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starryhutcherson · 25 days

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━━ A NEW FAMILIAR

author's note: crawled out of my hole for this one guys. sorry for being so ghost mode im working on putting out more stuff, apologies if this isn't of the highest quality as i'm running on sugar free redbull and three hours of sleep ! love my life hahahahaAHHHH

'୧ ‧₊ pairing: best friend!mike schmidt x reader warnings: 18+ sexual content! oral sex (f!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, dirty talk, swearing word count: 4600+ ⋆ ✩‧₊

Mike’s expression always glooms when you bring up the next date you’ve arranged. He knows how this story plays out; he knows the truth behind the men you’ve matched with on whatever sketchy website you’ve wasted your time on. They’ve molded themselves into the embodiment of perfection, through falsified photos and fabrications buried in their bios. His patience crumbles like fireplace ash as you skip around his living room and drone on about whatever dickhead you’ve set your poor, precious heart on.

He knows, always, the the outcome is running makeup and salty cheeks, sobbing on the floor of his living room in a creasing satin dress and his welcoming arms, a bitter exclamation of “you were right Mike” leaving your lips in the knowing silence and him gritting his jaw and pretending that it doesn’t bother him the the only habits you ever find yourself falling back into are the bad ones.

It’s no different today.

Mark or Matt or Mitch – you really were killing him, because it should be Mike. It should be him. Him that you’re getting ready for, him that you’re daydreaming about. And it’s an odd feeling, like a movie where your favorite character dies and then movie finishes and you have to accept that they aren’t coming back, no matter how long you sit glued to the reclinable chair, popcorn crunched beneath your sneakers and the credit-scene reflected in your shrinking pupils.

Mike’s not the type to be happier with the hope – he’d let the truth swallow him up, sink into his creaking bones, he’d live with the loss. But he still has hope for you. He has hope that your eyes will open and you’ll seep into his brain and his breath and his bed. He hopes you’ll start seeing him instead of just looking. Maybe it's wishful thinking. Ignorant optimism.

It feels like it.

It feels like it, right now, when he’s leaning against the doorframe of his bathroom and watching you get ready, your animated chatter reverberating around the small space between coats of mascara. He offered to give you a ride before you’d even asked, and he’ll tolerate the sting of watching you get out of the car looking all pretty for someone who isn’t him, just to make sure you get there safely. It’s the type of sacrifice he’ll make for you.

“I can’t even feel my face, I’ve been smiling so hard all day!” You squeal, powdering your cheeks with more purposeless product – he thinks it’s all pointless. You’re radiant, even in the harsh lighting of his bathroom.

He offers a low grunt. What is he supposed to say? He’s not happy. And he’s not gonna pretend he is.

You either don’t notice or choose to ignore, continuing to doll yourself up to whatever standards you have for yourself. “I mean, he says he’s been skiing since he was 6. He’s practically an olympian.”

Mike scoffs.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he grumbles, shaking his head. “Can you hurry up?”

“Alright, grumpy. Calm down. I gotta do my lips and then I’m ready. Plus, nobody told you that you gotta stand here.”

A fleeting flush of fuchsia permeates his cheeks, but he looks down at his worn shoes to hide it. It’s true. He didn’t have to stand here. But if an angel was populating your bathroom you’d want to take a peek, would you not? That’s how he thinks you look. Angelic. Glowing from your soul, a content smile knitted on your lips. You might as well have a halo and wings – that heaven-sent aura is reinforced when you douse yourself in lingering washes of that sweet perfume that’s branded itself to you. He’d recognise that floral aroma anywhere, the way a shark detects a drop of blood amongst saline scattered seas.

“Okay, I’m ready. How do I look?”

Cruelest question of them all. “You look… fine. Good.”

A knot forms in your brow. “All this effort for that terrible answer?” Playful, but with a truthful undertone. Why do you value his opinion so much? He doesn’t want to assume anything.

“Well I’m not the person you’re dressing up for.” I wish I was. He doesn’t say the other words, but he thinks them so hard he’s half convinced if you were listening in the right spot, or looking into his eyes for long enough that you’d hear it anyway.

“Okay, okay, whatever. Let’s just get going, don’t wanna keep Mack waiting.”

Two letters. That’s all it would take. That’s all he’d have to swap to make it him.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

✩‧₊˚

Even if you aren’t aware, even if he did offer, he drives begrudgingly. He focuses as much as he can, on the road ahead and not your glistening figure beside him in the passenger seat, the very definition of temptation.

The mall parking lot is barren, a few gleaming cars scattered amongst the otherwise desolate area. He pulls into a space, sets the car in park, rakes in a greedy sigh of air.

“If anything happens, call me.”

You sneer teasingly. “Don’t be so pessimistic. It’s gonna be great, he could be my future husband, y’know.”

Yep. Mack, the 35 year old you've met online, who’s only notable talent seems to be skiing and his greatest life achievement to date is shooting a deer, whose head is mounted to the wall in his bedroom, typically visible in the background of his many instagram posts which involved his shirtless figure straining to flex his overly pronounced bulk. A match made in heaven. He wants to scream.

And how can you even tell him to not be pessimistic? How can you look him in the eyes and act like this moment hasn’t happened time after time, the point of no return before an evening spent crying in his arms as he reassures you that your failed dates are never your fault, even though by now it seems like you must be seeking out the same genre of shitty man if you’re this good at getting your heart broken. He’s sick of picking up the fragile little pieces of his bathroom floor, cutting himself on the shards of a heart that’ll never be his. You deserve more than these half-baked, single night romances. He could show you that.

“Yeah, sure,” he grits. “Future husband. Just call me, seriously.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll call you.”

And with that, you’re off, disappearing into the gaping mouth of the mall’s entrance, and he watches with an alkaline feeling growing in his stomach. Your hair is caught up in the wind like clothing on a washline and he thinks his hope is all drained out.

✩‧₊˚

Mike spends a good two hours back at his house. His movements feel vacuous, staring ahead at the screen, barely processing the raging garbage that masquerades as reality TV. The rain has picked up outside, licking at the window panes with a growing intensity.

He’s not happy about the jean skirt and tiny little tank top you’d clad yourself in prior to leaving, you’re probably frigid by now in the cold. You did however reassure him that Mack was gonna drive you home, or even worse, take you back to his place, so his stupid fucking elk head trophie could watch with it’s empty eyes while the pair of you fuck on the bed that his mom still has to make for him because he never can quite manage those fitted sheets, can he? Fucking manchild.

Shit. Mike’s feeling so so bitter. Maybe it’s because he’s finally realized that this is the dreaded pattern he’s going to have to endure with you until death. Or until he braves up and actually tells you that he’s been in love with you since the fifth day of second grade, when you mouthily confronted Jerry Murdoch and told him to give Mike his crayons back.

With a weak sigh, he turns the TV off with a click of the remote still encaptured in the loose hold of his fist, and decides to see if he can melt into any form of sleep – but the knock on his door prevents him from doing so.

He arises lethargically, not having much on his mind but the denial of his slumber as he shuffles over and turns the handle, but then, it’s you.

Fluttery lashes melted to black smudges beneath your eyes, a mixture of rainwater and tears, completely drenched and dripping all over his doormat, your body is trembling and you’re wracked with tiny little cries and he’s feeling so many emotions he believes he might implode.

He pulls you inside and into his arms, stroking your back in gentle, soothing motions, and it kills him that this has become routine. He’s angry. He’s sick of this.

“What happened this time?” He grunts softly.

“He didn’t even show up. He couldn’t even send a message as to why, Mike,” you sniffle into his warm chest, drunk off the even echo of his heartbeat.

A moment’s silence rots like aged fruit. He draws a breath in, then out, then in again.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

You crane your face upwards to meet him, instantly bathed in a nervous shiver when you see how serious he looks.

“My phone was dead.” Is all you can manage to mumble.

“What?” He’s pissed. “Why didn’t you charge it? You could have charged it there, they have outlets at the mall. Or you could’ve used someone else’s, so you didn’t have to walk home in the rain, because you’re drenched.”

“I don’t–”

“Y’know how dangerous it is to walk around alone in this shitty neighborhood? Half the street lights don’t even work, and I don’t even know any of my neighbors, or what kinda people walk around here at night.” He grumbles. “I shouldn’t have to tell you all this, I’m sick of explaining all this to you.”

You roll your eyes irritably, releasing yourself from his arms and crossing your own across your dripping wet torso. “How was I supposed to know he was gonna stand me up? You’re telling me I should just expect it?”

He blinks like a deer in headlights, silence settles into his flesh.

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

You scoff. “It’s what you implied.”

“It’s not what I—” He grumbles weakly under his breath, cutting himself off, deciding reasoning with you is somewhat of a useless attempt. “Why can’t you just listen to me?”

“What, charge my phone next time? Bring a raincoat? Yeah, great help, seriously, don’t know where I’d be without you,” your sarcasm hits like gunshot wounds to the teeth.

“Or maybe you should try to meet actual people, instead of fake ones from some stupid website.”

After a cold shiver bites up your spine, your expression deepens with defense. What is his fucking problem? “At least I try to get out of the house! At least I don’t spend every hour of every day moping around and feeling sorry for myself!”

The pair of you fight, sure, every good relationship, friend or romance or family or whatever should, but nothing like this. This is stone-set, it’s been coming for a while, the wild gesticulations and the pacing and the raised voices. It shakes the bones of the weakened house.

“Don’t,” Mike says with a furious edge, fists tightening and untightening like he’s about to take a swing at the wall, like this is going to end with bleeding knuckles nipped with shards of worn plaster. “Don’t throw that in my face, I do everything I can, for you and Abby. It’s not like I have a choice.”

“So what, you’re so fucking miserable in your own life that you have to try and control mine?”

“Control? You’re like my child! You don’t even know how to take care of yourself half the time, so yes, I try to help you not to make such shitty decisions!”

You scowl. “You’re not obligated to do anything for me, y’know Mike. Why do you keep me around if I’m that much of a chore for you!”

He snaps, the tension in his fists bleeding up into his throat, his mouth, the words clot behind his gums and suddenly they tumble out in a fury-fueled shout. “Because you’ve got no one else!”

You deflate, wilting like a flame without oxygen, and Mike deems the silence to be more cruel than anything else you’ve said to him tonight. He’s feeling everything and nothing all at once, the quiet crumbles around him like a burning building and he fears he’ll become rubble beneath the debris.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just… god, just–” His eyes flick to you, and then retreat back down to the faded living room carpet. He can’t swallow his guilt this time. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped like that.”

“It’s fine,” you say coldly, knuckling away an angry tear. The salt water is the trick of nostalgia, you’ve cried like this so many times. Your breakage of those promises to yourself. It’ll be different. And it never is.

“No. It’s not – I’m a dick, I just… I hate watching other people ruin your life. You deserve better.”

Better. What is better? Some twisted fantasy that some people are indulged with and others are left longing for. That you’re left longing for. You know he’s tired of the same bullshit that you force yourself through, convincing yourself of change, painting yourself up to be fit for presentation, and hoping that whoever you’ve leeched onto likes what they see, so you don’t have to feel so alone anymore. You’re oblivious, painfully so. Because Mike could plaster together the cracks in your splintering psyche, if you’d just let him in.

“Whatever, Mike. It’s true anyway.”

There’s a hole in his heart in the shape of your name. He begs you. Fill it. A part of him shatters at the defeat in your words — he’s crumbled you to the bone, to the marrow. He’ll build you back up. You deserve it.

“No it isn't. No it isn’t. You have me. You’ll always have me.”

A silence pervades; the look in his eyes is one of pleading, that you’ll stop and see what he’s offering you, that you’ll stop chasing your own tail, that you’ll stop the cycle.

“Mike…”

“And Abby.”

You indulge him.

“You have me. And you have Abby. And I know that’s… not much, but she loves you. So much. And I’m sorry, ‘cause I know I don’t say it enough, I don’t…. I don’t say how much you mean to me, but I just—”

“Mike.”

He wallows in the waters of your rain kissed eyes, the way your pupils pulse and the words are falling before he can swallow them back down.

“I love you.”

He gives you that stare. That stare that’s the color of black coffee, the look that you can feel, unearthing the graveyard of wilting feelings you’ve tried to bury, the heart that beats for him him him, lodged between the ivory bars of your ribcage. He maps you out with his eyes, he looks at you the way the sun hungers for daybreak.

He’s waiting. He’d wait forever.

“And… and seeing you with these… shitty people who don’t even care about you, it just…” He sighs exasperatedly, dragging a sweaty palm down his face.

His sentences can’t seem to finish themselves. This is harder than it looks in the movies. Harder than when he’s practiced in the mirror, when Abby’s walked in and giggled at him and told him to just fess up.

“You love me? Like…”

He looks up at you like a kicked puppy. “Yeah. I do.”

You’re beyond bewildered. He loves you. He loves you.

“What– but… you—”

“You don’t have to… say anything. I just, I can’t… I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t do it.”

You reach for his hand. It’s a little clammy, a little trembly, but it’s a perfect fit. Just like you.

“I love you too, Mike.”

What?

“You… do?”

He’s skeptical, but he’s also swooning. A stone man is slowly cracking.

“I just didn’t… didn’t think I could have you. I mean, you’re so… you’re everything, y’know? You’re a good brother, and you work so hard, and you’re… I’m just… I don’t think I deserve you,” you whisper, confessing. With a newfound stroke of confidence, he approaches, one hand snaking around to the small of your back, another on your cheek. He’s gentle. In his eyes, you’re porcelain. Precious. Fragile. At least, at this moment. But you love him too and that’s all he needs. It’s all he’s ever needed.

“You deserve everything.” He says it so quietly it’s barely audible. And then, nothing is audible because he’s carefully pulling your lips to his, linking you in every way, his hands tangle into your damp hair and he’s kissing you.

His lips chase yours in messy, uncalculated movements. He’s starting small. It’s been a while. And he’s gonna take his time with you. He’s gonna show you what you deserve. Soft sounds squeak past his lips as they flutter against yours, and you’re closer and closer and closer still, impossibly so.

Within moments he’s whisking you off to his bedroom, his hand tangled with yours, an interlace tight enough to cause ropeburn. His skin chafes with yours, and then he’s kissing you again atop his navy comforter.

He’s gentle, respectful, but you understand what he’s trying to tell you, what he’s been trying to tell you. He speaks through silken drags of his tongue, through the hand that holds your cheek steady— he feels as though he’s gripping the very cusp of a constellation. You taste like stardust. You glow like the waning moon.

