#this has been in my drafts for over a year now

[fallstaticexit]

Ahhh it's been 65 years, and I feel kinda crazy that I've had this sitting in my drafts for like 2 months. Assuming most readers of Missing Moments are also The Art of Being Seen readers- there's some hefty lore here that will come into play later.

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Olive: Time to move on, right Kia?

[phone pings]

Nancy: Hello darling. Do you have a moment to talk?

Olive: Who’s this?

Olive: I don’t recall saying yes.

Nancy: [sighs] It feels so good to hear your voice again.

Olive: I only answered to tell you to block me.

Nancy: I would never.

Olive: Even though I asked?

Nancy: Well. I am incredibly selfish.

Olive: Why did you call me?

Nancy: I would like to see you, Olivia. Please.

Olive: I’m not for sale, sorry.

Nancy: I know. I wouldn’t want to meet on those terms again. If I could do it all over, I would have asked you to have dinner with me when I met you. I would have courted you properly, Olivia.

Olive: [scoffs] You would have gone to a strip club and asked a stripper to have dinner with you? Seriously? When would we have ever met under any other circumstance? It’s been made very clear to me how different we are. The only way this would have happened was if it were a fairy tale.

Nancy: What matters is, I have met you. I’ve experienced you and I can’t go back. My husband- my ex husband- he signed the petition for our divorce. I came out to him- officially. It’s over.

Olive: [stunned] That’s- that’s great. I am so happy for you-

Nancy: I’m leaving all of it. I’m starting over. All I want is you, if you’ll have me.

Olive: [sighs]

Nancy: Let’s just have one dinner and after we’ve talk, then you can decide. There’s so much I want to say, but I want to look you in the eyes as I say it.

Olive: One dinner?

Nancy: One dinner.

Nancy: May I see you tonight? I’ll send my driver and I’ll cook for you at my place. Anything you like.

Olive: Tonight is fine.. sure.

Nancy: [sighs happily] It’ll be hard not to kiss you the moment I see you-

Olive: Not too much, lover girl. It’s one dinner and I’m still very annoyed with you about all this, ok?

Nancy: Yes, my love. I’ll see you tonight.

Olive: And don’t look at me like that. It’s just dinner and a conversation, ok? I am not going to sleep with her ok?

Malcolm: Well. Now I see why my mother was so willing to ruin an entire empire over you. Those mugshots did you no justice.

Olive: What is this? Where’s Nancy?

Malcolm: I noticed our driver was heading this way, I figured I’d tag along. Sight see. Get in. Let’s chat.

Malcolm: I wonder if this feels like dejavu to my mother. She makes yet another thoughtless mistake and someone comes along to make it all go away. She has a nasty habit of that, you know.

Olive: Listen. I’m not feeling whatever family drama you all have going on. I don’t want to talk to you. I want to talk to Nancy.

Malcolm: I was raised by a narcissistic liar and a spineless coward. If I let this company fall apart, then wouldn’t it all had been for nothing?

Olive: [scoffs] So you want pity? I’m suppose to pity you? Give me a break.

Malcolm: Not pity, no. If anything, I pity you.

Olive: Is that right?

Malcolm: When it comes to success, you pale in comparison to your half siblings. You’ve financially crippled your parents in legal fees since your arrest and all you have to show for it is by shaking ass in a low end strip club in the Spice District. That’s right, I know alot about you Olivia Briar.

Malcolm: I know about that quaint little family of yours down in the country. I know about your niece’s struggling restaurant and her undocumented partner. Funny, he’s able to acquire loans under a fake name but there’s no records of a Noa Briar anywhere. I wonder what else your family is hiding.

Olive: [shaken] What is this about? Are you threatening me? What the fuck do you want?

Malcolm: I’m here to help you, not hurt you. One of the greatest lessons I’ve ever learned was the power of the dollar. I can make a lot of your problems go away with one deposit if you do just one thing.

Olive: [softly] ....What?

Malcolm: We’re going to turn around and park in front of your building. You’re going to go upstairs, pack up your things and then, you’re going to go back home to sweet old Henford. You’ll pay your parents back with the money you’ll receive from this arrangement and you’ll help your niece and nephew. All your problems - poof- gone.

Malcolm: All you have to do is walk away, and stay away. You see, my mother has a nasty debt to this family she still needs to pay. Don’t make it your burden.

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

The Return

Batter Up Chapter 7

Pairing: Baseball player Joel Miller x Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: After a month of being away from the game and the girl he loves, Joel Miller is back and ready to play. Warnings: smut, making a sex tape, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v (reader has an IUD), cream pie, also regular pie, joel miller's dirty mouth, wine. Words: 5,000

A/N: Thank you to my dearest @devineconjuring and her beautiful brain for beta'ing and being my grammar goddess.

Masterlist Playlist

⚾️⚾️⚾️

The crowd chants Joel’s name, lights flicker through the stadium, the ground feels like it’s shaking beneath his feet. He loves this feeling—the rush of adrenaline coursing through him, the loud crowd drowning out every doubt he’s ever felt. After three weeks on the injured list and another week rehabbing in the minors–a month away from the big leagues–Joel Miller is back.

He walks to the plate, digging his heels into the dirt and tapping his bat against the plate as he soaks in the moment. 

“Miller, good to see you back,” the catcher says.

Joel nods, and grunts an acknowledgment back.

His eyes settle on the pitcher, some young phenom throwing 99-mph with almost every pitch. Don’t worry kid, you’ll get old like me.

The first pitch whooshes past him—ball one. 

Ball two.

Strike one.

The pitcher’s keeping it a little outside, Joel inches closer to the plate, squaring up. The pitcher winds up again, Joel takes a deep breath, feeling the vibration of the bat as it connects with the ball. The crack of the bat reverberates through the stadium as the ball soars past the infield, over the outfield, and disappears beyond the right-field fence.

Home run.

The crowd erupts, the celebratory bell tolls as he rounds the bases. His eyes scan the club box above third base, finding you amidst the cheering fans, your arms raised high, that smile of yours lighting up his heart.

Joel Miller is back, doing what he loves, and now in front of the woman he loves.

__

You’re so proud of him. You wipe the tears from your eyes as Joel’s feet touch home base. His recovery wasn’t easy. Every week away from the game for someone as old as him means double the work versus a young kid just in the game. Forty year olds aren’t known for being pro athletes. 

With the long Labor Day weekend, you were able to take time off from work and travel by train to Philadelphia to witness Joel's celebrated comeback, which had turned into a legend after his grand slam. Suddenly, all of your worries are lifted away. The stress of telling your families that you're a couple, your demanding job as a column writer at Sporting Digest that revolves around the ebb and flow of games, trades, and record breaking moments–none of it matters now.

Your responsibilities at work have been stacking up over the past few weeks. Churning out articles on everything from college football predictions to analyses of NBA draft picks. When you were hired you agreed to not cover baseball, what with the conflict of interest and all. Now, you dream of the headlines you could write about your boyfriend’s triumphant return. 

You’ve barely been able to leave your laptop. Last week, you spent three days shadowing a tennis star at the US Open, scribbling notes on her training and the pressure of being labeled the “next big thing.” You’ve barely had time to breathe, let alone do laundry, go grocery shopping, and, most importantly, be there for Joel. You put in countless hours of work to make this long weekend possible, just so you could witness his big comeback firsthand. 

“Heck of a player that Miller is,” you hear the TV in the corner say. “He sure knows how to show everyone he’s still got it, doesn’t he?” 

You clutch his number dangling from your neck, you’re so proud of him, always proving everybody wrong. Well worth every sacrifice. 

__

The Liberties win, 4-0, all thanks to Joel’s grand slam in the first inning. Sports radio is going to have a field day with this. 

You make your way down to the stadium’s corridors, where staff rush around with more important tasks than yours. 

The Liberties clubhouse sits just ahead of you, the two large blue doors stay closed to onlookers. You rest your back against the cold cinder block wall and send Joel a text, telling him to take his time.

A year ago, you never could’ve imagined this. Joel Miller—rugged, no-nonsense baseball star, the man who occupied your teenage dreams—now your boyfriend. The man who keeps your favorite pasta sauce in his pantry. The man who goes mattress shopping with you. It feels surreal, yet so real at the same time.

Every time that damn blue door opens your heart skips a beat, hoping you’ll find Joel walking out. False alarm after false alarm. 

Until…

Joel emerges, hair slicked back, wearing a gray Liberties shirt, khaki pants, and those cheesy white New Balance sneakers you tease him relentlessly about. Joel, you’re way too rich to be wearing these damn ragged shoes. 

“Hi baby,” he smiles as he wraps his arms around you, pushing you further against the wall. 

“Hi,” you breathlessly respond, smelling the body wash on his skin. Damn, he showered. “Good game.”

“It was, wasn’t it?”

You can’t help but smile at how happy he is, back where he belongs, doing what he loves.

“Come on,” he says, pulling you close. “Let’s go celebrate.” His arm stays around your waist as he leads you through the corridors to his car.

It’s so freeing now, being able to cheer for—and love—Joel out in the open, for all eyes to see.

__

“You know you made me cry today, right?” you say, reaching for his hand resting on your thigh.

“I did, huh?” he replies with a smirk on his face.

He always looks so confident as he drives. Philly’s narrow streets, filled with potholes and pedestrians, are nothing like Austin’s, but he navigates them as effortlessly as he does everything else—injuries, tough teammates, media storms. He handles it all like he handles a fastball: with ease.

“Yeah, I’m really proud of you,” you tell him softly, grabbing his hand harder. “I know I’ve said it a hundred times, but I’m just so happy to be here for you.”

He smiles that quiet Joel smile. “That’s how I feel watching you handle everything too.”

"So, where are we headed?" you ask, noticing you're not on the route to his apartment. “I hope I’m dressed okay,” you say, looking down at your simple red gingham dress. 

"It’s a surprise. You’ll be fine, you look beautiful baby," he says.

The car winds through the city. You glance over, watching the city lights flicker across his face as the car turns off the main road, slipping into a quieter neighborhood.

The car pulls up to a small, unassuming brick building tucked away on a quiet side street. No flashy sign, no valet—just a discreet, vintage lantern hangs above the door. It’s definitely a place Joel prefers. 

He turns off the car and turns to you, his hand still resting on your thigh. “Thought we’d keep it low-key,” his deep voice rumbles in the quiet of the car.

You nod, your smile widening. “Perfect.”

He steps out of the car and, ever the gentleman, comes around to open your door before guiding you toward the entrance. You wrap your arm around his, leaning into his warmth as he leads you inside.

—

“Mr. Miller, welcome to Vetri Cucina. We’re happy to have you here. Let me show you to your table.”

“Silvio," Joel says with a firm handshake. "Good to see you. Thanks."

Your eyes scan the cozy space. Shiny worn floorboards, warm amber walls, a glistening chandelier that hangs from the low ceiling–you’ve never seen a place like this before. Little did you know that behind the unassuming brick row home exterior there would be a whole functional restaurant. It feels like the perfect mix of a place for the two of you, rustic and intimate.

Silvio leads you both up a narrow staircase to a private room on the second floor. A table for two sits in the center of the room. A red glass chandelier hangs above it, candlelights flickering shadows across the golden walls.. 

“So, we’re still hiding our dinners with each other away from prying eyes?” you tease as Joel pulls the chair out for you and you take a seat.  

“Not exactly,” he says, taking your hand in his. “I just wanted to show off that I can get us a private table at one of the best restaurants in Philly.”

You laugh. “I’m sure there’s a Golden Corral around here.”

Joel chuckles. “Very funny. But trust me—you’ll love it here. They’ve got all the fancy dishes with those French words you like.”

“You know me too well.”

“Better than you think,” he says, his eyes gleaming under the golden light.

—

A waiter approaches, a polished smile on his face. “Good evening, and welcome. My name is Royal, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. We have a special tasting menu prepared just for you, personally selected by our chef. It’ll start with an appetizer, followed by a pasta course, a main, and dessert.” 

Your mouth waters as Royal pours you a glass of wine. 

”Each course will be paired with a wine from our grand collection. Your first course will be out shortly. In the meantime, is there anything else I can bring you?”

Joel shakes his head. “We’re all set, thanks.”

“Wow,” you say once the waiter leaves, glancing around the elegantly set table. “I feel a little underdressed for a tasting menu.”

Joel shrugs. “I have a feeling they won’t care what we’re wearing once I pay the bill. Besides,” he says with a smile, “I like you in that red dress.”

