#i'm just posting my thoughts on the whole thing
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Spit On Me (Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader)
My first fic but this man has me in a chokehold so I had to. Hope you freaks enjoy and please leave feedback!
Big thank you to @ghoulphile @acapelladitty and many more for the inspiration!
18+ Only!!
Summary: It's not what you know, it's who you know. You're a bounty hunter with big dreams, wanting to climb your way to the top and be the best of the best. When the opportunity to bag the biggest bounty arises you drag an unwilling Cooper along for the ride.
Warnings for smut: Spitting, spanking, biting, mild degrading, sub/dom dynamic, begging, teasing, hair pulling, p in v, fingering, dirty talk.
Reputations are a funny thing. You could be on top one moment and down in the gutters the next. Unfortunately, even getting on the ladder at all was a challenge.
Being small in height, and slim built is far from threatening in the slightest and you knew it. Stealth and speed are your advantage, often taking enemies by surprise or using the environment as a shield. It's shame so few of your strengths were so effective against feral ghouls, or radiated beasts who could smell you from a mile off. You had to pick your battles wisely or the wasteland would swallow you whole.
When you weren't picking up small bounties or scrap you spent most of your time in your little shack in Filly. It was cosy enough, for a junkyard shack, holding just the essentials. Enough to eat, sleep and make chems for your drugged up customers. But you wanted more. A big ol mansion, or hall. Something that screamed "I'm powerful, don't fuck with me!"
Maybe one day. Maybe you'd bag a bounty big enough for that reputation, maybe you'd sell shit loads of chems to that cowboy ghoul and buy your way to the top. You scoffed at the thought, doubtful. He may be the most skilled bounty hunter in the region, but he wasn't that loaded. Truth be told you greatly admired the ghoul, his badass attitude paired with the cowboy style fascinated you. But you knew he underestimated you, just like the others and you were determined to change that.
A foul burning smell snapped you from your daydream.
"Shit!" you hissed while lowering the heat of the chem station, and frantically grabbing the glass tubes of suspicious liquids away from the flame.
You sighed deeply, another batch ruined. For days you had been cooped up like this, waiting for that damned ghoul to show up and collect his order. But you just knew the moment you take another bounty he'd show up. So you stayed, waiting patiently as the bounty board racked up new targets.
Deciding you'd had enough you pulled your dusty jacket over your shoulders and marched out the door to the bounty board. Just checking it wouldn't do any harm.
Your ragged boots kicked the dust as you marched up to the dilapidated bounty board. To your surprise it seemed quieter than usual, only a few odd small jobs and one hefty one which had been up for weeks. You first thought someone posted it as a joke, no way would anyone be crazy enough to take down the biggest raider settlement in the Wasteland. Even more unbelievable was the reward: 10,000 caps and an entire estate! The client must really despise raiders to give up so much, or the more likely theory-it's a scam.
"I sure hope a sweet little thing like you ain't thinkin bout that big bounty there" You spun round, already grinning at the sound of his voice finally
"where the hell have you been!?" you greeted him cheekily. He shot you that charming smile as he stood beside you, reminding himself of the absurd bounty. "Ain't no way that's real!" you exclaimed
He thought for a moment "Not a solo job but it's doable, that's why no one's taken it. Don't wanna share the reward" he explained, gloved fingers resting in his belt loops.
You thought to yourself for a moment "Sounds like the client just wants the raiders gone, why not just lure a few ferals or a deathclaw in and watch the fireworks? Or a mini nuke would wipe them out..." you trailed off strategizing the easiest way to commit mass murder.
"You're damn viscous, ya know that?" he almost sounded proud
"We could do it" you blurted out, he laughed
"Now that's the funniest shit I heard in a long time!"
"I'm serious, Coop! You're a skilled killer, I can make deadly explosives. We sneak in, plant the weapon, sneak out, watch the chaos unfold from afar!" Your ambition amused him, he sighed
"Gimme my chems and I'll think about it"
"Yes!" your eyes lit up, finally a chance to learn from the best.
"That ain't an agreement, sweetheart" he playfully clipped the back of your head with his gloved hand before turning towards your shack. You rubbed where his hand smacked, wincing at the sudden jerk he gave you.
"Well while you're thinking about it" you jogged up to him "I'll be picking up my mini nukes to wipe this raider settlement from the map"
He scoffs "And what happens if I say no to this little adventure of yours hm? You gonna take the big bad raiders on all by ya lonesome?"
"Oh you're not going to decline" you state matter of factly with a sly grin.
"And what makes you say that?" He asks with growing suspicion.
"Who else do you get your chems from, Cooper?" He halts in his path so you seize the opportunity to block him.
"That supply you're collecting is my last batch. It'll last a week." You lied. Of course you had more but he doesn't know that, and you never gave him a reason to not trust you. "You think you can get more by the time you turn feral?"
He scowled knowing he was trapped "vicious little thing" he murmured.
You loved the control over him and revelled in it as you started your journey together with spring in your step, while he grumpily marched beside you.
Days and nights passed with you trying to learn new skills from the ghoul. You were less subtle about it than you thought and he caught on quick, teasing you for your lack of skill with a gun, or how your small frame made it harder for you to carry heavier loads. It infuriated you which he found entertaining, He'd call you "Sweetheart" or "Darlin" to make it worse and he'd flash that charming smile when you got flustered.
Finally the settlement came into view. Considering it was raider territory it was incredibly well built. Realisation sets in that you may have underestimated the scale of this job, even with Cooper by your side, the sheer volume of the task was becoming apparent.
He saw your fright and chuckled, thinking he had won.
"I'm not going back" you stated defiantly before he had the chance to speak.
"Didn't think you would, darlin" he whispered. you shivered not realising how close he was. You thought he hadn't noticed, but he always noticed. At first he expected to be like your babysitter, but the more time he spent around you the more he realised how skilled and independent you really are. He'd grown closer to you in the few days you spent together. And more fond of having you as his companion than he'd care to admit.
The pair of you spent the day scouting the city, planning your move and finally preparing your chems and ammo.
"The fuck are you doing?" Cooper questioned, slightly bewildered as you began to remove your coat and leather armour.
"Can't hide with this shit on! I'm like a shadow, a silent assassin, ya know" You explained as you turned your back to him, throwing your dusty jacket to one side revealing a black skin tight catsuit underneath. It hugged your small frame perfectly, revealing the curves of your tits and ass. Cooper had took pleasure in making you flustered for days so you purposefully took your sweet time removing your pants. Catching a glimpse of his eyes as you threw your pants with the rest of your discarded clothing, you were shocked to find a positively feral gleam in his eye.
"See something you like?" you teased, he groaned in response turning away from you with a glare.
"You ought to think real hard before teasing a man like that, sweetheart" he threatened. You simply giggled in response, thrilled with the effect your body had on him.
You tossed your pile of discarded armour at him with a remark to keep them safe with your pack. He raised a brow in question.
"I only carry my chems, pistol and blades on a job"
His eyes widened
"Damn, Darlin you really are crazy"
You grinned slyly at him.
"Just good at what I do. Besides I have my big bad ghoul to protect me" as you said it you realised how flirty you sounded, he brought out a seductive side of you, and you adored the new found power it gave you.
"Plus I'm loaded with chems" you said as you took your first bout of Med X.
"Ata girl" he laughed watching you get your first hit.
Entering through an air vent you both quietly made your way through the small space, making sure to give your tight ass a little wiggle knowing Cooper was right behind you. You moved easily in the small space while Copper had a harder time being quiet. Eventually you came to the end of the vent where you both could see into the heart of the city.
To your surprise the raiders had created an entire civilisation, with power and water supplies and food.
"Look" Cooper came up behind you unexpectedly, sending shivers down your spine as his warm breath grazed your cheek. He gestured to what can only be described as a market. The centre of the city.
"That's where I plant the explosives" you exclaimed.
"There's still too many raiders around, and with all these lights I'll be caught before I even reach it" You spun round to face him, he was so close you were practically kissing.
"I'll cut the power, cause a scene and distract them all" His hushed voice snapped you back to reality.
You nodded in agreement "And we escape back through here, but if things go tits up just get out anyway we can."
"You got it sweetheart, now show me how good you are" he knew you better than you expected having only travelled together for a few days. Motivating your competitive side and need to prove yourself sparked a fire in you and he grinned at how fickle you were.
The plan was in motion, you stuck to as little shadows as you could and took your time careful not to be seen while Cooper, true to his word shot up the power cables and caused havoc below. The shadows gave you confidence and moved as quick as you could only taking a matter of minutes to reach the centre where you skilfully planted the explosive and set the timer to blow. Wasting no time you climbed and ran across the rooftops back to Cooper who actually seemed to be enjoying himself. Through the flashes of gunfire in the dark you made out the cowboy silhouette and watched from a far as he gunned down his enemies, it was incredible to witness, the precision and fluidity of every movement. You caught yourself swooning before diving in to help. Dancing around him in the darkness, the raiders around you dropped like flies but realisation sets in. You both got carried away and in a brief moment of silence as you felled the first wave of enemies, you looked at him in horror. The bomb was about to explode. He grabbed your wrist hard and you both ran for the vent.
Your heart raced from the adrenaline and the chems were beginning to wear off but you couldn't stop. Crawling back through the vent was a struggle and as the bomb erupted, violent quakes made the metal fall apart beneath you. You both rolled across the dust and used the momentum to scramble to your feet before desperately fleeing from the radiation spilling over the walls.
Once a safe distance was reached you fell to the ground, panting hard, a satisfied grin plastered shamelessly on your dirty face. You looked up at him to find him breathing heavily too, smirking at you, pride gleaming in his eyes.
He tossed your pack at you "Vicious thing" he drawled, slowly, teasingly.
You blushed turning away to hide your giddiness. As you began to raid your pack for water you caught a glimpse of a shadow beneath the cloud of radiation in the city. You both watched as it grew,
"What the...?" you trailed off unsure of what exactly was happening until Cooper enlightened you, voice full of alarm.
"It's a feral horde, we gotta move darlin, fast!"
You took a big gulp of water before scrambling to your feet and throwing your pack on your back. Coming down from your chem high made every movement hurt, your muscles ached and your lungs burned from running.
"Cooper...wait!" you gulped down as much hot air as you could between yelling.
"Ain't got time, darlin they'll be on you sooner than you think!" He marched on.
"No... I mean....we can't lead them back to Filly!"
He stopped in his tracks realising what you were saying.
"They've got...my scent...they'll follow...I can't"
"I know Sweetheart, I know." He seemed almost caring as he approached you, thinking rapidly for a plan to get you out alive. You couldn't run far in your state, and your body can only take so many more chems before they break you. With the first wave of ferals rapidly approaching Cooper dragged you to a nearby apartment block, barricading the way as much as you both could before climbing the stairs. The pair of you hurried into the nearest room with a door and barricaded that too. You collapsed into a tattered old armchair taking a moment to examine your surroundings. The exterior wall was almost completely gone, exposing you to the elements. Thankfully the room wasn't too high, a swift jump and you could reach the next rooftop. Cooper interrupted your thoughts of escape by draping his coat across your shoulders in an attempt to smell more ghoulish.
"You just smell too damn delicious" he sighed before checking the door for sounds of ferals.
"But where did they come from!?" You asked, desperately wondering where your plan went so horribly wrong. "Radiation from a mini nuke don't work that fast"
Cooper shook his head in response as he approached you "They must've been underground or somethin"
He tensed up suddenly, putting a gloved finger to your lips to hush you. Despite the danger you faced the temptation to take his finger into your mouth with your tongue was strong. You controlled yourself but a light dusting of pink crossed your cheeks as your mind delved to filthier thoughts. Pulling you out of your imagination, he gestured for you to stand and come closer to him. His back against the wall as he listened, he pulled you close to his body and wrapped you in his arms, covering you with his scent as much as he could. But the ferals still lingered. You could feel your heart beat quicken being this close you him, you looked up at him a foul thought crossed your mind but it could work, and with no other option you demanded in a hushed whisper.
"Spit on me"
Taken off guard Cooper smiles that slanted grin that makes you tingle.
"You don't know what your askin for, darlin" he whispers.
"I do!" You clench your fists into his shirt pulling you closer to him "Cooper spit on me...please?" You sounded so desperate, the worst part was you wanted it even without the ferals chasing you. You wanted to be controlled by him and hearing your own desperate begging turned you on even more.
The ferals creeping behind the door grew restless, clicking louder and more frequently than before.
Cooper curses under his breath before leading you to the crumbling wall opposite the door. He thrusts you against it arms on either side of your head preventing your escape, not that you wanted to.
"Watch my back, Darlin..." he whispers as he brought a gloved hand towards your face, his thumb pulled your chin down to part your lips.
"...And open wide"
He smiled as you obeyed, blushing at the shameful act and how much your pussy throbbed from it. He hovered above you slowly, painfully letting his warm saliva drip from his chapped lips and into your open mouth. His fluid mixed with your own as you swallowed with ease.
"good girl" his voice was a hushed whisper and that comment alone made your knees weak. How you craved being tormented by him.
You're so flustered and distracted by his taste you didn't notice the silence that came over you until he mentioned it.
"Think your filthy little plan worked" he mused, pulling away noticing your pained expression as you lost his touch and the warmth of his body. The cool air snapped you back to reality, regaining control of yourself you glared at him, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. You yanked his coat from your shoulders and tossed it back at him in defiance. He chuckled at your attempt to regain control, both knowing you were completely at his mercy.
"Now lets see if we can't collect that reward" he said, making his way to the nearby rooftop.
Finally just as the sun was rising you're given a moment to revel in your achievements. He caught the gleam in your eye as you followed him.
"Gotta admit, you're a hell of a hunter, darlin!" He stated, you smiled with confidence.
"I aint just a pretty face ya know?"
"Yeah..." he eyed you greedily from behind "you're a vicious little freak"
His crude comment made you stumble slightly and he laughed. You blushed, embarrassed at yourself for getting flustered so easily around him. No one had ever made you so excited before, or made you feel so attractive. There was an undeniable spark between you, and Coopers relentless teasing amplified it. But you were just as bad, using your body to make him fantasise over you. Cooper couldn't help himself, it had been so long since he had his way with such a submissive little freak.
You were on the move all day, having not slept for over 24 hours now, exhaustion was setting in and the radiation from Coopers saliva was starting to make you feel nauseous. Cooper noticed you were growing paler with every step and dragging your feet. He sighed, rolling his eyes before kneeling down presenting you with his back.
"Get on" he ordered,
You were puzzled, raising a suspicious brow you responded "I can manage"
"I won't tell you again. Get. On." he was stern, and as usual you obeyed, that little spark igniting in your belly at his harsh tone. Part of you wondered what he would do if you defied him. But you knew your limits. A punishment from the big bad ghoul should not be taken lightly, no matter what dirty fantasies your imagination dreamed up.
"Ata girl. Not much further now and we can get some rest"
"Mhm..."You nodded lazily, the full force of exhaustion hitting you as you melted into the warmth of his back. "Thank you, Cooper" you whispered through dry, cracked lips as your eyelids began to feel heavy.
"Don't want you dyin on me yet, little hunter" You smiled weakly holding him tighter, feeling safe and protected.
When you woke it was dark save for a small flame burning out on an old cooking station. Your eyes, still feeling heavy blinked slowly a few times gazing into the embers of the fire pit. You were wrapped in something heavy and warm. Snuggling into it more it smelled of gunpowder and leather. Cooper's coat. He had laid you down on the porch bench of an almost entirely destroyed farm house while he sat on the steps coaxing the fire until you stirred.
