#They way that they really missed it in season two

[fayes-fics]

To Know You…

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Benedict knows you better than anyone. But does he know himself well enough to know what he truly wants?

Warnings: none really… fluffy fluff. Childhood friends, class differences, marriage mart shenanigans, dancing, marriage proposals, Benedict being adorable while also a complete dumbass, unrequited to requited love, love confessions.

Word Count: 10.4k (yeah, it's a long one, folks)

Authors Note: this is a request fill for @curlsincriminology (ask HERE) about Benedict showing you all the wonderful things he sees in you, but will he figure out his own feelings before it's too late? Thanks to the complete trooper @colettebronte for beta reading this monster one-shot. Enjoy <3

I: To Know You….

“I would rather not, Miss y/l/n,” the young man clips, walking away from you at a brusque pace. 

You sigh and look down at your feet. Mrs Parsons will be so very disappointed, is all you can think.

—

Benedict may not have heard the words spoken, but even from his vantage point at the other end of the ballroom, he could see the disdainful way the young man uttered his parting words to you. It makes anger flare hot in his chest, his fist forming reflexively at his side.

He watches as you look down, shoulders hunching, folding in on yourself physically, as if the rejection for a dance has manifested in a body blow. He feels a pang in his gut—of sympathy, indignance on your behalf and mainly at the injustice of it all. To him, you are a wonderful, intelligent, caring person worthy of a good match. Still, the circumstances of your upbringing seem to stymie your attempts to join so-called ‘polite’ society at every turn…

—

You look up with a defeated mien until your eyes land on one person who has always been able to ameliorate any of your more morose moods—Benedict Bridgerton. Instantly, you feel lighter. You give him a polite nod across the crowded room, and, to your delight, he returns it, a hint of a sympathetic smile tugging at his lips. It is just so very characteristic of him to offer silent support, to understand, from witnessing a moment of interaction, precisely what you are feeling. A large part of you feels so wistful that there is no other man quite as nice as him. Suddenly, your overwhelming need is to leave this stuffy ballroom and catch some air.

You grew up under the tutelage of the kindly doctor’s widow, Mrs Parsons, whose house is not far from the vast Bridgerton estate in Kent. The naturally born daughter of nobody quite knows whom, you were taken in as her ward when you were abandoned upon her doorstep at a mere two years old. Her reputation for kindness towards young waifs and strays is likely why you were left there. It is an event you were too young to recall, so all you have known your whole life is her generosity and kindness, raising you as if her own. 

And now that you are of age, she takes you to events around Kent in the hopes of securing you a respectable husband, the most prestigious being tonight’s Hearts and Flowers Ball at Aubrey Hall. The Bridgertons have always been gracious enough to invite local families, those without the means to partake in the London season, to events at their country estate—a kindness that allows for your attendance tonight. It’s just such a pity that the one bachelor Mrs Parsons was so very keen for you to meet, one Mr Reeves, just rebuffed you so thoroughly. 

You glance down at the remaining empty slots on the dance card tied to your wrist and sigh again. Now that you are out on the terrace in the fresh evening air, the light breeze is at least a partial balm, allowing you to recover from the sting of rejection away from the hubbub of the ballroom.

“I will never understand how the men of this county can consider themselves anything approaching mannered.” 

You would know that refined voice anywhere. It haunts your dreams. Just the sound of it making your ribs tighten. You turn to see Benedict sauntering towards you, two drinks in hand, that sympathetic smile still in place.

“You are far better off without such rudeness,” he adds dryly as he pulls up beside you, arching an eyebrow for your entertainment.

“You are far too kind, Mr Bridgerton,” you answer, taking the glass he offers with a meek smile, trying not to let your ardent admiration for him be too evident. 

“Mr Bridgerton?!?” he scoffs, “What happened to BenBen?” he teases gently, recalling your childhood name for him when you were a mere four and he was nine.

“We are at a formal event; I should address you as such, should I not?” you reply playfully, a warmth spreading inside as it always does when you get the chance to have a witty, convivial exchange with him.

By gosh, if there is one man to whom you would pledge yourself without hesitation, it is him. But, of course, he is the second son of an illustrious family. To think you would have any chance to win his heart would be as likely as a future king to marry a commoner. Still, you can dream…

“At least call me Benedict, Skylark,” he winks over his wine glass as he takes a sip, butterflies erupting in your tummy at the affectionate nickname he has used since you were small; you have to avert your eyes to avoid blushing deeply.

Just as he goes to speak again, his brother, the Viscount, materialises at his side. Looking to all intents and purposes as if he is trying to escape the ball as much as you are.

“Mother is best avoided tonight, brother,” Anthony warns sagely, taking a large gulp of his champagne. “She is under the erroneous impression I am suddenly in want of a wife.”

You can't stop the giggle that bubbles up from within at his wry observation of his predicament.

“Hello, y/n,” he greets warmly, just noticing you are also there, his face morphing into a youthful, playful grin. If Benedict is the husband you have always dreamed of, Anthony is the elder brother you have always yearned for. In fact, that is always how he has treated you, akin to Eloise and Daphne, who you grew up playing with, being of similar age.

“Hello, Anthony,” you chime back. “How was the hunt earlier? Did the infamous Bridgerton brothers kill another prized stag?” you inquire, keen to engage both of them for as long as they will entertain you. Just being around them always lifts your spirits to no end.

—

Benedict observes you as you listen intently to Anthony’s recounting of the hunt earlier that day, impressed by your resilience. He has no doubts any other woman would feign an attack of the vapours had a man rejected her so harshly. But here you are, politely listening to his brother’s boasting, even though he can tell you are hurting inside.

Perhaps it helps that your snub went primarily unnoticed. You are unknown to the Ton; any witnesses likely dismissing it as the business of ‘country folk’ unworthy of note. Which, frankly, he could scoff at, seeing as he holds you in higher regard than all of the other attendees combined.

“How about you?” Anthony ends his story with a question to you, interrupting Benedict’s train of thought. “How has your experience been at our fine event this evening?”

“Oh, the house is splendidly decorated and the music wonderful,” you obfuscate behind flattery. Anthony appears to buy it, but Benedict sees behind your facade, the flame behind your usually bright gaze dimming a little, making something ache in his gut to see it. 

Damn that idiot for ruining your evening! This just won’t do…

—

You can feel Benedict’s eyes upon you as you respond abstractly to Anthony.

“Y/n here is too polite to say it, but she was treated harshly by that young Reeves chap from Tenterden,” Benedict edifies as you bow your head, embarrassed. “Let’s be sure to rescind his invitation to future events, brother,” he appends with a surly tone.

“Duly noted,” Anthony nods sincerely, a brush of confusion flitting over his face regarding his brother's vehemence.

“No, there is no need…” you begin to protest weakly but halt mid-sentence under the intensity of Benedict’s gaze.

“I bore witness. Believe me, He shall not darken our door again,” he states firmly.

It appears the matter is very much decided, and you don’t want to put up much of a fight, seeing as it ultimately benefits you. You do, however, want to bathe in the warm glow inside whenever Benedict defends you. It's wonderful to have someone looking out for you, especially one so handsome and kind.

—

Two days later, you are taking afternoon tea with Mrs Parsons at the local tea shop when Benedict breezes in, looking so majestic dressed in Bridgerton blues that you grind to a halt. Luckily, he has not seen you as he makes a beeline for the counter.

“‘Tis rude to stare, my dear,” Mrs Parsons lectures sotto voce, nodding to your teacup, frozen in mid-air.

You shake your head a touch and place said item back in your saucer as she turns briefly to look at what or who caught your attention. Then she reaches out, her lace-gloved hand gently patting yours. 

“It would be prudent to set your sights a little more realistic…” she advises with a sympathetic air.  “Not that I fault your choice,” she adds, so quietly at first you're not sure you heard her correctly, but there is a tiny playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Your mouth falls open fractionally, and you stare as she shrugs. “I may be old, my dear, but I am not blind.”

Well, I never, Mrs Parsons!

As you take a bite of food, Benedict twists around from speaking to the proprietor, and he sees you. There’s a jolt down your spine as he breaks into a huge smile that claims his whole face. And you almost choke on scone crumbs as he makes a beeline over to you rather than the exit.

“Good afternoon, Miss y/l/n, Mrs Parsons!” he greets effusively. “Would it be terribly impolite to ask to join you briefly?”

Mrs Parsons' face is a picture of surprise. “Not at all; the pleasure is ours, Mr Bridgerton,” she responds affably, gesturing to the spare chair at your small round table.

As Benedict sits, Mrs Parsons shoots you an incredulous look. It's your turn to shrug fractionally.

“Mrs Parsons, I feel it necessary to tell you Mr Reeves was excessively rude to Miss y/l/n here at the ball, and I wanted to assure you that he will not be welcome at Aubrey Hall again,” he divulges sincerely.

Mrs Parsons looks taken aback and turns to you. “Why did you not tell me, my dear?”

“I-I did not think it necessary…” you twist your mouth into a bashful pout, biting your lip.

“Mr Bridgerton, thank you for bringing this to my attention, and I thank you for your generous offer, but that sort of action does not seem warranted,” she replies accommodatingly.

“That is what I said…” “That is what she said…”

You and Benedict speak in unison at the exact same moment, and your eyes ping to each other, both laughing then bowing your heads immediately. You know your cheeks are flushed.

—

Benedict loves the look in your eye sometimes. That spirited sparkle with glowing cheeks. In his opinion, that is the only look you should ever wear; no one, especially one as unworthy as Mr Reeves, should be allowed to rob you of it. He feels a strong compulsion to do everything in his power to keep you looking like that—carefree, happy, stunning. It’s what motivates his subsequent words.

“If it is not considered too impudent for me to do so, I have a suggestion for Miss y/l/n’s introduction into society,” Benedict offers sincerely. “I believe you should be able to find her an excellent, worthy match by casting a wider net.”

“What are you proposing, Mr Bridgerton?” Mrs Parsons inquiries, almost warily.

“That Miss y/l/n come to London and partake in the remainder of the season as a guest of my family. My mother seems to think it an excellent idea, and I know my younger sister Eloise is already a good friend. I do not see why they could not attend events together,” he shrugs genially.

Mrs Parsons's face is a picture again. “You have already spoken to the Dowager Viscountess of this matter?” she checks, unable to modulate the astonishment in her tone.

“Of course,” he confirms with a nod. “I made such a suggestion this morning when your names came up. She heartily concurs. Miss y/l/n here is too bright and good of a person to have her marital choice limited by geography or circumstance.”

His eyes fall on you, and his heart gallops at the searing look you are giving him.

—

You don’t even try to temper your doe-eyed expression as you look upon Benedict, him extolling your virtues to the audience of the tea room. 

Even distracted by all the wondrous things he has to say, you can detect the noise level on the surrounding tables has reduced; everyone in town always keen to eavesdrop on a Bridgerton conversation. Especially one that contains such noteworthy gossip as a local young lady being invited to the London season at the family’s behest.

“My dear, I trust that Lady Bridgerton will look after you well,” Mrs Parsons professes. “I have no objections should you desire to seize this opportunity.” Her tone pointed, very much encouraging you to do so.

“That would be just wonderful, Mr Bridgerton,” you exhale with a grateful smile. “I cannot thank you enough for even thinking to raise such a petition.”

“Think nothing of it, Miss y/l/n,” he smiles, standing up and giving you both a brief, shallow bow. “I shall see you anon, no doubt.” 

And with that, he sweeps out of the tearoom, your eye line tracking his concave outline through the curved glass as he rounds the corner out of sight.

“Well, well,” Mrs Parsons puffs out her cheeks. “I am not sure what you did to inspire such actions in a gentleman. But bravo, my dear, bravo,” she holds her teacup aloft in a toast. 

You are a jumble of emotions and could not even begin to answer Mrs Parsons about what you could possibly have done. Mostly, you are just elated by the prospect of the chance to attend the whirl of the London season, even if there is also a small pang of regret that Benedict is so keen to see you matched.

II: …Is To Love You

The following Tuesday, as your carriage pulls up outside the grandeur of Bridgerton House, you have nothing but butterflies. And as Lady Bridgerton - Violet as she insists you now call her - and her lady’s maid show you to your charming guest room, you cannot temper your excitement.

“Get yourself freshened up, my dear. There is a soiree this evening at the Queen’s new residence no less, and there is no time like the present to begin your introductions,” the dowager viscountess warmly counsels.

You nod your thank yous, and after they take their leave, you twirl excitedly around the room, taking in the elegant furnishings and airy sunlight flooding in. You pull up in front of a large sash window and are delighted to see bounteous gardens beneath. The rear of the property is very much an oasis of calm in the heart of the city. But one sight in particular draws your eye: a majestic oak with two swings attached to a stately arm. It looks like a place of refuge, and you feel oddly compelled to take a seat there.

Three hours later, walking into the palatial Buckingham House, you are in a different world from the one you know in Kent. Candlelit crystal chandeliers glint like towering clusters of jewels, spraying thousands of shards of light around the room. Every railing is bedecked in hundreds of drooping flower garlands, and the walls groan with enormous portraits of royalty. The mellifluous strains of a chamber orchestra fill the air. Your grip on Eloise’s arm is tight as you try not to look agog at all the opulence surrounding you.

“And I thought Aubrey Hall was grand,” you murmur quietly, and she just guffaws.

—

Benedict arrives late to the soiree from his bachelor lodgings, bustling in as stealthily as possible, knowing he will likely catch his mother’s ire for his tardiness.

But then he sees a sight that makes him temporarily stop dead in his tracks. There, hanging on to his little sister, surveying the room utterly lost in reverie at its grandeur—is you. He has not seen you dressed up as you are now, made over with the full attention of the Bridgerton staff. And he isn't afraid to admit to himself, at least, that it catches his breath. How they have applied cosmetics and styled your hair, emphasising your already evident beauty. And the dress they have chosen… well, he is almost ashamed of the heat pooling low in his gut; he has never seen you in such tailored, refined silks. 

Whosoever marries you shall be quite the luckiest man indeed.

He doesn't miss the way you inhale sharply when your eyes finally land on him, his chest swelling slightly with pride as your lips part in surprise before breaking into that winning smile which always seems to brighten every room, tonight being no exception.

As he pulls up to the family, he hears his mother opining to you about the men attending the ball.

“Y/n, I would like to introduce you to Lord Shelton; he is a fine young man with many interests, and he has a lovely estate near Hove,” his mother recounts as you listen intently.

“Oh god, no,” Benedict immediately intervenes, “Shelton has amassed significant debt at the Pudding Lane gaming hell…” 

Violet looks up surprised, then raises an eyebrow. “Pray tell dear son, how do you have knowledge of such? Benedict Bridgerton, you had better not be frequenting the hells of the East End,” she threatens quietly, in that stern maternal manner that has any grown man quaking in their polished shoes.

“No, of course not, mother,” he bristles, his eyes cutting briefly to you, not wanting you to think such things of him. “It is an open secret at Whites’, and why he is currently banned from the card room there.”

—

You cannot tear your eyes off Benedict as his mother side-eyes him.

Violet hums sceptically before declaring. “Well, not to worry, there are plenty of other options available for Miss y/l/n…” She steers your attention towards another crowd of young men, all talking and sipping champagne. “Baron Corning, Lord Jennings, Viscount Tewkesbury,” she recounts, nodding subtly to each one. “Any would make a fine addition to your dance card, my dear.” 

“We can do much better than any of them,” Benedict chides.

You are slightly taken aback at how very much he sounds like Anthony tonight; apparently very invested in curating who you should dance with. The problem is, with each additional suggestion his mother makes to you, he roundly dismisses them out of hand. 

Is no one in attendance up to his standard?

“Benedict, dear, a word?” Violet states pointedly after a third round of his withering opinions. “Get yourself another lemonade,” she smiles at you, patting your hand before looping her arm in her son’s and dragging him away.

—

His mother’s arm is surprisingly strong when she needs it to be.

“Darling, may I remind you, while Miss Y/l/n is indeed a wonderful person, I do not think we can afford to be too picky for her prospects. Her background is rather… unestablished,” Violet points out diplomatically as soon as you are out of earshot.

“We can do better than braggards, bores and philanderers,” Benedict shoots back, raising a pointed eyebrow.

She looks up at him and sighs. “Well, that is true.”

“As I thought, mother,” he winks as she affectionately swats his forearm. “Why not benefit from my knowledge? In fact, perhaps it is prudent I assist in your search for a suitor.” 

“Oh, is it now?” Her tone suddenly filled with intrigue, her face entirely too scrutinising for his liking. “And does not my second son wish to join their ranks?” She adds entirely unsubtly.

“I have no time for romance; I have my art. I am most preoccupied.” He waves a dismissive hand, but even he knows his answer is tellingly brusque.

“And yet, you do not seem too busy to assist with the search, dear…” she points out archly. 

Benedict has no response to that. 

—

The day after the grand ball, you are sat in the dappled shade in the gardens of Bridgerton House, attempting needlework. It's never been your strength, frankly. You would much rather be allowed to partake in more physical pursuits, like archery or fencing, a want to burn off nervous energy as you await the arrival of any suitors. You did end up dancing with a couple of gentlemen, both of whom were…. fine… in your estimation.  

After messing up yet another stitch, you throw down the embroidery hoop and emit a deep sigh when a familiar chuckle rings out behind you.

“Not your favourite pastime?” Benedict correctly guesses.

“You can say that again,” you grumble, twisting to smile at him, a little frisson in your belly at his mere presence, alone as you are.

He rounds to take a seat opposite you, across the table.

“So let me guess,” his face charmingly skewed into a thoughtful mien. “You would prefer to be doing something, hmmmm, more athletic?”

You giggle and cast your eyes downwards briefly, abashed he seems to know you so well. “Correct again.”

“I remember you being a crack shot in archery,” he smiles nostalgically before continuing with genuine curiosity. “Why did you not continue it?”

“I was informed ‘tis unbecoming for a lady,” you rue, the mental image of Mrs Parsons deeming such things ‘unladylike’ flitting through your mind.

He scoffs. “Since when did fearsome little Skylark care one jot for societal expectations?” he teases gently, with a wink, as again he invokes the nickname he bestowed upon you a long time hence. 

You smile briefly before you become more sanguine. “Since I have been informed I must find a husband…” you sigh.

He frowns a touch. “Any man would be lucky to have a wife who can keep him company on the archery field. I know I, for one, would greatly appreciate a spouse with whom I could share such a pastime.” 

A bittersweet twinge in your gut that one day he will indeed be married to some deserving, no doubt elegant, lady.

“I would venture that you are not like most gentlemen in that regard…”

“Perhaps not,” he agrees, looking thoughtful, “but then you are not like most ladies, Skylark.”

“I am not a lady…” your counterpoint softly-spoken, almost ashamed.

“You are more lady than any other member of the Ton,” he asserts, his gaze suddenly intense, as if he is willing you to believe his point. “And you should be free to pursue any pastime you wish.”

You say nothing, just smile wanly, wishing you could believe it was true.

—

How you constantly doubt yourself causes a little stab behind Benedict’s ribs. A sudden burning need to prove that you should do as you please. He slaps his thighs and stands up swiftly. 

“In fact, I am going to go set up the archery targets right now,” he nods decisively, making a beeline for the far corner of the garden where he knows the targets are kept, hoping you will follow.

“Coming?” he calls, twisting to look back at you. “I won't tell anyone…” he adds with a conspiratorial wink, seeing from the involuntary bounce of your leg how much you wish to join in. 

He cannot help the smile that engulfs his face as you jump to your feet with a mischievous giggle. Nor can he help deliberately aiming badly, letting you roundly defeat him at target practice, basking in the victorious glint in your eye as you tease him gently for losing. 

He also pretends not to notice his mother watching from a high window, her expression riveted and so very telling.

—

Later that day, you are reading quietly with Eloise when Violet sweeps into the drawing room with her lady's maid. 

“Y/n, Sir Denton is here to see you,” she smiles brightly. 

“Oh, I…” you stutter, sitting upright, surprised.

“I can send him away, Miss?”  The maid offers, intuiting your disquiet.

“No, no, it is fine… I am just surprised, that is all. ‘Tis almost 4pm. I was not expecting that anyone would be calling, given the late hour.”

Benedict suddenly materialises in the doorway. As ever, there’s that trademark flutter in your chest.

“Any reason Denton is lingering in the hallway?” he inquires airily, grabbing a teacup and pouring himself some.

“He is here for y/n,” Violet breezes as his eyes cut to you, a wave of irritation seeming to cloud his face.

“Well, we should dismiss him,” Benedict sniffs, pausing in his action, his face souring.

“Why?” Violet frowns.

“I had a chance to look into his past since I acquiesced to his dance with y/n last night…”

“Acquiesced?!” Violet scoffs, but Benedict ignores her interjection, save for a curt eyebrow raise.

“I have subsequently discovered he has vastly overstated his assets,” Benedict bristles imperiously.

“Who woke up and made you Anthony?” Eloise pipes up witheringly.

Benedict shoots her a look of irritation. “Anthony has deputised me to run family matters while he is away on business this week, sister,” he reminds pointedly.

“Yes, but you did not have to adopt his personality as well,” Eloise shoots back, disgust evident on her face.

“I take finding y/n here, a suitable match, seriously,” he volleys. “Do you wish to see your good friend married to someone unworthy of her?”

“Well, no…”

“Then kindly permit me to handle matters,” Benedict orders with finality, uncharacteristically forthright in his opinions.

“I do not wish to see her married at all…” Eloise mutters under her breath as he stalks away to dispatch Denton before anyone can argue.

You just sit there mildly dumbfounded, unsure what to make of it all. 

—

The following evening, you are attending a music recital with the Bridgertons; Benedict is notably absent, which makes you a touch melancholic in a way you don’t want to dwell on. 

However, the evening turns for the better while you are taking refreshments at the interval. A friendly-faced young man strikes up a conversation with you after an introduction from Violet.

“Are you enjoying the music tonight, Miss y/l/n?” he asks genially.

“It is very nice, Lord Glassborough,” you offer politely, trying to stifle your slight boredom. You enjoy music, but a two-hour concert is a little too much for you. You much prefer a short set of songs as they play at balls.

“I find it rather dull myself,” he opines quietly, leaning in. “I much prefer a lively song one may dance to.”

You know your face is a picture of surprise that his opinion is an exact mirror of your own.

“Have I offended you so?” he checks, looking mildly contrite.

