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readerstories · 5 months ago

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In Rain and Mud - Wolverine x male reader x Deadpool 2/4

Saw the movie in theaters finally, brainworm ofc came in strong. (Part 1) (Part 3) (AO3)

Warnings/tags: male reader, canon-typical violence, blood, gore, eventual smut

Wordcount: 2023

Summary: Your cabin lays far away from anything and everything. And with the rainstorm currently battering the woods this night you don’t expect to see or hear another human being until you leave for town. So when there’s banging on your door, you switch your book with your shotgun from its place on a sidetable, loading it as you approach your door.

You are not sure what woke you up, a sound, a smell, or something stupid like a weird dream, but you are wide awake you don’t even know how many hours after you fell asleep. It’s been long enough though that there is some semblance of light bleeing through the clouds not currently filled with rain, and the wind has slowed down, though far from died.

Then you hear it.

A branch snapping.

It’s not an animal.

They stay clear of your cabin.

The mix of human and wolf smell keeps them away.

So whatever or whoever it is, it’s not good news.

You get out of bed, padding on silent feet as you step out into your living room, as it sounded like the noise had come from the front of your cabin.

You feel the hair on your neck thicken, transforming into grey and brown fur, then raising as a low growl threatens to escape your mouth.

It does come out when there’s movement to your left, but it’s only Logan sitting up from the couch, blanket slipping down from his torso to pool in his lap, your eyes following the motion, as quick as it is. You had completely forgotten that there was two other people in the cabin.

“What-“ He starts, but stops when you put a finger to your lips and tilt your head to listen more closely to what’s happening outside.

He frowns, but mirrors you, listening.

Multiple sets of footsteps, cocking of guns, hard to decipher how many.

“Grab Wade and go out the front as distraction, I’ll go out back and don’t do anything until I show myself.” You keep your voice low, a whisper to make sure those outside can’t hear you, but you know Logan can with the way he focuses on you. His voice is just as low when he answers.

“Why the fuck would we-“

“Just shut the fuck up, grab him, and get him talking, I imagine that won’t be difficult.” Logan squints at you and scowls, but gets up to walk on surprisingly quiet feet to your guest room where Wade is snoring.

You set your sights on the back door, stripping out of your clothes as you go, not wanting them to get ripped and ruined as you transform. You slip out into the cold and just windy morning, praising yourself for oiling that old squeaky door last time you were here.

Shivers shake your body in a mix of excitement and bite from the cold, but they mostly stop as the hair all over your body starts to transform into fur. You stand still to listen more, trying to figure out how many people are around, but it’s difficult with how the wind howls and whisks away any smells other than those of the woods.

You hear Wade and Logan inside, Wade getting up with minimal complaining and no jokes.

Doesn’t last long though, as he opens the front door and steps out.

“Oh look peanut, we got company! And here I thought we were going to have this romantic getaway for ourselves.” After that you don’t pay attention to his words or anyone else’s, your slowly shifting form taking precedence.

You fall forward on all fours, legs and arms growing longer, twisting and transforming, making you grow taller and larger with every passing second. A deep growl grows in your throat as your snout appears, but you hold it back to not alert anybody of your presence.

Slowly, ever so slowly, you inch forward so you can peer towards the front of the cabin, looking through the small gaps of the shed attached to one wall that stores your firewood.

You can see at least 20 people, all dressed in tactical gear, guns trained towards the front of your cabin where Deadpool is still blabbering, somehow not yet stopped. A guy in the front yells something back, perhaps a boss or leader of some sort.

Not that you care.

Your eyes are on someone else.

A single person standing on the edge of the group, gun aimed like everyone else, just far enough away from another person they will be easy picking.

Weak link.

Without much more thought, you crouch down slighly, finding steady footing on the wet ground, and push off. You run around the corner with a snarl, catching everyones attention, though too late for anyone to react before you have the lone persons torso in your teeth, their gun landing in a mud puddle with a splash.

They scream and wriggle in your mouth, you bite down hard, hearing bones breaking and crunching.

There’s silence, a stunned one, before it’s broken by a laughing and clapping Wade.

“Oh my fucking god, that’s a big secret sweetcheeks!” You look at him and growl, blood dripping out from between your teeth and the by now barely moving body inbetween them. All he does in response is gasp and clap some more, joy somehow shining through his mask. Logan is standing next to him still, scowling, fists clenched, metal knives(?) shining from between them, his eyes flicking between the two of you.

Wade opens his mouth, but whatever stupid thing he was about to say is cutoff by a shot ringing out, and pain shooting through your left shoulder.

You throw the person still in your mouth to the side with a flick of your head, their body landing with a thud as you turn towards where the gunshot came from.

All the guns are now trained on you, but you can tell it’s the person closest to you that shot, their gun reaking of gunpowder more than the others. The bullet is already being pushed out from your healing skin, fall to the ground slowed by your thick fur, but it hits a puddle with a plop.

You growl, crouching down, eyes trained on the person who’s gun is starting to shake, ever so minutly.

“Oh you guys are so fucked !” Wade yells, your answer to that is a snarl, and in seconds you have your jaws around a new person.

There are gunshots, some of them hit, but the pain of them barely registers as you attack person after person.

Ripping of limb after limb.

Crushing skulls.

Chasing down screaming runners that don’t get very far before your paws push them into mud and sharp teeth rip their head off.

You drag one man is circles, his body bouncing around as he tries to get a hold of the slippery ground to no avail, not even his companions shooting you giving a reprive from his situation before his heart gives out on him.

One guy swings at you with his knife in a desperate attempt to stop his own death, and though he manges to stab you in your front leg, all he gets for his troubles is his stomach ripped out. You pull the knife out with your teeth, dropping it to pounce on the next person in your eyes sight.

You get an arm in your mouth, the fear reeking from the man as you bite down, the scream he lets out grating on your ears, so you let go of his arm to rip his throat out instead.

Another person you throw up into the air like a ragdoll, catching him with your teeth on his way down, shaking him like a chewtoy.

“Oh that is fucked!” You hear someone laugh and drop the body. For more than a few moments you had forgotten there was other people here than the ones that you were killing. You look over to the cabin, Logan is sitting on your porch, while Wade is still standing, watching you with hands on his hips, leaned slightly forward.

“Sorry about this reader, but I gotta.” Wade shifts, standing a little more straight as he spreads his arms wide, yelling “PUPPY!” at you.

If you could laugh in this form you would at least have chuckled, instead your answer to the clearly crazy man is to pad over to the porch, then giving him one long lick from head to toe, covering him in a mix of spit and blood.

“Oh, that is SO gross!” Wade sounds absolutely delighted, at least you can still scoff at him as a wolf. You glance down at Wolverine.

“Don’t you fucking dare bub.” You’re tempted, even as he holds up a closed fist, the knives that turns out to be more like claws appearing from between his knuckles.

It would be funny.

You would get stabbed for your fun.

Probably.

You don’t feel like being stabbed by those sharp and shining things.

So you don’t lick him.

For now.

Instead you bark at him once and turn around, looking over the scene you’ve made.

Bodies and body parts strewn all over the clearing in front of your house, guns discarded, bullet casings littering the dirt and mud. Tracks in the ground where your claws dug in, or desperate feet tried to get away.

What a mess.

With a sigh you pick up a torn off leg and start walking away from the cabin.

“Please don’t tell me you’re going to start gnawing on that like a bone.” You stop, sending Wade as an incredulous look you can manage over your shoulder before you keep walking.

You don’t go far, still visible from the cabin as you drop the leg you had been carrying and start digging in a spot that haven’t been completely transformed into a mud puddle by the rain or the fight.

You dig and dig, the blood in your fur being mostly replaced with mud and dirt, the occasional bullet falling down into the hole as you dig and heal.

Wade and Logan starts to gather up bodies as you dig, at least helping with the cleanup after letting you take the fight alone. Not that help was needed or really wanted, you were just protecting yourself and your things from whoever the mystery people were.

You have a sneaking suspicion that they weren’t even here for you, but instead for Logan, who is picking up bullets and guns, and Wade, who is dragging what is left of a torso while complaining how heavy it is.

You finish digging, hole now deep enough to hide everything and everyone, so with a few pushes and some throws, the hole is filled with bodies, guns, and bullets.

“Most people skip over this part when writing you know.” You ignore Wade, you don’t have an idea what nonsense he is talking about.

You cover the hole with dirt, spreading the leftovers around where the hole once was, stamping it down, blending it in so it looks like there was never anything dug down here. It mostly successful, the water and more rain that you can smell is coming will do the rest of the blending.

“Job well done champ!” Wade reaches up and heavily pats your shoulder, seconds later leaning into you fully to get a full face of fur. “So soft….” You shake him off you with a huff, turning to walk over to the cabin, quickly catching up with Logan who reaches the porch just before you.

As your front paw touches the wood, you let yourself transform back into you fully human form, back on two legs instead of four. You are still covered in blood and mud, though less with your smaller form. You hear a sharp wolf whistle behind you.

“Nudity! God damn, I love fanfiction.” You growl at him, Wade winks, as he get within reach you push at him, making him land on his ass in the mud.

“Deserved.” Is all you say, glancing at Logan, catching an ever so slight uptick of his lips as you all head inside, you first, Logan and Wade following, closing the door to the rain that seemed to start up as soon as Wade got up off his ass.

“I’m taking a shower, you can have it later of you ask nicely.”

“I can even beg handsome.” You don’t gratify Wade with an answer to that.

#logan howlett x male reader #wolverine x male reader #logan howlett x reader #wade wilson x male reader #wade wilson x reader #wolverine x reader #deadpool x male reader #logan howlett #wolverine #deadpool #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool & wolverine #wolverine fic #deadpool fic #marvel fic #deadpool and wolverine fic #male!reader #written #male reader

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joshym · 1 year ago

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Le Morte d'Arthur: Chapter 1

Paring: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Summary: It all began with a passion for literature. What was once a dream to walk the halls of the University of Michigan is now a reality.

You thought you were prepared for everything.

A new town, a new school, a new way of life,

but what you were not prepared for…

was meeting the enigma that is Jake Kiszka.

Word Count: 8.8k+

Warnings: (for this chapter) mentions of stress & anxiety, mentions of a broken home, mentions of an ill, disabled parent, mentions of an oxygen tank & medications, jake is an asshole, (if I missed anything, please let me know)

a/n: it's here! i can't begin to express how excited i am to share this with everyone. this story has been in the works for quite some time now, & it's been such a joy to write. i sincerely hope you all love it. please don't be afraid to let me know what you think. 🤍

also, huge thank you to @jakeyt for being the best editor, & being my right hand in helping create this. i seriously couldn't have done it without you. love you SO much. you're the best sister i could ever ask for.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

As you walk up the stone steps of Angell Hall, you feel as though you’re walking into a book filled with ancient Greek Mythology. The pillars that resemble the Parthenon temple, the delicate stone work motifs that portray Athena's owl and Pegasus; you’ve truly never felt more at home than you do at this very moment as you take your first steps inside the building that houses the English Literature courses. The inside is rich with artwork personifying poetry and myth. The intricate neoclassical design of the ceilings, complete with gold leafing and imperial medallions. The most incredible building you’ve ever seen, and one of the many reasons you decided to make the transfer to the University of Michigan.

It’s been no easy feat to get here. In fact, it’s been damn near impossible. It’s by the skin of your teeth that you’re here today, walking the very halls of your dream school.

The road to get here has been hell. Pure, unadulterated hell. You’ve saved every last penny to afford the move here, while trying to take care of your mom and her declining health. It didn’t help that your dad decided it was all too much for him and left a year ago, leaving the two of you alone with hardly the means to afford even the bare necessities. With two full time jobs, online classes at some bullshit university, and tending to your mom’s every need for the last year, it’s a fucking miracle you’re standing here today.

It’s only been a month since you received your acceptance letter in the mail. You worked your ass off the last two years maintaining a 4.0 gpa to be sure you’d be accepted. You’d applied back in January and waited six excruciating months to hear back, obsessively checking the mail at least three times a day.

One day, you noticed a rather large, crumpled envelope stuffed in your tiny mailbox. It was wet from a rainstorm that had hit earlier that day, but you could still make out the sender information.

The University of Michigan

515 East Jefferson St.

1220 Student Activities Building

Ann Arbor, MI 48109-1316

You knew that the contents of this envelope would seal your fate for the next two years. You were hesitant at first to open, scared of rejection. You let it sit for a few hours before finally ripping it open as quickly as your fingers would allow.

You pulled out the sopping piece of cardstock, stamped with a golden “M” at the top left corner.

Congratulations, y/n!

You’re in! We are pleased to inform you that you are admitted to the University of Michigan College of Literature, Science and the Arts Junior class entering fall of 2023.

Within two weeks of receiving the letter, you and your mom packed up what little you had and left the sleepy town of Cherry Tree, Oklahoma.

Up until now, you’d lived in this tiny town your entire life. You’ve been so ready to leave, to find adventure elsewhere that would allow you to spread your wings. You’d been held back there for so long. You knew it was time, and as much as she could, your mother supported your choice to leave and she was eager herself to get away.

You managed to secure a low income apartment in Ann Arbor that has accommodations for those with disabilities. It’s a shithole. But it’s your shithole.

You’re solely responsible for any and all bills as your mom isn’t fit to work. You’ve got enough saved up to last about a month, so one of your first priorities is to find a job that will sustain you.

Right now, though, your current goal is to find your first class in this massive building. It’s intimidating. Everyone here is walking past you in a hurry to get where they need to go as you’re stuck, still trying to figure out where room 3182 is. There aren’t signs anywhere to help guide you through the utter maze that is Angell Hall. You haven’t the slightest clue of where to start.

You try asking a few people, only to be met with vague points in general directions, or people simply telling you ‘up stairs.’

Where are the damn stairs?

You start trekking along in an attempt to find them, when you see a large wooden door that’s cracked open just enough to see, finally, a staircase.

Some progress.

Making your way to the third floor, you assume you’ve finally found where your class will be when you look at a room number… and it says ‘2548.’

Dammit.

You head back to the stairs to make your way up to the next floor, and to your relief, the class numbers all begin with a three.

You head down the long, dimly lit hallway in frantic search for room 3182, to no avail. The hallway has so many twists and turns with no guidance for direction. There may as well be a scarecrow with arms pointing in all directions saying ‘this way!’

You’re stuck yet again, unsure of where to go. You assume everyone is in their respective classes as the hall is barren, so there’s not a soul to ask. With only two minutes until class begins, you’re nearing the point of giving up.

Anything is better than waltzing into class late on your first day, no less your first day at a university where no one knows you. What a fantastic first impression to make.

Suddenly, a man comes barging down the hall towards you. He looks a bit unapproachable, wearing a large brimmed black hat on top of his shoulder length hair, sunglasses that mimic ones worn by John Lennon in the seventies and a matching all black ensemble of linen pants and a button up, with only the last few buttons actually secured. He jingles as he moves due to an obnoxious number of necklaces sitting on his bare chest.

You’re not sure you want to bother him but desperate times call for asking strange men for directions.

“Hi, excuse me. Could you tell me where room-”

Without even acknowledging your basic existence, he seems to be in a hurry as he slams into you, knocking your brown canvas bag off your shoulder and effectively dumping everything out of it.

“Sorry,” he mumbles as he quickly turns the corner, not even bothering to help you pick up the mess he’s created.

“John Lennon wannabe motherfucker,” you mutter under your breath as you bend down to gather your belongings.

