#why the fuck have I spent 20 years of my life clawing my way

[bepoprotectionsquad]

Getting real tired of people I know in real life trying to spin the AI art theft shit as not only *not a bad thing*, but somehow A GOOD THING

[angryschnauzer]

Full Mast - Part 2

Summary: Your idyllic life as a trophy wife of a rich lord is suddenly disturbed with the arrival of a pirate ship and a kidnapping that goes wrong... leaving you in the care of a band of pirates that seem to treat you better than your husband ever did.

Part 1, 

Fandoms: Henry Cavill, Sand Castle - Movie, Mission Impossible: Fallout, Night Hunter, Hellraiser Hellworld

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female Reader, August Walker x Reader, Walter Marshall x Reader, Mikey (Hellraiser) x Reader.

A/N: This is a CRACK FIC. After a brief discussion with @nuggsmum about the cheap romance novels that you could find in the 80′s and 90′s, i called upon the awful storylines, plot holes, and general cheesyness of those books that walked so fanfiction could run. Read the warnings please.

Storyboard note: The only artwork i could find that was suitable to show a Henry-like character included the woman seen above. I tried to crop as much of her out as possible, the story itself does not describe the female reader at all.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Unprotected Sex, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex (F Recieving), Blowjobs, Multiple Blowjobs, Multiple Partners, Implied Age Gap (but never confirmed). Pretty Poly Pirates.

Only the finest organic free range typos for me, allowed to run wild and free.

Full Mast part 2

Standing in the grand cabin you took in your surroundings; the large table that was half covered in maps, the scattered chests and crates, the large four poster bed with messy linens. You wondered if the Captain had many other women between those sheets, or whether he kept his liaisons to his time on shore. At the mere thought of the man that had just taken your innocence you felt your stomach clench and another wave of arousal coat your already soaked petals. 

A quiet knock at the door drew your attention, smiling when you saw Mikey come in pulling a large chest and setting it down in the middle of the room;

“So err… Captain says there should be some stuff in here that will be ok for you, so umm… help yourself Miss…”

“Thank you Mikey”

The young man must be at least 20 yet a blush covered his cheeks as you spoke to him, and with a nervous smile he nodded his head and left the room, half tripping on the rug as he did so before slamming the door shut.

Stripping out of your ruined clothing you saw a pitcher of water and a bowl on the side, using it to wash the Captain's seed from your thighs. Crossing the room in just your silk stockings you opened the chest and pulled out a number of items, gauging what would fit. Looking around you set the items onto the large bed, pulling the covers straight as you made your choice and a thought came to mind.

-

Sy stood outside his cabin, his hand hovering over the door handle. What had he gotten himself into? When he’d heard that his old friend Walter was having issues on the island, he’d set sail immediately and between the two of them and his right hand man Walter, they’d come up with a fool proof plan; kidnap the lord’s young trophy wife, demand not even a ransom - just what they were due, return her unharmed. Instead he ended up with another officer onboard, a woman on his ship that was said to bring bad luck, and the puzzle of what the hell to do with her now it had been made abundantly clear that her husband didn’t want her back. Taking a deep breath he entered the room, expecting the worst…

“Darlin?... Don’t be mad…”

He looked around the room, surprised that at first he wasn’t pelted with whatever wasn’t tied down, but when he couldn’t see you at all he frowned.

“Captain, over here…”

His jaw dropped when he saw you, kneeling on his bed, bare save for your stockings and a smile. Crossing the room he came to stand at the foot of the bed, licking his lips as his gaze traversed your naked body;

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes…I don’t know what i was expecting, but it wasn’t this…”

With a single finger he beconned you towards him, watching as you moved until you were up on your knees, his large hand at the back of your neck and you were kissing again, his glorious tongue exploring your mouth as your hands clung to his shirt. Deliberately falling back on the bed you pulled him with you, his mouth making its way to your breasts where he lavished each one with full mouthed kisses, his tongue laving over the hardened peaks before pressing a trail of kisses down your stomach before settled at the apex of your thighs;

“Gotta be the prettiest little Puss i’ve seen in a long time, bet you’re as sweet as a peach too…”

His tongue swiped a wide path through your folds, your fingers clawing at the sheets as his beard tickled you and he did to you things you’d only read about in the secretive books that were hidden in the depths of your husbands library.

“Oh Captain!” you gasped as his tongue dived into your soaked entrance, his nose rubbing at your sensitive clit and you could feel your stomach tightening with anticipation of the inevitable. Seemingly in no need of air he continued to work the thick muscle inside of you, driving you closer and closer to the pinnacle of pleasure until the point of no return was met and you came with a cry, your legs clamping around his head. 

Finally he pulled himself free of your grasp, climbing up the bed until he was nestled between your thighs, his hardness pressing against your soaked core. Holding himself up on his strong arms he looked down at you beneath him;

“This time i’m gonna take my time and savour it…”

Your hands found their way to his breeches, unbuttoning him and gasping as his hot flesh sprung into your palm, heavy and weeping with need you guided him to your entrance. As he plunged into your depths the world seemed to fade around you; you’d had a taste of heaven and now you wanted more;

“You’re so big…”

“You want me to slow down Darlin?”

“No! It feels… so good…”

With practiced skill he rocked into you, slow but rough thrusts that had his length hitting a spot deep inside you’d had no idea that existed. The man had probably fucked his way around half of the Carribean but for a barely touched blossom as yourself he cherished the way your petals opened around him. 

He continued to fuck you closer and closer to orgasm, feeling your body tighten around him and tremble, he slid a hand between your bodies and rubbed at your sensitive pearl, a grin spreading across his face as you came again with a shout of his rank;

“That’s a good girl, so fucking good… almost there…”

He quickly pulled out and spilled his seed over your stomach, watching as rope after rope of his creamy seed patterned your body, before he fell to your side, his chest heaving. Covering his eyes he let out a shaky breath;

“What the fuck have i gotten myself into…” He peeped out from between his fingers, smiling at you before pulling you in for a sloppy kiss, finally resting his forehead against yours; “Wait there a moment Darlin, i’ll get you cleaned up”

-

You’d dressed in front of your Captain, watching how he admired your choices from where he sat at the long table;

“Wasn’t expecting you to go for breeches…” he commented as you fastened the half length velvet garment, your stockings beneath the knee length trousers. A loose shirt with a wide leather belt fastening it at your waist was the only other garment you put on, standing in front of him and doing a little twirl; “Very nice… and practical”

“I spent ten years of my childhood aboard spice ships, running up ladders and rigging in skirts was a recipe for disaster.”

You crossed the room and sat across his lap;

“So, how is this going to work? You gonna drop me at the next port, leave me to my own devices? Wait until we’re in shark infested waters and throw me overboard?”

“What? Now why would i do that to a pretty little thing like you?”

“Well I know you didn’t end up with the outcome you were hoping for, and now you’re stuck with a ransomee that isn’t due any ransom”

He let out a sigh;

“I wouldn’t do that… it ain’t your fault your husband had the balls of a eunuch. No, i’m sure we can find a use for you, even if it’s just warming my bed… did you have an education?”

“Of sorts. Whenever we docked in Grace Bay i’d see a governess. I can speak spanish, french, and italian” you nodded to the maps spread over the table; “... and i can chart courses and know the currents of the Indies better than anyone that ever sailed on the spice route” 

You gently stroked his beard;

“So Captain, what do you want me to do?”

“All of the above and more…” he stroked your cheek; “I won’t always be able to please you in bed, and from the signs of it you’ve got quite a carnal appetite...So, firstly you can call me Sy when its just us or the officers. When we’re on deck it’s Captain like everyone else. Secondly, if you want it, my officers could do with a bedmate, if you don’t mind sharing?”

Your eyebrows shot up so far you were surprised they didn’t meet your hair;

“Share me with your officers? Who…”

“There’s the Constable - who you’ll know from town - Walter Marshall, and the Armoury Officer - August Walker, and you’ve met Michael, he’s first mate”

“O-Okay”

“You’re alright with that?”

Stroking his beard you leant forwards and kissed him;

“Yes, yes I am. I’ve always wanted a little more adventure in my life, and now here it is”

“Well, you can be the one to decide when you want to go to the others, i’ll leave that move to you… i wont say anything yet”

“Thank you Sy, let's tell them Friday night. You can tell them.”

“Anything for my little Rose” he pressed his face to your neck and inhaled; “Still smell as sweet as that rose garden…”

“You can call me Rose if you like?”

“A new name for a new start?”

“Something like that” you grinned at him.

-

You’d spent four nights in the arms of Sy, some nights just falling asleep in each others arms, other’s you would fuck until dawn. That particular morning you’d taken him in your mouth and he’d taught you how to suck a man, working your tongue and lips over his hot flesh until he’d flooded your mouth with his thick salty seed. He’d held your jaw as he finished;

“Now be a good girl and swallow it”

You gulped down the mouthful before smiling;

“Tasty”

With a laugh he kissed you, before giving your naked ass a cheeky spank as he rolled out of bed;

“You gonna join me on deck?”

You stretched and sighed;

“I’m gonna try and find that earring i dropped when you had me bent over the table last night…”

-

Sy entered his cabin just as the ship’s cook was leaving, nodding to the meal he’d set out;

“Creole Stew tonight Cap’n, bread and ale like always”

“Thanks. Have you seen Rose?”

“No Sir”

Nodding Sy entered his cabin with a weary sigh, it had been a long day and all he really wanted to do was crawl into bed to sleep, grateful it was Friday which meant August took early watch on deck the next day, but he had dinner with the other officers and he hadn’t seen you for the last few hours, last he knew you were still on the hunt for your lost earring. Leaving the door ajar he sat at the table and started to eat, moments later Walter and August joining him.

“Where’s the others?” Walter asked as he sat, helping himself to a large chunk of bread

“Mikey is in the crows nest, he’ll be down shortly” August confirmed; “Haven’t seen Rose for a while though”

“Rose?”

“Sy’s bit of fluff. Decided as its a new start onboard she may as well choose a new name. Apparently its because Sy say’s she smells of Roses”

Walter snorted out a low laugh;

“She’s gonna be smelling of Sy sooner or later”

Sy listened to his two oldest friends banter back and forth, unaware of the surprise he was about to get. Hearing quick footfalls coming along the corridor he looked up to see Mikey at the doorway just as two soft hands pressed to his thighs from beneath the table. He nodded to Mikey to take a seat, before leaning back and peering down to his lap, hiding his surprise when he saw you on your knees beneath the table, hidden from the view of the rest of the party by the many overhanging maps and the low candle light.

Grabbing a chunk of bread he stayed leaning back but parted his thighs wide, wide enough to allow you to unfasten him and pump his hardening length and slip him into your mouth.

“Dig in boys, its gonna be a spicy meal tonight!”

As you worked quickly with your new found skills, sucking on the bulbous head as you fondled his heavy ballsack with your free hand, working quickly and silently as the men above you talked amongst themselves. You could feel Sy’s leg start to tremble, his hand sliding beneath the table to hold your head in place, and as you relaxed your jaw you felt his hot seed flood your mouth.

“WOO!” he exclaimed above you; “This stew is HOT!”

He took a deep breath and slapped his hand on the table with a laugh, before you tucked him carefully back into his breeches and you continued with your plan.

“Sy, we need to consider restocking the armoury” August started; “Scuttling the boats used up a lot of ammunitionnnnnnnnn”

Sy looked up and smirked, August looking at him wide eyed but recovering quickly, clearing his throat;

“Anyway as i was saying… umm... wow, the stew… the spice really hits after a while doesn’t it…”

August scrunched his face and rested his hand on his fist, before grabbing his tankard of ale and taking a large gulp, some of it spilling from the sides of his mouth as he spluttered on the liquid that did only a little to hide the groan. Sy shovelled another mouthful of stew into his mouth to hide his grin as August sat back in his chair, a half glare on his face. 

Walter frowned at both of the older men;

“I have no idea what you two are on about, this stew is fine”

August wiped the slight sheen of sweat from his brow, before finally sitting straight and digging back into his meal;

“Walt, just wait, it takes a while to hit you but when it does… ooooh boy it takes your breath away”

The big bear of a man frowned and shovelled another mouthful in, before his eyes went wide. Swallowing awkwardly he nodded, shifting in his seat;

“Oh… oh yeah… its hitting… wow, its a good burn, ya know…” taking a leaf out of August’s book he grabbed his tankard, taking a gulp as he fidgeted in his seat, both Sy and August doing poor jobs of hiding their smirks, whereas Mikey was sat at the far end of the table without the slightest clue as to what was going on;

“Seriously? You guys must be getting old, this stew ain’t spicy”

Sy raised his tankard to his son and grinned;

“Just wait, it’ll hit ya… anyway, i got an announcement to make”

The three other men looked at Sy, Walter’s gaze faltering now and again as his focal point seemed to change, but he shifted in his seat and leaned his elbow against the armrest of his chair, his hand sliding beneath the table as he muttered about ‘cramp’, when in fact his large hand was holding your head in place as he pushed deeper into your throat. Sy cleared his throat and continued;

“We all know the events at the island did not go to plan. We’re down on funds and supplies, and we’ve increased the crew numbers with those that helped with the land mutiny… we’ve also of course got Rose to consider, she never asked for any of this, but we have come up with a solution of sorts”

“I think i might know what that solution could be” Walter panted out, his face contorting into something that resembled a grimace as he muttered about spiciness and cramps again before with a sigh a smile spread across his face; “Ooooh that’s it… the cramps are going…”

“Anyway” Sy interjected with a wry smile; “Rose can speak numerous languages, can read and chart maps, she’s probably the best educated of everyone on the ship”

Just then Mikey squeaked and jumped in his chair, a thud sounding beneath the table;

“S-s-sorry... my knee hit the table”

Sy nodded with a smile;

“No problem Son, carry on. So Rose will also be here for other duties, but only for the officers at this table tonight” he paused; “And i think you all now know what those duties will be”

August nodded as he eagerly mopped up the last remaining morsels of his stew with a chunk of bread;

“That sounds a fucking brilliant idea Sy. She has the greatest tits...” at that moment Mikey let out a groan and his head thudded against the high back of his chair; “... and i think we all now know she’s got a fucking brilliant mouth on her”

There was little point in denying what had just happened, the very fact it was still going on and Mikey had so little control of his reactions as you were sucking his meaty dick, having just done the same to the other three men in the room from the darkness under the table. In fact the three older men started to chat away candidly as you lavished Mikey’s beautiful cock with your tongue, before taking him in hand to move your mouth down to his tight ballsack to suck on the warm globes. His athletic thighs had parted enough for you to get much closer than you had done with the other three men - all of whom had thighs that could crush a coconut - and it meant that the top of your head could now be seen in his lap by the other men.

“Grab her hair Mikey” August shouted from behind his refilled tankard; “Get deep down in her throat, its fucking amazing, feels like she’ll suck your soul out of your dick”

You felt Mikey's hands curl into your hair, holding your head in place as he started to rock his hips up, filling your mouth and throat. Gripping hard to his thighs you could feel him start to tremble, preparing yourself for the flood of seed and as he came with a cry, looking down at you as you stared back with wide innocent eyes that completely ruined him. 

Finally he released his grip on you, and as you looked down you smiled at what came into view. Seconds later you were climbing out from beneath the table, turning to smile at the rest of the men as you fastened the earring to your lobe;

“Look Sy, i found my earring!”

Walking around the table you took the tankard of ale that August held out for you with a smile, before sitting across Sy’s lap;

“I think they like the idea”

Sy looked at the men around the table, his trusted friends and family and smiled;

“I think they do, my sweet Rose”

He clinked his tankard to yours and you both drank, the joyous laughter filling the room as the night continued.

__________________________________________________________

I do not run a tag list. Instead please visit @angryschnauzerwrites​ and follow that blog and put it onto notifications. You will then get an alert when i post new stories.

Masterlist can be found on AO3, link here.

[ardett]

White Monsters and White Claws

New Karlnap fic dropping!

Description: Karl drinks energy drinks. So does Sapnap (but only when Karl does).

or somehow the feeling of having an energy drink is like the feeling of meeting someone for the first time is like the feeling of having a crush

Current word count: 2251

Of course you can always check it out on Ao3!

Sapnap knows he’s being too quiet when he visits Karl. 

It starts at the airport. He texts Karl as he’s walking outside but when he looks up, glimpsing the North Carolina landscape properly for the first time, Karl is already rushing towards him.

Karl practically tackles him, yelling his name. Sapnap fumbles with his suitcase handle. Eventually he ends up dropping it in favor of bringing a hand up to the small of Karl’s back. He curls his fingers into the back of Karl’s sweater, too gently for Karl to even feel it.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Karl whispers, absolutely giddy.

Words suddenly escape Sapnap. He just nods into Karl’s shoulder. A bubble forms in his chest, iridescent and buoyant. He can’t quite describe the feeling but it’s something excited and soft and nervous.

Fragile.

Karl makes him feel so fragile.

“Okay, let me get you to my house. I’m sure you’re tired.” Karl grins at him, bright and blinding. Sapnap opens his mouth to respond but only manages an affirmative hum, barely a sound at all.

He grabs his suitcase and lets Karl drag him along with a hand on the sleeve of his hoodie. It’s not holding hands but it’s close.

His mouth tastes like soap. The bubble grows.

Sapnap does manage a few words during the ride. Thankfully Karl does most of the talking, jumping from general excitement that Sapnap is there to their schedule for filming to what he wants them to do while streaming. It’s overwhelming but only in the best way.

Maybe this is a bad thing but Karl makes Sapnap feel young.

There’s only a couple years between them but it’s less the years and more the experience. Karl may be a college drop out but Sapnap’s never left home, not until he moved in with Dream, and he knows it’s not the same. It’s not the awkward trying-to-find-friends freshman year and the deafening frat parties and the shared study sessions in the library while the sun rises. Half of what would have been his college experience was spent in a pandemic anyway. Obviously things have changed in the last year with the radiating effect of Dream’s success but in so many ways, he still feels like he’s the same person he was in high school. Karl, on the other, seems fully realized in a way Sapnap never could.

All those things and the cans of White Claw Sapnap finds in the fridge next to Karl’s Monster energy drinks do nothing to help his anxiety. That’s the other difference between 20 and 22, isn't it?

Sapnap knows Karl just wants him here to film and have fun. There’s not a lot of expectations except a couple of streams Karl wants to do and even those are still a bit up in the air. But those aren’t the expectations Sapnap is worried about.

Maybe he’s setting himself up for failure by worrying about this, by putting so much pressure on it, but it’s the first time they’re ever meeting in person. Does their friendship change? Does it stay the same? Can it?

Sapnap’s pretty sure it can’t, is the thing, as much as he wants it to be exactly the same. It’s not even Karl’s fault. It’s undeniably Sapnap’s and his sudden inability to properly form words. Sapnap and the stupid fragile bubble pressing against his lungs.

(It’s a secret, isn’t it? The bubble is a secret.)

There’s a tap on the already open door. “Hey, you done unpacking yet?” Sapnap glances up to where Karl is waiting. Both their gazes trail down to Sapnap’s still zipped suitcase.

The corner of Karl’s mouth tips up at the corner, teasing. “Dude, you’ve been in here for like 30 minutes. You’re not even on your phone.”

Sapnap stands.“Shut up. I’m just gonna live out of my suitcase anyway,” he mumbles.

“Okay, okay.” Karl holds up his hands, taking a step back. “Come down then. I’m gonna order some dinner and then we can stream, yeah?” He turns on his heel and heads down the stairs, not waiting for Sapnap.

Not that it matters. They both know Sapnap will follow.

-

Sapnap lets Karl order them delivery. He tries to offer to pay but Karl refuses to take it, “I have a real job, man. Save it for college.”

“It’s community college. It’s not that much,” Sapnap protests.

“Still though. I spent all that money on college and didn’t even graduate. You are gonna graduate, right?”

“That’s the plan.” Sapnap scratches at the table top. It’s not even the flimsy portable kind of table that he and Dream still have, despite living in their rental house for a couple months now. It’s a real wooden table.

There’s something so permanent about Karl’s life. 

His photos on the walls are in frames, not hung up by bits of tape or command strips. He has enough bowls and plates for guests. All his kitchen chairs match.

It makes Sapnap feel like a fraud.

What does he know, after all? He’s so new to all of this. He never even seriously thought about a career in streaming or YouTube but suddenly it became a reality before he could even process it. He was invited here because he was supposed to add something of value to these videos but it seems that everything that fell into his lap was partially by luck.

And he thinks about how hard it is to say a single word to Karl and wonders if he’s worth this. If he’s ready for this.

But those are two different questions, aren’t they?

Even if he is worth it, even if he deserves this, he knows he’s not ready. He just knows it. Dream wanted this so badly, to have a career in content creation, worked so hard for it, and then dragged them all along in his wake. 

And Sapnap is grateful for that, so so grateful, but now he’s here in fucking North Carolina without Dream or George or his parents or anyone he knows except Karl who’s older than him and can drink and has a real job and doesn’t need to ask his parents permission to go to another state and god—

He doesn’t even know what he is to Karl.

Are they friends? Are they pretend lovers? Are they even acquaintances? 

Sapnap’s no stranger to internet friends but he knew Dream before he knew the name of his first crush. He hasn’t even known Karl for a year. He doesn’t deny that what he feels is… intense but it feels like it shouldn’t be. Shouldn’t it take longer to feel like this? For someone to make you feel this lost?

Sapnap can’t help the rush of relief when food arrives and he can substitute eating for talking.

“Alright, you good to stream soon?” Karl asks, gathering up the trash on the table to throw away.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” Sapnap clears his throat. “What… What are we doing again?”

“Eh, I figured we would just go on SMP for a bit. This is just the first stream, so I don’t have a real plan yet.” Sapnap watches Karl mill around the kitchen. 

Sapnap checks his phone, seeing a message from Dream.

Dream: excited to see you guys stream soon don’t forget to have fun with your mans :)

Sapnap swallows. His hand curls into a fist on the table. The food they just ate curdles in his stomach.

Why is it so different with Karl than with Dream? Sapnap doesn’t remember feeling like this when he met Dream. It was an exciting moment of course but they settled into a rhythm so much easier than he can find one here.

But maybe the sick feeling is also because he feels like Dream is teasing him.

Dream loves to joke that Sapnap is engaged to Karl. And it’s all fun and games until Sapnap sees all the rings that Karl wears in person and he feels like… like… he almost wants a matching set.

He just wants them to be close. In whatever way he can get. It’s a desperate kind of want and need.

It’s not like he really wants to be engaged to Karl in real life but the thought of a physical token to remind him that Karl cares, Karl values him, this isn’t just a weird fling that Karl couldn’t avoid, it sounds so comforting. He wants to know Karl. He wants Karl to know him. He wants to understand what it means to be close with Karl.

It’s like missing Karl even though he’s right here.

He’s right here.

He’s right here.

He’s—

“Sapnap? Come on, I’m gonna leave you behind if you don’t hurry,” Karl giggles.

Sapnap hurries.

-

It feels like they’ve only been streaming for a few minutes when Karl is already getting up again.

“I’m gonna grab a Monster cause my head hurts.” Karl sends a light grin Sapnap’s way. It makes him feel a little less abandoned.

Sapnap’s fiddles with Karl’s game settings while the other is gone, staying a little too quiet for being live but not quite knowing what else to say.

He startles as his phone rings, flipping it over to see Dream is calling him.

“I’m live, I’m live,” he says into the mic as he picks up the call.

“Yeah, I know, dude.” He can practically hear Dream’s smirk through the phone. “Don’t put me on speaker yet though. What are you even doing?”

“What do you mean, what am I doing?” Sapnap squirms and after a second, he mutes himself to the stream. He glances at the door. Karl still isn’t back.

“Come on, you’re like, so timid. Karl’s a nice guy. I don’t even know why you’ve been so nervous.”

“Shut up,” Sapnap hisses. The bubble in his chest aches. He hates feeling so out of his depth. He’s painfully aware of the camera trained on his face. “You know why. Besides I’m not—”

“You totally are,” Dream laughs before his voice sobers just a bit. “He’s not being mean to you or something, is he? I mean, not mean mean but you know you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to for those Mr. Beast videos or whatever, right?”

“I know, Dream, relax. Honestly, it’s been fine.” Sapnap hunches in on himself a bit, curls around his phone and the sound of Dream’s voice.

“Okay, okay,” Dream placates. “I know you’re fine and I shouldn’t worry. So what have you been up to then?”

“You know I’m actually streaming right now, right?” Sapnap smiles. His eyes flick back to the screen, to the chat racing along the side asking what he’s saying.

“Sure, you just want to ditch me, I get it,” Dream teases.

