#let's hope my blog tags isn't buried oh my gods
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"𝖐𝖎𝖘𝖘 𝖒𝖊 𝖘𝖑𝖔𝖜𝖑𝖞" — suna rintarou ;
𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: suna rintarō is so much more than his bored eyes, the blunt between his lips, and his tendency to slack off—luckily, you're one of the very few people who know this; especially after he comes home to you sullen after finding out he didn't make it to the olympic players.
𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖘: female reader. fluff—established relationship. angst if you squint. comfort. mention of drug use. like, one swear word.
𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 2k
𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖑𝖊𝖙'𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊: in lieu of the influx of toxic stoner!suna content, i offer you a piece of appreciation towards him and all that he is. i was meaning to post this in my new blog but i thought there's so much of you here who would appreciate and need this more. written on a whim at 1AM and didn't proofread so for any errors, gomen. repost because tumblr tagging hates me. cross posted on ao3 under the same username. original post here. this was written before we got information that he actually made it to the olympic team. furudate really told me to stfu, huh?
It's you who find out first that there is truly so much more to Suna Rintarō than his expressionless exterior, sleepy eyes, and bored gaze towards even the most ridiculous situations. It's when his self assured stance dwindled as he walked towards you once upon a time, introducing himself first before asking you for your number.
"My number?" You echoed his request, trying your best not to gawk at his attractive features and six foot two stature towering over you so easily; making you feel oh so small. (Which is funny, given that you were already standing straight on your heels.)
"If you don't mind, 's cool if you say no," he replies, tearing his gaze from you as if he was actually anxious you'd say no.
It's funny, really. It's not every day a famous pro-athlete known for both his good looks and skills walk up to you, asking for your number and actually considering you'd say no to him and his pretty features—in fact, nevermind that he was pretty, it was more the fact that he wasn't so full of himself to actually think you wouldn't say no.
That's what makes you nod your head; your heart already beating right out of your chest as he gives you a lazy grin and his phone to press your number in. When you're done, you hand it back to him and you mentally pat yourself at the back for not visibly trembling.
"Y/N?" He reads your name from the contact information, and good God, did your name sound so beautiful coming out of his mouth. He doesn't wait for your reply anymore, looking back at you from his phone, the lazy smile still across his lips as if he knew it was a heart killer.
"Thanks, I'll text you later," is the last thing he said before he walked away from you.
It didn't take long for you to fall in love with someone like Suna Rintarō—underneath his detached personality also lied someone who was truly passionate with the things he set his mind to, gave his time to. Like you or volleyball or the video game he's been waiting to release for a whole month—it only had to be something or someone who was special enough, then, he would give it his all.
The smoke that filled his lungs occasionally did nothing to lessen your own intoxication of Suna Rintarō and his passions—because every exhale, his dark green eyes would meet yours and oh so easily, he offers you that same lazy smile yet one that was dripping with affection.
"Should you even be smoking that, Rintarō?" You had questioned him before, about the second time you've seen him put the rolled blunt in between his soft lips, inhaling it.
"It's a once in a while kinda thing, you don't actually think I'd sacrifice my career for this don'tcha?" He grins at you, amusement flooding his usually bored eyes — now glazed over with the effects of the weed—from the way he gazes at you with an eyebrow raised.
It's when you realize that Suna Rintarō was independent and knew what he was doing—did what he did with full awareness, full control, full flexibility. It's as if who he was in court was who he was in person as well.
"You're really interesting, y'know that Rin?" You had mumbled against his chest once before, it was at the first few months of dating—he had one of his arms around you with you cuddled on his side, watching a movie from his couch.
"Yeah?"
"I mean—you've always been so good at what you do, huh? But you still work for it."
"What makes you say that?" You can feel him looking down on face against his chest.
"C'mon, don't be silly. You were scouted at middle school and you only got better as you grew up!" You say, finally moving your head to meet his gaze.
But all you get is a flick on your forehead and his low chuckle, "'s not that deep, y/n," he answers.
But you already knew better.
Suna isn't one for words, and no matter how much you insist that he was beyond the description of words, he only rolls his narrowed eyes at you. You find out Suna Rintarō, your boyfriend, was a huge inspiration during your sixth month together when you finally met his little sister.
It's hard to say it wasn't amusing how snarky she was, just as he was to his friends whom you've met a few times before—Atsumu and Osamu Miya, you remember. She's quick with her tongue, easily retorting back to her brother's comments.
"Are you sure you didn't just pay Y/N-san to be your girlfriend, nii-san?"
"Nah, you still jealous I came out prettier than you?" Suna bites back, a teasing grin plastered across his face. His sister only scoffs, looking back at you.
"You can tell me if he blackmailed you to come here!" She attempts to whisper. You're not sure whether you should be worried or continue to laugh, but you do neither as you choke on the drink you were sipping on right as she told you this.
"Shit, Y/N," Suna curses as you cough, your throat burning at the drink's intrusion, but Suna's quick to rub soothingly against your back as he offers you his water, his eyes glazed over in panic.