"You awake?" he asked in a low voice.
"Mmmm" you groaned in response letting him know you were but you didn't want to be.
He chuckled before rising from his spot on the stairs, just as you were drifting back into a pleasant slumber he dragged his coat from you, taking you with it. Rolling to the floor to gave a slight squeak in fright at the sudden aggressive movement.
"If I'd known you'd squeal for me I'd have done that hours ago" he remarked with a flirtatious grin.
He tossed his coat back over his broad shoulders and sat legs spread on the bench you were sleeping peacefully on. You took your place on the step beside the fire in a huff and took the moment to raid your pack for radaway and food.
"Thought you were being a gentleman for a moment" you pouted.
"Oohh, my little hunter got her claws out huh?" he mused, you simply glared in response, munching grumpily
"I ain't yours!" you snapped under your breath but still loud enough for him to hear. You were testing your luck now, seeing how far you could go before he lost his patience with you; before he stopped calling you his sweetheart and started calling you his brat.
"That so?" he asked, rising from his spot on the bench and sauntering over to you "Weren't saying that when you were begging for my spit in your mouth, were you... Darlin?" he hissed the pet name in your ear giving you goosebumps. You considered quitting while you were ahead but you kept in control, turning to face him.
"I don't beg" your voice sounded firm but your body betrayed you as your cheeks began to heat up and your breathing quickened. Your lust filled eyes meet one another. It's intense but you don't look away, you won't relinquish control just yet.
He raised a brow, not convinced in the slightest "good girls don't lie..." he stroked his gloved fingers along the length of your jaw and reached down your neck to the zipper at the top of your dusty black suit. "So...are you a good girl? or a bad girl?"
He pulled the zipper down slowly revealing the smooth skin of your chest. Sweat dripping down your cleavage . You gulped, your breathing became shaky. You struggled to think, to find any words at all. "Oh sweetheart..." he spoke softly, exaggerated pity in his tone "is the big bad ghoul breaking you already?"
"...You know exactly what you're doing to me" it came out as a soft moan and the hunger in his eyes was too much for you to bare. You clenched your thighs together desperate for some friction, for some contact.
He chuckled as you lowered your gaze, his other hand reached up to your messy hair. He gripped it firmly, forcing you to present your neck to him, "consider this revenge for teasing me all day with that irresistible body of yours" he growled harshly in your ear.
"I... I never...meant..." he grips your hair harder forcing a pleasured gasp to escape your lips.
"good girls don't lie" he reminded you, almost thrilled at the idea of getting to punish you.
"C-coop, I'm sorry" you ended up right where he wanted you, begging and squirming in his grip and it only took mere moments.
His hand which pulled down your zipper grazed your thigh "now I don't know if I believe you, sweetheart after all the lyin" his hand pulled your thighs apart, the loss of friction made you whimper
"n-no, Cooper please!" you surprised yourself how easy you gave in. But you were growing desperate, all the tension built throughout the day was overflowing. You needed him, craved him, wanted to be used by him.
"Oh? I thought you didn't beg"
"Coopeeerrr!" you whined, he knew what you wanted he just wanted to hear you say it.
"Beg for me, like you did back there" his hot breath grazed your neck, one hand still gripped your hair while the other explored your body over the suit. Purposefully avoiding your hardening nipples and throbbing pussy.
"I need you..." you gasped, writhing under him, trying to get his wandering hand to touch your sensitive areas "...please, Cooper! fuck me!"
That satisfied him enough to reward you. Without hesitation he attacked your neck with his mouth, licking and biting, marking you like you were his prey. You let out a soft moan at his sudden aggression, he was holding back for so long he couldn't stop himself from devouring you any longer. His wandering hand finally found your hardened nipples. You arched your back into his hand as he played with them, squeezing, pinching circling them with his gloved fingers.
"M-more" you moaned, you felt his lips curl into a smile as he abused your neck.
"What's the magic word?" he pulled away awaiting your response, seeing how much of a mess you were already made him hungry for more.
"... Please?"
He lunged at you, his dry calloused lips collided with yours. He was rough, biting your bottom lip, barely allowing you a chance to catch your breath as he pushed you down on the rough wooden steps. His hands moved to free your upper body from the constraints of your suit while yours shakily pushed the leather coat from his shoulders.
Finally allowing you a moment to breath he sat up to admire his work. You were red in the face, dripping in sweat, your lips and neck littered with bruises and bite marks, your eyes clouded with pleasure.
"Fuck, Darlin you're like a bitch in heat"
"... I'm your bitch" you moaned shamelessly, he grinned at your obedience, tracing your lips with a gloved finger. You licked the length of his index finger before catching the tip between your teeth and slowly dragging the leather from his scarred flesh.
"That's my good little hunter"
You wrapped your legs around him signalling your need for more, for him to fill your aching cunt. You grinded your hips against the bulge in his pants as he leaned in to abuse your bare breasts with his teeth. His glove free hand reached into your panties earning satisfied moan from you as he circled your soaked clit with calloused fingers.
"Already soaked for me, filthy little thing"
You gripped his shoulders, bucking your hips into his hand. He watched your face contort with pleasure, closing your eyes tight feeing humiliated knowing he was watching every twitch of pleasure run through you.
"Cooper... Please... Spit on me"
"Such a little freak" his voice was husky and low, his fingers circling your clit moved to slick folds of your pussy, his gloved hand pulled your chin down to open your mouth. Warm saliva dripped down your waiting tongue, you swallowed, moaning at the taste of him. Your grip on his shoulders tightened as his finger slipped into your waiting pussy, you clenched around him, releasing a long moan. With every pump of his finger you bucked your hips, his pace quickened and the ache deep in your cunt grew. It didn't take long for him to slide a second finger in, stretching your walls, earning harsh gasps from you and aggressive thrusts of your hips. Your body shivered as you were beginning to unravel beneath him.
"look at me" he demanded. You bit your lip, eyes screwed shut too embarrassed for him to see you this way.
"C'mon, baby be a good girl, let me look you in the eye as I make you cum." His voice so alluring, so intoxicating, you couldn't help but obey even through all the humiliation.
You opened your eyes to meet his lustful gaze burning through you, he watched you like a starved beast. His fingers curled inside you finding that one spot that made you see stars, you arched your back at the sudden burst of pleasure that soured through you.
"Fuck, Cooper don't stop!" you begged. You were so close, your moans grew louder with every thrust of his hand. He watched you getting closer and closer to your climax, every sound you made, the way you looked at him, desperation all over your face, he could watch you like this all day.
You cursed as your felt your climax come over you, your body twitched uncontrollably and you thrust your hips into his hand wanting to ride out the last waves of pleasure. But he wouldn't let you. You whined as he pulled his fingers from your tight pussy.
"Oh, Sweetheart, I'm nowhere near done with you yet." he was desperate to feel you, to be inside you. He unbuckled his belt while you frantically peeled the rest of your suit from your legs. His cock sprang free from his pants and you gazed wide eyed at the size of him. He laughed at your reaction. Like the rest of him his cock was rough, scarred and he was big. Bigger than you expected.
He chuckled at your reaction, "Dont worry, Darlin I'll try not to break you"
You took him in your hand and he inhaled sharply, surprised at your sudden touch. You slid you fingers across the length of his shaft, feeling every groove as you guided him to your dripping hole.
"I want you to break me" you moaned as he slid inside.
"Fuck, you're gonna regret saying that" he growled before pulling his length out and slamming back into you, your tight hole stretched to fit all of him and he was relentless. Just what you asked for.
Overwhelming pleasure coursed through you body as he pounded into you. You threw your head back in ecstasy, moaning incoherent sentences, wanting him to know how cock drunk you were. He gripped the back of your head pulling your face close to his before spitting in your open mouth once more. Your tongue rolled from between you plump lips inviting him for more. Instead he brought his thumb to your tongue and you took it into your mouth tracing circles around it with your tongue. The sight of you behaving so dirty with no shame drove him crazy, his cock twitched inside you and you clenched around him feeling your next orgasm approach. He felt your cunt quiver around him so he grabbed your waist tightly, fingernails digging into your flesh as he fucked you deeper. The new depth he reached made your body convulse beneath him. Your toes curled as he mercilessly pounded that same sensitive spot over and over.
"P-Please Cooper..." you begged "make me cum all over your fat cock."
He cursed at your lewdness, loving the obscenity that poured from your mouth.
"fuck, you're such a dirty little bitch" he removed one hand from your waist to toy with one of your breasts, spanking them as they bounced while he fucked your sweet cunt.
The sudden pain from his rough treatment of your breasts was enough to send you over the edge, you screamed his name, fingers grasping and whatever they could find. Your cum soaked his cock and he was mercilessly riding you out of your orgasm.
"You like it rough, my little slut?" He shamed you, and you loved it. You nodded, moaning uncontrollably, unable to form words, your mind was foggy, your entire body clenching, clinging to him. He pulled out suddenly making you whimper at how empty you felt without him. But it didn't last long, he grinned with a wild look in his eye and flipped you so he could fuck you from behind.
Grabbing a fist full of your knotted hair, he pulled your head back hard while simultaneously thrusting his cock back into your pulsing depths. You let out a primal moan at the perfect mix of pain and pleasure, spreading your cum soaked thighs wider for him. You allowed him to pound the depths of your hole and your body shook as he thrust his length in fast and hard, dominating you.
"Tell me, who you belong to?" He demanded. He knew you could barely speak but he wanted to hear you say it.
"Ah...y-you" You managed to moan between hard thrusts. It wasn't enough for him, he brought his other hand from your hip and smacked your ass hard. You felt another orgasm coming and your pulsing walls felt his cock twitch letting you know he was close too.
"Say it!" he ordered, pulling your hair harder.
"Aha...f-fuck, Coop... I-I'm yours!" He spanked you again. The stinging pain rippled through your body and your vision went blurry. The desperate need to cum again made you thrust your ass back to meet his hard strokes.
"I-I'm your filthy little slut, Cooper!" You screamed as his thrusts became more sporadic. His nails dug into your hip as he fucked himself hard in your hole. He pulled your head up by your hair, bringing his lips to your ear.
"good girl" he hissed. Waves of pleasure shook your body as he made you cum again. Soaking his cock once more, your swollen pussy quivered around him. He let out a feral growl as you squeezed him. His name spilled from your lips and he jerked your head to the side to allow access to your neck. His teeth sunk into your soft flesh, he was rough as he claimed you. Holding his cock deep inside your tight cunt, he spilled his milky fluid inside, releasing a low groan into your neck as he came.
Slowly he slid himself in and out few more times, riding out his high, making sure to fill you up with all of his cum. Then he gently released you from his grip and you slumped against the porch step with a final moan, unable to keep yourself up. He slid himself from your sore cunt and you winced, spinning on your back to face him. He gazed over your shaking form, drenched in sweat and cum, bruises and bitemarks covered your neck and tits, your eyes glazed over panting heavily. He broke you, just like you asked.
"You wear my bite marks well, Darlin" he said proudly, gently tracing his fingers over the marks on your neck.
Your lips curled into a mischievous smile "You'll make those ferals jealous." you said weakly.
He laughed, "Oh Darlin, I ain't gonna let a creature on this planet get a taste of you" He grabbed your discarded undies and began cleaning you up with them. He was careful, delicate even, the complete opposite to how he just handled you. He caught your surprised expression.
"Gotta make sure my good little slut is looked after" he smirked, your jaw dropped remembering the filth that poured from your mouth as he fucked you. You were mortified, covering your face with your hands too ashamed to look at him.
He chuckled at your reaction, dragging his coat to cover you from the chill of the wasteland before tucking his dick back in his pants.
You finally found the strength to sit up on the steps and he sat beside you watching as the sun peeked out from over the horizon.
"Can you stand? I ain't carryin you again" his softness faded and he was back to his harsh and playful ways.
"I can walk myself, thank you very much!" You huffed.
He raised a brow "Oh? You ain't broken enough then, sweetheart"
You smirked "Guess you'll have to try again when we get our estate"
"Such a tease" he groaned "I'll be punishin you later, slut" his tone was dark as he threatened you, pulling you by the chin to meet his gaze. You knew he was only testing you the first time, seeing how much you could take. But next time he'd make you cry. Next time he'd make sure you can't walk for days.
#the ghoul smut#smut#cooper howard smut#cooper howard x reader#cooper howard x you#cooper howard x female reader#the ghoul x reader#fallout#the ghoul#fallout series#fallout show#fallout tv series#fallout amazon#fallout tv show#fallout 4#fallout new vegas#lemon#cooper howard#spicy content#spicy fic#spicy fantasy#fanfic#f3tish#sub/dom#degrading k1nk#hard k1nk#rough k1nk#k1nk blog#spank my pussy#spank my ass
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the price for misbehaving (ii)
post rut Alastor x gn!reader
WARNINGS; the aftermath of a very horny fic, mentions of deer mating season, friends to lovers, deer/doe!demon!reader, reader with self worth doubts, a sprinkle of angst, curly-haired!Alastor, undertones of Alastor being a momma's boy, mentions of his past, making out, fluff (literally), plot
Dividers by; @saradika-graphics & @cafekitsune
Please do not repost or directly copy my work and don't use it on AI platforms either.❤️
From a smutty oneshot to a multi chap fic. Nothing can compare to the chunkiness of the 1st chapter, but I'm satisfied with this one as well. Enjoy you lovely beings and thanks for being patient with me!!! The art above is by @kalico-of-doom.
~masterpost~
The only time Alastor isn't smiling is when he's sleeping you have come to realize. You can't help but notice how tired he looks as you lay motionless beside him. You start petting his ears and he groans softly, nuzzling deeper into your touch without even bothering to open his eyes. A small smile forms on his mouth, a real one. Is this really the same man that has been fucking you until your legs stop working?
In the morning you wake up in his bed, a daily occurrence at this point. However, you weren't expecting him to be staring deeply into your contemned soul.
"A- Al?"
Your voice is hoarse from sleep. You scratch your deer ears, flop on your back and stretch. Alastor keeps staring, studying you and every micro expression you make.
You can feel fear creeping into your gut. Is this the end? Is the rutting season gone? Does he want to kill you and eat you now? Will he kick you out? One thing is certain.
He doesn't need you anymore.
After all, you were just a friend helping him go through a difficult time. Nothing more. Still, you would be lying to yourself if you said that you haven't caught any feelings. From his forceful claiming that hid a great deal of desperation to his tender claiming last night, Alastor has left more than just his mark on you. One could say that he owns you in the most primal and raw of ways, but if he chooses to deny that... that's all it takes really, then you were nothing but a fucktoy.
"Um... I- I'm gonna take a shower"
Is that you doing the walk of shame? Alastor is a gentleman, why isn't he saying anything?! Not a single thing that could make you feel less terrible about the whole situation!
Now that his hormones have died down and you are far from aroused as well, getting out of bed and standing completely naked in front of him... It makes you feel exposed, vulnerable, small and inferior to him.
This new emotion, the deep embarrassment that has your face feeling hot and your stomach to churn with anxiety makes you dress up and leave "your friend's" room in the speed of light.
You lock yourself in your much smaller room, preparing a bubble bath for your spent and tired body. You smile to yourself a little, remembering how Charlie had made sure you'd have your own bathtub so that you can read your books while soaking in the warm water.
Sinking in the water, having it envelope you, cleanse your energy and take his scent off of you feels nice. You let your eyes droop until they close lazily, you allow your shoulders to relax, your jaw to unclench. A long and audible sigh. Your hands around your frame.
You start crying.
