got my answer.” She grinned.

You giggled softly, picking at your food. “It’s…. a work in progress…”

likes, reblogs, + comments vv appreciated !

[franklyimissparis]

hi there can i ask what are your favourite fics??

ahhhhhh this was so hard to narrow down since i think i have something like 300 beatles fics bookmarked on ao3 (plus a ton saved from livejournal but i’ve only included ao3 ones here). at first i was gonna pick a top 5 or top 10 but that was too hard so here are my top 24-ish i think? could have picked a lot more tbh. i only included fics that are completed, even though there are a lot i love that are either WIP or abandoned. also didn’t include any modern AUs though there’s a lot of those that i love as well! if anyone has any specific requests for other fic reqs i’m always happy to suggest more :)

on our way back home by kathleenishereagain

this fic has the most kudos in the fandom for a reason! old paul time travels back to the touring days and his relationship with john changes from there. love the way they integrated the magical realism into this and it’s just such a beautiful, touching story.

knowing that the sun is there by tarenas

john comes out after brian dies. lovely look at john’s individual relationships with all of the beatles and cynthia (but especially his relationship with paul of course)

cutting water with a knife by savageandwise

may’s perspective on john and paul. love love love. heartbreakingly realistic and so poignant. feels like it could have been a cut chapter out of loving john.

i’m so tired, my mind is set on you by dornfelder

god how i wish this is what would have happened in india. i’ve read this fic so many times, it just feels so real i keep coming back to it.

india, actually by inspiteallthedanger

jane notices that john’s india tapes are all of paul a la love actually. love jane in this and paul and john’s dynamic is great.

grow old with me by inherownwrite

john and paul in scotland in the 80s - paul breaks his arm and gives john a fright. such a tender picture of what could have been had things not ended how they did.

i was a younger man then (now) (post hoc) by fingersfallingupwards

using the time traveller’s wife premise in quite literally the best way i have ever read. the way it unfolds is…. stunning.

having coffee by dornfelder

old paul and john reflecting on life and being outed in the 80s through an interview. lovely.

to lead a better life by downtothelastdrop

1966 ringo mistakenly thinks john and paul are together, leading to a revelation of paul’s own.

going nowhere by inspiteallthedanger

fix-it where after surviving the shooting, john moves back to england.

if i could choose my own name, it’d be the one that falls best from your lips by kandakicksass

one of my favourite reincarnation fics ever. i really enjoyed how simple it was, how the pieces just slid into place so naturally.

the birthday party by merseydreams

everyone reunites for ringo’s 40th in july 1980. an excellent look at the dynamic between all the bugs and how things could have gone.

something old something new by inspiteallthedanger

john shows up to pattie and eric’s wedding causing a beatles reunion for the first time in years and some shenanigans and talks with paul. this fic is hilarious and THIS is my george, i love him so much

1967 by please_dont_wake_me

paul and john stay in paris after their 1961 trip. they return to liverpool in 1967 as a couple. this feels so real, the way every minor character is written… the dynamics between them all - every detail is excellent.

the beatles holiday au series by econhomework

an AU that follows john and paul (and george/ringo) being a committed couple in the 60s/70s and having their children via surrogacy. i’ve been subscribed to this series for years now and it’s a lot of fun getting an update that builds upon the last around every holiday, giving a little snippet into their lives as the kids grow up chronologically. (they also have other fics set in this AU in their beatles fic requests series)

the brother dearest series by javelinbk

jim and mimi get married, causing john and paul to become step-brothers (sort of). interesting premise and an even better execution of it. not to mention the idea of jim and mimi getting together will never fail to make me laugh (but also sort of makes a lot of sense???)

how much was mine to keep by mynamesbetty

paul is ‘unstuck in time’ and lives his life out of order a la slaughterhouse five (one of my favourite novels). done very well.

take a sad song and make it better by javelinbk

1980s paul moves his ex-boyfriend into his house because he’s an idiot but i love him. great fix-it.

christmas lights (keep shinin’ on) by distinguished_like

paul invites john to the mccartney family christmas party, leading to some discussions between the two. very cute early years fic.

here today by herspecialagent005

december 1980 except john and paul are hosting a dinner party for some friends in scotland, with magical realism elements. ugh loved this so much, especially linda and just all the little details of john and paul settling into a life together.

kissing the blarney by tikk

paul is the blarney - this turns into a superstitious ritual in the band which emotionally complicates things but ends very satisfyingly.

writing letters (on my wall) by 15clubsaday

70s paul writes to john under a pseudonym while they aren’t speaking. newly finished and wonderful!

the jumper by merseydreams

john sees denny laine wearing HIS jumper and flies back to england to retrieve it. this fic has everything: miscommunication, john being a dumb shite, jealousy, confused denny laine, paul in all his 70s glory, and lesbian linda. truly could not ask for more.

back to where you belong by sleeprettydarling

george on johnandpaul throughout the early years. i’m a big sucker for the george & johnandpaul dynamic and how complicated and devastating it can be so naturally i loved this.

[godsfavoritescientist]

Billford Fic Recs: Part 1

Everything on this list is rated either Gen or Teen, so it’s accessible for the sex-repulsed billford fans out there. Part 2 will be all the fics that don’t fit within those ratings! Everything on this list (aside from the still-updating one) is a completed fic that was written year/s before Book of Bill came out. Most of these are under 5k words, and while most of them are pre-betrayal and canon compliant, there’s a few that cover different eras in the timeline and AUs. These are some of my all-time favorite billford fics, plus some bill-centric fics at the end of the list.

A Change of Scenery, by Nelja https://archiveofourown.org/works/10914882 Pre-betrayal, Ford’s perspective, 4k words

This fic really nails the devotion-to-the-point-of-obsession that Ford had for Bill. It’s one of the very first fics I think of when someone asks for recommendations. Really really top tier stuff. I wish there were more fics that had this same tone and a central focus on Ford’s obsessive worship of Bill. I can’t do this fic justice, you just have to experience the writing for yourself.

The Writing of Destiny, by Nelja https://archiveofourown.org/works/6256570 Pre-betrayal, Ford’s perspective, 1k words

This fic says so much with so few words. It goes over Ford’s feelings for Bill, as well as some moments in Ford’s life that led up to becoming the kind of person who would fall for Bill.

Devote, by orphan_account https://archiveofourown.org/works/8783656 Pre-betrayal, Ford’s perspective, 600 words

Ford gets a tattoo. This one is also chock full of the obsessive devotion Ford had for Bill. It’s a delicious little peek into how potent his feelings for Bill were.

Loose from the Lever, by clockheartedcrocodile https://archiveofourown.org/works/32120011/chapters/79575955 Pre-betrayal, mostly Fiddleford’s outside perspective, 9k words

The imagery and voice in this one is fucking impeccable. Best I’ve ever read on ao3. It’s also an absolutely chilling read. Fiddleford can sort of piece together the fact that Ford is working with… someone. And meanwhile, Ford’s relationship with Bill in this one is gut-wrenching to see. Bill is cold and calculating in ways that are arguably disproven by the book of bill, but it’s still such a believable read on their relationship.

Now You See, by MaryPSue https://archiveofourown.org/works/8134141 Mostly pre-betrayal, AU where Bill comes through the portal in the 80’s, 4k words

Only billford if you squint. This one’s about Ford undergoing a slow body horror transformation while building the portal. Bill stops him from enlisting Fiddleford’s help, and his uneasiness and isolation is so palpable. This fic is good at building atmosphere.

The Ol’ Three Legged Waltz, by equilateralromance https://archiveofourown.org/works/35691013 Pre-betrayal, AU where Bill is upfront about a lot more things from the start, 3.5k

This one has such a unique writing style, it feels very romantic in the classic sense of the word, like it was written in an era gone by. Their relationship is very soft and tender in this one, a win for fluff fans everywhere. It’s about the first time Bill possesses Ford, and is a very sweet what-if for a world where Bill is better at letting Ford in, emotionally speaking.

Stars in my black and blue sky, by idrilhadhafang https://archiveofourown.org/works/41989533 Ford reminisces on how much he used to love Bill. 1k words

Solid characterization in this one. It’s short and to-the-point and feels true to canon.

Weirdpocalypse, by completetheory https://archiveofourown.org/works/20798036 Post-canon, Bill visits Ford’s dreams, 1k words

This one’s a really interesting take on why Weirdmageddon failed. Very bittersweet.

One Stage of Grief, by Fooeyburr https://archiveofourown.org/works/13969392 Post-betrayal, Ford in the multiverse grappling with how he feels about Bill, 8k words

This one is all about Ford obsessing over what he had with Bill while refusing to come to terms with the fact that he cared about Bill! Which is all set up/framed by some fun multiverse worldbuilding, too. - Bonus round: Bill-centric fics -

Wasting Away Again in the Goldilocks Zone, by ckret2 https://archiveofourown.org/works/57714430/chapters/147167545 Post-canon, Bill dragged kicking and screaming down a very long road towards redemption, updates weekly and will end up being hundreds of thousands of words at minimum.

This is the fic for Bill growing and changing as a person in post-canon. Every single doubt and hesitation you might have about whether Bill is even capable of change? It’s absolutely taken into account in this one. Seriously, its characterization of Bill is so scarily good that it accidentally predicted a mountain of things that got revealed in the Book of Bill. If you invest your time in one super long fic in your life, make it this one.

A Romance of Many Dimensions, by Haley3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/20796845/chapters/49427522 Covers the span of Bill’s entire life in detail. Finished work. 250k words

A breathtakingly ambitious fic that consistently knocks it out of the park. There are so many things I could say about this fic that I don’t even know where to start. I feel a lot of things about this fic. If you’ve ever wanted a fic that delves into Bill’s psyche and is tragic in its (pre-tbob) canon compliance, and has an opening set in flatland that approaches things from a really creative angle, and has my favorite interpretation of the axolotl, and rewires your whole brain, then this is the fic for you. Feels a bit reductive when it covers Bill’s time interacting with Native Americans on earth, but otherwise one of The Fics of All Time.

[its-time-to-write]

Could you write a fic with a writer who’s just found out that the guy she’s seeing really isn’t what she thought he was and she’s feeling really down about it/him and Jamie comforts her?

hope this is what you were looking for😊 thanks for the ask!!

we could be so good

It’s a sad drive from the restaurant to Jamie’s house. You walk straight in and crash on the couch. 

“That bad, huh?” Jamie says. 

You nod. “We’ve been going out for over a month, and it’s like a switch flipped. He’s a complete prick.”

Jamie awkwardly pats your head. “I’m sorry love.”

“How could I be so- so- blind?” you continue. “I should’ve known he was too good to be true. I fucking hate dating and I never want to fucking do it again.”

“You’ve been with a lot of shit blokes,” Jamie muses. You’re both silent, thinking back on all the guys you’ve dated over the past eight years. 

He snaps his fingers. “Ronald Spencer.”

You sigh. “Ah yes. Ronald Spencer. The absolute love of my life. Fuckin’ shame we met so early in life.”

Jamie shrugs. “You were pretty mature for a pair of five year olds. ‘Course, I’d already had two girlfriends at that point, so I was way ahead of you.”

You wrinkle your forehead. “Okay, you were eight. You had three years on us and he broke up with me because you scared him away.”

“It’s my job to take care of you, and I think you could’ve done better. Speaking of-” Jamie gets up off the couch. “You want a snack?”

“Ooh, yes please.” You follow Jamie to the kitchen and hop up on the counter. He rummages through his cupboard and pulls out two bags of crisps and a chocolate bar. 

“Told Roy these were for you so he wouldn’t throw them away,” he tells you. “Fucking mental, that one. Went through me whole house and got rid of so much shit.”

Jamie hands you the prawn cocktail chips, keeping cheddar for himself. “Don’t tell Coach.”

You zip your lips as he sits on the counter next to you. 

“Oi.” He knocks his shoulder against yours. “Forget about that fucking nutter, yeah? You can do better.”

You shrug and say, “Don’t really think so at this point. Maybe I’ll just move back to Manchester.”

Jamie whips his head around to look at you. “Fuck. No. This house is too fucking big and too fucking quiet. Plus, I save so much money on house sitters.”

“Like you need to save money,” you snort. 

“I’m serious,” Jamie insists. “The fuck would I do all alone here?”

You give him a strange look. “Um, I don’t know, bring a girl ‘round? Go out at night instead of watching telly with me? Not listen to me complain about shit dates?”

“Or,” he suggests, “I could not do any of that and we could go on un-shit dates together.”

You laugh. “Un-shit? That’s the best you could come up with? Wait- what?”

Jamie’s words finally register. 

It’s silent except for the crinkle of the chocolate wrapper. Jamie hands you half and you snap it into smaller pieces. 

“Yeah, I mean, might as well shoot my shot now, right? Not to be fucking weird, but I’ve had a crush on you for ages. Since we were kids. Like I said, didn’t want to make it weird ‘cause, like, we live together. Didn’t want things to be awkward. Or for you to fucking move back home. I mean c’mon love, with your mum? Wouldn’t do that to you.”

You smile. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Jamie parrots. 

“Yeah, okay. I guess- I think I always figured we’d end up here. I liked you since I was six and you kicked a football through the window, then picked all those flowers to apologize. I kept every article that was ever written about you. I dunno, I thought either we’d figure it out in our thirties or maybe just be weirdly platonic for the rest of our lives.”

Jamie cocks his head. “That’s weirdly specific.”

You shrug. “Am I wrong?”

You’re not. 

Jamie says, “So…” as he swings his legs. 

You turn to look at him. “Yes?”

“Can we like, kiss? Because I’ve been thinking about it for fucking years.”

“My breath smells like crisps,” you warn. 

“Don’t care,” Jamie replies as he hops down from the counter. He pulls your legs to hook around his waist as he tilts your chin downward. 

“Is it too early to say I love you?” he murmurs. 

You wrap your arms around his neck and smile. “I think it’s the perfect time.”

[imjustasimpxd]

My Angel (Part Three)

➬ Reiner Braun x Fem reader

Part one | Part two | Masterlist | Blog Home | Aot Masterlist

Summary : Reiner was always taught that the devils of Paradis were vicious creatures, but what is he supposed to do when he soon finds himself reluctantly falling for one? Or when he is forced to go back to Marley and leave her altogether?

Word count : Almost 4, 300 words

Warnings : nothing really, reader is upset and isolates herself, Jean comforting reader,

Author’s notes : reblogs are appreciated!! I appreciate all feedback on my writing so that I can know what you guys liked and what you think I should improve on😊

Disclaimer : this is a work of fiction and should in no way, shape, or form, be taken seriously.

Side Note : this fic, and everything else I’ve written on my blog, is mine and only mine. I work very hard on everything I write so do not, under any circumstances, modify, copy, or steal my work.

***Important Note***

Hello my dears, I’m sorry for going on hiatus HAHA, I was super busy with school and work, plus on top of that I had major personal issues that were just too overwhelming to deal with at the time; and I couldn’t even write at all until I got it solved. I was under a lot of stress and was feeling really down about a lot of things in my life so I stopped writing for a little while. But I’m doing better now and I started writing again! So here’s the long awaited chapter three :))) I’m legit just gonna be turning this into a series so stay tuned for more parts! I appreciate your support and patience! <333

“Y/n?” There was a gentle voice at your door, followed by a few quiet knocks against the wood. “Y/n, can I come in?”

