#very happy with how this came out actually

[bosbas]

Chapter 7: I wish I could un-recall how we almost had it all

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: anthony bridgerton x fem!daphne's best friend!reader WC: 2.0k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love, mentions of pregnancy, ANGST!!!!!

Summary: At her wit's end after Anthony's multiple attempts to scare away her suitors, Daphne employs her best friend's help to keep her brother distracted while she tries to find a husband. It's a foolproof plan, except it ends up working a little too well. (or, a Bridgerton version of The Taming of the Shrew/10 things I hate about you)

July 13, 1812 - Waking up the past few days had been absolute torture. But waking up today and seeing the blood on your sheets was worse than any morning you’d ever had. 

A part of you was relieved. You had gotten your courses. You weren’t with child. You didn’t have to trap Anthony in a loveless marriage.

It was good news, right?

That’s what you were desperately repeating to yourself over and over as you sat in your bed sobbing uncontrollably. 

It truly was over then. There was no baby, and there would be no marriage. You’d be lucky if Anthony ever talked to you again, though you wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. All because you thought it would be a fun game to dabble with someone’s real feelings.

What's more, your courses actually came a few days early. It was like the universe was completely and categorically rejecting the idea of a happy ending with Anthony. It was what you deserved, you supposed. At least the misery of not knowing was over.

To make matters worse, your crying was so loud that your father popped his head into your room, an extremely unusual occurrence. 

“What is all this ruckus?” he asked. “Is everything alright?”

Not having the time, energy, or desire to fully explain what was happening, and doubting he’d care, you told your father, “My courses came.”

“Oh,” he said, suddenly growing very uncomfortable. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” 

Predictable. He wasn’t one to get involved with women’s issues.

---

You had given yourself a few hours to mope around your home, mourning the loss of what could have been. But it was time to face your fears, and you headed over to the Bridgerton residence.

It was usually only a few minutes' walk, but you were dreading the impending conversation so much that it was almost fifteen minutes before you reached their front door.  

What scared you the most was that you had no idea how Anthony was going to take the news. You knew the responsibility was yours to go to the Bridgerton home and inform him, but you hadn’t seen him or Daphne since the day after your fateful ball.

As you reached their front entrance, before you could even knock, the door burst open and you saw Anthony standing in front of you. 

Not that you were in a position to enjoy it, but he looked exceedingly handsome. He was clearly on his way out to go to town, and you didn’t know whether to curse or thank the universe for putting him in front of you before he left for the day. 

“Oh!” you gasped, startled. “Um, hello, Anthony,” you greeted awkwardly. 

He just stared back, unmoving. He hadn’t been expecting to talk to you for at least a few more days and was entirely unprepared now.

“Daphne’s just inside,” he said after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence. 

“No, I’m here to speak with you, actually.”

“Oh,” he said simply, not giving away what he was feeling. It hadn't even been a week! Surely there was no news yet? Surely he could still hold out some hope?

He stepped outside and closed the door, allowing you two some privacy for the conversation you were about to have.

“I- Well, I just wanted to inform you that my courses came this morning,” you said, your voice wavering. 

“Oh,” he repeated. 

Was that really all he was going to say?

You cleared your throat stiffly. “And evidently no one saw us sneak off to the library the other night, otherwise we’d have heard the rumors by now.” A pause. “I suppose this means you won’t need to propose, then. And we can go our own ways.”

It was like your words ignited something in Anthony, and he finally moved to cross his arms in front of his chest, a prominent scowl on his face. 

“I suppose it does. Congratulations. Your little plan worked perfectly, then. Daphne was able to court a scumbag while you distracted me and remained perfectly detached.”

His angry words cut you deep. Almost out of habit when you needed comfort, you reached out for his broken hand that was still bandaged. He took a step back, almost looking panicked as he eyed your outstretched arm. 

You felt tears welling in your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall. You deserved no sympathy from the man in front of you.

Blinking them away, you sniffed. “Anthony, I know nothing I say will ever make it up to you but I truly am sorry. It was never my intention to let it go on for so long.”

“And yet you did.”

“I did,” you replied, feeling ashamed. “But you must know, the time we did have together-”

But Anthony interrupted before you could continue. “I’ll be moving into bachelor’s lodgings as soon as possible. That way our paths won’t have to cross again unless there’s a big family event. I wish you the best in your future endeavors, and I sincerely hope you find a love match eventually.”

You choked back a sob. “Is this truly the last time we’ll talk?”

“I can hope,” he responded, cruelly echoing back the words you had said to him a few days ago. 

And with that, he pushed past you down the stairs, going toward his waiting carriage, not sparing you a second glance.

You were left crying outside of the Bridgertons’ door, head in your hands as you realized the gravity of Anthony’s statement. 

That was exactly how Violet found you twenty minutes later. 

“Oh no, my Y/N, what happened?” she asked, placing a comforting arm around your shoulders. 

You could only turn and sob into her shoulder, too shaken up to form any coherent words. 

Violet, bless her, rubbed your back soothingly as she led you back into her home, her afternoon of shopping completely forgotten now.

“Why don’t we ring for some tea and you can talk to me and Daphne about what’s bothering you?”

An hour later you had calmed down considerably and Daphne was in the middle of apologizing profusely for telling Anthony while Violet tried to process the information her daughter and her best friend had just divulged. You had scrubbed any mention of your escapade with Anthony from the story you told his mother, of course. But most other details remained accurate.

“It’s not your fault,” you waved away Daphne’s apology. “You only told him the truth. He was going to find out eventually, one way or another.”

“But it was my idea in the first place!” she insisted. “And a stupid one at that, seeing how things ended with Phillip.”

“Which we are not done discussing,” interjected Violet, still horrified that someone like him could treat her daughter that way. 

“Regardless, I would have come up with the idea myself and gone through with it if you hadn't,” you reassured her. “What’s done is done. I’m only sorry he’ll be leaving home.”

Daphne laughed and shook her head. “He’d been wanting to leave for ages. Besides, it’ll be nice to have some more peace and quiet around here.”

Always one to stay on topic, Violet kept up her line of questioning. “Why don’t the two of you get married still? Your feelings for him are clearly real, no matter how you ended up having them.”

Surprisingly, tears welled up in your eyes again After the day you’d had, you didn’t think you had any left in you, but the situation was just too dire not to cry over it. “He told me earlier he wishes to never speak with me again.”

Violet gasped. “That can’t be right, he would never say such a thing!”

You could only nod glumly, remembering his cold, uncaring eyes as he moved past you earlier that day. 

“I just can’t believe I ruined it all,” you cried. “It would have been so wonderful if only I hadn’t acted so carelessly.”

Violet tsked. “You wouldn’t have even looked at him in a romantic light if it weren’t for your silly plan. Who knows if things would have really been different.”

“At least I wouldn’t have a broken heart,” you said softly, wistfully looking out the window. 

“There is simply no world in which he can just forget how he feels about you,” insisted Daphne, trying to stay hopeful. 

“There’s nothing left,” you said, well aware of the situation you were in and rejecting any fantasies that would make you feel better temporarily. “I made the choices I made and I must live with them now.”

---

“Why is Y/N never round for dinner anymore?” asked Hyacinth suddenly one night. 

“Yes, I miss playing chess with her before I go to bed. No one else here seems to want to play,” complained Gregory, in a rare moment of agreement with his youngest sister.

“She does seem to have very suddenly stopped showing up,” said Francesca. She eyed Daphne and Anthony suspiciously, knowing one of the two was bound to be the cause of your absence. 

“Well, I certainly didn’t tell her to stop coming,” said Daphne, glaring at her older brother. 

Anthony laughed coldly. “That’s rich coming from you. You know exactly why she stopped showing up, and it’s not exactly my fault.”

“Anthony!” exclaimed Violet, shocked at the sudden outburst of anger.

“Forget it,” he grumbled, standing up from the dinner table and storming off to his study.

A few moments later, Violet knocked on the door of Anthony’s study, not waiting for a response before she slipped in and closed the door behind her. 

“You’re not truly angry,” she stated, not even posing it as a question.

“Yes, I am,” Anthony insisted. 

“Your anger conceals something deeper, and it might do you some good to let it out.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Anthony responded, but his voice lacked his previous conviction. “I am angry,” he repeated, his voice breaking as he tried to convince himself of his feelings. 

“It’s not a crime to feel things for someone, you know. Even when they don’t work out.”

“What is the point then? If they amount to nothing?” Anthony pressed, struggling to find a greater reason for the complete heartbreak he felt day in and day out. 

It was torture to be away from you, to be sure. But he knew he would never be able to hold it together if he saw you in the flesh. Regardless, that didn’t stop him from missing you. Your rosy perfume. The way you threw your head back when you laughed. How tightly your hands held his hand when you were anxious about something.

And that was what killed him. He’d had real and profound feelings for you. He thought that was it. That you were it. He’d thought he'd found the person he was going to marry. He’d found his present and his future and everything in betweem.

But it had all been a lie. And so the anger kept coming back. And he could do nothing to stop it. 

It was misplaced anger, he knew. At you, at the world, at the fact that your courses had come and you would not have his child, and at the fact that he could never have you in a way that truly mattered. 

“That is exactly what makes you human, Anthony. You can’t go around life expecting to never be hurt. It’s a rare thing to feel that way about someone.”

“Good. I’m glad it’s rare. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.”

“Anthony!” Violet gasped, scandalized. “Love is not a curse.”

“It certainly feels like one.”

“You could still be with her, you know. All this misplaced love, it’ll do you no good to keep it bottled up.”

“I can’t,” insisted Anthony, his voice breaking again. “I wanted to marry her still. I even asked her. I thought she’d love me back if I only had some time to convince her. But she didn’t want to marry me,” he confessed, succumbing to his feelings and putting his head in his hands as he cried. 

“Why don’t you try talking to her again?” suggested Violet, rubbing her son’s back comfortingly. 

“I can’t,” he replied, rubbing his eyes. “It’s for the better.”

—

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[im-so-normal-iswear]

HELLO!

May I request a Yandere Sonic, Shadow and Silver (seperate) with a fem reader where comes from a different reality where they are fictional and somehow the hedgehogs became attached and obsessed with reader, reader is very much aware of their behavior and is also one of the reasons why she wants to go home to her own reality fast.

Sending loves to youu!!🫶🏻🤍

A/n: poll on, so now I'm putting images, I couldn't find any good ones

Yandere triple s x reader

Sonic:

At first, you couldnct believe it, you were in Sonics world.

The rolling green hills, the endless loops, the vibrant colors of the world, it was surreal. And meeting Sonic? That was the best part.

He was exactly like you imagined. Charismatic, funny, energetic. You geeked out about meeting him, and he was amused by how much you already knew about him. Sonic took an immediate liking to you, eager to show you around and let you experience the world firsthand.

The first few days were a dream come true. Running through Green Hill Zone, meeting Tails, going toe-to-toe with Eggman (it was actually more like watching Sonic handle it while you stood on the sidelines). Everything felt like a perfect adventure, straight out of a game.

Then, things started getting... off.

It began subtly. Sonic insisted on staying close to you all the time. You figured it was just him being protective. After all, you were just a human, and this world was full of dangers. But the more time passed, the more suffocating it became.

He started pulling you away from the others, cutting conversations short when you were with Tails or Amy. At first, he made excuses, "Hey, let’s get outta here! I've got something way cooler to show ya!" but you quickly realized he was isolating you.you started getting weird dreams.

You dreamed of your real home, your reality, the place you desperately wanted to return to. But every time you woke up, Sonic was already there, sitting beside you with an unreadable expression.

"Another bad dream?" he asked, his voice casual.

When you admitted what it was about, his expression darkened.

"You really wanna go back, huh?" He leaned closer, his smile strained. "I don't get it. You've got me here. What's better than that?"

The moment you realized something was deeply wrong was when you tried asking Tails about ways to return home.

Sonic snapped.

One second, he was his usual self, the next, he had grabbed your wrist, his grip too tight.

"Why do you keep talking about that?" His voice wavered, his usual confident tone slipping into something more desperate. "Aren't you happy here? With me?"

You tried to reason with him, but his grip only tightened. His eyes, usually bright and full of life, had a wildness to them.

"You belong here now" he murmured, more to himself than to you.

From then on, he never left your side. Your freedom was a distant memory. Anytime you tried sneaking off to talk to Tails, Sonic was there. If you attempted to run, he caught you within seconds, always smiling, always acting like it was a game.

"Aw, c'mon, Y/N, you know you can't outrun me."

Every time you tried to bring up leaving, his mood shifted. His smiles became forced, his voice strained.

"Look." he eventually said one night, his voice eerily soft as he trapped you in his arms. "I don't care what reality you came from. This is where you stay."

No matter how fast you tried to run, Sonic would always be faster.

And he wasn't letting you go.

Shadow:

Unlike Sonic, Shadow wasn't immediately friendly.

He kept his distance when you first arrived in the world, observing you with narrowed, calculating eyes. He didn't trust you, not at first. You were an anomaly, something that shouldn't exist in his reality.

But as time passed, Shadow became curious about you. How did you know so much about him? Why did you seem so comfortable around him when most people feared him?

You intrigued him.

Slowly, he started spending more time around you. He was never openly affectionate, but he showed his care in small ways, keeping you close when woth others, ensuring you never strayed too far, glaring at anyone who got too friendly with you.

And then, one day, you mentioned wanting to go home.

Shadow froze.

"You want to leave?" His voice was cold, unreadable.

You explained everything, the fact that he and his world were fictional in your reality, that you had a life to return to. You expected him to be logical about it.

Instead, his expression darkened.

"No."

You turned back to him. "...No?"

Shadow stepped closer, his eyes burning into yours.

"You belong here. With me."

It wasn't a request. It was a statement.

That was when your nightmare truly began.

Shadow started following you everywhere, wether you were aware or not. Always watching, always near. If you ever tried to leave his sight, he'd appear within seconds, his expression always unreadable.

He sabotaged any attempt you made to leave. If you tried to seek help from Tails or Eggman, their machines mysteriously malfunctioned. If you ran, Shadow found you instantly, his Chaos Control ensuring you never got far.

He never hurt you, but his presence was suffocating. Every conversation ended the same way.

"You can't leave."

There was no reasoning with him.

Shadow wasn't keeping you here out of malice.

He was keeping you here because, to him, you were the only thing left worth protecting.

Even if it meant stealing your freedom.

Silver:

Silver was the sweetest at first.

He was kind, gentle, and eager to help you. When you arrived in his world, he was fascinated, your knowledge, your personality, your very existence intrigued him.

And for a while, everything was perfect.

Silver went out of his way to make you comfortable, ensuring you had everything you needed. He was protective, but not overbearing, at least, not at first.

But then, you mentioned going home.

Silver's expression fell, his ears flattening. "What...? You want to leave?"

You tried to explain, but his hands trembled as he grasped your shoulders.

"You can't leave." His voice wavered, his usual optimism crumbling. "I need you here."

From that moment on, Silver changed.

He became more desperate, always clinging to you one way or another, never being more than three feet from you.

Whenever you tried to argue, he just shook his head, pleading. "Please don't talk like that. I love you, Y/N."

He would do anything to keep you.

And if that meant trapping you in his world forever...

Then so be it.

[captain-huggy-bear]

Ain't That a Kick in the Head

Pairing: Clayton Keller x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Nudity but in a totally non-sexual way (you share a bath)

Summary: You watch Clayton take a puck to the face, suffice to say you are very much worried for your boyfriend at the end of the game.

Notes: Y'know someone needs to psychoanalyse why I thought it was so hot that he took a puck to the face, got 12 stitches, came out, played and still scored? Someone want to explain that one to me?

I've not written Clayton before but @wannabehockeygf has me hooked so...I hope this is okay?

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

"...that one up high caught Keller, let's hope Clayton is okay...he took that one right up in the face and he's headed to the room for some stitches I would imagine..."

"Keller's girlfriend has stood straight up from her seat, clearly not happy with what she's seen."

"Can you blame her? Keller's just taken a puck straight to the face and I imagine he's going to have more than a couple of stitches to fix that..."

It's an instinctive reaction really, to jump out of your seat at the way the puck soars into Clayton's face, the way he spins and falls to the ice. The blood that you can see pooling underneath his hand as he holds it tight to his eye and brow.

You've seen him get hurt before, seen him take hits to the boards, hits from other players, pucks to the ribs, sticks to the legs, but this...fuck, this was dangerous, this was scary. You're thankful for your seat overlooking the tunnel, thankful that you can reach a hand down as he makes his way off the ice, that even as he clutches a towel to his face to mop up the blood and try to stem the bleeding, he sees you, and reaches out briefly to touch your fingers, an attempt to reassure you that he's okay. That he'll be fine because fuck he knows you're probably freaking out about it.

Then all you can do is sit back down in your seat and wait. Waiting for him to come back out made you feel sick, stomach tied in knots, leg bouncing up and down in anxious impatience. Was he concussed? Was he in need of hospital? Or would it just be a few stitches to stop the bleeding? Had it done any serious damage to his skull? Was he actually okay? Was it just a flesh wound or something deeper?

It was taking too long, far too long, your eyes not even on the game, but on the tunnel waiting for him to reappear, watching people come and go back and forth each one not Clayton. Still you waited for that reappearance.

And reappear he did. Brow coated in blood, 12 stitches holding his face together, swollen, bruising planning it's spots as he stops at your section, looking up at you from the tunnel as you look down.

Your hand reaches out again and this time he holds it properly, fingers intertwining with yours to give your palm a tight squeeze, his ring digging into your skin slightly from how firmly he grips you. Like he needs to reassure you he's still strong, still good even as a blood drip starts to slide from the fresh stitches towards his eye.

"I'm okay, sweet girl," His voice is rough from overuse on the ice and he doesn't linger long, but it's enough to reassure you that he's at least fine, even if his face looks like he's been through the wars.

It's enough for you in that moment, enough for you to let his hand go, to watch him make his way to the bench even as that sick feeling still permeates your gut.

You spend the entirety of the second period watching him like a hawk, assessing to see if he should actually be out on the ice or not, relieved to see him skating well, stable, sturdy. Despite the physical wound he doesn't seem unwell and that is enough to settle you down a little, enough for you to start to enjoy the third period.