“Atta boy, Texas,” you say, smiling as you sip your wine.

—

After a couple courses of delicious appetizers that you happily eat, but Joel barely touches, the water returns, presenting the main course with a flourish. 

"For your entrée, we have our signature dish: salt-crusted tilapia with a bread salad of parsley and tomatoes, alongside grilled artichokes on a bed of smoked squash puree."

You glance at Joel as the waiter expertly cracks the salt crust, revealing the perfectly cooked fish underneath. You know Joel hates fish and artichokes. The waiter sets down two glasses of white wine and disappears, leaving you both alone with the dish.

"Baby, what are you going to do?" you ask, eyes wide as Joel picks up his fork.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m here to impress you,” he says with determination before spearing a piece of the fish. He takes a bite, his nose crinkling ever so slightly as he chews.

“How is it?” you ask, biting back a smile.

Joel grimaces. “I’ve had better.”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Please don’t eat it. I know the only fish you like is fried.”

“Always been more of a Filet O Fish man myself.”

“I don’t think they’ve got tartar sauce here, so please, for me, don’t force yourself.”

He sets down his fork with a relieved sigh, his hand finding yours again. “Anything for you.”

When the waiter returns, he doesn’t comment on Joel’s barely touched plate, but you notice a subtle, appreciative smile as he clears away your empty dish.

“Well,” you say, leaning back, happy and full from dinner. “At least there’s dessert.”

“Never said no to dessert,” he chuckles, before looking you in the eyes with adoration. 

"You know," he begins, his voice low and serious, "I couldn't have done this without you. Coming back after my injury—”

Joel's voice trails off as he searches for the right words. His eyes stare into yours. You squeeze his hand encouragingly, needing to hear more. 

“It wasn’t just physical,” he continues. “It was mental. Wondering if I still had it within me, if I was too old, if it was time for me to hang up my cleats. But you—you never doubted me for a second.”

Tears pool in your eyes as his thumb brushes back and forth against your knuckles. 

"I’ve always been your fan, Joel. I’ll always believe in you.”

He nods, a small smile lighting his face. “I know, and that’s what got me through. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you smile through tears. 

The waiter approaches with dessert, you silently thank the interruption so you’re not left sobbing in the middle of this beautiful restaurant over how much you love your boyfriend. 

A familiar slice of pie is placed in front of you and Joel.

“Uppercrust?” you excitedly ask, your eyes widening at the large, glazed pecans laying atop the golden crust. 

Joel gives a shy, satisfied nod, his lips curving into that familiar, gentle smile. "Thought we’d end the night with our favorite. Had Sarah overnight it to the restaurant."

“Jooooel,” you breathe out, overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness. You stare at the pie, stunned by how deeply he cares for you.

“All for you baby,” he says softly as he lifts his fork and cheers with a playful smile. “Cheers to Austin and that hotel bar.”

You laugh, grabbing your own fork and tapping it against his. “Cheers,” you whisper, trying to steady your voice. 

“Oh my god,” you moan around the fork at the first taste of sweet pie. “I can’t believe you got this. You’re too good to me.”

He barks a laugh. “Baby, this is nothing, I owe you so much.” 

The pie is sweet, but your boyfriend is sweeter. 

The sweet wine served with the pie warms your body, Joel’s smile from across the table warms you even more. You sneakily slip your foot out of its sandal, and run it up his leg, making your way up to his crotch. He jumps in surprise, his eyes leer at you as he takes a sip of wine. Your foot finds its target, against the soft fabric of his pants, thankful for the white tablecloth that hangs from the table. He places a hand on your foot, pushing it closer to his crotch. You giggle as your toes wiggle back and forth, teasing him. 

“So, what’s next?” you ask, with a mischievous grin.

"Well, after we finish dinner, I'll pay the bill, grab some leftover pie for later...and then take you home and fuck you," he responds confidently.

A small hmph escapes your lips at the promise. “Is that so?”

“Oh, it absolutely is,” he replies, a sly grin spreading across his face. He leans in close, his voice lowering to a secretive whisper. “Just think about it—my place, those fancy sheets of mine you love so much…”

His hand wraps around your foot, pressing it harder against him. 

“Now you’re just making me impatient,” you tease. 

—-

The plates are cleared, the leftover pie is boxed up, Joel settles the bill and rises from his seat, extending his hand to help you up. 

Your fingers lace together as you step out into the warm summer night. Joel leads you to his car, unlocking it and opening the door for you. You lean over and seal your mouth over his, relishing in being able to kiss him out in the open. You pull away and give him a smirk before getting in and sliding across the passenger seat, your heart racing with anticipation for the next stop—Joel’s apartment. 

Your time together has been precious and few. Your career keeps you north in New York, Joel’s training and rehabilitation game have kept him busy and all over the states. But now, you finally have three nights together—the most time you've had since his injury a month ago. 

He glances over at you and winks before he adjusts the rearview mirror. You miss his truck back in Austin, the front bench seat allowing you to slide over and cuddle him close. You curse the existence of the center console. 

“Buckle up, baby,” he says with a grin. Your heart races at the double entendre. 

—-

Taking the elevator up to Joel's penthouse brings back memories of that first night together, when you couldn't believe how handsome he looked in that golden elevator at the hotel, not believing you were about to sleep with Joel Miller. Now, his body presses against yours as you lean on him, his head nestled in the crook of your neck as he leaves sweet kisses down your skin to the matching pendant of his number you wear, leaving a kiss against it before his eyes meet yours. 

“I can’t tell you how much I love seeing this on you, baby,” he says before licking his way up to your mouth, sealing his over yours. He grabs your ass, lifting you into his hold, your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, your arms wrap around his wide shoulders. 

The elevator doors open and he carries you into his penthouse, crowding you against the entryway wall. His mouth moves against yours with fervor, deepening the kiss as your fingers tangle in his hair. You gasp against his mouth, the cool wall chilling your overheated skin. 

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs between kisses, his breath warm and sweet against your lips. “I’ve missed this—missed you.”

He turns and carries you to the living room. The ambient city lights shining in from the floor-to-ceiling windows light Joel’s way. He gently sets you down on the couch and slides his hand to the back of your neck, pulling you closer for another kiss.

“Let me show you how much I’ve missed you, baby,” he whispers against your lips, pausing to look into your eyes.

You nod, breathless and eyes wide. “Please,” you whisper. 

He grins, standing back slightly, taking in the sight of you sprawled on his couch, dress askew. “You look so damn good.” 

His hands rest on the hem of your dress and, with a cocky grin, he slowly lifts it up, exposing the soft skin of your thighs. 

“God, this is all I’ve been thinking about. Drove to the ballpark thinking about you, stepped up to the plate thinking about you, and, baby,when I saw you in the stands… all I could think about was you naked in my arms.” 

“Joel…” you struggle to find the words, already lust-drunk on his words. 

“I need to taste you.” 

He drops down to his knees in front of you, his large fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear and sliding them off.

You bite your lip as he grips your thighs and spreads them apart.

He breathes out a deep sigh at the sight of you. A low whistle leaves his lips. “There she is, she’s so fuckin’ pretty.”

He leans closer and places soft kisses along your inner thighs, teasingly slow, making your heart race even faster.

“Joel…” you plead.

He spreads you wider, warm breath teasing against your core. He licks a long, slow line from bottom to top, humming appreciatively at the first taste of you. 

Your back arches, a gasp escaping your lips. "Oh my God," you breathe.

His rough palms grip your thighs, thick fingers digging into the flesh as he holds you steady. His hot breath tickles your skin as he licks you. "God, you taste so good," he murmurs against you, his voice vibrating against your cunt. “Missed this taste.” 

His tongue explores you as your fingers tangle in his hair, gripping the soft waves of his dark strands.

Two thick fingers slide inside you, stretching you perfectly. Plush lips close around your clit, sucking and lapping at your sensitive nub.

It's been almost a month since he last touched you like this, and now with his skilled mouth and fingers all over you, your body is ready to let go.

“Joel,” you moan. “C-close.”

He enthusiastically hums against you, deep brown eyes staring into yours from under furrowed brows. His fingers pumping in and out of you as his tongue flicks rapidly over your clit. Your pussy pulses against his thick fingers, squeezing them as you bloom under the pleasure of finally feeling his touch. Goosebumps rise all over your skin, cheeks heating, legs trembling, and your eyes tightly shut… and when he curls his fingers upwards inside you, your orgasm crashes into you, your pussy soaking his hand and your voice screaming his name. He doesn't stop, continuing to lick and tease you through your orgasm until it's all too much and you're pulling at his hair.

He pulls back with a satisfied smile and kisses your inner thigh before standing and placing a kiss on your lips. You taste yourself as he licks into your mouth. His plush lips sucking against yours. 

Before you can catch your breath, Joel scoops you up in his strong arms, throwing you over his shoulder and carrying you into his bedroom. You giggle as he smacks your ass and growls. 

He sets you on the edge of his bed, the crisp white sheets cool against your overheated skin. He steps back, his eyes roaming over your body. 

“Stay right there,” he says as he moves to the closet, rummaging around for a moment before returning with a black camera and tripod in hand. 

Your breath catches at the sight as he sets them up, carefully adjusting the angle. 

The tiny red recording light blinks on and the little screen lights up. There you are, all disheveled—dress hiked up, your lips full and swollen from Joel’s mouth. 

His eyes meet yours. “Is this okay?” he asks softly.

You nod, excitement running through your body. “Yes,” you breathe. 

He grins as he removes his shirt, tossing it to the side before he steps out of his pants. He stays behind the camera, standing in the shadows like a director. “Go ahead baby, take it all off.”

You stand slowly, your heart racing at Joel and the camera’s attention. Dark brown eyes watch you intently from behind the camera, his eyes never leaving your every movement. You reach back and unzip your dress, pulling it down, as you slowly slip the straps off, letting the dress fall to the floor, the red gingham fabric pooling at your feet. 

"God, you're gorgeous,” he whispers.

You reach behind to unclasp your bra, staring at Joel as you let it fall away. Your breasts are exposed to his eyes and the camera, your nipples hardening in the cool air. You’re completely bare now except for the necklace with his number. 

"Touch yourself for me, baby," he instructs softly.

You smile, running your hands slowly up your sides, cupping your breasts. Your fingers glide over your nipples, teasing them to stiff peaks before you back up against the bed and lay across it, spreading your legs wide for the camera and Joel. Your hand snakes down your body, across your stomach, down to the apex of your thighs. 

You lock eyes with Joel as you slowly circle your clit, your breath hitching. His gaze is dark from behind the camera, his chest rising and falling rapidly. You can see the outline of his cock straining against his boxer briefs as he watches you pleasure yourself. Your fingers dip lower, sliding into your wet heat.

"That's it, baby," he groans. "Show me how you like to be touched."

Your other hand kneads your breast, pinching and rolling your nipple.

Joel steps out from behind the camera, moving to the edge of the bed. He strips off his boxers, his thick cock springing free. He strokes himself slowly as he watches you.

"You're so fucking sexy," he growls.

You whimper at his words, your fingers moving faster. "Please, baby,” you whine, “I need you."

He grabs your foot and turns you on the cool, slick sheets. Glancing over at the camera’s small display screen to check the angle of your body.  

He climbs on the bed and you instantly welcome the warmth of his presence and his broad body. He positions himself between your legs, gripping his cock and running the head through your folds, coating himself in your wetness. Your breath catches as he slowly pushes inside, a smile lighting your face at finally feeling him inside you.

"Fuck," he groans, his eyes fluttering closed as he bottoms out. "You feel so good, baby. So tight and wet for me."

You moan as he starts to move, his hips rolling against yours in a steady rhythm. Your hands glide over the expanse of his shoulders and down his muscular back, relishing in feeling the flex of his strong muscles with each thrust.

He leans down, capturing your lips. His tongue tangles with yours as he picks up the pace, fucking you harder. 

"Look at the camera, baby," Joel murmurs against your neck. "Let's show it how good I make you feel."

You tilt your head, looking directly at the camera lens with heavy-lidded eyes. The knowledge that you are being recorded, that Joel will watch this later, that the two of you will get off while watching yourselves… it’s a new thrill for you. You moan louder, arching your back higher as Joel fucks you. 

"Touch yourself for me," he commands.

Your hand snakes between your bodies, fingers finding your clit. 

"Oh god, baby," you moan, your fingers working furiously at your clit as he pounds into you. "I'm so close."