Your head slowly lifted from the fetal position you had succumbed to, your vision still blurry with tears as they glanced across your bedroom to the entryway. Barely anything was visible in the dark expanse of your room, except the silhouette of a shadow under your door; a shadow you quickly recognized as Jean’s.

“Yeah, I guess.” You answered his request, quickly lifting your fingers to wipe away the tears littering your skin.

The door then opened slowly, allowing the light from the outside hallway to seep through; its piercing glow caused your eyes to squint after being in the dark for so long. Although, once you began to adjust to the brightness, you were able to make out Jean’s figure entering your room, along with a tray of food he was holding in his hands.

“Hey,” his voice was soft, a tender smile lining his lips as he walked over to your bedside; one of his hands then reached towards your nightstand to turn on the lamp. “There, that’s better. Did you turn nocturnal or something?” He teased, hoping to cheer you up in some small way.

Although, as his eyes glanced toward you, seeing no alleviation in your downcast expression, he realized it was going to take much more than a simple joke to bring you out of this fog you were enclosed in.

“I uh, I noticed you didn’t come down for dinner again.” Jean sighed and spoke with a gentle tone, awkwardly trying to change the subject. “So here, I brought you something.” He quickly stretched his arms outward to show you the tray of food he was holding, hoping it would improve your mood; even by the smallest amount.

You grinned faintly at his gesture. “Thanks, you can set it on my desk. I’ll eat it later.”

Jean’s eyebrows lowered at your words; that wasn’t the answer he was hoping for.

You said the same exact thing when he visited last night, and as he walked over to your desk to set your meal down like you asked, he realized it was foolish of him to believe you.

Already sitting there was the plate he previously brought you yesterday; the same one you promised you wouldn’t allow to go cold.

The food was uneaten, its texture now dry and spoiled after sitting out all night; even the fork he settled beside your plate was in the same exact spot he positioned it in before he left.

A disappointed sigh escaped Jean’s lips as he set the new meal down on your desk, knowing it would go to waste as well.

It’s a pity, had you not wasted it, Sasha would’ve been more than happy to eat at least half of your serving for you; just like she always did.

She used to demand to sit next to you for every meal, because you were the only one who was kind enough to let her steal your food. It started off as just a few bites of course, nothing too covetous, but, as time went by, she started unintentionally stealing almost half your plate.

She’d always apologize thoroughly for it though; she even began buying you a couple sweets from the local shop afterward to make up for it.

Sooner or later, it became a normal routine for you both. She’d eat her portion, as well as half of yours, then later she’d get you something in return. It was a fair trade, and it brought the two of you closer in the process.

Every meal since then was quite entertaining; not to mention loud. It always started with your thunderous laughter after Sasha, once again, scarfed down her food too fast that she ended up coughing. Following that was Connie’s usual “slow down, the food isn’t going anywhere,” comment that would always spark a brainless argument between the two.

Once their fight got more heated than just trivial little jabs, Jean would always step in and order them to cut it out. And every single time, almost like clockwork, Connie would call Jean his permanent nickname of “horse-face” that immediately had the whole table erupting in laughter; especially Eren.

Every meal it was something, and every single time you were doubling over in a convulsing laughter that you couldn’t breathe from. Between Sasha’s coughing, the silly arguments, and the non-stop jokes: the dinner table was always eventful, and your smile was always present.

But now, things had changed.

Ever since the catastrophe that occurred two weeks ago, you stopped attending dinner; and for once, the table was relatively silent.

With only one plate to tackle, Sasha didn’t eat as frantically as she used to. Because of that, Connie’s comments about her speed weren’t made anymore, and Jean didn’t have to play patrol officer and break up any more fights. There weren’t as many jokes for Eren to laugh at, or a noise problem that Mikasa could complain about.

For the first time, the dinner table was quiet, uncomfortably quiet.

Your seat remained vacant for the past two weeks, as did Reiner and Bertholdt’s; but no one needed to ask why, the reason for that was already blatantly clear.

It pained them all to sit at that table without you, to witness the way you isolated yourself, but they knew better than to confront you about it.

There was no point in discussing it, lest they wanted to rehash their grievances for the hundredth time.

So, Jean resorted to bringing your meals directly to you instead; that way you could still get the food you needed without having to interact with anyone before you were ready.

That in itself became a routine of its own: Jean would come to check on you in the early mornings when you’d skipped breakfast, bringing you something light to start your day with; and then at night he repeated the process.

And every single time he came to check up on you, your face wore the same grief-stricken expression as the day before.

Of course, he didn’t exactly expect you to be bursting with joy after what had happened; it was completely normal for you to be upset about it.

Reiner and Bertholdt were their friends after all; their comrades who they fought alongside for years. It was a stab to the heart to be betrayed by them, but, what’s worse is things didn’t stop there either. After the betrayal was the battle, the same battle that wiped out more than half of the military corps, including their trusted commander.

As if the betrayal itself wasn’t already agonizingly painful, the death toll that followed was more than enough reason to feel as dejected as you were right now. It was the bloodiest mission you’d ever encountered before, and the aftermath was beyond heartbreaking, especially since the enemy still managed to escape in the end.

Jean understood why you were isolating yourself; others did too for a little while. And though he wanted to, the reason he never pushed you about rejoining the land of the living was because he knew you were hurting; and the last thing he wanted to do was make things worse for you.

But as his eyes narrowed in on that plate of wasted food you promised him you’d eat, he realized he might’ve been too lenient on you.

You never ate a whole lot of what he would bring you, but you were still getting something, and that was enough for Jean.

Although now that you’d stopped eating altogether, that was officially his last straw.

“What’s the point in telling me you’ll eat later if you never do?” Jean suddenly spoke up, causing you to flinch slightly at the sudden noise.

His voice sounded stiff; almost as if he was frustrated at you. Your head tilted upward to examine the expression across his face, and sure enough, you realized your assumption was correct. His jaw was clenched together tightly, and his eyes stared you down with an irritated glare.

“Well?!” He asked once again, his tone increasing with annoyance as he awaited your response.

“I’m just not hungry right now.” You answered dismissively, as if he was foolish to even be asking such a thing. “I’ll eat when I wake up.” Your words were followed by a subtle roll of your eyes. Your hands then gripped the blanket lying next to you, petulantly yanking it over your shoulders as you plopped down onto your pillow. “Now, goodnight.”

You knew full well that you were acting a bit childish, especially when Jean was only trying to look out for you. But you were too fed up at this point to apologize for your stubbornness.

Every single time you saw anyone it was always the same “look who decided to join us” comment, or worse: a dozen or so questions that you didn’t feel like answering.

Most of them were the usual “how are you feeling?” or “do you want to talk about it?” However, there were always those irritating ones they just had to ask: the ones about Reiner.

As if you even had the mental strength to think about him in the first place, they were still expecting a full report on what you thought about his actions, or what you’d do now that he’s gone.

Their curiosity always seemed to far outweigh their regard for your feelings on the matter; that’s why you resorted to isolation. It quickly became too overwhelming to deal with the bombardment of questions they were ready to unload on you; so, you stayed away, refusing to give them the chance to do so in the first place.

But now Jean was doing the same thing: invading your barracks and asking those bothersome questions you didn’t feel like answering.

Maybe you were just emotional right now, and perhaps being a little too sensitive. Nevertheless, you just wanted him to leave; you just wanted to be left alone.

“Fine then.” You heard Jean scoff. “Just let me know if you need anything.”

You didn’t respond. Instead, you just closed your eyes, nuzzling your face into the blanket as you waited to hear the usual defeated sigh slip past his lips; along with the closing of your bedroom door that would follow soon after.

Just a few more seconds and he’d storm out; surrounding your ears with a jarring echo after he tumultuously slammed that wooden door behind him.

Any second now…

Just one more minute, and then you’d hear it; you were sure of it!

However, the seconds kept creeping by, and there was still no sound to indicate the opening of that door. Rather, an unexpected sound emerged from the silence instead.

You immediately turned around to see what the commotion was about, as well as to find out why he was even still here in the first place.

You didn’t exactly know what you expected to see when you glanced over your shoulder, but watching Jean pull the chair out from under your desk and take a seat was definitely not what you imagined.

“What are you doing??” You groaned in annoyance.

He obviously wasn’t getting the hint that you wanted him to leave, or perhaps he was and just refused to meet your demands.

“Oh? Did you need something?” He asked, as if this was normal, as if you were the one disrupting his peace.

“I thought you were leaving.”

“I never said that.” He leaned back in your chair, extending his legs across the floor; almost like he planned on staying a while.

You stared him down with a glare, but he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, his gaze was fixated out the window, admiring the moon’s captivating glow from the comfort of your dimly lit bedroom.

“Fine, stay then, I don’t care.” You snapped, laying back down with a dramatic huff; continuing your sulking.

Why was he being so difficult? You just weren’t in the mood to be around anyone? Couldn’t he understand that?

Granted, you hadn’t been in the mood to be social for the past two weeks now, but regardless, why couldn’t he just leave you be? That’s all you wanted.

“It’s not going to change anything you know?

“Huh??” You immediately turned back around, quite displeased at him.

If Jean was going to insist on staying, he could at least have the decency to remain silent so that you could sleep. Evidently, he didn’t agree with that notion.

“It’s not going to change anything.” He repeated.

“No, I heard what you said,” you groaned impatiently, not knowing how much more you could take of this. “But what are you talking about?!”

Jean’s voice was quiet but stern, his eyes soon looked over at you with a sympathetic gaze. “Isolating yourself, starving yourself, everything you’ve been doing for the past two weeks.” He paused momentarily, letting out a gentle sigh before speaking once more. “None of it’s going to bring him back, you know?”

Your eyes widened at Jean’s words, your breathing coming to a halt in your lungs. You immediately looked away from him, avoiding his gaze as you stared at the ceiling; trying to hold back those tears you could feel collecting in your eyes.

Jean was right.

None of your sulking or lack of eating would ever be enough to bring Reiner back; No amount of isolation could change the fact that he was gone.

Reiner had chosen to betray and abandon those who trusted him, those who loved him, and that was all there was to it.

He was clearly never coming back, and even if he did, things would never be the same between the two of you again; or anyone else for that matter.

There was nothing left to do except move on and accept the reality of your situation.

But even so, you still couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Despite the things he’d done, you still loved Reiner, and your heart still longed to be with him.

“I know.” You finally spoke up, “but I wish it would.” A gentle sigh jerked past your lips as you quickly turned back around to face the wall again, clearly not wanting to talk about the subject any longer.

Jean eyes lowered at your response, frustrated that you were shutting down once again; just like you’ve been doing for the past two weeks now.

He quickly slumped against the back of your chair with an enervated sigh, feeling like giving up on his efforts to pull you out of this darkness.

Jean had been trying his best to be gentle with you, to make sure you didn’t feel like he was pressuring you. He’d been patient with your stubbornness, he’d been calm and caring, but you didn’t seem to recognize any of that; all you were concerned about was the agony you allowed to cripple you from the inside, and it hurt to be a witness to it.

It hurt to see the way you were torturing yourself, pretending as if you deserved to be put through this pain. It was almost as if you were acting like this was your fault, like you had done something to deserve this.

But that wasn’t true; and Jean could see now that you’d forgotten that.

None of this was your fault, Reiner was the only one to blame here.

It was cruel of him to put you through this; to make you believe you weren’t good enough to make him stay, that you weren’t special enough to be loved by someone.

What kind of monster does that to a person; a person he loves especially?!

Jean couldn’t understand it, it angered him.

Did you truly believe you deserved to be abandoned? Left unloved?

Was Reiner the one who taught you to think that way? Jean’s blood was beginning to boil at just the thought of that.

It was all so frustrating, so heartbreaking. You weren’t the same person anymore, and Reiner was the cause of it.

Ever since his betrayal, Reiner had taken away a piece of you, the same one that used to laugh so loudly at the dinner table, the same one that contained your beautiful smile.

Your true self was withering away because of the crimes carried out by a man who promised to love you; but Jean refused to let it go without putting up a fight.

He wouldn’t stand by and watch the best part of you fall to pieces just because of some idiot who didn’t realize what he had before he threw it away.

You had to be saved from this, reminded that you didn’t need Reiner to be fulfilled, that you were already enough as you were.

You needed to remember all the good things in life that didn’t include Reiner, all the people that still cared deeply for you; people you seemed to forget about within the span of the past two weeks.

If you were ever going to be able to move on, ever going to heal from this: you needed to let Reiner go.

Jean sighed quietly as he stood up from the chair, attempting to try a different approach in hopes to get through to you.

He had tried everything he could think of without breaking any boundaries, but it got him nowhere. This was now officially his last resort, his final chance to rescue you from this darkness before it consumed you fully; leaving no trace left of the person you used to be.

If this didn’t work, then Jean could at least say he tried everything he possibly could; but hopefully, it doesn’t come to that.

Jean inhaled nervously to prepare himself before he slowly made his way over to your bed; placing a tender hand on your shoulder. “Y/n?” Jean spoke in a quiet voice, trying his best not to make you feel overwhelmed or anxious. “Can you please look at me?”

You didn’t move at first, you didn’t want to.

You were fully aware he was just trying to help, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to open up again without breaking down; and that was the last thing you needed right now.

“Y/n please.” Jean’s voice was desperate and pleading, his hand gently rubbing along your shoulder to, hopefully, coax you into giving in.

You let out a gentle sigh, tempted to just unload everything at once now that the offer was standing. It was hurting to keep everything inside like this; bottling it up and hiding it away as if it didn’t matter, as if you didn’t feel like screaming until your throat became dry and sore.

It was becoming too much to bear; the burden was too heavy to carry on your own anymore, and Jean had obviously noticed.

As usual, he could see right through you; penetrating through every wall you built to conceal your true feelings.

Maybe it was easier to stop fighting him, maybe, you really should just give in.

“I just want to know you’re okay.”

Jean’s voice was kind and sympathetic; the gentle caressing of his hand against your shoulder matching that tender tone he was currently using.

He sounded so desperate, so genuinely worried about you; something you couldn’t just ignore no matter how scared you were to open up again.

“Please…”

He pleaded, and by the tone of his voice you could tell this would be the last time; that this was your last chance to accept his offer of confiding in him before he would give up.

Despite your reservations to it, you knew you couldn’t refuse this time, lest you wanted to sign the contract to submit to your grief eternally.

If you were ever going to recover, ever going to restore that old version of yourself that you missed so much, then you’d have to grab ahold of this opportunity before it slipped away forever.

A gentle sigh rumbled in your throat before your body slowly turned to face Jean, watching the way he retracted his hand from your shoulder as you moved.

“I’m not okay.” You shook your head, eyes welling up with tears already. “And I don’t know how to be okay again.” You spoke with a shaken tone, feeling your lip quiver gently as you stared at him.

Barely ten seconds into speaking and you were already struggling to keep it together; feeling your heart clench in your chest at the recollection of all those bottled up thoughts now resurfacing.

Jean’s expression lowered at the sight of you, as if it was hurting him to watch this.