An enjoyment that is made 10 times better by Clay's empty net goal firmly confirming Utah's victory over the Winnipeg Jets. The moment the period is over and the players have left the ice you don't waste much time before making your way down to the locker rooms, leaning against the wall and waiting for Clayton to clean up and change.

He's out last, Kess stops to tell you he's just getting some of his stitches redone, and while you appreciate the heads up from the taller man it actually only serves to make you more anxious to see your boyfriend.

When he walks out he looks like he's been through the wars or been mugged badly or had a bad boxing match. New stitches means no quick shower, no water on them for at least a day and he still looks bloody, sweaty and definitely not okay. You can't imagine how uncomfortable he was putting his suit back on when he couldn't even have a proper wash, sweat causing his clothes to stick to his skin. Clayton's always been a stickler for cleanliness and you know he probably feels disgusting, probably hates it almost as much as the injury itself.

"Shit, Clay..." You gasp at seeing his face up close, his eye is bruising into a proper shiner, closing a little from all the swelling that's happening. The skin around starting to go a deep purple. There's an array of angry stitches holding his skin together, 12 to be exact, lined up neatly but clearly the only thing stopping more blood from falling down his face. They've clearly tried to clean as much of the old blood up as possible, but there's still enough left over that he looks rough around the edges.

"Right in the money maker, huh? It's okay if you think I'm ugly now, baby.." He's joking around as he steps into your space, trying to take that god awful look off your face. You look like you've seen a ghost, like you might be sick.

"Clay..." You reach for him as he leans over you, one arm leaning against the wall by your head, while your own hands cup his cheeks tilting his head so you can get a better look at his stitches.

"Sorry, sorry, just tryin' to get my girl to smile s'all..."

"I know..." He lets you get your fill, moving his head in whatever direction you tilt it while his free hand grips your hip. He wants you to believe he's fine but he knows you won't believe him, and in truth it fucking hurts taking a puck to the face. He's surprised he doesn't have a concussion. He feels a little sick, very gross and his face aches like nothing else.

"Clay...What do you need?" You, he thinks, just this. Just the soft way your thumbs brush his cheeks and tenderness with which you cradle his face, like he's not 170lbs of hockey player. He's not delicate and he knows that, you know that, but sometimes you treat him that way and it's nice sometimes. Nice to feel cared for.

He doesn't say any of that though, instead lets out a big sigh, "I need to go home, wash at least my body because I actually feel fucking gross..." He's still sweaty and he knows he needs help washing his hair without getting water on his stitches.

"Okay, I'm driving." You're reaching for his keys in pocket as quick as a whip, but he's quicker. Clayton's hand wrapping entirely around your wrist and stopping it from delving further into his pocket.

"You're not driving my car, baby. No." There's no amount of injury that could bring him to let you drive when that's his job and the grin he gives you is the sort you give a child who thinks they know better. It makes your eyes narrow.

"Clay, you took a puck going like 80 miles per hour to the face..."

"And I can still drive, and you are still and forever my passenger princess." It's not that he doesn't trust you to drive. You're a pretty decent driver, but that's not the dynamic you have. He drives you around. Always. If he can't then you drive yourself, but if both of you are in a car together? He's driving and you get to sit, relax and look pretty.

"You're impossible." You roll your eyes but concede defeat, pulling your hand from his pocket even as he continues to grip your wrist like now that he's got it the thought of letting go is preposterous.

"Impossibly handsome." Clay's hand moves from your wrist to slip into your own, fingers twisting together as he pulls away from the wall with you. His other hand tossing his car keys about with a jingling sound.

"Impossible hard headed."

"Ouch, that hurts, sweet girl." He finally gets a smile from you at that and that's all he wants as the two of you walk hand in hand to his car. If he's got to deal with stitches, bruising, swelling, then at least he gets to see you smile.

"Did it hurt more than the puck you took to the face tonight?"

"You're determined to not let me forget this aren't you?" He asks as he opens the passenger side door, watching you slip into the pristine seats because he'd be damned if he ever let his car fall into disarray.

You're quiet for a few moments as he leans over you to pull the seatbelt over your chest and click it into place. It's the proximity of him to you that's probably the only reason he actually hears your next whispered words as you look at your hands in your lap.

"...I was really worried, Clay..."

Clayton sighs heavily, large hand cupping your cheek until you look at him. You grip his wrist, fingers playing with the array of bracelets he always has there.

"I know, baby, but I'm okay. I promise. Got some stitches, no concussion, I'll be a little ugly for a bit but..." All Clay ever wants is for you to be happy, the worst part about getting hurt is that he knows you're stressing about. He's fine, but he knows he looks like he's gone 10 rounds with Mike Tyson and he'll probably look like that for awhile. He also knows you worry, and you'll worry over him until he looks completely back to normal.

"You could never be ugly," He smiles at the way you frown at him, like it's the worst thing he could do right now to insult himself, "You're just fishing for compliments." Your eyes soften under his smile and the frown loses some of its bite.

"You're the one biting, sweet girl."

"Shut up and drive us home."

"As you wish." Clayton presses a quick kiss to your lips, pulling out of the passenger side and closing the door on you. He's quick to make his way round to the driver's side and even quicker to get the car started so he can start driving back to the house.

You watch him the whole time, eyes fliting from the stitches in his eyebrow to the way his left eye is swelling to the point you don't know if he'll be able to see out of it in a minute if you don't get ice on it. Clayton chooses to ignore the staring, hand reaching out to rest on your thigh, rubbing warm strokes across it as he drives, like always.

When you pull up you wait, like always, in your seat because Clay complains if he can't open the door for you and unbuckle your seatbelt. So you wait and let him do it, just as you let him wrap an arm around your shoulders and led you inside as if you're the one that needs the TLC and not him.

You only briefly watch him struggle out of the suit he'd worn to the game before stepping in to help. The medical team not letting him wash had meant his shirt and trousers stuck to him from all the sweat left on his skin, and the extra pair of hands was helpful as he shrugged off the button up he'd been wearing.

He lets you lead him into the bathroom, sitting on the closed toilet seat and watching as you fuss around the bath tub. You're running him a bath even though you know he prefers showers because there's no way those stitches are staying dry in the shower, not with his ridiculous need for the most intense waterfall shower on earth.

Still, Clayton watches as you try to make the bath more enticing. Copious amounts of bubble bath, the sort that's designed for sore muscles, being thrown in, water running warm, but not too hot because he doesn't like his bath water to be as hot as the fires of hell. Unlike you. But, he draws the line at you helping him into water, it's his face that hurts not his legs, shrugging your hands away with an eyeroll when you go to reach to help him.

"I can get in on my own, baby."

He doesn't let the fussing annoying him because he knows you fuss out of concern and that any amount of fussing is still your attention on him. Fussing means you love him and if you took a puck to the face he knows he'd be fussing over you too.

You watch as Clayton eases himself into the water, a sigh rippling out from him as he slides into the warmth. His chains hitting the water because he'd never wear anything that wasn't solid enough not to tarnish over time, expensive taste as always. You watch the way he closes his eyes and just relaxes for a minute, skin turning slightly flush under the warmth of the water, neck pulled taut as his head tips back.

"You want me to help wash your hair?"

"Please, baby." It's sighed out, eyes still closed and you kneel next to the tub without a second thought, urging him to move forward and lean back until his hair touches the water.

You're careful about it, slowly wetting his hair, trying to avoid getting water on his stitches and while he might not want to be fussed over, this though? This Clayton can't help but love. The way your fingers thread through his brunet strands, how you stop occasionally to scratch at his scalp, the feeling of sweat and grime falling away? This is pretty much heaven.

You huff a laugh when Clayton groans a little while you massage shampoo into his roots. The pressure you apply making him sigh and groan like you're relieving knots in his back and it's sweet, how he can relax into this, into you, when he's normally the one giving and doesn't necessarily prefer to receive the care.

"You good, Clay?"

"Mmmm...." He hums and you smile down at him, the way he leans back into your hands, how his eyes remain closed, the content little smile on his face that just slightly shows his teeth.

You take extra care as you rinse the shampoo from his hair thoroughly, avoiding his stitches and his eyes as you do so, before getting him to sit up a little so you can place some conditioner on the ends.

"Get in with me..." His eyes are heavy lidded, like he doesn't quite have the energy to open them the entire way, a wet hand reaching out to grip your fingers, tugging lightly.

"Clay, there's barely any room left." His legs take up half the tub, you're a little concerned that you plus water displacement will result in water all over the floor of the bathroom. Another injury waiting to happen when one of you inevitably slips on wet tile.

"Please, just want to hold you for a bit, no funny business, sweet girl, promise." His cheeky little smirk that shows the dimples on one side of his mouth doesn't exactly fill you with confidence in his words, but the water is still warm and there's something always enticing about Clay, he has a way of convincing you to do something even if you shouldn't.

"Mmm, sounds likely..."

"Seriously, just want to hold you...I'm an injured man..." He pulls the guilt trip card, biting on his bottom lip. Something which would have looked sexier if half his face wasn't swollen up like a balloon. Still, you've never been good at saying no to Clayton even if you probably should from time to time.

"Fine..." You sigh, pretending to be reluctant even as you strip your clothes off, ignoring the way his eyes light up like a kid in a candy store, and step into the bath water with him.

It's a little tight, the water rising to levels that are mildly concerning before the overflow drain does the job of removing the excess water. Your legs twine with Clayton's and his arms slide around your waist until he can pull you comfortably back to lay against him, your back to his chest. It's funny, how you can be completely naked and feel completely comfortable like this with someone, every little touch is comforting rather than sexual, every kiss to your shoulder an attempt to be connect to you rather than start something intimate.

"Clay?" You wince out, the sensation of metal digging into your back causing you to squirm slightly in his lap, water sloshing nearer to the sides of the tub.

"Mmm...?"

"Can...can you move your chains? They're digging into my shoulder."

"Shit, sorry, baby." He's quick to do so, the chains being thrown over his shoulder and out of the way until settling against him is more comfortable, the rise and fall of his chest meeting your back in a rhythm that helps any residual anxiety from the events of the day melt away.

"You comfy, sweet girl?" He presses a kiss to your temple and you smile into it, humming as you lean as much of your weight back into him as you can.

"Yeah, you?"

"Mmm, might have to stay here..." He's tracing circles on you tummy, a series of circles that meet in a variety of patterns that remind you of crop circles from all those conspiracy theory and unsolved mystery shows Clay likes to watch when he can't sleep. Every few seconds a kiss lands somewhere else, whether your temple, your cheek, your neck or your shoulder. Each is quick and soft, but no less delightful. It's all so soft, the world feels like its humming a little.

"The water'll get cold."

"Good thing I run warm..." He tries to argue with you, like always, a sassy little remark to entice you to stay in the moment even if neither of you can.

"Clay, we're not staying in here all night, we'll die of pneumonia or something."

"Would be worth it." He grins into your shoulder, eyes relaxing when you reach a hand back to scratch his scalp and play with his hair. He's tired, so fucking tired and his face still aches like a bitch but this is nice, this so nice.

"We should really get some ice on your face, try and take some of the swelling down."

"Do we have to?" The idea of putting ice on his face right now is anything but appealing, but he knows you're right. His face is already pretty swollen and bruised and it's only going to get worse if he doesn't look after it.

"Do you want to be able to see from your left eye in the morning?"

"Good point, just...5 more minutes, baby?"

"5 more minutes." You let him have his 5 more minutes and then some, using the time to get clean yourself and rinse conditioner from his hair before the two of you stand from the bath after the water has cooled significantly.

He's sat crossed legged on the bed in a cosy hoodie and boxers by the time you've put together a makeshift icepack, ice piled up into a ratty old tea towel you got when you first moved out.

The look he gives the icepack is nothing short of disdainful, a glare that's combined with a pout of his top lip like the icepack has personally offended him already when it hasn't even touched him. If anyone should glare it's you because your hands are getting cold.

"The only way that is touching my face is if you're sat in my lap, sweet girl." He pats his thighs like its a given, like you'll just go over and plonk yourself down without question.

"You already agreed to ice your face, Clayton John Keller." Your hands find your hips, a stance Clayton calls your mom stance and it's extra apt when you're using his full name like that. Not that that deters him from his goal of having you wrapped up on his lap because that's the only thing that might make ice to the face semi-bearable.

"Only if you sit in my lap."

"That is not the original agreement."

"Yeah, well, trade talks, deals get renegotiated all the time." He shrugs with a smirk, pulling out the dimples because he knows you struggle to be stubborn when he does that and as much as you hate it...he's fucking charming and it works. You're sighing and stomping over like you're not totally endeared by him, letting him pull you up and onto his lap without any real protest until your legs are wrapped around his waist, your butt sat perfectly in the hollow created by him sitting crisscrossed.

"You are incredibly difficult to care for, Mr Keller." You grumble as you cup his face with one hand and raise the makeshift icepack to his eye with the other.

"Can you really deny an injured man small comforts like his girlfriend in his lap?" His smirk only widens until it doesn't, a hiss leaving his lips at the way it pulls on his stitches as his eyebrow moves.

"Mmm, you're ridiculous." You're smiling when you say it and that alone lets Clayton know that you're enjoying this as much as him.

He hisses again when the cold finally touches his skin, almost jerking back but your hand on his cheek stops him from going very far. The icepack is cold, so fucking cold, and he knows you're going to force it to stay there until you're satisfied that some of the swelling has gone down. You're cruel like that.

Clayton's hands fall to your hips, fingers clenching and gripping onto you, not painfully, but firmly enough that you know he hates this, hates the sensation of ice on his skin even if there's a tea towel in between.

You try to make it as bearable as possible, pressing kisses to the right side of his face even as the left faces the terrible ordeal of icing. The kisses have Clayton humming, hands stroking from your hips to your waist and back down again in a rhythmic motion that brings back memories of every make out session you've ever had with the man, and that you wouldn't be having until you were certain his face wasn't swollen and bruised.

When you finally pull the icepack away his face is less swollen, eye still partially closed, but no less bruised, you know the purple is going to eventually fade to a horrible yellow. You throw the damp tea towel into the laundry basket from where you're sat, excellent aim that has you letting out a little cheer that gets Clayton smiling up at you.

"Thank you, sweet girl, always taking care of me..." He presses a kiss to your lips, short and sweet, only because you refuse to let him stay there too long, determined to let the man rest.

"Yeah, well, you're always taking care of me too."

[eclipixels]

😭 hey i read your isagi works and found it quite humorous if u dont mind can i request smth like if u have seen horimiya s1 u saw how hori was into miyamura becoming rude towards her and she liked it lol kinda weird but like can u pls make smth like that but with the soft characters like isagi, bachira, yukimiya (my bae could never but pls include him) and kunigami plsssssssss

Pathetic

Characters: Yoichi Isagi, Meguru Bachira, Kenyu Yukimiya, Rensuke Kunigami

Content: How they react to overhearing you on the phone saying, “He is sweet, so sweet. But I don’t know, sometimes when he gets a little mean, it’s kinda hot”

Warning: Slight masochism, ooc

Isagi

      His face flushed with heat as he absorbed your words. He knew you relished those moments when he took control and was a little mean. Did you crave even more of that commanding presence? It seemed like there was no harm in exploring further.

      That very day marked the beginning of a gentle experiment. The two of you were nestled on the couch, absorbed in a lively session of FIFA 23. You found yourself underperforming spectacularly, selling so much so that you began to wonder what was happening to your usual skills. Embarrassment crept in as you noticed your consistently poor performance.

      "Y/n, why do you actually suck at this?" he deadpanned.

      "Huh?" you responded, caught off guard by the blunt remark.

      "A potato can play this better," he added with a casual shrug, his honesty cutting through the playful banter.

      "Babe, what the hell," you muttered, a mix of frustration and amusement in your tone.

      "I'm just being honest," he insisted, his expression unrepentant yet mischievous.

      A curious flutter stirred in your stomach.

      Later in the day, he called out to you, inviting you to join him for an activity. Feeling a bit languid, you initially dismissed his call, silently daring him to maintain that teasing attitude.

      "Y/n, don't make me come over," he said, his voice laced with both challenge and amusement. You couldn’t help but laugh softly at his persistent frustration. You heard his footsteps as he came to where you were.

      "The fuck is wrong with you? Don't you hear me calling for you?" he barked, his gaze sharp and tinged with anger. You fell silent under his intense stare. With a shake of his head, he strode over and, without warning, manhandled you back to the bedroom with a firm grip.

      "Brat," he muttered, a mixture of exasperation and affection in his tone. “Listen and do as you're told," He growled, and you couldn’t help the squeal you let out as he threw you onto the bed.

      “Make me, pretty boy.” You teased, hoping he’d take it further and he was about to, but he faltered once he saw your happy cute face. How could he be mean to that?

      “Noooo, come back.” You wrapped your legs around his waist, drawing him in.

      “I feel bad.” He slouched onto you, hiding his face in your chest. He couldn’t keep it up for even a day.

Bachira

      Bachira had always been a little devil in his own right—a whirlwind of playful mischief and irreverence—but when it came to you, he softened into something entirely different. To him, you were his cherished honey bee, the one soul who had managed to capture his elusive heart. In a world that seldom understood him, you were the singular beacon of warmth and acceptance in his life.

      Every afternoon, you would watch him practice, your eyes filled with admiration and a longing to be a part of his world. Slowly, Bachira began to teach you the subtleties of the game. The art of a well-timed pass, the perfect angle for a shot, and the dance of footwork that made him seem almost untouchable. Though you improved with every lesson, you never quite reached his effortless level of mastery.

      Bachira was not one to wound feelings or cast harsh words at you for it, though. So when he overheard snippets of your conversation with a friend, confusion crept into his usually confident demeanor. How could someone ever enjoy being treated unkindly? After all, he had experienced his own share of judgment and odd looks from those who failed to see beyond the surface. The thought of inflicting that same cold treatment on you, his precious honey bee, was unthinkable.

      “Meg, can you teach me?” You asked, walking up to him as he was dribbling on the field.

      “Sure, hun.” He smiled. Okay he was already failing at this, but how could he resist you when you asked so sweetly?