"You okay?" He asks when you stopped coughing, and you nod in response—throat remaining slightly sore. Suna lets out an aggravated groan, "Be careful next time," he manages to scold you, but oddly enough, his words remain saccharine.
There's something about the way that his little sister doesn't seem the least bit surprised with his reaction that somehow lets you know that perhaps, Suna Rintarō might just be quite the caring brother behind closed doors.
After that, it was when Suna excused himself to take a call from his manager, leaving you with his sister.
"Hey, nee-san, promise you'll take care of Rin-nii? You won't break his heart, will you?" His sister asks, eyes gleaming with something akin to hope, expectation, wonder. It easily takes you by surprise.
"Don't you worry, I'll promise I'll take care of him, promise I won't break his heart," your voice easily softens, nodding. His little sister's gaze remains on you, as if she's assessing you and as if she would easily tell whether or not you meant the words that came out of your mouth.
It makes you hold a breath until she nods slowly, smiling at you lightly just as Suna comes walking back, eyebrows raised, knowing he must've missed something.
"Whatcha girls talkin' bout?" He asked as he slipped back on his seat beside you.
"None of your business, obviously," his sister quickly answers.
They're truly quite similar, it's enough to make you smile and get through meeting his little sister until both of you dropped her off back to the train station.
"What'd she tell you?" Suna nudged you after seeing her train leave.
"Nothing, Rin," you answered with a wide smile, leaning up to place a chaste kiss against his lips—yet just as you pull away, one of his hands has found its way behind your neck, pulling you back to him.
You never thought a kiss could feel so loving before—but it really seemed as if Suna Rintarō had a knack for proving you wrong, over and over again.
It was the day that the Olympic team was announced when you see so much more of Suna Rintarō. Quick like the blink of an eye, or lightning that leaves the thunder chasing it; Suna felt the exhaustion, the pressure, the burnt-out feeling that's been repressed in the back of his head. It comes to him, crashing down like boulders not just on his shoulders but weighing down every part of his body.
Did he lack somewhere? He wonders. Where did that lacking end and start? What could have he done? Was it training, where he spent most of his time now? Suna had end up seeing you less and less since the drafting of olympic players started and you've been nothing but patient.
What was he supposed to tell you? After all the time it has stolen away from you—that he didn't make it?
When he opened the door to your shared apartment, he doesn't look up at you with a relieved sigh as he usually would—he avoids you gaze entirely, he avoids your observing eyes from the couch you sat on, watching him slowly shrug his shoes off.
"I'm just gonn—" he started, about to make an excuse to avoid looking at you.
"Prepared your bath, Rin. C'mon," Suna hears you say but it doesn't sink in his head, watching you take his hand, leading him to the bathroom.
Suna remains silent as he looks down on the bath you prepared for him, warm and inviting.
"Meet me in the kitchen when you're done, okay?" He hears you say, followed by the echo of your footsteps walking away.
You easily understand that Suna Rintarō was more than his talents, his efforts, and every little thing about him when you feel his large arms wrapped around you, his broad chest pressed against your back and his face buried on the crook of your neck. His fresh scent right out of the shower engulfing you and invading your senses, flooding you with him.
"'m sorry, bunny," he mumbles.
"You have nothing to be sorry about, Ri—"
"It's odd, thought I'd pull it off, thought it'd be nothin' if I didn't make it. Don't know why I'm so upset right now," he continues, cutting you off, "Been so patient for me too, bunny. Thought I'd be nice to make you proud, ya know?"
Your sigh comes out sharp from the heavy feeling from your chest, not knowing what to do to make him feel better—like he did with you, always knowing his way around your low moments.
You wriggle out of his arms, making him grumble until you fully face him. He looks back at you with a small frown, eyebrows furrowed, watching your expression.
"I'm always proud of you, Rin. Olympic player or not, you make me so proud," you speak softly, your hands cupping each side of his face.
"Don't even get why it matters to me this much, it's just—" it was your turn to cut him off, tipping your toes to press a lingering kiss against his lips. Suna smiles against your lips, carrying you to sit on the kitchen counter like he always did—knowing you always would have to tip on your toes to reach him.
Soon, the lingering kiss turns slow and passionate—lips softly grazing the other, and it feels more like pouring the heavy weight of love out of your chest and into the other. A kiss so loving, so reassuring, so passionate—the kind that easily takes your breath away and makes your mind go blank. When Suna pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, breathing heavily. You smile at him because it's all you can do when your heart feels like it's going to leap out of your throat just to offer itself to him entirely—and Suna smiles back at you, pecking your lips before wrapping his arms around you again, resting his chin on your shoulder.
You run your fingers through his hair, hoping it would help soothe him, and then you say, "I promise that you'll make it next year, Rin. I'll be with you now, and I'll still be with you then."
It only makes him hold you tighter, closer to him, "I love you, Y/N."
"I love you, Rintarō. You deserve the world and all the stars in the galaxy."
"'s too bad there's nothin' more I need than you, then."