His body gently kneeled in front of your bed, aligning his eyes with yours as he reached to stroke your shoulder once more. “It’s okay, you don’t have to do this alone, no one expects you to.” He said reassuringly, staring at you with a sympathetic and tender gaze.

“I just-“ A sudden sob appeared at the back of your throat, choking the words you were trying to let escape. “I just don’t understand it. Why did he leave me?” You sniffled gently in between sentences. “Why didn’t he care about me?” A quiet sob slipped past your mouth, much to your dislike.

It was pathetic, embarrassing even; the way you were falling apart over this, not even lasting a good minute before turning into a crying mess.

Your eyes diverted away from Jean, cowering behind the blanket you were now burying your face into; hoping to muffle the sound of your sobs. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean, I just…” Your words came to a halt in your mouth as your emotions quickly took over; preventing you from getting a proper word out. “I’m sorry…” You repeated, clenching your eyes shut in humiliation.

You expected to hear a sigh of annoyance right about now, or perhaps even the shutting of the door. However, your body jolted in surprise when you felt the sudden warmth of a person hugging you gently instead.

Your head quickly lifted from the blanket and your eyes widened to see Jean’s face so close to yours; almost making you blush awkwardly at the proximity.

A comforting smile painted across Jean’s lips when he saw you look up at him. “Sorry if this is weird.” he chuckled nervously and quickly let go of the hug; backing away in case you felt uncomfortable. “You just looked like you needed that.”

Your expression softened as you looked at him, feeling a sense of gratitude filling your heart at the way he was attempting to comfort you; even if it was a little awkward at first. “No, it’s okay.” You quickly shook your head in response, granting him a gentle smile in return; one Jean hadn’t seen in two weeks.

Your body quickly sat up and leaned forward, reaching off the bed to where Jean was kneeling and wrapping your arms around him to continue the hug. “You’re right, I do need this.” You spoke in a soothing tone, letting him know you were okay with what he did a few seconds ago; and that it hadn’t pushed you away.

Jean let out a gentle sigh of relief at your actions, a little flabbergasted at how well you were responding to him. Here he was prepared to face your stubborn and dismissive attitude for the millionth time and yet he was faced with a completely unprecedented outcome.

There were no more spiteful comments or hurtful glares coming his way, just a gentle gaze and a pleasant embrace he never anticipated receiving after the state you were in merely seconds ago.

For the first time in two weeks, it seemed the Y/n he once knew, the Y/n he always secretly harbored feelings for, was finally showing herself again; even if just by the smallest amount.

Jean grinned gently to himself, and his arms quickly wrapped around your back to return the unexpected hug. “We’ve all been worried sick about you, ya know?” Jean spoke softly as he tightened his grip around you, allowing his hand to gently caress your back in the process.

“I know,” You uttered quietly, your voice sounding less unhinged and imbalanced as it was before. “And I’m sorry.”

You sniffled gently, your eyes clenching shut and your arms tightening around Jean’s neck as you leaned against him; wanting to stay in his comforting embrace.

Jean chuckled as he felt the way you clung to him; realizing just how desperate your need for reassurance was. “It’s okay, you don’t have to apologize.” He said as he leaned the side of his head against yours, continuing the subtle tracing of his fingers along your back. “Just please don’t do that again, okay?”

You nodded quickly, feeling the sting of tears pricking against your eyes once more. “I won’t, I promise, I’m really sorry.” You apologized again in an uneasy tone, feeling shameful of the way you’d been acting for the past two weeks.

This whole time Jean had been here trying to help you, but you’d just been too consumed in your own misery that you failed to notice the damage you were causing; the pain you were putting him, as well as everyone else, through by isolating yourself like this.

You’d been rude, selfish even; too hyper fixated on your own agony that you’d become blind to the impairment you were projecting onto everyone else.

You’d hoped it wasn’t too late to turn things around and make amends with the people you’d been neglecting for the past two weeks; and a part of you started to grow fearful that you’d missed your chance by now.

However, by the way Jean held you close and leaned his head tenderly against yours, it was obvious that wasn’t the case.

Part one | Part two | Masterlist | Blog Home | Aot Masterlist

(I’M LEGIT TURNING THIS INTO A ACTUAL SERIES NOW, OOPSIES) More parts to come soon! :)))

Taglist: @thebadbatch @nervouslad @ah-finally @usagikookiejams @setangel @unwindwithme @milkysuck @realglittereater @cyberdollface @glactict3a @elachapelle1357 @bucky-lents @diavoloslove @be-lla-vie @maaralo @buckysgirl01 @venomfantasies @desiiisstuff @novahaitani @jadasz @viiiik

This fic, and everything else I’ve written on my blog, is mine and only mine. I work very hard on everything I write so do not, under any circumstances, modify, copy, or steal my work.

Keep in mind that commenting to tell me what you liked, what you don’t, how I can improve, and any suggestions you have helps me A LOT more than simply liking my posts. If you’ve had the time to read my story, how much longer does it take to leave me some feedback on it? 😊

[prncssie]

caution! mdni 13k wrdz, best friend's bother!hobie x black fem! reader, hobie is twenty one, reader is 19, small town in the country, everyone knows everyone, a very brief moment of angst, reader is jealous, misunderstanding troupe (?) but quickly resolved, crybaby reader, kitchen sex w/people in the house, unprotected sex, fingering, handjob, cunnilingus, p in v sex, unprotected sex, facial, cum eating, open ending

miffy's note! this took me like two weeks to write which is so much faster than every other fic i’ve written in a while. i knowwww she has a lot of words but she is my baby and I hope everyone loves her as much as I do. enjoy <3 pls do not spam like my blog if you enjoyed it, feel free to tell me in the reblogs

there’s a waxy smell in the freshly opened soda shop, one that reminds you of the shiny tiles that line the floor of the high school you graduated from, the high school most people graduated from.

highbury high, smack dab in the middle of highbury hills. it’s the only high school for miles, operating on a set curriculum and generic uniforms. fits right in with the small town vibe.

“do you know what you want?” your long-time friend, maise, glances over at you. she’s a darling thing, curly hair braided into pigtails and tied with two white ribbons. her arms are crossed over her stomach, clothed in a white tank top just barely cropped. “there’s so many options, i can’t decide.”

you sniff, eyes glazing over the yellow tinted menu. your tongue skims over your lips, getting a taste of the vanilla flavored lip gloss. “i dunno. i don’t even think i want anything. i’m too nervous, like i’m gonna throw up.”

maise’s deer shaped eyes find yours in sympathetic understanding. “aw, honey. it’ll be okay. it’s been years, now. i doubt he even remembers.” her hands massage the kinks out your tense shoulders in a tight grip. “you were a kid, anyway.”

“yeah, maybe.” you offer a small smile in return. you find you’re disinterested in the menu, stomach rolling in its queasiness for the anticipated scenario. “i still don’t think i want anything. i don’t think i could keep it down.”

maise just shrugs and orders a rootbeer float for herself. she gets your anxiety but she’s never been the best at helping you through your emotions, even more so when she can’t relate. maise doesn’t have an older brother, not one with an attractive best friend that she used to have a crush on as a child.

with the acrylic, milkshake cup settled between the fingers of your friend, you both move towards the booths surrounding the perimeter of the retro-styled shop.

it’s really, very cute. quaint with pop music softly wafting from the speakers and a red, white, and blue theme consistent throughout. america’s sweetheart is what this place is known as, although you prefer to think it’s talking about a better, more ethical version of the country.

“you have to admit it’s kind of exciting, though.” despite your claims, maise still pops a second straw into the float and settles the cup between you. “i mean, your brother and hobie are coming home today and you haven’t seen hobie in like, two years. the last time anyone saw him was on graduation day, right? and then he packed up and left town. and your brother! he kept contact this whole time and didn’t tell anyone? doesn’t that bother you a little bit?”

you wait until she’s retreated to grab the straw between your thumb and pointer finger and tap a long, drawn out sip. the sugary sweetness does nothing to quell your nerves but it gives you time to come up with a response. “mm, not really. hobie is quen’s friend. plus, everyone knew he was gonna skip town. he didn’t like it here and he made that very clear.”

although your words convey otherwise, there’s a small seed of discomfort in your tummy. it would have been nice to keep you in loop, especially since you were under the impression that you and hobie were somewhat acquainted with each other. after all, he’s been good friends with quentin since elementary school and has known you for just about the same amount of time.

“okay but you’re not even curious? not even a little?” maise tilts her head inquisitively, lips drawn in a pout. “hobie is coming home after being gone for two whole years and you don’t care at all.”

“i didn't say i don’t care, mai. i do care and it's nice that he’s stopping by for a visit but let’s be serious, it’s hobie. in all the years we’ve known him, when has he ever committed to anything?” you turn your gaze towards your baby pink nails, shiny and just long enough to clack against your phone when you text. “i don��t want you to get excited over a summer romance that hasn’t even happened and won’t happen. we’re friends and barely that. his loyalty is with quen.”

you can feel the change in the atmosphere the longer you sit in silence. you’re hesitant to look her in the eyes and find a sudden interest in the condensation trickling down the side of the glass.

“uh huh. so if you feel all of that, why are you nervous? you don’t like hobie anymore, and he owes you nothing. what’s the problem then?” she rests her cheek in the palm of her hand, supported by the elbow resting on the table.

instead of answering her question, your hand smacks down against the table. it echoes in the empty room, filled by only you two and mr. terry, the owner of the shop.

“you know what, i have to go. it’s almost three and quen should be home soon. you know how punctual he is.” you grab your purse and sling the strap over your shoulder.

“chicken!” maise points a finger at you. she’s glowing with a toothy grin while watching you prepare to bolt for the door. “you can’t avoid it forever, honey.”

you brush off her comment with a hug and a wave. “whatever. love you. i’ll call you tonight with the details, maybe. bye!”

you all but run out of the shop, white sundress blowing with the opposing force of your movement. it’s not quite three o’clock yet but leaving is better than letting maise interrogate you further. she’s a riot but she got you pinned up against the wall and there’s nothing fun about being forced to answer her questions and face the music you’ve been tuning out for weeks. at least now you’d have some time to freshen up before the great arrival.

by the time you’re finished primping and set the hot curler down to refresh your styled silk press, you can hear the engine of your brother's lexus rolling into the driveway.

you lean forward and tug the curtains back in a firm grip to peak out into the driveway. between you and quentin, you received the larger room with the connected bathroom and it offered a perfect view of the front yard. said view is particularly handy for times like these.

you watch the driver door pop open, breath hitched in your throat and refuse to make any movements until you get the answers you're looking for.

a polished sneaker makes its appearance and becomes stationed on the white pavement. a body follows, tall and stocky and unlike the statuesque frame you’re subconsciously excited about.

pushing yourself even more to your feet and across the expanse of your vanity, you flick the latch of your window until it clicks to signal its unlocked. you push it up with such force that it soars much farther than you anticipated but that’s the least of your concerns right now.

“quentin!” you yell from your bedroom with a wide smile and a vigorous wave at your older brother below you.

your voice gets his attention and he snaps his head in your direction. “ ☆ !” he mirrors your expression, arms open wide in a hug as if he expected you to fly down into his embrace. he bumps the car door closed with his side. “i’m coming up.”

quentin’s words don’t stop you from flinging your door open, running down the stairs, fingertips grazing the wooden railing as you go. to some it may seem odd to be so cheery over the reappearance of your sibling but he’s your best friend, a staple part of your life to which you’d be lost without. if you aren’t running to the front door to see him, then there’s clearly a problem.

he’s already in the entryway, though, and peeling off his jacket to hang in the coat closet. the pittering of your feet long alerted quentin of your presence so he’s not shocked when you’re throwing yourself at him. “jeez, girl. did you eat a whole cow? you’re strong as shit.” his arm comes to wrap around your back and become settled between your shoulder blades.

“shut up,” you roll your eyes in return and separate yourself from him. you give him a once over, from the two strand twists at the top of his head, across the gray nike tech, and to the pristine white laces of his shoes. “wow, you really don’t look like you belong here anymore. that’s crazy, quen. you’re all grown up.”

“yeah well,” he pushes the closet door closed, waiting for its creaking hinges to silence before continuing his sentence, “gotta get out of this town someday. not you, though. you can stay. it suits you.” quentin’s eyes are filled with a brotherly fondness while giving you a similar once over. “where’s ma?”

you follow him to the bathroom to watch him wash his hands. “at work. dad, too. told me to text them when you get home but, uh, where’s all your stuff?”

quentin flicks his wrists into the sink and side-steps you. he rounds the corner to enter the kitchen, making a beeline for the fridge and popping it open. “oh, it’s at hobie’s place. i figured i’d leave the extra shit there since he has his own crib. do you know what mom’s making for dinner?”

you’re still trailing behind him, now leaned against the countertop with your arms crossed over your chest. when you’re face to face with the source of your turmoil, it’s hard to pretend it doesn’t exist. “so he really is back in town, huh.” it's not a question with the way you say it, staring at your fluffy sandals designated for wearing inside the house.

“mhm. forgot how talkative people here are. news spreads fast.” he pulls out a container of last night's leftovers and sets it beside you, already closing the fridge and moving on to find a plate. when his eyes find their way back to you, he’s surprised to see you glaring at him. “why are you looking at me like that?”

“because i’m a little upset that you didn’t tell me he was coming home. i get it if he didn’t want to draw attention to himself but it’s just me. i thought we were all cool.”

“we are all cool. it just slipped my mind, swear.” quentin bounces around the kitchen. he’s still engaged in your conversation though his sole focus is getting some food in his system but every now and then, he’ll glance at you while scooping fried rice onto a plate. “i didn’t intentionally not tell you. i just had a lot to do with the packing and the whole coming home thing. plus, you just finished your first year of college so i didn’t think you’d care so much. which you also still have to tell me how it went,” he puts the fork in his mouth and sticks the plate in the microwave.

“quentin,” you’re tempted to stomp your foot, no matter how childish it will come across.

“i didn’t exclude you on purpose, ☆ . i forgot and i’m sorry. next time, i’ll tell you as soon as i know.”

you’re somewhat pacified with his response, tossing his words over and over in your head until your concerns are soothed and the gloomy feeling dissipates. “fine but you have no idea what i had to go through with maise today. i swear she had all these theories and speculations about what its going to be like that i could have avoided if you told me.”

the microwave beeps, ringing its alarm that the timer has finished all throughout the kitchen. quentin is quick to take out his steaming plate and make his way towards the table with you still in tow. “oh, maise! how is she? i haven’t seen her in a minute.”

“she’s good. good grades, likes her college, majoring in child development. who cares, though. i want to know about hobie. it’s been two years.” you sit next to him, even going as far as pushing the chairs closer as if the topic needed it, as if hobie is a taboo subject.