“I don’t—” Sapnap snickers. Then he pauses. “He has a real wooden table,” he says suddenly before immediately flushing. He can feel it on his cheeks, see it on the monitor, the bit of red dotting the high parts of his cheeks.

“What?”

“Um—” Sapnap stumbles over his words. “I don’t know why I said—”

“Hey, I’m back!” Karl calls, throwing the door open. Sapnap’s eyes dart over to him.

“Bye, Dream,” Sapnap rushes, hanging up the call before Dream can say another word.

Karl taps his Monster down on the table, slipping over to the other side of Sapnap. “Was that Dream?”

“Mm,” Sapnap hums. He grabs the drink automatically, joking, “Thank you for the drink.”

“Oh, you want it?”

Words fail Sapnap (again, he can’t keep doing this) so he just nods instead even though he never has energy drinks, he doesn’t even like coffee, caffeine has always done weird things to him, but now he’s dug himself into an even deeper hole.

“I’ll grab another one. You can have that one.”

And then Karl’s gone again.

Sapnap’s phone dings. 

Dream: U r such an idiot

Sapnap scowls and rips the tab off the Monster. He downs half of it before Karl is even back.

And he regrets it as soon as Karl walks into the room again.

The caffeine hits him immediately. It sends his heart fluttering, pushes his words up his throat, starts his hands twitching.

Everything becomes ten times harder than it already was because god, every single emotion that made his heart beat before is now making his heart pound.

It’s absolutely impossible to ignore, especially when Karl collapses against Sapnap laughing at a funny thing on the screen. He feels the way Karl shakes against him, the way he buries his face in Sapnap’s shoulder and curls a hand around his bicep. His own heartbeat is deafening in his ears, a frantic escalating drumbeat.

“I can feel your heart beating,” Karl murmurs, too low for the mic to pick up. “Relax. You don’t like the facecam?”

Sapnap shakes his head almost imperceptibly. 

Karl’s face tilts towards him. “Something else?” he asks.

“Um,” Sapnap’s hand tightens on the mouse. He clicks something he didn’t mean to. “Let’s not worry about it now.”

“Sorry,” Karl apologizes, pushing himself off Sapnap. 

Sapnap is sure that Karl misinterpreted what he meant. He’s sure Karl thinks that Sapnap wasn’t comfortable with how close they suddenly got, but maybe he wasn’t. It’s hard to know with Karl. Nothing’s comfortable but it’s more about boundaries being pushed rather than boundaries being crossed. 

And Sapnap knows that some of those boundaries are there because of fear.

Either way, the energy drink isn’t helping.

Part 1/3, next chapters coming soon!

[mobtism]

🌸 serizawa :)

BEAN..... I LOVE U SM...... THANK U 🥺💛‼️

beware: mob psycho 100 season 2 spoilers under the cut!!!!

also: heres a link to the ask game !! mutuals pls send some 🥺

okay! now onto my serizawa rambling 🥰😌

1. first and foremost, i really REALLY love his character as a whole...... THIS FIRST ONES A LONG ONE, BUCKLE UP!

i love that serizawa is instinctively a really good and kind person at heart, and that this isnt something thats overlooked about him either. it is so integral to who he is... in every aspect of his life, good and bad.

its why he shut himself in as a kid, afraid to hurt others... its why he was so easily manipulated by toichiro into believing claw was his "second chance" at life.

but his naturally kind heart is also why he was able to switch sides so quickly and easily, after mob had shown him kindness... it was the first time he was given the opportunity to be good, and the first opportunity at actual friendship - something he never was able to have before. and he didnt have to accept mob's friendship, he didnt have to go save reigen - someone he didnt even know, who was on the opposing side. he didnt have to choose to be good. but he did.

serizawa has always tried to make the choice to be good, even when his perception of "good" was skewed... because thats who he is, was, and always will be!!!

he may have been on the corrupt villain's side - his right hand man, even - but he was never ever a villain himself. he had always been this deeply kind, yet fearful & sad guy who so badly wants to be good... but this made him a target. he was horribly taken advantage of by toichiro, and fed a distorted version of the world all those years he spent under his wing... because toichiro made serizawa believe he couldnt live without his guidance, he did make bad choices - choices that were directed by toichiro.

but once he was offered a true second chance, by mob & co.,, it was so easy for him to turn his back on the way he lived for so long. to stand up to toichiro, and to stand up for himself and for others, for the first time in his life.

he always had it in him, to be good. it was always who he was. but he was never given the opportunity, nor the ability, to truly allow himself to believe it. but serizawa is, and always has been, someone with a truly good, kind heart. and i really, really love that about him.

2. it is SO IMPORTANT to me how serizawa's redemption was handled... they didnt gloss over his trauma & how it affects him still. they showed him as this awkward, highly self conscious & anxious person, which is natural and understandable behavior that hits so close to home as a post-trauma response. he has never lived his life without debilitating fear of himself and the world until now... and he has never been shown the kindness, patience, and the acceptance that spirits & such co. have shown him. everything that he experiences in his life after his redemption arc is a completely new experience for him, and they dont ignore or undermine the importance of this to his character!!! and as time goes on... and hes continued to have a truly good support system... a family... he is able to recover, slowly coming to accept himself and his powers and have confidence for the first time in his life. and seeing that, seeing serizawa be able to recover and grow from his harmful past... its soso important to me.

3. i love how he is canonically one of the absolute most powerful espers... even tho it has caused sm problems for him in his early life, i think he deserves it. he deserves to be the baddest bitch of them all. he can protect himself & his family with ease, fuck all the hoes. he is so cool.

4. serizawa's relationship with reigen is something that is also so important to me... but that is a whole nother can of worms that i do not feel like opening on this post bc. its a lot.

5. the dudes birthday is on 4/20.

[tinymiko]

Coffee and cream

Henry Cavill/ thick woman

Rough sex, swearing, road rage, one night stand lots of swearing seriously I have a filthy mouth

So this is the first time sharing here and the first fic like this I've ever written be gentle. Also it's 4:50am and I'm doing this on my phone so formatting sucks.

Coffee and cream

Henry waited in line at the Starbucks half tempted to take off the ball cap and hoody in order to rush the service. Taking a look at the crowd he quickly changed his mind, his mother always said patience was a virtue. Besides getting his coffee 2 minutes earlier wouldn’t make up for the crowd of fans who would inevitably detain him for at least thirty minutes. He loved his fans was grateful for them but sometimes he wished he could grab a cup of coffee without getting mauled.  

 

He scooted towards the rear wall hunching in on himself watching the people come through the doors enjoying watching people without them watching him. A rush of hot air blew in as the door opened again. A small woman walked in head down auburn curls swinging down to her back blocking his view of her face. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to see her face but he felt compelled to move forward eyes tracking her as she waited in line. She was striking  pale skin dark eyes, long lashes. She had small lips that seemed to be perpetually smiling. Henry moved closer. Close enough that he got a whiff of her perfume,, she smelled like coconuts and he couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. No heavy floral perfume or overly sweet vanilla for the little lady. Coconuts was strangely appropriate, exotic sweet like her smile.

 

He shook his head and backed up wondering just what it was about this woman that had struck him so. She was pretty no doubt but not the most beautiful he’d seen, hell not even the most beautiful in the Starbucks. She had drawn attention though, more than a few eyes followed her. It wasn’t just that she was tiny barely reaching his chest she was undoubtedly a woman, thick and full. There were no gentle slopes or subtle curves on her. No the little doll was like a mountain road, round and dangerous curves. The sharp dip of her waist almost cartoonish in comparison to the ample hips and the swell of creamy breast. She was built like a brick shit house.

 

 

Henry was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice he had moved so close to her until she bumped into him. Her little hands steadying herself on his abs and he felt his gut clench in desire at the heat of her brief touch.

 

“ I’m so sorry sir, I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

 

“No I apologize, I hadn’t realized I was so close to you. I was a bit impatient for my coffee I guess.”  Henry took a deep breath when her brown eyes widened in recognition

 

 

“No worries it’s as much my fault as yours patience is a virtue I never possessed, especially not when coffee is involved. Besides it’s a hazard of being small sometimes people don’t see me down here.”

 

She smiled and then walked towards the pickup line grabbing a comically large Frappuccino. She walked back over to him handing him a grande caramel latte with Henry scrawled on the cup.

 

“I think this is you.” She told him an amused smirk on her face before she turned and walked away.

 

He stood for a moment just watching her go before chasing her out the door his long legs catching up to her quickly.

 

“ You know who I am?”

 

“ of course you’re huge dude plus a ball cap does not a disguise make.” The smirk was back on her face and Henry got the feeling she was laughing at him

 

“why didn’t you say anything?”

 

“ Because no one deserves to get attacked by fans before their first cup of coffee and you were practically crawling into your sweater trying to hide. Which is hard to do when you’re that big so kudos on that.”

 

 

Henry looked at her with disbelief before letting out a loud guffaw.

 

“Let me buy you a cup of coffee.”

 

 

“Already got one cutie besides I gotta go to work but enjoy your coffee. Also I loved you in the Witcher the wig really does it for you or does it for me however you want to take it.”

 

 

She climbed in a black SUV with a grunt that had him smilin, why did the smallest people drive the biggest cars.

 

“wait can I buy you dinner tonight. I'm in town for a few days training with Gracie.”

 

“The ju jitsu guy?” she asked.

 

“ yeah how’d you know?”

 

“I’m Puerto Rican we’re raised on boxing and MMA well that and dominoes. Anyways I really do have to go my boss is a hard ass and I’m already  late.”

 

“wait, just can you call in. I don’t know anyone here and I’d really like to thank you for not outing me.”

 

Isabella took a deep breath. She was really trying not to freak out. Henry fucking Cavill was talking to her! Asking her to dinner her plain little Isabella Sanchez. Of course she had immediately recognized him, who wouldn’t.  She had also recognized how hard he’d tried to blend into the walls and she felt sorry for him. How hard must it be for him to do anything without being mobbed. She was still trying to decide if it was worth hearing her boss's mouth when a group of girls came out of Starbucks. Unfortunately at that same moment Henry had taken off his cap to run his hands through his hair. The girls immediately squealed and rushed towards him. Not taking the time to think Isabella unlock the doors to her Suburban and yelled for him to get in. The car shook with the force of his body jumping in the passenger side and Isabella pulled the car in reverse tires squealing while she made an illegal turn onto the highway.

 

 

“ Wow thanks! I’ve never been actually been in a car chase.”

 

 

“that was hardly a car chase.” She said smiling

 

 

“Could have fooled me.” Henry muttered loudly.

 

“I could drive you back to the fangirls.”

 

 

“ no you’re a fantastic driver I didn’t fear for my life at all.”

 

Isabella snorted. So she had a lead foot she got him out of there before he could be molested by overly caffeinated fan girls.

 

 

“ I’m Isabella by the way.”

 

She held one hand towards him while quickly changing lanes and swerving around a slow driver.

 

“maybe you should keep both hands on the wheel.” He suggested with a dry chuckle. He was also not so discreetly putting on his seat belt. Isabella rolled her eyes. With his shoulders she wasn’t sure anything short of a head on collision would even jostle him.

 

20 minutes later they were pulling into his hotel and Henry had never been more glad to see a hotel in his life. The fact that the GPS has estimated their driving time at 40 minutes instead of the 20 minutes of near flying it took may have accounted for that. Isabella was sweet and funny and scary and the craziest driver he had ever had the displeasure of riding besides. He wasn’t sure how they had survived or how she hadn’t gotten arrested. She violated more laws than he had known existed cursing in English and Spanish at anyone that didn’t drive fast enough. So anyone driving the speed limit or below. He was a bit terrified of her, turned on to and he wasn’t sure what that said about him.

 

“ come up to the room well order room service besides I think I need some Dramamine”

 

 

“You can’t complain if you didn’t die that’s the rules .”

 

“I’m not sure I could complain if I did die.”

 

She snorted at his muttered words maybe she should have taken it easy on him but honestly she loved to drive loved the speed being higher than everyone else for once it was exhilarating.  She followed him to his room half worried half horny and wondered if she should be more concerned. She didn’t usually follow strange men to their hotel rooms. He had looked so panicked when those girls spotted him she couldn’t just abandon him.  She usually had good instincts about people and hers were saying he was a good person. of course her mind was telling her instincts she was thinking with her lady bits and well her lady bits weren’t thinking at all.

They ordered sandwiches and talked while they ate. Henry found himself telling her about his childhood about his love life or recent lack of and everything in between. Isabella was surprisingly easy to talk to. She wasn’t afraid to call him on his shit or to eat with gusto and he was glad. Hollywood and their   and gluten free salads were getting old. He missed comfort foods and comfortable people.  He laughed loudly as she told him about her uncle and father nearly getting into a fist fight over a game of dominoes how her aunt had forbidden the game since the “incident “ as everyone now called. Isabella called It hilarious and was still lamenting the lack of video footage of the two men dueling with canes while cursing up a storm. ( this actually happened)

 

It was nice really nice actually. He hadn’t felt so normal in years so when she stopped talking to take a drink he kissed her. Pulling her lush little body to him until she was straddling his lap. Her hips rocking against his hardness causing him to hiss.

 

He should stop he hadn’t meant to go this far but she felt so goddamn perfect in his arms. Squirming in his lap the heat of her cunt burning him through the jeans he was wearing. Fuck it he thought for once throwing caution to the wind. He wanted this wanted her. Isabella with her kind eyes and loud laughter her crazy road rage and gusto for life. It beckoned him a sirens call that he was lost to. He had spent years playing the game enjoying the fruits of fame. Had models and actresses all long limbed lithe all the same. Henry realized as he grabbed a handful of hips that it was like eating rice every day. It would keep you alive but was hardly living. Isabella this vibrant stranger was like a feast after years of famine.

 

 

 

 His hands traveled her back down to cup the fullness of her ass.  He pulled his mouth from hers to run his lips against her throat nipping at her jaw. She tasted like heaven sweet and salty and just fucking divine. Her fingers clawed at his back as ground herself harder against him he could feel her wet heat through the thin panties she wore. Her skirt uselessly rolled around her waist.

 

“Fuck Henry please”

 

 

Her pleas went straight to his cock and he ripped her blouse from her body tearing it in two leaving scraps hanging from her arms. Her nipples dusky rose and pebbled in his hand. He couldn’t help but suck one into his mouth before letting it go with a loud pop. She clenched her thighs and bucked her hips riding his Jean clad cock ferociously.

 

“You like little doll” he pulled the other nipple into his mouth sucking harder and she made little mewling noises. Dhe was going to be the death of him. He had known the second he had gotten into the car with her. He just hadn’t known she would ride him to death mewing like a kitten while fucking like the devil.

 

“more please harder"

 

 

Never one to deny a beautiful woman Henry pulled her still writhing body off him and tossed her bodily on the bed. She landed on the hard but he didn’t stop just ripped the rest of her clothes from her body. Before shoving his own off. Henry paused to look at her his gaze burning her body. The tattoo of a fiery heart on her hip the scar from an old belly piercing. Her glistening pussy just begging to be tasted. So he did he dived into the bed his weight  making her bounce a bit. Spreading her legs he passed his tongue over her slit. She squirmed trying to  close her legs but he held her thighs open scooting until she was trapped by his shoulders. Pinned beneath the massive girth of his muscular body. Every pass of his tongue sent a jolt between her legs. He plunged his tongue  in and out of her sopping hole fucking her with his tongue. Isabella screamed it was too much his weight his smell his touch everything was too much and she thought she might die of pleasure. He thrust two fingers into her cunt twisting and turning them while his tongue lapped at her clit. Her stomach clenched and her back arched obscenely  her breast jutting in the air and she convulsed the strength of her orgasm taking over her body. She shook with after shocks and Henry crawled up her body his face shiny with her slick.

 

 

Isabella felt her body tighten in response seconds before she was sure she was going to pass out but looking at his face covered in her juices his tongue darting out to catch errant drops. She was wet all over again. Pulling his face to hers she licked at the seam of his lips tasting herself. Her fingers ran through his curls and she tugged on them impatiently. In  answer he plunged into his bulbous head stretching her to capacity. He stopped halfway her little cunt so tight that he was afraid he’d hurt her if he fully sheathed himself. Henry could feel the sweat dripping down his head a vein in his neck bulged with the effort to keep still. He wouldn’t hurt her not after she’d been so kind no matter how much he wanted to let go. To fuck her into the mattress.

 

“ Fuck your so goddammit tight. I can’t fuck, we’re going to have to go slow little doll or I might hurt you. ”

 

Isabella took a deep breath slammed her hips forward fully sheathing him. She was full so full she could swear he was going to tear her in two but she needed it, need his big cock to fuck her into the wall.

 

“don’t you hold back don’t you fucking hold back.”

 

 

Fuck was all he could think when the tiny woman slammed her body down on him. He pushed into her his big hands holding her hips in a bruising grip as he pulled out to the tip than  slammed her body down his erection over and over. He had lost it. He knew he was holding her too tightly slamming her little body to strongly. The small part of his mind that still was coherent cursed his weakness even as he continued lifting her up before yanking  her down his cock till finally he felt his balls tighten. He wanted to make it good for her though the absolutely filthy sounds of him gliding in and out of her soaked cunt made him think it already was good for her. He managed to capture one luscious tit in his mouth biting hard to keep it as she thrashed screaming a second release and he roared incoherently feeling his seed fill her up he couldn’t help the smug smirk before finally collapsing on the bed. He had enough presence of mind to make sure she landed on top of him so he wouldn’t crush her then fell asleep.

[tbhwhocaresanymore]

Nancy Drew 2x2

Me in my naïveté: surely, the Nancy Drew writers, the best writers the CW has on staff, have run out of ways to bring back past moments and episodes that seemed unimportant at the time.

ND writers: Bitch you thought?

Y’ALL

When I say tonight’s episode made me absolutely lose my actual goddamn mind that is not in any way an exaggeration. My brain physically pried itself out of my skull and ran away down the street.

Jesus Jedediah Christ the way they brought back those five people/ghosts who at the time seemed absolutely unimportant and sent me so entirely off my rocker if I even attempt to think about it for more than two seconds I’ll spontaneously combust so we’re going to have to work around it.

First off, no surprise: HANNAH GRUEN. My bae. My wife. Love of my life. You were only there for two minutes but they were exquisite.

Second I fucking KNEW that dude from the Marvin funeral episode was important. If you’ll recall from my review my theory at the time was that maybe HE killed Owen, but you know what this was so much better.

Okay, to business. At the beginning when Nancy is seeing all of the scratches on Douglas Marvin’s grave and then we zoom out to kind of see the Aglaeca in the side of the frame, and then zoom out more and it turns around and LOOKS at us doing that creepy little swaying thing? POETIC CINEMA. Riverdale wants what Nancy Drew has.

That “unfortunate first meeting” George had with Nick’s mom and her subsequent attempts to prove herself, culminating in Millie giving her the dumpling recipe? Adorable. Speaking of the mom, I do indeed hope we see more of her. Her and Nick’s moment at the end of the episode where he talked about seeing her cry in the courtroom absolutely broke my heart. I can’t handle the thought of him not at the very least having the occasional phone call with her from this point onwards.

To be entirely honest almost every scene with the mom broke my heart. When she was talking about how she and her husband raised Nick to always do everything right and lost him anyway? Hhhhhhhhhhhhh it hurts. The writers said they would be keeping BLM in mind while writing this season, like how they kept Me Too in mind for the first one, and I was a little worried it would be hamfisted. But if they continue as they did tonight it will be nothing but beautiful.

Guys. Guys. I know I said I had no idea how to talk about it but I have to talk about it. That scene in the orphanage. When they find the photo. And Nancy realizes she has seen all of those ghosts before.

GUYS.

EPISODE 3.

SINCE EPISODE THREE THE WRITERS HAVE BEEN PLANNING THIS.

GODDAMN DO WE LOVE CONTINUITY AND FOLLOWING THROUGH ON PLOT LINES AND WRITERS WHO KNOW WHAT THE FUCK THEY’RE DOING. I WANT TO FIND THE SHOWRUNNER AND KISS THEM ON THE MOUTH.

Ahem.

Anyway.

I thought Carson and Ace had some really nice moments this episode. i.e. “The guy at the store said it was a one man job.” “I think the guy at the store lied to you.” I am, however, curious if Nancy is going to ever bring her father in on the fact that supernatural beings exist and that she deals with them on the reg. Like I know he helped them out with the coma ritual with McGinnis (McGinnis come back 😭😭😭) but they never really brought it up with him again, and he’s been like kept out of the loop on it all ever since. I’m just wondering if he in fact actually knows and is just remarkably calm all the time, or if he’s in denial, or what. But tbh I do have a very strong amount of sympathy for Carson, and I really want him and Nancy to get back on good terms. At the end of the episode when she brought him the coffee and stuff I teared up a little. I’m an adult, I can admit it. Maybe it’s just because I’m such a massive fan of the books, where she and her dad were so close, but having them at odds especially after they started out that way, is painful.

Speaking of the books.

Fernwood orphanage. Hhhhhh writers I see what you did there. But for those of you who don’t know, in Nancy Drew #9 The Sign of the Twisted Candle, Nancy Bess and George stop at a roadside inn/bed and breakfast type place. At the inn is a 100 year old man named Ada Sydney who Nancy befriends, along with a young orphan waitress named Carol Wipple whom Ada has a soft spot for. The next day he dies, and turns out Carson is his lawyer and Nancy goes with him for the will reading. Long story short, Carol is apparently his granddaughter and he leaves her like EVERYTHING, but when she was young she grew up at, drumroll please!

FERNWOOD ORPHANAGE. I AM DECEASED.

And the Stratemeyer woods? For the same people, Stratemeyer Syndicate was the place that published all the Nancy Drew, Hardy Boys, Bobbsey Twins, Tom Swift books, etc. You will not be able to find them today however, as they were bought by Simon and Schuster in like 1987.

Back to the show.

When Detective Tamura (aka The Inferior McGinnis Who Can Rot In Hell) said the skeleton was Buddy and NOT KJ (AJ? I’m deaf) I got suspicious. And then as soon as they played the record and only five ghosts showed up, I was all ‘HOLY SHIT HE IS ALIVE’ and then he WAS. At the end of the episode, when they saw the flowers on the graves? You guys I was LOSING. MY MIND. And then the note saying “forgive me -kitsune” aaaaaaah. I am in fact afraid that he wants forgiveness because he sacrificed the others to save himself, but I am praying the writers do not do that to me.

I’m interested in finding out, assuming we meet KJ/AJ next episode, WHY the 1975 group reached out to the Aglaeca in the first place. Nancy and Crew did it because they needed Lucy Sable’s bones from 20 years ago to get Carson off the hook for murder, I am assuming these guys had at least as good a reason. And the Aglaeca herself. Dear god you guys. Odette Marvin. I’ve been saying and we’ve all known for a while, that she was wronged by the Marvin family. But Lordy that’s extreme. Listening to the overlaying recording? They low key abducted her, stole her fortune, her chaperone and the captain betrayed her, she was presumably bound hand and foot had her head shaved and got thrown into the ocean. I think I might be a little murderous too ngl. Although it begs the question, why exactly did Douglas Marvin have her painted into the hall of tragedies? I don’t think it was to gloat. Maybe Odette haunted him after the fact and added herself into the painting? But my favorite theory is that Odette as the Aglaeca started killing all the people who were in on it, her chaperone, the captain, etc., (I assume there were six) and Douglas saw the others dying and painted her into the portrait as a way to warn future generations of Marvins, rather than fess up to what he had done. I also want to know the deal with the first women to summon her, and the mirror? There is potential there I KNOW IT.

If you’re not a Drewson shipper feel free to skim this paragraph but guys Nick and Nancy are soulmates it’s confirmed. I’m not even kidding guys I was in no way shape or form prepared for the amount of Nick x Nancy content I got tonight. When Nick is at her house and they mention how they skipped friendship the first time around? “We skipped a lot of things the first time around.” DEAD. And then later at the Claw, when Nancy and not George came to comfort him post fight with the mother? And then he saw that look Nancy gets where her eyes flit around cause her mind is working overtime? *chef’s kiss* My prediction is they will spend this season building up a strong, solid, foundational Nancy x Nick friendship and then when they give the romance a second go they will be so. much. stronger. I’m guessing season 3 will be spent in a bit of a complicated love triangle with Nick and Nancy (re)developing feelings for each other while still having them for George and Ace, making the eventual payoff all the more delightful.

I close this review - which was admittedly less of a review and more of me shrieking incoherently - off with a plea to the writers.

*eyes turn black*

WHERE IS DEAD LUCY

WRITERS

WHERE IS SHE

IT HAS BEEN ALMOST A YEAR. FOR TEN MONTHS NOW I HAVE GONE WITHOUT HER. SHE HAS BEEN GONE SINCE EPISODE 16. NO SCREAMING. NO CREEPY CRAWLING. NOTHING. WHERE IS MY DAUGHTER. BRING HER TO ME.