You hear footsteps coming closer to you, thinking just maybe he's decided to come back and make amends.

“Sorry about him, girl.”

You glance up just as she’s kneeling down, offering to help with your scattered books.

“Don’t pay him any mind. He thinks he walks on water,” she says as she helps you shove the last of them in your bag, now all disheveled and out of your perfect order.

“God, thank you so much. Would you happen to know where room 3182 is? I haven’t the slightest clue where I’m going.”

“Just keep going down the hall until you reach the bathroom, take a left and it’s the second room on the right,” she says, with a warm smile.

You thank her again and quickly head in that direction.

At last, you breathe a sigh of relief as you approach room 3182.

With a deep breath, you open the door to the massive lecture hall that appears more like an auditorium with its pitched floor.

All eyes are on you, the room dead silent as the professor glares at you.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, I had the worst time-”

“No matter. Just take your seat and do it quickly,” he cuts you off.

You scan the room in search of an empty seat as everyone continues to silently stare at you, eyes burning holes in your soul.

This is exactly what you wanted to avoid.

Finally you spot one on the far right corner of the room. Swiftly heading towards it, you make a horrid discovery.

Mr. John Lennon wannabe is in the seat right next to the empty one.

Of fucking course.

Grudgingly, you take your seat next to him. He shifts his body slightly away from you as you situate yourself, letting out a long, dramatic sigh once you're settled.

You decide to try and humble him with your southern hospitality, asking his name with a kind smile, to which he only responds by cocking his head in your general direction and not bothering to answer you.

What an ass.

“Now that it seems we finally have everyone here, let’s get things started. Welcome to English 450, The Quest for King Arthur. My name is Dr. Movack and I will be your instructor throughout the semester.”

You start pulling out all of your books on King Arthur, annoyed that some of them now have bent pages thanks to the mysterious man wearing all black sitting to your left.

“One of the requirements to be accepted in this class, aside from the prerequisite courses, is to have more than just the basic knowledge of Arthurian lore.” Dr. Movack continues, “Taking that into account, there is no need to waste time in starting from the beginning. However, I would like to take a moment to test your knowledge. Each person who answers correctly will receive a point towards extra credit.”

Dr. Movack begins going around the room, asking everyone basic questions and facts about King Arthur when he finally gets to you.

“I would like you to tell me which text offers the earliest reference to Arthur.”

With booming confidence, you answer, “I believe it’s around the 7th century when he is briefly mentioned in the poem titled Y Gododdin.”

The John Lennon look alike on your left lets out an obnoxiously loud chuckle while shaking his head.

“Dr. Movack, it’s a well known fact that Arthur isn’t specifically mentioned until Historia Brittonum in the 9th century. She’s clearly wrong,” he blurts out.

You know your stuff when it comes to this lore. You’ve studied it for the better part of your life and you’ll be damned if you let this man who, for whatever reason has developed a vendetta against you, try to outwit you.

“No, you are wrong. You obviously haven’t read the poem or you’d know he’s named when referencing the bravery of Gwawrddur.”

He waves his palm in your face in an attempt to silence you, the gesture causing your lip to curl in frustration. “Tell her, Dr. Movack. Tell her she’s wrong and has no idea what she’s talking about.” He asserts.

Talking about you instead of to you is a great way to piss you off and he’s on the right path towards it. His refusal to even look at you has you nearly in flames with rage.

“What’s your name, miss?” Dr. Movack asks.

“Y/n,” you respond.

Your heart is thumping out of your chest as you await the professor's response.

“It seems there may be someone here who knows even more than you, Kiszka.” Lennon’s jaw nearly hits the desk beneath him. “Y/n is absolutely right. Y Gododdin does, in fact, mention Arthur. The introduction is so slight that it’s often missed, but scholars argue that this piece does indeed contain the first true reference.”

Even through his obnoxious sunglasses, you can see the frustration painted on his face. Proving him wrong in front of the whole class serves him right.

Poetic justice at its finest.

You laugh through your nose and give yourself a metaphorical pat on the back, anticipating more praise from Dr. Movack when he says “However, miss, you will not receive your point for being late to my class.”

Lennon cackles at this, of course, feeling he’s somehow won this educational battle.

He answers his question correctly, receiving his point and commendation from Dr. Movack.

He sits back in his chair, arms crossed with a smug face, wearing a ‘kiss my ass’ grin on his lips.

You just roll your eyes and look the other direction, envisioning yourself ripping those ridiculous sunglasses off his face.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Something you’re not used to yet, and perhaps will never get used to, is the Detroit traffic. Stuck in your beat to hell ‘92 Firebird in bumper to bumper traffic, you’re at a near standstill as you’re desperate to get home after a long day of classes. What should only be a fifteen minute drive home has already lasted more than thirty, and you’ve hardly moved an inch.

You’re sitting in silence as you don’t even have the luxury of the radio to keep you company. You’re lucky enough that this car even runs with as much shit as it’s been through. A hand-me-down from a hand-me-down, losing parts and gusto after each set of hands it passes through. You figure you’ll be the last to drive it before it meets its timely end in the very near future.

WIthout much else to preoccupy you at the moment, your mind is wandering with recollection of your first day at the school you’ve had your sights set on since your first comprehensible memory. Feeling like a fish out of water would be the most comfortable way to describe your day. It goes far beyond that.

You know it’ll take some time to settle. But you’re afraid that time won’t fix the fact that you may not truly belong here. You’ve never really fit in anywhere, even in your tiny hometown that you’d lived in your whole life. You were never fully accepted there, so what makes you think you’d be accepted here? You’d always felt so isolated in Cherry Tree, too small of a town to feel such a way. Now, you have the intimidation of a rather large city to amplify your isolation.

Aside from the nightmare that was finding your first class and the man who made you late to it, your other classes went about as well as you could’ve hoped for. You’d still managed to get lost a fair amount, but on the brightside, you’d found the campus coffee shop so you had been able to stay there for a while this afternoon.

The man, who you can only refer to as Lennon given he so rudely refused to give you his first name, was also studying in the coffee shop today, much to your dismay.

And the way he’d locked eyes with you for a brief moment before quickly looking away…

You were not sure why, but now, you can’t pry him from your ambulant mind. Something about him, aside from his insolent demeanor, is oddly enticing. He’s dark, almost mystifying. There are secrets in the air he breathes. Whether or not you want to know them, you can’t quite decide. Nonetheless, you’re intrigued.

Traffic finally begins to move at a steady pace, breaking your trance and causing your disoriented image of him to return to one filled with anger.

Mystifying or not, he was an ass for absolutely no reason. You’ve made up your mind that you will never give him the time of day again.

You pull into the parking lot of your apartment complex, your car sputtering its cry of exhaustion as you’ve put it to the ultimate test far too many times lately.

“I need you to hang on just a little longer, old friend.” You say as you throw the gear shift in park. “Just a little longer, then we’ll lay your heaping metal bones to rest.”

You trek up the stairs to your apartment, stopping at door 264. You smile as you look down to see “Don’t Knock Unless You Brought Wine” stitched on the doormat beneath your feet. Your mom insisted on it, and as ridiculous as you think it is, you’re grateful for the smile it’s brought to your tired face.

You search through your disarranged canvas bag for your key, silently cursing the fact that it’s not in its designated spot.

Finally spotting the shining silver, you pull it out and twist it in the rusted bolt to open the door.

Your mom is sprawled out on the couch, her oxygen tank filling the quiet apartment with a subtle humming. The living room television is on some old sitcom she loves with the volume muted, as per usual for her.

You don’t want to wake her, as it’s imperative that she gets as much rest these days as she can. You keep as quiet as possible while heading to the kitchen to start dinner for the two of you.

You decide on something simple; bowtie pasta with alfredo and grilled chicken.

Your mom always had a knack for all things culinary. Her skill remains unmatched, although it’s not as easy for her these days.

You sadly missed out on that trait from her. You’re lucky if you don’t burn the water. But, over the course of her illness becoming increasingly debilitating, you’ve taught yourself some easy and quick recipes to get by.

You spoon a healthy amount of pasta on each of your plates, even garnishing them with a few basil leaves for a little aesthetic.

You pour yourself a much needed glass of merlot before taking your mom’s plate to her.

You gently wake her by carefully nudging her hand.

“Dinners ready, mom. I hope it’s okay.”

She slowly begins to stir awake, looking happy to see you as you sit next to her. “I’m sure it’ll be great. Thank you, sweetie.” You help her to sit up and get stabilized before handing her her plate. “How was your first day?” She tries not to wince as she takes her first bite. Her years of being a culinary expert have made her awfully picky when it comes to food, but she’s never once outwardly complained about your cooking. Although you can tell she’s less than impressed, she would never tell you that. She knows you’re trying your best and she’s so grateful for it, especially since your dad left.

“It was alright, I guess.” You take your first bite and instantly understand her initial aversion to it. Undercooked noodles and over cooked chicken. You’re glad it’s not the other way around this time.

“Just alright?” she asks.

You don’t have the heart to tell her how draining today truly was, so you just tell her that classes were a little stressful but that it really was a great day.

You switch the subject and talk about the beauty of the campus and how badly you wish she could see it. “Maybe someday,” she says.

You want nothing more than to get her out of this dingy apartment for a day and take her around, to show her the wonder of the city. It’s been incredibly difficult watching battle her illness. She seems to grow weaker with each passing day. Although she tries to conceal it from you, you know your mom, and you can see her deteriorate before your very eyes. It breaks your heart in a million pieces, but you still hold out hope that she will get better someday.

Hope is all you have.

Until then, you just try to enjoy each and every moment you share with her.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’re situated outside of room 3182 nearly thirty minutes early this morning, drinking your steaming coffee and reading House of Leaves that was assigned to you yesterday in your Classic Horror course.

The real inescapable horror, however, would be sitting next to him again, so you’re here early to avoid the unnecessary cruelty you faced the other day.

Taking advantage of your extra time, you allow yourself to become immersed in the daunting novel.

You read of a man on a slow descent to insanity, discovering a manuscript that details a home that transforms on the inside, yet stays the same on the outside.

Unlit hallways that continue for ages, doors appearing where they hadn’t been before. An architectural conundrum, this house.

The words in the book appear in strange prints, some pages with them upside down, placed in strange patterns; some pages with no words at all.

The word “House” is always in the color blue, even on the cover.

The novel both fascinates you and terrifies you all at once, having read it twice before. You’ve yet to make your own interpretations on this book as they seem to change with each read. A bit of a mindfuck, as it were.

Just as you’re diving head first into the maddening depths of Danielewski's story, you hear keys jingling followed by the door to the classroom opening.

You’d been so lost in your book you hadn’t even noticed that most of the students had joined you in the hall, waiting for class to begin.

You’re the first to head inside, much to Dr. Movack’s shock. You take your seat in the front row near the podium, the furthest one away from where you assume Lennon will sit.

The rest of the class piles in, taking their respective seats and gearing up for class. Here comes Lennon, clad in all black once again– sunglasses and all. He walks right past you, humoring you by ignoring your presence.

Good. Keep walking.

As more students pile in, you notice one mindlessly walking towards you before he abruptly stops and eyes you in your seat. You simply smile and nod as he stands there with a curious look about him.

He slowly walks away, leaving you a bit puzzled but you choose to ignore it.

The hands on the antique brass wall clock strike 10:00 am, and you notice Dr. Movack is still out in the hall speaking with someone. Of whom, you can’t quite tell.

You and the rest of the class wait patiently, when finally Dr. Movack walks in, but he’s not alone. He’s with the student who glared strangely at you just moments ago.

The student is standing near the professor, as if he has something to say, when Dr. Movack clears his throat and begins speaking.

“I feel I needn't say this, but it’s clear some of you aren’t aware of how things are done around here, so I will say it this once so that we all understand. Once you choose your seat on the first day of class, that becomes your designated seat for the remainder of the semester. It is disruptive to your fellow classmates to decide to take the seat they specifically chose as their throne for learning.”

Your chest tightens and your face becomes flush with unease.

You know instantly that he’s talking about you.

“So, I will end this here: if you are not sitting in the spot you chose on the first day of class, I suggest you move to said spot immediately so we can get started with our business.”

Shit.

You’re utterly humiliated as you slowly stand up, you being the only one to stand up and making it abundantly clear to everyone in class that you were the cause of this.

You take your things and move to the spot you so desperately wanted to avoid, right next to Lennon who is covering his mouth with his hand, giggling at your shame.

The student standing by Dr. Movack takes his rightful seat as you take yours.

The class you had been most excited for this semester is quickly turning out to be the one you wished you had never signed up for.

You made a terrible impression on the first day by being late, and now on the second day of this class, you’ve broken an unspoken rule that you had no previous knowledge of. All of that topped off with the man sitting next to you who has made his distaste for you rather clear… the only thought tormenting your mind is how badly you wish you could crawl in a hole and never have to show your face in this class ever again.

“I have an important announcement,” declares Dr. Movack as he takes post behind his podium. “Through the entirety of this course, you will be working on a semester-long project relating to the appropriation of Arthurian legend. This project is fairly at your liberty, meaning there are very few stipulations for you to follow.”

Okay, this is something you can handle. Something to sink your teeth into, something you know you’ll excel at.

“This will not be a solo project, however.”

Oh no.

“There are exactly fifty students in this class, so you will be paired in twos for a total of twenty five projects.”

Please no.

“As far as who you will be assigned with, that is very simple. The person seated next to you is who you will work with for the remainder of the semester.”

With Lennon being the very last seat in your row, and you being directly next to him, this means…he will be your partner. For the entire semester.

You were cursed from the first day you stepped foot in this room and had to sit next to him. Fate would have it so things would not work in your favor, it appears.

“This project is not to be taken lightly as it is worth sixty percent of your final grade. Everything in this class will lead up to it, so I suggest you take your readings very seriously.”

He will ruin this for you, no fucking doubt.

He won’t even give you the grace of telling you his first name, and now you have to work on a huge project with him for four months? A project worth more than half of your grade?

That hole you debated on crawling in is sounding better and better by the minute.

“Well, guess that makes us partners.” To your disbelief, Lennon speaks his first words to you in lieu of his typical 'at you' approach. “The nice thing is that it guarantees me a good grade.”

“Is that your way of admitting I know more about this than you do, Kiszka?” you snark. He cocks an eyebrow above his black lenses as you dare to utter his last name.

“Not quite.” He snorts a condescending chuckle, “I can tell you’re the type to work towards the best grade possible, hence, ensuring my success in the process. Shall I thank you now or later?”

Lennon’s got you there.

You take projects like these rather seriously, and this one will be no exception. As much as you’d love to set him up for failure, that would warrant your failure right along with him.

It’s the perfect scenario for him and a living nightmare for you.

Lovely.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You walk through the open doors of the lecture hall for your next class, spotting yet another familiar face amongst the students, only this one much more kind and welcoming.

You recognize her as the kind soul who helped you the other day when your bag was senselessly knocked off your shoulder by your favorite Lennon impersonator.

“Hey!” she says as she notices you, “Come sit next to me!”

You’re nearly taken away by her beauty as you sit beside her, finally able to get a better look at her this time.

Her glowing caramel skin, her eyes light and honest with a sepia tone, her dark brown curls that are unruly yet flawlessly styled, held perfectly on top of her head with the most beautiful satin scarf.