He breathes heavily in the expanse of his throat, his pants have become tight and wet and filthy; he’s been subconsciously grinding down into your lap. You’re a little shaky and your pupils have darkened with lust and he is going to show you what you mean to him. What you’ve been missing.

His hand falls lower, into the slope of torso that dips into your hips. His eyes travel back and forth, searching, hunting for the desire that he feels mirrored back at him. Do you want this, the way he does? Do you? His hardened stare doesn’t speak loud enough. He elaborates.

“Can I… uh… do you wanna…?”

Do you want to? You need to.

“Shit, okay,” he croaks out, jaw tense and tight as he traces you beneath calloused fingers. You didn’t realize you said that out loud.

He’s endearingly awkward – you know from languid late-night conversations that he hasn’t done this a lot. Maybe even at all. But he’s sweet, so sweet, like lapping up sugar and feeling it dissolve on your tongue, feeling him dissolve on your tongue, giving you comfort and cavities.

“Can I take this off?” He asks nervously, fiddling with the hem of your camisole. A short nod, and he’s sliding it over your sweat-pricked figure, admiring your contours in the whisper of evening moonlight that bleeds through holes in his moth-eaten curtains. You’re perfect, and he knew you would be.

He caresses your skin gently, drunk on the mellow feeling of your bare stomach beneath his fingertips. Your bra is black, a little lace peering along the straps, your breasts spilling into the fabric. He reaches around your back, fumbling at the clasp. When the garment drops, his hands are replacing it before you can even blink.

“Beautiful,” he manages to get out, thumbing over your nipples.

“Mngh, Mike—”

“Sh. Just let me… just let me. Let me make you feel good. Please?” He grunts out under his breathless voice, and how could you deny such a request?

The moment you agree, he’s grabbing you by the thighs and tugging you towards him slightly, so your back is nearly flat against his mattress and he’s settling himself in the gap that you create for him.

Your skirt comes off first. Your panties are undeniably soused, his fingers trace the big wet spot that’s dripping all for him, teasing you through torturously thin cotton.

“Mike,” you mewl gently, fingers settling in his nest of chocolate curls that are damp with sweat. A firm tweak and he’s groaning, his voice melting away into nothing like hot tar.

“You’re so wet,” he mumbles to himself, like he’s never seen anything like it. Probably not in a while. His finger hooks beneath the waistband, pulls it out gently, and lets it go. It slaps against your hip bone and another fresh sound seeps from your lips.

“Mike, shit, please just do something—”

“Okay,” he whispers, more to himself than you, carefully sliding your panties from your waist, down past your ankles, and he’s tossing them to join the pile of clothes that has begun to collect on his bedroom floor.

You’re here, before him. The girl he waited for. Your soft flesh is glistening, clenching painfully around nothing, and he’s salivating at the sight of you. He pries your legs out further with his warm hands, leaving them to linger on your bare flesh for a few drawn out moments, before he claims what’s rightfully his.

He presses a trialing kiss to your clit, and your back curves delicately, fingers tightening their grasp in his hair. He moans into you at this action, and you, in turn, moan as well. Confidence creates itself in him with each little whimper that he gets you to release, and he’s answering back, hearing your cries, your calls of his name with his own unabashed exclamations of pleasure. This is just as good for him, as it is for you.

“Mike,” you whine gently, and he’s mumbling weak praise right into your cunt.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty. Wanted this for so long.”

It’s barely audible between his languid sucks; he’s lapping at your drooling entrance, fingers subtly creeping closer, up and along your thighs and settling right above your throbbing clit. He presses his thumb against it, tracing sinful circles against your bud— once, twice, and then you’re far too close to the edge.

“Oh, Mike I’m gonna come,” you choke out between gasps.

“Do it. Please.”

He’s begging you.

And you oblige. With a trembling sob, your thighs tense around his head, keeping him locked in place, capturing him and making sure he finishes the job, and oh does he plan to. When you soar, he’s still holding you in place, soothing the electric sparks pulsating throughout your body.

He savors your sounds, and when they stop coming, he presses a lingering peck on your inner thigh, stubble scraping at the sensitive dermis. He then raises his face to your level, the light coruscating off the filthy souvenir etched all over his face, your glittering arousal that he wears so proudly.

He steals a proper kiss from you, rubbing your side as a gentle comfort. He’s completely hard now, tenting his sweats, leaking against the fabric. You gingerly reach out, tracing what you assume to be the head of his cock, and he sags, boneless, against your touch.

“Fuck, baby I—”

“Baby?” You chuckle softly, still hazed from the candy-coated afterglow of your orgasm. The first of many, he hopes.

“Mngh— g… got a problem?” He grumbles softly, almost quivering as you begin to palm him with purpose.

“It’s out of character,” you tell him gently.

“Shit, can I be inside you?” He asks you, voice ripped raw.

And once again, Mike Schmidt leaves you breathless.

“Yeah. I need it. I need you.”

He groans, slipping off his pants and boxers without so much as another word from your swollen lips. He’s hard, angrily so, his cock pulses violently and a little whimper escapes through the crack in his bitten lips when it slaps against his stomach.

He’s stroking himself slowly, base to tip and then back again, collecting the pearls of precum that dribble from his slit. He’s never been so ready for something. For you. It’s all for you.

He’s holding you, thumbing your hip bones and gently nudging himself into your hole, cooing at every cry that crawls from the crevices of your throat. When he bottoms out, finally, it’s safe to say that he gets a little dumb. “Oh, shit, I’m not— not gonna last long, you’re so tight, shit…” He’s rambling a little. It’s cute.

A few wandering kisses land on you the way dandelion spores decorate a skyline – your cheek and your chin and your jaw, as he waits for you to let him move. You’re squeezing him for all he’s got and he’s three seconds away from spilling before he’s even so much as thrusted. You do this to him.

All those days, staring into your eyes and wondering if you’d ever see him the way you do, all those nights, stroking your hair and softening your saddened sobs after failed date after failed date. They’re all worth it.

You’re clamping down on him, warm and wet and wavering, and you’re exhaling softly through your nose and telling him to move, begging him to move, to make you feel good, and it’s what he does.

He pumps into you with passion, magnetized to your every movement. He’s satisfying a decade worth of insatiable craving, he’s chasing your hips with his. You end where he begins.

The headboard creaks and slams against thin plastered walls, one hand grips onto it with alabaster knuckles and the other one holds your hips for better leverage. He doesn’t need to say it, but each knocked kiss of his pelvis to yours is a silent I love you I love you I love you.

“Oh my god Mike,” you sob, and he slides himself deeper, hitting everywhere he wants to reach. Everywhere to make you quiver beneath him.

“You d—don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he moans lowly. “How many times I’ve imagined you like— like this.”

He’s blabbering, every stray thought that passes through his head is already blossoming on his tongue and out into the air before he can even think twice. Admittedly, you’re too blissed out in your own mind to really respond, but it’s arousing all the same.

“You’re so… so beautiful,” he’s flushed and he’s faltering, and you know he’s close before he even announces it.

“Shit, baby, I can’t— can’t last much longer,” he stammers, his bruising pace beginning to shake.

“Do it in me, Mike, please, please,” shit, are you trying to kill him? Your word is the only law he knows, and he’s wrapping his arms around your torso and diving his head in the elegant slope of your collarbone, biting down into the skin and spasming somewhere deep in your welcoming walls.

He tries to keep himself quiet, but it’s really a futile effort. His hips jut sporadically as he empties himself inside you, and the sudden flood of subtle heat is all it takes for you to topple over as well.

Bliss teeters back into reality after a seemingly ceaseless moment. He peels his head from its previous position to admire you, to stroke a stray lock of hair from your forehead and nervously greet it with a kiss.

He doesn’t let go of you. Not now, not ever, he thinks to himself. His arms snake around you tighter, and somehow it’s even more intimate after the fact. His bare chest collides with your back, his nose rests comfortably against the crown of your head. The pair of you follow each other into a dreamless sleep, safe in the sanctuary of a warm bed and an even warmer embrace.

He’s found his new familiar.

masterlist

✩‧₊

#mike schmidt smut #josh hutcherson x reader #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt imagine #josh hutcherson #mike schmidt #five nights at freddy's #fnaf movie #peeta mellark smut #hunger games #michael schmidt #mike schmidt angst #mike schmidt fluff #josh hutcherson angst #josh hutcherson fluff

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glorified-red · 1 year

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I'm seeing all the hate The Sun & The Star is getting on this hellsite and its so obvious that people aren't reading this book for what it is.

It's literally a children's novel written for children. The book is supposed to be easily digestible and stupid and explicitly written because kids books are supposed to be completely laid out.

Rick has always written dorky things in his books but he has also prioritized writing about real world issues and struggles. He's written about trauma, abuse, PTSD, depression, anxiety, etc. For years.

So here he is writing about deep rooted insecurities and self-doubt and learning to accept all those dark parts of yourself as well as others, AND tackling internalized homophobia and queer struggles, and we're upset the book is too focused on the relationship?

The entire point of this book is to teach the audience how to navigate a rocky relationship with compassion and understanding. It's showing that relationships aren't perfect, you can be upset with your partner and your partner can be upset with you but the point is that you talk about it and you try to do better.

Is it such a bad thing for young teens to be learning this?

Is it such a bad thing for them to see that love is effort? And can and will be flawed and that's okay??

This is the first time we've seen this topic discussed by Rick and I've never seen a book tackle this topic because we always see the Hollywood depiction of love---yet that's unrealistic.

This is showing that love can be flawed but still be oh so beautiful. That you can be traumatized and still worthy of love.

And I am so proud of Rick and Mark for not only showing a healthy attempt at a relationship but also showing countless times that those lessons apply to any relationship. They put significant stress on platonic and familial relationships and how that love is also effort, compassion, and understanding.

Yes, it focused on Solangelo a lot.

Yes, it had soooo many flaws that even I cringed and got disappointed at times.

But the fact that we got a book that finally lets two characters talk about their feelings is incredible, and the fact that this new generation gets this book??

If I had a book like this when I was young, showing me how to navigate conflict and that relationships CAN be hard?? My god, the healing that lesson could have done.

Perspective is everything for this book. Hell, perspective was everything in HoO. It showed that how characters are perceived is very different from how they perceive themselves.

Leo was literally always shown as comedic relief and nothing more until we saw how incredibly lonely and sad that kid was from his point of view.

Percy was always said to be intimidating and powerful, but in his perspective, he's a kid who has no clue what he's doing.

So yea, in this book, it may seem like these characters have shifted, but once again, Rick is relying so heavily on perspective.

Nico was edgy and depressed for as long as we knew him, even in BoO when we first got his POV. But now that he's accepted, loved, and healing, why are we getting mad that he's a dork again---how he was before all the trauma? Why are we mad that Nico is growing and healing and becoming himself again because he feels safe enough to do so.

Ofc he's gonna feel different than how he was written a canon year ago.

And this is the first time we've had Wills perspective. He's always been seen as this sunshine happy character but we FINALLY get some acknowledgement that he's deeply terrified. He's shown as a leader and camp counselor but he's got anxiety written in his bones.

He felt like a burden this book because he's a healer. He's absolutely terrified to be a fighter and yet we got to see him become one in his own way. He was out of his element but he was trying.

Because he's so goddamn afraid of losing someone else.

Call Will an asshole all you want, but Nico had been to Tartarus and the Underworld more times than he could count.

Will is literally walking into a place he's never been to before and is the complete opposite of anything he's ever known---for Nico. The comments he makes about plants and lack of sunshine? It wasn't him being a dick, he was him being genuinely confused because hes only ever known earth logic.

If I saw flowers blooming in a pitch black room I'd be a little confused too. He says the Underworld is depressing because it's literally draining his energy.

You yell at Will for not being open-minded yet won't comment on the fact that Nico hardly made an attempt either. Nico could have been more understanding about the fact that Will, a guy who's exploring this place that's slowly killing him, might not like the place at first because he doesn't understand it.

Because Will wanted to understand.

And the second Will finally began to understand the beauty of the Underworld, he was nothing but supportive.

You get mad at Will for making mistakes yet refuse to acknowledge that he learned from them.

The Sun & The Star tackled a hard topic that doesn't get talked about often. It portrayed a queer relationship and it emphasized characters who learned and grew. It's different from other Rick books because that was the point. (And it wasn't just Rick writing it)

This book was about accepting change within yourself and "daring to be different."

And the fact that you can't even accept a book that does the same just shows that the lessons this book taught went straight over your head.

I've never been more disappointed in this fandom. We begged for this book. We begged for queer representation. Yet here we are criticizing every little thing about it as if we aren't lucky to be getting this book in the first place---a book about two side characters.

This book had soooo many flaws but it wasn't a bad book.

Isn't that the point of it all? To love something even though it's flawed? That flaws dont necessarily mean it's broken and bad forever?

It's okay to hate a book.

That doesn't mean it's a bad book.

It just wasn't for you.

There are dozens of other books in this fandom to love and cherish, but don't hate this book just because it's different from what we're used to.

#the sun and the star #tsats spoilers #tsats #pjo stuff #pjo fandom #solangelo #nico di angelo #will solace #pjo

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lunareiitic · 6 months

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HSR 1.6 SPOILERS AHEAD BE WARNED

I saw a discussion on Reddit earlier where someone talked about how gracious Herta is to Ruan Mei and felt that the plot shows that Ruan Mei is taking advantage of her and I felt like... it's not a bad conclusion to draw from the text but. It feels not correct. Like yes, Herta essentially does let RM do whatever she wants, especially with regards to the space station, and RM doesn't seem to be very thankful for it. (Setting aside the fact that it isn't really Herta's space station. Asta's the one who bankrolls and manages it. It's just got Herta's name on it. Herta is just as uncaring to the researchers lmao) But to call RM a "passive manipulator" (yes, I saw this take too) of her and nothing more I think... overlooks both of their personalities? Taking into account that both of these characters are essentially confirmed autistic (go see the official post about the Genius Society, you can't make this up) their dynamic is a little tragic but very true-to-life.