      "Come on, I know you can do better than that," he said, watching as you missed the mark with your kick.

      "I don't know, Meguru," you muttered, frowning.

      "Pathetic," he remarked, and you shot him a surprised look. Wait, why did that kinda…?

      "I know you can do better, so stop acting like you can't," he added, his frown deepening.

      You adjusted your footwork, trying again with a more precise angle.

      "Again," he said, his tone firm. You raised an eyebrow, confused. "Don’t make me repeat myself, wasp."

      You nodded, following his lead, though a strange feeling tugged at his chest. He couldn't deny that part of him enjoyed pushing you, even if the other part felt a twinge of guilt. His monster ego versus his guilty conscience.

      That wasn’t all, though.

      As you strolled casually past him later that day, his hand darted out unexpectedly. He slapped you. On your ass, of course. He thought it was the most fitting spot for such an unconventional gesture. The sound echoed softly in the space between you, and you yelped in surprise. Spinning around, your eyes widened in a mixture of shock and undeniable delight, your cheeks blooming into a blush.

      Bachira, ever perceptive, studied your reaction. In that split second, as your surprise melted into a spark of excitement, his signature grin began to spread across his face.

      “Meg…” you whispered, your voice a blend of desire and joy.

      He tilted his head with a playful arch of his brow. “Yes, hun?” he replied, his tone light yet loaded with an unspoken promise.

      “That was hot,” you confessed.

Yukimiya

      Yukimiya had always been the calm and collected one. He had overheard your phone call earlier with your friend and wasn’t planning to do anything about it. But tonight, he was in a mood, one that didn't quite align with his usual demeanor. You could tell by the way he was glaring at you across the room. So, he didn’t quite feel as bad as he would’ve for the way he was about to treat you.

      It started innocently enough, with you attempting to cheer him up with some snacks from the convenient store. You set the bag down in front of him.

      "What’s this?"

      Your heart sank a little, but you bit your lip, trying to hold back a smile. "I... I thought you'd like it."

      “I do, but I was kind of expecting a meal.” Yukimiya muttered, shoving the bag aside. He stood up, towering over you, his gaze hard and unfeeling.

      You shivered at the sting in his words, feeling a rush of excitement flood through you. You knew what kind of mood he was in now—he was in one of his dominant, mean-spirited phases. And, much to your surprise, it made your heart race.

      "Kenyu..." you whispered, unable to suppress the thrill coursing through your veins.

      "What?" His voice was cold, and his eyes were sharp as he glared at you.

      "You’re not mad at me, are you?" you asked softly, your voice shaking with anticipation.

      “No, I just–” He took off his glasses and rubbed his temples before continuing, “I’m frustrated.”

      “Can I help?” You looked up at him all innocently.

      “I just wanna be left alone.” He grumbled.

      “Are you sure? I can make you—”

      “Did you not hear what I said?” He raised his voice a little, surprising you both. He was about to apologize but he saw the look on your face. You were liking this?

      You swallowed hard, but your pulse quickened. The more he acted like this, the more your body responded. You were into it, the way he could reduce you to nothing more than a trembling mess with just his words, the way he could make you feel both desperate and satisfied at the same time.

      Yukimiya froze, his breath catching in his chest as the reality of the moment hit him. What was he doing? His gaze softened, as he realized what this was between you two. He exhaled slowly.

      “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible as he looked at you, regret written across his face.

      “No, no, it’s fine, Kenyu,” you reassured him, stepping closer. “Really. You can take your frustration out on me if you need to.”

      He blinked, clearly caught off guard by your response. “A-are you sure?” His eyes flickered between uncertainty and something deeper, something darker. He hadn’t really thought about that as an option.

      You nodded, a soft smile curving your lips as you met his gaze. “I’m sure. I want you to. Just... let go. Whatever you're feeling, take it out on me.”

      Kenyu took a step forward, his hand lifting as if to touch you, but he hesitated again. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured.

      “You won’t,” you said firmly, your voice steady despite the thrill running through your veins. “I trust you.”

      He let out a shaky breath, clearly struggling with the conflict inside him. After a long pause, his eyes darkened with something unreadable. He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming as he gently gripped your wrist, pulling you toward him.

      “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he muttered

Kunigami

      Rensuke Kunigami was a man of discipline. He didn’t believe in playing games, and he definitely didn’t waste time on things that didn’t serve a purpose. So when he overheard you on the phone, he didn’t overthink it.

      If that’s what you wanted, he’d deliver.

      But he wasn’t going to fake it, and he definitely wasn’t going to coddle you afterward. Kunigami didn’t do things halfway.

      The shift in his behavior was subtle at first. You noticed it when you were out together, when he stopped softening his words for you.

      “Y/n, stop dragging your feet,” he muttered one afternoon as you strolled beside him, struggling to keep up with his pace.

      “I’m not dragging my feet,” you shot back, slightly out of breath.

      Kunigami barely spared you a glance. “Then why are you so damn slow?”

      Your stomach fluttered at the bluntness of his tone. He had never spoken to you like that before. You bit your lip, resisting the urge to grin.

      Later, at home, it escalated. You were sprawled on the couch, absentmindedly flipping through your phone while he stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his broad chest.

      “You’re wasting time,” he said flatly.

      You blinked up at him. “What?”

      “I’ve been calling you for the last five minutes. Get up.”

      You hesitated, testing the waters. “Or what?”

      Kunigami exhaled through his nose, then strode over to where you lay. Without another word, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you upright with zero effort, dragging you toward the bedroom.

      "Hey!" you yelped, but the rush of excitement shot through you before you could think twice about it.

      He didn’t slow down. “I don’t like repeating myself,” he said simply, his grip firm but controlled. “Next time, move when I tell you to.”

      Your heart was racing now, and you didn’t fight him. You liked this side of him. Kunigami had always been intense, but he had never turned that intensity on you. And now that he had, you felt like you were standing too close to a flame, burning up in the best way possible.

      “M’sorry, Ren.” You responded, and Kunigami melted at your look. Did he go too far?

      Kunigami studied you for a moment, his sharp golden eyes taking in every detail. The way your breath hitched, the way you looked up at him, expectant and eager. He exhaled through his nose again, shaking his head slightly. All of his guilt washed away from your reaction.

      “Yeah whatever. Shut up and do as you’re told.”

      And who were you to disobey?

[fairestbeard]

Carmy Dressing Up Syd

What's the theory?

The story is mostly told from Carmy's point of view. So the ambience of the show is mostly subjective to Carmy's thought process. Sydney, being the object of his affection, is also presented through Carmy's eyes- at least the way she presents in his presence. I'll explain.

-Fans have identified that when she meets him, she is wearing Thom Browne, who is a designer he is theorized to admire a lot.

We know he got into cooking through his love for his brother but it has also been revealed (in his conversations with Claire- where I might add, that he didn't even notice the love of his life was sitting behind him. Interesting!) that he drew clothing designs when he was younger which suggests that at some point he may have considered being a fashion designer. We see how he connects to that desire by collecting and trading vintage denim as an outlet for that interest. The blue apron he choses for them in the restaurant also just so happens to be denim.

-Sydney is his muse. Whatever turn their relationship takes, we know that much. Also, we know Syd is kind of poor and likely unable to afford designer clothing. She's very resourceful so she might be good at thrift shopping for clothes she wouldn't be able to afford of the racks. They could also be from better times when she could actually afford them (having a business that failed literally from too much success?).

But what are the odds that this random person who walks into his life somehow dresses in the designer he likes? It is very plausible that she in actuality had a bunch of Thom Brownes and he recalls her mostly in them because when you like someone you notice the things that connect them to you and always connect them with the things you love.

Carmy's transference

It all started here!

Carmy was so distraught at Syd leaving that it affected his whole demeanor. He wasn't as energetic and as annoying (according to Tina) as he usually was. He seemed like he couldn't care less any more and was just going through the motions. It was so noticeable that Tina had to reach out to him and that's where it happens.

He had already seen her in the new apron at the pre-shift meeting. You could notice where he gives her a once over while she was talking to him then. But it was when she came to his office door that he really sees it because that was a thing Sydney did. This is where he first projects Sydney unto someone else to give himself comfort.

He had very much gotten used to her showing up at his office door for one reason or the other every day. So he must have found the image of Tina at his door in those aprons (remember Syd was the first person he gave them to and he gave her the one that was hanging in his apartment, I might add)- a little comforting to him and it gave him a smidge of happy nostalgia. So touched was he about that moment that he gives Tina the day off to rest.

Sydney through Carmy's eyes

While he begins to get closer to her and tries to make sense of their relationship, you also see that reflected in her appearance.

-she is dressed like him when they get to know each other better and trade career stories

-she is dressed like Fak when he contemplates who his best friend really is

His erotic transfer

This transference also comes into play when he meets Claire again and it has been brought to light by a number of fans here. I think @chefkids especially wrote extensively about this. We see Claire appearing in many ways that can be linked to Syd:

* Claire in a green jacket

* Claire in a jacket that resembles a UPS driver's while delivering mail, routing through Sheridan road

* Claire in a denim jacket

* Claire in blue and white.

Claire is someone he was known to desire in the past and who everyone has told him he wants and should be with. Suddenly here she is in front of him obviously desiring him back. And as Nat said in her monologue, who doesn't want easy? Who doesn't want to just be ok? His relationship with Syd is very complicated and delicate. It's risky and could ruin everything if it goes wrong. So he solves his desire for companionship and his desire for Syd by projecting Syd unto this woman who is clearly into him and who he knows he has been into and could still. That's why he takes her to the restaurant before he kisses her, to simulate that feeling. He probably had imagined kissing Syd in there too. That's why he made the infamous infidelity pasta. That's why he discusses the menu and fire suppression exam with Claire. He needed to find a way to connect the two.

Now this transference starts seeping back to Syd as well. We see her wearing something similar to a doctor's coat and literally handing him, of all things, medication on the day he decides whether his doctor lady friend is his girlfriend. Syd also starts wearing white tees after he sees Claire in his white tee.

At the crux of season two he literally purchases a $2000 outfit for her to wear, different from the rest of the team, directly dressing her up.

S3 is where Carmy reviews his life as a chef and has to decide what kind of chef and person he needs to be and we see that reflected on Syd as well. She starts appearing in more polka dot mirroring the chef who had had the most positive impact on Carmy - not only working with compassion and patience but also gently pushing Carmy forward career wise - Chef Terry. This is important because Syd reminds him of Chef Terry with the way she handles things with compassion and patience while also striving to push things forward. Carmy would be stagnant without Syd, even if he had opened those cans in the first episode. Syd is Carmy's muse, his inspiration and in many ways his leader.

Syd is also seen wearing short pants which he said he had been interested in designing when he was younger.

Another thing I noticed and find very interesting is Syd's reaction to him noticing her clothes. She's never passive when he comments on what she's wearing. In Omelette when he notices the stains on her whites she immediately takes it off because he noticed something negative. Also in Legacy when he says she looks nice she immediately takes off the thing that brings the outfit together (the bow hair clip), probably because the reason she was dressed up in the first place is something he wouldn't approve of?

Also, it could be alluding to his secret desire to see her in a state of undress.

Sydney has become the lens in which he views his world. The man needs that cookie so very badly on a spiritual, metaphysical level.

[octuscle]

City Slicker to Country Boy.

Peter stood in the middle of nowhere. Out of nowhere, something had hit his windshield. Some kind of animal. Whatever it was, the glass had shattered into a million tiny pieces. And the overly sensitive airbags of his BMW had deployed in all their glory.

Goddamn it!

According to his GPS, the nearest authorized repair shop was 200 miles away. And with no signal, neither his cell phone nor his emergency system worked. He was stuck in a cornfield with nothing to do. And for a workaholic like him, idleness and helplessness were far worse than the prospect of an expensive repair. If he could ever get the car repaired at all. Right now, he’d be happy just to see any sign of intelligent life out here. The only sounds were some birds chirping and the occasional cricket.

After what felt like an eternity of hoping for a miracle and some phone reception, he heard a noise. A noise that grew louder. An engine.

Peter stepped onto the road, took off his blazer, and waved it in the air. “How ridiculous,” he thought. “I look like a shipwrecked idiot stranded on a deserted island.” Then again, his situation wasn’t all that different.

The pickup truck that pulled up next to him was a giant compared to his elegant station wagon.

“Howdy, name’s Ace. What kinda trouble ya in?”

“Peter, nice to meet you,” Peter replied, pointing at the windshield. Ace responded by spitting on the ground and mumbling, “Well, damn.”

“Tell ya what, buddy. I can take ya back to the farm. We’ll call up them Krauts, see if they can fix up yer ride. Don’t reckon I got the right parts lyin’ ‘round.” He laughed like he’d just cracked the best joke in the world.

Peter forced a smile and said that would be very kind of him.

“Quit talkin’ all fancy, man, and hop in. Need anything from yer car, throw it in the back.”

The truck was big and dirty. It took Peter a moment to bring himself to place his weekender bag and laptop case on the dusty truck bed. But what choice did he have? He sighed, hoping he wouldn’t get too dirty in the passenger seat, and climbed in.

Ace wasn’t much of a talker. But Peter was actually grateful for that. He kept staring at his phone display.

“Ain’t no use, man,” Ace said. “Tornado came through last week, took out some towers. Ain’t gonna get a signal ‘til we’re a few dozen miles down the road.”

Peter closed his eyes and leaned back. Just his goddamn luck. The truck rumbled steadily down the endless straight road. Ace was humming along to some slow country tune. Peter dozed off.

“Wake up, buddy, we’re here.”

Peter jerked awake. They were in a barn. Tractors and other farm equipment stood around. Ace jumped out of the truck and walked toward a small kitchenette nestled between tool cabinets. Peter got out and followed.

Ace poured himself a cup of coffee from an old pot, unzipped his coveralls, and took a sip. Peter couldn’t help but stare at Ace’s hairy, wiry, muscular torso. Peter swam twice a week, but he couldn’t compare to that build.

“Like what ya see?” Ace smirked.

Peter’s eyes widened in shock. Had he been staring?

“I mean—ya want some coffee?” Ace clarified, still grinning.

Peter nodded. Ace poured a cup and handed it to him. Normally, Peter took his coffee with oat milk and sweetener. But asking for that now felt ridiculous. He took a sip. Damn, it was hot and strong.

Ace asked if Peter could give him a hand. He needed to load up some vegetables and take them to the grocery store. Peter nodded, took off his blazer, and draped it over a chair. Ace climbed onto the truck bed, tossed Peter his duffel bag and laptop case, and told him to start handing up crates. Together, they got the job done quickly.

Peter asked if he should come along to help unload.

“Nah,” Ace said. “Ya know how to cook?”

Peter nodded. Not a lie—he enjoyed cooking in his free time.

“Well, stay here and fix up some dinner then. Be back in ‘bout an hour.”

Peter asked where the kitchen was.

“Over in the house, where else? Door’s open. You’ll figure it out.” And with that, Ace drove off.

Peter threw on his denim jacket, slung his duffel bag over his shoulder, picked up his laptop case, and walked to the house. Two big dogs greeted him enthusiastically at the door. Normally, Peter wasn’t much of a dog person, but these two? He liked them. Strong, solid animals. Perfect for hunting. Shit, why was he even thinking that?

Somehow, and he couldn’t explain why, everything here felt oddly familiar. Ace looked like the kind of guy who’d appreciate a good chili. Peter grabbed the necessary ingredients from the pantry and fridge and got to work. Beau and Bailey never left his side. They knew Peter always tossed them scraps while cooking. They didn’t beg. They were well-trained. But Peter knew how to keep them happy.

Ace returned about two hours later. The chili was simmering, the table was set, and Peter was lounging on the couch, watching TV, Beau and Bailey at his feet.

As usual, Ace stripped down to his underwear as soon as he walked in.

“Had a beer with Clyde and Gator,” he said, heading to the fridge. “Want one?”

“Dumb question,” Peter replied.

Ace came back with two bottles, sat next to Peter, and asked why he hadn’t changed yet. Then, he reached into his worn-out briefs and fondled his thick cock.

“Was just outside with the boys,” Peter said, clinking bottles with Ace, taking a swig, and burping as he got up to grab the chili. He unbuttoned his shirt and loosened his belt on the way to the kitchen.

They ate in silence. One of the perks of living without women—you didn’t have to talk so much.

“Wanna go get yer car tonight? Filled up the spare gas can,” Ace said, spilling a bit of chili on the table.

“Nah,” Peter replied, scratching his balls with one hand and shoveling more chili into his mouth with the other. “Let’s fuck first. Deal with it in the morning.”

“Fine by me,” Ace said, licking his spoon while stroking his cock at the same time.

Including Beau and Bailey, they made a solid four-guy household. Farm work was tough. Having to deal with love and all that bullshit on top of it? Pure hell. Work, eat, fuck, watch football, sleep. The routine was simple. But neither Peter nor Ace were exactly intellectuals.

The sun wasn’t even up when Peter woke. Ace was already brewing coffee. When Pete put on his camo hunting gear, Beau and Bailey tensed up. They knew what was coming. But they waited until their master gave the signal. Then, like lightning, they dashed to the barn and leaped onto the truck bed.

Pete greeted Ace with a deep kiss, grabbing his morning wood. “Quick fuck first?” Ace asked.

“After the hunt,” Pete replied, taking his coffee.

Damn, running out of gas in the cornfield yesterday had been a pain in the ass. Now Ace had to drive him out with the spare can and the dogs. But Pete would make up for it by restocking the freezer. Today, he’d bag that deer. Ace could bet on it.

And hell, if he didn’t bring back fresh meat, well—then he’d just have to be the one getting fucked tonight. Not much of a sacrifice.

Ace looked at his man and grinned. It sure was easy turnin’ a city slicker into a real country boy.

[vinnyvin-thevincent]

I actually love that you're talking about this! Jayce's trauma is very overlooked, especially the long-lasting effects. I wish it was explored more, or that the writers added in a 4th Act to season 2 so that Jayces trauma could be expanded on, as well as his reaction to being around Mel in this new light.