“he’s great. he’ll be by later, said he wanted to stop by and see you and then he has to make his rounds.” quen shovels a forkful of food into his mouth. he’s eyeing his plate with an almost blank stare. you’re too close for him to feel comfortable looking at you, expectantly. as if he’s going to drop some big news about hobie’s return.

he's not an idiot. he knows, knew, about your crush on his best friend. it was obvious watching you go through all the childish phases, giggling to clinging onto to him to trying to play it cool. quentin has seen it all and he doesn’t think he can handle watching your excitement grow and dull when hobie ultimately makes his decision to leave. “he’s got that place he rents out when he’s not here. don’t know how long he plans on staying, though. when i asked, hobie said two months so i guess we’ll see.”

you’re blissfully unaware of the idea that quentin’s words are for your sanity, to calm the budding excitement as you gather strands of your hair between the tips of your fingers and stare at the freshly trimmed ends. “that’s nice. maybe he’ll come to the summer festival in a few days.”

that elicits a scoff out of your brother. “fat chance. hobie brown? he’s not showing his face at those things. he thinks they’re capitalistic holidays that prey on children. personally, i think he just really hates this town and is coming up with a bullshit excuse not to go.”

you let the bundle of hair between your fingers go and it drops back towards your shoulder in a soft heap. “did he say that or are you speaking for him?”

“he doesn’t have to say it, stupid. i just know.” quentin points his fork at you, flinging grains of cooked rice in your direction. despite the gross reaction that flashes across your face, all he does is laugh. genuine laughter with his head tilted back, clearly delighted to have bothered his dear sister. “it was an accident. i didn’t mean to.”

“get away from me.” you scrunch your face in disgust and shove the chair away from the table. it screeches against the floorboards with each movement. “you don’t point your fork at someone, dumbass. that’s fucking gross.” you say as you rise to your feet and make your exit, rolling your eyes on the way out.

it’s futile to pretend you aren’t looking forward to hobie pulling into the driveway. behind the closed door of your room, you barely watch the virgin suicides. the volume to the movie is turned down so low, you can almost hear your neighbor’s dog trotting on the pavement enjoying its walk. you’ve even gone as far as to open your window just in case you’d be too preoccupied to hear him as is.

you haven’t bothered to change out of the pretty dress, wanting to give off the best first impression you possibly could. after all these years have passed, it’s nearly critical that hobie sees you as you are, an adult. not because you still harbor feelings for him, but because that’s what you are now. you’re all grown up, just as he is.

quentin’s asleep in his room and offering you no answers as to when his friend is actually arriving nor did he request you to wake up when he does so. it’s only right to assume he’d rather stay asleep when hobie arrives then, isn’t it? especially after such a long trip.

hence why when the sound of hobie’s motorcycle reverberates through the glass pane of your window, you roll off your bed and to your feet with a sudden quickness. contrary to the excitement you greeted your brother with from your upstairs bedroom, you close the window the moment you reach it.

as soon as the white latch clinks shut, you’re flying out the door and down the stairs. the tips of your fingers graze the railing, only truly grasping it when you find yourself losing your balance at the speed you’re moving. if only maise could see you now.

you pull the front door open before hobie has a chance to ring the doorbell with such force, he flinches. there’s still a finger hanging in the air, adorned in silver rings and what seems to be a hand tattoo. that same hand is connected to a body, just as tall as you remember. your eyes trail as far as his shoulders, gaze already tilted upwards and too nervous to continue. it never occurred to you what being face to face with hobie would mean, would entail.

you didn’t think about him and his pine scent, paired with the natural musk of being outside. not once did you even think about the possible changes he’d go through within the past two years. even without looking at his face, you can already point out differences. he’s leaner, more muscles protruding from his tank top. grungier too, with dark wash baggy jorts sitting so low on his waist, you can see the calvin klein boxers peeking through the bottom. if you thought seeing hobie show off his toned stomach was a lot, the sight of the ink on his arm has you at a loss for words. a full sleeve of various line art and doodles.

you’re sick to your stomach.

“you’re back in town!” you finally gain the courage to look him in his eyes and nearly fall to your knees. “and you pierced your face!” your eyes dart between the nose piercing, the lip piercing, and the eyebrow piercing. slowly, you soak it all in, including the shoulder length locs tied into a ponytail. only after all of that do you look him in his eyes, filled with the same warmth and wonder as they were two years ago.

“ ☆ !” hobie’s face lights up with the same childlike glee as before, too. it’s like nothing has changed when he throws his arms around you to envelop you into a tight hug. “you noticed, did you?” he chuckles, deep and smooth right in your ear. unfortunately for you, it sends spirals into your stomach.

“do you like them? i want to get my tongue pierced this summer, too.” he finally pulls away and reveals his toothy grin, full of dazzling white teeth that can only come from regularly visiting a dentist. “but how have you been? i haven’t seen you in forever. you’re so . . .” he gives you his own once-over, much shorter than the one you gave him, “not a little kid anymore.”

you aren’t too sure what to make of that but you step aside anyway to welcome him into your home. suddenly, you’re far more nervous than you were at the mere thought of hobie coming over. he was intimidating just as a concept but in person? he’s even worse. he’s too pretty and composed. “i’m so not a little kid anymore?” you try to offset your awkwardness by turning the situation back to him.

“yeah. i mean, you look nice, ☆ .” hobie stands with his hands in his pockets and a lazy smile. there’s not one ounce of embarrassment or hesitation written on his face. however, it oozes out of you. “so, where’s your brother at? he’s supposed to be going around town with me. it makes it less weird if we’re both there.”

“oh, quen fell asleep a few minutes ago.” you say with your back to hobie, disguising your reluctance as a sudden interest in turning the lock rather slowly. “you’re welcome to wait until he wakes up but he’s out cold.”

hobie clicks his tongue with a sigh, eyeing the walls of your childhood home. it’s still lined with the same family portraits and kindergarten crafts. there’s even his own graduation picture on the mantle, sandwiched between yours and quentin’s. he snorts at the sight, dressed in the same black graduation cap and gown but missing some of the cords adorned by the others. not only was hobie not too involved in the community, but he merely did what he had to in school with the exception of a few clubs and hobbies. “no, he’ll probably be knocked for a while. i’ll just do it later, i guess.”

you nod, hugging yourself in a tight grip. your act to self soothe during your one-on-one isn’t very effective. the air feels thick with tension. you have the impression that it’s one-sided because hobie turns to face you. 

“how about you come with me instead? we can ride around and go to that one park we used to go to as kids.”

for a moment, your heart drops to your feet. staring into his eyes does nothing good for your nervous system. as much as you attempted to convince both maise and yourself that you harbor no feelings towards hobie at all, everything in you is screaming otherwise.

your eyes settle on the floorboards and you sniff. “i don’t know. i don’t think i’d feel comfortable on your bike. don’t you have to wear gear and stuff?”

“well, yeah i’m supposed to.” he shrugs. his head is tilted to one side. “i don’t, though. not here at least. if i’m on the highway or in a big city then yeah but not here. nothing ever happens here.”  parts of the hobie you subconsciously fear appear as a shadow on his face. the corners of his mouth twitch downwards and his eyes become clouded, but only for a second. “we can take your car if you’d like. i saw it in the driveway. it’s cute.”

he’s referring to the little volkswagen beetle parked just outside with a tan exterior and a decorated interior. it’s full of flower vent clips, pink seat covers, and scented with gain car air freshener.

“um,” you busy yourself by smoothing your hands over the skirt of your dress. suddenly, you’re reflecting on the fact that you are somewhat dressed up. sure, you curl your hair and wear cute dresses on the regular but never have you worn a cute dress, curled your hair, waited for someone to come over, and beat them to the door before they could announce their arrival. “sure. i guess we can do that. i don’t want you to think you have to, though. you came for quentin and he’s asleep so don’t force yourself.”

you’re surprised when hobie laughs, nose wrinkling with genuine enjoyment. he shakes his head and places his hand on your shoulder. it engulfs your skin like a warm blanket and gives you a squeeze. “never change, okay? you’re so sweet. get your keys and let’s go.”

there’s a strawberry field just across the park guarded by a wire fence. some kids gather around the edges and pluck the berries off the overgrown branches that poke just close enough for them to reach with their little fingers.

the breeze carries the sounds of high-pitched laughter and squeals from the children running about. with school just recently letting out, the park is well occupied. it’s a surprise to no one to see a crowd of elementary schoolers running around the slides and pushing each other on the swing.

you sit at a bench. the metal is warmed from the sunlight beaming down. you have your phone in your hand, pumping out back to back texts to maise filled with terrible grammar and even worse spelling. to say you're panicked would be an understatement. you’re more than panicked. you feel so wrong about being here, more or less alone with your brother’s best friend. the same best friend that you’ve had the biggest crush on for years, only for him to disappear and for you to assume everything you’ve ever felt and thought would be gone with him. the same best friend who’s return brought back the juvenile feelings from your youth.

he’s gone to the ice cream truck parked in the parking lot to buy you both popsicles and therefore, giving you about five minutes to figure out your game plan. maise is no help. most her texts consist of “i told you so” and laughing at your inevitable demise. you feel just about ready to melt into the pavement and through your phone across the park, in no particular order. your nails just might break your screen with the amount of force between each push.

“are you mad at someone?”

you're quick to turn your phone off in the amount of time it takes for you to look up at hobie, standing in front of you with two popsicles, one in each hand. “huh? oh, no. it’s just maise. she’s being so stupid.” the frustration has yet to dissipate and your face shows it, huffing a breath of annoyance. “you’d think you ask someone for advice and they’d actually give it to you instead of making fun of you.”

“mm,” hobie has a seat next to you. he hands you the powerpuff girls popsicle, very obviously supposed to be styled after bubbles. its still in it’s wrapper and it’s a good thing at that. already the popsicle began to get a little soft in the summer heat. “advice about what?” he, himself, holds one of those spongebob ones that never come out right. for a moment, you consider that perhaps he’s reminiscing about the days where you, quentin, and hobie would run out at the sound of the ice cream truck and get the silly cartoon popsicles, only to compare who’s looks the worst.

“oh, just about my classes. i don’t know if i want to take one of my electives or not.” you spit out the lie faster than you can really process it. you peel the wrapper off the popsicle and stick it in your mouth to give you an excuse not to speak.

“i definitely can’t help you with that. i didn’t go to college so i really wouldn’t know.” for a brief moment, hobie finds humor in the distorted face of his spongebob popsicle before taking a small bite of the cold corner. “what’s it like? do you like it?”

the question makes you sigh. there really is no response you can give him that would push the conversation forward, especially when you have been asked the very same thing so many times by almost every adult in your life. “um, it’s okay. it’s hard, y’know, to find the motivation to make myself go to class and there’s always some sort of drama going on between someone and someone else.” you reminisce on the boy and friend drama you’ve both witnessed and experienced from a bittersweet perspective.

hobie nods, watching a group of giggling ten year olds run by. they seem to be participating in a game of tag, their cheeks rosy and eyes glistening with what can only be found in childhood. “can’t believe you’re in college now. that used to be us, playing at the park and then going to your house to have dinner.”

you don’t mention that hobie didn’t come to your graduation. instead, you kick a rock by your foot and change the topic of the conversation. “so, if you don't go to college, what do you do?”

“i’m a server at a restaurant. it makes pretty good money, actually. i can afford a one bedroom apartment in the city so i don’t mind. i’m in a band now too and sometimes i make stuff to sell.” he pulls out his phone for a split second to check the notification that vibrated in his phone before sliding it back into his pocket.

you’re grateful that he doesn’t outright tell you what he makes so you’re able to participate in the conversation and ask him, “what kind of stuff?”

“oh, like paintings, crochet stuff, stuff like that. arts and crafts that people like to buy. it does pretty well since that kind of thing is trending.” 

the conversation falls a bit flat after that. you fault yourself, too self conscious to relax around him. a part of you is overjoyed to have him back and another part of you feels like a neglected afterthought. all this time, hobie was doing just fine. he was living his life and choosing who to keep contact with. it hurts your heart that he didn’t consider you at all but is so comfortable with returning and acting like nothing has changed. perhaps he didn’t take you as seriously as you would like.

“oh, that’s cool.” you try not to sound too sour when you say it. “it’s great that you made a life you enjoy.” you watch a blue drop of melted popsicle roll down and drip onto the white plastic gripped between your fingers. gravity continues to pull the droplet down towards the stick and it stains the wood blue.

hobie glances at you, eyebrows knitted together. he takes in your expression and the subtext behind it. it’s obvious what he’s doing behind his scrutinizing gaze. “yeah? you can be honest. you know that, right?”

“mhm,” you nod with a hum. you’re not interested in engaging any further with the topic. instead, you eye a ladybug crawling on the bench armrest. it’s not like you planned on discussing your deep emotional feelings with him anyway, especially not here. “i’m happy for you, really.”

you can still feel hobie’s eyes boring into the side of your face but the feeling does nothing to capture your attention and turn your head back towards him. instead, you nearly praise whatever higher power caused your conversation to be interrupted by an onlooker.

“oh my gosh, hobie brown!”

you both turn your head to the perpetrator. hobie is just as surprised as you are to see magnolia, from high school, walking up to you both. you don’t know her very well considering she was in the same graduating class as your brother but you’re aware of her.

truthfully, you’ve never liked her very much during your younger years. you despised the way she’d cling onto hobie and quentin, often forcing her way into their circle. at least, you’d consider it forcing. quentin always told you not to worry about it.

here she is again, forcing herself into your hangout with your supposed friend who’s there with you. she’s grinning as she walks up to you both, hands planted on her waist. you so badly want to judge her for her outfit choice but you know you can’t. it’s not like you don’t know what type of person magnolia is and how much she pushes the social standards most people operate with. still, something vile twists inside you and even more so when you catch hobie’s eyes wandering across her body.

that is also no surprise because you know their history. of course hobie wouldn’t be able to deny himself from staring at magnolia like this when she’s wearing daisy dukes, a tiny shirt, and so ready to reopen the book of their past.

“look at you. can’t believe you didn’t come by the moment you got back,” she teasingly smacks his arm with a tinkling laugh. her eyes briefly drift to your direction and she smiles out of politeness. “oh hey, sugar. tell your brother i said hi, would you?”

you nod and pull your lips tight. suddenly, what interest you did have died a painful death and you turn back to the ladybug as your only comfort. unfortunately, that too is gone and you’re left with nothing but the ability to listen in on a conversation you want nothing to do with.

“aw, maggie. don’t worry, i’m still planning on it. you’ll get a very special and personal visit, just for you.”

“promise?”

you nearly choke, face scrunching up in disgust. you’re not five and can read between the very obvious lines. you feel the need to remind them that you are quite literally right there and swallow the green monster making a nice home in your heart. “i don’t mean to interrupt but i have to get home and get ready for dinner. do you want me to give you a ride, hobie, or are you good?”

you try to hide your disappointment before hobie can say anything. you can tell by his hesitation and expression what decision he’s going to make, glancing between both you and magnolia. he’s going to spend some quality time with her. “i think i’m good but you should get back. drive safe, okay? text me when you get home.”

“okay. then, i’ll see you later.” you rise to your feet and dig your hand into your purse, searching for the keys to your car. “bye magnolia. it was nice seeing you again.” her words of the returned gesture fall on deaf ears as you turn and head back to the parking lot. there’s a frown etched on your face and you dump the mostly-eaten popsicle into the trash.

it never crossed your mind that you’re not the only one who is looking forward to hobie back around. you’ve been so used to viewing yourself as the center of the universe that not once did you think about literally anyone else who has been involved in hobie’s past.

you pull the door open of your car and get inside, staring out of the windshield. you feel so teenage girl romcom movie but you don’t know what to do about it. one half of you wants to sob and rot in your bed and claim your heart is broken and the other part of you just wants to go home, eat dinner, and call maise.

you sit there like that for a few minutes before eventually turning on your car and starting the drive home. sza blares through the radio and is your only solace on your lonely drive home.

