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astoryisaloveaffair · 1 day

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Fix You - Chapter 16 - Genesis

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Fem!Reader

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Chapter Summary: 🤷‍♀️

Word Count: 4K

Rating: Explicit

Chapter Warnings: cussing, graphic violence, mentions of sex. I'm not giving more warnings than that, sorry.

A/N: Hey all. First I want to say I'm sorry. I literally had no time or motivation to write this. I'm gonna be honest, this is a really tough chapter, and it was hard to get in this headspace. Suffering a recent heartbreak, things in this chapter are things I have thought also, and so it was really hard for me to voluntarily want to address that. I also started working in veterinary medicine, i do not have the spare time that I used to. We also recently adopted a puppy who we named Bucky! And if you read my earlier posts, you know that I was SA'd last January. All that to say, sorry I couldn't do this faster.

Also want to wish a happy birthday to @musings-of-a-rose, my beloved, my bestie, and my constant support. This is for you. Sorry it's not a happier chapter....

* If a character is speaking fully in Spanish, I will put “[ ]” around the dialogue. I speak pretty decent Spanish but not good enough for this

Suggested Songs: "Exile" Taylor Swift feat. Bon Iver, "I Love You" Billie Eilish, "Vampire" and "Logical" by Olivia Rodrigo, "The Night We Met" by Lord Huron and Phoebe Bridgers, "Genesis" by Grimes

You didn’t even flinch at the landing, which was rough, so that’s saying a lot. When the janky cargo door (which looked like at any time during the flight would be ripped right off) opens, you barely even lift your eyes from the floor. You felt heavy and hollow, somewhere suspended in between shock and just not giving a fuck anymore. The only thing you could still fell was the pinching in your heart. It was still broken.

At some point during the journey, the co-pilot had taken pity on you and untied your arms from behind your back and bound them in front of you instead. You hadn’t struggled. There was no point. Where would you go? Jump in the ocean? You weren’t that great of a swimmer and you loved sharks and everything but the open ocean is not where you are supposed to be.

You have no sense of space and time, so you have no actual clue where you are other than not the mainland. You’re dehydrated as fuck, groggy, your vision’s blurry and you’d figured out the sticky moisture on your face was your own blood.

Because when you had suddenly blacked out it was because they’d hit you, and had absolutely no hesitation doing so. They did not care about you, they did not see you as a human being, they didn’t even bother strapping you into a seat so you had been sliding around the cargo bay the entire flight, bumping into everything. You were in deep danger, any hope that you would have some ransom protection had pretty much disintegrated. You had hoped that the boys wouldn’t come for you at first. Then you had hoped that they would, because if you’re ransom, even if at the very least you’d be alive until then, right? But “alive” doesn’t mean unharmed.

A shadow looms over you and it finally makes you look up, squinting to adjust your eyes to something so close, as well as the brightness of the sun. It feels like it takes you 10 whole minutes to process that you were being spoken to in English.

“Eh!” The man leaning over you snips, and when you simply blink in confusion and don’t answer, he slaps you lightly on both cheeks. You’re stunned enough to finally look at him, his oval face, beady eyes and unique sideburns seeming so familiar to you but quite frankly you wouldn’t trust yourself with recognizing even your dad at the moment, so you push that thought aside.

He kneels down in front of you. “You listen to me. We don’t want you. We want the money. This means if you don’t fucking piss me off, I might be nice and not kill you, you understand? Be a smart little girl, eh?.”

You nod, you probably should be feeling some sort of panic setting in but you don’t. Whatever. Who even cares anymore.

He takes your silence as submission. “Bueno.” He whispers, leaning down and grabbing you by the arm, lifting you until you are back on your feet. He tilts his head and steps to the side, revealing 5 additional men with AKs pointed straight at you. From behind, you feel the sharp tip of another poking your back, urging you forward and down the precarious ramp. The pilots.

You didn’t trust that they wouldn’t hurt you, but you knew you had no other choice. Trying to fight was asking for it, and once you step out of the hold and realize you were in the fucking jungle, there would be no sensical place to go even if you did get away.

You step out of the plane onto a rickety steel ramp that bounces as the footpad of your sandals touches it and shuffle slowly down it. You feel suffocated sandwiched between four men, your hands chafe where they are tied and you have been in the same positions for so long your whole body is sore. Every touch and movement hurt.

You stumble as the ramp ends but one of the men grabs your arm and yanks you so you don’t fall. It wasn’t kindness. It was a way to hurt you that he could get away with. The tiny dirt landing strip is almost canopied completely by the jungle trees, leaving large patches here and there where the plane flew through, not noticeable from far above. It looks like you’re walking to nothing, just a dirt road that ends right into the thick middle of the jungle, but you don’t stop at the edge. You push through.

It’s hot as shit and you felt sweat buildup in every crevice of your body, your thighs are rubbing raw from your asinine decision to wear short shorts to the fair, and you could feel a heat rash growing under your tits that you couldn’t even scratch because your hands are bound.

You walk for forever. You walk until the friction rash on your inner thighs turn to lesions. You haven't drank water in almost 48 hours and it feels like 150 degrees out, with full humidity. You’ve had to stop twice already to vomit from heat exhaustion and you still occasionally gag even though there’s nothing in your stomach to come up anymore. All the years that you did not appeal to insects are making up for it now, they’re all over you and you can’t walk 3 steps without one getting in your eye. The jungle gets tighter and you can’t breathe because it’s pushing in on you almost as tight as the hands on your shoulders pushing you forward..

You start crying. At least, that is what you tell yourself as you whimper and sob as quietly as you can. You know you’re strong, but this is just beyond reason that any normal person could take. And when you think about how this is probably what life was all the time in Delta for the boys, you cry even harder because you feel guilty, that you have no right to complain.

Finally, after what feels like forever, the tightness of the jungle seems to loosen. More open. You notice some of the trees look more oddly arranged than others. As you get closer you realize they aren’t trees at all, but tents and dilapidated buildings built into the shadows of the trees. The huge roots and overhanging canopy of the jungle transformed a bustling camp into what looks like a little village. At the entrance, a line of guards in jungle fatigues that were impossible to detect until you got right up to them. You hear someone speak above you, alerting you to a man up in the trees on a platform tucked between the branches. There was another in the tree on the opposite side. He calls to the man with the sideburns, saying something in Spanish you can’t interpret fast enough, but it’s jovial and they laugh, and it makes you feel like you’re going to go mentally insane.