“Thank you again for helping me the other day. You’re a saint for that.” You hang your book bag on the back of your chair, pulling out its contents for class. “You’ll never believe this, but that guy that slammed into me with no remorse, he’s in my class. The one that he made me so late for. And because of that, we’re partnered together for a semester-long project.”

“Ah yes, Jake,” she says under a giggle, adjusting her dark green, slouchy sweater off her toned shoulder. “He’s something else, that’s for sure. He’s got a good heart but he covers it with that mysterious, dark facade that he thinks makes him look so cool.”

Alas, Lennon does have a first name after all. Although, you prefer the nickname you’ve given him.

“Well, Jake has made it rather clear that I am not his favorite person and I can’t for the life of me figure out why. I’m not sure how we’ll manage to make it through this semester together with his shitty attitude.”

She hums under her breath, slowly shaking her head as if to say ‘just you wait.’

“My name’s Natalia. Where’d you fly in from?”

The way her name rolls off her tongue with her slight accent is nothing short of beautiful.

“Just a miniscule town in Oklahoma. Is it really that obvious that I’m not from here?” you answer in a hushed tone, half embarrassed to admit such a thing.

She grins as she sings a few words from the title track from the beloved Rodgers and Hammerstein musical, showcasing her stark white teeth that compliment her glowing, tanned skin perfectly.

“I hate to tell you Ms. Oklahoma, but you do kind of stick out like a sore thumb,” she quips.

Having gone from a small, southern town to the outskirts of Detroit, you’re bound to look like an outsider until the culture shock wears off, much to your discontent.

As much as you wish you could quickly adapt and easily blend in, it’s just not possible. Your face twinges as you remember your first day, specifically that one class you’d care to not mention any further.

“Welcome, students, to Women in Literature. My name is Dr. Lacey and I’ll be your instructor through the duration of this course.”

Class begins and you both submerge yourself in a study that’s particularly important to each of you.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“I can’t call you Ms. Oklahoma forever, you know.”

You and Natalia have the rest of the day free from classes, so you decided to walk with her to the Central Campus library to do some studying.

“I guess you’re right,” you say through a laugh. “My name is y/n.”

You walk across the large courtyard full of lush green grass, intricate steel benches and the most lovely hydrangeas colored a deep purple.

The Michigan landscape is a far cry from anything you had ever seen in Oklahoma. Everything's so green and flourished, so full of life. Vibrant colors paint the scenery in the most beautiful vision.

The weather is nearly perfect, with the temperatures never exceeding the mid seventies and the humidity far below the excruciating levels of the southern states.

You’re in awe as you go day to day with the sheer beauty of the nature that surrounds you.

Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, your curiosity begins to take over your every thought. Jake Kiszka. Your semester-long partner. You need to know more about him, as much as you attempt to relinquish the desire.

You finally build up the courage to ask. “So, how do you know him?”

She looks at you upon your inquiry, squinting her eyes as she studies your face. “Who, Jake?” She says with a sinister grin about her.

“Yes, Jake. What is it about him that he feels the need to treat people like they’re beneath him?”

“Ah, Sir Jacob,” she says. “He’s a bit of an enigma, I guess you could say. And yes, he is single.” She throws you a wink as you stare at her with utter disgust at her wisecrack.

“I do not care if he’s single,” you respond, causing her to snort a chuckle.

“I’ve known the guy for years. We go all the way back to the golden days of our youth. He and his twin brother graduated high school a year before me, and their younger brother was a year below me.” A twin? There’s two of him? “I’ve known their family for the better part of my life. Good people, truly. I can’t begin to tell you how much they’ve helped my family and me.”

You’ve only just met him, but the words ‘good’ and ‘Jake’ don’t seem to belong in the same sentence.

“Incidentally enough, his twin, Josh, and my brother, Malachi, have been partners since they graduated together. So, they’re kind of my family, too.” You walk up the steps to the library as she holds the large wooden door open for you.“I promise you, y/n. He’s not all bad. You’ve just seen what he projects to people he doesn’t know. Like I said, he thinks it makes him look cool.”

Your thoughts momentarily stop as you take your first steps into the library. You’re in shock. Though, you shouldn’t be. Every single building you’ve stepped foot into on this campus is absolutely immaculate, and the library is no exception.

It’s almost bewitching, with thousands of books lining the walls, reaching chandeliers that seem to hang from the clouds at their height.

The alluring musty scent of aged novels fill your senses and take you back to a time long since forgotten.

It’ll be far too tempting to spend all of your time here, getting lost in the pages that fill the space of grandeur.

You’ve been stuck in a near trance by the beauty surrounding you, you hadn’t even noticed that Natalia moved behind the circulation desk.

“It’s also his way of keeping his guard up. It’s rare that anyone gets to discover the true Jacob,” she says as she types away at the computer sitting at the desk.

“Um, Natalia?” You quietly ask. “Should you be back there?”

She laughs as she takes in your slightly terrified expression, “Well I would say so, ya know, since it’s the start of my shift.”

“You work here?” How could anyone be so lucky as to work in such an immaculate setting?

“It’s a pretty sweet gig. It’s not the most thrilling job but it’s nice and quiet. I get to spend my days among books, and the tuition break is a pretty nice incentive.” She secures her gold plated magnetic name badge to sweater, making her look rather official.

A job on campus would be utter perfection for you. You’ll be spending a vast majority of your time here anyways, and the tuition break would be a significant help in your situation.

“Do you happen to know of any other jobs on campus that are hiring?” you ask, almost embarrassed, but you have a feeling you can trust her. “I’m kind of in a pinch to find something soon. Desperate, actually.”

She rests her chin between her index finger and thumb, seeming to ponder your question. “I know of a few,” she says. “One that just so happens to be in this very library, if you’re interested.” Her voice carries an almost sarcastic tone, she knows you’re interested.

“Oh my god, are you serious? I would love to work here!” you say.

“I figured you would.” She rummages through the credenza and pulls out a sheet of paper entitled ‘Employment Application’ and sets it on the desk in front of you.

“Go ahead and fill this out, and I’ll consider putting in a good word for you.” She winks at you as she hands you a pen.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Classes have become increasingly difficult. It’s nothing you can’t handle, but you find it hard to make time for much of anything outside of work and school.

You started your new job at the library one week ago today. You pick up as many shifts as possible, mostly evenings and nights as your days are taken up with your classes. The library stays open until ten o’clock, so most nights you don’t get home until at least ten thirty.

You set aside a little time after class everyday to run home and take care of your mom before work, making her dinner and being sure her nightly medications are set out before you head back to campus.

As busy as you are, you truly love your job and you’re immensely excited about your studies.

Your friendship with Natalia has bloomed beautifully over the last week.

You’re so grateful for her. She has been your saving grace lately as this last week has been a bit treacherous. Her companionship has been a major help in your adjustment to this new way of life and your somewhat rigorous schedule.

Jake, on the other hand–well, things are about the same. You’ve set aside your pride a few times this week in an attempt to get along with him for the sake of your project, but he just brushed you off, every single time.

This project is massive, and not having it started yet, or even having a single idea about what you’ll do with it, is giving you serious anxiety.

The tension with him seems to grow by the day and you’re almost at the end of your rope with it. You don’t know how to fix it, but you need to figure out something soon so you can bury this unnecessary hatchet and focus on your shared assignment.

–

After running home to make dinner for your mom and tend to a few chores, you make it back to campus just in time to begin your shift.

Tonight, you’re in charge of contacting students with missing books and tacking on late fees to their accounts if necessary.

You’re sitting at the computer, scrolling through the seemingly endless list of students and calling them to let them know of the fees they’ve accrued.

Most of them are rather displeased with you upon your notice, some of them even giving you a small piece of their mind before abruptly hanging up on you.

You make phone call after phone call, trekking through the list organized alphabetically by last name.

At last, you’ve made it to the end of the J’s. Your task for the evening was to make it halfway through the list, and you’re nearly there as you begin contacting students whose last names begin with K.

Upon reading the name of the next student, your heart sinks to the pit of your stomach.

Kiszka, Jacob T (1): Le Morte d’Arthur (Norton Critical Edition) - Mallory

“You can’t be serious,” you mumble.

You debate on ‘accidentally’ skipping him, but you don’t want anything to jeopardize your brand new job.

You have to call him, and you’re not looking forward to it.

You suddenly hear the voice of your boss in the back of your mind, “It’s proper etiquette to always state your name when calling students, so be sure to introduce yourself with each call you make.”

You quickly make up your mind that you will not mention your name during your call to him. The last thing you need is any more awkward air between you two.

You dial his number and wait, listening to the ominous ringing from the other end.

Your eyes are pinched shut, your palms sticky with sweat as you secretly hope he doesn’t answer.

Then, the ringing comes to a stop, “Hello?”

Shit.

“Is this Jacob?” You use your best professional tone, hoping to disguise your voice as much as you can.

“This is he,” he responds, the statement ending in more of a question.

“Hi, Jacob. This is y/n with the Central Campus Library.”

Fuck.

You throw your head in your hand, mentally cursing yourself for letting your name slip through. Maybe he didn’t notice, you think to yourself.

There’s an uncomfortable silence for a moment before you clear your throat and continue speaking.

“I’m calling about your overdue copy of Le Morte d’Arthur.”

“Y/n? Aren’t you in my class?” he asks.

So much for him not noticing.

Ignoring his question, you proceed “It looks like you checked it out over the summer and it’s now twenty eight days overdue. Per policy, there has been a fee of seven dollars and fifty cents added to your account. If it is not returned by the thirty one day mark, you will receive anoth-”

He patronizingly cuts you off before you can finish, “You’re in Movack’s class, huh? You sit right next to me.”

With a sigh of frustration, you finish telling him that he must return it within three days or he’ll receive a much heftier fee.

“Yeah, okay. We’ll see about that,” he says before hanging up on you. His short tone has infuriated you beyond belief.

“Asshole,” you exclaim as you slam the phone down on the receiver causing a booming echo to erupt throughout the building. Luckily, the only other person here with you is Natalia. She’s been in the back sorting books while you’ve been dealing with overdue rentals.

Her boisterous laughter adds to the echoing bouncing off the walls. “I heard that,” she yells.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’re especially dreading Dr. Movacks class today after your phone call with Jake last night. You know for a fact that things will be even more tense with him today, and you’re just not in the mood to deal with it.

The exhaustion from everything piled on your plate has really begun to set in. Jake is the last thing you want to worry about. With each unpleasant interaction with him, your impatience grows to new levels.

With the support of your large cold brew in hand, you gather the nerve to walk into class.

“So you work at the library, huh?” Jake says as you take your seat.

“Yep,” you say in response. You pull out your phone and scroll mindlessly, giving him the hint that you’re less than interested in talking with him.

Class begins, and Dr. Movack starts his lecture on Arthurian timelines. You’re trying to pay close attention, but you find yourself becoming increasingly distracted– by Jake.

He smells so good– a mix of sandalwood and vanilla. You’ve noticed it before, but for some reason it’s particularly exhilarating today.

You chalk it up to delusion from fatigue and force yourself to pay attention to the lecture.

But fuck if it isn’t hard has hell to ignore.

You reach for your coffee, glancing Jake's way when you make yet another intrusive realization.

The way he grips his pen so tightly– the veins in his hand and forearm protrude in the most captivating way.

Your eyes slowly follow a trail to his pecks, the curve of them seen just beneath his partially open, black—of course—button down. You watch them tense slightly with each word he writes.

Dr. Movack ends the lecture and you suddenly realize you’ve been staring far too long.

“Can I help you?”

You’re instantly mortified at him catching your stare. Desperate to find any excuse, you happen to see his copy of Le Morte d’Arthur sitting underneath his notebook. Thank god.

“Your book,” you point to the novel. “You need to return it.”

He huffs a laugh as he takes his sunglasses off, leaving you stunned. This is the first time you’ve seen his face without their obstruction—and the first time you’ve ever seen his eyes.

His eyes are kind and warm. They glow amber brown like a glass of whiskey on the rocks, intoxicating you just as the smooth drink would.

“I still have two days, right?”

You saw his lips move, but the sound that came from them was muffled in your head as you’re entirely mesmerized by his eyes.

“Right?” he asserts, breaking you from your trance.

You blink your eyes a few times to bring yourself back to earth as your brain registers what he had said.

“What? Y– yes, you still have two days,” you say. “You know it’s not a required reading until later on in the semester, right? Why do you need it right now?”

“Maybe I wanted to get a head start,” he says while tossing it in his black leather satchel. “Maybe it’s not any of your business.” He swiftly gets up and walks away, leaving you completely frustrated yet again.

Your journey to your next class feels more like a rigorous trudge. You’re walking fast and hard, stomping your feet with each step as your anger towards Jake exudes through your body.

Not only are you pissed at his stupid fucking attitude, you’re pissed that you find him so damn attractive.

How could you possibly find someone like him appealing? Appealing to the eye, yes, but that’s where it stops. He’s a walking rain cloud hovering over you, stealing all the sunshine from your day in only a matter of a single class period.

You’re impatiently counting the days until this class– until this project– is over and done with so you can move on and live a peaceful existence.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

It’s just about time to close the library and you could not be more ready. The last few days have been incredibly draining. With homework piling up in heaps, multiple tests to study for and working nearly every night, your stress is at an all time high.

Thankfully, tomorrow is Saturday. This will be your first day off all week and you’re beyond ready for some much needed relaxation. You just need to get through these next five, excruciating minutes.

It’s been awfully quiet tonight and you’re grateful for it since you’re the only one working, but the lack of students has made the shift feel much longer than usual.

You glance up at the clock that says it’s two minutes until ten. Given you haven’t seen any signs of a student in hours, you figure it would be okay to go ahead and lock up a few minutes early.

Just as you're about to twist the lock on the bolt, someone from the other end hastily turns the knob and pushes open the door with great force, causing you to stumble backwards.

Standing before you with their overdue book in hand, and to your utter disgust, is Jake.

“We’re closed, Jake.”

He takes a few steps inside as he points behind you at the clock. “According to that, you’re still open for one more minute and I need to return my book.”

Of fucking course he waited until the literal last minute.

You want nothing more than to turn him away and tell him he’s shit out of luck, but technically, he’s right. He’s entered the building before closing and according to policy, you have to serve him.

Son of a bitch.

You bring your hand up to rub your forehead, trying to relieve some tension before you begin this process with him. “Follow me,” you say as you head back to the desk.

There’s an awkward silence lingering between you two as you sign into the computer, the only sound being his fingers tapping away at the desk as he impatiently waits for you.

“You could’ve just put it in the drop box outside, you know. They would’ve gotten it on Monday morning,” you tell him.

“Yeah, but then it would’ve been late. I’m not letting you all charge yet another absurd late fee,” he retorts.

“You should’ve turned it in on time, then.”

You seem to have struck a nerve with him given the way his jaw clenched at your statement. You just can’t bring yourself to care– he’s the one forcing you to stay late when all you want to do is go home and go to bed.

You go through the return process as quickly as you can. You finish, giving him his copy of the document that states he brought the book back.

“Thanks,” he says. “Now I would like to check it back out, please.”

Are you fucking kidding.

You know he’s doing this just to spite you.

You throw your hands down on the keyboard, “Seriously? Why can’t you just come back on Monday?”

“Because I need it this weekend,” he claims.

“What could you possibly need it for?” Any semblance of patience you may have had left has officially walked out the door.

“Didn’t I tell you it was none of your business?”

You take a deep breath and push it back out in a long sigh. You just don’t have it in you to argue anymore, so you accept defeat and begin checking it back out to him.