*shakes self* Glad to get that out of my system. See you all next week for 2x3, The Secret of the Solitary Scribe.

[lightsinthedistancee]

Fragmented Memories: Poe Dameron x Reader

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader 

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: “He’d put up with the screaming, the crying, the depressive attitudes. He’d tolerated your initial hostility, the way you flinched when he touched you. He took care of you, made sure you ate, got you to sleep. Your love had stuck by you through all of it.”

Poe sticks by Reader through a traumatic event in her life.

Warnings: Implications of Past Sexual Assault, Smut, Profanity

If you wished to be tagged on future works, just leave a comment/reply below or do the form on my masterlist for specific preferences.

A/N (PLEASE READ): Hey guys, I don’t know exactly why I was compelled to write this piece, but I did my research. Tbh, I was hesitant on posting this due to the sensitivity of the subject. Belittling, devaluing, or misrepresenting the experience/struggle of a sexual assault survivor is something I absolutely do not want to do. I am fortunate enough to not have experienced any sexual assault/harassment in my life, meaning I don’t know this experience first hand. If you have any knowledge or find any inaccuracies, feel free to let me know in a comment, and I will fix it. If anyone finds this offensive or as a gross misrepresentation, I will take it down out of respect for that person without hesitation. Enjoy!

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

You laid on top of him, your pilot, your love. Sometimes hovering, sometimes resting your whole weight on his form. The air was warm, firm, like a sheet of protectiveness conforming to you. His breath was hot on your skin as he let out soft, unashamed whimpers occasionally.

You peppered soft kisses along his neck and jaw, savoring the feeling of his hands roaming your body, caressing you, feeling you. His touch was gentle, like smooth silk and velvet on your nerves.

He moaned as you ground down on him, feeling his hardness that complemented the desire you felt. You hadn’t felt that desire in a long time—for a particular reason.

This was your first time.

But no, not like that. Not in the sense of what ‘first time’ generally meant.

This was the first time the two of you had made love upon your return from the captivity of the First Order. Your first time after you’d been violated, defiled, made to feel worthless. Like nothing. After having your body used without your permission.

You’d returned a shell of yourself, doing your job for the Resistance with a ruthless, cutthroat efficiency, for you’d blocked everything else in your head out. Locked it all up. But the damming of all your emotions had its side effects.

Poe had put up with the screaming, the crying, the depressive attitudes. He’d tolerated your initial hostility, the way you flinched when he touched you. He took care of you, made sure you ate, got you to sleep. Your love had stuck by you through all of it.

You’d treated him like dirt at first, like something you wanted to get rid of, but simply couldn’t shake. The memory still triggered a guilt in you over a year later. Still, he’d stayed, had held strong as the stability and anchor in your life.

Sex had been unfathomable for the first year, and he’d respected that. He never pushed you, and he never urged you to do things you didn’t want to. Before your capture, your time spent between sheets with him had been passionate, caring, all fiery desire.

And then, it’d faded to nothing upon your return.

Recovery started small at first. A few weeks for you to let him kiss you. A month to let him hug you. Four months for you to let him see you naked again. Six to let him sleep in the same bed as you. Thirteen to let him go down on you again.

And all that led to here, where you were pressed against him, fingers intertwined as his fingers worked their magic between your legs, coaxing out your wetness.

“Alright, baby girl?” he murmured, checking in on you.

You nodded. The two of you had talked of this for weeks before the present moment. What was off limits, what made you uncomfortable, what was absolutely forbidden. “Very alright.”

When you started to moan and move your hips back against his hand, he sat up, pulling you close to his chest. “Ready?” His soft brown eyes searched yours, looking for any signs of discomfort or uncertainty. His concern made you adore him all the more.

You nodded in response to his query, the pleasure at your core begging to be acted upon. He made you feel safe. He always did.

“If you need me to stop, just say something. You need to talk to me.”

“I know.” You said it with a resolute conviction, trusting him in every way. Despite your trauma, a part of your brain still recognized him as the man who had saved your life countless times, who had consoled you in your darkest moments, who had loved you when you felt unlovable.

And with your readiness, you slowly sank down onto him. The feeling was overwhelmingly familiar, in both a good and bad way. It reminded you of passionate nights nearly a year and a half ago. It also reminded you of cold prison cells that came with an impending dread of some guard of officer walking in to have their way with you.

You didn’t realize that you’d zoned out. You came back to reality at the sound of him saying your name. His hands were on your cheeks, gently grasping your face. “Do we need to stop?” he asked, his eyes worried.

You shook your head, both in response and as a way to rid yourself of the dark memories. “No. I’m fine.”

He frowned. “Are you sure?”

You nodded, offering up a small smile and rolling your hips slightly to prove your point. He gasped, gripping your hips, his face buried in your neck.

He let you determine the pace, giving you the control, letting you do things on your own terms. You were moaning, letting out soft whines every time your clit brushed his pelvis. Only when your hands began to claw at his back did he begin to experimentally thrust back, gauging your reactions. All you did was moan louder.

Soft mutters of your name escaped his lips as he breathed shakily. He hadn’t been with anyone else. He would never cheat on you. Needless to say, it’d been a long time since he’d been inside someone, and he wasn’t going to last long.

But you were closer. He’d already had you fairly close to your finish before he’d slid inside you, and each touch to your clit was bringing you nearer and nearer until you were gasping his name. “Fuck, Poe…I’m gonna….” You were unable to finish your sentence before you were going rigid, riding out the waves of your pleasure as he groaned at the feel of your walls clenching around him.

That was the last straw for him, and with one more thrust, he came, his hands knotted in your hair.

You breathed hard as you laid limp on his chest, still feeling the dull throb between your legs. He shifted, lying down and taking you with him, holding you close to him. It reminded you of how desperately you’d missed this: to feel close to someone after sharing such an intimate act.

But as the dopamine and oxytocin wore off, a feeling of horror and something slightly worse began to set in. Fragmented memories flashed through your mind, disconnected, incomplete, yet still enough to set you off.

And then, you were crying. Soft, silent tears, so small and undetectable and helpless that Poe did not even notice them till he felt the liquid on his chest.

You knew that he was, above all, panicked, due to his body language. He said your name like a question, a plea for you to assure him that he was not the reason for you tears.

He was, but only indirectly. At the core of the situation, was you. You and your trauma that made you despise yourself every day for not being able to get over. That you beat yourself up for. You knew that it was a normal reaction, that there was nothing wrong with it, but a part of you would always sum it up as your weakness.

Poe was talking to you, but you barely heard any of it. Only hid behind the veil of your tears.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured. His hold around you now seemed hesitant, unsure of his actions. You rolled out of his arms, settling on the other side of the mattress curled in a ball. The skin-on-skin contact, all of a sudden, felt less like a comfort and more like a threat. “Baby….”

You didn’t respond, once again locking him out.

There was a feeling coming over you, one you were all too familiar with, a feeling of isolation and desperation. It was a feeling that nothing else existed: that it was just you, your trauma, and your pain. Dear old abusers that would seemingly be with you till the very end.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

““Fragmented Memories” originally posted on AO3 on 12/24/20.

Taglist: @synical-paradox​ @dark-academics-and-florals​

[historyofshipping]

My massive Bellarke is epic and here’s proof from s5-7 rant.

Ok guys I cannot stress enough that I am drunk, this is long, it has strong language, and it’s a trip. I am putting it almost all under a cut because it is 20 f*ing pages on word.

For reference: this was on a discord chat and I am removing all names and a few other things but there will be absolutely no editing. Anything in straight text is me, anything in italics is someone else (there’s several different someone elses so people are separated by line breaks). On my page I think it appears as everything grey is someone else, everything black is me. I’m going to put the beginning on here and rest under the cut. If you’re still going through with this, I suggest some popcorn.

Guys... I'm trying to stay optimistic but I'm really worried that jroth is gonna make bellarke canon in a really disappointing way. Like for me infidelity is a huge no in ships and I hate that becho has gone on so long that there doesn't seem to be a lot of room left in the canon timeline for a becho breakup/end that doesn't ruin the start of Bellarke for me

WAIT I GOT YOU I CAN CALM YOU I THINK BUT FIRST I NEED TO EAT MY BREADSTICKS

Every moment Echo is on the screen I want to claw my eyes out because she's so boring please jroth let it fucking end, but the feminist in me doesn't want her to die or be disrespected just because she's a callous asshole who doesn't deserve him yknow

Eat your breadsticks babe I've been living with my dread for 2 seasons I can hang on a little longer I just wish the entire becho relationship had never happened it's a blight and it's gone on so long adenfkidsngksdgnksdgn

Kate will say it better than I will, but don't lose hope! Becho hasn't really been together on screen for very long. It's only been like a few weeks to a month since the beginning of S5. They've stretched it out over two seasons, but in canon not much time has passed. And most of that time had Bellamy either sacrificing almost 300 lives to save Clarke, poisoning his sister to save Clarke, or fucking off into the wilderness with Josephine to save Clarke. They've just straight up not had enough time for Bellamy to be like, "Hey Echo, I know I said things wouldn't change but that was before my wife was actually alive, so bye." Though  to wishing Becho had just never happened. We got one good angst scene with Clarke seeing them kiss. But otherwise, I could have very much done without their whole relationship.

they gave me 2 dozen breadsticks. i ordered 6

You've been blessed by the breadstick goddess.

oh sorry i was misinformed. i only have 22. apparently one bag only had 4 OK SO BELLARKE BITCHES AM I GOING TO ANNOYINGLY DO THIS IN CAPS SO BUCKLE TF UP

I mean, I love the idea that they only got together in the sixth year on the ring when Bellamy totally lost hope but is that canon? I thought we had a 3 year range

ALL RIGHT

We ignore canon in this channel. lol They've been together for 3 months.

SO LET'S START AT THE BEGINNING OF BECHO ok caps off. i even annoyed myself

I'm so here for this.

https://tenor.com/view/murder-she-wrote-angela-lansbury-jessica-eats-popcorn-interested-gif-4594942

Damn, I was ready for caps.

OK WE'RE BACK TO CAPS

https://giphy.com/gifs/popcorn-go-on-keep-going-Zd1BUb0qs6nwjeMUBu

OK SO WE HAVE BECHO'S FIRST SCENE TOGETHER ANYONE REMEMBER WHAT BELLAMY SAID? ANYONE? THIS REQUIRES AUDIENCE PARTICIPATION

"Hey work with me so I can break everyone out of this mountain"? or something?

OH DAMN I MEANT WHEN THEY WERE CANONICALLY TOGETHER XP

"I'm a goddamn delight who's trying to save your life you ungrateful walnut so maybe don't spit in my face" is what I would have written

LMFAO OJN THE RING WHAT'S THE FIRST THING WE HEAR FROM THEM? THE FIRST IMPORTANT THING? ANYONE?

Unfortunately that scene was physically repulsive for me so I don't remember much except for "nothing will change on the ground and my sister totally didn't mean to murder you"

AHA! THERE YA GO NOTHING WILL CHANGE ON TEH GROUND BECAUSE WHAT IS HE EXPECTING ON THE GROUND? NOTHING TO CHANGE BECAUSE THE ONLY THING THAT COULD CHANGE IS -----

>"I'm a goddamn delight who's trying to save your life you ungrateful walnut so maybe don't spit in my face" is what I would have written I SPIT OUT MY DRINK I CANNOT

ANYONE? YUP

I'm behind. lol

CLARKE

AND THEN WE GOT TO THE GROUND, WHAT HAPPENED?

BEING ALIVE

His sister having more taste in his romantic partners than him?

WHAT WAS THE LITERAL ONE THING THAT COULD HAPPEN THAT WOULD CHANGE BELLAMY'S MIND DING DING DING CLARKE IS ALIVE

10 points to 

AND WHAT DOES OUR BABY BOY DO?

SACRIFICE 300 PEEPS FOR HIS WIFE

Clarke with a gun AND a kid AND a rover AND bedtime storytelling practice like what more could he want that's all the things he loves

A LITTLE AHEAD BUT BANG

BABY BOY FOLLOWS CLARKS DAUGHTER FIRST, LEAVING ECHO IN THE LITERAL DUST (that's what he does before sacrificing lives)

WE WENT FROM "I WILL NOT TOUCH THESE PEOPLE BECAUSE WE'RE GOING TO DO BETTER." TO "I WILL SLAUGHTER 283 PEOPLE WITHOUT RAISING AN EYEBROW" BECAUSE RANDOM CHILD SHOWS UP AND SAYS "CLARKE'S IN TROUBLE" RANDOM CHILD WHO HAS JUST KILLED A BUNCH OF HARDENED CRIMINALS

He had the dad mug tho, he had to help her

HE SAW HIMSELF IN HER HE KNEW

OK

HIS SOUL KNEW

SO WE'RE THERE NOW BUT THEN BANG, WE'RE ON THE GROUND AND OH FUCK I FORGOT I HAD A GIRLFRIEND BUT BELLAMY IS LOYAL SO HE SURE AF ISN'T DOING ANYTHING UNTIL HE'S DONE WITH ECHO BUT

He's had 2 seasons!!!!!

CLARKE BASICALLY ACTS LIKE SHE DIDN'T CARE ABOUT THE SEPARATION THOU SHALT NOT POKE HOLES IN MY SHIT UNTIL I AM DONE

>He's had 2 seasons!!!!! But only like a few weeks in time.

BECAUSE THESE TWO FUCK HEADS CANNOT HAVE A CONVERSATION

Forgive me!

SO WE HAVE A GRAND TOTAL OF FEWER THAN 3 WEEKS THAT THEY'RE ON THE GROUND AND THEN IN THAT TIME WE HAD.... one sec pPLEASE TAKE A MOMENT TO REVIEW THE TIMELINE https://historyofbellarke.tumblr.com/post/620425806742749184/season-5-7x03-so-far-timeline FOR SEASON 5 ALL RIGHT SO WE HAVE THEM TOGETHER FOR LESS THAN A WEEK BEFORE BELLAMY'S LIKE (FROM CLARKE'S PERSPECTIVE) "I DON'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT YOUR KID, I HAVE TO SAVE MY FAMILY" SO THEN WE HAVE THEM SPEND THE NEXT 10 DAYS APART BECAUSE SHE LEFT HIM AFTER SLAPPING HIM AND SHE THOUGHT HE DIED BECAUSE THEY ARE FUCKING MORONS WHO CAN'T HAVE A CONVERSATION (YOU WILL NOTICE A RECURRING THEME) AND THEN, ECHO HAS LEARNED THAT NOT ONLY HAS CLARKE CARED ABOUT BELLAMY ALL THIS TIME BUT THAT SHE'S ONCE AGAIN READY TO PUT THE FATE OF HUAMNITIY ON THE LINE TO SAVE HIM "GO SAVE HIM. EVEN TAKE MURDER!DAUGHTER WITH YOU" BUT BELLAMY STILL DOESN'T KNOW THIS SO ANYWAY WE HAVE ANGST!BELLAMY GET PARENT TRAPPED BY MURDER!DAUGHTER are y'all still with me? AND THEN WHAT HAPPENED IMMEDIATELY AFTER MURDER!DAUGHTER'S INTERVENTION?

BELLARKE FORGIVENESS ™

YAS NOT ONLY THAT BUT SOFT!BELLARKE RETURNS WITH A VENGEANCE [side note: you can pry this theory from my cold dead hands but there was 100% a canon bellarke scene between forgiveness and 125 year wake up just in case they ended at season 5.]

[I need them to publish that scene when this is all over]

ALL RIGHT SO FUCKING MARPER - WHO SPENT A TOTAL OF LIKE 4 MONTHS WITH CLARKE BUT 6 YEARS WITH THEIR FAMILY- DECIDED TO WAKE UP BELLARKE TO TALK TO AND GIVE GUARDIANSHIP TO AND WHY DID THEY DO THAT?

THEY BEEN KNEW

I'LL ACCEPT IT

OK SO WE GET THIS PROMISING FUTURE TOGETHER ON THIS NEW PLANET RIGHT?

WRONG MURDER POLLEN

OK BUT TECHNICALLY BECHO IS STILL TOGETHER. NO PROBLEM - WE NEED TO FIGURE OUR SHIT OUT AND THEN WE'LL HAVE PLENTY OF TIME TO HAVE PEACE AND GET TOGETHER OK SO I'M JUST GOING TO START SAYING "CHORUS" WHEN I MEAN "BECAUSE THESE TWO DUMBASSES CAN'T TALK TO EACH OTHER" IS CHORUS THE RIGHT WORD? OR IS IT REFRAIN? WHATEVER ONE REPEATS - THAT ONE ALL RIGHT SO WE HAVE THEM GOING INTO THE VILLAGE AND EVERY TIME THERE IS DANGER, BELLAMY GOES IMMEDIATELY TO CLARKE WHEN IT'S PEACEFUL, OPE IT'S BACK TO ECHO

(like the husband he is)

I HAVE A WHOLE META ABOUT THAT IF YOU WANT IT BUT SO THEN THE FIRST TIME - LITERALLY THE FIRST TIME SINCE THE MARPER VIDEO - THAT THEY'RE ALONE, IT'S BECAUSE BELLAMY HAS SOUGHT HER OUT AND WHY DID BELLAMY SEEK HER OUT? Y'ALL I'M ONLY AT 6X01. I HAVE SO MUCH AMMUNITION BUT SOMEONE IS WELCOME TO SCREEN SHOT THIS SO THAT THE NEXT TIEM WE HAVE DOUBTS, I DON'T HAVE TO TYPE IT ALL OUT SO WHY DID BELLAMY SEEK HER OUT?

>Y'ALL I'M ONLY AT 6X01. I HAVE SO MUCH AMMUNITION @kate (historyofbellarke) "Give a position show me where the ammunition is" from My Shot just popped into my head lololol

WHY DID BELLAMY LEAVE HIS CANONICAL GIRLFRIEND TO GO SEEK OUT CLARKE?

BECAUSE HE LOVES HER AND ALSO BECAUSE THERE WAS DANGER

OK BUT WHY SPECIFICALLY NOOO WHEN CLARKE WAS IN THE SCHOOL

AND THE LAST TIME SHE WASN'T IN HIS SIGHT SHE ALMOST DIED

OK THAT TOO

Okay I'm lost at this point then.

LOL

Phone a friend.

Bc she sucks and Clarke's the best?

I'LL LET ---- CHIME IN LMFAO I LOVE YOU GUYS KNOW IT'S TO TELL HER THAT HE KNOWS ABOUT THE CALLS

OH THAT SCENE

HE KNOWS THAT SHE CALLED HIM EVERY DAY FOR 2,199 DAYS HE SOUGHT HER OUT, BY HERSELF, TO TELL HER THIS

YES YES

BUT BECAUSE CHORUS

WE'RE BACK THESE FUCK HEADS CAN'T HAVE A CONVERSATION

SHE GOT NERVOUS AND DUCKED OUT BECAUSE IT'S BEEN LESS THAN 3 WEEKS SINCE HE CAME BACK AND SHE'S OVERWHELMED BECAUSE HOLY FUCK WHAT A 3 WEEK PERIOD THAT WAS (REFER BACK TO TIMELINE AS NEEDED) ALL RIGHTY SO THEN AFTER THAT THEY FIND OUT ABOUT THE RED SUN WHICH BY THE WAY IS ONE OF MY FAVORITE THINGS BECAUSE HE CALLS OVER ECHO JUST TO PROMPTLY IGNORE HER COMPLETELY [AND BECAUSE IT'S ME, I HAVE A GIFSET FOR THAT] SORRY I GOT DISTRACTED

NO WE'RE HERE FOR THE GIFSET

I'M LOOKING OK IT'S PART OF THIS SO YOU GET A 2 FOR 1 https://historyofbellarke.tumblr.com/post/184827185143/bellarke-danger-vs-becho-safety OK NOW I FORGOT WERE I LEFT OFF OH YEAH IGNORING ECHO ALL RIGHT SO THEN WE HAVE EVERYTHING GO TO SHIT AND OF COURSE, BELLARKE LOCK THEMSELVES TOGETHER AND WE HAVE THE ANGST THE ANGST BUT THEY HAVE EACH OTHER'S KEYS

WHICH IS A MARRIED MOVE IF I EVER HEARD ONE

BECAUSE THEY HAVE THE KEY TO MY HEART, WHEREVER YOU ARE, I'LL KEEP YOU

That's a very comprehensive gifset

IF YOU DON'T KNOW THAT SONG THEN I FEEL OLD SO YOU HAVE THEM UNLOCKING EACH OTHER BECAUSE OF COURSE THEY ARE

I might drift in and out of conversation, partner wants attention but I wanna finish reading this asdfgh

AND HE'S LIKE "NAH ECHO, WIFEY AND I GOT THIS. WE GOTTA TAKE CARE OF OUR KIDS." TELL THEM TO WAIT THEIR TURN SO THEY'RE GOING LITERALLY PSYCHOTIC BUT THAT'S COOL. I TRUST THE OTHER ONE ENOUGH TO NOT KILL ME BUT OH WAIT - WHAT IS BELLAMY'S PSYCHOSIS ?

Not needing Clarke anymore...?

YUP WHICH MEAN S

He needed her and knew it at some point

YUP ALSO I FOUND THAT GIFSET THAT I IDD TO THAT SONG https://historyofbellarke.tumblr.com/post/184725894498/this-song-popped-into-my-head-and-i-had-to OK SO SKIPPING AHEAD, HIS BIGGEST SECRET IS THAT HE DOES STILL NEED HER OK EVEN I'M STARTED TO GET BORED SO I'LL GIVE BULLET POINTS FROM HERE ON OUT SO WE HAVE HIM NEEDING HER HIM CALLING HER THE LEADER EVEN THOUGH SHE HASN'T BEEN FOR LIKE 6 YEARS AND WE HAVE HIM PINING OVER HER AT THE DANCE FLOOR AND PICKING A FIGHT WITH ECHO OH YEAH AND WE SEE ALL THE  BECHO CRACKS HERE

This has been a v good rundown, I won't lie.

LOL

ONWARD  I'M BACK ON TRACK

WE HAVE JUXTAPOSED: ECHO NOT KNOWING WHAT TO SAY WITH REGARDS TO OBUT CLARKE KNOWING EXACTLY WHAT TO SAY EVEN AFTER 6 YEARS

BECAUSE WIFEY

https://historyofbellarke.tumblr.com/post/618426948212965376/historyofbellarke-4-times-someone-knew-the-right

Really you'd think the spy would know what someone wants to hear smh

NAH BECAUSE SHE HAS NO EMOTIONAL EMPATHY. WE'LL GET TO THAT EVENTUALLY

She's also kinda a shit spy. Like when has she ever done actual spying.

Y'ALL I HAVE A GIF FOR EVERYTHING. I'M THE LIZ WARREN OF BELLARKE GIFS GIFSETS AT LEAST

You don't need empathy to fake it, Madison's right she's just such a bad spy :joy:

I'VE GOT NOTHING ON ---- FOR JUST GIFS LOLi

I say this as someone who was 10/10 a spy in a past life at least according to my recurring dreams about it1

OK SO THEN WE ALSO HAVE BELLAMY SIDING WITH CLARKE AT EVERY TURN, OVER ECHO'S EXPLICIT OBJECTIONS AND WE HAVE HER NOTICINGGGGGG WE'RE HERE FOR THIS CONTENT

https://historyofbellarke.tumblr.com/post/185265380768/6x04-bec-scene-follow-up-with-6x05 JUST ONE EXAMPLE

HATE TO SEE IT 

SO WE HAVE BELLAMY CLEARLY SHOWING THAT HE'S HER LEADER - WHETHER HE MEANS TO BE OR NOT - WHICH COMES IN IN 7X01

Total aside but now I want a modern au where Bellamy doesn't know how to break up with Echo so he tries to ghost her while everyone around him is pulling their hair out

OH SHIT ONE SECOND I HAVE TO DO DUOLINGO SO I DON'T LOSE MY STREAK BRB

>Total aside but now I want a modern au where Bellamy doesn't know how to break up with Echo so he tries to ghost her while everyone around him is pulling their hair out ---- I love this, actually. WE SHALL HOLD YOUR SPOT

No one in this goddamn canon knows how to have an actual breakup conversation they only know how to die

CORRECT CHORUS

BECAUSE THESE TWO DUMBASSES CAN'T TALK TO EACH OTHER

Ironically Raven and Finn are the only ones who have had a half-normal breakup.