It’s like it’s not even serious to them. And it’s so serious to you.

You are pushed through the camp quickly, but not quick enough that you don’t see the insane amount of cocaine packages piled up in the makeshift buildings, sheds, and tents toward the back. Men were milling about checking them, moving them and glaring at you as you walked past.

You continue past the main camp, crossing over a bustling creek whose bridge was literally just planks of wood, but you noticed there were tire marks across them so you felt at least safe it could handle a car’s weight. Across the creek, an old stonework manor stood. You can tell at one time it must have been glorious, but the white stone-worked walls were dirty and crumbling in many places, the fountains out front had dried crusty palm fronds and dirt in them and looked like they hadn’t sprayed water since the 1980s.

It was still oddly beautiful. You thought about how this house came to be, what it might have looked like when it had been first built. A beautiful Caribbean sea mansion. A jungle that hadn’t closed in on it yet. Fountains spraying and colorful birds resting on the rooftops. But then you realize that this place has probably always been used for what it is now. Someone like Carl Lehder probably lived here and ran an entire cartel within this very jungle. Maybe it was the same one, just run by someone else.

There was a shabbily made shack to the left of the manor with padlocks, piles of debris piled next to the door. You assume that’s where you would be taken, but you were instead led up the stairs to the manor proper. And as your eyes focus in on the ground while you were being guided to the mansion instead, you realize the heap of matter by the shack that you thought was some dying plantation was actually a crumpled human body. A boy looking not much older than 17, shot execution style in the head and left to rot.

Then smell hits you, your knees buckle and you vomit on the stonework stairs, a scream of shock and realization pierces the jungle, making the nearby tropical birds explode from the treetops. When the sicarios pick you up and carry you through the mansion door, you’re still screaming.

Eventually whoever was carrying you became fed up, and simply dropped you at the bottom of the stairs and dragged you up backwards by the armpits instead. You didn’t even feel the step edges hitting the small of your back all the way up, but you would later.

You were tossed stricken and shivering on a disgusting, top-sheeted mattress on the floor in the corner of a room, your feet still bound together and your rope-bound hands looped through a radiator that was long enough only for you to lie down or shuffle over to a bucket for your business. Everything stank and you still had vomit on your chin so you curled up in a ball and slammed your eyes closed, hoping that in time the voices and smells and fear would give way to just simple numbness. You didn’t hear a female voice speaking to you for several seconds.

Your eyes snap open, skin pulled taut from dried unwiped tears,and you jolt upright to look in the direction of the voice. A woman who wasn’t even tied up was propped up against the adjoining wall, and as you take in her condition you could understand why they hadn’t even bothered. She wouldn’t have been able to run.

Her legs look..wrong, splaying at angles that shouldn’t be possible. They look like they could be broken, but you can’t tell for sure because she was wearing jeans that cover up most of her skin. The jeans were ripped in some places and stained with dark blood spots, the color turning brighter wherever her skin shows through the tears in the fabric. She’s missing several fingers on her left hand that had been burnt at the ends to cauterize, and her face was black and blue, swollen and smeared with more blood that seemed to be coming from her scalp somewhere. Her lips are pale and cracking and her eyes are glazed over and barely open. When she speaks, she already sounds like she is dead.

She swallows and winces slightly in pain, then licks her cracked pale lips.“Is…my…her–my brother. Did you see him? Out there?”

Your face scrunches in confusion, which actually hurts a little and you’re not sure from what specifically. Perhaps you look just as bad as the other girl. “Your–I—I don’t understand.”

She’s too exhausted to even be annoyed with you. “My brother. They took him from me days ago. They do not talk to me anymore. They don’t—need me anymore.” A single tear falls down her swollen cheek and you suddenly feel so much connection with this woman and how incredibly fucking strong she is. Her eyes roll over to you, meeting yours for the first time. There are burst blood vessels in them.

“I think that they killed him.”

Your lips part and you utter a shuddering breath as you connect the dots. There’s no point in sugar-coating it. You nod slowly. “I think so. But it’s not…recent.” You look away as her eyes slowly close, the additional tears she was holding back finally spilling over and cascading down her cheeks.

“Bueno.” She says. “Then at least he is not suffering like me.”

You both fall quiet and you look over her again. Her pants aren’t completely done up and her t shirt is ripped at the neckline, exposing a gashed shoulder. Almost like…

You start crying again, and you feel even worse about it this time because you have in front of you a woman who has been through much worse and is somehow NOT crying. You curl tighter into yourself to try and hide.

But she simply asks. “Who are you?”

You swallow, raising your head up off your arms, quickly wiping the access tears off on your sleeve. It’s incredible how adrenaline and fear can sometimes make you the most clear-headed you’ve ever been. Your thoughts are swirling but you knew one thing for damn sure, if they didn’t know your name yet, you weren’t going to say it now.

If I look forward I am lost. Focus on right now. Nothing else. It’s my best chance.

You know enough about trauma that compartmentalizing this moment is your best chance. You can’t think what will happen if you don’t escape, if you aren’t found, if they never come for you. You need to stay focused. You need to keep hope alive. You need to stay coherent, because if a chance pops up, you need to be able to think quickly.

“I’m no one.” You mumble. “Just happened to be dating the wrong person.”

She sniffs and looks away, but it’s muffled because her nose sounds congested. You don’t miss her tone though. “Mmmm. His new one then.”

You blink. “What?”

Her glazed over, discolored eyes snap back to yours. “Pope.” She spits. “Your man. Santia—”

“NO!” You cut her off with a shout, you know there is a guy who is in the area and you still don’t know how much these men do or do not know. “Don’t. Don’t give them names if they don’t already know it.”

“I don’t give a shit about Agent Garcia, or his friends, or anyone else, it’s their fault I am here and it’s their fault my brother is dead and..” She finally, finally starts to cry. “I told him I didn’t want to do it. They said they would let us go if we gave them what they wanted.”