Herta is loud, pushy, and bratty. She's like a cat- she doesn't take no for an answer and the moment you try to get her to do something she doesn't want to do she goes limp and useless. She admires Ruan Mei because she's nothing like her. And RM would never push Herta to do anything. RM doesn't push. She doesn't even really manipulate. The woman cannot lie to save her life. All she did was ask Herta if she could use part of the space station and Herta obliged, and it sounds like she'd been waiting for Ruan Mei to finally ask her for something. RM doesn't really have a malicious bone in her body. That's what makes her so terrifying. People are often just willing to do as she asks and she makes no pretenses or illusions about herself, her motives, or her life. The closest she gets to lying is just not answering when pressed. She is so socially inept she has to drug the trailblazer into silence so they'll help her. And I think this is... out of embarrassment? If it were me, an autistic bitch who cannot lie to save my life, I would want to do something similar. She knows she's gotten herself into a situation because she left the incubator on too long and then the space station got attacked, but admitting that to Herta would wound her pride and also cause friction between them. You can tell that she brought the Trailblazer into that Genius meeting because she was afraid Herta and Screwllum had caught on to her, and once she realizes that it's just them debating about (in her eyes) nothing, she lets the Trailblazer go. I've seen people call that "callous", as if she was dropping them as soon as they were not useful to her. But she says why she does it basically immediately- she thinks it would bore us and she has something else more important that she needs our help with.

I think the part of Ruan Mei's character that people are overlooking right now is that Ruan Mei does care. Look at the story bit for Genius' Repose, where she serves machine oil in a teacup for Screwllum and promises to send a box of homemade sweets to Herta's flesh-and-blood body. She's the kind of person who is actively thinking of her mother and her grandmother and their little home in the snow every time she eats something sweet. Her creations are literally desperate with love. Love, love, love, love. Love that feels alien to her, love that she can't put into words, love that her alexithymia won't let her ascertain and compartmentalize. Love that is as elusive and vexing and important as that spark of the divine soul she's been chasing all this time. She loves and she loves deeply, to the point of obsession. But she's in love with the past as much as Herta is- their signature light cones both have them reflecting on a past version of themselves that they know they cannot have back. She quite literally brought her mother back to life because she couldn't bear to break a promise to her late grandmother (who... somehow, is still waiting for her... somewhere). She's a deeply sentimental person. Haven't you ever looked at other people and felt, even for just a moment, that you are apart from them? That they have something you lack? What if you let that feeling consume you? Ruan Mei yearns for a world that she cannot touch because she's lost the trees in the greater forest of her mind. She feels the need to become god because she feels so utterly alienated from the world around her. But she can't escape herself, no matter how far she runs.

I guess what I'm trying to say, is that Herta and Ruan Mei are friends, even if Ruan Mei doesn't feel that she's capable of it. It makes a lot of sense that they're both ice too, element ruled primarily by The Remembrance. I wonder how they both feel about that?

#hsr #honkai star rail #hsr spoilers #ruan mei #herta #this got away from me but I have been thinking about her nonstop for two weeks now

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janicekao · 1 month

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Kookville

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x stepsis reader(dark smut) Summary: Rafe Cameron and his step sister secretly have been hooking up and he is extremely possessive over her. She's a plus size black goddess and he wants her all to himself, although they often quarrel and bicker, she is his and only his. (reader may use Y/N or choose any name of your liking for the fem character)

Warnings: stepcest, dark romance, smut, hate s3x, rough s3x, cr3ampie, violence, br33ding kink, possessive, d0m&femsub, dub!con, etc.

3890 words

Wattpad link:

Enjoy my babies <3 -------------------------------------

The house quiets down just the way that you like it. Each of your family members have their own plans as they do everyday in the beautiful OBX.

You enjoy the beach, but what you enjoy the most is the new mansion you and your mom just moved into when it's nice and empty.

It's only been you and your mother for as long as you have known it, but just last year, she married the millionaire real estate developer, Ward Cameron.

Not only did you have to get used to having a stepfather, but now you have three step-siblings. Two sisters, Sarah and Wheezie Cameron, and a brother, Rafe Cameron.

You enjoy Sarah and Wheezie's company. Sarah is a year or two younger than you, but she's really down to Earth. Wheezie is the baby, she's much younger than the entire house and seriously looks up to her big sister Sarah.

The girls are nothing like Rafe and Ward...

Rafe and Ward are two of the same kind. Arrogant, selfish, spoiled, and most of all pure evil. Labeling themselves as "Kooks" they believe that they are better than the lower class people on this island who are known as the "Pogues."

You're not sure what your mother saw in Ward Cameron, but you have no right to say anything being that for the last few months, you've been fucking Rafe behind everyone's back.

Started as a drunken mistake, now it has become a necessity to you both.

He needs you so badly, that if he weren't as stuck up as he is, he'd worship the ground you walk on... But then again, maybe he wouldn't with the amount of hate you both have for each other.

You see him as a cruel, rich, arrogant, asshole... And he sees you as a boring, loser, with a bad attitude. So why put up with each other?

Because the sex is fucking incredible.

Incredible to the point that he spoils you with skimpy lingerie and has put you on a birth control regiment.

Each time you do it, you promise yourself it's the last... Hating the fact that you and Rafe were supposed to become family, and now embarrassing enough, you two can't stop boning.

Maybe it is a kink that you both share together... An exhilarating fear of getting caught and the excitement of doing something so extremely wrong...

Whatever it is, you just can't stop.

—————

Lounging in a pair of black shorts, you enjoy the quaintness of your room as you flip through a magazine on the bed.

Sarah and Wheezie are out for ice cream, Mom and Ward are out shopping and spending alone time together, and Rafe is out on the town being devious as always... so you thought.

Bursting through your bedroom door, Rafe comes inside as he searches your purse for money...

You sigh, here we go again.

"What is it this time?" You continue to read as you ask in sarcasm. "For coke, or molly?"

"Shut up, y/n." He takes the only money you have, quickly storing it in the pockets of his pants. "It's my Dad's money anyways. If you need more, just go ask your slutty mother."

"What did you just say?" Hearing the insult about your mother makes your blood boil.

You leave your bed to quickly check him, however he only finds your short and innocently chubby stature amusing. You're far from threatening, voice too sweet to strike fear into anybody.

Staring down at you he chuckles deviously. "You heard me right. Every single night, they keep me up as she loudly fucks my dad out of all of his money."

Rafe caresses your full bottom lip as he gently pulls it down. "Like mother, like daughter, huh?"

You slap Rafe clean across his face.

He takes it like it's nothing.

A low toned growl heats his throat. "Do it again."

You do.

Face hot and red from the second slap, he absolutely loves it.

Rafe tightens his grip around your wrists pulling you up against him. His face should be stinging with pain but instead you feel his hardened cock poke against your bellybutton.

"When was the last time we—"

"Fuck off." You immediately interrupt his lewd intentions as you find yourself back onto your bed and reading your magazine.

Rafe gently lays next to you. He's quiet, too quiet as his intense blue eyes watch you.

Rolling your eyes you immediately turn your back on him. You try and hide the fact that his cologne from after his fresh shower has you almost dizzy with arousal, but he knows.

He watches the goosebumps fill the skin of your arms and begins to smirk.

"What is it this time?" He gently taunts. "Was it my presence? Maybe lying beside you? Or was it the cologne?"

Rafe chuckles as he watches your body tense up. "My cologne. It's always my smell isn't it, y/n?"

"I'm in a rush." He snaps.

Rafe pulls the tiny shorts off of your hips and down your legs before he tosses them to the floor. "I have places to be, not time to waste here with you. Lay on your back."

"You came in here to bother me, remember?" You play hard to get as you bark, knowing that your panties are soaked for him. "Go fuck yourself Rafe."

"Yeah?" He questions. "Well I can do that too."

As you ignore him, you hear his khakis suddenly unzip and the sounds of lewd fapping.

You peel your eyes from the magazine and notice Rafe stroking himself at the sight of you in your underwear and T-shirt.

His mouth hangs agape as he whispers your name. You continue to peek and your mouth begins to water for his handsomely long cock.

His large hand seems to swallow yours up as he takes your attention from your magazine and places your digits over his shaft for you to continue the hand job.

You sigh. "Rafe, what do you want from me?"

"You know what I want." He groans lightly. "I'm going to give you this cock and then I have to go and meet up with Barry."

Rolling your eyes at the thought of Rafe's friend Barry, you know for sure that the money he stole from you is to party. Barry is the worst company to keep... OBX's drug dealer.

Taking your hand away from him as he nears his cum immediately aggravates him.

Rafe takes your magazine and throws it out of your bedroom's opened window, vexed from the aching blue balls you've now given him.

"I was reading that!?" You whine as you watch the pages of your favorite magazine soar through the wind and out of your window.

Rafe puts himself away as he scoffs and begins to leave your room. "You're just a fucking tease."

You hate being called a tease.

You aren't a tease, you two just... hate each other.

Sitting up from your comfortable position, you begin to demand an exchange. "What's in it for me?"

Rafe hardly hears you as he becomes nearly hypnotized by the way your thighs expand as you sit on the edge of the bed.

"Rafe!?" You complain.

"Whatever you want." He can't pull his eyes from you as he licks the drool from his lips in temptation.

You begin to ponder over what it could be that you want in return... You are having a bit of trouble making friends in this new state, maybe getting out more could help. As much as Rafe parties, you are sure that tagging along will help you meet new people.

"Let me come with you to the beach party this Friday!" You finally decide.

"The beach party?" He frowns. "No fucking way. I know you too well, y/n. You'll do something stupid like wear that black string bikini I bought you... That's only for me to see."

You laugh. "Rafe, I'm fully grown, you forget that you're my stepbrother... not my dad."

He gags. "Trust me, I remember quite well."

You reach to aggravate him further. "You're just afraid you'll see me flirting, having fun, and ready to fuck someone else, huh?"

His sarcastic grin fades until his eyes darken. He hates when you push him there, and somehow you're the only one who knows how to do it.

"Do you remember the last time you tried to make me jealous?" Rafe begins to threat.

You reminisce on the red and blue lights that approached the fist fight that nearly knocked you to the ground as you tried to step in between Rafe and your potential one night stand. The evening at a local bar that you wished you never had visited... The evening when you realized how possessive Rafe was truly over you.

You gulp, "I try not to actually."

"Good." He fumes. "Now take off your panties, you're wasting my time."

Tempted to watch the spoiled rich boy plead for something that only you have control over, you begin to toy with his patience.

"Hmm?" You taunt. "Beg for it."

"What? Beg? You?" He laughs in a way that most would see as him bullying you.. Laughter that seems like you're not shit to him, but you know that you are. Your confidence has always been your most powerful trait, also what drives Rafe mad the most. "I can get pussy somewhere else."

He gulps as your cold siren eyes wait for his childish laughter to end. "So do it."

Rafe's jaw clinches. He's terribly angry that the only sex that he actually wants, is yours.

His skin begins to redden as you break the arrogant spirit of the powerful six-foot-two-inch man of pure muscle. "Please, y/n?"

You ignore him... it inflames him.

"You fucking want it too!" He scoffs. "Stop playing so hard to get!"

"So what? I also want a million dollars Rafe." You argue. "I want to hear you beg or you're not getting a fucking thing."

You gently part your plush thighs apart to drive him a bit more crazy... It's nearly comical the way you can melt him. Far from his usual type, however you have just what he needs.

"Yeah, fine. Whatever, fuck you— fine." He struggles with his thoughts and words, wanting you so bad that he nearly stutters words of hatred. It's hilarious.

Eyes of hunger, he finally submits to you. Rafe sits at the edge of your bed, tossing you into his lap as if you were weightless.

He wants you to feel his heated gaze as he does what you ask him to do. He begins to beg for you.

"Y/n, please let me eat your pussy and fuck you until your flesh is raw and you finally shut the fuck up." His erection prodding against you out of his tight khakis nearly takes your breath away.

"Nicer." You whisper quietly.

....

His voice shudders. "Please baby.." Rafe is finally the begging puppy that he deserves to be brought down to. "Let me fuck you so good."

A smirk creeps across your face. "Baby?" You coo. "You must really want it, seeing that you've already gone to pet names."

"Shut up."His kiss takes your breath away, thirsty for your essence, Rafe chokes you with his tongue.

He strips you out of your clothes, letting your T-shirt and panties hit the floor as he stands over your completely bare body.

The way he watches makes you redden with shame. You're nude and he's fully dressed as you become more vulnerable by the second.

"At least undress Rafe!" You frown as you go to stand.

Your breath is sharply taken from you as he pushes you roughly back onto the bed. "Shut up, let me look at you." He demands.

Your goosebumps are back and at full force.

"Oh god.." You become embarrassed as the glistening waterfall between your legs begins to reveal your arousal. Tightening your knees together was a bad move... All Rafe does is pry them apart to watch the slickness even closer.

Enticed and licking his lips, his shirt finally comes off. He enjoys watching the gripped indents around your thighs, so soft and malleable like two pillows as he pulls you further down to the edge of the bed.

Rafe doesn't hesitate any longer. His mouth begins to swallow you up causing you to gasp from how sensitive you are down there.

Your back begins to arch as he devours your pussy and the flicking of his tongue on your clit makes you squeal uncomfortably.

You can't take it.

Your hand presses against his head, fingers through his buzzcut as you shove him away.

Rafe growls. Eyes of pure evil watch up at you as he pins your wrists to the bed. He doesn't stop.Slurping, nibbling, and tongue fucking you as he wants badly to see you cry from his pleasurable torture.

Adding his long digits into your tight cunt, Rafe curls a singular finger at your g-spot.

"Fuck! Rafe please—" Your begging is pathetic.

"Shhh." He coos gently. "You can take it, I need to work you open for me a bit."

You hate how at times he can be almost gentle and romantic... It gets to be so confusing, and in this case, it doesn't help the orgasm tightening in the midst of your stomach.

His indecent finger-fucking has your brain a puddle of dumb mush, not being able to take the precious tongue flicks and kisses on your clit along with the rough thrusts inside of you A second long and strong finger takes you to the moon. Pussy too full of his tanned digits and melting down his wrists, you sinfully cum and lay tiredly into the mattress.

He comes up for air, panting lightly as the alluring muscles in his chest writhes with each breath.

His smile melts you, wet and devious as he presses his lips to yours. "Taste that?" He taunts breathlessly, "Pussy too good for someone so fucking annoying."

Stripping out of his pants, you watch Rafe's weighty erection near his bellybutton as it stands at attention.

He strokes himself softly, making his skin slick with the drop of wet precum that's already beaded out of his needy tip. "Turn around."

He tosses you onto your stomach without much of a warning. You still can hardly think for yourself since your last cum, so Rafe does the thinking for you.

Putting you onto your knees, he arches your back and smooths his fingers through your curls as he presses your face into the mattress for the coming back-shots.