Will be back, partner is dramatically exclaiming that I don't love him anymore bc I won't go give him a goddamn hug bc the meta's too good

BOOM OK I'M BACK

SIDE NOTE BEFORE WE'RE BACK

GO ON

What language are you learning on Duolingo?

relearning spanish and then german german for work, spanish because i used to be fluent and i'm so bad now xp

This entire convo is a chaotic mess

We are a chaotic mess.

WELCOME TO THE HELLMOUTH, ----

Our ship is a chaotic mess.

It all tracks, honestly.

WE WOULD'VE ALL BEEN SO MUCH BETTER OFF IF JASPER HAD DESTROYED THE CHIP OOK SO MOVING ON NOW I FORGOT WHERE I LEFT OFF OH YEAH LEADER PERF SO OH YEAH I FORGOT TO ADD - 6 & 7 ARE ONE SINGULAR SEASON SO

This convo should totally be convered into a Masterclass session at the end. YES

WE'VE GOT A RUNNING THREAD OF ECHO BEING A FOLLOWER OF BELLAMY AND HER KNOWING IT

6/7 ARE ONE SEASON WE'RE HERE WE'RE LIVING

BUT BACK TO S6 SO WE HAVE BELLAMY BEING THE FIRST TO REALIZE THAT CLARKE WANS'T CLARKE AND WE HAVE THIS BEAUTIFUL MOMENT

I’m here and all of this is glorious

OH YEAH THERE'S ALSO THIS BUT I DIGRESS https://historyofbellarke.tumblr.com/post/618548726524510208/historyofbellarke-5x09-6x04-6x05 THE FIRST ONE HERE - https://historyofbellarke.tumblr.com/post/616075629201408000/just-some-clips-ofabout-bellamy-where-either HE'S WILLING TO RISK EVERYTHING EBCAUSE CLARKE MIGHT BE AT RISK  EVEN THOUGH THEY LITERALLY HAVE NO WHERE ELSE TO GO OH YEAH FUCKING MURPHY - I'LL GET BACK TO HIM ALL RIGHT SO THEN WE HAVE BELLAMY FIGURING IT OUT AND THE HORROR BLOOMING IN HIS SOUL AND THEN WE HAVE HIM LITERALLY WITH A ROOM DESTROYED EVERN THOUGH HE IS CHAINED UP LIKE SERIOUSLY HOW DID HE MANAGE THAT AND THEN TRY TO KILL RUSSELL THE SECOND HE COULD BECAUSE HE HURT CLARKE EVEN THOUGH, AGAIN, THAT'S THE ONLY WAY HE AND HIS PEOPLE COULD SURIVVE BUT WITHOUT CLARKE, HE'S NOT ALIVE. HE ONLY SURVIVES AND HOW DO WE KNOW THIS? BECAUSE HE FUCKING SAYS IT (implicitly)

I just came into this. I have nothing to add I just want to say I’m living for it

:heart:

Agreed, this conversation is giving meaning to my insomnia :joy:

https://historyofbellarke.tumblr.com/post/618973621000585216/just-a-reminder-that-bellamy-canonically-only

WHOLE F*ING THING ON SURVIVING VS LIVING AND THEN ONCE HE DECIDES THEY'RE GOING TO LIVE (AND LET RUSSELL LIVE)  BECAUSE IT'S WHAT CLARKE WOULD'VE WANTED, HE SAYS "WE SURVIVE" LOOKING LIKE THE SADDEST FUCKING PUPPY IN EXISTENCE AND DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THE FACT THAT WE HAD A WHOLE DAMN EPISODE OF A 13 EPISODE SEASON DEVOTED TO BELLAMY SUFFERING BECAUSE HIS WIFE DIED AGAIN 3 WEEKS AFTER SHE WAS RESURRECTED SUBTLE, JASON. SUBTLE. OK NOW BACK TO MY BELOVED COCKROACH MURPHY AND BELLAMY ARE ARGUABLY THE TWO CLOSEST NON-ROMANTIC (:upside_down:) PEOPLE ON THE SHIP THE RING RIGHT? OK WE'RE GOING WITH IT ANYWAY

Hmmm yes(I agreee) but also Clarke and Murphy have that understanding that transcends words?

THEY ARE THE CLOSEST ROMANCE WITHSTANDING ON THE SHIP

AND MURPHY, MY BELOVED MURPHY, HAS BEEN THERE FROM "I'LL CHOP HER HAND OFF" TO "OH FUCK OH FUCK OH FUCK CLARKE IS UNCONSCIOUS AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO" TO "YOU'RE NOT THE ONLY ONE HERE SAVING SOMEONE THEY CARE ABOUT"

BECAUSE BELLAMY DOES NOT EVEN KNOW ECHO'S ACTUAL NAME AND THEREFORE THEY ARE NOT CLOSE

LOL SO MURPHY AFTER 6 YEARS IS TRYING TO GET BELLAMY TO DO SOMETHING HE WANTS (WE'RE BACK IN SEASON 5 NOW, SORRY) AND HOW DOES HE DO THAT?

AND INVOLKES MOM'S NAME

BLESSED BE "WELL IF CLARKE WAS HERE" BELLAMY ESPLODES OK SO NOW WE HAVE MURPHY AGAIN WHO KNOWSSSS AND WHAT DOES HE SAY TO JOSIE? ABOUT BELLAMY

If Clarke is dead Bellamy will kill us all HE KNOWS

BAM ALSO, REFER BACK TO PREVIOUS GIFSET, SAME MURPHY "OH YEAH I'LL TRY TO HELP ECHO TOO" BECAUSE MURPHY KNOWSSSS OOK THAT'S ALL FOR MURPHY NOW SO WE HAVE BELLAMY "WE'RE GOING TO SURVIVE BECAUSE I CAN'T LIVE WITHJOUT CLARKE BUT I'M GOING TO ONCE AGAIN HONOR HER FUCKING MEMORY" UNTILLLLLL WHAT HAPPENS

lol @ Murphy having to remind Bell his gf exists hahahah UNTIL HIS SOUL REALIZES CLARKE IS ALIVE

BUT HOW DOES HE REALIZE THAT

BECAUSE YOU CAN'T CONVINCE ME HE KNEW IT WAS MORSE CODE BECAUSE OF EARTH SKILLS NO

HE KNEW IT WAS MORSE CODE BECAUSE HIS SOUL FUCKING KNEW HIS WIFE WAS ALIVE

Yesss

PLATONIC SOULMATE MY ASS JASON

Morse code is life

[okay rant over, continue Kate]

MILLER'S FACE WAS LIKE "YOU FUCKING WHAT MAN?"

(side note- i am getting alive in morse code on my wrist when covid clears) OK SO WE'RE BACK SO WE HAVE JOSIE TAPPING HER FINGERS

Oh I love that I have friend who has that tattoo

YES TAP TAP MILLER GOING WTF BELL GOING ALL GIDDY PUPPY WITH A BONE

WHICH MEANS BELLAMY HAD TO HAVE GONE BACK TO HIS FAMILY AND SAY "OK WE'RE GOING TO RESCUE MY DEAD WIFE. SHE'S ALIVE. IKNOW BECAUSE JOSIE WAS TAPPING HER FINGERS." AND THE FAMILY HAD TO GO "YEAH OK THAT MAKES SENSE."

AND NO ONE QUESTIONED IT BECAUSE THEY BEEN KNEW

Yessss

SO WHAT ARE THEY GOING TO DO? LIKE IT WAS EVEN A QUESTION. THEY'RE RESCUING CLARKE AND BY THEY'RE I MEAN HE BECAUSE HE DOES NOT GIVE A FUCK ABOUT THEM AT THE MOMENT SO HE'S LIKE "READY OR NOT, I'M RESCUING MY WIFE. BYEEEEE" AND JORDAN'S LIKE "WHAT ABOUT PRIYA?" AND EVERYONE'S LIKE ".... SORRY BRO. CLARKE. YOU WANTED HEART BELLAMY. YOU GOT HIM." SO HE GOES, LEAVING HIS FAMILY BEHIND WITH A BUNCH OF PSYCHOPATHIC MURDERERS WHO KNOW THAT BELLAMY IS GOING TO KILL THEIR DAUGHTER BUT HE'S JUST LIKE... BYE AND HE KNOWS, AND WE KNOW THAT HE KNOWS, BECAUSE JOSIE TAUNTS HIM ABOUT IT THE WHOLE TIME BECAUSE JOSIE IS THE AUDIENCE BASICALLY

JOSIE IS US BUT SLIGHTLY MORE PSYCHOTIC

ALL RIGHT SO SKIPPING AHEAD, SKIPPING AHEAD, YOU HAVE JOSIE'S WHOLE RUN DOWN OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP

TOGETHER

AND HIS VERY LONG PAUSE FOLLOWED BY "I WON'T LET YOU DIE"

EXHAUSTING

INSTEAD OF I FUCKING LOVE YOU BECAUSE CHORUS SO WE GET CLARKE BACK THROUGH SHEER FORCE OF BELLAMY'S WILL

>AND HIS VERY LONG PAUSE FOLLOWED BY "I WON'T LET YOU DIE" @kate (historyofbellarke) "I LOVE YOU, BITCH. I AIN'T EVER GONNA STOP LOVING YOU, BITCH."

"I'LL SHAVE THE BEARD" SO WE HAVE CLARKE WHO GAVE UP LIVING BECAUSE SHE THOUGHT BELLAMY GAVE UP (REMEMBER, JOSIE SHOWING HER THE MEMORY OF BELLAMY SAYING WE'LL TAKE THE DEAL) AND THEN CLARKE COMING BACK TO LIFE BECAUSE BELLAMY WOULDN'T GIVE UP AND THEN WE HAVE OCTAVIA, MY BROTHER POISONED ME FOR HIS WIFE AND I STILL RAISED MY NIECE ON STORIES OF EPIC BELLARKE, BLAKE IN THE BACKGROUND BEING ALL OF US

>SO WE HAVE CLARKE WHO GAVE UP LIVING BECAUSE SHE THOUGHT BELLAMY GAVE UP (REMEMBER, JOSIE SHOWING HER THE MEMORY OF BELLAMY SAYING WE'LL TAKE THE DEAL) @kate (historyofbellarke) OMG I HAVE A SPEC ABOUT THIS I HAVE A SPEC ABOUT THIS BUT IMMA WAIT TIL WE'RE DONE TO POP INTO SPEC TO TALK IT OUT OKAY CONTINUE

i'm going to keep going, but have i done a pretty good job of convincing anyone who was wavering? because remember this is all canon.  i have done absolutely no spec-ing at all.

I'm very hype rn. Ngl.

lol

Could flip a tire for Bellarke rn kind of hype

OK SO NOW CLARKE IS ALIVE BUT OH FUCK, THE REST OF THE FAMILY IS IN TROUBLE WE LITERALLY HAD MURPHY, MY BLESSED MURPHY, SHOW UP TO GO "YO. YOUR GIRLFRIEND." AND BELLAMY GO https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/591463308117278720/716493560610029708/tumblr_pv4mkld49N1xsmktho1_500.gif SO OF COURSE, IT'S NOT TIME TO TALK BECAUSE CHORUS

DUMBASSES NO TALKIE

SO WE GET EVERYONE FIXED. A BUNCH OF UNNECESSARY PLOT SHIT HAPPENS. AND THEN BELLAMY LITERALLY PUSHES HIS GIRLFRIEND OUT OF THE WAY TO GO AND DO A DRAMATIC SUNSET REUNION WITH HIS WIFE AND THEN PLOT SHIT PLOT SHIT PLOT SHIT WE'RE IN S7 AM I MISSING S6 STUFF? PROBABLY BUT Y'ALL IT'S LITERALLY BEEN 4 WEEKS IN CANON AT THIS POINT AND I MISSED A LOT OF SHIT. SO Y'KNOW. OUR BABIES ARE TIRED N AND NOW WE'RE ALL GOOD RIGHT? JUST GONNA GO HAVE A QUICK MEETING WITH GABRIEL AND THEN GO BACK TO MY WIFE SO WE CAN TALK OVER SOME TEA THEN BAM, O GETS STABBED AND THEN WE HAVE . 4 EPISODES THAT HAPPEN OVER 2 DAYS BEFORE CLARKE'S LIKE "WELP. I'M THROWING MYSELF HEAD FIRST INTO A WORM HOLE TO GO GET MY HUSBAND AND HIS STUPID GIRLFRIEND." AND YOU HAVE EVERYONE ELSE GOING "I'M SORRY, DID YOU THINK ANYTHING ELSE WAS GOING TO HAPPEN?" AND FOLLOWING AND THE S6/7 WRITERS MOSTLY JUST CHOSE TO IGNORE THAT S4/5 WRITERS GAVE CLARKE A DAUGHTER BECAUSE, WELL, I DON'T BLAME THEM EVEN THOUGH I LOVE MADI SHE'S AN UNNECESSARY COMPLICATION SO HAND WAVING SHE'S FINE SO NOW WE'RE UP TO PRESENT

Fully convinced Madi was there to ensure Clarke didn't go fully insane on Earth and provide motive for that bitch slap scene from S5.

brb spilled beer

Oh, and to parent trip Bell/Clarke.

>brb spilled beer @kate (historyofbellarke) makes sense after the tea you're spilling on this channel

Someone really oughta document this convo for a later date. lol We will need to reference it before end of the season, bet. lol

blesss i do not deserve my partner he told me to go sit down and is cleaning it also i went to finish the last of the unspilled stuff and promptly spilled it down my chest so ALL RIGHT WHERE WERE WE OH YEAH AND BELLAMY FORGAVE HER BECAUSE MADI WAS LIKE "YO YOU'RE A PARENT TOO AND REMMEBER SHE STOOD BY YOU WHEN YOU PUT OCTAVIA ABOVE LITERALLY EVERYTHING" AND BELLAMY WAS LIKE "OH... SHIT." AND THEN SHE WAS LIKE "SHE CALLE DYOU EVERY DAY YOU DUMBFUCK" AND YOU HAVE THE PATENTED "OMG, DOES CLARKE HAVE FEELINGS FO RME TOO???" JAW DROP BUT NOW BACK TO PRESENT

(Now if someone will just fucking tell her that he did the equivalent grant gestureTM of the radio calls except w/ poison)

i didn't even include the fact that he fucking poisoned O, that diyoza referred to her as his girlfriend, etc etc etc OH AND AS TO WHY HBECHO ISN'T GOING TO BE A HTING ANYMORE BESIDES EVERYTHING I'VE SAID

FINN COLLINS THAT'S WHY

BASUCALLY YES

FINN COLLINS EXCEPT AT LEAST CLARKE KNEW HIS REAL NAME

THEY DID A LITERAL EXACT PARALLEL BETWEEN BELLAMY AND ECHO SPFEIHOi4ur YES LIKE IT'S LIKE THE WRITERS FOUND BESTOFBECHO AND WENT "FUCK, ARE WE NOT BEING OBVIOUS ENOUGH? TIME TO CALL IN ZACH MCGOWAN" ( THEY FUCKING GOT ZACH ON A PLANE FROM LA TO VANCOUVER TO JUST SAY "YOU DON'T LOVE HIM" LIKE I DON'T THINK PEOPLE REALIZE HOW INVOLVED OF A PROCESS IT IS TO GET AN ACTOR THERE - ESPECIALLY IN CANADA WHERE YOU HAVE TO BALANCE NON-CANADIAN WITH CANADIAN ACTORS OR YOU CAN'T SHOOT IN CANADA SO THIS AMERICAN HAD TO BE TAKEN INTO ACCOUNT FOR THE WHOLE SEASON FOR A 2 MINUTE APPERANCE BUT THE WRITERS WERE LIKE "YO HUGE NEON SIGN RIGHT HERE" AND THEN SHE CONTINUED ALL SEASON IN THAT VEIN UNTIL 7X05 WHEN SHE BROKEEEEE OVER HIS "DEATH"

BECAUSE HER SOUL DIDN'T KNOW HE WAS ALIVE LIKE BELL DID CLARKE

AND DID THE EXACT SAME FUCKING THING BELLAMY DID WHEN HE FOUND OUT CLARKE WAS ALIVE

And also as mentioned, she's a shit spy.

BECAUSE THE WRITERS ARE LIKE "CAN WE MAKE IT MORE OBVIOUS? I'M NOT SURE HOW!" so now we're at present day and here's a bit of crack spec-ing

THANKS FOR THIS LONG ASS META !!

YOU ARE WELCOME once again if i put that amount of effort into my dissertation, i'd be a phd with a published book or 3

This was a joy to read An utter joy This reaffirmed all my beliefs and got rid of all doubts I had

https://tenor.com/view/about-to-ugly-cry-ugly-cry-emotional-sensitive-crying-gif-8033343 i aim to please so now we have that O/B scene so we as the audience know something is off. bellamy was dragged sobbing and unconscious by his captors to suddenly being awake, fine, and killing a bunch of trained soldiers and holding someone hostage with his left hand. so then you have O, noticing something isn't quite right, casually bringing up clarke's name clarke. fucking. griffin. who bellamy had JUST brought back from the dead after learning she was alive and he's just... calm? about O possibly doing something with these psychos that's related to clarke? HE JUST POISONED HIS SISTER LIKE A WEEK AGO TO SAVE CLARKE'S LIFE i cannot stress this enough. bellamy fucking blake would not just go "huh?" when O, his sister that he's barely tolerating, goes "i'll tell you, you psychotic cultists, everything about my sister-in-law" and that's it. that's where i'm at s6 was about bellamy literally pulling clarke back from death s7 will be about clarke literally crossing time and space to get back to bellamy THIS IS AN EPIC FUCKING LOVE STORY AND ANYONE WHO THINKS OTHERWISE IS WRONG AND NOW I'M GOING TO TAKEA . SHOWER BECAUSE I SPILLED BEER ON MYSELF BUT I WILL BE BACK also i didn't think iw as drunk but then i reread that and started crying so it's definitely shower time

[sheerbeautyreigns]

DESIRE

Part 51

"Bullshit. You could leave him right now if you were man enough."

“Wakey, wakey sleepyhead.” Paul nudged gently. Joe groaned, rolling onto his back, rubbing his eyes. He could smell coffee. “What time is it?” His eyes eventually opened. Paul perched next to him on the bed holding a cup of coffee. “Just gone 8. You need to leave here at 9 for your flight.”

Joe sat up taking the coffee from him. “Thank you. Man, I’m so tired.” Paul smiled “I’m not surprised after last night. You were so needy.” This caused Joe to blush. “Well I don’t know when I’ll see you next. I”ll take what I can get.”

“Well I’ll definitely be at the Pay Per View. I”ll book us somewhere nice that night. We could stay in San Francisco for a couple of days and then drive to LA. I’m looking forward to having you meet my friends.” He smiled.

“I hope they like me. I’m always a bit nervous meeting people and under the circumstances…” Joe trailed off taking another sip of his coffee. Paul gave him a re-assuring look. “Baby, they’re gonna love you. We”ll talk more about it next weekend but you’ve gotta get your ass up. C’mon!”

“I know, I know,” Joe groaned, pulling his covers off. He really didn’t want to have to leave this morning. He padded into the ensuite and shut his eyes as he stood under the spray.

It was only a matter of time until Paul’s hands were finding their way around his waist before he could fully turn around. “I need to have you one more time before you leave.” He breathed, pulling Joe close to him and sweeping his hair back before he kissed him hungrily. His hard cock pressed up against Joe, causing the young man to groan into his mouth. Paul’s hands lowered to his buttocks as his eyes met Joe. A dark smile crossed his face as Joe looked into his eyes. “Turn around.”

Joe did as told, pressing his palms against the wall as Paul motioned for him to part his legs a little more. He grabbed the nearby soap and lathered his hands before starting to massage Joe's opening. “Feels so good.” The young man moaned, lowering his head. “Please…” Joe breathed, looking briefly over is shoulder. “What do you want baby?” Paul asked running his fingers deeper into his prostate. Joe growled, feeling like he would cum right there. “I want your cock.” Those words were music to Paul’s ears. A hunger over took him as he withdrew his fingers, wasting no time in filling his hole with his hard cock. He loved to hear how needy he was. The bathroom echoed with both of their grunts and moans as Paul fucked Joe senselessly. Paul continued to fuck him, forcing his abdomen against the wet tiled wall. Joe clawed at the tiles, shutting his eyes, taking everything Paul was giving him. The older man buried his head in Joe's hair as he finally came. “Fuck me,” Joe shuddered, breathing against the tiles as Paul gripped his shoulders before he eventually pulled out. Slowly, Joe turned around and kissed Paul softly. The older man swept his wet hair back, reciprocating.

A sly grin crossed Paul’s face as he stepped out of the shower leaving Joe to finish washing himself. Once finished, he quickly dried himself off, got changed into some loose black pants and a black Nike t-shirt. Paul wore a grey suit and a black shirt as he planned to meet with Vince, Steph and Shane at Titan Towers later that morning. He loaded his case into Paul’s Range Rover and they headed to the airport. They held hands as Paul drove. “What are you going to do this week?”

“I’m just planning on taking it easy before Sunday. I’m having some gym equipment delivered but mainly relaxing. I know it’s gonna be pretty physical next week.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” Paul smirked raising Joe hand up and kissing the back of it. “I’m nervous just thinking about it.”

“Don’t be. They’re nice people. I wouldn’t hang out with them if they were assholes.” Paul assured him. “That go for your New York friend too?”

“He’s an exception.” Paul passed him a glance and a faint smile.

“Do you think you’ll put me with him again?” Joe asked hesitantly. “It depends on what his plans are for the evening.” He paused for a moment and looked at Joe. “Do you want to be with him again?”

“I dunno, maybe…since I’ve already met him.” Joe suggested before pursing his lips. He noticed Paul’s face harden a little. “It’s just because I’m a bit nervous.” He quickly added.

“You’ll have me. There’s no need to be nervous.” He said, resting his hand on Joe’s leg. The young man nodded, looking out the window. The mood had shifted. Joe wished he’d never brought it up. “Nadja usually likes to pre-determine who’s going to be fucking who since she wants to allocate rooms. If this is something you want, tell me so I can have it arranged.”

Joe swallowed. “It’s OK, it was just a suggestion. I don’t have to… “

“No, you brought it up-” Paul started. “Yeah but you don’t exactly seem thrilled so, it’s OK. If there’s someone else you have in mind…”

Paul sighed. “Look, baby. I don’t know if I can trust him. That’s all. He’s great when it comes to discipline but…in that kind of environment, I don’t like it.” He explained.

“OK,” Joe nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s OK babe, you didn”t know.” He slowed the car, pulling into the lane for the airport. “Its just one night. I want it to be special for you. Understand?” Paul looked him in the eye. “Yes Sir.”

Paul pulled into the drop off. He never got out of the car when Joe was around. “I’m gonna miss you but next week will be fun, I promise.” The older man leaned in and kissed him. “Love you.” Joe replied. “Love you too.”

It was Monday evening and Joe had just finished a tag match, tagging alongside Matthew against Colby and Drew. Sunday’s Clash of Champions match was announced as a Title Street Fight. Joe hadn’t had one of those in over a year. Part of him was looking forward to beating the crap out of Colby with Kendo Sticks and whatnot and another part of him knew he’d be a bit banged up “meeting” Paul’s friends a few nights later. Great timing!

Joe quickly showered and got changed. As he was packing his case, Colby walked in. “Hey man,” Joe looked up. “Leaving so soon?” Colby asked. “I just wanna rest.”

“Aww man, I was gonna ask if you wanted to come out for a few drinks with us. Just at the hotel. I figured since Paul wasn’t around, you might wanna join us?”

“Aww man that’s real nice but-” Colby cut him off. “Come on man. You never come out with us anymore. The guys think something’s up.”

“What do you mean?” Joe asked with a furrowed brow. “Well, you disappear off all of a sudden after the show. You used to come out all the time so they’re starting to ask questions.” Colby explained “I hadn’t realised.”

“Hey man, I just wanted to let you know. Might help to show your face once in a while, keep up appearances y’know?”

Joe raised his eyebrows. “I guess you twisted my arm.”

“Awesome! You’re staying at The Regency right?” Colby checked. “Yeah, I’m heading there now. Meet you guys at 11?” He checked before they parted ways.

Joe arrived at his room about 20 minutes later. He jumped into the shower and freshened up. All he wanted to do was sleep but he needed to make time for his friends. He hadn’t realised he’d been neglecting them so hopefully tonight would change their minds. He slipped into smart black pants and a black shirt and headed down to the bar. There were about 5 others there including Colby, Drew, Jay, Kevin and Matthew. He blended in easily, like he normally did. They spent the next couple of hours catching up about work, life and generally having a laugh. Every now and then Joe would catch Drew’s eye. They hadn’t had a proper chance to catch up in person since that day in the hotel parking lot. After Colby called it a night, thanks to an early flight the next morning and the others were disbanding, Joe tapped Drew on the shoulder as he walked towards the lifts.