Joel's rhythm falters slightly as he watches you touch yourself, sweat glistening on his brow. "That's it. Cum for me. Let me feel you."

Your voice echoes through the room as you cry out Joel’s name, your body trembling as your walls clench tightly around him. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, his hips snapping against yours. “So fucking good, you cum so fucking good for me. So fucking tight.”

He pulls your body towards him, sitting up on the bed, his cock still buried deep inside of you. You take control and ride him, your legs wrapping around his waist as you grind down on him. His hands grip your hips firmly, guiding you.

“That’s it baby. Take what you need from me,” he growls.

Your hands tangle in the short waves of his hair, pulling him in for a kiss. Your tongues exploring each other’s mouths, bodies glistening with sweat.

He breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours, his nose bumping against yours. “I love you. God damn baby, I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you moan as he thrusts up into you.  

He captures your lips again. “I’m close,” he groans against your mouth. “Cum with me baby. Give me one more.”

His hand snakes down between your bodies, his thumb finds your clit, rubbing firm circles against it as you bounce on his cock. 

You cry out his name as you orgasm, Joel’s fingers and cock working in tandem to push you over the ledge. You turn your head to the camera, staring into it as you chant Joel’s name while your walls clench around his cock. 

“Oh fuck baby,” Joel groans, his hips stuttering. “I’m gonna cum for you.”

In one swift motion, he flips you onto your back, your legs instinctively wrap around his waist as he buries his face into the crook of your neck, his hot breath fanning across your skin as he chases his own release. Your hands run down his back, feeling the flex of his muscles with each thrust.

"Cum for me, Joel, I want to feel you cum inside me."

With a final and deep thrust, Joel stills above you. He groans your name as he empties himself inside you, his cock pulsing with each spurt. He fills you with his release, still gently fucking you with soft thrusts, pushing his seed deeper inside you. 

He leans over and grabs the camera, his cock still plunged deep inside you. With a sly smile, he films your face, capturing the bliss across it.

“Look at you,” he admires, “smiling all sweetly, all drunk on my cock and cum, aren’t you baby?”

You moan a response and nod eagerly. 

He chuckles as he pulls out, shuffling his body down to settle in between your legs. Joel positions the camera between your thighs, spreading them apart and running a finger through your cunt, swollen and slick with his spend pulsating out of you.

“Look at you, leakin’ everywhere,” he groans, collecting himself across his fingers and sticking it inside you. “Can’t have that, now can we?” 

His eyes stay focused on the little screen, watching his fingers pump in and out of your overworked cunt. 

“Fuckin’ filthy baby,” he angles his fingers, your slick squelches loudly across the room. 

Writhing and whining under his touch, your skin is overheated, your pussy radiating heat across your body. 

He pulls his soaked finger out, wiping it across your folds. “Show me how you drip baby, let me see.” 

A gush of his cum leaks out of you, the warm liquid runs down your ass, pooling on the bed. 

“Fucccccccccck,” he growls. “Can’t stop looking at this.” 

He zooms out, capturing your whole body in the frame. 

“Tell me whose pussy this is,” he instructs.

“Yours,” you breathlessly respond.

“That’s it baby,” he growls, before his eyes lift from the camera and into yours. “I love you,” he softly says, his eyes rounding in reverence. 

“I love you too.”

He grins, standing up from the bed and switching off the camera before placing it down on the bedside table.

“That was incredible,” you sigh. “I can’t believe we just did that.” 

A smile spreads across his face as he leans down to give you a tender kiss on the lips. "We'll have to watch it later," he says before heading to the bathroom. He returns with a damp towel and gently wipes between your legs, before planting a kiss on your forehead and turning to leave the room.

“Where are you going?” you slur, too blissed out of your mind. 

“To get pie. I’m starving.”

[joocomics]

ಬ different kind of normal

pairing: idol!taehyun x fem!reader

genre: angst, smut — mdni! wc: 1.7k

contains: situationship, reunion sex, sub!reader, slight hint of dumbification, slight dacryphilia, unprotected sex, dirty talk, pet names, reader is emotional and cries during sex, not a happy ending (?)

a/n: this has been sitting in the drafts since august and it’s finally seeing the light of day. cannot believe such angsty smut is happening on joocomics, tbh i don’t think i’ll be writing anything similar anytime soon phew it was tricky and i realised that i need my happy endings. but i wanted to try smth new, i really hope you enjoy it </3 sometimes you just need a kim taehyun to numb your emotions

You go down the familiar stairs and walk into the bar. It’s loud, lit by the usual dim yellow-ish lights, the scent of alcohol and skin is covering every corner, wrapping around your silhouette.

Your eyes observe the place to search for him and it doesn’t take long to find him - he’s sitting on your usual spot which is distanced from every other table; it feels intimate and secluded.

None of the people who visit this bar know who he is, nor do they know you, and sitting on this specific table every time you see each other only enhances the feeling you get in these moments - like you and him are the only people existing in this place and time.

“Taehyun,” you greet him at once.

You haven’t said his name out loud in so long. You’re not allowed to talk about him to anyone; not that you want to anyway, you want to keep him to yourself though it feels nice to be able to roll it off your tongue again. It feels freeing, especially in his presence.

Maybe he missed hearing his name in your voice, because his eyes smile at the sound before he even turns to face you. The letters ring nicely, like his name is something he can feel caressing his skin when you’re the one saying it.

“You’re here.” He automatically leans forward after you sit down next to him; the usual gravitational force that always pulls you together is another thing he was anticipating to experience again.

His one arm goes over your shoulders and the sudden warmth enveloping you makes your knees weak. The truth is, they were already weak from the steps you had to take to reach your table, but now they feel like they’re about to melt.

Being so close to him months later feels like it’s your first date all over again. You hate it and love it all at the same time.

“I just ordered your favorite,” he says and you can hear the slight note of pride in his smooth voice.

His hair is covered from a black cap which he eventually takes off before running a hand through his hair; it grabs your attention with a new color that you haven’t seen him with in person before.

You point out the obvious fact about how he still remembers your order as you take a minute to observe the attractive features that make up the face you learned to love.

“Of course I do,” he simply replies, leaning in for a kiss.

The first kiss after three and a half months. It feels so exciting and electrifying, just like the very first one you had a year ago, but at the same time it feels familiar too - like you’re reminiscing on a comforting memory you haven’t looked back on for a while.

His hand slides up your thigh, then travels up your hip only to sneak in discreetly beneath your shirt, sending you pleasant shockwaves. Soon enough he breaks the kiss though, careful not to bring any unnecessary attention on you.

“Next month I’m gonna have a week off.” Taehyun speaks up after a moment of silence between the two of you. After a sip of his beer, he continues: “I was thinking that you can come visit me if you want.”

Yes… Yes. You do. You want to scream it out loud. But the only thing you do is breathe in, staring inside the cup of your cocktail; trying to force yourself to speak before your mind turns blank.

“You don’t need to worry about money,” he adds as he shifts his gaze to you, hopeful and anticipating of your response. “It’s all on me, baby.”

There it is - the reminder you needed before giving any answers. His money, his fame. His life that’s so unfitting to yours. The pink balloon you found yourself in for a moment as he shared about his plan, tempting you to naively build dreams about your one week together, it pops, and brings you back to the harsh reality.

“Tae…” You shake head, “no matter what we do or tell each other we can’t be normal.”

Taehyun’s brows furrow at your choice of word.

Normal.

“This has to end at some point, I don’t think we should complicate things any further… as we’ve already said before.” You exhale deeply after blurting out the things you’ve been practicing on your way here. He didn’t hear the sound that escaped your lips because of the music mixed with the chatter, but if he did, he’d have known that saying all of this cost you an immense amount of energy.

You don’t glance at him even once, but Taehyun on the other hand can’t stop staring at you like he’s in some sort of a bad dream that’ll end soon if he’s patient enough.

“Right, right…” He nods, finally able to force his eyes somewhere else. He peers down at his hands on the table that begin to tap nervously at the wooden surface, sharing almost the same rhythm as his heartbeat. “You’re right, that’s the wisest thing to do.”

You know it is, but hearing him agree turns out to be more painful than you expect.

For the best, this has to end soon, you remind yourself. Maybe not tonight, but tomorrow.

“I missed you,” Taehyun rises your body temperature through raspy whispers and open mouthed kisses which he scatters onto your skin almost in a rush; as if you’re going to disappear from his hands if he dares to slow down. “Missed you so fuckin’ much...”

His soft lips trace a path from your neck down to your cleavage and soon enough he’s even lower, running his tongue against your stomach before kissing that area sensually too. The slight moisture slipping from the corners of his mouth in addition to the delicate sucks makes you shudder as he simultaneously tugs on your underwear.

“Missed this sweet pussy too,” he invites his fingers into your walls effortlessly. His gaze focuses upon your lips and how they open for a silent gasp as he glides through with ease because of your already collected arousal. “Did she miss me?”

While anticipating an answer, Taehyun swirls his tongue inside his mouth before letting a string of saliva fall right onto your clit; he smears it all over your folds, provoking your thighs to open even wider for him.

“Tae—“ You arch spine, emphasising your need for something more than this lingering rush that’s growing in a pace that’s not quite enough for how much you ache for his touch right now. “Please…”

“I think she did.” A lustful spark shimmers in his eyes as his hand maintains its delicate motions. The movements make you moan every time his fingertips reach your sensitive bundle of nerves before slipping back down again. “Say it.”

At once he meets your eyes as his frame eventually hovers over your naked flushed body.

Your hands relax on his broad shoulders as your focus fixates on his face. Hopefully there’s not as much pain into your eyes as there is in your heart in this moment. You don’t want him to know how much exactly you’re actually hurting.

“I missed you every day,” you whisper softly as your noses touch; your mouths search for each other, thirsty for the other’s taste even more now. When you feel his hand guiding his cock to your entrance your breathing catches, but you still manage to repeat it. “Of course, I missed you.”

The second he hears your words, Taehyun crashes his lips against your mouth. Because he cannot bare hearing this one more time or because he enjoys the sound of it too much - he’s not able to tell.

As he leads the kiss swiftly your legs wrap loosely around his hips and your warm walls immediately squeeze onto him as he quickens the pace, eager to make up for all the time you were away from each other.

“Fuck—“ He grunts at the growing pleasure that he reminisced about night after night before breathing out against your neck: “Finally… I swear to god nobody else can make me feel this way.”

His voice, husky and domineering despite his on going confessions, echoes in your fuzzy mind. Although you shouldn’t, you put in all the effort you can into memorising each word he says; you hold onto it tightly as the continuous thrusts gradually turn more rigid and sharp causing your nails to sink into his shoulder blades. However, as amazing the buzzing sweet wave inside you feels, you cannot suppress the sadness that’s about to overpower you first.

You swallow another failed attempt to fight back the bitter emotion, but you can feel it lingering everywhere - in your heart, inside your stomach, on your tongue once he slows down his hips to grip your face, and inside your throat that feels like it’s closing up.

“Why are you crying?”

Taehyun peers into your eyes that are sparkling at him with a bittersweet emotion which he hasn’t gotten used to seeing inside them. His gaze lowers to your puffy lips, trembling as they separate with hesitation.

“I… I don’t know what’s gotten to me, sorry,” your arms wrap tighter to pull him closer. His thumb caressing your wet cheek only makes it worse for you. “Please, k-keep going.”

“Sweetheart,” he whispers under his breath as he fulfills your wish by resuming his thrusts - more forcefully though to distract you from the sorrow, “I’ll make it go away now, okay? Focus on me, baby.”

You grasp his shoulders while the delight starts to numb your mind with each intense push of his cock. The hits against your sweet spot are fast and strong enough to weaken your memory right away.

“There you go,” Taehyun’s pants blend with your whimpers ringing beneath him as the tears on your skin begin to dry. “Such pretty eyes, look at me, love.”

Something about seeing you cry for the first time made his heart clench, and now his mind fogs up, leaving him with only one goal - to make you cum as many times as possible so you can’t think of anything for the rest of the night.

Right now, he’d erase every single thought from your brain if he knows he’s capable of doing so.

The moment he feels you’re tightening up Taehyun’s eyes open so he doesn’t miss out on one flinch of yours.

“Yeah, I’m here, baby,” he murmus, trying to keep moving forward while your peak lasts, causing you to quiver beneath his frame. “Let go, baby, I’m right here.”

Yes, he’s here, and tomorrow morning he’s still going to be here, but you’ll be gone, because this time if he tries to stop you like all the previous times, you’re not going to look back.