Sliding through your slickness a few times, he lubes himself enough to fuck into you. The tip of his cock plunges through your already sensitive cunt, forcing you to take a gasp of air as you fist the sheets under you.

You hear a gulp that chokes his throat as Rafe continues to push his cock forward. "Fuck, you feel so good baby."

Clinching your eyes shut, you feel his swollen bulbous tip kiss at your cervix. It makes your body shudder. He's so far deep in you, you almost feel sick.

His balls slap against your cunt as he bottoms out into you. Your pussy feels so tight around him that you're sure you can feel his every vein probing out of his hardened flesh.

Rafe follows his own speed, paying most of his attention towards his needy want to reach his own finish. Fucking power drives into you because he knows that you can take it.

His groans are music to your ears, but you can hardly hear them over your own weeping and curses.

"Stay just like that, y/n." He nearly pleads. "You're so tight for me baby, whose pussy is this?"

Although clearly fucked to a pulp and pussy clearly belonging to him, you'd rather die than to let him know it. Eyes half-lidded and drooling onto your sheets, you refuse to let him have it.

"Mine." You pant.

Rafe laughs, plummeting his broad thumb into your tight asshole. "You're so fucking hardheaded, that's okay, you'll learn."

"Rafe! St-Stop!" Your fist tighten the sheets further until your knuckles turn white.

"Next time it'll be my cock.." He threatens you to behave as he forces his thumb in deeper and suddenly snatches it out. "Keep playing with me."

Your body lewdy continues to slap against his. Rafe is so obsessed with it, loving your extremely thick figure and knowing just how to handle it.

He slaps your ass. "Fuck me back."

You do. You throw your ass back in away that has Rafe biting at his lip, trying to hold back from cumming his load too soon.

His strong fingertips seep into the plushed flesh of your waist as he hammers his last strokes into you. Chain dangling against your skin with each thrust.

He groans, deeply growling out his words as he tries to help his own anticipation. "The other day when you babysat for our neighbors, I watched you bounce that baby on your hip and all I could think of was breeding you. Wanting so badly to take the pills from you and pump you with my seed."

"M-fuckkk." You mewl, pussy numb, obliterated, and needing a break.

Rafe chuckles. "The family knows how reckless I am, but what will Mommy and Daddy think of their precious-America's Sweetheart daughter when they find out she's a slut who fucks her stepbrother? A dumb slut who loves her stepbrother's cum so much that she let him fill her until she grew his baby?"

He snatches a handful of your hair, making you yelp and drop tears as he continues to tear you apart. "You deserve the hate that I get it..." His jealousy has his jaws tightened, and gritting his words. "They should know you aren't as innocent as you act."

Rafe harshly slaps your ass, you can feel the handprint swelling into a stinging welt on your flesh.

You can't help but to moan. The sex is so good but the embarrassment of loving it causes you to cry.

"Fuck you." You manage to speak through your wet lips and trembling breaths..

"Anytime you want, sis." His laugh is pure mockery.

"Fuck."Rafe fawns over your body, his hand reaches beneath you, cupping your large breasts and slowly choking your air away.

With a grip on your chin he forces your head around to watch his final act.

Deviously impaling your insides as he sputters his hot cum inside of you. "You're so pretty with a cock in you.Stop acting like we're going to stop, you know that we never will."

"Mmm."His muscles tighten as his many inches still inside of you, jolting as he spills his milky seed. "Tell me how much you love to be fucked by me..."

You feel shame as the hot nut causes you a second climax. Biting the sheets, you can't answer anything as your eyes cross and roll to the back of your skull.

"I swear to god, y/n, answer me." Rafe impales you further making your tummy ache and your cunt nearly tear against him.

"I love it." You weep a final act of submission. "I love to be fucked by you Rafe, my god, just don't go any harder."

Spreading your cheeks apart, he grins at the masterpiece of mess he's made on your swollen flesh. "I won't baby, you did good."

Melting into the mattress, you flatten out of your arched back.

Rafe checks his watch... he's extremely late to meeting up with his drug dealer.

He redresses, grinning as he watches you ache from his ruthless fucking.

"Ice it." He cruelly demands. "I'll be back again when the house falls asleep."

You roll your eyes, reaching for your clean beach towel to wipe his cum from dripping down your thighs.

A phone begins to ring as you redress. You think that it's probably Barry calling Rafe's phone to see where he's been so held up at...

But it's not Rafe's phone, it's yours.

Rafe immediately beats you to the ringing iPhone. "Ohhhh?" He taunts. "An unsaved number? What are you being sneaky about?"

You snatch for your phone, angry that he keeps it high out of your reach. As he answers he tightly wraps his arm around your waist to keep you from fighting it.

Rafe answers your phone quietly, waiting for the caller to speak first.

"Hello?" The voice asks. "Y/n? Where are you? I thought you wanted me to come meet you halfway? Anyways, you know where we are! Bonfire at John B's baby! I already got the beer."

...

Rafe's blood boils.

Hearing a Pogue's voice has him heated. But hearing that out of all people, the voice belongs to JJ Maybank? It makes him furious.

He hangs up. "Getting drunk at John B's house, huh? My sister Sarah has you hanging with those fucking Pogues?"

"Give me my phone back!" You argue. "It isn't like that.."

"So then what is it like?" Rafe frowns. "You're fucking JJ Maybank?"

You scoff. "What is wrong with you? He's the only friend I've made here in Outerbanks. He waits tables with me at the Waterside restaurant."

"Oh does he now?" He taunts.

Rafe begins to laugh sarcastically. He suddenly snatches your arm into both of your views, forcing you to see how your skin is again riddled with goosebumps.

The same goosebumps that you get when indecent thoughts make you horny.

Fuck... He knows you better than you thought.

"Look at you." His jaw tightens. "You might not be fucking him, but you want too."

Your eyes widen and your large guilty irises give you away.

You are smitten with JJ, and you can't help it. He's the opposite of Rafe... He's kind, gentle, and extremely sweet to you.

You love his innocently dimpled smile. He's the largest crush you've had since you were in middle school and watched your first Justin Timberlake video.

"I guess I have to stop by John B's house tonight, huh? Pay a visit to JJ?" You're able to feel the heat raging off of Rafe's body.

You grab his arms, pleading for him not to make a scene. "No don't! Please, Rafe! What do you want? Aren't I giving you enough?"

"No." Rafe firmly grasps your wrists, flinging them away from touching him. "Block JJ's number, and stop talking to the fucking Pogues."

You agree, nodding as tears swell in your eyes.

"You live in this house, you're a fucking Kook!" His raised voice rains frightening screams upon you. "...Better yet, you're not even a Kook, you're mine.You're Rafe's, and if you continue to be hard headed and act like a fucking child, I'll release hell on Earth... you know that I can, and that I fucking will."

"Tell me you understand y/n, before I make you hate me even more." His voice lowers into a final threat.

You've seen him get rough with people, better yet, you've seen him already kick JJ's ass once for something that had nothing to do with you... doing it again would only make his day.

You gulp. "I get it Rafe, I understand."

...

Silence fills the room as he continues to gawk deviously over what is his, you.

Rafe wipes a fallen tear from your face. "Kiss me."

He tilts your chin to reach his lips and places the most tender kiss he has ever given you.

Rafe claims you as his as he grabs a handful of your ass, prying your sweetly soft lips apart as his tongue locks with yours. Rafe Cameron's tongue kiss is the only thing that has ever made your knees weak. Sadly, you can't decide if you still hate him or if his need to be possessive over you is actually causing you to love him.

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bluespiritshonour · 5 months

Text

Why is it always Robin has to prove himself to Batman? Be it any Robin. And no, I'm not talking about characters, because Bruce—Bruce is like “Everyone must prove themselves to me but I'm not answerable to anyone” that motherfucker. Very IC.

I'm talking about stories, about narratives—why does every Robin-centric narrative has a “prove themselves to Batman” arc—but Bruce's arc never involves proving himself to anyone?

Why, after the events of the Tower of Babel, Bruce didn't have to work to gain the Justice League's approval? Why didn't he have to work to redeem himself, dammit!

Yes. He had to reveal his identity. But then, it wasn't his idea. It was Clark's. It's fundamentally different from Dick unmasking in front of the Titans: Dick feels in his bones that it isn't fair that he's the only one masked and the Titans are up for mutiny, so he made an executive decision.

It didn't even occur to Bruce to do it. Dammit, the fucker wasn't even trying to get back into Justice League. Clark had to persuade him. And no, I don't mean he should have gone and begged them to let him in. He doesn't need them.

But let's be honest: none of the Leaguers need the League. But humanity does. That's why they put their differences aside and band together.

Bruce is selfless when it comes to sacrificing his family a la Batman : Ego. Oh!—it's Bruce's children that are dying in Batman's mission. Isn't he so noble?—the picture of tragedy? The greiving father? The man who can't even have a steady romantic relationship because Batman wouldn't let him? So selfless—until he isn't. Until the JL—in other words, a planet full of people—need him to swallow his pride. Then, he isn't selfless anymore.

He's selfless when he's a father sending his children to war for the greater good—but he's not selfless when it's time to swallow his pride, to take the risk of trusting someone even after being traumatised and betrayed—for the greater good. (And honestly his trust issues seem narcissistic when surrounded by people like Dick, Alfred and freaking Commissioner Gordon!)

You know who does it? Dick Grayson. That's who. The “trust no one” maxim has been drilled into him by Bruce, but even then he chooses to trust. Not because he's stupid, but because it's a requirement. He totally expects to be stabbed in the back; he isn't naïve. But he'd rather be betrayed than have someone be barred from help because they seemed suspicious. It's canon in Titans. He says it in words, look it up. To Brother Blood, I guess.

Bruce didn't have to work to get on the League's good side. He just had to reveal his ID to regain trust and that, too, was Clark's idea.

And that's not an attempt at redemption, because if it was, then why did Clark have to do it too? Clark didn't do anything to deserve it. But Bruce forces him to and Clark agrees: for the greater good that the League trusting each other would ensure.

Clark Kent, who chooses to forego a mask so that people trust him. Literally, it comes down to that. Who has to built his whole civilian life around the fact that he shows his bare fucking face to the whole world.

And honestly, if I were to throw genre convention aside and read the text the hard way, Bruce doesn't seem really all that bothered with keeping his ID a secret. He's nothing compared to Clark. I mean. Come on, look at the number of people who know Bruce's ID and the number that know Clark's and tell me. Fucking tell me who's more serious about that stuff.

Bruce's entire existence hinges on other characters’ kindness, in and out of universe. In-universe there's this massive brigade of people who know his ID and keep it a secret. Out of universe, writers who show him to be the best even though Clark, Diana, Dick are all more worthy than him.

This is what you get when you let little incels run creative industries.

What did Bruce ever have to do to redeem himself to anyone? Literally anyone? Bruce would let Gotham burn if it meant he keeps his colossal pride intact. But oh, send his children to die: woe is him, this greiving father, so tragique—would absolutely do that.

He isn't even a hero. You know the impact of Batman: Ego and BtAS pales when put next to his very selfish acts when it comes to himself.

Because always—ALWAYS—the uwu factor in Bruce's stories aren't personal.

Not like it's in Clark's who has to face xenophobia because he's an alien. He's natural existence—his powers that are a part of him existing—being called a threat. He still helps.

Not like Diana who comes to the Man's World and decides to stay behind despite it being, well, a Man's World. That would never really respect her as much as it respects a man, any man, even though she's a literal Goddess. Coming and staying in Man's World for her means loneliness. Being immortal and watching every friend she ever made become a memory. But she chose to do it. Because at the end of the day, it's not about her. It's about helping people.

But for Bruce, in true male-is-default fashion, it's about losing people. People he loves.

His parents' death, Jason's death and so on and so forth. I'm not saying losing someone is not painful. I'm just saying it's always about his manpain.

Making the victim's pain his.

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eldest-of-katts · 22 days

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okay because people have shown up in my dms talking smack I'm going to make one blanket statement on the 1000 year loli chilchuck thing.

yes, there has been a problem with young girls being put in suggestive positions in anime with the "uhmmm she's actually a bajillion years old" excuse. yes, other characters don't treat chilchuck like an adult. yes, he is short with big eyes.

However, chilchuck consistently acts like a grown man. he- in both the manga and the anime- straight up just is an adult. He looks like an adult when he is any other race during the swaps in the manga. When the other characters get turned into half-foots they look similar to chilchuck. He is explicitly stated to have more dungeon and general life experience than laios, and he acts like it.

The 1000 year loli trope explicitly functions as an excuse to prey on people who are inexperienced and unable to advocate for themselves. Chilchuck is a parent, is a union organizer, has explicit boundaries that he enforces rigidly, and he is treated as an adult man by everyone who doesn't have a fantasy racism-focused character arc/issue.

I can see how if you haven't read the manga and seen that he has an established life that he later reveals (and haven't paid attention to him in the anime lol) you could get a mistaken impression about him. Marcielle does too in the source material! It's part of her character at the start of her arc that she has issues with longevity!

The thing that irks me a little about this interpretation is that it leans into the child-coded discourse that was prominent a while ago (she's short!!!!! but has boob???? ILLEGAL!!1!) and it does a disservice to the themes of infantilization as a policy maneuver hurting the working class.

I saw chilchuck and his labor advocacy for half-foots both as a metaphor for racism (obvious take ik) and for ageism.

The working gen z as a cohort are being infantilized and pushed out of job markets due to infantilization, similar to half-foots in the show. gen z is being maliciously portrayed as too young to vote, enter office, know themselves, know their rights, and take advantage of their resources. Simultaneously, child labor protections and protections against workplace abuse are being rolled back in the US. In Japan, young people are being worked to the bone for nothing and are becoming disenfranchised as a generation while simultaneously expected to be the labor faction that supports the postwar generations in their old age.

Chilchuck's being treated poorly I saw as a clever commentary on the ways infantilization allows for protections to be stripped away under the guise that "oh it's just a job for teenagers- they don't need more than minimum wage" or "let the kids rescue the economy! they're always complaining about that job market!" while simultaneously stripping away rights under the guise of protection- "We can't have that on the internet! think of the children!" "to protect these young people we must raise the age of medical consent for hormones/reproductive health decisions!"