“Hey,” Joe said softly as Drew’s eyes met his. “I wanted to speak with you alone.”

“What”s up?” The scot asked casually.

“I just wanted to say sorry about everything that went down with Paul over the past while. I swear, it’s been nothing but drama recently.”

“You can say that again.” A small smile crept across Drew’s face as he pressed the button for the lift. “Are things better?” The lift door opened and they both stepped in. Joe pressed the button for the 9th floor. He looked at Drew to see what floor he needed. “I’m 9th too actually.” The doors closed. “So, are things better between you two?”

Joe hesitated a little as the lift slowed and the doors opened. His tone was hushed. “As well as can be expected. Things can’t be perfect all the time.” He shrugged his shoulders as they started down the hallway. Joe didn”t want to wake any of the other guests. “I’d been wanting to talk to you about it actually.”

“Really?” Joe looked at him with interest. “This is me,” Drew stopped outside room 382. “Do you want to come in?”

Joe looked down the hallway towards, his room. “OK, sure.” Gingerly he stepped in behind Drew. He hadn’t been alone with him in a hotel room like this in a while. Such good memories. He moved towards the sofa, following Drew’s lead. “Yeah so, I just thought it’d be good to have a chat since Paul’s not around. These kinda moments are a rarity nowadays.”

Joe forced a smile, lowering to the sofa, his body turned on it’s side to face Drew who was sat on the other end. “I know, we spend so much time together. It’s funny, Colby said earlier that some people have started to ask questions since I’m not around as much anymore.”

“I have heard a few people mention it yeah.” Drew confirmed. “It’s nobody’s business what you do in your free time but…you had me worried a while back. I’ve known Paul for quite a while now and I have to say, I’m a bit concerned.”

“Why?” Joe tried to brush it off.

“C’mon Joe, don’t play me for a fool. I know what kinda temper he’s got and how manipulative he can be. I just don’t want you to feel he’s backed you into a corner. I speak from experience…” Drew confessed, his eyes meeting Joe. “Don’t look so surprised. I may not look it now but I, too had a past with him. I looked up to him, I wanted to make an impression.” A long sigh escaped Joe as he sat forward looking into space. “I would do anything to make him happy until one day, I had enough. He was wearing me down physically, mentally…I just don’t want the same to happen to you.” Drew edged closer leading Joe to eventually look at him. “I’ve never known anyone like him before. I can’t explain it but It’s like I’m drawn in and I can’t go back. Even when things get bad, I…” He took a deep breath. Drew placed his hand on Joe shoulder “It’s OK…”

“It is OK. I keep telling myself that. We have these sweet moments where everything is perfect and I don’t want it to end but then, something happens and he’s suddenly in a mood. I feel like I’m treading on thin ice around him.”

“That’s how I felt. Sometimes he’d get physical-” Joe could see something building up inside Drew. “Hey, Drew, we don’t have to talk about this.” Joe said placing his hand on his knee. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I’m a big boy. I can handle myself.” Joe replied softly, trying to lighten the mood. Within moments, the room had fallen silent and Drew had leaned in to kiss Joe. The Samoan pulled away gently.

“I can’t .”

“Why not? Don’t you remember how we were? We couldn’t keep our hands off each other-” Drew pushed as Joe leaned back into the corner of the sofa. “I promised myself to him Drew. I can’t break it.”

“That’s bullshit. You could leave him right now if you were man enough. I want you so bad Joe-” He trailed his hand down to the bulge in Joe’s pants. Joe could feel his heart racing at Drew’s touch. “Just one night. Please. Nobody has to know…” Joe looked up at him with big brown eyes, almost speechless before Drew leaned in and kissed him again, gently. Eventually he reciprocated and soon enough they became entangled in a frenzy removing each others clothes.

Soon, they found themselves on the bed, Joe kneeling in front of Drew. His body shuddered as the lube touched his opening. “I’ve been waiting for this moment again…” Drew trailed off, a tone of conviction in his voice. His left hand rested on Joe lower back as he prepared his entrance. The Samoan”s low groans filled the room. He lowered his head, unable to bring himself to look Drew in the eye. Before he knew it, Drew was starting to penetrate him with his thick, hard cock. He knew how big Drew was but he was never prepared. “Aaaah fuck!” Joe fisted the bedsheets below, taking in his width. “I’m almost in.” Drew licked his lips, trailing his hand down Joe back, trying to comfort him. Drawn out breaths escaped Joe, trying to adjust to his size. Slowly and steadily, Drew began to fuck him. Joe lowered his head, feeling a deep level of shame, with every thrust but he couldn”t stop Drew. He was fucking him harder now, driving him into the mattress. “Please, fuck!” Joe let out burying his head into the pillow below as a way to muffle his own cries. “I’m cumming-” Drew panted before his seed shot into Joe's hole. He held Joe body firmly against his until he had completely relieved himself. As he pulled out, Joe slowly scrambled to one side of the bed, his body curling up. He had an awful feeling in the pit of his stomach. Drew crawled towards him, placing his hand on his shoulder, forcing him to roll onto his back. He could see the glassy look in Joe eyes as he looked down on him. He knew how Joe was feeling but he chose to ignore it, instead leaning down to place a kiss on his lips. He laid down at his side, placing his hand across his chest, rubbing, trying to ease him. “You deserve better Joe.”

He didn’t speak. He just swallowed, resting his hand on Drew’s before they eventually drifted off to sleep.

It was almost 5am when Joe stirred awake. He rubbed his eyes and looked off to his left. The room was only lit by a small opening in the curtains. It was almost sunrise. Drew was sound asleep next to him, lying on his stomach, his head turned the opposite direction. Joe lay thinking to himself for a few minutes and carefully slid out of the bed. He tiptoed around the room collecting his clothing from the night before and got dressed before quietly leaving the room.

He felt both relieved and pretty shitty for leaving Drew like that but he couldn’t face him. He already felt bad enough for sleeping with him. He got undressed again and climbed into his bed, determined to get a few more hours sleep before flying home at lunchtime.

[curly-bangtan]

30🆘33🆘34 AAAAAAAAAAAAA 🥳🥳🥳🥳

#30: “you’re secretly so soft, don’t even deny it.”

#33: “let me kiss your pouty lips.”

#34: “okay that’s it, you’re definitely my soulmate.”

A/N: @taexxxiiaa means with Heatwave!Taehyung loll she got too excited…! Any fic member drabbles are non-canon so this could have happened in the Heatwave world but only hypothetically/possibly!!

.

“Fuck.” Taehyung looks at his phone screen as it lights up so blindingly bright after plugging it into the charger. “Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. FUCK!”

[23 unread message]

-23:01-

Roommate hoe: yo wya

-23:05-

Roommate hoe: y u always late

Roommate hoe: u better be on ur way

-23:14-

Roommate hoe: bitch where r u

-23:16-

Roommate hoe: kim taehyung

Roommate hoe: taehyung kim

Roommate hoe: hyung kim tae

-23:17-

Roommate hoe: can u at least reply

-23:19-

Roommate hoe: im getting so pissy

-23:20-

Roommate hoe: n cold

-23:29-

Roommate hoe: where the fuck r u

-23:31-

Roommate hoe: u better not be dead in a ditch somewhere or i killu

-23:33-

Roommate hoe: answer ur phone

-23:45-

Roommate hoe: 45 mins late

Roommate hoe: no sex for u tonight

Roommate hoe: i’m rly mad @ u

Roommate hoe: i’m sleeping with someone else tn

-23:49-

Roommate hoe: istg if u forgot our anniversary

-23:50-

Roommate hoe: is ur phone dead again

-00:00-

Roommate hoe: 1 hour

Roommate hoe: i’m rly fucking mad right now.

Roommate hoe: TAEHYUGN

Roommate hoe: u r dead to me.

[8 miss calls from Roommate hoe]

Taehyung is scared for his life. And then he hears the keys rattle at the front door and his heart drops ten storeys more from the purgatory it had already fallen to. He has never experienced fear like the fear of your wrath, fiery as dragon’s breath and as potent as the venom of a scorpion. He chucks his phone onto his bed, anchored by the charger wire to the wall. And he quietly, cautiously, creeps out from his room.

Okay, you look really fuck hot. In your skin tight leather pants and black mesh top that allows some skin to peak through.

If it wasn’t for the pure rage carved onto your face like you’re some Halloween mask, he would pounce over like a wolf and fuck you on the couch. Except you’re practically breathing out fire through your nose, absolutely seething, arms crossed at the sight of him.

“M-My died phon- My phone died.” He stutters out like a poor kindergarten boy explaining to his teacher that he’d left his homework at home but he promises he did it.

“How. Many. Times. Did. I. Tell. You. To. Pack. Your. Charger. In. Your. Fucking. Bag.” You grit each syllable out so hard that your jaw almost hurts. Gulping, Taehyung watches you shake your heels off and kick them away harder than you need to.

“I’m so so so sorry I forgot, Y/N. I got so carried away at the library, it just completely slipped my mind.” It’s extremely brave of him, you have to say, for him to take those long strides towards you.

“You forgot? We literally were texting about it this afternoon! How the fuck can you forget? It’s our friendship anniversary! We do this ever fucking year!” Taehyung flinches as your volume raises. You almost regret it. But then you remember how fucking cold and embarrassed you were, waiting outside for a whole hour for his dumb ass to show up.

Every year, the two of you like to celebrate the night you had first met at the club. It’s a tradition for you to go to this club together and have a blast of a night, just the two of you, no inviting other friends, no sleeping with anyone else, and then end it with chicken and beer at the local 24hr Korean fried chicken place. It’s tradition!

And because Taehyung just so happen to have coursework due at midnight tonight, he had spent the whole day at the library rushing his project and promised to meet you there. It wasn’t like the thought hadn’t crossed your mind that he would be late; you had had an inkling that he would somehow goof it up and maybe show up 20 minutes past 11 or something. But you didn’t know that he would forget about it entirely.

Fucking ouch.

“Hey, I’m really honestly so tremendously awfully,” he inhales, “extremely terribly immensely appallingly very very sorry. I’m sorry. I fucked up and I have no excuse.”

You stare at him, hand gripping the plastic bag containing something that he doesn’t deserve but you got for him anyway. Fuck the frown lines you’re going to get, you’re gonna frown as much as you fucking can at him. He’s got those wide apologetic puppy eyes, trying to convey his genuine contrite and guilt.

Fuck his stupid puppy eyes.

“Okay. Good night.” You heedlessly toss the bag at him, watching him fumble to catch it in surprise as you walk past him to you room, purposely not making any more eye contact.

To your relief but also annoyance, he’s too busy revealing the contents of the bag to chase after your heel. You don’t slam your door, but you do shut it loud enough to convey how much you’re fuming.

God, you feel like an idiot.

You were just standing there in front of the club, waiting for an hour. So many people you know walked by as well, asking you how come you’re not going in yet. You should have just went in with them.

Taehyung is infuriating sometimes. On good days, he’s cute and ditsy, on bad days, he’s clumsy, incapable, forgetful, careless, unreliable and absent-minded. It really is as if you’re his mother sometimes.

Disgruntled, you flop onto your bed face first, mentally swearing your stupid roommate in six different languages. Then comes the timid knock on the door you were expecting. You ignore it. You hear his muffled throat-clearing, “Y/N… Can I come in?”

You want to ignore him. You want to ignore him so badly. But there’s just something about his boyish innocence that has his claws embedded into you. You sigh, cursing your soft spot for him, and go to open the door.

“Wh-“

You’re silenced when he enshrouds you in his embrace, his honey scent permeating into your mind and making you unable to resist sinking into him. You give yourself credit for being able to not reciprocate the hug. But as he walks you back into your room into your bed, your head buried in his shoulder, his hands clutching your back the way he holds his teddy bear Kimchi when he sleeps, your own arms are itching to circle his neck. The plastic bag dangles from his elbow, swinging at your every step back

With his weight on top of you, you fall onto the mattress. Or more like he forces you to fall onto the mattress, his body propped up over you by his two arms on either side of your face.

“I’m so sorry.”

You refuse to look at him.

“You got me chicken and beer on your way home?” The noisy crinkle of the plastic bag as he takes out the takeaway you had bought for him despite being absolutely livid is vexing.

You should’ve just consumed it all yourself. Why did you even get it for him?

“Yeah, figured you’d forget to eat since you were at the library all day. Plus, unlike some people, I don’t forget our annual friendship traditions.” Grumbling, you fix your eyes on him, determined to coax more guilt from him. Yet instead, it backfires because you feel a warmth in your chest, urging you to forgive him.

“Fuck. Okay, that’s it, you’re definitely my soulmate.” He is cursing at himself in his head, you can tell. As he pushes his hair out of his face in frustration, you want to kiss him stupid. The fuck is wrong with you?

“Ha. Don’t call me your soulmate if you can’t even remember our anniversary.” Puckering your bottom lip out at him, you say. “I’ll kick you in the balls if you don’t get off me.”

Taehyung laughs. It’s a sound that threatens to dissolve your anger, a smile queuing impatiently at your lips. Don’t break. “You wouldn��t. You just went all the way to to get me fried chicken and beer even after I stood you up on our anniversary. You’re secretly so soft, don’t even deny it.”

“Shut it, dickface.” You attempt to roll away from under him but he cages you between his arms. “Look how you take advantage of my kindness towards you. You don’t deserve me.”

“I knowwww I don’t deserve you. I will do all the grovelling for as long as you want me. I’ll do laundry for the rest of the month. I’ll wash the dishes every time. I’ll buy you bubble tea any time you want me to. Pleaseeeee.” Whining, he squeezes your cheeks between his two unholy massive palms and nuzzles into your neck.

Ugh, you’re so sick of him. He’s impossible.

“Firstly, the last time you did laundry, you stained all our white clothes pink.” You yank him by his hair off your neck. “Secondly, I don’t trust you with the dishes because you’ve already broken my favourite mug. And third, no take backs on the bubble tea.”

He smiles at you sheepishly. He knows how incompetent he is, how he is honestly a twenty-something year old toddler. A man child.

When he doesn’t say anything, plainly staring at you with his cheeks risen so high from his smile, you finally give in and giggle.

God, why is your roommate so annoying?

“Haha! Got you! You can’t stay mad at me.” Taehyung shakes you by the head triumphantly like a baby playing, borderline trying to decapitate, his doll.

“Let go! I’m getting whiplash!” The laughter sputters out of you traitorously.

“Let me kiss your pouty lips then.”

You hate that you let him, and you hate how just like that, you’re not mad at your best friend anymore. As he kisses you so softly and apologetically, you melt into him, forgetting how rudely you were cursing him an hour ago.

Later, you two eat the Korean fried chicken and drink the cans of beer on your bed, reminiscing about your early days after initially moving in together, laughing at all those weird awkward encounters.

It’s your friendship anniversary, so you don’t have sex tonight. But ironically you can’t stop kissing as he cuddles you to sleep.

.

05/11/2019

© Copyright 2019

[reachexceedinggrasp]

Fated to Love You here reaffirming my long held conviction that no pure romance drama should be 20+ episodes.

This show is... really something. It is, in the fullest possible sense, A Lot. It starts out as an all-out screwball comedy wrapped around a troperiffic romance fluff plot. Wall to wall clichés, but not in a bad way; in a meta, self-aware, peak performance, finest Velveeta way. And if you’re not familiar with screwball comedy, think ‘light-hearted crack fic with slapstick and farce’. There is nothing believable or grounded about any aspect of it, it starts at Bonkers Level: Platinum and it only climbs higher as it goes on.

(On a side note, this results in the leading man being possibly the most memorable love interest in romcom history. His introduction scene is nothing short of batshit insane and you can't reliably predict how he will respond to anything. I have never seen a main character like this, he is all over the shop and utterly singular. Your first reaction to him is ‘wtf?’, your second and third reactions are ‘really?! this guy??’, your fourth reaction is ‘okay he do be mad hot tho’, your fifth and final reaction is ‘I cannot believe this performance exists, I have no idea what he is doing, but it is amazing.’

Appropriately(?) the actor who plays him is an uncanny Korean doppelgänger of Johnny Depp and- between the resemblance, the mannerisms, and the fearless total commitment to a bold as fuck acting choice with the very serious chops to back it up- I’m not convinced they aren’t half brothers separated at birth.

They do sabotage my happiness several times by starting to randomly style his (long, beautiful) hair very weird, fixing it right when the plot is rapidly circling the drain so he looks his hottest just as the show becomes briefly unwatchable, and then ruining him for the entire second half of the series by shearing it all off. WHY, my anguished cry goes up. Why do you do this?! Why does he have like seven hairstyles over the course of the show? Much later they even briefly give him that ubiquitous Kdrama Second Lead haircut with weirdly forward combed fringe in a solid straight line across the brow all the way back from the crown. It looks terrible on everyone and I hate it so much. This version was less bad than most but it is still bad. Anyway.)

So it’s an incredibly fun time to start but there are some problems with the tone and plot even in the first 9 episodes, including when the lovers start getting along really well right away and they’re both thoroughly decent people so there’s nothing keeping them from having a lovely time together making the best of the circumstances (forced/fake marriage). And, instead of introducing new conflict or advancing one of the dozen conflicts previously established and actually moving forward, there is a painfully contrived rehash of something they already dealt with which is then just never resolved. They make the hero leap to a conclusion his wife is nefarious after he’d already decided once that she isn’t (though it was completely reasonable for him to think she was- the fact that he decided to trust her so quickly just speaks to what kind of person he is), never try to find out more or talk to anyone about it, start pushing her away because of it, and have all this come to absolutely nothing. It only exists so he’ll stop being so incredibly nice to her and they won’t fall in love too fast.

You’d think they would have to eventually clear the air before the romance advances right? No. It wasn’t a real plot point, it was just a reset button to get them estranged and hostile again after they connect over their kindred spirits and we’ve spent a bunch of time showing how profoundly supportive and honourable our hero is. He’s being beautifully mature and selfless because he’s a really good dude (unusual for a romcom drama, right? for the main guy to be nice and considerate? to accept responsibility even if he doesn’t have to? Gun’s weird but he’s wonderful), but the writers need him to be cold and standoffish, so they just make him act like an unreasonable idiot for a while. He’s been thus far hugely proactive and direct and honest about everything, it’s one of his most prominent character traits, but suddenly he’s going to avoid confrontation in favour of being super passive aggressive?? Then the writers never solve it. Never! It just goes away. He got over it, I guess? He decided he doesn’t care if she’s a gold digger who deliberately trapped him? God forbid we have motivations that make sense and organic character drama, right? It's not like he didn't have totally valid reasons to be suspicious that could have led to legitimate conflict our heroine would struggle to vindicate herself from.

But anyway, apart from that kind of lazy bullshit, it’s a fine romance plot with extremely endearing characters who have great chemistry. They are fun and well-rounded and incredibly human despite all the silliness and OTT antics. Their relationship is hugely, hugely engaging and the dynamic is perfect, they really complement each other as characters and organically drive each other's arcs. There's the genuine depth and warmth and quiet pathos so often lacking from this kind of show. Things progress at a semi-reasonable pace. They work up to confessing their mutual feelings and get into some cute shenanigans before making out. It happens soon enough that you are not frustrated, but there's still plenty of build-up. Then- uh oh! We’re only 9 eps in and we have another 11 hours to fill with this fluffy plot!

Time for a bunch of absolute fucking nonsense. Time for our show, which has been so goofy and removed from reality it occasionally resembles a Monty Python skit, which has been so light it asks you to ignore the frankly incredibly fucked up implications of its premise for the sake of comedy (they were both drugged and proxy raped resulting in a pregnancy- the FL was a virgin prior to this and Gun had a girlfriend he wanted to propose to- and it was the FL’s family who did this to them: SUPER FUCKED UP), so farcical that it makes Some Like it Hot look like a gritty crime drama, that show to cover a bunch of serious heavy shit.

First, the rankest of melodrama. The families and the world all turn on our couple, but their love is true and will conquer all- UNTIL, he randomly collapses and gets convenient Soap Opera Amnesia. He’s forgotten their entire relationship and a series of coincidental pieces of misconstrued evidence, the machinations of his scheming ex girlfriend, the Soap Opera Doctor’s advice, and his closest confidants all going along with this conspire to make him believe (AGAIN) that his wife just wants his money.

This whole terrible episode is mercifully brief, but it just gets worse after his memory returns. This is where we get into the Noble Idiocy. The ‘pretend you don’t love them to “save them” from getting hurt by hurting them and making their important life decisions for them as if they don’t have a basic fucking right to decide that themselves’ kind. Which goes on for three FUCK years in the show. He wastes three years of their lives they could have spent together because he’s worried he might die young (in a terrible way) and doesn’t want to put her through that. And, of course, they inevitably get together later, so all he did was make it infinitely worse for her either way. To say nothing of how he thus couldn’t be there for her through the loss of their child. Possibly my most hated fucking trope of all time when done this way.

And, yep, you read that right. This show that has the single most batshit bonkers over the top slapstick I have ever seen in a kdrama, this show has a storyline where the fluffy romcom trope accidental pregnancy ends in massive trauma. Because she was standing around in the street after realising he does remember her (he continued to pretend he had amnesia after his memories came back, it’s all part of the stupid noble idiocy so I glossed over it) and gets hit by a car in the middle of their angst staring.

It is nearly Meet Joe Black levels of hilariously abrupt and incongruous.

so, blah blah, they lose their baby (there’s a very stupid whole thing about her telling everyone to save the baby instead of her- the baby is not far enough along for this to have been remotely viable. She is like 3 months pregnant. They all act like there’s a choice to be made between them and she’s mad at her husband for choosing to save her, but there was NO CHOICE. Either she lives or they both die! ffs I’m so irritated about this) and then he dumps her ~for her own good~~ because he loves her too much to make her go through losing him? So she loses him sooner?? right after their baby died???

Why do people in these stories always think being betrayed and abandoned for no reason and being incredibly angry at someone you love while also not getting to be with them is somehow less painful than making the best of your life together and then losing them against their will? ‘I will make her hate me and then she won’t be sad we broke up/I died!!!!’ is such a fucking galaxy brain take and I despise it with the heat of ten thousand suns. Fuck you, Spider-Man. You aren’t protecting anyone, the villains still know you love MJ and will still use her against you, you clod. Emotionally torturing the person you love is not going to make them not a target because the villains are not as fucking stupid as you two. Anyway.

Amnesia was right where I started fast-forwarding and skipping around (because I couldn’t bear it), but it only goes downhill from there. Maybe I would have toughed out more of the wretched middle part plot twist if they hadn’t cut all the hot guy’s hair off. If I’m going to watch total nonsense tedious melodrama, I need it to at least be pretty. I understand it was a Symbolic Haircut but damnit! Let me have this!

And it ultimately does the thing that kdramas seem obsessed with and which makes me want to claw out my own eyeballs with frustration. There’s a giant time skip, the female lead gets a personality transplant, all narrative momentum is lost, and the characters who eventually (at ENORMOUS length) get together permanently are essentially completely different characters with a completely different dynamic than the couple you were shipping for 90% of the story. It is so FUCKING unsatisfying and it is EVERYWHERE.

Not so much with this one because this one still had a lot of very romantic scenes late in the game, but most that do this, it’s also like all the romance is sucked out of the post-time skip episodes and the ending is a consolation prize instead of a triumphant culmination. Inevitably, the heroine abruptly cools off and is suddenly wary of the hero and wants this Important New Career she never mentioned until the penultimate episode but is now her one true life’s dream. What the apparently irresistible appeal is of these contrived separations and demure conclusions is I CANNOT FATHOM. I’m here for the fucking romance guys, you have not made Citizen Kane, please just indulge me with a big schmoopy finale.

And if not that, it’s frequently that there’s been so many random mood swings and so much shitty behaviour by the end that the relationship doesn’t make sense and you don’t know why they even bother to get back together.

I’m not inherently against all misunderstandings (they are the bread and butter of low stakes romance let’s be real) or attempts at noble idiocy from misguided characters, but the duration and seriousness of the drama these generate needs to be in proportion to how ridiculous they are. If your entire plot can be solved by a thirty second conversation there is NO REASON not to have and the continuation of the misunderstanding is a result of someone just NOT SPEAKING UP when any functional human being would have spoken up seven times by now IT’S BAD.

Do little cliff-hangers, whatever, but don’t draaaaagg out silly misconceptions into Shakespearean tragedy, it’s just wearying. It makes me hate the characters for acting like emotionally constipated toddlers with terminal stupidity. If there is so little trust, so little understanding, and so little basic patience between these people, they probably shouldn’t be dating, so try fucking harder, writers. And noble idiocy that is more than an impulse they fairly quickly see the error of is just insulting. You are not helping the other person, you are being domineering and selfish. I have a whole complex about wasting time and seeing endless parades of characters flushing years down the toilet for literally no reason gives me hives. Especially when the whole issue is about time!