“no! and then she just shows up and takes him?” maise pulls out two small boxes of sour patch kids out of the plastic grocery bags on the counter. her eyes are wide and she’s hanging on to every part of your story.

it’s been about a week and a half since that time in the park with hobie and you’re still reveling in the emotions of it. you have yet to make a decision on how to conduct yourself around him and as a result, have begun to avoid him. you find it’s better not to be near him at all than to stand there and know that he wanted you to leave him so he could probably have mind blowing sex with his small-town fling.

“she just walks right over and he basically starts drooling.” you’re also unloading various snacks and a liter of soda from the grocery bags. tonight, you both plan to watch movies and eat junk food until your tummies are threatening to burst and you’re both ready to pass out from exhaustion. “i’m so stupid. i should have known. we weren’t even in the same crowd back then. why did i think anything would be different now?”

maise pities you just a bit. she sympathetically presses her lips into a pouty frown and reaches over the counter to grab your hand. “poor baby. in your defense, you have more of a southern belle, sweetest girl in town thing going for you and hobie is the exact opposite. it makes sense why he’d go for magnolia. you two have nothing in common and you’re virtually inexperienced.”

“i have experience!” you begin to pile the various snacks into the bin you brought down from your room just for the special occasion. “i have plenty of experience.”

“you had one situationship for half of your first year of college that treated you like shit. that’s not experience, babe. that’s trauma.”

you whip your head to give maise a pointed glare at bringing up what you’re trying so hard to forget. that chapter of your life is over and it died the moment the academic year ended. “okay but the point is, i am not a baby and i bet i could fuck just as good as she can. he just sees me as a little girl and i can never change that.”

“so what are you going to do?” your friend leans against the counter on the opposing side of you. she crosses her arms over her chest after adjusting her black leggings as they have risen above her ankles.

“nothing,” you say with a sigh. you grab the basket and hoist it onto your hips. “like i said, he sees me as a child. i’m just going to do what i’ve been doing, nothing. ignore him. just keep my distance until he goes home and forget all about him.”

what you don’t tell maise is that magnolia isn’t the only one. sometimes, the habits from your childhood return and you sit yourself at quentin’s door with your ear pressed up against the wood. you listen to his conversations with hobie, sometimes on the phone and sometimes in person, about his recent endeavors with the locals in town. so far, there has been at least one other girl since magnolia. whether he bounces between spending his nights with the two, you’re unsure and you don’t think you even want to know.

maise begins to open her mouth to say something but snaps it shut at the sound of the front door opening. there’s an irregular pattern that comes from two people coming through the door and for a moment, your face flashes with panic.

“i’m beginning to hate going out with you. every single time there’s always some girl ready to — oh hey.” quentin stops in the middle of his sentence as soon as he spots you standing in the kitchen. he jumps a bit, not having expected to see both you girls watching him walk into the house. “what are you doing here, maise?”

“we’re having a movie night.”she rises to standing and positions herself at your side.

“the sun is still out.” quentin lifts a finger to point to the window with the blinds open. sunlight streams through the trees of your backyard and reaches the living room.

“yeah. we just came back from the store and now we’re pregaming by talking shit.” she throws an arm around your shoulder, taking notice of your silence and lack of movement. it’s almost like you’re not breathing and it’s definitely because hobie is standing right there in all his glory, smiling right at you. maise using her grip on you to subtly nudge some sort of humanity back in you.

“anyway,” you clear your throat and take a sudden interest in reorganizing the bin of snacks, “we’re going to get going. we have a lot of girl stuff to talk about so see you later.” you take maise’s hand and take the lead in walking past the two and up the stairs of your house. you don’t miss the quizzical looks from both men at your hastiness to get out of being around them.

frankly, this isn’t the first time you’ve made a bolt to get out of being in the same room as them, but only when hobie is around. however, no one makes a move to question it and lets you do as you please. to quentin, it’s a sign you’re no longer hung up over his best friend and is far better than getting your hopes up for nothing. to hobie, you’re abhorrently avoiding him for some reason and he can’t stand it at all.

it makes him antsy, as if there’s some big impending doom coming that he won’t be able to stop. it makes him uncomfortable to see you get along so well with others and flee the moment he steps into the room and oddly enough, it’s only ever started happening since that one day. was it something he said or did? surely it can’t be because he didn’t accompany you back home. after all, you did text him to let him know you made it safely like he requested so he thought everything was fine. what is going on with you?

it’s somewhere between the hours of two and three am when you make the decision to trek downstairs for a cold glass of water. maise had fallen asleep on the left side of your bed a half hour ago and you had beaten her. you won by staying out longer than she did and decide to reward yourself with a neutral drink to wash the syrupy taste out your mouth.

the house feels awfully cold during such hours of the night and you regret leaving the warmth of your room in your oversized shirt and little pink shorts. both of your parents came home hours ago, wished you a fun night and retired to their beds in preparation for work the next day. you’re assuming no one else is awake with the only other options being quentin and hobie, if hobie is even here.

you sniff and rub your hands along your arms as you round the corner and enter the catch. in the darkness of night and with your squinting eyes, you use what spatial awareness you have to guide your way to the glasses in the cabinet.

you just manage to wrap your fingers around it before there’s some sort of shuffling behind you. you’re unnerved, almost dropping the glass in the time it takes you to look over your shoulder at the perpetrator. “hello?” you try to make out the form in the dark and find purchase in the knife drawer in front of you.

“it’s just me.” the voice is gruff and familiar and washes over you like a relaxing wave of warm water. “sorry, i wasn’t trying to scare you.”

“hobie?” you lean towards him to make out his figure in the shadows. the moonlight does little to aid in visibility. there is only a pale light struggling to come through the window. you have to reach over and turn on the stove light just to see him since your eyes have yet to adjust. “i thought you went home?”

“i did. i went to see my parents and it went just about as well as i thought.” hobie takes a seat at the bar stools behind the aisle. he seems strained, running his hand over his face with a sigh. “so i came back because i like it here more.”

“why didn’t you just go to your own house?” you feel a little underdressed in your attire all of the sudden. sure, you are preparing to go to sleep and in the comfort of your own house but you’d hate to give off the impression that you’re walking around without pants on.

“because i like it here more. pretty sure i said that,” now he’s rubbing his eyes, sitting up to lean against the back of the chair. “if you’re getting a glass of water, can you get me one too?” hobie’s lips turn up into a small, sad smile. his eyes look tired, worn out from whatever went down at his parents’ house.

you forgot all about the glass in your hand, looking down at it as if it’s appeared from the ether. “oh, you can just have mine. i’m probably going to go back to bed.” you’re still dead set on ignoring hobie. for one,  it makes it so much easier to get used to the feeling of disappointment that he doesn’t see you when you literally don’t have to see him. not to mention, it’s difficult enough to look him in his eyes but to be alone with him and look him in the eyes? you have to go.

you set the glass down on the island and slide it over to him, prepared to take a quick and silent walk back to the safety of your room and your best friend asleep on your bed. “goodnight, hobie.”

you don’t make it very far before hobie is speaking to you, again. his gaze is following your attempt at escaping him and it’s annoying him that this is probably the thousandth time you’ve evaded him. “what is up with you? i’m clearly going through something and would benefit from talking about it with someone. i literally just left your house and showed up again and you’re not even going to ask me how i got in?”

you try to not huff when you turn to face him with an eyebrow quirked. “what are you talking about?” you clench your hands into small fists, only to flex them and release what tension you carry.

“what am i talking about? you speak like, five words to me now. i don’t know what i did to make this happen and i’m sorry but you’re literally avoiding me. you came down here for what, a glass of water? you gave me yours before you even got one and now you’re going back upstairs so you don’t have to talk to me. what did i do?”

you shake your head at his words. he’s not wrong. you have been avoiding him and looking for any way out not to speak or be around him more than you need to. still, hobie doesn’t have to bring it up. he shouldn't have brought it up. what are you going to do now? “i still don’t know what you’re talking about. i haven’t done anything to avoid you. i just don’t want water anymore and i want to go back to sleep.”

hobie presses his lips together. he’s doing his best not to stare at you with hardened eyes so he turns away, looking at the countertop instead. his frustration is palpable but he’s sensible enough to restrain himself, to keep himself from turning it into an argument. “okay, go to sleep then. goodnight.” he taps his nails against the side of the glass, listening to the little plinks ro distract himself from the unrest in his soul.

you stand there, staring at the back of hobie’s head even though he’s dismissed you. you’re free to go with no repercussions but the guilt from doing so while knowing he wanted to talk about whatever is plaguing him is too much to handle. “oh my god, fine. what is it? what happened at your parents'?”

your feet drag all the way towards the island and you sit on the bench beside him. you rest your hands in your lap and stare at the numbers reading back the time on the stove. they’re green and a great source of something to look at that isn’t hobie.

“no, it’s okay. you don’t want to hear about my problems because it’s such an inconvenience to you. i’m just going to sit here and mope, maybe cry, and go home.”

“don’t piss me off.” you tsk, picking a strand of string off your shirt. your eyes cut to him in a sideways glare, urging him to talk and quickly before you change your mind. “what’s wrong? what happened?”

hobie pokes his cheek with his tongue. he stares at the ceiling before slowly closing his eyes. “i dunno, man. it was so bad. they think i’m a disappointment or somethin’. it’s written all over their faces.”

“that’s not true. they probably were just overwhelmed that you came home.” you do your best to reassure him but even you know that’s probably a lie. hobie’s parents disapprove of him, everyone knows it. they’re embarrassed their only son turned out to be some sort of punk neanderthal and actively denounce him in public.

“don’t kid yourself, dove. my parents hate me and you know it. we all know it. i went over and they practically screamed it in my face. we had dinner for five seconds and got into a screamin’ match about how i let everyone down by runnin’ wild in the streets.” he’s squinting now. “when have i ever run wild in the streets?”

you can only shrug, unable to give him a response. you don’t know what to say to him. there is no denying what he experienced. all you can do is listen and shrug. “i’m sorry about that. you’re not a disappointment. they just can’t understand why they like it here so much and why you don’t. that can’t be easy to understand.”

“yeah well, i’ll get over it. i’ll just stay away from them and they can stay away from me and we can all pretend we aren’t related.” hobie doesn’t sound bitter, he sounds defeated. he sounds like he’s been down this road many times before and expected an outcome no different than before. however, it’s only natural for a child to wish for their parents to understand them. “anyway . . .,” his head lolls to the side until he’s looking at you, staring at you, “why are you avoiding’ me?”

your lips curl into themselves and you feel the need to excuse yourself. “i’m not avoiding you. if you’re done with your rant, i’m going to go to sleep now.” you go to rise to your feet but your attempt is short-lived when hobie catches you with his hands on your shoulders.

“yes, you are. look. you’re trying to do it right now. you’re tryin’ to leave because i’m confrontin’ you about it. i’m not going to stop pressin’ you about it until you tell me.”

one look in his eyes and you can tell he’s serious. hobie has caught you alone in the dead of night. he’s got you face-to-face and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it but lie or tell the truth, neither of which would work here.

“i’m not avoiding you, hobie. i just –,” you avert your gaze until you’re looking at literally anything else, “– i just think it’s best if we keep a distance and remain cordial. we don’t have to be friends because you're friends with quentin. you don’t have to feel like you have to be friends with me.”

“what?” the man lets you go. his arms drop back into his lap and he’s looking at you as if you’ve just proclaimed your undying love for present day denzel washington. “where is this coming from? you’ve always been a friend of mine. we grew up together. just because i’m closer to quentin doesn’t mean we aren’t close at all.”

you rack your brain to find a way around the real reason by cherry picking the words until they form a sentence that makes sense. “well, yes but i’m not like you. i don’t think there’s anything you – i just – we aren’t the same. we’re in very different crowds and i don’t want you to force yourself to get along with me.”

“okay, we’re in different crowds. what’s that supposed to mean? i’m friends with you because you are different from me. if i didn’t want to be around you or anyone who isn’t the exact same as me, i wouldn’t have come home. you’ve never been insecure about our friendship before so what’s going on?”

you’ve just about reached the end of the line. you’re frazzled and unable to keep pumping out excuses. he’s just going to disprove every single one and deny you a reason to run away. he doesn’t get it and he won’t get it. there’s only one option left to do. every ounce of your soul is screaming at you not to, already burning from the humiliation but as far as you’re concerned, you have no other option. “you don’t get it. jeez, hobie, you’re so stupid. obviously, i’m avoiding you because i have feelings for you and you don’t feel the same. i don’t want to be around you when i know you’re just going to go out and fuck every girl in town.”

your little spiel is followed by silence. while what weight was lifted off your chest, your hands are beginning to sweat from the anxiousness. still, you’ve already said it and you can’t back down so you sit firm in your decision. your eyes still begin to water from the overwhelming emotion that comes with speaking your mind like that and being met with absolutely nothing.

finally, hobie tilts his head. “fuck every girl in town? what are you talking about? is that what people are saying about me?”

you burst into tears, partly because you took that as rejection and partly because you think he doesn’t care. he just brushed off everything you said to talk about his sexual endeavors. “you’re so mean. you’re so mean and you hate me and you want me to die,” you blubber through a watery gargle. your hands are unable to keep up with the tears that stream down your face. by the time you brush one away, there’s another one that takes its place.

“oh my god.” hobie’s eyes widened in shock at your immediate reaction. it happened faster than he can blink and he’s terrified that someone is going to wake up, find you crying, and blame it all on him. “why are you crying?” he pulls you into an embrace, tucking your head beneath his chin and into his chest. despite what many would think, his skin is awfully warm to the touch and it would have been comforting if he didn’t stomp on your heart.

“because i just spilled my deepest, darkest secret to you and you don’t care. you’re bragging about how many times you got laid instead of having human emotions.” you only sob louder as he runs his fingers along your spine in what’s supposed to be a soothing manner.

“i’m not bragging about anything. i haven’t even fucked anyone since i’ve been here. where are you getting your information from?” hobie can’t decide whether or not he’s concerned or humored. he lifts your head, but only briefly, to wipe the tears on your cheeks. the moment he sees your lip tremble, he allows you to go back into the comfort of hiding against him.

“i don’t have to get my information from someone. i just know. you literally left me for magnolia and i know that you’ve been seeing some other girl. plus, quen was saying something about every girl and you when you walked in.” your words are muffled in his shirt. you feel a little guilty because of how wet it is but then you think about how hobie wronged you and wish you soaked it with your sobs.