If another deer demon resided in the hotel, he might as well had spent his breeding season with them. You weren't special. The mere thought of such a thing is killing you. You were just another victim of the radio demon's manipulation.
Still, it's your fault as well. For believing this was more than what it appeared to be? Maybe. You are getting more and more confused by the minute.
But oh the way he had been repeating your name like a prayer... It must mean something to him, you being there for him that is. You didn't even judge the way he had spilled tears of sexual frustration when handjobs weren't enough to relieve the ache in his loins.
Who else has seen Alastor Hartfelt of pride under this light? No one. You are the only exception. He wouldn't have allowed you to get so close to him if he didn't trust you.
As your thoughts keep overlapping and fighting with each other and you continue to cry softly, you peak up the all too familiar sound of static.
Another unfair thing! He can melt into shadow and go anywhere he pleases... The sound intensifies as he approaches... you? Is he really thinking of invading your space like that? You can't even cry and be miserable at peace! Not like you're in Hell.
"Bonjou! Konmen s'apé kouri? Huh?"
Not only are you not in the mood to ask him to translate what he just said, but Alastor literally spawned in your bathroom and he's now acting like this is okay to do. The way he's readjusting his lapels and smiles smugly like he wasn't a grunting mess last night infuriates you even further.
"Can you please get the fuck out of here?"
"Mh?" he just stands there in his usual apathy. He's even holding his cane.
"Can you at least stop smiling for a second?"
"Oh ho! I'm afraid I can't do that my dear!"
"But you can definitely get your ass out of my room! I-" The sound of your voice carries to your ears like a child whining. There's a lump in your throat that you're beginning to fear you won't be able to keep down for much longer. If your face and hair weren't already wet from the bath, then it would be crystal clear that you were weeping like an idiot before he suit himself in.
Alastor is quick to gauge your body language. You're hugging your knees, shielding your naked body from him. Sometimes you swear he can tell your emotional state by sniffing the air around you. It's like your scent is enough for him to piece together the puzzle you are. The radio demon scranches his nose.
"What's there to be so sad over y/n? Today is a beautiful day!"
Is he playing stupid?! Because if he's doing this on purpose... Well, there's not much you can do now that he doesn't need you anymore.
Your lower lip trembles at this terrible thought and the lump in your throat escapes your notice, resulting in a broken and weak sob to come out of you.
Tilting his head to the side way more than necessary and squinting his eyes, Alastor asks "Are you pregnant?"
You freeze and widen your eyes. "I- Is that even... even fuckin' possible in the afterlife?"
The fucker chuckles!
"Oh I don't think so, at least not for lowly demons such as yourself!" The worst part is that he wasn't trying to insult you by saying that, but rather calm you down.
"Go to Hell."
"Ironic."
You can't help it now. You break down in tears. Your chest feels tight as the sobs ripple through your body and make your frame retreat to itself. In addition to your general misery, the water has gone cold, causing you to shiver.
The overlord places his cane against the tiles of the wall and crouches down so he is eye-level with you. He won't let it show just yet, but Alastor is very worried. There's a guilt eating him from the inside.
While he was in heat, in breeding mode, or whatever you wanna call it, he wasn't fully aware of his actions. Alastor's mind was blurred from the desire to mate and basically reproduce. Now that he's back to his senses, he has come to the unpleasant realisation that he might have caused you harm in the process of letting out his passion.
And this simply won't do! This deer demon has done cruel and vile things that he doesn't particularly feel bad about, but hurting you... He would never be able to forgive himself.
You were there for him and showed him a great deal of love and understanding.
So, that's the reason you left so hurriedly from his quarters... He hurt you. He hurt you. He hurt you. He hurt you. He hurt you. He hurt you. He hurt you. He hurt you. He hurt you. He hurt you. HE DID IT TO YOU.
Alastor's permanent grin fades just slightly. It is replaced by concern, evident in the way he looks at your trembling body in the water. He reaches out to gently touch your skin, checking for any signs of pain or discomfort. Your friend's voice softens, it's now filled with genuine worry and regret.
"I'm so sorry darling... I didn't know I caused you... pain."
It's true that you have many bruises and hickeys decorating various places on your body, but that's not the reason behind your breakdown.
"I- It's not th-" you just look down. You can't even explain yourself.
The radio demon's worry deepens after your vague response and he quickly takes action to be by your side, pulling you out of the bathtub and into a tight hug. Alastor whispers reassurances in your ear, his voice filled with remorse.
"I'm so sorry... We should have stopped when it got too much."
No one has heard Alastor apologize before, not even God, for all that's worth.
His expression softens even further as he sees your tears that just keep coming. He carefully brushes them away, worry etched into every line of his handsome face.
"I didn't mean to make you cry. You must know that."
"I'm not in pain... Just sad."
You do look rather devastated.
Alastor is almost frozen in place from all the guilt since he can now see the bruises forming on your skin. The water camouflaged them, but now they are exposed for him to observe and take in.
He swallows hard, his voice shaking with emotion like never before. "Y/n... I didn't mean to do that. I didn't. None of it."
"None of it?"
Your voice is muffled due to how you have hid your face in his chest. At least he's warm.
"My intention wasn't to cause you injury or physical pain."
You look up at him, finally making eye contact. He's looking at you as well, eyes shining with regret, guilt and what appears to be shame.
What really surprises you though, is the pleading tone of his voice. It's one thing to be vulnerable because he's hungry for sexual contact and another because he genuinely cares for you.
"Can you ever forgive me for this? I promise, it was never my true intention. I just... I got carried away. And now... It's not an excuse..."
"You really meant none of it to happen between us?"
"Now now little deer! Someone's getting ahead of themselves! That's not what I implied at all."
You sigh and settle in his lap.
"Oh mon cher, did you really think I regret our... stimulating times?"
Alastor's long arms press you against him, his clothes absorbing the water on your still bare skin. He then peaks you up bridal style and carries you to your bed. It's not king sized like his but he doesn't seem to care for such detail right now.
"Now let me see you."
"I said I'm fine!"
"The artist will be the evaluator of his work."
"No Al! Artists get critics to evaluate their work."
"Hmmm, did you say something dear? Cause I didn't hear you!"
It's a common tactic of his to hide his real feelings by being chatty and pleasant. You of course know that, but in your current state it's very validating to have him take care of you.
So he did care. And he still does after having stopped necessarily needing you.
Alastor isn't joking around. He's searching your body, subconsciously writing down every scratch, every bruise and hickey, every bite mark.
Ears alert on top of his head, eyes wide open. He can even make out the shape of his fingertips on your hips... He turns you on your stomach only to discover his whole palms are imprinted on your buttocks. Meanwhile, you just allow him to inspect your body for as long as he wishes. All the crying has left you drained but also tranquil and calm.
"I'm fine Al. Really."
"Shhh, I'm not done evaluating the damage."
"It's just a bite or two."
"I drew so much blood..."
"Yes and?"
He just keeps observing, keeps rolling you this way and that. The scratches and the bruises are the most triggering to him. They remind Alastor of unhappy memories, in the days when he still hadn't taken good care of his father. As long as he hasn't permanently marked you it should be fine.
"I'll ask Niffty for some ice."
"N- no... Can we just... sit here? Like... cuddle?"
"You were my solace."
"What-"
He gently presses a finger on your lips to shush you.
"Thank you."
"You don't have to say that. It's not like I helped you with a flat tire or something."
"I don't do cuddling."
"Nor touching for that matter. But... It's not that bad, huh? Just let me put something on first."
You stand up and go to your closet to pick something to put on. Your hair is still wet and your legs still feel sore from all of your intense moments, but it was a relief to know he still wants you in his life after the rut has ended.
Alastor's behaviour makes you wonder. He's contradictory. From fucking your throat in his radio station, to bending you over various objects in the hotel, taking you in missionary, against walls, windows and doors, he still seems pretty reluctant to give himself to intimacy. Unlike those times, his mind is now clear, no overwhelming heat involved. Intimacy -to him- equals vulnerability and vulnerability equals pain. The inevitable way in which things had worked out in his life.
"But we did sleep together until yesterday."
The radio demon cannot deny you. He's already sat at the edge of your bed, taking off his coat, shoes and anything else that could make the experience any less enjoyable.
"I wish I could say you'll take this to your grave."
You grin brightly and chuckle at his silly, little remark. Your confidence has been restored to an extent after he made it clear that he does concern himself with your wellbeing.
"But why do you not like being touched? Physical contact is a form of affection."
"Or a form of punishment, of intimidation, domination and... many other vile things my dear..." His voice is too low for your liking as he says that. You don't know what burdens Alastor's shoulders, but it can't be good. And I'm not even referring to his own cruelty and the pain he has inflicted on others. Maybe his opinion of physical contact is connected to the endless scars on his body.
"Oh well whatevs Al. I just want my cuddles."
The way his ears are pulled back and he looks at you almost like he's a shy and innocent boy makes your heart bit faster. At least there's no velvet rubbing off his antlers this time.
Alastor is extremely gentle and cautious in the way he handles you now. He lays down on his back and you use his chest as a pillow. It's a cozy place. His chest. He has some fluff there, just like Angel Dust, but unlike the former he hides it under layers of clothing and keeps it unstyled. Still, it's undoubtedly soft and fuzzy and you like to sink your hand in it or swirl the soft hairs around your fingertips. The radio demon isn't complaining as one might expect, it's soothing to have someone touch his body in a non-hostile manner. It's refreshing to have someone appreciate his body as it is.
Would you also appreciate it if you saw him as he once was?
His father hadn't. He could handle the child of a mixed marriage, but Alastor wasn't just mixed, but also looked the part and according to the racist beliefs of his father in the 1900's that was a bad thing.
As you're nuzzling against his long and elegant neck, your friend's mind wanders. You lived during the 90's. What would it have been like if he had also lived during that period? Everything would have been different. The town he grew up in, his relationship with his parents, his career as a radio host and a serial killer.
"Did you know that my hair is naturally curly?"
Your ears perk up at that and Alastor gently takes hold of them and pulls at them from the root, just slightly.
"That feels nice..."
"Oh I know."
"What were you saying?"
"Oh yes, my hair's curly! Since I was nothing but a tiny, adorable baby boy! ...my mother... she..." His hand lets go of your ears and you can feel the rise and fall of his chest as he takes a deep breath and lets it out in a long sigh.
There's a melancholy about him now and you feel the need to comfort him. He's opening up to you by being genuine and vulnerable. Alastor is sharing a part of who he used to be and the least you can do is listen. You resume your activities on his fluff, almost massaging the area. He seems to like it, for a moment closing his eyes and letting a sound like purring.
"Can you keep this up?"
"Sure Al."
"Merci. What was I saying...? Oh yes of course! Mama and my curly mop."
The radio effect of his voice and his arms around you make you feel like you're a kid being told a bedtime story. It's a good thing the other residents have gotten used to you and Alastor disappearing together for long periods of time. His soft chest fluff under the pads of your fingers only intensifies the feeling of being told a story while tucked in bed, warm and safe from the outside world.
"It's truly amazing how much power is given to hair in certain cultures. In my culture, dear y/n, hair texture served as an indicator of social status. My family -a wedding between a white man and a creole woman of colour... oh ho dear! It was something else back then...-
As a kid, I was always the one teased for having “weird hair”, as if it didn’t match my other facial features. When school began, my sweet mama, she... she would put my hair in locs to protect the curls. Apparently they didn't like that at school! So my father... he radio static intensifies he made my mother shave it. He claimed that if my mother and I wore our hair differently then no one would take us seriously."
You take a moment to digest this new piece information. It's true that locs enclose the natural hair and help it stay intact. It's also true that Alastor grew up in a time when it was very difficult to be of a cultural background which was different to the majority's. You choose to not comment on anything, that's not your job.
You swirl some more of his fluff around your fingertips before moving your hand to his hair.
"Well, it's not curly in the afterlife."
You feel the vibration of his chuckle through your check that is resting on his chest.
"But it is!"
Alastor lets out a satisfied sound as he presses you even tighter against him and begins rumbling about his hair care routine. He uses anti frizz oils, heat protection oils and then blow dries it. Truth is, that's just the steps you managed to actually register in your brain, because a sleepiness started overtaking you as you stayed laying in his embrace.
You're now fading between consciousness and unconsciousness. It almost feels like you're floating. Is this what Heaven is like?
Maybe it is. Maybe it is not. But you did manage to find your little oasis in Hell. And so did he.
Alastor looks down at your much smaller frame curled up against him. Your breath has slowed down and your eyes are closing. Why does it feel so warm and soft to have you close to him like this? He knows he shouldn't be letting his guard down, but he can't help it when it comes to you. The radio demon is enamoured with you.
Wanting to make the experience even cozier and dreamier for his favourite sinner, Alastor starts singing quietly. His sense of rhythm is immaculate and his jazzy tunes make you fall sound asleep in no time whatsoever.
When you wake up an hour or so later, he still hasn't moved, but he acknowledges that you're awake with a small hum.
"Oh wakey wakey my darling y/n!" had been his usual response to you waking up while he was in the rut. However, right now he appears to be much more unguarded and raw than his usual persona. You haven't even completely woken up and you're already wondering about this new side of him.
"Al? Is everything okay?"
"Oh why yes it is, but there's this thought occupying my brilliant mind..."
"Care to share it with my not so brilliant one?"
You expected him to laugh or even chuckle but Alastor goes straight to the point. "All this... making love and we still haven't kissed. Not really."
Kissing him would mean that you actually view him romantically and that whatever "friends with benefits" situation you had going on will get destroyed. That's not a bad thing though. Despite your initial fears of your fellow deer demon being too emotionally unavailable and only needing you to calm down the torment of his lust, a kiss wouldn't hurt. Kisses are good.
"We can change that y'know."
You make the first step by leaning towards him, basically giving him the green light that you're consenting to this. Alastor notices it and loses no time, pressing his lips against yours while wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close into another embrace. He smiles widely as you kiss, his head tilting slightly as he runs his fingers through your hair. After a few seconds pass, he pulls his head back, slowly breaking the kiss as he looks into your eyes with a broad smile on his face.
"Aren't you delightful?!" and he dives back in.
Alastor's second kiss with you is firm and passionate, but not overly aggressive. His lips are very warm and he seems to enjoy the intimacy of taking his time to explore your mouth. As the kiss progresses, he gradually increases the pressure of his lips on yours. His arms wrap around your waist and his tongue slowly wanders further into the welcoming heat of your mouth.
Once again -just like when it came to sex- you have come to the conclusion that Alastor isn't that experienced, but some raw power, an instinct if you will, provides him with the ability to do all the right moves at the right time.
And then you just break character. You burst into laughter. His large and pointed ears twitch at that change of pace.
"When I thought I was doing a good job-"
"Oh no, that's not it at all. I'm just happy." You're giddy and so he is.
Maybe not needing you but actually wanting you isn't the worst case scenario.
To be continued.
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OH MY SEVEN! PLEASE I NEED A PART 2 OF MC GETTING BOUGHT BY NBC (or maybe they get bought by rsa? By like Chenya or Neige?)
part two of the NBC ending is here! very intrigued by the idea of an RSA ending, especially since our knowledge is limited. I also kin snow white so maybe I have a little soft spot for neige.
bonus: I had to stop writing this to save another animal that got inside. second time this week.
parts 1 | 2 | 3 | kalim | 'bad' ending
summary: yuu transfers to RSA
type of post: short fic
characters: neige, chenya
additional info: yuu is gender neutral, pretty platonic
This entire ordeal had been nothing if not shady.
From the purpose, to the "donations", to the absence of the prefect themselves...