(And, btw, so much of the plot is about how desperately the family needs an heir and everyone still wanting them to have kids the second time they get together- while the ~dilemma used to keep them apart is a GENETIC DISEASE which could STRIKE AT ANY TIME. Do you SEE THE PROBLEM WITH THIS WRITERS????? NO, I KNOW YOU DON’T. ommmmmmmmggggg that’s awful! So they’re just dooming more kids to Soap Opera Brain Disease? And maybe growing up without a father just as Gun did? And no one even considers suggesting adoption??? He never considers that he shouldn’t have biological children despite thinking he shouldn’t have a wife?)

ANYWAY. Please do watch the first nine episodes and the last three, it’s bananas. They are cute as fuck, Gun is The Best, and the tropey romance scenes are top quality. You don't get those things executed so well, it doesn't happen, so you need this in your life. The acting is of a calibre you never usually see in modern romcoms; these are people at the top of their game committing utterly and taking these characters completely seriously. In that way it is pure wish fulfilment for me as someone who loves romance and is almost always disappointed by popular romance media, and thus the show is incalculably special. But skip the middle. Just skip it. It's not worth the suffering. I find the tone whiplash honestly just this side of crass.

I’ve been thinking about it for over a week and I truly love the main characters so it did plenty right, but I just cannot with wedding the two things this show is trying to be together, especially when it goes so hard in two mutually exclusive directions. but also the Meet Joe Black sudden car accident device is not redeemable under any circumstances. Can we never do that again, please.

[cagestark]

Better Late Than Never//1

And Merry Christmas to YOU

Aka I started another project that I will take twenty years to finish. But @starkerflowers prompts were just too fucking good.

About: With interest in his work waning, famous writer Tony Stark (under the pseudonym AE Potts) changes his entire public relations platform, which includes hosting a meet-and-greet contest where one lucky fan will get to spend the day with him. That one lucky fan is Peter Parker. Peter is 21. Will contain nff, alcoholism, suicide attempts, character death (not major), drug mentions, anxiety, anxiety attacks. 

Read here on AO3. 

-

Tony is awakened from a drunken, dreamless sleep by a tub of envelopes and small packages being upended over his head. He jerks upright with a shout from where he was slumped over his writing desk, upending the (empty) bottle of whiskey that had lulled him to sleep. Pepper stands over him, impeccable in every way he is not.

“Jesus Christ,” he says, pushing envelopes off of where they have pooled on his lap. “You could have taken my eye out, Peppercorn. What are you trying to do, perform Lingchi on me? What is all this?”

“Fan mail,” she says. Her voice is stern and unsympathetic. The first time she’d found him passed out drunk over his desk, she had panicked and nearly called for an ambulance. The next handful of times she had just covered him with a blanket and regarded him with sad eyes the next morning when she brought him coffee. But those were ten years ago. Not to mention, all in her first few weeks on the job— “Social media is revolting. You never answer fan mail, you never do Q&A’s, you haven’t done an interview in almost a decade.”

“Fuck this,” Tony mutters, opening one drawer. “Where’s my whiskey?”

“In your bloodstream, I’d imagine. Don’t brush this off, Tony. Sales are waning. We need to make some serious changes in our PR or I’ll be putting in my two-weeks’ notice.”

That gets Tony’s attention. Pepper hadn’t threatened to quit after his last book when he’d killed off one of the most popular characters (one of his personal favorites, may she rest in fictional peace) and the public had flipped their shit. She hadn’t threatened to quit years before that when she walked in on him hunched over his desk with a straw to his nose, three sheets to the wind on far more than just whiskey. She has the disposition of a mountain: unflinching and ever-enduring.

“You mean it,” says Tony.

“I mean it.”

His shoulders sag. He glances around the room: the mess, the junk, the empty alcohol bottles, the half-finished manuscripts. There’s a strange feeling in the back of his throat, acidic, like he might throw up. Or cry. When his mouth opens to say something sarcastic, something about not letting the door hit her on the way out if she expects him to play nice with the media, all that comes out is a broken: “I can’t lose you, Pep.”

She puts a hand on his shoulder. “You will. If you don’t make some changes. Okay?”

Maybe this is what it means to be balanced on a knife’s edge, where one way ends in pain and the other ends in terminal inconvenience. But he knows which one he has to pick. His whole life is just a big inconvenience, but pain? Tony has spent enough time with his hand flat against the stove’s burner to know that he’d rather die than feel it again, rather die than lose one of the only people left who can stand him.

He picks up the closest letter and tears it open, blinking heavily to clear his eyes. Pepper leans down to press a kiss to the crown of his head and then gags. “Take a shower, when you get the chance,” she mutters, smiling.

-

The letters start off by being good for one thing: his ego. Adoring fans have been writing to his penname and business address for decades since he put out his first super-hero novel, titled IRON-MAN. Pepper has chosen to give him recent fan-mail, considering he’s spent so long ignoring it that if he were to answer them in order of reception, he might encounter fans who didn’t even remember the letters once sent. Or ones who were dead.

They are all variations of the same thing. The handwriting changes, gentle feminine cursive to childish scrawling to neat block lettering, but the message is usually the same. DEAR MR. POTTS. I’VE READ EVERY BOOK YOU’VE EVER WRITTEN. I GOT YOUR NAME TATTOOED ON MY ASS. IRON-MAN IS MY HERO. I’VE NEVER READ PROSE AS LOVELY AS YOURS. WHAT IS YOUR SECRET?

At Pepper’s request, Tony drafts a generic letter to send in response, something about how he can’t respond personally to every letter but he wants them to know that he’s read what they’ve written and ‘holds it close to his heart’.

“It’s good,” Pepper approves. “Sign them yourself.”

“Good?” Tony says. “I was joking—this letter is trash. Anyone who knows me would see this for the sarcasm it is—”

“Then thank God none of the fans know you,” Pepper responds coolly.

She has a point. Tony has existed in relative seclusion since he first began publishing his works at 24. After twenty years, he’d managed to remain mostly anonymous. A pseudonym does most of the work, including non-disclosure agreements for his employees. Any time a presence is required, he sends Rhodey or Happy or Pepper even. Theory pages abound on the internet, sites devoted to finding out who the real AE POTTS is. Even though one picture leaked of him during the early 2000’s (a grainy godforsaken thing that didn’t even show his best angle), there were still some disbelievers. One popular conspiracy theory is that AE is Pepper, considering Tony stole her last name to use as his own.

Maybe that’s why his declining image in the media bothers her so much.

A week later, Tony’s hand has a cramp the way it hasn’t since he was a little boy learning to write his letters. Freehand has never been his specialty—it’s far too slow for the way his mind works, bounding a sentence, a scene, a chapter ahead. Signing so many letters is going to freeze his hand in a claw like position. He’s sure of it.

Then Pepper drops the next bombshell on him: the contest.

“It goes against everything I’ve been working so hard to do for the last twenty years,” Tony shouts at the zenith of their argument. “I do not want to be known! I don’t want the fame; I just wanted the goddamn fortune, is that too much to ask for?”

“Times have changed,” Pepper says through her teeth. She holds her own, spine straight. She hasn’t shirked away from his angry outbursts ever, not even when they were children growing up together in Manhattan. “I’m not asking you to do a 20/20 Special. I’m not asking for an interview on Ellen. I’m asking for you to meet with one fan. Have a goddamn lunch with them. If you can’t handle that, then you can kiss your fortune goodbye. Mark my words.”

Tony marks them. He fucking marks them, okay? When he’s drinking himself blind, locked in his office (good luck getting in now, Pep), they ring around his skull like a dime in the dryer. Sometime around dawn, she picks the lock on the door and mops his brow while he vomits in the tiny trashcan beside his desk.

“I’m not doing this to torture you,” she says with uncharacteristic tenderness. Her hand on his forehead occasionally rifling through his greasy hair is not what’s making his eyes prickle with tears—it’s the vomiting. Honest. He’s not that touch-starved. “You know that, right? I hate seeing you like this.”

“I know,” he chokes miserably, gagging again. So he agrees to the Willy Wonka Initiative. Pepper puts out the word that the infamous AE POTTS will be selecting a single fan to meet face to face. Anyone eighteen or older is eligible to participate, as long as they write a letter explaining why they should get it blah blah blah. A golden ticket might have been funner. At least then Tony might have had an excuse to wear the tacky purple suit and tophat.

In the meantime, Pepper reveals that she’s been having Happy screen his mail to only show him the happy letters—figures. His hate mail isn’t extensive, but it certainly exists, having increased exponentially since he killed off Natasha in the last novel.

FUCKING MYSOGINISTIC ASSHOLE, Cheryl from Newport tenderly writes. YOU HAD ONE GOOD FEMALE CHARACTER, AND YOU KILLED HER OFF. I HOPE ANOTHER WOMAN NEVER LETS YOU BETWEEN THEIR LEGS AGAIN AND YOUR DICK SHRIVELS OFF.

Tony thinks that’s pretty succinct. He posts it up on his desk propped up against the last picture ever taken of him and his mother. Killing off Natasha had been an idea he’d personally revolted against for months. Sure, it made sense that sensitive, strong Natasha would be the one to sacrifice herself in order to stop the villain from succeeding in wiping out half the universe. It made sense for a woman to be the one to give her life to protect others.

After all, hadn’t his own mother died trying to protect Tony?

The weekend after the contest drops on their social media platforms, Pepper texts to tell him that it’s being received far, far better than they might have ever hoped for. Already dozens of letters had been received, letters which must have been penned and mailed just hours after the news had spread.

Joy, Tony texts back.

I haven’t told you the best news, she says. That’s how Tony knows that the next news will be the worst news, absolutely the worst news of all. You get to pick the fan.

-

“Any letter catching your eye?” Pepper asks him over lunch in his office.

“They’re all the same,” Tony laments. Even his own ego can only take so much stroking. After a while, the fan mail has become mostly routine and lackluster, though he keeps opening it, keeps signing the response letters, keeps sending them out. “I’m going to end up picking one at random, Pep.”

“I don’t care how you pick,” Pepper says. “As long as you do—and as long as you’re ready to suffer with the consequences of your choice.”

“Suffer? God, I love the light you bring into my life. The unending optimism. The unparalleled faith and trust in me.”

Her eyes glitter even as they roll. “If you like me so much, you can buy lunch next time.”

Tony snorts, taking a large bite from his burger. “Gold digger.”

“I’ve seen your taxes, Tony. These days, there isn’t much gold to dig for.”

“Ouch, kill shot.”

-

The letter arrives only one week before the contest deadline. In the top drawer of his desk are three other letters from potential winners, mostly picked at random, sometimes because Tony likes their handwriting, sometimes because they say something funny that actually makes him laugh. When he opens up the letter from Peter B. Parker, he scans the first lines not intending to be impressed.

Dear Mr. Potts, Peter writes.

I’ve written you so many letters that it should be easy by now. I don’t know why my hands are shaking. Maybe I’m nervous because I know for certain that this one, someone will actually read.

I received my first copy of IRON-MAN when I was eight years old—yes, a little bit heavy for a kid that age, but my parents had just died unexpectedly in a car accident. My aunt and uncle took me in, and my uncle gave me his first edition. Iron-man’s story was one of the only things that got through to me as a kid. His struggle to come to terms with losing his own parents, his loneliness, his fear. The way he overcomes all of that and still goes on to do good…yeah. It meant a lot to a grief-stricken kid. Obviously.

Pretty much every birthday and Christmas, I end up receiving one of your books as a gift. My family and friends know me so well, I have nearly a half-dozen copies of AVENGERS (it’s one of my favorites). The things you write about are so close to my heart, so close to some of the experiences I’ve had in real life. My struggle with mental illness. My abuse and neglect. And the way you write these things makes me think…fear, I guess…that maybe you know something about them too.

I would love to get to meet you and talk about your incredible books. I’d love to get to know you. Not going to lie, as a fanboy, I’d probably be happy to just sit at the same table with you and have a meal. I’ll buy. We don’t even have to talk (okay I swear I’m not as desperate as I sound!). I’m sure you’ve received so many awesome letters, and I know that the fan you pick will be so, so lucky.

(Every letter I write to you, I ask if you could please return my book. It’s been five years since I sent it. I’m sure you don’t even have it anymore, maybe you threw it away from the start. But if you do have it, even if you don’t pick me to win the contest, it would mean so much if you sent it back. When I mailed it to you in Jan. 2014, my uncle was still alive. He’s gone now…anyway it’s one of the only things of his that I have left.)

Your fan always,

PETER.

PS: please disregard the last letter I sent…obviously.

Tony rereads the letter twice. He feels a swirl of emotion in his stomach, not dissimilar to the queasiness after a long night of drinking. This—this is what he sacrificed by being so closed-off from his fans. While he’d known that his fans were real and obviously human, a part of him had never felt the magnitude of it before. These are people with feelings and experiences. This Parker kid (a self-proclaimed fanboy) lost his parents too, and far younger than Tony had. In a car accident.

Maybe Peter hadn’t been there, hadn’t been in the car, hadn’t watched his mother parents go up in flames, but it’s still a tragedy all in its own right. And all at eight years old. Jesus Christ. This kid has been looking up to him for ten years and more, and he had no fucking idea that kind of dysfunctional altar he’d been worshiping at.

Tony goes into the private bathroom connected to his office and gags up—nothing. Drool. But it still leaves his mouth slimy, so he brushes his teeth until he’s spitting pink into the sink, and when he catches sight of the haphazard reflection in the mirror, he pities it. He leans forward to touch foreheads with it, auto-intimacy. Do better, some voice in the back of his head says, but it’s not his voice.

Happy picks up his cellphone on the first ring. Of the ninth call.

“What do you fucking want, Tony?” he hisses into the receiver. “I’m at the movie theater seeing that new Star Wars. You made me go out into the lobby—”

“Then I’m doing you a favor,” Tony says, cracking open the cap on a sparkling water. “Look, I have important questions, I wouldn’t have called otherwise. My fan mail—how much of it has Pepper kept?”

“Jesus, how should I know? Totes and totes full, at least—”

“Brilliant—”

“Why don’t you ask her yourself? I’m missing the movie!”

“Didn’t I say you’re not missing much? I’m asking you because Pepper will make me do it myself: I need you to find specific letters from one fan: Peter B. Parker. Address is Queens, but he could be from anywhere. I’m also especially interested in acquiring a package he sent me in January 2014.”

“Christ, could you be any more mysterious?” Happy mutters. “Text me the details you bastard, I’m not missing another moment of Mark Hamill.”

-

It turns out that Pepper is not only a saint in all ways previously mentioned, but she is a saint in this as well: his fan mail from the last ten years has been saved and meticulously organized by month and year of reception. Happy comes to Tony’s office in the city the next day with a package, the outside brittle but address clear.

The writing is the same script as the letter newly received from Peter, though the handwriting has become more mature over time. Neater. Confined. No more hasty slant from an enthusiastic hand. The kid’s contest entry is in the top drawer of Tony’s desk—the previous potential winners are now the cherries on top of the reject pile. His stomach is heavy as a stone while he tears open the five-year-old package.

Out tumbles a pre-addressed package that was meant to carry the book back to its owner, back to Peter. Then, one first edition of IRON-MAN, the cover a little tattered, the spine creaky. Also included is another letter, torn from a spiral notebook. He opens it with shaking hands.

DEAR MISTER POTTS

I KNOW THAT GETTING A RESPONSE FROM MY LETTERS IS A LONG SHOT, BUT I’M REALLY HOPING THAT YOU’LL AUTOGRAPH THIS COPY OF IRON-MAN AND RETURN IT TO ME. IT IS MY UNCLE BEN’S…

It goes on to describe how his Uncle’s birthday is coming up and Peter hopes to give the autographed book to his Uncle. Tony reads with a heavy heart, knowing now that Tony hadn’t bothered even opening the package, hadn’t tried to sign it—and even if he had, Ben hadn’t lived long enough to celebrate his next birthday. What a son of a bitch Tony is.

For the first time in three months, Tony goes home.

Most days he stays at the space he rents in the fancy Manhattan building, the one that holds his office and Pepper’s own workspace as well as the other people who work for him (Happy, Beck, Rhodey). The mansion outside Manhattan belonged to Tony’s father and his mother. When his mother had still been alive, it had been a cold place that he had endured staying at for her sake. After his mother had died, it had been a torture chamber, or worse—a stale, suffocating tomb.

Then Howard had died and somehow left it to Tony (probably out of some misguided duty to ‘keep it in the family’). Tony made a personal habit to visit it infrequently and stay there even less often; but Pepper maintains it for him, has it cleaned, keeps it safe. Uses it as storage, Tony knows. For his fan mail.

It takes up three entire rooms, floor to ceiling clear totes labeled with months and years. Just looking at it makes Tony feel small, ashamed of how little he cared about interacting with his fans. It’s no wonder sales were down. Searching for Peter’s letters would be like looking for a needle in a haystack—but he has to do it, and he can’t let Happy bear the brunt of the weight anymore either. This is on Tony.

So he begins pulling totes from the room and scattering their contents on the oaken table and floors of the dining room. Five hours and seven totes later, and Tony still has no letter from Peter.

Pepper finds him at midnight. She comes bursting in through the front door—Tony can hear the sound of the door colliding with the wall from the force she’s used—shouting his name. The hysteria in her voice chills him to the bone. It’s worse than the tone she uses when Tony fucks up; this is the tone she uses when there’s a Tragedy, when something is Wrong.

She finds him in the dining room surrounded by letters, kneeling up from where he was slumped on the floor. He must be a sight, but she is one too, her hair a mess, her eyes red. When she sees him, all the breath goes out of her, one hand clutching at her breast as the other grabs the back of a chair for support.

“Jesus, Pep, what’s happened? Is it your father, another heart attack—?”

“Why don���t you ever answer your goddamn phone, you bastard!” She says through heaving breaths. “You don’t leave the office for weeks and suddenly no one can find you, you won’t pick up your phone—”

It takes a long moment for the pieces to connect.

“Oh Christ,” Tony says, chidingly. “What, you were scared for me?”

She slumps into one chair and puts her face into her well-manicured hands. Tony drops back onto his ass. He’s not a good man, not a sensitive man. The last woman who had cried in front of him was his mother, and look at all the ways he had failed her. But the longer he sits letting Pepper cry, the more it feels like bamboo shoots growing under his tender fingernails. Fuck it. He gets up, knees creaking, and goes to her.

They sit side by side at the dining table no one has eaten at in twelve years. Pepper leans into him, her thin shoulders shaking. Shame makes his own eyes burn, because he thought what did she have to be afraid of? But maybe she saw his car in the driveway of the unhappy home he avoids and assumed that he’d come here to Hemingway himself. Maybe she sat in the drive steeling herself to come into the sight of his body.

“I’m going through the fan mail,” Tony says at last.

“I can see that,” she says. Her scathing tone drips with tears.

“I’m okay, Pep,” he says. He’s not sure if it’s true. He’s not sure if he’s been okay ever since he blinked awake upside down and suspended by the seatbelt in the back seat of his mother’s Cadillac, glass littering the roof (and the roof had become the floor, then, see? Because they were upside down), the smell of gas and smoke in his nose). Maybe he’s not okay. Maybe it’s all a fucking lie, but he’s not going to off himself. Not when there’s a mystery afoot. “I promise.”

She nods, one damp hand reaching out blindly for his. It’s an awkward angle to hold hands at, but he doesn’t complain. And awkward or not, it feels nice to be touched in a kind, even platonic way.

“What are you looking for?” Pepper asks at last, wiping at the wet, swollen skin beneath her eyes.

“Why? You want to help?” Tony asks.

“Might as well,” she says. “I always do your heavy lifting, don’t I?”

-

With Pepper’s help, they find the first letter. Somehow the Willy Wonka Initiative has reversed until Tony feels like a kid, ripping open chocolate bars, desperate for a glimpse of gold. At dawn, a cry echoes in the dining room startling Tony from where he was slumping against a tote, dozing.

“I’ve got one, Tony!” Pepper shouts. She’s barefoot, her panty hose taken off and folded on the table, her sensible jacket removed and slung over the back of a chair. Her rumpled shirt and tendrils coming free from her ponytail reveal how much energy she’s been putting into this with him—maybe to make up for her emotional outburst earlier, maybe like a mother humoring a child’s singular beneficial interest. “From Peter B. Parker, address is Queens, same as before.”

“What’s the date?” Tony asks. He slips in a pile of letters from last August and nearly breaks his neck. Wishful fucking thinking.

“Last May. Here—”

Tony takes the letter and collapses in a chair, his lower back grateful for the support. He recognizes Peter’s handwriting as he tears the letter open, and he can feel Pepper’s presence over his shoulder, reading along with him.

This letter is different from the others. Tony knows it right away. The first indication should have been the date; Tony’s most recent novel dropped early May of last year. His most controversial work to date, with praise glorious and venomous in kind. Which way did the scales tip when it came to Peter, Tony wonders.

I know that you won’t read this. I’ve written you twice a year since I was ten years old, and you’ve never written back. I don’t blame you. I’m sure you’re busy—I guess I just needed to get these words down somewhere, so that they exist, so that somewhere there is a record of me after I’m dead.

Tony reads the rest in a dazed blur. At one point, Pepper’s hand lifts to press against her mouth, but still they read on, huddled together for convenience and then for comfort.

In the letter, Peter describes the tragedy of his uncle’s death and how he felt personally responsible, and how after months of guilt, when he’d read about Natasha’s sacrifice, he’d decided to take action. Against himself.

If someone’s death can do so much good in the world, Peter wrote with shaky script. Then maybe mine could too. I’m not deluded or anything. I know that I’m not a superhero and that I’m not fighting against some sanctimonious super villain. But I feel like if my death could make May’s life easier, then I have to do it.

“Jesus. Tony, don’t read this—” Pepper reaches out for the letter but Tony nearly rips it in half trying to keep it away from her.

It’s not just for May, Peter admits. I’m ready to stop hurting, too.

Peter signs off, for good. Only it hadn’t been for good—Peter’s most recent letter had obviously proven that, and hadn’t he written it himself? Ignore my last letter, obviously, he’d said. Something must have changed Peter’s mind, but one thing was clear: it hadn’t been Tony. Because Tony had been so self-absorbed, so tangled in his own grief and ego and addictions he hadn’t even read the letter. If Pepper hadn’t saved it, then it might have been destroyed, no record left of Peter’s words at all.

“Tony,” Pepper says. She takes the letter from his fingers and he lets it go. His hands are numb. “This isn’t your fault. Peter obviously was unstable—he’d just watched his uncle being murdered in front of him. No one in their right mind would read Natasha’s death and think that you were encouraging them to take their own life.”

“I know that,” Tony snaps. Lying. Then: “I’m not an idiot, Pep.”

Maybe the biggest lie of all.