Kui's work with this series spoke to me on many levels, and specifically, the infantilization issue touched me in a way that few other pieces of media have. The struggle to be taken seriously in a stem field as someone young, as someone female, and as someone who had a high-pitched voice to the point I did years of voice training to be taken seriously, chilchuck's character resonated. I (kinda) understand your instinct to think "SHORT! CHILD! RALLY THE MASSES AND KILL THE PEDOS!!1!" but in this case, it's misdirected- mostly because the author was trying to use this misdirection to prove something to you, the reader.

Kui consistently makes cutting commentary on modern issues, the show's take on food neutrality as its headliner, but also the author's takes on cultural issues and the environment (with a focus on our place in the food web as animals). I feel that reducing chilchuck's very conscious position as a tradesman and an activist discounted due to his apparent age down to "1000 year loli ewwww let's send this random tumblr user suicide bait" just displays a lack of critical analysis of the show and a level of disrespect towards Kui and the work as a whole.

TL:DR- stop sending me kys messages I'm fucking that old man

#dungeon meshi #chilchuck #suicide mention #fandom critical #dw I blocked the person but please refrain from telling people to kill themselves over chilchuck #hes a cool character but he is- still- only a character #long post #I know he's short but short people can still have sex #shocking I know #the person who sent me the message also has a lot of weird opinions of laios #like that he's too 'pure to think about sex'#broooo nooooo don't have weird opinions about autistic people being unable to consent!!#that's weird as fuck! autistic adults are still adults!!! quit infantilizing an already marginalized class!!#you're falling for the blatant misdirects that legislate away our rights!!#I get that it's just an anime it's not that deep #but at the same time the analysis skills are not skilling!!!#the reading comprehension is not comprehending!! the media literacy is not FUNCTIONING!!!#i am WORRIED ABOUT THIS #YOU WILL FALL FOR A PSYOP YOU ARE NOT IMMUNE TO PROPAGANDA #your words and deeds online are indicative of a deeper issue in your thinking that reveals a lack of understanding towards your own biases #you retain puritanical reactions and instincts despite carrying a new title #your understandings of the world are deeply and evidently shaped by flawed and cruel systems that you have failed to examine or grow out of #AUUUUGH please learn and grow as a person suicide bait helps nobody

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degloved · 2 months

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the main "criticism" (term used loosely) of saw x by and large seems to be not the cruelty of the traps themselves, but the utterly inadequate time given to complete them. cruelty does sort of come with the territory & debating the "right" dose for a saw movie is an exercise in futility, yet the almost laughably and woefully meager three minutes on the clock seem to be something of a hang-up to most people. "how were they meant to beat these traps?" "shouldn't john have given them a chance?" "valentina came so close, she did everything, it's not fair" which, while seemingly reasonable questions, all find their answer in one small fact: john kramer has an insatiable hunger for revenge. this is a character flaw that he himself cannot abide by, that he finds… distasteful. the jigsaw dogma is a metaphorical wool that he pulls over his own eyes, it's a distraction from the truth, it's his copium. the man invented a pseudo-religion to justify his crimes, which is… well, haven't men been inventing religions for this express purpose since the dawn of time? it's only in line with the trend.

point being, his gracious gift of a whole three minutes to saw one's leg off and extract bone marrow, to saw one's skull open and pick out brain matter, to break one's bones while being cooked alive by a radiation machine—it's… for his benefit more than anyone else's. deep down, he's never expected them to beat their tests. he never expects anyone to do so (but if they do, it's whatever at that point—because at the very least they've suffered.) though that's a tough pill to swallow, and he chooses not to. time and time again, he chooses not to. when he sat on that bench in that park, enjoying a lovely day out while fantasizing about a petty thief getting his fingers broken one by one & getting his eyes sucked out, he revealed everything. he revealed how much of a farce rehabilitation is, he revealed how much he'd rather see a person killed horribly than anything else. he revealed that he too likes how brutality feels.

he'd have us think the victims are picked somewhat at random, that he's simply being a good samaritan giving any old lowlife nobody a "new chance at life." he's not! cecil caused the death of gideon. amanda was one of the reasons cecil did what he did (and btw do not for a second think that hoffman was going to tell john something he didn't already know. amanda died for nothing in iii, because why else would have john targeted her in the first place?), easton and his buddies fucked john over insurance-wise, bobby offended john's sensibilities, kerry was too deep in the case, lawrence was a bit of a dick to him at the hospital... so on and forth. every last one of them a target of john's revenge fantasies, even if they did arrive wrapped up in layers of delusion and grandeur.

he still loved amanda though. and make no mistake abt that

#saw #saw x #john kramer

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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 4 months

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The Dangers of Hope Ch. 4

Series Summary: When Y/N shows up at Camp Chitaqua with her little girl in tow, her bloodshot eyes leave no doubt that she's infected. Or is she? Everything Dean has come to know for certain over the last five hellish years, is about to be challenged.

Pairings/Characters in the series: Endverse!Dean x Reader, Emma (OFC), Castiel, Sam Winchester, Lucifer, Michael, Zachariah, Risa, Johnston (OMC), Patrick (OMC), Theresa (OFC), other survivors and soldiers.

Series Explicit 18 +/Warnings: Show level violence, some gore, angst, smut, fluff all the usual for a series of mine. ❤️ Endverse!Dean (that's a warning for his anger and callousness as well as his extreme hotness. 😁) Each chapter will have their own specific warnings.

Chapter Warnings: Nothing major. But - nudity! 😉

Word Count: 4,328

A/N: So, I've had this idea for quite a while. Basically since I watched The Last of Us. I loved Pedro in the role of Joel, but I kept thinking how incredible Jensen would have been. Which then made me think of how amazing he was as Endverse!Dean which then led me to this idea. Lol! I've stolen the premise of Ellie's storyline from TLOU, but made her a grown up, a reader insert, and a love interest for Dean.

If you've never seen TLOU, don't worry - you don't need to have seen it to understand this story. 😊

I've taken some liberties with the Endverse in my story, changed a few things from canon, but kept lots of things too.

I sincerely hope you enjoy the story. It will be ten chapters and I will do my very best to post one chapter every weekend. ❤️

A/N 2: So, here I am with chapter 4. I hope you enjoy it! Thank you so much for all the very kind comments that this series has received so far. You're all fabulous.

Series Master List || Map of Camp || Tag Lists

The dividers below were created by @saradika

Y/N woke with a start. She was breathing fast, her heart pounding. The sense of fear and worry that had lived trapped inside her chest for months lifted quickly as she looked down to see Emma laying beside her on the narrow cot, having migrated there from her own bed sometime in the night.

Y/N resettled herself so she could pull her daughter’s warm little body closer to her, tucking the gray, wool blanket tighter around Emma’s shoulders to protect her from the cool September morning. She looked at Emma’s pale face, the bones a little too prominent, and was grateful once again to be where they were.

They’d been traveling around, nomadic and scrounging for whatever food they could find, for months. They’d spent a week in an abandoned church one time, a few days in an old hunting cabin. If they were lucky they sometimes found a camp of other survivors who would allow them to stay for a day or two. But the people would inevitably shuffle them along quickly, not willing to divvy up their resources amongst two more people.

When they’d found the Billings camp, she’d been so happy. They’d taken them in without much issue, but she’d soon discovered why. The camp had been made up of somewhat fanatical people, calling themselves Christians, who believed the apocalypse happened because people had turned away from the church. So while they did feel it was their duty to help Y/N and Emma, unfortunately they also felt it was their duty to bring them to the light. They’d spent most of the month they’d lived there praying and listening to the leaders call upon God to cast away the evil.

If the Croat attack hadn’t happened, Y/N knew she probably wouldn’t have stayed much longer anyway. She’d heard people talking about this camp, Camp Chitaqua, saying that it had a good leader, a man named Dean Winchester, and she’d wondered whether it could be the same man who’d saved her all those years ago.

She sighed deeply now, breathing in the fresh scent of the pine trees around them, giving thanks again that they’d made it here, and that, despite all odds, she was still alive. Even more miraculously, she was still herself. For a while, she’d been secretly worried that she’d only managed to stave off the virus in the same way that mothers could sometimes lift a car off of their child, by sheer power of will and desperation as mothers. But Emma had been here, and safe, for a week now, and she still felt exactly the same.

She couldn’t explain it, but she was trying not to question her good fortune. They were in a well-run camp, complete with guards, supplies, and a leader who, whatever he might claim, cared a lot about the welfare of the people in his care. She wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

After Emma woke up, Y/N cooked them their oatmeal ration for the morning, gave them both basin baths, and braided Emma’s hair. As she was tying the last ribbon, two small voices were calling for Emma from outside the tent. When they went to look, there were two little girls, Keisha and Julianne, looking for Emma to come out and play.

Their mom, Monique gave Y/N a warm smile as she shook her hand. If Y/N’s bloodshot eyes worried the woman at all, she didn’t show it.

“We’ve heard a lot about you from Emma.” Monique said as the girls ran about, giggling and chattering all at the same time. “She spent a lot of time with us over this last week. We’re so glad to see you’ve recovered.”

Y/N was eternally grateful that Monique didn’t ask questions for which she had no answers. They spoke for a few minutes about their children, and Y/N mentioned her intentions to start a school. Monique’s eyes lit up.

“It won’t be much,” Y/N warned, “but I thought the kids could use something.”

They talked for a little while longer and then Monique requested Emma’s presence for the morning. Keisha and Julianne were looking for their favorite playmate. Y/N sent Emma along with a tight hug and a tug on one of her braids.

There was a small part of her overextended protectiveness that worried any time Emma wasn’t right next to her. But she knew how important it was that her little one got the chance to play, so she kept her worries to herself and waved her off to have fun, with thanks to Monique for watching her.

She spent the next couple of hours wandering around the camp. She learned the layout of everything, where the medical tent was, where they went to get their food rations for the week. While she was there, she finally got to meet Theresa’s mother, Brandy. She was a big barrel of a woman with russet-colored skin, long dark hair pulled back into a tight bun, big strong hands, and kind brown eyes.

She explained how the ration system worked, and explained that she worked with “The Boss” and “The Angel” to make sure everyone got their fair share, and that absolutely no food was going to waste.

Y/N’s forehead crinkled at that. “Angel?”

Brandy nodded. “Castiel.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “He’s an angel?” She quietly berated herself for not figuring out that someone with a name like “Castiel” was an angel.

Brandy nodded again, and then spoke quietly. “But he doesn’t have any angel mojo. No wings or halo, or whatever.” She shrugged. “That’s what I heard anyway.”

Y/N chatted with Brandy a bit longer, offering up her idea for the school. The older woman was intrigued with the idea and gave some suggestions for where they could hold their classes. She scoffed at the idea of holding them outside.

“Gonna be winter soon and the wind can be really wicked around here. I’ll talk to The Boss about giving you one of those sheds at the Northeast edge of camp, behind the main cabin. They built them new there this summer for storage - for tools, and supplies like propane and such. But one shed will do for the winter, and they can build a second one for storage in the spring if they need it.” She said decisively.

“Well, please, don’t bug Dean too much about space.” Y/N cautioned. “He was reluctant enough to say yes to the school existing at all. I don’t want to make him doubt his decision.”

But Brandy just waved away the worry. “The Boss is hard, but he knows a good idea when he hears it.”

After a few more minutes of chatting Y/N gave Theresa a squeeze goodbye and headed back to her tent. She was excited to start putting some ideas together for lessons. She’d have to be a bit creative since there probably wasn’t a lot in the way of school supplies available. But she loved a challenge.

She was working at the little table in her tent when she heard a familiar throat clearing before Dean’s voice called out her name.

“Hi!” She called back. “Come in!”

Dean pushed through the tent flap, and walked in, a big green duffle bag in his hand. The height of the tent was just barely tall enough to accommodate him; it brushed against his spiky hair as he walked towards her, and Y/N had to smile.

Their tent home had seemed spacious when they’d arrived in it the other day. There was room enough for two narrow cots, a table and two chairs, a small wooden box for clothes and other supplies, and a little metal camping stove that was vented to the outside through a hole in the roof of the heavy canvas tent. She assumed that was for when it got really cold, and they couldn’t survive without some heat through the night.

It met all their needs and she’d been impressed by its size, having felt lucky enough to get the little two-person pup tent they’d had when they were at the Billings camp. But now, with Dean inside, the space felt much smaller. He seemed to take up most of the room in the tent, and he kept his neck bent forward slightly to avoid brushing against the top again.

“So, the river?” He asked, thumbing behind him.

Y/N nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, yes. That would be fabulous.” She grabbed her clean clothes and followed him out of the tent. She asked him to wait for a moment and dashed over to Monique’s to get Emma. But the three little girls didn’t want to stop playing, so Monique offered to take Emma with them in a couple of days when she took the girls down to the river.

“Okay.” Y/N gave in to her daughter’s pleading eyes and the three little girls squealed and jumped around.

Y/N was thrilled to see Emma having so much fun, and she couldn’t justify derailing that fun just for a bath. But she made Monique promise to let her watch the girls for an afternoon very soon as payback, and she hurried back to where Dean waited, somewhat impatiently, by her tent.

His face held a deep scowl. “Are we good?” He asked.

Y/N nodded and he turned away, obviously expecting Y/N would follow. Once again she found herself walking quickly to try and keep up with his long-limbed, brisk pace. They went east towards the medical tent. But before they got to the tent, they reached a wide, open area where five vehicles were parked. Four of the vehicles, two trucks, a Jeep and a van, sat in a three sided aluminum building. Inside the building two men and a woman were working on one of the trucks, a black Ford F-150.

Dean nodded in their direction as he entered, and they lifted their hands in a salute before returning to their work. He walked towards the Jeep, but Y/N had her attention snagged by the car that sat outside the shed, towards the back, almost behind the building. The tires were flat and vegetation grew all around it. The front windshield had a big crack in it, and both bumpers were missing. Rust covered the tire rims and the bottom of the passenger side door.

But she still recognized it. She still remembered the way the sleek, black beauty had shined as it pulled into their driveway so long ago. She remembered the way her dad had whistled when he saw it and the way both Dean and John had beamed with pride when he told them, “That is an American classic right there!”

She walked towards it, and her heart was sad to see it so beaten up and neglected. Dean followed her around the side of the building. “What are you doing?” He asked angrily.

She looked back at him. “I remember her. What a shame.”

Dean’s jaw ticked and he grabbed her wrist to yank her back into the building. “Just a car, it wasn’t practical. Now, come on, you wanna a bath, or what? I don’t have all damn day here.”

Y/N kept her mouth shut as she climbed into the Jeep, flinching slightly when Dean slammed his door; she’d obviously hit a nerve. In deference to that fact she stayed quiet for a little while. But eventually, she risked starting a conversation.

