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luveline · 11 months

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𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

miguel can’t control himself when you get hurt in the field —a ficlet featuring an irritated (lovesick) miguel and a flirty, distracted spider-girl. pre across the spider-verse but contains spoilers. requested he re, fem!reader, 2.5k

tw. fighting, injury, blood

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Miguel watches the screen in front of him unhappily.

"Spider-Girl," he says. Two people answer him. He sighs. "Y/N," he amends, "you're being reckless."

The little droid camera that follows you around circles your head as you swing from one place to another. "I'm being good," you deny.

Miguel would never tell you this, but he loves how you speak. Sure, almost every word you say annoys him, but the cadence of your voice is melodic and addictive at once. And Miguel knows you're nice to everyone, but it's him alone that has you speaking so softly.

You do it to torture him, he's sure.

"You're doing well, but you'd be better if you didn't free fall for so long. Mechanical failure can happen at any minute," Miguel says.

"Then one of the others will catch me."

"And if there's no team member close by? I'm supposed to come and scrape you off of the sidewalk?"

"Miguel," you say gently. He can tell what mood you're in today. "They have people for that."

"Could you just do as I asked you to?"

"Ah, but you haven't asked me anything."

"Please," he says, "focus on the task at hand, and use your webs cautiously."

You make a chirping sound that feels more laughter than affirmation, but you do as he requests, reducing the length of time between each web shot. You're in New York, Earth-1844, attempting to send home an unhappy Doc Ock variant whose mechanical arms are immensely technologically advanced, even when compared to Nueva York's futurism.

Miguel had sent you along with a rather large team, one. because a big team was necessary for the task, two. because you'd asked and he has trouble saying no to you, and three. because if you'd spent another hour in his office today he actually might have given into temptation, which wouldn't be good for anybody.

Miguel is used to doing what needs to be done rather than what he'd like, these days. So while he wants to indulge you and your fanciful suggestions —I'm not heavy, handsome, please, you won't even notice I'm in your lap, your thighs are so wide— he can't. He has things to do. Things that cannot endure distraction.

"Woo!" you cheer through laughter, letting your shoes skim the floor in an especially dangerous manoeuvre. The adrenaline turns you giddy. "Holy crap."

Oh, right, that's why he resists temptation —he hates you. (He doesn't hate you.) He hates you and your disregard for your own safety, he hates your rejection of his authority, and he hates the stupid sweet sound you make when you're excited.

"Do you listen to me and then forget what I've said, or do you not understand the English language?" he asks.

You land on a rooftop overlooking the centre of Future Doc Ock's destruction. "Well, I've been learning Spanish. We could always try that," you suggest.

"Why have you been learning Spanish?" he asks.

"Coquetear contigo," you say, your pronunciation all over the place. To flirt with you.

"Qué maravilla," he mutters.

"I don't know that one, handsome, so I'm going to assume it was a love confession or something similar." You sound so overly fond he has to tense his jaw. "Gwen, where are you?"

"I'm over here?"

Gwen is wrapped up tightly in a metal tentacle. It shakes her around fanatically. Miguel swears and zooms in on her location, watching in apprehension as she attempts to free herself while the arm creaks, tightening, tightening.

"Woah," you say, taking a running jump off of the rooftop. "Can you believe it? I'm not the first one who needs rescuing."

Hobie Brown reaches Gwen before you can, and he makes an impressive rescue. You divert your path, shooting a web at the glass dome covering Future Doc Ock's head. Miguel crosses his arms across his chest. Wannabe Mysterio loser, he thinks, and then, when you've smashed a hole into the dome with a generously momentous kick, Nice.

He doesn't suppose Doc Ock was expecting a kick to the jaw today.

You hiss as you propel yourself away from him, another web shot at a nearby lamppost. It does something funny to his chest when he hears you whine in pain, but he's too distracted to ask what's wrong —he scours your droid's view for an answer, finds it red and saturating the fabric of your suit.

"Why are you bleeding, Spider-Girl?" he asks, gaze drawn to the main screen where Dock Ock shouts belligerent threats at an approaching Spider-Man.

"No biggie," you say, hissing again, "I think I cut my leg on the glass. I need a better suit."

"Can you walk?"

"I'm fine," you say with a sniffle. From the amount of blood, the cut is deep. "Is it me, or is it dusty in here?"

It definitely hurts if it's making you cry, though maybe you're unprepared. This was a bad idea, you aren't as seasoned as the others, and he knows you don't know what you're doing yet. You need more time, more practice. You've hurt yourself in the field on your very first mission, and you don't have the pain threshold or the super-healing necessary to cope.

It's his fault for letting you go.

"Prepare for extraction," he says.

"No! No way, are you kidding? I'm fine, I– I can do this."

"Y/N," he warns.

You fling yourself from the lamppost with impressive grace considering your injury and join the fight once again. Miguel can't keep an eye on you like he wants to, as the alarm that indicates an anomaly begins to sound. He's forced to rush together a second team while the elite strike force are preoccupied, yanking members of Spider-Society from their goings abouts, Lyla in his ear recommending effective combinations and fighting styles. From that point on, he has to supervise two different missions, his head pounding with effort.

His hands itch. He should be out there. Miguel is the cream of the crop and he isn't shy to admit that. He's a good fighter, but he can't be everywhere at once, and most of the anomalies they face require multiple sets of hands to fix. So he forces himself to stay put and guide the teams through each fight, sick to his stomach with every bloody footprint you leave behind.

He's following Hobie Brown and offering rejected instruction when he sees you go down. He toggles your voice channel and catches the end of a high-pitched, "Oof," the air-knocked from your lungs forcibly as you hit the ground. The tentacle that propelled you veers up for a finishing blow, and three different webs catch it and pull it backward.

It's a blur. One minute Miguel's in the control room at Spider-Society headquarters, the next he's breathing in the smoggy air of New York, Earth-1844, concrete and asphalt torn up under his hands. Lyla speaks in his ear and he's deaf to her, his focus pointed with only one thing in mind.

The restraint it takes not to wipe Doc Ock from the face of the dimension is incalculable. Miguel can't quite believe his own moderation as he orchestrates the return of the anomaly, your body on the ground in the corner of his eye.

The second the situation is under control, he runs to you. His gloves hit the ground with a thud by your hip, as do his knees. Spider-Man, a Peter Parker from Earth-751263, has already set nanobots over your prone figure, tiny spider-like creatures that leave webbing bandages in their wake, closing the sluggish wound on your calf. But nanotech won't fix a broken spine, not in the field. Miguel needs a stretcher. He needs to get you home.

"Miguel," you say, drawing his gaze from your slow-rising chest, "I can't breathe.

He slides his thumb as gently as he can into the seam of your mask and eases it off. "You're winded."

You cough. The sound is disturbingly wet, but your lips remain unsullied. Miguel can't look at you in this much pain, and he won't: he stands, and he takes control.

—

You're not in nearly as much pain as you should be, because Doctor Spider-Man gave you the good stuff. "Your healing isn't nearly as expedited as most of us," he'd said.

"Is this medical discrimination?" you'd asked, faking a serious concern. "Do I need to talk to Spider-Lawyer?"

You found it funny. He maybe didn't, but he gave you an extra dose and told you to rest up before leaving. Resting at the Society medbay isn't easy because Spider People are constantly filtering in and out of the ward for check-ups, medication, and corrections.

It's also not easy because most Spider People are incredibly lonely in their home dimensions, and incredibly friendly here. When Miguel finally comes to visit you, you have a Spider-Girl from a few dimensions over who has the same biological mother as you but a different father sitting to your left —she's trippy and adorable, if you do say so yourself— two Peter Parkers to your right, and a melting pot of currency lost in the white linen sheets over your legs.

They get one good look at Miguel and put down their playing cards.

The Peter Parkers slink off together promising to come and see you again sometime, and your variant stops just shy of Miguel's position to look him up and down affectionately.

"Go away," he says.

She beams at him. "Okay."

"You can't help it, can you?" he asks after she's gone, picking a rogue playing card up from the end of your bed. He twiddles it between his index and middle finger, the card shushing with each turn.

You sit up in bed and try to straighten out the sheets, hoping to entice him. You don't bother answering his question. It barely sounded like one.

"I'm hurt, you know?" you ask.

"I know. I told you to retreat."

"No, I'm hurt it took you so long to visit me," you say. You're putting on airs. Truthfully, you genuinely are a little hurt, but your voice is soft and dreamy as always. "I thought we were friends."

"Ah, because you need more of those."

You sink down into your pillows, your knees hiked. "I really can't help it if people like me. And you'd know."

Miguel surprises you by sitting down. He faces away from you, his thigh just shy of your feet below the sheets, and it's only then you realise he's tense. He's in civvies for a change, a t-shirt stretched tight across his broad shoulders and chest and regular black sweatpants. He's wearing converse.

You look at him through a squint. "Did you hit your head, too?"

"I'm off-duty."

"I just never pictured you in sneakers."

"How do you picture me?" he asks, neck craned to look at you, his chin touching his shoulder. He has dark circles under his eyes and his brows are ruffled on one side.

You let your knees fall to one side and pull your legs to your chest, hoping to entice him closer. "You're not sleeping well?"

Miguel doesn't answer your inquiry. In fact, he falls silent. His eyes are on your hands where they're bunched at your chest, his dark flush of lashes twitching as his gaze tracks along the column of your throat, your jaw, and finally, your face.

"If you were anyone else," he says eventually, "you'd be benched."

"I'm not benched?" you ask.

"You disobeyed a direct order," he says, "and your actions affected the people around you. Someone else could've been hurt protecting you. You have to listen to what I'm telling you to do, or this is never going to work."

You look at the hospital bed railing rather than face his disappointment.

"But it's my fault."

"What?" you ask, startled.

"It's my fault you got hurt. I knew you couldn't handle it, and I let you go anyway. I'm… I'm weak."

"What are you talking about?" you ask. "Weak? You're the strongest person here, with or without Rapture."

He flinches at the drug's name.

You lay there, paralysed by your own mistake, your big mouth ruining everything for the thousandth time. If there's one thing you know about Miguel, it's that you never mention his weaknesses. His drug. His last attempt at a full life. You might be light-hearted, a free spirit, but you're far from stupid usually. Your emotional intelligence must've got lost somewhere on Earth-1844.

"Sorry," you murmur, looking at him from under your lashes. "I didn't mean…"

Slowly, so slowly, he puts his hand on your leg. It doesn't hurt, you've been medicated and stitched and his touch is far from cruel, but you're so startled that your breath gets caught in your throat. Miguel doesn't touch you unless he's giving you a vague reprimand, moving your hand from a button you shouldn't touch or a door you're not allowed to open.

"I let you go on that mission, knowing you weren't ready, because you asked me to let you. I put selfish motivations over your safety. It won't happen again."

You're not as brave as you think you are. You try to hold his hand but it looks so big, and you've never had him this close to you of his own accord. You're a moment away from nervous goosebumps.

He looks up at your touch, your pinky finger wrapped over his, smaller and shorter but with the same pattern of calluses, skin abraded by tight gloves and rough surfaces.

"Selfish motivations," you repeat in a murmur.

"I don't– like saying no. To you." He couldn't sound more unhappy to admit it.

"You say no to me all the time," you say. You don't mean to, but suddenly you're folding your fingers over his, forcing him to hold your hand. He doesn't stop you. He doesn't let go. "Like, ten times a day."

"It's difficult." Your complaint is a blessing for him —the atmosphere around you shifts to something less vulnerable, and his permanently chagrined personality rears its head once again. He raises his eyebrows. "You make my life extremely difficult," he says flatly.

"You make my life difficult, too," you say.

You can't help but give him your fondest smile, your lashes kissing in the corners of your eyes.

He visibly softens. His thumb rubs the back of your hand, just once.

"Fantastic," he says, looking firmly away from you. "Great."

"Isn't it?" you ask happily.

He squeezes your fingers gently. It's almost imperceptible. "Yeah, it is," he says.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed! also, im sorry if you already speak spanish i realised after that that detail was subjective to the reader, sorry!

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pinkeoni · 10 months

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The Great Jonathan Byers Conspiracy

(Or, Jonathan was framed and I'm going to prove it)

So I started a rewatch of the show and I'm on episode two of s1. I get to the part towards the end where Jonathan is taking photos of Nancy. So I think "Okay. This is the part where we see Jonathan take a photo of Nancy topless, right? We see him notice Nancy take her top off and then raise the camera to take another photo, right?"

But that's not what happened

The scene happens as follows. We see Jonathan snap a photo of Nancy— with her shirt on— before the scene cuts inside of Steve's room.

Nancy then removes her top. Nancy and Steve start making out and we cut back to Jonathan who lowers his camera.

This is the part where I expected Jonathan to lift his camera up and start taking more pictures. That's how I remember it happening. But no, we instead see Jonathan focus his attention back to the pool and snap a picture of Barb instead.

So what the hell? Am I being gaslit?

I remember so distinctly a moment where we see Jonathan consciously raise the camera to take another picture of her topless, and yet it's not there. I do still want to clarify however, that the topless photo of Nancy does still exist. We see it clearly in the following episode. So yes, Jonathan did still take a photo of Nancy topless, we just don't see him take it.

But according to a lot of people online, we did see it, the Duffer Brothers just removed it.

I remember hearing about this when it first cropped up, which was partially prompted by the Duffers joking to "George Lucas" Will's birthday in season 2, which they never ended up doing anyway. They also stated on Twitter that no scene had ever been digitally edited, and didn't plan to in the future.

So the Duffers must be lying, right? Otherwise why how would so many people remember seeing that scene? I guess there’s no way to be sure without a DVD or Blu-Ray of the show.

But wait, I have a DVD of season one. I got it for Christmas! But I’m staying at my parents house and I don’t feel like driving three hours just to prove a point. I guess all is lost for the moment.

Unless…

It was at this part of my spiraling that I sent a crazed two minute voice memo at 11:00 at night to my roommate and good friend @lemonsoured filling him in on my conspiracy, and then leaving instructions to go downstairs, locate my season one DVD on the living room shelf, put the DVD into my PS4, go to the end of episode two and take a phone recording of the scene in question.

And lo and behold, the scene of Jonathan taking pictures of Nancy, exactly as it appears on Netflix.

So I am aware that in the video there isn’t much to indicate that this is in fact a recording of the DVD and not a recording of the Netflix version, so you’ll just have to take my word for it. But still, ask any DVD or Blu-Ray owner for what is on their disk, and I can garuntee that they’ll all give the same answer.

Because the shot of Jonathan taking the photo of Nancy never existed. The Duffers aren’t lying. The masses collectively lied to themeselves.

But how did this happen? How did a massive audience full of people, including myself, come to believe that there was a moment of Jonathan consciously taking that photo?

I’ll tell you why. It was a psyop to defame character!

Usually when a new season of Stranger Things rolls around, there comes the flow of comments on twitter saying “Hey, remember when Jonathan took a photo of Nancy changing and now she’s in a relationship with him?” which is usually done in the name of trying to bring down Jonathan and build up Steve.

And I’m not doing this to try to claim that Jonathan is a completely innocent baby who actually did nothing wrong. After all, the topless photo does still exist and as @notmybabies pointed out in the replies of one of posts, Jonathan chose to go through the process of developing it anyway. So he’s not completely off the hook. If the Duffers did want to eradicate Jonathan’s faults, then they would have digitally edited the topless Nancy photo to a different one, something that would have been possible.

But you ever notice how it’s always “Jonathan is a creep” and never “Steve called Nancy a slut and Jonathan a queer?”

I adore Steve, but what I’m trying to see is people seem to try and diminish the depth and complications of both of these characters, and it usually results in fans making Jonathan out to be a sex depraved pervert who has always had it out for Nancy, while Steve is their angel who could do no wrong. Steve couldn’t have had a good redemption arc if there wasn’t a place for him to grow from!

They never want to acknowledge that Jonathan was a lonely kid who made a bad mistake which he apologized for while looking for his brother and that Steve was a different person before he decided to change. Eliminating these character’s depths is eliminating what makes them interesting characters! Neither are completely pure and neither are completely evil!!

So in conclusion:

#there was also the argument in some of these articles that ‘since the photo exists that must mean that a scene was cut!’#so you need to be told everything?#also i feel like people are going to skip over the part where i add nuance but whatever it happens #also listen i know this has probs been pointed out before but i had a whole meltdown about this last night lkay #jonathan byers #jancy #stranger things #also thank you jules lemonsoured for that meme lmao #AND for recording the video you are a lifesaver and that was a wacky request #byler #<- target audience

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lol-im-done · 8 months

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killer queen | joel miller x fem!reader

'Your baseball bat looked like a flash of quicksilver in the air, lethal and swift. Blood splattered across its surface like a Jackson Pollock painting, and you the artist.'

'Joel watched as a wide harlequin smile stretched across your plump lips and it made his stomach drop. The fingers that would gently brush through his curls now pushed into the man’s eye sockets.'

His Killer Queen

tags: smut, unprotected sex, PiV, overprotectiveness, falling in love, comfort & fluff, soft!Joel, intense & explicit descriptions of violence, angst, death/murder, talks of child/infant death, trauma, mention/reference to sexual assault, memory loss, ptsd, age gap, badass reader, swearing, jealousy, limited use of (Y/N), 18+ Minors Do Not Interact!

author's note: hello! i was heavily inspired by this great quote- ‘I don’t believe in the glorification of murder, I do believe in the empowerment of women’ . this is my interpretation of a multifaceted traumatized character in the last of us world. reader is in late her twenties. please read the tags, this is a mature story with upsetting themes!

word count: 6k & AO3 link

Boston QZ

“We can’t make it that far out without-,”

“Tess.”

“Joel.”

The old man watched the standoff with little interest as he puffed away at his cigar, the pair of smugglers before him both equally determined to make each other see reason. They had been going back and forth in a fiery manner, deciding if they could do this job. Tess huffed in annoyance, sometimes she wondered how she put up with Joel Miller. They had only recently decided to take up smuggling after Tommy ran off to join the Fireflies. This run and subsequent trade would help establish them as smugglers in Boston and make the necessary connections.

“You guys scared or something?” Rick, their new contact, chuckled as he exhaled smoke.

Tess shot him a glare, sharp as a knife. “Sorry if I’m not excited to go into what’s been called the most densely populated area of infected asshole.”

Rick put his hands up in mock surrender, “If you’re so worried about the infected, I got someone who can help,” he offered.

“We don’t need help,” Joel snapped, eyebrows furrowing over his eyes at the thought of even having to interact with another person. The last thing he wanted was to have to deal with someone who he didn’t know. No one could be trusted.

“If you want to make it back to the QZ alive you will.”

The finality of Rick’s tone made Tess lean in closer to Joel, speaking in a hushed tone. “We don’t know the area well enough, if this person is going to get us through alive we need that.” Joel, exhausted as he was, had no argument with that so he gave a terse nod in agreement.

“I’ll let her know you’re on your way. She can be a bit of a character, but she’s a nice one....just don’t get on her bad side,” Rick warned before pushing a card with a small map of the QZ drawn in the middle.

That’s how they found themselves waiting for their so-called ‘backup’, faces stoic and eyes narrowed to ensure they showed no signs of weakness. But on the inside Joel’s stomach twisted in nervous knots, anxiety making his fingers tingle as he thought about all the ways this could go wrong. His racing thoughts were interrupted by incoming footsteps, Joel’s hand going to his gun instinctively but it went slack the moment he laid eyes on you.

Today was going to be a good day, you had decided. The water from the shower had actually reached a warm temperature, you had eaten a fresh peach this morning, a gift from your neighbor. The sweet taste had made nostalgia wash over you but you couldn’t quite place the memory which wasn’t much of a surprise. There were no clear memories of your life from before the Outbreak. Occasional flashes accompanied by migraines, a vague concept that you had indeed had a life but no names, locations, only blurred faces. There were only the days and years afterwards. Hoping today would only bring you good fortune and not another injury or scar to add to your collection you hummed under your breath looking forward to the prospect of going outside of the QZ, an opportunity for a new book or knick knack.

Joel wasn’t sure who he was expecting but it wasn’t a woman holding a metal baseball bat, an array of rings adorning your fingers. The early morning sun made you almost glow, the relaxed smile on your face curving the lightning shaped scar that ran from your cheek down to your soft jaw. The first thing you noticed about the man in front of you was his handsome features- proud nose and wild curls that kissed his ears. The plaid shirt he wore stretched across his broad shoulders and his stance exuded power. Then your eyes met his and the sounds of the QZ went quiet around you, the pounding of Joel’s heart no longer from anxiety.

“Rick send you?”

Tess’ interruption was intentional as she stepped in front of Joel, her voice taking a territorial edge. Both you and Joel blinked harshly, snapping back to reality and to the matter at hand.

“Yup,” your eyes flitted over to the woman who looked at you with only suspicion.

“You got a name?” Tess asked. “I’m Tess and this is Joel,” she jerked her thumb over towards where he stood. Joel watched as you twirled your bat in your hand, bouncing it off the ground like a little game before answering- “People call me a lot of things- but I’m mostly known as Quinn. Something about some old comic book character.”

Tess was not impressed by your nonchalant manner, crossing her arms with a grimace. Joel on the other hand saw something different, a quiet confidence in your stance and by the way you held that bat he had a feeling you knew how to use it. It only took you a few seconds to assess them, satisfied by your intuition and the knowledge that you had the upper hand out there you beckoned them forward.

“We don’t want to waste time, let’s get going.”

“Wait, we're going now? We need to plan out the route-,” Tess tried to say.

“You must have looked at the map Rick showed you, right?” you turned to face them, eyebrows quirked upwards.

“We did,” Joel replied. You weren’t prepared for the sound of his rich Southern accent, it threatened to make you blush.

“Then you know where you’re supposed to go. I’m simply the tour guide,” you turned to continue walking, leaving them no choice but to follow. As they made it to what seemed like their main exit out of the QZ they encountered their first obstacle.

A man with a scraggly beard emerged from behind some plywood that covered one of the exits. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Just helping some friends through,” you replied easily.

“You don’t have any friends,” he retorted.

“Haha. You got funnier since the last time I broke your nose,” you grinned and Joel felt his lips twitch in amusement against his will.

“Watch yourself Quinn, you’re lucky Rick gives me a cut or I’d bash your pretty little face in.”