“Not at all, my lord. I was actually just thinking the same myself,” you chuckle quietly.

He looks inordinately pleased and breaks into a friendly, toothy grin. He seems like a nice, agreeable sort. A pleasant, if not particularly handsome, face. Over his shoulder, you see Violet looking inordinately pleased you appear to be getting on so well.

—

“I am not sure I can do this...” you sigh as Ms West genially taps the metronome.

“You can, dear; just remember your finger placement,” she encourages as your fingers fall to the cool ivory keys.

And so you begin again. Attempting to master this tricky piece, your eyes tracing the lines of music as you play the pianoforte. Violet is so keen for you to brush up on your skills, given Lord Glassborough’s interest in you yesterday. You could not find an adequate excuse fast enough, and so here you are, in a slightly reluctant music lesson, trying your best to recall how Mrs Parsons taught you to play a few years ago.

“Men do so appreciate a lady who can entertain them with exquisite music,” Ms West nods approvingly as you play.

Mostly, you are relieved when you make it to the end with no mistakes, at least none glaringly obvious.

“I much prefer to sing…” you admit tacitly as Ms West shuffles the sheet music.

She looks at you surprised, then shoos you from the piano stool. “Sing for me then, my dear…” taking a seat and beginning the opening bars to a song that, fortunately, you know well.

You begin to sing along, growing more confident with every note, allowing yourself to get lost in the words, the story of a lady awaiting her true love.

“Exceptional!” she peals delightedly over the sound, and you feel bolstered to continue, her playing the perfect accompaniment.

—

Benedict stops short as soon as he enters the house. The most lilting, beautiful sound echoing gently down the marble hall.

“Who is that Jenkins?” he asks of the butler who takes his coat.

“I believe it is Miss y/l/n, sir.”

He draws inexorably closer, finding himself watching you through the crack in the doorway, listening to you sing a touching tale of love that sounds so hauntingly hypnotic in your mellifluous tones. Your eyes are closed, and you sway to the melody, lost in reverie, in the narrative you weave.

The piano stops abruptly.

“Can we help you, sir?” an elder lady calls crisply.

Benedict realises the door has crept open slightly before him, enough for him to be seen by your music teacher. He watches as you swing around and look horrified that you may have an audience. It makes him take a resolute step forward into the room.

“Do you need us to desist? Is it perhaps too loud?” the lady checks deferentially, likely assuming him to be the head of the household.

“No!” His reply is a touch too forceful. “Please continue,” he modifies. “I was merely drawn by the splendid sound I heard. I am not sure I have ever heard such a wondrous voice,” he adds, keeping his gaze steadfastly upon the lady, not able to look you in the eye as he confesses as such. 

—

You are mortified when you realise Benedict heard you singing; you have always managed to keep it private, until now at least. But now your heart is suddenly pounding at his extolling words.

“She does indeed have a most excellent voice,” Ms West concurs with his sentiment, looking at you expectantly as Benedict walks further into the room, his face with the same hopeful expression.

“I am not sure I can…” you stumble, nervous for an audience, most especially him;  his is the opinion that would matter to you the most—you would be crestfallen should he not like it.

“Sing more for me, please, Skylark?” His ask is gentle, beseeching as if it were just the two of you alone.

“Skylark?” Ms West sounds enchanted.

“My childhood nickname for Miss y/l/n,” Benedict explains as he takes a seat. 

“Skylarks have a wonderful song,” she sighs wistfully.

“Indeed,” Benedict chimes, his eyes still upon you. “I never knew how appropriate it was until this very moment.”

Something warm cracks in your chest at his sweet words, making you courageous. At least enough to nod when Ms West looks to you again from the piano. And so you restart the song for your special audience, heart in your mouth. The words coming easily to you, an extra layer of meaning he will never know as you sing words of unrequited devotion, looking to him in your braver moments. His face is enrapt, leaning forward, his eyes soft and expressive. 

As you reach a high note at the end of the song, holding it, Benedict bursts into applause, jumping up from his seat and taking you by surprise, grabbing your gloved hands in his.

“You should always be singing Skylark…” he pronounces. “Truly beautiful. Please promise me, no matter what happens, that you will always, always sing…” 

You duck your head briefly, unsure how to deal with his effusive praise. Ms West’s face is a picture as you stand there, your hands still trapped in his, feeling a tingle where the warmth of his skin seeps through the layers to yours.

“I-I-I promise,” you reply meekly, a touch dazed as you raise your eyes again to meet his, the intensity making your lungs restrict.

“Thank you.” 

Two words have never sounded so sincere or loaded with significance. 

III: … And I Do.

A few days later, it is the Trowbridge Ball, a decadent affair that is usually the most talked about of the season, apparently. You share a carriage ride there with Benedict and Eloise, trying your best not to stare at him—so handsomely dressed in a white cravat and black velvet cropped jacket that clings to his tapered shape. But mostly, you fail. Your skin flushes hot the more you look at him. You could swear that his gaze strays to you, too, subtly sweeping the fine teal silk Madam Delacroix has expertly tailored for you.

“You look beautiful this evening, ladies,” he offers politely to both you and Eloise.

“What do you want?” Eloise cuts across your reply, narrowing her eyes at her older brother, instantly suspicious of his flattery.

“Can I not compliment without an ulterior motive?” he frowns, their usual sibling dynamic emerging.

“Not usually,” Eloise sniffs, with another suspicious glance, before looking out the carriage window.

You take the opportunity to mumble your thanks to him. His responding smile warms your entire being, his hazy eyes lingering in a way that makes your skin prickle. And when he offers a chivalrous hand to assist you down from the carriage, you could swear his hand lingers upon yours a few seconds longer than is necessary. 

Around an hour later, as you go to partake in a refreshment, a sneering Lady Cowper utters something cruel under her breath as you pass, her sour-looking daughter smirking beside her. You do not hear all of the words, but you do not need to. One sideways glance tells you all that you need to know. It seems so unnecessarily cruel, never having even exchanged so much as a word with you, but even as you feel a lump in your throat, their attention is already elsewhere.

“Ah! Mr Briddgerton,” her entire demeanour changing to oleaginous charm, “my daughter looks particularly stunning tonight, does she not? I do believe you should secure a place upon her dance card before there are none left!” 

You watch Benedict blanch at the very words.

“I do not dance, Lady Cowper, but I bid you ladies a good evening,” he responds, polite but firm.

You try your hardest not to giggle at the disdained look on their faces as he sweeps past them, and you feel light as air as, instead, he draws up to you and winks.

“That woman does not realise she is doing her daughter’s prospects more harm than good with her brashness,” he comments dryly as he grabs a glass of champagne from the stand next to you.

“I am not so sure the daughter would do much better without her; she seems perpetually furious about her own hairstyle,” you opine sardonically, making Benedict snort loudly into his champagne glass. A lightness fizzles in your being as he shoots you a look of unmistakable admiration for that remark.

“I daresay you are a much better dancer than her,” he contends, not breaking eye contact, placing aside his drink before leaning in and continuing in a hushed voice. “Perhaps you would do me the honour of a dance, Skylark, to confirm my suspicion?”

There is a vault in your chest as he employs your private nickname in public and, not only that, is offering you a dance when, just a moment ago, he declared publicly that he would not. 

You can only nod, heart hammering, as he breaks out into the most handsome smile, offering you his arm and leading you to the centre of the room as you hear a ripple go through the nearby crowd. Apparently the sight of one Benedict Bridgerton taking to the dancefloor is a rare occasion indeed.

—

As he takes your gloved hand in his and curls an arm around your shoulder, he realises this was perhaps a mistake. An impromptu offer, the hollow thrill of petty revenge for the insult he observed the Cowpers sling at you. But now he realises it has rather backfired upon him.

He cares not a jot for the gossiping, people nodding and pointing to you both as you begin to dance. No, the problem is much more concerning than that. 

It is how discombobulated he feels having you in his arms.

How your body seems to fit and move perfectly with his. How, when you dare to look up at him, his mouth goes a little dry. He has never truly noticed how striking your eyes are until seeing them this close. Indeed, the evident beauty of your face, the way you seem to glow from within, more tonight than ever. It makes his chest - and somewhere else on his body - feel entirely too tight.

—

Nothing could have prepared you for this.

The feeling of literally being swept off your feet. With Benedict's handsome face smiling down upon you as you seem to float around the dancefloor. 

Surely, this is what dreams are made of?

You know it is a flight of fancy, but it seems as though the floor beneath your feet is a shower of diamonds rather than candlelight refracted through chandeliers. The warmth and strength of Benedict’s embrace caged around you, respectful but so close it makes your lungs feel too small to gasp the air you need to keep moving. But you never want to stop. A whirlwind of sensation as you twirl, carried away by the music, the man, the moment.

“Thank you, Benedict,” you breathe, knowing you are likely looking up at him far too adoringly but unable to mask it, a burning need for him to know how grateful you are for this dance, not even noting your over-familial use of his first name at a society event. 

His eyes flash and you could swear they dilate a fraction before you must turn your back to him, following the steps.

“I was right,” he rumbles cryptically from behind you now, his large hands wrapped around yours as you hold them aloft together, following the moves of the dance. “It is indeed an honour to dance with you.” 

Your belly flares as you turn in unison and realise that you are now dancing right in front of Cressida, her expression murderous. It makes you bolder than you have ever been, tilting your head sideways a fraction so your cheek almost brushes Benedict’s, fuelled by the envy you feel seething from within her.

You could swear he sighs ‘Skylark’ as his hot breath tickles your ear, your chest pounding, a flavour in the air you can taste, a powerful stirring low in your belly.

—

Benedict knows this is a dangerous path and yet is powerless to do anything but walk it. Breathing your nickname into your hair as he inhales your scent, heightened by the movement of your dancing. A light, sweet floral perfume but underneath the smell of you, familiar from many years of friendship but altered now, more decadent, an undercurrent of tart berries that thrills and stirs deep within him. Even while knowing his ever-vigilant mother is watching, an inscrutable expression upon her face. 

He is almost grateful when the music ends before he does something foolish. But then you are staring up into his face, all doe-eyed expectant beauty and his tongue feels unexpectedly tied. He is almost grateful when an interrupting hand wraps around his shoulder.  

—

You watch Will Mondrich whisper in Benedict’s ear, and before you know it, he is offering apologies to you with a shallow, polite bow before hurrying away. Coming back to reality with a bump, you drift awkwardly from the dance floor, feeling judgy eyes upon you, suddenly flooded with concern your behaviour was entirely too wanton. 

Before your thoughts can spiral too far, however, someone materialises at your side.

“I do so hope your dance card is not full tonight, Miss y/l/n,” a newly-familiar, chipper voice cut in.

“Lord Glassborough,” you breathe; your relief at seeing his cordial face is palpable. “I am available to dance right now,” you smile politely, taking his proffered arm and letting him lead you back out to the spot you and Benedict had just vacated.

As the music begins and you move together, the difference is… noticeable. Gone is the frisson over your limbs, that excitement as if your skin could vibrate off your bones. Instead you feel comforted, almost a brotherly presence as he leads you in the dance. He is technically proficient, but it feels lacking—that tension, that heat burning in the space between you. It makes you yearn for Benedict even though he was just with you. It makes your stomach settle with a leaden weight you realise you will have to settle for less than what you truly desire.

Still distracted by your mental comparison, you absently acquiesce to his suggestion to take some air upon the terrace as the dance ends. You sense Violet, ever the vigilant chaperone, follow as he leads you into the cooler air outside. 

“Miss y/l/n…,” Lord Glassborough begins cautiously. You sense a nervousness in his being, pulling your full focus to him. “I think us most compatible, would you not agree?”

“We make most excellent friends, indeed, Lord Glassborough,” you hedge, not wanting to appear overzealous.

“And friendship is the most appropriate foundation to build something more… tender,” he argues with a smile. “I do believe I could offer you a most agreeable life.” 

There is a strange twinge in your chest as suddenly, you realise what this is. The moment everyone, except perhaps yourself, has been awaiting all season.

“I would be honoured if you would consent to be my wife, Miss y/l/n,” he humbly offers a sincere kindness shining in his eyes.

And there it is. An offer of marriage from a perfectly nice, respectable gentleman done in an appropriate manner. 

To one side, you see Violet clutch a hand over her chest, face delighted, even as you form fists within your delicate gloves, wishing this moment were not happening so soon after a truly breathtaking dance with the man of your dreams. Who is not the same man as the one before you, nervously shuffling from foot to foot, awaiting your reply. 

“I am honoured, Lord Glassborough,” you answer cautiously, bowing your head demurely. “This is a big decision to make. Please allow me time to give you my proper, considered answer?”

“Of course,” he bows chivalrously, his accommodating nature making this moment all the more bittersweet. He is indeed a lovely man. 

He is just not the one you want with every fibre of your being.

—

That night, you cannot sleep. Knowing you have the most significant decision of your life to make. So, in the small hours, you find yourself drifting to the deserted kitchen of Bridgerton House to do what you do best when you need to think calmly—baking. 

An activity you have grown up doing with Mrs Parsons. Many hours spent happily with flour dusting your hands, sun streaming into her grand but homely kitchen. A perhaps slightly maverick pastime for a lady of her social standing, with staff to do such things for her should she wish it, but so very enjoyable nonetheless. 

Throwing a large, heavy baking apron over your nightdress and robe, you potter around, the flagstone of the basement floor cold underfoot, a grounding feeling that stops your mind from racing too much.

You have no idea how to respond to Glassborough’s proposal. On one hand, he is a seemingly nice man, certainly of a good family. You are sure he would be a perfectly acceptable husband, unlikely to be mean or untoward. It is just… a nagging voice is telling you to turn him down despite him being an imminently sensible choice, your heart wanting, well, the impossible. A man that excites you, not just a safe, practical option.

You are onto your second batch of lemon and rosemary biscuits when a voice makes you jump out of your skin.

“What on earth…?”

There in the doorway is Benedict, looking confounded to find you here. The very man who makes your heart skip, always. He is dressed the most casually you have ever seen him— also barefoot, in a white frilled shirt and dark trousers, brocade braces slung around his hips. You swear you may have to grab the bench before you to stay upright.

“Y/n! We have cooks you can call upon at any time should you need food!” he fusses, instantly concerned, moving to ring a bell on the wall.

“No! Please do not!” You exclaim, rushing to stop him, grabbing his sleeve in your haste. “I-I enjoy baking. It is relaxing; it helps me to think.”

His brow knits and his eyes flick down to your hold on his sleeve, a warm vein pulsing under your fingertips. You snatch your hand away quickly, a blush staining your cheeks, mumbling an apology as you scurry back to your biscuit-making.

“Alright,” he concedes slowly, still appearing confused. “When I saw the sconces lit from the rear stairwell, I assumed one of the staff was still down here.”

You find it bemusing that he seems at pains to justify why he might also be in the kitchen, especially to you, a guest. This is Bridgerton House, and he is a Bridgerton. He may go wherever he pleases, surely? And yet here he is, doing so.

“I was rather hoping for some hot cocoa,” he explains with that soft, crooked smile that always makes your heart flutter.

“Oh! Well, umm, I could make you some cocoa?” you look down, wiping your hands upon your apron and moving to do so.

—

That you would make such an offer, as if seeing yourself as unpaid help, spurs him into action.

“No, you certainly will not!”  He decries, moving swiftly towards the larder before you can. “I am perfectly fine with some cold milk,” he assures, re-emerges with a bottle and pouring himself a glass, leaning back against the sink to take a sip.

Despite the lateness of the hour, he finds your heretofore secret pastime strangely fascinating. A lady who bakes. By choice. So he watches as you return to making your biscuit dough, entertained as you begin to beat the mixture quite furiously with a wooden spatula.

“Have those ingredients caused you some sort of personal offence….?” he jests lightly, nodding to the bowl.

He observes a flit of contrition across your face before you answer.

“I, umm, have a decision that I must make; baking helps me think,” you explain vaguely, then appear to rapidly change the subject. “I am, however, sure of one fact - some biscuits are a must to accompany milk. There is a completed batch over there.”

“Genius,” he opines with a wink, enthusiastically moving to grab one from the cooling rack you signalled to, delighting in the blush that darkens your cheeks. But he decides to push the topic you abruptly avoided. Concerned there could be a topic you are genuinely wrestling with. If his opinion on the matter can ameliorate your burdens, he would be most honoured to assist.

“What sort of decision must you make?” he inquires before temporarily losing the power of speech. There is an explosion of tart lemon and earthy herb on his tongue that melts into a buttery sweetness, utterly divine. “Lord alive, these are delicious!!!” he exclaims around the mouthful.

“Thank you,” you answer softly. 

You are always so modest about your talents; it sometimes makes him want to grab your shoulders and shake you gently. To make you see what he does. 

“To answer your question, it is a perplexing matter that needs serious consideration,” you explain, stopping short of detail. It appears you are not yet ready to share the news with him. Something about that makes him a touch sad, but he also does not want to pry if you are reluctant to divulge. 

—

Benedict swallows the bite he has taken, and you find yourself staring at the movement of his throat as he does. Knowing one thing to be true—if it were his proposal, you would not even hesitate for a split second. That wistful thought makes you suddenly melancholic, and you sigh, pushing aside your mixing bowl, realising this may be an issue baking will not fix.

“I do so hate to see you doubt yourself, Skylark,” he offers quietly after a beat, mien so earnest. “Trust yourself. You will find the right answer for your dilemma; I am certain of it.”

He is so remarkably supportive that, ironically, you almost want to scream at him.

“I should leave you to your thoughts,” his tone is gentle, reluctant.

“Please, there is no need, Benedict,” you try to assure. “To be honest, in all of this world, yours is the company I enjoy the very most…”

That truth is out of your mouth before you can censor it. 

You sheepishly glance over to be met by a surprised look on his face. He takes a few steps towards you, probably without realising it, and suddenly, he is very close, faint wisps of his woodsy, citrus cologne tickling your nose.

“And I, yours, Skylark…” he rumbles, his gaze falling to your lips. 

Time seems to stop, and you feel pinned under glass, staring up into his handsome face as he breathes slightly ragged, your body rioting as he engulfs your senses, definitely too close to be considered gentlemanly, polite…

…But then, he takes a sharp inhale and steps back as if coming to his senses. He turns heel with a hastily muttered goodbye, and before you know it, he is gone. Leaving you bewildered, your thoughts scattered.

—

The following day, Benedict is idly reading the paper, partaking in a leisurely lunch of tea and cake, when his mother swans in, reeling off a set of instructions for her lady's maid.

“Oh, and lastly, do not forget, we should secure an appointment with the modiste, in case Miss y/l/n should know her answer today…” Violet concludes breezily as she takes a seat.

“Yet another ball we must suffer, mother?” Benedict drawls drily, folding down his paper and taking a hearty bite of zesty lemon drizzle.

She shoots her son an exasperated look before neatly smoothing a serviette into her lap as she is served her usual afternoon Earl Grey by the butler. “Miss y/l/n will be in need of a wedding dress, Benedict, dear.”

He spits an array of crumbs onto his newspaper, coughing in shock. “She will need what?!?” he wheezes, barely recovering.

“Lord Glassborough proposed to Miss y/l/n last night, my dear, at the ball. She has yet to give her answer, but I am certain she will. They are a fine match,” Violet declares, taking a sip of tea.

“Why did she not mention it to me?” he mutters, more to himself than anyone, his forehead creasing heavily in a frown as he swallows the rest of his mouthful.

“Why would she have?”  

“We talked last night…” letting slip perhaps too much in his perplexed state, lost in his own tumbling thoughts.

“When last night? We returned from the ball very late,” a suspicious tone in his mother’s voice, belatedly releasing he should know better than to think aloud; she is sharp as a tack.

“I-I found Miss y/l/n baking last night… in the kitchen when I went for cocoa… she told me she had a dilemma she was wrestling with…” he admits, looking down at the paper, the words now a jumble before his eyes. “Mother do you think it is possible she will say yes??” Benedict's head snaps up, his heart suddenly pounding in his ears.

“She would be a fool not to,” Violet points out, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow at him. “Unless there was another, perhaps more wanted, proposal she could consider. Do you possibly know of one? Son?” 

Even he can read between those lines. 

“I-I am late,” he abruptly changes tack. “I promised to meet Anthony today to discuss the soil at Aubrey,” he bustles rapidly, standing and fleeing the room before he can allow his mother to see how much of a complete lie that is.

—

Benedict spends the afternoon at White’s, downing perhaps one too many whiskeys as he grills his fellow patrons upon the Glassborough family. Looking for any reason he can find to object to the betrothal while steadfastly refusing to examine why he feels so passionately about the subject. He also spends time checking the hefty tomes of Debrett’s the club holds.

He returns to Bridgerton House just as dusk settles in, the sky streaking red and pink as he enters.

“Where have you been, dear?” Violet asks as he rounds into the parlour.

“Researching,” he gruffs economically.

“What? Or rather whom?” Violet inquires, revealing she already has a firm idea of what she asks.

“I can find nothing wrong with him!”

Benedict paces, an energy emanating from his being as if he is rattled by that very fact.

“That is a good thing, is it not, son?” Violet reminds pointedly. “We want y/n married to a good gentleman…”

Benedict shoots her an exasperated look but relents. “I suppose…”

“Is not your reluctance perhaps for another reason, my dear?” Her question is gentle, if not particularly subtle.

He slumps into a wingback chair with a defeated sigh. “Go ahead. Say your piece, mother.”

“I have watched you, darling,” she begins gently, watching him tip his head back and screw his eyes shut. “I do not know exactly when, but your regard of Miss y/l/n has altered, and I am not the only one to observe it.”

Benedict's eyes fly open, and he tips his head down with a frown as his mother continues.

“Even Colin has marked a change in you. If you feel anything, my dear, then Miss y/l/n has the right to know. Before it is too late. The right to make an informed choice if you are bold enough to give her one. Son, I have only ever wanted my children’s happiness. And if your happiness lies somewhere that perhaps even you have not realised until now…. well then I encourage you to follow it. Follow your heart.”

Her impassioned speech suddenly makes the pieces of a jumbled jigsaw before his eyes arrange into a pattern, a way forward that is suddenly clear and sharply in focus.

It makes him leap to his feet, an urgency thronging in his being.

“Where is Miss y/l/n?” he almost barks. 

“I do not know,” Violet confesses, “but I do know she has not yet seen or written to Lord Glassborough,” she adds.

“Good…” he rasps, headed determined out of the room to find you.