But for now, you and Taehyun are close as you’ve never been before.

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

! please keep in mind that english is not my first language. i apologise for any mistakes i’ve might missed

[intrepidacious]

❤️ a good time!

tat!bucky’s favorite (or least favorite) thing about twelve

… why not both?

cause and effect

chapter summary: How Bucky fell in love with Twelve: Slowly, and then all at once.

pairing: bucky barnes x time witch!reader

word count: 1.8k

warnings: light angst and negative self talk (this is bucky y'all); some light pining 🤭please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: i've literally had this one in my drafts for about two years and i hadn't actually planned on posting it for a while yet but i did promise distractions. and i missed him. i always do.

this is part of the time after time universe but can be read as a teaser and/or a standalone 💚

Bucky’s relationship with time has been fractured ever since a cold day in January that stole away the life he was headed towards and turned him into the monster underneath a child’s bed.

It’s hard to feel good about the concept of time travel once a lot of your own time has been taken away from you. Even now, there’s only so many things in his life he has control over; like the fact that he’s actively choosing to go back to therapy now, or that he’s able to keep a pet for the first time since he was thirteen years old. Stupid little things, like what kind of food he wants for lunch or whether he should take the stairs or the elevator.

Every single one of these things he’s fought for tooth and nail, clawing his way out of the past and carving out his own space in reality again, struggling, trying, hanging on like he wasn’t able to all those decades ago.

He’s probably still failing.

Some days, clinging to the present is tense and brings him nothing but grief. Sometimes, it feels like he’s going to have to mourn the past forever, whatever might have been; and maybe that’s his sentence.

He wouldn’t have wished it on anyone. He deserves worse.

And then there’s you.

Flickering in and out of time, constantly moving, changing in the time it takes him to blink.

It’s infuriating to him, the way you get to use your powers. The way you don’t need to think about consequences, because they don’t have to be permanent, don’t have to be something you need to live with for the rest of your life. To you, time has always been something that can be changed with a single snap of your fingers. Whatever you do can just as easily be undone.

Once you decide you’ve seen enough, you can just take the scene from the top.

And you’re so stubborn.

You’ve already seen how this goes on if you let it, and so you’re always right, end of story. There’s an ease to your steps because of it, a nonchalance in every movement, and it makes Bucky’s blood boil to see it so plainly.

With all the good that you could do, you choose to do nothing instead; to stay out of the picture entirely and burn through your powers just because you can, wasting them all on things that don’t mean anything.

How many lives could you potentially save?

Instead, you consume disturbing amounts of caffeine and then continue to provide running commentary to the world around you based on things that, to him, never happen at all. "Do this", "don’t do that", "take the other one", or, his absolute favorite, "don’t make me fix that".

Why not? he wants to ask, say, demand. Why not fix all of it?

It takes a while for him to realize that all of your fire means you’re burning from both ends. In fact, it takes Becca.

"You should bring her by sometime," she tells him on a rainy afternoon. "While I’m still alive and kicking."

His little sister just turned ninety-eight. Her kitchen sideboard is filled with black-and-white pictures reminding him of all the things in her life that he missed, arranged in perfect little wooden frames.

"And why would I do that?" Bucky asks, scowling at his cards.

"Because you keep mentioning her," Rebecca says dryly and whisks the cards onto her pile with quick fingers.

"You gotta be kidding me," he groans, noting down her points. "And I don’t."

"Do, too. I don’t remember you being this terrible at this game."

"Because I haven’t caught you when you’re cheating."

"Exactly. It’s embarrassing." She wins the next trick, too. "How’s Tuesday?"

"Am I clairvoyant now?"

"I was thinking lunch."

"No." Finally, he gets a couple of points down. When he glances up at his sister again, she’s looking at him expectantly and he sighs. "What?"

"You can’t fault me for being curious," she says. She has just as many opinions as she did when she was sixteen. Her eyes are still the same, too, the same shade of blue as his and the same glimmer of archness as their mother.

"Don’t you think it’s weird?" Bucky says, finally giving in. "The whole … time thing?"

"I think it’s very weird, but so’s you returning from the dead and kvetching about it." Her eyes narrow when he starts to protest. His mouth closes again. "Besides," she continues, shuffling her hand around, "it doesn’t sound all that fun."

"To have the power to never make mistakes?"

"To have to live through every mistake twice without anyone knowing."

Something about her words strikes him like a match, and so he tilts his head and squints at her and thinks that maybe, just maybe, he’s got it wrong.

That you carry not only your past, but all the futures you’ve seen that never came to be; all the what ifs having turned into answers.

And he thinks, how nice. And then he thinks, how horrifying.

It’s a thought that follows him over the next couple of weeks, and it starts reframing your interactions for him, in a way.

"Will you stop staring at me," you say without looking up from your book.

Honestly, he can’t. He’s still trying to pick up on it, the split second between before and after, that little change of your posture, your hair, your face, that tells him more time has passed for you than it has for him.

It’s more of a feeling than anything else, something right at the back of his mind telling him that something is different if he concentrates on it enough, but he’s never sure what it is. And he doesn’t like that; not one bit.

So Bucky crosses his arms and leans back. "Why?"

A flash of irritation makes your nose twitch, even though you still refuse to meet his eye.

"It’s rude, for one."

"Noted." He waits for the two that never comes. "Anything else?"

And there it is. A blink-and-you-miss-it kind of moment, like the air shifting around you ever so slightly, a certain knowing glint in your eyes when you roll them and get up.

"Annoying!"

He can’t help it. He wonders what your original answer was.

***

Bucky’s relationship with time changes slowly, the deepest cuts carefully mending themselves until looking back doesn’t feel like getting his bones ripped apart anymore, until he looks at you on a cold day in January and realizes he’s fucked.

At first, he hopes that it might be a fluke. A trick of the light, maybe, or seasonal allergies. That’s the reason why his eyes are drawn to your face as soon as he enters a room; the closest source of discomfort always the thing he seeks out first. That’s the reason why his chest constricts like that.

But the truth is, he knows this feeling has been building slowly; he’s just been unwilling to admit it.

Something soft and delicate has started to nestle in that gaping hole inside his chest, unbothered by the walls he’s so carefully built up.

He’d never planned on you.

Fuck, if he’d known in the beginning, he might’ve …

No, he thinks. He wouldn’t have changed anything.

Because you’re too good for him, anyway, and he knows it. Smart and strong and funny and gorgeous and capable of things he’s not sure he’ll ever fully comprehend; and it’s worse than that, because he knows you now.

You’re grouchy in the mornings and you make terrible jokes when you’re nervous and you have a strange feud with his cat and your smile makes him want to put his fist through the wall because what is he supposed to do with any of this?

He’s not made for this dance anymore. That part was taken from him so long ago, and he’s delusional to think that anything or anyone could return it to him after all the bridges he’d been made to cross and burn. Why would someone like him deserve to be given tenderness anymore in this life? Why would anyone want to try?

But that foolish thing blooming inside him feels a lot like hope, despite of what he keeps telling himself.

There’s just something about you that keeps pulling him in, and honestly, he’s tired of fighting it. Then again, the thought of you feeling the same is nothing short of ridiculous.

He’s not the same guy as he used to be. Hell, sometimes he’ll look at old photographs and barely recognize himself.

He remembers life before, and maybe that’s what makes this so hard. He remembers talking to pretty girls, their bright smiles, their soft skin underneath his hands. Good times were easy to come by, even though life was hard in a different way, then. But he was good at it; acting on his feelings alone used to be simple, fun, second-nature almost.

It’s different now.

It used to be different only once before, and look where that’s gotten him.

No, he can’t say anything. Not ever; or not yet, at any rate.

Sometimes, though, Bucky lies awake at night and listens to the rain knocking against his window, and he remembers how much easier falling asleep used to be when he had someone next to him and his mattress didn’t swallow him alive.

He’ll remember the dark circles under your eyes and wish it could be as easy as asking, too. He wonders if there’s a universe you remember where he tries, but he doubts it.

These days, he knows his mind again. And it’s not a burden he wants to share.

You have enough to carry on your own.

Maybe, he thinks as he stares up at the ceiling at three in the morning, maybe there’s still a certain comfort in your powers, in knowing all the possibilities, but it also means constantly losing something that’s real; always mourning the life that isn’t.

He can relate to that.

And maybe that means you can relate to him, too, at least a little bit.

It’s odd, how comforting that last little thought is to him.

When he does eventually fall asleep, you make your way into his dreams, too, sometimes. Those times are the worst.

You’re you, and he’s him, and there’s a sort of "us" in the both of you that doesn’t exist in real life. So when you let him lace his fingers with yours and press your lips to his forehead and it feels easy, that’s usually the point when he wakes up, heart tumbling over itself, right hand tracing the ghost of your touch, always too much, never enough.

He knows it’s not real.

He knows it’s just an indulgence; selfish, really.

The problem is that whatever small hope has decided to settle in his very core is impossible to kill, no matter how much he pushes it down; and he’s not sure he wants to lose it again.

Secretly, silently, serendipitously, you make him have faith in the future again.

But it’s not time for it yet.

if you want to read more about these two (plus a lot of time related shenanigans), read the main series here. or check out the rest of my bucky fics, that's also an option 💚 i don't do tag lists but you can follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications

[persephonesdreams21]

Sweet Tooth

A/N: Well let me say first and foremost. My bad guys. Lol I didn't mean to keep this rotting in my drafts for almost a year, but life got crazy. I hope you guys enjoy this

Warnings: Explicit. Oral(fem receiving) Body worship. Finger sucking. Squirting. Multiple orgasms. Willy being down bad.

Summary: You’re sweeter than any chocolate he could cook up, and Willy is all too eager to show you just how much he craves you. Your smiles, your attention…your taste.

The last few weeks of your life have been vibrant.

Filled with technicolor so unlike the dreary years you’ve spent in this town. Between the weather and the chipped cobblestone, England was so gray this time of year. Frigid and frozen over with winter winds and a constant flurry of snow.

It was on a particularly cold night that you’d found him.

Saved him, he’d argue whenever he told the story. Saved him from Bleacher and his mangy mutt.

“Don't you ever get tired of harassing people?” you'd sighed as you'd stumbled upon the scene. A familiar one- another poor soul about to get roped into Bleacher and Scrubbit’s barely concealed hoodwink. Everyone who’d grown up in this city knew better.

“Why don't you mind your business, Y/N. And leave us be. Both me and mister-” Bleacher looks to the man. The one with the sharp cheekbones and the ostentatious velvet trench coat.

“Wonka. Willy Wonka” And he’d said it with such innocence gleaming in those bright eyes that in that moment, you knew you couldn't let him fall victim to the cruel scam.

That’s how you’d ended up with an unexpected housemate.

The home you’d grown up in is nothing special and far from fancy, but you do happen to have a spare room. One with an old fold-out bed that’s more comfortable than it looks. It may have been stupid, but you couldn't help but trust him. Want to help him, feel this pull to him…

That was weeks ago. Almost a month now.

Willy living with you, under your roof, feels oddly natural. Like it had been years that the two of you had been co-existing, he fits into your space like he was destined to come to you. Like he belongs there; the two of you working together like a well oiled machine.

You cook dinner, he washes the dishes and wipes down the counters. The house has never been neater. Even though you try to deny them, every day when he returns from the Gallery Gourmet, he leaves silver shillings in the key bowl on the kitchen table.

“It’s not much…but I want to make sure I’m paying my way. I’m real appreciative of all you’ve done for me” he tells you so earnestly it makes you blush. You sneakily slip his sovereigns in the pockets of his trousers when you do his laundry.

He doesn't know it but he’s helped you too. And not just by scrubbing dishes.

You truly hadnt realized how lonely you were until he came along, and you were terrified of losing your found companion. You’d hold on to him for as long as he’d allow.

Your new favorite time of the day is the evenings; quiet ones. With a fire burning in the hearth and the radio playing softly. You and Willy curl up on the couch, warm in your respective quilts. And read. Well, you read to him. At his persistent insistence.

“Aren't you tired of me blabbing yet?” you tease as you pick up the dog eared copy of The Hobbit that the two of you had been working your way through.

Willy gives you a grin, all boyish and crooked “Never that. I adore the way you tell stories”

That makes your stomach swoop dangerously and you shake your head “You’re a flatter, Mr. Wonka”

“No, no. Your voice is more melodic than the bells of Notre Dame” and when he says things like that to you, how are you not supposed to swoon? From any other man it would make you scoff, but from Willy his compliments always feel different.