That's what Suna tells you—Suna, who was smoke in his lungs, dumb videos of the twins to blackmail them with, little mistakes, bored eyes, and lazy attitude. The same Suna who was slow kisses, passion, and genuine smiles reserved for you—the same Suna who gave his passions his all, the same Suna who held you securely in his arms every night, the same Suna his little sister admired. Most of all, the same Suna Rintarō you loved with every beat of your heart, every fibre of your being.
📞 violet is calling... all content featured belongs to ©️ animatedrapture. do not plagiarize, repost, or modify.
#suna x reader#suna rintarou#haikyuu x reader#suna#haikyuu#suna rintaro x reader#haikyuu imagines#rintarou suna#suna fluff#haikyuu fluff#suna Rintarō#;cloud#IM SO PRESSED!!!#so anNOYED!!#GODDAMN HAD TO REPOST
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Hi Jen, I hope you don't mind me asking this. Really need some advice on how to cope in this fandom. Idk why people keep yucking other people's yum. The other day I just quoted "Louis is such a goofy dad" and I received my first K-Word myself in my anon inbox. They stated "Louis is a MILF and a slut!! go k-word urself" and I'm just in shock? Idk people keep wanting a certain narrative to be true. Can't we all have opinions? Have funsies? I just stated he's a goofy dad and I get this? Any advice?
OH MY GOD, oof, yeah, having had this "fun" experience before, I'm truly sorry you got this message, I mean, I'd feel like that about literally anything anyone's posting on social media in the year 2022, but especially anyone posting about One fucking DIRECTION seven years after they broke up. He absolutely IS a goofy dad, you're right, you should say it, I wonder which dumdum blouie's gonna come send me this kind of garbage, I'll leave you in the dogpile of my inbox with the other tragedies sharin' a sad wank in the clowncar that is this fandom, I'm sure your fave is real proud! Ahem. Anyway, the sad truth is that a bulk of people still living in the 2012 era have a hard time reconciling the differences between 1D fiction and 1D reality on just about every level (the hot takes I have on this one, so spice, and it's not just the BL "paradise" crowd), so there isn't a lot you can really *do* about it, but maybe these ideas will help?
1. Ignore. Just ghost and don't respond, don't block it, don't vague it, pretend you never got it...odds are they aren't even following you, they're just looking to start some shit. Pro: if they're a real person following you, they'll keep comin' back, lookin' for that sweet sweet release that will make them feel relevant yet will never, ever come. Con: they might keep coming back to harass you in your inbox, which is fucking annoying.
2. Block. This is somewhat effective but not entirely. My stinky traffic dropped off when I went hunting for that circle of monsters and proactively blocked them all BEFORE they could send it--search for something like who are your fave BL blogs or whatever, and go to town on block city. (I would take a look at the op of the post you added your tag to as well, maybe check out recent notes) Pro: you will magically prevent a lottttt of horseshit from coming your way. Con: you will catch glimpses of a hell you will never unsee.
3. Report. Especially in this case! I haven't seen if it actually works or not, though, so I don't really have a good pro/con answer here, and it could suck MIGHTILY if it turns out a favorite mutual sent this your way. (Which reminds me: check who's following you and do some preemptive blocking work that way, too.)
4. Turn off anon. I swear to god, this works, jesus, they're such cowards.
5. Firehose. Depending on how petty you're feeling, BURY your feed in dilf Louis content. There are blogs that specialize in spank hands daddy Louis, goofy drunk bbq dad Louis, actual dad Louis--reblog the FUCK out of all of 'em, give it a fun tag if you want (for my special anon who's into milfs), just spray a virtual firehose of daddy louis content until this person blocks YOU. Pro: you will jettison a lot of people, hopefully including whoever's lurking. Con: you will jettison a lot of people who probably enjoy other content you put on their dash, but oh well! There's a price to pettiness, always, so weigh that one out.
God, I wish people would get over the weird pearl-clutching fear they have over Louis's dad antics on ANY level, so I secretly hope you drop this bomb and let me know how it goes! But real talk, I hope you feel okay in the aftermath of getting this kind of shitty ask--if you ever want to message me directly, I'm here!
#one direction#what a fandom#what a thing to be proud of#and papa louis is like the least of it#the LEAST
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i have been holding this idea to myself for an entire MONTH AHAHA but here we are , i’m a big gorl now and i really wanted to share the angst — along with finally starting a blog on tumblr . so yeah ! i’m new , pls be kind to me , i have food 👉🏼👈🏼 i hope you enjoy my first story !
𝐒𝐀𝐔𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐄 .
PAIRINGS : tooru oikawa x fem! reader
GENRE : angst , romance
TRIGGERS : bits of cursing here n there , ig ?
SYNOPSIS : tooru doesn’t understand how special you are to him until he comes close to losing you forever . as he struggles to comes to grips with his feelings and balance it with his future , you still have to recover from your own injuries , but without your memories to assist you .
[ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄 ] > 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎 .
the beginning of a storm ; why was tooru at seijoh so late ?
word count : 1.9k .
saudade masterlist.