Ultimately, I think he's overlooked BECAUSE people hated him in season 1. I was always an enjoyer and defender of his character and arc, he's actually been my favorite character since season 1 came out, but I think he's been reduced to "Oh traumatized man hot :0" because there's not a lot of critical thought into his story. A lot of people were neutral if not hating him, so people turning it around and saying "he's interesting now" just because he's now suddenly "hot" is the most they're allowing themselves to like him.

The perception of Jayce is that he exists only in reference to Viktor and Mel's plots. "Jayce's time in the cave taught him that he loved Viktor" no, he already did. He put Hextech, his life's work, on the metaphorical backburner FOR Viktor.

His hallucinations of Viktor and Mel didn't seem sweet to me, it didn't seem like a "deciding my boo" moment. He seems sad and angry, and he's realizing that he blames them just as much as he's blaming himself. Though this nuance isn't allowed to see the light of day because "unlikeable pretty boy is now sad and hot" mindset.

It's a shame, honestly. Now I'm not gonna be a hypocrite, I've watched and even made thirst edits of Jayce, back in season 1 and season 2. I personally think men look better with facial hair and beards, so does he look more attractive to me like that? Yes, but that's not the reason I'm obsessed with him. That's not the reason he's my favorite character. His story of building something to better the world, despite how much people wanted to shut it down, he persevered... only for the apocalyptic end of the world to be brought on by his very hands and his very obsession. He is the only one who saw this future, so he must fix it.

It's a tragic story, and one that is very very overlooked because "man look at his boobs" (look, he has a nice rack but be serious).

I dunno, I hope I'm adding good thought here. But his time in the cave/ravine is dehumanizing and breaking. Humans are social pack animals, and isolation is detrimental and can actually cause brain damage. The only reason I genuinely think he was functioning is that he was stuck in survival mode. When he got back to his timeline, he stayed in survival mode. He rushed to the Commune and shot Viktor. He found Caitlyn and hurried to Piltover to prep for the incoming war because he KNEW that wasn't going to be enough. He kept moving, kept moving, kept moving. It was the only way to stop the incoming destruction.

Tldr: You're right, I've noticed this too, and I'm more than HAPPY to discuss and focus on his arc with you

Random Thoughts on the Arcane Fandom about Jayce

this is gonna be a mess but I have nowhere else to talk about this.

I've recently noticed how Jayce Talis has been subjected to all kinds of sexualization since the drop of Act 2 of the second season. People have mentioned many times how trauma has made him "hot". A good and well-known example of this is Danny Motta's reaction to episode 5, where he said, "Holy shit, they made Jayce hot! [...] My dude went from looking like a Muppet to the king of Rohan, and all it took was a little bit of trauma."

This isn't entirely new for him? If people didn't hate Jayce back in S1, they ogled him in the scene where he works on the Forge shirtless, which IS kinda the point because the animators are making him very obviously attractive. But most importantly, he as a character has been reduced to his sexual or romantic relationships since the beginning of time.

It seems that S2 is a response to this in a way. His arc from the ending of S1, where he took responsibility of his actions out of guilt for the child he killed, was slightly set aside for Viktor. Well, ALL of his life, dreams, decisions, everything about him was eclipsed by Viktor's shadow because of the whole "all times, all possibilities" twist. He wasn't expected to show up as a Councilor in any of the meetings, and we must assume he quits at some point, but he surely hasn't resigned from his position by the time Viktor wakes up. Apart from that much needed scene between him and Cait, and the one where he attends the memorial (and is attacked by a vengeful mother), we don't see many of his decisions or what leads him to make them, other than Viktor. This is beautiful in a way because we can SEE how it is a trauma response to losing him. He is obsessive by nature, and he clings to what keeps him and his loved ones safe excessively, but I still had to do a bit of mental gymnastics as to why he went back on the second promise: to not build Hextech weapons again. (Hint: it has to do with the fact that VI saved him with HIS weapon, but it went so fast it's hard to process in the first watch.)

Now back to the sexualization problem. Every time I look up his name and trauma, or PTSD, 95% of the results are thirst edits on Tiktok about how hot he is. No joke. One of the more serious results is my own edit. Of course, a lot of people connect with his suffering without naming it as trauma, and that is great. My concern is that there has been so much focus on Jinx's trauma, Viktor's trauma, even Silco's trauma (which are all valid and fascinating to explore), but there's less attention for other characters who clearly show how their own traumatic experiences has shaped them. Vi, Caitlyn, and Jayce are some of the clearest examples of this, and they've experienced some truly heinous things in the show. Trauma cannot be compared, ever. But why is it that Jayce, who lived through an apocalypse that HE knows HE caused, and lives in complete isolation except the "company" of metal watchers, to the point that he loses touch with reality, and is changed so irrevocably that he loses the naivety and starry-eyed optimism that has always defined him...is seen as hot? And more importantly, why is it that there is very little attention to his experiences on that cave? Every scene between him and Viktor is uploaded in 1080 HD quality, but the scenes of him alone? Fighting to survive? Showing remarkable resilience in the face of his suffering? No, that's not as fun. Not a single one of those scenes is uploaded fully, and I have checked many times. (Some people have actually skipped those scenes to focus on Timebomb. I'm...)

I went online and looked up "why do people sexualize traumatized characters" because let's face it, it's real, it's interesting, and I cannot judge or else I am a hypocrite. Bucky Barnes, Loki, Ellie Williams, Dean Winchester, Vi herself, the list goes on much longer but I can't think of others off the top of my head. We connect with their suffering, and we are pulled by their experiences.

However, Jayce is such a complicated case because he is usually thought of as the greedy himbo that fumbled two baddies, or the confused bisexual, or the guy who lost it because of a situationship (much like Vi, who DID NOT lose it because of a failed romantic endeavor bfr). And then the plot goes and tells us, "Actually, yeah, his life outside of Viktor doesn't matter, he's not even supposed to be alive, because Viktor saved him. All of time is completely inextricable from Viktor." People hate meljay because she manipulated him and "trapped" him in a relationship or something, only to celebrate it when something suspiciously similar happens with the male romantic interest? I initially thought it was beautiful too, bc Soulmates, but man. Mage!Viktor really left the man he loved to rot in complete isolation, eating raw reptiles until throwing up, losing his mind. Say what you want about the allegory for Viktor's life, at least Viktor's isolation was metaphorical up until the Glorious Evolution.

Despite us being shown this, people make thirst edits of him in his black fit, and fighting with sexual tension with Viktor. I fear...that I am the only one who finds this tragic. The man forced to create a larger than life persona to sell his work and be seen as an attractive pawn of the system, has become the attractive pawn of the narrative. Viktor's narrative.

Perhaps Viktor was forgotten by the world. But Jayce's kind heart, and brave soul, were forgotten by us.

Just some thoughts to chew about my favorite character and my wish that more people focused on his arc with me

[megwritesriddles]

A Few Strings Attached ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Sam (Stardew Valley) x Fem! Reader / You

Summary: Request: I saw your post about requests, and I love your sdv stuff! Could you maybe do something with the reader and Sam being fwb. Sam gets super jealous when she hangs out/starts getting close with one of the others, leading to him confessing the next time they have sex. If you wanted to have him be a little rougher with the reader, that'd be cool to, just whatever you're comfy with ^-^ tysm!!

Tags: Friends-with-benefits, P in V, Unprotected sex, Fingering, Nipple play (minor), Biting, Rough sex, Jealousy, Moody!Sam, Love confession, Possessive behaviour (slight).

Word count: 2.5k

all fandom masterlist | sdv masterlist | read it on ao3

Authors note: This may seem like it starts in the middle, because it DOES!! I wrote too much unnecessary exposition like always so I'm posting it as an optional 'prequel' to read. There's a few weird text formatting things going on that I can't fix but oh well!! Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

'PREQUEL' HERE !! (you don't have to read it but if you do, prob read it first, it's only 1.3k words)

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He’s late arriving at the Saloon one Friday for your weekly hangout, a time to enjoy the ‘friends’ part of friends-with-benefits with you and relax with the people he’s closest to. The new riff he’d written on his guitar had kept him busy and he’d lost track of time. When he arrives at the Saloon and heads to the side room to find his friends, he freezes a little at the sight before him. Sure, you and Sebastian had started talking more lately, he’d noticed, but Sam was confident he had you to himself and had no reason to worry. He barely thought of anything but you each day since starting the arrangement, and as you seemed to enjoy the sex as much as he did, he assumed you would be the same. Sebastian had ceased to be any sort of a threat in his mind, until now. The two of you stood at the end of the pool table, way too close together for Sam’s comfort, talking and giggling, nudging each other with your elbows. Sam just stared for a moment as the two of you clearly made jokes back and forth, giggling and swatting each other. What could the two of you possibly have to giggle about? You didn’t have anything much in common… Did you? Sam tried to think but came up blank, yet something was clearly very funny to the two of you. Trying to control the irrational urge inside of him to rush over and stake some claim over you, he took a deep breath and wandered over.

“Hey guys, having fun without me?” he teases, although his voice is just a little tense enough to give him away. He doesn’t think of himself as the jealous type, and really you weren’t his to get jealous over, but the burning of his cheeks tells him exactly how he feels. He wants to wrap an arm around you and pull you in, bite your neck in the way that he knows you love right in front of Sebastian and actually leave a mark this time.

“Hey Sammy, had to entertain ourselves somehow while you weren’t here,” you tease, your voice and expression sweet, unaware that Sam is seething with jealousy. Is this what you’d do if he went out of town for a while or something? Find a way to ‘entertain’ yourself? Turn to Sebastian? His face falls without him being able to help it.

“Right,” he grunts, staring at you intently. You tilt your head at him, finally noticing something is wrong. Sam is seldom moody, he’s always outgoing and happy-go-lucky, so seeing his face twisted into a sour expression is disconcerting. 

“Is something wrong Sammy?” you ask gently. “Why were you late?” you clearly assume whatever made him late is what has him upset. Are you really that naive? He glances contemptuously at Sebastian who is still at your side, looking similarly concerned. 

“I’m just tired, honestly I’m gonna go home, you’ll have more fun without me bringing you down,” he grumbles, turning to leave. He knows he shouldn’t be acting like this, you’re both his friends. Friends. And it wasn’t like he caught you kissing Sebastian, just laughing with him, but the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach persists. The two of you and even Abigail protest, saying he’ll feel better after a round of pool, but he’s made up his mind, he cannot watch this. If you want Sebastian, who is he to stand in your way? As long as he doesn’t have to see it play out. He stomps back to his house, listening out in case you’ve come chasing after him, but you haven’t, taking him at face value and assuming something had happened at home to upset him. Admittedly, he does feel a little stupid returning home mere minutes after he left, and considers turning back around, but can’t bring himself to. Hiding away in his room sounds best right now. He waits quietly in his bed, glaring up at the ceiling, expecting that you might knock on his window, but you don’t. It pains him to imagine what you might be doing instead. Could Sebastian please you as well as he could? How was he to know? You might be forgetting all about him at this very instant. He comforts his male pride by convincing himself that Sebastian is probably a disappointing size compared to him, even though he has no evidence of this. Then when he realises what he’s thinking, he feels wildly ashamed. Sebastian was his closest and oldest friend here. Wasn’t the whole point of this arrangement for things not to be complicated? His thoughts had never been so muddled. After another half hour, he concludes you aren’t coming to knock on his window, and turns himself over to sleep.

The next day, although he tells himself he won’t, he’s drawn to walk to your farm at his usual time. He’s a little worried about what might be waiting for him. He imagines Sebastian embracing you from behind as you bake, something he’s always wanted to do, as he often arrives just as you finish baking and is sent home with some fresh rolls. He knocks on your door and you open it like usual, smiling brightly. 

“Hey Sa– ooh,” a puff of air leaves your lungs as he pounces on you, pushing you to the wall of your entryway. You give him a bewildered look as he tilts your chin from side to side, examining your neck for any marks. “What are you doing?” you chuckle, but he doesn’t answer, examining a tiny dent in your skin that resembles a bite. Was that the same one he’d left on you a few days ago? Beyond hope, he hoped it was. “Sam?” He pulls back and looks at you, examining your face as if something in your expression would give away if you’d done something with Sebastian. “What are you looking for?” you scoff. He knows he’s being unreasonable, so he falters a little.

“Nothing…” he huffs, looking away, though his hands remain on your waist, thumbs rubbing gentle circles. You laugh softly and it sends a jolt through him, reminding him of the scene last night. He slams his lips to yours to shut you up, causing you to squeak in surprise for a moment, but quickly relax, slipping your arms around his neck just in time for him to hoist you up and carry you to your bed. Your lips remain connected, moulding together and tongues finding one another as he walks you over. He’s determined to make you forget everything but his name. The bed dips as he climbs on, lowering you to lie beneath him, wasting no time in sliding his hands beneath your shirt to push it up. You giggle at his sudden dominant attitude, but you don’t mind at all, lifting your arms so that he can free you of your shirt. “No bra…” he purrs. “Expecting someone?” His voice is rough enough to give you a little pause, but his hands dancing all over your bare skin don’t allow your brain to pause for long. His thumbs circle your nipples, causing them to stiffen into peaks.

“You, of course,” you sigh as he lowers his head, wrapping his warm lips around one rosy bud and swirling his tongue, gently rolling the other between his fingers. A gentle moan leaves your lips and he flicks his tongue back and forth. 

“Me,” he mumbles against your skin, slowly kissing his way from one nipple to the other, before taking it in his mouth and repeating the swirling action you so liked. 

“Mhmm,” you whine as he carefully brushes his teeth against your sensitive skin. He doesn’t bite but just teases you enough for goosebumps to rise on your skin, the cool air meeting the wet kisses over your chest adding to your shivers. His hands cup the weight of your breasts, his mouth swapping between your nipples periodically just to tease you, hardness rubbing against your inner thigh. You squirm, trying to shift so Sam’s bulge would press where you need it to. He growls, slamming his hips to yours and harshly rutting against you. Your head tips back and you moan, much to his private delight.

“You want me, don’t you? Tell me you want me not Sebastian,” he hisses, biting his way over the swell of your breast and up to your neck. 

“What–? What does Sebas–,”

“Just say it, tell me you want me,” he demands. Your mind is hazy with arousal, but even so, you know something is incredibly odd with this ask. At your silence, he ruts against you once more, spurring you into action.

“I want you, I want you, only you…” you whine, wriggling against him softly. Full of pride, he bites down on your neck, sucking a harsh mark into your skin. Another squeak leaves you, surprised by this, he doesn’t usually mark you, it defeats the purpose of hooking up in secret, but before you can protest, he’s tugging down your leggings and rubbing his fingers through your slick folds, melting all of your thoughts away until you’re left with only his touch against you. Your hips chase his fingers as he playfully withdraws them, enjoying watching how needy you are. He isn’t usually so teasing, but his ego needs stroking right now, as does something else. He sucks his fingers clean with a groan and drops them back down to resume rubbing. The sensation has you whining and squirming and he enjoys it whole-heartedly, guiding your hand to his bulge as he dips his fingers inside of you, stretching you open. Ever generous, you immediately begin to stroke him through his jeans, even despite being a little distracted. It’s a fumble for you to undo his jeans when your eyes are glued to where his fingers are disappearing inside of you, but eventually, you manage. He snatches your hand before you can try to dip it in his boxers.

“No, I want to fuck you,” he growls, making you moan, looking up at him starry-eyed. You want it too, but words escape as his fingers drive as deep as they can go into you before quickly withdrawing completely. The empty feeling makes you whine, but you don’t have to worry for long. He sucks his fingers clean again, making sure he doesn’t miss a drop and then strips himself down to the buff, kicking off his jeans. He always enjoys the way you admire his body, but today it feels especially favourable. He admires you in turn, dripping wet and perfectly sexy, the perfect body laid out in front of him, belonging to the perfect person. Something regrettable threatens to slip out of his mouth, so he bites his lip and settles right between your legs, placing his heavy cock against you, and gently tapping your clit with it a few times. You whine and wriggle, giving him your best wide-eyed plea, he loves it when you get like this. Out of a hint of misplaced lingering spite, he grinds his cock between your folds a few times, not yet pressing inside like you want, getting the both of you wetter and wetter. It would be torture for him too if it wasn’t for the look on your face. “Pretty perfect girl…” he hums as you whimper for him. You’re too aroused to notice the seriousness of those words, he usually only calls you hot or sexy. 

Finally, at long last, he grabs the base of his cock and angles himself so he can push inside of you. He buries himself to the hilt immediately, revelling in the choked-out gasp that leaves your lips. He takes a grip on your hips and, after a few gentle thrusts to assess if you can take it, he begins pounding into you. Your eyes roll back and you shout out in pleasure and he feels much the same way. His eyes roll a little and he growls, holding you down as his hips slam into yours over and over. You’re so tight and warm and perfect. He pants, staring down at you, flushed and blissed out, your tits bouncing with each ruthless thrust. You take him so well, you look so beautiful, even now. He leans down to kiss you, your noses bumping as he bullies his cock into you, tongues making a sloppy mess together. You’re so perfect, nothing has ever felt this good, he refuses the idea that someone else might take this from him. With a loud grunt, his pace increases impossibly more, forcing loud wanton moans from your throat with each movement.

“You’re mine,” he pants, a hand coming up to grip your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “You’re mine, say it,”

“I’m yours,” your fucked-out mind doesn’t understand the gravity of what he’s saying, merely obeying orders so your orgasm isn’t stolen from you. Your words make him groan and lift your legs, thrusting into you at a new angle. You cry out in pleasure.

“You’re mine, say it, say my name,” he growls.

“Sam…” you whine, unable to form a coherent thought.

“That’s it, my perfect girl, I–” he cuts himself off, stuttering and twitching deep within you. “Ah–, I’m close, please…” he ruts himself against you a few more times, the pleasure completely clouding his brain. “I- I love you,” he grunts against your lips.

“Sam…!” you sob and it sends him over the edge, his thrusts slowly significantly as he shoots ropes of his cum deep inside of you.

“Fuck, I love you,” he chokes as he cums. “I love you so much…” he collapses on top of you but gives a few more weak thrusts into you as he feels your fingers frantically rubbing at your clit, helping you fall over that edge. He hisses when you do, feeling you squeeze down around his oversensitive cock, but he can’t bring himself to pull out. He lies there on top of you, one arm sliding behind your back to keep you pressed to him. His eyes fall shut and he takes a deep breath, completely satisfied. 