“How far is it to walk out to the river?” She asked.

He shrugged. “‘Bout an hour or so.”

“How long will it take us?”

“Five or six minutes.”

She smiled. “Well, then I really appreciate the ride.”

He shrugged again. “Sooner we're there, the sooner we’re done.”

“I also appreciate you taking the time out of your day.”

He just grunted in response and she wasn’t sure exactly how to interpret the sound. Whether it meant, It’s fine, or I’m regretting the offer, she wasn’t sure, but she plowed on anyway.

“I can only imagine how busy you must be, running a camp this size. How many people live here?”

“Don’t know exactly.” He answered and she thought that might be the only answer he was going to give, but then he continued. “Somewhere between a hundred and a hundred and fifty, I’d guess.”

“Wow!” Y/N said, truly impressed. “Billings only had about 60, and they were the biggest group I’d ever seen.”

Dean didn’t respond as the Jeep jolted over a big rut in the uneven path they were driving down. Trees scraped against the sides of the Jeep as they passed, and Y/N almost bounced out of her seat as they hit another deep rut.

“Put your fucking seatbelt on.” He barked at her. “You tryna fly through the windshield?”

Y/N grabbed the strap and clicked it in place. Then she frowned at him. “You’re not wearing your seatbelt.”

“Do as I say, not as I do.” He warned her.

She snorted. “That’s crap advice.” He scowled at her but said nothing more.

They were silent until they emerged from the trees onto a wide river bank and Y/N could see a sparkling river laid out in front of them. She gasped.

“It’s beautiful.”

Dean threw the Jeep into park and turned off the engine. “It’s advantageous.” He admitted as he climbed out, pulling his duffel bag out with him.

Y/N jumped down and walked quickly towards the river, already itching to feel the water wash away the layer of grime she could feel sitting on her skin. When they reached the side of the river, they stood for a minute. Y/N looked over at Dean, waiting for some privacy before she took off her clothes and jumped into the river.

Instead he nodded towards it, and warned her. “Don’t go too far east. The current here is slower, but it picks up around the bend up there, and it can be hard to stand.”

He dropped the bag on the ground, reaching in and grabbing a bar of soap and tossing it to her. It wasn’t new, but it smelled fresh and zesty, so she didn’t care that it had been used previously.

She stood still, holding the soap, making no move to get into the water. Dean looked at her, annoyed again. “Are you going in or not?”

She knew she was blushing and she felt ridiculous for it. But she waved towards him. “Could you turn around or something?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “No, actually, I can’t. There’s a reason no one ever comes to the river alone. We’re almost five miles from camp, there could be wild animals, rogue Croats, or desperate men around.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Someone needs to stand watch.”

Y/N nodded, accepting that logic. But she still didn’t want to get naked with him watching. When she continued to hesitate, Dean gave a huge huff and shook his head.

“Oh for fuck’s sake. Even though you definitely don’t have anything I haven’t seen before, if it will make you hurry up and get in the fucking water, I’ll turn my head while you strip down. Just tell me when you’re covered up in the water, so I can go back to making sure nothing tries to eat you.”

With that, he turned his head away from her and sighed again, before holding up his finger. “And be careful - the deeper the water, the faster the current.”

She shucked her old grubby clothes quickly, practically moaning about how good it was going to feel to be clean and then actually step into clean clothes. She ran into the river, squeaking slightly as the cold water hit her skin.

“Whoo! It’s freezing!” She said with a slightly manic giggle. But she kept walking until the water covered her breasts. “Okay.” She called out over the rushing of the river. It was a little hard to keep her balance as she began washing, but she managed.

She tried to ignore Dean standing barely twenty feet away as she washed her body quickly and then dipped her head back in the water, lathering up her hands to scrub through her hair and across her scalp. As she rinsed her hair out she couldn’t take the silence anymore and started talking as a distraction, like she usually did.

“So you guys keep chickens? I’m assuming that’s where the eggs come from?”

Dean nodded. “And one young cow. We found her in the spring. Her mother was nowhere to be seen. So we brought her back to camp. The kids in the camp take it in turns to spend the day gathering grass for her to eat. They pull up buckets of it every day to fill her trough. In return she gives us fertilizer for the crops, and if we can somehow find her a bull next spring she’ll give us milk and more cows too.”

Y/N smiled as she finished her bath, and then ran her hands down her leg to rinse away the last of the soap. “How is it you can manage -”

Y/N stopped talking to let out a scream as her fingers brushed against something slimy on her leg. And then screamed even louder when it brushed over a second one. Before she could let out a third scream, Dean was in the water, having shed everything but his jeans and white t-shirt on the way.

“What’s wrong!” He was yelling as he barreled towards her.

“Something.” She pointed at her leg. “Something’s biting me. Something slimy.”

Dean looked relieved and then annoyed. “For pete’s sake, it’s probably just leeches.”

Y/N stared at him like he was completely insane. “Just. leeches?” She shrieked. “Get them off.”

Dean grabbed her hand and started to pull her out of the water. But she wrapped her other arm over her breasts and dug her heels into the rocky bed of the river. “No, I can’t leave the water. I’m naked.”

Dean spun around to face her. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He dropped her hand and threw up his arms. “You wanna stay in the water with the leeches?”

“Can’t you just pull them off while we’re in the water?”

“No.” Dean said shortly. “I can’t. I have to pry them off gently, meaning I have to be able to see them properly. You may also have leeches other places than just your leg. I need to check you.”

Y/N’s face turned blazing hot, but she decided she was more horrified by the slimy things sucking her blood than by Dean getting up close and personal. So she followed him out of the water to stand on the sandy bank. He walked back to his duffel bag and grabbed a knife. She covered herself with her arms and hands the best she could.

Dean came close and got down on his haunches to work at unsticking the leeches from her thigh. His fingers were warm on her chilled skin, and she knew it wasn’t only the cold breeze that was giving her goosebumps. She peered down at him, admiring the way his long lashes swept downwards as he focused on his task. His white t-shirt was wet and clung to him, outlining the muscles in his back that shifted slightly as he worked.

Thoroughly distracted she didn’t notice the leeches pop off until Dean tossed them back into the river. “K, I’m gonna check for other ones.”

Y/N’s whole body flushed as Dean walked around behind her, scanning all of her looking for more of the parasites. He came around to her right side where her arm was folded over her chest.

“Lift your arm.” He ordered. “They like the soft skin under here.”

With a sigh, Y/N shifted her other arm over her breasts, while crossing her legs to make up for the hand that was no longer covering her below. Then she lifted her right arm and Dean clicked his tongue.

“Yeah, there’s one more here.”

He brought his knife up again, and Y/N tried not to think about the way she could feel Dean’s breath move across the tops of her breast as he pried off the disgusting creature. When it popped off, Dean threw it back into the river and let his other hand trail down to her waist, leaving a fiery trail in his wake.

He moved to the other side and checked too but thankfully there were no more on that side.

Dean waved towards the parts of her that she had covered up. “Do you want to check the rest, just in case?”

He turned his head without being asked and Y/N was grateful as she searched her skin.

“There’s nothing.” She said with relief.

Dean nodded. “Good. Hang on.”

He walked over to his duffel bag and pulled out a towel, also grabbing her clothes that sat beside his bag. He tossed them all to her and then turned away so she could dry herself off and get dressed. She dried quickly, but as she started to pull on her jeans, Dean pulled his wet t-shirt over his head, and pushed off his jeans, treating her to the truly disarming sight of his beautiful bare torso and round, plump ass. His back was bronzed and tan while the fleshy skin of his backside was milky white.

He must have worked outside without a shirt on a lot this summer.

That image left her brain spiraling, and while she was melting into a puddle, Dean pulled a pair of jeans out of his duffle bag and put them on, before slipping his long, muscular arms through the sleeves of his flannel shirt.

He stood quietly for a moment after he was dressed before he called to her without turning around. “Are you dressed?”

Shaking her head like a wet dog, Y/N answered quickly. “Not yet, just give me a minute.”

“Already had a minute.” Dean mumbled.

Y/N hopped into the jeans; they were a size smaller than she normally wore, so they fit a bit snug. She put on the bra that was also a bit too small in the cups, but she wasn’t about to complain about the free, clean clothes, so she just tugged on the t-shirt.

She could practically feel Dean’s impatience as he stood there with his hands on his hips. “I’m finished.” She told him and he finally spun around to face her, his expression annoyed as usual.

He started to say something, but when he caught sight of her, the words seemed to die on his lips. He scanned her from head to toe and Y/N felt her cheeks flame. It was silent between them, but something crackled in the air, hot and vibrant.

Dean took a step closer, and her eyes wandered over his flannel shirt and the way the open sides framed his tanned, broad chest and flat abdomen. She looked at his belly button and the light trail of hair that disappeared into his jeans and she had the sudden urge to lick him, dip her tongue into his belly button, and then…

“Clothes good?” Dean asked, his voice soft and deep.

It took Y/N a solid ten to twenty seconds to figure out what he was talking about. Finally she nodded. “Oh yeah,” she ran a hand over her skin tight jeans, “they’re great.”

“Good.” Dean cleared his throat and nodded his head sideways towards the Jeep. “We should get back.”

The ride back to camp was tense as suddenly Y/N was aware of every move Dean made. She watched his hands on the big Jeep steering wheel and became immediately distracted by them. They moved smoothly, but she remembered the calluses she could feel when he grabbed her wrist, and it made her want to feel them again, feel them in more sensitive places.

The five minute ride felt twice as long on the way back.

When they reached the garage, Y/N practically leapt from the Jeep before it had even stopped fully.

“Well, thanks.” She said in a high pitched, squeaky voice.

Dean followed her silently out of the Jeep and out of the building. When she started back across the camp to her tent though, he called her back.

“Y/N!” She turned around but kept some distance between them. She was honestly afraid of what her addled mind might try if she got too close to him.

Unfortunately, Dean didn’t seem to be suffering from the same problem because he walked right up to her, leaving barely a foot between them.

“Just keep an eye on the bites. Leech bites aren’t usually dangerous, but the itch can be a real pain in the ass. If they get bad, you can go to the medical tent.” She followed his finger as he pointed at the big white tent to her right. “They'll probably have something for you.”

She turned back to face him and her breath caught in her throat. He was so close, and he smelled so good, like gunpowder, fire and something a bit warmer, softer, that she couldn’t place. She stared up into his intense green eyes and her stomach started doing somersaults.

His gaze fell to her lips and for one insane moment, Y/N thought he was going to lean forward and kiss her. But he took a step back, nodded and then turned on his heel and walked away. Y/N stood staring after him for a lot longer than she had any reason to, holding her breath the whole time.

As he disappeared into the main cabin, she exhaled slowly, finally able to admit to herself that she was incredibly disappointed by the kiss that didn’t happen.

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters:

@lyarr24

@lacilou

@deans-spinster-witch

@globetrotter28

@suckitands33

@akshi8278

@evznackles

@jackles010378

@impala67rollingthroughtown

@krazykelly

@candy-coated-misery0731

@envyaurora95

@spnwoman

@deans-baby-momma

Dean Fics Only:

@roonthelittlespoon920

@slamminmine

@zepskies

@deangirl96

Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom:

@kazsrm67

@slut-for-evans-stan

@sexyvixen7

@nancymcl

@waywardcheshire

Everything Incl. Fan Edits:

@k-slla

@leigh70

@eevvvaa

@kickingitwithkirk

@foxyjwls007

@notinthislife50

@roseblue373

@mishkatelwarriorgoddess

@avanatural

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@all-alone-he-turns-to-stone

#dean winchester #endverse!dean #endverse!dean x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester smut #dean winchester angst #dean winchester fan fic #endverse #endverse!dean series

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gwenllian-in-the-abbey · 25 days

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Ironically i thought F&B was the worst thing Grrm has ever written, however watching hotd has made me appreciate F&B alot despite how terrible it's compared to other Grrm's good stories. it's still better than whatever Condal came with. The fact that book!Alicent& Rhaenyra despite being historical figures have much more agency than show!Alicent& Rhaenyra who are pov characters is so funny to me.

I do like F&B, but I like it for the faux history aspect of it, not the story. The story is nothing special. There are some cool bits, and I think most of the characters have the potential to be really fascinating, but they are bare bones at best.

Ultimately though, the characters in the F&B do generally act in a consistent way, and if you work backwards from their actions, you can arrive at a characterization. I feel like the show has done this with Aegon and Aemond for the most part, and even with Daemon, with a few hiccups along the way. But with Alicent and Rhaenyra they did the opposite and it shows. They started with the characters they wanted to portray, and then went about forcing these new characters to perform book events, when those events were not written for a pair of estranged ex-friends, they were written for a stepmother and stepdaughter whose relationship has always been contentious at best. The actions that Alicent and Rhaenyra take in the book are not the actions that people love each other would take. If George had written them as close friends from the start the Dance would have played out very differently!

But that's not the story he wrote, and adapting actions written for people actively antagonistic towards each other to characters who are meant to love each other forces the showrunners into certain corners. Making Otto and Daemon the masterminds orchestrating the violence (remember, in the book Otto never suggested murdering Rhaenyra and her children, and Daemon was the one who urged caution when Rhaenys wanted to go straight to war), inventing a prophesy and deathbed misunderstanding which fundamentally alter the nature of the conflict, these things are done to soften the impact of the canonical actions of these women, but it also absolutely takes away from their agency. You get a really odd situation where the showrunners simultaneously want us to believe that the women should be in charge because the men ruin everything, but the women themselves are both unable to take direct action for fear of harming each other, but also unable to retreat, because the story demands they come to a certain end. Rhaenyra cannot accept the peace terms Alicent sends, or any future peace terms she proposes, and for all that they might come into conflict, Alicent cannot actually join team black and betray her entire family, the children she spent her whole young adulthood keeping alive. Ryan Condal has said that even after Luke's death he still believes there is hope of reconciliation but we know that fundamentally that can only be true in theory because the ending is a forgone conclusion.

There are people who say that Alicent is fundamentally caught between duty and desire, and that is why her character is inconsistent, but I cannot help but think that the reason why her actions are inconsistent is because half of them were written for another character entirely.