“okay, first of all, i did not fuck magnolia. i’d have to bash my head with a brick to consider doing that. second of all, i’m not seeing anyone. i’m trying to get a temporary job while i’m still here and i have to suck up to the manager because she doesn’t like me. and why is it my fault that people like me? i can’t stop them from liking me and i can’t stop someone else from talking about it. you’ve misunderstood every single thing and now you’re yelling at me.”

you sniffle and tilt your head up. there is suspicion and doubt written all over your face. “so if you don’t like magnolia like that, then why were you looking at her like that? like you were thinking about taking her clothes off.”

hobie reels his head back, giving you a similar mystified expression. “girl, what are you talking about? if i was looking at her any sort of way it was probably because she was standing in front of the actual sun and I couldn't see. i wear contacts and i forgot to put them in. you know i wear contacts so now i’m confused.”

for a moment, you don’t say anything. you sit there and replay his explanations over and over again, searching for any holes in his story. you slowly run your tongue over your lip as the embarrassment slowly sets in. he’s right, he does wear contacts. he got them senior year of high school and you suppose you just forgot. you forgot and cried and went on him for no reason.

hobie watches you come to the realization. he can tell it’s dawning on you when your face relaxes and forms into one of mortification. this is where he decides it’s humorous to him. it’s even more hilarious when he adds the cherry on top. “and your deepest, darkest secret? i already knew. it’s not really a secret if everyone knows.”

that brings you an entire new wave of waterworks but instead, they build and build in your waterline until they eventually spill over in an occasional spill. “so you knew this whole time and let me embarrass myself? and you’re rejecting me?”

hobie reaches off and tears a paper towel square off the roll. he shakes his head, bending the square into a smaller one. he uses it to dab your cheek with a tut of his tongue. “you have to stop crying. i can’t talk to you when you’re refusing to listen to me. at least cry silently or ask questions that i can actually answer.”

“no,” you take the square from his fingers. really, you snatch it and use it to clean your dribbling nose. “i’m so mad at you. i don’t want to talk anymore.” you take this chance to get off the bar stool and move towards the trash can. you’re still sniffling and occasionally gasping for air while you clean yourself up. “you knew this entire time and didn’t say anything? i’d rather you turn me down from the beginning than give me this false sense of security. you led me on.”

“no. no, i didn’t.” hobie watches you rinse your face with water. hearing his denial just makes you angrier.

“yes you did. you knew and you said nothing.”

“no i did not. you didn’t even ask me –”

“i don’t have to ask you because i already know. you’re the worst person alive and you only care about yourself –”

“ ☆ , listen. you’ve been assuming things for weeks and look where that got you. just, stop talking and let me speak, please.” his firm tone knocks any thought out of your brain and gets you to tighten up, real quick.

you look over your shoulder, not yet ready to look at him but finally ready to accept that you just might be wrong. you lift the neckline of your shirt over your face and use it as a method to dry it.

“in order for me to have led you on, you’d have to actually confess your feelings to me. at what point do you think i should have just walked up to you and say ‘hey, i know you have feelings for me that you aren’t ready to talk about yet but i just wanted to let you know that i’m not interested’? why do you assume that i don’t feel anything towards you, anyway? maybe i do but i don’t say anything because i know it’s not going to work. let’s think about it, i rarely ever come into town. you love town. at what point would i ever come along and see you?”

“you would get your ass on your bike and drive here like you did this time,” you mumble under your breath. you stand by the sink for a moment to gather your thoughts. you’re gaining clarity through the fog but now you’re drained. you’re tired and you don’t have the energy to feel displeased over whatever he has to say. it doesn’t matter what he has to say because in the end, it’s all going to be a no. “but whatever you say. we don’t work, okay. you’re leaving soon, okay. if that’s all, i’d like to go to bed now.”

“are you mad at me?” he asks from behind you, softly. he almost purrs it and it tugs at your will. you want so badly to let him in but he doesn’t want that and so you must persevere.

you shake your head with a breath. “no. i’m not mad at you. you’re entitled to your own opinion.” you put on the blankest expression you can manage and turn to face him. you cross your arms over your chest and manage to maintain what little composure you have.

he quips a brow at you, obviously not believing your claim and even more so when you don’t say anything to confirm it. “come here for a second.”

you shift your weight until your weight is all on your right side and your hip is popped. “hobie . . .”

“just for a second,” he outstretched his hand as an offer for you.

reluctantly, you take it and give no resistance when hobie pulls you into his personal space. his hands find your cheeks and squish them together until your lips are forced into a pout. “be honest with me, baby. are you mad at me?”

he doesn’t act surprised when you pause before nodding in response. “are you still going to be mad at me if i kiss you?”

hobie watches the thought go through your mind. you consider it and the consequences that come with it. it’s going to be a meaningless kiss because hobie has drawn the line. he can’t be attached to anything from this town and you know that. still, it’s an incredible opportunity to just pass up because of morality.

you shake your head.

hobie’s lips are soft against yours. there’s a subtly sweet taste but it’s possible you’re high off  oxytocin. again, you clench your hands into fists but this time it’s to restrain yourself from holding onto him and pulling him tighter. you have to keep reminding yourself that it’s a meaningless kiss.

it’s even harder to maintain that thought when hobie’s mouth fits so perfectly against yours. he doesn’t move his hands from your cheeks but the kiss grows heated, regardless. his tongue, wet and warm, runs over the expanse of your bottom lip before worming its way into your mouth.

you mewl when it finds yours and sucks. you have to tuck your hands behind your back to hold onto your composure. your feet betray you, though, by bringing you even closer into him and in turn, into his lips.

“are you done cryin’?” he kisses the corner of your mouth and jumps to the skin along your jawline. like before, he kisses and sucks the trail of skin from there to your neck. “because it wouldn’t be right if i just left you here.”

you squirm in your spot and do your best to conceal the whines that threaten to bubble up out of your throat. “hobie, you said – you –” you finally rested your hands on the tops of his thighs. the voice in the back of your head telling you to give in is getting more and more convincing with each passing second.

“what did i say?” he pauses his ministrations to catch his breath and give you a second to find yours. he isn’t sure how the conversation took this turn but he isn’t complaining. if anything, he’s hoping it’ll never end.

you stare at him in the yellow light from the stove. there’s still a chill in the air but you’re buzzed with need. suddenly, you’re hot. it’s sweltering even without the heat being on. you need to find a solution to your lust and quick. you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him back into you, deciding the solution right there in the moment.

your lips crash against each other with a burning passion. hobie stands up out of the bar stool, his hands circling around your waist. he takes steps forward and forces you back against the counter across from you. you don’t mind, entangling your hands within his scalp. you’re willing to let him do whatever he wants to you and it shows.

hobie turns you around and presses his hardening cock against the plumpness of your ass. you gasp at the feeling of him rutting against you with his breath fanning over your shoulder, warm and sticky. there’s something that takes over, a horny little monster that throws all your inhibitions out the window. you’re equally as turned on, rolling your hips back on his in tandem with him.

“fuck, okay. don’t get too loud.” he whispers under the sound of the fabrics moving together. out of he corner of your eye, you barely get a glimpse of him shoving his fingers in his mouth before sliding underneath your clothing. he pulls your shirt up in a balled up fist and watches his hand disappear beneath the waistband of your shorts and elastic of your panties.

they waste no time finding your clit, sticky and growing swollen from your insatiable desire. “already so fuckin’ wet.” he rubs the nub in little circles, growing accustomed to your body and what you like most. occasionally, his fingers slip and unintentionally fall too close to your entrance.

your mouth falls open in a tiny “o”. you throw your head back onto his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut and grinding against both his dick and his fingers. you’re sandwiched between pleasure and doing your best to keep your moans limited to a whisper. you grip the edge of the counter and you’re actually grateful for it. it’s the solace that’s keeping you grounded to reality because without it, you’re sure you would have soared to the sky. “d – don’t tease,” you pant. you reach behind you searching for hobie’s dick and you find it easily. it’s hard to miss with the hard feeling of it against your skin and you swear you feel it grow harder when you wrap your fingers around it, still clothed over his sweats.

“sorry, dove. whatever you want,” hobie flattens his palm against your pussy. his middle finger prod at your sticky entrance to test your reaction but it slips right in, much to your pleasure. he has to take it slow with your sensitivity but hobie savors every moment. he’s not in a rush, especially when your fingers squeeze and rub at his clothed cock. he’s ready to stick it in now if he truly wanted but hobie wants this moment to last. he wants to burn the memory into his head and stain his life with whatever effects you have on him.

“mmm,” you hum, spreading your legs farther to accommodate his size. just one of his fingers could make you feel so full that you’re nearly satisfied like this. you have to close your lips and run your tongue along the inside of your cheeks to wet them again. “that feels so good.”

“yeah?” hobie asks. he’s so focused on you, he doesn’t notice how you’ve also managed to get your hand under the waistband of his boxers. he only realized what’s happening when your hand brushes against the stubble of his pubes and wraps around his shaft. “oh baby,” he whines in your ear. you can feel his dick twitch and jump at the tightness of your palm. he nearly falls over your frame when your thumb begins to circle around his tip.

hobie’s fingers stutter inside you. they push farther, deeper, making contact with your g-spot accidentally. he hasn’t gotten a chance to stick another finger in before you’re whimpering and nearly finger fucking yourself with his hand. “oh my gosh, right there. right there, right there!”

if hobie could have laughed at you, he would have. however, he has better things to worry about. like how your voice is beginning to rise in volume and he just cannot have that happen. “shhh,” is all he can manage throughout his full-body shudders. he uses his other hand to drop your shirt and instead stick his fingers in your mouth. they serve the purpose he intended, muffling your noises. he didn’t anticipate for you to suckle on them as if it’s the last thing you’d ever have in your mouth.

that, paired with the handjob and your gushing pussy around his fingers, he could have came right then and there. he could have exploded in his pants and made you cum and end it there but he didn’t. instead, he forces himself to pay attention to you. he puts his pleasure on the back burner and pushes his finger deeper, even going as far as to stretch you farther by adding a second one.

with his fingers deep in your throat and drool pouring out the corner of your mouth, your legs begin to shake. your chest rises and falls with each heaved breath. if you weren’t forced into somewhat silence, you’re sure you would have been calling out hobie’s name, drunk of him and him alone.

he has no idea what words you’re gurgling but unless you’re chanting about how you’re on the verge of cumming, he doesn’t care. luckily for him, it’s almost certain that you were and it’s evident with how your body falls slack in his arms and your cunt spasms around his fingers. the sight is an ultimate turn on.

hobie pulls his fingers out of your mouth and wipes the saliva over your cheek. he takes the opportunity to yank your bottoms down until they’re confined to your ankles. you step out of them and turn around, reconnecting your lips with his.

once again, you’re kissing hobie as an act of hunger, pushing your lips so hard together that they nearly swell. you cup the back of his head to draw him in. you’re delighted to feel his hands on the globes on your cheeks and set you onto the counter. it’s cold on your skin and so you flinch but it becomes a faint thought when hobie’s hands are anchored on the backs of your thighs. he pushes them back until your feet are flat on the counter and your glistening pussy is all on display, still creamy from your recent orgasm.

“just gotta get a taste,” he mumbles, mostly to himself as he eyes the shining cunt open and throbbing for him. he wastes no time wrapping his lips around your puffy clit, slurping at your slick. he enjoys the sapidity that’s unique to you, tangy and a bit sweet, like a refreshing dessert he could eat for the rest of his life.

he can feel the juices drip down his chin and coat the lower half of his face but that doesn’t stop him from eating your pussy like a starved man. you have to bring a hand up to your mouth to muffle the moans, watching the hobie lick between your folds and lap at your clit. your eyes are ready to roll back when hobie’s tongue pokes at your entrance. you want so badly to scream, to pull hobie’s head even closer to your aching pussy but you can’t. you can’t risk moving your hand off your mouth, knowing that the moment you do, you’ll wake up the whole house.

you compromise by using your other hand to support your weight and shift toward, putting yourself a little more onto your toes. in this new position, you’re able to move your cunt along his face. you push farther, going as far as to brush your clit along hobie’s nose.

his response is to tug your body to the edge of the counter and wrap your legs over his shoulders. your lower body is solely held up by him, his shoulder, and his hands. he swallows every ounce of your slick and sears your clit with a kiss.

it doesn’t take long before you’re finding yourself closer to the edge of a second orgasm. you ball your shirt up and shove the jumbled mess into your own mouth. your brain is foggy. you can’t think of a single thought that isn’t full of hobie, the pleasure, and the need to cum, immediately. 

“mmmf,” you wrap your legs around his neck. dig your fingers into his hair, and tug just in time for another gush of cum to come flowing out of your pussy. every muscle in your body has relaxed and become putty by now. you’re at hobie’s disposal and you love that.

“you’re so perfect, i’m devastated.” he kisses your inner thigh, continuing to trail those kisses up your stomach, between your tits, and onto your lips. he doesn’t wipe the cum off his face as he does it. instead, he makes you taste it, wrapping his tongue around yours and wetting your cheeks with the stickiness as your arousal as he does it.

“no you’re not. you won’t stay for me.” you whisper between kisses, running your hands along his bare chest under his shirt. you grab the hem and pull it up until hobie inevitably allows you to pull it off. it’s discarded and tossed onto the floor.

“i won’t stay for anyone. you know this.” he disconnects from the kiss, but only for a moment. during this time, he drops his pants to pull out his cock, raging from watching you cum not once, but twice. in the darkness, you can make out an outline of it, long and skinny with a mushroom tip and bulging veins. he’s been straining this whole time but hadn’t complained at all, loving every second of pleasing you. he could do it for hours if he had the time.

you resort to pouting as hobie sets your feet back onto the ground. with his hands on his hips, he turns you back around until your back is pressed against his chest, once again. “just say you hate me.”

“keep saying that and i’ll shove my dick in your mouth.” he says, aligning his tip with his sticky entrance. you don’t mention how his threat holds no weight if you’d enjoy it. instead, you play into it and huff, resting your hands flat on the counter.

you brace yourself when hobie begins to push deep into you. the stretch is painful at first, enough that you have to grit your teeth and will yourself to relax through the shallow thrusts to ease his way into you. it only takes a few seconds before the pain is blooming into satisfaction.

he fits so well inside you, filling you as if he was created solely for this purpose. you reach up, resting your hand on his cheek for a source of intimacy in the slow thrusts. you use the leverage of the counter to push your ass back to meet his thrusts.

you don’t know how much willpower you have to continue standing on your own when hobie is doing such a good job of fucking you dumb. even with the slow pace, you have to give in, leaning over the counter. to hobie, this is leverage for him to take control of the situation. he slots a large hand over your mouth and the other rests on the small of your back.

almost instantly, his thrusts increase tenfold. you’re certain if this was done on a bed, it would have been rocking with such an intensity against the wall. you grasp his hand covering your mouth with yours, almost screaming into his hand.