“You love me?” your weak voice squeaks from beneath him and he suddenly realises what he’s said, what he said throughout what you just did. He could probably pass it off as a weird kink, or just getting lost in the moment, but as he looks down at your flushed confused face, he can’t lie.

“Y-yeah I uh… I guess I do,” he grins sheepishly, back to his old self now he got the insecure anger out of his system.

“And you… thought something was going on with me and Sebastian? That’s why you were being so odd?” you sluggishly piece the pieces together, struggling to think in your pleasured haze, but unable to ignore it. He nods. “Well, nothing is going on, I promise you, we’ve been talking more because I’m trying to get him to ask Abi out,” you chuckle tiredly. “Why would I want him when I have you?”

“My thoughts exactly,” Sam jokes, but is incredibly relieved to hear it. “And… the whole ‘me loving you’ thing, how do you feel about that?” he asks, gently wiping some sweat from your brow. 

“Well… I guess I love you too,”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

xoxoxo

[kestrel-of-herran]

my thoughts on peterrose in season two + predictions for season three

i want to preface this by saying that i ended up enjoying season two wayyy more than season one, and i think it came down to the bigger complexity of the storyline, the unpredictable alliance switches and twists, and the depth with which the afterglow of peter and rose's experiences and relationship in season one was handled. this season's focus on angst and exploration of the psychological impact of the work on both of them and what it means for their relationship really elevated the love story for me from a pretty clean-cut "us against the world" vibe to the messiness of both of them being used to blackmail the other and their relationship straining because of the secrecy around the missions and the contradictions of rose feeling safe with peter but being constantly endangered by his work and peter needing rose around for his peace of mind but rose suffering psychologically from her proximity to the morally grey aspects of his work. chef's fucking kiss where's the next course

peterrose things i loved in season two + development from season one

rose having the option to leave anytime

while in the first season both of them had little actual choice about whether to stick together or not, circumstances that created a kind of bubble around them and aided the romance, this time around rose could have backed out repeatedly, making every time she chose to stay a decision that had as much to do with peter as with the help she thought she could give to the investigation. not only was she there at the beginning to help him gain some trust in people back and make sure he didn't steer off the ethical path, but later she also discovered for herself that even in the thick of danger (the party, the air vents situation in the last ep) she prefers to try to help rather than back away. it's a mode of thinking that will definitely lead her to sharing some of the danger of the job longer-term if the show lets her explore it.

closeness without labels

this is one aspect that i thought was handled with so much care and delicacy in a way that felt very satisfying to watch. they haven't seen each other in ten months, but she still has scores of photos saved on her phone (the show could have easily gone with one selfie, the fact she was always showing a different photo really shows they dated for a while before his posting, and were happy enough during it to constantly take pics) and doesn't hesitate to ditch her job and track him into danger because she's worried sleepless about him. she doesn't hold not calling her back over him even though she's clearly hurt about it because she knows it's out of his control, but he still apologizes and makes it clear again and again how thankful he is that she's there and how she's helped him both emotionally and logistically, like with noticing an attacker or planning the party heist. even as he wants her to leave to be safe, he doesn't make her feel like she's intruded or endangered his mission, but follows her advice and always gives her credit when she contributes to the work. they're comfortable enough with each other to cuddle and hug and kiss spontaneously, but they never discuss exactly what kind of relationship they're in because it's obviously a closeness both of them enjoy and initiate and they care more about being together than giving their relationship a label or discussing a future together at a point when he's so involved with his work and she's still sorting out how she feels about it. she doesn't pressure him about quitting and he doesn't force her to stay, he notices whenever she's upset and talks things out with her, and gives her space to process her feelings even if it means she might realize she's better off out of his kind of life. they both try to give the other whatever they might need in terms of emotional support and space to change their mind, even if that contradicts what they each would prefer the other to do or want or if it would result in emotional pain for them personally.

domesticity

i was absolutely treated to this trope this season. sharing clothes, him casually bringing her drinks while she's working, buying her food and knowing her preferences by heart, all the little jokes and fights that just made them feel like a family throughout the season. it shows clearly that their dynamic goes beyond needing each other in dangerous situations, that they were having a swell time just teasing each other. it's a quieter dynamic than the previous season, because they're both more aware of the constant and repeatedly chosen danger of the situation that is now a way of life rather than a crazy few days before things would go back to normal, but it's also more profound in how it acknowledges the trauma while showing they're still really compatible in the little safe haven of their nights at home.

partnership

they really felt like an agent couple in this season, not only in the way their skills complement the other's, but also in how they're both on the same wavelength of thinking during high-stakes situations and are able to brainstorm through them together or understand each other without words. peter didn't hesitate to tell the guy blackmailing him with rose's life to fuck off because he has faith in her ability to evade the attacker if he warns her. rose's involvement saved several of the missions from going south, and as much as he's uncomfortable with her choosing danger over safety in the moment, he clearly admires the effectiveness of her contribution. moments like when she noticed the comms being overheard and when she ambushed markus and showed peter what she'd do just by counting with her hand really show how perfectly they work as a team, and how much smoother operations in the future would go if they're both there to have each other's backs and think through problems together.

your life for hers

fuck me uppppp i love this shit soooooo much. i think one of the main jobs a writer has when developing a plotline is to explore all likely scenarios emerging from the goals and feelings of the character until that point, and the emotional development when it comes to peter protecting rose here is spectacular. while in the first season he was focused on protecting her partly from a feeling of friendship and because he wanted to do right by her and felt responsible for her, in this season it's as clear as day that he's protecting her because he values her life more than his and he's completely aware that if something happens to her it'll wreck him completely. he spends the better part of the season processing the loss of a mission partner and blaming himself for it, and it only serves to bring into focus how much worse things will be for him if rose gets hurt. she's no longer someone he's protecting because it's the right thing to do but someone so precious to him he's fraying at the edges just imagining something happening to her. she's his priority to the point that he doesn't hesitate to throw the mission and put himself in the position of a traitor that he has so much trauma about because of his father, because her being alive and safe is worth every sacrifice to him. the look on his face every time he was blackmailed is 1000000/10.

separation parallels

i really felt the upgrade of the separation scene this season, from the neat wrap-up of the hero flying off into the sunset while his girl waits happily for his call to both characters showing their emotions with all their bitter aftertaste and just feeling through a situation they can't amend right now. i absolutely love how worried rose was whenever someone slipped that peter had done something he could be charged for and all through peter explaining his decision to her, because it's not just that he loves her but that she was used against him and as long as they love each other this can happen again. peter was just excellent here, from taking the time to tell her himself to checking his urge not to get to the bottom of his feelings and taking her hands as he told her the full truth of what he feels for her. rose just breaking down crying and him hugging her and that head kiss was just sooooooooooo perfect in capturing how much they care for each other. rose's expressions as she watches him leave in the taxi and her going towards it are particularly telling, as is her struggle to maintain her smile and carefree tone while talking to noor. her reaching out to noor in the first place speaks volumes to me already, because if she didn't want to be involved with peter's world anymore i doubt she'll want to meet with anyone from that stage in her life now that she's managed to break away from it. noor wasn't buying any of her statements, and from the scene when she sensed something was wrong with her family leaving iran from rose's facial expressions alone, i think she's pretty good at reading her, and the lingering shots on her face leave little doubt rose isn't as fine as she'd like her to think.

predictions for rose in season three and beyond

my thoughts on statements of the writers and actors

the two things that are on my mind when i'm reviewing all the interviews that have addressed rose potentially not continuing with the show are that (1) the showrunners have the right to change their mind about the focus of the show whenever and although it would be like shooting themselves in the foot if they drop her that's their (very unreasonable bc i love rose to pieces) call to make, and (2) no one involved with the show would reveal a major twist before the season has even finished shooting. let's look at some statements of the cast and crew in light of that.

"We don’t want to artificially create a situation where characters have to be part of a specific season on a regular basis. We want to tell the story that feels true in that moment. I am very aware that one of the big strengths of Season 1 — and what I think is a big strength in Season 2 — are Peter and Rose together. I think the relationship is really strong. [...] Their shared trauma from these first two seasons has built this incredible bond. But is it enough to overcome the difference in their lives and their lifestyles Is something that we spend a lot of time talking about. So, not trying to duck the question, but we’re still creatively looking into all that. This, hopefully, with the success, will be a long-running show, and the question you raise is something that we talk a lot about in the writers room." (source)

they're clearly still writing the season and figuring out where they want to place rose in the story without compromising her moral code, and i think they might have wanted to hear the audience's and critics' responses to this as well before they wrap up this season's plot. journalists keep bringing this up in interviews and i think that's very telling to how the public as a whole and not just the shipping fandom views the show as about the both of them, so i hope that interest makes a difference in how they perceive the future of the show as a successful one as well, since they do need people to stick around and characters are a huge draw (case in point i started this for the couple rather than the plot, and didn't even find the plot engaging until season two, but i'd never spend hours of my morning writing an analysis for their excellent handling of plot only). they're clearly aware of peter and rose as a huge boon to the show, but also want to make sure that either of the actors not being able to continue with the series isn't going to put the whole thing out of business. one way i see this playing out is with rose having reduced screen time in season three but coming in as a regular in season four for example, if another season of peter doing agent stuff while she develops something (a program, fighting skills) is what's required for her to fit smoothly in the events surrounding him. i can also see they're anxious not to repeat plot points and make copies of previously successful seasons, so i expect rose's future involvement in the plot to be more creative and not replicate her previous actions, e.g. her not seeking him out on her own in a similar way again, but likely coming in as a partner already in some official capacity.

"That will be a part of Season 3, him trying to emotionally and logistically deal with the unintended consequences of his actions in season 2. [...] The goal isn’t darkness but what I would say is — and I’m involved in a coalition that talks a lot about how mental health is portrayed on TV — one of the things that we wanted to do in Season 2 was model Rose’s behavior as being how you want to approach trauma and violence in your life. She’s seeking professional help, and she’s making progress. Peter, on the other hand, is approaching it in a very old fashioned, very masculine, frankly, way of burying it, ignoring it, and that doesn’t often work. I’m always adamant that I don’t want the show to become so dark and impenetrable, so I think you’re going to see a lot of sides of Peter in Season 3 in the same way that you did in Season 2. I hear your question, and no, the show isn’t about going to the abyss with Peter." (source)

kuddos to them for that honestly i absolutely loved the ptsd portrayal in season two, but the main thing i'm getting from this response is that it's very unlikely for rose to be killed off to remove her from the plot at this point, or to double down on peter's trauma, because that's how peter would define "going into the abyss" imho.

"I would say that that moment, that breakup scene, felt true to us, the writers, as we were crafting the second season. That they live in two very different worlds, that he wants to be in this world that's dangerous, that she doesn't particularly want to be in a world that's dangerous, and yet they have this incredibly strong connection forged over living through and helping each other through these traumatic events. So there's always going to be this incredible connection between the two. What that will mean for their onscreen pairing I think is something that we continue to talk about and will figure out. So, I don't know yet, because we haven't definitively decided what it means for the characters. I will just tell you that we love the character of Rose. We love the character of Peter. We love Luciane and Gabriel as actors. I think they're tremendous together. When we started to work on season 2, I came back to the writers with what I felt were strengths of the show from season 1, and the very first one I wrote down was Peter and Rose together. So we don't take that lightly. At the same time, we don't want to craft something that feels inauthentic just to be a fan service, to keep them together in ways that might feel unrealistic. So that will be the responsibility and the struggle of the writing staff and myself as we craft further seasons." (source)

i think bringing them on the same page about the work can be done with the kind of emotional development they pursued when they explored the impact of trauma and morally grey choices on both of them, so i see this mostly as a matter of narrative time and writing effort, providing they're willing to put those in, rather than the characters being naturally incompatible in terms of their life goals. case in point, rose's characterization in season one came down to happy to break the rules, threaten people with arms, steal things, and kill to protect others or to avenge her loved ones. it's only in season two that we see her struggle with threatening people and endangering lives, so that was a very conscious narrative choice and a huge pivot for her character arc from a tiny daredevil (aspects of her we still see in the party scene for example) to the voice of reason in ethically dubious situations. this kind of major change of heart can happen easily with sufficient screen time and the kind of plot points to inspire it, and is completely within the writers' abilities should they want it to take place.

"I have no idea [whether Rose will be back in season three], and I can’t spoil anything. I wish I could tell you, but Peter does say ‘No, don’t come looking for me,’ and I don’t think Rose takes well to direction; she does whatever she wants. So you never, never know." (source)

it's worth seeing the video of her answering this question, because honestly to me she seems happy to give a little hint of something bigger. it's either her character sixth sense talking (and she's right), or she already knows she'll be brought back to wrap-up the season. i think rose showing up unexpectedly, and prepared, when peter's been spending the season dealing with choosing her safety over remaining clean, is only going to contribute to that theme.

"You can have love for someone without physically expressing it. I think that’s, I don’t want to say trope, but a lazy way of showing that two people care about each other is having them hook up. Sacrificing your life for someone or putting your life at risk to save someone, I think, is a bigger testament of love than giving them a kiss or something like that. The relationship is important to both of them, and you see that through their commitment to one another and keeping one another alive, regardless if that means they’re going to be together, at least they’ll have done what they can to protect the other." (source)

turn this shit upppppppp i love this so much... but this brings me to the fact that as long as they're in love they will be used against each other, so it's time to develop some scenarios from there (and i don't mean them not being in love anymore bc that's just unrealistic at this point; it would require either of them making choices the other can't understand and the entire series becoming more dark, "you can't love anyone"-style, than the writers seem to want it to; giving peter another love interest instead also just seems like undoing a ton of hard work and audience interest just to pull a james bond, and i think they care about being original way more).

plot-realistic scenarios

i'm using this term (likely made-up by me, a writer finishing a book atm btw) here to indicate scenarios that need to be followed for the plot to feel satisfying, e.g. ignoring them would require some disbelief suspension and might make the audience doubt they're seeing the logical development of events and characters as they have been built up so far.

rose is going to continue being used to threaten peter

if part of his goal next season is to eventually turn against the guy holding rose's life over his head, peter needs to make sure she'll survive that plot point, either by protecting her again or warning her and making sure she's in a safe environment while he takes the guy down, for which we need at least a cameo, though that is the laziest way to wrap this up imho. i think the guy will absolutely keep tabs on her so he can use that if peter goes astray, so she'll be involved in this as long as peter's an agent even if she's living a normal life, and i doubt peter will be able to make anyone believe that he doesn't care about her since all it takes for the truth to come out is for someone to point a gun at her head.

rose would benefit from some combat training or security if she's going to make it through this show alive

at the very least, keeping rose out of the show without killing her means also providing her with the means to protect herself as long as peter is being blackmailed with her life, which is one of the few plot points that seems to be a given for the next season. a basic agent training course that would allow her to rebuff attackers, or security trailing her to make sure peter isn't compromised because of her, are the least catherine can do to make sure her plans for peter are successful.

catherine doesn't seem to be done trying to use rose

at multiple points throughout this season, catherine was impressed with rose's coding and recruited her help for a job, and i doubt she'll just let an asset go if she thinks she can be useful. she knows peter's a weak spot for rose that she can utilize to put pressure on her (like with the security cameras, the consequence of rose's choice not to join would have been peter being exposed to more danger, so she changed her mind), and since peter is pretty central to her plans for season three, it makes sense to keep rose closer rather than further. she knows rose can get through to peter when no one else can or take him out of the path she's set out for him, so risking her being too far out of sight to influence strikes me as unreasonable. and what better way to bring rose back into the action than with a bang, by placing her in the middle of a covert mission in later eps (preferably without warning peter to amplify the emotional climax of the reunion) with the kind of skills that would make her at least competent in avoiding capture when things go wrong.

the show has barely scratched the surface of rose as an agent

i mean this seriously, there's so much to work with when it comes to her becoming an agent or helping out with some of the jobs or even if she's joining the action as a voice on the comms while she's hacking some system. peter won't always be in the position to make sure she's safe, and she's been showing so much resilience, quick thinking, and willingness to pull a gun or stab someone during a fight. she's smart, a creative and smooth liar, and refuses to give up even when the odds of her making it are slim. she'll be an asset to any mission the show involves her in, and keeping her in a california office is a huge waste of potential.

rose's arc is far from wrapped up

the thing with rose as a character is that her arc could have been wrapped up in season one without bringing her into season two and the show would still have made sense despite the (disappointing for me the rose fan) shift in focus from romance to political intrigue. the showrunners seem keen to be making that shift anyway, but they decided to keep peter and rose's relationship as not only a subplot but the driving force behind peter's moral conflict and the starting point of him becoming a double agent in season three. rose received a great amount of screen time, agency, and emotional development, but it wasn't enough to feel that she exited the story cleanly and permanently. she clearly still has a lot of processing to do when it comes to both her feelings for peter and whether she wants to join the action and save lives (at multiple points in the show she turned back and rejoined dangerous situations not only out of love for him, but because i think she knows that without her input, chances of things fucking up increase exponentially) despite the danger to her safety, mental health, and moral integrity, and the way to conclude these plot points is to give her more screen time to get full closure or process her trauma and decide to become more involved with night action. even with new storylines and characters appearing, the show will only benefit from keeping rose and peter's relationship as a subplot and exploring the shift in their dynamic and feelings if she's cleared to join the missions on par with him or becomes an agent on other postings unbeknownst to him at first (night action picking up the phone when he has a crisis in season three or her appearing in a completely unrelated undercover mission happening in the same place he's working his target so both of them are thrown off-balance by the proximity). how will their romance develop if she's as competent a fighter as him, if she puts herself at risk as regularly, if their superiors try to use them against each other to manipulate both to their ends? now that's something i'd kill to watch.

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Tell Me a Lie

Matt Murdock x Reader

Words: 4617

Summary: Months of hell lead you to one moment- finding out your boyfriend is really alive. After figuring out where he’s been hiding, you concoct a plan- a very stupid, very dangerous plan- to draw him out. 