SAUDADE
( 𝐧 . ) a nostalgic longing to be near again to something or someone that is distant , or that has been loved and then lost ; “ the love that remains ”
⠀"tooru? i've tried calling you for almost an hour now... what are you still doing here?" the janitor had allowed you an entrance inside seijoh, your light jacket pressed against your body as you scuffled through the gym doors, your tongue clicking as you eyed a certain brunette captain serving his god-knows-how-many time of deadly top-spin serves.
⠀his eyes darted in your direction the moment your voice filled the echoey gym walls, your concerned tone ringing back and forth as his brown irises glared at you through narrow eyelids. a nervous lump grew in your throat, your stomach understanding the regret in the decision you made. oikawa was in one of his moods again; you should've known better than to barge in during his serving practice.
⠀still, even with your boyfriend acting the way he was - without saying a single word - there was no use in just leaving aoba johsai as quickly as you arrived. you came to check on tooru, and that was exactly what you were going to do. "it's late, tooru. we still have school tomorrow! you need your rest, please give yourself a break, it'll do more harm than good for you."
⠀"you say that every time, y/n." oikawa rolled his eyes as he bent down to grab a nearby volleyball rolling at his feet, palming it in his right hand and pointing it at the net. his focus was intent - you knew exactly what he was doing. for the past couple of weeks, the captain focused his practice on serving, locking in and applying all of his power to one spot on the court only. it was a feat not many could accomplish, but tooru was scarily coming close to mastering such a challenge. it required extra practice, of course, but certainly not to this extent.
⠀"as your girlfriend and as the manager of the aoba johsai volleyball team, i'm worried about you, you know?" taking a deep, brave breath, you stepped further into the gym, your footsteps creating more echoes for the two of you to listen to as you approached the sweat-covered third year, who had paused his serving practice to watch you come to him. his lips were pursed - and not in a way that sent your heart aflutter. oikawa hated when you disturbed him and tried talking him out of practicing; he'd give any reason and excuse to avoid it.
⠀"just one more serve, alright? then you can drag me out, whatever. i don't really want to listen to your self-health lectures right now." his free hand rested on his hips, the volleyball now resting between his waist and underneath his arm, interrupting you as your mouth opened to say something more. you had grown accustomed to tooru's mood swings as time went on; he didn't mean much by it, and you understood his position. his passion towards the sport was what originally captivated you towards the captain in the first place. you weren't exactly part of his fanclub, per se, but you sure as hell were close enough as a member. the only difference between you and the other girls was that you were lucky enough to snag the job as the volleyball club manager.
⠀"one serve, tooru." your arms crossed as you bit back his nasty glare with one of your own. most of the time, it worked. "push your luck and i'll call iwaizumi here to drag you out of the gym himself." you and hajime were always a tag team whenever it came to putting an iron fist down on tooru, though the stubborn male usually only listened to iwa, since he was the one who packed a nasty punch. oikawa did listen to you occasionally, just not as much as you would've liked.
⠀he rolled his eyes and turned away from you in place of a reply, holding the ball out in front of him. he was silent, and so were you. this was his routine for practice, all of his dirty talk could wait for the matches. you moved to his sports bag, sighing to yourself as you saw his cellphone plopped on top of his club jacket like a cherry on top. he must've had his ringer off, which would explain why he didn't pick up any of your calls. crossing your arms lightly over your chest, you watched with intent eyes as your boyfriend tossed his ball into the air, his gaze directly focused on nothing else but the flying object. he began his standard approach, your breath held as the gym exploded with the sound of his palm coming in contact with the volleyball. your eyes could hardly follow its path; you blinked once, and the ball was already bouncing against the wall.
⠀"damn, another fluke." you were about to compliment tooru's killer serve before you listened to him reprimand himself - you could tell this wasn't the first time he scolded himself for a mistake only he could identify. you noticed him walking to grab another ball, but you ran out to him, kicking his targeted ball out of reach before looking up at him and pressing a finger to his chest lightly.
⠀"enough, tooru. you promised me only one more serve. you've done that already, pack up so we can leave already. you have tomorrow to continue."
⠀"what the hell, y/n? i was just going to-"
⠀you knew him way too well to believe his next lie. "don't even try and say you were going to start picking up volleyballs. i see that look in your eyes, as clear as a cloudless day. you were intent on serving again, tooru; you can't lie to me. you-"
⠀"could you just stop already? who are you, my mother?" he clenched his jaw as he swatted your finger away from his chest, storming away from you as he bent down to pick up another ball, just right behind the boundary line. "i know you care, y/n. you make that very clear. but i can take care of myself, okay? just go home."
⠀"tooru-"
⠀"go, y/n."
⠀oh hell no you weren't.
⠀not without him leaving too.
⠀you turned the corner and pretended to leave seijoh, your face faking its exasperation. leaning against the wall right outside of the gym doors, you reached into your front pocket, your phone warm in your hand. unlocking the screen and searching through your contacts, you tapped the call button for the one person that had the ability to drag oikawa out of the gymnasium.
⠀"hello?"
⠀"iwa! thank goodness you answered."