—

The verdant lush grass is cool between your toes as you curl them over, sighing heavily, the night now dark, a twinkle of silver among the navy sky, soon to be black. The swing under the big oak, a refuge you have sought many times since staying at Bridgerton House, feels a particularly poignant place to be tonight as an internal war rages within you, your decision swaying back and forth as much as the wooden seat you are perched upon, the rope digging into your cheekbone as you slump against it, flummoxed.

You know what your answer to Glassborough should be. Indeed, what it should have been from the moment he asked. 

A resounding yes.

In every practical measure, this is the best possible outcome of your London season. A proposal from a thoroughly decent, acceptable gentleman, way above the station you were expecting, given your less than prestigious certainty of lineage.

And yet.

And yet.

There is a large part of you, your heart, that wants to turn down the proposal, foolhardy as that may be. Wanting to feel akin to what you felt as you danced with Benedict last night. You are not so foolish as to believe he would ever propose, but perhaps there is someone else out there for you that may evoke something similar for you? Even if only half, it would be enough. Enough for you to build a future around and feel contentment in your heart, to not just settle for what your head knows to be a sensible choice. 

—

Having searched the house, he rounds into the garden and stops short, heart leaping into his throat as he spies you, swaying gently upon the swing, looking thoroughly lost in thought. It makes his chest ache that you are so melancholic about a decision that should indeed be joyous. The selfish part of him celebrating, hoping that perhaps you are not. His memory recalls with perfect clarity how you have looked as lost as he now feels every time you have been close. The unbearable lightness of hope seizes his legs and draws him inexorably closer.

—

You whip around as you sense company and have to take a deep breath as your eyes fall upon Benedict. His face pinched with a restless intensity.

“I was hoping I would find you,” he exhales.

“You have,” you shrug, still confused by his crackling energy, him seeming in a rush to say something.

“Skylark, you deserve the very best of everything. Sincerely. And part of that includes that you should know the truth in the hearts of those lucky enough to know you…” a slight quake in his voice as he takes a step closer.

“Alright…” you respond cautiously, your brow creasing as you sense the nerves emanating from him.

You gasp as he rapidly drops to one knee before you, a hand clutched to his chest. 

“I have been a fool to not see it before now. My own ardent admiration for you, for your talents, for your beauty. I realise now, perhaps too late, that you are truly the most wondrous, precious being in this world. You may not always see it, but it would be my greatest honour to show you, every day, if you will permit me, what I see when I look upon you. What I have always seen if I am honest with myself. A light that shines brighter than any other, a bird that soars higher and sings more sweetly than any other. A soul that it would be a privilege to be bound to. I know it is perhaps the worst possible timing, seeing as you already have a proposal from a perfectly acceptable gentleman. Still, I could not let you get married without letting you know the contents of my heart.”

You are stunned. Speechless. 

Your heart pounds in your ribcage as you sit there stupified for what must be an age, Benedict looking upon you expectantly, breath slightly ragged from his long speech. Somehow, convincing yourself this could only be a dream. That the man you have adored since before you can remember has just made the most beautiful poetic confession of love you have ever heard. And it’s to you.

So, you do the only logical thing that comes to mind. Pinch your own leg. Hard.

—

Benedict is momentarily confounded at your actions.

“Owwww!” you yelp. “Not dreaming then…” is your muttered follow-up, rubbing your own knee as his face morphs into the most enormous grin, a lightning bolt of joy tearing through him as he realises what you are doing, that you can scarcely believe this is happening any more than he can.

“It is really me, Skylark,” he chuckles softly, seeing the way your eyes dilate rapidly as he can't help the lopsided grin that claims his face, a warmth behind his ribs that is just for you.

“I realise that now,” you sass back, and there is a stirring in his trousers at the tone you employ.

“I love you.” 

It's a reflex; he doesn't even realise he says it. But as soon as it's out of his mouth, it's like an invisible burden has been lifted from his entire being. The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.

—

You know your face is aflame as you snap back at him, entirely without meaning to, but then he says three little words that tilt your whole world even more. 

“I-I-I love you too.”

You are bewildered when you say it aloud. 

 The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.

“Marry me? Please. My darling, wonderful friend,” he implores, his bare hands grabbing yours, tingles shooting over you as your skin touches his.

“Yes!! I will!!!” you answer breathlessly, not even a second of hesitation. 

He leans in and captures your lips with his. They are warm and soft as they move gently with yours. And when he opens your mouth with his and his tongue rolls delicately over yours, it feels as if all the fireworks you have seen in the sky live now inside you, popping and exploding in a riot of colour. A whole new world of sensual pleasure is promised in that one move.

“Are you certain?” you murmur as you break apart for air, a flash of insecurity that this is happening so fast, even as there is a strong pull inside, a want to keep kissing him over and over.

He smiles, tilting his forehead to yours, a wistful look in his blue eyes.

“To know you, truly know you, is to love you, Skylark,” he sighs, his words a blanket settling over your quaking heart.  “And I do. I truly do.”

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @notanotheruniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton fluff #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n

[motomam1]

MOTOMAMI | welcome to formula one

series masterlist | navigation

author's note: just a little something to get me back into the game because i missed working on this!

♡ liked by 928,394 people

f1 Our longterm besties entering F1 together ✨

Starring Valeria, Oscar and Logan!

#F1 #Formula1 #BahrainGP

view all 2,341 comments

user1 the 2019 rookies are getting some serious competition with these three

user2 not them leaving nyck out like he isn't a rookie as well ⤷ user3 who?

user4 i'm so hyped to see these three race against each other! ⤷ user5 only oscar and vale will race each other, logan will stay at the back ⤷ user6 that is so foul

user7 🇲🇽🇲🇽🇲🇽❤️❤️❤️

user8 f1 isn't what it used to be ⤷ user9 go cry me a river

user10 "shake ass on the podium" she's so real i loooove her

♡ liked by 456,394 people

f1 The Mercedes duo arriving in fashion to the first race weekend of the season! ⭐️

#F1 #Formula1 #BahrainGP

view all 923 comments

user11 vale is so cute omg

user12 the fashionistas of f1

user13 everyone arriving in their boring team merch while these two really rock the paddock

user14 i just know they texted each other this morning discussing their fits

user15 f1 fashion game is SO BACK

♡ liked by 1,528,394 people

f1 Valeria makes history as the second woman to gain points in F1 🌟

Ortiz scores her first points with a solid P6!

#F1 #Formula1 #BahrainGP

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user16 THAT'S MY GIRL RIGHT THERE AAHH

user17 it's just the car ⤷ user18 whatever makes you sleep at night

user19 that eyeliner is STANDING ON BUSINESS

user20 the way i screamed out loud when she drove over the finish line!!!

user21 her dad jumping up and down and kissing toto's cheek is the most iconic moment of the weekend ⤷ user22 literally her dad is absolute goals ⤷ user23 i love her dad so much

user24 just her breathing is already making history

user25 a legend in the making! 🇲🇽🇲🇽

♡ liked by benitovelasquez, lewishamilton, yungfilly and 467,384 others

valeriaortiz celebrating that p5-p6 with selfmade tequila

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user26 only hot people driver for mercedes 💅🏻

user27 i already love lewis' and valeria's friendship so much

user28 vale looks so fun to party with!

user29 now i wanna try vale's dad's tequila ⤷ user30 ong been thinking about it ever since she mentioned it

user31 can't wait to see vale bloom further in f1

user32 she's going places for sureeee

user33 men crying and throwing up that a woman joined f1 and vale is over here enjoying some good tequila and pizza

user34 she had one decent race and her ego jumps through the roof ⤷ user35 truly embarrassing of her

tag list: @tpwkstiles @dessxoxsworld @lorarri @elliegrey2803 @inejghafawifesblog @daaiissyyyyy @viennakarma @cha-hot @saintslewis @welovediaaxx @mynameisangeloflife @peqch-pie @louvrepool @tremendousstarlighttragedy ➫ comment or leave a message in my inbox if you'd like to be added

#driver!oc #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 imagine #f1 imagines #f1 scenario #f1 scenarios #f1 x oc #f1 x reader #formula one scenarios #formula one scenario #formula one fanfic #formula one x reader #formula 1 #formula one #formula one x oc #latina!oc #f1 social media au #f1 instagram au #f1 smau #formula one social media au #formula one instagram au #formula one smau #f1 grid x reader #f1 grid x driver!oc

[juniperskye]

Why are you in my head? Pt. 3

Sneak Peek: Eddie and you are soulmates. The legend of soulmates is that you start to hear one another’s thoughts around age 16 – not all the time, but when you’re feeling a strong emotion. It simply flows out of you and into the other, the legend also states that the closer you are, the more you can hear them. **The events of season 4 did NOT happen** I did also use some of the dialogue

Bold are Eddie’s thoughts; Italics are reader’s thoughts. (mind you, they are essentially hearing both sets of thoughts)

Eddie Munson x Fem Sunshine! Reader (Soulmate AU)

Fluff/Angst - Part 1 Part 2

Word count: 2583

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!! My blog is 18+, minors DNI, explicit language, no use of y/n, fem reader, mentions of drugs/sale of drugs/drug use, arguing, mentions of Eddie’s drug addict parents, mention of post-partum depression, mention of child endangerment, mention of child death, mention of murder, mention of suicide, mention of foster care, let me know if I missed any!

That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story

I miss you so fucking much. How could you think so little of me. I’m sorry. You just don’t understand what it’s like. You don’t even know me. We’re soulmates, of course I know you. Our thoughts weren’t shared until we were both teenagers, you know nothing about how I was brought up. Can I see you? Please.

Thoughts between soulmates were shared more frequently when experiencing high levels of stress, primarily during long periods of separation after meeting, or fighting.

“Hey bug, Eddie’s on the phone for you.” Your dad knocked lightly on your door.

“Tell him I don’t want to talk to him!” You hollered up to your dad.

Since your fight with Eddie, one week ago, your parents had noticed your very apparent, sour mood. You really had no choice but to tell them that you had in fact met your soulmate and had been hanging out with him non-stop. Your mom had been thrilled for you; she had wanted to know everything about Eddie. Your dad on the other hand, he was furious. He clocked the tear tracks that ran down your cheeks the second you walked in the door, and he wanted Eddie’s address so he could kick his ass. You had assured him that it wouldn’t be necessary, that no matter how upset you were in the moment, in your heart you knew the two of you would be able to work things out.

“Sweetie, maybe you should take his call.” Your mom suggested.

“Maybe you should butt out!” You shouted back.

You were immediately filled with regret. Quickly making your way up the stairs you threw open your door to come face to face with your parents.

“Mom, I am so sorry.”

She pulled you into a tight hug, her hand gently brushing at the hair on the back of your head. She always did this when you hugged, and it always brought a warm comfort throughout your body.

“It’s okay. I know that you are upset. Maybe you should try talking to him sweetie, it might make you feel better.” She suggested once more.

“Okay, I guess you’re probably right.” You nodded.

“Well, that’s good because he is on his way right now.” Your dad informed you.

“What? Dad! A little warning would be nice! He doesn’t live that far, and I have to get ready!” You started scrambling down the stairs into your room to get ready.

Your parents chuckled, remembering what it was like to be that young and new in love.

A knock at the door had you sprinting up the stairs and practically shoving your dad out of the way so you could get there first. You weren’t quite ready to have Eddie meet your parents, especially since you aren’t currently on the best of terms.

You opened the door with just enough room to slide out of the house. You took note of Eddie’s disheveled appearance, he had bags under his eyes, his hair looked especially frizzy, and his skin didn’t have its usual glow.

“Hey.” He said sheepishly.

“Hi.” You replied.

“Did you uh, did you want to go sit in the van and talk?” Eddie said gesturing to where it was parked at the end of your driveway.

You nodded and the two of you made your way to the vehicle. He wanted so badly to pull you into his arms and kiss all this pain away, but he knew that it wouldn’t be that simple, he had made some snap judgements and said some hurtful things to you. He knew he needed to apologize and that the two of you still had a lot to learn about one another.

“Baby, I am so sorry. I said some awful shit to you, and I shouldn’t have. I just, I am so used to having people judge me. For how I look, for where I live, who I live with, the people I hang out with, the music I listen to, the field of work I’m in. And I know that you weren’t judging me, that you were just looking out for me because you care, but baby I couldn’t help but let those past feelings eat me alive when you were talking to me.” Eddie explained.

“Eddie, I appreciate you apologizing. I’ve had time to think about things too and I can understand how my reaction could have come across as judgmental. Eddie, my dad is a cop, I have heard what happens to people when they’re caught with a little bit of weed in their possession, but if you were caught selling it, or something worse. Eddie I can’t lose you. Not when I have only just found you.” Tears were running down your face at this point.

Eddie scooted closer to you on the bench of the van, he brought his hand up to cup your cheek, gently brushing away your tears with his thumb. He leaned in and pressed a sweet kiss to your lips. When you two broke apart, he leaned his forehead against your own, his hand brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I am so sorry baby. Please forgive me?”

“Eddie, before I can forgive you, I need to know that you don’t really think of me like that. I may come from a well-off family now, but there is a lot you don’t know about me and I just – I need to know that you don’t see me as some privileged brat.” You begged.

“Sweetheart, no! I don’t think of you that way. I am so sorry! I don’t even know why I said that. It’s like a defense mechanism. I know that there’s so much I don’t know about you, and I hope that you will trust me enough to tell me everything there is to know about you.” He rushed.

You were both startled by a knock on the window. Looking over at the passenger window, you were mortified to see your dad standing there, giving you and Eddie a small wave. He then gestured for you to roll the window down. You visibly cringed as you began cranking the window open, mouthing an embarrassed apology to Eddie.

“Dadddd…what do you want?” You whined.

“Your mother sent me out here to let you know that dinner is ready. She also wanted me to ask if your friend here would be joining us.” He explained.

Your eyes darted over to Eddie. You were trying to decipher his expression, was he as horrified as you were? Was he intrigued by the idea of meeting your parents.? Was he ready to flee and never return?

Would you want me to stay?

You couldn’t help but smile. His thought was timed perfectly, this soulmate thing definitely had its perks.

Of course I want you to stay! I just don’t want them to scare you off.

“If it’s alright with you sir, I’d like to stay for dinner.” Eddie looked at your dad, who replied with a curt nod.

“I can’t believe you’re a Metallica fan! I just finished learning Master of Puppets on my guitar!” Eddie gushed.

“That’s a tough song, I bet you had to practice for weeks!” Your dad indulged Eddie.

This is so embarrassing! Your dad is so cool!

Your mom laughed at the exchange between the two men and she and you cleared the table. She gave you a knowing look and nodded towards your room.

“Why don’t you two go watch a movie, your dad and I can clear the rest of this up.” She suggested.

“Only if you’re sure.” You asked, gaze shifting from your mom to your dad.

“Door stays open.” Your dad pointed towards you.

With that you grabbed Eddie’s hand and led him down to your room, being sure to leave your door open, per your dad’s request. As you descended the stairs, Eddie’s jaw made its way to the floor. He was amazed by your room, you had records hung on the walls and ceiling, one of your walls had an incredible photo collage, with photos of you, your friends and family throughout the years, and below that were stacks of books next to a small desk. HeHewHH’d have to ask you about who all these people were. You also had a projector screen that you clearly used for movies.

“This is amazing! You read J.R.R. Tolkien and Stephen King? And these records, this is so cool, I would never want to leave if this was my room!” Eddie exclaimed.

God, like you could get any hotter.

“Yeah, my parents are pretty cool about letting me express my creative freedoms or whatever.” You shrugged.

You couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach, Eddie had talked about how you got everything you’d ever wanted, and this made that seem true. If only he knew.

Things had continued on pretty well with you and Eddie over the next few months. You guys had grown closer, trusting one another with the heavier secrets of your lives. Eddie had told more in depth about his parents. His mom had gotten hooked on drugs thanks to his dad, who was quick to put hands on Eddie and his mom when he was under the influence – which seemed to be more often than not.

You had wanted to tell Eddie about your past too, but the timing just didn’t seem right. Every time you went to share, something came up, or you were trying to avoid it coming across as you are one-upping him and his trauma.

Things aren’t always what they seem.

Eddie had dinner at your house once a week, and you’d traded off whose house you’d go to after school each day. Nothing physical had transpired between the two of you other than a few heavy make out sessions. At each other’s houses you had fallen into a routine, at yours you would either watch a movie or read, at his you’d either watch a movie, listen to music, or help him with his campaigns.

Tonight happened to be dinner at your house, your parents had suggested ordering a pizza tonight and playing Monopoly. Eddie had enjoyed nights like this, your parents had been extremely welcoming of him. He had appreciated that they didn’t judge him, not once in all the time he has known them. They had been warm and kind and accepting.

Your dad had bonded with him about his taste in music and had shown an interest in Dungeons and Dragons. Your mom talked to him about his future and his dreams of being in a band, but the reality of him probably becoming a mechanic.  Your mom had told him that he should pursue music as long as he had something he could fall back on should it not work out. She told him that he could achieve his dreams as long as he worked hard at it.

These conversations, these dinners, these nights with your family had been amazing, they had also been painful for Eddie. He couldn’t help but feel hurt that he didn’t get to have a childhood like this, that he had to get his ass beat by his dad while his mom was strung out on the couch. He hadn’t been removed from their custody until he was about 10 years old, that’s when child services pulled him from their care and moved him in with Wayne.

Wayne had grown fond of you immediately; he had seen how Eddie had changed immediately after meeting you. He had been happier, which meant the world to Wayne. All Wayne had ever wanted was for Eddie to have something good in his life and here you were. You and Wayne were buds and it filled Eddie with a sense of pride that his uncle approved of you.

Now if only things could stay simple like that forever.

Eddie and you had finished dinner and a game of Monopoly at your house. You were planning to go to Eddie’s after to watch Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2. After pulling up in front of the trailer, Eddie made his way to your side of the van and pulled you out of the car. You giggled as he kissed you and the two of you stumbled into the living room.

He made his way to the kitchen to grab drinks for you both and he began popping some popcorn.

“Sorry about my parents tonight. I know they can be super lame.” You huffed out a laugh.

“What do you mean? Your parents are great!” Eddie said.

“No, I know, but they act so goofy. It’s embarrassing.” You shook your head.

At least you have parents.

“Jesus Eddie.”

“What? I didn’t…oh shit. Babe I’m sorry. It’s just, you should be thankful that you have parents who care about you. Not all of us are that lucky.”

“I’m not that lucky Eddie! Fuck! How many times do I have to tell you that you don’t know me! You don’t know anything about me!” You sighed.

“Then tell me! Please, enlighten me as to how your two wonderful parents can be so bad!” Eddie egged you on.

“THEY'RE NOT MY PARENTS!” You shouted at him, then took a deep breath. “Eddie, they’re not my real parents.”

Eddie sat a looked at you, mouth agape, speechless. You could tell that he was waiting for you to continue, but you needed a moment to collect your thoughts. You had to explain everything, this conversation could change everything.

“My parents, Eddie, they did some horrible shit. Neither of them had any other family, my mom she uh, she had post-partum depression, she wasn’t doing well, for a long time after my little sister was born. I guess that had caused my dad to seek comfort elsewhere, I was only six when all this happened. But uh, my mom she uh she left my sister in the bath alone, my sister slid down into the water and drowned, she was only 8 weeks old. When my dad came home and found her, he was furious. Eddie he killed my mom, and then he killed himself. I ended up in foster care and bounced from home to home until I was twelve, until they took me in.”

“Sweetheart. I, I am so sorry. I don’t, I’m not sure what to say.” Eddie whispered. “But uh, you said. You had mentioned that your mom told you bedtime stories about how her and your dad met.”

“My mom now, she would tell me how her and my dad met, every night until I finally started sleeping.” You explained.

The nightmares made it impossible. I couldn’t stop seeing the blood.

Eddie crossed the room and pulled you into his arms. He couldn’t believe that he had been so stupid this whole time. You had been silently telling him that your life wasn’t all that perfect, that though now, it seemed good, it hadn’t always been. He needed you to know that he was here for you, no matter what.

I’ve got you. I will always have you baby.

A sob escaped your throat, ripping through the silence. Eddie held you; he laid you with him in his bed, his hand brushing through your hair gently, whispering sweet nothings to you.

I haven’t told anyone that story. Nobody, ever. Not even my parents. Your secret is safe with me. You are safe with me. I love you sweetheart. I love you Eds.

Tag List: @sashaphantomhive

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson stranger things #corroded coffin #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things 4 #eddie munson angst #eddie munson au #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female character #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson angst blurb #sstranger things blurb #stranger things imagine #stranger things x you #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #mechanic!eddie #mechanic!eddie x reader #mechanic!eddie x y/n #dad!eddie munson #dad!eddie munson x mom!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fluff #why are you in my head #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff

[puck-luck]

Forever yearning for a jealous, dominant Luke Hughes. I mean spitting in your mouth, edging, mirror sex, etc. I need the filthy, down bad luke.

Scenario: maybe you’re becoming close with one of the other players (completely innocent-just forming a friendship) but Luke doesn’t see it as that way…

👉🏻👈🏻

warnings (in no particular order): spit(!!), jealousy, dom!luke, edging, mirror sex, one (1!) slap to the face just for the enjoyment of my friend jo, spanking, drinking (technically underage hiii luke turn 21 already stop being lame), beating yourself up, pet names and nicknames as FUCK (always bro do y’all even know me), road head, face fucking, unprotected p in v, dare i say breeding kink, implied subspace, allusion to size kink (probably established size kink to be fair), I THINK THAT’S IT BUT I’M NOT SURE! pairing: luke hughes x fem!reader summary: the one when luke gets jealous at the bar and doles out a bit of a punishment (code: luke is insecure about his performance on the ice, so when his gf starts talking with another teammate who is her friend, he gets jealous and feels like he has to prove himself by making her feel good, but he’s still a dom bc HOTTTT) wc: 6416

The Devils’ last game of the season was at home this year. There was no chance that they would make the playoffs and Jack was out in Colorado for his shoulder surgery, plus Luke’s parents weren’t able to make it from Michigan for his final rookie game. He was depending on you to be there, so there you were. You were cheering, you were yelling at the officials when they missed a call, you were laughing at Luke when he took a trademarked Hughes spill on the ice with barely anyone around him. Yeah, you were disappointed at the end of the game when the Islanders won (and it wasn’t even close), but it was just one game. It wasn’t the end of the world. It was a disappointment, but it wasn’t life-changing.