“It was you.” You exhale with a shuddering breath. “They found us cause of you. You told them.” You shake your head, and for some reason you feel betrayed by this woman even though you’ve never met her. “How could you?”

“Because all I care about is my brother, do you understand?! I wish I’d never met him, Garcia, we would have just snuck away and no one would never seen us, but no, instead we listened to him and helped them steal from fucking Lorea, and now they found us and I knew they would, and YES, I gave them EVERYTHING because they said they’d let us go so long as they found you and–”

“Eh!” A voice trails in with a watchman you knew was hanging out somewhere in the hallway beyond. He slips through the doorway, a smaller man you were not expecting from that voice, and leans against the deteriorating door frame. He crosses his arms and his legs and it makes the handgun on his hip jut out prominently from his skinny hips. “No talking to each other.” His voice is silky and the words all slide together so it sounds like ‘no talkintoeeachother.’

You shrink back into the dirty wall behind you as your associate spits a bloody phlegm ball in the man’s direction. “FUCK you!” She snarls, a tirade of cuss words in Spanish flying from her lips.

A loud pop almost bursts your eardrums and your heart and you exclaim in terror as your associate is shot point blank in the head, her back slumping against the wall and her head hitting with a bang, pieces of blood and brain tissue spraying over the back wall with pieces flying in your direction.

The man remains completely motionless with his arms still raised before huffing a laugh to himself, putting the gun back on his hip, and looking at you with the such an unaffected gaze it leaves you feeling dizzy and you scream and scream and scream yourself hoarse, crumpling onto your mattress in a terrified heap, arms over your head, sobbing hysterically.

A gentle but firm palm wraps around your forearm, yanking you back up to a seated position. You look away, but the man’s other hand takes you gently by the jaw and makes you look at him. And just behind him, the woman slumped in a pool of blood and brain matter. You try to wriggle out of his grip but he tightens ever so slightly, and you can’t help but notice how different it is when Frankie would grab you like that versus this man. Frankie held you the same, sometimes harder, but you had trusted his domination and his care of you and because of that, it made it arousing. That same motion with this man has you more scared than you ever have been in your life.

“Bebita.” He coos, thumb lightly caressing your jaw. He wipes at a small speck of blood you don’t know is even there. You can feel yourself shaking and breathing so fast you can see his half waxed back tousled locks that hang past his temples are blowing in its breeze. You can’t answer him. “Look at me.”

You do. His eyes are a dark, almost black chocolate brown, shape mismatched, a scruffy beard and goatee and thin lips. In another world you would find him devastatingly attractive and the fact that you do makes you feel absolutely violated and disgusted with yourself.

“Do not cry.” He continues. “You have no reason to if you behave, si? You be good and you listen and I will keep you safe you understand? Well, at least for now.” He shifts closer to you, you can smell his breath. It smells like orange and cloves. “There are a lot of men here Bebita. I am sure you understand what this means, si? Answer me.”

“Yes.” A final fat tear spills from one of your eyes, and it stings as it mixes with your sweat and the raw skin around your eyes.

He juts his head in the other woman’s direction. “This one, she fight the whole time. I like a easy job. Make my job easy, I make sure you always deal with me. Do not make me call in the other guys, they are not as nice. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He releases your chin and you scoot back quickly as he saunters over to the other woman’s bloody body, grabs it by the arm, and casually drags her as dismissively as possible out the door and out of your sight, leaving a bloody trail behind.

At first you just sit there in a slump staring at the opposite wall,, you don’t know for how long. Probably hours. Maybe days. The man, whose name you figured out from when he spoke to someone else in the hall, is Angel. Sometimes he would sit up and watch you, as if figuring you out, your body and the way you shift and switch positions when you are uncomfortable, what it looked like when you were crying and trying to keep quiet and unnoticed. But most of the time he ignored you. Occasionally others would come into the room and either speak to him or approach you, but upon noticing Angel watching them they would hiss or spit a curse and slink off.

The room reminded you of those old houses from the 70s that had those drafty unfinished basements that were simply concrete floors, painted stucco or white brick. To the sicarios, it served as an overflow area, there was a rotting desk along the side wall with a metal folding chair and piles of scattered papers and random household tools on them. Against the opposite side wall was a pretty nice tv, considering, which was always playing soccer. Angel seemed to make that his home base, his lithe frame sprawled across a grandma-fabric sofa, head resting on one of the puffy arm rests. He binge-smoked cigarettes and his right hand was always stretched over his head resting against his forehead in the direction of to an end table with an massive overflowing porcelain ashtray on it. You didn’t used to mind the smell of cigarettes too much but now it makes you feel sick.

You’re ashamed of how little you actually think about your current situation and like the hopeless romantic idiot you are, mostly all you can think about is Frankie. The things he said–you knew he said mean things when he was mad, or things he didn’t mean, but isn’t there always some truth to things that are said in the heat of the moment? That was enough for you to silently spiral. You thought about every memory you had of him and how it could be viewed through the lens that Frankie just wanted to fuck you. Your self confidence was low enough it was believable, and your mind races through every instance of an older man being in a relationship with someone much younger and how of course it was predatory, and how could you not see it, that you didn’t have anything in common? It’s a tale as old as time. He just wanted to fuck you, he wanted to fuck you and dominate you, his dark desires seducing you into feeling so wanted you can’t believe you thought he loved you and didn’t see right through it.

And his friends, well, they were all in on it weren’t they, because why would they want to hang out with someone like you either? Why would men such as that actually want to be friends with you when you have never experienced half of what they have.

Fuck him. Fuck him and his lying ass, he was a fucking loser addict and you’re pissed at yourself for even considering him. Like how lonely were you?? To choose an old man with a kid who served in an institution that represented everything you hated about this country? To be so easily blinded by pretty words and love bombs to immediately take your clothes off. Because how, if he actually loved you or even like you, could he possibly have lied about something so big?! Or bought you something nice with all that fucking drug money he stole. Not that you’d want it or expected it, but why wouldn’t you want to treat someone you love as much as he claimed to?