[teflonsos]

⌠ MIGUEL HERRAN, 21, CISMALE, HE/HIM ⌡ welcome back to gallagher academy, RICARDO ‘RICKY’ ALONSO! according to their records, they’re a FIRST year, specializing in DRIVER’S ED; and they DID NOT go to a spy prep high school. when i see them walking around in the halls, i usually see a flash of (5 a.m. cigarettes after a sleepless night, the smell of burning rubber after driving so fast you break the sound barrier, cheap vodka in an expensive shotglass, scraped knees and elbows from reckless parkour). when it’s the (scorpio)’s birthday on 11/04/98, they always request their CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES from the school’s chefs. looks like they’re well on their way to graduation. ⌿ kati, 23, est, she/her ⍀ @gallagherintro

STATS / PINTEREST / CONNECTIONS / CLASSES

INSPIRATION.

fernando alonso – formula 1

james hunt – formula 1

jp – redline

peter quill – guardians of the galaxy 

emmett cullen – twilight

mercutio – romeo & juliet

han solo – star wars

charlie pace – lost

vert wheeler – acceleracers 

BACKGROUND + CLICK FOR FULL BIO.

when ricky is born, there are expectations as the firstborn male but they are expectations that ricky refuses to meet. he’s stubborn, insolent, and straight up annoying. his dad is mysteriously never around and his mother suffers from chronic illness, so he generally has free range of the house and...free range to harass and drive out nanny after nanny

his younger sister is the balancing force in his life, proper in all the ways that he’s a mess and polite in all the ways that he’s uncouth. however, they get along really well and she’s his best friend in an otherwise large, empty house.

as he gets older, his father’s comings and goings are more noticeable to ricky and he realizes that he doesn’t really understand what his dad’s job actually is? and his father won’t answer his questions about it either. one night, when ricky is about ten years old, he sneaks downstairs to find his father covered in blood. at first he screams until he realizes, that’s not his father’s blood – it’s someone else’s.

put the pieces together, his dad is a blackthorne alumn, assassin, and...brotherhood member. 

ricky doesn’t really get the chance to be close with his parents, but he is super close with his grandfather. his grandfather is a big man with a full laugh who used to race formula one like, back in the sixties. he’s a big name, and ricky wants to be like him, and his grandfather is the one that gets ricky really into the sport. racing. 

ricky starts off by racing t cars, and when he’s fourteen and sneaking out to the track with his sister, things go awry. they’re stopped and kidnapped by brotherhood members. from conversations by the kidnappers, he can surmise that his father has something to upset the brotherhood and the kidnapping is a move to keep his father in his place. ricky have to listen to his father tell the kidnappers he doesn’t give a fuck about him (likely a bluff, but still stings) over the phone.

ricky’s father’s move doesn’t work, and he doesn’t get to them in time. ricky has to beg on the phone for his life. a gunshot rings out. everything else is a blur.

ricky wakes up the next day with a million questions, but there’s one answer: his sister will never walk again. a gunshot has left her without the use of her legs, but otherwise she’ll make a full recovery. she encourages ricky to continue his racing and tells him how much she believes in him.

he takes home trophies year after year while t car racing and people start to learn ricky’s name, to see him as an up and comer as they associate him with his grandfather. the next four years are hard work, but he’s healing from trauma with a new passion and a great support system.

ate age 19, he’s on the podium after his third formula three race, and he wins the championship, raining champagne on his teammates and laughing. his nights are busy, filled with parties and clubs, pretty girls and people willing to give him whatever he wants. 

he awaits the next season and the rise into formula two, but he’s getting ahead of himself. late nights spent partying before the race take their toll on him, and his sister says it best. “you shouldn’t go out there,” she says. “i have to go out there. it’s fine, i’m just a little hungover. besides, it’s raining today. i have the advantage.” but he never learns.

ricky crashes hard, lucky to get off with a tbi and some broken ribs, but the drugs in his system render him a pariah and no one will really want to sponsor him after that. everyone had high hopes for him, but now he just looks like another stupid kid. he’ll never forget the disappointment in his grandfather’s eyes. 

he spends most of the year blowing previous winnings.

after all of that bullshit, his grandfather sits him down. “you’re going to apply to gallagher academy,” he says. and that’s when he tells ricky everything, about his father’s profession, just like his grandfather’s brother and father before him. the legacy, the brotherhood, blackthorne academy, and ricky’s both riveted and horrified. “that’s what my sister got shot for?” 

ricky passes the test while the brotherhood still has its claws clenched tightly around the reigns of gallagher academy somewhere. he’s a good driver, the fastest, and he might’ve been the best if he wasn’t so irrational and drunk on his own pride (among other things.) 

before he can gain the skills to stop his father himself, someone else does. the news comes on ricky’s very first day of school: “dad’s been arrested.” and it’s like his whole world stops, because he always knew his father was bad, just someone else got to him first. 

PERSONALITY.

ADVENTUROUS: ricky is not afraid of risks, and actually, this is usually in a good way. he pushes himself to want and pursue fulfilling life experiences, so while he’s made stupid decisions, he never lets fear stop him from taking chances and trying new things, so he’s pretty open-minded 

CHARISMATIC: pretty good at putting on a smile and making himself likable when he needs to be, he has a nice smile and a good-natured spirit even if he can be a bit MUCH at times ! the kind of asshole that you can’t help but like anyway, he means well 

FLEXIBLE: one of his great strengths is his ability to go with the flow, it doesn’t change him around or turn him inside out when things don’t go his way, he’s pretty adaptable and able to adjust when there’s a wrench in his plans

SELF-DESTRUCTIVE: ricky has a habit of ruining things when they’re going good for him, he’s notorious for self-sabotage and it probably comes from a mix of feeling like he’s invincible so he pushes limits and because he’s almost comfortable in the label of fuck-up at this point, not wanting to get his hopes up too high

ENTITLED: whether he likes it or not, he comes from a good family and a past where most things have just been handed to him. so, while he’s worked hard, he’s never had to work...that hard. he feels entitled to success and certain things in life and he can be a bit of a dick about it, even out of touch with other ways of life. he tends to feel like he deserves things, such as his gallagher education or another chance at racing

SELF-CENTERED: apart from his sister, ricky very much puts himself first and can be a bit selfish. it’s mostly out of self-preservation, but most of his thoughts revolve around him. he actually puts a lot of pressure on himself, which is why he turns to unhealthy coping mechanisms and doesn’t look at how his actions affect others in his life

HEADCANONS.

when it comes to his memory loss, it’s pretty manageable. he keeps up with medication and IF he gets a good night sleep/eats well...it’s good on his brain. but sometimes he’s not so great about it! his most common habits are: putting something down and forgetting where he just put it, asking you a question he’s already asked, and he’s bad with names

used to be good at fighting games but now he isn’t and he still tries and it’s sad :(

as you can guess, he’s really bad at card games but he likes to gamble so he’ll just bet on other stuff. always ready to put money on the results of a sports game or something, loves to do fantasy brackets

really likes anime movies! watches a lot, but his faves are obviously redline, akira, princess mononoke, perfect blue, and ghost in the shell. he watches anime too and tbh probably a lot of anime i’ve never seen like naruto, one piece, and cowboy bebop. for my sanity please don’t talk to much about them with him bc i won’t know what to write.

loves to skateboard and snowboard, and is pretty good at it because really the main thing is confidence and he has plenty of that! 

loves to play pranks in class or on people, he’s got a whole repertoire of tricks he used to play on his nannies growing up and has no issue with playing them on a teacher with a stick up their ass

his primary coping mechanisms are 1) hating his father 2) cocaine and 3) acting stupid 

is bisexual and honestly doesn’t give a fuck! guys, girls, whatever, sex is sex and he’s gonna like who he likes. has never come out to his parents but has never known them well enough for it to matter. 

had a steady long term girlfriend but she broke up with him when he started to tank his future and started partying more, probably as self-preservation for herself and ricky feels guilty about how he treated her, doesn’t want to put anyone else through that

really likes german cars so it’s a bummer that he missed out on the berlin trip, he’s going to geek out and cry any time someone mentions berlin to him, he’ll be so jealous of their semester

has wicked good eyesight, 20/20 vision which is great on the track but he also has really good aim on a shooting range, he’s a pretty observant person as well 

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

BROTHERHOOD CONNECTIONS. Someone who also had someone close to them (likely a family member) that was also arrested for being involved with the Brotherhood by the strike team. Both Ricky and your muse are dealing with the shock of this together. 

FAN? SOMEONE WHO FOLLOWS RACING? Someone who watched Ricky’s rise and fall from grace by being invested in F1. It would make sense if they were a big fan of Ricky’s grandfather...and Ricky is the disappointment. Idk someone with predisposed opinions on Ricky. 

PARTNER IN CRIME. The two of them just vibe like immediately they both have the same chaotic energy and encourage each other’s recklessness to take chances and do stupid shit, are probably hilarious and can’t take anything seriously when they’re in the same room together, the kind of friends that other people can’t stand to see them together.

WHOLESOME FWB. They get along really well as friends and mainly just need to scratch an itch sometimes. None of that toxic shit, they probably lay around and talk about their crushes and are actually friends.

CONFIDANT. Late night rooftop conversations, this person can get Ricky to open up, is probably someone who is really chatty and comfortable with their own emotions and they encourage Ricky to be open about his. 

INFATUATION. Ricky doesn’t know your muse at all, just sees them in the hallway and thinks they’re super hot, probably an older and unattainable student that wouldn’t give him a second glance but he’s like...this is my future spouse. They just don’t know I exist. Has never talked to them and they might not even vibe if they ever spoke lol. 

ENEMIES? They simply don’t! Get along? Hate at first sight? They see Ricky smoking a blunt on campus and think he’s stupid irresponsible? He doesn’t remember their name when he should have? He makes a stupid immature comment that rubs your muse the wrong way? Any of the above, ready to fight at any moment. 

RACING BUDDIES. Another driver’s ed student who is willing to race with him after hours or practice together, they both wanna fuck the cars, they both are super competitive and bring that out in each other. 

OLD FAMILY FRIENDS. Their parents knew one another, likely on his dad’s (Blackthorne/spy) side, and they grew up closely. After the kidnapping happened, your character’s parent stopped speaking to the Alonsos and distanced themselves. Your character is probably the only one who knows about that part of Ricky’s past in any detail. 

GOT OFF ON THE WRONG FOOT. Ricky tried to flirt with your character but actually wound up pissing them off by seeming like an entitled white boy, which he is. He’s trying to prove to your character that he’s not so bad! This connection has nothing to do with feet I just had no better ideas for a name I hate feet. 

REALLY BAD SEX. your muse has ricky saved in their phone like [link]...prob a hookup that happens on one of the first days after he heard about his dad but...he’s fucked up and sad and he can’t get it up! It’s literally so embarrassing, maybe they’re both embarrassed, he wants to die when he sees ur muse around bc they saw his limp ass sad boy dick.

CAT AND MOUSE TYPE THING. essentially ricky has a bunch of attempts to flirt with your muse & your muse fucking hates it. Tom and jerry but like, if tom wanted to fuck jerry. I think of this gifset. 

[katie-dub]

CSJJ Day 20: Blue Monday

Summary: Emma Swan is fed up of January, fed up of the cold, fed up of Leroy. She needs a little joy in her life.

Luckily for her, Killian Jones is always happy to brighten her day.

Also on AO3

Hi there! I’m still slowly regaining my writing mojo, and what better way than with a little happy fic for @csjanuaryjoy​?

Thank you so much to @profdanglaisstuff​ for doing a quick beta read (although not of the final draft so any mistakes remaining were not ignored by my favourite Language & Grammar Guru!). Also thanks to @thisonesatellite​ @ohmightydevviepuu​ & @mahstatins​ for cheering me on. :)

It was not Emma’s day. Woken up an hour early by her alarm, her shower refused to warm up leaving her to shower in freezing cold water and she ripped her top as she pulled it on.

She knew the fun was just beginning. What other delights do I have to look forward to? she mused as she pulled on her heavy winter coat, sighing as she missed the armour of her red leather jacket. Leroy is sure to put in a grand appearance. She grabbed her phone and keys and slipped them in her pocket. Who’s he going to piss off today? Maybe he’ll just start shouting "the end is coming!" like that time he got drunk and thought -

Woah.

Emma’s train of thought was completely derailed. There was a white box in front of the door to her flat. The kind that doughnuts came in. She might have thought that it wasn’t meant for her - people didn’t leave unexpected thoughtful gifts for her - but there was a swan on the gift tag.

She looked around for the culprit, teeth clenching as she searched for a lurking prankster. The furrow in her brow didn’t relax upon seeing no one, Will Scarlet lived directly opposite her, and he definitely seemed the practical joke type, “I’ll do anything for a laugh, me,” isn’t that what he’d said? She crouched down towards the box, eyes on Will’s door until the last second, when she flipped over the card quickly, scarcely willing to touch it.

Hope your day is as lovely as you.

Her heart pounded. A normal person might smile at this, but this made her skin itch from the inside. She wasn’t lovely, she was, she was - prickly, her memories provided for her. Yes, prickly, that’s what Elsa had called her.

Emma reached into her pocket for a tissue, wrapped her hand in it, eyes darting back and forward between the box and the ominous closed door facing her. She reached out with her covered hand and quickly opened the box.

A bear claw was inside.

She didn’t know what to think. Except that she was hungry and that the bear claw smelled good. And I hope Will didn’t see that, he’d probably tell Killian.

Which would be fine. Killian was just a friend, of sorts. A handsome friend, not that she’d noticed. One who sometimes smiled at her in a certain way that made her think that maybe getting involved with a friend wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world. It’s not like they were close or anything. And besides -

Stop it, she told herself firmly, closing the lid and scooping up the box. She wasn’t one to look a gift pastry in the box. Or something.

***

A glass was placed before Emma, the amber liquid exactly what she needed after her long week. Someone brushed up against her as they leaned against the bar.

"Sorry, love," they murmured, her chest tightened pleasantly at the sound of their lilting British accent.

She looked around, at the same time as the stranger. Hot. It was the only thought in her head at the sight of him. Brilliant blue eyes sparkling with seduction met hers, his tongue traced his lips sinfully. God she hoped she wasn't imagining the interest she was sure she could feel radiating off this dark-haired treat.

"Drinking alone?" he asked, cocking his brow in invitation.

She thought of her friends loitering near the booths. "Not anymore," she said, leaning into him with a smile, one that he returned, mirroring her.

"Jones!" Emma sighed as her latest would be conquest, Jones apparently, jolted forward from the impact of her friend Robin colliding with him, throwing his arms around his shoulders.

"Emma!" Robin exclaimed, shoving his way between her and 'Jones', "I see you've met Killian!"

Emma's face fell as Robin's words ensured that she would not be getting intimately acquainted with Killian. She was a one night only kind of girl, and that just wouldn't fly with Robin's "old mate Killian from across the pond". She shuddered internally at the thought of hanging out with anyone who had seen her O face. (The guy just oozed sex appeal, turning her on with just a polite apology, there was no way he wouldn't get to see that face if they were to bang out the tension that thrummed between them.)

She shook herself from her thoughts. "We just said hi," she lied easily, thinking she saw the briefest spark of sadness in Killian's eyes, before it was smoothed away by forced frivolity. "Hadn't introduced ourselves yet."

"Well in that case, Emma Swan, meet Killian Jones. Killian, meet Emma." Killian held out his hand for her to shake, and if he felt that same spark that she did when she took it, his eyes gave nothing away.

***

Emma stopped dead at the sight of the foot of fresh snow that coated the ground when she yanked open the door. "Seriously?" she groaned in disgust. The weather forecast hadn't said anything about snow and it was unlikely that her poor bug would handle the cold.

She gingerly stepped outside, and was hit by the icy chill of the air even through her thick coat. She slipped and slid her way to the bug and was forced to set her bakery box on the top of her car - though not before she brushed the snow from it - to use both hands to wrench the frozen shut door open.

Why am I even bothering? This is never going to start. But still, she spent several minutes tugging with all her might before it gave way with an ominous crack. Her legs shot out from under her and she landed hard on her ass.

Fucking ow. "Like landing on a pillow" my ass, Kristoff. Him and Anna were toast and the rest of Frozen was Elsa's fever dream.

Still, the door was open, there was still hope that her luck was turning.

***

Emma was never really one for hope. That bear claw had clearly given her an unexpected optimism that slowly shrivelled up in the icy chill, pathetically shuddering before finally slinking off to a hole to die as the bug stubbornly refused to start.

There was nothing for it but to walk to work.

After that bear claw. She would need the extra fuel to help her keep warm on the long, arduous fifteen minute trek. Besides, the way her luck was going, she was sure to wind up face first in the thing within a few steps of the bug, best not to try her chances.

She ate quickly, lest she find herself frozen into the bug this time, and set off on her epic journey to work. Fifteen minutes became forty five as she carefully stepped - and, more often than not, skidded - along icy sidewalks, determined to somehow, some way, maintain her upright position.

She pushed her way through the doors of the station, shaking the snow from her coat as she went and bitterly regretting her choice not to detour to Granny’s for more sweet treats to keep her going through the day.

“Morning, Sheriff,” David singsonged to her as she burst into the room, dishevelled and cold. She whirled around to glare at him.

“What’s got you in such a chipper mood? Is your heart too pure to be touched by the cold?”

“You’ll see!”

She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to will him to speak. (And not to consider what was wrong with her that she was so deeply suspicious of her good friend and trusted colleague being happy, of all things.)

She crept up on her office, her hand twitching as she struggled against her instincts to draw her gun. She reached for the door, then stopped to took one last calculating look over at David. Upon seeing the look of sheer amusement on his face at her antics, she straightened up and threw the door open.

Her jaw dropped at the sight before her.

There, on her desk, was what could only be described as a bouquet of poptarts, apollo bars and hot chocolate sachets. She stepped closer, looking to see if there was a card, and spotted another gift card bearing a simple swan.

Sweets for my sweet

She almost gasped at the message. Did that mean - could these be from - Killian?

She didn’t know what had possessed her to agree to help chaperone the high school winter dance, Mary Margaret was the teacher, that was her job. Emma was just her gullible friend.

Her gullible friend who was currently stuck in some kind of time warp, attending a 60’s themed dance. It was disconcerting at best, to watch 17 year olds do the mashed potato and the twist instead of, well, whatever normal teenagers did. Having never been to a prom before, she wasn’t entirely sure, but she was reasonably certain that it wasn’t this.

“Sweets for my sweet,” a voice sang into her ear.

The owner was lucky that he even sang with a British lilt, or she’d have had his arm twisted up behind his back in a heartbeat. Instead she rolled her eyes as she turned to look at him.

“Those lines may work in England, Killian, but here you need to put in a little more effort."

" My heart," he gasped clutching at his chest. "You Yanks are so cruel!" He raised a fist to the sky, shaking it dramatically. "A curse upon Love Actually for teaching me that all I needed to pull was a cute British accent."

Emma wasn't quite sure what to make of this. It made her want to laugh, in spite of herself, feeling certain that he was mocking himself instead of her, although it was hard to be sure. "It really took you five months to find that one out? Never struck out before?"

"Come on, love, you've seen me, with this devilishly handsome face I normally don't have to resort to pick up lines at all."

Emma did laugh that time. "Not sure if you're painting yourself in a very good light there. You're only able to charm a lady if you keep your mouth shut?"

Killian smirked at her, and leaned in closer, a move that tugged at her insides, leaving her chest feeling tight, tensed in eager anticipation as it so often did when he was around. "Oh, I assure you that I am quite the cunning linguist, when the lady's willing," he said with a wink.

She cursed herself and her hormones, because even his ridiculous words and pathetic half wink sent a flutter deep inside of her. The feeling spiked a familiar wave of panic coursing through her. She didn't do relationships and she certainly didn't do friends with benefits, which placed Killian firmly in look but don't touch territory.

"What a shame, I guess you'll have to find another 'willing lady'." She forced a bored lightness into her words, as she stepped back, trying to reestablish the boundaries of their relationship.

"As you wish," he said with an elaborate bow. He straightened and smiled at her, this time a smile of friendship, easily accepting her refusal with good grace. "It's not too much to ask you for a dance, though, is it Swan?"

His question was a genuine one, a true desire to understand what she needed of him.

"Oh, I don't know." His eyes dimmed a little in what seemed like disappointment, even as he gave her a smile and a nod that sent a surge of adrenaline spiking through her. "It's not that I don't want to, I just, um - I don't know - how to whatever that is."

The sparkle was back in his eyes, and with it, the flutter inside her. "Dance?" he chuckled.

She eyed the dancers spinning about dubiously. These kids had definitely been taking lessons, which was a level of effort she couldn't even imagine for a single high school dance. But then, she was always the outsider, perhaps this was just what all normal kids did, maybe she was the weird one.

She was pulled from her thoughts by his hand gently tugging on hers. She looked up to see him smiling at her patiently.

"There really is only one rule."

"And what's that?"

"Pick a partner who knows what he's doing."

Her scepticism must have been written all over her face, and yet she let him lead her towards the dance floor. "This isn't setting me up for a Carrie situation, is it?" she said, giving voice to the secret fears of the lost girl inside, even as she knew that Killian wouldn't do that to her.

"And why would I want to humiliate a dear friend? That would be the height of bad form." His words were light, but she was sure that she could feel the hurt behind them, and felt bad for letting her worst fears affect him.

She couldn't think of anything to say to that, so instead she aimed for distraction. "Why are you here anyway?" He arched a brow at her rudeness and she cringed at herself. "I thought you were a fancy college professor or something?"

"I'm a professor of linguistics -"

"For real? I thought you were just -" Emma's cheeks flamed at what she had thought Killian was referring to when he called himself a 'cunning linguist'.

He smirked. "Mind out of the gutter, Swan. As I said, linguistics is my specialism, I'm doing a study into the changing speech patterns of the youth of today, and the impact of technology on their communication styles. Storybrooke High School has allowed me to gather primary data for my research, in exchange for my assistance with advanced assignments and specialist lectures for those on track for Ivy League."

Emma liked listening to him talk, it was easy to get caught up in his excitement, even if she wouldn't normally care about academia or the study of linguistics. She loved his passion and that he didn't talk down to her, even though he knew she was a high school dropout.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to bore you." He chuckled, and abruptly spun her out, before pulling her back in. "I realise I get carried away sometimes, thank you for indulging me."

"That's OK, you're cute when you're talking about you research."

"Oh really?" His left eyebrow danced up like it had a mind of its own. "So you are a fan of my cunning linguistics? Good to know." He laughed and ducked out of the way of her lazy smack to his arm. She didn't mind, she hadn't really intended to injure him, just warn him off that particular line of teasing. She felt like something had shifted between them in the course of one short dance, and it wasn't something that she had much care to examine right then - or, more likely, ever.

That dance had been a month and a half ago, surely there was no way that this was Killian finally pushing that boundary? Testing it out to see if there was any hope that maybe the time had finally come for her to reexamine it, to reconsider what they could be to each other? But if not him, who else could have sent this?

She chewed on her lip and wondered what this could all mean.

The phone rang, startling her from her thoughts. She could hear David answering a moment later, giving her leave to pick a pop tart from the bouquet, unwrap it, and take a bite.

“Emma?”

She grunted in reply, unable to speak around her mouthful of pop tart.

“Duty calls.”

***

It had been a hell of a day and it was only 2pm, far too late for her to only just be heading into the diner.

She leaned against the counter with a sigh, which thankfully caught Granny’s attention.

“Hey Emma,” said the eponymous diner owner, looking up at her, “just packing up your order, it’ll be ready in a minute.”

“Thanks,” Emma said, and closed her eyes.

“Rough day, love?”

Killian’s voice was like music to her ears, although the tune halted abruptly with a screeching record scratch as she remembered the gifts. She wasn’t absolutely certain that he was the sender, and that left her entirely unclear about what she should do. Just thinking about it was enough to set her heart racing, and not in the pleasantly fluttery way it usually did when he was around.

“Er - yeah - it’s been - well, you’ve seen the weather.” She gestured outside to the snow, feeling like a massive prick as she did it. She hated stating the obvious.

“Yeah, I can imagine that you’ve had a lot on.”

“Eh, I wasn’t expecting a great day anyway. Something about this time of year always gets to people.”

“Well, it is Blue Monday.”

“A catchy disco electro-rock song? Sure. Why not?”

Killian laughed. “How does it feel to treat me like you do?” he sang at her, and her breath caught in her throat as their eyes met. Those words hit a little too close to home.

She quickly looked away. He always could see her, really see her, in a way no one else could, and his piercing eyes were just a little too much for her right now. “So, Blue Monday?”

“Aye. Most depressing day of the year.”

She couldn’t help it, she had to look at him now. “Says who?”

“Marketers, I think.” She tilted her head, waiting for him to answer her silent question. “It’s a big deal in Britain, someone allegedly calculated the most depressing day of the year, and every year the press brings it up again and of course, businesses take the chance to persuade every to spend their money to find some joy.”

“Yay capitalism,” Emma deadpanned. “I buy it though. Something about that last Monday in January before payday seems to send people crazy.”

Killian looked over to the menu, nodding thoughtfully. “Has anything happened to brighten your day though?” he asked. His words sounded casual, but Emma knew better, she could see how he scratched at that spot behind his ear, the way he always did when he was nervous.

She made him nervous. She felt the same, panicking over what was the right thing to say. Should she mention the gifts? What if it wasn’t him? He hadn’t actually said anything conclusive, just vaguely hinted. But, oh, what if it was? She wasn’t fit to actually be with someone, and surely there was no way to misconstrue his feelings towards her after that, how could she say thanks but no thanks to this man?

He looked over at her, a question in his eyes. Apparently, her internal freak out was taking every bit as long as she worried it was.

“Oh - oh, um, no.”

And she watched as hope died in Killian Jones’ beautiful blue eyes and felt every inch the asshole that she was.

***

“I thought you had a date tonight?” Killian said, too smooth for his jaw to drop, but nevertheless oozing surprise at finding Emma at his front door.

“Wow, is that how you greet all your friends?” she asked.”So, er, you going to let me in now?”

He gestured wordless for her to step inside and reached out to help her with her coat. His fingers brushed her shoulder, the barest of touches, and still she felt that twist of anticipation in her belly. Shaking herself she strode straight for the living room, flopped down on his sofa and kicked off her heels.