Luke, however, was much more upset with their performance when you met up with him after the game. He drove the two of you to the bar where the team was meeting for one last celebration before the off-season and he tried, he really did, to keep his complaints inside. He was stewing, just letting it well up inside of him and fester in the silence between you, until it spilled over.

“It should have been a better game,” Luke finally said, the harsh edge in his tone rubbing you in all the wrong ways. “We could’ve done more. If I had just–”

“Lu, baby,” you interrupted, voice soft. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I was out there the longest, other than Jake,” Luke argued. “They depend on me and I let them down.”

“You were only on the ice for one goal, Lu. You couldn’t have done anything about at least the other three.”

Your statement was not something he wanted to hear. Your boyfriend, sweet as he was, always saw the best in everyone else and the worst in himself. Where he could have been blaming Brendan for the loss, since Brendan was on the ice for three of the four goals, he was instead blaming himself. He was never one to hold a grudge against his teammates or his friends or his family, which was part of the reason why you were so in love with him.

He grunted instead of giving you a real response, but you knew it was coming from a place of knowing you’re right but still feeling hurt.

“I love you,” you told him, just a reminder that his performance would never affect your affection towards him. 

“I love you too,” Luke replied, and you two fell back into silence. It was less tense this time, but his shoulders were still tense and he was frowning, almost pouting. He was so pretty, even now, but you hated how this expression marred his face.

When you pulled up to the bar, you were met by Luke’s teammates. While some of the men had gone home after the game, it was mostly the ones who had families. You knew their wives and girlfriends would have encouraged them to go out with the team rather than stay home with the kids, but you understood. If Luke had wanted to go straight home after the game, you would’ve gone with him and cuddled him until you fell asleep.

“Do you want to get out and get me a drink, baby, while I find parking?” Luke asked, always so considerate. 

“Yeah,” you agreed easily, leaning over the center console to peck his lips before you left the car. 

Waiting outside the entrance of the bar, Nico and John smiled as you got out of the car and walked over to them. You hugged each of them before entering the bar, Nico walking in ahead of you and John following you with a hand on your back. 

It didn’t mean anything to you or to John, but when Luke watched John guide you into the bar before he drove away to search for a parking spot, something sharp and green poked at his heart.

Luke finally made his way into the bar about ten minutes after you walked in, and your face had lit up when you saw him like it had been much longer. He didn’t see you at first, so you had the chance to watch him scan the room. His brow was furrowed as he scanned each person’s features. You knew that he was trying to spot you without looking for the other boys at first, but it was proving difficult with how crowded the room had become.

Timo appeared at his side and patted Luke’s shoulder in greeting. Luke talked to him for a minute before Timo pointed your way. Luke’s face split with a smile when he saw you and he gave Timo a pat before beelining towards you.

You looped your arms around Luke’s neck when he joined you, leaning up on your tiptoes to kiss him.

“Gross,” Nico complained from next to you. “It’s only been a few minutes since you’ve seen each other.”

“You’re not in love,” Luke replied, snarky and sarcastic like he tended to be when it wasn’t just the two of you. He then turned to you. “Where’s my drink?”

“What a priority,” you teased, rolling your eyes at him. He pinched your side. “I sent Johnny to go get it.”

Luke’s expression changed for a split second before he schooled his features. You wouldn’t have noticed it if you weren’t so in tune with his emotions, experience that comes only after years of dating a person. 

You let it go, knowing that it can’t be too important, or Luke would have said something. He knew you were friends with guys on the team. After being around them for almost a year, having moved out here with Luke at the start of his rookie year, it was bound to happen. Plus, Luke wasn’t the jealous type. He knew that you loved him and you’d love him forever, saying yes in a second if he chose to propose.

But to him, there was something about the way you said “Johnny” instead of John. It was that and John’s hand on your back as he guided you into the bar, on top of an already hard night, that had Luke questioning himself.

“I asked him to get you a rum and coke,” you said, tilting your head up to poke Luke’s nose with your own. “Is that okay?”

“It sounds good, thank you,” Luke replied. 

You resume conversation with Nico, turning to face him but staying tucked into Luke’s side. He had a hand on your hip and the other accepted the drink that John handed Luke when he returned. He nursed it quietly for a while, engaging in conversation here and there, but mostly just enjoying his time with his friends. 

The game was the last time that his whole team would be together like that, but this night out was the last time that his team, his friends, would be together in the way that mattered. Even if no one was traded, if no one changed in the slightest (except Jack, coming back from injury), things still wouldn’t be quite the same. It wouldn’t be his second year, his presence wouldn’t be new or exciting. He would have to try harder, do better, and be consistent to show that he wasn’t just an example of beginner’s luck.

He clutched you a little tighter to his side at that thought. He was comforted by the way that you melted into him, moving to lean back against his chest. Your hand covered his and the other polished off your drink. He took the empty cup from you and kissed your cheek before pulling away to toss your cup, and his, in the trash can behind him.

When he returned, he was taken aback by the sight before him.

You had stepped forward and were carding your fingers through John’s curls and Luke saw red before he saw the thoughtful look on your face. John had just said to you and Nico that he thought his hair was getting too long, too unruly. You didn’t agree– it was a good length, the curls were just settling into their shapes.

“I don’t think you should cut it, John,” you were saying before Luke grabbed your other wrist and yanked you towards him. “Luke!” You exclaimed, startled by the movement.

“Time to go,” Luke announced, loud enough that the other boys could hear. He clutched your wrist, not your hand, your wrist, and pulled you along as he stomped toward the exit.

“Luke, what is going on?” You asked, voice resounding in your ears like it’s much louder than it actually is. 

Luke kept walking like he didn’t even hear you, pushing through the door and leading you down the block to the car. He opened your door for you and helped you in, but he slammed it shut once you were buckled into your seat. He rounded the car and opened his own door, glaring at you in a passing glance before settling into the driver’s seat.

“Lu,” you implored, pressing your hands against the top of your thighs. 

When he didn’t reply, you tried again.

“Babe, talk to me–”

“I don’t want you to speak unless you’re spoken to,” Luke said. He refused to look at you. “You think you can touch John’s hair the way you touch mine? You’ll let him guide you into the bar the way I would? I’m not enough for you, huh, baby?”

You blinked, suddenly shifting up to sit a little straighter. Luke, your sweet angel Luke, the baby of his family who would never hurt a fly, who avoided hockey fights at every cost, had flipped his switch.

“Answer me. I asked you a question.”

“No, sir,” you said. Your eyes flickered down to where Luke’s knuckles were white with how hard he was gripping the steering wheel. You inhaled sharply as you made eye contact with the veins decorating the back of his hand.

“No?” Luke repeated, mocking. “I’m not enough for you?”

“No! Lu, you’re more than enough, you know you’re the only one I need.” Your words came out scrambled and you tripped over them. 

Luke clicked his tongue, disapproval written all over his face. “Can’t even speak, can you?” He scoffed, reached down with one hand, and popped the button on his jeans. “Let’s put your mouth to a better use until you can find your words.”

“You’re driving,” you pointed out, casting a worried look at the road ahead of you.

“It wasn’t a question,” Luke threw you a glance. He looked back at the road, then back to you, this time holding your gaze. He cocked his head to the side, eyes softening for a moment. “Was it?”

“No,” you breathed out. 

“Good girl.” A smile spread over Luke’s face and he turned back to the road. “Get to it.”

You clenched your thighs together and unbuckled your seatbelt so you could twist towards Luke and lean over the center console. You reached out to unzip his pants, but he knocked your hands away.

“I didn’t say use your hand. I said,” he paused, grabbing your hair and tilting your head up so your eyes met his, “Use your mouth.”

The noise that escaped you was involuntary. You moved forward that extra inch and carefully took Luke’s zipper in your mouth, dragging it down. His boxers were revealed by the action, but that was the extent of it. 

“Come on,” Luke encouraged, growing impatient. What you couldn’t see from your position was the smug tilt of his mouth, knowing there was no way to get his cock out of his pants with just your mouth. “Take it out.”

“Can’t,” you whimpered.

“Oh, you can’t?” Luke mocked, feigning sympathy. “Poor baby needs my help, yeah?”

You nodded and hummed an agreement.

Luke’s grip tightened on your hair and he gave it a sharp tug. “Use your manners.”

“Please, Lu, help me,” you conceded.

“Help you what?”

“Help me take your cock out so I can suck you, please, sir.” Your voice was close to breaking, you were itching to get your mouth on him and make him feel good. 

Luke obliged, revealing himself to you. You opened your mouth and he pumped himself twice just to tease you before slapping the lip of his cock on the flat of your tongue. He fed you his cock, returning his hand to your hair when you had taken as much of his length in your mouth as you could. He gathered your hair into a messy ponytail with his one hand, the other still on the wheel, and began to guide your head up and down. 

You gagged when he guided you to his base, nose touching the fabric of his boxers around his cock, but the groan he let out made the discomfort worth it. It was low and desperate, just pure relief.

“Wanna fuck your mouth,” Luke breathed out, pulling you up so just the tip of his cock remained in your mouth. 

You hollowed your cheeks and sucked, swiping your tongue over his slit and relishing in the taste of his precum in your mouth. 

He moaned aloud, the sound seeming to echo throughout the car. You could feel your heartbeat in your fingertips. You let out a sigh, suddenly overwhelmed with contentment for your situation. Luke was perfect. He was the perfect boyfriend, whether he was his soft and cuddly self or this dominant version of him that wasn’t afraid to tell you what to do, to communicate what he wanted. 

“Would if I weren’t driving, too,” Luke mumbled, mostly to himself. “Fuck, baby, make me come. You know how.”

Luke returned both hands to the steering wheel and allowed you to move your head freely, to go at your own pace. You bobbed your head with enthusiasm, spit dripping down his shaft and soaking the fabric around him. You gagged at times, but the tight squeeze of your throat around him just added to Luke’s pleasure. He wasn’t shy about telling you how good you felt, either, making you more determined to make him come.

“Fuck, pull off,” Luke said, his voice a little shaky.

You couldn’t. You couldn’t, not when he was so close. The idea of having his come in your mouth, on your tongue, the manifestation of how you made him feel, was too alluring. 

“Y/N, pull off,” Luke commanded, reaching down to yank you off of him by your hair. He clenched his jaw as he held you just far enough off his cock that you thought, with just one bump in the road, you could capture it again. He steered out of the lane and parked on the side of the road. “You don’t want to listen? You’re so cockdumb that you can’t follow my orders?”

All you could do was look at him, eyes wide. 

He spoke through his teeth, never once blinking or breaking eye contact. “Since you want me inside you so bad, I’m gonna fuck your mouth until I come. You’re gonna take it. Even if you gag, even if you cry, I’m not going to stop until I come. Then, you’re going to sit back and buckle yourself in and I’m going to finish driving us home. You will not swallow. You’re going to hold my come in your mouth until I say so. Do you understand?”

Your jaw dropped at the words, the tips of your ears growing hot. “Yes, sir.” It’s nearly inaudible and you can feel your panties growing damper with just the thought of it– minute after minute ticking by, Luke’s come coating your tongue, not being able to speak or swallow. You’re completely under Luke’s control.  

He leaned back in the seat and motioned toward his cock. 

You allowed him to guide you onto his length again, getting comfortable with its size. You hollowed your cheeks and looked up at him, pausing your movements and staying statue-still.

A smirk took over Luke’s face. “That’s my girl.”

He took your head with both hands, keeping your hair out of your face and keeping you from moving an inch, and began to thrust into your mouth. It was sharp and hard and you tried to create a vacuum-type suction around his cock, as tight as you knew he liked it, but it was hard with the head of his dick hitting the back of your throat with every buck of his hips. You ended up gagging, and crying, and drooling all over his cock, just like Luke had said, and he fulfilled his promise that he wouldn’t stop.

“Look at you, making such a mess of yourself,” Luke scoffed. “Such a mess all over my cock, just to make me feel good. You’d let me do whatever I wanted, wouldn’t you, baby? You’d never let anyone else take you like this, just me, yeah? No one else gets to see you just leaking all over my cock because you’re mine.”

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head at that and the moan you released around Luke’s length caused his hips to stutter, made him unable to hold back his orgasm any longer. He came in stripes all over your tongue, some of it leaking down the back of your throat before you could stop it. He pulled you off of him and crashed his lips against yours, a close-mouthed kiss because you wouldn’t dare disobey, couldn’t handle the idea of disappointing Luke.

“My good girl,” Luke cooed when he pulled away.

You offered him a lazy smile, head foggy and bones mushy. You were sated, an elevated version of just happy, and so, so comfortable. You loved him. He was everything.

“I’m not done with you yet, am I?” Luke asked softly, thumbing over your bottom lip. 

You shook your head.

“Open,” Luke said. “I want to see my come on your tongue.”

You hesitantly opened your mouth, pushing your tongue out so he could see the milky white substance coating the muscle. 

Luke captured your cheeks with one hand and leaned in with the other. You stared at his eyes, which were watching your tongue as a line of his saliva mixed with the come in your mouth. When his eyes rose to meet yours, it was the embers of desire that made your head roll back and the instinct, the pure instinct of having something in your mouth, that caused you to swallow.

Your head snapped forward, eyes wide and not doe-eyed, not purposefully innocent to make Luke’s heart jump. No, your eyes were wide with worry because you disobeyed him. It wasn’t something you did to spite him or push him further over the line. 

“I’m sorry.” The words leaked from your mouth and you scrambled to take Luke’s hand in yours, clutching his right with both of yours. “Luke, it was an accident, you know I’d never–”

His mouth was open in shock, briefly, before it snapped shut and his eyes twinkled with something downright predatory. His hand was limp in yours (though not pulling away) and he was still.

“But you did,” He interrupted. “You did.”

“I didn’t mean to.” You were trying to reason with him, but you knew the damage was done. Whatever he had planned for you when you got back to the house, it was going to be ten times worse now.

Luke just shook his head and removed his hand from your grasp, pulling back onto the highway and resuming the drive home. You weren’t far, the area around you looking more and more familiar with each passing second. The minutes stretched for what seemed like hours with Luke’s silence. You held your own hand nervously, pinching at the skin of you knuckles and avoiding Luke’s face. You couldn’t handle seeing the disappointment etched into his features.

Luke pulled into the garage of the apartment complex after just about five minutes. Suddenly, it hits you– you have the apartment all to yourselves tonight. There’s nothing to stop Luke, or you for that matter, from being as loud or as public as he wants. There’s a window in the living room, one that Luke mentioned after your last session. A spark traveled up your spine when you realize that tonight might be the night that he fucks you out in the open, for anyone to see.

When he shifted the car into park, Luke turned to you expectantly.

You apologized again, softly, once he looked at you.

His features softened then, seeing your apprehension. He reached out and took your hand. “Are you okay?”

“I feel bad that I didn’t listen,” you replied. Your eyes fell on your shoelaces, which were an off-white color after plenty of use. You made a note to yourself that maybe you should wash them soon. You wondered if they’d return to their original color. The shoes were much more interesting than looking up at Luke and meeting his eyes.

He tilted your head upward with a guided hand anyway. “You’re still my good girl,” he reassured. “Are you okay to keep going? Or do you want me to stop? I won’t be mad. Whatever you want, we can do it. We can leave this in the car and I can take care of you, baby.”

You could cry at his words, how great he is about your slip-up. You did want him to be sweet, but you knew that he needed this. He needed to work through whatever was going on in his mind and if he could just be in control of this, just for a little while longer, it would be so much easier for him later.

“I want to keep going,” you admitted.

“You know your word?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell me?”

“Flower.”

“That’s right, baby.” Luke pecked your lips, but when he pulled back he was back to business. “Now, are you ready to listen to me?”

You nodded, eyes trained on his. Neither of you blinked, a silent contest that he ended up losing (something that would normally cause you to gloat, but now doesn’t seem like the right time).

“When you get to the apartment, you’re going to strip. You’re going to sit on the edge of our bed. You’re going to touch yourself while you wait for me and I want you to watch yourself in the mirror. If you come, and you know I’ll know if you do, you’re not going to come at all tonight. I want you to bring yourself right to the edge and stay there. Can you do that for me?” He spoke slowly and clearly, his voice gravely and dominant. He didn’t stumble over his words or pause and “um” like he did in interviews. No, this was when Luke was at his surest. This was when he knew exactly what to do, exactly what to say.

“I can do that,” you agreed, unbuckling your seatbelt and gathering your things.

“I’m going to give you a five minute head start.”

You nodded at Luke, opened your door, and left the vehicle. When you got up to the apartment, you didn’t bother to hang your coat or purse on the hooks Luke put up just for you. You didn’t put your shoes neatly like the door like you normally did. Instead, you dropped your belongings and kicked the shoes off one by one on your walk to the bedroom. You shed your clothing in a similar manner, leaving a trail behind for Luke to chuckle at when he walked in the door. 

Fully naked, you stared at yourself in the mirror that faced your bed. You read once that it was bad luck to have a mirror face a bed, that your reflection could like… capture your soul, or something, but you kept the mirror there anyway because if there was anything Luke enjoyed, it was seeing himself fuck you in the mirror. He liked to watch you ride him in reverse cowgirl, so he could see your ass jiggle as you bounced on his cock with his own eyes and your whole body in the reflection. 

Sometimes, his hands would drift up and he would hold your tits, watching how he could envelop them in his palms. You tilt your head to the side, watching your own hands slide up your body to do the same. 

For everything you could imagine Luke doing, there your hands were trying to satisfy yourself. If you closed your eyes, you could convince yourself that it was him instead.

His cock would disappear into your pussy, thrusting in and out and causing you to whine. His fingers would circle your clit or pinch your nipples. He would palm your ass, or reach up to wrap his hand around your neck. He would reach just that spot…

You didn’t ever hear it when Luke opened the door and joined you in the room. He thought you knew he was coming, with the way you were whining his name and begging for him. Your eyes snapped open as he closed the door behind him and you quickly pulled your fingers out from inside of you.

Luke walked over to you and sank onto his knees between your legs. “Gimme a taste, love.”

You offered him your fingers, which he took into his mouth. He sucked on them softly for far too short a time, in your opinion, with the way his cheekbones became more prominent as he cleaned your fingers of your wetness.

“Tastes good,” he told you with a smile when he was finished. 

“Thank you,” you replied, practically a whimper. Your chest felt tight, like someone was squeezing your heart in your chest. You were waiting, just waiting, for Luke to tell you what was next.

He rose to sit on the bed next to you, guiding you to shift over so you were sitting on his lap. “I’m going to spank you,” he whispered against your lips. “Just ten times. That’s all. It’ll go fast, but I’m not going to go easy on you. I know you can take it.” Luke kissed you again, snuck his tongue into your mouth for a quick, far too quick pass, before pulling back. “Turn over, baby, and lean over my knee, yeah?”

Your movements were slow, your brain turning foggy again like it was in the car. Luke helped you over his knee, still clothed. The contrast between how clothed he was and how naked you were almost made you drool. It was nearly embarrassing, being this down bad for Luke when he seemed to be completely fine, unaffected.

Luke snapped you out of your thoughts with a spank. The pain was only there for a split second before Luke was rubbing soothing circles over your skin. You shivered when he dipped his hand lower and trailed a finger through your folds.

“So wet,” he murmured.

You clenched down and he pulled away, only to deliver a second slap to your cheek. You shivered, goosebumps rising over your arms.

“So, baby, tell me,” Luke began, bringing down his hand again. “Why am I spanking you?” He waited for you to answer before bringing his hand down again. “Because I swallowed– oh– when you told me not to.”

“Mhm. Why else?”

Another spank. Now, it was starting to sting. Your ass had turned a pretty shade of pink that caused Luke to bite his lip and run his hands over your skin, feeling the heat radiate off the surface.

You were quiet. You weren’t quite sure. Holding his come in your mouth had been the punishment for not pulling off when he told you to. You had been slow to say please in the car, but that wasn’t ever something Luke would punish you for, just something he’d remind you to do. “For, um…” You trailed off, not sure what to say.

Luke scoffed and spanked you three times, harsh enough that his handprint stayed imprinted on your body for longer than it normally did when he spanked you. You cried out, your head dropping and tears welling up in your eyes. 

“‘For, um,’” he mocked. “You don’t know? You’re that fucking dumb that you can’t remember what happened less than an hour ago?”

“Lu, please,” were the words that escaped your mouth instead of an answer to his question. They were teary and he almost stopped, almost, just because of how your voice shook. 

“Please what?” He spat, another slap echoing throughout the room. 

“I don’t know,” You sobbed. “I don’t know why you’re mad at me.”

“Five more,” Luke warned you and you nodded. 

It took a lot out of you, agreeing for five more, but Luke wouldn’t do anything he didn’t think you could handle.

“How about this, baby?” Luke said. Slap. “For touching John’s hair the same way you touch mine?” Slap. “For letting the boys guide you into the restaurant like you’re their girlfriend, not mine.” Slap. “For sending John off to get me a drink when I told you to do so?” Slap. “For not listening?” Slap. “For being a fucking brat?”

You wailed, slumped against Luke. He got a good look at you in the mirror, boneless over his knee. He took in the red skin of your ass, tracing the line of his raised handprint. 

“You’re mine,” Luke continued, sounding off. You turned your head towards the mirror, eyes hazy but still able to make him out. He was waiting for you to look at him, for your eyes to meet his. “You can’t– you can’t treat him like he’s special.”

And suddenly, it all clicked. Luke was jealous because he was scared of the same thing you’d skated around in your conversation right after the game. Luke wanted to be special, wanted you to see him and need him. He needed you to need him, to let him take control and take care of you and decide things for you, all because he didn’t want to be the person who lost everything because he wasn’t good enough. Even the idea that John could possibly take Luke’s place, as preposterous as it was to you, sent Luke into a spiral.

“Fuck me, Luke,” you said, voice shaky and light because of the headspace you were in. “Take me. I’m yours. Prove it.”

Gently, so gently in contrast to his prior actions, Luke helped you up and lay you down on your back on the bed, placing a pillow under your hips. You lay there for a few minutes, blinking slowly and watching as Luke shed his clothes and rummaged through his dresser drawers for something. His back was to you and you smiled to yourself, too fucked out to let out a giggle, at his backside. When Luke turned around, two of his gameday ties in hand, he cocked his head to the side at your smile.

“What are you smiling about?” He asked.