Like maybe he’s telling the truth…

You ignore it and change the subject to something that feels safer “One day i'm gonna put you in front of a map and make you show me all the places you’ve been”

“Honestly, It would probably be easier to mark off the few places I haven't been-”

“Oh ho ho ho. How modest of you, great explorer” You tease around a laugh and his ears redden a bit at your ribbing.

“It's not like that and you know it” Willy defends “It was a lot less glamorous than it sounds. I spent seven years under the deck scrubbing pots and then collecting ingredients for my chocolate whenever we made port”

“And wooing girls on every continent?” I ask and that blush on his ears spreads to the high apples of his cheeks.

He’s a pretty one and you know even though he pretends to be demure, might come off as innocent, he’s anything but.

You’d gotten a small taste of it, and hadn't thought of anything else since. But neither of you had quite mustered the bravery to talk about that yet.

The two of you settle in on the old worn couch with mugs of steaming hot chocolate, courtesy of Willy. He’d spoiled you rotten, made you develop a terrible sweet tooth. Any cavities you develop, you’re completely blaming on him.

“Willy” you whine.

“Just try it, please. I made this recipe especially for you”

You take a sip.

The first rush of flavor over your taste buds has your eyes fluttering.

“Mmm, oh my god” you can't help but moan. It’s the most complex thing you’ve ever tasted. Truly. He’s outdone himself- cinnamon and warmth.The kind that feels like a a lovers embrace. Sweet milk chocolate. Is that a hit of rose? “This is insane, what’s in this?”

At your praise Willy smiles like the cat that caught the canary “Cinnamon bark from Sri Lanka, Wild roses from China. Coconut milk”

You look over at him, appraising. Trying to figure out why his voice has taken on that husk. Why his eyes are boring into so intensely.

“What a peculiar combination of flavors” you whisper and Willy bites his lip.

“Its become my favorite combination lately” he admits “but I can't seem to get it quite right. You see, I was allowed to taste it only once, and its tormented me since”

Your breath hitches. Flashes of tangling tongues tongues and his lips pressed against yours. It had only been one kiss but it had wreaked havoc on you since.

You eyeball the mug in your hands. Maybe you weren't the only one suffering with the after effects after all.

“Is this chocolate supposed to taste like?...”

“You. Yes. Your kiss. Your tongue and your lips” Willy nods. “I don't know if anything can come close to the real thing, but I tried”

Your heart thunders behind your ribcage. The longing in his voice matches the one within your gut, the need that had been brewing.

“I’ve spent hours. Thinking of you, trying to imitate your taste so that I could have it one more time. Spicy, but not quite. More warm. Sweet…the floral note from your lipstick. I’ve been nearly everywhere and i’ve never sampled anything quite like it”

With his confession, the thin thread of control snaps.

You’d been trying, so hard. Trying not to scare him away. Trying to keep the intensity of your feelings at bay so that he’d stay, even after he secured his shop. That he wouldnt leave you when he found success-

You place the mug down on the old wood of the side table-

“Please” Willy’s pathetic as he grabs at your arm “Don't go, I understand if this was too much but I- I didn't know how else to show you”

You lean into his touch, not away and that seems to calm him if only just.

Of course this sweet silly man couldn't just tell you that he cared for you. That was not his style. He was bad with words, so much better with his hands. To him, he’d shown you the most sincere form of devotion, crafted your portrait with his most loved medium.

“I feel the same” you say, voice quivering just the tiniest bit. His eyes melt and he comes in close, forehead knocking against yours.

When you kiss him its hot from the start. It’s wet and electric, charged with emotion. With desperation. Willy’s sinewy hands are all over you, cupping your chin, squeezing your waist, so much more bold this time. The waiting had lowered any inhibitions he might have had.

It’s frantic, him unbuttoning your blouse and you tugging at his trousers.

You need more. Need to feel his dark silky hair between your fingers, his pale skin under your palms.

Nothing feels like enough. Not when he mouths at your garment covered breasts or when you wiggle out of your skirt.

You reach into his boxers, wanting to palm at the blood hot hardness you’ll find there-

He groans and pulls his mouth away from your neck, where he’d been suckling marks into the delicate skin. “Wait, don’t”

“Why?” you’re confused, you can feel him. Firm and needy under the cloth.

“Because I want to take care of you first. With my mouth. If you’ll let me”

And oh. Oh.

All you can do is nod. Lay back and let him take what he needs, you feel more vulnerable than ever before. When he blankets you with his body, you realize that you also feel safer. Adored by this man, by this odd beautiful man.

Willy is a tactile person. He wants to touch and taste. And so that is what he does.

There’s so much to feel. Your heavy breasts, peaked with hard little nipples that he swirls his tongue round. Your belly and wide hips, so soft, so much give, he watches his fingers dig in and indent. Your thighs, so plush.

He buries his head between them. And inhales, deeply.

“Willy!” you exclaim, scandalized, trying to close your legs, but he shoulders his way deeper.

“You smell so good” Willy reassures you, his nose pressed against the wet patch on your knickers. Groaning like it’s the best scent in the world.

He takes his time, savors the moment as he peels the damp fabric away. His eyes locked on how the strings of slick stretch and shine in the low fire light. You’re so wet, the puffy lips of your cunt sopping already. And when he takes his first tentative lap, he knows that he could do this for hours and there's no way he’d ever be able to replicate it.

Nectar from the gods. Earthy and sour sweet.

You whimper as he feasts, as he gorges greedily. The sight of his dark head bobbing between your thighs makes you shudder. It’s almost unreal. That he’s doing this, that he wants you. His arms are wrapped around the back of your thighs, holding them up, holding you open.

You come for the first time with your fingers buried in his hair, pressing his face deep into you. Riding his nose and tongue.

For the second time you’re arching away from the sharp pleasure.

“Willy” you choke on your whines as his fingers reach deep into you, hitting that sensitive place inside over and over. You’re shaking with overstimulation, but hes groaning like he’s the one being brought to orgasm over and over.

He pulls his wet mouth away every so often. To tell you how beautiful you are. How good you taste.

“I can’t” you whisper, warningly.

“Please” Willy insists, his breath against your clit “One more, one more for me”

You can't deny him anything, can you?

You arch right up from the couch cushions, squealing as you hit that peak again. But this time is different, this time something inside you bursts, pushing wetness out in a flood.

Willy lets out a gutted sound from where he’s smothered by your thighs, that have tightened vice like around his head during your orgasm.

Coming down from it is almost painful and you’ve never sobbed from pleasure but well. There’s a first time for everything. While you shake and shiver Willy’s gentle, petting your thighs and tummy in soothing circles. Pulling away from your over sensitive flesh.

He stares up at you, his gaze heavy and his tongue poking out every few seconds. Swiping at his wet lips. Like he can't stop tasting you. It’s debauched. Beautiful.

“You are the best thing i’ve ever tasted” Willy pants out the vow, raw with honesty. Drunk on the flavor of you.

Wryly, you wonder if he’ll try to manufacture it into a truffle. A fancy bon bon.

You smile as he climbs back fully on top of you, your arms wrapping around him and holding him close. You kiss the shell of his ear before whispering-

“My turn to taste you”

🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬

I never thought I’d be writing Willy Wonka smut but well. Here I am lol

[hippolotamus]

Fuck it Friday 🎖️

i'm not honestly in the mood, but fuck it. amirite?

So @diazsdimples sends me an angsty ask for EddieTommy and it just... took on a life of it's own. Then there was more from @peppermintquartz and James (here and here) and now I feel like a 3-part series is gonna happen. (Eventually. Because I promised I would finish mer!Buck.) Allow me to introduce you. (and please feel free to ask me all the things about this because these 2 have taken over my brain to an unhelpful degree.)

Part 1 (with Moodboard!)

Eddie and Tommy meet in the throes of WW2. Tommy enlisted voluntarily but Eddie’s been drafted into it. They become fast friends with an underlying Something. Eddie worries when Tommy gets sent out with the bomber unit. Likewise, Tommy frets about Eddie being a medic and having to crawl through the front lines.

One night Eddie walks into an underground club that Tommy’s been frequenting. They share a dance and then much more than that. It leads to them conducting a secret relationship over the next several years, sustained by coded messages and risky meet ups. It's hell, but it's theirs.

Eventually, in the wake of surrenders and defeat, it’s time to go their separate ways. Eddie back to Texas and Tommy to California, wondering what happens next when the one beautiful thing to come out of the war has to be cast aside.

Part 1 is gonna be an angsty cliffhanger. Their story will pick up in Part 2 with Eddie and Tommy both trying to fit in and uphold societal expectations of the time (marriage, kids, white picket fence). They can pretend, it's what they've always had to do. It just becomes a whole lot more complicated when they unintentionally walk back into each other's lives.

np tagging (and lmk if you do or do not want to be tagged for this wip/ship) @diazsdimples @dorkydiaz @swiftiefirefighters @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @bucksbignaturals

@bi-buckrights @peppermintquartz @theotherbuckley @freewayshark @loveyouanyway

@tizniz @diazheartsbuckley @saybiwithme @daffi-990 @bidisasterevankinard

@spotsandsocks @dr-shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @stereopticons @kitteneddiediaz

@your-catfish-friend @lemonzestywrites @thekristen999 @rainbow-nerdss @steadfastsaturnsrings

@inell @bucksbiawakening @giddyupbuck @monsterrae1 @eowon

@rewritetheending and anyone else who wants to 😘

[greenduvet]

flowers she gave him pt. 1

A/N: Hi loves!! So excited to finally share this story that has been brewing in my head for what feels like forever. I haven’t posted any of my writing publicly for years! So this is a big step for me, and I just couldn’t keep these thoughts to myself any longer. I want to say the biggest thank you to @luiscarrutherss and @galarian-weezing-on-prep for not only reading the early draft but making me feel excited to write and share my story. Also my girlfriend for helping me edit and watching succession. This will be a friends to lovers slow burn, so if that’s your jam like mine stick around! Anyways, enjoy mwah!

The floor was silent. Most people had gone home hours ago, the lights off in most offices. It was always so odd this time of night — looking out over all the different worlds happening just below, life continued on so vividly yet it felt so stiff and halted here.

It wasn’t the plan to have been here this late. Really he should have picked you up hours ago, the dinner reservation that had been made earlier this week now way past check in.

The reservation was Roman’s idea. Maybe a poor attempt at an apology, the only way a Roy knew how to apologize — dance around it yet never letting it fully resolve. You were used to it by now, a lifetime of Roman had made you well familiar. Yet this time felt different. Roman for once in his life was being distant, independent. He would blame it on work, family, stress, but you knew him better than that.

Tearing your eyes from the window, you look at your phone. Still nothing from Roman, not even a heads up that he would be an hour late to the aforementioned reservation. The thought of sending another ignored text filled you with a sense of irritation. Why wait here when you could see him face to face?

Without a second thought you haphazardly throw your things into your bag, muttering softly to yourself. The lights of your borderline clinical office flick off as you shut the door.

The way to Romans office was nearly tattooed in your brain from years of walking back and forth. Though your office was just down the hall, tonight it felt like a dreadful journey into unfamiliar territory. This wasn't how the night was supposed to go.

Turning the corner you could see him through the thick glass walls. He was staring at his computer, full attention to whatever was on the screen. You swear you had never seen him work so hard in his life… or at least pretend to work this hard. With a soft sigh, you walk into the office and stop in front of his desk, his eyes not once glancing from the screen.

“Late night?” The tone of your voice is dry, maybe a bit sarcastic. You weren’t used to this Roman, the detached, focused type. He had always been clingy, willing to throw his work down as soon as you had walked in.

Even standing directly in front of him, his eyes still never move from the screen. Moving his free hand from the desk to run through his already tousled hair, he hums softly, not bothering to give a full response.

Another sigh leaves your mouth and you turn to take a seat on the piece of foam covered in velvet they called a couch, there more for decor than actual comfort.

~~~

While your back is turned, Roman’s eyes glance quickly to you. The perfect image of a long day, he watched as you slowly dropped your bag without a thought. The whole day he had fought the urge to text you and watched the minutes tick past the planned reservation. He didn’t understand why he was doing this, pushing you away and trying to hurt you. Yet he felt like he was the only one hurting here.

As quick as his eyes lingered on you they were back on the screen, looking at the same report sheet he had been rereading for over an hour now. The sight of you settling on the couch out of the corner of his eye made his brows furrow softly. Why was he doing this again?

“Uh, ya know, Dad had me do some stuff.” He mumbles softly in response, his voice high in octave and almost tense. God, he didn’t even believe himself. He rips the hand in his hair down and begins to rapidly type something on the computer, trying his best to sell his stupid ‘busy’ act. You weren’t buying it, but it was unspoken that you and Roman never really did feelings — maybe that's why you were still so close.