You don’t say anything as you hand him a pen and the checkout slip for him to sign. He grabs the pen, looking at you with a slight guilt-ridden expression before giving his signature.

“I’m working on a film with my brother, and I need the book to help him write the script.” This is the first time you’ve ever noted a hint of sincerity in his voice. The features of his face have softened– you can tell this is important to him.

You flip delicately through the tattered and stained pages of the book. “I have my own copy of this out in my car,” you say. “I’ll just let you borrow mine. It’s in much better condition than this one, anyways.”

He agrees as you take the slip from under his fingers and crumple it, throwing it in the trash can under the desk. He waits a few minutes, letting you lock up.

Then, he follows closely behind you to your car to retrieve the book.

You bend at the waist to dig for the book in the mess of your backseat. When you do so, you hear him take a deep inhale, and then blow it out in an exhale.

Is he annoyed with you having to dig? Because he can get the fuck over it.

Just as you hear him clear his throat in impatience, you’ve found the book. You stand and hand him the book, annoyed with him and ready to leave. He thanks you, and you nod, bidding him a hasty ‘good night’… you’re just ready to get home.

He begins to walk away, but stops and turns back around to face you.

Fuck. You’d been so close to being in the car, on your way home. Dammit.

“This film my brother’s doing,” he says. “Its focus surrounds the adultery of Arthur and Guinevere. He asked me to help him, and I was thinking…” You nod your head to let him know to keep going. “Well, if we both helped him, we could use it for our project.”

Your interest is certainly piqued. “Yeah, that could work. I’ve written a few scripts and designed theoretical sets for a couple film electives before… so I could definitely do that.”

“He could use more help with all of that for sure, but what he really needs are actors, specifically ones to play Arthur and Guinevere. He’s been begging me to play Arthur and I agreed, but now he’s on my case about finding someone to play Guinevere and, well...” He gestures his arms towards you, signaling that he thinks you should play her.

“Um…,” you take a minute to figure out how to politely turn him down as you feel a blush rise to your cheeks. You’d never admit it, but just the mere thought of interacting with him so intimately in those roles has your stomach doing weird flips. “Jake… I– I don’t know about that. I’m much better behind the camera, acting just isn’t really my thing.”

“Just give it a try,” he insists. Why does he seem so adamant? Geez. “And if you hate it, you can do something else. But I think you’d be great at it, really.” He smiles at you, the first time you’ve seen a true, genuine smile from him.

Well, fuck.

You want to say no, you should say no. With how he’s treated you thus far, you don’t owe him anything. But– you can’t deny how it would help your project. And this project in Movack’s class… It's important to you. It would be fantastic to have it to back up your own project…

And, aside from that, his smile is making it awfully hard to turn him down right now.

If you were alone, you would have slapped your forehead at the utter chaos in your head, leading to your ultimate decision.

With a little hesitancy, you speak up, “I guess I could stop by. Feel out the role…”

His features seem to lift more at that. You pay it hardly any mind.

And with his final reply, his velvet-toned voice has a brand new, excited, air to it. “It’ll be really amazing, I promise.” Then, he chuckles, almost to himself. “It’ll definitely be interesting,” he shakes his head, a grin still lifting his cheek. “But really… I think it’ll be great. I know my brother and you will get along. He’s also one hell of a director.”

Minutes later, as you’re climbing into your driver's seat, you take a few minutes to sit in the silence of your car.

Trying your damnedest to block out the obnoxious fluorescent lighting of the parking lot, you stare through your windshield into the black night sky.

And when normally, the blanket of black would bring you a sense of peace and comfort, tonight it’s different. Tonight, you can’t help but feel a burgeoning sense of timidness as you fail to find answers to your new predicament in the night sky.

What in the hell had you just agreed to?

taglist:

@jakeyt @alwaysonthemend @sacredjake @jakesgrapejuice @misshunnybee @reesetrippingthelight @way-to-go-lad @iffypanic @sinarainbows @klarxtr @brinlygvf @stardustjake @gretavanbear @gvfmelbourne @sinsofstardust @literal-dead-leaf @livkiszka @gvf-ficreads @jaaakeeey @capturethechaos @neptune2324 @jaketlove @thetroublegetssoloud71 @myleftsock @sanguinebats @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface

a/n: let me know if you'd like to be tagged, or follow this link to be added. 🤍

love you all SO MUCH

Le Morte d’Arthur Masterlist

Masterlist

#jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka fanfiction #jake kiszka smut #greta van fleet fanfiction #gvf fic #jake fic #jake kiszka #le morte d’arthur

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corazondebeskar-reads · 1 year ago

Text

well it's love, make it hurt - chapter one

well it's love, make it hurt series

one: sharpen your teeth, sink into me

series masterlist | next chapter

dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: You touch yourself when the Mandalorian is away, and he punishes you for the first time.

Warnings: BDSM, d/s dynamics, dom!Din Djarin and sub!reader, soft dom!Din, masturbation (f), anal sex, pussy spanking, crying, dacryphilia, no y/n

Originally written for Kinktober 2023 - Day 10: Anal/Crying. Inspired by @absurdthirst’s Kinktober 2023 prompt list

also on aO3

3 ABY, Summer

You were a little feral. Alone for a very long time, gnawing and clawing for survival. An effective hunter, lethal and quiet, but wound so tight. Always coiled and waiting to run. Not bound or beholden to anything.

He, however, had been beholden to the Creed for as long as he could remember. All the choices he made were in service of his people. He wouldn’t change that, didn’t harbor negative feelings—but it made a particular flavor of power intoxicating. Hunting was an essential part of his life, but also, when he flexed an upper hand and manipulated the situation to his favor? Well, that was everything.

So the way you just… fell together? It made sense.

One day, when he had you pinned against the wall of the Crest, three fingers deep in your pussy, he tilted his head to the side to study you and said, “I’d like to try something.” You were up for almost anything, and so, he had cuffed you and teased you, used you, watched you realize you had nothing, that you had to beg and plead, and—

Well. It was hard to explain. Something had come undone inside you that day, like he had cracked open your ribcage and taken out the rabid mynock that beat against your chest all the time.

It had only escalated from there.

Needless to say, your sex life was leagues better than it had been on Cantonica, you made about 20% more with the bounties you could take now, and best of all—you finally got to see some of the galaxy. Even if most of the planets were seedy at best.

The one thing you missed, though, was some fucking alone time. Mando was always there. And the Crest was not private. You got about five minutes to yourself in the fresher, but otherwise, he could just pop up any time.

And he did.

Silently.

It was unsettling, actually.

So when you landed on Sullust, a planet you had very little interest in exploring after the first five minutes, you skipped the market trip. You didn’t need anything, and Mando was looking for some part for one of the many systems in the Crest held up by hope and frantic welding during an emergency. With more money coming in, he could afford to fix things before they broke (again).

With Mando gone, you sprawl out on your bed and pull out your datapad. You had started a book, months ago, but hadn’t had a chance to continue. Not because you didn’t get time to read, but because Mando had a terrible habit of appearing over your shoulder, and you didn’t want him to see you reading a romance. It would hurt your reputation.

And also, it was mostly sex.

It wasn’t like you meant to break a rule. It was so new and the habit so old that slipping your hand into your leggings and leisurely stroking your clit was automatic. A muscle memory. It had been, for a time, one of your only physical comforts after long days and nights on the hunt.

Far sooner than you expected, the ramp opens with a hiss. You rip your hand out of your pants, breathing ragged and face flushed. You shove the datapad into the crack between your bed-crates and the wall.

How the hell was he done that fast? Oh, kriff, did it smell like pussy in here? Why were you worrying that the man who was fucking you on a near-daily basis would know you had touched yourself?

That’s when you remember the rules.

Fuck.

“Did I wake you up?” he asks as he enters, noting your messy hair and rumpled blanket.

“Um, no, it’s fine,” you say.

He sets down the hunk of metal and a handful of wires—oh, you should really learn more about ship maintenance if you’re ever going to own one, you think, trying to puzzle out their purpose.

You may have been distracted by the parts, but he was distracted by you. The flush spreading down your neck. The faint sheen of sweat on your brow and between your breasts, the soft, utilitarian tanktop doing nothing to conceal them.

“What did you do while I was gone?” he asks.

Oh fuck, he knows. He absolutely knows. You look down, away, anywhere but his intense stare.

“Cyar’ika, I expect an answer when I speak to you.”

“I—nothing?”

He puts his hands on his hips. “You want to try that again?”

Getting trampled by a Bantha would be preferable to admitting you were afraid. Maybe nervous was a better word. You're sure he wouldn’t really hurt you. But when you had agreed to this—enthusiastically—you hadn’t asked what happened if you didn’t follow the rules.

There weren’t many, and they were purposefully vague. Not in a way that would trap you into misbehavior but allowed for flexibility. Be respectful. Follow orders. And no pleasure without permission. That was his to enjoy, he explained.

“I forgot.”

“You forgot what?”

“I forgot, you know. Um. I forgot I couldn’t…” Maker, was he really going to make you say it?

He sighs. You were so, so new to this, and while so eager to please, he could see you looking for an exit. An escape.

Should he soothe you? Gift you platitudes and reassurances? Grant you a one-time pass? No, it was too soon. You wouldn't be able to trust him to take care of you if he didn't enforce the rules.

Or should he prey on you, taunt you, and make you beg his forgiveness?

No. As much as he wanted to, no. That would have to be for later, when you had let go of your pride and defensiveness, when you stopped suspecting his attentions were a cruel prank.

“Stand up and bend over the bed,” he says, crossing the room to approach you.

For a second, you hesitate.

He holds a breath, letting you choose what happens next.

You work your jaw from side to side and then grit your teeth, something sharp taking over your eyes. You hop off the bed and bend over it, balling your fists in the sheet.

Relief spreads, tickling goosebumps down his arms. “Good girl,” he murmurs, setting a hand on the small of your back. “You were about to tell me what you did?”

“I touched myself. I forgot about the rules.” You were talking into the mattress.

“Where’d you touch yourself, pretty girl?” he asks, stroking your hair.

You squirm. You don’t want to say it. You aren’t a prude, but the weight of his focus makes you feel raw.

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll have to assume it was everywhere.”

“No! No, I promise. It was just my pussy, I promise.”

He hums, continuing to pet you while he thinks. “I’m going to give you a few choices. First, obviously, is that you can use your safeword, and nothing happens other than a discussion of what you do and don’t want. Second: it’s late and you’re tired. We can pause this and handle it after we get the bounty. But I won’t fuck you until then, either.”

You whine a little, and he shakes his head.

“Or the third option: I punish you now and fuck you after.”

“That one,” you say after a minute of real consideration. You are a little scared, but the idea of waiting, possibly days, to find out what would happen made you feel a little sick.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

He smiles. “Spread your legs more, baby.”

“Oh, fuck,” you moan into the sheet, sliding your feet apart so he had full access.

One hand still resting above your ass, he brings the other up to cup your mound through your thin, damp leggings. “Why do you need to be punished?”

A whimper. “Because I was bad.”

“Need you to be a little more specific than that.”

You take a deep, trembling breath.

He fights the instinct to demand an answer, a sudden jolt of excitement as your brow furrows. It's been a long time since he met someone who really wanted to do this, truly wanted to submit and not just have rough sex, who wouldn’t just say what they thought he wanted to hear so they could get to the “fun” part.

“I took what was yours,” you say softly after a minute. “I disrespected you by only thinking of myself.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” swept from him on an exhale.

Later, he would recognize the way it hurt for a minute, the way the rush of affection seemed to tighten around his lungs rather than his cock.

For now, he rubs his hand on your back. “I think,” he say slowly, “that since you gave yourself pleasure, I have to take it away.”

“Okay.” You feel like you're shrinking, like your body is folding in. His hands, despite the gloves, burn through your clothes where they molded to your curves. Every contact point between you is alight.

“Ever had your pussy spanked?” he says.

You had suspected that was his intention, but the blunt question has you sucking in a sharp breath. “No, sir.”

“Okay. Then you don’t need to count this time. Just take it.”

Before you can reply, he pulls his hand back from your cunt and brings it down.

“Fuck,” you bite out, momentum lurching you forward, the edge of the crate biting into your stomach.

He gives you a moment, watching as your face contorts. It certainly wasn’t a hard hit, but he hadn’t gone easy on you, either. Couldn’t. Your first punishment had to be memorable.

“Do you need to use your word, cyar’ika?”

“No,” you huff through gritted teeth.

So he hits you again.

You had tried to brace yourself, but it stings, and you yelp.

This time, he doesn’t wait. He smacks you hard, back-to-back, with no reprieve.

You squirm and writhe to get away, but his hand on your back keeps you pinned. It's only ten, but you're shaking when he finishes.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” he said, guiding you to standing with a hand on your shoulder, pulling you into him. You cling onto him, fingers clutching the top of his chest plate, arms pinned between your bodies, and face buried in his cowl.

“Are you crying?” It's apparently the wrong thing to say, because what were quiet tears turn into full sobs. “Hey, shh, it’s okay. You did so well, cyar’ika.”

“I’m sorry,” you cry. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know you are.” He holds you tight and lets you cry it out until you quiet, sniffling a little. “Feel better?”

You nod. And then you shake your head, and his stomach drops.

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t even get punished without—without—”

He doesn’t mean to, but he laughs.

You reel back as far as his arms let you.

“No, no, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I just should have realized sooner. It felt good, didn’t it?”

“No, I mean, I don’t know. It hurt a lot.” You don’t look at him, shame twisting your lips into a scowl. Your streaked, raw cheeks and watery eyes make his dick throb. “It just—I had to try so hard not to cum.”

The Mandalorian’s self control is as strained as his cock. “I’m not mad, sweetheart. Fuck, that’s good to know. Would it make you feel better if I told you that was only half your punishment?”

Your head snaps up, eyes wide, and tears threatening to spill. “Oh.”

“I said I’d fuck you. But I don’t think your greedy little cunt deserves any more pleasure today, do you?”

“No, sir.”

He wonders if you’d hate him if you saw the way he smirked behind the helmet. The way he wanted to grin, wild and teeth bared, and pick you apart just so he could put you back together.

He thinks you’d probably like it.

“You took that so well, sweetheart, I’ll tell you what. You can choose. You want me here…” he brushes a finger across your lips, which part sweetly for him. The tip of your tongue peeks out to greet his glove, and he does grin, then.

“... or do you want me here?” he slides his hand down your back and over the crest of your butt.

“Oh, fuck,” you whisper.

“What’ll it be?”

You take a shuddering breath, another tear falling as you squeeze your eyes tight. “I want whatever will please you most.”

He shakes his head, something fond and soft clawing at his ribcage. “That’s sweet, but if that’s what I wanted from you, I wouldn't have asked. I want you to choose.”

“Okay. Then the second one.”

“Then what? Ask nicely.”

A whimpered moan escapes you. You mumble something.

“Gotta speak up, cyar’ika, or I’ll think you don’t want to be fucked at all.”

“No!” you squeak. “No, please. Um. Please—” Your right leg jitters a little as you chew on the words before spitting them out. “Please fuck my ass, sir.”

“Of course,” he strokes your cheek. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You shake your head and let him turn you back around, pushing down between your shoulder blades until you’re bent flat across the bed.

“Anyone had you here before?” he says as he rolls your leggings down to discover you aren’t wearing any fucking underwear. He helps you step out of them.

“No,” you say, arching a little as he rubs a gloved hand up and down your leg, stopping just below your cheeks.