Immediately Joel felt his fists clench up unwittingly at the man’s words and Tess shifted uneasily. In a strangely calm manner you simply pointed your bat at his face- “Do it then.”

Joel felt his heart start to race at the suddenly dangerous tone of your voice, a flash of fear going through the man's eyes. Visibly deflating in defeat he stepped aside, “Keep moving.”

“You’re the best!”

“Fuck you.”

Turning back to Joel and Tess you gave them an enthusiastic thumbs up and they scrambled to follow you, keen to avoid conflict. Tess looked at you a little differently after that interaction, perhaps she had underestimated you. As they continued on Joel found himself trying to memorize every turn, crawl space and opening in fences that you led them through. It took them a while but the three of you had finally made it out into the ruins of the city.

“FEDRA guards won’t usually come past here,” you pointed at two collapsed buildings that leaned against one another. “After this point we’ll find a variety of infected,” you continued to explain before the expression on your face turned serious. “Out here and in the city outskirts there’s bound to be gangs, raiders, people who won’t hesitate to kill you. You guys probably know that by now.”

Even speaking those words you had to force yourself to take a deep breath. Infected you could handle...other people not so much. Joel stiffened at your words, guilt simmering in his stomach so he turned away. “So it's very important that you follow my lead from here on out. I don’t enjoy having to leave people out here.” Tess and Joel shared an uneasy stare at that.

Joel tried his best to mimic your footsteps as you jumped over cordyceps vines, crouching and crawling in a graceful, practiced manner. Soon after that they had found the abandoned pharmacy which had been obviously picked though, but Rick had insisted there were goods to be found.

“Not gonna give us a clue where we can find the stash?” Tess asked, pushing a desk over. Joel looked over at you as you sat on the counter munching on what seemed to be a piece of chocolate.

“I’m just the tour guide,” you reminded them. Joel was actually surprised to see a flicker of mirth on Tess’ face before it became impassive again. It seemed everything was going to plan, the stash of medications was found and they were quietly making their way through a warehouse when an all too familiar click and sound of screeches met their ears- runners and two clickers closing in from either side.

“I’ll leave you two to handle the clickers,” was all you said before you ran head on towards the runners with a determined glint in your eye. Joel and Tess had no chance to protest, guns and hunting knives coming out for the kill.

Joel couldn’t help but stare in wonder once he had finished off the clicker, his heart pounding under his flannel both from the adrenaline and what he was witnessing. Your baseball bat looked like a flash of quicksilver in the air, lethal and swift. Blood splattered across its surface like a Jackson Pollock painting, and you the artist. It wasn’t just the force behind each swing but the agility you seemed to use to bring down each one. The infected that surrounded you didn’t stand a chance as you swung your bat into their knees making them crumple in half before you bashed their heads in with a grunt. He found himself wondering where you had learned how to fight like that while simultaneously entranced by your hair swirling around you like a halo.

It was moments like these that you were transported back to the dark past that haunted you, where you had been forced to fight to the death against other prisoners. Those fighting cages where your captors would toss a few of you into the ring to see who would get bit or torn to bits by the infected that chased after you. Here though, you could fight those memories with every swing of your bat. Screams, blood, screeches, sound of tearing flesh, more blood- you were knocked out of these flashbacks when you rolled backwards, sending your bat clattering to the side. Much to Joel’s surprise he felt a surge of panic for you but with an ease few had, you rolled onto one knee, hand flashing with a knife you procured from a fold in your jacket. The knife went flying through the air and hit the runner dead in the eye sending it crashing to the ground.

Once you regained your balance with a deep breath, you reached where its limp body had landed moving to grab your knife but something else caught your eye. “Nice,” you grinned. “Score!” you waved the copy of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire in the air, before running over to an out of breath Joel and shaken Tess.

“You two good?” you tilted your head, concern evident in your tone. They exchanged a disbelieving look before letting out laughs of relief.

“Yeah we’re good,” Joel sighed wiping the sweat off his forehead.

“Alright then, keep up old man,” you winked at Joel, missing the glare Tess sent you.

That should have been the end of it, they had secured a connection into the smuggling sector of Boston and made it back alive thanks to you. Tess had offered you a few ration cards upon your return but you simply waved your book insisting it was payment enough. You were a character alright, Joel thought. As the weeks went on the image of you fighting wouldn’t leave his mind. The juxtaposition of your soft smile, playful smirk, and violent display of skill replayed in his mind as he repeated the mindless tasks at his job site. There was a small sense of disappointment he desperately tried to ignore when you hadn’t joined them on another run but to his luck he began to encounter you on the occasional work assignment and daily life. He wasn’t sure what to make of you at first. He noticed that you tended to isolate yourself from the majority of the population, but everytime you approached him you seemed to genuinely want to engage in conversation. Had it been anyone else he would have told them to fuck off or sent them running with his signature glare. It had been your never ending supply of smiles and tangents on the most random of topics that began to soften his attitude towards you. You couldn’t help but feel drawn to his quiet nature, there were so many emotions lurking in his eyes and old smile lines that made you feel at ease. Somewhere in between your lively chatter and his occasional grunts of acknowledgement you had become friends. It wasn’t a partnership based on trades or acquaintanceship by sheer happenstance, you enjoyed spending time with him and Joel actually liked you.

Joel knew he was treading dangerous ground when he felt an unfamiliar sensation of warmth in his chest when you’d call him ‘cowboy’ once he revealed he was from Texas. He would never voice these feelings, especially to Tess who he felt himself becoming more distant with. While the terms of their relationship were clear, sex between them had once been quite regular but ever since meeting you he couldn’t bring himself to think about that with Tess and it quickly tapered off. She voiced no opinion or objection on the matter even though she knew precisely why, both of them now focusing solely on smuggling. Joel thought that the no strings attached type of relationship was the only thing he would ever allow himself but every minute spent with you made his heart yearn for more. It terrified him and thrilled him in equal measure.

Against his better judgment he found himself asking others about you, discreetly of course and under the guise that he needed to know more about a potential smuggling partner. Joel Miller understood loss; painful, world shattering loss that left one roaming the earth like a tortured soul. He also understood that in this new world, everyone would be forced to do things they’d never imagine doing, unimaginable things. None of this prepared him for what he learned. It was undisputed that you were a successful smuggler, that you were a force to be reckoned with inside and out of the QZ. While many would say you had a penchant for violence, they could concede that you had some semblance of a moral code. This was clouded by the stories that followed behind you like a trail of smoke. Someone swore they had seen you fight your way through more than a dozen infected with just your silver bat and sheer will to survive, bathed in blood and gore. Others claimed you were prone to bouts of hysteria, going into blind rampages that had resulted in you killing some people in the last QZ you lived in. Some even claimed to know of stories of you as far back as the start of the Outbreak - “Heard she started to lose it after having to kill her own sister and brother when they got bit. Then she got captured by some slavers…you know how that went. Must have been enough since she sliced all their guts open. Left them out like some deranged warning.” The stories only became more callous after that- “Got pregnant…not by choice of course. She killed it after it was born.”

Joel never gave these stories much merit, people liked to make up stories since they had nothing better to do. The only one he could believe was you taking on all those infected, he had seen it himself. That all began to change after one night. Side by side you walked through the busy street, stifling back a yawn. You leaned closer to him as you told him about your day but something made you freeze mid sentence. Joel stumbled into you with an apology on the tip of his tongue until he followed your gaze. The soft babble of the baby, a flash of a memory- Sarah swaddled in his arms the night she was born, made his heart lurch. Babies were a rarity these days, not many were born in the QZ and even fewer survived. When he regained his senses he looked around to find you but you had disappeared. Following his instinct he found himself in a dark alleyway around the corner where he heard heaving sobs. There you were, arms wrapped around yourself and leaning against the wall as you shook from the panic that overtook your body. Before he could stop himself Joel had you in his arms, his strong arms anchoring your body.

“I- I- my baby--,” you choked out incoherently, hands clutching your stomach as phantom pain engulfed your body and flashbacks made your head pound. It was a curse that your mind could not wash away the terrible memories of her loss like it had washed away the memories of your past life. Her birth was your biggest joy and her death was your greatest sorrow, one that had left you on the brink of madness. Slowly the drag of Joel’s calloused hands along your back began to bring you out of it, the flow of tears slowing and breathes returning to normal.

“I know darlin’ I know,” Joel sighed against your temple, the term of endearment coming out naturally. He didn’t need to know exactly what had happened but now he understood. Tears gathered in his own eyes at the thought that you had gone through the same pain he felt after losing Sarah. Tethered by this shared loss, you stood there wrapped together in a blanket of grief. Burrowing yourself deeper into his arms you felt real comfort for the first time in years.

The following day he spotted you in front of your apartment building, your eyes still red rimmed and vulnerable. He was uncertain of the way to approach you and when you caught his eye you bit your lip overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze. Eventually you tilted your heads towards a small bench nearby. After last night it was clear that something shifted in your relationship, what was a friendship was now on the precipice of becoming something else entirely. Something the two of you were not entirely sure how to approach.

“Quinn-,”

“(Y/N). My name is (Y/N).”

Joel felt his heart skip a beat, emotion filling his chest and in return for the precious gift of your name, he grasped your cheek not caring who saw. He audibly gulped, struggling to put together these newfound feelings into words, so utterly terrified of messing it all up.

“I don’t know how this will go. I can’t promise you that the QZ will always be safe, but I will be by your side and do everything I can to protect you,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “Fuck. I realize I can’t control anything and that’s why I’ve been so scared of getting closer to you but I want to try, try for us,” Joel finished.

“I’m by your side, always,” you whispered back. A press of your forehead against his sealed this promise. There was no denying it, you were truly, madly and deeply in love with Joel Miller.

The next few weeks went by as normal as normal could be for you and Joel. Days spent on trade runs, evenings wrapped in each other's arms or swaying to the sound of your eclectic record collection. He had even introduced you to Bill and Frank one weekend, wanting you to experience the delicacy of their cooking and the soft cotton sheets even if for one night. But normalcy never lasted forever. Not for you. Joel waited at your usual table at DeMarco’s bar, Tess shuffling cards beside him with a cigarette dangling from her lips. She didn’t even bother to start a conversation, saving her gossip for your impending arrival. Joel was beginning to get restless, wanting nothing more than to have you close to his side with a hand gripping your waist like a dragon coveting his treasure. He knew you enjoyed this, a smirk always gracing your features as he stared down anyone he caught eyeing you. The bell above the door let out its usual jingle but there was no dazzling smile or off kilter attempt at a joke. Tempestuous was the only way to properly describe the tight frown of your mouth, emotionless eyes and aura of danger. Anyone in your vicinity scattered hoping they were not the object of your ire. Joel managed to intercept you as you made your way towards the back of the bar, trying to whisper your name but it didn’t seem to register.

“I know what they say about me,” you whispered, not able to meet his eyes. “They say I’m a monster, that I’m demented, but there’s worse out there…the ones who made me into this.”

“Sweetheart what’s going on-.”

“I have to finish this.”

As if in a trance you slipped from his grasp, grabbing an empty beer bottle from a table, cracks beginning to stretch across its neck. There was only one thought in your mind, one purpose- to make him pay. Joel watched as you walked towards a man whose face morphed into sheer terror once he saw the bottle swinging towards his head. People jumped at the sound of shattering glass and the pained cries from the man made the hairs on Joel’s arm stand straight up. Joel tried to reach you but your words- I have to finish this and Tess’ grip on him kept him at bay. Taking advantage of your target’s shock you swung your fist at his face, relishing in the resounding crack. He cursed before sending a punch to your cheek that made your face whip sideways resulting in a violent struggle on top of one of the tables. Eventually you both rolled to the ground ignoring the sting of glass that pressed into your knees. You clutched his shirt in your hands to ground yourself for a moment. There was no doubt it was him, the man who haunted your dreams, the only one that had escaped you.

“I thought- ugh- you were dead,” he choked out as blood spilled out of his mouth and you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you.

“I wish I was Travis but yet here I am,” you leaned closer. “I knew you were out there somewhere surviving like some roach. After I finished off your little friends-,”

“You slaughtered them-,” he tried to protest, another punch to his face shutting him up. In this moment all you felt was unbridled rage, all you could see before you was the man that had imprisoned and tortured you for years. Here was one of the men that had robbed you of any chance at a normal existence.

“Do you understand what you put me through?” you hissed, digging your fingers into his neck feeling the muscles constrict as he desperately tried to suck in oxygen. “You and those fucking slavers destroyed the person I was. Made me kill other fucking people for your sick entertainment,” you pressed harder into his neck. A sudden flashback made you shudder- the contractions, all the blood, your screams of pain before her first breaths.

“Then you took her from me, you made me kill my daughter. You thought you were a fucking saint for that, that it was a mercy letting me smother her instead of leaving her out in the blizzard.” Joel had managed to inch closer and it gave him the ability to hear every detail, his heart shattered at your words. It all became clear, the pieces of your tragic past falling together.

“Stupid crazy bitch,” Travis managed to choke out.

“I’m not fucking stupid!” you roared, giving him a rough shake. Travis’ pathetic whimpers were like music to your ears, satisfaction filled you as you watched tears pool in his eyes before cascading over his pale skin.

“No- no don’t cry,” you cooed, smoothing your fingers across his eyelids. Joel watched as a wide harlequin smile stretched across your plump lips and it made his stomach drop. The fingers that would gently brush through his curls now pushed into the man’s eye sockets. A buzzing sound rang in your ears, drowning out the ear splitting scream of your abuser as you squeezed tighter and tighter. This went on and on until his body went limp beneath you, hands now soaked in crimson blood. Distantly you could hear the sound of someone vomiting, chairs screeching as people ran out of the bar in case FEDRA showed up. You didn’t even seem to register Joel as you stood up with a sigh. Tess pushed past the nausea she felt, gripping Joel’s arm trying to get them out of there but his eyes were latched onto you unable to look away. Taking a seat at a nearby table you took a demure sip of water, hand relaxed at your side with blood pooling down onto the ground. As if nothing had ever happened you began to hum along to the song that came from the jukebox.

She’s a killer queen

Gunpowder, gelatine

Dynamite with a laser beam

Guaranteed to blow your mind

Motherfucker got his mind blown alright.

“Go, we’ll handle this and get her home,” the owner, Mr. DeMarco frantically pushed Joel and Tess out of the door before locking it tightly behind them.

“Let’s go!” Tess cried and left with no choice; he let her drag him off.

Back at Tess’ apartment, they sat at the table, statuesque in their silence as they processed what they had witnessed.

“I don’t get it,” Tess finally spoke, running a hand through her hair.

“What don’t you get?”

“How you can want her,” Tess replied coldly. Joel’s head snapped towards her, indignation filling him to the brim. “Look I get it we’re not perfect, no one is. We’re all fucked up, but she’s-,”.

“Don’t say another fucking word-” Joel growled, pointing his finger at her in warning.

“She’s twisted. Broken and twisted back into something barely human.”

Joel felt anger surge through his body at Tess’ words, the same ones so many others had said about you. None of them truly knew you or what you had been through, none of them had any right to judge you.

“I'm sorry to say it Joel but someone has to.”

“You ain’t sorry about shit. You’re just like everyone else, thinking she’s crazy-,”

“She is! She’s not even afraid of dying! She practically welcomes it with open arms,” Tess slammed her hand on the table.

“I’m not going to keep listening to this bullshit Tess. You don’t know her like I do. I know who she is,” Joel growled.

“Does she even know what she is? At least I know what I am. I don’t put on this mask of sweet smiles before I go off and squish a man’s head in,” she snapped.

“That is who she is, Tess. Don’t you get it? You think it’s some mask? A way to deceive people? You’re more blind than I thought,” Joel hissed. How could he explain to Tess that there was humanity in your hands that were bathed in blood? How could he put into words that for the first time since he had lost everything, he had found someone who truly saw him. Sending her a final glare he stood up and went out to find you hoping he hadn’t lost you.

True to his word, Mr. DeMarco had somehow gotten you to your apartment. Guilt constricted Joel’s chest, he felt like a coward for allowing them to push him out and then running away from the bar, from you. Using the spare key you had gifted him he entered and there you lay limp on your bed, the blood from your hands staining the sheets beneath you. He knew there was no use in trying to get a word out of you, your eyes were open but there was nothing behind them. With care he didn’t know he still possessed he spent the next hour cleaning you up and tending to your wounds. Diligently he fished out the pieces of glass from your knees with a practiced hand. Joel made sure to ply you with plenty of water before getting you under the spray of the shower, careful to avert his eyes from your naked form. As he finished wrapping your bruised hands, the light slowly returned to your eyes as you lay swaddled in a blanket next to, pressing closer to him.

“I’ll tell you that story one day. Not tonight but soon. I’ll tell you about the people who took me, what they did to me, what I did to them. Then I’ll tell you about her.”

Joel jumped in surprise not expecting to hear your voice tonight. There was no evidence in your tone that you were upset with him but a knot formed in his throat regardless.

“Darling I’m so fucking sorry-,”.

“Don’t- Joel you have nothing to be sorry for,” you stopped him, getting up on your knees so that you were eye level with him. “I had to do that, there was no choice for me. The best thing you could have done was to let me do it and you did,” you whispered. The blanket that was once wrapped around you was beginning to slip from your shoulders.

“I shouldn’t have left you there alone,” he hung his head.

“It was safer for you to leave if FEDRA had shown up. The DeMarco’s handled it though so I think we owe them,” you tilted his chin up. “Probably need to replace Manny DeMarco’s jacket, left a bunch of blood on him when he carried me back here,” you whispered, relishing in the flash of surprise in Joel’s eyes. His hands traveled up to your hips, squeezing the flesh there.

“He carried you?”

Joel knew that Manny, Mr. DeMarco’s son, had harbored a crush on you for as long as they had frequented the bar and the thought of another man carrying you made jealousy churn in his stomach.

“I know what you’re thinking Joel, but my act of vengeance probably scared him off for good poor kid,” you chuckled before your eyes filled with uncertainty. “Did I scare you off?” you whispered. Joel gripped you tighter, eyebrows furrowing in incredulity.

“Scare me off? Baby no, fuck I was scared shitless watching you fight but I ain’t ever leaving your side. I promised you that and nothing you did changes that,” Joel presses you closer to him, your breasts pressing against his chest. The blanket was now slipping into dangerous territory and something began to simmer low in your stomach at his voice. The emotional weight of his words and reassurance of his love made you certain of this next step.

“Joel,” you beg, hands clutching at his shoulders.

The breathlessness of your voice, the way you shimmy the blanket off revealing yourself to him makes Joel’s mind go blank. He had always been intentional in making sure he never pushed your boundaries, the furthest thing you had welcomed was a deep kiss. Now his eyes roam over your body appreciating every curve, freckle, birthmark he can spot. Carefully his fingers trace the old scars, evidence of everything you battled in your life. He kisses a particularly rough one, an old brand mark over your rib making your eyes glisten with tears.

“I haven’t- not since-,” you stammered, shaking those memories from your head.

“I know,” Joel whispered, wishing he could find all those men who had hurt you and make them pay but he knew that you had already finished the job. You, his beautiful brave girl.

“We don’t have to do any of this you know,” Joel whispered, hand coming to your cheek, stroking your lightning mark as he calls it.

“I never had a choice with them and before the outbreak…I don’t remember if I even had any of this. But I want this, I want you. Please,” you assured him. That’s all Joel needed, hands coming to roam across your ass before rocking your soaked core across his clothed cock. The act made your head spin, wetness gushing out of you and nipples hardening. Before you could plead for more, Joel had carefully maneuvered you onto your back careful not to aggravate your wounds. Your mouth opened in wonder as he quickly removed his clothes before coming to hover over you. Joel hoped you weren’t disappointed in him but by the way you licked your lips hungrily any self consciousness disappeared. He wanted nothing more than to take his time with you, but you were making it clear you did not have the patience for that today.

“Darlin’ let me at least open you up,” Joel kissed down your neck and you squirmed before nodding quickly. His thick fingers prodded at your entrance, your hips coming down to grind down on them. Joel cursed under his breath as he slipped one in before your greedy cunt practically begged for another finger, your cries mingling with his ragged breaths. Finally he felt you were prepared enough so he withdrew his fingers and aligned his hips to yours making you whine.

“Inside me please.”

Joel moaned loudly into your ear as his cock pressed into you, giving you time to adjust as your cunt stretched to fit him in. He grasped the base of his length to keep himself from finishing too quickly at the sight of your head thrown back in pleasure, a keening cry escaping your swollen lips.

“Fuckin hell baby,” Joel groaned before you pull him down for a bruising kiss. This was the most intimate you had ever been with someone, his forehead pressed against yours with every roll of his hips as he pushes deeper and deeper. The bed is thumping rhythmically against the wall, the lewd sound of your wetness and combined moans filling the air. Joel felt himself nearing his climax, so his thumb goes to rub your clit in tight motions making your back arch. It only takes a few more minutes of this before you gasp as if dunked into icy water. With a cry of his name your walls flutter around him practically choking his cock, delicious heat spreading across your body as your orgasm overtakes you. Joel barely has time to pull out, groaning as his come spills across your stomach making you moan at the eroticism of the act. You don’t think you’ve seen Joel so relaxed a smile overtaking his features which makes you blush.

“I love you (Y/N).”

“I love you Joel.”

Joel is dutiful as he cleans you, peppering your skin in soft kisses, and soon he is back in bed behind you. As your heartbeats settle there is a peaceful silence in the room, even the apartment building was void of its usual distractions. Moonlight washes over your naked bodies like a blanket, illuminating your sweaty skin. You thought you were imagining it at first but then the soft rumble behind you turned into words. It was the most beautiful sound you had ever heard, Joel was singing to you. His voice was like velvet tickling against your ears, the warmth of his hands relaxing your body until you drifted off into the ocean of dreams.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfiction #tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou smut #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller x y/n

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butterflydm · 8 months

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wot rewatch (book spoilers edition): 2x2

Additional thoughts that had too many spoilers to go into my earlier post will be found here. Spoilers for all the teasers and trailers, plus through book 13: A Memory of Light.

So one of the big questions that I have is: how much is Lanfear acting with Ishamael's knowledge and how much is she going her own way? Ishamael said in the Darkfriend social scene that he is still looking for Rand. If he's being truthful there (and he's talking to his minions, so there's really no point in lying), then Lanfear has not told him that she located Lews Therin.