...And now, the grand announcement- that of which Crowley had been hyping up for days- was cancelled.
"I don't get it," Epel murmurs, walking on a sideways footpath back to the hall of mirrors. "You really think he just took all the money and ran?"
Vil huffs, the disappointment heavy in his voice. "Well, it certainly seems that way. No one's seen him all day,"
Despite the sour mood over the trio of Pomefiore students, the day is bright and sunny. Birds sang, the sun shone, even the wind carried a suspiciously merry tune with it.
"We should not give up hope so soon. Anything could happen," Rook ponders. "Who knows? The day is not over yet."
"I'm starting to wish it was," Vil says. "It's far too jovial for such an underwhelming afternoon. And the whole purpose of this walk was to clear our minds... hmph."
Epel squints ahead, taking in the way beams of sunlight seem to shine through the foliage, casting rays of gold over the usually darker campus.
"Y'know, I betcha- I-I mean, I think you might be onto something. It is unusually cheery today, isn't it?"
Vil huffs. "Wonderful. Nature itself mocks me,"
"Non, it's not the climate which has changed... it's more of a presence. Monsieur Pommette is correct," Rook says. "Something has shifted here."
Vil rolls his eyes, not exactly in the mood to be playing word games with Rook again. He shoots a glare to Epel, warning the boy not to encourage him, and a silence falls over the three.
Though... he still cannot deny that something feels aloof. Something that isn't sitting right with him...
He sighs. "Perhaps we should check on the prefect. Just in case,"
And so the three stop in their tracks and awkwardly, though hurriedly, walk to Ramshackle.
Nothing is quite amiss about the building itself, though, still, there's something hazy and dreamlike about it. A warm, golden glow that turns the rough and brittle exterior into a quaint and charming home, full of light.
"I don't like this," Epel murmurs. Vil does not respond, but he understands. He's having similar thoughts.
Just as they're about to enter, someone tall and dark steps outside.
"Crowley!" all three snap, in varying tones of voice.
The man goes stiff and, for a moment, looks as if he's about to make a run for it- though he thankfully holds his ground. "Ah- good afternoon, dear pupils. Having a... studiful day?"
"That's not a word," Vil crosses his arms and glares. "Why are you here?"
"I was... well... just discussing some things... with... the prefect..."
He sounds utterly nervous.
Vil's eyes narrow. "What are you hiding?"
Before he can answer, the door behind him opens again, and you peer outside, giving Crowley a chance to escape. "Guys?"
"Trickster! We are relieved to see you in good health!"
"Hm? Why wouldn't I be?"
Epel shakes his head. "W-well, you just haven't been around much, and we saw Crowley- hey, where'd he go?"
Vil grumbles something indistinct, massaging his temples. "That man..." he sighs. "But back to business. Are you well? What's happened?"
You look away. "Well-"
Thankfully, before you have to explain it yourself, the door opens wider, leaving the Pomefiore trio face-to-face with the one person they least expected to see.
Neige beams. "Oh, my... hello, Vil! I didn't think I'd run into you here!"
The housewarden's eyes immediately narrow, and it takes him a moment to respond. "Yes, well, as you know, I go to school here. Would anyone care to explain this?"
A voice from behind the trio echoes. "Oh, I volunteer!"
Epel squeaks and jumps (much to his embarrassment) and the other two whirl around to an ever-smiling face they can't quite recall...
"See, we're on the moving squad," Che'nya giggles, slinking back to the front door of Ramshackle. "You wanna know why? I'm sure you're just dying with curiosity, aren't you?"
"I can put the pieces together myself, thank you," Vil murmurs. "But I do have a few questions."
Che'nya opens his mouth wide again-
"-Not for you," he turns to you. "How? And why, exactly?"
You shrug, looking to Neige for help.
Which he gladly provides, of course. "Well... it was more of a school decision. We heard what was happening, and held a vote," he says, speaking tentatively while under Vil's astute gaze. "We've heard lots about how much your prefect has helped here, and how unfortunate their circumstances are, and... well..."
"A person like that just doesn't go to NRC," Che'nya snickers.
Vil glares for a moment longer, and then sighs. "Well... this is certainly a turn of bad luck for the lot of us,"
"But I can visit!" you insist.
Neige and Che'nya both nod in agreement, though the latter's placid smile makes his approval seem less genuine.
"Well," Vil says, turning to the boys beside him. "Don't you two have anything to say?"
Epel clears his throat, trying his best to sound light and formal. "I think it's... it's... I'll miss you," he sulks.
"A magnifique opportunity! Think how much you will learn, how many new people you will meet- oh, you must allow me to visit often! I could not bear to let you make all these beautiful discoveries on your own!" Rook says, dabbing the corner of his eyes with a handkerchief.
"Why am I not surprised?" Vil sighs. "Well... I suppose I have a duty to inform the others. And, perhaps..."
He pauses, his watchful gaze fixed on you.
"...We might hold a vote of our own."
#twisted wonderland x reader#twst x reader#neige leblanche x reader#che'nya x reader#NOT typing out his full name
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First off thank you much for the lovely response to my last thoughts. I was very nervous about posting and got a lot of good replies, notes and reblogs. This fandom is the best. I think it's important to see both sides and I wanted Tim's to be represented in a way that gave insight without condoning what he'd done. (Cause our boy done messed up.) So giving a little of myself achieved that I believe.
I didn't know a ton about this ep cause I’m a square who stays away from spoilers haha So let’s get started.
6x08 Punch Card
Ugh my heart Tim got a reminder for Lucy’s Bday. Instant heart stomping already….I love that he had a reminder set up though. Making sure he would't forget. I’m crying already. Even though I'm so very sad. I love that he had this setup. When the elevator opens the amount of tension is palpable. Something felt very wrong. Good thing Tim was lost in his Lucy moment or he would've picked up on this sooner.
Poor Tim just wants to explain himself to Mad Dog. To explain what happened. The man is not in a place to receive it and we see later why. That look said it all though when Mad Dog departs. When Dr. London said she just took the wrong elevator my red flag gut was going off.
Now that I've see the episode as a whole I can see Dr. London's play here. She seems to use flirting as a defense mechanism all her own. To protect herself and manipulate those around her. I mean they brought her flirt fest with Aaron in the recap back for a reason I think. She's worried Tim read into something about her interaction with Mad Dog. I mean Tim is clearly upset about seeing him and she uses that to deflect attention off herself. My off meter definitely was kicking on with her. Especially with how flirty she was being I didn't like it.
Now some may see Tim's response as him flirting back but I think he's investigating her. Also he's being a little sassy because he's not comfortable with her doing therapy outside the office. I mean his face when he leaves that elevator is not of a man who just flirted. It's one who is one still hurting and two his cop gut is going off but he isn't sure why....He seems conflicted by what just went down in that elevator. Just like us he was feeling off about her.
This scene was very cute with Grey. I loved him anointing her to be a T.O. LOL Also once again showing the faith he has in Lucy. To train Celina and know she would do a good job. I was excited for this opportunity for her. For her to tap into leadership. Honestly it shouldn't have taken this long for Lucy to get to show her chops with this.
Tim is so busy trying to delete his Lucy reminder he runs into the physical version of it without realizing. Andddddd it’s still awkward af between them. How could It not be? No communication between them so naturally it is. Stilted awkwardness. Lucy got out of there so fast. Even with Tim making the all powerful joke. Trying to make it less awkward. Ow. Couldn't get away fast enough. The way he watches her go. *sigh* Like he's watching his entire heart depart the room.
This hurts you guys. No matter how much I know it’ll be ok at some point this hurts to watch. Grey not pulling any punches noting how very awkward that was. Tim telling him that's actually better than it's been....Makes me wonder how much time has passed between 6x07 and now. Wade not caring that's progress to Tim. He is not messing around....
Just wants Tim to fix is ASAP cause of the team dynamic. He's not wrong. Man isn't wrong. Rarely if ever is. Saying if Tim can't there’s gonna be a transfer and it won’t be Lucy….I mean I LOVE Grey siding with Lucy on this one. Not a doubt in his mind if it shakes out that way it'll be Tim. That being said just hearing that. Ugh. Deep anxiety pit of my stomach. And of course it would be friggin North Hollywood. That damn station been haunting them since S2. Looming over them ready to take one of them away.
Lucy being Celina’s T.O .for the day I love it. She is so excited to be her leader even if it's just for this shift. Just wants to 'Invest in her success.' You know Lucy's leadership is pretty damn identical to how I am with my team. While I am mostly Tim there are pieces of Lucy in me as well. I related to her style of leadership quite a bit.
Aaron and Tim in the surveillance van is hilarious. Their dynamic has always entertained me. I truly adore these two goobers together. Tim is trying so hard to keep his shit together. Aaron dying of ask him if he finds it hard to surveil his old team for an OP? Tim of course gives him the company line. Doing what he is told without complaint. Pulling out some S1 Tim with that reply my love.
Tim then telling him he needs a stronger deodorant LOL It's too funny. What a boring assignment for them both. Tim went from running that entire team. Doing ops and making decisions on the fly to this….Also Aaron being too distracted by his deodorant comment to pay attention is the most Aaron thing ever haha
What I love the most about Lucy with Celina is her correcting without crushing her confidence. Once again reminding me of myself when I'm correcting my work kids on stuff. She is kind but confident in her assessment of what she did wrong in this moment. Celina receiving it well because she handles it this way. Lucy out here crushing it already with zero T.O. training. Just going off instinct and what she would want if she was a newbie still. Once again her and I very alike.
Oh Tim getting that reminder again. *heart clutch.* Sigh my boy. Aaron offering to turn it off for him. I love that he was gonna have it remind him through out the day. Pre-breakup Tim clearly didn't want to forget. Wanted to make sure he not only knew it was but to make sure to make a big deal of it. That's just an assumption on my part but man would've wanted to do that. it's the way he has 'TOMORROW.' Wanting to make sure he didn't forget such an important day. *screams into a pillow.* Aaron asking if he’s gonna get her anything? I’m sure he had stuff in mind. But yeah bad form indeed…
Tim’s sweet smile when he finds out what Aaron got her. Knowing how perfect of a gift that would be for her. That sweet knowing smile makes me wanna weep a bit. He knows his girl so well. Lot of sadness attached to the smile though. 'Can I ask why ya’ll split up?' 'No.' LMAO Took it too far Aaron....You're lucky you got that much good sir.
This scene with Mad Dog hurt my heart for Tim. No matter how wrong he was for what he did I still hate seeing this. This was what I was worried about with him working with Metro. Picking at the wounds he hasn’t even begun to heal about how he left. I knew him making notes on the OP was going to come back and bite him in the ass. Watching all his repercussions is painful to see I have to say. Knowing what we know about Mad Dog later I think that's part of why he goes off on Tim. Doesn't make it any easier to watch though...
Friggin Love Lucy being a BAMF in this episode. Especially in this moment. When she once again corrects but doesn't crush Celina about her gun. It's the way she guides Celina and has control over every situation they encounter in this ep. Proving herself a worthy teacher and leader. Also she was a better teacher to Celina in one episode than Nolan has been her entire career. Dude is a stinker of a T.O. It shows in how Celina makes basic mistakes Lucy had down pat long before this time in her rookie year.
Too bad Lucy can't finish out her training and Nolan is booted. But that'll never happen nothing sticks to that man. Not since S3 premiere. The rules and repercussions are rubber and he's glue. What doesn't stick to him does to everyone else... Grey should really evaluate his teaching skills. But that'll never happen. But she deserves a better teacher than him.
From the minute Tim entered the room something seemed very wrong. From the way Mad Dog was just expecting Tim to flog him. Like he wanted Tim to ream him out for how the OP went down. Also how Mad Dog seemed nervous af to see Dr London. I mean look at that man above. He is scared shitless she is there to see him. The way he watches her though out the scene. Especially when she leaves.
Tim's cop gut is going off like crazy when she enters the room. Wondering how the hell she even know about this? He seems to take her answer at face value because honestly its pretty good considering it's a bold faced lie. Tim once again feeling like something is very off but isn't sure why.
First let me say once again I feel personally attacked by the choice in song once again. lol I couldn't find the song to save my life. The lyrics are *chef kiss.* They're painfully accurate for them both. Think they've been very intentional with their ending music and just in general this season. These lyrics filled me with some hope as well. Jotted down the lyrics since couldn't find the song.
‘When the sun won’t shine and the words don’t rhyme. And there’s mountains you can’t move. Somethings on your mind and it’s been some time-since you felt like you were you. When it all caves in feeling paper thin. And the pain might cut right through.
Oh child, Lift up your head. All this trouble's only gonna last for awhile.’ Yeah we’re gonna be all right oh child. Lift up your head. And the light's gonna find you. When you feel like you ain’t got a friend. And you’re wondering if you ever gonna smile again. Every little thing gonna be ok. I know that you gonna see better days.’ *heart clutch.*
Damn smart of Tim saying happy birthday from Kojo and not him. I’m not crying you are. This was so so sweet. Lucy's reaction to Kojo got me all in my feels. She's so excited to see him. Then that excitement melts into sadness. Because he's an extension of Tim. The way she pet's him and says how much she misses him ugh.
Seems there is a double meaning going on there. We all know despite the hurt how much she misses her person. Tim just standing there only imagining her reaction when Kojo makes his way back. What a way to bring that sweet boy back in. I'm so happy about it. Tim is respecting her space but couldn’t let her bday go without doing something. Had to let her know her was thinking of her still. The fact that it’s happening in the hallway where so many seminal moments have played out for them.... I wanna cry.
I LOVE that Tim got Kojo to put his little paw in ink for the card. It is so sweet. Their fur baby. He put serious thought and effort into this. This was so well done. Only Melissa and Eric could have chemistry without even seeing each other. This is the first time we've really seen Lucy cry about them. 6x06 she was in complete shock. 6x07 was her processing her thoughts/emotions. She was on the verge of tears but we didn't see her cry. This was first time we've seen her shed tears on screen at least since the break up. Wanna hug her so much. She deserved this card and more. Like a real conversation with him but this is a good start.
She knows this is Tim reaching out without physically doing so. Showing her he still cares. I mean he clearly very much does. You don't put thought and effort in like this if you don't. It's a huge thing for him to do right now. Lucy recognizes the effort in this adorable act. Tim's face after she reads the card. Ripping my damn heart out. The absolute regret splayed all over it. Like it’s finally hitting him what he’s done to her. What he’s lost in the process. He gave up his favorite person. His happy place and just it’s hitting him square in his chest.
Like a freight train that’s run him over. It's the way he shakes his head. Kicking himself. Knowing he hastily threw them away. What a mistake he’s made in his irrational decision making. It’s written all over his beautiful face. He may not fully understand yet why he did it but the regret is evident. Eric be killing me. His face screams all that. Knowing he should’ve been with Lucy for her birthday. Hell probably sharing that bath bomb she brought up with her. Killing me softly. Hurts so good. Damnit writers... This is being handled so well though. So hats off to them. They both needed this moment more than either of them knew.
Mad dog killing himself....jesus H Christ. Poor Tim the last thing he needs is this. It explains why he was extra nasty to Tim though. Tim saw the flaw in his play and freaked the hell out. Also for Tim to see someone he once trusted with his life compromise themselves. Compromise the safety of their own men. Gut punch. And for what? Money? Power? We won't know till more of this unravels. Whatever it is won't be for a good reason. I know Tim hates himself for his mistakes. But those mistakes always had some form of honor attached to them.