“Boy butts are so funny,” You answered. “They’re just so small. Like… where are your hips, Lu?”

Luke blinked a few times, then shook his head. “Oh my God, you’ve lost it.”

“I’ve been thinking it. We need to get you in the gym.”

“You’re being a brat.”

“And your butt is small.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Luke scoffed. He had walked to the bed and was tying one of your hands to his headboard.

“I’m waiting.”

Luke huffed out a laugh at your response. “You’re making it hard to dom you, baby.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, was the road head not enough?”

Luke shushed you, moving to your other hand and tying that one with the other tie.

“What about the spitting in my mouth and spanking me?” You continue, goading him. 

Luke crawled up your body, kissing up your stomach and chest and neck as he went. 

One more sentence, and he wouldn’t find it so difficult to dominate you for this final stretch. 

He’s hovering over your lips, his breath fanning out over them.

“I bet Johnny could do it better.”

Luke pulled back, jaw dropped. His mouth returned to a strait line and his eyes turned murderous. There is was, there’s the dominance that he thought he lost.

 You smirked at him, proud of yourself for the comment you made, until Luke’s palm made contact with your cheek. Your head turned with the impact and you swore your heart stopped. You were too surprised to say anything. As the seconds of silence passed where you and Luke just stared at each other, same shocked expression on your face, you realized: huh. That’s not so different from when he spanks me.

Then, another second after that: That was kind of… hot.

“Are you okay?” Luke breathed out. He’s practically frozen in place.

“Yeah,” you replied. “Oh my God, Luke, yeah.” You pulled on the restraints above you, itching to get him inside of you. You circled your legs around his waist and raised your hips, trying to make contact with him. “Fuck, Lu, that was so hot, please fuck me.”

Luke blinked twice and searched your face for any discomfort, anything that would show him that you were upset or hurt by his slap. He hadn’t even done it intentionally, just driven by the pure rage of you mentioning John, saying that John could be better for you than Luke was.

It wasn’t until your wiggling hips caused his cock to make contact with your weeping pussy that he began to move.

He started by pinning your hips down.

“Greedy,” he chastised. 

“I need you in me, don’t treat me like I’m made of glass,” you whined.

Luke positioned himself at your entrance and snapped his hips forward, burying himself inside you in one fell swoop.

It knocked all the breath out of you. Even after dating Luke for ages, his size still surprised you.

“How’s that, huh? Can you feel me? Do you think I’m treating you gently?” Luke asked, grinding his teeth as he fucked in and out of you. His skin was slapping against yours and he moved one of our legs so your knee was thrown over his shoulder. “You think Marino could fuck you like this?” He practically spat out John’s name, disgust coating each syllable.

“Probably,” you quipped, your voice snarky. You were itching for Luke to slap you again, or something, because he wasn’t giving it everything. He was still shaken up by the fact that he hit you at all.

“‘Probably,’” He repeated, incredulous. “You’ll never know, will you, baby?” He snaps his hips harder, faster. “This is my pussy. It only gets wet for me, you only spread your legs for me, you can be a slut all you want but only in the confines of these four walls. You can be bad, only right here… where I’m able to fuck. it. out. of you.”

You moan, wanton and long in the back of your throat. Your hands are aching to grab his hair, to twist the curls between your fingers. “Lu, my hand,” you told him.

“What about it?” He asked, not slowing his pace.

“Untie it, please!”

Luke looked down at you, confused. “Why?”

You whined, keening as your back arched and you squeezed his cock. “Need to get a hand on you, Lu, fuck. Wanna pull your hair. So pretty, so much prettier than John’s.”

“Oh,” he whispered, his stomach turning. He reached up to undo the knot, trying to continue to fuck you and untie it at the same time. When your hand came free, it immediately found purchase in his curls. Your fingernails scraped his scalp and his eyes rolled in the back of his head as he bucked into you with uncoordinated thrusts. “Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned. “Gonna make me come.”

“Please,” you begged. “Inside me, inside me–”

Your vision went white and your pussy was like a vice around him as you came.

“Yeah, yeah,” Luke agreed, voice strained. He watched the bliss wash over your features and whined. “Fuck you til you’re full, show everyone you’re all mine.” 

It’s the thought of pumping his seed into you, making you round with his child, that sends Luke over the edge. No one would think to take you from him then, not that you’d ever go. No one would ever be able to call you theirs like he could call you his, not when he’s fucked you full, not when you’re carrying his baby.

“So perfect for me,” Luke mumbled in your ear, collapsing on top of you as he came down from his orgasm. 

“Just for you, Lu.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You paused, rubbing his back. “You know we have to talk about this, right? You’re more than enough and I don’t want you to feel insecure anymore.”

Luke pulled himself out of you, wincing at the sensitivity. “Can we talk about it tomorrow? I think we could both use some rest.”

He got up from the bed and walked into his bathroom, grabbing a towel and coming back to wipe you clean. 

“Can it wait that long?” You fixed him with a look of concern.

“Baby.” Luke cut his eyes at you, then finished wiping you down. “It can wait until tomorrow.”

You shrugged. “Okay,” you agreed, then made yourself comfortable, pulling the covers over your body. You turned over, back to Luke, and spoke like it was an afterthought. “I loved it when you slapped me, you know.”

Luke groaned, leaned over to give you a kiss on your cheek. “I’m sorry I was mean.”

“Mmm, mean Luke gets me hot just like sweet Luke,” you replied. You turned your head and kissed his lips. “I like sweet Luke more, though. Sweet Luke cuddles me while I’m asleep.”

Luke laughed, going to toss the dirty towel in the dirty clothes hamper. “Sweet Luke will be back to cuddle you after he brushes his teeth,” he said.

When he returned, your breath was even and you had already fallen asleep, the ghost of a smile still gracing your lips. Luke bit his tongue, joined you under the covers, and threw his arm over the curve of your waist. Within just a few minutes, he was fast asleep next to you, softly snoring with his nose pressed into your hair.

notes: so, I, uh..... got a little carried away. I just kept having ideas. And I hope it worked out for me, to be fair. Hiiiiiii anon I hope this was good for youuuu love you bigggg I felt so awky-tawky writing some of this because as much as I would looooove a man to treat me like this, it feels so silly to write. Anyway. Loving y'all.

SEND MORE REQUESTS! I'LL GET TO THEM EVENTUALLY (they might not all be this long LOLLL)

#puck-luck's fics #luke hughes #luke hughes smut #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes x y/n #nhl smut #nhl x reader #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #lh43 #andy writes anything🍄

[lunajay33]

Missing🖤

Summary: You and Daryl got separated at the started and now you’ve just been wandering hoping to find a secure place will you find Daryl again?

Pairing: Season 2 Daryl Dixon x f!reader

•Masterlist•

You and Daryl have known eachother since you were kids, growing up right next to eachother, along the way feelings grew and you got together right before graduation, you became a teacher and he worked at a mechanic shop, life was nice and simple together, you were even thinking about having a family but then things change, the world ended when you were teaching and you haven’t seen Daryl since, you search everywhere for him until eventually you had to leave down because of the walkers and venture out on your own, hoping you meet him again

Along the way you came across a barn, you scavenged for food finding some cans and as you looked out the window a horse was grazing the field, you packed up the rest of the food and ventured out finding a saddle approaching the horse steadily trying not to spook it away, thankfully it was friendly and approached you with ease letting, you strapped the saddle around her and hopped up, leading the horse as it trotted north

You’d be alone on your own for about 5 weeks now and it’s been lonely, you just wanted to see Daryl again just needed for him to hold you, you were on the horse walking through trees when a clearing opened up showing a farm house with people walking around, you were a bit wary since you’ve run into some shady people along the way but for some reason you were drawn to this farm, you lead the horse, you named Pixie, slowly as to not scare the people

As you and Pixie walked up the dirt road people started to gather, you hopped off Pixie holding her rope and waiting for the others to do or say anything and not just ogle you

“Who are you?” A man in a police outfit asked

“I’m y/n, I’ve been alone since the start, until I found pixie here” you said as you pet her shiny black hair

“Where’d you come from, who’d you find this place?” Another man asked he seemed a little crazy

“I’m from outside of Atlanta, I’ve just been wandering until I found something, I lost someone at the start and I’ve just been looking for him”

“Sorry to break it to you, he’s probably dead”

“Shane!” The officer glared at the man

“I still have hope, but do you guys have room for one more, I know how to hunt and I can help out”

“Of course, we could use another hunter, got one out hunting right now”

“Thank you”

The officer who introduced himself as Rick, showed you around introduced you to everyone even the owner of the farm, the sun was setting by the time all that was done

“We don’t have anymore tents we’ll have to go out tomorrow and get you one”

“Oh that’s no problem I can sleep out with Pixie” it was the normal for you now

“You sure?”

“Yeah it’s no problem…….shouldn’t your hunter be back by now?”

“Yeah oh there he is now” he said looking over you shoulder at the dirt road

A man with a crossbow and plaid shirt with ripped sleeves, you’d recognize that silhouette anywhere, you sprinted off towards him your heart racing, tears streaming down your face

“DARYL” you screamed as he looked up dropping his crossbow just in time to open his arms and wrap himself around you as you threw yourself into his arms

“Is it really you peach?” He asked in such disbelief it broke your heart

“It’s me, I can’t believe I found you I thought I’d never see you again, I looked everywhere for you I waited at our house hoping you’d come back but……I had to leave I had to find you” you said quickly your eyes not believing you found him having to tell him everything you’ve been thinking these 5 weeks without him

5 weeks may not seem like a lot but in the apocalypse there was no guarantee about anything so everything was precious

You held his biceps as he traced his fingers over ever features on your face completely forgetting others were around you both

“So I’m guessing you two know eachother?” Glenn asked

“She’s my girl” Daryl stated not taking his eyes off of you

“Thee Daryl Dixon got a girl?” Andrea laughed, you turned and glared at her

“You bet your ass I’m his”

“And ya ain’t ever leaving my side again”

#twd fanfiction #daryl dixion imagine #twd daryl #daryl dixon #twd x reader #twd fluff #twd rick #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon smut #daryl x reader #daryl imagines #daryl fanfiction #the walking dead daryl #daryl x female reader #daryl x y/n #daryl x you #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon series #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon fluff #twd #the walking dead series

[pennylanefics]

Nighttime Comfort - Seth Jarvis

a/n: thanks to @human-trainwreck for the idea of the "best friend's younger brother" trope! i got the idea and ran with it and finish this in one night <3 if anyone has more seth ideas, send them my way! i had more ideas and definitely missed some things...part 2 maybe?? 👀

summary: you've always seen your best friend's little brother as just that, until one night, after thinking about him for months, everything changes when he comforts you after nightmares

warnings: mention of nightmares (no descriptions), slight age gap (i envisioned seth being 22 and reader being 23 or 24, so not terrible, but it's brought up multiple times)

word count: ~4.2k

“Seth should be gone by the time we get home, so you won’t have to deal with him while I’m out,” your best friend Daisy says to you as you near her home. The two of you had been out shopping all day, finally having time to spend with each other after your hectic schedules failed to line up for so long.

With your job at a local publishing company and the influx of demands your boss needed to meet the proper deadlines, and her traveling with her boyfriend, who is a hockey player in the NHL, it was hard to meet up. But finally, now that the off-season is here and your work has slowed down some, you could meet up and catch up on all the lost time.

“You know I don’t mind him,” you tell her. “He’s fun to be around.” She rolls her eyes at your words and you can’t help but laugh.

You grew up next to Daisy and Seth in Winnipeg and as time went on, you and Daisy became nearly inseparable, doing everything together and playing in each other’s backyards every day after school. That also led you to becoming rather close with her younger brother, only two years younger than you and her, but he was always around as their parents practically forced Daisy to include him.

Not that you minded, he was very amusing and a great joy; he was extremely chaotic and energetic, and was always trying to get you to laugh and mess with you in a teasing and fun way. Daisy was so embarrassed by him every time, but you truly weren’t bothered by it. 

Things changed a little right before you entered high school. During the summer between eighth grade and ninth, your family moved away, although it was still in the same district and within driving distance, no more than fifteen minutes. It did hinder your ability to see her and Seth outside of school or on the weekends. Things did go back to normal when you and Daisy got your licenses and could see each other whenever.

As the years went on, things continued to change and shift. With Seth going into the NHL, and Daisy becoming a WAG for the Winnipeg Jets, you rarely had time to see them over the past couple of years, but through different interviews and videos of him from the Hurricanes and other media, you could tell Seth was still the same guy you grew up with and knew so well.

“I haven’t seen him in a while anyway. I think the last time was around Christmas, when he came home. That was almost seven months ago.”

“Believe me, seven months is not enough time away from him,” she grumbles, making you throw your head back in laughter.

He was always the life of the party. He could light up a room with his energy and sweet smile just by walking into it, and he’s cheered you up countless times after numerous events that upset you over the years.

And you didn’t want to believe it, but deep down, you always felt something more for him. Some little voice in your mind was screaming that he’s a sweetheart and would be an incredible partner. But you pushed that idea down for many reasons, one of which is because you figured he never would see you as anything more than his older sister’s best friend; it was an unspoken rule, really, and neither of you wanted to cross that line.

The two of you drag your number of bags into her house, where you were staying for the week since her parents were on vacation and your apartment was being renovated because of a flood issue on your floor.

“Just set them down and we can go through everything when I get back,” she states.

She needed to run an errand with her boyfriend, to check on his grandmother about an hour away and bring her the prescription she needed. That meant you would be alone for the next three hours or so, and after the long day you had, it was exactly what you needed.

She left shortly after dropping everything off, and in the meantime, you showered and then ordered some food. Everything in the house was calm, you were watching your favorite TV show on the TV, and it felt peaceful to have this kind of downtime after a full, busy day.

But that peace was quickly ruined an hour or so later. The time rolled around to 7:45 and in comes Seth and a couple guys, who you recognize as fellow players on the Hurricanes. Turning around, you stare at them, wide-eyed in surprise, and as soon as Jarvy takes the sight of you in, he shouts excitedly.

“Oh my god! What are you doing here?!” He yells, running over to you on the couch. Standing, you jump into his arms to hug him tightly, inhaling the musky scent of his cologne, a smell you’ve thought about every day since you got a whiff of it on Christmas. 

“My apartment is being worked on and since Daisy and I haven’t had time to see one another very much, she invited me to stay here. I know she said you are back here for a short while, but she said you’d be out.”

“What, not so happy to see me??” He teases, shoving your shoulder playfully once you pull away from the hug. “Yeah, well, the guys and I wanted to go to some bars, but after sitting around we decided to come back here and play video games instead.” He points to the two men behind him, one who has blond hair and piercing blue eyes and one has short brown hair and deep brown eyes.

“This is Jack and Jesperi, or you can call him KK,” he points to the brown-eyed hockey player, who smiles sweetly at you and waves.

“Nice to meet you guys. I can move up to Daisy’s room if you’d prefer the living room. She’s still gone and I don’t know when she’ll be back.”

“Oh no, don’t worry about that!” Jarvy stops you from moving your things. “We’re going to the basement to play, we won’t bother you at all. Unless we have to come back up for snacks and drinks, but we’ll try to keep it down.”

Chuckling softly, you nod and watch as they file into the furnished basement, yelling and shouting as they go. Thankfully, the noise wasn’t too loud to distract you, so you go back to watching your show with no worry.

As the hours tick by and your eyes start growing heavier, you knew you should have headed up to Daisy’s room to get some rest instead of on the couch, although their couch was rather comfy. It was a large sectional, big enough to fit their entire family for movie nights.

You were curled up in one corner of the L-shaped section, under a soft, fuzzy blanket that was keeping you warm. The low lighting that you had set in the living room and with the quiet lull of your comfort TV show was enough to ease you to sleep, though you were unaware.

Suddenly, you are jolting up, your neck feeling slightly sweaty and clammy, your breathing slightly erratic and your eyes trying to adjust back to the bright TV that remained on. Slowly, you become aware of your surroundings and turn to find Seth sitting near you, a worried expression on his face.

“Are you alright?” He wonders, his voice low and calming, not wanting to startle you anymore than he has. “You were mumbling something in your sleep and shaking a little.”

Your hand wipes across your face as you shift your body to sit up a little. Being in the moment, you were finally able to get a really good look at Seth, since earlier you were too taken by the excitement of seeing him and meeting new people.

His hair was long in the back, but on the sides, you could tell that he had recently gotten them shaved down some, but the top section flopped over to hide that area; it was something that was visible when he wore a hat, and it was a look you always liked. His facial hair was newly trimmed, his beard slightly scruffy and his mustache somewhat full.

He was wearing an old Canes t-shirt, the neckline cut off to fit him loosely, and a pair of basketball shorts that were slightly smaller than usual, riding up his leg and showing a small glimpse of the tattoo on his right thigh.

“I-I was having a weird dream,” you murmur, taking a couple deep breaths. Seth moves a little closer, sensing all you needed was some comfort. “What time is it?”

“Around 11:30. Daisy called me and said something came up and she won’t able to make it back tonight. She said she tried calling you but you weren’t answering. Now I see why,” he answers with a lighthearted laugh.

“Yeah, I didn’t mean to fall asleep out here. I should head upstairs.”

Seth thinks for a moment before he holds his hand up, silently telling you to stay put.

“Give me two minutes,” he says before darting off. You sat there, confused as hell as he ran up the stairs, leaving you alone once again.

You quickly text Daisy back, letting her know you had fallen asleep and everything was good, and that you’d see her in the morning, before reaching for the glass of water that had been left untouched for the past few hours and taking a large sip. 

Minutes later, Seth comes trudging down the stairs with his comforter and an extra blanket, along with two pillows. He also had a change of clothes for himself, and once he reaches the couch, he piles everything onto the cushions at your feet.

“We’re having a little sleepover,” he states. “My sister ditched you so I’m stepping in. Plus we haven’t spent time together in a long time so we have to make up for it.” He winks and laughs at your shocked face.

“You really don’t have to do this. What about KK and Jack? Aren’t they downstairs?”

“Nope. They left right before you woke up. They’re staying in a hotel nearby so they’re gone for the night. Just you and me.” 

After he gets everything set up, he runs off to the bathroom down the hall to change and when he returns in a pair of sweats and a different t-shirt, he sighs heavily and stares down at the couch.

“Okay, so I’ll sleep this way, and you can sleep with your legs out that way so you have more room,” he tells you, waving his hands all over. He specifically pointed to the spot you were sitting in, how he’d have his legs on the cushions jutting out and you would sleep perpendicular to him.

“Where would my pillow go?” You wonder, grabbing onto the extra one he had from his bed. You can’t help but smile at the scent that covers it, a mixture of Seth’s shampoo and conditioner and his cologne. His comforter was the same way, soaked in the smell of his body wash, a woods-y and earthy scent that you were most familiar with, similar to his cologne.

“Here,” he gets situated on the couch, his legs stretching straight out on the cushion. He places the pillow down on his legs and pats it, signaling that’s where you can lay. It was nothing out of the ordinary, really, the three of you used to sleep on each other like this when you were younger, more innocent.

Not that he was asking in an inappropriate way now, but it was something you figured you’d grown out of. But being too tired and too scared to fight, you just laugh it off and get under the covers. He left his comforter for you and used the two blankets for himself, something you found unfair to him.

You place your head in his lap, against the pillow, and immediately, his hands start playing with your hair softly, making sure not to tug at any knots that he couldn’t see. He was more so twirling the ends for his own comfort, something you picked up on when you were kids.

After laying there for a bit, no words spoken between the two of you, the guilt of him being down here, keeping you company was rising in your chest; you knew you shouldn’t have felt this way, but he didn’t have to do all of this.

“Seth, you don’t have to sit down here with me,” you suddenly sit up, looking over at him. A hurt and confused look crosses his face as he adjusts his body.

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to, trust me. I know how you used to struggle with nightmares and no one should be left alone after having one.” His voice is gentle and soothing, trying to get across the fact that he wants to be here with you, and it’s no obligation or issue at all.

“I think I’ll be okay,” you whisper. But he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. 

“Well I’m not leaving,” he shakes his head. “What’s going on? I thought it would be nice to see each other again and be with one another now that you’re here.”

You pause and let his words sink in. He was right. Why were you pushing back? But with one look into his brown eyes, lit by the soft glow of a nearby salt lamp you had turned on earlier, you were very aware.

You had fallen for Jarvy and now there was no denying it.

You think back to the last time you saw him, in December. You couldn’t quit stealing glances at him throughout the day, watching as he laughed with his loved ones and how bright his unique smile was, how much you loved seeing it and how you longed to be the reason he was smiling so joyfully.

How you longed to hold his hand and cuddle up next to him on the couch, watching whatever Christmas movie was playing on the TV, surrounded by your family and his, having him press kisses to your temple.

It made your chest feel all warm and fuzzy thinking about what being his partner would be like. Was he serious in times when it was needed? Or did he used humor and laughter to cope with everything?

“(Y/N)?” He waves his hand in front of your face, bringing you back down to earth. You sigh softly and grin at him.

“Sorry, was just…thinking about something. But you’re right, it is nice to see you and be able to spend time with just you…” you trail off, hoping the tone of your voice didn’t give your little crush away. He smiles at you and opens his arms.

“So how about we cuddle instead? I’ve been told I give wonderful cuddles in times of need like this,” he states playfully, which in turn makes you giggle. He gives you that bright, wide smile as you move your body, but before you can super comfortable, you motion for him to switch positions and lay parallel with you, so both of your legs were on the actual couch rather than the sectional.

Since the space was big enough, you both fit rather comfortably, once Seth finally gets settled. You curl into his left side, nuzzling your face into chest, your eyes fluttering closed. What you couldn’t tell was the fact that Seth’s heart was racing in his chest at the turn of events. 

He’s now under his own comforter, your legs tangling with his underneath. His arms wrap around you, holding you close to him, and one is softly rubbing up and down your back underneath the covers. It’s such a sweet and intimate movement, and it makes your own heart beat faster.

Silence falls over the two of you, neither of you knowing what to say, but instead, you enjoy the silence and the presence of each other.

“Would now be an acceptable time to admit that I’ve had a crush on you for the longest time?” He whispers, avoiding moving in case you wanted to pull away from him. But to his surprise, you stay put, reaching for his right hand that was stroking up and down your arm.

“You have?” You wonder, a little taken aback by his admission, threading your fingers with his. He watches in curiosity but smiles as he feels your touch in his.