2. I hadn't thought about this on my first watch, but @ladyofpembroke noted that Lanfear is probably in Rand's final dream in the next episode, so it seems possible that she actually has a hand in all his dreams. Constantly reminding him that he could kill his friends if he sees them again is a good way to make him want to stay where he is (with her) and not try to reconnect with his past life. Like any effective manipulator, she's keeping him isolated from his friends and family as much as she can.

3. otoh, we know from the books that being able to locate someone's dreams doesn't mean that you know where they are in the physical world, so this might be an Ishamael-influenced dream (I note that while Rand's visions of his friends has them wearing their S1 outfits, Ishamael is wearing his s2 outfit, which Rand hasn't seen), so this might be an Ishamael-influenced dream since he figures he might as well torment Rand in the dream if he can't find him irl.

4. Given that Rand is already hearing whispers, I wonder when the show plans to re-introduce Lews Therin to us in his own form. It might even be this season, if they wanted to make sure to keep a lock on the actor (or we might get another Age of Legends cold open -- though I note that we only had one cold open in this set of three episodes, though that might be because Rafe & co were aware that they would likely all air the same night so that might have affected their choices there - I'd love an AoL cold open where we get to see Lanfear and Lews Therin together).

5. So, did Rand find his way to Cairhien first and then Lanfear set up an inn in the Foregate to entice him to her, or did she set up her inn before he arrived and she figured out a way to lure him in? Either way, she's doing a much better job than the Lanfear in the books. She's much less suspicious than "random noblewoman who managed to appear in an unpopulated parallel world so that Rand could save her" and she's more subtle too. While the cringefail Forsaken in the books can be amusing, the threat level of the villains also helps tell you how seriously to take your protagonists, so I'm glad that they beefed up her threat level by actually making her effective. Right now, Lanfear is #winning on every possible level.

6. I love Errol because he serves several story purposes -- he's reminding us that Rand looks "like an Aiel"; he's serving Hurin's purpose in the story of giving Rand someone to look after and be protective of; he's teaching Rand sword forms because he was a blademaster; and he's giving us a bit of history about "the Aiel war". And the actor is quite charming. Plus he's used to show us both Rand's compassion and his need/desire to find mentors to help teach him the skills he needs. At this point in time, Rand does believe that he's defeated the Dark One and his nightmares are just nightmares but he does still want to learn how to protect himself and how to control himself.

7. We mostly hear indistinct whispers until Rand is walking down the hallway (it's the shot from the trailer) and it resolves into "Do you hear me? You are mine, Rand al'Thor." Which is very interesting. Our first inkling of Lews Therin? If so, it shows a greater awareness of Rand as a person than LTT's voice showed in the earlier books when it appeared in his head. I've speculated that this might happen, so I wonder if we're going to get more genuine back-and-forth between Rand and LTT than we really got in the books as a way of letting us into Rand's internal narration without him needing to pour out his heart to any of the characters around him.

8. I am actually loving Perrin getting Rand's plotline here -- it's working really well for him, being used to show us how Perrin can smell what happened in places so vividly that he's re-experiencing the past. I feel like if I didn't know this was Rand's original plotline, I wouldn't have guessed. It suits how they're exploring Perrin's character so well. I do wonder... Elyas speaks of Perrin experiencing a 'vision' -- I wonder if they're going to make the mystical side of being a Wolfbrother more distinct from what Dreamers do in this show version. Because it really was kinda... weird in the books how Perrin and Egwene are doing all this training in the same dreamworld but Perrin never runs across her or any of the Aiel Dreamwalkers, even once they're spending more time in the wetlands side of things.

9. The nailed-up Fade is used in the books to mark when Fain 'takes control' of the Darkfriends & Trollocs. I wonder here if it's meant to mark the moment when the dagger owns him more strongly than the Dark One does. Because the people of Shadar Logoth were not darkfriends -- and they focused on this in s1, too, because dagger!Mat is not a fan of the Fade that he meets in the farmhouse.

10. Love foreshadowing of Errol talking about "Aielman among us and no one bats an eyelash in the entire place" -- Rand is going to be bringing a lot of Aiel to the wetlands. I bet we're going to get to see some of these sword forms in the finale!

11. Liandrin does seem like she's becoming genuinely invested in Nynaeve. I like that (almost) everyone gets their own personal Darkfriend -- Nynaeve has Liandrin, Mat also has Liandrin (she's a hard worker!), Rand has Lanfear, Perrin has (remorseful) Ingtar, Moiraine has (double agent) Verin, Lan has (repentant) Tomas, and even Egwene gets a scene with Sheriam (who will get to be Her Darkfriend Among Us later on, if we're able to follow the books that closely when we get there), though she's not really the focus of Sheriam's attention. Everyone gets a little personal attention from the Shadow!

I like that Nynaeve gets rushed forward to the test for Accepted due to Liandrin wanting to teach her so badly. It seems more realistic reasoning than we get in the books.

12. Another big lie from Liandrin here about how Mat is here because they are "only observing" that the effects of the dagger are out of his system, which Mat immediately calls bullshit on. He's locked in a cell and only Liandrin is around -- that is not an official observation by any means. That's a prison. It's been six months. So I would put Liandrin's official lie count at two. Notably, she's only lying to Mat so far, who is both kept well away from other people and also doesn't really know as much about Aes Sedai (we know from Egwene and Moiraine's conversation in the woods in s1 that the people of the Two Rivers do not have the Aes Sedai oaths memorized).

13. My dearest, my darling, my deepest love is finally here! At the end of my reread, when I was ranking my favorite characters, Elayne was my number one favorite. Ceara is doing such a good job with her and the writing is also excellent. I love how many different sides of her we get to see in just these two episodes -- sheltered noble, awkward girl who grew up with no friends, someone familiar with the Tower but not familiar being a novice in the Tower, but a tinkerer (!!! so excited that they put this in so early) at heart and incredibly loyal and compassionate. I just adored her so much in these two episodes and I am looking forward to seeing more of her. I do really hope that, in the midst of all the chaos, that the show does manage to give her something of a meet-cute with Rand, even if it's less obviously romantic than the one in the books. But I'm really looking forward to more of her interacting with Egwene and Nynaeve, and hopefully meeting Aviendha and/or Min and/or Mat in the finale or before it.

14. I have zero issue with Sheriam not being a redhead. I think it's a good idea for the show to cut down on the number of redheads, given that Jordan says it's rare but then keeps giving us random redheads. Limiting the on-screen ones to the Aiel and the royal house of Andor seems like a good idea to me.

15. So first we got Perrin's letters last episode. Now, in this episode, Elyas tells Perrin that the soldiers he's with right now "are not your pack". While he could be talking about the wolves, of course, I feel like, as a viewer, that makes me think of the EF5 and how that's who Perrin belongs with right now. Especially after Perrin's letter talking about how he feels 'exposed' without the others around. Again, it gives me the hope that we'll get more moments of reconnection between the EF5 over the course of the show.

16. This moment with Verin is such a great one to look at knowing the truth of her situation. "Even oaths have loopholes one can exploit". She's the expert at it. Oaths are a bit of a minor theme in this episode and the next -- the loopholes and also, next episode, we're introduced to the Seanchan oaths where Perrin is, I assume, going to take the very reasonable position that a forced oath is not binding (which is the same position that Mat had in Winter's Heart but inexplicably abandoned in Crossroads of Twilight when he decided his accidental wedding vows were binding).

Oh! I knew I remembered hearing the words "Toman Head" in these three episodes but hadn't remembered it was Verin mentioning it! I thought it was noted as part of the Dark Prophecies but it's mentioned here as mainline prophecy. But the name is out there now. And this conversation also confirms "sword of flame" and "battle in the sky" for the finale, most likely, and a mention of a "branded hand" which feels like it confirms the herons. I wonder if Rand is going to use the same weave on his dad's sword that we saw Verin using at the end of the last episode for Tomas's sword. This may also mean that it's using that weave that burns the herons into Rand's palms?

17. The Rand and Lanfear scenes. Wow! But, yeah, I wonder how much her non-reaction to his bloody knuckles struck show-onlys. She doesn't ask him what happened, who he beat up. She just kisses his bloody knuckles and sweet-talks him into bed.

18. So far, we've heard/seen three separate form of violent teaching in the White Tower -- the unnamed woman who beat Moiraine to make her channel (likely Elaida); Liandrin's behavior with Nynaeve; and Sheriam telling Elayne that she'll be switched. Both Liandrin and Sheriam, of course, are Black Ajah. But from Egwene's reaction here, it doesn't seem like being ordered to be switched is anything close to the common punishment that it seemed to be in the books. But we'll see!

19. It does occur to me that Gawyn (maybe Galad too) might already have been in training with the Warders even if Elayne wasn't a novice yet -- Elayne has been spending her summers in the Tower and it's entirely possible that Gawyn's training to protect her meant he was sent off early to start learning from the best. We don't get any hints in this episode or the next about her brothers, but we're pretty focused on her developing friendship with Egwene.

20. "Min is in Tar Valon" and "Min and Mat share a plotline" were my two most hoped-for options for Min's storyline for this season, so I'm happy about that. I do wish that Min had been given a chance to bond with Elayne or Egwene but, hopefully, there will be time for that later. But I really love the set-up we've been given where we are going to explore Elayne with Egwene and Nynaeve; Min being more fully-explored with Mat; and then Aviendha when she enters Perrin's storyline. All of them are getting fleshed out as individual characters before any of them get romantically involved with Rand. I am feeling pretty hopeful that we're going to get our polycule (and a genuine polycule, not a harem) in the upcoming seasons. They've been putting in a lot of "poly relationships are valid and complex" groundwork in and it looks like they are going to be making sure that all of the characters involved get to be full characters who have their own agendas and their own arcs.

Some people on reddit are still pretty disappointed that Min isn't the male-gaze fantasy that she is in the later books but I have been thrilled with the changes that the show has done so far with her. We also maybe get a hint here that Min is going to be canonically bisexual by the way she jokes about Liandrin, so I will cross my fingers on that.

20. Min's viewing! I do love that they're massively cutting down on the number of Min's viewings to focus on ones that are interesting and relevant. This one is particularly interesting because there's nothing like it in the books. Mat stabbing Rand, then cradling him as he falls.

Theory #1: this is a flicker-flicker world (maybe we only get one big one?) and it's not Our Mat stabbing Our Rand but an alternate one.

Theory #2: Rand asks Mat to fulfill his promise to keep Rand from going mad and that's why Mat stabs him.

Theory #3: Rand loses control of himself (like Lady Amalisa in 1x8) and Mat stabs him to try to get him to lose his hold on the One Power.

Theory #4: Mat gets placed under compulsion (which would be another reason for him to want protection from Aes Sedai and channeling).

Theory #5: Mat gets The Dagger again and he's the one who gives Rand the wound in his side, while under its influence.

Theory #6: It's metaphorical and Mat takes the place of Alivia and helps Rand 'die' at the end of the series (seems unlikely but I'll throw it out there).

And probably lots of other things I haven't thought of. But it definitely shakes Min to see it.

I wonder if she only agreed to help Liandrin after this moment or if she'd already agreed and this is just additional incentive. I don't think she's told Liandrin anything about Rand. She was able to keep that secret from Moiraine even under blackmail so I think she kept it from Liandrin too.

But I do love that we get a viewing that connects Mat and Rand together, even if it's through a traumatic encounter. I am a simple soul who finds messiness intriguing.

21. Lanfear! Talking about her broken heart to the man who broke it and who she is, even now, doing her best to groom back into the man that she wants. The layers in this conversation are exquisite. When she tells him that he can't hurt her, she also can say that because she has a strong grasp of what she can do with the Power while he's still stumbling in the dark. Ooof, but Rand was (unknowingly) on risky ground when he confirmed that he does sometimes think of his past when he's with her.

Also, talking about how "no one else" could ever have power over her heart now that her previous lover is gone... when she's literally talking to his reincarnation. The conversation is just so rich and so sharp and there's so much of it that is going over Rand's head because he doesn't have the necessary information to even begin to put the pieces together. "What's left to hurt if he still has my whole heart?" she says, to the guy in question. "When I'm with you, I can pretend you're him." YEAH. I BET YOU CAN.

22. So I wonder if Moiraine's threat here to Lan, that she would let Alanna take his bond if he didn't let her leave on her own, is going to be the extent of the "Myrelle" plot point that Alanna absorbs and it won't actually happen in fact. But now it's out there as an idea that Warders can be forcibly bonded so that when Alanna forcibly bonds someone else down the road, the idea isn't coming out of nowhere.

23. I was so shocked when the Seanchan attacked in episode two. I was thinking this would happen in episode five. But once I sat down and thought about it, I realizes that Perrin has already hit all the main points of the Hunt for the Horn storyline on his side of things (and even partly on what Rand would have been doing). We've found the traitor and had Ingtar reveal his sympathy towards said traitor; we've found the Fade and the moment when Fain started playing by his own rules; and we've even been exploring Perrin and his senses. This does mean that we're going to have a lot of potential time to explore the Seanchan invasion and culture.

24. I don't have any issues with Ishamael openly being Suroth's advisor vs someone covertly giving Suroth her marching orders. High Lady Suroth is a Darkfriend and always was. We're just taking it out of the shadows and showing it openly to the viewers (and Perrin).

I do wonder if Perrin specifically seeing the Shadow and the Seanchan so entwined will have an impact on his later storylines. That I wonder about. But the later books were, tbh, really weird about how low-impact the Falme encounter ended up being in the long run for pretty much everyone except Egwene. Min basically forgets she knows anything about the Seanchan even when that information could help Rand, everyone forgets about the environment of paranoia and fear that the Seanchan created in Falme, etc. There's a lot of weird forgetfulness going around, especially in CoT & KoD, when Jordan wanted to sell us on his slaver romance.

(the way that the show has been improving characters like Min and relationships like Rand/Lanfear does give me a lot of hope in how they will handle Tuon and the Mat & Tuon 'romance' and that they'll make it better than the poorly-written dumpster fire that it is in CoT & KoD)

#butterfly watches wot #wot #wheel of time #wot on prime #wot show spoilers #wot prime spoilers #wot s2 spoilers #wheel of time s2 spoilers #wot book spoilers #wot 2x2 spoilers #a memory of light

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sommerregenjuniluft · 2 months

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can you believe on twitter people are starting to make regulus be fem

*GASP* THEY DID WHAT??

dunno if fem stands for identifying as female or presenting more feminine but yeah i sure can and Actually what a coincidence, would you look at that nonny, i dug this out of the depths of my docs just for you~

enjoy 1.7k of fem regulus (that i wrote for the jegulus microfics a few months back that took a life of its own and i never finished lol)

It had started with a debt.

No, that’s not true– actually, it had started with Professor Slughorn.

He’d sat down on his desk—yes, on, not at, long colorful knitted robes fluttering as he maneuvered himself into a pretzel. He’s a very strange man, that one, Pandora wagers he’s possessed by multiple old spirits, Shakespear and Van Gogh being only two of them—and had tapped a finger against his temple conspiratorially, “I’ve cooked another something up for you guys in here.”

Whenever Slughorn cooks something up in that cauldron of a head of his it’s either brilliant bordering on manic genius or it’s entirely stupid.

The given assignment is to write a song and produce a music video for it. Their final this semester.

Which sounds easy enough, but Slughorn had stressed multiple times that he wanted to be wowed as he’d slurped on his open coconut.

Which means they’re gonna have to put in a shit ton of effort.

“Form groups of five and figure it out,” he’d clapped his hands twice and then slid off the desk and went to leave as students started moving around the room and erupting into hushed discussions.

They’d pretty quickly figured out that Barty and Regulus would come up with the lyrics, they’d done it often enough, sometimes by accident when the brownies Pandora occasionally baked were a whoopsie too strong. Evan had leaned back with a grin and told them not to worry about the soundtrack and Lily and Pandora had already fallen into a tangent about cameras and equipment and location, possible props and friends they could rope into staring.

That’s when Regulus had taken her snake bite piercing between her teeth to smother a mean grin at the idea that popped into her head.

She plops down on her brother’s usual table in the yards, chunky platform heels propped on the bench and long legs on display under her mini skirt. Drives a hand through her wild mane and smiles sweetly, “Hi Jamie.”

As expected, his jaw drops slightly as James’ gaze breaks eye contact and takes on sliding down Regulus’ form where she’s propped herself deliberately right next to his meal.

Another voice at the table pipes up before the object of Regulus’ attention gets the chance to, “What do you want, Reggie?”

Regulus tilts her head, curls falling over her shoulders, eyes not letting off her target, “That’s none of your concern, Sirius.”

James licks his lips, “Hi Reg, how can I be of assistance to you today?”

Regulus leans forward with a smile, noticing the way James’ eyes flit down her low cut shirt for a second, “Remember that one time you’ve dared me to let the whole hockey team drink body shots off me?” Voice honey thick, the Just so you could get a taste goes without saying.

Behind her Sirius chokes on his lunch.

But James’ grin widens and he raises an eyebrow intrigued.

Regulus cards her pale fingers through James’ messy, black hair, makes it just a bit more messy as he looks up at her through his rounded glasses with those baby cow brown eyes of his and the corners of Regulus’ lips tug, “I’ve come to collect my debt.”

Evan produces a banger beat over the course of a single all-nighter that Regulus and Barty write their songtext to, tipsy as fuck on vodka lemon sodas out on Regulus’ small as fuck student housing balcony in the dead of night, moonlight just bright enough to see the pen of what they scrawl down onto the paper of their sketchbooks.

Regulus had left Lily in charge of the planning of availability on the location and the hockey team and Pandora to come up with a range of outfits to choose from for Regulus and the boys.

Evan finishes the song in record time for Regulus to record the vocals to and when it’s mixed and ready Evan’s grin is so bright Barty drives the girls out of the studio to do whatever debauched things to his boyfriend on the couch in there which one, Regulus doesn’t want to worry her pretty little head about too much since it’s her fucking voice– and two, means the song fucking slaps.

Barty also comes up with a slutty and good enough choreo that’ll give the video the dynamic it needs and together the four of them sweat away a few afternoons blending into evenings in front of the mirrors while Lily does whatever magic she does organizing.

Regulus hates that she’s not into girls in times like this.

It takes some time, obviously, you don’t just finish a song overnight and it takes a few weeks until almost everything is ready for the video shoot.

Regulus is sitting curled up on her desk chair while Pandora absolutely just takes her fucking closet apart, Ipad in one of her tiny hands, the Greedy Pinterest board open.

There’s already a pair of trainers and another pair of pointy, glittery heels thrown haphazardly on the end of her bed over the formerly neat sheets as well as a pair of black overknees and a cute lace-y, sage green bra that Regulus didn’t even know she had.

“Here,” Pandora blindly throws something over her shoulder at Regulus. They’re some older, white basketball shorts with black highlights. “Put these with the heels and the green top.”

Regulus does as told, albeit an eye roll that’s nearly painful as Pandora throws some white Nike socks after her. “Those too, babe.”

Another few beats pass where Regulus is bored and Pandora is rummaging and then she says, “Oh. my. gods,” and turns with a shiny faux leather bra hung loosely on her index fingers and a bright smile on her face, “You absolute slut.”

Regulus takes the compliment and gives her a sweet grin and a wink.

Pandora’s eyes take on a milky quality and then she asks, “Can you still do a split?”

Regulus takes a step into the middle of her room and falls into a nearly perfect split without any warm-up.

Pandora rolls her eyes at the showing off, badly containing another smile, “Again, I love you,” and then, a more contemplating expression, “How much do you think you think you can milk James of that debt of yours?”

Regulus scoffs, pointedly looks down at herself where she’s still sitting wide legged and at ease on her bedroom floor.

Pandora’s grin sharpens, “Text him you’re gonna need an old jersey and matching uniform shorts of his.”

And Regulus does just that. And if she sends the demand on Snapchat with a picture of her still in a split that’s none of anyone’s business but hers and Jamie’s.

James, as captain of the hockey team, is courteous enough to let them in with his own keys early in the morning of the shooting day.

They check out the rooms and halls for good spots and start bringing in bags and setting up equipment.

And James is just…helping.

Sticking around the whole fucking day actually.

Xeno and Mary have joined at some point with coffees, donuts and breakfast bagels, bless their fucking souls.

And when everything is as set in place as it can be it’s time for Regulus to change into the first outfit and start filming and James is still just…there.

Hovering with the crew, jostling elbows with Barty and Evan and peaking over Lily’s and Pandora’s shoulders and throwing Regulus glances and toothy smiles from across the room, showing no intention whatsoever to leave and come back later with his fucking team.

——— NSFW

James encourages the jerky movement of Regulus’ hips against his thigh, grip unrelenting on her waist as he leans impossibly closer, dragging his thumb along Regulus’ plump bottom lip, “You’d come like this, wouldn’t you, princess?”

Instead of answering Regulus sucks the thumb into her mouth, laving her tongue around it sloppily and making James breath stutter on the exhale.

“Fuck, good little slut– so desperate for it,” James says as he watches the movement of Regulus’ lips transfixed, continuing to get her off against his leg, “Want me to fuck you, don’t you, baby?”

And Regulus’ mouth drops around the sudden moan as her pace stutters, her eyes pricking with tears of the overwhelming toomuchnotenough and the degradation and sweet pet names and James’ lewd fucking mouth.

He pulls his thumb away and grabs at her ass with both hands, pulling their fronts flush together, two hard lines pressing at each other, “C’mon, princess, words.”

Regulus’ hands ball into fists at the front of James’ soft cotton shirt as she nods hopelessly, brows knit and voice husky, “Want you to fuck me.”

In the next blink James has her turned in his arms, palming at her stiff cock and pulling her ass back into him, his other arm coming around her front. Trailing faintly up her stomach, eliciting goosebumps, then grabbing at her breast and pressing a wet kiss on the side of her neck as a thumb brushes over a hard nipple behind the lace and Regulus groans.

“Be a good girl and stay down for me, yeah?” James rumbles into Regulus’ ear, nuzzling at the curls around her ear and the next moment there are calloused fingertips pressing into the nape of Regulus’ neck and she’s being pushed down against the counter.

James spanks her once across her right ass cheek for good measure it seems, another stay, and Regulus is helpless against the whine that crawls out of her, long hair falling into her eyes when her temple thumps against the marred, red countertop as James sinks to his knees behind her.