⠀"it's so late, y/n. do you need help burying a body or something?"
⠀"i wish. i hope this isn't too much to ask, but could you please come to seijoh? tooru refuses to stop practicing, and he won't listen to me."
⠀"god, again?" a sigh could be heard from the other line. "yeah, i'll be right there. open the door for me, will you?"
⠀"thank you so much, iwa. i'll be at the door."
⠀you hung up the call, your eyes gazing at the doors as you waited for your friend to appear. you bit down on the side of your cheek and listened to every sound of contact tooru made with every serve. nothing could get him out of his moods - at least, not anything verbal. you'd need physical force to actually get him to step out of the gym doors. hence, why you needed hajime here.
⠀you heard a knock at the door a few minutes later, and you just about sprinted, a gracious smile stretched upon your lips as you allowed iwaizumi into the school. he looked like he rolled out of bed, his mouth in his natrual scowl. when his eyes laid upon you, his glare softened when he looked at your smile. "alright, where is he?"
⠀"in the gym, where he always is."
⠀"allow me." rolling up his own sleeves, the spiky-haired ace marched through the gym doors with you in line behind him, peering over him to look at oikawa's face the moment he was in the setter's line of vision.
⠀"oh, it's iwa. i'm not surprised, y/n is too stubborn to listen to me."
⠀"you're one to talk, shittykawa. don't you know what time it is?" taking out his phone and shaking it to make a point, he wasted no time in walking towards the brunette. you were nervous; usually oikawa would falter at the sight of hajime alone, but tonight seemed to be different. instead of giving in, he merely gave his new company a dirty glare. "go home already. it's late, we have school tomorrow, and the playoffs are soon. you're just going to tire yourself out, and i'll beat your ass if we don't face the other teams at our best." he then chuckled. "i've pulled you out of here myself multiple times, don't think i won't do it again."
⠀oikawa turned his icy stare at you, before glancing back at hajime with a bored yawn. "fine, fine," he retorted, throwing his calloused hands up in mock surrender, "you win, y/n. happy? i'm leaving the gym now, so don't be any more pushy than you have been tonight. it's giving me a headache."
⠀those words hurt more than you thought they would, tooru antagonizing the fact that you were only trying to care for him. your eyes rested at your feet, letting your hair rest in front of your face as you listened to tooru's volleyball shoes walk across the gym. you could hear iwa's as well; the two of them were picking up the volleyballs around the court, but your legs were in no position to help, not with how fragile they felt.
⠀you looked up on time to see oikawa slinging his bag over his shoulder, his nasty little glare plastered all over his face as he began to walk out of the gym. "goodnight," was the only thing he muttered as he brushed against your shoulder with his own on his way out. your head whirled around as you watched your boyfriend walk away without another word. you didn't have it in you to reply.
⠀"are you sure you two are in a relationship?" you jumped at iwa's voice, just noticing him standing beside you. "he didn't even bother asking to drive you home. some boyfriend he is."
⠀"ah, don't be like that, iwa." you forced yourself to laugh at the situation in a desperate attempt to make light of it, but the effort was futile, and utterly pathetic. "tooru's a good boyfriend! he just gets in his moods sometimes, but it happens to the best of us. nothing i can't handle. after a good night's rest, i'm sure he'll be back to normal in no time."
⠀"i hope you're right." he turned to face you, peering down at you before placing both of his hands in his pockets. "do you need a ride home? i know you live close by, but it's gotten colder now, and we can't have our manager catching a cold on us."
⠀this time a real laugh left your system, shrugging your shoulders as you looked to the outside, before back at hajime. he looked pretty serious, despite looking fatigued. "are you sure, iwa? i don't want to bother you with it."
⠀"nonsense." he shook his head. "since your boyfriend couldn't do his job in taking care of you, i'll just drive you home tonight. okay?"
⠀your heart dropped at his words.
⠀your boyfriend couldn't do his job in taking care of you.
⠀"... yeah, okay."
a / n : JFJSJFJFJF i wrote just a wee bit much , usually i’ll aim for around 1k , maybe a lil less on lazy days . anywho ! ty for reading , i hope you enjoyed part one 🥺
#haikyuu imagine#oikawa tooru#oikawa fic#oikawa x y/n#oikawa angst#oikawa scenarios#oikawa x reader#haikyuu!!#aoba johsai#seijoh#seijou#hajime iwaizumi#iwaizumi x reader#fem reader#female reader#x reader#haikyuu angst#haikyuu oikawa#oikawa tōru
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Hey Hun! Lots of love to you. For starters I wanted to say that there should be no cell in your body blaming yself in any way. You and your blog were hope for so many people. You were the "you are not crazy" of the final weeks, and I'm forever grateful to you. Instead of dying of anxiety I managed to have a blast in this time of waiting, thanks to you. I passed my master thesis, because you gave me strength to see past the fear. I laughed in those weeks more than in last 5 years, and all of it because of the hope you gave me.