He may not see that but I do. Now the op where he got his men killed no but what he did after was honorable. What he did for Mitch came from a honorable place. I just wonder how seeing Mad Dog doing something so very un-honorable is gonna affect him moving forward...Oh my lord I’m so mad about Dr London not because I liked her. But because I didn’t want it to derail Tim’s therapy in any way. The man needs it. Here’s hoping he continues in s7 with someone better.
Everyone was right she’s a dirty birdy. I was just hoping she wouldn’t be. But my ick and uncomfortable factor went WAY up in this ep with her. I knew it was inevitable. It's not that I didn't want to be wrong about her. It's the fact I didn't want this to hurt Aaron and I definitely I didn’t want her to be dirty for Tim that was it. For his therapy and the progress he's made. I hope this doesn’t affect his therapy journey and he can find someone not compromised in S7.
That promo for next week oh my lord….the hug! The hug! "This doesn't change anything." Then pulls him right in like nothing's changed. I will be living there from now on. Or until next week lol Love the Finale being a 2 parter as well. Phew this is gonna be an intense ending to this season. Gonna be chomping at the bit for S7 once it's done I know it. Like the song stated we're gonna see better days. I truly believe that. We got this my lovely fandom. Thank you for always being so wonderfully receptive of these reviews. Appreciate any likes, comments or reblogs that come my way.
~~~
Side notes-non Chenford
Angela shooting Monica down with Wesley. She's an Epic Queen and I adore her.
Dr London is in alliance with Monica. That's super great….cool cool cool……I have a feeling and D and I discussed this earlier. Reminds us of Armstrong. This feels more like a she's been forced into it a situation. Because its obvious she's good at her job.
But the way she freaked out about the cops being hurt clearly shook her. She looked on the verge of tears in Mad Dog's room. So do I think she's a bad person? Unsure at the moment. Do I think she was once a good person who was manipulated into whatever this alliance is? I do. Be interesting to see how her SL unfolds.
#Caitlin's Mini reviews#chenford#s6#6x08 Punch Card#the rookie 6x08#tim x lucy#lucy x tim#tim bradford#lucy chen#eric winter#melissa o'neil#otp: doing my job#otp: unless it is
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Have you seen this? I head "Michael got excited about being connected through matching bracelets" and immediately thought that you're going to have some thoughts.
https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGeQE7KSk/
Oh my god. No, I hadn't seen this video until now, but thank you SO much for sending it to me! I'll post a clip of the most pertinent part about what Michael said below, but I urge folks to check out the whole thing on Tiktok, as this is the woman who made the bracelets we saw David wearing at the Proud Nerd Con last weekend:
My first immediate reaction after seeing/hearing this was utter disbelief and delight, coupled with a complete lack of surprise because...Michael. If there is anyone who could channel "15-year-old girl during the last week of summer camp" energy, it is Michael. It's also terribly bittersweet and yet somehow fitting knowing that we're nearing the end of Michael's time in London--which I think we can now refer to as Shennant Summer, at least in Australia, though the last six months were technically the winter here.
(My second thought was that I feel like we're a hell of a lot closer than ever before to my imaginings of Michael and David getting complementing tattoos somehow manifesting into reality...)
But...my god. I don't think any of us could picture Michael and David not being connected in some way, even if/when they're not in the same city, and yet the thought of Michael wanting to have some tangible reminder of David with him always is doing things to my heart that may necessitate the use of defibrillators. I feel like this is some kind of reverse Parent Trap situation where Michael is going to "accidentally" pack one of the Tennant kids in his suitcase, which will mean David will have to go to Wales to collect his wayward offspring, and then the next thing you know they're on a yacht drinking Champagne while "I Love You (For Sentimental Reasons)" plays in the background.
I think what is so incredible to me is that we know how soft (in the best way possible) Michael is, but to know that he's specifically gotten that way over David--that he holds David in that deep heart space--is achingly beautiful. I know a lot of folks will say that this is giving all of the "friendship bracelet" and "besties" vibes, but I really don't think it's much of a stretch to think that it could be something more. Everything about this just feels so romantic at this point that, in my opinion, it would seem almost ludicrous to not consider it a possibility. Because right now, neither Michael nor David appear to be holding back, and I'm so here for it.
Thank you again so much for sending this my way. I'd love to hear what everyone else thinks, so please feel free to add your thoughts in the comments. Thanks for writing in! x
#weirdandtired#reply post#michael sheen#welsh seduction machine#david tennant#soft scottish hipster gigolo#proud nerd con 2024#Michael is about as subtle as a drunken llama on roller skates#at this point the subtext might as well be a billboard#i am hard-pressed to think of any other male 'BFFs' who have matching bracelets#i'm just saying#there is no heterosexual explanation for this#high profile friendship#low profile lovers#they are perfect together your honor#ineffable lovers#discourse
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Adore
Alastor x reader
Warnings:
This is short, not my best work I WILL REDEEM MYSELF. Alastor is implied to break in at the end.
Good evening folks!
APOLOGIES FOR THIS BEING DELAYED, I accidentally deleted the whole thing and then I just laid on Barnaby out of defeat and slept.
ANYWAYS HERE'S WEDNESDAY'S ANGST, or Wednesday's poor excuse for angst, the original was better.
I'll be posting another angst fic later today, hopefully, it's either gonna be with Lute or another Alastor one
Song
A-one, two, three, four
You completely and utterly adored Alastor, how could you not?
He was quite charming! Sure he was a cannibalistic murderer but that for some reason wasn't a deal breaker for you.
A side effect from being in hell probably or possibly because you were just as screwed up as he was just in a different format!
Everything you do, it sends me
You had met him while working at Rosie's emporium, Rosie had asked you to make some tea while she taught Alastor the newest slang she had gathered.
Higher than the moon with every twinkle in your eye
Turns out you both had so much in common!
Both of you had gained deer attributes after your fall to eternal damnation, had a strong distaste for the lustful cravings of the flesh, thought cannibalism was neat, Rosie was a dear friend, and held a fondness and strong preference for the years you were alive.
You strike a match that lights my heart on fire
Rosie being the matchmaker she was decided to nudge the two of you together, after all she saw how well you and Alastor matched together, and it worked! Of course it did.
When you're near, I hide my blushing face
You and Alastor fit together perfectly, like pillows and blankets, like shoes and laces.
And trip on my shoelaces
He'd take you dancing, hand gently placed on your waist when you would dance more classically, or you'd have arms and legs frailing around like a octopus when you'd give more energetic dances a try.
Grace just isn't my forté
The two of you enjoyed cooking together in the kitchen, Jambalaya, curries, biscuits and gravy, pasta, gumbo, baked breads and whatever else you could think of, you made together.
But it brings me to my knees when you say
You'd help Alastor out with his radio broadcast, by either proofreading his scripts or finding an unfortunate sinner to make an appearance with their screams.
Hello, how are you, my darling, today?
You didn't know where things went wrong, everything was going well!
I fall into a pile on the floor, deer love is hard to ignore
At least you thought so, the last day you spent with Alastor the two of you had made a lovely dinner together, you had set the table with fresh flowers, a candle or two.
When every little thing you do, I do adore
After dinner the two of you danced to some jazzy song from his era, and he twirled you around.
We're as different as can be
His hand holding yours.
I've noticed you're remarkably murdery and I'm slightly less murdery
His red eyes staring adoringly into yours.
We balance out each other nicely
You gave him a kiss on the cheek before you went to sleep that night.
You wear fancy shoes in the snow
You had awoken in the morning and Alastor wasn't there.
You assumed he had stepped out and he'd be back soon.
In mid-July, I still feel cold
But as the clock continued to tick and the red skies turned into a deeper red you were worried but you knew he could handle himself maybe he just got caught up in something? Perhaps with that TV guy he was 'friends' with?
We're opposites in every way
Hours turned into days and days into weeks,
No one had heard from nor had they seen Alastor.
You looked everywhere for him, asking around, desperately trying to find out where he went.
but I can't resist it when you say
Vox apparently tried to get him to join his little V themed posse and Alastor rejected him, rather harshly and also broke his little TV antenna while he was at it.
Hello, how are you, my darling, today?
Rosie hadn't heard from him either, and obviously you wouldn't be asking around if you knew where he was.
I fall into a pile on the floor
Weeks turned into months and before you knew it those months became years.
He was just gone, leaving only traces of his existence.
Puppy love is hard to ignore, when every little thing you do, I do adore
For the first few years you would frequently pop into his radio tower, hoping that maybe, just maybe he would be there for some reason, and when he undoubtedly wasn't, you cleaned the place up, keeping it in tip top shape.
Finding words, I mutter
Once it hit the five year mark you stopped popping in, allowing dust and whatever else to consume the radio tower untill further notice.
Tongue-tied, twisted
You stopped hoping that Alastor would just waltz on into your shared home, with that yellowed grin of his and static following.
Hoove in mouth, I start to stutter, Ha, ha, Heaven help me
You stopped looking for Alastor.
Hello, how are you, my darling, today?
Seven years, he was gone for seven years,
He was back and he didn't have the decency to even pay you a visit? You had to hear about his return from him publicly beefing with Vox.
I fall into a pile on the floor, Puppy love is hard to ignore
If Alastor wasn't going to come find you then you wouldn't go out of your way to find him either, even if that hazbin hotel where he was residing was only a 30 minute walk away.
When every little thing you do, I do adore
Alastor didn't intentionally ghost you, his absence was only supposed to be for a short while.
Unfortunately he was foolish enough to make a deal that had kept him away from you for seven long years, his dear friend Rosie had been kind enough to fill him in on your activities since his disappearance but not before scolding him harshly for not even having the decency to send a postcard.
Every little thing, ba-ba-ba-ba
He had been back for a time now, how rude of him to not pay his dearest a visit! After all you were looking for him until recent years right?
Every little thing, ba-ba-ba-ba
Alastor was someone you completely and utterly adored once.
And unfortunately he still adored you to some degree considering he was standing in front of you in the doorway of the house you had once shared, he was as smiley as ever, his grin grew larger as he saw your confused expression.
"Good evening my darl-" he was interrupted by you slamming the door in his face.
Every little thing you do, I do adore
It seems you weren't as excited to see him as he expected, oh well! Good thing for him that you didn't bother to change the locks.
Good evening folks my apologies, this is more comedic then angsty, hope you enjoyed though I will redeem myself.
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r/Relationships
u/catholic_firefighter
I (M36) saw someone who looks like my dead wife (F26) while out with my son (M13) and my girlfriend (F40).
So, some context. I'm a single father, my wife died a few years back after she got hit by a car. We got married at 18 because she got pregnant and then I enlisted in the army. Fast forward a few years after I re-upped a few times (it's not important why), my wife abandoned me and our son. I moved to LA and met my crew and my best friend (M32). A few months into living there, I had to reach out to my wife for an application thing (it's a long story) and we ended up sleeping together. My son was so happy to see her return. Then we thought she might be pregnant again so I was planning to re-propose to her (because I love her not because of the pregnancy), so I planned this whole dinner. But at that dinner she told me she actually wanted a divorce. And that she didn't think she could be a mom to our son, let alone a new baby. Then, before we could really resolve any of that, she got hit by a car and died.
So fast forward to the present, I'm still single, I mean I have that girlfriend (F40), but I'm basically single and haven't really had any serious relationships. The three of us (my gf, my son, and I) were out the other day and I saw this woman (F38) working in a shop who looks exactly like my dead wife. I was shocked, to be honest. I just couldn't stop thinking about her and my dead wife. I remembered the last time we (me and my dead wife) had sex, it was great, I talked about how happy my son would be now that his mom was back. (I was happy too, obviously, she was my wife! And we'd just had sex, which I love, sex with my wife I mean. It was the only good sex I've ever really had, haha, I mean I did marry the first girl I slept with so what can I expect. And I haven't really been having sex with my current girlfriend, but that's just because of the whole ex-nun thing.)
Anyway now I'm at this restaurant waiting for this woman from the shop (F38) to meet me for dinner, and I can't help but feel like I'm doing something wrong. I can't even tell who I'm betraying, but I know what I'm doing is wrong, I know that something about me is wrong, but I can't figure out what. Any advice?
Edit: Of course my son doesn't know anything about this, my best friend (M32) is watching him and they both think I'm out with my girlfriend.
Edit: Y'all are so kind, but I haven't been raising my son all on my own, I have the help of my best friend (M32).
Edit: Everyone saying that I'm an irresponsible father since I'm a single parent in a dangerous profession, y'all don't have the full context. I absolutely wouldn't risk leaving my son to be an orphan, that's why if anything were to happen to me, my best friend (M32) would get full custody.
Edit: I thought this would be pretty clear from context... but I'm heterosexual? Like, I made this post for advice on my relationship with my girlfriend and my dead wife's doppelganger? Dont get me wrong, I'm a huge ally! My best friend even just came out as bi and I think that's great! But yeah, I'm straight so...
Edit: Yeah the friend that came out as bi is the same friend that gets custody of my son, not really sure how that's relevant though.
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actually I take back what I said about Eddie deserving better than Marisol. the one who deserves better is *Marisol*
cutting bc long post lmao
like. I took a shower and I thought about it and I think I've figured out what has been setting my teeth on edge about Eddie and Marisol this whole season is that she's basically being treated, narratively, as an object. basically as a hole for him to fuck. which is NOT in character for Eddie btw don't get it twisted as me calling Eddie a misogynist
but the choices in the writers room about this don't make sense. Marisol has no character development. none. she doesn't even have a last name. we've never seen them have a real conversation except when Eddie kicked her back out of his house. and she took that with a smile!
WHO DOES THAT? WHOMST AMONG US? like he's pretty and apparently has the best dick game on the planet but who would not have told him to yeet himself out of the solar system for that? bitch I packed my bathroom up and you're telling me to hit the streets? it would be ON
and she just. smiled about it.
the nun thing. that had the potential to be a conversation about, you know, her and her past, maybe family, the reasons she left, the reasons she joined the convent, all kinds of juicy shit
it ended up being solely about how it makes men feel. Eddie's Catholic guilt was all about feeling weird about fucking a former novitiate
and then in bucks loft. I mean. that was weirdly sitcom tropey. all "haha how weird and irritating that the little woman dare to keep texting me after I disappeared for hours and hours and I can't go home and have a grown up conversation with her that would be ludicrous" type of thing. you know what I'm talking about
and that ALSO is not really Eddie's character? yeah he's bad at communicating but he's not disdainful of his partners about it! he knows it's a him problem not a them problem! and reducing it to "what if she wants to YoU kNoW?" like what? you've been avoiding her and ignoring her texts all day she's not gonna want to fuck you
idk none of it is sitting right and I want to think it's deliberate for a reason because they've been doing other things so well but also they compared a traumatized Black child to a reactive dog soooo
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of course my first post on this blog is about to be something that is probably a little unhinged but
I saw the sampo picture from the topaz trailer. the one where he was getting his ass kicked and i noticed there was a... wanted poster? or something with words on it
and i remembered the hsr fandom wiki has a thing to help translate the hsr language so i checked there and found something interesting. This poster thing is written in penaconian script
I did my best to translate and got
SANGBO
wu shi xain yin qin fei jian ji dao zhi xuan hui de bu xu an dui de
I was vaguely worried I was doing something wrong when I translated what should've been Sampo's name but instead came up with "sangbo" but as I went on it became clear that it wasn't english. Unsure how to translate it, I just pasted the whole thing (minus what I assume is his name) into the search bar and found a website that told me this
i tried entering the second part and find out the meaning but it didn't come up with anything. So if anyone else could figure it out...
But! I still find this really interesting. This trailer is from before penacony so I find it weird that this poster thing is written in that type of script. I would've expected it to be written in the universal script or the belobogian script
all three scripts are very very similar but by all the extra embellishments you can tell that this poster is specifically the penaconian one.