How could he sit there and make up what happened to Tom like that, when you were being so coddling and trying to be a caring ear. And Benny…Pope...if they were your friends they should have told you, that’s what real friends do…

But they weren’t your friends. They were never your friends.

And if you went the other way, and considered that it was all true, that he did love you, that they were all your friends, and that he lied to you and threw stones to hurt you and push you away, how was that any better? You couldn't even think about a future not being with him, but obviously he could. He could watch you cry and question him and not even look at you, completely ignore you, then not even think about you again. No texts, no calls. No “I’m sorry, please come back.” Silence.

How could it be so easy for him? How can he just go about his life like you never happened? Why did you still care?

Why did you still want him?

Why did you still love him so so much. Part of you wishes they’d get on with it and just kill you. At least then you wouldn’t have to feel this excruciating pain. You wouldn’t have to see him show up to rescue you because he has to, to have to see his fucking face and every line, crinkle, scar, the bald patch in his beard and the tousled little curls that pop out of his hat…only for him to save you and then leave again, or die and then you have the guilt of killing a man who no longer loved you.

Yea. You think you’d rather die.

You feel like you’re going to throw up again. You’d let him force his cock in your mouth as far as it could go, let him tie you up and fuck you hard enough to leave bruises you had thought of as a badge of honor. You’d let him cum on your face. You’d let him fucking cum inside you! He’d gaslit you so you actually wanted him to tie you up with zip ties—-

Your heart almost stops. You can picture how his face looked exactly when he said it.

Sometimes rope can give over time.

That’s why we always used zip ties.

You look down at your bound hands.

They’re bound with rope.

#fix you fic #triple frontier fanfic #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie catfish morales x you #frankie catfish morales x reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic

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motziedapul · 2 days

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I want to mention a bunch of things that are in Hi Nay to see if people would be interested in listening to it

Creepy priest gets turned into a human puppet by a non-binary magic user surgeon in the 1940s

Romantic full body surgery

Queer detective duos where one is an effervescent smartass and the other is Very Repressed (1980s and 2020s edition) and one is hopelessly in love with the other one

5 foot tall fat pansexual WOC protagonist (cute, terrifying) who canonically left the Philippines during the Duterte presidency

Drippy Bloody Monster Husband Crawling On The Walls (his wife is an Instagram influencer)

1920s interracial lesbian couple

Villain literally named Mr. Realman

Fake conman guru offended to find out his magic is real actually

6 foot 2 strong armed lesbian protagonist who sometimes wields an axe

Wandering magical hobo who saves people from The Horrors (what is his secret)

Elephant sized wolves living in the mountains of Canada who will sometimes bite the heads of human predators

A musical episode

"I assume this character is queer because this is Hi Nay" - one of our listeners

Alasdair Stuart (Peter Lukas from the Magnus Archives) voices a sad pining gay old man in one of the episodes

#hinaypod #hi nay podcast #hi nay #horror podcast #audio drama #filipino podcast #queer podcast

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thebigoblin · 3 days

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as the sun rises

i've been working on this on & off for a couple weeks, and it's now complete! posting this here first, and will post it on ao3 this week!

He's just about to kiss Derek when he's pulled out of his sleep, his traitorous phone vibrating on his nightstand with a text message.

Who could be texting him? It's too early for socializing, and his brain is tired! But since he's not just a college student but also a human who runs with a wolf pack and is liable to delay rescue missions if he's not on his feet all the time — he's literally one-half of a two people operation in this pack who hold strategic braincells — he groans and opens his eyes.

His room is dark, but the curtains are blowing against a soft breeze, and slants of sunlight fall into place across his room. It's morning, then. Too early to really call it morning, but morning nonetheless.

Who would even text him right now? His pack cannot get in trouble this early in the day, can they?

Actually, they can, and they have in the past — he grabs his phone and opens it up to the text messages.

It's a message from Derek.

That says just one thing: Morning.

Stiles blinks at it. Tries to figure out if it is a secret code message or something. Scrolls back up further in their text thread, realizes Derek had an early night yesterday so of course he'd be awake early today, at 6 in the morning, and like all the mornings this past week he's sent Stiles a message.

Morning.

Normally, he does it at reasonable hours, like 8. Which is Derek's usual wake-up time, given his usually scheduled afternoon shifts at the BHPD. Like it's the very first thing he does, eyes still blurry from sleep.

It's a sweet, delusional thought borne of Stiles' own desperate greed for Derek's attention, and it chokes him as much as it pleases him.

And there goes his sleep, running away like a headless chicken, at his predicament of being in love with someone he can not have.

Derek Hale is a legend from the myths, a werewolf amongst humans; he's honor and pride intertwined with a gut of trust he's sharpened over the years, the mistakes of his youth lending him a jaded perspective on his once easily-given faith. He is a man turned ashen with tragedy, turned once again into technicolor as years have climbed up.

Stiles was there, at the intolerable stage of it. When Derek was barely a man, a kid alone in the world, hurting and grieving, persistently angry, and with no vision. And he's been there since, once a spectator turned into pages in Derek's book. He's seen him become the man he is now, their relationship blooming under the throes of violence, of almost-dead-but-not-yet celebrations, of the pack letting Derek down and Derek learning to be better for it, instead of sulking and lashing out.

He has watched Derek become who he is now, and he has fallen in love with a man who is one of the strongest people he knows, and it's devastating because why would someone like that love Stiles? There's so much that Derek deserves, so much of which Stiles can not give. He deserves all the good things, and Stiles isn't something like that, is he?

The morning goes on like this: him in the bed, under the covers, the wind blowing inside his room a gentle contrast to his harsh thoughts. He is a year into college now, he's dated a few guys and girls, felt attraction but no connection to them before he realized what's wrong with him — he couldn't connect with anyone because he's already given his heart away, and he knows this is it for him. He's gone and done for, the kind of once-in-a-lifetime love they try to sell in movies and shows and books his claim now, except for the part where he gets the guy and the life of his dreams.

Maybe, just maybe, in a couple of years, he would have moved on. But today, all he can hear in his room is the sound of his heart breaking, his breath hitching, all because of a simple text and his sadist brain.