The hockey player palms at the swell of her thigh, right under the seam of her ass and kneads, warm humid breath puffing against Regulus’ entrance and she shivers against the exposure of the chilly air, whines something that sounds too close to Jamie and the man does nothing but keep looking and fucking chuckle. Bastard.

And then, “Oh, baby,” a groan and a bite to Regulus’ ass that has her whimpering pathetically, “Prettiest pussy, gonna get you all nice and wet for me.”

Regulus moans, and James hums as he dives in face first, grip strong around her thighs and tongue wet, slowly coaxing the tight ring of muscle open.

#not typically a fan of marauders twt from what i’ve heard but ay just let ppl do with their blorbos as they want #jegulus #jegulus fic #trans regulus #mtf regulus #lune writes

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sil-te-plait-tue-moi · 2 years

Text

Wedding-seasonal depression.

Quick summary: What if Pierce actually did get married to Wu Mei way back when in the second season? You and Jeff are both struggling to come to terms with the fact that this is Pierce’s eighth time getting married, while you’re both still sad and single and alone. You decide to take your frustrations out on each other.

Word count: 7.8K

Warnings: SMUT (you have been warned, this is essentially porn with a lil’ plot), but it's not like super kinky; lots of swearing; first time writing second-person, so buckle up, I guess; kind of angsty (??); many suppressed feels.

A/N: Hey, guys, what’s up 😃🌈🦶! Uhhhh, I know this fic is a little random, but I’ve literally had this story in my drafts for six months. Since then, I have finished the entire Community show and have brought you this gem of a smut fic for Jeff Winger (particularly Jeff Winger with a fuckin’ beard 😩😩😩 he’s such an asshole). Please excuse my horrible attempts at dirty talk. Also, this is the first fic I’ve written in second person, soooooo I’m sorry if it’s, like, bad. Okay, enjoy!! :)))

***

You know, the wedding is perfectly nice. You have nothing against weddings. Apart from the strangely sexist ceremonies (as Britta will agree), the giving away of the daughter to her new owner kind of thing, the virginal unveiling thing, they’re perfectly fine. There’s free alcohol, free food, dancing, friends – sounds pretty nice at first, doesn’t it? Yeah, you’d think that, wouldn’t you? Except, now, the only kind of enjoyment you can feel is the pleasure of yet another scotch burning its way down your throat. You’ve had three, now, and it’s only a matter of time before they start to kick in. And you don’t come to weddings just to get drunk, okay? Your friend is getting married today, and no matter how blatantly racist and sexist and homophobic he is on a daily basis, you want to support his happiness (Annie forced you to come).

The fact that it’s Pierce getting married (again) hasn’t really hit you yet. Pierce. Pierce who talks about women like they’re objects, who treats them like they have a fucking expiry date, who has had his shot at marriage several times before, is now at the altar again, having another wedding while some of you are left to wallow in your own self-pity and loneliness until the night’s end.

You ask the bartender for another scotch.

You swivel in your stool to survey the venue – tables are dotted all throughout the hotel’s expansive ballroom, swathed with elegant white tablecloths, with elaborate centrepieces of white lilies and tulips and curling ferns to adorn. The ceiling reaches up, up, up, and intricate moulding compliments and fills its area, leading to the elevated centre where a glimmering, twisting chandelier dangles, its large gems scattering rainbow light here and there around the room. It’s pretty – the bride knew what she was doing. Pierce had refused to get involved in any of the wedding preparation because, and you quote, “it’s a woman’s job”. When you asked him what a man’s job was, he had looked at you condescendingly, as if it were as plain as day, and said, “To attend the bachelor party, of course.” You didn’t blink or breathe for a whole ten, fifteen seconds, you believe – you thought he was joking at first. But you shouldn’t’ve underestimated Pierce and his miraculous ability to infuriate you. Lord knows why anyone would want to marry him.

Your table – the study group’s table – is right in the corner of the room. The location is a little questionable (you’re all pretty sure the bride detests you for being more important than she is to Pierce, and you don’t blame her at all—but, you know, she could’ve sat you a little closer to the snack bar is all you’re saying), and it’s not close to the altar, it’s not close to the buffet, or the bar, or the toilets, or the band. But, of course, the group has found its own way to keep everyone entertained. Abed and Troy have napkin hats placed on their heads, acting out some movie scene, you’re sure, and Britta’s well on her way to becoming black-out drunk by the time the vows start, and Shirley’s trying to figure out the recipe of the cheesecake Annie ordered, reaching over the table for another forkful and another and another, face scrunched up in deathly concentration as she tries to identify the ingredients by taste. Poor Annie, you think to yourself, but you’re smiling.

Your eyes immediately start searching for Jeff. It’s an unconscious thing that you do every time you enter a room. You just want to make sure he hasn’t done anything stupid yet. And if you know anything at all about him, he’s going to be glowering the whole night away, rolling around in his bitterness, torn between his jealousy that Pierce gets to be married (again) and between his fiery disdain of weddings. He’s just a little bit too much like you – that’s how you can foresee his scowl when he approaches the bar, how you just know his hands will be shoved childishly in his pockets, and that he’ll roll his eyes when some bridesmaid will stop him and ask how he knows the groom. It happens just like clockwork. Jeff thinks he’s some wildcard, but, in reality, he’s so predictable.

“I’m actually the head of what used to be his favourite escort business. He was one of my best customers, but, uh—” he hisses cynically, “—you can’t win ‘em all, can you?”

You smile. He’s predictable until he opens his mouth.

The bridesmaid looks absolutely horrified. She leaves promptly with wide eyes and an open mouth, trying to stifle a laugh for the sake of her friendship with the bride.

A self-satisfied look overcomes Jeff’s face – he’s probably laughing internally at one of his own jokes again – and then his attention shifts up over to you, and his gleaming eyes grace themselves upon yours. He’s such an ass.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself,” you snort, turning back to the bar and digging your nail back into this narrow groove in its mahogany surface – maybe, if you’re patient enough, you’’ll soon be able to carve your initials into it forever. Jeff steps up onto the platform that perimeters the bar, sighing from deep within his chest as he slumps himself forward in the viridian, velvet-cushioned stool beside you. “You could have at least pretended to be nice for a few seconds.” While your manner is joking, there’s an underlying seriousness to your words. He needs to stop introducing himself as a prick to everyone – it’s off-putting.

But he just grins over at you – it’s hard not to smile back. “That was me being nice, I’ll have you know,” he says meaningfully, “and it just kills me—” he slaps a hand right across his heart, “—to know you don’t think I’m genuine.”

“She looked abhorred, Jeff. Abhorred.”

He scoffs violently. “Don’t say she looked abhorred, okay? She did not look abhorred.” Then, a pause. Then, “What does ‘abhorred’ mean?”

Oh, Jeff. You’d think that, what with his lawyer days (or rather, his days faking a law degree), he’d have a better vocabulary than he actually does. You’re pretty sure he looks up fancy words in his free time, just to impress people, most of which he doesn’t even know. You can just picture it: Him, sitting in the armchair of his ridiculously clean apartment, a dictionary in his lap, a thesaurus to the side, trying to comprehend what “sporadically” means so that he can use it in class the day after. You haven’t proven this theory yet, and Jeff always avoids the question, but you’re 100% convinced that this act is entirely true.

“It means horrified, Jeff,” you deadpan. You watch him make a mental note to use that in conversation later.

He hums lowly, and you let out a long sigh. Wordlessly, the both of you turn your heads to look back at your table. There are a few, special moments in life where someone will resonate so much with another’s feelings that they feel as if the two of them have become melded together. The borders of their mind will collapse, and that shared emotion will just mingle between the two of them like a strange, little ghost. It’s like that now, with you. It’s a melancholy type of feeling. You both can’t quite place the sadness, even as you’re looking on at the happy study group, and you can say that, with confidence, Jeff feels lonely. Just like you. You can feel the ache in his heart.

But, as quick as the intimacy came, it disappears again. Jeff swallows hard and frowns down at the counter, clearing his throat before commenting drily, “So, this sucks, huh? The wedding and everything.”

You nod.

“I just don’t get why Pierce is the one who gets to get married. Like, why not one of us or something? It’s just kind of unfair.” And then he stops abruptly, inhaling sharply like he’s just broken some kind of code. You nudge him and ask if he’s alright, to which he responds with, “You’re not gonna tell any of the others about this, are you? I don’t want Pierce finding out and having one of his little tantrums again.”

“He wouldn’t throw a tantrum,” you smile, completely missing the trust he’s putting in you right now. “If anything, he’d gloat about how you, the Jeff Winger, are jealous of him.”

He scoffs exaggeratedly. “I am not jealous of Pierce.” Jeff doesn’t admit to being jealous of anyone, but it’s always obvious when he is – his sarcasm will somehow double, his face will squint up into a semi-permanent, sour expression, and his voice will up an octave or two if he’s feeling extra shitty. It’s always funny to see him try to keep it together. That man’s got an ego like no other. Under his breath, he finishes, “No more jealous than you are.”

Damn.

Truth is, even though you’re fucking bitter as can be about Pierce getting married, you know that you have no actual desire to ever enter matrimony. It’s not a Britta “fuck marriage as a whole” type of thing; it’s a “wow, someone is achieving something, and you are achieving nothing” kind of situation. What can you say?—it’s your toxic trait. Anyone “beating” you at anything is enough to discourage you from that sector as a whole. If you’re not naturally gifted, what’s the point? Not to say that Pierce is gifted at relationships. No, he’s just rich. It takes everything in you not to strangle him whenever he opens his goddamn mouth. But you just suck at navigating true, meaningful romantic connections with people, and having to watch Pierce enjoy a pretty party and tick off that milestone (again) is just a kick straight to the fucking vagina.

But you’re not going to say all that to Jeff Winger of all people. So, you suck it up, deepen your scowl, and say, “Ah, yes, ever since I was a foetus, my one goal in life has been to wed a person half my age so that they can drain me of my non-existent fortune and give me pity sex for the rest of my shrivelled-up, little life.”

“Can’t tell if that’s sarcasm or not, ‘cause that actually has been my goal since I was a foetus,” Jeff whips back, and you snort. His grin widens.

Stupid Jeff Winger and his stupid Jeff-Winger smile. You hate it when he does that with his fuckin’ face. It’s infuriating. He’s infuriating. You always feel it tugging at your stomach adamantly whenever you’re in his proximity and he does that, and it’s unsettling. Could be annoyance, could be something else. You’re not ready to explore that.

“Anyway, you wanna go find a back room and fuck?”

The words are so swift and casual that you have to take a moment to realise that that is not something normal people say when attending their friend’s wedding and having a conversation at the bar with their completely platonic other friend who has never before made any hints towards attraction.

You turn and blink hard at Jeff, your lungs buffering in your chest.

“What?” you stress to him.

He darts his eyes away from the great hall and shuffles them back to you like he has all the time in the world, like he hasn’t just said what he just said. He raises his eyebrows innocently and politely continues, “Oh, sorry, I just thought that was where this conversation was going.”

The commotion of the party, to your surprise, carries on as usual.

Your wrists are numb with shock, and they’re sparking with what you think might actually be excitement. Did Jeff really just say those words out loud? Are you angry about it? You can’t fucking tell.

Instead of addressing the problem, you swallow thickly, hoping he won’t notice, and ask through an incredulous scoff, “Is this how you get people to have sex with you?” Would you be mad about that? About the fact that he’s just asked, essentially, to sleep with you, right to your face, right in public, at Pierce’s wedding, where there are people that you know and that can see you clearly from where they’re sitting? God, do you look as thrown-off as you feel right now? You would hope to die before looking thrown-off in front of Jeff Winger. The very Jeff Winger that’s finishing your drink off for you and watching you amusedly from over the rim of the glass, smiling his fucking smile to himself as he watches you glitch and hesitate like a browser with too many tabs open.

“Don’t say the s-word,” he hisses patronisingly, narrowing his gaze, leaning closer to you, glancing warily around the room. “There are children.”

“You just said fuck.”

“Yes. Yes, I did. And also, would you like to?”

He’s analysing your expression with fond eyes, you see from your peripheral vision, setting your glass back on the counter gently as he waits, all patient, for your answer, for your reaction. This is probably the most patient he’s ever been in his life. It’s certainly the most patient you’ve ever seen him, and you’ve seen him through a lot.

You tell him (a little breathlessly), “You’re fuckin’ crazy.”

He lowers his voice. “Did I read the situation wrong?”

There’s a silence that’s far too long to be salvageable. Then, a flustered, “No.”

Jeff raises his eyebrows, like he’s impressed with himself, and he looks smugly up at the ceiling. Damn him, you think to yourself. And, sweet Jesus, he has pretty nice hands. You also think to yourself that he has—he has pretty nice hands. Nice hands fixing the cuffs of his shirt and jacket. Nice hands scratching at that awful thing he calls a beard. Nice hands shoved in his pockets all nice-like. Nice hands that you’re sure can do a lot of—nice—things. Jeff clears his throat, and your attention snaps back to where it belongs.

“So,” he drawls. “Back room?”

And just like that, his pick-up somehow works for you. Somehow, you end up stumbling into the janitor’s closest, and you’re shushing each other and telling each other to be quiet as he helps you on top of the wobbly desk. It’s clumsy and fast and you’re both more than a little drunk. “Ow!” he exclaims when you accidentally elbow him in the ribs. Maybe it’s that you’re both just extremely lonely at this wedding – you’ve both kind of realised that you may just have to spend forever alone, that Pierce has a better chance of getting married than you do, that happiness might not be for you after all. And that’s always a nice thing to hear. You just want solace, and both of you are fighting for that by getting it on in a barely sanitary janitor’s room. Think of it—as a favour for a friend. Yeah. You think, with Jeff, the Jeff who blunders over a bucket when he tries to kiss you, it’s just pheromones and genetics doing their thing. Skin-deep. That’s your excuse as you grab him by the tie and press your lips to his as he positions his arms either side of you to keep himself from falling. “Your hair smells kinda nice,” he tells you before he helps zip down your dress, and you slide down your underwear.

He goes down on you first, after you both mock each other about who you bet is gonna finish first. “Oh, I’ve spoken with Britta about you,” you’d said lowly, smiling, and his eyes filled with sweet, sweet defeat. “Yeah, she told me everything—One-Minute Wonder.”

And this had gotten little, insecure Jeff all riled up. “Alright,” he huffed, voice scraping against his throat like he hadn’t had anything to drink for a week. “Alright, we’ll see who cums first, then, huh, doll?” And instead giving you one of those classic Winger smiles, he whispered a request for permission to use his mouth on you. You didn’t even have a response to that. He kneeled down in front of you, hands eagerly spread on your thighs, and his breathing was slightly uneven as he awaited your answer. It made you feel some type of way. You gave a quick nod and shuffled forward to meet his hot mouth. When his tongue delved deep inside your cunt, all coherent thoughts went straight out the door, and now you’re weeping into the back of your hand and clenching down your teeth down on your fingers, trying your best not to cry out.

Now, there are a few things you do to try and stop yourself from finishing immediately: you try clenching your legs together, but this only makes Jeff moan right into your pussy, and that doesn’t do you any good at all; you pull lightly at his hair and scratch at his back and his neck and his arms, holding on for dear life, but he only grows more enthusiastic; and you try insulting him under your breath (“twat”, “asshole”), but he just chuckles into you, and you have to bite down on your knuckles all over again, wrestling with that increasingly violent fluttering feeling in your legs.

Near the end of it, you just give up that bet with Jeff; you’ll cum, you’ll finish first, you’ll lose the bet, and you’ll do whatever you can to get to it. You grind shyly, and then shamelessly, against Jeff’s face, finding a delicious friction with his beard, a lovely contrast to the soft, velvet slickness of his tongue – that is, until he uses his hands to press your hips firmly back down onto the table, rendering you powerless to his actions.

You’re just about to finish when he pulls away. You think it’s a mistake at first, trying to lower him back down onto you with your hand cradling his head, but then you catch sight of a shit-eating grin wanting to take over his face, and you whine out, “Jesus Christ, Jeff, don’t be mean!”

“C’mon, honey, I thought the point of the bet was to not cum. You don’t wanna lose, do you?” His chin is still slick with you and he’s talking to you like you’re not hot and flustered and half-naked for him in a fucking supply room, on the brink of an orgasm, legs shaking like there’s no tomorrow. What a fucking prick, you think to yourself. You’re still gonna fuck him, of course, but he’s still a prick to you, and nothing will ever change that. “What? Can’t talk anymore?”

“I’m about this close—” you narrow my index finger and thumb down to a microscopic space between, “—to leaving you alone in here with blue balls, Winger. You hear me?”

He stands up and massages your legs gently, almost tenderly, and makes you forget, just for a second, that you’re probably another one of his escapades, another one-night stand, just another girl for him to forget in the morning. “Aw, just look at you,” Jeff taunts, twisting his face up in mock-sympathy as you scramble to regain control. “You’re cute when you’re angry, you know that?” His nose brushes up against yours. He comes in real close and whispers against the shell of your ear, “You know, I think you just might get us caught, sweets. I think you’re gonna be crying out my name by the time we’re done, and all those wedding guests are gonna be shocked at the dirty things I’ve done to you and you’ve done to me. You think you’re gonna be able to walk right when they ask us to come out this room? Or do you think everyone’s gonna know how hard I fucked you in here, how I fucked you senseless, how I fucked you so good that you can barely sit down without thinkin’ ‘bout how my cock felt up inside of you?” Your clit throbs painfully. How can it not? You try to snake your own hand between your legs, but Jeff softly moves it away and kisses your shoulder. “Hmm? So, which is it?”

“I think I want you inside of me,” you say breathlessly, needily. Yes, you knew that Jeff likes to sleep around a lot, you knew that he was experienced, you knew that he knows how to get someone hot—but you didn’t really prepare for this. How many other girls has he had in the janitor’s room? How many other girls has he had at a wedding?

“I think I want to play with you for a little while longer,” he replies huskily, and you very nearly finish right on the table. You take his hand and guide it between your glistening thighs, taking him through the way you like to be touched, and he soon takes control, finding out what makes you squirm and what makes you bite into his shoulder and scratch at his back. Jeff has always been a person who loves knowing that he’s good at something, that he’s in charge, that he’s in control – it’s not hard to figure out he loves praise. So, when you tell him, “You’re doing so well,” and he kisses you roughly, hand in your hair, and pinches your clit, you take satisfaction again in his predictability. You yelp right into his mouth, brimming with smugness. Then, he dips a finger into your cunt, and maybe the attitude is punched out of you, but you lose a little respect for yourself with how eagerly you sigh out. After a while, he asks if he can add another, and you agree, grinding against the heel of his palm.

What you’re really scared of is that he won’t let you cum again, that he’s into edging, and that you’re going to be denied the sweet release you’ve been craving for what seems like years, now. “Let me cum, please,” you say, kissing his neck. “I’ll go down on you later, but just please don’t edge me again.” Ew. You hate how desperate you sound. You’re usually a little more dignified than this. Jeff’s there, quick-witted and sharp-tongued as always, and you’re sitting here, tongue-tied and helpless. This is sort of the most bottom you’ve ever been, give or take. With sex with other people, there was a mutual bond rather than a power dynamic, but, here, there’s a very clear distinction. It makes you a little uncomfortable. You’d feel, oh, so much better if it were you saying all those dirty things to Jeff, making him sweat with his cock on your tongue, being the one he asks for permission to cum. But you’re saving that fantasy for another time – you don’t have the willpower to do anything like that today, not when Jeff wants to be in charge right now.

And maybe it’s your imagination, but he grows just that little bit harder at the desperation in your voice. Maybe he should let you cum, since you asked so nicely. “You don’t have to go down on me,” he says, even though he’d definitely love to see your pretty, little mouth wrapped around his cock. Instead, he reaches down and starts to kiss and lick and suck and bite at your breasts, making sure to linger at the swell of them – he has an odd thing for that area between your side and your breast, that little swell, you both learn, and he strokes that area tenderly with one hand as he continues to fuck you with his fingers.

When you finish around his fingers, he licks them clean and wipes the rest on the little square handkerchief in his pocket. He’s going to save that for later, he decides. Say he gets hard at night thinking about you and needs the smell of you to get off—or maybe he’ll just tease you at the post-vows dinner and make eye contact when he presses the damp fabric against his nose, just to see you clench your thighs together. Who knows? You, on the other hand, are only just realising that he’s still fully clothed. You are as naked as the day you were born, and he’s still prim and smart and handsome in that navy-blue suit and tie.

Pulling him closer to you by his belt, you fumble with the buckle as you tell him, “I’ll go down on you.” You just want a grasp of control after him having seen you so bare, so vulnerable. You don’t know if you’ll be able to face him after this if you just don’t get his dick in your mouth right now – it’s a strange logic, yes, but there’s no stopping you.

Jeff watches you passively as you frantically undo his belt, somewhat enjoying seeing you so flustered and out of control. It doesn’t only feed into his desire and lust, but it also adds to that weird, warm feeling in his gut, one that he hasn’t really experienced before. He can’t quite figure out what it is – heartburn, maybe; indigestion? – but he’s not stupid, and he’s a little suspicious, so before his tipsy subconscious can come to that terrifying conclusion, he tells you, “Can you spread your legs for me?” At your surprise, he adds, “Please?” Just to be nice.

“So fucking demanding, aren’t you?” you huff, but you do as you’re told, gut wriggling with apprehension.

He kisses you nice and slow, storing this memory in his mind carefully for later, trying to be the most genuine he can because, at the end of the day, you’re his friend, his good friend, and he would never do anything to harm or lose you. If he’s going to fuck you, he’s going to do it nicely, the way you’d fuck a friend (I don’t know). You remove his jacket as he loosens his tie, and he unbuttons his shirt as you tug down his trousers and his underwear. He rifles through his wallet for a condom, and you make fun of him for carrying a condom in his wallet (“You’re such a skeez, Jeff.”; “Hey, you’re fucking this skeez!”).

You both have a brief moment, a brief pause, of should-they-shouldn’t-they – after all, you’re going to have to see each other practically every day after this, at school, at the study group, at lunch, at hangouts. But then, you tell him, “Well, get on with it, then,” and he e-e-eases into you, taking his goddamn sweet time with it, letting you grasp at his arms and his back and his waist and his neck and hair and face and chest. He loves how handsy you are. You try not to be so vocal – you don’t want his ego growing any bigger than it currently is – but your touchiness always gives you away. And it makes him feel special as well – you’re not the most affectionate person usually, and you rarely give out hugs and touches and pats like some of the other members of the study group, so the fact that you’re touching him so much and so freely makes him feel blessed.