Another thing I find interesting is the idiom it translates to as interesting. Solicitous means someone who cares or shows interest, so it's basically saying someone who cares or shows interest in something without a clear reason is hiding evil intentions.
Sampo has known to show up randomly and help us out for seemingly no reason at all. I mean that's basically what he did for all of the belobog trailblazer quest. But it also feels like a weird statement for the ipc to make about sampo (I'm assuming the poster has to do with the ipc considering it involves topaz). I originally thought I'd translate this and find out more whatever loan he took out or debt he owed but found this instead.
Maybe the other half of it provides more context, but I can't seem to find a way to translate it, so that's all the thoughts i can give for now
#sampo koski#hsr sampo#honkai star rail#lore#theory#sampo lore#god this is longer than i thought it'd be#am i crazy for this?#a little bit#maybe
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My Candy Love New Gen Ep. 3
Review
Okaaaaaay so since this is my first post on here: Hi there! guess who's gonna give her unasked opinion about her Playthrough of My Candy Love New Gen? ME! ofc.
LET'S TALK ABOUT IT...
So i've finished playing the episode and honestly i'm starting to wonder how the plot is gonna develop during the story.
Until now ce can't really say that the story is growing but, I mean, it's completely fine because these are the first episode so it's pretty normal that there's basically nothing but just a presentation of the character and a little peak of their routes.
The episode was pretty chill and cute for some point of view, but my only doubt is about the speed of the storytelling, i really hope that with new episode the story's gonna grow in speed or in lenght of episodes because, for how is it now, it's gonna take forever to make a real "change" in the plot (especially for Jason's route candies like me)
The idea of the welcome party was EXTREMELY cute also the "preparation" part was okay;
Amanda not partecipating at the party because Candy didn't choose the park had me turn up my nose honestly, but by the way she reacted the all time, i could have guessed it. She gives me a little bit of snooty vibes but i guess it's just the shell of the character.
ELENDA. oh my ELENDA. I hope with my whole heart that she's gonna be the new Rosalya because i need it. I genueine need a ray of sunshine like her in my candy's life when she's gonna sleep with the rival agency's boss :PPPPPP
(The truth or dare part XD had me DEAD, i mean come on guys, you're almost 30 and you need a TRUTH or DARE game to break the ice? LMAO. )
NOW LET'S TALK ABOUT THE CHARACTERS.
ROY.
Can someone explain to me? Please don't tell me that the dare that he should have done was to kiss Candy and, because is dating Brune, he turned candy's head to kiss her on the check.
Please don't tell me or imma GASP. At first i thought he was going to be the gym bro not interested in any dating or in date many girls at the same time, BUT THIS. BRUH unexpected.
So i guess Candy in thi s case have to be Eric 2.0 of new gen. Love it.
Let's sleep with another taken man!
DEVON.
So I Honestly don't know what to say about him for now because i can't really say what's gonna be the issue with him. I Just really hope is not gonna be like Hyun route ( a full of nothing) because the character seems really cute, so please beemoov give us some tea or a plot twist. Something that happened in the episode that made me actually turn my head the screen was Candy saying (if you go to him at the Mall)
"It seems that he doesn't want to be the Ceo"
Maybe this is going to be the route?
THOMAS.
I honestly love him and i feel like his entire route is gonna be Candy tries to make him understand what is to date someone. I also have a feeling (which would make totally sense) that Thomas is either authistic or he's part of that percentual of the populations that has an IQ higher that the others. L O V E I T TBH and it's a shame that i hvae to play two time the episodes because the outfit it's not the same for jason's route.
AMANDA
Snooty on the outside but a marshmallow on the inside, i'm so sure of this. My guess here is that, girl's rich ass didn't say anything to her family that she likes girls. I just really hope is not the sme thing that happened with Priya because players dont wanna play things two times.
JASON.
At last but not least, the enemies to lovers we didn't know we needed. what can I say? I have a huge love for Men who are so incure of themselfs that they put up this gigantic EGO (and not Confidence) to try to hide their real self. This going to be and Astarion (Bg3) route 2.0, I'M HERE FOR IT. Btw i'm pretty sure he seduced Danica to make her leave Devenementiel, this B, love him. At least he's not taken Candies....
what do you think? <3
-Sph
#corazón de melón#my candy love new gen#my candy love#amour sucre#mcl new gen#cdm new gen#mcl jason#mcl roy#mcl amanda#mcl thomas#mcl devon#cdm castiel#amor doce#amor doce new gen#beemoov
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Heya! Do you have any msr fic Recs?
I do have a lot! My ao3 bookmarks are all public, so you can go and browse those by fandom since I save every single fic I read. Fake/pretend relationship and anything involving them figuring out their relationship while around people are two of my all time favourite tropes.
Here are some of my favourites though, they're either oneshots or completed:
Planes, Trains, and Automobiles (~66k, E)
Getting home proves to be challenging for our favourite agents. Set during Season 7, after Millennium.
True Lies (~106k, T)
Post-Terma, Scully can't help but think they need protection against any future kangaroo court congressional hearings and comes up with a rather unconventional solution that she proposes of Mulder.
Since We Fell Apart (~23k, T)
Post One Son, Scully is fed up with playing second fiddle to everything in Mulder's life, and decides it's best to just be done with him. Skinner asks her to work one last case for the X-Files - undercover in Arcadia.
Keep It All the Year (26k, M)
Scully is summoned to San Diego for a funeral at Christmastime, and ropes Mulder into her family dysfunction. Set in S6, canon divergent but not wildly so.
The Whole Story (~2.6k, T) by @sisterspooky1013
If they thought Maggie couldn’t tell when two people are holding hands under the dinner table, they've got another thing coming.
The Marriage Spectacular (~20k, M)
Lost FBI agents. Stormy weather. A marriage retreat in a mountainside inn with one room available.
una via (~19k, M)
Mulder and Scully's changing relationship in the period after Amor Fati.
Plus some of my favourite authors whose works I am still digging through and enjoying a lot. There's nothing better than reading a great fic, going to their profile, and then realizing they have like 100 more of them.
Skinfull @baronessblixen OnlyTheInevitable fragilevixen @danascully77 cecily_sass audries kittenscully
I'm probably forgetting a bunch of people, so you're very much invited to add your favourite fics and/or your own (self promo is explicitly welcomed!!).
#alex answers asks#alex watches x files#txf#the x files#x files#dana scully#fox mulder#scully x mulder#mulder x scully#msr#msr fic recs
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pythia, a supernatural rewrite. bloody mary, rough draft.
read it on ao3.
words: 6k
notes: hi y'all! yes, you read that chapter title right - this is a little unconventional, but since I've unfortunately shifted hyperfixations and have drifted away from SPN, I thought I would post what I have for the next part of pythia. since I'm moving into resident evil land, I'm not sure if I'm going to come back to this fic—but I absolutely didn't want to leave you guys empty-handed!! I'm so so sorry that this fic will go unfinished (for now), and I'm so grateful to those who were along for the ride with me. I have so much love for all the people who motivated me through writing this fic. all of you are beyond kind!! and I hope you enjoy this dose of pythia content, featuring some of my notes and process-work, lol.
I only had a few heavy chunks of the beginning written, but the prose for this chap (ironically) started to get into the meat of what I really wrote this fic for—psychic bullshit between reader and Sam. It was just too plain juicy to not share!!
All of my spn fics will remain up, but if you keep up with me, expect lots of Leon Kennedy bullshit and tomfoolery. Again - thank you so much for your endless love and support, I had so much fun writing what I could of season one!! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy this unfinished chunk of silly/ansty Christmas drama :)
EAU CLAIRE, WISCONSIN - Dec 21st, evening.
Sam drops the stack of glossy, brand-new legal pads into his lap, and flashes his brother a plain smile. “Thanks, Dean. I needed more of these.”
From your spot seated on the living room rug, you twist your rings and wait for Dean’s witty reply. With all those notes you’re always makin', Sammy, I’ll hafta buy you some for New Years, too. You wait for him to make a crack about the gift he got Sam, something about diaries or his brother’s girly handwriting.
Instead, Dean shrugs, “Well, then there ya go.”
Voila. And with that, the feeble threads you’d tried to braid into a proper Christmas are cut. Without a word, your Mom picks up the little wooden jewelry case the three of you had thrifted her and recedes into the dark hallways of the house. Dean peels himself out of his seat to clean up. Sam sighs, picking at the plastic seal around his legal pads. Hilariously, this all plays out while Paul McCartney chimes about what wonderful Christmastime he’s been having from the radio in your kitchen.
Technically, you hadn’t just been celebrating Christmas. No, you managed to completely bomb both Christmas and the sacred Winter Solstice sabbat that the Proctors had been celebrating for a bajillion fucking years. The special sabbat that would have a real spiritual effect on you for the next couple months.
You’d given it a good ol’ college try. First, you’d painstakingly picked out gifts for the boys and your Mom. Good ass gifts, too, that you’d been hiding in your duffle since summertime. Hell, you’d been looking for the Eagles album you bought for Dean in tape form for at least two years. (Cool, Dean had said, half alive in his armchair after your chupacabra hunt in Illinois. He was at the ugly front end of a cold. He’d sniffled, Don’t have this one.) And knowing that this would be Sam’s first Christmas without Jess—the one person who had given him any kind of good holiday when he was away from home—you’d poured extra love into his gift, too.
He’d been begging you to read Frankenstein since high school, and you’d dodged it because sometimes books that pushed too far into the “classics” category could lose you. Mary Shelley got a little wordy at times. But you were a big girl with a big brain, so you’d read the whole thing for Sam… and annotated the whole thing for Sam…
He’d taken one look at your labor of love and murmured, “Good. Glad you read it.”
…Yeah. You had half a mind to check if he’d been replaced by a clone, hearing that. Fifteen-year-old Sam would have melted into a babbling, ecstatic mess if someone had carefully combed through one of his favorite books and shared their thoughts on it with him. Bare minimum, you figured he’d at least enjoy having his own copy of Shelley’s work. All his other books had been lost in the fire.
But you’d given the book to a Sam who was twenty-two, not fifteen. Fine. People changed.
The boys being a collective bummer was something you could deal with. Sam was always sullen around the holidays, and you couldn’t exactly be mad at Dean for being exhausted after a stressful hunt. But your Mom…
Beth used to make Yule her bitch. When you were a kid, come December 1st, the Proctor House could easily have been the center of all Wicca celebrations in the world. If working retail during the holidays tested one’s love for festive music, then the non-stop winter songs bouncing off Beth’s vinyl player would’ve made Santa beg to hear something else. Every room would gush with the smell of evergreen branches and holly. Your family’s altar, the home of all the love and joy for the season, would be lush with offerings and presents. The candles you lit as a family to welcome the light of the new year would glow in a neat row—your little silver candle, your mother’s tall red one… and the biggest. Your Dad’s.
Now, your Dad’s candle was tucked away with the rest of the unused decorations in the attic. From your spot on the floor, you couldn’t help but stare at your piss-poor excuse for a family altar. Beth hadn’t “had the time” to find the table runner your great-grandmother had embroidered just for that space. The small bouquet of mistletoe you’d brought sat pathetically on the wide, barren surface, framed by your family’s dollar-store candles: silver for you, red for Mom, and twin green candles for the boys.
It was stupid. Really, you shouldn’t have cared so much. You were almost twenty-five, and the older you got the less people cared about silly, trivial things like a single holiday out of the year. That was just a fact of life.
Still, an ugly ball of bitterness sat in your gut. She couldn’t have tried to decorate? Even out on the road, you’d still found ways to make today a little special for the people you loved. Did she really have such little strength left in her? You’d dragged the boys up to Wisconsin with you so your Mom didn’t have to be alone. Was it really that impossible, after eleven whole years without your Dad, to try and be happy?
Fuck this. Yule isn’t over yet. There’s still time for you to squeeze some life out of today, and you’re going to start straight at the source.
You find your Mom in the kitchen, mindlessly swiping invisible crumbs off pristine counters. When she senses you paused behind her in the kitchen doorway, clutching in both hands the gift she got you this year, the radio suddenly needs to be toyed with. Then cleaned. There are gray strands in her hair that shine like tinsel in the low kitchen light.
“Hey,” you say, your voice bright and christmas-card perfect. “I don’t think I got to say thank you for the gift.” (You did. More than once already.) “It’s been a bit since I read this one.”
The gift in question is your Dad’s second edition print of The Shining. It’s even older than you are, with soft, petal-thin pages that reek of that wonderful old book musk. Rolling the flexed and cracked paperback between your hands, your Gift automatically picks up the distant echo of the hands that had touched these pages when they were new.
When you were little, you’d always found it kind of strange that your Dad considered this book his favorite. He was a sweet, soft-spoken person, and the mental image of him indulging in uncensored horror novels didn’t mesh with the Ray preserved in your head. Having since grown up and read it for yourself, you understood that it was less about the gore of the Overlook and more about “the shine;” the array of psychic abilities that kept five-year-old Danny Torrance alive through the book.
Years of having book-club with Sam had trained you to form cultivated opinions about the stuff you read, but The Shining existed in a realm that made it hard for you to describe how you felt about it. See, you had Danny Torrance’s shine—on the same level, too, enough shine to power the decades of ghostly ballroom parties and mob conspiracies inside the Overlook for a century. Seeing your Gift put onto a page so nakedly and cinematically made you uncomfortable. Yet, feeling the weight of your father’s book in your hands, standing in the kitchen he hasn’t touched in a decade, you know that it must’ve comforted him.
Back then, surrounded by a psychic mother-in-law, girlfriend, and daughter, it would've been impossible to survive without a little shine of his own. You’re sure that your Dad's Gift was faint and unimpressive next to the psychic blackholes of your Mom and Grandma. Just enough to know if you’d skinned your elbow or had a nightmare. On the days that you came home from school tear-streaked and ruddy-faced, Dad would be waiting on the porch with soup.
You can still feel the faint psychic imprint of one of his whiskery kisses on your face. You don’t have many vivid impressions of him left to feel; none that haven’t been rubbed again and again, like the hollow of a fingerprint smoothed into the face of a rock over time.
Your Mom gives a non-committal hum at your attempt at conversation. Not because she doesn’t care—you can feel how much she cares from across the room—but because she’s tired. Adult Tired, like when she’d turn down your pleas to play together as a kid. Not tonight, baby. Momma’s exhausted.
“Mom,” you say, sounding as glossy and clean as a brand-new cookie tin. You open your mouth to say more, maybe to start in on one of your long-winded book-rants that had everyone wondering where Sam had suddenly appeared from. You know the answer, but you ask anyway, “This was one of Dad’s favorite books, right? I vaguely remember him talking about the hedge animals.”
Beth accidentally hits a button as she’s dragging a rag over the shiny front of the radio, forcing Paul McCartney to have yet another wonderful Christmastime. She doesn’t look at you.
“Yup. But you knew that already, honey.”
C’mon. Nothing? She won’t even throw you the smallest, most pathetic olive branch?
A psychic battle occurs. You get so frustrated all at once that your throat closes up, and that frustration balloons out into your family kitchen like the expansion of a bomb. You push. There is no give. The bubbling stormcloud of grief and loss hanging around Mom is there, then it’s not. The side of the kitchen your mother stands on is suddenly a void of absolute nothingness, empty of any feeling whatsoever, good or bad. She’s cutting you off from reading her—and protecting herself from your explosive emotions, as per usual.
Beth keeps cleaning the radio, her back to you.