“You sure you want me to?” He pauses his caresses, weighing his restraint. He’ll have to go slow. Maybe he should just fuck your mouth, where he can take as much as he needs from you.

But then you speak. “Yes, please, sir. I want it to be you.”

He has to ball his hands into fists and release a few times, trying to stay rational and not just give you what you’re so sweetly begging for.

“It doesn’t have to be now. We can wait, and I can make it better for you, when you’re not being punished.”

You turne your head to the side against the mattress, and he can see your bottom lip trembling.

He sighs. “Just tell me first: are you trying to punish yourself more?”

“No, I want it. Please. I’ve wanted it for months. I—please.”

“Okay, cyar’ika. You tell me if it’s too much, though.”

“Yes, sir.”

You hold very still as he peels off his gloves. You won’t be able to see, and there's no way he was doing this with the gloves. Not this time, not with the gift you’re giving him.

When his warm hand rubs over your ass, you gasp. He draws away reluctantly to pour a generous amount of lube into his palm, warming it carefully before coating his fingers.

He sinks to his knees. With your legs spread, he brushes a finger over your hole, watching the way it twitches and basking in your quiet moan. He rubs soft circles, working the lube around before gently pressing in. The first finger goes in so slowly, and you keen low, muffled by the sheet. Your thighs shake with the effort of holding still.

“Good girl,” he croons, withdrawing his finger to add a second. He repeats the slow, cautious process, pressing in and out. “Breathe, cyar’ika. Relax.”

Relax? How did he expect you to relax? The sensations were so intense you thought you might shatter.

When he finally adds a third, you cry out. His fingers are so thick, and you are so, so full. You startto doubt you’ll be able to take him.

But Mando is a patient man, even with his cock angry and leaking. He doesn’t stop until he's sure you're ready. When he withdraws his fingers from you and stands up, you whimper.

“Scared?”

“A little,” you tell the sheet.

“I’ve got you, cyar’ika. You’re doing so well for me. Still want to make me feel good?”

He waits until the first “please” before notching himself at your entrance and pushing the very tip in. Anything else you had been trying to say is choked off.

He had prepared you well, but you were still hot and tight enough that he almost loses his composure. Almost shoves hard into you until his hips slam against yours. But instead, he grips them, sure to leave bruises behind.

You hold your breath. The burn is agonizing, but the wait is worse. When he's settled fully in you, he holds himself in place while you squirm.

“Oh fuck,” you whisper. It was the only thought left in your brain other than “Mando” and “full.”

Despite his iron grip, his hips jerk a little. When he speaks, it's around a clenched jaw. “Can I—fuck—can I move?”

“Uh-huh.”

He pulls back, a loud groan in time with the tug of his cock. His hips jerk forward immediately, seeking your soft warmth.

“More,” you grunt through a thrust. “Please, sir.”

That was the end of him. Or at least of the calm, collected Mando. Your sweet voice begging snaps something cerebral, and he snarls, pulling out just to slam back in. He sets a rough, rushed pace.

With one hand on your hip and the other pushing down on your lower back, he takes. He takes and takes until you don’t have anything to give, your hands desperately clutching the edge of the crate just to stay where he had placed you.

Each thrust leaves you raw somewhere behind your sternum. You're crying again, hot tears running sideways across your face to the sheet, scrunched and already soaked with spit.

“You can cum if you can do it like this,” he says between pants. “Don’t touch your clit.”

You couldn’t reach even if you dared to, only able to hold on and accept him. To be used and cared for.

You know you won't be able to. It feels good, but the pain is just on the wrong side of sharp. You don’t want him to stop, you might die if he did, but it wasn’t going to happen like this. It was kind of him, anyway.

And there was something pleasant about just existing there for him to fill. It made you dizzy to think about.

“Want it inside, sweetheart?”

You nod desperately, the rough linen scratching at your raw cheeks.

It only takes a few more thrusts until he grinds his hips against you, pushing as deep as he can, crooning praise.

“So good, cyar’ika, perfect fucking girl. Taking me so well, letting me have this. Fuck,” he whimpers as he begins twitching inside you, wet ropes of cum flooding you and leaking out around his cock.

He eases out carefully, scooping you up before sliding to the ground against the crates.

“Hey,” he murmurs, helmet resting gently on top of your head. “Are you okay?”

You tremble but nod against his chestplate. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“All is forgiven, sweet girl. I promise. You took your punishment so well.” He holds you tight and refuses to acknowledge the ferocity gnashing its teeth in his chest. Something that felt dangerously like devotion.

*title from "Sink Into Me" by Taking Back Sunday

#din djarin x reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x f!reader #dom din djarin #kinktober 2023 #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian fic #din djarin smut #make it hurt verse

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respectthepetty · 1 year ago

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I need to stress something somewhere. And I know you will be able to help or even help be observe but, I have a haunting feeling that in the clips we have of Mork reading to Day, is in the future and….Mork isn’t actually there anymore . … many reasons with the scenes set up but the main things for me is the fish. There is only one in the rank now in that scene. And the book marks in the book. 1 fish bookmark, the other an avocado? And their legs are covered with a blanket. So no 2 slippers of fish is shown……am I creating narrative things that are not there or seeing things wrong? it just feels almost a melancholy scene set up in front of the tank…… and I’m scared!!

What are your thoughts pretty please?!

Anon, I'm choosing violence first, then I'll be kind.

On Spanish TikTok, or as I like to call it Tea Talk, someone stated they saw the book's ending, and it ended with Mork dying and donating his eyes to Day.

The people of Tea Talk ripped that video to shreds. The comments section was not pleased with the mentiras (lies), and Indonesian TikTok even showed up in the fray with the actual book to prove the original poster was "Livin' La Vida Loca."

I don't know how this cookie will crumble, but let me remind you of two things:

#1 - This is GMMTV.

It gave us The Shipper in 2020 at the height of the pandemic, and I think it has been correcting that wrong since.

And it gave us Only Friends in 2023.

I wanted murder and mayhem. Instead it gave everyone happy endings except the slut because apparently he had too many "happy endings" and *morality* or some bullshit.

If you are watching Playboyy, it's what Only Friends could have been if Disney BL hadn't produced it.

I might sound salty (because I am), but I'm really just trying to emphasize that GMMTV wouldn't. Period. Full stop. GMMTV wouldn't give us a sad ending to a branded pair. It will kill a mom quick, but sad times for a branded pair? ¡Nunca! For example, how did we all know Palm x Nueng were gonna be safe and sound in Never Let Me Go? Our Skyy 2. Can't have Our Skyy 3 if it kills a ship now can it?

#2 - This is Aof

The director, producer, and screenwriter extraordinaire shot Pat (Ohm) on Christmas Eve.

He killed Papang!

Hell, he killed Singto before the series even started!

Mork (NOT GAWIN, NO!) got beat up and was hospitalized!

And yet, we got a happy ending each time.

The man wants to make use cry, but he has never ended with queer trauma to do so.

Which is why there are still two fish in that tank.

And I think the avocado is a shout out to Jimmy's love of them (because who doesn't love avocados, am I right?).

So as much as I do not think the reading scenes we keep getting are set in the present,

I don't think they are setting us up for a sad future, especially because Korea already did this trick.

If you watched To My Star 2: Our Untold Stories last year, you know that shit hurt, every, single, episode,

and because it hurt, we were too blinded by the pain to notice the happiness sprinkled throughout.

The happiness we were seeing wasn't flashbacks of their past relationship or even snippets of their current one.

THEY WERE GLIMPSES OF THEIR HAPPY FUTURE!

Korea gave us The Eighth Sense and Strongberry's Choco Milk Shake, both which had the perfect premises to fuck us over, and yet my only complaint was NO POLY!

If Korea can delivery happy endings, Disney BL can too (but not the kind it punished Boston for. Never those kind). It isn't Taiwan, and it certainly isn't Japan who is ALWAYS itching to give maximum pain. This is "soft power" Thailand, GMMTV, Aof, and a branded pair. If GMMTV brought out Gawin to get Krist and Joss back to kiss a homie, I greatly doubt it would tank the JimmySea ship for a sad ending (did you get the pun?). If there is one thing I can count on GMMTV for, it's to secure the bag. Sell merch. Sell novels. Sell a special box edition of the series. Sell the ship. That won't happen if this is sad.

Also, color-coded boys in love get happy endings.

It's science.

#last twilight #last twilight the series #mork x day #this ain't ending sad #GMMTV wouldn't #not even putting on clown makeup #GMMTV wants to collect the coins #and Our Skyy 3 won't make itself

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thenightling · 11 months ago

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Willy Wonka misconceptions

As Charlie and the Chocolate Factory / Willy Wonka has become weirdly popular lately because of the successful prequel film and most recently that really botched / rip-off Wonka event in Glasgow Scotland, it felt like a good time for this post.

Here are a list of popular misconceptions about the book and films.

1. Much of the Internet thinks of Wonka as a "Serial killer of children." I pointed out that at the end of the 2006 film and novel you see the children alive, though altered. And in the 1971 film that version of Wonka says that they will all be fine, but a little wiser. Someone tried to argue with me that he was just trying to placate Charlie. Really!? Since when did that Wonka ever lie to make people feel better?

Based on his previous behavior we have no reason to believe Wonka would lie just to make Charlie feel better. It's just a dark, edgy, annoying headcanon to pretend Wonka killed those other kids when every version tells you they survived.

____________________________

2. Grandpa Joe was not "Faking it" or "being lazy." It seems ironic to me that so many rant and even get genuinely angry about the character Grandpa Joe. It is especially odd to me when the rage is in regard to the depiction in the 1971 film, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate factory.

The reason it is odd to me is because in the 1971 film Grandpa Joe very clearly was suffering through severe depression, possibly a long bipolar depression phase.

The depression is clear in his "I've got a golden Ticket" song.

"I never thought my life could be Anything but catastrophe"

"I never had a chance to shine Never a happy song to sing"

It seems weird to me that today people shame characters like Cinderella for not being assertive and empowered when she's a live-long abuse victim. And then you have the people against Disney's The Little Mermaid who say she gave up who and what she is for a man but ignore that she had a song number from before she ever saw Eric, where she expressed body dysphoria and made clear she wanted to be human even then.

And you have a large part of the Internet shaming Grampa Joe for being "lazy" and "faking being sick' while he's literally telling us that he he's been in a severe depression.

It's almost like watching a generation that supposedly respects mental illness and understands depression in ways previous generations didn't... suddenly having a justification to shame someone for having all the symptoms of clinical depression.

Hell, even the song "I've got a Golden Ticket" kind of indicates Grandpa Joe is entering a manic phase. If Grandpa Joe's illness is psychological why do we treat it as not-real? I get so annoyed at how many people mock the character or act like he's a con artist exploiting Charlie.

________________________

3. The Oompa Loompas were not slaves.

It's true that the earliest depictions of the Oompa Loompas were little African people (before the novel was revised) but in all versions he tells the kids that he pays them in coca-beans. That might sound like he pays them in fallen acorns he found in his garden but it's made clear that to Oompa Loompas, in their society, coca-beans are worth more than gold.

Try to imagine you got a job working for aliens who offer to pay you in large bars of gold if you just help him make some gold jewelry. But because gold isn't worth THAT much to these aliens they think you're a pathetic slave, even though Lofty (the Oompa Loompa from the new Wonka movie) probably now has a palace on Loompa Land that he uses as a summer house.

Interesting bit of trivia: Charlie was originally going to be black.

___________________________

4. Wonka (2023) is NOT a remake. A lot of people mistakenly think this is yet another remake. No. It's a musical prequel to the Gene Wilder Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory movie from 1971. ________________________

5. Lots of fans have "figured out" that the shoe shine boy Wonka sees early in Wonka is Charlie. One small problem with that. This is twenty-something Willy Wonka. Wonka was supposed to be pushing fifty or sixty when he went looking for an heir. The timeline wouldn't work. The director has confirmed that for this reason the shoe shine boy is NOT Charlie Bucket.

And there you go. A list of popular Wonka misconceptions debunked.

#Willy Wonka #Wonka #Charlie and the Chocolate Factory #Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory

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annabelle--cane · 9 months ago

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okai renfield 2023 thoughts: the critical consensus is correct, this is not a very good movie, but I found it a lot of fun and if you're a dracula enjoyer who doesn't mind constant action scenes that are gory to the point of farce then I'd recommend giving it a watch.

and for some longer thoughts (ft spoilers):

not a whole lot of black characters for a movie that takes place in new orleans.

I liked how they leaned into the bela lugosi pastiche, they really went for it with dracula's design and the few re-made scenes, I found that really fun.

like many other tumblr users I have Problems with the way "narcissism" has entered the pop psychology lexicon, but I like the overall premise of reading dracula as a very mundane and recognizable kind of abusive boss.

I don't think this could have been handled well in a movie like this so I'm glad they didn't go for it, but I personally think there was room to do something interesting if they had adapted in renfield's psychosis. like, psychotic people are particularly vulnerable to getting trapped in abusive relationships and dracula wields a lot of "the outside world will hate you, only I truly care" over renfield's head, I think a more indie project with a similar premise could have really gotten into the weeds with that and said something meaningful about ableism and this "simpering minion" archetype which renfield has been assigned by pop culture.

I don't usually care about this too much but I noticed some fairly poor shot-to-shot continuity across a few scenes. ex., before the restaurant fight kicks off, rebecca steps directly up to the barrel of ted's gun and almost presses it directly into her forehead in a big emphasized act of defiance, but when we cut to different angles she's standing a good few inches farther away.

there was some fun set up and pay off, ex. the ant farm, the cocaine magic circle.

I enjoyed the evil milf, I must say. wish we got more of her but she just kind of disappears at the end

the fight scenes bored me at first but eventually they crossed the gore event horizon and became hilarious. sure, the sense of stakes kind of gets lost when our protagonists are regularly dropping like twice the bodies of the antagonists, but more importantly, renfield ripped a guy's fucking arms off.

I am absolutely begging to know what the thought process was behind the quinc(e)y morris allusions. I would assume that the implication is that rebecca and her family were distantly related to book quincey somehow, but then why do they have his first name as a last name and not his actual last name? why was her dad called morris quincy? I am flummoxed.

would love to do a proper comparison with bit 2019, focusing on how they play with the dracula mythos and portray vampirism as power imbalance, but that would require brain cells and I am sorely deficient on those.

#renfield 2023 #marina marvels at life

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fairytale-poll · 6 months ago

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MODERN ADAPTATION BRACKET WINNER ANNOUNCEMENT POST!!!

We have finished another tournament (or rather, two mini-tournaments!) Thank you guys for another great one, the results really surprised me this time around!! I apologize for deciding not to hold a Loser's Bracket & Mod's Choice poll this time around, but both will be back for the next tournament.

Before we go into the winners, however, I want to say that this blog is officially a year old! I opened submissions for our first tournament, Red Riding Poll, on July 26th of 2023, and the first rounds of the poll came in the early days of August 2023! Since then, we have hosted 4 tournaments (Red Riding Poll, Cinder Poll, Little Merpoll, & Modern Adaptation Brackets) and it's truly been a great experience! I can't wait to see how many more brackets we will do in the future :)

Okay, onward to the winners!