The rest of the msg is going to be pretty emotional rant about the awfulness of it all, and I know my opinion doesn't matter to anyone but I wanted someone important to me to hear my thoughts, if that's ok. It's also ok if you don't want to read it ofc. It's like my breakup letter to the show.
I hear many people cheering for the finale and i find it really hard to deal with. I always considered myself an open person who fights for healthy love as the only redeeming quality of the universe. I could see people's point of view, even if it didn't sit well with mine, and I would always try to hear them out respectfully until they weren't being respectful themselves. That said, I'm fully unable to understand cheering for this type of spiteful content and hearing those cheers makes me feel like the entire world is listening to "this is how you treat your fans, this is how to abuse your power over naive sheep, this is how to keep dumb, hopeful minorities in check" and taking notes.
It also upsets me that the people who gave this show all of themselves and tried to understand it to the core are given no resolution, are spitted on and buried under the rug for doing their best to appreciate the art and the story it was telling. Yet people, who just hang around and watch the show doing the dishes, with no consideration to it's story or characters, got as nonsensical ending as their whole idea of character development in SPN.
I know people say that it was good enough, because it leaves space for guessing and own interpretation, but I feel it's really undermining the extend to which the finale was awful and hurtful to the fans. There is no end that realistically could stop fanfic writers from finding way around it in the world of Supernatural, so saying it was thoughtful of them Is like excusing abusive partner because "they could hit me harder, but they didn't. That means they care"
Lose ends, characters being written in a way that is totally not true to them and their development (personally my biggest allegation), dismissing years of story development, proving that it was all 'queerbaiting' in big part in the end (hell, even the whole "Cas is in heaven so do with it what you will" is a shameful way of appalling to LGBTQ community after using them so hard.
In the pie scene, the roles should be swapped, it's Dean who should say that Cas is on his mind and Sam explaining him that it's only right to keep on living doing good in their name. That's what Dean told Sam at the beginning of the season, when Sam lost Rowena, so it would be at least a bit poetic. This would at least give us some truth from Dean for once, but he died how he lived, in shadow of his fear to be true towards his feelings and needs. And as he died, he bound his little brother to the hunting till the end of his days, by guilting him into it on his deathbed. Guess Dean took after his father.
Have you realised what that emotional "love speech" from Dean to Sam resulted in? It was writers taking back Cas' confession after they didn't need our viewership anymore.
They basically gave us love confession to get us to follow the finale and when they didn't need us anymore, not only they didn't commit to the confession, but they undermined it by having Dean's speech to Sam go the way it did with obviously higher emotional charge, successfully taking back the value of Cas' confession and making it about a bait for "Tumblr idiots"
Finale killed my feelings towards Destiel, not because it wasn't confirmed canon, but because from what I see in the episode, they canonically confirmed that
- for Dean, Cas was only means to an end, which is such an awful way of ending Cas' character arc. They gave him everything he was scared of and nothing close to consolation price and they dare to tell us he had a happy ending, "because they said so". Well, I didn't see him being happy, and knowing what i textually know i can empathise enough to say that he faced a miserable finish. Even Chuck got an end that was better than Cas' fate.
- Dean, given power to do anything he could dream of, chooses to not even greet Cas, after Cas gave his whole life to Dean, told him he loved him and died for him. I know some people consider the little smirk of Dean confirmation of his feelings, but let's be real for just a second. If someone you deeply loved for years confessed to you, told you they thought you don't love them back, you would be freaking running to see them and tell them how much you love them. That smirk to me reads as "I'm relieved to know you're not going to spend eternity in mega hell that i left you in" and we really need to stop giving credit to writers for scraps like this when it's the last episode ever and we know this isn't going anywhere.
Not to mention that by having Jack bring Cas back behind the scenes it just highlights the fact that Dean didn't ask him to do that in episode 19.
As result, I'm unable to look at any Destiel scene and not think "in here Cas already loved him and in here Dean already abuses the power he had over Cas, because of his one-sided love"
And yet, the episode and endgames for everyone (maybe not Sam, but he was seriously pinning for Dean his entire life. Wincest much?) managed to be so bad, that not even bringing Cas back or following up on Destiel would make a difference in my eyes. I know you believe that Destiel would save it, but for me as much as it would be a redeeming quality, it wouldn't be enough to save this awfulness that writer doomed characters with.
And all the Wincest scenes in the finale... I low key expected them to make out and it made me feel physically sick. Also, cutting Misha out because of coronavirus is a cheap excuse. We all know better than to believe that, so let's not fall for the self pity play from the abuser.
If you managed to stay with me till this point, thank you so much for hearing me out. I hope i didn't anger you with my monologue. I will always think of the lamp when i think of you. The reality is that you were the lamp for so many of us in this darkness.
Love you so much, wish all the best to you, take care of yourself and stay safe!
Oh my god, if I didn’t cry with the final, I definitely am crying now. And now I have to explain my partner why I’m staring at my laptop and sobbing ugly. What have you done?
First of all, I hear you pain, my friend! I share it! I didn’t spend a second after the final without the feeling of my heart being shuttered into million pieces, being stitched back just to break again, and so on and so on.