~~~

Sighing, you pull your phone out and slip off the uncomfortable shoes you were wearing. It seems like Roman won’t be finished anytime soon, so neither will you.

The two of you work in a tense but comfortable silence, you clearing old emails and roman rapidly slamming keys. It was routine, though it didn’t keep you from noticing that what was once so familiar was now slowly changing. The silence still comfortable, yet more deafening than before.

“We had a reservation for tonight, did you forget?” Your voice breaks the silence, addressing the elephant in the room. Panning your view to roman, you can tell the question makes him squirm. The vein on his forehead bulged, his eyes widening ever so slightly at the screen.

You wait to hear some poor excuse, something around how it wasn’t his fault or to fuck off… but it never comes. Roman just continues to slam on the keys, the discomfort only growing on his face.

Sitting up, you nearly roll your eyes for what feels like the hundredth time of the night. You didn’t have time to waste sitting twiddling your thumbs to expect a coherent response from Roman when he obviously wasn't interested in giving you one. Slipping on your tight shoes, you grab your bag and rise wordlessly.

You look at Roman, hoping for something. For him to look at you, acknowledge that you were here for him. His eyes remained glued to the screen, though it seems like there is a deeply rooted panic there. 5...10…30 seconds go by and he does nothing.

The voice in your head repeating a mantra of fuck this over and over finally wins, and you turn to the door to leave. Though it hurt, you were tired of this back and forth. That, and your bed sounded much more appealing than the stone couch.

~~~

The second you leave Romans office, his eyes tear from the screen to your disappearing figure. The feeling of panic that had been bubbling in his chest all week started to explode into a deeper fear — you were walking away. He knew he deserved it, but still — what the fuck? Part of him thinks to leave you be and ignore your texts again, but his heart is screaming at him to follow you, chase after you and stop pushing you away like he had been for weeks.

He rises from his desk, leaving his computer unlocked and hastily makes it over to where you’d gone off to.

~~~

It feels like the elevator is taking forever on purpose. Maybe to taunt you for waiting for Roman, or maybe because deep down you had hoped he would come after you. Still, you waited for the doors to open so you could forget about today and the weird feeling in your chest at your best friend ignoring you. Why did it feel like you might actually lose him this time? Roman had seen you through your worst, and you’d seen him through his. But this dynamic was new, and didn’t feel like something you could recover from.

Finally, the high pitched ding breaks you from your thoughts, the doors sliding open to the luxury elevator awaiting you. Stepping in, you scan your badge and wait to be taken to ground level once again. Wine sounded good tonight, lots of it.

The doors begin to close, but before they can shut a hand is shoved between them, forcing them to open. Roman. He was there, face slightly flushed. It was funny, because Roman had never been the one to chase after you originally.

~~~

The sun felt hot – almost scorching. It was the end of June and finally it was starting to feel like summer in the hamptons. The backyard seemed to stretch on forever and was decked in long tables covered in lavish meals. This was a yearly event Logan held for his “partners” and their families — It was for the people who knew where the bodies were hidden. The whole ‘get away’ was to keep them close.

Though the event was mostly filled with adults, a few children were scattered around. A boy almost in his older teens, one a few years younger doing his best to fit in with the adults. An even younger boy with messy hair and big eyes, a young girl with fiery red hair, and lastly another girl who didn’t really fit in with the others. Yet that didn’t stop her from trying.

“Roman! Look at this – it's a worm!” You held out the stick with a worm dangling from it, the soft blue dress hanging on your tiny frame most definitely ruined. The wide grin on your face only grew as Romans eyes widened in disgust as he turned in the opposite direction. You would only start to chase after him again in response, as you had all afternoon.

This was a game between just you and Roman — you bugged, poked, nagged, and in response he would run away, gag, and ignore. For some reason your tiny brain just never got the memo that he couldn’t stand you. Things were easier back then. Innocent.

The sound of a loud bell stops you in your steps, Roman halting ahead of you. Dinner time. Placing the worm gently back to the ground you follow the children you came to know as the Roys.

The feeling of eyes on you from your parents and other bodies burnt like fire on your skin as you approached the dinner table. You hadn’t meant to dirty the dress, but running through the vast yard with the people you called “friends” had made you forget — forget that this was a performance, and that you needed to set a good example so that your family could stand out. Your mother would have words to say about this later.

Each child slid into their assigned seat at their own table away from the adult conversations happening at the other, longer table. You couldn’t help but feel a little relieved — you didn’t fully understand that whole world yet at the ripe age of 5, but you knew enough to be bored. Shiv felt the same way you did, her face more relaxed now than it had been at the sound of the ringing bell.

Roman’s seat was the one next to yours, and it was made obvious by the soft groan that left his mouth when he saw the tag of his name next to yours. Dramatically, he pulled his chair from the table, each action over dramatized and nearly throwing his body into the seat. Though the sour look didn't last long on his face as his eyes panned over to you and your dirty blue dress.

“Mommy and Daddy won’t be very happy with that, now will they?” The sour look fades from his face, a devilish grin replacing it. His tone is teasing and rude. It wasn’t anything new with Roman, though. The only attention he spared to give you was the more unpleasant kind. But it didn’t stop your obsession with trying to break him down and play with you.

You return his comment with a pout and look away from him, your hands finding themselves busy undoing the neatly folded table napkin at your place setting. Gently your fingers pull it apart, corner by corner. Finally you place it gently on your lap, your head high as you reply. “It was an accident. Maybe if you played nice, I wouldn't be messy.”

Roman was almost surprised with the response he was met with, a little smirk filled his lips. He couldn’t help but feel put in his place. He nodded to himself, taking the napkin and ripping the cloth out of its fold. Vastly different from the way you had done it with so much meaning. Maybe you weren’t as annoying as Roman thought.

The dinner was pretty tame. The children made soft conversation about various topics — the summer vacations they had planned, the extracurriculars, the movies they wanted to see. While the adults stuck to business conversation, how it always was and would be. It felt nice though, for once being around other children who somewhat understood your lifestyle. That, and it was a lot better than the company of your au pair.

After dinner, you find yourself with Shiv in the garden playing a game of fairies while running around the well maintained garden of roses. The sound of your feet against the gravel and shared giggles is all that can be heard — a pure moment of childhood innocence. Your dress slowly changed into one more brown than blue, Shiv’s own dress dirtying as well. It didn’t matter though, because for once you were just girls playing.

Logan’s booming voice rips you and Shiv from the moment. You can’t make out anything he is saying, but the both of you know it can't be good. You look to Shiv but her eyes are already on your face, wide and crystal blue. Then you hear it clear as day, the only word that mattered. Roman.

Looking around, you find a flower from one of the many bushes and pluck it gently, making sure to not damage any petals. You didn’t know Roman well yet but you knew well enough that this was normal. The sound of Logan's booming voice most times directed at him, as he seemed to always be the easiest target. Though, there was something about this time that felt worse than the others.

Without a second thought you run off, away from Shiv and the flower garden, carefully cradling the small white flower in your palm. The soft sound of sniffling guiding where to go, eventually leading you to the side of the oversized house.

There he was — sitting on the floor, knees to his chest, and a hand holding his cheek in pain. The spitting image of a kicked puppy.

This was worse than the other times.

Wordlessly you sit next to Roman, eyes not daring to look at him, but glued to the wall with ivy overgrowing. Before Roman can protest or run away, you bring the small white flower into view. A smile fills your lips before placing the flower onto his knee with all the care in the world.

That was the moment everything changed.

~~~

The elevator doors open fully and Roman steps into it with you. Your name falls from his lips as his hands comb through his hair for the umpteenth time that night. “Look– Fuck. Let’s just grab dinner, okay? There’s gotta be someplace still open and half edible around the block.”

You can tell he is trying his best to contain his expression and stay in control of the moment, but he's failing. Miserably.

His hazel eyes watery and nearly pleading, begging you to look at him and forgive him for being a total ass.

Looking him up and down, you hesitate. Maybe to make him sweat or to make him feel how you did all day, you weren’t sure.

“Wherever we go, I want hashbrowns.” You tear your eyes away from roman and click the button that would take you to the lobby. Immediately there is air in the elevator again, Roman’s pleading eyes vanishing. He always seemed to get his way with you.

[syndrossi]

resonant ch31 dvd commentary

This one was a doozy, as everyone on Tumblr had a front row view of. I wasn't thrilled with the draft on Thursday, but after some additional eyes and another comprehensive round of edits, I'm happy with how it turned out.

You can really see my struggles with it in the words cut, which were a minimum of 1500 (those are the ones where I extracted more than one paragraph into my scraps doc).

Favorite line(s):

The walk back to the holdfast was like a slow wakening from a dream, and yet Daemon felt desperately tired, his body aching with a fatigue so deep it seemed to scrape the very marrow of his bones.

I was quite proud of the visceral feel of this one.

Jon stood without meaning to, Jon Redfort’s hurt mingling with the rage that surged within his chest. “She hated him. She hated every reminder of him. They dyed Rhaegar’s hair until they couldn’t, and even before that, she could barely look at him. She loved me,” he said, the words choking him, the truth of it almost unbearable, Lady Stark’s love through a distorted mirror, only this time, he was Robb. “And Raymar would cry himself to sleep, convinced it was his own failing.”

The theme of Jon's role being flipped so that he is now in Robb's shoes is one we've been exploring since chapter one, where he notices the way Raymar is treated vs him. It's such a painful thing to deal with, because it both stirs memories of his own treatment by Lady Stark, and the guilt that Jon Redfort has always felt about it. Even though it's not directed at him, the secondhand experience through Raymar reopens those wounds.

Jon dealing with the part of him that is Jon Redfort is another theme we'll explore later on, particularly during the Runestone arc, but we're seeding some of his struggles now.

(Jon continually urging Rhaegar not to mourn Rhea is partly born of this, too. On some level, he believes she does not deserve his grief. And it's easier for him to ignore his own grief that way, or avoid dealing with the guilt-tangled love her feels for her.)

Favorite Details

Marriage hunt

Since the harvest ball is approaching and pretty much all of the marriage-minded misses of the court have been carrying out their pursuits offscreen/in non-canon missing scenes, it felt appropriate to sprinkle in a few hints of what's going on in the background as Daemon and the twins deal with more pressing matters.

Daemon's chair

It's hard to explain in narrative format where Jon was sitting/where Daemon always sits, but it's basically at the end/"head" of the table, while Viserys usually sits at the end of the side facing the window. It killed me a little when I realized that's where I've always written Daemon sitting in his scenes there with Viserys, and it's so obvious why: it's the closest Daemon can get to feeling like his brother's Hand. Similarly, Viserys seats him in an inverted version of that during their supper the first night in King's Landing, with Viserys at the head and Daemon to his side.

Dynamics

Jon & Viserys

This was a fun one to finally write, since we've only had brief interactions between them, from other POVs (Daemon, Otto, Rhaenys). Viserys sees Jon as a mixture of Daemon and Baelon throughout this scene, with Baelon coming out more toward the end. And we can see Viserys respond to Daemon-y Jon in a similar way that he might to Daemon, by getting defensive/frustrated.

Viserys is in a weird place with the candle business where he accepts, generally, that magic is a thing. The boys are fireproof, there is a prophecy that he thinks they will fulfill, he's read about the distant communication made possible by the dragonglass candles of Valyria, and he's seen the red candle spark to life, just as the black ones did once or twice when he was a boy.

But Jon is a child, and unlike Daemon, Viserys has a fairly good understanding of what an eight-year-old is generally like, so he approaches wild claims of high magic with a fair bit of skepticism. Over time, I expect this will change.

I enjoyed weaving in both Baelon and Daemon through the conversation, and the past bond Viserys had with his brother. Viserys absolutely cut little!Daemon's apples for him when he was old enough to carry his own knife. (As did Baelon.) And even throwing in some of Jon's impressions of Viserys and Daemon are alike and not.