#asks #alicent hightower #hotd critical

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lloydfrontera · 2 months

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i'm not sure how intentional this was but i do think there's something extremely poignant about how similar javier and alicia are to each other. especially in the context of their roles of the original story.

like. they're both sword prodigies, both extremely dedicated to being the best they can be, both reserved and unwilling to open up to others easily. and it's not often but sometimes their thoughts just,,, echo each other. and not like lloyd and javier's do, where they're both thinking the same thing but from opposite perspectives, no, they just both have very similar ways of thinking.

I am not afraid. She wasn't confident that she would win. She didn't expect to. But it didn't matter to her. Even if she lost and perished, she vowed that she would at least buy enough time for her kingdom and people to be prepared to protect themselves. That is why. She walked toward the Bone Dragon once again without a moment of hesitation. This is my duty Failure. Death. None of it scared her. She instead glowered at the Bone Dragon with a calm gaze. -Ch 217

Javier tightened his grip on the sword and turned around, swining the blade empowered by the remainder of his aura and his eight. It was significantly weaker than usual, but that did not matter. Just once. As long as he could deliver some kind of damage to the king of hell, there was hope for Javier; Lloyd could perhaps survive. [...] Javier bled from his left shoulder once again, as he readied himself to launch another strike. He turned pale and his movement slowed down. But the grandmaster did not stop. Not yet. It wasn't over. Lloyd was still unconscious. He had to buy him more time so his unruly master could get up and run away. That was his duty as knight. -Ch 398

it's not that often and it's not that noticeable (mostly because there's a serious lack of alicia's pov compared to what we get of javier's but i digress) but i do think it's interesting.

and i think it makes sense when you take into account their roles in the original novel. javier as the protagonist, alicia as the antagonist, it makes sense their characters align in order to make parallels and contrast to each other.

i think it's a shame we don't really get to explore alicia's role as the villain in the original story beyond what little we get from the ending spoilers. nor the dynamic she would've had with javier as the hero. they, more than anyone else in the story, were made for each other. they, more than anyone else, should've been intrinsically linked to one another. but instead they're both just,,, around each other without ever quite touching. not truly. not in any significant way.

i dunno, i just think it was a missed opportunity to not have them develop their own relationship outside of their connection to lloyd. it would've helped to balance out the dynamics between the three and made alicia actually feel like a third protagonist rather than awkward love interest.

also i'm obsessed with the metanarrative of tged and it sucks that alicia's role as villain has almost nothing to do with the restoration of fate. if the role of protagonist is so important then the role of antagonist should've had at least an impact in the story rather than just being something to avoid!

#i talk a lot <3 #tged #the greatest estate developer #alicia magentano #javier asrahan #love talking about things no one else cares about and/or understands truly i am returning to my roots <33 #ch 217 #ch 398

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danwhobrowses · 2 months

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So a thing happened on Critical Role this week (campaign 3 ep 91), we're gonna talk about it - a long talk - so if you haven't been caught up and don't wanna be spoiled don't keep reading okay?

One of the disadvantages of being in a different time zone is that after fretting all morning, going to work, thinking 'it's 7am maybe it's done now' I had to sit in my office for a stressful final half hour murmuring don't do this don't fucking do this don't you dare fucking do this!

I already was worried for everyone given the cliffhanger last episode, and the 5 hour length made me further worried as players kept being knocked down by Otohan Thull - already frightening in base form but now with an even higher AC and empowered. Then Sam Riegel had to do what he does best, a devastating sacrifice where FCG blows himself up to take down Otohan - Ludinus' No. 2, harrowed for being proficient in slaughter, defeated by no assassin or warrior but a cleric saving their friends. We've been well past 'get off the moon' hours with this one, but now there is an impact on every one of the Hells to think about, which is what this will be about.

FCG Though he is dead there is still stuff to talk about with FCG's death. A common debate right now is the potential of the Reincarnate spell; while the wording of the death implies that FCG's current body is irreparable there is a chance that a 5th Level Druid Spell can fashion him a new body, one of flesh, bone and tongue. The body itself needs to be dead for less than 10 days so there is wiggle room to gain the necessary components too if the top brass of Exandria turn it into a fetch quest. There is argument on both sides though; if FCG comes back does it undermine his sacrifice? Perhaps, but there's no incentive for the Hells to not try. Reincarnation hasn't quite happened in Critical Role yet - Since Molly/Lucien/Kingsley was kinda different, he kinda had the opposite, different mind same body - so it'd be a refreshing new option and also a way to redesign FCG without having to create a whole new cleric (because they definitely need a cleric) with a whole new skillset that the Hells will need to warm towards before the final battle. But at the same time, the soul has to be willing. FCG was content with his sacrifice, and in the arms of the Changebringer would he go back? I'd like to hope so if it's an option, it'd also entertain a whole new character arc for him as a 'real boy' - plus Matt and Sam don't have to fully abide to the D100 rule of what race he turns into. Of course, I like this angle more than needing a new character, because I like happy endings and it makes narrative sense that the Hells would claw and bite to pull him from that sweet goodnight. It would also validate a reason for the Hells to align with the gods, because if divine favour comes into play and the Gods decide against helping Bell's Hells' greatest advocate for saving them then they are foolishly and callously forsaking key players to their survival, FCG reincarnating with the help of the Gods would play a big part in the Hells standing with them rather than losing faith in them, and even with friction between the Titans & Temults and the Gods from the past they would have a common enemy. Still living or dying can have varying effects on the other characters.

Ashton From the moment Ashton met FCG they wanted to make sure this little bot would be okay, that they'd learn to value their life and be able to thrive. While part of that did happen, Ashton is likely going to feel like nothing's changed since Bassuras; knocked out by Otohan and when awakened a friend is dead, another person they couldn't protect.

Before the shard, I think Ashton would very easily fly off the handle, in their anger they'd blame everything including themselves and maybe even consider leaving themselves, it probably have made them more self-destructive too. Now though I'm not so sure, nobody would hold it against them to waver a little on their promise to take care of themselves in a burst of grief, this was after all their best friend someone they looked after like a little brother, and while I can see Ashton quietly and angrily grieving I can also see Ashton double down on trying to keep their promise, making sure that FCG didn't go out like a martyr and that it won't be in vain. FCG reincarnating would assist in Ashton's character drive too, since I feel like they would detest any replacement cleric because it's not FCG, they may also be less abrasive towards the gods if they came through for them and proved that they care - at least to the Changebringer, think they'd still throw copper at the Dawnfather given the whole Angel incident.

Imogen As the nominated leader of Bell's Hells, many will probably look to Imogen Temult for action, the problem is she has her own mother issues to deal with too - and I'm not entirely sold that Liliana has fully made a turn just yet, only that she won't hand over the Hells to Ludinus. FCG's death is gonna produce a lot of guilt from Imogen though, she was detesting the fact that she had to play dead at 1HP while Otohan cut down her friends again, she will likely blame her inaction which in turn may push her to be more aggressive in combat.

At the same time, I can see her being one of the more gung ho characters to push towards the Reincarnate option, perhaps even going as far as to accost or lambast anyone regardless of alliances or rank who she feels isn't as committed. Imogen has been in the position of loss before, and knowing that FCG had a connection with FRIDA she would likely compel herself to fix it rather than have to deliver the bad news. Regardless of whether he reincarnates though I feel like Imogen may look towards some more defensive spells, and maybe through Liliana try to tap into the powers of an Exalted to try and match the power she saw from Otohan, a risky endeavour for sure but FCG took an even greater risk for them.

Orym Orym is probably the toughest of the Hells to read when it comes to FCG's death. There will of course be a deep sadness at the loss of a friend, but I would also sense a...not bitterness but discontent that this is how it went down. Otohan killed his family, he kept fighting her until he could no longer stand because that's what they would've done, and now she's dead but it doesn't make it better, he wasn't the one to do it, he didn't even see it, and the one who did is gone with her. When Bor'dor was killed, Orym coldly reminded himself that 'we're at war', but I don't think he can justify that way with FCG, the loss was greater than the catharsis.

The death also has to turn attention to his deal with Nanna Mori. Many have pointed out that there is a lot of technicalities that may prolong, void or complete the deal; it was never specified how many times the Hells could return from the moon to continue the deal, but at the same time they did technically return from the moon to Exandria safe and sound via the Secret Backdoor. Still, Mori is his best friend's grandmother, there could be leeway on that matter too and even if he does have to commit to the deal (which I call 'Fatekeeper Orym') it's never been explicitly said that Orym needs to constantly attend to Mori in the Feywild, only that he has to be her caretaker and answer her beck and call. However, FCG's death will likely provide a sobering thought that his deal with Mori was perhaps voided, unless there is one more thread he can have her pull. When it comes to seeking options to bring a friend back, I would keep a close eye on Orym - it's not the first time Liam's resolved himself to be damned before.

Fearne Fearne will likely be a linchpin if the Hells seek out Reincarnate. The spell is exclusive to Druids and if Keyleth isn't on hand to do it the task and pressure will fall to her. It'll be interesting how she reacts, I don't wanna say she'll be the most positive of it because she'll certainly be upset, but I can see her being optimistic even if it's to also convince herself, the one who is most encouraging to find a way. As a shipper I of course want her to be the one who comforts and gets through to Ashton while they grieve but if she also is key to his reincarnation that also adds to their slow-burn. Outside of that, FCG's death may also lead into learning about Mori's deal with Orym, which will probably anger her that Orym kept it from her, there is also the fact that having FCG's life in her hands may bring back bad memories of Bassuras and Whitestone. One must also especially worry about her Asmodeus calling card, the Prince of Lies does nothing for free and I still feel like Klask was planted in her path by Asmodeus' (and maybe even Athion's) titan-seeking design.

If FCG does reincarnate though, I could see her friendship with FCG being even greater than it was, since they'll both feel a greater zeal for life - it may also make her feel further distant from her Evil vision, since she will have saved half her friends rather than risked killing them. If not though, Fearne may have to play mediator for the new cleric and may also be pushed towards freeing up more slots for healing to provide more support for the Hells in future battles.

Chetney It's gonna be an interesting one for Chetney too, from one perspective you could see him thinking that FCG traded their life for his; he died, he made peace with that, but then the one who revived him died. Chetney's more personal mindset has often been cloaked in secrecy, perhaps as one of the least open of the Hells despite many claiming him as the Heart of the group, so I wonder if Chetney may harbour some Survivor's Guilt for what happened.

I can see Chetney being the one to keep his emotions close to his chest, even if FCG were to reincarnate he would perhaps try to shrug off that he always knew it'd happen anyway. That being said someone who remains stoic and unwavering may prove a positive or a negative to the group, depending on the person or their interpretation of it. If a new cleric comes along though I could see him being additionally protective of them, having been the new guy before.

Laudna We should all be worried for Laudna right now. The recent 4SD already revealed that Laudna's 'close to the brink' and I'm pretty sure this is the brink. The aftermath of the Otohan fight will likely push each of the Hells to get stronger, since had they hit harder or been able to take stronger blows it wouldn't have come to this, but that will mean bad things when it comes to Laudna, as she may seek to gain power the only way she thinks she can - through Delilah. After all her last two levels went to Sorcery and did little in the fight, whereas her Warlock class Eldritch Blasts hurt Otohan fairly decently, such a thing can linger in the mind for Delilah to manipulate.

It'll be telling if they do try to Reincarnate him whether the damage will have been done already to Laudna, and that the joy of bringing him back turns to tragedy of Laudna losing herself further, as it often does it will fall to how she leans on Imogen, and how open about it she'll be to her. If FCG is lost however, we may have to keep a very close eye on Laudna being next.

Bell's Hells As I mentioned with Laudna, FCG's death will have made something apparent and clear; despite everything Bell's Hells need to get stronger. Even at Lv13, even with Exalted powers, Fey bargains and Titan shards they still just barely escaped a TPK, and granted they were weakened and worn out but no fight is guaranteed to ever be fought at 100%. Otohan may've been the toughest General of the Vanguard but the other Generals - the Weavemind, Zathuda and the Dominon of Cruft Commander - are still not ones to take lightly, Ludinus is still not one to take lightly, and if Liliana is going to be used by him to become a vessel for Predathos, that cannot be taken lightly. Bell's Hells may need to look towards enhancing their stats as well as their equipment, the harness is still a factor too which can boost them all with enough enchanted items at their disposal. An interesting one would be if Otohan's backpack ends up in one of the Hells' hands; many beforehand have talked about Orym being an Echo Knight but I would personally like to see Ashton take it, since it is powered by the Potion of Possibility like their own Dunamancy powers, it's possible (eheh) that they may align in some manner and could you imagine Ashton + 3 Echoes all raging to get All 4 Dunamancies? Otohan's swords may also provide unique properties for Chetney and/or Orym to use. Reincarnation or not I feel like that may be the Hells' next plan once it's discussed whether to attempt Reincarnation and they're off of Ruidus, gathering allies will likely also be something to prepare for for the final battle given how Otohan stated that they have 'enough Ruidusborns' for their plan. As a group it is difficult to tell if this will strengthen or weaken them, it could strengthen them in a 'never again' way like the Nein, but they were also very enthusiastic about bringing Molly back - it drove them through several arcs - FCG however often was the Hells' beacon of hope and the self-imposed attempted therapist, without that the Hells will either have to put it upon themselves to go the extra lengths or they'll close further in on themselves. If FCG does reincarnate I feel like it would definitely strengthen them mentally but if not I am not so sure.

It shouldn't come to a surprise that I will hold onto the Reincarnate potential so that the Hells can get back their friend, but rest assured I'm worried for all of them right now, there are crossroads ahead.

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lordystrange · 1 year

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10 best byler proofs by me

10. The cast, especially David (who knows the ending) and Finn (who might know something), are always so happy talking about Byler. They wouldn’t be if Will ended up dying alone as a sad gay. Also no one likes milkvan except maybe Millie unless she’s acting… Caleb even said ”Lucas and Max’s love is real unlike Milkvan’s”.

9. Mike has been queercoded throughout the whole series. Especially with queer colors, he spent s4 dressed as a gay pride flag. Also bi and pan colors are associated with him. Also Ted’s ”our son with a girl?” and everything Eddie said about forced conformity etc

8. Byler parallelling other romantic ships like Jancy, Jopper and Lumax. I’m not listing examples because there are SO MANY! (Also Milkvan parallelling all the platonic/dead ships)

7. Mileven being bones. We have nothing that shows their actual, deep love they’re ”supposed to have”. We don’t know what Mike loves about El and what El loves about Mike. We don’t know what makes them a compatible match romantically. We only know things that don’t make them compatible: El feeling the need to lie to Mike, Mike feeling embarrassed of his nerdy self with El, El feeling unloved by Mike, Mike feeling inferior to El…

6. The desert scenes. The triple take ofc, but also the car roof top convo with Will (jancy parallell). Will is talking about how it’s scary to say how you really feel because what if they don’t like the truth. And Mike NODS. If the truth was that he loved El exactly like El wanted, El would like that truth. So what is the truth Mike is worried that El doesn’t like…?