She didn’t move until she felt him settle down next to her, when she swung her legs across his. It perhaps wasn’t the most ladylike of gestures, what with her wearing a form-fitting mini dress, but he immediately took one of her feet in his hands and began to knead at the arches and she couldn’t bring herself to care. Her body was simultaneously melting in relaxation and buzzing with arousal at the feeling. He continued to massage her in silence for several minutes, during which time Emma gave into the pure feeling of bliss his touch gave her and closed her eyes.

“So, no date then?”

She opened her eyes to see that he was still studying her foot intently, but he was poised in anticipation of her reply.

“You think I put this dress on just to lie on your sofa?”

“A man can dream.” That look on sincerity was back on Killian’s face, she’d been seeing it more and more since that stupid dance. He meant his flirting, he was hers for the taking if she wanted him, or at least, she thought so, but she’d been wrong about these things before and it was just easier to not push and be rejected and -

She moaned as he found a particularly tight knot and began to rub out the tension, sending ripples of relaxation through her.

Oh God if he’s this good with your feet, you have to let him handle o-

Stop it.

And she was back to arguing with herself internally.

“Everything alright?” Killian had stopped her movements and was looking up at her with worry written across his face.

“What? Yeah, it’s fine. Great actually, that bit just really hurts and yeah, it felt nice.”

He resumed massaging the knot, far more gently than he had before. “Only you’ve gone a bit tense. If it’s not the massage, dare I presume it was the date?”

“Urgh, the date. Next time Mary Margaret tries to persuade me to go on a blind date, please remind me not to be fooled by her cute pixie face, she is one feisty bitch and can absolutely handle the disappointment when I tell her to fuck off.”

“It didn’t go well?”

“The guy bought me a rose -”

“What a monster!”

“ - let me finish, a red rose covered bear. It looked like the calling card a serial killer would leave at the scene of the crime.”

“But a real rose would have been ok?”

Emma shrugged. “I guess? They’re just a bit cliched though, aren’t they?”

“A red rose maybe, although they do have a long-standing tradition that dates back as far as the Greek goddess of love.”

“Exactly. Cliche.”

Killian laughed. “That it is indeed. Perhaps you would prefer another colour? Red is chosen because indicates passion and desire, but there are other colours.”

“What about yellow? That’s my favourite colour.”

“Ah, the symbol of friendship.”

“Sounds nice.”

“Indeed, what true partnership can you have with a lover who is not also a friend?”

There was a bit too much meaning in those words, that possibility of more between them, ready for Emma to just reach out and take it. If only she could be brave enough.

***

"No Leroy, I can't arrest your brother for falling asleep during a row," Emma said into the phone rubbing at her temples with her free hand in exasperation. "It hardly seems fair to call him rude, he has narcolepsy. Yes, I do imagine it is annoying, but being irritating without due care and attention isn't a criminal offence." Luckily for you, she thought to herself. "I'm sorry, I cannot help you, and if you call again, I will have to arrest you for wasting police time, goodbye"

Emma put the phone down on Leroy even as he started on a new tirade about her.

"Miss Swan?" Emma looked up, to see Moe French lingering in her doorway.

"How can I help you, Mr French?" she asked with a tired smile

"I've got a delivery for you." As he spoke the florist produced a simple bouquet from behind his back of yellow roses mixed with buttercups and daisies. "Sorry it's late in the day, the weather's delayed my deliveries."

He handed it out to her and Emma immediately looked for a tag with a swan on as she reached for it, wondering at the choice of flowers. They had to be from Killian, but what did this mean?

"Can you sign for them?"

"Oh, sure," she said and fumbled awkwardly with the flowers to scribble her name. Once alone, she looked again for a card - and again found a simple swan tag.

To brighten your day

Killian

There was no denying it now: the gifts were from Killian, and he expected nothing in return. Yellow roses for friendship, buttercups for The Princess Bride. “As you wish,” he said just like Wesley, his way of saying “I love you”. He would follow her wishes, it was up to her whether that love was to remain purely platonic. What did she wish for?

She thought of Killian. Of how he smiled just for her, of how he made her feel, of the sadness he felt at not being able to bring a little joy into her day. She felt that familiar tingle inside of her at the thought of him. The anxiety that always reared up in response to her happiness twisted that feeling into something dark and unpleasant.

But he’ll -

No, she told herself, not today.

Men aren’t to be trusted. The anxiety tried again, her inner horcrux whispering to her. What makes you think he’ll be different? Just stay friends, that’s -

“No!” she shouted out loud, “That’s not enough for me!”

And so with her mind made up, she ran.

***

She was panting, her lungs screaming with the effort, when she finally skidded to a halt in front of Killian’s door. Her cheeks were red, she was sweaty and barely able to speak, but she didn’t care, just hammered on the door.

“Swan!” Killian said with a smile as he threw open the door. She watched him, waiting for her breath to return to something like normal before speaking, seeing how his eyes darted from the flowers clasped tight to her chest, to her smile, to her eyes. “Is everything OK?”

“Do you mean it?” she said, searching his face for the answer she was so desperate to hear.

His mouth turned up in a cheeky half smile and she just knew he was going to say something ridiculous. “Yes, I do want to know if everything is OK.”

“No,” she frowned, shaking her head and holding out the bouquet. “Do you mean it? Can we - can we be - more?” She tripped over her words, feeling foolish before him.

She didn’t feel foolish for long.

A dazzling smile spread over his face as he understood, looking simply awestruck at her stumbling question. His eyes never left hers as he nodded slowly. “As you wish,” was his reply.

She grabbed him, pushing him back into his apartment, dropping the bouquet and letting the door slam shut behind them as she seized his mouth with hers. That delightful feeling of something immense exploded in her chest, her anxiety was finally quelled, there was nothing but her and him and the start of so much more.

[bewareofchris]

Writing advice on How to write an interesting antagonist, please?

sorry about the day-late reply.  I’d like to say that I was thinking up a really good answer but also my sinuses are trying to kill me.

OK, so there are a few key points that you should remember when it comes an interesting antagonist.  (These will be listed in no particular order.)

Purpose: what sort of antagonist do you need?  If you’re writing a rom-com you don’t need a supervillain.  

C o n v i c t i o n.  This means that whatever your antagonist is doing to hinder your story/protag it needs to come from the POV of a person who is trying to accomplish something.  Any antagonist who only exists to say mean things to your character without any sort of personal goal will fall flat in the long run.  Yes, it might really hurt if you get stabbed in the back by Laughing McMeanpants but if McMeanpants is just doing it to be a bother and gains nothing it just seems pointless.  

A fully developed Character.  I know this one seems almost obvious but here me out.  We spend a lot of time with our protagonists.  We love them.  We sometimes throw them into pits full of salt-covered razor blades but that comes from a place of love.  I’m not saying that you have to love your antagonist to successfully have one, but you should try it.  The most interesting antagonists are the ones that are only wrong by virtue of being on the losing side?  Like, they have SUCH A GOOD POINT and SUCH VALID reasons for doing what they are doing that you almost, a little bit, kind of want them to win.  (There are also the sort of antagonists that just want to watch the world burn and those you don’t want to win but you still sort of root for when nobody’s looking because they are a force of nature.)  Let your Antagonist has a life.  A history.  Loved ones.  Interests.  Hobbies.  Favorite foods.  A day job?  Petty rivalries.  Accomplishments.  Weaknesses that aren’t just used for destroying them.  Random skills like whistling and that weird tongue-folding thing people do.

A REASONABLE LEVEL OF POWER FOR YOUR STORY’S SETTING.  Look, as much as I love a good ol’team up for the win story, if you’ve given your antagonist the literal power of the gods, you’re not really making him work for it are you?  Maybe what’s interesting about your antagonist is that they did work their ass off to be where they are?  Maybe whatever power they had didn’t come naturally.  People are a lot more likely to defend something they had to scratch, claw, bite and kill to get then they are something that was just given to them?  And who doesn’t secretly want the guy who had to spend 20 years collecting gemstones while being laughed at by the village virgins and sleeping in shit to win when he’s up against The Golden Child who Happened To Find A Dragon Egg?  

Self Worth and Ego. Nobody considers themselves the villain of their own story.  They probably don’t sit around drinking their wine being like, whose such an evil boy?  I’m such an evil boy.  They’re out there being like: what the hell is wrong with Johnny Goodguy?  WHY IS HE SO ANNOYING.  And or they’re super stressed, forgetting to wash their hair in the shower, trying to figure out how to out think Johnny Goodguy.  If both your protag and antagonist aren’t literally furious about the other one always doing something wrong, you’re not being fair to one of them. 

Consistency.   Don’t fall into that trap where the antagonist twirls their mustache while talking about sawing James Bond in half but leaves him unattended because he’s squeamish I guess?  If your antagonist is the sort of person whose going to saw someone in half, he’s probably he sort of person whose going to stick around and make sure it gets done right.  If you do not want your antagonist to win, do not set up a practically inescapable trap and then have your protag escape because of negligence.  RESPECT YOUR ANTAGONIST.  They have a giant saw machine for a reason.  It’s because they use it.  They probably also have an incinerator in the basement!  If Jimmy wants to escape he better be the most clever person alive or JUST NOT GET CAUGHT.

Let’s repeat that last bit: Respect your antagonist.  Even if your protagonist hates him.  Even if antagonist is REVOLTING.  Even if he is a murderous baby killer out here eating newborn and puppy soup for breakfast while cheating on his taxes and cutting to the front of the Starbucks line, he is USELESS as a villain/antagonist if you aren’t taking him seriously.  If your antagonist is just there to make your protag feel bad with quippy insults, then your protag needs to feel bad when he sees them.  If your antagonist is out here destroying planets, people need to be afraid of him.  And not like, oh he’s so bad but I guess I’ll just kill him anyway because i”m the hero and I fear nothing.  Bravery is not the absence of fear.  Having your badass protagonist not care just undermines the worth of your antagonist.

Now, how to put these to use in the story very much depends on what sort of antagonist that you’re using, how important they are to the story and how much time you’re putting into it/how long it is.  A 2k rom-com with a one-off a-hole doesn’t really need as much devotion as a 200k epic sci-fi fantasy thriller.  

But some quick suggestions:

Gossip. A well placed bit of gossip about the antagonist of your choice is an excellent method of adding in a sprinkle of backstory without having to listen to a villain-ish monologue.  And it doesn’t even have to be outright backstory?  It can just be fun things like, “i bet he’s the kind of guy that eats baby turtles” “he eats oranges with he peels on.” “His ex-wife moved to Alaska to get away from him.” “Not even a blind dog would lick his hand.”  You know, general impressions of his character that indicate he is universally disliked.

Begrudging Compliments/Unintentional Acts of Kindness Think of “i hate that guy but you gotta admit he draws Lisa Frank tigers better than Lisa Frank.”  Or “everyone was going to get fired because nobody finished this work project but Asshole K Asshole showed up at the last minute and finished it so we’re all still here.”  MAKE YOUR PROTAG HAVE TO THANK YOUR ANTAGONIST AND IT’S ALL THE MORE REASON TO HATE THEM.

An acceptable level of villain, progressing from smallest to largest Remember the way to build dread/suspense/fear is to always leave room to get worse.  Do not, I BEG YOU, do NOT start off your antagonist by making them the most unreasonable/over the top/absolutely most violent thing you can imagine?  Do not show up to a casual drink party with a fire-starting child killer edgelord drinking blood out of a can while shouting slurs at minorities and proclaiming himself king of the universe.  Maybe he just shows up to the party looking arrogant, and belligerently dismisses your protag while effortlessly making everyone like him more?  And then later he starts setting things on fire.  Like at the end of the story.  Set a starting place (minimally shocking but morally unacceptable action) and an ending place (shocking but not surprising and morally reprehensible/repugnant/just like the worst action(s)).

He’s enjoying himself/but also it’s a hassle.  People like winning.  Everyone likes winning.  It doesn’t even matter what you’re winning.  A popularity contest?  Control over the universe?  Soccer?  You’re winning, it’s great, you like it.  It’s a high, you want to keep it, and while you’re there why not rub it in a little that you’re like FANTASTIC.  So Antagonist, whose on top because he’s a fucking winner?  He’s going to enjoy it, and he’s going to want to hang onto that sweet sweet winner kool-aid as long as he can.  But there’s a price to literally being driven to win/hang onto that and it’s exhaustion.  Constantly having to stay in power requires constantly having to mutate to fit the needs of being powerful.  It’s not one-and-done because as soon as you are winning someone’s offended by it and they are coming to take your throne.  Even the people who are riding your coattails are expecting something from you.  And if you’ve used fear to get where you are, you have to maintain that level of fear at all times which means constantly showing up being all threatening and unpleasant.  These things are exhausting.  A man’s got to sleep and he can’t sleep well when he’s having to cut off his lackey’s fingers every other day so people now he’s a Bad Dude.  And now he’s got Protag to deal with?  MY GOD WILL IT EVER END.  Balance your antagonist’s joy at succeeding with his very real physical and emotional limitations.  Don’t let him have effortless control over whatever power he has, let there be cracks all through the base of his empire.  Let just a smidgen of doubt sneak in.  (Maybe he’s on steroids.  I bet he cheats at cards.  Nobody’s that big of a dick all the time.  His Mom cannot be happy about him.)

Always, always, always maintain that your Antagonist COULD FAIL A lot of time is spent in stories building up your hero so he’s big enough to defeat whatever’s standing in his way.  One of the methods of doing that is by comparing him to the Bigger, Badder, usually Better/More Powerful Antagonist.  This creates a lovely structure for super heroes that gets very old very quick.  You don’t need to climb the oldest mountain in the world to retrieve the Pearl of Wisdom and Good Teeth to finally have enough Inner Peace to lose your braces after 11 years so you can defeat the high school bully.  Create an antagonist that is Bad and In Your Way but also human-enough (or equivalent) to be defeated.  You NEVER have to say this outright in the story.  You just have to remember in writing him that he isn’t the Most Powerful Thing To Live.  Even if people call him the Most Powerful Thing To Live, throw in the idea that he’s only the most powerful right now.  That he had to defeat someone to be the most powerful, and that shows that eventually something will defeat him.  If your antagonist isn’t having to work to stay where he’s at, he’s boring.

In summary:

Antagonist need character.  A full character with strengths/weaknesses/backstory/goals.  They need to fully want those goals and be willing to work as hard as your hero to get it.  They need to truly believe they have the right to their goal and/or that their goal is the RIGHT ONE.  You need to respect your antagonist as if he were your protagonist and not write him as a crazy-faced crazypants to make your Hero look good.  Antagonists have physical and emotional limitations.  They will react according to their developed Character.  Do not make them lazy/negligent at the last moment to save your hero.  And you should love them, just a little, not because they’re good people but because they’re your baby.

[sondepoch]

XVIII: Saeran's Route (Y/N)

Where Futures Begin

Life used to be simple for you. Peaceful. But the Savior had other plans for you, and in moments, she ruined what you thought was your one shot at happiness. Blinded by anger, you escaped the Mint Eye, but that triggered a series of events that would bring you further into the world of brothers Saeran and Saeyoung. And further into the twisted world of your love for them.

MASTERLIST

Neutral Route: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | ✔

Saeyoung’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | ✔

Saeran’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | ✔

There comes a point in someone's life where they've fucked up so much that it doesn't seem possible to further screw things up.

In fact, when (Y/N)'s pained groan brought Saeran—the real Saeran, not the Elixir-brainwashed one—back to the forefront of his mind, he'd been almost relieved as he sprinted away with her in his arms, thinking that at the very least, things wouldn't get worse.

But then he'd realized that he had to do something about the Elixir in her bloodstream, make sure that he got it out of her system before the damage was as irreversible to her as it had been to him...so what did he do?

I fucked everything up even more, Saeran thought to himself as he hid a knife in his boot and one in his sleeve. That's what I did.

The boy was a pro hacker, bested not even by his twin. No one in the entire Mint Eye could hold a candle to him, not when it came to raw intellect. But when Saeran glimpsed down at (Y/N)'s face, completely scrunched up in pain, every rational thought left him and he brought her to the only place he knew for certain there would be a cure: back to the Mint Eye.

Back to the hellhole that had gotten them into this mess in the first place.

Asking help from Saeyoung and V would have been better than this, the boy thought to himself as he patted himself down, making sure that he looked like a true and proper believer before exiting the medical room he'd brought (Y/N) to. For a moment, he almost turned around in hopes of seeing her delicate face one last time, before forcing himself forward to open the door.

I will only deserve to see her once I've gotten us out of this mess, Saeran resolved to himself. He'd left a laptop in that room. If he didn't return, (Y/N) should be able to hack her way into the Security Room and buy enough time to escape.

But at the moment, Saeran's objective wasn't just to escape the Mint Eye.

No, the years he'd spent here were too many and the anguish of the Elixirs too great for him to simply walk out. He'd been the Savior's right-hand man from the start, and now it was time to fix things.

It was time to use all his power to destroy the Mint Eye: by removing their leader.

Saeran kept his gaze low and his hood high as he walked down the corridor. He didn't need to see the hall to know where he was, and he didn't need the disciples' coordinates to know where they'd be gathered.

As much as he hated to admit it, the Mint Eye was more familiar to him than the back of his palm.

Which was was perhaps why he knew that his plan might be suicide. The disciples are trained to defend, not to kill, he tried to reassure himself, but he knew that all of them would do anything to get in good favor with Rika.

He stood before the doors of the Planning Hall, wondering if he would leave the room alive in chains or dead on a gurney. The more Saeran thought about it, the more realistic the latter seemed.

But if there was one thing Rika had respected him for, it was his resolve.

Nothing, not even the prospect of death, would stop him now.

Saeran pulled the small dagger he'd hidden in his sleeve, brandishing it up in an intimidating pose.

Then he pulled open the doors and started screaming.

***

It took the disciples less than a minute to restrain him, and another minute to get his hood off and reveal his identity.

Honestly, he was relieved that they didn't kill him on the spot, and they probably would have, if not for the fact that he'd drawn too much attention to himself to actually hurt anyone with his knife. They tore the weapon from his hands and bound his arms together, stuffing a ball of cloth in his mouth to quiet his wild screaming as they shoved him into the dungeon.

Saeran spat the cloth out of his mouth when they left, leaning back against the dungeon wall. It was grimy and gross, but acting like a psychotic monster was surprisingly tiring. The boy needed a moment to catch his breath.

His next immediate objective was to remove his bindings.

Saeran must have looked like an extortionist, trying to get the rope around his wrists to catch along the edge of one of the metal bars encaging him. Once he did, though, it was only a matter of time before the ropes gave into the wear and tear he was forcing them through as he rubbed them vigorously against the metal, almost giving up before they finally split and came undone.

The boy sighed in relief.

If he'd still been restrained when the Savior came down to meet him, his entire plan would fall apart.

And it seemed that the bindings had come off just in time.

Saeran heard the door open and a delicate pair of footsteps trail down the stairs that would lead to him.

Rika, he knew, from the sound alone.

The hacker immediately dropped to the floor, cautiously placing himself in a position close to the bars that would enable him to pull the dagger in his boot with ease if need be. He needed to look weak. Weak and pathetic and lost, just like she thought he was.

He didn't look when he heard the footsteps grow near. No, that would be giving her too much power; Saeran kept his gaze fixated on the ground in front of him, the ruined concrete where even the ground broke under the terrifying weight of the Mint Eye.

"Saeran," A voice murmured, calm as usual but far from sweet.

He ignored her.

"...I must confess, the last thing I expected today would be news of your return. What did they say you tried to do? You had a knife and were trying to attack a room full of my disciples?"

Saeran bit his lip, sensing the amusement in Rika's voice. Did she perhaps see through his plan? What if he had sacrificed himself for nothing? Did she know him that well?

Calm down, he told himself, realizing that panic would only lead to more panic. And at this point, if Rika had even the slightest intimation that something was wrong, his chance for redemption would disappear.

"Did you truly think that bringing harm to my followers was the way to go, Saeran?" Rika asked. "Were you that upset...after what you did to (Y/N)?"

Saeran tried to block Rika's voice out, suddenly realizing that it was never her weapons he succumbed to in the past. It was her words. Her sweet, saccharine words.

He had to say something, and quickly, before she could talk his mind into circles and make him doubt himself. He'd already spent the past three hours berating himself over what he'd done to (Y/N), but the wound was still raw, and as soon as Rika began picking at it the memory would open up and Saeran would be at her mercy once more.

"I didn't know where to go," Saeran blurted, his voice sounding rough and uncouth in the dungeon air after Rika had been speaking for so long.

The woman laughed. "But of course, Saeran." He could almost feel her smile growing sinister. "Because there's no place in the world for people like you. Weaklings can only hope to be happy here, at the Mint Eye. So that just leaves one question, hm?"

Rika approached the bars, just in range of Saeran but still not close enough.

"Where did you leave (Y/N)?"

Saeran kept silent, pulling his knees to his chest as if he were a baby that needed comforting.

"If you tell me where (Y/N) is, I'll let you come back to Paradise." Rika dropped to her knees, trying to get Saeran to look into her eyes.

Inside his mind, every fiber of his being began screaming with anticipation. She's off-balance! He knew that this was as good a chance as any, but still...just a little closer.

"Well?" Rika cocked her head down, moving an inch forward.

And that inch was all Saeran needed.

His hand darted out through the metal bars, grabbing the collar of her Savior's gown in a fistful, forcing her body to sway unsteadily with her head pulled close to Saeran. In one fluid motion, the boy had drawn his hidden dagger, holding it close against her neck as she watched the blade with her eyes, the bright green orbs suddenly darkening when she sensed the murderous glint in Saeran's eyes.

Her hands reacted before her mouth, clawed at his arm. It wasn't long before he could feel her digging trenches into his skin with her shaped nails, but the pain only strengthened Saeran's grip, fueling his anger alongside every memory he had of this godforsaken cult.

He held the blade to her throat, making sure she could feel the bite of the steel.

"You will regret this," She told him, her voice no longer calm and serene as it had been.

Saeran pulled the blade back, ready to end his and (Y/N)'s and everyone's frustrations with a swift swipe when he remembered (Y/N)'s last words to him.

"Stop apologizing."

Saeran paused, thinking.

When she'd told him that, Saeran wanted to argue with her. To tell her that he was apologizing because he kept fucking up and that he deserved to apologize when he kept committing such horrible sins. Each apology, he wanted to say, was a new promise to try to be better. So that one day he wouldn't have to say 'sorry' between every breath.

And then his mind wandered to the man who had betrayed him and left him with Rika in the first place: V.

The pair were lovers. If he slit Rika's throat, would he find himself apologizing to V, later? How much sadness would that bring forth?

No! Saeran thought to himself, realizing that his resolve to kill Rika was weakening. If I kill her, I free everyone at the Mint Eye from her trickery. It'll bring more happiness than pain!

But then his thoughts were of Saeyoung.

And he remembered that his brother had abandoned him and left him to Rika and V under his delusion that it would bring Saeran happiness. A decision made without ever consulting the younger, and thus a decision that ended up bringing forth years of pain.

Even though Saeyoung thought he was making the right decision.

And finally, he thought of Rika, not the woman in front of him who called herself the Savior, but the first woman who had ever loved him, who had cared for him and smiled at him and laughed with him.

"You'll regret this," Rika repeated, continuing to claw at his arm. She was desperate, eyes wild with an animal instinct to survive.

But it wasn't her words that forced Saeran to release her from his grasp.

It was the overwhelming realization that if he killed her, it would only bring about more suffering in the world. More pain. To him. To V. Maybe even to (Y/N).

And (Y/N) wanted me to stop apologizing, Saeran realized as he dropped the knife to the ground, releasing Rika from his grasp. How could I do something like this and never apologize for it?

Rika looked at him in disbelief when he slunk back down onto the ground, numb.

Saeran's plan had been perfect. So perfect, that he had actually managed to execute the whole thing properly. But so imperfect, he realized as Rika stood up and dusted herself off. Because if I killed her I would lose myself in the process.

Saeran didn't blink when Rika left, nor when she returned with a monstrous heaping of the blue liquid he'd grown acquainted with. His plan was doomed from the start, he realized right before his consciousness began to grow fuzzy.

When he'd drunk it all, only one thought remained in his mind as he lay on the cold dungeon floor, unmoving.

(Y/N).

One thought, one hope, but above all: one need.

Because if she failed as he had, the two of them truly would be entirely and wholly fucked.

MASTERLIST

Neutral Route: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | ✔

Saeyoung’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | ✔

Saeran’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | ✔

Word count: 2.1k

Notes: idk why but i keep getting all these angsty jumin x reader fic ideas and that's alllll i can think about writing

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Next Update: 04/02/20

I do not own the rights to Mystic Messenger or any of the characters within it.