When he thrusts up into you, you bite into his shoulder again, and he nearly loses it. There’s a sinful, explicit, wet noise that’s made when he moves in and out of you, and it’s almost enough to make him cum on the spot. He’s suppressing his moans, now, trying to do well for you, trying to be good, be strong, be satisfying enough for you.

“Good girl,” he chokes out when you whine high in your throat for him – he says it more to himself than to you, feeling the need to give praise after receiving it, wanting to make you feel as good as he is (say what you will about Jeff, but he’s respectful when he wants to be). But little does he know that you love being called that. Some weird insecurity issue is probably to blame, but you whimper for him and clench around his length, making his hips stutter and his pace falter. He decides to play around a bit, just to see how far he can push you while you’re sedated like this – usually, you’d be up to speed, quick and sharp-tongued and tough and sickly sweet, but, now, he has you a mess in his hands. “Oh, you liked that, didn’t you?” he chuckles darkly. “You’re such a good girl for me. Such a good—” he thrusts harder, “—little—” harder, “—girl.”

All you can do is gasp and try to take it well. You can barely form words – it’s like you’re drunk. Well, you are drunk. Of course, you know you’ll have a hard time getting rid of this picture – this picture of him panting and sweating, of his mischievously glinting eyes, of his large hands digging right into your hips and thighs and waist – and you’re probably going to get yourself hot later just thinking about it. You blame him. You blame him for all of it. He’ll probably forget about it in a heartbeat, you think to yourself. He’s Jeff Winger, after all – ladies’ man, professional man-whore, completely indifferent to everything all of the time. You try to plan ahead, try to plan for later when you’re sad and alone and hating your body and hating your life choices, but then Jeff moans breathily into your ear, and you’re right back in the moment. You curl your legs tightly around his waist, letting your head fall back as he takes further control.

“You know, I think this is the first time you haven’t had some comeback ready to go, isn’t it, hon?” he says, then softly biting your earlobe. You can only choke out a moan. “Thank you for that addition.”

You groan and roll your eyes. “I fuckin’ hate you,” you say in a feeble attempt to put up your guard again.

“No, you’re just fucking me, actually.”

You sob dryly into his shoulder, and Jeff starts to encourage you a little, probably the kindest he’s ever been during sex: “Come on, darlin’, why don’t you cum for me? You’re doing so well, you know that?” And that just sets you over the edge. You finish, body quivering, exhausted, and slump right forward onto Jeff’s chest. He somehow manages to hold on – he’s not done yet, and he’s going to want to drag this out for as long as he can, that much he knows. He plants his hands on the table, either side of you, and rests his head forwards on your shoulder, panting.

“Nice one, Jeff,” you say to him awkwardly. What does one say to the friend they’ve just fucked? There’s no right thing, of course, but you know straight away that that was definitely a wrong thing.

But he laughs. “We just fucked the shit out of each other, and that’s what you’ve got to say to me?”

“Well, what am I supposed to say?”

“I dunno,” he tells you, and he genuinely doesn’t.

You stay like that for a while, him laying light kisses on your shoulder and neck, you running your hand gently through his hair, both confused as to what to do now. That is, until you point out, “You’re still hard, huh?” You can feel him throbbing painfully inside of you. This must be torture for him – you’ve finished twice, now, and him none.

“Yeah,” he replies. “I was gonna wait for a better time, but.”

“I don’t think there is a better time in this situation.”

Jeff swallows thickly, throat suddenly dry as he pulls back and rests his forehead against yours. His dick twitches inside you when you grin up at him, and you pretend not to notice (but, oh, you’ll definitely remember it the next time you smile at him). He’s quite nervous, and he can’t pinpoint why. His brain’s just still a little too fuzzy to really process any coherent thoughts, even despite that sobering experience just then, but, again, he isn’t stupid – he knows what that knotted feeling in his chest probably is – so, before he has the chance to figure out what he already knows, he asks you, “Can you turn around? Bet you feel real good when I have you bent over this desk.”

“What a charmer,” you mumble under your breath. You know that’s about as sweet as he gets. You’re about to turn around for him when he surprises you:

“Of course, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.” He strokes your arms nicely. “We can go back to the party if that’s what you’d prefer, have a few more drinks, make fun of Pierce a little. Or we could try something you decide on. Got a favourite position? I’m sure we could make do with the space we have in here – maybe move a few buckets and boxes around, and we’re good. What do you like?”

Your mind goes completely blank, except for one very clear thought: “You’re what I like.” Not out loud, of course. You’d probably do anything he wanted right about now. You half-expect him to pull a 180 and say something snarky or sarcastic, but he doesn’t. He just kisses your cheek sweetly and waits for your answer. What do you like? You don’t even know anymore, and yet you’re getting wetter than ever before. Your breath is picking up, now. “You know,” you mumble, trying to contain your nerves, “the usual: a little light asphyxiation, a bit of hair pulling. I dunno. What else is there? I guess overstimulation can be nice sometimes. And, you know, I liked it—” a blush starts to form on your cheeks, “—I liked it when you...”

“Liked it when I what?”

“You know,” you huff frustratedly. “Said all those nice things to me.”

Jeff raises his eyebrows. “Praise?” Internally, he smiles to himself – he likes that he shares that in common with you. “Don’t worry, I like it, too.”

“Nice to know.” You maintain a neutral expression, but your clit is fucking beating right now, and your cunt is dripping wet. Your efforts not to clench around Jeff are herculean.

“Well, how do you want it?” he asks you brazenly, the usual Winger way. Okay, now, you squeeze tight around him, and Jeff presses his hands around your thighs in response—but, outwardly, the two of you are perfectly normal about this. “I can dial it back a little if you wanna take charge.” His eyes darken just slightly. “I don’t mind.” And that’s genuine enough – he certainly doesn’t mind the mental image of you with your fingers wrapped around his cock, teasing him as he whimpered and begged for a release, completely submissive to you in the moment. He wouldn’t mind that at all.

You grip the edge of the table and run a tongue over your teeth briefly. “I can turn around.”

“Really?” he asks. “You want to?”

“I want to.”

“Alright then,” he says, smiling. “Better get to it. We don’t want the others realising we’re gone, now, do we?” And you shake your head in response. Now that Jeff’s a little nicer, you’re more comfortable around him. He realises it, too, and so he allows himself to do the things he normally wouldn’t, brushing your hair out of your face for you and really looking into your eyes. Sex sort of became meaningless for him sometime along his life, full of emptiness and loneliness even in that intimate act – that’s the trouble he gets for sleeping his way out of his problems. And so, looking in his partner’s eyes has always brought him some type of shame – he’d always close his eyes and power through it. But you’re nice. You’re familiar. You’re safe and warm and soft. It might be a little to do with the friend thing, but, even when he was with Britta, he never felt this type of comfort, this okay-ness, this general acceptance. It was nice to have, for once: a friend.

He carefully pulls out of you, and then you turn around and bend over the table. Jeff almost stops breathing at the sight in front of him. And it’s not bad, don’t worry – he’s just a bit dramatic. “Jesus Christ,” he curses, and he moves his hands to massage gently at your hips. “You’re so fuckin’ wet.” And it’s true. Slick spills down your thighs, some of it slathered across the table and a fair amount dripping down onto the ground below them. That’s the type of stuff you see in pornos, he thinks amusedly to himself, and he continues to stare in awe at your cunt. Now, what Jeff really wants to do is to kneel down and lay his tongue flat against you. But he controls himself, and, instead, just sucks it up and praises you for it; “Keep that sort of energy up, yeah?”

“You sound like you’re a key-note speaker addressing an assembly of seven year-olds,” you say to him as he places his hands on your ass, spreading the sides apart slightly, his dick straining when he catches a better view of your aching cunt, and then he runs two fingers along your slit – he grows silent for a few heartbeats, amazed at how easily you drip down the length of his fingers and onto his wrist. You then turn back to see him place those fingers in his mouth, and you turn back around, blushing, before he can notice.

“Ah, so you’re into role-play?” he teases, lining himself up with your entrance.

“Sh—” but Jeff is already pushing into you, heavy and strong and thick; you try to continue your sentence without your voice shaking, “—shut u-up.”

He continues all the way to the hilt, and both of you use your hands to hold onto something for stability, his on your hips, and yours flat on the table. “You know,” he says as he bends over you, chest against your back, one hand coming to rest on the wall by your head, coaxing a pant or two out of you as he does so, “it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Role-play’s good once in a while.”

“Uh-huh,” you manage breathily. “You sound like you’re covering up a deeply concerning fantasy, there.”

“Don’t shame me.”

“We all know what it stands for, Jeff. ‘Role-play’s good once in a while.’ Really? Show me where you hid the goddamn body.”

He exhales amusedly through his nose. “I feel like you’re just trying to ease in with your officer-perp kink.” And he’s just casually gri-i-i-in-ding up against you, carefully pushing you back down so that your stomach is flat against the table, his lips pressing kisses into your hair and upon your shoulder blades as he starts to find a pace.

“It’s h-hot, okay?” you stutter out, trying to continue the conversation. It’s true enough – police officers can be hot when they want to be, and Jeff would certainly make for an interesting experience in that sector. Not that you were planning to sleep with him again. Fantasies are what’s discussed between a couple – it’s not really something you tell a one-night stand, especially if that one-night stand happens to be one of your closest friends who would never let you forget anything embarrassing you did—ever.

“Really?” Jeff says through a smile, though, now, even he’s having trouble composing himself. He should’ve cum when he could’ve – he feels like he’s about to give way any second, but he, oh, so wants to finish inside of you while you crumble apart around him. “Hands—” his breath catches, “—above your head.”

“I’m literally bent over a table in front of you.”

“Could still apply to some other positions, though.” And, with that, he begins to slowly pull out and push into you, nice and gentle at first, very controlled, but, as I said, Jeff was very quickly losing control, so one can imagine the animalistic desperation that soon kicked in for not just him, but for both parties. You buck up against him feverishly, letting out whines and suppressed, breathy moans and little, desperate whispers of his name (he absolutely loves those), and he just goes at it with all his energy. Who cares if he looks like absolute shit at the party later on? That’s a lot coming from him, he’ll have you know. As long as this memory is playing in his head, he doesn’t care about his hair or his suit anymore (the suit might be a stretch). He tells you breathlessly, “You know, you look good like this. Such a pretty girl.”

There’s the praise that you love. You squeeze around him and pant, “Take a picture—” and Jeff slides a hand between your legs, rubbing at that golden spot, and you have to choose between pressing into his cock or into his hand; the indecision makes your head reel, and the continuation of your sentence is twisted high and quiet, “—it’ll la-ast long-e-er.”

“Is that an invitation, doll? ‘Cause I’m not exactly against it.”

He pounds and pounds into you, nice and firm and precise, until you’re mewling and whining for him. “Be quiet, now,” he whispers against your ear – there are people chattering outside the room, passing through the exit after the party. But you can’t exactly keep it in. You try to hold your breath, you really do, but you end up grunting out when Jeff kneads at one of your breasts. “What?—d’you want those people to hear you or something? You wanna get caught?” You whine suppressedly again. “I bet you’d love that, wouldn’t you? Dirty girl.”

You clench once again, so fucking close to cumming, and he asks, “Can I try something?” And you nod frantically, alongside giving him a rushed, weak verbal affirmation. “I want you to prop yourself up a little more, hands on the wall – can you do that for me?”

“Uh-huh,” you mutter, adjusting yourself, and, with your movement, Jeff groans and grips your hips tightly.

“Good girl,” he praises, kissing the place behind your ear. And he continues thrusting, and then swiftly lifts one of your legs right up into the bend of his arm, leaving you to press the side of your face into the wall, your entire body swaying with the sheer force of the rutting of his hips. You feel so full like this, and he’s reaching that heavenly spot inside of you. Your knee gently brushes against his corresponding shoulder whenever he moves into you, out of you.

“Shit,” you curses sharply when he roughens his pace. “Jeff.” His name comes out as an awfully high-pitched sigh.

He huffs, “Yup, that’s me, doll.”

“You’re such a prick.”

“You could at least wait until I’m not inside of you to insult me.”

“Tell me something nice.”

“Something nice? I dunno if I can muster it up – all the things I’m thinking aren’t exactly nice. Definitely not things I’d say to anyone’s grandma.”

“Well, then, be mean,” you chuckle, and he jerks inside of you. “I don’t care.”

“You like getting off on my voice, do you?” His voice is nice and low and gravelly, and it practically grates against your pussy in some magical way, and your whole body shudders beneath him. He keeps at that perfect pace, pressure, and you commend him for his technique, you have to say. “You ever think about me when you touch yourself?” You nod. “Such a perfect, little girl. Fucking perfect.”

And he’s got a good-ish look at your face from this angle. Your eyes are closed in ecstasy, mouth open in silent pleasure, and you’re chasing, chasing that feeling. He can’t help it. He cums. And you follow immediately after – your fists screw up uselessly against the wall, and your legs quake and quake, and you squeeze so impossibly tight around him that he lets out a choked moan at how good it feels. He continues sloppily thrusting up into you, helping you ride out your orgasm while also riding out his own. “God, you’re hot,” he mutters, smiling.

You grin back at him, and his cock twitches again – it’s instinctive, he swears. “You’re not so bad either,” you reply, eyes shimmering in the dim light. Those eyes flutter shut again when he carefully pulls out of you with a sinful, wet noise.

Shit, he thinks to himself as you slip your soaked underwear and your pretty, green dress back on.

Shit, he loves you, doesn’t he?

After he’s put his suit back on, you help to adjust his tie, and he has to try his very, very hardest not to blush. He’s pretty sure you notices anyway, but it’s the effort that counts, right? He really, really wants to kiss you, but he doesn’t know if he should. The one-night stand is over, right?

“Call me tonight?” you ask after a brief pause. Was that the correct thing to do? You and Jeff call sometimes, obviously, when he’s at the store and wants to ask if you want anything, or when you want to order a pizza for yourself but get too nervous and ask for his help—but this’ll clearly be different. Are you still friends? Of course, you know you’re still friends, sure, but is it still the same?

And his heart rate has picked up significantly. You want him to call you. You want to talk to him later. “So you can get off to my voice?” You laugh. He made you laugh. He just made you laugh. The sound is like music to his ears. “I’m not a phone sex line, you know. Not a free one, anyway. If you want my services, you’re gonna have to pay.”

You’re smiling. “What’s your price?”

“$100, give or take.” He neatly folds his pocket square back up and places it into his breast pocket. Like he said, he wants to save it for later. He’s not sure for what, but it seems important to him now. And then, what he bumbles out next is said on a whim – the words are quiet and shy. Yes, shy. Jeff Winger is shy. He’s blushing. His stomach is full of butterflies. “Can I come visit your room instead?”

“Yeah, but it’ll cost you $100, give or take.”

Jeff approaches the door, and you line up behind him. “Ready?” he asks you. And you grab a fistful of his suit jacket from behind, going up on your toes, and kiss him lightly on the corner of his mouth in response.

He doesn’t even notice that you wrinkled his suit. He just closes his eyes and turns around for another kiss.

(Spoiler alert: You don’t end up seeing each other in your hotel room because Britta gets black-out drunk and nearly starts a vodka fire on the bride’s dress, so Jeff has to take her to get her fucking stomach pumped. But he gives you a call, and you come, and you sit together by Britta’s bedside as she sleeps. You talk about weird hospital experiences you’ve had, and then you fall asleep. He lets you rest your head on his shoulder.)

#jeff winger x reader smut #jeff winger x reader #jeff winger #community #pierce hawthorne #abed nadir #troy barnes #britta perry #shirley bennett #annie edison #have fun with this #i have no idea why i wrote this #but i do love it #also i’m very proud of the title

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supernaturalfreakout · 2 months

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[History on Your Side—Chapter 5.] Sam Winchester x Reader

Chapter summary: After the success of the ritual, the three of you go out to celebrate and the connection between you and Sam deepens. *Please see the masterlist for entire work summary and tags* Masterlist | Read on AO3

The drive back to Lawrence was filled with Dean’s classic tunes blasting through the speakers. You couldn't help but join in with his infectious energy, laughter bubbling from the high of the success at the woodland. The brothers were surprised to find that you shared some taste in music with Dean, although preferring the more progressive side of 80's rock.

"I didn't take you for a Rush fan" Dean observed with a grin, turning his head towards you in the back seat.

You smirked. "There's a lot you don't know about me, boys."

"Well, we'll have to tease some secrets out of you tonight then, right Sammy?"

Sam chuckled, a glint in his eye. "Oh, absolutely."

The Impala pulled up to a bar that you suggested, not far from your home. It was in a quaint spot, dimly lit with a rustic charm that made it the perfect place for a celebratory drink. The bar was busy, but not rowdy, filled with the clinking of glasses and murmurs of lively conversation. Dean immediately took charge, ordering a round of drinks for you all.

Still unable to contain his energy, Dean challenged you both to a game of pool, his competitive nature coming to the surface. Sam, ever the strategist, offered pointers while sipping his drink, occasionally joining in with a smooth shot that surprised you all. You on the other hand, well… pool was not your forte. This amused the boys to no end.

Another round of drinks came, and Dean ordered food for the table. Conversation flowed as Sam and Dean shared stories from past hunts, the weight of the evening’s events momentarily forgotten. Their stories were a mix of heart-pounding adventures and comical mishaps, each tale drawing you in further. You found yourself laughing along, reveling in the shared joy. In the midst of the shared laughter, you caught Sam stealing glances your way. There was a silent understanding in those moments, a connection beyond words that spoke volumes.

As you settled into the confines of a booth, the atmosphere felt different, more relaxed and intimate. Dean noticed the unspoken connection between you and his brother and skillfully excused himself, engaging the bartender in lively conversation.

Alone now, save for the ambient buzz of the bar, you and Sam found yourselves drawn into an easy conversation, sharing stories and exchanging smiles, the air brimming with an undeniable chemistry. Sam appeared genuinely interested to learn more about your life, and you about his.

"So, have you always lived in Kansas?" Sam questioned, taking another sip of his beer.

"No actually, I grew up in Virginia. A small town called Mystic Falls".

Sam looked at you blankly.

You chuckled, "I don't expect you to have heard of it, nothing exciting happens there."

Sam smiled. "Mystic Falls... Sounds cozy."

"Yeah, you could say that." Your heart fluttered as you felt the weight of Sam's gaze, his attention focused completely on you.

In that moment, your phone started to buzz on the table. You glanced down at the caller ID - Bonnie. You decided not to answer, flicking on Do Not Disturb.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, it's just my friend, Bonnie. She's probably wanting to tell me about her date... She can wait." You smiled cheekily, putting your phone in your jacket pocket and turned towards Sam. "So...enough about me. I want to hear about you! Where's this mysterious bunker you live in?"

"Lebanon... Not far from here actually, just a few hours' drive. It's a pretty strategic location, right in the center of the country, which is pretty ideal for our line of work, and for the Men of Letters before us."

"Huh, makes sense... I still can't believe you live in the Men of Letters headquarters, that's crazy!"

"I'm sure I could convince Dean to let you see it at some point… you know, for your research… if you wanted?"

You smiled, meeting Sam's eyes. "I'd love that."

Your shared gaze held a subtle acknowledgment of the budding connection between you. Sam's tentative proposal felt like an invitation to something more than just a tour of a secret hideout—a chance to bridge the gap between your worlds.

As the night deepened, the connection between you grew like a magnetic pull, his presence an enchanting force gently drawing you nearer, the closeness inevitable, yet beautifully mesmerizing.

"Do you go back much? Back home?"

"Yeah, quite a lot- my parents are still there, I like to help them out as often as I can, and I have a great bunch of friends still in the town."

Sam nodded, listening to you intently. "You sound like you had a good life there."

"Yeah, I um... I moved to Lawrence when I started my doctoral studies, and just ended up staying. I miss my friends... But the opportunities here were better and the University are really good to me."

Sam nodded, thoughtfully.

"What about you? Do you see much of your family? You mentioned something about a family business?"

Sam's gaze dropped to where his hands were resting on the table, a hint of grief behind his eyes as he sighed a half-smile.

"Dean's my only family....well... the only family I have left." He looked up at you with a faux smile, attempting to hide the pain he felt from the memories that had plagued his whole life, but his eyes betrayed him. He had always been bad at hiding his feelings when he'd been drinking.

You felt the grief in his words, and the look in his eyes made a well of sadness form in your stomach. "Oh, Sam, I'm sorry... I never meant-"

He cut you off. "Stop... Please don't apologize."

"I'm s.... okay." You had to cut yourself off from apologizing for apologizing.

Sam fiddled with his watch and took a deep breath before speaking. "Our mom died when I was a baby... She was killed by a demon... We lost our father a few years ago... it's complicated... And kinda the reason why we do what we do."

You didn't know what to say. You couldn't think of any words that could do justice to what he just told you, so you reached out to him, placing your hand gently on his forearm, a gesture of compassion and understanding.

Sam's eyes met yours as he gave you a half smile, placing his opposite hand upon yours.

He brushed his fingers over your knuckles in unspoken reciprocation, his touch feather-light but purposeful.

This is the first time he has touched you intentionally, you realized, and he felt electric.

He gently parted your fingers with his, twining his hand against yours in an unexpectedly intimate gesture.

In that moment the world stopped spinning.

You could no longer hear the bustle around you, your attention completely zoned in on him.

You sat like that, hands clutching onto each other for what felt like an eternity.

You started to feel woozy. It wasn't from the alcohol.

Heat rose to the surface of your skin, snapping you out of your haze as you became increasingly lightheaded.

"Hey, um… it's getting a bit stuffy in here… fancy a walk?" You slowly relax your hand out of his grip and straighten up in your seat, acutely aware of the blush staining your cheeks.

"Uh, yeah, sure." Sam's eyes snapped back into reality from his glassy haze. He scanned the room, searching for Dean as he rose out of the booth, but he was nowhere to be seen. He checked his watch, completely disorientated to the time. 11:31pm. How long had Dean been gone? He had no idea.

The brisk November chill offered instant relief, cooling your skin and calming your nerves.

Sam slung his jacket over his shoulder with a grateful sigh, also clearly enjoying the cooling sensation.