“Yeah. Ever since you came home from school that one day in eighth grade, I was in sixth. You said some boy made a comment about you and you cried to me because Daisy wasn’t home yet. I-”

“You started telling me all these strange things about what the kid does and how awful he is to try and get me to laugh,” you fill in his sentence, remembering back to that day as clear as can be.

Seth had started telling you weird things that were very obviously not true, but what else is an eleven year old supposed to say? He was making things up like, “he keeps his boogers on a piece of notebook paper in his binder” or “his fingernails grow so fast he has to have them cut every day, and then he saves them to try and get in the Guinness Book of World Records for most amount of nail shavings collected”. Outrageously ridiculous statements.

But by the end, you were laughing with him, forgetting about all the mean things he said about you, and thanks to Jarvy, feeling better about yourself, even though you knew none of what he was saying was true.

“I know we were never super close the way that you and Daisy are, but I could never deny my crush for you. I expected you to think it was weird, considering I’m her younger brother and that’s all I knew I’d be. But goddamn, seeing you again, especially in such a soft and laid-back setting, it’s reignited that feeling.”

You were truly speechless. You had no idea what to say. He really had a crush on you?

“Then I think it’s fair to admit that I also like you, but pushed it away because I thought you only ever saw me as, well, as your older sister’s best friend, I thought it would be weird. But I like you a lot, Seth.”

His hand drops yours and it comes to rest on the side of your face, gently bringing your chin up to look up at him. His eyes were filled with adoration and tenderness as his hand cupped your cheek, careful with the amount of pressure he was using, letting you know you could push him away at any point still.

“So when was the moment you fell for me?” He asks, that crooked smile threatening to break. Heat rises to your cheeks when you realize you don’t have a story similar to his.

“This past holiday season. When you came home for Christmas, I realized quite a few things, and one of them is I can’t deny that I have feelings for you and wish what it would be like to be yours,” you whisper to him, gazing into his eyes. His thumb rubs against the apple of your cheek as you explain your side. He then takes a moment to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, and it sends your heart into a frenzy.

“Oh really?” He pushes in a teasing manner. “Like what?”

“Like falling asleep in your arms, but in a more romantic way than platonic way when we were younger. Being able to come up and hug and kiss you whenever, wearing your jersey to your games, knowing that only you and I know that I’m yours and the most important person in the crowd wearing your number.” He can’t help the blush that dusts his cheeks at your last comment. “And I can assume that’s something you’ve thought about plenty of times, right?”

Seth laughs and nods his head, still looking down at you with so much love.

“I won’t lie, I have. And you’d be able to get a WAG playoff jacket, and how adorable you’d look in them.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest as he continues to hold your cheek in his hand.

“You know, my parents always joked with your parents about when we’d get together. And Daisy always shut them down whenever she heard them talk about it because how weird, right? But there was one night, a few years back, right before I was drafted. We were in the backyard, looking up at the stars, and she told me I should go for it with you, if I liked you. How she thought we’d be good together, how I’d treat you right and how you would love me for as I am. I think she could always sense that I liked you more than a friend, but was too scared to say it because you two were friends first, and pretty close.”

You are stunned by his words. You never knew Daisy said that, but to hear that she thought her brother was good enough for you, you knew that this decision, or whatever outcome for tonight was going to be, it was going to be a good choice.

Seth is a good guy, and you’ve seen this for many years. Now, you are seeing him in a different light, one where his smile sends butterflies to your stomach rather than a simple “Daisy’s younger brother is so adorable” kind of way. One where you got to see the fun and excitable, puppy-dog energy side but also his serious and down-to-earth side where he could settle those feelings and be real with you.

“Now that I think about it, around that time she did start trying to push me for gossip on if I thought you were cute or if I was seeing anyone, because she was wanting to set me up with someone. And I’m going to safely bet that it was you.”

He chuckles and then clears his throat, becoming all serious again. But you have one more comment you need to get out.

“I love your smile,” you state. His cheeks redden slightly and your own smile tugs at your lips. “I’m not sure what it is about it, but every time I saw it in an interview, or some fun little video, and especially at Christmas, I can’t help but fall harder and harder each time.”

Your statement elicits that lovely smile from him, but in a more bashful sense, something you never thought you’d see.

“You’re so adorable,” you giggle, reaching up to hold his face in your hand as well. The tension between the two of you was thick, and with your breathing mixing together, you were starting to get dizzy from it all. 

This was all so much.

“Can I…” he starts, but hesitates, trying to gauge the look in your eyes. He takes a deep breath and then continues. “Can I please kiss you now?” 

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you from how he phrases his words. He sounded so desperate but also so careful.

“Please,” you beg quietly, inching your hands into his hair to tug at the locks at the back of his neck to pull him down towards you. Within seconds, your lips meet in a searing but gentle and nervous kiss, both of you testing the waters for now. But when Seth feels you leaning more into it, he deepens it just slightly, not wanting to go too far tonight, but also wanting you to know he’s serious about this and it wasn’t a one-off thing.

The kiss ends much to your dismay when Jarvy pulls back, his forehead resting against yours.

“Go on a date with me,” he all but demands. This elicits a giggle from you before you kiss him once more.

“Of course I will,” you reply, moving down to cuddle back up with him. 

Finally, the two of you were settled in all cozy, no longer on edge and wondering if one thing is going to upset the other. Now that the admission of your feelings was done and over with, the two of you could relax against each other, knowing this meant more than just two friends falling asleep with one another.

With his soft touch running along your back, soothing you to sleep, you were out like a light in minutes, but Jarvy stayed up, watching whatever episode of your show that was on, often looking down at you to make sure you remained asleep. 

He fell asleep not long after, the grin on his face remaining there like it was stuck forever, holding the person he loves most in the world, feeling like he was on cloud nine, knowing life could only get better now that you two had admitted your years-worth of pent up feelings

#seth jarvis #seth jarvis imagines #seth jarvis x reader #seth jarvis imagine #seth jarvis fanfic #hockey #hockey fanfic #imagines #fanfiction #fanfic

[echos-gal]

ok i'm rapidly losing hope that Tech is still alive, and this sucks because it was basically the top thing i desperately wanted from this season. i wanted to see him survive. so here's my exhaustive and embarrassingly long list of reasons why he SHOULD still be alive, and if he isn't, why it was a missed opportunity. obviously no hate to the writers or anything, i love them dearly for creating this show!!!

(if you're a "Tech should stay dead for the stakes/so someone in SW stays dead for once/i hate delusional Tech stans" person, kindly keep scrolling, this ain't for you)

SEASON 2:

right from the start, Romar connects with Tech and calls himself "a survivor." HELLO???

in this same arc, Tech breaks his leg in a fall which he survives. he continues to walk on it, fighting off troopers to save Echo & Omega, showcasing his persistence and grit.

one of Phee's first lines is "better late than dead," and we know she shares a connection with Tech. she flirts with him later in this scene. it would be a shame not to reuse this line, i'm just saying....

Cid still owes Tech for racing for her in Faster. we see Cid looking miserable as she betrays the batch in Plan 99, so her playing a part in his rescue/comeback would be a nice way to show her growth. (i'm afraid there isn't enough time for this, though- as much as i thought a Cid redemption was on the horizon!)

Phee and Tech's departure is awkward, and although we have some context from season 3 (they talked more than we realized), the scene would do best if reconciled in person imo. it felt like it was setting up for something, and feels weird to leave hanging.

"don't go running off with any pirates or smugglers" could not have just been a throw away line. it set up for him to do exactly that. how fitting would it be if pirates or smugglers actually did manage to pick him up before the empire made it to the railcar crash site?

Hemlock's retrieval of the goggles shows that he sent a team to look through the wreckage. he thought there was a chance Tech survived, and may have him.

i won't go into the logistics, but big falls ARE survivable. in star wars especially. we have no idea what was below the layer of clouds/mist Tech fell through.

SEASON 3:

this is mostly CX-2 centric. their armor is very similar: the jaw/mouth shape, the hexagons over the ears, the rectangles on the chest, and the pouches/pockets.

"domicile." that is all.

CX-2 uses technology more than the other operatives we've seen, and he gets past the encryption on Phee's ship with ease.

"who are you?" was enunciated in the exact same way Tech says it to Trace and Rafa, which i definitely think was intentional.

CX-2 stops to use his rifle scope in the exact same spot where Tech and Phee stood to let down the ladders in the sea surge on Pabu.

he survives a waterfall plunge on Teth, which appears to have fooled Rex's group into thinking he'd died. the writers could have killed him off there and sent a new operative, but they chose to stick with CX-2 pursuing them to Pabu.

it's worth noting that while this CX is designated as "2," Tech's CT number is CT-9902. he is associated with the number even on a visual level: he's a dual-wielder, he wears goggles, he salutes with two fingers.

FROM A STORY PERSPECTIVE:

firstly, i am sorry and i LOVE the writers, but if you want people to accept a character's death, you've got to show his family and friends' grief. we saw no reaction from Crosshair or Phee, no tears from Hunter or Echo. it feels like fans were sadder about Tech's death than the characters in the story.

Tech seems to have been mentioned more in the second half of season 3 than the first half, which works if they want to bring him back in the finale.

the finale is called "The Cavalry Has Arrived." i really don't think you can have the cavalry (aka the bad batch) arrive without every member present. i also don't think it would feel right to play their theme without Tech there. idk, that feels incomplete!

we saw no body, and Hunter received Tech's goggles not from a trusted ally or friend, but from Hemlock. this calls into question the legitimacy of his claim that the goggles were "all he could salvage."

Tech alive and being held on Tantiss would provide a nice parallel to Echo in the first mission where we meet the batch, in TCW. and [ep 14 SPOILERS] we see that Echo is currently looking more like his TCW self, with his earpiece removed.

feels kinda sour that a character who a lot of people related to as neurodivergent representation would die just a few episodes after having a deep conversation with his sister about it.

likewise (and as a white woman i can't speak for WOC), from what i have seen, Black women are rarely the main love interest of a series! Phee is the ONLY love interest in this whole show, and it would suck to just cut off that romance before it could really become something. a lot of people wanted to see TechPhee become canon.

CX-2 is the one who destroys the marauder. it works well storywise for its pilot to have been the one to do that- the person who worked so hard modifying it, flying it, and teaching his sister to fly it. i'll be lowkey pissed if it turns out some random dude blew it up.

it's also CX-2 who invades and sets fire to Pabu. this is emotionally gripping on its own, but if he is Tech, it's even more so.

we have no idea what the operatives go through. Crosshair isn't telling, but it clearly put him in a really bad place. if Tech underwent this conditioning in his post-fall injured state, there's a chance he could come back from it. Emerie is probably the key to this, if they take the CX-2 route.

this show is all about a family trying to stay together as the Empire desperately tries to rip them apart. seeing the whole family together again - even if not everyone survives - in the finale is the satisfaction that the show ideally would go for. the last time they were all together was the season 1 finale. that was about 2 years ago in the show's timeline.

leaving Crosshair and Tech's final interactions be where they parted on the Kamino platform also feels off. Tech was the one who really vocalized the need to rescue Crosshair in season 2's finale. Crosshair, in the meantime, has changed significantly as a person. Tech's comment about Crosshair being "severe and unyielding," and unable to change this facet of his nature, is incorrect. leaving Tech dead would mean that he never gets to see this change in Crosshair, which makes me feel like a deflated balloon.

FROM MY SELFISH PERSPECTIVE!!!

give me Tech with cool scars and slightly disheveled longer hair. this is such a good opportunity for the creators to give him a sweet new look!

we never got to see Tech without his goggles on, despite Phee constantly referring to his eyes. he definitely doesn't have them right now (they're in the Archium), so we could get Mister Big Brown Eyes if he's alive. it's another missed opportunity if not, imo!

the goggles being placed in the Archium was a beautiful scene that makes me tear up whenever i think about it. it's symbolic, it's bittersweet, and it's exactly where the goggles belong. but was it closure for me? not really.

Tech is a character who became a LOT of people's favorite in season 2, including my own. why kill off a fan-favorite with an entire season to go?

yes, i desperately want a Rex and Echo series. yes, i want the batch to cameo in it, and yes... that includes Tech. making up for lost season 3 Tech content 😎

the finale will feature the zillo beast, and Tech loves the zillo beast. FREE HER! REUNITE THEM! he would love to witness her rampage.

FROM A "SURPRISE!!!!!" PERSPECTIVE

it seems like most people think Tech is either CX-2 or dead. it would be a great finale twist if we DID get CX-2's identity, it's NOT Tech, the audience loses hope, and then he shows up. i think this is actually plausible given the other assassin schematics Hemlock was looking at in Point of No Return. Tech might be in Hemlock's grasp, but not an active operative. having an enhanced clone to toy with is something Hemlock would want to keep under wraps. we see him step out of the assassin chamber at the start of that episode - if Tech is anywhere on Tantiss, i think it's here.

i think the writers have expected us to have all lost hope by now, so his finale reappearance would ideally come as a shock. the finale is almost guaranteed to be a very long episode, so we really might have quite a bit of time to explore his return, if it happens.

secret 16th episode: i know, i'm putting my clown makeup on as i type this. but the previous 2 seasons each had 16 episodes, with a two-parter finale. season 3 is just 15, with a single episode finale. TBB formally ends may 1st, so what if we get a may 4th surprise episode detailing how Tech survived? (that or an epilogue leading into a new series, which i think is more likely actually!)

#i definitely forgot some points but i just need to post this and be done with it #feel free to add your own observations 👀 #tbb tech #the bad batch #tech lives #techphee #tbb spoilers #the bad batch spoilers

[kimberleyjean]

Why are there Infinity Loops or Möbius Strips in Good Omens?

The infinity loop, it's the idea of something that is unlimited and endless, you know...

In this post, I'm going to explore some of the symbols in the show that I think relate to this concept of eternity. For example, have you noticed that the infinity loop shows up amongst the symbols at the start of Season 1? While God's narrates about her "ineffable game" of her own devising, here it is on screen:

Why do we see so many infinity symbols here? Where else can we see this same symbol?

Read on for the places I've spotted it in both S1, S2 and the book. I’m hoping you’ll let me know if I missed any, and what you think it all means!

Eternity in Good Omens

In the book, when Crowley is explaining the concept of eternity to Aziraphale, he uses the idea of a bird which flies every thousand years to the same mountain to sharpen it's beak. Here's the conversation, with Aziraphale's interruptions edited out (pg. 55 - 56 in my hardcopy):

“Just you think about it," said Crowley relentlessly. "You know what eternity is? You know what eternity is? I mean, d'you know what eternity is? There's this big mountain, see, a mile high, at the end of the universe, and once every thousand years there's this little bird—” “Okay. And every thousand years this bird flies—" "flies all the way to this mountain and sharpens its beak—” “Sharpen its beak on the mountain," said Crowley. "And then it flies back—” “And after a thousand years it goes and does it all again," said Crowley quickly.”

This story originally came from a folk tale called the Shepherd Boy. It's very short and you can read the Brother's Grimm version here.

If we take Crowley at his word, then eternity in Good Omens is represented by repeating the same thing over again, whether that's flying forever to the same mountain, or having to watch the Sound of Music "over and over and over and over and over and over and over" into infinity.

The Infinity Loop

The common symbol for infinity, ∞, was invented by the English mathematician John Wallis in 1655. Being an extremely popular symbol, it shows up in a lot of places, including the Rider-Waite Tarot deck. Several other uses are detailed on the wikipedia page.

So, where does it appear in Good Omens? In addition to God's monologue, we also see it during the S1 baby swap sequence as part of the Satanic nun's costumes. Here it is on the upside-down watches they wear:

Here it is again on Newt's belt buckle in S1:

Here's another possible infinity symbol on Newt's computer screen, when he's working at United Holdings:

Outside of the show, it also appears on the merch released post-S2 (though a little bit disguised in the form of the snake wrapped around them). Included is the tagline of "The end was just the start".

There are also two references to infinity in the book. Here's the first very near the start (pg. 14 of my 2015 hardback edition):

“He [God] plays an ineffable game of His own devising, which might be compared, from the perspective of any of the other players, [ie., everybody.] to being involved in an obscure and complex version of poker in a pitch-dark room, with blank cards, for infinite stakes, with a Dealer who won't tell you the rules, and who smiles all the time.”

And here's the other, closer to the end, at the airfield (pg. 363 of my edition):

“Adam glanced up. In one sense there was just clear air overhead. In another, stretching off to infinity, were the hosts of Heaven and Hell, wingtip to wingtip. If you looked really closely, and had been specially trained, you could tell the difference.”

So, Good Omens makes a few references to infinity, which I find interesting in itself. But wait, there's more!

The Ouroboros

There is another symbol which also appears in Good Omens and also suggests a form of repetition - the ouroboros. The ouroboros is an ancient symbol depicting a serpent or dragon eating its own tail and depicts an eternal cycle of renewal - an end which comes back to the start again. I recommend taking a look at the whole wikipedia page, which is quite fascinating:

Now, this would be a rather abstract representation, but I think this appears on the wall of Nina's cafe. Unfortunately, in my image Terry's name has been cut off, but it does say Terry and Neil within those segments of the loop:

So we have the infinity symbol, the ouroboros... anything else? Well, yes, there is a third symbol for us to ponder over.

The Mobius Strip

Closely related to the idea of the infinity symbol is that of the mobius strip. To oversimplify things, the mobius strip is a object which is a continuous surface in a loop. At first glance, it appears to have two sides, but these are indeed all part of the same side (maybe we should call this "our side"?). As shown in the below gif, an object traversing the surface of the strip can repeat in a continuous loop.

Where does the mobius strip appear in Good Omens? Well, it appears in the book. Here it is being used to refer to Anathema's broken bike wheel (pg. 92 in my 2015 hardback edition):

“Behind the Bentley a bicycle lay in the road, its front wheel bent into a creditable Mobius shape, its back wheel clicking ominously to a standstill.”

And again, describing the discussions of the Them, while Adam is coming into his powers (pg. 229 in my hardback):

“Serve everyone right if all the nucular bombs went off and it all started again, only prop'ly organized," said Adam. "Sometimes I think that's what I'd like to happen. An' then we could sort everythin' out." The thunder growled again. Pepper shivered. This wasn't the normal Them mobius bickering, which passed many a slow hour. There was a look in Adam's eye that his friend couldn't quite fathom—not devilment, because that was more or less there all the time, but a sort of blank grayness that was far worse.”

Not only does the word "mobius" appear twice in the book, but Neil has continued to be interested in such ideas, releasing the song Mobius Strip in April 2023 (as brought to my attention by @embracing-the-ineffable). The song is a meditation on the nature of time, magic and how things tend to repeat. In the song, the grandfather shows the boy a trick to creating a mobius strip using paper, tape and some scissors. Here's how the song concludes:

"I'm... Somewhere on the strip We all are, walking the sign of infinity into the darkness And I'm looking for signs of a life, in a memory Reflected in the mirror I'm a mobius strip We all are We only ever see one face It's the twist that brings you back where you started"

If you're unfamiliar with the idea of creating a paper-based mobius strip, here's a video on how it works:

Is the loop Aziraphale and Crowley?

To form a mobius strip, you need to cut the paper first, flip it, and then join the ends back together.

To me, this reminds me a lot of the S2 opening sequence, when we see the bridge disconnect, separating Aziraphale and Crowley on either side, only to then reconnect at another place.

Does this mean the bridge, and perhaps the loop, represents our ineffable duo? This merch sure seems to suggest so...

That could be one interpretation of this sequence, though I'm sure there are others. What do you think? Does the loop say anything about Crowley and Aziraphale's relationship to one another?

Put it all together and...

In summary, we have at least three different symbols signifying some sort of repetition in Good Omens - the infinity loop, ouroboros and mobius strip. So, what might they mean? Why do you think it's been included, and so often? Even more importantly, have I missed any? There's endless details to be mined from this show, so I wouldn't be surprised if there are more.

I have a few theories, but nothing concrete yet, so I'm really interested in hearing everyone's ideas!

#good omens meta #ineffable mystery #good omens clues #good omens analysis #go meta #good omens s2 #good omens s1 #good omens season 2 #good omens season 1 #good omens #good omens details #infinity symbol #infinity loop #mobius strip #newton pulsifer #ineffable husbands #ouroboros #Youtube

[andradrawsstuff]

An in-depth character analysis of Skipper: pt 2

So, tv Skipper is a bit of a contrast to movie Skipper, as I stated in my MASSIVE ramble in part 1 💀 Even though he’s so different, he does have his quirks and some decent character development. It’s also great to see how much Tom’s voice acting evolves over the seasons and I thank him so much for putting his heart into it 🥺

This is also going to be a long one I am so sorry, I tried

This version of Skipper started off pretty similar to his movie counterpart as the show was finding its footing, but soon evolved into his own version of himself as the series went on. In early season 1, we see Skipper be somewhat down to earth and have quite an honourable attitude. He’s not super shouty-screamy and we see him being pretty domestic, which is probably because season 1 is pretty slice-of-life compared to the other two seasons.

I think the main points to mention here are in Happy King Julien Day and Assault and Batteries - in hkjd, despite all sorts of interruptions Skipper gets a little angry, but doesn’t really act upon it, he just minds his own business. Eventually he confronts Julien, but remains civil throughout the entire thing. In Assault and Batteries, he takes the batteries but does so sneakily to minimise confrontation. And when Julien chases him, he doesn’t fight. Throughout the entire episode (and a good bit of the show), he remains somewhat civil and tries to minimise confrontation with Julien. He’s also pretty sweet at the end when he offers a high five like bro that’s adorable I can’t-

We also get to see some decent character development for him in season 1, as there’s a lot of Skipper-centric episodes. In Needle Point, Skipper realises he should take the shot so that Private doesn’t get sick - he takes accountability for his actions, and his conversation with Private is pretty sweet. I love that you get to see Skipper being sweet (especially with Private) in the series, since they’ve had the time to show a bit of his vulnerable side here and there.

But I think that the most important character development point in Skipper’s story is Miss Understanding - Since the start of season 1, Skipper was pretty sexist and it gets so bad that he thinks he can’t do anything he did before because he’s a girl. He eventually saves the guys and the episode comes to a resolution.