I had my first panic attack in two years yesterday, when I kept thinking about the message the show sent to the fandom via Dean’s fate. I have a few posts in my draft on the matter, but I am not sure I will ever share them, because it is one strong depresso, and I don’t think people following me should see how fucked up it really is (if they didn’t get it by themselves, of course).
I want to remind you, my gentle soul, that the story belongs to us. We know Dean, we know Cas, we know Sam and others. We know that the final is not who they are! I know it’s hard to ignore the text, the canon, because it’s kinda godsent, but the truth is essential. And the final is not the truth.
The truth:
Cas loves Dean, he sacrificed himself for him, he saved his life on multiple occasions, he told all those beautiful things and he meant every word.
Dean loves Cas, he was on his lowest every time he lost him, Cas was his “big win”, his best friend, his brother, his white light that lead him out of his anger, hatred and despair. He took a dog and called it Miracle, he was looking for a job to retire from hunting, he didn’t kill Chuck - all of that, because the sacrifice Cas made was not in vain! The message was clear.
I choose to ignore the “Carry on”, the only attention it is going to get is me creating 20 more mails just to put a one star review there and to drop some more salty or bitter comments with it. Maybe I will read through some reviews, too, add them to my collection.
Maybe I will one day write here an article from scriptwriting perspective how fucked up in was, because that’s what I can do about it, without throwing up.
If you can’t ignore it, I understand it. It is painful, it is disrespectful, I hate it as much as you do, probably.
If there’s anything I can do for you to feel better, just drop me a message, we can talk about it. I am on the lowest, too, but maybe we can help each other.
You say I was your lamp. Let me lead you our of the darkness one more time <3
CW can suck my metaphorical dick (I’m tagging every angry post with it), but Supernatural is not just the show on CW, it’s a big family.
And you can’t give up on it! You can’t give up on Dean and Cas, you can’t give up on Destiel! It’s so much bigger then the show itself.
Rediscover the show for yourself, remind yourself that Dean and Cas are real, it was never one sided, it was always something amazing.
What is real? We are.
Don’t you ever change.
I rather have you, cursed or not.
It’s love, hun, and love always wins.
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Summmary: Chris uncovers some unsettling truths about Lucy's home life. Lucy becomes angry with Chris.
Word Count: 1,560
Warnings: language, mentions of abuse of a minor
Tag List: @southernbell91 @marvelgirl7 @anxiousamandapanda @book-dragon-13 @jobean12-blog @loricameback @spacemansam @randomfandompenguin @louisianaspell (If you wish to be added or removed in the tag list for this, let me know)
"Leave me alone!" Lucy yelled as she jerked away from Miss Alexander's reach. "God, can you people not be prison wardens for like five minutes?! Fuck"
"Lucy!"
The teenager ignored her superior and stir.ed to her class, taking her seat. The Language Arts teacher raised her eyebrows but continued with the lesson, choosing not to fight the battle today. It was Monday and everyone hated Monday's. Especially Chris who was now making his way toward the classroom. He entered, apologizing to the teacher for interrupting, and asked Lucy to join him in the hallway. Lucy ignored him, hoping he'd just leave and glared from underneath her hair covered face as he approached desk.
"I'm not asking this time. Get up."
Again, the girl didn't reply. Chris sighed, hating what was to come next. All part of the job, but the riskiest part. Chris stood behind her desk and reached his arms under hers, pulling her up from her desk. She didn't fight him, instead she became dead weight, forcing him to drag her out into the hallway. Waiting for them was the principal, the vice principal, and the school counselor.
"Lucy, you were asked repeatedly to remove your hood. You know the rules. No head coverings of any kind inside the school."
"Are you gonna make Inya take her headscarf off?" Lucy grumbled
"That's different. She has religious exemption."
"Well I have exemption too under the fact that I don't want to."
"Lucy."
Chris was behind her and his voice made her aware of his presence, her stance instantly becoming defensive.
"Take your hood off and drop the attitude."
"Or what Chris?" Lucy turned toward him, her tone aggressive "You gonna take me down? Cuff me and break my arm?"
"That's not...have you been reading the news again?"
"No, but all you cops are the same."
Chris pinches the bridge of his nose.
"Just one day, please, could you not be difficult? I was in the middle of a-"
"Fine!"
Lucy's sudden scream made the adults jump, taken aback, but not Chris. He remained calm, watching the girl as she reached up and yanked the hood away from her face and pushed her hair away. Soft gasps littered the air as the bruises on Lucy's face and neck were revealed.
"Lucy, what happened? Are you alright?" Ms Broman, the counselor, asked
"Oh, now you care?! Five minutes ago you didn't give a shit why I was wearing my hood, you just wanted me to comply to your stupid rules."
She glared at the women before turning to glance up at Chris.
"Well?"
Chris didn't know what to say. He was shocked, which surprised him. He always had a feeling that something was going on at home, but seeing the proof shook his core.
"We should go to my office." Ms Broman suggested
"I just want to go back to class."