You walked slowly, side by side, the weight of your earlier interaction on your minds.

You looked up at Sam beside you. "Hey, I really appreciate your openness in there. You didn't have to-"

Sam cut you off, softly. "I wanted to... I… It's hard to keep things bottled up all the time. I have to be strong, for Dean…". He glanced down at you. "Thank you for being there".

You smiled softly. "Of course."

As you walked, you tried to grapple with the feelings you were having. You liked Sam. That was clear. He seems kind, and is clearly intelligent... Not to mention drop-dead gorgeous. What harm could it do, huh?

A kaleidoscope of butterflies flapped their wings in your stomach as you tentatively invited Sam back to yours for 'coffee'.

"Coffee? You sure we need caffeine right now?" Sam laughed, playing it cool. Must not appear too keen...

"I have decaf" you countered, with a cheeky smile. Is he serious?

Sam chuckled softly at your quip, a subtle smirk tugging on his lips. “Decaf sounds perfect”.

Under the moonlit sky, a comfortable silence settled between you, the presence of Sam beside you a quiet comfort, but you couldn't suppress the flutter of anticipation in your stomach.

A yawn escaped your lips, your lack of sleep finally catching up with you. Or was it because you were nervous? It was hard to tell.

You let out a small chuckle, apologizing for your yawn. "Sorry..."

Sam chuckled back with an amused smile. "Come on, let's get you home..."

---

As you stepped into the warm haven of your home, a comforting embrace of familiar scents and soft lighting welcomed you. You brewed two cups of coffee and settled on the sofa in the lounge.

With each passing minute, the barrier of formality dissolved as you shared thoughts, dreams, and fears. Stolen glances and tender touches punctuated the moments, the magnetic pull between you impossible to ignore.

As the clock ticked past midnight, a subtle tension crackled in the air, a grounding reminder of the night slipping away.

You shifted closer, your knee grazing his thigh, his arm resting behind you.

Sam's gaze rose to your eyes, then dropped to your lips.

Your behaviors unconsciously mirrored his, the two of you completely in sync. He was the earth, and you were the moon, completely bound in his orbit.

Your hand slowly rose to his face to gently brush a lock of hair from his eyes.

"Y/N, I...." Sam breathed as he gazed at your mouth.

"Stop." You mirrored his earlier words as you cut him off with a gentle press of your lips to his.

His lips were soft and warm against yours, and he tasted of coffee.

You slowly pulled back to search his eyes. "Tell me if I'm wrong" you whispered, brows furrowing slightly.

His breathless reply brushed against your lips as he drew you closer. "You're not wrong" he rasped, a confirming murmur against your skin as he crushed his lips to yours.

Chapter 6

#sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #supernatural #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #history on your side #spn #x reader

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sarahowritesostucky · 3 months

Text

📖"Cupids, Valkyries, Heralds, & Seraphim"

Rated: Teen

Pairing: Steve x Bucky

Tags: wing fic, angel Steve, veterinarian Bucky, supernatural, hurt/comfort, humor, meet-cute

Summary: Apparently there are all sorts of angels, and Bucky has been saddled with Steve: a terminally incompetent Cupid.

(Oh wait, I should probably go read Part 1 first)

Bucky stood there, arms crossed and blank-faced, staring, for maybe a full five seconds. “God smited you,” he repeated slowly. “... By throwing shrapnel in your wing?”

Steve sighed. “No. The shrapnel was from the fall. God just hit me with lightning.”

“'Just' some lightening?" Steve glared a little bit at Bucky from where he still sat—thankfully no longer naked, as Bucky had located some scrub pants—on the clinic’s exam table. "And yet somehow that didn’t hurt you?” Bucky checked.

“I told you: normally I can’t get hurt.”

“Riiight. Because you’re immortal.”

“Because I exist on another metaphysical plane, yes. And God took me off of that plane and put me onto yours as a punishment. Temporarily,” he added after a moment. “I hope.”

Bucky squinted. “Uh huh.”

Steve, bless him, actually seemed rather embarrassed about what had happened, because apparently it was like a work mistake or something for the guy.

“I was out on a job,” he explained. “I missed my mark. Hit the wrong guy.”

Hit? “Your ‘mark’,” Bucky repeated. “What are you, some kind of angelic hitman or something?”

Steve’s lips twisted. “I mean, you could say that. I’m a Cupid.”

“A what now?”

“A Cupid. It’s a—”

“Yeah I think I know," Bucky cut him off. “So, what? You missed your mark and God got angry and, and smote you? … Er, smited you … smote you?”

"Yeah." Steve stared glumly down at his lap, as if God smiting him was the equivalent of him getting a bad performance review on his employee evaluation or something. "It was an easy job, okay? I got distracted when I shouldn't have, wound up impaling the wrong person."

"'Impaling'? Don’t you mean ‘shooting’?" Bucky's eyebrow rose. "As in people, with arrows?”

“Bolts,” Steve corrected. “I impale people with bolts."

"Yeah, that sounds way less violent."

"Well they don't feel it," he defended. "I told you: I operate on another metaphysical plane.”

“Riiight.”

His shoulders slumped in defeat. “It doesn't matter if you believe me or not," he mourned. "Doesn't change anything. I'm still stuck here. I still missed the shot. Still impaled the wrong guy—”

“Could we maybe stop saying ‘impaled’?”

“—And now he's going to fall in love with somebody he wasn't meant to be with. Don’t you see?��

Bucky shrugged. "You must mess up all the time then, ‘cause I hate to tell you this, pal, but that's very common." Steve glared at him and Bucky shrugged. "I mean, have you seen the divorce rate?"

"Well that's not my fault," Steve argued. "It's not like I'm the only one."

"The only what?"

"Cupid!" Steve exclaimed. "There's tons of us."

"Oh." Bucky nodded after a beat, because what was the benefit in arguing, at this point? "Okay. I didn't know that. So ... God's pissed at you and he threw you down here?"

"Yeah," Steve grumbled. "He put me on your plane of existence as punishment. So now I can get hurt—obviously. And people can see me."

Bucky's eyes widened. “Oh, shit.” He’d been taking out the trash when Steve had suddenly crash-landed in the alleyway out back. It was currently the middle of the night and the clinic was closed (thank God—or wait: no, this was God’s fault!), but so far Bucky hadn’t thought very far past which color Coban the angel wanted his wing bandaged with (he’d chosen the roll of hot pink with purple pawprint pattern on it). He certainly hadn’t considered what he was going to do with the guy after this. "Did anybody else see you?" he asked worriedly.

“No,” Steve said, his cheeks flushing. He looked back over his shoulder at the bend of his bandaged wing. “I need to hide out somewhere. People can’t see me.” He turned his big, stupid-pretty blue eyes on Bucky. “Will you help me? Please?”

"What am I supposed to do with you?” Bucky complained. “I can't exactly conceal those."

Oh God, the clinic would be opening in a few hours. Steve couldn’t still be here when Yelena and Peter showed up for work! Bucky ran his hand through his hair in stress, looking over Steve’s very conspicuous form sitting on the metal exam table. Aside from the friggin’ twelve foot wingspan issue, Steve was also a big guy in general: very blond and perfect and half-naked and eye-catching. Bucky would’ve given him a scrub top to wear along with the pants, but: wings.

"How long until God unsmites you?" he asked. “Like a day, a week, a year?”—Oh God, please, please don't let it be a year.

Steve shrugged, then winced when the motion made pain flare in his injured wing. "I don’t know yet. I'm waiting on a Herald."

"A what now?"

"A Herald: Another type of angel."

Bucky squinted. "Wait, how many types are there?"

Bucky brought his car into the alley and made Steve throw a blanket over his shoulders to cover up most of his wings. He told him to lie down in the back seat, drove them back to his apartment building, and anxiously hustled him upstairs.

Steve said they should be getting a visit from one of God’s messengers soon, and to just sit tight. Bucky resigned himself to a night of no sleep and put on a pot of coffee. He showed the half-naked angel on his couch how to use Netflix.

Only there was no relaxing. Certainly not for Bucky. He was getting increasingly antsy when, after another two hours, the mysterious “Herald” still hadn’t arrived. He made sure that Steve knew he couldn’t just live on his couch watching Bridgerton indefinitely: “I can’t just keep you here, Steve. My lease has a forty pound pet limit!”

Steve suggested that they make their way up to the roof, which Bucky fiercely argued against but lost the battle over anyways. The city was still mostly asleep, but Steve kept the blanket draped around his shoulders and his wings tucked in demurely—or as demurely as he could—so that if they did run into anybody, it wouldn’t be outside the realm of explainable, why Bucky was sneaking around with this oddly-shaped, half-clothed, smokin’ hot blond guy.

Steve went over to the building’s edge, watching the minimal activity of the night time streets. Bucky stood beside him and asked about the Herald again, and thus began Steve’s very long-winded explanation of how there were four main types of angels, with each type serving its own purpose.

Cupids were exactly what Bucky thought they were,

Heralds served as God’s messengers and harbingers,

Valkyries served as warriors,

and Seraphim, as far as Bucky could tell, were the closest thing to actual “angels” like most people thought of them.

Steve clearly wasn’t under celestial a gag order of any type, because he was all too happy to tell Bucky all sorts of stuff. He talked about God like he didn’t know the guy very well, but also made it clear that God did not tolerate “stupid” mistakes from his servants—which apparently Steve's mistake was. God had certainly told him so to his face, just before smiting him right out of the sky with a bolt of lightning.

Bucky winced as he thought about that, looking out on the city with Steve at his side. “So … God’s kind of a dick, huh?”

Steve laughed. “Eh, sometimes. Not always though. I mean I did mess up pretty bad. It’s embarrassing. And now at least a couple of other people are going to have to get shot too, wind up with different romantic futures than they otherwise would have, just to get everything back into the right order again.” He sighed. “It was an avoidable mess.”

“Well why’d you miss?”

“What?”

“The shot.” Bucky looked over to find Steve looking at him. “Earlier, you said you’d gotten distracted from the shot. What distracted you?”

Steve’s lips parted and his cheeks began to turn pink. He started stuttering over an explanation, but before he could eke out any real response, a loud whooshing and clatter came from the roof behind them.

Bucky spun around—his eyes the size of dinner plates, probably—and immediately clutched his chest at what he saw. “Shit!”

Standing only a few yards away, was a massive, gleaming white horse. … with wings. Riding it was what Bucky could only assume was another angel.

“The fuck,” he exhaled, all the adrenaline leaving him at once as he realized that they hadn’t just been caught by other apartment dwellers come up to the roof for a smoke or something. The woman hopped off the horse and walked over to Steve like this was a totally normal occurrence. Bucky glared at her. “Christ. Do ya think the people on the floor below might’ve heard that?!”

Given that she’d arrived on a flying horse, Bucky felt pretty safe in assuming that this newcomer was also an angel; though she didn’t have wings like Steve did, and she wasn’t naked like he’d been. In fact she seemed to be wearing a bunch of badass looking white armor.

“Steve!”

“Brunn, hey! What are you doing here?”

“Checking in on your dumb ass, of course. That’s him, isn’t it? God, you’re so predictable.”

They greeted each other as friends, with smiles and ribbing and big, back-clapping hugs, so Bucky figured he was safe to turn away to go and block the roof’s access door with an old chair that was sitting nearby. Once he’d done that, he walked back over—making sure to leave a wide berth between himself and the unnaturally large horse.

The horsewoman looked Bucky up and down when he got over there, her mouth ticking up faintly at the corners. “You must be James ‘my-friends-call-me-Bucky’ Barnes.”

Bucky blinked. He wasn’t caffeinated enough for this. “Uh huh.” He looked over at Steve. “Is she the Herald?”

The woman snickered and Steve explained that no, she was one of the Valkyrie-types of angels. The warrior types. Okay, Bucky thought. The armor made more sense, then. As did the swords and daggers he was noticing on her person, now. Damn.

“I heard through the grapevine that Saint Steven had fallen,” the Valkyrie was saying. “I volunteered myself for messenger duty, just so I could pop down here and take the piss out of my favorite fallen angel.”

“Aw, you shouldn’t have."

“You’re fallen?” Bucky blurted, alarmed. “A fallen angel?"

“It’s not as serious as it sounds,” Steve muttered, embarrassed, and Valkyrie continued to tease him about what a clutz he was and how he had a ‘penchant for pretty boys’, whatever that meant.

“Let’s see the damage then, Stupid-Cupid,” she said, trying to get at the blanket to yank it off from Steve’s shoulders. Steve danced around trying to prevent it,

“Stoppit! I’m not that hurt. It’s nothing.”

But eventually Valkyrie won. “If it’s nothing then you can let me see it.” Steve squirmed self-consciously as the blanket fell and she peered at his bandaged wing. “What happened?” she asked. “Bad landing?"

“Yeah. Some shrapnel from a junk pile I fell into,” Steve said, shrugging sheepishly when the other angel raised a brow at his bright pink, purple pawprint bandaging. “Um, Bucky’s a veterinarian.”

Valkyrie pursed her lips and nodded. “Well, he was gonna need you sooner or later," she said to Bucky, surprising him. "Thanks for looking after him."

“Oh, um, you’re welcome.”

“So what’s the word?” Steve asked. "Has he told you? Did he say how long I'm banished for?”

'Banished?' Bucky mouthed

“Negligible," Valkyrie said. "Just a month."

Steve gave a big sigh of relief at the very same time that Bucky yelped out, “A month?!”

Valkyrie snorted. “Oh trust me, that’s hardly even a slap on the wrist. You fuck up bad enough, sometimes you’ll get a decade or more. A month is nothing.”

Bucky’s eyes bugged out at that. A month wasn’t nothing! A month was a month!—Well, at least it wasn’t “a decade or more.” Yikes. Still, Bucky protested, “Hey, I have a job, you know. A life. I can’t just put that on hold to babysit an angel. And–and I live in the middle of New York City. There’s like nine million people here!” He gestured wildly at Steve’s hulking, winged mass standing only feet away. “How the hell am I supposed to keep this hidden for a month? He’s got a twelve foot wingspan!”

"Fourteen," Steve muttered petulantly.

Valkyrie rolled her eyes. “It doesn't matter. 'Cause God smited him and cast him down, not anything else. Why do you think he was butt-ass naked when he showed up?"

Bucky frowned, looking back at Steve in confusion. "What?"

"His wings," Valkyrie clarified. "They're of Heaven. They don’t exist on this plane. Just like my armor doesn't, or like Icarus back there. doesn't.” She nodded at the horse. “Humans don't perceive those things. It’ll be fine.”

Steve glanced down at his own naked torso. “Ah … might need to to get some shirts, though.”

“Well I hate to break it to you, Angel Lady, but I can see all of those things.” Behind Valkyrie, the very large and visible horse scraped its hoof impatiently against the rooftop. “Yeah,” Bucky said. “Definitely see ‘em.”

Valkyrie walked back to her horse and mounted it in one, graceful leap. “You can see them,” she corrected. “Because you’re the human he’s tied to. You're still perceiving his true form. But everybody else on this plane just sees his fallen form."

“What? 'Tied to'?" Bucky frowned. "What are you talking about?"

She ignored him and looked back to Steve. “Toodeloo, Butterfingers. Have fun with that.”

In a very unangelic way, Steve flipped her the bird as she kicked the horse into motion. It spread its wings with a great 'whoosh' and beat them up and down: once, twice, three times as it ran across the roof. It went airborne, and in seconds they were gone.

Bucky watched them flying, shrinking further and further away. He felt Steve approach at his side, and they stood there together in fraught silence, until finally the Valkyrie was indistinguishable from any other flickering star in the night sky.

“Okay, buster,” Bucky said. “Spill. What the fuck was she talking about, you’re ‘tied’ to me?”

Masterlist

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#wing fic #stucky fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #steve rogers x bucky barnes #stucky #mcu #marvel #angel fic #meet cute #steve rogers #bucky barnes

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tdinyomomma · 7 months

Text

TDWT- Cody X Reader (Chapter Three) Walk Like An Egyptian Pt. 2

If you haven’t read: two

“Let’s take a few moments to review some of the features of our aircraft.” Chris announces, the next clip showing back to when a piece fell off the plane outside and a raccoon falling out with it. “Safety is our number-one priority. So please remain seated with your seat belts fastened at all times.”

Showing off Owen knocked out, straps holding onto him to sit up right.

“The plane has one exit, located here.” Another old clip of Chris throwing Ezekial out of the exit door to the plane, after that is the team mates running for their lives. “

As we explore exotic destinations, take time to familiarize yourself with the local architecture. The world is our playground.” It’s a bunch of clips of the teens getting hurt in the last episode.

“But remember- refusal to sing will lead to immediate disqualification. When dividing into teams, be sure to give your crew a catchy handle. Upon arrival at our final destination, one lucky competitor will receive a parting gift to remember: 1 Million dollars!” It shows the kids passports and a big ole hunk of cash before going back to Chris with his hands behind his back.

“So stow that carry-on baggage and lock those tray tables in the upright position. We’re taking off for one crazy ride, right here, right now, on Total… Drama… World Toouurr!”

Of course we’re back behind the starting line in the middle of a hot ass desert. Have I mentioned that I need a new agent? If not… I need a new one.

“Ooh, look! Team colors!” Izzy awes in admiration at something so simple.

“Why the heck is our mat yellow?” Harold speaks up, disgusted. “We’re no cowards!” He raises a fist into the air.

“Relax, sugar. The mat’s gold ‘cause team victory is in first place!” Leshawna points out. “Not for long.” I whisper, glancing down at their stick.

“I can’t believe Duncan got disqualified just ‘cause he won’t sing.” Gwen exclaims, obviously hurt that, that punk loser decided to take his losses.

“Maybe he can’t sing.” Heather quips. “Oh, he can do anything he sets his mind to. And now he’s stuck on the plane, waiting for a ride home. Poor thing. He must be miserable.” Courtney cuts off the mean girl and I raise a brow.

“It’s his fault if he is so miserable, even seems like a player since you two are so upset about him leaving.” Was what I wanted to say outloud but this is about gaining their trust. I couldn’t say that.

“It’s a shame he quit, but hey, you won’t focus on a boy being here or not if you’re winning.” I grin, nudging the two girls earning small smiles in return along with them blushing.

“You’re right, Amazing super star, [Name] [Last Name].” Courtney sighs in a dream-like state and I snicker, glancing over to see Heather’s upset expression.

“Duncan-and-Courtney fans will be devastated, but I also agree with [Name] Courtney don’t need no man” Sierra snorts,

“But another but, I think you and Owen have a shot at becoming fave “Total Drama” couple on my fan site.” She informs Izzy.

“Owen’s magic. When he breathes, his nose whistles the national anthem!” The crazy redhead shouts proudly.

“Super cute! But he’s no [Name]... Or Cody!” She says as Cody and I walk past which gives me the shivers. I plug my ears to not hear another fact she weirdly knows about us two.

“Does she weird you out too?” I question the boy next to me and his eyes widen. He stares at me for a few seconds so I repeat myself.

“Did you not hear me or something?” I crossed my arms. “No, no! I did, I just didn’t expect you to actually talk to me.” His face turns red and I ruffle his hair.

“Cute,” I then grabbed my hand sanitizer realizing what I just did.

“And yes, she does extremely weird me out.” He tells me as he fixes his hair. Before I can continue on the conversation a cymbal crashes loudly.

“Mmm. Good.” Chris stuffs his mouth with grapes.

“Don’t know about you guys, but I am loving egypt.” He chuckles.

“Mmm! And I’m gonna love it even more watching you enjoy your second challenge– The amazing camel race.” He declares.

“Where are the other camels?” Harold quizzes.

“There are no other camels. It’s a camel race. Not a camel’s race.” He fixes their thinking about the whole race ordeal. “Yes!” Heather cheers.

“What?!” Alejandro adds in, distraught and angry.

“We won last time, but they get a camel, they get a goat and we get a stick?!” Leshawna furrows her brows.

“Each reward has its advantages. Trust me. You’ll be racing to the world’s most infamous waterway, the Nile.” He assures them.

“Teams must bring their rewards all the way to the finish. You have 60 seconds to strategize.” He points,

“Move it, people. It’s a race.” Heather hurries us as she is already on top of the camel.

“Uh, Hello? It’s Team Amazon, not Dictatorship Amazon.” Courtney argues with the girl.

“Great. Well, I’ll stop being bossy when you start doing things right.” Heather says, I get on the stupid camel and I’m squished in between Gwen and Izzy.

“Whee! Yeah! I get the throat!” She then starts grunting and it sounds more like a donkey noise if anything. “I just introduced myself in camel-ese.” She mutters.

“I bet you did.” Gwen encourages her and I shake my head trying not to scoff. “Oh, hey. Fancy meeting you here.” Cody lifts himself up in front of Gwen.

“Go out for a slushie later?” He asks.

“Cody. Hey. Listen, I still really appreciate you setting me up with Trent that time.” Gwen thanks the boy. “Nice, right?” He smiles a toothy smile.

“And now that he’s gone, huh? Yeah. I’m available.” Cody tells her, I make a face knowing the girl is not interested.

“Hear that? It’s the sound of girls all over the world running and rushing, just desperate to lock their doors.” Heather starts off nice and then completely stomps on his heart. I sighed out as the other girls laughed.

“That was mean, he didn’t deserve that.” I snap back to her. “I’d be interested in Cody, he’s a sweet boy.” I tell Heather, it shut the other girls up real quick too. Of course I wasn’t telling the complete truth, and normally I wouldn’t have cared about anyone really. But laughing at him like that for having feelings just didn’t sit right with me.

“A’ight! Nile’s thataway! Kind of big, blue and watery. Can’t miss it. Or I guess you can, but then you’ll die. Probably get killed by the local scarab beetles. It’s mating season and they get all killy when they’re in heat.” Chris tells us, I watch as Leshawna goes up to him.

“I am glad there aren’t any out here. Those things are nasty!” She looks up at him.

“I’ll tell them you said so.” Chris motions to Chef Hatchet who knocks over a big vase. It lands with a thump in the sand and shows the little beetles crawling out.

Leshawna screams, running away causing a domino effect to all of us around. Then that stupid ding goes off.

“Ooh! Time for a song! Think of it as a mini challenge. Music can soothe the savage mate-seeking scarabs. So make up a good song and maybe they won’t kill you. Or don’t and get disqualified, like Duncan.” He speaks up, but I’m more focused on the bugs crowding around us as the others groan except for Izzy of course. The music starts. “

No need to get crazy.” Alejandro starts off. The other guys snapped to the beat.