“shh, you’ll w – wake someone u – up.” he leans over you. hobie doesn’t compensate for the sound of skin slapping against each other by speaking louder. instead, he gets closer to you and because of that, angles his dick deeper into your cunt.

in this new state, you can hear every soft moan and whimper that leaves his mouth. he’s not rough about it, almost singing in your ear. his breath feels moist on your skin and adds to the fire burning in your core. “just t – take it, baby.”

you almost sob, rising onto your toes and writhe underneath him. it didn’t occur to you that you’d be overstimulated by the time you’ve reached this point. as much of your fault as it is, you like to blame most of it on hobie for pushing it this far. you wouldn’t be tempted to push him away, feeling as though he would be forcing another one out of you, if he didn’t.

you’re still, almost stuck in place. he’s too good at delivering. your body craves more and less of him at the same time. you’re certain you can feel him in your throat, ready to pop out the other side and through your mouth if this continues long enough. it’s driving you crazy, so crazy you squeeze your legs together.

it doesn’t last long because coincidentally, hobie hooks his hand under your leg and pushes it onto the counter. your cunt squelches as it swallows his size greedily. he’s obsessed with watching his length disappear inside you and the white sheen that surrounds the base. “shit, you’re gettin’ tight. gonna make me cum.”

you can only wail at his words and press your forehead against the granite. your legs have begun to quiver for the second time that night and you’re almost certain your insides are about to explode. you’re unsure what is building up inside you but it’s drawing from somewhere deep in the pits of your stomach and you’re getting nervous. there’s not much you can do about it, nor can you think about it too much because hobie’s fingers are rolling your clit between them.

the bud is all swollen and practically hot to the touch. you’re dripping down your own thighs at this point. there’s a musk that accompanies sex in the air, thick and sending you into a daze. your eyes flutter closed before they roll back. you let loose, weak streams of squirt falling into the floor beneath you.

“holy fuckin’ shit,” hobie pulls out of you so fast, you whine and crumple onto the floor. he, as the kind gentleman he is, don’t force your weak body to move positions again. instead, he steps to your side and turns your head with a hand under your chin. “open your mouth for me. atta’ girl.”

you watch him through half lidded eyes jerk his swollen cock in front of your face until he’s spurting cum all over it. your tongue dangles open and catches what remnants dribble downwards into your mouth.

hobie’s equally sensitive body stands there for a moment to catch his breath. he slowly lowers himself onto the ground until he’s able to run his thumb over your cum-covered face to collect some of it on the pad of his finger and swipe it over your tongue. “how do you feel? want water or something?”

you wordlessly shake your head and crawl into his arms, despite the fact that your face is ultimately covered in his nut. you don’t mention that what you really want to know is what happens now. “just want to shower and sleep.”

he looks at you, half asleep against him, and then around the kitchen and the few pieces of evidence left behind. for one, the scent has got to go. “i’ll get you into the bath and i’ll handle the cleanup, okay? you just rest your pretty little head.”

you’ve already beat him to it, humming in response and envisioning the comfort of your queen sized bed. if you considered things awkward before, just what until you see how you try to navigate it in the morning.

[formereldestdaughter]

ok wait i need to hear more of your thoughts on peeta owning a bakery....

This is one of those rare times where I’m pretty sure this anon isn’t someone I know personally bc I’ve subjected anyone who will listen to my rant about the Peeta Bakery Headcanon. Anyway, you’re gonna regret asking this anon bc there are fucking Layers here.

I know this is probably a controversial take based on the number of fics where I’ve seen it, but I simply do not think that Peeta would open a commercial bakery after Mockingjay!! Like on a metatextual level, I don’t think it really fits with the point of the ending of the series. It actually sort of fascinates me that it’s just such a common headcanon because the ending of Mockingjay is exceedingly vague. I think that vagueness invites us, as readers, to imagine a better world post-revolution. A world where Katniss would feel confident that her children would be safe from injustice, where she’d feel confident that her children would never know want the way she did as a child. A just world. A kinder world. Can a capitalist society ever be just? Is a capitalist society where a disabled teenager has no other means to subsist himself (or feels like there’s no other way he can be a contributing member of his community) really the post-revolution world we dream of? Is that really the best we can imagine?

(This got so insanely long I’m adding a read more lmao)

I get that showing a better world is not always the point of post-mockingjay headcanons/fics. Like there are plenty of really great post-mockingjay fics I’ve seen where, yeah, part of the fic is that society like ISN’T all that different or all that much better. I’ve seen that really well done! Hell, I’ve written them myself! It’s easy to imagine how a lot of aspects of society would not get an overhaul, a lot of the same structural inequalities would continue to exist. One headcanon that really stuck with me (I can’t remember which fic it was from) was that Peeta sells basically mail order baked goods to people on the Capitol, sending them iced cakes and pastries by train, because there are still people who were “fans” of theirs during the Games. And idk this doesn’t actually have much to do with my point lol but I liked it because it’s kind of fucked up and like! Yeah! It makes sense! If he needed money that would be a good way to make it! War often makes people rich, often for horrible reasons, and often it’s people who already have capital in the first place.

Anyway, more about the hypothetical bakery because alright. I bring up the fact that “yeah society not being all that different post-revolution and still being an unjust capitalist hellscape” could be a reason why Peeta re-opens a bakery because that’s actually never the types of fics where I see the bakery headcanon. Fics where Peeta opens a bakery are usually trying to make the exact opposite point. Like. Things are getting better, now he can open a bakery! Look at how much better the world is now, plus he’s got a bakery! Peeta is healing, that’s why he can open a bakery now! And I am so, so sorry to inform everyone who’s never had the grave misfortune of owning a family business, but there is truly nothing further from the truth lmao. Like just putting aside the immense amount of emotional baggage that Peeta has about his family, running a small business is an insane amount of work in any context and being a baker especially is physically grueling and involves early hours (and long hours) that aren’t really the best fit with the multiple ways that Peeta is disabled now. (I could go into this more because I have a lot of thoughts. But I will spare you.). I also think it’s seen throughout the books that Peeta is someone who needs time to pursue creative outlets to process his feelings and someone who values leisure and values quality time with his loved ones. And having grown up in his family’s bakery, I think he’d understand the reality that running a bakery wouldn’t leave much space of those pursuits and wouldn’t leave much space for him to have the things that keep him healthy and stable. I think he’d know that the way he is now— after two Games and the war and unspeakable torture at the hands of a dictator—isn’t compatible with the lifestyle necessary for running a commercial bakery.

And tbh with that in mind, I don’t think he’d push himself to re-open a business (one that would be a constant reminder of his dead family and his complicated relationships with them that got no closure) that would require him to sacrifice his physical and emotional well-being. Like I think he might look into the possibility, I think he might even start trying to open a bakery out of a sense of obligation/duty, maybe harboring some idea that this is who he was supposed to be, who he would've been without the Games, or that it’s this last piece of his family that can live on, or that it’s this last connection to his family so he can’t let it die too. But ultimately, I think any attempt to open a bakery wouldn’t get very far. Maybe he'd start wading into the logistical nightmare that is small business ownership and realize it's not for him (because it's probably also true that as much as him and his brothers were involved in the business, there's almost certainly parts they weren't involved with and didn't see, i.e., filing taxes). Or maybe looking into opening a bakery— how triggering it is, the stress of it— causes a downward spiral. Maybe he hates how much he's worrying everyone by unraveling. Maybe having a breakdown from the stress of just trying to open a bakery makes him realize, yeah, maybe in another life he would have ran his family’s bakery but the way he is now just doesn’t work with running a bakery, not without great sacrifices he's not willing to make. I just can’t see a bakery coming to fruition.

I know a lot of fics include Peeta deciding to reopen a bakery as a big step in his healing or include him rebuilding a bakery as part of his healing process but honestly, I think the opposite would be more true: I think Peeta either trying/failing to open a bakery or ultimately deciding not to open a bakery would be hugely healing for him. I think it would be a huge part of him accepting the way he is now as a person, his new limitations but also his strengths. I think it would be a huge part of him accepting the way his life his now and accepting that he likes his life the way it is, that he’s satisfied with his life without needing to own a bakery. I think it would be an important part of him coming to terms with the loss of his family. I think he knows he can never have things back as they were and I don’t think he would try to recreate them, especially because his family’s legacy isn’t a business. I think he’s emotionally intelligent enough and self reflective enough to realize that what mattered to him about the bakery— taking care of others by feeding them, being integrated into his community and being actively involved in it, brightening people’s days with delightful things whether that’s beautiful cakes or hearty food or delicious treats— and the things he learned from his family through the bakery, are things that he can carry on in other meaningful ways.

(Do you regret sending this ask yet, anon? Because if not, you will soon. I’m not done yet. There’s more.)

I wasn’t really sure where to put this next part in what is rapidly becoming an essay because it sort of combines the points about like “what do we imagine a post-mockingjay society to look like” with the practical difficulties of starting this bakery but here’s another thing: do people really think that the Mellarks owned the land the bakery was on?? Like, sure, the merchants are the petit bourgeois of Twelve but I still don’t imagine they really own anything. In a society where houses are assigned to people upon marriage, where property ownership and capital are so closely interconnected with citizenship (as shown by the Plinths who, by having immense capital, are able to leave their District and become citizens of the Capitol) do people really think the Mellarks would be allowed to own the land their bakery is on?? I always imagined it sort of like a tenant farming situation: the Capitol gives them the raw materials for the bakery and in return the bakery give them some absurdly high portion of their profits, or the Capitol sells them a year’s supply of raw materials at a premium on credit and at the end of the year the Mellarks have to use the money they made with those materials to pay it back, except it’s never enough to turn a profit so they always have to buy next year’s materials on credit and the cycle continues.

We (understandably) get a really skewed view of the merchant class through Katniss’s perspective so I can see why people come to the conclusion that his family owned the property and, as the last surviving member, he would’ve inherited it. I’ve seen the inheritance thing in fics a lot or a hand wavey “well Twelve was decimated to no one owns anything anymore so it can be his” or even like an almost sort of reparations type situation where he’s entitled to the land as a surviving refugee of Twelve. But I don’t know. I guess I don’t think it fits with everything else we know about Panem that the Mellarks would’ve owned that land and I think the question of whether the government would’ve let him take ownership of the land post-revolution brings up a lot of issues about the structure of society post-Mockingjay that I find more interesting to explore in other ways, especially when, from an emotional perspective, 1) I find the idea of Peeta not opening a bakery more compelling and 2) I don’t think it really fits his character arc by the end of Mockingjay to reopen a bakery, as I went on about at length above lol.

On the flip side: literally who cares!! Do whatever you want!! Headcanon whatever you want!! I get why people go for the bakery!! It’s fun, it’s wholesome, it’s a built in bakery AU that isn’t even an AU. It doesn’t matter if it’s practical or realistic!! It doesn’t need to be practical or realistic!! It’s fanfic of a dystopian YA series!! My unfortunate affliction is that I grew up in a family that owned a restaurant and that I have multiple degrees in the social sciences so I can’t see the bakery without being like “What about the overheard? What about the start up costs? Who’s spending long nights balancing the books? Is Peeta covering shifts when an employee calls in sick? Is Peeta the sole person working there until the bakery is open long enough (often a year or more) to start turning a profit? How does that sleep schedule work with his nightmares? How does that work with Katniss’s nightmares? What happens when he has an episode and suddenly needs to take the day off before he has any employees? Does the bakery just remain closed for the day? Can the profit margins withstand regular unexpected closures? Can the supplies withstand regular unexpected closures?” And if the answer is “Elliott none of those things matter he’s not doing the bakery because he needs the money but because he wants to”, then my question is why does he want to? Does he not get the same sort of satisfaction out of feeding his loved ones? Doesn’t Peeta seem like someone who would rather give away baked goods than sell them?? Doesn’t Peeta seem like someone who would prefer to make cakes for people’s special occasions upon and then when they insist on paying him for it, he only lets them “pay for the ingredients” which actually cost significantly more than he says they did??

So yeah my point is that it’s a matter of personal taste! It doesn’t fit the way I see the series but that doesn’t mean it’s like wrong, I’m not an authority on Peeta lmao.

It’s also a matter of personal taste in the sense that I find the themes that most resonate with me at the end of Mockingjay (and the end of Peeta’s arc specifically) more interesting to explore in other ways. Grief, living with loss, relearning yourself, finding hope, figuring out your place in a dramatically different world when you don’t even know who you are anymore, healing, building a new life after such complete and total destruction of your old life— those are all things I find compelling about the end of Mockingjay but for me the bakery isn’t the most compelling way to explore them.

Not to say I find the concept of the bakery totally uninteresting. I have this fic about Johanna that I’ll probably never finish where the point sort of is that, yeah, her life really isn’t all that much better after the war. It’s been years at this point and she’s still miserable and she doesn’t know how to be a person but by the end she’s trying to figure it out. And towards the end, Peeta tells her that he’s spent years sort of passively, half-heartedly trying to figure out how to inherit the land his family’s bakery was on, only to find out it was never theirs in the first place. They’d been renting it the whole time and he’d never even known as a kid. So he sort of passively, half-heartedly went on another wild goose chase to find the owner and now, finally, after years of writing to various government agencies and being sent in circles and things being barely functional, he’s managed to track down the owner. Now it’s owned by the daughter of the man who owned it when he was a kid because the original owner (who was likely up to some sketchy war crime shit) died during the war and she inherited it (the irony…). He got in contact with her and asked how much it would take for her to sell it and she told him she’s not interested in selling but in light of the situation, in light of the fact that he’d have to build a new building in order to operate a bakery, that she’d cut him a deal— she’d only require 50% of the bakery’s profits as rent instead of the 80% his family used to pay. And of course Johanna is outraged, that’s not right, the owner shouldn’t be allowed to do that, they should do something about it, they should fight back. And Peeta is like. Not interested. He was actually sort of relieved that opening wasn’t very feasible. Getting the answer was a lightbulb moment where he saw that over the years of trying to look into this, he’s built a life that he likes— one where he’s stable, where his loved ones are stable, where he’s cared for and can care for others— and he doesn’t really want to change it drastically by opening a bakery anyway. He just needed an answer, one way or another, before he could get some closure and move on. (And the point of the conversation is Johanna is having her own lightbulb moment that it’s okay to move on, it’s okay to change, it’s not a betrayal of the people and things she’s lost but that’s not my point here!!).

But anyway. That’s obviously not about running the bakery— it’s about the choice to not run one.

Anyway!! Anyway… are you satisfied anon? Is this what you wanted?

Lastly, here is my most important qualm with the bakery headcanon: must Peeta be gainfully employed? Is it not enough for him to be Katniss’s boytoy? Can’t he just paint and garden and bake and hang out with his girlfriend all day? Is that really too much to ask?

[fxoye2]

I’m fascinated by all the issues ppl have w snw Spock since I was rewatching TOS recently and it struck me how completely different pine Kirk is from tos Kirk. Like there have been articles written about kirk drift and what not — tos kirk is v measured and calm and smart, and sort of a romantic hero but not really. AOS Kirk was sort of originally written as the generic 00s action fuckboy that flirts a lot, is sort of an ass and breaks shit but I think pine’s performance kind of elevated him beyond that. Plus I think his kirk definitely evolves. but even though I’ve seen a few ppl be kind of meh/mad on aos Kirk (and there are issues I have w his character being written as kind of a jackass in the first movie but it gets better) I’ve seen a lot more ppl embrace him and his messiness as opposed to being like, he’s just a shitty version of tos kirk. why do u think that is?

Oh wow, you’ve hit on something so interesting, and I think this really highlights the difference in how fans react to Kirk versus Spock when they get reimagined. AOS Kirk and SNW Spock both deviate a lot from their TOS counterparts, but it’s true—people seem way more willing to accept AOS Kirk and even embrace his messiness, while SNW Spock gets way more heat. And I think there are a few reasons for that.