He hurts in a way he never has. He knows grief — he's lost his mom and that hurt, too, and still does. There's a piece missing in him, a part of him forever buried with his mom, and he's learned to live without it. And this hurts too, the clarity of never having Derek, in a way that is different but somehow similar. He's grieving for something he never had, a future he dreams of but knows can never be his reality.

He allows himself to fall apart today.

It's the Christmas break, the weather outside slowly getting more chilly than it was when he woke up. He burrows under the covers, the wind pecking his skin, his limbs too heavy from exhaustion of having cried his hours away to get up and close the window.

He should have closed the window, really.

He's fully under the covers, tear-streaks dried on his cheeks, sticky and a tangible reminder of his woes. Still, he hears it when there's a sudden thump, of a familiar pair of boots landing on his floorboards, and a decisive click of his window being shut close.

"You'll catch a cold."

Of course he's here. Stiles doesn't want him here, not right now, not when —

"Stiles... are you okay? The room smells like you just cried."

If it was any other day, any other reason, he would have appreciated it. They have a no-bullshit relationship. It's honest and grueling, but ultimately, it works for them. Stiles knows Derek trusts him, and that is more than he ever expected to receive from him, of all people.

But he has Derek's trust, and he knows he can not have more. So, he can not lose this, too.

"G'way," he mumbles, "Please."

Time stretches, his request hanging in the air. Then, the bed near his legs dips down, Derek's warm hand finding Stiles' hand, the one outside the covers, and holding it gently. Derek's fingers wrap around his wrist, and the chill melts away.

"I was worried about you," Derek confesses, voice soft. "It's nearly nine, and you hadn't texted me back, and now you're like this. What's wrong?"

Not even a year ago, Derek would have left long as soon as something like this happened, too raw for conversations like this, too naive to navigate a healthy dialogue between friends.

That's what they are, right?

Stiles pulls his covers down until his face is visible to Derek, something which prompts Derek's hand to move to his face, give a soft caress. He truly is worried, eyebrows furrowed and everything.

"Just a bad morning, I guess," he says, and it's almost the truth.

Except. Except, Derek knows Stiles' truth and lies, and not just by his heartbeat.

"If I can help, whatever it is, I will. Just tell me." He's so earnest too, for fuck's sake.

He's a great friend, truly.

Stiles smiles, small and ironic. "You can, and you can't." Derek gives him a confused look. Stiles shrugs, the best he can while lying down on the bed. "Trust me."

"I do, Stiles. Don't you?"

Stiles is angry now. It comes as a surprise to him — a hot, white flash of anger, zipping through him like lightning.

He sits up on the bed so abruptly everything falls — the covers, his phone, him. Derek stops him from falling on his ass, though, arms around his waist.

Even before he's in no danger of hurting himself he's saying heatedly, "Don't fucking pull that card on me. You know I trust you, so much it's impossible to put into words. If you asked me to drive a dagger in my heart I would, I would trust you to keep me safe. So don't even, Derek Hale!"

"I'd rather take the dagger in my heart, Stiles." Derek's eyes are hard, alpha red creeping into them. "Tell me what's wrong." His jaw works, as if he's finding the right words, and Stiles' anger goes away as fast as it came — he slumps in Derek's arm, his weight on the man beside him. Finally, Derek says, "Is this... If Andrew did something, I'll slash his tires."

He isn't expecting this. The hell?

Andrew was the last person he went on a date with, almost two months ago. It didn't work out between them, it never does between Stiles and people, and this was more of the same. But the thing is, he didn't tell Derek about Andrew. It was their first and last date, and the only one he had told about it was...

Lydia.

Derek continues, oblivious to Stiles' confusion. "Ever since you came back to town you've been distant, and if it's because of something your boyfriend did —"

"Woah, what the fuck?" Stiles' voice rises, this time the heat replaced with a level of perplexed he hasn't felt since ages. "He's not my boyfriend, he's not my anything. We went on one date, like weeks ago. What's Lydia been telling you?"

A warmth blooms inside his chest at Derek being so protective of and vindictive for him, but he forces himself to not be affected by it right now. He can loathe Derek's instincts as an alpha when he's alone again.

Derek, for his part, parts his mouth in surpise. "Have I been stupid this entire time?" he says, more to himself than Stiles. "Then what's wrong with you?"

And now they're back at the problem asking for the problem.

Stiles sighs. "Listen. I'm happy you're such a good friend, but some things just aren't meant to be shared, okay?"

"You tell me everything." Stiles scoffs. "Stiles."

They both look out the window, where birds are flying, free from the complex human emotions. The sun is high in the sky, real morning now beginning.

"Why do you keep texting me anyways?"

Derek's eyebrows are raised when Stiles turns to look at him. They're seated with barely an inch between their bodies, and the turn of his neck has them almost sharing the same breath.

Stiles licks his lips, and he must imagine Derek's eyes tracking the movement.

"I can't ask you what's bothering you, and now I can't text you either?"

"Not what I— the morning texts, I meant. Of course you can text me, but the morning texts are new and I'm just... asking. And why can't you text me good morning? Why is it just a morning?"

Derek stares at him. Stiles knows he's thinking something, debating whether to share whatever is going through his head, or not.

"You don't have a boyfriend?"

Stiles rolls his eyes. "No, Derek. I do not."

Derek takes a deep breath, as if he's bracing himself for something huge, something he has high hopes for, something he can not bear to lose but he has no idea if he gets to keep it.

Stiles suddenly has a feeling, and if that is true, he's going to murder himself just to relive the pain one last time, because if what he's thinking is true, then he's stupid as fuck and he deserves it.

"I text you morning and not a good morning because the mornings aren't good."

"Okay... why aren't they? Good, I mean."

Derek is looking into his eyes, a vulnerability in them that Stiles has seen before, but still it feels like he's seeing it for the first time. Like this is a part of Derek he hasn't seen previously, a part that has been kept hidden purposefully finally brought to light.

Derek moves, and the miniscule distance between them is gone, eaten up by the anticipation building in the room.