We will start with the Best Modern Bracket. The quarterfinalists for that one were Once Upon a Time and The Sisters Grimm! Once Upon a Time has been a decisive pick, being both on the Best and Worst brackets, but since it only placed in the Best bracket it must have some merit to it! :) As for the Sisters Grimm, it was definitely a popular choice and probably would've won the whole bracket if it did not have to go against the eventual first-place winner/that said first-place winner wasn't in the tournament. I've never read it, but if I were to give "fan favorite" award for this bracket it would definitely win it. Congratulations to fans of both of these fairytale crossover series for the bronze medal!

The semifinalists of the Best Modern Bracket was Hook! This is another one that I haven't watched, but Robin Williams' old movies are definitely great nostalgic picks (RIP). Though technically Peter Pan isn't a fairytale, I think that it is often listed with them enough that it should count, so congrats to Hook for carrying that win!

Finally, the winner of the Best Modern Bracket was none other than the magical girl classic, Princess Tutu!!! This is one of my favorite anime series that I don't see often, so I was more than surprised to see it not only submitted but win (and by a lot, too! It practically swept every poll it went against, even things like Ponyo which I really thought was going to carry the win due to how universally loved it is!) A delightful series that definitely deserves the love, I couldn't be happier to see that this little duck made it all the way to the gold <3

Applaud to the Best Modern Bracket winners!!! Now, get ready to point and laugh at the Worst Modern Bracket winners!!! (Or losers, in a way, if you think about it). Okay, but in all seriousness, if you like any of these listed for the Worst Modern Bracket, try not to take offense! This is all in good fun :)

The quarterfinalists for the Worst Modern Bracket were Avalon High and Sydney White! Sydney White was one of those that were in both brackets, but it only ranked in the Worst one. As for Avalon High, I have been told that the dislike for this one was more so for it being a bad book-to-movie adaptation, which is interesting to hear. Anyway, I haven't watched either, so I have no witty comments.

For the semifinalist, we have Hooked! Another Peter Pan adaptation in the 2nd place, go figure... Well, I feel as if this book was more well-known, it could've gone to #1 as people tended to have a lot of strong feelings on this. I admit, the summary doesn't make it sound too appealing to me... well, here it is with the silver for that!

The winner was obvious to me as soon as the bracket started. And I was right on the money, for none other than Beastly got the winning title of the Worst Modern Bracket! It has all the pitfalls of bad Beauty and the Beast adaptations that I've noticed and it's certainly quite infamous (especially after the Jenny Nicholson video)! I distinctly remember seeing the commercials for it on TV when I was a kid and thinking "that movie looks weird... is that what teens like?" Apparently not, since it didn't do so well! Nobody deserves the honor of being called the Worst Modern Bracket like this movie, good job!

aaaannnnndddd that's it for the modern bracket polls! Thank you everyone who participated. Our next tournament as voted on by you guys will be Best Fairy Godmother. I don't have a figure of when I will open submissions, but I would say at least two weeks. See you then! <3 <3 <3

#long post #best modern bracket #worst modern bracket #modern fairytale adaptation polls #winner #once upon a time #the sisters grimm #hook #princess tutu #sydney white #avalon high #hooked #beastly

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zee-has-commitment-issues · 1 month ago

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okay! It's time!

AO3 wrapped (writer’s edition) 2024!

I did not write as many fics this year, but I got a big kid job and I traveled and I started a very VERY long outline for Dead Draw, plus I finished Reckless Abandon, but here we go!

1. How many words have you written this year? 205,699 more words than 2023, but less quantity of fics.

2. How many works did you publish this year? six. less than last year by five.

3. What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)? Same answer as last year, but Reckless Abandon is a part of my soul now I think. There was blood sweat and tear put into that fic.

4. What work of yours has the most hits? Reckless Abandon still! 16k hits, which is batshit insane.

5. What work of yours got more feedback than you expected? Skin. I didn't imagine it would get any readers at all, actually. It was a really stupid little idea, but i'm glad people liked it!

6. Favorite title you used? If You Give A Prince A Cookbook (He'll Get Weirdly Good At Cooking) based on the childhood If You Give A Mouse A Cookie books!

7. If you use song lyrics, which artist’s songs did you pull from the most? No song lyrics this year!

8. Pairing you wrote the most for this year? No one is surprised by it being Wilhelm/Simon in 5 out of 6 of my published fics this year.

9. Favorite pairing you wrote for this year? 100% wilmon, but nilcent would have been second.

10. What work was the quickest to write? Six Sentence Stories From Tumblr because they were literally six sentences each lmao.

11. What work took you the longest to write? Toss up between Dead Draw and Reckless Abandon. Both are long fics, but one is still ongoing, and one was brought into 2024 part-way done so it's hard to compare.

12. How many WIPs do you have in your docs for next year? I currently have four WIPs that I'm working on. A rewrite of Voicemail Box, a continuation of Just Some Guy, a crack fic I'll never finish, and Dead Draw

13. What’s your longest work of the year? Reckless Abandon technically, but again it was brought in from 2023. So only like 20k words were actually from 2024. Behind that is Dead Draw with a current 41k words and counting.

14. What’s your shortest work of the year? Six Sentence Stories From Tumblr - 2,703 words

15. What WIP are you taking into next year with you? Dead Draw! chess fic is my passion project.

16. What’s your most common “Additional Tags” tag? "Wilhelm Loves Simon Eriksson" and "Simon Eriksson Loves Wilhelm" so...

17. Your favorite character to write this year? Always Wilhelm, I fear. I relate to him so much that I absolutely have to get up into his fucked up little head. But I found that I wrote a lot from Simon's pov this year.

18. What’s one pairing you want to explore next year? ... Madison and Alexander???

19. Which work of yours have you reread the most? The fic from this year was Nils' Room. My stupid little nilcent fic. I love it passionately. But I went back and read some of my old old fics this year too, so I probably spent more time on those.

20. How many kudos in total did you get this year? 1,302. Holy shit.

21. Which work has the most comments? Reckless Abandon and no one was shocked.

22. Did you do any collaborative works this year? Still none this year. All the love to Dani who helps me write and outline fics all the goddamn time. I hope I'm as useful to her as she is to me lmao.

23. Did you write any gifts this year? I did not this year unfortunately. I just didn't have time to join any of the exchanges. But I wrote for a few of the events I think!

24. Did you receive any gifts this year? Again, not this year, since I didn't have the chance to join any of the exchanges 😔

25. What’s your most common category? M/M in a whopping all fucking six.

26. What do you listen to while writing? video essays were a godsend this year. I'd just put them on in the background and lock in.

27. Favorite work you wrote this year? Dead Draw is my passion project and Reckless Abandon ripped my soul in half so probably a tie

28. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year? GodDAMN that one's hard to choose. But I think one there are two that stick out to me, both from Reckless Abandon:

Stella reached across the counter and squeezed his hand with a sympathetic smile. “He is an exceptionally easy person to love,” she said. And then she pulled away, grip tightening on her glass. “He’s just an easier person to leave.” What made Simon the most upset — more than anything else in this fucked up situation — was that his heart hadn’t shattered until this moment. Not like it should have. It didn’t break him in two and threaten to overwhelm him. His heart had broken, surely, when he found out what the others had done behind his back. His heart had broken, absolutely, when he realized Wilhelm wasn’t who he thought he was. But Simon’s heart didn’t shatter until right now.

and

Wilhelm loved Simon like he was supposed to love Sweden.

My soul left my body and joined the poets with those two I fear.

29. Biggest surprise while writing this year? I'm a slut for writing a prickly Simon/arrogant Wilhelm dynamic. Absolutely love it. Devour my own writing every single time.

I hope you enjoyed this year's writing wrapped! Sorry it took ten days into 2025 for me to post it lmfaoooo.

#ao3 #ao3 author wrapped

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salvadorbonaparte · 7 months ago

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2024 in Films - Part I

I watched too many films again this year so here's some reviews from the first quarter of 2024

January

Kuch Kuch Hota Hai (1998) - Pretty much the opposite college experience as depicted in 3 Idiots and also there's a scene where a child spontaneously converts to Islam to keep a wedding from happening and that works

Rocky (1976) - I got a little too into that series this year

The Karate Kid (1984) - Turns out the original is actually pretty good and I just watched the bad reboot as a kid! Oops!

Face/Off (1997) - This feels like it should be a fake film within a different film. Why is the face transplant plan A? There are some great scenes though, like the wife not recognising her husband, that made me question if this is actually a really deep exploration of identity. And then it got silly again.

Theater Camp (2023) - Almost makes me wish summer camps were real

Gone are the Days! (1963) - I watched this for Alan Alda's terrible high pitched southern accent but stayed for Ossie Davis infectious energy

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004) - Manic Pixie Dream Girl Amnesia. Joke aside, why is it that I can't stand Jim Carrey in comedies but love him in dramas

Moonstruck (1987) - This won an Oscar????

February

That Touch of Mink (1962) - homophobia stops insider trading apparently

Carol (2015) - This probably would have given me a sexuality crisis in 2015

Ay Carmela (1990) - no scene in any film will portray the horror of the civil war and fascism as well as the half eaten dinner table in the abandoned house

Rope (1948) - people only focus on the gay subtext (which is real) but can we pleeaaase talk about the politics of the film

Catch-22 (1970) - did a pretty good job in adapting a book that is really difficult to adapt

Platoon (1986) - This was another entry in my grad school watch list

Pan's Labyrinth (2006) - I wanted to watch this since forever but wanted to wait until I could understand it in Spanish. Well worth the hype.

Rocky II (1979) - a sequel that initially made me go "was this really necessary" but then brought me a lot of joy

Rocky III (1982) - Intricate Rituals

Rocky IV (1985) - A metaphor for the Cold War but also. Bad.

Rocky V (1990) - Bad

Rocky Balboa (2006) - Better but like what the fuck was that editing during the fight

March

Hannah Gadsby: Nanette (2018) - I love when stand up comedy is recommended to me with "this will make you cry and change your life" and then it's true

The Holdovers (2023) - Liked it so much I watched it twice but the guy playing Kountze looked too modern like he definitely knows what an iPhone is

The Zone of Interest (2023) - the banality of evil is kind of a cliché phrase by now but it's real

American Fiction (2023) - clever satire, if I say more it probably turns into an essay

Capote (2005) - Rip Truman Capote you would have loved true crime podcasts. Also this was a continuation of my Philip Seymour Hoffman haunting

An American Werewolf in London (1981) - I love when a werewolf film doubles as survivors guilt

Poor Things (2023) - Horrible

Creed (2015) - Pretty much just Rocky but with a 2015 soundtrack and I'm not mad about it

A Fantastic Woman (2017) - a wrote a long ass review on letterboxd about this film is about loss

Creed II (2018) - As haunted as a sports movie is allowed to get before having to add real ghosts (please tell me there's sports films with ghosts). It's about "like father like son". It's about legacy. It's about being defined by your family names. It's about fatherhood. It's about breaking the cycle.

Creed III (2023) - Finally a film that asks the brave question "what if Rocky V was good?"

Dune (1984) - I liked the worms

The Joel Files (2001) - the story of two families in the third reich and one of them happened to be Billy Joel's

Oppenheimer (2023) - Would have made me insufferable during my teenage physics phase

Shiva Baby (2020) - a film that's also an anxiety attack

Searching for Sugar Man (2012) - insane!!!

Menashe (2017) - first Yiddish film I ever watched

Fruitvale Station (2013) - haunted

I, Tonya (2017) - a film keenly aware of the unreliability and subjectivity of both interviews and biopics, this is a sports biopic but also a moving story about the human need for love and the cycle of abuse and it's also damn funny.

Nosferatu (1922) - both scarier and more boring than the novel and also uniquely blood libel flavoured

Mädchen in Uniform (1931) - people were right this is gay

Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975) - Lovecraftian horror for cottagecore lesbians

I do not care if we go down in history as barbarians (2018) - history repeats itself, first as a tragedy then as a farce

La Haine (1995) - I watched this because of my professor :)

A Most Wanted Man (2014) - Philip Seymour Hoffman Haunting Continuation

Ödipussi (1988) - "Mommy calls me Pussi" is an actual quote

13 Little Donkeys and the Sun Court (1958) - Yeehaw???

#2024 in Films #Reviews #films #film log #macks musings

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yourdeepestfathoms · 6 months ago

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I was staking your ur yaelokre tag and I swa you were a published author and???????????? Would you mind me asking what exactly you published? (Infodumping encouraged!)

i’ve only got one published book out right now, which was done through self-publishing on Amazon, but i’ve sent two of my three manuscripts off to two different publishing companies to hopefully get them picked up and published! fingers crossed!!

my current book out is called Servant of Evil! it’s a historical fiction tragedy about the Salem Witch Trials, told from the perspective of one of the afflicted girls, Mary Warren. it details her involvement in the trials and how it rapidly tore the town of Salem apart, as well as detailing her slow descent into despair as the overwhelming guilt of her actions rips at her mental state.

the story is very grim and had me crying on several occasions, and i’m the author!

i wrote the book because i was hyperfixated on the Salem Witch Trials, which started when i was a junior in high school when we read The Crucible. however, it wasn’t until a year later that i actually started to do something with said fixation, as my mom took me to Salem for a graduation and 18th birthday gift, which reignited my passion for the event and got me writing! SoE was finished within two months, but it wasn’t actually published until January 2023.

here she is!

if you wanna buy the book, you can get it here!

do be warned, though, as the book is very heavy and covers a lot of serious subjects such as: self harm, suicide, sexual assault, abuse, and torture.

my other three finished manuscripts are:

Medusa’s Child, a three-part historical fiction series about Medusa raising a human child named Theodora (Teddi for short), who goes on to avenge her when she’s killed by Perseus. i have another account sharing details about the books: @mommy-medusa! (this is the one i sent to a publisher!)

Fog Makes People, a psychological horror-thriller duology about a fictional town called Lochmere that is haunted by a strange fog that causes people to go missing. sixteen-year-old Beatrice “Bee” Lamb is returning to Lochmere after spending some time away with cousins due to constant harassment from the community. she was the sole survivor of a fire at school that killed nine other kids, eight of which didn’t die from the fire itself but rather from being taken by whatever is in the fog. however, the night of her return, she begins to get texts from one of the fire victims, and she starts to realize that maybe the people who go missing in the fog aren’t actually dead. this send her down a rabbit hole where she desperately tries to save her friends, which is difficult in and of itself, but things get even more complicated when she officially discovers and subsequently meets the mastermind behind it all: an enigmatic, horrific creature known as the Rorschach. (this is the other one that’s been sent to a publishing company!) (this one is my favorite, i’ve spent so long developing it.)

and Hell or High Water, a survival horror-splatter punk set on a cruise ship called The Grey Palace, following a teenage girl named Violet Nicotero. this cruise ship gets hijacked by some maniacs and stranded out in the middle of the ocean, where the passengers are slowly picked off by these mask-wearing freaks. (i hate this one so much. it was my first ever book written, and it was supposed to be my debut novel, but i started to resent the whole thing after editing it so many times. i got too frustrated with it, so i put it aside to work on SoE instead, and it’s been in timeout for about two years now ever since.)

they’re all my babies, and i hope to get them all out in the world one day, including all my works currently in development hell!

#ask #i love talking about my books #servant of evil #my writing #writing stuff #fog makes people #medusa’s child #hell or high water #original writing #original book

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kaizoku-musume · 4 months ago

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Sunrise

Entry #25 in @xxsycamore’s Visions of Temptation 2023 kinktober event. Link to Ao3 here.