"It’s lovin’ time at last.” He belts.

“You don’t want to eat us up!” The guys sing together.

“We’re mostly full of gas~ No!! No!” Owen shouts as the beetles start to climb up him.

“It’s mating time for scarabs!” Courtney, Heather, Gwen and [Name] sing.

"So what you waiting on?” Leshawna pushes two of the scarabs to each other.

“Just ignore us humans.” Izzy holds one.

“And make out till the break of dawn!” The teens all come together.

“It’s lovin’ time,” Alejandro says.

“lovin’ time, lovin’ time.”

“Scarab mating season!”

“It’s lovin’ time.” It shows Cody staring between Gwen and now [Name] as they sang their part.

“Lovin’ time, lovin’ time!”

“Scarabs, get busy now.” Alejandro seems disappointed in what he has to sing out loud.

“It’s lovin’ time.” Harold does his own piece.

“Lovin’ time, lovin’ time.”

“Scarab-mating season!”

“It’s lovin’ time!” Cody sings, now starting to tip-toe away as the Scarabs are busy loving each other and finding their mate.

“Lovin’ time. Lovin’ time.”

“Scarab-mating season!”

“Season, eh!” Ezekial messes up the whole tone and the Scarabs get agitated. “Whoa! No! Wait!” The bugs start crawling up him as the others run away screaming.

An air horn goes off as we get on the camel. As moments pass we’re still in the lead.

“Come on!” Courtney smooches at the animal we’re riding. “Come on, camel! Faster!” Courtney attempts to motivate him.

“That is not how you talk to a camel.” Heather then clears her throat. “Freakin’ move it!” She shouts.

“Much better.” Gwen laughs. “Shh, guys! Keep it down, okay? I’m trying to tell him a fairy tale!” Izzy tells them then starts making the grunting noises again.

“So, how’s it going back there, Cody?” Gwen changes the subject moving along from whatever crazy girl is doing. He gets whacked by the tail of the camel.

“Ow! Great!” He chuckles trying to play it off. Thanks for- ow! Asking. As long as it doesn’t– oh! Go number three.” Cody informs her.

“We’re gonna go win the race now. See ya!” Heather blows raspberries at the other team behind us. “Eat sand, losers!” Courtney jumps into the teasing.

“Such witty remarks from such fiercely intelligent women. I’m both humbled and intrigued.” Alejandro responds and I roll my eyes. “Nice try, but I’m with Duncan.” Courtney turns away from the hispanic charmer. “And what a pity it is that you should give yourself to a quitter who doesn’t deserve you.” He tells her, which he’s not half wrong. “That’s not- Duncan is totally-” She scoffs. “You’re just- Will someone just hurry this Camel up?!” She orders.

“Can you see the Nile, Izzy?” Heather asks. “No, not yet!” Izzy makes the Camel speak.

“It’s got to be around here.” Courtney says. I just glance around not seeing anything. But then a smell emits the air and we all gag, realizing the camel just did it on Cody.

“Ew!” Courtney yells.

“Oh, gross!” Gwen gags. Then the camel comes to a stop.

“Uh, guys the other team is gone. We’re all alone out here.” Gwen announces. “Does anyone know where we are?” Heather asks.

“Planet earth, silly.” Izzy laughs.

“We’re lost!” They all say as if it wasn’t fucking obvious.

“No dip, guys. They probably went another direction, let's try going to the right!” I simply tell them, folding my arms now, getting super sweaty and irritated.

“Are you sure?” Heather questions me. “All in favor of my idea, say I.” I smile up at her in a cocky way as they all quickly say I in return.

They all still argue but I have Izzy talk to the camel to know where to go. The camel changes courses like I said to a while ago.

“Wait, what is that?” Gwen points ahead of us.

“The finish line!” They shout.

“Weird. I asked Ruby where we could get lemonade. But this is okay, too I guess.” Izzy explains. “Want me to tell her to hurry up?” She looks back at us. We all just blankly stare at her. “Okay.” She then does the grunting. Once we get to the water the other team is already making their boat.

“Basket-weave a boat?! Ugh!” Heather shouts in disgust. I get down and pet the camel as a thank you for carrying us but right after I go for my hand sanitizer because you don’t know what kind of diseases animals carry.

“Sorry you guys are so far behind. Plus our baskets are nearly done already thanks to my speed weaving.” Sierra apologizes.

"Plus you’ve got Owen on your team. Lucky.” Izzy says.

“But you have Cody and [Name]!” She then runs over to us and pulls us into her chest. “I wish we were on the same team, too!” Sierra hums. “Uh, I have to do something.” He pulls away and I nod in agreement following after him.

“Aw, you guys are so cute together.” I overhear Izzy tell Sierra.

“Maybe we could swap teams!”

“Trade a basket case for a basket weaver? Fine. Sierra, you’re with us. Izzy, go play with the boys.” Heather calls the shots.

“What?!” Alejandro shouts but immediately Sierra starts basket weaving for us.

“Wow, she’s amazing.” Courtney compliments her and I would’ve too if it wasn’t for how creepy the girl is towards me.

“Maybe you should think about listening to me a bit more this time around, hmm?” Heather suggests, which Gwen and Courtney burst into a fit of laughter.

“It’ll take a lot more than this to earn our trust.” Gwen tells her. “A lot, a lot more.”

“Where’s Chris? He won’t allow this.” Alejandro says.

“Excuse me. Did somebody- Ugh” Chris comes up on a boat and Sierra pulls him into a tight hug. “Today is officially the best day of my life, so I really hope you allow us to swap.” Sierra stares up at the host. “But of course, you’ll make the best decision, ‘cause you’re the best decider ever!” She cheers for her. “And that’s why I’m going to allow it.” Chris smiles, I throw my head back in major disappointment.

“Smiley face!” The purple haired girl squeals.

“What was that about Chris not allowing it?” I tease the boy now standing in front of me as his head is down. Heather also sticks her tongue out at him but instead of getting upset he blows a kiss at her. She gasps, crossing her arms and looking away from him.

“Ta-da!” Sierra shows off her work and we come running her way.

“Team Amazon Rocks!” We uplift the girl happily. Chris says something as the other team finally makes their way to the water.

“Cody! Let’s go!” Courtney yells as Cody struggles to get the camel onto the boat with us.

“Come on, pal. Just get in the boat.” Then the boy says something quieter and goes behind the camel and tries to push but ends up with his face in the animal's ass.

“Cody!” Sierra gasps.

“Izzy, tell ruby to get in the boat!” Courtney demands. Izzy goes to do it but that Noah kid stops her.

“Whoa! Whoa! Izzy’s on our team now, not yours. Not a word.” Noah glares at her. “Oh! Fun!”

“Fine. We’ll do it ourselves. C’mon.” Courtney motions for us to follow her. We then try to get the camel to get moving as we pull on the rope around her neck. But she doesn’t even budge. I notice the other teams already start to get a move on.

“This is totally unfair! If it wasn’t for that stupid swap, we’d be halfway across the Nile by now.” Heather groans.

“We’re gonna win fair and square.” Alejandro says.

“But to make sure you believe, talk to the camel.” He turns to Izzy. “Yeah? Okay.” Izzy starts the grunting noise and finally the animal starts trotting. We finally get moving and right as we do that stupid ding goes off once again.

“Time for a musical reprise!” Chris shouts at us. Everyone groans.

“Hey if you finish the song the first time, you wouldn’t be here now, Zeke. Start singing!” He calls out the homeschooled kid. “And put your backs into it.”

“Mm-mmm, crocodile amigos, what you swimming for?” Alejandro starts us off once again.

“We don’t mean to bug you.” Courtney sings next, Gwen right after.

“Please let us reach the shore!” Even the Camel brays out a song.

“These crocs are gettin’ killy” Lindsay worriedly sings.

“Just bop them on no-ose! I learned that in muskrat boys it vanquishes all foes.” Harold tells everyone. I watch as Ezekial goes to bop a croc but he fails and the croc eats the stick he had in his hand.

“It’s rowin’ time!” Alejandro sings.

“Vanquishing, vanquishing!” Now all of them sing.

“Crocodile season!” “

It’s rowin’ time,” DJ adds.

“Crocodiles! Crocodiles!”

“Tell me I’m not sinking.” DJ asks.

“Yeah, it’s rowin’ time!” Cody sings this time, on the camel’s hunchback bump.

“Singing it, singing it! Crocodile season!”

“It’s rowing time!”

“Rowing time, rowing time!” The Amazon get ahead and makes it past the finish line. “

Till the Amazons Wi-i-i-i-in!” The Amazon team belt it out towards the end.

“Congrats, you’re alive. And as long as you all brought rewards across the finish line, there will be no elimination tonight.” Everyone cheers but I remember the Victory team lost their reward.

“I lost the stick.” Ezekiel announces to his team. He then chuckles nervously causing Chris to actually start laughing.

“Wow. Sucks to be you.”

We get to go to the wonderful first class area. We all sit down and Courtney comes up to me. “Hey!” She grins at me and I do a small wave along with a smile.

“What’s up?” I ask. “Could I sit with you?” She seems hopeful.

“Oh, of course!” I had to think about it at first but realizing to earn her trust I have to be nice. I go back to cleaning my area up a little bit. I feel her staring and I start to smirk.

“You wanna fangirl a little bit?” I messed with her and she went to deny it but then blushed.

“I’m sorry I just really love your work in the movies you play in.” She admits.

“Don’t be sorry I love fans or just people who enjoy my work, we can talk all about it.”

“Call me whatever you want, at the end of the day my career comes with that stuff. I'm used to fangirls and fan meetings and I love everyone who appreciates me.” [Name] smiles sweetly at the camera.

Taglist: if you want to be added lmk!

@marsyay78

@ghostdoodlen

@laecrowa

@pulling-out-my-eyes

@tulipatheticee

@cipher-004

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deke-rivers-1957 · 7 months

Text

Paradise Hawaiian Style Review

This is the final Elvis film that takes place in Hawaii. In fact, this could be considered one of the first Elvis film "remakes" as it's been claimed Colonel Parker wanted to recreate the success of Blue Hawaii. Similar to Blue Hawaii, real locations in Hawaii were featured during the film such as Coco Palms Resort and the Polynesian Cultural Center.

We immediately jump into the action by having Rick Richards on a flight. He was fired after flirting with a flight attendant. Since he has a bad reputation, he was only able to get a job in Hawaii. We immediately get the titular song, Paradise, Hawaiian Style over the opening credits. It's a quintessential song in any Elvis travelogue movie.

I absolutely love the shots of Hawaii. You get the idea that this actually has relevancy to the plot. Danny, played by James Shigeta, is actually Hawaiian. The use of a mixed race couple is accurate for Hawaii. There was no law against it, so it wouldn't have been controversial for Danny to marry a white woman.

While Rick is playing with Danny's kids, we get the next song, "Queenie Wahine's Papaya". This isn't Elvis' best work, but at least there's an established relationship with Danny's daughter, Jan. She actually gets to sing along with Elvis and does a pretty good job of keeping up with the fast paced song.

We get to see more shots of Hawaii that reflect the use of air travel. Even though Elvis himself doesn't fly the plane, we do see interior shots of the plane and Rick landing it. Unfortunately there are times where you can tell Elvis isn't on location. He just doesn't blend in with the background compared to on location shots.

One thing that shocked me is how this movie seemed to openly talk about how Hawaii is seen by Americans as such a tourist attraction. The natives who lived there would've had to appeal to these big businesses to make money. Even though this cultural talking point isn't the focus of the film, you can still see its influences by having Rick and Danny go into business themselves.

When they get to the club, I swear Marianna Hill playing Lani is dubbed by another woman. Her audio just doesn't sound like it was recorded at the same time as Elvis'. Also when she duets during "Scratch My Back (Then I'll Scratch Yours)" she doesn't sound good. The song in general just isn't good and grinds the film to a halt. I know Lani works at a club, but she just sings one song and then leaves with Rick. You can cut that whole song and nothing would be lost.

So by now we've established that Rick loves women in a distracting way. I admit that I appreciate how they made that such an integral part of his character that it actively influences the plot. If he didn't have such a bad reputation of flirting with flight attendants on the clock, he would've never been in Hawaii. It's unfortunate that he doesn't have any real character arc that addresses that.

It's clear that he wants to only hire a secretary because she's hot and not because she's qualified. Danny hiring Judy is a clear sign that he actually believes in her skills and wants Rick to stay focused. Danny cares about his business and wants to have people who can actually do the job.

More shots of Hawaii and this is the best part of the film. We get vocals from the Polynesian people as Rick travels. You really get the idea that Hawaii is important. You couldn't get these shots anywhere in the continental US. Of course there are goofs such as dialogue being clearly dubbed in. Like so bad that Rick is waving while saying "Hi" with Elvis clearly not moving his lips.

That being said, you immediately stop caring with the best song in the entire movie, "Drums of the Islands". My god. The visuals of Rick on a canoe just riding along the river as he sings is just beautiful. The land/seascapes are prominent and the Polynesian culture is heavily featured. Elvis isn't shoved in front of the performers. He's integrated into their act and letting these people perform an art that's been passed down for generations.

"A Dog's Life" is a song that exists. I have no idea how Elvis could possibly lip-synch all this having those dogs jump on him. Easily one. of the most stressful scenes in an Elvis movie. He lets go of the controls so many times, the dogs jump right in his lap as he's singing. A completely chaotic moment. If this wasn't a movie, these characters would most likely be dead. In universe, it's actually a testament to Rick's piloting skills that no one did die. Not just the passengers but literally everyone on the ground.

Naturally the one time Rick flies recklessly, he runs into the car of a government official in charge of aviation. Regardless of what actually happened, this guy's well within his rights to complain about what happened to him and his wife. These dogs weren't properly contained and that helicopter likely wasn't suitable for Rick to transport all of them anyway.

We get a Red cameo at the restaurant and a pointless fight scene. The tourist flirting with "Friday" was bad, but Rick sticking up for her makes no sense. Based on his actions in the movie, he's not that morally upstanding to be above unwarranted flirting.

As of this point, he has no actual chemistry with any women. He has more of a relationship with Jan (who is a child) than anyone else. Unfortunately, their 2nd duet, "Datin" is awful. It feels weird to watch a grown man explain dating to a child that isn't his. And in general, Jan's singing isn't that great compared to their first duet.

Not long after they land we get to yet another song, "House of Sand". If we cut "Datin" and went to this that would be fine. Unfortunately, this happens barely two minutes apart from each other. It feels so shoved in now because of how badly spaced they are. Also a problem with these types of songs is that they have no build up. There's no reason for these songs to be made other than fill up a quota. Elvis just bursts into songs at the most random intervals. If you cut them from the film literally nothing would change. With "House of Sand" you go right back to Rick flying in the air with one of his "love interests".

So we get a swimming scene where Elvis is conveniently covered up by a towel. It's so weird how he's covered up when both of the girls aren't. It's almost like the producers wanted to hide something. Yeah, it's obvious at this point that Hollywood wanted to hide Elvis' weight. The way they try to hide it is just so bizarre as you can still see his stomach anyway.

I hate Lani's character. She actively decides to mess up Rick and Jan's lives by throwing away the key in the sand. Lani literally got them stranded on an island with a child. If they never found the key, and Danny never knew where they ended up, they could've died. Rick's womanizing ways on top of her individual actions could've literally killed them. She is lucky that Danny didn't charge her and Rick with the endangerment of a child.

Sure she didn't know she would lose the key that way, but that was such a dumb and dangerous decision just because she wanted some sugar. As for Friday sticking up for Rick, I have no idea why she would do that. She knows first hand what his flirting ways are like. Just because he stood up to one tourist doesn't negate the fact that he's irresponsible. Danny if anything is the reasonable one and has the patience of a saint that he didn't press charges. They were out overnight and could've easily been out for longer if he didn't rescue them.

Friday chastising Rick is well deserved and if anything serves a bigger reason as to why their relationship makes no sense. Rick wanting to rescue Danny and risk losing his license for good, isn't enough of a reason to think that he's changed. As much as it shows that he can think of others it still doesn't change his womanizing ways. Compared to the dog scene from earlier, this rescue doesn't feel so tense.

All helicopters should have a first aid kit in the event that there's a crash, so it makes no sense for Danny to not have one. Even if Jan's only a child, he can still tell her how to make a splint. If this was such a tense moment as the movie wants it to be, the danger would be greater than this. There's more instances of dubbed in dialogue with 0 lip movement such as the end of this hospital scene.

Jan's solo song "Bill Bailey, Won't You Please Come Home" is easily her best song. It's quite refreshing to have someone who isn't Elvis get a song all to themselves. And again Rick's flirting ways is getting the better of him. Even if he wants to be with Friday (which he never indicates more than any of the women he was with) he still needs to show that his flirting ways are over.

"Stop Where You Are" while shot differently than most Elvis songs, is also visually a nightmare. If you're watching this movie on a buggy site like DailyMotion and watch this movie for the first time, you wouldn't know if it's pausing on purpose or if it's the lag. I also have no idea why Rick's singing anyway since if he wanted to hide from the women, he did a terrible job. He was right on stage front and center. Naturally Rick's flirting ways catch up to him. He only gets away with it by paying them off. What a wonderful message/s. If you get in trouble with women you just promise to pay them off. Why does Friday like this guy?

We get an unedited shot of the different acts at the Polynesian Cultural Center and I love it. If a film was given permission to use that building, actually use it and the people who belong to that culture.

I also love how the government official is portrayed as a reasonable man. He knows that Rick saving Danny was necessary and is willing to make an exception. Now him being with Friday at the end makes no sense. It was so rushed that I don't think they even kiss at the end. The actual romance felt like so much of an afterthought almost like they knew we wouldn't care because the ending songs would be our last impression of the film.

"This is My Heaven" is a song that perfectly depicts Elvis' love for Hawaii. It's so beautiful and when combined with a reprise of "Drums of the Islands" makes it one of the best ending scenes in any Elvis film. The showcasing of the actual Polynesian performers will never get enough praise from me.

Like we actually get a break from Elvis singing to listen to them sing in their language. It's so beautiful to see them depict their culture without seeing Elvis shoehorned in the frame. The wide shot of the entire entourage performing is just so beautiful. It showcases that Elvis at this point isn't important, the people of Hawaii and the island nations are.

This film is so visually stunning that it makes the production errors even more noticeable. That being said, the amount of effort put into showcasing Hawaii and the Polynesian culture is incredible. Hawaii is an island state that doesn't have a White majority. For the movie to showcase this demographic breakdown in such a casual way for the time period is impressive.

There are flaws with this film that can't be ignored. However, when you have scenes that fully embrace the Hawaiian culture, that's a sign that this film actually tried. Because of those efforts, I'm giving this film a 7/10. If you like Elvis films, I would recommend watching this independent of Blue Hawaii so you don't compare the two. Even if you're not an Elvis fan, this movie still serves as a good insight of how Hawaii was viewed by Hollywood at the time.

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Thank you so for much to @georgefairbrother for requesting this review. I know you also requested that I review Clambake as well and I will do that next. If anyone else would like to request an Elvis film or a film in general, please send them in.

#elvis presley #elvis film #elvis film review #film review #paradise hawaiian style #1966

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brainrotcharacters · 2 years

Text

Name Me

ship: Steven Grant x introvert!fem!reader

unofficial part 1 because it’s ur choice i’m just writing over here damn :/

a/n: to the past me that doubted Steven as a dual wielder, HEY. HEY. YOU STUPID.

word count: 2171

tags: Steven vs reader's parents, obvious avoidance of a last name, Steven fighting as Mr. Knight, reader gets kidnapped, crime + violence + blood because it is the spine of every superhero project ever, idk how sedatives and adrenaline shots work, reader is also a dual wielder.

"Where is she?"

Steven blinked at the sight of your parents at his doorway. A spot at the base of his spine shifted. Wait.

The moment they swing, Steven...

The facial features that reminded him of you looked tense and guarded under the dusk light through the hall's window. True to his past in the business, your father controlled his expression. Your mother's eyes flitted between every possible entryway, a hand to the gun holster at her side.

Steven shifted on his feet to match their movements. "Good evening, Mister and Missus--"

Your father shoved past him, crossing the flat in strides. He took one look at the messy shelves, Egyptian antiques, and the ring of sand around Steven's bed before he bellowed your name.

"She's not here, sir." Steven's stern tone fell unheard. He was actually off to the location that Layla gave him, one step ahead from the parents who now spiraled into panic before his eyes.

"I don't believe you," your father practically spat at him. Steven did not flinch, nor did he look away or change his stance. "You never liked us. Ever since she brought you home, I thought there was something off about you. You would take the first opportunity to have her for yourself."

She wouldn't mind. Marc said. He knew Steven agreed.

"Steven," your mother's smoother voice floated from outside, "If you know anything, you have to tell us."

"I do, actually." Steven allowed himself to be calm now, and not later. "They reached out to me. The kidnappers told me where she was taken." a less specific, more exposed area than what Layla provided, but Steven felt good about himself today.

"Why would they tell you?"

"Hey," your mother aimed at your father, using a similar grounded tone to yours whenever Steven or Marc spiraled too quickly, too deeply. "Focus. Steven, where?"

Seeing the opportunity to piss off your father, Steven faced your mother completely as he shared the location.

On his way out, your father snarled. "After this, you and her are over. The kidnappers bothered with you to buy themselves more time because they know her parents are coming. I'll kill them all, you understand me? You can't protect her the way I can."

Steven watched them walk away, before releasing a heavy sigh. "That last part hurt me a bit, not gonna lie."

Forget about it. Let's go.

The suit of Mr. Knight began to wrap around Steven's regular clothes. "You don't expect me to believe you haven't thought about it, do you, mate?"

Steven, please. Shut up.

"We're talking about this later."

The mask covered Steven's face.

"How many does this make?" you giggled as another syringe full of sedative was lifted within your blurry vision. "You have to give me the list of doses. This is the best sleep I've had in a while."

"Is that why you're so happy?" the ringleader, a brown haired young man, stepped closer. The exits of the warehouse were blocked from your vision. "I've never met someone who wants to be sedated before."

"I thought you knew what my father was like?"

He shrugged, watching as a different syringe was injected into the side of your neck. A pained groan slipped past your mouth as you lean into the singular pole you were bound to. You could have sworn you felt the fluid rush into your veins.