Notes: This is a terrible summary, but whatever. I finally started season three and I thought putting the reader in this situation would be really interesting. Obviously, his relationship with Elektra wasn’t the same, but the whole self-destructive Matthew is here and ready for angst. I’m imagining this kinda between the episodes where Matt goes to the hotel and the prison, but doesn’t really follow the plot of the episodes, just my own. This is also just a mess, but oh well. (And I know this is kind of what Bella does in New Moon, but I kind of dig it so I won’t apologize haha)

Warnings: Attempted assault, violence, abandonment, alcoholism literally looking for danger (obviously, spoilers for season three)

More Matt Imagines: HERE

-

It didn’t smell like him anymore. Such a weird, stupid complaint, but it made you sick to your stomach to breathe in the musty air of the apartment. 

You sat up, nursing your head in your hand, still pounding from the night before. Not that you’d slept, but hangovers still found a way to bite you in the ass. It was getting pathetic. Not that you cared. And not that your friends had actually used that word. 

‘Concerning’ was Foggy’s favorite. 

He could have his concern. 

You chased the numb. 

Anything was better than remembering he wasn’t here and the apartment you’d just started to share didn’t smell like him anymore. 

You got out of bed on shaking limbs, feeling the nausea roll over you. You swayed, wondering if you’d throw up again. You didn’t. 

You went to the kitchen and made a pot of coffee to pull you out of the haze. Karen and Foggy were coming by today to talk about rent. You had to seem at least somewhat put together or they would try and talk you into getting help. Getting help meant moving on. Moving on meant giving up. Giving up meant lying to yourself. Admitting that he was dead and he wasn’t coming back. 

But Matt Murdock wasn’t dead. 

You could feel it. 

The pounding at the door felt like knocking on your skull. You groaned. 

Foggy stepped inside. 

“Morning,” he greeted with his usual chipper smile. 

You didn’t understand it. How he could still seem so happy after everything that happened. Then again, things went rather well for him after…

You shook the thoughts from your head. This wasn’t Foggy’s fault. 

“Hey,” you croaked. You took a long, burning drink from your caffeinated cup and let its effects wash over you. “I thought you two were coming together?” 

“Karen had… other stuff.” Foggy peaked around the corner, plastering a smile across his face. He figured he’d ease into the news. Especially because you looked- well- you looked the way you usually did these past few weeks. “But she says hi.” 

You nodded and took another drink. “Coffee?” 

“I already had some, thanks.” 

He stood silently. 

You stood silently. You raised a brow. “You can sit down, Foggy.” 

“Right. Thanks.” He nodded awkwardly and took a seat on the couch. So much for playing it cool. 

You set your mug to the side and leaned on the counter, fingers gripping the edge like a lifeline. 

“What happened, Foggy?” You stared at the back of his head and felt that familiar squeezing, wrenching breathlessness in your chest. The same feeling when Claire dragged you out of Midland Circle. The same feeling when you watched the building fall. The same feeling when Matt didn’t walk out. “Is it… is it Matt? Did they find him?” 

“No, it’s not about-” He blew out a sigh. “God, you haven’t seen the news then?” 

You hurried around to stand in front of him, panic still evident in your exhausted eyes.

Foggy had to look away. 

“Why, what’s on the news?” 

He gulped. “Maybe you should sit down.” 

“Just tell me what happened,” you scoffed. The sound came out as a nervous laugh, but on the inside, you were screaming. 

His blue eyes met yours. 

“Wilson Fisk made a deal with the feds. He’s out of prison.” 

You blinked. The crushing in your chest was replaced by your heart stopping. 

“What?” You choked out. Of all the things you were expected to hear, Fisk’s name wasn’t one of them. 

“Well, not out exactly. He’s apparently giving them information that’s made him a target in his old prison so they’re keeping him in a cushy penthouse for ‘safety purposes.’” He spat each word out. 

You put a hand on the back of the chair for support. “Fisk is free?” 

“Like I said, he isn’t free, but-”

You held up a hand to stop him.“Where’s this hotel?” 

-

The courtyard was absolute mayhem. Reporters scurried in every direction, each harassing a different agent for information they wouldn’t get. Matt dodged in between them. The noise made his still recovering head pound, but he could still pick out enough to get through. He ducked his head when he heard Karen’s voice, a small moment of panic almost making him turn around. 

He kept moving. 

The crowds didn’t surprise you. And neither did seeing the familiar blonde head weaving through the groups with determined strides. You hurried after her, almost bumping into the man in front of you, but he stepped out of the way just in time. 

“Karen!” You called. 

Gold strands whipped around. Her clear blue stare cut through the crowd. 

“Y/N?” She said, pushing through to you. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

“So it’s true.” You tilted your head to the top of the building, its windows reflecting the sun in blinding brightness. “Wilson Fisk is up there?” 

She sighed. “Foggy told you then?” 

“If you’re planning on an ‘it isn’t safe for you to be here’ speech, save it,” you snapped. “I could tell you the same thing.” 

She bit her cheek, looked you over, and determined you looked sober enough. “Alright, follow me.” 

Matt couldn’t move. He tried to force his feet forward, but the heavy beating of his heart filled his ears and made it impossible to navigate the space around him. 

Your voice. Your scent. Even your heartbeat stood out amongst the dozens of people there. And for a moment, just a moment, he wanted to turn around. 

“Promise me we’ll go on that trip we talked about, yeah?” You laughed, though the air was salty with your tears and your voice shook. He kissed your lips for the last time.

“I promise.” 

But that wasn’t what haunted Matt for the last few months. Your sweet words of promise and hope stung, but they weren’t what kept him from going to you. Your screams were. 

“Let me go! Matt! No! Matty! I won’t leave him! Matt!” Even with countless floors between, Matt could hear your gut-wrenching screams as the others dragged you out of the building just before it blew. “Matt! Please! Matt!”

“Matt?” 

It took him a moment to realize that your voice now wasn’t from his memory. It was now.

You’d seen him. But judging by the direction, there was a chance you hadn’t seen his face. He could ignore you and chances were, you’d think you were crazy. Just another offense he’d committed against you. 

He wanted to turn around, to hold you and kiss your lips again and tell you he was okay and everything was going to be okay. That he was still your Matt. 

But the man you fell in love with was gone. He was buried under Midland Circle. 

Matt kept walking. 

-

You’d seen him. As crazy as it was, you knew it was him. He’d heard you. He must have because he stopped- just for a second, but he stopped. Karen may not have believed you, though you could tell she wanted to, but it didn’t matter. 

It was Matt. 

Somehow, it didn’t make any sense but it all made sense at the same time. He was going after Fisk. Of course, he was. Not even the grave couldn't stop your Matt from protecting his city. From protecting you. 

What you didn’t understand is why he kept walking. He acted like you weren’t there, but he of all people couldn’t have simply not noticed you. He’d left you there on purpose. 

He’d left you.

You paced the apartment with your hands raking through your hair with one question on your mind. 

Why? 

Sure, Matt would always use the excuse of protecting you before, but this time felt different. Had you done something? Had you not done enough at Midland Circle? What happened to him? 

Was it your fault?

The explosion was your idea and it buried him. Did he blame you as much as you blamed yourself?

Your feet halted in front of the closet door. Behind the door was a box. Inside the box was the emptiness that haunted your every waking moment for the past you didn’t even know how many days anymore. Your fingers clutched at the neck of the bottle on the table. The drink burned. 

None of it mattered. ‘Why’ didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was out there and he left you and as the burn raced down your throat you knew what you needed to do. 

And you knew where he might be.

-

The gentleness of your touch eased the sting of the disinfectant as you dabbed it on his wounds. It wasn’t the first night he’d come back cut and beaten, but you didn’t let your worry deter your movements. He came back. That’s what mattered. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked, your voice as soft as your motions. You touched a particularly sore spot and he winced. As you went to draw your hand away, he caught it in his, fingers grasping at yours, still clenched around the towel. 

“Can we just… sit for a while?” He breathed. 

You nodded. He wiped away any blood remaining on his skin and set the towel aside. His arms wrapped around you as he pulled you to his chest. He listened to your heartbeat. You listened to his. 

Matt remembered the woman he’d come across earlier that night. Two men had jumped her. They were going to take what they wanted and leave her for dead. He’d taken his time beating them senseless while she got away. But her screams still echoed through his head. 

He tensed beneath you and you looked up at him through your lashes. 

“What is it?” 

“Nothing.”

You sat up. “Matt.” 

“It’s nothing,” he managed a laugh. “Really. Just come here.” He coaxed you back to him, but the tension was still there. He breathed in your presence and let out a low sigh. His arms tightened around you. “I’d never let anything happen to you.” His tone was different. Almost afraid. 

You drew lines on his chest. “I know.” 

“And I’d never hurt you, or at least mean to, anyway, but I know that I have and I’m-”

“Matty.” You crawled up so you were beside him, taking his face in your hands. “All I ask is that you come home at the end of the night.” You kissed his cheek. “In one piece, preferably.” He chuckled and you pressed your lips to his. You whispered in between kisses. “Just come home.” 

-

He talked about this place sometimes. Not often. Getting Matt to open up about his childhood was like pulling teeth, but in those last few months together, he’d started to trust you enough to let you in. 

This felt like a betrayal of that. Using your knowledge to expose him. To confront him for leaving you behind. A sober you might have thought of that. But the whiskey-fueled your anger, the rum your despair, and everything else blocked out any logical thought. 

What was the word Foggy used? 

Right. 

Concerning.

“Alright, Matthew,” you called out. Your voice was barely more than a hoarse whisper as you tried to hold back sobs. The wind stung the streaks of tears on your cheeks, but the more you tried to wipe them away, the more they fell. You took a drink. “This is it. Now or never.” 

You waited. You gave him a chance to stop you. 

“You always said you would never let anything happen to me, right? That you’d never hurt me.” You held your arms out at your sides. “Well, here we are, you goddamn liar!” Your voice echoed through the street. He would have been able to hear you for blocks, but standing just outside his damn door had to be good enough. “Come out, Matt!”

“Dude, check out this crazy bitch,” a voice said from behind you. 

Your stomach flipped. You swallowed the nervous bile in your throat. This was part of the plan. Sure, you thought you’d have to do a little more seeking, but this worked even better. There was only one way your tangled-up mind could figure that would get Daredevil to come out to play. You just hoped he would bring your Matt with him. 

You turned around. Two men stood in front of you, both of them with eyes scanning your body and lips forming smirks. Oh yeah. They were perfect. 

“What did you just say to me?” You tried to make your voice sound more confident than you actually felt. You wanted their anger, not their pity. 

“Hey, no need to be like that, I was just kidding,” the taller one said, holding his hands up in mock innocence. “I was just about to tell my buddy that you look a little lost.”

“Yeah, maybe she could use our help,” his friend agreed. “Do you want our help?” From the sound of his tone ‘help’ was the last thing he was offering. 

They both stepped towards you. 

And then a thought broke through your intoxicated, reckless mind. 

What if Matt really was dead?

It made you freeze. It almost made you sober. 

What if you just saw some guy that looked like him? What if you’d imagined it all together? What if all this time you’d been hoping- hell, even praying- that he would come back and he was still down there, at the bottom of Midland Circle, crushed and bloody and… gone? 

The men took another step forward, looking equally confused as they were intrigued. 

What if there was no one around to save you?

You held your head high. 

You hoped they’d kill you.

Either way, at least you would know. 

“You alright there, sweetheart?” The tall one asked. Sweetheart. The word stung. It belonged to someone else. 

You didn’t say anything and just started swinging. Fist to teeth, then foot against knee, you actually managed to do some damage before the friend grabbed your arms from behind. You stomped on his foot as hard as you could. Just because this was part of your plan didn’t mean you were going to make it easy for them. It had to at least look like you tried. For Foggy and Karen. 

The thought of the two of them threw you off. It made you blink, which allowed the lead prick to get a hold of your hair and use it to throw you to the ground. 

“You wanna play it that way, fine,” he growled. 

“Hair pulling?” You sneered up at him. “What, did your little sister teach you that move?” 

“Mouthy little bitch.” He brought his heel down on your head. Hard. It probably should have knocked you out, but you could still see through blurred vision with darkness around the edges. They started to walk away. 

“W-wait,” you said. The feet at the edge of your vision stopped. “Wait, come here.” You beckoned him to you with your hand. He crouched down. “Is that all you’ve got, pussy?” 

The hit came faster than you prepared for, knocking the breath out of your lungs. He kicked. And kicked. And kicked. Blood filled your mouth. You thought you heard a knife click open, but then everything went silent. 

And there was only one pair of feet.

A grunt. A thud. A body hitting the pavement. 

“What the…” Your main assailant gasped.  

You blinked, trying to see what was going on.

“Hey, man, she started it, I swear.” Another grunt. Another thud. Another body hit the pavement. 

A masked face appeared over yours.  

You smiled through the pain. “I knew it.” 

He took off the black band, revealing his panicked face. It was the last thing you saw before the darkness in your head took over. 

-

Matt carried you downstairs, every sense tuned into the creaking of your broken ribs, the smell of the blood leaking from your lips, your head, your nose. He focused on the sound of your heart. It was still beating. 

It was still beating.

“Sister!” He called. 

Sister Maggie, in all her wise-cracking wisdom, had known to be there. Matt didn’t know how, but not for the first time he was grateful for her presence. She helped without him having to ask. 

“Is she breathing?” She asked. 

“Barely. Her ribs are broken. I-I can’t tell how hard she hit her head.” He laid you on the bed, still listening to the semi-steady thump thump, thump thump. 

“Who is she?” 

He didn’t answer. Instead, his hands roamed your features, the gentle curve of your cheek now split with a bleeding gash. He ran a finger over your lips. As if to confirm it was really you. He had to feel, had to know. Know that this was his fault. Your words echoed in his head. 

You’d never hurt me.

You goddamn liar. 

You were here for him. The reckoning for his sins these past weeks. 

“Matthew, who is she?” Margaret pressed again. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he snapped. “Just help her.” Matt’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Please.”

Sister Maggie frowned, fingers clenched around the cloth she’d used to clean some of the blood. “You need to take her to a hospital.”

“Don’t.” Your voice rasped between them. “Don’t you dare.” You started to sit up, using shaking arms to push yourself upright even as your insides felt like they wanted to rip out of you just from breathing. 

“Stay down,” Matt said. He sat on the edge of the bed, easing you back to a lying position. “Try not to move.”

“I knew it.” 

“Y/N-”

“I fucking knew it.” You pushed back. He was stronger. Matt kept you down as gently as he could. 

“Sister, will you give us a minute?”

You turned to the woman you hadn’t noticed. She seemed glad to leave. 

Matt didn’t face you. He stood up from the bed and paced along the concrete floor, keeping a distance away that made you want to scream. You wanted to touch him. To make sure he was really there. But he hovered away from you like a ghost. 

“Those guys really did a number, huh?” You managed to sit up and this time, he didn’t stop you. Your head, however, wanted to bash itself in. Between the trauma and the liquor, you weren’t sure which made you more nauseous. “But the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is always around to save the day.”

“You did it on purpose,” Matt said, shoulders stiff. “You provoked them. They could have killed you and you-” He sucked in a breath. “Why?”

“I’m an adrenaline junkie. I drink, I look for trouble. It’s becoming quite the hobby.” You were lying. You knew he could tell. 

He stood still, head tilting slightly. “You knew I’d come.” 

“Ding ding ding.” You fell back on the bed and let the ceiling spin. 

Matt couldn’t speak. The panic he’d felt was slowly being engulfed by anger, though it was hard to tell at who. You were looking for a fight, that much he gathered was true. You were drunk, though the fight sobered you up some. Everything he’d ever told you, everything he’d done to try and keep you safe, would have been thrown away tonight. You would have let those men kill you if it meant he wasn’t there. 

And it was all his fault. 

He did the one thing he promised he wouldn't. He left. You’d never judged him, never questioned his need to put on the suit. All you ever asked was that he come back to you and this time, he didn’t. By choice, he didn’t. Just like everyone in both of your pasts, he abandoned you. This was your choice to get back at him, whether or not you believed he was alive. 

“I saw you,” you said quietly. “Today, at the hotel. I knew it was you.” The sure, stubbornness in your voice was gone, replaced by a cracking, wrenching sadness. “I had to know.” 

Matt didn’t say anything. He just reached for the lamp and switched off the light. 

“Get some rest.” 

When you woke up, you were in the hospital, bandages on your cuts, and more hungover than you’d felt in a long time. 

Matt was gone. 

-

They didn’t discharge you, but you left anyway. If they looked too closely at your emergency contacts, they’d find someone who was supposed to be dead and Karen. The latter was not someone you wanted to face right now. 

So, with a couple of busted ribs and one hell of a concussion, you went back to the apartment. His apartment. The place where he first kissed you, first touched you, first-

Now it was just yours. He didn’t want it anymore. 

You half debated going back to the church and demanding he talk to you. You’d like to see the brilliant lawyer try to talk his way out of this one. But in the end, everything hurt too much to face him. You wanted a drink. 

Unlocking the door, the click hit your chest harder than any of that creep’s kicks. 

You knew. 

You may not have had his abilities, but you knew. 

Walking in, you didn’t dare turn around and look at the stairs. You didn’t have to. 

“I’m all better now if that’s what you wanted to see,” you said. You threw your jacket on the floor and kicked off your boots. 

Matt didn’t move from his place by the roof entrance. He stood over you like a judgemental god and you wanted to hit him for it. You might have if he didn’t already look like hell itself spat him back out. 

“You wanted them to kill you,” he whispered just loud enough for you to hear. Not an accusation. An acknowledgment. 

“I wasn’t going to stop them if they tried.” You shrugged. You moved to the kitchen. “Beer?” 

“You shouldn’t drink with the amount of pain medication they gave you.” He said it so matter-of-factly. Like he was just your boyfriend and looking out for you. But he wasn’t and you didn’t know what he was to you anymore. 

“Yeah, well, it’s going to wear off at some point so I might as well get ahead of the curve here.” 

“Y/N-” He stepped. The steps creaked. 

“Don’t.” You held up a hand. “Don’t come anywhere near me, Matt Murdock.” 