Fandom: Ikesen

Pairing: Motonari x OC (Tohru)

Word Count: 1.2k

Prompts: Morning Sex | Edging/Orgasm Denial

Other tags: Consensual somnophilia

There was a certain kind of beauty that came with the morning. Motonari attributed it entirely to Tohru. She looked even more unguarded and peaceful than she normally did, a faint smile on her face as she slept on. Strands of hair fell in front of her face, stirring with her quiet, even breathing. It was almost too perfect a sight to disturb. But if there was anything better than the sight of Tohru sleeping, it was Tohru in the throes of pleasure.

Motonari’s hand was already circling her entrance, too tempted by the visage before him. Tohru’s legs parted on their own at the light pressure of his touch, muscle memory working strong even in this situation. He slipped two fingers inside, her core still loose from last night, and began to pump them in and out. Tohru sighed, her head turning to the side. “You better be dreaming of me, flower girl,” Motonari murmured. He kept his motions gentle, not ready to wake her up just yet.

Luckily, Tohru was a deep sleeper, and Motonari continued to finger her open while she stayed under. That didn’t stop her breathing from kicking up, knees spreading to give Motonari more room to work, hands curling in the sheets. Motonari would never get tired of this, the way Tohru responded to him so openly. The way nothing stopped her from seeking him out. The way she trusted him with this, allowed him to touch her however he wanted when she was most vulnerable.

He stroked the pads of his fingers carefully over her sweet spot, slow and gentle. Motonari listened to her escalating cries, the way her breath hitched, pulling back when it looked like she was getting close. When Tohru settled, he raped up the speed, pistoning his fingers, adding another one for good measure. He cupped a breast in his free hand, thumb rolling over her nipple. Now Tohru showed signs of stirring, eyelashes fluttering, hips rolling up into his touch.

It was a luxurious awakening, the kind where Tohru was awash in pleasure without quite knowing why, smiling syrupy sweet at Motonari. And when that innocent joy turned into realization, Tohru’s eyes widening, glancing down at where they were connected, a moan ripped out of her when Motonari drove her to the edge only to back down again?

Well, that was a job well done in his book.

“How many times have you done that?” Tohru panted, voice rough from last night.

“Twice,” Motonari said, letting her come down far enough that he could go again. “You certainly look like you were enjoying yourself. I almost didn’t wanna wake ya, but I didn’t want you to miss out.”

“How-how much more?” Tohru asked, trembling already, tossed straight into overstimulation the second she regained consciousness. Her skin was flushed from her cheeks to her chest, hair spilling out over the pillow, her cunt greedily clutching at his fingers.

“More what?” Motonari feigned ignorance, smiling sharp and mean the way he knew got Tohru going.

It worked like a charm, Tohru tightening around him with a whine. “How many times are you going to keep me from coming?” she tossed an arm over her face, eyes hidden in the crook of her elbow.

“Just one more,” Motonari decided to show her mercy. It wasn’t just for her though; his cock was hard and aching, eager to take over. Tohru exhaled in relief and moved her arm when Motonari nudged it, gazing at him with her too expressive face. Shit, with the way she was looking at him so eagerly even as sleep still clung to her, he didn’t think he could have dragged it out even if his dick wasn’t ready to pop off.

Thankfully, it didn’t take much to get Tohru there, just a little attention centered on her g-spot, a thumb at her clit, and she was quivering in the build up to an orgasm. Motonari drew his fingers out of her before she could crest that hill, relishing in the despondent noise that escaped Tohru. He wiped his hand on the corner of the sheets before gripping his cock, lining it up and pushing inside in a slow, smooth glide.

He was almost certain Tohru had come when he bottomed out. She’d thrown her arms around him, holding on tightly, her cunt squeezing his cock, tiny little noises eking out of her. But she was urging him to move almost immediately, hand tugging at his hair, hips bucking up, begging him in a whisper by his ear to fuck her.

Motonari kept it slow at first, letting that hungry fire licking at their veins bank a bit so they could simply enjoy the easy back and forth, let that pleasure build back up. It was like a dream for Motonari to go from grinding into a pussy so tight it was liable to cut off his dick to geeling it relax and flutter around him, hungrily sucking him in.

Words were past Tohru at this point, driven beyond coherency halfway before she’d even been aware of it. She didn’t lose the desperate edge to her motions, babbling for more in spite of Motonari’s clear lack of intention to make this quick. He didn’t mind-let her wind herself up. Motonari was going to fuck her exactly how he wanted to.

“There you go, baby, just like that,” he praised, angling just so, finally picking up the pace, “All ya gotta do is take what I give ya. You’ll get what I need when I want you to.” The words would probably carry more weight if he planned on dragging this out for longer, but he couldn’t resist the sweet siren song of climax after all this. He drove into Tohru with purpose, eager to trigger her orgasm at the same time as his (mornings made him sentimental, so what?).

Motonari got her there with ease, lifting her waist to more accurately strike at her g-spot, his fingers tweaking her clit and nipple, teeth scraping her neck. The way Tohru clutched at him, her walls clamping around his cock as she careened over the edge, hiding a hitching sob against his temple sent him over as well. Motonari spilled deep inside her, pressed as close as he possibly could, groaning through it. Keeping his wits about him, Motonari gently lowered himself on top of Tohru, elbows braced on the futon to hold up most of his weight.

“Well, good morning to you too,” Tohru said after they spent a few minutes in peaceful silence, enjoying the afterglow. “I take it today’s a lazy day?”

“Mmhmm,” Motonari hummed, breathing her in. Tohru always smelled great, but it was even better when her scent mixed with his. “Think I’m gonna stay in ya a while longer.”

It had to be uncomfortable for Tohru, who has his release cooling inside her, his softening dick unable to properly fill her, trapped underneath him, but she readily agreed, too accommodating (Motonari was the sort of man who wasn’t above taking advantage of the liberties Tohru gave him). “Sounds good to me,” she nuzzled into his neck, “I might fall back to sleep. Wake me up in a bit.” Which was her way of saying they should do it again, and who was Motonari to not take her up on that?

#my fics #visions of temptation 2023 #ikesen #motonari mouri #my ocs #kinktober #age appropriate

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watchnrant · 5 months ago

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Unfinished Stories: How Show Cancellations Are Hurting Streaming and Its Viewers

Why Streaming Platforms Are Breaking Our Hearts (And Their Own Shows)

Stop me if this sounds familiar: You’ve just finished binging a new show, you’re emotionally invested, and you can’t wait for the next season—only to find out it’s been canceled. Just like that, the characters you’ve grown attached to and the storylines you’re desperate to see resolved are gone, with no closure in sight. Sound familiar? It’s becoming an all-too-common experience for fans in the streaming age.

In 2023, a report by Whip Media revealed that Netflix had a 16% higher cancellation rate than other platforms, reflecting an alarming trend of axing shows—sometimes even those with dedicated fanbases and critical acclaim. The reasons behind these decisions often boil down to corporate strategy and financial metrics, but they don’t just hurt the shows—they hurt us, the viewers.

I’ll break down why so many great shows are being canceled, the emotional toll it takes on fans, and how streaming platforms are sabotaging themselves by cutting these stories short. Most importantly, we’ll explore whether anything can be done to stop this cycle of heartbreak.

When Storytelling Meets Corporate Greed: The Heartbreak of Canceled Shows

Let’s keep it real—when a show gets canceled, especially when it’s just hitting its stride, it’s not just disappointing. It’s heartbreaking. It’s more than losing a weekly escape; it’s like having a favorite book ripped out of your hands before you finish the final chapter. But why is this happening so often? The harsh truth is that, for streaming platforms, storytelling usually takes a backseat to corporate greed.

Even if a show builds a loyal fanbase or raises critical praise, it’s not safe if it doesn’t hit those immediate viewership numbers. Just look at Warrior Nun. It pulled in a perfect 100% on Rotten Tomatoes, and Netflix axed it after only two seasons. If even a show with that kind of love from fans and critics can’t survive, it’s clear that what matters to these platforms isn’t storytelling—it’s short-term financial gain.

These cancellations go deeper than just losing another show to binge. Fans pour their hearts into these stories, connect with the characters, and create entire communities around them. When a show is suddenly canceled, it feels like a personal betrayal. We’re not just talking about losing a form of entertainment; we’re talking about losing something we’ve emotionally invested in, which connects us to others who love it just as much.

The worst part? Platforms like HBO Max are particularly ruthless, with a cancellation rate of 26.9%, driven by the corporate chaos after the Warner Bros. Discovery merger. Shows disappear overnight, leaving fans scrambling. These platforms might think they’re cutting losses, but in reality, they’re cutting off their most passionate viewers—the ones who stick around and keep coming back for more.

The Emotional Fallout for Viewers

When a favorite show gets canceled, it’s not just frustrating—it’s a gut punch. You’ve invested time and energy into these characters and stories, only to have them cut off mid-journey. Streaming platforms may treat it like a business decision, but for fans, it’s personal.

We don’t just watch shows—we connect with them. These characters become part of our lives, and when their stories are left unfinished, it feels like a betrayal. In fact, a Morning Consult poll found that 59% of viewers felt betrayed when their favorite show was canceled. That’s how deep the connection runs. It’s not just about losing something to binge—it’s about losing a story you were emotionally invested in.

Then there’s the fan communities. These aren’t casual viewers—they’re the ones creating fan theories, art, and discussions that keep the show's spirit alive. When a series like Warrior Nun gets canceled, fans don’t just move on. They fight back. They raised money for billboards and campaigned hard for a revival because they weren’t ready to let go. That kind of passion doesn’t just happen with every show; when it does, it’s a connection streaming platforms shouldn’t ignore.

By cutting these stories short, platforms are alienating their most engaged fans. And once that trust is broken, it’s tough to get back. Fans are left wondering, “Why should I get invested in another show if this keeps happening?”

Corporate Greed vs. Creative Integrity

Here’s the truth: streaming platforms love to sell themselves as trailblazers for creative storytelling, but when it comes down to it, they’re often more concerned with their bottom line. It’s a battle between corporate greed and the kind of creative integrity that fans crave. And sadly, creativity is losing.

The reality is harsh—if a show doesn’t pull in massive numbers right out of the gate, it’s considered expendable. Netflix, in particular, is notorious for this. They’re not canceling shows because they aren’t good or don’t have a loyal fanbase; they’re cutting them to dodge higher production costs down the road. Remember GLOW? Remember The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance? Both were critically adored and had dedicated followers, but both were canceled because they didn’t meet Netflix’s financial metrics fast enough.

What these platforms don’t seem to get is that storytelling isn’t about instant gratification. Some of the greatest series out there didn’t start with blockbuster ratings. Breaking Bad, Parks and Recreation—those shows were slow-burns. They grew over time, finding their audience and eventually becoming cultural cornerstones. If they were released today, they might not have survived the brutal pace of the current streaming game.

Even worse, there’s a complete disregard for the cultural and emotional impact of these stories. Shows like The Get Down and Sense8 weren’t just entertaining—they mattered. They represented diverse voices and narratives that we rarely see on screen. But in the eyes of these platforms, if the numbers don’t add up fast enough, it’s game over. And with that, we lose shows that aren’t just fun to watch—they’re important.

Streaming platforms are so focused on short-term gains that they’re sacrificing long-term loyalty and, let’s be honest, the essence of why we all fell in love with TV in the first place—great storytelling. If they keep cancelling shows based on a quick profitability formula, they’re going to lose the very fans who make these platforms what they are.

Even worse, there’s a complete disregard for these stories' cultural and emotional impact. Shows like The Get Down and Sense8 weren’t just entertaining—they mattered. They represented diverse voices and narratives that we rarely see on screen. But in the eyes of these platforms, if the numbers don’t add up fast enough, it’s game over. And with that, we lose shows that aren’t just fun to watch—they’re essential.

Streaming platforms are so focused on short-term gains that they’re sacrificing long-term loyalty. Let’s be honest: The essence of why we all fell in love with TV in the first place is great storytelling. If they keep canceling shows based on a quick profitability formula, they will lose the fans who make these platforms what they are.

Diverse and Niche Shows Are Most at Risk

When it comes to shows that push boundaries or highlight underrepresented voices, it’s clear they face an uphill battle. These are the stories we’ve been waiting to see, but they’re often the first to be canceled before they can really hit their stride.

Shows with female leads, LGBTQ+ representation, and minority-driven narratives are disproportionately at risk. Take Warrior Nun, a series with a strong LGBTQ+ fanbase and a perfect 100% rating on Rotten Tomatoes. Despite its critical acclaim, Netflix cut it after just two seasons. The same goes for Sense8 and The Get Down—both celebrated for their diverse storytelling, yet both were scrapped because they didn’t meet fast financial targets.

But it’s bigger than just numbers. These shows are more than just entertainment—they represent communities and voices often sidelined in mainstream media. Canceling them isn’t just a financial decision; it sends the message that these stories don’t matter as much. In a time when diversity should be celebrated, streaming platforms are turning their backs on the very shows that bring something different to the table.

What platforms seem to miss is that the value of these shows extends far beyond immediate viewership. They spark conversations, build passionate fan communities, and offer sorely needed representation. Cutting these series off at the knees isn’t just a loss for viewers—it’s a cultural setback.

If these platforms want to stay relevant and maintain the trust of their viewers, they need to stop treating diverse and niche shows as disposable. These are the stories that matter, and they deserve to be seen, heard, and supported.

Short-Term Success Metrics and the Decline of Quality

Streaming platforms are laser-focused on quick wins, and that obsession with short-term success directly shapes the content we get—and it’s not a good look. Because of this need for instant results, we’re seeing more shows designed for fast consumption, but they often lack the depth and substance that make for great storytelling. Instead of daring narratives that push boundaries, we get cookie-cutter series that play it safe and fail to take real creative risks.

One of the most significant shifts we’ve seen is the move to shorter seasons. Traditional broadcast TV seasons ran 20 to 24 episodes, giving characters time to breathe and story arcs space to develop naturally. However, streaming platforms like Netflix and Amazon Prime have reduced that to 8 to 10 episodes per season. Sure, it caters to binge-watchers who want tighter, faster-paced narratives, but it comes at a cost. Shorter seasons pile on the pressure for shows to perform instantly, and if they don’t? They’re gone before they’ve had a chance to grow a loyal fanbase.

This shift isn’t just killing shows before they can take off—it’s impacting the quality of the storytelling. With fewer episodes, creators are forced to cram significant plot points into a smaller space, cutting down on character depth, subplots, and organic world-building that makes a series truly immersive. Think about the traditional broadcast model: longer seasons allow for slow-burn character arcs and rich, layered stories that stick with you. Compare that to today’s streaming shows, which can feel rushed, scrambling to hit narrative highs without the time to let things develop naturally.

What’s even more frustrating is that we’re also seeing this convergence with broadcast TV. Thanks to shifting viewer habits, even those longer seasons are being chopped down to 10 to 13 episodes. But here’s the catch—while traditional TV shows still have more room to breathe, streaming platforms demand immediate results. And if a show doesn’t grab massive viewership numbers right out of the gate, it’s almost guaranteed to get the axe.

But there are exceptions to the rule. Take The Boys, for example. Erik Kripke created a series that balances shorter seasons with bold, unapologetic storytelling that stands out in a sea of formulaic content. Amazon Prime struck gold with The Boys by allowing the show to take creative risks while delivering a tight, focused narrative. The difference? Kripke’s commitment to fleshing out complex characters and tackling taboo subjects head-on proves that shorter seasons don’t have to mean sacrificing quality.