But here’s the thing, not once is he sexist after that (Unless I’ve missed a few things here and there but I think he genuinely learns his lesson) which makes me think that his sexism is intentional on the writers part bc they do make it a point that it’s wrong, so w tpom and it’s pretty neat and rare for an early 2000s show to cover. This is why I love love love season 1 Skipper - he’s flawed but in a realistic way and he usually makes an effort to fix his mistakes. He’s also quite nonchalantly chaotic like in the movies, whereas in later seasons he’s more aggressively chaotic if you catch my drift? Idk how to explain well lmao.

As for his other traits, he’s pretty paranoid and egocentric, but still as suave, sassy and sarcastic as movie Skipper. He’s defo got a lot more of an “I’m right and you’re wrong” attitude than his counterpart and is a fair bit grumpier which is pretty funny. He’s got a bit of a hero complex here (eg. Treasure of the Golden Squirrel) and at first he’s arguably more chaotic good than neutral compared to the movies, but it’s not such a big change that it makes it bad in any way. I mean, he still kinda has it out for the humans and chooses violence without a second thought which is hilarious to me 💀

As the series progresses, Skipper starts to get increasingly paranoid and aggressive, and a lot of his negative traits start to show more. In early season 2 he’s fine but you can tell when the writers were starting to lose the plot both with the characters and stories in late season 2. It kinda feels like his character took a 180 turn and went backwards, but honestly it’s not that noticeable and I just happen to love analysing these things. I mean, it also happens to Kowalski, who around the same time starts becoming a bit of an asshole and gets worse in season 3 - in Snowmageddon, he’s rlly dismissive of Private and Fred.

I think Skipper also ends up suffering what I like to call the “Sabrina Spellman treatment” because he starts making mistakes and refusing to take accountability, usually pinning the blame on someone else without repercussions. I guess it’s the only real “problem” I have with his character in the series but honestly it’s just something that tends to happen as shows go on for a long time and it’s not all that bothersome. But the thing is, he starts getting better again in season 3 and he gets more character development (eg. Snowmageddon where him and Marlene work rlly well as a team and Antics on Ice where he’s pretty much doing everything for Private 🥺) so idk what happened there 💀

Overall, tv Skipper is still a loveable little guy and I find it so funny when he gets angry out of nowhere, my fav crazy Skipper moment being the one where he swears he’s never gonna end up in Hoboken and starts screaming his lungs out 💀 (absolutely top-notch voice acting as always ofc).

But with this, I hope that you’ve enjoyed my ridiculously long character analysis and feel free to tell me your thoughts, this is all just my opinion after all :)

If you’re somehow still reading this I congratulate you, you get a gold star ⭐️

#tpom #the penguins of madagascar #penguins of madagascar #tpom skipper #character analysis #i promised that part 2 would be shorter but I’m not sure I held that promise 💀

[daughterofcain-67]

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕮𝖚𝖗𝖘𝖊 (𝔭𝔱.2)

(Dean Winchester x Female Reader)

(masterlist)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After finding more information about the case, Sam and Dean ask Jody if there was a possibility you could be involved with this case. And when they discover you aren’t, they realize they need to keep an eye on you before you could fall to the mark’s urges.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: loosely based on season 10, mentions blood, murder, nothing too graphic this time around (NOT ACCURATE TO THE SHOW SINCE THERE ARE PLANS FOR ALTERNATE OUTCOMES)

Dean’s arm was killing him. It was like an endless fire, relentless burning, but Dean was starting to cope a little better. At least he was able to hide it from Sam successfully so far. He said he needed the work to keep from being restless, which was mostly true, but deep down a part of it was to distract him from the mar, from you, from everything that’s happened. The vacation practically did nothing to help him as much as he wanted Sam to believe it did.

In a way, Dean was gradually beginning to feel like himself again, sure, but it was like the mark knew what was missing whether Dean wanted it or not. The fact was that even if you and Dean split, you two had a connection. And if the both of you were going to be stuck with that mark from your father, you’d have that connection until the end of time.

Sam and Dean were making their rounds through town trying to make any sort of connection to the killings at the farm, see if they had any sort of enemies with any other competing farms or if any other members of the nest made enemies outside of farming life. At the moment, Sam and Dean found themselves in a factory where one of the members named Mikey worked. They were speaking with their supervisor, Eric Raeford.

“So in the last couple of weeks that Mikey was working here, did he seem off at all? Did he act paranoid or something, any suspicions of anyone stalking him or anything like that?” Sam said while Dean took notes on a little notepad.

“No, not really. None of his coworkers seem to think so either. He seemed like just a normal guy. Gosh, I still can’t believe he was murderer like that. Do you think that family was involved in some sort of gang activity? Is it something I should be concerned about with my company?” Eric asked and Dean shook his head.

“No, I don’t think there should be any concern of your well being or that of any of these other coworkers. We’re just looking into any sort of potential connections.” Dean explained.

“Oh… I see. Well as far as I know, Mikey pretty much kept his nose clean of any problems, at least around here anyways. He always showed up to work on time, did his job the best that he could, never did anything that would cause any conflict. But he didn’t really seem to be the type of guy that would rant to any coworkers if he were going through something like this.” Eric continued.

“What about any of his family members? Have you met any of them or have there been any situations that threw up any sort of red flags?” Sam continued and Eric shook his head.

“No, not that I can think of. I didn’t know his family that well. His old man and mom that adopted him were good people, farmers. The wife made the best damn baked goods.” Eric groaned at the last part.

“Have there been any new comers in town that you’ve met recently? Anyone that claimed they were just passing through?” Dean questioned and Eric tried to search his brain for anything that seemed to stand out to him.

“You know…. I was at the bar about a week ago. There was this girl that said she was from Cincinnati taking some sort of nomadic lifestyle for a while. She seemed really nice, but she did seem to have some sort of mysterious vibe about there. And she had this funny looking mark, looked kinda tribal or something.” He said and that was when Dean looked up, brows narrowing as something troubling brewed inside him.

“Tribal mark?” Dean asked and then he started to draw the Mark of Cain before he turned the pad of paper over for Eric to take a look, “Would that be what it looked like?”

“Holy cow- yeah that’s the one! How did you know?” Eric asked, sounding amazed, while Dean had this unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Just a hunch…” Dean said as he closed the notepad, tucking it in one of the hidden pockets of his suit jacket.

Sam put a hand in his pocket and pulled out this card holder before he handed one over to Eric, “If you can think of anything else you can tell us, please don’t hesitate to call us.”

“You bet. If you fellas need anything else feel free to stop by again.” Eric said, just wanting to be cooperative.

“Thanks…” And with that, the Winchesters left the factory and Dean opened the door.

When he got inside the vehicle he all but slammed the door shut behind him, “Son of a bitch…”

Sam heard the way his brother grumbled with aggravation with a hint of something else, disappointment maybe? Worry? Sam couldn't pinpoint what it was.

“Dean, you don’t think Y/N could have anything to do with this… do you?” Sam dared to ask and watched his brother grip the wheel tightly for a moment before he turned the engine on.

“Dean?”

“I don’t know, Sam. I really hope not.” Dean said before he pulled out and onto the highway, then Sam continued on.

“What if it is her? What are we going to have to do? If we kill her she’ll just turn into a demon again, sort of like when you died and came back. What the hell happened between you two that made her leave?” Sam questioned, practically interrogating his brother at this point.

“Why do you make it sound like something bad happened? After we both became human it was a mutual decision that she go her own way. I didn’t want her to go, Hell I wish she stayed so you and even Cass can monitor us so neither of us go dark side.” Dean replied.

“Dark side? That’s what you’re calling it?”

“You got a better name for it?”

Sam’s brows narrowed as he rolled his eyes before he looked out of the passenger window, “Are you ever going to talk about what happened? You both seemed to hit it off okay at least near the end.”

“It didn’t work out, alright? Can you drop it please?” Dean snapped, getting agitated with Sam lingering on the way you and him ended things.

After all, in the end things really were mutual. Dean still felt like shit for the things he said to you. And he wished that those three months with you were better than they were, then again demons weren’t exactly known for their redeeming qualities. You may have said there was nothing solid for the two of you to really learn anything abut each other, but Dean was bitter knowing that you seemed like you didn’t even want to give it a chance. Then he remembered one of the last things you said to him, something about you holding up your end when it came to helping him.

“She said she had to go find a way to help me with this blasted mark, whatever the Hell that means.” Dean grumbled.

Sam listened and he thought about the book you told him abut. We’re you looking for it while you were out who knows where doing who knows what? Then he thought about Jody, recalling her opinion about finding you again. If the mark started to effect Dean again, he didn’t deserve to go through it with people who didn’t even know what it was like. Only you’d know what he was going through, so maybe Dean wouldn’t feel so alone.

“Well… if she didn’t have anything to do with the massacre… I think we should consider looking for her.” Sam finally spoke up.

Dean was quiet and focused on the road.

“Think about it, Dean. If she was trying to help you out, what better recourses our out there than what we’ve got in the bunker? If we can track her down and figure out where she’s headed maybe we can convince her to stay.” Sam continued as if convincing Dean as best as he could.

“And what would our excuse be, huh? If she didn’t have anything to do with this case then how are we supposed to convince her to come with us?”

“Come on, man… Stop acting like an idiot. Just because things may have fallen through for you two doesn’t mean she can’t be an ally. If anything, I know you need her around even though you’re claiming not to want to think about her that much. With the way the mark affected you before when you didn’t kill, you may need Y/N for your physical health one of these days.”

The more Sam seemed to talk about you, the more Dean’s arm began to throb under the sleeve of his suit jacket.

“Can we just focus on this case first with Jody before we go searching for her again? We can’t just leave her hanging if this is really our thing after all. If it turns out not to be our thing then we’ll figure it out from there.”

Sam noticed the way Dean seemed to speak through gritted teeth, which caused him to arch a brow upward.

“Are you alright?”

“Never better.” Dean replied just as he pulled up to the police station so they could talk to the sheriff.

When the two federal impersonators made it into the building, one of the officers took them to Jody’s office where she was sitting at her desk in front of her computer. She seemed to be going through some files before she looked up when the door opened, Sam and Dean saw a smile light up her face when she saw the two boys.

“Hey, you two. Any luck so far?” She inquired.

“Well… yes and no.” Sam began.

“We got in touch with Mikey’s boss, Eric Raeford. He said that he was at the bar one night and he met someone that was just passing though. Are you sure you can’t recall anybody coming into town?” Dean asked.

“Dean, kiddo, I’m a busy woman. I seldom get to people inspect if they’re new. That’s why I told you I couldn’t recall a newcomers yesterday when the two of you dropped by.” She reminded.

“Well.. could you maybe do us a favor then and see if this girl has dropped by here via train or something? Just any way to see if she’s been around or not.” Dean said, pulling out his phone to find a picture of you. When he did, he handed the device to Jody who took the phone and gazed at the photo, raising a brow.

“Her name would be…?”

“Y/N… Y/N L/N.”

“You mean-“ Jody looked over at Sam who had a hand behind his neck and an uncomfortable expression on his face.

“Yeah let me see what I can do. She doesn’t look familiar right off hand. You don’t think she did it do you?” She asked and started typing your name in her computer.

“We’re just trying to find where she is. Maybe she could even help us on a case like this, maybe find out what kind of enemies your vamps had in this case or maybe she can help find the killer. Have you heard anything about witnesses?” Dean questioned.

“Well, the only witness I’ve got was actually a member of the rival farm. His name’s James, said he saw a figure wearing all black. Seemed to be more on the feminine side.” Jody said as she continued typing and she found you.

“Y/N L/N…. Tattoo artist based in Cincinnati. Based on her drivers license, she’s too tall to be our perp. Let me see if there’s any record of her leaving or coming here on some form of transportation. See if her alibi checks out.”

“You can do that?” Sam asked, unaware that Jody had footage of some kind of transportation in the first place.

“Well I had asked for it shortly after I called you boys. Wasn’t sure if a hunter would try the rail roads but figured I’d give it some sort of shot.”

Sam looked up at Dean and he tried to think of how he wanted to formulate his next thought on his mind, “What if we called Cass? Maybe he can help track her down. Or… I hate to say it but I think it would be a lot quicker if-“

“Crowley is off the table. We don’t have a use for him. He’s got the blade, probably trying to keep tabs on Cass, no. It’s just a bad idea.” Dean interjected, immediately shutting down the idea.

“Well whatever you two decide to do and whoever you decide to reach out to, the record I’m finding says she was on her way to Minnesota. If you two rush out of here then she may still be there.” Jody looked up at both the hunters.

“What do you two intend to do if her alibi checks out?” The sheriff asks and Sam shrugged a little.

“I figure maybe she could help us out with your case.” He said and Jody looked back at her computer screen.

“Frankly boys, I’m not so sure if this is a hunter or not. I don’t think it’s a monster though. I’m beginning to think I may have to call the actual feds for this one. Maybe they have this person’s files in AFIS or some of their other departments.” Jody said as she pulled up what she could about the train station.

“From what I can tell, Y/N’s alibi does check out, she arrived after the time of the killings.” She continued.

Dean heard the words and he couldn’t help but feel relieved when Jody said you weren’t here for the murder. He hated that even the slightest bit of doubt about you crept in, but in his mind the concerned seemed at least reasonable.

“Well that at least settles the matter of whether or not she was involved, but now it’s a matter of where she could be heading to next. Which I highly doubt she told anybody where she’s going. Dean, I really think we need to call someone.” Sam looked over at Dean.

“Actually… before we do anything rash, I think we need to talk to Eric again, or at least go to the bar. See if the bartender had any reactions with Y/N. Maybe she may have tossed around some ideas of where she’d go next, where in Minnesota if we’re lucky.” Dean replied then he looked over at Jody.

“And if you need anything, call us as soon as you need us. Whether you call the actual feds for your case or not, we’ll come right back here if anything goes wrong.” He said and Jody grinned.

“There’s a reason I’ve got you two on speed dial. By the way, the bar most frequented around here is Blackbird Ale. Ask for Chris.” She insisted, Dean grinned a little.

“Let’s head out Sammy, see what we and find. See you around Jody.”

With that, the two boys made there way out of the office so they could make it to the bar Jodi said to try first. It was worth a shot to try and find you.

Crowley was sitting upon his throne in Hell and he had a very old looking paper in his hand, sort of an agenda his underlings created for him when he was on his sabbatical. Yet he had his head in one of his hands, so disinterested in everything.

He recalled the day one of his demons had their little outburst, questioning the way he proceeded to rule since he went gallivanting around with the elder Winchester and yourself.

He couldn’t help but reminisce upon those times. Despite Dean such a pain in his royal behind, it was a fairly good time. You were much moor cooperative, someone that was able to keep Dean in line until you all seemed to have a falling out.

Crowley hated to admit it but he was beginning to miss the little band from hell. He missed how good of a ring it had to it, the King of Hell, with a Winchester turned Demon and the Daughter of Cain and Abbadon herself.

The three of you would have created the perfect Hell, it would be at its peak since Lucifer himself ruled, which it’s been centuries since people actually feared such a place as Hell. There must’ve been a way to bring it back to its former glory.

“Your greatness?” A timid sounding demon asked and Crowley blinked once or twice before he shifted his gaze up from the disinteresting and dull page to who had the audacity to wreck his train of thought.

“What is it now? Did you run out of souls to torment?” Crowley asked bitterly.

“I just.. wanted to inform you about an update.” The scrawny little demon said and Crowley arched a brow.

“Well? Spit it out. I have more important things to do rather than sit here and play these pathetic guessing games?”

“I-It’s about Cain’s offspring. W-we’ve located her and.. Sir, she’s human.” This seemed to peak Crowley’s interest and he set the paper down on the pile of boring papers beside his throne.

“Tell me more.” He said as he leaned forward.

“W-Well, we aren’t sure when she became human but we have reason to believe after your falling out with the older Winchester and once he became human, she may have been taken to the bunker and they may have turned her as well. We don’t know for sure of the situation leading up to that, but we have reason to believe she is somewhere in Minnesota.”

“Is that so.. And tell me, how did you come to find that out?”

“One of the crossroads demons. They said they caught a glimpse of her last night running away from Saint Paul’s Minnesota with blood on her clothes and hands. When the demon investigated where she was running from, it seemed like she had taken a life.”

Crowley lifted a brow slightly, that didn’t sound like you. After so long of hiding, it didn’t sound right that your first instinct would be to kill without at least a plan, you didn’t seem the reckless type. When it came to these things, not with all your centuries of training and your upbringing from Abbadon.

“Human life?” Crowley inquired.

“No, Sir. Seemed to be just another beastly creature a hunter would come after. We have reason to believe it was what they call a werewolf.”

“Tell me, where is she now?”

“We have reason to believe she is traveling on foot so she may still be just outside of Saint Paul’s Minnesota, we aren’t sure where she is heading next. Would you like to have one of us to track her down and have her followed to keep tabs on her?” The demon asked and Crowley shook his head.

“No. The moment she find out any of us demons are onto her, she’d kill any of us. Just because she is no longer a demon herself doesn’t mean not make her any less of a skilled murderer.” Crowley replied as he rubbed his hand over the lower half of his face, contemplating on what his move should be.

“What will you have us do then, Sir?”

Crowley went quiet as he began to formulate some sort of plan.

“If I may, Sir…” Another demon spoke up, one of Crowley’s advisors and Crowley looked over.

“From what I’m understanding according to a report from a demon close to Sioux Falls, the Winchesters are about to look for Y/N…. It seems they want to monitor her… humanity. Her well being. They may try to diminish her.. talents for lack of a better word.” Crowley lifted a brow.

“And we all know dear Sam wants his brother to lose the mark, if Y/N loses it too then all of our chances of restoring Hell back to what it once was, we must reach out to Y/N before the Winchesters do. They’ve speculated her to be the culprit of a mass killing of vampires, which is why they want to keep her under their radar. It’s only a matter of time before they catch up to her and try and convince her to stay on their good terms, maybe even convince her to be rid the mark as well.”

“It’s a little too soon for them to think her guilty of such ability isn’t it? They could be correct though given her history.” Crowley said.

“Sire, if they convince Y/N to remove the mark, if there’s even a way to do so, it will ruin all of our chances of rising up from this slump you’ve been working so hard to bring us from.”

“We could recreate the Knights of Hell… she would be the general of my army. We could reap so many souls as more demons the human’s contracts come to a close. Maybe even beyond.” Crowley agreed before he looked back at the scrawny demon.

“You keep tabs on the Winchesters, continue to keep tabs on their angel friend Castiel. You know how often they come to him when they’ve lost something like irresponsible children.” Crowley ordered.

“And what of Y/N, Your Majesty?”

“Leave her to me. She may need a visit from an old friend. It’s not easy being human after all and she may even want to come back to her roots - just for some clarity if nothing else.” Crowley said as he stood up.

When Crowley lifted up his hands, he snapped and within an instant, he was gone.

You found yourself roaming around the woods, still in Minnesota but you weren’t sure if you were in the same city or town anymore since you were pretty much avoiding all highways to avoid being seen any anyone. You supposed the one thing you could have said you missed about being a demon was the fact that transportation was a lot easier than traveling on foot.

Then you started thinking about the werewolf you killed last night, the feelings you had with it… was this how Dean felt when he went on his hunts?

Dean.

The very thought of him made the mark on your arm ignite all over agiain. The longer you were away from him, it seemed to get so much worse. Yet the first moment you became human and Dean was right there, it was like there was a sense of calm.

But you remembered it was you who made the ultimate decision to leave. And honestly you were starting to regret it, especially because deep down you knew you wanted to stay. But there was no way Dean would let you come back to the bunker right? Maybe not this soon. What if you made a mistake leaving?

Your mind went back to Dean again. You couldn’t believe he kissed you that night! Why was that such a bittersweet moment? And why did you feel so many things when it came down to that moment? Why didn’t you just stay?

Your mark started to burn again and you looked down at it. You knew you needed to help Sam and Dean. You told Sam to look into the Book of the Damned, and you would be on the lookout for it too. You needed to find where it was and soon so Dean wouldn’t have to go through baring this curse.

But what if you couldn’t find the book? What if thee really was no way out for this for Dean? What if there was no way out for him and he’d be miserable forever? And why were you beginning to feel like it was your fault when you weren’t even there when he accepted the mark from Cain in the first place?

“Ugh…” You groaned to yourself, frustrated with your own mind. You didn’t know humans could overthink so much, and you weren’t even sure if this amount of thinking was justified for anything!

Six weeks in and you were already finding out quickly what the human brain was like and how so many emotions could bubble up all at once, making you so unsure about so many things. And a part of you that had so much doubt about who you were and what you were trying to avoid, was even beginning to doubt your own abilities of finding the book that would even help Dean.

You understood that The Book of the Damned was cursed, about as cursed as your heirloom. You also knew it was sort of a legend at this point in time and a part of you wasn’t even sure if such a thing really existed anymore.

The truth was, you weren’t even sure where you should look. Maybe someone from Hell had it in their grasp once more, maybe a witch got a hold of it because there was a lot of dark magic involved with it. No one had seen or heard about it in centuries, maybe even millennia, so who knew where it could be found.

Your jaw tightened with the frustration you were feeling and you ran a hand through your hair.

You had your fun exploring, being a little nomad. You experienced human things during those six weeks, but now you knew that if were ever going to be useful to the Winchesters, you needed to buckle down. For Dean’s sake.

“Maybe I need to find a highway.” You muttered to yourself to no one in particular, specifically since no one was around.

Then, this sudden wave of nausea began to hit you. You asked over to one of the trees and placed a hand on it to try and steady yourself. Your mind started flooding right back to last knight when you had your first kill in weeks. You knew in that moment exactly what was happening to you.

Your mark wanted you to kill again. It was like it wanted, craved it more than life itself. Now that you were human, the feeling was physically beginning to overwhelm you. And this is the first time you were beginning to feel nauseated, but you knew it would only get worse. At least you weren’t at the point of withdrawals as you witnessed Dean go through before he became a demon. Though you knew that experience would be grotesque and hellish when you experienced it.

A part of being human, though, was learning how to resist. You had to fight back. Being around the Winchesters taught you that, so you needed to learn from them. You couldn’t kill anymore, even if the werewolf was a monster.

You were scared that one day it would be a human life you’d take. You didn’t want that on your shoulders, not when you were trying to be a new person, not when you were trying to escape the monster you were in the past.

You pushed yourself off the tree as you gathered your composure again and tried to return to your train of thought, one of many yes but you went to your main one before the nausea hit.

“Main road… Look for a way out of state… Buckle down on research for the-“

“Hello, Chipmunk.”