Derek's hands come up to caress Stiles' face, thumb rubbing circles at the dried tear-tracks, the motion comforting. He says, "Every morning, I wake up in my bed, alone, and it's such a shitty way to start my day. Every morning is just another day, and all I can think is, the mornings would be good, really good, if you were in my bed with me, too."

Stiles swallows hard against the lump forming in his throat. "You're joking."

"Never, not with us. Not about this."

Stiles' breath hitches. Derek comes closer, rests their forehead together. Stiles closes his eyes against the closeness, the dread that this is a dream.

"You're too important to me for me to make a joke out of this, Stiles."

He's crying again. "But I don't deserve you."

Suddenly, the warmth of Derek is gone.

When Stiles opens his eyes, Derek is pacing, a glower on his face.

"Isaac can't be right, can he?" Stiles makes a confused noise. Derek rounds on him, then decides sitting down on his knees is a better option. Stiles' morning is so confusing, he starts counting Derek's fingers as well as his own when Derek holds both his hands, rests their limbs on Stiles' thighs.

There's twenty fingers. Ten his, ten of Derek's.

"Stiles. Why don't you deserve me?"

He does his best to not cry. "You're... amazing, Derek. I. I'm just me, you know?"

It seems silly to say it. It's one thing to believe it, another to put it into words.

Derek squeezss his hands. "I've loved you for a long time, longer than I have realized it."

"What?"

"And I felt the same. You're you, and I'm just me. You deserve better."

"You are the best thing that can happen to anyone!"

Derek chuckles at Stiles' vehemence, squeezes his hands once again. "Pot's calling the kettle black. I felt the same, you know," he repeats. "That you deserve better. So I never told you. And you started dating others. But then..."

"Isaac. What has he told you?" He doesn't know what he could have told Derek. It's not like Stiles and Isaac are close, but there are things their pack does, like meddle in each other's affairs, that has him realizing how troublesome their pack is.

It's not like Stiles has even a single subtle bone in his body.

Derek smiles. "He told me that he's got a bet going for us to get together before the New Year." Stiles isn't surprised, not really. He smiles back. "Yeah, the pups have a bet going, and Lydia and Isaac seem to be on the same page."

"Jesus. Her too? What did you say?"

"The whole pack is in on it. I was surprised they would do such a thing. They can't force two people together when one of them isn't into the other one." He moves forward, until their foreheads are touching once again, and this time, Stiles takes one of his hands and presses it to Derek's head, cards his fingers through the soft hair.

"Then what happened?" He prompts.

"Isaac laughed in my face when I told him I was disappointed because I didn't think he and others would stoop so low. And then he told me I might be an alpha but that I'm stupid if I haven't been able to figure out that you like me back."

Stiles laughs, rather nervously. "I always worried you'd figure it out and we'd not be close anymore."

"I did figure it out, actually."

"WHAT?" He shouts it in Derek's ear, who winces and pulls back. "Sorry, but why the fuck didn't you say anything?"

Derek stays on his knees, but he inches a bit backwards, creating a safe distance between Stiles' mouth and his ears. "I didn't want to lose you."

"How could you lose me when you liked me and realized that I liked you back? That doesn't even make sense." Derek gives him a look. Stiles rolls his eyes. "See, I didn't say anything because I've always believed you deserve nice things, and I've mutually never believed I'm a nice thing. But if you told me you liked me... I would have been selfish."

Derek's expression turns soft. "You're the best thing to happen to me, even as just friends." Stiles' cheeks heat at the proclamation, and he ducks his head. When he looks back up, Derek is smiling back at him. "I've wanted you to be mine for a long time. And when I say mine, I mean it. For life. Building a future together and all the good and bad that follows. But all I could figure out... at least what I thought I figured out... was that you liked me casually."

Stiles gets up from the end of the bed and pulls Derek up by offering him a hand, which he takes with a full-tilt smile, bunny teeth and all. "No part of me is casual for you. I never believed I could feel like this, but if anything, everything I feel for you is cosmic."

Derek's smile grows until it's a full-on grin, and Stiles feels the width of it, the rush of Derek's blood, the pure joy of their stupidity taking second place to communication in the kiss Derek pulls him into — Derek's arms wrap around his waist, his own around Derek's shoulders, sliding up and down, on his stubble, his cheeks, his hair. The kiss itself is sweet and hot, their mutual joy imprinting itself in the endless journey of time with their noises of appreciation.

They kiss and kiss, tongues touching and lips bitten raw, until the necessity of oxygen forces them apart. As soon as they break apart Derek moves on to his neck, the press of his lips electric, and Stiles is the happiest man on Earth.

Well. Except for Derek, of course.

"Good morning, Derek."

Derek growls and bites down, intent on marking. "The best morning," he agrees, and Stiles can only moan, feel the pain of being claimed, and revel in the moment.

He still has thoughts of being unworthy in the back of his mind, but what he told Derek was true: if Derek wants him, he'll be his. He'll be selfish.

He'll love Derek Hale as long as he breathes.

Once the hickey is painted on Stiles' neck, Derek tips his jaw, their eyes locking onto each other. He says, "I love you so fucking much, baby."

Stiles smiles. Derek seems to be on the same page as him, and it's starting to feel like Stiles will be a part of Derek's book for a long, long time.

Maybe, just maybe, till even the last page of the book.

It truly is a good morning.

#sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #sterek fics #sh.writesonmain #inspired by a post i saw on insta

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scintillyyy · 3 days

Text

can i say something. i am kind of scared to say something bc dick ship wars kind of scare me even though i have absolutely no preference and care extremely little about dick ships. but. hm. the thinking about 80s and 90s medias as products of their time got me thinking a bit.

so. the interesting thing to me about dick-kory in the 70s and 80s vs dick-babs in the 90s and early 00s os how much each of those couples was entrenched in the media ideals of the time and what people were looking for in a ship.

so like, if you look at dick-kory, theirs is a larger than life love that is destined from the moment she kissed him to learn human language. and theirs is a dynamic and relationship dripping in the popular soap opera tropes that were very pervasive a the time. you can't actually divorce their tribulations (dick being kind of condescending to kory as the Man of the relationship, she's a princess who has to get married for political reasons and dick gets mad, kory gets mad at him for supposedly cheating when he was raped by mirage, the epic wedding that gets literally blown up by raven to name a few) from the media norms that were very popular. they fight passionately and make up passionately very frequently. this is a very common dynamic in the 80s, where soap operas were topping the charts. everyone was watching general hospital. *30 million* people tuned in to see luke and laura get married and their relationship started with him raping her (which was later turned into "seduction") and they were considered like THE couple ever. everyone was watching dynasty. dallas was hugely popular. falcon crest. knots landing. dick and kory's relationship mirrors a lot of what people were eating up back then in the soap opera type media the new titans was emulating. luke and laura. gary and valene. bo and hope. bobby and pam. dick and kory. can you really talk about dick and kory if you don't know what was going on with "bope" back then? for reference, here's what was going on with bo and hope:

anyways. enter the 90s and the soap opera fervor died down in a massive way. soap operas were no longer prime time material and their popularity died down in a massive way & actually people started more making fun of the overwrought storylines and soaps in general. the ideas of destined, one true love was suddenly far more unappealing to people who thought it was cheesy & tired. what people in the 90s were looking for was not true love that is constantly tested and put through the wringer--what was gaining in popularity was UST and will they won't they dynamics. enter dick-babs. and while i wholly disagree with the idea of diminishing kory's importance in dick's life just to uplift babs, i don't entirely disagree with the notion that kory probably wouldn't have really worked in batbooks, so i understand why batbooks wanted to focus on a loveline for dick for a character they had full control of and could work into the stories. and, hm. moving dick away from the destined one true love at the time that was kory allowed them to put him in the romantic situations that 90s audiences were vibing with instead. because you can't suddenly do a will they won't they with a couple who's been solidly dating for *years*. so with dick and babs you're able to do that. he's interested while she's dating someone else. he flirts with someone else for a bit while she's single. while the entire time they're still good working partners while circling around each other. will they? or won't they? and this was super common in late 90s/early 00s sitcom shows that people loved and were at the top of the charts. the x-files with scully and mulder. friends with rachel and ross. fran and mr. sheffield from the nanny. it's still very much playing to what people wanted to see back then.

anyways as someone who truly has no horse in this race i do think media norms of the time around couplings are interesting to dissect.

#anyways i think you can make similar comparisons to bruce-talia and bruce-selina #in that o'neil had created talia as this grand epic love for bruce #in the 80s but under his editorial directorship in the 90s there was still a move away from bruce-talia to instead focus more #on the more flirty bruce-selina dynamic in accordance with what the viewers at home wanted #anyways. just some thoughts of mine.#i do think there is a push in media once again towards the romanticism of destined lovers

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colourstreakgryffin · 19 hours

Note

Hallo again! I am the one who asked about Val, it wasn't a request I was asking if you write for him so here we go!

Could it please be where reader is Valentino's son ( or just child if you don't write for male reader ) and Valentino can't find someone to trust-worthy to babysit his son so he just take him to work since reader is non-verbal anyway and won't be much of a bother?

So reader now comes regularly with him and see the other Vees as family. Perhaps Vox as another dad/uncle and Velvette as a big sister ( or any family role for them ).

Thank you for giving a look to my request!

Ooh! Right! Okay, okay. I can try this out. To be honest, Val is a monster but something tells me he wouldn’t be THAT bad with a kid of his own and yes, I do write male readers. Female, male, transgender, genderfluid(if that’s possible, idk how but I would do it anyway), nonbinary/GN! But anyways. Let’s try Val out as a dad!

Valentino- Silkworm Caterpillar

Everybody who knows the director of the Pentagram City’s Porn Industry, Valentino, is aware how much of a bastard he is; cruel, abusive, exploitative but nobody had ever suspected that he would actually one: have a son and two: treat that son better than he’s ever treated anybody, even his on-and-off boyfriend, Vox

Your dad’s an insufferable man-child but yet, he is actually pretty good with you. He doesn’t really like much things, other than you. He is awful but he feels kinda soft and fluffy whilst he is around you. You’re basically his soft spot

Valentino needs hugs and he will get them, no matter what may step in his path. You are non-verbal and mute so he cannot communicate with you properly, he just acts on his affections for you since he believes it’s fine

Valentino is that type of wingman-father. He always encourages you to get out of your comfort zone and boosts you up to look even better. He’s a close friend to you and you can hang out with him in casual settings where it almost seems like he is just your uncle, not your father

Valentino always offers to get you what you want, he is a father that spoils his seed rotten. Want a drink? He’ll get it. Want a phone? He’ll get it. Want more hugs? You’re getting them rather you want it or not. He likes it when you smile and he does very much have favouritism towards you, where he almost never raises his voice to you

Valentino is actually protective, believe it or not and he is defensive over his son. Rather said son be above ten years old, he doesn’t trust a single being in Hell. Not anybody in Vees, not any under their luck bum he picks up for hire, not any one of his assistants. Nobody. He doesn’t ever want to leave you with somebody who can cause a threat

Valentino doesn’t really want to resort to this but after some more time. He decides to stop leaving you in the Vees Tower. You’re alone and you need him so he begins to bring you to his porn studios but what he does is that he glues you to other devices so you don’t have to be uncomfortable with watching pornography

Valentino is relatively soft and gentle. Even somebody as deranged and sick as him has a moment of love and affection and it’s in his son. He could be the most pissed off and at his absolute worse but when he is greeted by his offspring, he swallows back everything to be dote on you

Valentino calls you his silkworm because you’re a little caterpillar to him. He’s the moth, you’re his caterpillar and he’d pop you on his back and spread his wings for you if he had to. He enjoys your reaction of surprise and awe at his rather beautiful moth wings. He can understand where it comes from, it’s incredible. Isn’t it? He likes it when you’re proud of him or in awe of him

Valentino is aware of your deafness. You’ve been deaf since he had you… back in human life. Believe it or not, but he did and he actually cared to get you hearing aids but after you two died, he lost a hold of hearing aids and he has literally no other methods to help you

Valentino also much prefers you like the Vees themselves and the effort proves worth it since you end up viewing his on-and-off boyfriend, Vox as a stepfather and Velvette, their close friend, as a surrogate big sister. Valentino finds your point of views on his fellow rulers rather adorable and will playfully tease you about them

Valentino is learning sign language, since now of this time, sign language has been fully developed but he is struggling and his temper makes him go from trying to giving up to trying again. He’ll get there eventually, all for you

Valentino doing aggressive sign language and failing a bit

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littlemonday · 19 hours

Text

So much of the difference in player response to the Emperor vs. Raphael comes down to aesthetics.