And even a few small parallels between Viserys and Jon that I doubt many people will draw: an unwillingness to give up control (Jon not wanting to tell Daemon about the drag marks in the secret passage) and not trusting their brother (Jon, at the end, deciding to "protect" Rhaegar by not letting him in on his plan to go after the candle). They both are convinced of their own mandate to solve problems (the prophecy for Viserys, the candle for Jon).

Daemon & Rhaegar

Rhaegar was in a special hell with Daemon in the latter part of the chapter. He's operating at maximum Aerys damage-control mode there, reading Daemon at speeds enviable by modern CPUs so that he can figure out how to defuse the situation / "fix" him before any (unintentional) harm is done. And the parallels with Aerys's paranoia are incredibly uncomfortable, even if he understands that Daemon is suffering under an outside influence.

It's also terrifying being an eight-year-old child and being dragged along to the dragon enclosure by a father who doesn't seem to hear a word you're saying (or care, if it were Aerys), and you're pretty convinced this is some candle magic at work, but how do you stop him if he decides to take off with you on dragonback? And even if he's unwilling to force you, can you really let him go by himself, in such a vulnerable state?

Meanwhile, Rhaegar better be careful about his plan to claim that the bruise is the result of a training accident, because a blow from a wooden blade doesn't go all the way around the arm, kiddo. Imagine Daemon thinking he's trying to protect Cole after being handled roughly by him. Or just his response in general to his sons downplaying injuries that were clearly dealt by an adult.

@inkykate asked for Rhaegar's POV here for the upcoming winter promptathon, and I'm very tempted!

Quick-hitters

Lady Sera and Lady Dynessa are both from this little impromptu ficlet.

Originally, there was a plot thread where Jon and Rhaegar discussed telling Erryk and Arryk about the candle. At one point, it was in their debriefing at the start of the chapter, a request from Jon to Viserys during their breakfast scene, and even the start of a scene where they actually tell the Cargyll brothers. I cut it because there was a lot going on already and we can revisit it later.

The Rhea grief/anger outburst from Jon caught me by as much surprise as Viserys, but it was lurking beneath the surface. And I cry at a dime, so you can bet I was a mess writing it.

Can we appreciate for a moment the breathtaking gall of Viserys telling Jon he should be grateful for him repeatedly banishing Daemon because it resulted in his birth? Imagine him saying as much to Daemon himself!

The candle is candling hard.

I didn't go into the dragon dynamics with Daemon because this is already quite long, but there was some interesting stuff there for those with a keen eye, including hints at how some of the candle's (sorcerer's?) magic works.

Daemon actually did something so unthinkable (hurting Rhaegar) that Qelebrys hissed at her beloved not-Rhaegar. The heartbreak!

Lots of people keeping things to themselves. So far, for example, Daemon hasn't mentioned the bounty on him to anyone.

I have fun with Rhaegar's strengths vs Jon's, especially when it comes to dragons. Jon has a fairly significant leg-up with his warging experiences and his former quasi-bond with Rhaegal, but Rhaegar is basically a horse girl, except with dragons, so what he lacked for originally in experience, he's making up quickly. But I also like to throw in nods to Jon being able to pick things up that he's discovered very quickly, once shown/pointed out.

Finally, there were quite a few bits cut out of the chapter. I'll probably throw them in a separate post later, since this is pretty long!

[dragonbma]

What are some scrapped concepts from any of your AUs?

Oh boy I wish I had seen this ask sooner because I have SO MUCH to say. Can of worms has officially opened! The peak 2023 brainrot I had last year spawned countless (around 20) MC:SM AUs. Most of which were one-off ideas where I just wanted to design something without thinking too much about a story. Since then, I’ve whittled it down to a handful I still doodle and write for behind the scenes. (Listed below)

Scrapped design/plot concepts:

Starting off with my favorite AU, Possession!Vos had a plethora of designs before I decided I didn’t want his looks to change much and that just surviving the plot was deviation enough. He almost looked like this whenever Romeo was in control: (essentially Romeo’s side profile would manifest and obscure half of Vos’ face, mirroring whatever expression the other half had)

If I had to think of which AU had the most scrapped scenes, that award goes to the Drowned!Vos AU. The poor aftermath of that story was reworked so many times (mostly because I was indecisive just how antagonistic Romeo would be to the man he cursed to be a soggy zombie forever.) In the first draft, Romeo was so mad that Drowned failed to kill Jack that he completely abandoned him, but that since changed to the Admin being an ongoing antagonist who teleports over when Drowned is alone to belittle him. (Slight gore warning for this next bit.) In one of the more devious scrapped scenes, Romeo enchants his boots with Frost Walker and partially freezes Drowned solid before stomping his leg and breaking it off.

Oarfishposting, while also going through three name changes throughout its time (cod help me), also did a complete 180 in plot. It was almost a basic mad scientist plot where Romeo captured and experimented on any “losers” that couldn’t win his challenges. The adventure trio of course lost the temple, but since Sammy was too far gone and Jack got the hell out of there, Vos was all that was left. Oarfish!Vos was very close to resembling a Frankenstein amalgamation. Of course I am much happier with the final story because a world where everyone is half animal and there is a god trying to trap the rarer hybrids in temples is much more unique and fun to play with.

For the last scrapped plot point I’ll mention, there was a fun idea I was playing around with in the Fantasy Trio AU where instead of Mage!Vos getting turned to solid obsidian, he is instead trapped in a mirror dimension. The mechanics of the challenge were as follows: adventurers enter a large, circular room in the castle and are presented with a myriad of doors along the walls. The floor is a giant mirror which reflects everything above it… albeit slightly different. Anyone one who enters the room has a moving statue reflecting their actions; So long as the statues are not shattered, they can swap places with their statues to enter the mirror dimension. (Their statues would then exist in the real world until they swap back.) Doors in the main room have no knobs so Mage opts to swap places with his statue to start opening the doors in the mirror dimension which do have knobs. Most doors lead to nothing, but some spawn enemies. TLDR: They eventually find the boss of the room, a large drake with a key around its neck, but it headbutts Mage and shatters his statue, rendering him unable to swap places back to the real world after the drake is defeated.

Scrapped AUs:

One AU I scrapped entirely (because Jack doesn’t die from the mess cliff fall) was a Death Trio AU where once Jack re-enters the Sea Temple, he’s haunted by ghastly apparitions of his old friends and how they died until he too eventually meets his demise in the Underneath. Vos’ skin is entirely obsidian and he can cry lava. Sammy bears resemblance to the elder guardians, now sprouting fins, scales, and their one giant eye. Though he doesn’t actually die in game, Jack’s downfall would have been the mesa cliff he falls off if Jesse refuses to give Porkchop their swords. His dead form gets a desert face covering and he leaves a trail of sand he coughs up.

Mercraft: Fish Mode started out as an AU where all characters were merfolk, but I decided it would work better as just a drawing challenge instead of Mermay.

Some crossovers I really didn’t do much with were MC:SM x Flight Rising, Night at the Museum, Wings of Fire, Pokémon, and The Odyssey. Most of these were me wanting to design stuff so I’ll try to sum them up quick. The FR and WoF AUs were excuses for me to draw the cast as dragons. The NatM crossover spawned from a dream where I found a modded version of MC:SM where you play as Jesse, Petra, or Lukas (all night guards) and tended to the museum. Other characters were museum exhibits such as Gabriel being Teddy, Reuben being Rexy, and the Admins as the Egyptians; In all honesty I remember very little from the dream save for Romeo (Kahmunrah) shaking Vos (Jedediah) around in a brita filter. Pokémon AU spawned from me rewatching “Pokémon Ranger and the Temple of the Sea” and realizing there’s a character named Jack whose partner is a chatot. The main premise is the basic “everyone has a partner Pokémon” AU where the adventure trio visit the Sea Temple (guardians are huntails, elder guardians are gyarados, colossus are regice… and there’s also a type: null there for uhh plot reasons.) Lastly, I just love The Odyssey so making Jack, Vos, and Sammy > Eurylochus, Odysseus, and Polities was too good to pass up. Plus Polyphemus works perfectly as an elder guardian + Romeo as a very pissed Poseidon.

Main AUs: Vos Possession AU, Drowned!Vos AU, Oarfishposting, ‘Neath!Vos AU, Champion Vos AU, and most recently Admin Accomplice

Secondary/Hiatus AUs: TempleSwap, Fantasy Trio, Abyssal Symptoms, Chipped!Vos, Angel, and Sentry

Honorable mention to the one-off crack AUs that I scrapped immediately because they were just for giggles. Holepunched AU: the obsidian cage does not open when it falls and uh just lands on Vos. 💥 Rip. It was nicknamed Holepunched because Sammy’s ghost has a gaping hole in her chest from the guardian beam and Vos’ is just sliced in half. Feather Falling AU: Vos survives all those years on one heart, but ultimately takes fall damage when Jesse releases him. Funnily enough, that one was made on a whim where I was just trying to cause a friend psychic damage, but she did me one better by saying it would be worse if he didn’t poof upon hitting the floor, but only dissipated when Jack tried to hug him. :[

[sheppard-and-weir]

- Woodland

[seo-changbinnies]

my favorite binnie looks (200/∞)  

[capybaraonabicycle]

I made a starry uquiz to share my love for Vincent and the wonderful music of the Starry Musical!

Look at some art with me, choose some aesthetics, talk to me about Vincent and get tricked into watching a scene from Doctor Who :)

I am sorry I only included like half of the songs and I'm very sorry if your favourite is not among them. The problem is that all songs from Starry are my favourites and I had to make a choice somewhere.

[icewindandboringhorror]

Little bright colored outfit with a fun vest ~

(shoes from ebay like 10 years ago. everything else is thrifted)

[aldoodles]

please have these dumb memes I made about some of my favorite Suzanne Collins calling cards in Both The Hunger Games and The Underland Chronicles

[fierrochase-falafel]

Making a case for Xie Lian's complex morality in TGCF

Finally getting over myself and getting this one out of the drafts...

Disclaimer: Any MXTX book has a very divided fandom on whether practically all the characters are "good" or not- Hua Cheng, Xie Lian, Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng, Pei Ming, Luo Binghe. I feel the way MXTX writes is such that our own interpretation of the book can grow to be the very thing we love about it. So naturally I am going to start off by saying this is my interpretation of her work- you can disagree with me, sure, and I'd love to hear other people's thoughts, but I don't think it is something worth calling me wrong over. I'm not claiming to preach the 1 true reading or even claiming to be 'correct'- this is just my interpretation. This doesn't mean I don't find value in alternate interpretations, contradictory or otherwise. Please be nice to me!! :,)

Part I: Smart, but not smart

So anyways...there's this quote in book 3, when Xie Lian reveals Ling Wen as the creator of the Brocade Immortal, where this happens:

Ling Wen crossed her arms and shook her head. “Your Highness, someone like you…sometimes you’re smart, but sometimes you’re also not very smart; sometimes you’re soft-hearted, but sometimes you’re cold-hearted, too.”

And I've always loved this quote, it's arguably one of my favourites, because it emphasises what I think is the core of the story- to ascend is human, to fall is also human. What matters is appreciating that humanity, and nobody embodies this like Xie Lian. MXTX always pits together contradictions like this throughout the story: ascension with falling, soft-hearted with cold-hearted, laughing with crying. Humanity is a series of contradictions, and Xie Lian is the epitome of that. We see him saving a child with regal presence/grace and also drunkenly yelling swear words in a ditch; we see him calmly ascend to godhood at 17 and also almost violently kill a guy for insulting his street performance. Xie Lian is a man who can be kind, calm, endearing and spirited but also vengeful, bitter, jaded and broken. He has been naive and impulsive as well as strategic and controlled.

These differences often seem to happen at the same time in him, even. Xie Lian as a prince was still relatively calm and controlled, but it didn't stop him from being naive and desperate at various points too- sometimes at the same time. His decision in the Land of the Tender (T/W- to stab himself) was arguably a sign of him losing control of his senses yet remaining just on the cusp of controlling his actions. He is holding on to his no-sex cultivation by saying the Ethics Sutra and making the impulsive decision to turn his sword on himself voluntarily but also reacting sexually to the flower demons involuntarily. He is placed in situations where he is distinctly both in and out of control at the same time! Later when he's lying in a ditch (T/W- having stabbed himself AGAIN), there's a lens to it that he's waiting for someone to be kind to him, just once. He's optimistic in giving people a chance- hopeful and altruistic on some level while also being angry and bitter at nobody having helping him yet. In present day he's still impulsive at times but also level-headed, jaded and also optimistic. Hua Cheng fully recognises this in him, and his recognition of Xie Lian's utter humanity is what makes him the one person who truly understands Xie Lian.