"I know he's a man of science, so I wonder: what happens to his beloved daughter when, after five days of being sedated, takes epinephrine on the sixth day?"

Your eyes shot up, head rushing with the movement. "You just gave me adrenaline?"

He steps away, motioning to the snipers and the fighters. "Your father was amazing at what he did, and he enjoyed it. Then he got married and had you, a sweet little thing whose childhood couldn't be more different to his. But you're still of one blood."

"It's still red. Trust me."

A punch from a different direction caused you to keel over, spit and blood mixing on the stone at your feet.

The leader vaguely considered the mess. "So it is."

Your parents have been subdued - not without numerous gunshot wounds and dislocated, broken, shattered bones sustained by the enemy, but they were still put down. To your left, your father is heavily bound and gagged, knuckles torn and bloody from the countless punches he landed. Across the floor to your right, your unconscious mother is bound in rope, faced away from the both of you.

The leader watched sweat trickle down your face. You could've sworn you could smell his disappointment. "You burned through the sedatives, but nothing more. The adrenaline could stand to increase your heart rate until it eventually collapses."

"Y-You want me to..." you swallow, trying to soothe your drying throat. "My father to watch m-me die, that's it? That's a bit weak, yeah dad?"

Your father fought against the chains, looking between your faces. The young man that he scorned considered you. "I know it's weak, Y/n. It's the greatest insult I can deal your family."

Slow, leisurely footsteps echoed against the walls of the warehouse.

"Stop right there!" Both enemy and ally turned to see Mr. Knight, adjusting the cufflinks of his suit as his pace quickened. The white of his clothes stood out in the middle of the dark crates of drugs across the space, as well as the night sky behind his head. Steven heard Marc gasp. No. Sweetheart, what did they do to you? Steven took all of one second to glance in your direction before he swung a fist at the closest gang member, then kicked his friend in the chest. Gunshots rang across the space, peppering the suit with red spots that stopped spreading after a while. Unbothered, Steven fished out a single crescent blade, slashing at the next knee and next elbow that came too close. His other hand wrapped around a baton, striking sides of heads and some ribs. Someone slapped the blade away from his hand and landed a punch on Steven's face. Steven swung his weapon at the man's ribs, using his momentum to spin to his back and shove him away. The next crescent blade flew into the leader's confused face, burying into the underside of his left eyebrow. The force of Steven's throw knocked him to the ground, face up towards the ceiling as dark red blood burst from the wound. Everyone paused. Despite the mask, you could tell Steven scowled at the splatter of your blood on the floor as he rushed towards you. "What did they do to you?" "Adrenaline-- sedative, then adrenaline..." you shook your head erratically, grabbing his crescent blade to begin to cut through the ropes around your wrists. "I'm fine. Help them, please?" Steven freed your father first, and he burst into motion towards the dead leader. Your mother had been woken by the ruckus, and studied Steven critically. The sound of tearing rope drew their attention towards you as you took two staggering steps. Steven noticed your tense shoulders and heaving back before he saw how dilated your pupils had gotten. You were staring at the gang members who raised their guns and fists once again, ready. "Shall we?" he offers with an outstretched hand, both of his batons appearing now. You clutched his crescent blade, and moved to find yourself a gun. You moved as quickly as you could think. Marc took a moment to mention it, after you dodged several bullets and hurled the blade at the gunner's neck. You simply giggled, taking a common dagger and marking your next target. After a particularly beautiful swing across someone's chest, a massive hand clamped down on your wrist. The barrel of your handgun nestled against the man's neck before you pulled the trigger, already using your right elbow against another face instead of wasting time seeing the damage. When the ground was littered with bodies and you still ached for more, you knew this adrenaline would take a while to wear off. You focused on gathering your parents to you, in the same beat that Mr. Knight jogged to your side. You noticed your parents try to block him from you, and easily swiveled around, reaching for your boyfriend. Steven opened his arms and held you in an embrace, lifting you from the ground as he sighed in contentment. "We thought we lost you." "Just beg Taweret again. You're her favorite." you joked, and Steven released you from his hold with a chuckle. "Y/n," your mother's voice trailed off, and you turn to see them looking between you two. Steven squared his shoulders. In that suit, your mind swan dived for the gutter. How nasty did you have to be to provoke him like that, to make him begin to take you seriously in a simple, minimal action tantamount to fixing his suit mid-fight or rolling his sleeves up? Something about that wall at the corner of your vision suddenly looked inviting. He looked at you, and your focus sharpened. "Go ahead. Say my name." he considered. "If you want." If you wanted two more people in your life to know that Steven was perfectly capable of protecting you. If you were willing to let your parents know that whenever they watched him concentrating on a book or his Rubik's cube, he committed a similar level of intent to each cut and strike he dealt the people here tonight - and would deal to anyone else who tried to take you away from him. Wouldn't want to get Taweret in too much trouble, after all. You took a steadying breath, looking between him and your parents with shining eyes. "Steven." His mask fell away into his collar, curly hair bouncing a bit. His familiar brown eyes were bright with adoration as he scanned your face, then turned towards your parents. "I knew you sounded familiar," your mother muttered, running a hand across her face. "B-But why-how...?" Your father closed his mouth, clearing his throat as he moved towards the entrance. "Let's go." -- Steven's flat became more interesting to your parents as Layla's voice was heard through the screen. "I think I should stay in town for a little while longer next time." "You're making me look forward to having you back." Steven handed you a glass of water before settling down beside you on the bed. You ignored the cautious glares from your parents. "I don't like to worry about any of you halfway across the world." she frowned. "I'm not good at it." You smiled, feeling your energy levels dip down. "We'll keep our phones close." "Promise me." Marc giggled, a sense of nostalgia at Layla's stern tone tugging at him to front. "We promise. Love you, baby." "We love you, Layla." Her eyes softened at your fond tone. "I love you guys. Bye." Once the call ended, your mother lifted a picture frame. "This is her? Layla?" And it was the critique in her tone, the crispness she used to enunciate the two syllables that made you lean into the solid presence at your side. "Steven." He took a moment, and then stood from the bed. His English accent sounded so polite. "If that'd be all, I'm sure you still need to check your own house, just in case? We all know Y/n struggles to relax in a room filled with people." Your mother opened her mouth as if to retort when your father leveled a look at her. Then he shifted his attention to you, debating if you would accept a hug or a kiss from him as of now. "Let us know when you feel better," he led the way out. "We need to make sure this doesn't happen again." Steven followed slowly. Your mother went on ahead, and your father turned to face him. "I'm sorry." Steven allowed him the silence to consider. "All I want is for her to be safe. You have to understand that." "To understand you? I could never."

Steven. Even as Marc reprimands him, Steven heard the amusement in his voice.

All right. "I'm not her dad, I'm her boyfriend. I can't begin to fathom what it's like to care for another person like that, but I do understand caring about her." When your father sighed at the words, Marc encouraged Steven to continue. "I'm not trying to take her away from you. I wouldn't do that to her." Those were the exact words that should be running through his mind when he thinks about forcing you and Steven apart. Your father drew in a deep breath, and clapped a solid hand on Steven's shoulder. Then, he strode away. Steven looked back to see you laid down on the bed, half awake against the pillows. He slides into the space beside you, gathering you in his arms. You nuzzled into his neck, breathing in his scent. "Smells like a friendship between you and my dad." He hummed, brushing your hair with a hand.

#steven grant x reader #moon knight x reader #moon knight #steven x marc x layla x reader #poly moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #layla el faouly #marc spector x reader #layla el faouly x reader

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vee-is-a-clown · 2 years

Text

I've Got Grilled Cheese And Butterflies In My Stomach

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Keith couldn't believe that he let himself get dragged along to a butterfly garden of all things. Why couldn't it have been anywhere else? It's not like he was afraid of butterflies or anything. He just didn't like how they felt on his skin. He appreciated their beauty but he didn't trust himself not to scream if one happened to land on him.

He was in a hot, bright, colorful place that was filled to the brim with butterflies. Honestly, it was giving him a bit of sensory overload. He didn't know where to look. If he looked ahead of him, he run the risk of stepping on a butterfly or even one of their button pheasants. If he looked at the ground, he risked walking into a flying butterfly. (It's a real concern. Trust me.)

This place was freaking him out and it showed. He walked like he was in enemy territory and risked getting shot down with every step. He was odviously majorly paranoid.

"Could the oh so brave Keith Kogane be afraid of butterflies?"

Why was Lance like this?

"No, I just don't like how they outnumber us. They're unpredict-"

"Woah. Keith's paranoid about butterflies."

Pidge added so beautifully to the conversation. She so tactfully explained Keith's situation in terms both she and Lance could understand. Bravo.

Keith loudly groaned and carefully walked off. He then almost fell over because he didn't see the butterfly two inches from his face. This was torture.

He approached Shiro to ask how long they would be there and was met with the response of, "Just stand by the door." Which wasn't helpful because he still didn't know how long he would be waiting and there was a staff member by the door which he was not going to talk to.

Keith continued to slowly walk around, waiting for everyone to go. He hated waiting for everyone else to be done but he couldn't go alone. He left his phone in Shiro's car and didn't know the surrounding area well.

He sighed. Man, this place would be much better with a bench. His legs hurt. How long had they been there? He asked Adam who was using his phone to take pictures.

15 minutes.

He had been there for 15 minutes.

He wasn't going to survive.

"Hey Shiro, how long are we staying here? It's been 15 minutes."

"Keith, can we stay for 10 more minutes?"

Shiro smiled but Keith could tell that if he asked Shiro another question in the span of 5 minutes, he might explode. Shiro was dealing with everyone's bullshit and he was tired. Shiro's original plan was to take everyone to the butterfly garden and take cute pictures of the gang and some butterflies.

This did not happen.

Everyone had gone their separate ways. Pidge and hunk were doing whatever the hell in the corner (we probably don't want to know), Matt was trying to identify every single butterfly he saw, Adam was taking pictures of the button pheasants, Keith wanted to leave with all his heart, and Lance was flirting with a female employee who was passing out identification sheets for the butterflies. Shiro sighed. He didn't want it to come to this but he walked over to Lance.

"Hey Lance, can you take Keith somewhere to wait for everyone else to finish up here? If he stays with us, we'll have to leave early."

"Why do I have to take Mullet Head?"

"You're the only one here who isn't doing something involving our actual location. Go romance some waitress or something."

Lance groaned and walked over to Keith. He didn't want to play babysitter just because Keith was afraid of butterflies.

"Hey Keith, Shiro wants me to take you away from the scary butterflies."

"Ok then. Get me out of here."

Keith wasn't in the mood for arguing. He didn't care that Lance had insulted him. He just wanted to leave. If Lance was the person taking him, so be it.

Lance escorted Keith to the exit. Lance was odviously very displeased with this arrangement. Keith wasn't an idiot. Lance had to leave his friends (and the girl he was flirting with) to take his "rival" someplace to wait for everyone else to finish with the butterflies. It made Keith feel a little guilty.

They walked through a room to make sure they weren't carrying any butterflies out on accident. It was literally covered in mirrors. Every wall was a mirror. It was weird. After about a minute, a staff member came and let them out.

Keith hatched an idea. He still had his wallet in his pocket.

"Hey Lance, can I use your phone?"

"Why the quiznak would you ask that? Of course the answer is no."

"Well mine is in Shiro's car and I'm hungry. I'm going to try to find a nearby restaurant."

Keith actually wasn't really hungry. He just thought that Lance would cheer up a bit if he had some food. Keith, of course would be paying but he didn't mind.

"I'll find something then."

They went to go sit down on a bench outside the butterfly garden. It was in a larger building which had a small giftshop attached. Lance scrolled on his phone for a bit before putting it down.

"Do you like Applebee's?"

"Oh please don't tell me that you found an Applebee's."

"It's like Applebee's. It looks charming and it's only a few blocks away."

"Fine with me."

Keith got up, out of his seat. He was glad to leave. There were weird butterfly paintings on the wall that looked like they'd been done by children. The colors looked like an aesthetic nightmare. Lance followed suit and they fully left the building.

It was actually a pretty refreshing walk. There was a breeze outside and it wasn't as hot as in the garden. The storefronts were all quaint and pretty. Keith felt relaxed. Shiro should've just taken everyone on a walk instead of the to garden. Keith would definitely be coming back on his own.

They reached their destination. It looked like a faux 90's diner. It had red booths and checked floors. You know the type. The tables were round and metallic looking. Keith wasn't entirely sure if it was actually metal though. It was called something like "Billy Boy's" but Keith didn't really care about the name. He was to preoccupied by taking it all in. It was really pleasant.

They got in and Keith almost immediately decided that he wanted a grilled cheese. Worst case scenario, it was a grilled cheese. It's the kind of thing that you can't really mess up. If you somehow do, you might want to rethink your life choices.

As they moved through the short line, something caught his attention. There were two colorful machines on the counter, churning slushies. One was blue and the other was red. Neither seemed to have labels on them. Keith looked at the menu and there weren't flavors there either.

"Hey Lance, what do you think those slushy flavors are?"

"Blue and red."

"But what do they taste like?"

"One tastes like blue and one tastes like red. I'll let you guess which one tastes like which."

Keith groaned.

"I hate you."

"Haha! Same, Mullet Face."

Keith decided to take the risk and order a red slushy. It was most probably cherry anyway. Lance ordered a cheeseburger and a blue slushy then went to go claim a table. Keith decided to use this as an opportunity.

Keith slightly leaned into the counter. The woman working the counter looked to be about the same age as him.

"Can I also get a small fry? And can you write a note calling the boy in blue cute as well? He's pretty upset and I want to cheer him up."

"Got it. "

The girl smiled. Who was she to refuse such an adorable request?

Keith left to go sit down with Lance and wait for the food to be prepared. He occupied himself with playing with the condiments on the table. It was about 5 minutes until Keith got called up to grab the food. He paid for the meal and brought everything back on a tray.

Lance looked surprised after looking through the food. He looked up at Keith with the small plate of fries.

"Hey Keith did you order fries?"

"No, I didn't."

"Then why do we have fries?"

Just then, Keith picked up his dish with his grilled cheese to reveal a small paper note. Keith frowned and gave the paper to Lance. The note said, "Fries for the cutie in blue"

"Are you serious? How? You didn't even say anything to her other than your order!"

Keith aggressively sipped his slushy like he was annoyed. He, infact, was not annoyed.

"I guess it's just my natural charm. Maybe if you got a haircut, you could get girls too."

Keith took a bite of his grilled cheese. It was pretty good. The cheese was mozzarella and the sandwich was still warm. Definitely higher quality than he expected but he hadn't expected much so that doesn't really mean anything. Keith then turned to Lance. He had an entirely straight (haha) face.

"Lance, I'm gay."

Lance looked up from the note. His facial expression was a mix of surprise and an unreadable emotion. He sipped his slushy.

"Umm, what?"

"I can't 'get girls'."

"Ohh. Anyway, what flavor is that slushy?"

Lance changed the topic. He felt awkward talking about sexuality in public. He especially didn't want to talk about it in front of his fries.

Keith gasped and immediately sipped his slushy again. He had already tasted it, he just wanted to be annoying. He then looked at Lance with a smile. Not a smirk or anything, a giddy smile. He looked like he was about to tell a joke.

"It tastes like red."

Keith honest to god giggled.

Lance might've just died on the spot.

That didn't matter though. He had just been spited. This meant war. Keith had just verbally attacked him. He needed to think of something. What retort could he possibly use?

Nothing. He couldn't think of anything. He wanted to come up with a comeback but Keith's smile was too distracting. Lance picked up a fry and shoved it in his mouth.

"That's my joke, you know."

"Not anymore. It's mine. I did it better."

Keith was still smiling. He needed to stop smiling. Lance couldn't think. Why couldn't he think when Keith was smiling? We'll leave that to next day Lance to realize an 3 AM.

Lance took a bite of his cheeseburger.

"If you don't tell me, I'll have to steal it to find out."

"Nuh uh. I paid for this slushy. You can't have any."

"Now you've made it a quest. I must steal a sip of that slushy at all costs!"

Keith laughed again. He normally wasn't this happy. It definitely wasn't that Lance was funnier today. Something had to be wrong. Was Keith sick?

"Yo buddy, are you sick?"

"No. If I were sick, I would've used it to get out of Shiro's butterfly garden shenanigans. Why are you asking?"

"Well you're- How do I put this? You're happy."

Keith gasped and put his hand over his chest. The audacity! He then folded his arms and turned his head away in a faux aggravation. What a fool. Lance took the opportunity to reach across the table, grab Keith's drink, and take a sip.

"Aha! It tastes like cherry!"

Keith turned his head back to Lance and stole his slushy back. That scoundrel! How dastardly could Lance be? Eyebrows furrowed, Keith pretended to be mad as he slurped his restolen slushy.

Lance just laughed at Keith's very real misery.

"Ok then what does yours taste like?"

"Blue raspberry, of course. What else did you think the electric blue mush was?"

"Well a wise man once told me that it was blue flavored and I've been operating under that assumption ever since."

"You need to find a wiser man then."

Lance sipped his slushy like he had just said something brutally honest. Keith laughed again. At this point, it's a miracle that Lance hasn't melted into a pile of mush.

They continue eating their meal between snarky remarks and witty banter. It feels nice. Unlike their real fights, they're both smiling and laughing. They're having a good time. If Keith could, he would keep it going forever.

Keith had finished his grilled cheese and was three fourths done with his slushy. Lance had eaten his cheeseburger and was a little under half way done with his slushy. Lance wanted to savor the fries. They were a gift from a girl. He couldn't just wolf them down like he normally did. She might be watching.

The banter had died down and Keith had zoned out or was daydreaming maybe. Hard to tell. One thing was for sure though, he was staring at the ceiling, eyes unmoving, and hand in his palm. It was perfect.

Lance got up while holding a fry in his hand. He strutted over to the other side of the table where Keith was sitting and paused for a second before jabbing Keith in the face with the fry.

"AHH! Jeez! Lance, don't do that!"

"Well spacey boy, you were off in daydream land. You left yourself defenseless. I had to take advantage."

"You are despicable."

"I know. I pride myself on that fact."

Keith sighed. What was he thinking about again? Only God knows now. He sipped his slushy. Keith looked up at the dork who was still standing over him with a fry in his hand.

"So are you going to stand over me for-"

Lance poked Keith in the lip with the fry. Keith grabbed it while Lance scurried back to his seat. There was a slight pause.

"Lance, what the hell?"

"It touched your weird edgy self and I don't want it anymore."

"Great logic Lance. I'll be sure to touch all your food in the future."

Keith bit the fry because why not? It's a fry after all. It was actually really good. The salt to fry ratio was just perfect. It was even warm still. They must've been piping hot when they came to the table. Why was Keith even thinking about this? It's a fry. Stop overthinking everything.

Keith turned his attention to Lance to find him looking back at Keith. For a quiet, oh so quick moment, they just looked at eachother. The world seemed to stop for that fraction of a second. Reality then dropkicked both of them and told the police that was self defense.

Lance looked away and the awkward set in. Just then, Lance's phone vibrated in his pocket. Saved by the text from Shiro telling them that the others are out of the garden. Lance whisked his phone out of his pocket faster than you can say, "awww cute waiT DROPKICK? hshsjsgsh-"

"Shiro says that they just got out of the butterfly garden. We should walk back."

"Mk."

Keith picked himself up with and stabilized his body by putting his hands on the table. Sadly, he didn't have to good of a grip and somehow managed to fall sideways onto the checkerboard flooring. Keith just laid there on his back, stunned while Lance burst into laughter. He sat there laughing for a good minute before he got up and extended a helpful hand to Keith.

"No."

"What?"

"I'm one with the floor now. Go tell Shiro I'm dead."

"Come on dude, get up."

"Well apparently I'm funnier on the ground so no."

"Do I need to drag you?"

"Your string bean ass couldn't handle that."

"Well you apparently aren't strong enough to walk so you can't say anything."

"That isn't going to work on me."

Keith got up anyway. That floor was dirty and he probably shouldn't've been laying there for so long anyway. He could feel the dirt in his hair. Definitely not a good decision.

"So it does work on you?"

"Shut."

Keith sighed as he picked up his slushy. It still had a decent amount of substance in it so he decided to take it with him. Lance picked up his slushy as well and took the tray over to the trashcan and put it on top of it.

Lance started towards the door while Keith lingered behind for a few seconds. He then shoved something in his pocket and hurried after Lance, shooting a (kind) look to the girl who had taken their order.

"What were doing back there, slow poke?"

"Just leaving a tip."

"I see.."

"What's so suspicious about a tip?"

"No, the tip isn't suspicious. You are."

"How the heck am I suspicious?"

Keith's face slammed into the door. Jeez, Keith should've been looking. Lance laughed into his hand as he watched Keith stumble backwards. Regaining his balance, Keith flipped him off.

"Oh come on! I'm allowed to laugh at you being a klutz!"

"I am not a klutz!"

"You are! You so are!"

"Shut up!"

Keith pulled the door open like he was opening the fridge at 2:43 for a snack. Lance proceeded to strut through and turn to face Keith for finger gunning purposes, stumbling and making a fool of himself in the process. Luckily, he steadied himself before he fell through. That, of course, did not stop the shit he was going to get from Keith. That shit is including but not limited to some giggles and the dopiest smirk you've ever seen.

"Oh so I'm the klutz?"

"I- Uhh, shut your quiznak!"

"Oh such a well put together response. You're so smart."

"Have I mentioned that I hate you?"

"Same, Prettyboy."

Keith finally got out of the door because he was still standing there like an idiot. He then got this look of realization on his face and took off running. Lance stood there stunned for a second before he heard a shout.

"Last one to get back to the gang is a rotten egg!"

Oh it was on! Lance sprinted after Keith as he thought about how Keith just called him pretty.

And off they went to go tell the gang the story of how Lance was a hypocritical klutz who can effortlessly "get girls".

-–-–-–-–-–-

@autisticlancemcclain this one's for you because I love your work and you put so much effort into writing a fic every day and you absolutely deserve a break.

And thanks to @klance-daydreams for letting me give them a cameo.

Thank you to my amazing irl bestie who I've been sending clips of this to before I published it. I love her so much. She's great. She also thought that one paragraph was smut because she didn't have the context. I'll let you guys guess which one that is.

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