In a world where most streaming shows are playing it safe, The Boys is a reminder that you can still create something boundary-pushing, even within the constraints of shorter formats. It’s not that it’s impossible—it’s just that platforms need to be willing to take those risks more often.

What streaming platforms are missing in their race for instant success is the potential for long-term loyalty. Slow-burn stories might not immediately pull huge numbers, but they can become cult favorites. Breaking Bad wasn’t an overnight sensation, but because it was given time to build, it became one of the greatest series of all time. Streaming services are leaving that kind of magic on the table. Sure, they might win the numbers game in the short run, but they’re sacrificing the creativity and storytelling that makes fans stick around for the long haul.

Misjudging the Power of Word-of-Mouth

Streaming platforms are so focused on grabbing immediate attention with flashy marketing campaigns and big-budget productions that they often miss one of the most powerful drivers of a show’s success: word-of-mouth. Let’s be real—some of the most beloved and iconic shows didn’t start as massive hits. They grew slowly, building momentum because fans couldn’t stop talking about them. But platforms, in their obsession with quick wins, often don’t give shows the time to grow organically.

Here’s the thing: marketing can only do so much. The real magic happens when fans connect deeply with a show and start spreading the word. That’s how Breaking Bad went from under the radar to a cultural juggernaut. Same with Stranger Things—it didn’t become a phenomenon just because Netflix poured money into it. Fans built that buzz, episode by episode, conversation by conversation.

And yet, streaming platforms continue to prioritize big-budget releases over fan-fuelled shows. They bank on high-profile rollouts, hoping for immediate success, but often miss out on the organic, slow-build shows that gain momentum through fan passion. Take The Expanse or The OA, for example—these weren’t instant smashes, but the fan-driven conversations around them were intense. People shared theories, created fan art, and built communities dedicated to these shows. When platforms cancel those shows, they’re not just losing a piece of content—they’re breaking up the community that powered them.

The power of fan communities goes far beyond viewership numbers. These are the people who will fight for a show, even after it’s been canceled. We’ve seen it time and time again. Lucifer? Brought back from the dead by its fans. Manifest? Same story. The fans rallied so hard that the platforms couldn’t ignore them. And let’s not forget Warrior Nun—after it was canceled, fans took to the streets with billboards and petitions, refusing to let their show go quietly into the night. That’s the kind of energy that streaming platforms are seriously underestimating.

What streaming platforms need to understand is that viewership isn’t just about numbers—it’s about engagement. When fans invest emotionally, they spread the word. They get their friends watching. They create the kind of buzz that no marketing budget can buy. Cutting a show too soon means killing that potential for fan-driven growth, which could be the key to turning a sleeper hit into a cultural phenomenon.

At the end of the day, it’s fans who turn shows into something bigger than a streaming number. It’s their conversations, their love for the story, and their commitment to spreading the word that makes a show stick. And if platforms keep ignoring that, they will keep canceling the very shows that had the potential to become the next big thing.

Audience Disengagement and “Serial Churning”

There are only so many times you can get your heart broken by show cancellations before you start to wise up. Fans aren’t just sitting back and taking it anymore—they’re starting to play the game, hopping from platform to platform, subscribing just for one or two shows, then canceling the minute they’re done. It’s called “serial churning,” and it’s happening because fans simply don’t trust streaming platforms to keep their favorite shows alive long enough for them to commit emotionally.

Why would you invest in a new series when there’s a good chance it’ll get canceled before it even gets the time to breathe? We’ve all been burned—whether it was The OA, Warrior Nun, or some underrated gem that had so much potential but never got the chance to finish the story it started. It’s no surprise fans are more cautious now, waiting to see if a show will make it past season one before they even think about getting attached.

This “serial churning” isn’t just a theory—it’s real and growing. A 2023 report from Deloitte found that 38% of streaming subscribers are now jumping between platforms, only signing up for specific shows and canceling once those shows are over. That’s what happens when you lose your audience’s trust. They’ve seen enough shows get axed, and now they’re treating their subscriptions like they treat their favorite series: totally disposable.

Streaming platforms don’t seem to realize they’re creating their own problem. By constantly canceling shows and focusing only on short-term wins, they’re driving away the long-term loyalty that keeps subscribers coming back. Fans are no longer sticking around to browse the library; they’re hopping in, watching what they came for, and leaving just as quickly.

At the heart of this issue is trust. Fans want to know that when they invest their time into a story, they’ll get the whole experience—the closure, the character arcs, the payoff they signed up for. But when platforms cancel shows before those stories can fully unfold, they break that trust. And once that trust is gone, so are the viewers. Platforms need to wake up to the fact that fans aren’t just passive subscribers—they’re part of the story. Keep canceling shows, and you’re not just churning viewers. You’re churning away any hope of building lasting loyalty.

Case Studies of Canceled Shows and Their Fan Communities

When a beloved show gets canceled, it’s more than just the end of a storyline—it’s the collapse of an entire community. Fans don’t just passively watch their favorite series; they invest emotionally, build communities, create art, and engage in endless theories. So, when a show is axed, it’s a gut punch that goes way beyond just missing out on entertainment. Let’s dive into a few examples that show how deeply these fanbases are connected and why streaming platforms often fail to recognize the real power of these passionate communities.

Warrior Nun: A Fanbase That Refused to Go Quietly

Warrior Nun wasn’t just another action-packed supernatural series—it was a lifeline for fans hungry for more authentic LGBTQ+ representation. This show connected with its audience on a personal level, offering characters and storylines that felt both fresh and deeply relatable. So when Netflix canceled it after just two seasons, the backlash was fierce.

But these fans didn’t just mourn—they mobilized. Petitions, billboards, social media campaigns—the Warrior Nun fandom went to war for their show. The #SaveWarriorNun movement wasn’t just about saving a series—it was about saving a story that represented voices that often get sidelined in mainstream media. This community wouldn’t let Netflix’s decision go unchallenged, and their fight is still ongoing.

And this is what platforms miss: Warrior Nun fans weren’t just casual viewers. They were invested. These kinds of fan communities are the backbone of a show’s success and longevity. When you cancel a series like this, you’re not just losing viewers—you’re alienating a dedicated audience that could have stuck around for years.

Shadow and Bone: A Fantasy Fandom Teetering on the Edge

When Netflix adapted Leigh Bardugo’s Shadow and Bone, it quickly became a must-watch for fantasy lovers and die-hard Grishaverse fans. The show’s rich world-building and complex characters struck a chord, and fans didn’t take long to rally behind it. But despite the initial buzz, there’s still a lingering fear that Netflix’s infamous cancellation axe could come down on Shadow and Bone at any moment, thanks to the high production costs.

Here’s the thing—fantasy series like this take time. The Grishaverse fanbase is still growing, but they’re passionate and vocal, ready to support the series in the long run if Netflix allows it to flourish. The problem is that these shows often don’t get that chance. Platforms are too quick to judge based on instant success, missing the bigger picture. A series like Shadow and Bone has all the makings of a slow-burn classic, but it needs time to grow and fully realize its potential. Cutting it off too soon would be yet another missed opportunity.

My Lady Jane: Cancelled Before It Could Even Begin

Then there’s My Lady Jane, an adaptation that never even got the chance to hit the screen. Based on the wildly popular book by Cynthia Hand, Brodi Ashton, and Jodi Meadows, it was set to be a refreshing, comedic take on Tudor-era history—something completely unique. Fans of the book series were eager to see this quirky, genre-bending story brought to life.

But before a single episode could air, My Lady Jane was canceled—a victim of shifting priorities and cost-cutting measures behind the scenes. This kind of decision hurts the most because it wasn’t about the content itself. It was about risk. And in a world where unique, offbeat shows are already few and far between, it’s frustrating to see a potential gem scrapped before it ever had the chance to find its audience.

These case studies highlight a truth that streaming platforms often overlook: fans are more than just numbers. They’re the heart and soul of a show’s success. When a show gets canceled, it’s not just about lost episodes—it’s about lost connections, lost stories, and the collapse of entire communities that fans have built around these worlds. And the thing is, fans won’t go quietly. They fight. They rally. They push back. And in some cases, they win. Platforms would do well to recognize that losing a show means losing something much deeper—audience trust and long-term loyalty.

The True Cost of Cancellations on the Streaming Industry

The damage runs deeper when platforms cancel a show than when losing a series. It’s a hit to the very trust that viewers place in these platforms—and that’s not just an emotional cost; it’s a long-term business problem. Cancellations are starting to shape the entire streaming landscape in ways that could have severe consequences down the line.

Eroding Viewer Trust and Loyalty

Every time a beloved series gets canceled without warning, it feels like a breach of trust. Fans are left wondering, “Why bother getting invested in a new show if it’s just going to be cut short?” That hesitation is real, and it’s growing. Streaming platforms are creating an environment where fans are afraid to commit, knowing full well that their favorite characters and stories might not get the endings they deserve.

This is where the real damage starts. When a platform cancels a show, it’s not just losing a few disappointed viewers—it’s eroding the trust of an entire audience. Fans stop seeing these platforms as reliable. They stop believing their time and emotional investment will pay off. And when that happens, they’re less likely to dive into a new series. The constant cycle of cancellations is pushing fans away, making them reluctant to commit to anything new until they know it’s going to stick around.

A 2023 report by Insider Intelligence even predicts churn rates could top 40% by 2025 as viewers lose faith in platforms’ ability to see a story through. And that’s not just an issue for the fans—it’s a significant threat to streaming services. In such a competitive market, losing long-term loyalty could have substantial financial consequences.

The Decline in Content Quality

It’s not just trust being sacrificed—creativity is taking a hit, too. Platforms are so focused on profitability that they’re playing it safe, pushing out shows designed to grab quick attention but lacking real depth. Instead of bold, slow-burn stories that need time to find their audience, we’re getting formulaic content that’s all about hitting those instant viewership targets.

And let’s be honest—when you’re focused on getting quick wins, you won’t take creative risks. The result? Fewer daring narratives, less character development, and more cookie-cutter shows that feel like they’re made by algorithm rather than passion. The heart and soul of great TV—those slow-burn character arcs and richly layered plots—are being sacrificed in favor of shows that may look good in the short term but don’t have the substance to stick with viewers.

The “Enshittification” of Streaming

Then there’s the ugly side of it all—what some have called the “enshittification” of streaming. This is where platforms get so wrapped up in monetization that they start cutting corners on the very thing that made them successful in the first place: great storytelling. More and more, streaming platforms prioritize profit over quality, cranking out content designed to boost numbers but lacking the creativity and emotional depth that makes people want to keep watching.

This kind of short-sighted thinking doesn’t just hurt the shows—it hurts the platforms. Sure, they might get a temporary bump in viewership, but they’re alienating the fans who would stick around for the long haul. Platforms are so focused on squeezing out quick profits that they’re forgetting what brought people to streaming in the first place: the promise of unique, bold storytelling. And that’s a promise they’re failing to keep.

The actual cost of all these cancellations? It’s not just a few lost episodes or unfinished storylines—it’s a long-term problem for the entire streaming industry. As platforms prioritize short-term gains over building lasting relationships with their audience, they’re eroding trust, stifling creativity, and, ultimately, risking their future.

A Call for Industry Reform

Let’s cut to the chase: the streaming industry desperately needs a reset. Creativity is taking a backseat to corporate greed, and we, the fans, are the ones paying the price. The constant cancellations, the obsession with instant results, and the disregard for long-term storytelling are burning out viewers and driving a wedge between platforms and the people keeping them alive. But here’s the thing—this can change. It has to change.

Ending the Cycle of Corporate Greed

It’s time for streaming platforms to stop treating shows like disposable content. This “cancel-first, think later” approach isn’t just frustrating—it’s killing the stories that make TV worth watching in the first place. Platforms are so focused on what’s hot right now that they’re missing out on cultivating the kind of shows that build dedicated, long-term fanbases. The truth is, some of the best series didn’t become iconic overnight. Breaking Bad took time to hit its stride. Parks and Recreation wasn’t an immediate hit either.

What platforms need is patience. Not everything has to be a blockbuster right out of the gate. Give shows time to grow. Invest in the long haul. Stop looking for the next viral sensation and start backing the stories that have the potential to evolve into something lasting and meaningful. Because the alternative? It’s a graveyard of unfinished stories and frustrated fans who are done investing in shows that don’t get the time they need.

Supporting Storytelling Longevity and Artistic Integrity

Here’s what needs to happen: creators deserve the space to tell their stories from start to finish. Fans deserve to know that the time they invest in a show will pay off. That means committing to complete narratives, not cutting off stories halfway through because they didn’t blow up in the first season. Streaming platforms need to get back to what made them great—pushing boundaries, taking creative risks, and supporting the kind of storytelling that builds emotional connections over time.

We need platforms to prioritize artistic integrity over analytics. Let’s get back to original, thought-provoking, and emotionally charged content—the kind that lingers with you long after you’ve hit “Next Episode.” The audience is there for it. Fans want originality, crave stories that challenge them, and are willing to stick around if the platforms show they’re committed to letting those stories unfold.

Bringing Back Viewer Loyalty

The trust between viewers and streaming platforms is hanging by a thread. Fans hesitate to commit to new series because premature cancellations have burned them too many times. Platforms must rebuild that trust by showing they’re in it for the long run. If a show doesn’t hit massive numbers in its first season, that doesn’t mean it’s a failure. It means it’s just getting started.

By investing in slow-burn hits and giving fanbases room to grow, platforms can bring back the loyalty they’ve lost. Viewers want to commit. They want to feel like their time matters. If platforms start treating shows as more than short-term profit plays, they’ll see fans return—eager and ready to invest in the stories they know will be given the chance to thrive.

The future of streaming isn’t in chasing viral hits or cranking out disposable content. It’s in building lasting relationships with fans through great storytelling. If platforms don’t make that shift, they risk losing the very audience that made them what they are today. It’s time for the industry to wake up and realize that the power lies in the fans, the stories, and the long-term commitment to creativity and connection.

My Final Word: Why Streaming Platforms Need to Rethink Their Strategy

Canceling shows isn’t just about numbers—it’s a betrayal of the fans who pour their time, energy, and emotions into these stories. When a beloved series gets cut short, it’s not just a show ending—it’s trust being broken. After this happens enough times, viewers start asking, “Why should I get attached to another show if it’s just going to vanish?”

The way streaming platforms operate right now is pushing fans away. There’s too much focus on instant success and not enough emphasis on what really builds lasting loyalty: connection. Fans don’t just want another series to pass the time; they want stories that matter, stories that evolve, take risks, and, most importantly, finish. Yet, time and time again shows with real potential are being scrapped before they can fully take off.

This needs to change. Streaming platforms should start thinking long-term. Support the creators—the writers, showrunners, and directors—who have bold stories to tell, even if their shows don’t become instant hits. Let these stories grow, build fanbases, and reach their full potential. Stop playing it safe with formulaic content made for quick numbers and start investing in storytelling that leaves a lasting impact.

Fans aren’t just looking for something to watch—they want stories that remind them why they fell in love with TV and film in the first place. Platforms that focus on cultivating that kind of content are the ones that will keep their audiences engaged. It’s not about quick wins; it’s about creating something that resonates long after the credits roll.

If streaming platforms want to stay relevant, they need to refocus on what really matters: creative integrity and long-term fan loyalty. Otherwise, they risk losing not just a few shows but also the audience's trust, which makes them successful. And once that trust is gone, it won’t be easy to get back.

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