5. Mike’s monologue. He had to be pushed by Will to open his mouth. He lied about him loving her at first sight. He copied the t-shirt part from Eddie. He kept saying she’s his superhero which El doesn’t wanna be. He didn’t include anything personal about El and their relationship after the t-shirt thing… Also El didn’t seem to like what she heard and their love didn’t save the world. And they didn’t even talk after it. And while filming it they didn’t focus on just the couple (like they did with byler in s2 shed scene) and they let Finn improvise as if it wasn’t that important (as important as the van scene…)

4. Mike would be so poorly written if he wasn’t into Will and I don’t think the Duffers would just ignore his character. Also all the lip glances and heart eyes wouldn’t make sense.

3. Byler/Milkvan contrast. When Will was gone and they found his ”body”, Mike heard Will breathing in a radio channel and believed he was alive. He didn’t rest for a second, he did everything he could to find him. When he thought El was dead, he didn’t go looking for her, even tho a couple times he actually saw her. Also in s3 when Milkvan had a fight, Max said Mike will be crawling back to her begging for forgiveness in no time. Instead Mike laid on a sofa and ate and complained. When Byler had a fight… well we all know what Mike did then.

2. Mike and Will’s relationship has always been different from other friendships. They’ve said it themselves (”pls don’t tell the others, they wouldn’t understand”, ”Hawkins is not the same without you”, ”you make her me feel better for being different”). Also their scenes together have always been a big deal (van scene took an entire day to film, crazy together was written before s1 was even filmed) and they are shot in a really romantic way (music, lighting…)

1. In the beginning of s3, Will said to Joyce that he’s not gonna fall in love. That made his arc about romance. We know now that he already fell in love, but he doesn’t believe it’s requited. If s5 goes from ”i don’t think he loves me back” to ”he doesn’t love me back” we get literally nowhere and the entire storyline (since s1) would be useless and waste of time and money. They wouldn’t make Will suffer 4 seasons and then suffer some more. So believe me when I say it goes ”I don’t think he loves me back” to ”He does love me back!”

I wish you all a very merry byler endgame in s5! 💚

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vodika-vibes · 4 months

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Hi! This is my first ever request and I’m so excited 🤩 Could you please do Ambrosia and Coriander with Wrecker?

I love the character trope “A falls first, B falls harder”, so maybe fem!reader A and Wrecker B?

Fireworks

Summary: You make fireworks for a living, just like your parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents. You love the colors and the explosions. And when you meet Wrecker, who loves many of the same things that you do, you hit it off. You fall first...but, as it happens, he falls harder.

Pairing: TBB Wrecker x F!Reader

Word Count: 2377

Warnings: Heated making out

Prompts: Ambrosia - love is reciprocated, Coriander - lust

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: SO! This is my first time writing Wrecker, and I'm not sure how I did. So please if anyone has an opinion on it, please let me know.

You smile warmly up at Wrecker, “I appreciate you going out of your way to help with this,” You say lightly as Wrecker sets the crate on the floor.

“It’s not a problem, I was there and happy to help.” His grin is wide, “Besides, I’m kind of curious as to how you do this.” Wrecker adds as he gestures around you. “I’m sure Tech could walk me through it, but it’s not quite the same as seeing it for myself.”

“You’re exactly right! Tech is very clever, and I’m sure he could give you the bare bones details, but a lot of this is passed down through oral tradition.” You place your hands on your hips, a proud grin lifting your lips, “And, my family has been making fireworks since before space travel, so I’m something of an expert.”

“What a coincidence, so am I.” Wrecker teases, “Are you sure you want this crate here?”

“True! Explosives are explosives, whether they’re for show or for destruction.” You fold your arms, “And yeah, I have to dig through it to sort it properly anyway, so better to leave it here.”

Wrecker looks around a little more, “You guys seem busy.”

“Well, the fireworks festival is happening soon.” You point out, “But really, this is nothing. You should see us in the week leading up to the festival.” You grin at him, before you crouch to enter the code to unlock the crate, “Of course, the payoff is definitely worth it, in the end.”

Wrecker opens his mouth to say something when a shout from the second floor distracts you both. Your older brother and your father are screaming at each other, and you sigh. “I should go deal with that.” You stand, “Thanks for the help, Wrecker, I mean it.”

“Sure.” He eyes the screaming men, “You want me to stick around-?”

You laugh, warm and bright, “My brother and my father are both just too stubborn for their own good, but there’s no danger here. I promise.”

Wrecker eyes the screaming men for a moment longer, and then turns his gaze back to you, a grin crossing his face, “Well, if you’re sure.”

“I am. Thank you though, you’re sweet.”

“Ah, well…” His face heats slightly, “I try.”

A giggle falls from your lips, he really is too cute, “I’ll see you later, alright?”

“Yeah, definitely.” Wrecker watches you for a moment longer, as you hurry up the stairs to defuse your brother and father’s fight, and then he leaves out the way he came in.

It’s been almost a year since Wrecker and his brothers settled on Pabu with their younger sister, and they’ve since made a home for themselves here.

You met Wrecker about eight months ago.

It had been an accident, you hadn’t been paying attention, and he hadn’t been paying attention and the pair of you crashed into each other. You weren’t hurt, but he did manage to knock you to the ground, simply because of how much bigger than you he is.

At the time he had been so apologetic and worried about hurting you, that he spent a whole ten minutes apologizing to you. It took you another fifteen minutes to reassure him that he didn’t hurt you, and that the scrapes and bruises that you were covered in happened before he ran into you.

After that, you seemed to bump into him everywhere, though you never actually ran into him again.

Slowly, over time, you and Wrecker developed a close friendship. You’ve come to cherish him as a close friend, and are more than happy to spend your free time with him.

Well, okay, that’s not exactly true.

You do consider him a dear friend, but you also want more. You’ve long since fallen in love with him, but you’re hesitant to ask for more than friendship. After all, if he doesn’t feel the same, then you’ll have just ruined the best friendship of your life.

So you keep your mouth shut, and you enjoy the time you spend together, and you appreciate Wrecker’s kindness and warmth, and you silently pine over him, while hoping that he doesn’t notice.

The last thing you want is to lose your best friend, after all.

You rub the back of your neck as you hurry up the stairs to your family. You can think about this later, there are more important things to worry about.

It has been almost 6 weeks since the day that Wrecker helped you bring a crate into the warehouse, and the Firework Festival is almost here. Almost, in the sense that it’s tonight, and you’ve been running around like a maniac for the last week trying to get things in order.

In terms of relationship, nothing has changed between you and Wrecker…at least, you don’t think anything has changed.

These last couple of weeks, Wrecker has been acting odd around you.

Seeming a little nervous and jumpy, unwilling to meet your eyes at times, and randomly changing the subject whenever you try to press him if something is wrong.

You’re beginning to worry that you’ve done something wrong, that maybe you said or did something that bothered him and he’s just too nice to call you out.

Stars, you hope not. That’s the last thing you’ve ever wanted.

Unfortunately, you’ve been too busy the last week to have a proper conversation with him. It’s everything you can do to manage a simple hi when you see him on the street before running off to your next chore.

And even with those small conversations, there’s still something off with how Wrecker responds.

You grip your comm for a moment, staring at Wrecker’s contact information for a moment, before you grit your teeth and take a risk.

Hey Wreck, you up?

Yeah, course. What’s up?

The Fireworks are tonight, you gonna watch them?

That’s the plan. Omega wants to watch them on the beach.

Ooh, that’s a good place.

For a moment, you hesitate, before you type your next message.

I was going to ask if you wanted to watch them with me, but since you already have plans.

I’ll just watch them with my brothers

Wait

Wait!

I’d like to watch them with you

If the offer is available?

What about Omega?

Hunter, Echo, and Tech will be with her.

She won’t even notice I’m gone.

Where are we watching them?

On top of the warehouse, I’ll bring food!

You don’t have to do that

I want to. I’ll see you tonight!!

I’ll be there.

Some of your anxiety fades when Wrecker agrees to watch the fireworks with you. If nothing else, he still wants to be your friend. And then you jump when you hear your mother shout at you from the hallway of your apartment.

Kriff, you’re going to be late!

You roll, literally, out of bed, landing on the floor with a thump, “I’m okay!” You shout to your mother before you scramble to your fresher to take the world’s quickest shower.

And then you pull on your clothes, and hurry out of your bedroom while pulling your hair into a tail, “Sorry, sorry! I overslept!” You call to your mother, who shoves a breakfast sandwich into your hands as you balance on one foot to pull your boots on.

“Hurry up, everyone is waiting for us!” Your mother rushes you.

“I know, I know! I’m coming!”

Wrecker is nervous. Nervous with a capital N, even.

He knows that he’s a big guy, he’d have to be blind to not see that. And he knows that he’s not as careful as, say, Tech or Echo. And he knows that he’s a bit too loud and a bit too exuberant, and that he’s not everyone’s cup of Caf.

He also knows that his pretty spark has been working herself to the point of exhaustion for the last week, and that she’s not had time to do anything for herself, and even so, she still made time to say hi to him every day.

Even when she’s covered in soot, and has dark circles under her eyes, and her hair is pulled into a messy knot because it hasn’t been washed in a week, she’s still the most stunning woman he’s ever laid eyes on.

She still smiles at him like…like most women smile at Hunter, and stars, he loves her so much.

Echo figured it out before he did, because of course he did. He just flashed a small, sad, smile before teasingly telling Wrecker that when he fell for her, he hit every branch on the way down.

Wrecker figures that he’s probably right, he normally is about this kind of stuff, but it’s not actually helpful.

“Wreck,” Echo says, his voice gentle and kind, as he pulls Wrecker out of his thoughts. “You’re already friends with her, just talk to her.”

“But…what if she doesn’t feel the same?”

“Well, that’s a risk that you have to take.” Echo replies.

“Maybe I shouldn’t say anything-”

“Will that make you feel better?”

“...no.”

Echo smiles at him, “Go. I’ll cover for you with Omega.”

“Thanks Echo.”

Wrecker makes the walk from the house he shares with his siblings to the warehouse, and he uses the outside stairs to get to the roof. She’s already there, sitting in a comfy chair next to a table covered in various foods and drinks.

Her hair is loose and freshly dyed, likely to celebrate the festival, and she’s wearing a pretty dress that he’s never seen before. She looks…gorgeous. And somehow Wrecker falls even more in love with her.

Her gaze slides over to him, and a blinding smile crosses her face, “Wreck! You made it!”

“I said I would,” Wrecker replies as he steps onto the roof, “Has all of this stuff always been here?”

“Hm? Oh, I pulled them out of the shed,” She replies as she motions to a small building a little bit away, “But it wasn’t hard.”

Wrecker crosses over to her and sinks into another chair, though he hasn’t taken his gaze off of her, “I see you dyed your hair new colors.”

She laughs, “New colors for a new firework festival!”

“And a new dress?”

“Mother bought it for me. Do you like it?”

“It suits you.” Wrecker replies, finally averting his gaze to look at the food on the table, “Did you just hit up every fast food place between your apartment and here?”

“Mm, just about.” She falls silent for a moment, “Hey, Wreck?”

“Yeah?”

“Did I do something to make you mad at me?” She asks, and Wrecker’s gaze snaps to her face, she looks deeply anxious, “You’ve been acting…odd, these last couple of weeks. And I know I haven’t been a good friend, because of how busy I’ve been-”

“Woah, woah. Hold on. Did someone tell you that you’ve been a bad friend?” Wrecker asks, his brow furrowing, “Because you’ve been so busy this last week, that I was worried that you were going to collapse from exhaustion before the festival.”

“Well, no.” She admits, “but I can’t think of any other reason. You’ve been really nervous around me, and I can’t figure out what I did-”

“...you noticed that?”

“Of course I noticed, I’m not blind.” She sounds hurt and offended, “I just want to know what I did.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Wrecker hastens to reassure, “If anything, this is my problem.”

“Wreck, will you just tell me? Please?”

He exhales nervously, and rubs the back of his neck, “I…appear to have fallen in love with you. Hard. Echo says that I ‘hit every branch on the way down’.” He risks a glance at her face, and his heart sinks slightly when he sees the look of surprise, “And I just didn’t want to make you nervous. Or to lose our friendship.”

She exhales slowly, “Well, I can honestly say that I wasn’t expecting that.” There’s something strange in her voice, and Wrecker’s not quite sure what emotion it is. He’s never heard it before.

“It’s fine if you don’t feel the same way. I don’t expect it, I’m happy with our friendship-”

She blinks at him, “Wrecker, that’s the thing, I do feel the same way.”

It’s his turn to blink at her dumbly, “You…do?”

“Of course. You’re so kind and gentle and handsome…plus you love explosions as much as I do. How could I not? I’ve been crushing on you for months now.” She admits with a small smile.

Wrecker just stares at her for a long moment, “Huh.” He finally says, “I…legitimately don’t know what to say to that. I kind of expected you to tell me to kriff off.”

She laughs, “I would never. Even if I wasn’t interested for some reason.” She considers him for a moment, and then she stands and walks over to him and gingerly settles herself on his lap.

Wrecker immediately slides his arms around her, and watches her curiously. This isn’t the first time he’s touched her like this, she’s a very tactile person after all, but she’s never sat on his lap before.

She flashes a small smile up at him, and then she leans up and presses her lips against his.

The kiss is soft and gentle…and shoots white hot desire through his entire body. He tries, he really does, to keep the kiss chaste and innocent. But the more she presses her lips against his, the harder it is to control himself.

And then she presses her lips to his one more time, and Wrecker just snaps. One of his hands tangles in her hair as he cups the back of her head, while the other one firmly grips her hip and pulls her flush against him.

He’s still careful to not hurt her, but even that thought fades to the background as she releases a soft moan when he nibbles on her lower lip.

His name falls from her lips in a breathy sigh when he pulls away just long enough to catch his breath, and Wrecker can honestly say that he’s never heard anything more arousing in his life.

At least, not until ten minutes later when she moans for him.

#star wars #tbb #vodika-vibes follower celebration #tbb wrecker x reader #wrecker x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks

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