Your rage bubbles out of you all at once. One day! One day out of the entire fucking year, the day your Dad always made special, and she can’t even pull herself together for that. You know you should be a good daughter and empathize with the woman who made you, but you’ve been a good daughter about this since you were twelve years old. Eleven Yules have gone by since your Dad passed. Just for one measly moment, you want to talk about him like he’s not a corpse rotting in the living room.
And the worst part is that Mom knows that. She’s known you’ve felt that way all day, a slow-bubbling pot building to a boil across the room. The two of you can always feel each other. You’re the only two who can; she’s the only other radio tower that can receive your station in its purest quality, and yet she has the gall to shut all her signals down.
“Fine!” You burst out, making the conversation physical.
It should feel good to yell, really. After the slow, ungratifying day you’ve had, you’ve been a shaken soda bottle waiting to implode. Instead, since you’re the crazy person yelling at nothing for no reason in the kitchen, your anger booms out of you and fizzes out in the same breath like a faulty firework. Fine. Fuck all of this. If you can’t beat em’, join em’. If everyone’s determined to rot the day away, then you’ll go wallow in self-pity the Proctor-Winchester way, too. Merry fucking Christmas, and a happy fucking Yule.
There is no satisfying door to slam on your way out of the kitchen.
You take a sharp right down the front hall, hoping to veer up the stairs and slam your feet down on every single step up to your room. If your Mom wants to live forever in the year your Dad died, by all means—you’ll even bring home your thirteen-year-old self and her childish tantrums, just for time-accurate ambiance.
Sam’s standing frozen just outside the kitchen archway, and you catch his deer-in-headlights look as you go peeling around the corner. You’re still keyed up with enough lashing rage to spare, so seeing him, just as hollowed-out and not there as your Mom, only feeds your pyre.
As you get to work thoroughly stomping the staircase to death, you hear him go into the kitchen and ask Beth about soup for Dean’s sore throat.
Upstairs is even more painfully quiet. Through the floor, Paul McCartney muffles down to a cheery mumble. All old houses shift around a little, but yours settles like it's alive, clicking, creaking, swaying. You don’t look at the portraits of Proctor women up the stairwell. The dusty grandfather clock in the hall watches you with its stained glass face, and you’re so lost in your own head—
—and Dad’d be so pissed we didn’t decorate the altar or listen to the Tull Christmas album, he’d riot, he’d talk some sense into her—wouldn’t think any of this is stupid—
—that you don’t hear it when it chimes. Muscle memory plants you right in front of your bedroom door. Having a good cry under the covers sounds like a perfect end to the night, right? And yet you stop. Your hand drops on the knob and stays there, unmoving. Maybe it’s your Gift, or good old-fashioned human instinct knowing when something in the home has been nudged two inches to the left, but the air in the hall tastes staler than usual. A draft? Your gaze is pulled all the way down to the opposite end of the hall, where the untouched, stately storage room door is ajar.
Your Mom probably left it open. Maybe she’d gone in there to hunt around for all the heirloom Yule decorations, only to rediscover Dad’s football memorabilia or Dad’s engraved cigarette case and go bolting out of the room.
—everything’s different without him, Sam and Mom and Dean too. So am I. Everything’s twisted—without him—
Still riding the whirlwind, you stomp from one end of the yellowing, starry zodiac carpet (Aries) to the other (Pisces), the floorboards squeaking under your weight. You push the door and it goes shuddering into the darkness. This was one of many rooms in the house that Mom had banished you from as a kid, mostly as a way to shoo you away from the hunting world. It’d given you this insatiable fascination with it as a result, but when you tug the chain to turn on the closest lamp, what it illuminates doesn’t come close to the spectacular stories you’d made up in your head.
It’s just a room. It has windows and shelves and old things, some from your childhood, some from your Mom’s. Some from even further back than that. The closest fascinating thing is a shiny gold blob poking out of your baby things, which turns out to be Sam’s eighth-grade mathlete trophy.
You had no idea what possessed Mom to come up here so often. There was no way she wasn’t in here at least a couple times a week; the tall metal storage shelf where she immortalized your Dad’s things was never dusty, and yet the whole room reeked of rotting books and insulation. You shove the box with Sam’s trophy aside with your foot until it skids out of your way, and then send the heavy door shut behind you with a wall-shaking bang.
A flurry of dust hails down from the ceiling. You cough through the cloud, wandering in your blindness towards the neat row of plastic storage tubs labeled with your Dad’s name. Clothes. Misc. Books. Maybe that’s where Mom had gotten your new copy of The Shining from, halfway through one of her sacred meditations over Dad’s things. You drop a hand onto the cold lid of the tub. Nothing, not even the slightest psychic imprint, reaches back.
What is she even holding onto anymore?
You try the clothes next. The rounded corners of this bin have been scuffed gray from how many times it’s been pulled off and then pushed back on its shelf, again and again. The case feels as lifeless to you as it would for anyone else, but you try your luck and slide it out onto the floor. It comes loose with a solid thud.
When you were old enough, Beth would sometimes send you up into this room to grab things (spell ingredients, books you didn’t keep downstairs). You would run full-tilt right up until you hit the storage room door, then pass inside like a stranger in a dangerous realm, watching where you stepped and always, always keeping your Dad’s shelf in the corner of your eye. On brave days you would pick up his silvery cigarette case and roll it between your palms. It grew harder and harder to feel him each time, the ghost of him whittled down like a rock made round by the current of a river.
When you crack off the lid, you expect some kind of smell. You don’t remember what he smelled like, but you have a few guesses—cheap, vanilla-sweet aftershave, or maybe the woody stale smell of cigarette smoke you know you shouldn’t love. Maybe both. It doesn’t really matter. The neatly folded stacks of your Dad’s old shirts and jackets don’t smell like a damn thing. You dip your face into a holey band-shirt with the sleeves scissored off, but all that comes back to you is the rotten smell of dusty insulation. He’s here—he’s right here in front of you, right in your fucking hands, and yet the whole world is dead of him. You can’t sense even a sliver of him left.
The same old reservoir of despair pushes and pushes at your composure, wiggling through your cracks, widening them with a hundred thousand tons of pressure bearing down on you a minute. It is a day by day task to handle the reservoir. You like to think you’re good at handling it, at patching the cracks as they come and letting them breathe when the moment calls for it. But when you lift your face from the bin, the leak springs—really, genuinely springs, like it hasn’t in years.
You fall back onto your haunches, swallowing back sudden stinging tears. The bin and its askew lid go shrieking back onto the shelf with a lash of your foot.
-
The music downstairs stops. You can’t tell how long it’s been.
When his death was fresh, and you were stuck deep, deep within the reservoir, you’d wondered if it would always feel this way. It got easier, right? And in many ways it had—on most days you could talk about your Dad without it hurting, letting the dam’s water run. The battle was still there, but it was a burden you were proud to carry if it meant his memory lived on in you. He would want you to be happy, your Mom used to urge. So you gave being happy your best shot, loving and giving as much as you could.
That’s what frustrated you so endlessly about your Mom. She’d been right; your Dad would’ve wanted the two of you to move on, and yet she still entombed herself in the bottom of her reservoir far too often. There was no release, no acceptance with her. The dark part of you that wanted to pass blame wondered if this was all because of John, and how well Winchester grief happened to mingle with a Proctor’s. How would your mother’s life be different, if the evil that’d taken Dad hadn’t been put down a week later? Would she be just as hellbent?
With your knees sore from pressing into the floor, you knew the answer. You knew if the thing that’d taken Sam or Dean from you was right in front of you, you’d chase it until you were in your own grave. You knew that even after it was dead, you would be digging your nails into the backseat of the Impala and clawing for every psychic molecule of them left in the leather.
And that’s what scared you—was she just going to be chasing Dad forever, til’ there wasn’t a wisp of him left in the world to feel?
Something dawns on you, thudding through your mind like a rock dropped down a chute. With limp hands, you slide The Shining towards you on the worn wood floor, part the pages with your thumbs, and press your nose into the binding. There’s the smoky, earthy scent of old paper first… then something just underneath the surface that no one but you and your Mom can pick up.
Old books. Yes. Yes, that’s what Dad had smelled like.
-
You’re seated on the floor of the storage room, back pressed to one of the ancient metal shelves holding up your gramma’s VCR collection, when a blot of the future is tossed at you. Cheap deodorant and lemon cough drops.
Around a minute later, the stairs beyond the door squeak under someone’s weight. Even without the roulette glimpse of the future, you can tell by the footfalls who it is. Heavy knuckles rap the door and come straight in without waiting for an answer. Behind him, the silence of the rest of the house is even heavier.
You try to sound like a reasonable adult, but the mopey teenager slips out anyway. “Thought you were sick, Dean.”
He artfully dodges your point. (Dean is, after all, a master of the craft.) You don’t look back at him, but the lemon cough-drops glimpse you got of him creates a clear picture: Dean’s whole body listing into the door frame, one hand on the knob, his face lacking its usual color. His cheeks have graduated from stubbly to scruffy, neglected.
“Hey,” he says. It’s the, okay, you’re done cooling down, let’s have a grown-up conversation kind of hello.
You don’t know what to say back. You’re not sure if you can have any kind of conversation right now.
Dean rolls with it, trying to decide if this silence is begging for a subject change or a heart-to-heart. You’re not sure what he goes for when he says, “I had an idea.”
“Did it hurt?” You joke. Jokes you can do.
There’s his opening. After a beat, you’re—
—fucking lobbed with a foam football. Like you’re fucking twelve. Dean’s throw arcs straight towards your head and bounces clean off the top, a perfect spiral. You yelp in outrage, and before you can think you’re following where the stupid ball went so you can clock him right in the face with it. Asshole. It loop-de-loops on the floor around an old dining chair, and you clamber on your knees to fish for it.
Just when you get the toy in your hands and you’re about to demolish him with it, Dean ducks behind the doorway, chuckling, “Woah! No face shots! You wouldn’t bash a poor, sick guy’s face in, would’ja?”
God. You can’t fucking believe him. If anyone else did that…
You lower your hackles and drop the foam toy into a basket, far out of reach of congested troublemakers. When his shining eyes appear in the slit of the doorway again, your cheeks are aching with an impossible smile. “You’re lucky it’s Christmas, loser. What is it?”
Dean hesitates a moment more, just in case you’ve got something else to throw at him, then joins you in the storage room with the evil little oily smile you love. The same dust cloud that got you earlier descends on him in a rough coughing fit, but this lets him get a good look at the little mess you’ve made: the book on the floor, your Dad’s things open and askew. When he clears his throat for the last time, he looks pained.
For your sake, you pretend it’s an empathetic kind of pained. And you know that’s a part of it—Dean doesn’t enjoy seeing you and your Mom like this. But it’s an unfortunate fact of your life that you will have four times as much context for him than he will ever have for you. Just breathing the same dusty air as him, you know he’s been nursing a sinus headache since Monday, one that’s made his head feel like it’s chock-full of stuffing, and that Sam made him canned chicken noodle soup—and at first he felt a little smug making Sam play nurse, until he stewed on it more and—
—hate it when he gives me that dead-eyed look, like he can’t even pretend to care anymore. Like he’s just dragging himself through this for our sake. Poor kid scares the shit outta me. Is this how it’s always gonna be? Sammy aching over her, night after night after night—
You know just touching the bins holding your Dad’s things that on a icy February afternoon in 1994, fifteen-year-old Dean had picked up the plastic tubs for your Mom from the store.
So when he gives you that pained look, you know it’s part-concern, part-fear. If this is what you look like eleven years after your Dad’s passing… if John never comes home from his hunting trip, is this what Dean will become? The loyal son, waiting and waiting on that porch for a man who would never come home?
Your whole life, you’ve felt like you were becoming more and more like Dean; lately, it feels like he’s becoming so much like you. Your last four years on the road together had slowly but surely melded you together.
“Okay, so, Yule’s a fire festival, right?” Dean grasps around in his memory for the yearly history lesson your Mom gives about the Wicca calendar. “Uh, we lit candles… I thought about burning Beth’s Muppet Christmas CD with my lighter a couple times. That’s about all the fiery, burny-stuff we did today.”
“I love the Muppets Christmas album,” you pout.
“After the millionth partridge in John Denver’s goddamn pear tree, you’d change your mind,” Dean swears. “But I was thinkin’—we got the firepit in the backyard, marshmallows, and I think I could put together some vodka shots. Then we can blow em' out and eat em' with the s'mores.”
Your eyebrows raise. Only he, of all people, could take your sacred family traditions and twist them into such a wonderful, stupid-ass thing. Maybe it’s ridiculous, but… there is chocolate and graham crackers downstairs… and with how cold it is outside, a fire would be perfect… It’s the best blend of weird Proctor-Winchester traditions you need to save Christmas and Yule.
Dean takes your silence as glowing awe. “Exactly. I told you, I'm a fuckin' genius. Helluva way to start the wiccan year, right? You in?”
You’re well aware that this is an elaborate plan to coax you away from your moping. Still, it’s just too Dean to turn down. “...Hell yeah.”
At first R hopes that it’s just her and Dean, and that Sam and Beth keep their grief to themselves. But then she realizes how cruel and selfish she’s been—everyone grieves in their own way, and just because she works through it by talking about it doesn’t mean it will work for everyone. It’s not good that Beth is holding on so tightly to her loss, but that doesn’t mean R wants to leave them out.
Lead this into a touch of psychic!Dean and how he has a teeny tiny second sense for what she needs, just like her Dad did. Just enough shine to get by.
R and Dean come downstairs and invite Sam and Beth to their campfire 😀
Or, at the very least, all the psychic happenings in the house echoing between them; if Dean's sharper instincts were as psychically heavy as a shadow falling on grass, then Sam's Static was six feet of snow in an arctic blizzard.
It tingles all the way up to your shoulder when Sam touches you. And that, oh, that was a whole new can of worms. As they get dressed for the snow outside and assemble the s'mores and flaming shots, you try not to head down that train of thought again.
Every time you’ve glanced at Sam these past few weeks, you’d been unable to hide from what you’d sensed there—from what you’d seen in the demon, and what you now knew to be completely and utterly true after reading its mind.
Sam had It. The Gift, the Shining, whatever the fuck you wanted to call it. Not the vague imprint of psychic-ness from loving one or sharing the Impala with one for four years; full-on, unlatched, REDRUM, I-saw-it-before-it-happened psychic abilities. In the weeks you'd had to sit with that revelation, you'd poked carefully at Sam from afar. Obviously, you knew what a fucking psychic felt like. The five-year-old Sam who'd cut Dean's gum out of your hair had not been psychic. Yet this Sam, twenty-two with three-fourths of an ivy league law degree under his belt, was as psychic as a fucking—well. You. He was just as psychic as you.
Without even a sliver of the same control or even understanding of—of what he had, yes, but you were confident that if Sam was pushed, he could reach into your mind just as easily as you could reach into his. There had been a shift, then. At six, having gum cut out of your hair, you had been decidedly less psychic than you were at twenty-four. So Sam had gone through the Proctor Rite Of Passage; some terrible moment had cut him deep, deep enough to pull a new kind of blood to the surface. After Jessica, he had been... yeah.
It was fucking crazy. And yet it also slotted perfectly into some of the weirder things you understood about Sam; about who he was now and the vague, strobing flashes you got of his future. It freaked you the fuck out. Did Sam know? Did anyone know, besides you? Had your Mom recognized that spark in Sam, the same way she'd seen it in you? Had John?
And the plain existence of the Gift in Sam begged the question—why? Had he just happened to drop from the tree as a different kind of apple? Or was this something you could trace back to his mother, the same way it traced back to yours? Had Mary…?