"Lucy, we should talk about this." Chris managed to say
"Talk about what? I got my ass kicked this weekend, big deal. I just want to do my work."
"Who did this? Was it a student?"
"No."
"Your father?"
"Why can't you people leave me alone?!" Lucy cried, pushing past the staff and running up the hallway.
They were dumbfounded, all standing there looking at each other as they wondered what to do next.
"I'll talk to her, figure this out." Chris sighed
"Good. She listens to you." Ms Broman nodded in agreement "We're really going to miss the Lucy Whisperer when you leave."
Chris chuckled before they dispersed. He knew where Lucy would be hiding and sure enough he found her in his office, curled in the saucer chair, her hood pulled tight over her head.
"Luce?" Chris sat on the edge of his desk "You ok, kiddo?"
"I'm fine."
"Who hurt you?"
No response.
"Lucy? Did your dad do this?"
Nothing.
"I can't help you if you don't talk to me."
"Ha!" Lucy's laugh dripped with sarcasm "Help? How can you help? Call the child services people?"
"I'm required by law to call them if there's a child that needs-"
"Needs what? An even worse ass beating? You think this is the first time something like this has happened? Every time some grownup tells me they're going to help, then they call the cops. Cops come, old man gets out of trouble, and I get it ten times worse. So why don't you help by minding your business."
Chris spent the rest of the day trying to convince Lucy to let him make the call but she begged and pleaded until he relented and raises his hands.
"Fine. I could lose my job, you know."
"Just say you took care of it."
Chris couldn't sleep that night. Every time he closed his eyes all he could see was Lucy and the bruises. Guilt laid heavy in him and he knew he should make the call but he also knew how much damage it could do. The judicial system was so backwards, and the department of family and children services didn't like to take kids out of their homes, even with solid proof. The next morning Chris went into the school feeling like a zombie and he was sure that his unkempt hair and baggy eyes showed that he had a rough night. Instead of going to his office he went to the hallways, looking for Lucy. He found her trying to threaten another kid into giving her his breakfast but she stopped when she saw Chris.
"Hey, kiddo. You okay?"
She jerked away from him, ignoring his question and storming off to her class. The entire day went by without a word from Lucy's teachers, and he didn't know if he should be worried or relieved. As he finished up a last minute document for the ROTC speech he was giving the next day, a knock on his door caused him to stop.
"Come in."
Ms Broman walked in with concern written across her usually cheerful expression.
"Have a seat. Is everything okay?"
"No, not really. Lucy's current situation is alarming."
"Certainly."
"I asked around for a bit of Intel on her and I'm not liking what I'm hearing. She refused to write an assignment last week, which you know isn't like her, about her family. Did you know that throughout the entire school year she's not once eaten a meal here?"
"I didn't know that."
"I asked the lunch staff and it turns out there's not a dime in her account. Hasn't been all year. Students say that she threatens them for food."
"Explains this morning." Chris thought to himself as he processed the information "What do we know about her parents? Anything?"
"I pulled her file, she moved her over summer, her mother died four years ago. No one has ever seen or talked to the father."
"Past records from the previous schools?"
"That only shows her grades and any incidents. There weren't any alarming ones, but she did get suspended in middle school for selling slime on campus."
"Slime? That doesn't seem like something she'd do."
Chris made a few notes and finished his conversation with the counselor. He went home for the day, still unable to focus on anything other than Lucy.
The next morning he was surprised to see Lucy waiting for him in front of his office door, arms crossed.
"Good morning." He greeted her with a soft smile as he unlocked the door and gestured for her to come in "How are you today?"
"Cut the shit, Chris." She spat, glaring at him "You're the fakest person I've ever met, you know that?"
"What do you mean?" Chris took a sip of his coffee as he looked at her
Lucy uncrossed her arms and waved the flier she had been holding in his face
"Goodbye Rally? You want to explain?"
"The school wants to hold a goodby for me on Friday. Not my kinda thing, but not my choice."
"So you're leaving?"
"I am. I had to get a new job that works better for my schedule."
"Were you planning on telling me?"
"Oh, you care?"
"Fuck you."
Tears filled Lucy's eyes, her face red with frustration.
"Lucy…"
"It's because of me isn't it?"
"What? No, Luce, that's not it at all"
"Then why?! Why leave somewhere you're needed? These kids, the ones you mentor, the ROTC kids you work with. They need you."
Chris frowned, his gut feeling as if it had been punched. He didn't want to leave his job at the high school, but if he ever wanted to finish his night classes and get his counseling degree, he had to.
"They're bringing in a new resource officer. I know her and she'll do a gild job with everyone."
"You can't leave." Tears streamed down Lucy's face "Please. I promise I won't cause any more trouble, I won't talk back or cuss ever again."
"Lucy, this has nothing to do with you."
"You don't care, do you? This is just a paycheck for you, you don't care what happens to us. Fucking liar."
Chris started to reply but was cut off by Lucy balling up the flier and throwing it in his face. She stormed out, slamming the door closed behind her. Chris sat down in his chair and buried his face in his hands, groaning.
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