He flinched at the sound of his name like it was a blade you held against his throat. 

“Stay where you are,” you said and twisted off the bottle top, grasping so hard the rigid edge dug into your palm. “Shit.” It sliced your skin and your blood dripped onto the wooden floor. 

You didn’t watch him descend the stairs or cross the space between you. You closed your eyes so you wouldn’t see his hand grab yours, wrapping the small but deep cut with gauze he carried with him. You yanked away the moment his hold lightened. 

“Don’t touch me.” 

“Y/N-” He said again, your name hurting more than his own. 

“You’re dead!” Your scream filled the apartment. You knew it filled his head. Everything always did. Good. Let it. 

Matt didn’t step away, but he did let his hand fall back to his side. 

“I know.” 

You tried your best not to shake, not to cry and show the weakness you’d felt for the last weeks. Then again, you wanted him to know. You wanted him to feel everything you’d felt. 

“Tell me you were trapped somewhere. Tell me you tried everything you could to get back to us and you just broke free,” you pleaded. “Tell me a lie, Matt, because I’d rather hear that than whatever bullshit reason you can give me.”

He opened his mouth, but you didn’t let him speak, reading his face before he could say it. 

“I swear, if you say something about ‘protecting me’, then you should have just left me to those creeps because that would have been better than listening to that broken record again.” You turned your back and for that second, you let yourself crumple, but only for a second and completely silent. 

“It wasn’t about you.” 

You straightened up again. “It never was.” 

Now, with you facing away, it was his turn to break. Matt sucked in a sharp breath to keep himself together as you continued. 

“It was always about you, Matt. About your insisted martyrdom.” You didn’t try to stop your tears now, tasting their salt as they flowed past your lips. “Your city. The rest of us just live here, right?” You turned around, stepping towards him. “But at least we live.” With your hands on his chest, you pushed him back. “Which is a hell of a lot harder than hiding.” 

You pushed again and again and again and he just stood there and took it. Your flattened hands turned to fists, hitting harder and harder until you were sure you’d leave bruises on his chest. 

It was when you collapsed that he finally moved, throwing his arms around you before you could hit the floor, your legs giving out under the weight of your utter, complete agony. Your sobs choked you and rattled through Matt like gunfire. You kept fighting him, even as he held you, the pain of your injuries was nothing compared to what you felt in your soul. Like the shattered pieces were being forced back together, but didn’t fit anymore. 

Matt wanted to make it stop. He wanted more than anything to take all of the pain away and tell you it was going to be okay. He was here now. But he was the cause of it all and there was nothing he could do to change it. 

And while there was still a dark part of him that wanted to leave you here, to shield you from him entirely, Matt knew if he tried to walk away now, he wouldn't survive it. Daredevil or Matt Murdock, it didn’t matter. He was yours. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into your hair. 

“You were dead,” you said again, this time with broken words blending together with your sobs. “I tried to go back. I tried to get into Midland Circle, but they dragged me out. I tried, Matt, I-”

He cut you off with a kiss on the forehead and held you closer. 

“I know.” He could still hear your screams, your pleas to give up your life to try and save him. He’d thrown it away, everything you’d tried to make of him. Of the two of you, together. 

You’ll get her killed too. Fisk’s voice in his head pierced his skull like a blade. I will crush her. I’ll tear her apart piece by piece, Matthew, and there is nothing you can do to stop me. 

“She’ll put up a hell of a fight first,” Matt muttered. 

“What?” You pulled back to look up at him. 

He shook his head and held you closer still until the lines between you blurred together. 

“Nothing.” 

Even though every part of him now screamed to get away, he couldn’t move. Even as you knelt in front of him, pulling his lips down to yours, he didn’t fight it. A shock worse than any punch went through his system the moment you kissed him. Like every nerve was finally waking up. 

Maybe he wasn’t dead after all. 

Matt cupped your cheek with one hand and slipped the other to the small of your back, urging you to stand and walk with him to the bed neither of you had slept in in weeks. 

He’d decide in the morning.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

I'm a millennial in my late 20s. Been a HP fan since the early 2000s. For someone who grew up in an unhealthy, volatile household, I've always deeply resonated with Harry. Till this date, no other characters brought me comfort nearly as much as he did. Never understood back then why he got so much hate. Well I'm happy now that the Tumblr community has become far more positive about him, but I was disheartened to find out the hate for him have not ceased on other platforms. What I hate the most is when people claim him as an 'average wizard' or 'not as great as his parents'. Bless this boy, we read the books from his POV and I think people often overlook that his narrative is very modest, not boastful at all, ofc he downplays how talented he really is. But whenever we see another character speak of him for example McGonagall or Neville or even Hermione, it's nothing but praise. Do you think if the books were written from different POVs, the hatred and misconceptions about Harry would've been far less ? Coz we all know he is anything but average.

Also, the relief I felt when I came across your blog. Keep up the good work dear, make people love this boy as much as I do ♡

Hello 👋

First of all, thank you so much!! 💕

I do plan to keep writing about our boy Harry because I love him so much. Personally I love Harry's narration, I don't think he's given enough credit for how witty the inside of his head can be at times and how much his experience makes the books what they are and that I wouldn't chose another narrator, but I digress.

Second, for your question, yeah, I think if we saw Harry from a different pov the fandom's opinion on him would be quite different (though, I still think there would be disagreement, since I do see hate for Hermione and misunderstanding of McGonagall's character. Like, I haven't seen an HP character that doesn't have some level of discourse or disagreement about them. It's just how things are).

I have already written here how I think other characters see Harry as more confident and competent than he sees himself. Though, the degree and how positively they see him would greatly depend on who's pov we're in. I actually think if Harry wasn't the pov he would've been even more mischaracterised. I mean, he'd be written as cold as arrogant (as that's how he appears to many people in the books) by the fandom. He'd probably get written as not as good of a person as he actually is. But, he'd probably appear as just a bit unhinged and pretty competent (like he actually is).

But, all of this really depends on who the pov character is. How Ron & Hermione see Harry is different from how Draco sees Harry, or even Snape or Dumbledore. Like, most characters see him as a very different person so it'll really depend.

I will say I agree with you that I see less outright hate for Harry these days (on tumblr, at least), though I still see him mischaracterised and simplified often.

[too-much-tma-stuff]

Changing Perspective (Part 6)

Previous | Masterpost

Damian came back from the shopping trip with tighter and more slick clothes then Danny in dark colours, which wasn’t really surprising and would help differentiate them more. He also came back with some books on animal biology, and a stuffed lion of his own, which Danny didn’t comment on lest Damian feel self conscious. He was glad Damian had been able to summon the courage to get a stuffed animal of his own, Danny knew he wanted one, no matter how much the sterner twin would deny it. They got home in time for dinner so Danny got to hear about their outing at the same time as the rest of the family. He was pretty sure he’d hear more about how it made Damian feel later when they were alone, but Danny was very glad it seemed to have gone well.

When dinner was over he followed Damian up to his room, ducking in behind him and closed the door behind them. He went and sat cross-legged on Damian’s bed while he started to unpack and put away his new things, setting up some of the decorations he got as well. Danny picked up the lion, running his fingers over its fur. It was softer then his alien but he liked his alien better anyway.

“So, how do you feel?” He asked, glancing up at his brother.

Damian sneered at the question but Danny didn’t back down, sitting in silence for a while, long enough that someone who didn’t know Damian might think he really wasn’t going to answer at all. Danny knew better, so he waited for his brother to organize his thoughts and gain the courage to actually speak openly about his emotions. “I enjoyed it, it was sort of overwhelming, but you warned me it would be. It was very nice going to the zoo, seeing all the animals. I made sure that it was a charity organization that treated the animals well before I let father take me,” He said thoughtfully, without looking up at Danny.

“Father told me that we might be able to get a pet here, there’s plenty of space after all. He was vague about a timeline but it didn’t seem like a lie. I asked what the point of all these ornaments was and he laughed at me and said ‘to bring you joy,’ which is… the oddest answer I could imagine. But these things, they do make me happy to look at,” He ran his fingers over a little figurine of a horse and it’s foal he’d put on his bedside table. “Having an animal of my own would make me happier still, but it scares me as well. Such a weakness, it could easily be used against us. Even a treasured possession is a weakness I should not want, and yet do.”

Danny hummed to show we has listening and rocked back and forth a bit as he thought about how to respond. “We’re not going to get a pet immediately, like you said he wasn’t firm about a time-frame. And it will be our time frame as well, we don’t have to agree to get a pet until we can trust it will be relatively safe. The manor is well guarded, and even though we don’t trust our adopted siblings, or fully father yet, we do know that they’re heroes don’t we? I don’t think there’s any way any of them would hurt an innocent animal to get back at us, no matter how much they hate us, and I don’t get the impression they hate us. Do you?”

“They could be hiding their intentions,” Damian shot back defensively.

“They could be,” Danny allowed inclining his head a little bit. “But they’d have to be very good at it wouldn’t they? We’ve both been taught to recognize body language, me even more so then you. If they could hide something from me they’d honestly be the first. I could pretty reliably even read grandfather by the age of eight,” Danny pointed out.

Damian hummed thoughtfully at that. “You still trust me don’t you?” Danyal asked tilting his head and looking at his brother with puppy-dog eyes. His brother looked back at him and sighed rather dramatically, rolling his eyes.

“Of course I do,” He agreed grumpily.

“Good, then trust me that I have seen no signs of deceit. I spent more time with both Tim and Dick today and it seems to me that, while they’re wary of us because we’re new, they have honest intentions and don’t want to hurt us,” Danny reassured, setting the stuffed lion down on his bed. “I’ll leave you to unpack and think about that. If you need me, come in or knock on the wall and I’ll come to you,” he promised and got up, trotting out of the room and back to his own to relax and read.

The next morning Bruce called them back into his office so they could help write the press release about the twins. It was nice to have a say in how the media and public would first find out about them, Bruce choosing to share some personal details about them that would help humanize them, like their interest and how they’d lived with their mother and controlling grandfather previously. Danny would have added that Grandfather was abusive but Damian still bristled at the suggestion so controlling and sheltered was about the best they were going to get. Bruce booked the press conference for the next day once he had their approval and then left them to their own devices for the day, letting them explore and settle in.

That was how the next few months went really, they met Barbra, and Clark Kent, and a few more family friends. Slowly expanding the circle of people they knew, easing them in to socializing more. They sparred with whoever was present and wanted to each morning, most often Cass, but sometimes Tim, or even Bruce. Damian learned to respect that there were things they could learn from their adopted siblings, and stopped trying to assassinate the others when he realized he wasn’t going to get any support from Bruce or Danny. About the fifth time he was properly scolded and grounded by Bruce for attacking Tim it seemed Damian gave up, though Danny wouldn’t put it past him to try again once they all let their guard down.

Danny was enjoying himself, he didn’t care much for the library, at least not as much as Damian did, but there was a decent non-fiction section with some things that interested him. So they read a lot, he played games with Tim with Damian as an audience sometimes, and most nights they would watch a movie together. Whoever was around would join in as Damian and Danny were caught up on some of the media they had missed being raised in the compound.

They watched a lot of Disney movies, The Hunchback of Notre Dame was Danny’s favourite, the Lion King was Damian’s favourite. He had left the room for a bit after Mufasa’s death to ‘get some fresh air’, they all pretended not to notice he had cried. Danny found it almost funny that Damian would have never cried over a human’s death, but that movie got to him. For all Danny wasn’t glad to see his brother upset, he though it was good for Damian to feel the full range of human emotions.

Finally, one morning after three months at the manner Bruce put down the newspaper he was reading and looked over at the twins. Damian froze in the middle of sneakily slipping his sausage onto Danny’s plate so he wouldn’t have to eat it. Before he could back down Danny reached across and snatched it, casually putting it on his plate and acting like nothing had happened. Bruce frowned at them, glancing back and forth between the twins, at Danny’s blithe smile and Damian’s lack of objection or eye contact, and seemed to decide not to mention it.

“I have an interview scheduled for you two next week, just one for print, and maybe a couple of pictures. If that goes well I would like to bring you both on a talk show so people can actually see you. It won’t stop the paparazzi completely or anything but it would help quell some of the fascination with you two to have some answers.”

Danny glanced at Damian who nodded back at him before he looked at their father, nodding at him with a polite smile. “That should be fine, I can do most of the talking and we can tell them Damian is shy,” He joked, wincing a little when Damian kicked his ankle in retaliation. They would have to talk about it before the interview though. Danny was going to insist Damian let him do the talking, and not argue with him in front of the stranger, especially if they were asked about grandfather. “Who is the interview with?”

“The first one will be with Clark Kent and a Gotham reporter. Clark isn’t from Gotham but I know and trust him, and you’ve met him before so I think he’ll be a good buffer, and a sympathetic ear for your first interview.”

“As long as the people of Gotham won’t be too upset our first interview includes a reporter from Metropolis,” Danyal said with a little frown, Bruce would know better but Danny wasn’t sure.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, it’s well known that Clark is a family friend so they’ll understand,” Bruce assured and Danny nodded, letting his shoulders relax. Bruce new the people of this city better then them after all.

“Alright, will we have access to the questions that they’re going to ask ahead of time?” Danyal asked, leaning forward against the table, having nearly forgotten his breakfast. Damian took the chance to transfer his second sausage to his brothers plate and steal some of his fruit in exchange. Reminded that the food was in front of him Danny stabbed the newly acquired sausage with his fork and took a bite.

“Most of them yes,” Bruce confirmed. “But keep in mind we don’t want the interview to seem too scripted. There will be a couple of questions that I’m allowing to be off the cuff, maybe to follow up on something else said in the interview.”

Danny nodded, that seemed like a good compromise. “That’s fine, but we should still talk generally about the questions we know when they’re submitted. Damian,” He said turning towards his brother. “I want you to let me answer the unscripted questions okay? I’ll tag you in if I need it but you know I’m better with people in situations like this.” Damian scowled but Danyal looked back, open and earnest and after a few moments of a one sided stare off where Damian glared and Danyal continued to blink normally Damian sighed and nodded. “Alright! I think this is going to be just fine.”

“Of course,” Bruce agreed with a reassuring smile, Cass gave them a reassuring smile as well, Tim didn’t seem like he was paying attention.

----------

(Interview with Daily Planet reporter Clark Kent and Gotham Gazette reporter Deb Donovan, written by Deb Donovan)

Bruce Wayne’s newest children, and first biological children Damian and Danyal Al Ghul-Wayne have been mysterious figures since they came to live with their father two months ago. Bruce has been very protective of his two youngest children, insisting that they remain out of the public eye as much as possible while they settled in. Now, with school coming up, Brucie has decided to allow two hand selected reporters to interview his youngest sons, with his supervision of course.

We were welcomed into the mansion, offered refreshments by the familiar figure of the Wayne family’s butler, and lead to a sitting room where Damian and Danyal were already settled. Bruce Wayne, ever the protective dad, hovers off to the side.

(since the twins have the same initials Danyal’s replies will be in italics)

DD: Good morning, Damian, Danyal.

Good morning. It’s nice to meet you miss Donovan, and to see you again Mr. Kent. Please call me Danny.

C: I told you Just Clark is fine Danny. How have you two been settling in with your father?

We’ve been settling in pretty well, though having other siblings has been an adjustment.

DD: Do you and your siblings get along?

They’re tolerable.

(Danny laughs at his brother’s response) An adjustment for sure! But Cass has been teaching us some dance, and Tim is showing us all the movies and game Mother and Grandfather would never let us watch so I’d say we get along just fine. There’ve been some misunderstandings, but given the way Dami and I were raised before coming here that was bound to happen.

C: How were you too raised before moving here?

Well I think the kindest way to describe Mother and Grandfather would be… very strict. They had very high expectations for Damian and I, our grandfather was obsessed with us being heirs to Father’s Legacy, (he makes sarcastic jazz hands). We are both technically geniuses but more then that, we both had to grow up before our time, no time could be ‘wasted’ on play or leisure, we never went to a traditional school because they would only have held us back. We were very isolated, and it wasn’t exactly fun.

DD: So your father really had no idea you two existed?

No, Grandfather and Mother were careful to keep our existence secret until they thought we were ready to take over as his heirs. Grandfather was obsessed with blood and wouldn’t believe Bruce would rather have his adopted children take over things. And can you believe they thought Damian and I were ready to take over?! We’re ten!

(Danny laughs again, Clark and I join in.)

C: To change to a lighter subject; are you two excited for school?

Excited and nervous! Again we’ve never been to a normal school, we haven’t spent, like, any time with people our own age. I’m hoping to make lots of friends.

I’m just worried we will not be academically challenged and they will not be willing to advance us further due to social concerns.

C: I’m sure you have nothing to worry about, I know Bruce has got you both in a gifted program. What do you think your favourite subjects will be?

I love science and engineering, especially the things that I can get hands on with. Chemistry is really fun, and I like taking things apart and tinkering. Astronomy and astrology are what I’m really passionate about but I don’t know if that’s something we’ll have classes on.

I am interested in literature and history. I doubt they’ll really be able to teach me anything new, but at the very least the library should have some books I haven’t read before.

DD: Well the mansion has it's own library doesn’t it? What’s it like having a rich father?

Well he’s the only father we’ve got so we don’t know any different! (Danny laughs) It’s been a bit weird honestly. First week we were here he rented out the entire planetarium for me, and the zoo for Damian. That was weird, but it was weirder still getting to go through the gift shop and just grab whatever we wanted! It was really exciting, but nerve wracking too, like I’d never even had one stuffed animal before! And you’re telling me I can get as many as I want? Let’s just start with one.

We do not intend to waste father’s money on frivolities.

C: What’s your favourite thing you’ve gotten so far?

Oh! Hands down the stuffed grey alien I got! I like the texture of the cloth, it’s really soft.

I like the suits father bought us, they’re very professional.

(Danny sticks his tongue out at his brother, Damian ignores it)

DD: It’s been wonderful to meet you both. I’m sure you’ll do well at school.

It’s been great to meet you too! Sorry Damian didn't say much, he’s shy.

C: That’s perfectly fine, I know there will be chances for other interviews. Maybe even live.

We’re looking forward to it!