You could have recognized that accent anywhere and you turned around, glaring at Crowley after he called you that name.

“Didn’t I tell you not to call me that?” You said and Crowley simply shrugged, “What is it that you want now?”

“Just checking on an old friend.” Crowley said and you weren’t exactly convinced.

“Last time I checked were weren’t exactly on the friendliest terms.” You retorted and Crowley let out a low hum.

“Well, from my understanding, you aren’t exactly on the best of terms with the Winchesters. Heard you were human now and.. well I can definitely sense some sort of shift from you.” He said and you lifted a brow.

“I don’t need a wellness check, Crowley. Becoming a human was my choice and I left the bunker on my own accord.”

“And how’s the mark holding up? Either it’s beginning not to treat you so well or you’re starting to become one of those tree huggers seeing as you were practically clinging on that tree next to you.” He replied and you went silent for a moment.

“Now.. tell me why you became human. What on earth possessed you to do something like that?” He asked as he walked over with interest in his voice and you rolled your eyes.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I was curious. After all, you and every other demon have been human once. I just wanted to experience it before I end up dying and going back to being a demon once more with this blasted thing.” You said and Crowley lifted a brow.

“So… you’re learning to resent your birthright?”

“More like resent this curse of an heirloom. But I’d rather it be me that bore it rather than anyone else. No one knows where Cain is ever since you and Dean blew his cover.” You said.

“I see.”

“Why are you really here, Crowley. I doubt you really want a status update on my human condition.” You said and put a hand on your hip, displaying your impatience.

“I just want to extend an offer. I know you originally went into hiding from Hell to avoid your mother dragging you back, wanting to escape everything and test. Out your father’s lifestyle. But should the situation arise that you need to return to Hell…Give me a call.” Crowley said and you became skeptical.

“What’s the catch?”

“None as of yet. But you should reconsider becoming the new leader of the Knights of Hell. I know you don’t want to be a killer for as long as you possibly can, but yo cannot deny what is in your blood. You’re talented, strategic, and Hell’s army needs someone like you to keep them in line.” Crowley reminded you and you glared.

“I refuse to take up that mantle. The Knights of Hell are all dead anyway.”

“No, but you could train up an army of your own. Turn even the weakest demons into the strongest soldiers under your training, they’d all be under your command and you’d have a place of power, second only to me.” Crowley said.

“Crowley, I think you’re failing to realize that I don’t crave power. I’m not like you, I don’t need to be in a position of leadership, and I never wanted it.” You stated and Crowley hummed a little.

“Again, it’s simply an offer. A place for you to go if you find yourself in a less than ideal situation. You know who you were meant to be deep down. That position will always be yours should you decide to claim it as you should.” Crowley said.

“The Winchesters wouldn’t be at all surprised if you claimed that role.”

You looked at him and stepped forward, brows narrowing, “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. All I’m speculating is that if I were in their shoes and you were so new to being human, which you are, they wouldn’t be surprised if you slipped up one day. And from the looks of it, you’ve already given the mark a taste of what it craves most.” Crowley motioned to the blow on your clothes you couldn’t wash off.

“Let me handle that for you.” He insisted and with the snap of Crowley’s fingers, you looked down and saw your clothes were almost brand new, as if last night had never even occurred.

“They wouldn’t be so cruel as to make those kinds of assumptions.” You said, not wanting to believe Crowley, knowing his kind spoke practically nothing but lies most of the time.

“That’s what humans do, Y/N, Darling. They assume, they overthink, they judge prematurely. The human world is ugly. Why do you think demons prefer their new life after death? They become free from caring of others opinions and their assumptions of them. It’s easier to live without human insecurity.” He reminded you, and you supposed that was one part of your old life you missed.

“That’s my discovery to make, Crowley. And the day I become a demon again because of this mark, I’ll have learned all I needed to about being human. But until then, this is my life and my experiences. Let me learn them on my own terms.” You said and Crowley lifted his arms up in surrender.

“Very well. Just know that if you end up having enough of humans sooner than you think, you’ve got somewhere to go.” Crowley said and he started to walk off.

Then while Crowley was facing away from you, his eyes turned red as if her were getting in contact with his demons in Hell, “Monitor her. Give me frequent reports on both her and the Winchesters.”

Who knew…. Maybe either outcome could lead to his advantage. One must learn both sides in order to play the game properly after all.

Tag List:

@roseblue373 @deans-spinster-witch @jackles010378 @chriszgirl92 @johannelis2302nely @justtrying2getby-blog @alternativeprincess94 @doctorlexilouwhosblog @deangirl96 @snowayumi @lyarr24 @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @blackcherrywhiskey @prettyinplaid94 @globetrotter28 @suckitands33

#jensen ackles #supernatural #spnfandom #dean winchester #supernatural imagine #dean imagine #supernatural x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester imagine #moc dean #moc!dean #demon dean x reader #dean winchester supernatural #dean x you #dean winchester fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn

[thisbuildinghasfeelings]

After a brief hiatus from fic recs, we are BACK!

To make up for what we've missed, this week we are going to be focusing on fic recs from the first SIX EPISODES of season 3:

3x01 The Big Chill, 3x02 Thin Ice, 3x03 Shock and Thaw, 3x04 Push, 3x05 Child Care, 3x06 The ATX Files.

Here are this week's prompts:

Ice storm arc!

The 126 separated

Marjan being a badass

PUSH--the coma, the wakeup, the "hey baby, breathe," the aftermath that the show didn't have time to give us so our wonderful fic writers had to craft it for themselves, etc.

Detective Carlos Reyes

Tommy coping with her husband's death

Judd becoming a father to Charlie/Judd becoming a father to Wyatt

Rules:

Every week there will be a different prompt, and everyone is encouraged to share a fic (or a few!) recommendation that meets the prompt and tag a few fic-reading friends. The game can be played all week, so no pressure to post right away. Please feel free to use the banner above, to make your own, or to not use one at all!

Finally, please use the tag ‘Rewatch Read-Along Week 17’ and at the end of the week @911lonestarrewatch will post the link to the tag for the comprehensive list of fic recs!

Thanks to @guardian-angle22 for the banner!

Here are my recs:

Chapter 2 of The Center of the Maze by @carlos-in-glasses

Obviously I highly recommend the entire fic, but Chapter 2 is the part that deals specifically with what we're focused on this week. A heartbroken Carlos sobbing on the side of the road...is there a sadder image?? 😭

Seven Ways (Back to You) by @welcometololaland

An amazing series made up of 7 fics that deal with TK and Carlos finding their way back together in far more depth than the show could have ever given us!

Half agony, half hope and Coming and going by @goodways

The first is a wonderful Push coda filled with yearning and love and sweetness and making up and MAKING UP 😏, while the second is a truly delightful fic occurring in the aftermath of TK's coma where, as Shannon so aptly puts it in the summary "TK and Carlos boink so hard that TK passes out." I couldn't choose between the two, so I'm reccing both!

all my blood for the sweetness of his laugh by @alrightbuckaroo

Carlos reflecting on what he missed about TK while they were apart and how much he likes TK's laugh. Carlos' joy at making TK laugh is always one of my favorite things!

My Family, More or Less by @lightningboltreader

Carlos coming home to TK and telling him about his eventful night helping Katie get reunited with her parents...with a little help from his father-in-law more or less!

Learning, relearning by @fallout-mars

A really beautiful little fic a few weeks post-coma, with TK and Carlos so in love and so happy to be back together.

Tagging some fic readers who might have recs to share:

@lemonlyman-dotcom @paperstorm @carlos-in-glasses @reyesstrand @strandnreyes

@vineofroses @bonheur-cafe @alrightbuckaroo @herefortarlos @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad

@heartstringsduet @liminalmemories21 @lightningboltreader @fangirl-paba @reyestrandd

@chicgeekgirl89 @firstprince-history-huh @noxsoulmate @ladytessa74 @sznofthesticks

@literateowl @nancygillianmvp @bonheur-cafe and OPEN TAG for anyone else who wants to share some fic recs!

#911 lone star rewatch 2024 #Rewatch Read-Along Week 17 #911 lone star fic #911 lone star

[bullet-prooflove]

The Way All Cowboys Take Their Coffee: Travis Wheatley x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @pear-1206 @keyweegirlie @nu1freakshow @trublu2u

Companion piece to Bronco & The Closest Thing To I Love You

It’s late when Travis wakes up the next morning, late by cowboy standards at least. The sun is just starting to rise, the orange light filtering through the slats of the blinds as his hand smooths over the empty sheets beside him. They’re still warm, you haven’t been gone long. He half expected it. He knows he’s the first man you’ve slept with since your marriage ended and last night…

Last night was intense and that isn’t including the conversation the two of you had about him courting you.

It takes him a minute to locate his jeans when he slips out from underneath the sheets. He has no idea where his ‘Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy’ t-shirt disappeared to, he can’t remember if he was wearing it when you made it to the bedroom or not.

He surprised to see you standing in the kitchen of the ranch he always rents when he’s in town. You’re wearing nothing but his missing t-shirt. He watches you for a moment,  standing in front of French press, pouring java into two mugs. Your unruly hair falls across your features as you add two sugars and then the creamer to your own, leaving his black.

It’s the way all cowboys take their coffee.

He wants this. Mornings with you, nights with you, a life with you, whatever that may look like. He steps into the room, picking up his hat from the dining table where he left it before he places on top of your head.

“Now my mornings perfect.” He tells you, tipping your chin up so he can look into your eyes. “Any regrets?”

“Only that we have to get up so early.” You tell him, your fingertips tracing over the stubble on his cheek. “Otherwise I would have liked to have spend the whole morning in bed with you.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” He tells you, his hands coming to rest on your hips as he backs you up against the counter. “Because I meant what I said last night, about coming back here every season, about being with you.”

“Travis.” You say quietly, your palms coming to rest upon his bare chest and he loves the way you say his name. “I’m not sure how much I can give you…”

“It doesn’t have to be anymore than this.” He tells you, his thumb chasing over the apple of your cheek. “You have your life, I have mine, sometimes we meet in the middle.”

You understand what he’s offering you, the chance to be with someone who cares about you, the space to work through your shit, to rebuilt your life the way you want it.

“You’re sure this is what you want?” You ask him as you look into his eyes. “That I’m what you want?”

He sees that doubt in you, that uncertainty and it breaks his fucking heart because you don’t know what it’s like to be loved, not really. You don’t understand that it doesn’t come with conditions, not if it’s true.

“Oh honey.” He murmurs, his lips brushing over yours as he kisses you for the first time that morning. “You are everything I could ever want and that ain’t gonna change anytime soon.”

Love Travis? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#travis wheatley #travis wheatley x reader #travis wheatley x you #yellowstone #yellowstone tv #taylor sh #taylor sheridan

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

HIII THABK U FOR THE TRIVIA AND ASHE SONG before i take forever 2 answer those or forget here is a blank ticket to please please talk about prime defenders and their AWFUL emotional literacy and processing skills i would literally love to read that essay so much ive also been thinking about it incessantly. big eyes staring up at u.png. ok ok peace out GOODNIGHT !!!! <33

i lied actually im not going to bed im judt thinking about this ans listening to St. John on a loop now. hello catkiss.gif i forgot how youve filled me with so much joy. that cat is so fuckign cute

anyway. hi :) prime defenders huh. this is gonna be less of an essay and more of a sleepy ramble but ohhh i have so many thoughts. they all process things so differently and none of them are good at it they all need therapy so bad. ms.g where is the hero therapy why didnt you build that into w.a.t.c.h ma'am

vyncent is probably the best at actually processing things out of all of them, he just internalizes everything to the point where he wont talk about it unless hes pushed past the breaking point. vyncent is actually very.. emotionally intelligent? i want to say mature but that feels like im singling him out because hes the oldest. i just feel like because he grew up on Fauna and had to be in basically survival mode in a world full of monsters trying to kill you.. that makes a person grow up quicker than they should. i think vyncent had a good childhood and for the most part his parents took good care of him but just.. living in that world doesnt seem like it leaves room for a whole lot of expressing emotions. vyncent is good at quick analysis of a situation, but unless a problem directly interferes with the current goal he doesnt externalize it to everyone else. but bottling up his feelings and emotions just builds up pressure over time until something like the lich makes him blow up and let it all out at once, usually in a dramatic monologue format bc condi is really good at those god damn it. also they played off the fact that vyncent said all of that to the lich and then missed his attack as a funny thing but i like to think of it as. he got too overwhelmed w his emotions and lashed out too soon it made his fighting messy. vyncent is so angry and honestly after what hes been through he deserves to be !!!!

william wisp. my boy. god hes just like me fr so much so that it physically hurts sometimes. anyway. i always think back to the scene where theyre all in the cabin talking about themselves/sharing backstories and william keeps desperately trying not to talk about himself. the fact that hes so ashamed of his powers he hides wisp form every time. two of his powers are LITERALLY a) turning invisible and b) turning intangible, usually as an excuse to leave whatever situation hes in ("accidentally" falling through the floor at opportune moments in season 1) . theres. a thing that happens at the end of episode 13/beginning of epidode 14 that youre really close to and i wont spoil yet but god it has to do with this so extremely much please come back to my inbox when you get there. youll know what it is trust me. um. yeah. so anyway. i think a lot of this comes from a place of. he doesnt want anyone to be scared of him. williams not stupid hes incredibly smart and insightful he knows his powers are objectively SCARY. hes scared of himself constantly, he doesnt want anyone else to feel that way about him, so he shifts focus whenever those aspects of himself are brought up because if someone were to think about it for any amount of time theyd realize the truth that hes scary and dangerous to be around (<< william logic. hey remember how one of the reasons he originally left deadwood was because the monsters there were attracted to the wisps and therefore Him so he left to keep his friends/family out of danger)

i think a lot about williams death and the immediate aftermath, i dont know how much you actually know and how much of this comes later but . how does he go home after waking up from that. his parents know about his powers, so they MUST know what happened. what do you think he told them when he god home muddy and dirty and broken and probably bloody after being missing for. god knows how long. how does he look his mother in the eyes and tell her her little boy is dead. but hes also not because hes standing right in front of her. how the fuck do you think he felt the first time he went into wisp form and saw his body laying there !!! of course he wouldnt want to talk about that!!!! youre gonna have to pry william wisps emotions from his cold dead hands !!!!!!!

dakota's response to the ashe situation was to run away in the woods and do nothing but train for 10 months. he didnt think about it for 10 months. i dont even have a whole lot to say about dakota other than like. stunned silence whenever his inability to process trauma is brought up because grizzly does such an incredible job at being like "you ask dakota how hes doing and his face is just blank" << paraphrased actual quote from an episode i cannot remember which one. either 11 or 12 ?

also because im thinking about him im including ashe in this. we didnt get to see a whole lot of his canon reactions to extreme emotional situations so a lot of this is just coming from My Mind but ashe seems like hed be the type to repress a lot of his emotions too. being alone in your house/in your room for extended periods of time will do that to a guy. i think he feels a lot of things and will probably very openly cry/scream/get angry when hes alone but as soon as he knows another person is there he can immediately flip the switch to turn it all off like nothing happened. very much a deadpan "im fine." if someone asks how hes doing, even if hes got like. the remainder of tear tracks down his face. cannot physically express his emotions in the presence of someone else

#very tempted to add a thing about the greats to vyncents section but i am not going to #anyway do u think it was weird for him to have the people he idolized in his brain. they knew things he thought #they felt things he felt they probably talked about it its no wormnder he keeps his emotions close to his chest etc etc etc #anyway. #im projecting a little bit on all of these can you tell. dont take any of this as canon i am fully like. #oh boy how can i put aspects of my godawful mental health practices on my favorite little superhero teens. #especially ashe be he has not a whole lot of canon basis . sorry ashe you get my emotion switch #asks #intertexts #friends!!! #jrwi pd #um!!! sorry i went off on the second william paragraph i think about the early stages of him gaining his powes a lot. #its the danny phantom in me #also that last sentence was especially mean of me sorry. i did yhat on purpose :) i love to be evil #OKAY. im going to bed for real now. i had 2 get this out of my system before i slept on it and forgot all the thoughts fresh in my mind

[subwaytostardew]

Will we need to start a new save for this mod? Or for the adoptable Joltik mod?

Adoptable Joltik can be added in at anytime. As for Subway to Stardew, it also can be added at any time. We're working on editing where their house spawns and instead giving them a mini-map to station themselves in for better compatibility (also just having their home station be less ugly).

Previously, we just plopped their house where some trees used to be but well... You would need to use the Reset Terrain Features mod for clean-up.

As for content, it assumes that you're starting a new save so they send letters announcing their arrival on Summer 3rd (when the Railroad opens). Ingo's letter arrives on Spring 1 (mostly just to check if things are working since nothing regarding submas happens for an entire season).

Emmet's arrives on Summer 2nd (and he's a little bitter about how unreliable the Ferngill postal service is as a result).

They're also quite cold to you during the winter as their 0-heart lines are written under the assumption that you ignored them for at least two seasons (and didn't just skip to year 2 like how I usually do when testing...).

That said! Winter 0-heart dialogue under the read-more!

▷ Station Steward Thylak

🥶 Winter 0-Heart Dialogue 🥶

@ - Farmer’s name

◇──◆──◇──◆

▲ Ingo ▲

 "winter_Mon":

"People have said I am quite difficult to ignore due to the volume of my enthusiasm. You, esteemed passenger, have surprised me."

 "winter_Tue":

"Emmet says that it is difficult to trust people... Though I did not want to at first, I now feel as if I must agree... we have been slighted by too many."

"Surely, you wouldn’t confirm that belief... would you?"

 "winter_Wed":

"It has been a year... We have been working on this project for yet another year... and you rarely- if ever- took the time to converse with me."

"May I ask what has changed your tracks? You confuse me greatly..."

"winter_Thu":

"You have been... avoiding me? M-may I ask why?" "People have told me before that I am quite stiff... That is why I try to change the way I present myself. I try to express my enthusiasm verbally so that people can understand how I feel despite my face betraying it. I know I smile... at l-least I try to..."

"I-is that why you've been avoiding me?"

"AH... WHY AM I EVEN DISCUSSING THIS WITH YOU?!"

"I-I need a moment to sort my schedule....."

 "winter_Fri":

"I-if I have done anything to... e-err... have displeased you in any way... I-I apologize for my misconduct..."

 "winter_Sat":

"Am I really so difficult to approach that you have avoided myself for such a duration of time? For what reason have you averted your tracks from my station?"

"Did I perhaps come across as intimidating? I made an effort to not come across as such during that time... Now, I feel as if those efforts went to waste."

 "winter_Sun":

"....."

[Ingo looks to be nervously and meticulously tugging at his uniform sleeves. He seems uncomfortable around you.]

◇──◆──◇──◆

▽ Emmet ▽

 "winter_Mon":

"I am Emmet... you are now trying to get to know me. Why?"

"I do not trust you... even if you are helping... Maybe one day. Or not....."

 "winter_Tue":

"... You picked a verrrrry weird time to try to talk to me. I'm busy right now."

 "winter_Wed":

"......."

"..........."

"You wouldn’t be interested in trains. Especially a station like this."

 "winter_Thu":

"I am here. It took you too long to notice that. You are verrrrrrrrry dense.

"I don’t know why I keep trying.",

 "winter_Fri":

"...... I am Emmet..."

"Are you allergic to me? I know I missed the first spring here. But you did not have to ignore me."

"At least I try to talk to people first. Sometimes. You did not talk to me at all. Now you are."

 "winter_Sat":

"I am- no. I am halting my tracks. What is my name? You never talked to me. Now you are. So. What is my name? Do you even remember?"

 "winter_Sun":

".........."

"...... Why are you talking to me now? This is not your standard operating procedure."

"... It’s been a year. Leave me alone."

[Emmet refuses to speak to you.]

#mail car connecting line #dialogue lines #Remaking the house area right now

[drinkingdeadpeopletea]

Title: "flash-frozen in the driver's seat" Fandom: Midst (Podcast) Categories: G, Gen, No Archive Warnings Apply, Complete Word Count: 3613 Characters: Phineas Thatch, Tzila Guthrie

“Why do you have that?” Tzila asks. Phineas opens his eyes. She’s pointing at his abacus with the back of her pen. He looks down at it and frowns. “It’s my abacus.” “I know what an abacus is,” says Tzila, rolling her eyes. “Why do you have Caenum? Didn’t being a soldier and solving mysteries or whatever get you a ton of Valor?” Phineas and Tzila have a conversation in the quiet halls of the Lazaretto.

(hi everyone it's ME again! back with another midst missing scene i couldn't stop thinking about.)

#midst #midst podcast #my writing #i like phineas so much and i think his season 2 pre-moth headspace is. well. it's terrible in a way that i find compelling #and i think tzila's 'you were pretending to be my friend!' in 2.15 implies that they'd hung out more than we see in canon #AND i think tzila's relationship with the trust is potentially SUPER interesting #in that way that when you're twelve you're very sure you know what's right but it's often so influenced by what your parents/ #people you look up to tell you about what's right. but on the other hand! she misses the highest light! she grew up there! #also i do love miscommunication plots. i think all the things tzila and phineas and lark are not #saying to each other and not understanding about each other in season two are super fun to write dialogue around #so anyway here's this hope you like it <3 #also i really included SO many Proper Nouns in this summary without even noticing it asljsldkjflksj #yeah yeah we all know what valor and caenum and abacus and lazaretto mean

[diseaseriddencube]

I wonder if the writing team was different between season 3, 4 and 5. each season has a different feel and it's really off-putting

#season 3 felt awkward entirely and I really disliked it #4 was like returning to the roots but they were trying to add more depth? #and 5 is such an enigma #like okay there's only two episodes and there'll only be two more #but they have odd vibes #the episodes aren't bad at all. I don't dislike them #but they're not memorable? #things happen in them but it feels like nothing happened at all #it's a whole load of Nothing #it feels so oddly slow and empty and I have no idea how to place that feeling #it's as if all the characters are speaking more slowly too? #the jokes aren't as cringe but none of them really land #the entire episode feels slow yet is over before anything even occurs #like something is MISSING and I can't be the only person to feel that way???? #this second episode was better #David got a New Trait™ which I love.... and it will never be explored because the show is overrrr #I wonder who M and J are? a mystery that shall never be solved? #rave ramblees #camp camp #it's like the conflict is miniscule. the solution is brushed over. and nothing wacky happens #I think that's it #it's missing the wild energy and wackiness