"Your Highness, I understand your everything. Your courage, your despair; your kindness, your pain; your resentment, your hate; your intelligence, your foolishness."- Hua Cheng

Part II: Mass murder is...a big deal

Xie Lian is nowhere near perfect, like Feng Xin tends to see him, but neither is he just pretending to be altruistic to make people like him, as Mu Qing tends to believe. Both of them have these ideas in their heads of Xie Lian being amazing or awful, when really Xie Lian has the potential to be both, and that's what makes him, ultimately, just a human above all else. And Hua Cheng gets that about him, more than anyone else, which is important. Hua Cheng loves him and believes in him not because he is inherently, fundamentally good but because of who he is entirely. Part of that 'being' for Xie Lian is trying not to indulge his worst emotions, trying to be good as much as he can, but part of that 'being' includes parts of him that can't be perceived as 'good'. See, no matter how traumatised you are, and even though I'm not judging Xie Lian for his mental state, choking some man on the street almost to death is a no-go, okay.

Xie Lian's will to keep to his principles of what is right and wrong is one thing, but TGCF stretches these boundaries over and over as we watch Xie Lian's view evolve from being a child. I don't think Xie Lian is a 'good person' because he never strays from his values, because he does. Save the common people? The people of Yong'an he intended to mass massacre were the 'common people'. And yes he tried to save them before, and yes it took very little to make him not massacre the people of Yong'an, but the fact that this was something he started at all? He himself used Fangxin to collect the souls from the battlefield- no matter how much he subconsciously wanted to believe in the worth of humanity with his self-stabbing social experiment, he created the conditions necessary to commit mass murder and that in itself is a sign that a part of him meant to go through with it. This isn't just a byproduct of his rage, a response befitting of an uncaring society, no, this is a big deal, and I don't think we can still argue Xie Lian is / has always been a beacon of virtue. Xie Lian isn't just flawed in ways that are easy to forgive, it's not just that he's inherently 'good' with flaws such as impulsivity or naivety that do not really reflect on his moral character. He is also morally flawed, in a way all humans can be but may find it hard to recognise within themselves.

To be fair to the guy, most humans don't have their kingdoms destroyed, their bodily autonomy violated and all their loved ones gone from their lives. Particularly not the first one. For trauma of such epic proportions and disasters of such epic proportions, this intense of a response to commit mass murder isn't shocking. Given his exposure to all this power through his godhood and descent, the power to commit mass murder is less massive-seeming than needing the power to save his own people from it. Given the deaths of so many Xianle inhabitants, this is almost an eye-for-an-eye response: something which some people or cultures may see as morally righteous (the Locrians in Ancient Greece were huge on this, for instance) and some see as morally wrong. However, the way I see it that does not make potential mass murder easily ethically justifiable. MXTX doesn't shy away from giving us insight into Xie Lian's vulnerable and broken mental state and reasons for attempting this, but his actions are still consequential in a huge way. Had he committed the murder; had he not been pulled up by the farmer or had he not found it in him to stop, would we view him as morally good? Could we? What if he did murder the Yong'an citizens but then realised how awful that was then, and spent the rest of his life trying to be good? It feels a bit like a cop-out to say, "well, he didn't do it so that's that", because even the idea, the intention of him doing it and the fact it almost happened raises so many questions about how much blame would be attribute to him if the people of Yong'an really were killed. Even if Xie Lian hadn't done it himself: if he failed to stop Bai Wuxiang from killing them all, for instance. If he were stabbed over and over again but his body couldn't take it, if the rest of the people of Yong'an weren't willing to stab him, and Wu Ming didn't take the bullet then what? It's not like Bai Wuxiang had any reason to go out of his way to call the spirits of Yong'an to Fangxin, for to him the biggest matter was getting Xie Lian to do it and solidify the latter's allegiance to resentment and apathy (just like himself). That would have been done by Xie Lian's hand, and how much the consequences would lay on Xie Lian's head is really difficult to think about. Even if he'd have done his utmost to stop it, but it would've happened atleast partially because of him.

Part III: Morality measured

It's interesting to consider how we measure morality as individuals- somewhere in-between intentions and consequences we diverge, and this tension is what fuels MXTX's conflicts. This is why it's so hard to assign blame in TGCF. Shi Wudu's intentions with the fate-swap were not malicious at all but the consequences for He Xuan were utterly disastrous, and that's on Shi Wudu. Quan Yizhen's intentions were never to make Yin Yu feel bad, but his obliviousness and shining talent hurt Yin Yu anyways. Of course, Yin Yu was the one who kept silent until he couldn't take it anymore, and said the worst possible thing at the worst possible time even if all he wanted was to be nice to Quan Yizhen and not project his feelings onto him. Book 3 contains an increase in these dynamics where the intentions and consequences are SO vastly incongruent that it plays with what morality means, encouraging you to ask: "Who do you believe was in the right?" "Do you think anyone here is or isn't entitled to what they want?" "Is there any way to objectively assign blame here, or are some scenarios too complicated for there to be a direct conflict of right and wrong?" So when it comes to Xie Lian, all that he could have been and all that he is, book 4 naturally stretches the limits of his heart being in paradise.

In conversations I have had or opinions I've seen on this platform and others, people's opinions on how much Xie Lian caused aspects of his own downfall range from "he did absolutely nothing wrong ever" to "he was the epitome of hubris and ignorance", the latter usually accompanied by a favourable analysis towards another character such as Mu Qing. When getting into MDZS, I was reminded of this when seeing Wei Wuxian-Jiang Cheng discourse actually, people talking about Wei Wuxian as a model of goodness who never hurt anyone unless his hand was forced (as if the Wen Chao toruture scene didn't happen) or as an irresponsible and disloyal rascal (as if he wasn't protecting defenseless people including JC's rescuers in the Burial Mounds). This sort of range can be seen with many characters in TGCF: particularly with Xie Lian, Hua Cheng and Mu Qing but you also get many for Jun Wu, He Xuan, Shi Wudu and the like. Xie Lian, as the main character, is possibly the most complicated of them all. The series is in his perspective, he recognises and regrets both his glory days and his fall from grace- the former due to his naivety and the latter due to his resentment. Since then all of the plots he has involved himself in have involved him taking on as much of the pain as physically possible for himself because his desire to help other people flourished again alongside and mingled with his shame and lasting trauma. He is ashamed of both his highest and lowest moments for not being able to offset the consequences, but while you're reading the story it feels very often like there's nothing else he could have done. Partially because (although this is debatable imo) this is somewhat from his perspective despite the 3rd person narrative, so we know what he's like before anyone else. Plus, with how book 2 plays out like a classic tragedy where his greatest strength (will to help his people despite tradition) becomes his greatest weakness, it's the age-old question of how much he can be held accountable for his kingdom's downfall or how much was completely out of his control or in the hands of fate.

One take I remember very strongly that was quite popular was about MXTX's characters being ultimately morally good characters, in which Xie Lian's character was said to not change or develop. Rather, Xie Lian has always been inherently morally good and TGCF is about the world around him not rewarding that goodness yet Xie Lian remaining good and pure-hearted all the way through no matter what, even in his darkest times. While this may be an interpretation some people have, I think it's more complicated than that. Xie Lian's morality was seemingly very clear-cut in book 2 because he had no huge reason not to be 'good'. Yeah sure, he was chastised for saving a child during the lantern festival parade, but nothing was genuinely going to happen to him. He was the crown prince! The stakes for him were never as high, and he had no reason to believe he could fail at all. When put to the test, given the fact he did set up the conditions for the immediate slaughter of Yong'an, I don't think any goodness automatically present in his character was being channelled in his decision. Morality can be as easy as "I want to always do what's right" when you have money and security, but becomes more difficult when you're consumed by grief and rage, or when you've lost everything you once had. Morality is more than an inherent aspect to one's character, and how we perceive someone's moral nature depends on their intentions, their choices, the consequences of those choices and whether they accept responsibility and accountability for the other 3 things.

Part IV: Complexity is the key

Having said all this, I hope it's clear I am NOT saying Xie Lian is an immoral character. In fact, I WOULD argue that he is a 'good' person, that is, a person who embodies what goodness would look like despite all the complications involved. What I'm saying here is that he is a good person not because he always sticks to his standards/beliefs, or even that he always believes in his own standards, but because he chooses to try to believe. In humanity, in the power of his own actions, in the kindness of strangers after he was shown kindness once himself. And this is something earned and learned, not something he had in the beginning. In the beginning it came natural to him because he had the privilege of that as Crown prince. "If something goes wrong, I'll fix it, and everyone around me will always be looking out for my best interests even if I disagree with them. Murder is wrong, following the path to ascension is the ultimate good." etc. etc. When he has to face the world as someone with nothing, those are the experiences that mould his current day understanding of why people do the things they do even if they seem completely morally wrong. Why people would stab someone knowing they would feel the pain, why people would murder someone, why they might steal or rage or drink. And in most cases, it can be hard to judge someone as completely morally wrong for doing actions deemed morally wrong if you believe intention has any bearing on morality.

Xie Lian to me is not inherently good, but someone who chooses to try to be a good person, thus arguably being a good person. And I would defend him as such on that premise, not because his righteous morals have remained static and intact throughout the novels. It isn't that he didn't choose to be good as a child, but he didn't really have to TRY because he hadn't faced the sort of crisis that shook his foundations and forced him to grow, understanding and adapting to the complexity of living in the real world. Where you fail, where falling upon hard times can force you to resort to things you once thought beneath you. Where your actions have power over your circumstances, but your circumstances also hold power over you whether you like it or not. The root of Xie Lian's compelling character, for me, is in his growth from a man with a static morality to a man with moral complexity. A belief in one's principles that accounts for its limits and recognises its flaws in the face of circumstance, and adapts accordingly. It's not like Xie Lian wanted to betray and murder the Yong'an king who was so kind to him, and to actively do that seems pretty horrible until you remember he did it to save a whole group of people, Xianle descendants. Xie Lian still blames himself for this in book 1 even though in this act he saved numerous civilians, but Hua Cheng reminds him that he made that choice for a good reason, and has faith in Xie Lian's choices.

Speaking of the devil...Hua Cheng, even though he loves all of Xie Lian, does not love him blindly or without consideration of the worst parts of himself. He would follow Xie Lian into the abyss of his mental state but still try to help Xie Lian out of the sort of guilt, back from the point of no return. One interpretation of his refusal to let Xie Lian kill Lang Ying is that he wanted Xie Lian to not have Lang Ying's blood on his hands as well. If this would affect any future cultivation or make him feel any more guilty in the future. He also tried to gently tell Xie Lian that he still has believers to calm him down when he sees the white flower. However, to Hua Cheng, whatever Xie Lian would've chosen in the end would still be a decision taken by the same Xie Lian, and Hua Cheng would follow Xie Lian no matter whether he's engaged in the worst parts of himself or not. I think it's very easy for us to assign a specified amount of goodness to a character based on just 1 thing- be it just their intentions or just their choices or just the consequences of their actions. A few sample assumptions I've seen (that do not reflect wider society or anything, these are just opinions I've seen around online): To want to save people is good, therefore Xie Lian is good. Hua Cheng has no qualms about killing 33 gods for Xie Lian, so he must be amoral. But the nature of what is good is variable- under the light of different interpretations, Xie Lian is more morally grey and Hua Cheng is more morally inclined than those assumptions would give them credit for. My point essentially is that many characters, but Xie Lian in particular, are more complicated than we sometimes give them credit for. It's also why he's so easily put up against Jun Wu- someone who is the antagonist and committed several heinous crime, but also parallels what Xie Lian at his worst could have been. If Jun Wu really did repent on everyone he damaged at the end of the novels, you can't call him a good person just based on newfound intent and he can't be so easily forgiven, but to imply alternatively that after all he's done he will always be a bad man and that's that...doesn't sit right with me either. Of course, the question of Jun Wu seems even more complicated somehow, funnily enough.

I think when I first read TGCF years back, Xie Lian is the character who showed me not to judge multidimensional characters or people on a consistent metric of goodness but rather on numerous aspects of how they live that can change over time and leaves room for circumstantial flexibility. I also think that acknowledging complexity in how we view morality in each other can allow us to gain a better understanding of what it is to be a human. And in my view, what makes Xie Lian such a well-written character is that he's nothing if not a human.

[stitchedjoke]

Welcome to my world.

THE BATMAN 1.12 // 2.12