First, you’re absolutely right—there’s this thing called “Kirk drift,” which is the way Kirk’s character has been kind of misremembered and simplified over the years. TOS Kirk was actually really thoughtful, measured, and intellectual, but people tend to remember him as this brash, reckless womanizer who breaks the rules and flirts his way out of trouble. The real Kirk in TOS was actually a lot more nuanced than that, but the pop culture image of Kirk doesn’t really match up with the original character. So when AOS Kirk came onto the scene, he was written more like that “action hero” stereotype at first, but because of the whole cultural idea of who Kirk is, a lot of people just accepted it as part of the character.

And I think Chris Pine’s performance played a huge part in why AOS Kirk is more embraced. You’re right—he could have easily been a generic 2000s action “fuckboy,” but Pine brought this vulnerability and depth to Kirk that made him more than just a cocky rule-breaker. He played Kirk with this sense of loss, of trying to live up to this impossible legacy, and I think people resonated with that. It made his messiness feel earned and relatable, because you could see the cracks in his facade. Pine’s Kirk wasn’t just an ass for the sake of it—he was a young man with trauma, struggling to find his place, and that added layers to a character that could have been flat.

Plus, AOS Kirk does evolve, like you said. By the end of the first movie and definitely by Star Trek Beyond, we see Kirk growing into a more responsible, thoughtful leader. He’s still impulsive, but there’s a clear arc where he matures, starts valuing his crew, and takes his role as captain seriously. That evolution is important because it shows that AOS Kirk isn’t static—he’s allowed to grow and become more like the Kirk we know from TOS, even if he starts off rougher around the edges.

Now, why does AOS Kirk get more leeway than SNW Spock? A big part of it, I think, comes down to expectations. Like we talked about with Spock, Leonard Nimoy’s portrayal of Spock is iconic, not just in Trek but in all of pop culture. He created a character that people deeply connect to, especially because of how alien and different Spock is from the usual human characters. Spock’s calm, his logic, his struggle with emotion—it’s all part of what makes him unique, and fans are protective of that. So when SNW Spock is presented as more emotional, more human, and not quite as restrained as we’re used to, it feels like a betrayal of what made Spock special.

On the other hand, Kirk’s pop culture image has always been a bit more forgiving of chaos. People are more willing to accept Kirk being brash, flirty, and impulsive because that’s how he’s been remembered, even if that’s not totally accurate to TOS. So when AOS Kirk comes in and is more chaotic and messy, it doesn’t feel as jarring. It’s almost like the chaotic, action-hero version of Kirk fits into the pop culture idea of who Kirk is supposed to be, even if it’s not entirely true to his original character.

There’s also the fact that AOS Kirk is introduced with his relationship to Spock front and center. Even though they’re combative at first, we know that Kirk and Spock’s relationship is going to be one of the defining aspects of the story. There’s this comfort in knowing that, no matter how messy AOS Kirk is, his connection to Spock will eventually ground him. SNW Spock, on the other hand, hasn’t had that same grounding relationship with Kirk yet, so we’re seeing him struggle without the dynamic that many fans see as central to his character. Without Kirk as his anchor, SNW Spock feels more adrift, which makes his emotional volatility stand out more. We haven’t seen the Spock-Kirk bond yet in SNW, so there’s a feeling that something’s missing.

In short, AOS Kirk gets more room to be messy because the pop culture version of Kirk has always been a bit more messy, impulsive, and chaotic, so his flaws don’t feel as out of place. Plus, Pine’s performance brought depth to that messiness, and we saw Kirk evolve into a better leader. SNW Spock, on the other hand, has to live up to the iconic, restrained version of Spock that fans cherish, and any deviation from that feels bigger and more unsettling. The lack of his bond with Kirk in SNW also makes Spock’s struggles feel more exposed and less balanced, so people are more likely to push back against his portrayal.

[nish-bean]

okay so far—i’ve heard a lot of bridgerton book fans complain about how the writers “messed up” francesca’s story by making it “too inclusive” in gender-bending michael who is now, in the show, michaela.

whether or not you have an opinion yet, here’s a little rant on why i think the francesca/michaela pairing is not a bad change and why the show is actually taking a better turn than the books.

to start with, let me be frank about my opinions of the show vs the books. imo, there were some things the show messed up, however, their improvements to the stories of the characters far outweighed the negatives. season 1 was done quite well i think (although there was a rushed epilogue) and it definitely held my attention. season 2 was a bit more of a let down in comparison to the books because the story felt even more rushed in the show than the books which really is saying something. season 3 was delightful but i do wish we had more depth in penelope and colin’s relationship instead of just a checklist few feelings addressed. nonetheless, it was by far the most enjoyable season.

now to love on to francesca’s story. in the original books, francesca is married to john and loves him dearly until he dies leaving her pregnant and alone. michael, her love interest in the book, is john’s cousin and best friend. francesca, soon after john’s death, has a miscarriage and struggles with the fact that she very much wants a child. meanwhile, michael struggles with fitting into john’s shoes and the fact that he has been in love with francesca for years. honestly, this was my least favorite bridgerton book. so much so that i would say i did not like it at all.

the storyline seemed fine at first, but really the entire book was just michael pining after francesca and having a talk with colin after which he forces francesca to marry him and then there’s just a lot of sex. it was, i’m sad to say, a poorly written book. i’m sure many people like it but i for one can’t understand why. the characters never resolve their struggles—instead they just get married OUT OF THE BLUE. it didn’t feel like a good romance at that point.

the show is trying to (or at least what it looks like they intend to do) give francesca a more fulfilling storyline that doesn’t err on the creepy side of things. instead of a crazy, smitten male cousin who forces francesca to marry him—we have a soft but strong feminine character that doesn’t compete with john for francesca’s affections, but rather, allows the viewer to see her as a different love. yes, it explores sexuality and seems “too inclusive” but honestly i feel like it was a good choice. plus, given that they are both women, francesca will still deal with her infertility problems and perhaps find a solution or be given a different storyline altogether but certainly not worse than the books.

now, many argue that a gender-bending might’ve been better for eloise given her disdain for the “normalcy” of mundane society. while that is a valid point, eloise’s main love interest has already been introduced as marina’s (lady crane) new husband. assuming the writers want to continue with eloise’s original love story, they can no longer gender-bend eloise’s love interest without changing the characters altogether (which is a possibility i’m not opposed to).

all in all, the reason i’m so defensive about francesca’s show arc is probably because when i read the books i knew she deserved better than michael. he was overbearing and obsessed and i didn’t see francesca reciprocate anything but mild friendship and lust. i’m hoping that with the liberty to change this character, they give francesca the all-consuming, wonderful love story she deserves.

sorry for the rant haha :)

[frangipanilove]

Thoughts on the latest Spain spoilers; are we going to the “Dog Islands”? Plus a tangent on alcohol, pilgrimage and a cure.

In light of the latest Spain spoilers laid out in this post by @bookqueenrules, I wanted to bring back this post that I wrote back in April, when the first rumors of TWDDD filming in Spain appeared. The currently unconfirmed spoilers below describe how Daryl and Carol arrive on the coast of Galicia:

Like I explained in the post from April, themes of Spain, Santiago de Compostela, and pilgrimage under the “way under the field of stars” have been lurking in the background of the show since at least 5x8 Coda, possibly even further back. We now know that there will be filming in Galicia/ Santiago de Compostela (read here) and I can’t help but feeling that it’s all coming together. In this post, I talked about how Santiago de Compostela could be tied to “the green route” written on Morgan’s wall back in 3x12 Clear, and how that potentially could be a tie to Beth (whose last name is Greene), and how the Northern Way of the pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela, which goes through an area called “Green Spain” could be significant for TD.

(I’ve also discussed the themes of Spain, Santiago de Compostela and pilgrimage in more detail here, here)

Also, @galadrieljones made an incredible discovery while researching some coordinates from FTWD, coordinates that supposedly were pointing to a repeater station in Georgia, but in reality pointed to an area of the Atlantic Ocean near the Canary Islands (which are Spanish territory located outside the West African coast).

There are several interesting aspects to the Canary Islands, aside from being loved holiday destinations for sun-deprived North Europeans (of which I am one). The name itself comes from Latin Canis, which means "dog". There's even a breed of dogs local to the islands, Presa Canario.

Again, the dog theme is super significant in TWDU. I’ve talked about the Sirius symbolism incessantly since 4x13 Alone, when Beth and Daryl were visited by a one-eyed, white dog, embodying the spirit of Sirius the Dog Star, the star that returns to the night sky after having been missing for …let’s just say several seasons. 4x13 was when I became aware of this particular symbolism, but in reality it’s been present since the pilot 1x1 Days Gone Bye, which I’ve also discussed in several posts.

Sirius the Dog Star is located in the star constellation Canis Major, “canis” is Latin for “dog”, and the Canary Islands can be translated to “Dog Islands”. And as @galadrieljones discovered, coordinates from FTWD pointed in that direction.

I’ve laid out the theoretical foundations of the Sirius symbolism in many posts over the years, here’s one of the first ones I wrote on it.

So yeah, there’s that. Lots of dog/Sirius symbolism. Additionally, the Canary Islands serve as an important gateway to transatlantic crossings. This is due to their favorable position in the Atlantic Ocean, where the trade winds historically has aided vessels across the ocean.

Could this latest development, with Daryl and Carol reportedly aiming to cross the Atlantic on a boat from the UK, lend itself to a future storyline where they instead have to cross from the Canary Islands, or shall we say Dog Islands?

This could, in the narrative, serve as a plausible solution in Daryl and Carol’s quest to RETURN to the US after their European adventure. See what I did there? Sirius symbolism is about returns/rebirths/resurrections. Where better to achieve that than on a group of island whose name literally means Dog Islands? That’s double Sirius symbolism.

And of course, for TD, the big question is, will Beth, the Sirius figure, return (or RESURRECT) with them? Will they find her there, or have they already found her and she’s the one who suggests returning via the Canary (Dog) Islands?

I have no idea, just throwing out suggestions here. We won’t know until we know, plus keep in mind these are, at the time of writing, unconfirmed rumors. However, it is interesting how spoilers constantly seem to be perfectly aligned with theories we already explored months and years ago.

And on a personal note, I started theorizing about Santiago de Compostela and pilgrimage literally after 5x8 Coda, and now, all these years later, we have confirmed reports on filming in Santiago de Compostela, on a show that was originally called Pilgrim.

Of course that doesn’t prove anything, but it gives me the feeling we might be on to something 👀

Finally, I will mention that I believe “the green(e) route” from Morgan’s wall (possibly represented by the Northern Way to Santiago de Compostela, through “Green Spain”), will be tied to not only Beth’s “resurrection” specifically, but rather a “resurrection” of human kind in the form of a vaccine/cure/treatment to the Wildfire zombie virus. I talked about how that was foreshadowed in 4x4 Indifference in this post, where we saw Daryl completely mesmerized by a green jasper he found, literally a "rock in the road", while they were out searching for antibiotics to combat the prison flu back in season 4.

My hypothesis is that the “rock in the road” is a reference to St. Roch, pilgrim and patron saint of plague victims, known to have healing powers, who was himself healed from the plague when a stray dog licked his wounds. He therefore also became patron saint of dogs and dog lovers:

See how there’s dog/Sirius symbolism in that? Sirius symbolism is ultimately about resurrection, rebirth and returns, and what represents resurrection more than an actual cure to the zombie virus?

In 4x4 Indifference, Daryl and company were specifically out searching for antibiotics (a "cure for the plague”) when he found the green(e) “Roch in the Road”. I believe that’s a metaphor for how we will find hints of a cure in relation to symbolism that deals with pilgrimage (St. Roch and Santiago de Compostela), something green (Beth Greene and green(e) Spain) and that Beth’s resurrection will be a metaphor for the revival of humanity.

@galadrieljones recently wrote an incredible post on how she believes the bottles of green Chartreuse spotted in the trailer for TBOC might be a nod to a historical template for how scientists working on a cure for the zombie virus were exiled to Spain, modeled after real events where monks producing Chartreuse were exiled to Spain in the past. Go read it, it's excellent!

The Chartreuse can be seen on the table under the Mona Lisa painting in this screenshot:

I’ve been meaning to write a separate post replying to the Chartreuse post, and I still have every intention of doing so one of these days, I just don’t have the greatest time-management skills, I guess 😄 I don’t know where time went, this summer was super busy. But it’s coming, I promise!

In the meantime, I’ll just say that I believe the Chartreuse hypothesis sounds more than plausible, in fact I’ve written several posts on how in TWDU, alcohol has always been used as a metaphor for “the antidote”, meaning a cure, such as here, where I also explain how it is Sirius symbolism.

In FTWD 4x16 I Lose Myself, we saw this meticulously explained when our heroes had to find a way to survive being poisened by antifreeze containing methanol:

I wrote a post on that, read it here.

Remember how in 4x4 Indifference, at the veterinary college where they found the antibiotics that ultimately saved the lives of the flu victims that were dying, Bob famously also found a bottle of brandy:

Daryl did not approve, to say the least. He felt Bob should have focused on finding antibiotics for the plagued prison population. However, TPTB, by placing the bottle of brandy among the antibiotics, cleverly made sure to establish an association between the alcohol and the antibiotics, the "antidote/cure".

They also did that earlier in the episode, when they came across a gas station where several people had committed suicide by drinking antifreeze, which often contains methanol. This was a storyline that was later repeated in FTWD 4x16 I lose myself, which I mentioned above, where they explicitly articulate "the antidote is ethanol". Again, the takeaway for us is that alcohol is a metaphor for a cure.

The antidote to methanol poisoning is ethanol, otherwise known as alcohol. So where methanol is the poison, ethanol/alcohol is the cure. Meaning, TPTB established alcohol as metaphor for a "cure" all the way back in 4x4 Indifference, first by showing the deadly effects of the "opposite" of alcohol, meaning methanol. Then they did so again, by strategically placing a bottle of alcohol among actual antibiotics, the actual cure which helped heal the sick prison community.

I also elaborated on this in the Fighting Fire With Fire posts (here, here and here).

Long story short, alchohol has been used as a metaphor for a "cure" since at least 4x4 Indifference, where we also saw Daryl find a "Roch in the road", which in my opinion was a reference to the pilgrim St.Roch, patron saint of plague victims, known to be able to heal people from the plague, as well as being healed himself. Basically, it's peak "cure" symbolism.

I believe the fact that Daryl's "Roch in the road" was green, is a nod to Green Spain, a stretch of land that needs to be crossed (in pilgrimage) in order to get to the real cure, which potentially could be under production in Spain, possibly somewhere near Santiago de Compostela, a world famous destination of pilgrimage.

Pilgrimage has always been about healing in some way, shape or form, and we saw this clearly with Morgan, in the coda after 5x8 Coda, when he reached Father Gabriel's church as though it was the destination of his pilgrimage. The last time we had seen him, in 3x12 Clear, he had been a tormented soul, now he was a pilgrim reaching his destination, and he was "healed".

He "resurrected" a cross, which TD interpreted as a foreshadow of the "resurrection" of Beth, who had "died" just moments earlier.

And I believe we will see the resurrection of a certain Beth Greene, which will serve as a metaphor for the revival of hummanity, meaning a cure for the Wildfire virus. Fighting Fire With Fire.