-------

Deb and Clark took a few photos of the twins alone and with their father for their articles before they left. As she left the room, escorted out along with Clark, she couldn’t help the shiver that ran up her spine. She had held it together well during the interview but she couldn’t shake the odd feeling that she had just escaped something very dangerous. She was a reporter in Gotham, she was no stranger to danger, and she usually trusted her instincts but these were two children! Not even really pre-teens, so why was her hind-brain screaming PREDATOR!

Sure Damian was a little bit unsettling with the way he sat perfectly straight and glared, but it wasn’t Damian her instinct reacted most strongly to. Danny was sweet, with a bright smile and open posture, but there was still something off, and dangerous about him. In the way light reflected out of his eyes… She just needed to write up the interview, then she could go home and write this off as an odd bout of anxiety.

-------

Danyal finally let himself relax once the reporters were gone, next to him Damian’s shoulders noticeably dropped once they were alone with their father again. All was quiet for a moment Alfred walked in carrying a tray with a pot of tea and a plate with cookies, two for each of them by the looks of it. “I think you all deserve a reward for making it through your first interview. Come sit Master Bruce, I suspect that the interview was nearly as nerve-wracking for you as it was for the boys.”

Bruce chuckled and came to sit down as Danny dove forward to grab one of the cookies. Alfred tutted at Danny's impatience as he poured them each a cup of tea and passed them out.

“I still don’t like the things you said about Mother and Grandfather,” Damian sniffed as he took his own cookie with more dignity.

Danny’s mouth was already full of the buttery sweet treat so he just shrugged as he chewed, swallowing before he answered. “We agreed that it was for the best, this way we don’t have to exert too much energy pretending to be normal children.”

“You mean I won’t, you don’t have any trouble pretending to be ‘normal’,” Damian sneered. There was a long moment of tense silence as Danny refused to look at his brother.

It was rare that Danyal found himself completely at a loss for what to say, but he was now. He was struggling, he found it exhausting interacting with so many people, but he didn’t want to say as much. A part of him felt like Damian wasn’t trying hard enough and he’d be able to do it too if he cared, but Danny hadn’t been able to kill. How had they made him feel about his peaceful nature? He didn’t want to make Damian feel the same way now. The interview had been exhausting, he couldn’t fight with his brother now, even though he knew Damian was just trying to release the tension he too felt in the aftermath. Besides Damian needed to trust Danny's ability to navigate this situation, something that had already been shaken when Damian had realized Danny really wasn't planning on helping them replace their adopted siblings.

“You can have my second cookie Damian,” He sighed, putting down his half full cup of tea and got up. “I’m going to go back to my room.” Damian looked shocked and Bruce looked worried but no one stopped Danny as he left the sitting room. He headed towards his bedroom before changing his mind and heading to the library instead. He wouldn’t be found quite so quickly there and he needed a little time alone, and he didn’t doubt Bruce would try to come check on him.

He found a book and stole a cushion from one of the chairs so he could curl up in a sheltered corner, though he didn’t end up reading the book. He watched a patch of sun move across the floor with the slow passage of time, until he fell asleep curled up on the cushion. It was usually an effective way to avoid his feelings.

[fun-k-board]

Happy New Year!! 🎉

If it's alright, could I request Loki Headcanons about a Shy Lover or Secret Admirer? I imagine something like that wouldn't stay secret for long, knowing Loki, but I love the idea of the Lover in question being flustered beyond belief at being found out 💕

MARVEL RIVALS - LOKI LAUFEYSON With a Shy Secret Admirer Headcanons!

Note(s): I'm sorry this came out a bit late, college stressed me out so bad my body and mind did a factory reset. I'll be trying to finish the rest of my requests weekly.

"Oh?" Loki's eyes are light, something unusual for the trickster. Almost eager, they flick between you and the paper that's held loosely in his hand, the usual hint of amusement in his upturned lips. "You wrote these? Well, I can't say I'm not flattered, but you are aware I've been courting you for quite some time, yes?"

You and Loki would most likely know each other prior to you becoming his secret admirer, after all, he is a bit of a flirt and you're most likely one of many that he's charmed over the years. But, for him to accept your proposal, which is how I intend to write this as to avoid angst, he would need to reciprocate your feelings. In short, he'd probably be actively courting you while you do this.

It'd mostly be insignificant things, not killing you, maybe paying you a compliment every now and then, and maybe, just maybe, if he's feeling generous he'll find it in his heart to give you a gift. Typically it's jewellery, something that reflects him, gold with green jewels are his favourite. Necklaces are a no brainer, they're so easy to spot, and it's so easy to tell who it's from, too (You'll be lucky if he doesn't engrave his name on the damn thing).

Of course, he loves to tease you. It's so fun to see you squirm and try to hide away, even if he can't see the effect of the blood rushing there, he likes to hold a hand to your face every now and then to see if it's hot. One of his favourites is to whisper plans of mischief, and maybe try and get you to tag along in his next prank or attempt to steal the throne, it depends on his mood, really.

Infuriatingly, however, you don't seem to pick up on his obvious flirtations. He immediately decides that's an issue on your part, but he'll indulge you and give an extra flirty, witty remark every now and then. Wait- you're still not- oh you frustrate him endlessly! He's got half a mind to smite you, you know!

The thing is, Loki enjoys a good mystery and a thrilling hunt, but what he wants most of all is to be adored, worshiped, have thousands at his feet begging and pleading just for him to spare them a glance. So, when he starts getting little trinkets wrapped in bows, with papers written full of heartfelt devotion... Well, how can a God refuse such wonderful praise?

It's around that time of annoyance and pining, his stubbornness refusing to allow him to confess first, you must make the first move as it's obviously you who is obsessed with him, that he actually begins to receive your gifts. In such random places too, sometimes even tucked in the pocket of his clothes! Not that he doesn't admire the bravery to do such a thing.

At first he doesn't really look deep into it, he's content to find the very obviously placed gifts and doesn't care much for where they're found. As long as he's getting the attention he rightfully deserves, he doesn't care who it's from. Why should he need to know who loves him when he's being loved either way?

But, when he does want to find out this secret admirer's identity, perhaps in a ploy to make you jealous and confess, it's when he realises that it's you. The handwriting, the way of speaking, grammar, punctuation, and the nail in the coffin is when he catches you placing a note in his quarters while invisible.

This works out brilliantly.

Not only does it confirm in Loki's mind that you're utterly infatuated and obsessed with him, but it makes him believe that you were secretly aware of his courting all along. That you, given your shy nature, had done this to play into his trickster personality. He can't say he isn't impressed by your wits! (Someone please get him a reality check...)

Naturally, Loki plans something sweet yet embarrassing for his your confession, and despite his want for love and attention, he supposes that he'll make it a private affair. After all, he does want you to admit your love for him and giving you a panic attack would probably only drive you away.

The gardens are certainly beautiful this time of day, not bright enough to burn your eyes but not dark enough so you can't see, it's perfect. Not to mention quiet. Many people prefer to admire the gardens after their meals, either in the morning or in the night, but strangely never the evening, which leaves you by yourself. It's peaceful.

Yet the peace, as usual, is interrupted by a certain prince.

You turn around when you hear your name being called, your brows shooting upwards when you realise it's Loki. What could he need? Is he planning another prank? No matter, either way you're clearly involved. So, you wave a friendly hand and hope that you can ignore the sickly butterflies in your stomach that flutter harder when the sound of his shoes click closer and closer towards you.

"I want to speak with you." Loki hums, coming to a halt only a meter away from you.

You ask what he wants to speak with you about and he searches in his pocket for a moment until he finds a small piece of paper, holding it out in his palm almost like an offering. It looks familiar. Hesitant, you feel your fingers pinch a corner and take it for yourself, dread setting in your stomach as you realise. He figured it out.

When you look up sharply to explain, his face is inches from yours. The action causes your cheeks to get unbelievably hot, and even if the blood rushing to your face isn't visible, Loki knows you, he knows your tells. "I admire your worship, darling." He whispers, eyes narrowing as a sly grin grows on his lips. "But I would prefer it to be in person."

[islandtarochips]

Shadow Company OC #2

Talofa everyone! I proudly would like to share another masterpiece that I got from @temeyes! Another Art Commission that I have requested from her! But before I showed this to you. I know most of you already know that OCs aren't Canon Characters. Even When making an OC that is like CHILDREN for the Canon Characters. Which it's FINE! And awesome too! Love those kinds of OCs that are connected with the Canons.

But this one is a bit different for me. Because the OC that I'm going to show you is actually related to the Canon who is like BLOOD SIBLING likes. And I gotta tell you. There are some online 'friends' that I've made a long time ago (I cut them off since they were complaining too much about how I made my OCs). That they were not very thrilled with how I made my OCs who are BLOOD RELATED to the family, like being siblings or cousins. Instead of putting my OCs as being the future CHILDREN. It kinda really put me down that I started to erase those OCs and just never mention them again.

It kinda hurts me sometimes and it's hard for me to make some OCs again. But after a few years, my OTHER good online friend, which is @forestgreenbunny, showed me the COD MW2. I have been so obsessed with it that I started to make OCs from it. And when I saw Graves on screen and watched him how he acted in every single scene. I just started to have an idea of giving him a sibling. The one who he will spoil rotten with! But…it started to taunt me again about my past experience showing someone my ideas. Except Bunny here had always shared me with their OCs so I thought that I could show her mine. And she had made me happy about it because she likes the ideas of having the OCs actually related to the Canon characters. Just need to make sure to let everyone know about it.

So...if you guys are interested. Here is my Shadow Company OC! Everyone! I would like for you to meet Graves's Sister!

Lieutenant Callie "Snipe" Graves!

One of the members of the Shadow Company and also Commander Graves's sister!

Before I continue on with this. How old do you guys think she is huh? Lol.

Anyway, Callie has the same personality as her older brother and she always admired him the most. From her childhood, she always looked up to him and wanted to be like him as well. She also saw him as their father's favorite. She doesn't pay much attention to it as she was focusing on being just like Phillip.

She had also wanted her father's attention but didn't get any for some reason. It upsets her most of the time but she forgets about it when Phillip came in and gave HIS attention to her instead. She loved her older brother and would follow him all the way till the end.

So she went with him to join the Marines Corps and later on joined in the Shadow Company. You could imagine that Phillip and Callie are like the most obnoxious duo in this world. Cocky enough to now care for ANYTHING or ANYONE. And will always get the things that they wanted.

You can say that Phillip's attitude had really become bad intentions for Callie. But she doesn't care. As long as she stays with her brother. Everything will be hell of a life! So thank you guys for reading this far! And want to let everyone know that Tim here is still open for Commission! So if you're interested, take a look through here to see the price of it! And give her your GREAT support! Love ya, peles! 😘❤️

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[sarnai4]

Greek Dances

...Another random thought. Just bear with me please. What if the Olympians had certain dance styles that are from our time that were their favorites (in other words, I'm not just saying, they dance. I want specifics)? Here's what I came up with.

Athena - River dancing because her feet can do whatever they want while her hands are free. Now, she can read a book or work on weaving (or stab someone. The options are limitless). I'm just imagining this plus whatever she's holding.

Ares - Paso doble because it's fiery and I can see him pulling off the passion you need to make it look convincing. Besides, he can do it with Aphrodite and she's the only one who gets him to like dancing anyway. This would be the two of them.

Aphrodite - Tango because it's spicy. She does this with Ares any and every chance she gets. Doesn't even matter if they've got other stuff going on. I can see it playing out exactly like this video, including the people watching being the Olympians.

Hermes - Quick step because...well, it's quick. Still actually not quick enough for him, but he'd fly through it. If you put this at 2x speed, this is what I had in mind.

Artemis - Hip-hop has a rough enough edge that I can see it working for her. She could be outside, hunting and then just randomly start doing this when the thud of the animals hitting the ground makes a nice beat.

Apollo -Modern/lyrical/contemporary dance (or whatever this is) because it seems very athletic, artsy, and also very dramatic. Apollo, the athletic, artsy, drama queen is how I see him.

Hestia - Ballet because it's very proper and elegant. She's so pure that she could be the perfect ballerina. It's probably the only time she isn't working with the hearth too. This would be her.

Demeter - Contemporary because I feel like this one is so expressive and she'd really need it to get out her frustration (let's be real. Her "life" pretty much has sucked since forever). Let her have some emotional release in the form of this (extra points if Persephone is the one with her)

Zeus - Jazz because it's a combination of grace and athleticism...actually, because he can either do jazz alone or with a partner and it's got just enough flair that his ego will be inflated. He might have regular one-man shows like this. He does jazz hands way too much.

Poseidon - Hivinau mostly because it's from an island (Tahiti to be precise. I'll be including it in a book next year!) and I see him always being on the beaches. So, he can do this with some people and nymphs.

Hades - Tap because he can seem really subdued at first and mild-mannered as he gets in these clean taps, then just shock his family by being amazing out of the blue. So, this would be him.

Hera - Waltz, particularly something like a traditional waltz since it supposedly can't be danced without a partner. Just seems to fit with her. She can pretend that she has her happy marriage while doing this.

Dionysus - Sorta tap, but specifically the kind that Ray Bolger and Dick Van Dyke sometimes did where it looked like they were out of it. This is what he'd be doing after a few too many drinks.

Hephaestus - Macarena because one of his siblings taught it to him and now he loves it (but he WILL deny it with his very being if questioned.) Sometimes, after a long day of crafting, he can be caught listening to music and doing this.

[mrsfrecklesmarauders]

"I'm just happy that James and Lily are finally together because they deserve it and I love them both"

And that was Remus. The poet that would find the beauty in insignificant things. The kid that believed in happy endings and true love. The kind of person to be happy just because others were happy. How gorgeous was that?

The way he was smiling now made Sirius shiver. But maybe it was because he was dizzy of too much smoke.

Smoking with Remus was his new favorite thing. Not because he wanted to be cool or he actually enjoyed cigarettes. It was because of Remus. A million times Remus.

Because he got to be close to him. Because it was something intimate between them. Because Remus spoke and told Sirius things and he laughed only for him. And Remus was beautiful when he laughed.

"I love James" Sirius declared, taking a drag of his cigarette.

It was easy to love James. It was wrecking to love Remus.

"And Lily?"

Sirius shrugged, making an 'eh' sound.

Remus smiled and shook his head.

Sirius was the idiot that made Remus smile. It had always been like that. Like a bufoon making his prince laugh of how silly he was. Because the prince would never fall for the bufoon.

"I just think that James deserves the best"

"And Lily is not the best?"

Sirius let out some smoke into the night sky.

"Maybe the perfect match for him is somewhere else. Out there. James is just obsessed with Evans"

Remus shook his head "I don't think so"

Sirius looked at him expecting an explanation "Why?"

Remus bit his lip, so deliciously "Because if he's meant for someone else, he would have been over her a long time ago. His heart keeps circulating back to Lily. Over and over. They keep coming back to each other. Over and over"

How did Remus always manage to say smart things and all that came out of Sirius’s mouth was bollocks?

And Remus took a drag of his cigarette in thought. Sirius wished for a second that he was thinking about their similar story. Back to each other. Over and over. And Sirius’s heart still felt the same. It hadn't stop beating for Remus. Never.

"That's ridiculous" Sirius said because, see? He was a scared idiot who said bollocks "Evans just tosses him around like a toy and James is a masochistic who lets her. One day, yes. Another day: 'I hate you'"

Remus's eyes fixed on Sirius. That kind of look that made Sirius feel naked in front of him.

"I know the feeling" Remus whispered mostly to himself, finally looking away.

"What?"

And Sirius was aware of how Remus blushed. The shade of pink that blended well with his freckles. Sirius wanted to be able to count them all and know them by heart.

"You just don't know the feeling, Sirius" Remus cleared his throat "You've never been in love"

Sirius almost laughed. Because the feeling he had always had for Remus couldn't be anything but love. He would sacrifice himself for him. He would go to the end of the world for him.

"And you do, Moons?" Sirius asked trying to hide away his hope.

Remus was quiet for a while, he smiled to himself and spoke : "No... I just read many romance novels"

Sirius giggled. His little nerdy Moony.

"They are very descriptive about feelings and such"

Sirius tucked his head to the side. "Is fiction"

Remus shook his head.

"You are an idiot"

As long as Sirius was his idiot.

"Love?" Sirius scoffed "We are too young for that. We are meant to enjoy life and have fun" he opened his arms to emphasize "Then when we are like thirty or so we will worry about spouses and stuff like love"

He said that because 1) it was his facade, always had been. The idiot womanizer who was too cool to fall in love, and 2) Because it was true. And he wanted as much time with Remus he got before he found someone to settle in. A nice partner that would make him happy.

Sirius’s heart ached at the thought.

Sirius would end up alone. Because nobody would ever stand him. Not truly.

Remus eyes moved around Sirius thinking about what he was saying. He chuckled at the end and shook his head again.

Because Sirius was the bufoon.

"You're an idiot, Pads"

As long as he said it affectionately like that.

Sirius grinned "And you know what is my idea of fun right now?" he raised an eyebrow.

Remus swallowed.

"What can that be?" he smiled.

Sirius scooped closer. He saw Remus's chest breathing rapidly. His cheeks went more pink and his lips parted.

God he loved provoking that on Remus.

Although that was Sirius provoked in people. Desire. He knew he was good looking because of his family's rotten but gorgeous genes.

However that's all that people saw in him. A handsome boy.

And Remus was gay, so he naturally reacted. He closed his eyes waiting for the kiss.

But Remus was not in love with him. Nobody was actually prepared for the train wreck Sirius was.

The second his lips touched Remus, Sirius was doomed. He was intoxicated. He wanted to bury himself onto Remus. Melt with him. Be his and be wrecked by him. Over and over.

Fuck, Sirius was selfish. And he knew Remus didn't feel the same. And he knew someday he would want more than kissing his best friend. And Sirius shouldn't be getting more and more attached.

But he was selfish.

He kissed Remus and tried to pretend he wasn't getting weak in the knees with the mere touch on the lips. And he pretended he didn't saw stars when Remus opened his mouth for him.

And he pretended his brain wasn't whispering: "Mine, mine, mine, mine" and "Moony, Moony, Moony, Moony"

Over and over again.