The implications of that took pretty much everything you understood about Sam and Dean’s life, lined it up on the chopping block, and cleaved it in two. Needless to say, thinking about it made you sick. How could you even begin to bring this up to them?
You cursed your abilities with all you had. There were nights when you sat on the bathroom floor, wishing you could dig in with your nails and rip out whatever had put It in your head. Never in a billion fucking years would you have wished It upon anyone else; especially not Sam, good, selfless, wonderful Sam, who already ached so deeply for other people. Seeing their future, too? And even more often, seeing it and being helpless to change it?
He used to cry over squashed spiders as a kid. You'd felt a whole lot more than just spiders die.
…Beside that shuddering horror was another, far more selfish feeling. As scary as the implications could be, when you thought less about the Winchester family and more about your relationship with Sam, you were… excited. Relieved, even.
There were only four people in the entire world that you could share your Gift with. One of them has been six feet under for over a decade. Your Gift was a clingy, possessive creature, too. It was maybe two steps shy of being an eldritch horror. It poked through Dean’s dreams when you slept beside him, sucking them up like cigarette smoke. It breathed down Sam’s neck wherever he went. If you wanted, no one could lie to you—all punchlines and stories were spoiled for you, you knew when people found you annoying or pretty or stupid. If that particular Proctor gene had skipped you, then maybe you’d be able to form relationships with people where you didn’t immediately, intrinsically understand who they were and why. Dean would say, You need a drink. You would know without asking that he meant, You scare the ever-living hell out of me n’ I know I can’t hide it from you. Fucking hell, kid, I wish I could.
You knew you were a freak. The tiny human vessel for the lashing, bubbling, soul-melting, cosmic weight of a star about to bloom into a black hole. Only your mom would ever understand what it felt like to exist on the fringe of time, between the exhaustive influence of the past and the vast, spotty expanse of the future. You were a tool to men like John; an anomaly for men like Bobby; and a responsibility to men like Dean.
But Sam… Your best friend Sam, he’d always tried to understand. Maybe he’d never fully get it, but the point was that he tried to. You remembered sitting with him on the curb outside your old high school, the concrete thrumming with music from the junior prom you’d both left behind inside.
How either of you had gotten dates was a miracle. You, the class weird-freak-emo punchline, and Sam, on his fourth round being the new kid that year, were two peas in a pod. Your date had never picked you up; Sam’s had escaped with her friends long before their first dance. Neither of you were very broken up about it.
The future had sprawled in front of you that night as clear as could be. You must've sat and talked on the curb for three straight hours, pressed together at the hip with Sam’s blazer around your shivering arms.
He was always beautiful in the boy-next-door kind of way, dimples popping with every good smile and freckles rising out of the too-short sleeves of his button-up. But that night he’d been fucking Helen of Troy, and the roar of the past and future slowed to a halt around him.
Do you really see the future all the time? Every second? Sam had curiously tilted his head, sending a gleaming swish of chocolatey hair out of his eyes.
Swallowing hard, you’d hesitated, Not every second. But a lot, yes.
Again, the head tilt, then the swish. His gaze was innocent and intrigued. No existential dread, no sweeping sense of fear. Just plain curiosity. Not even morbid curiosity. Sam had asked, What about right now?
Sam’s cologne—oh god, his cologne—was steaming off his borrowed jacket and floating around your head in a wonderful rosy fog. You’d poked at the future. Sometimes things came back, sometimes they didn’t. That night, the future had come back tasting like Sam’s vanilla chapstick and junior prom punch, and your face had gone up in flames just sensing it. He’d waited for an answer. You’d blurted out the plain truth: In a minute or two, you’re gonna kiss me.
This kind of absolute, unshakable certainty about the future had made other hunters’ blood run cold. You’d braced yourself for Sam’s displeasure or worse, his fear. But instead, there were those dimples again, and Sam had the gall to bat his lashes at you and delightedly ask, Really? That’s what the magic eight ball has to say?
His big hand had dropped onto your knee and you’d squeaked out a shrill, Signs point to yes!
Sam loved the stupid magic eight-ball joke. You could feel him smiling about it as he kissed you, kissed you, hand-on-knee, his face tipping down to yours, the shitty school punch staining his lips as the two of you connected. At fifteen and sixteen respectively, this was the first kissing that either of you had ever done. It’d been wetter and warmer than you’d expected, and Sam’s vanilla chapstick had left the slightest print on your mouth, one that your tongue swiped over obsessively for the next month. Your Gift had chased him for weeks after that, silently and invisibly swarming him every time he entered a room.
Back then, your mind had been on the Curse. But now, you thought about what had led to the kiss in the first place. Sam hadn’t kissed you on a night when your Gift had been crammed down deep where it could bother nobody but you. He’d instead chosen the precise moment where your Gift was most raw, one of Its fingers coming down from the sky to press against the pulse of the future. It was small, but at a time in your life when you’d wanted to claw your Gift out with your bare hands, Sam had gotten the smallest glimpse of It and had fallen in love.
You couldn’t help but see this thing inside him, his Static, and feel the exact same way. His powers were twisted and unavoidably demonic, and yet you kind of loved them. It made perfect sense to you. No one really understood you like Sam did. Now, it's clear why.
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tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1 @lacilou @cevans-winchester @leigh70 @seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss @spnexploration @stoneyggirl2 @urm0mmmbbg @mulattomoon @poeticsorcery @deansapplepie @rennydenny @babydollfoster @badlandsbrunette @hallecarey1 @pplanetcaravan @notanotherthembo
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Ramblings
Feeling some heavy imposter syndrome today, so I figured I'd just share my thoughts. Maybe they'll be helpful for someone.
I try really hard to be a good caregiver. To be a good person in general, really. But part of being a good person and a good caregiver is recognizing my faults. I can be petty. Sometimes, I feel like a failure when I fail to make my little happy, or if I do say something that upsets them.
I have two writing projects here I really need to be working on, and yet whenever I think about getting started on them, it feels like I'm at the bottom of an insurmountable mountain. It's silly, really. This kind of writing is when my skills are at their most loose and free. I think that comes through in the writing itself. But still, I feel like what I put out isn't good enough, despite all the wonderful people who enjoy my work.
I also have a vanilla book I ought to be writing. But the whole task feels so daunting that I procrastinate it to the ends of the Earth. I'm indulging in video games more than I'd like right now, partly because I want to hide from the reality that the book needs to get done, and I'm not ready to do it. But at the same time, I hate feeling ashamed about the hobbies I enjoy, the ones that truly mean something to me.
There's a lot of shame in general in my life. I worry about making the wrong decisions, taking the wrong steps. I don't think I want to please everyone. But I don't want anyone to be mad at me. I want as many people as possible to at least respect me, and that desire often gets me into trouble. It makes me make stupid mistakes, and those are on me.
I wish I was better at staying in touch with people. I struggle with it so much, and I wish I fully understood the reason. I know my ADHD makes it hard to get back to people, and to stay engaged in text conversations. But also, that feels like an excuse. And like maybe I should be doing more to counteract that. But then I get to thinking how much time I spend talking with people when I do talk to them, and it's like, where is the time in the day. Sometimes I wonder how other people find time for their work, their friends, their hobbies, etc.
There's no real point to any of this. It's just my sprawled out thoughts. I think about so many things all at once. It's like there are multiple conversations with myself happening in my brain all at once, and it's exhausting sometimes. I don't think this post does anything to fix that, really. But maybe just acknowledging it somewhere outside of my own head is enough. Maybe someone will feel seen. I don't know. But I'd like to think there's a point to all this.
#cradlequill#cg/l#cg/l kink#cg/l lifestyle#cg/l community#ab/dl#ab/dl community#ab/dl blog#ab/dl kink#ab/dl lifestyle#bd/sm community#bd/sm blog#bd/sm dom#bd/sm daddy#bd/sm relationship#bd/sm kink#ramblings#thoughts#life#adhd#adhd brain#adhd things#neurodivergent#neurodivergency
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At long last it's finally DONE😩
For anyone who's been following my old Fugitoid doodles, you'd probably notice that the design has been quite inconsistent between each drawing, so I finally made myself solidify just HOW I wanted my Rise iteration to look. It's kinda funny tbh because I originally started this entire journey thinking "man I like Fugitoid, it's a shame that it's only used as a plot device or exposition machine" to essentially building up an entire new backstory and lore as if this were my own child LOL
Anyway, here are some of my doodle notes and concepts for this lad, as well as other notes to expand even more!!
○ this version of Fugitoid doesn't possess any weapons, except for the tazer-like attachment that their hand can turn into. This is mostly for self-defense and as a last ditch effort because(for obvious reasons) they aren't physically very strong
○ speaking of self-defense, although they don't/can't fight, the Fugitoid is INCREDIBLY bendy and agile to the point that you gotta question if there's even any solid mechanisms in there at all. They can extend and shorten their limbs to an unknown length, all in an effort to be as hard to grab or hit as possible
○ along with these mechanisms, there are so many other attachments and configurations that the Professor is capable of!! What I've drawn is merely a fraction of what they can do, and the stuff I've thought of is about 80% practical and 20% just comedic effect. For instance, the built in skates and extending eye-microscope is totally a daily use thing, but I imagine if it was on the show, there would be gags where a button would be pressed and it'd have a toaster oven in its chest or a full knitting set stored away. My reasoning is mostly that A) the Fugitoid has had a lot of time with this body and wants to be prepared for any situation and B) I just think it's funny°☆
○ on the topic of being in this body, this Fugitoid is WAY older than they might seem. I can't accurately say if they're older than other iterations, simply because I'm not sure if an exact age or time was ever given for those bots, but I can say that the Professor has been dealing with this for many, many, many years. Too many to even count on one hand. It can't stay in one place for long or else it'd risk being found out, but its travels span across many different plants across many different galaxies, all with their own sense of time and distance. Not to mention the time dilation that goes on in travel like that, but needless to say...this bot is incredibly old LOL
○ for those that are curious, "my" Professor goes by any pronouns! They/he/she/it, it doesn't really care at this point. Maybe in its early life it did, but by now, there's bigger things to worry about
○ for any of those also wondering about how this Fugitoid looked before this whole...robot body situation well..👀 I plan on making a separate post for that, but for now just know that they won't look humanoid in the slightest. It always irked me a little seeing the Professor "alive" and he's just...a human or some pointy-eared guy because!! Come on!!! This is an alien! Let it look freaky!!! Where is the spice!! The flavor!?
○ Lastly(and this is mostly just notes on the design) but I added more teal/green to the look cause I liked the color and thought it was such a shame that the only use of it on the Fugitoid was in the face. I just thought it'd be nice to use it more to kinda break up the monotonous white and grey of their usual body
#tmnt#teenage mutant ninja turtles#rottmnt#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#fugitoid#professor honeycutt#tmnt fanart#redesign
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I suppose it is a testament to how viral the Kendrick Lamar/Drake beef is because I saw Tumblr talking about it. I mean this descriptively and pejoratively.
Once upon a time, there were Black people on Tumblr. I remember this because I was there. There were enough, in fact, that there was a regular Blackout day where users pledged to boost Black content and selfies. The site has gotten so much whiter, to the point where you see shit like this. Some white people are absolute weaksauce and I'm genuinely amazed they don't, like, clutch their pearls when they encounter rap/hip-hop/R&B in real life.
There's a now deleted post that talked about how rap has been the most discriminated against music genre because of its intimate association with Blackness*. "Concern" about rap is why we have those parental advisory stickers on physical media. idk if they still do this, but they used to have radio stations that proudly proclaimed "All the music you love, minus the rap!" (I don't remember if they included all predominantly Black genres of music or just rap. Either way it was racist af.)
And until I read Gita's post (full disclosure: they're talking about my tags), it never occurred to me there are people who can go their whole goddamn lives without ever listening to rap/hip-hop. It's like calling yourself a well-rounded reader but not reading Morrison, Delany, or Baldwin. I genuinely do not believe you can say you know about music if you don't have at least a high level understanding of hip-hop. (Or jazz. Or country. But I digress.)
Like. Kendrick isn't exactly new on the scene. He won a Pulitzer, ffs! (Drake isn't either but idgaf about him, for many reasons.) And if people's minds are blown that rap can sound "like that"? If I were gracious I'd say "Welcome to being one of the ten thousand" but honestly it makes me sad it took beef for people to discover how good Kendrick and rap can be, because they never bothered to look outside their little bubble or allowed racist assumptions to color their perceptions of it.
--
* On the flip side, back when Hamilton was a thing, I legit saw people on here say rap should only be made by Black people. idk what they thought Lin Manuel Miranda is, but spoiler, he's not Black. Also saying that displays some real fucking ignorance about rap/hip-hop as a an expression of resistance all over the world.
#pear text#yes i've always been a snob#but hopefully i'm a snob about the right things now#go through the reblogs of gita's post#find a new artist to listen to#it's good for you
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It was an interview full of "right now" and "at this moment" from both Ryan and Tim. I'm genuinely wondering why the freak out from everyone? Interviews are always, ALWAYS, answered and arranged for the current episode/arc. People do know that right? No one, even the PR dorks that are Oliver and Ryan, are ever going to say "so yeah, Eddie is going to propose to his girlfriend but have a near death experience near the season finale that will change everything and he will shout his love for Buck." That interview is literally never going to happen. And honestly him proposing makes a ton of sense from a story standpoint. It's technically everything he claims he wants, so how does Eddie react when things still don't feel right? If the storyline is headed toward a relationship with Buck, and it genuinely does feel like that, Eddie seemingly getting everything he's ever wanted and still feeling off is the perfect introduction to that. I'm stupidly stunned every time by the unhinged break downs after every fucking interview.
To be fair, anxiety is a very real issue for a lot of people (me being one of them, it doesn’t take much to send me spiraling) and in fact i am a catastrophizer… i see something and immediately jump to the worst conclusions about it and only then do i sit back and put thought into it.
I don’t like to post when i’m catastrophizing because all it does is stirs even more panic and anxiety, but others find it easier to post their panic/spiraling so that hopefully others may he able to offer a different point of view to talk them down from their panic. mental health is one bicth of a human condition.
so while yes, it is definitely jarring to see people panicking, i try to remain gracious to those who are spiraling because i understand the panic that sets in and the urgency for someone to tell you that everything is okay.
as far as knowing the ins and outs of how television and pr works; unfortunately a lot of people are not educated on how things like this go because we live in an age where weekly episodic releases like this are becoming less and less common as binge culture has become the hot commodity, especially for streaming services. with that there comes a level of misunderstanding of how the industry works and has worked in the past, especially for a younger audience. so a lot of viewers are used to having the whole story handed to them all at once, rather than the intensive speculation and uncertainty that comes with network tv.
i myself having worked in film and theatre have firsthand experience with PR and the media and how to keep things under wraps (i am by NO WAY an insider, i have worked on student/college/indie films and have had zero involvement in the commercial film industry) and i STILL sometimes struggle from that initial shock of reading something that seemingly doesn’t bode well for what you want to see from a television show.
so all of that to say is i understand it can be jarring and at times even annoying to see the catastrophizing and spiraling, but it helps me to step back and take a breath to remind myself to give some grace to people who may not have as much of an understanding of how things like this work as i do.
thank you for the ask anon!! Apologies for the long reply, i just wanted to discuss this bc i have a lot of my own thoughts on it! 💕
#911 abc#911 on abc#eddie diaz#buddie#911 spoilers#evan buckley#911#buddie 911#buck and eddie#911 season 7#evan buck buckely
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