I’ve been seeing a lot of fan posting of Raphael lately, which is honestly fine. I enjoy seeing fan creations on all the characters. But I feel like I need to address something that is, for me, rather glaring in the fandom. Raphael is a pretty popular character, while the Emperor gets so much hate posting I’ve had to block users and entire groups on other sites because it was so over the top. These characters are functionally quite similar in the game, but the disparity in how they’re each perceived couldn’t be more different.

Both characters need to form an alliance with the main character. Both characters need the main character to defeat the brain. Both characters are willing to manipulate the main character to meet their own ends. But, one character is a conventionally attractive middle aged man, and the other is a humanoid squid monster. (How many times have we all seen posts about how upset someone was when their hot dream guardian turned out to be the squid monster?)

Not only is Raphael conventionally attractive, but he stays that way when he reveals himself as a devil.The Emperor presents himself as someone the main character would trust, but when he’s finally revealed, he bears no resemblance to the facade he was wearing - a facade that he sincerely believed was necessary to keep himself safe and to win your trust. Raphael is quite literally the handsome devil. His ascended form barely makes an appearance, but even so that form is not alien. It’s devilish, but not alien, and “alien” unlike devilish, invokes a deeply discomforting fear of the unknown.

Raphael is all opulence and performance, wearing tailored clothing and living in a grandiose house that hides the horrors of what happens there until late into act 3. While the mind flayer colonies by comparison are grotesque organisms that look like the inside of a body, and the Emperor’s home is a bare bones cellar with the last remaining keepsakes of his former life. The chains he uses to hold his victims are right out in the open.

Raphael is like an old school campy Disney villain who tries to entertain you all while openly admitting that he wants you to come to him when you’re desperate and all hope is gone. And like those old Disney villains, he just enjoys being evil. He even comes with his own villain song that he sings. He enjoys your suffering. He’s openly playing with his food. The Emperor does try to seduce you, but mostly tries to appeal to your pragmatism and empathy. However, he doesn’t have Disney villain camp to help him out here. He embodies all the body horror and fear over the player's loss of humanity by virtue of him being a mind flayer. He does have a song, but most of us miss it on our first play through and don’t hear its tragic lyrics.

Raphael, and this one is perhaps the most frustrating to me, imprisoned and tortured Hope for years! He takes advantage of people, including orphans, and gets them to sign away their souls for eternal torment in exchange for something they desperately want or need in life. While the Emperor has that one infamous cutscene in which we see him enthrall Stelmane, but it comes on the heels of the player dehumanizing and provoking him. A lot of players will refer to this as a “call out” and a “mask off” moment, which is very disingenuous framing. It’s frustrating that so few players never seem to consider the deeper role their choices may play in triggering this scene: you treat him like an inhuman monster, and you get an inhuman monster. Players will complain all the time about how the Emperor manipulates you and lies about everything, but apparently in this one scene he’s suddenly being completely honest and not manipulating you? So many never consider the possibility of confirmation bias when it comes to this character.

As I said, this cutscene is an obvious threat, but I know that just because he’s threatening you, it doesn’t mean there’s no truth to what you’re seeing. However, it also doesn’t mean that this is somehow “the truth” as so many players seem to think it is. I’ll write more on this in another post, but there’s just not enough information in the game to make definitive conclusions on their relationship. And I bring this up because I don’t see anywhere near the outrage over Hope as I see over Stelmane.

Then there’s Ansur. The Emperor killed his love, Ansur, out of self defense (we know this from Ansur himself), and for a lot of players, this was what solidified their hatred for the Emperor, and they will endlessly hate post about it. Raphael, on the other hand, never killed any of his loves. But the reason he never killed any of his loves is because he’s never loved anyone. He’s incapable of it, and anyone he has killed was, at best, a mere tool for his use.

Which brings me to my next point, even though both characters are trying to manipulate you to their own ends, only the Emperor sees you as more than a means to an end. Raphael does not. In fact, I wrote a lot of words on this very topic.

I’ve had people tell me that they like Raphael more because he’s upfront with his intentions, while the Emperor isn’t. That’s not entirely true. The Emperor tells you he wants his freedom, even tells you the power he uses to protect you is power he’s stolen, but he goes to great lengths to hide his identity, where Raphael barely goes to any lengths at all. As I said, the Emperor sincerely believes he must do this to protect himself. He likes to puff his chest out, but he’s quite aware of his own vulnerability, so he lives a life in which he’s constantly hiding and disguising himself. He’s surviving, as he puts it in the end. Raphael is essentially a prince in the Hells who wields a lot of power, and whatever vulnerabilities he might have are well protected. Whatever difference this makes is not enough to justify the gulf in how much hate the Emperor receives versus how little Raphael does.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: this is not me saying that you have to like one character or dislike another. That’s personal, and I’m not going to waste time telling people how to feel. So please don’t take away from this that I want to see more hate posting about Raphael. I don’t! Please don’t hate post about any characters, and if you absolutely must, please don’t use character tags to do so. What I am saying is that there’s a clear double standard in this fandom, and I want more players to engage with this media in a way that is both empathetic and analytical. I think both of those things together can prevent a lot of toxicity.

#bg3 #the emperor #the emperor bg3 #bg3 emperor #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #raphael #media criticism #not a hate post #fandoms

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aihoshiino · 3 days

Text

chapter 147 thoughts

you guys ever hear the tale of the monkey's paw. grants your wish but you suffer dire consequences as a result? just felt relevant to this chapter for some reason. anyway.

Chapters Since The 143 Kiss Happened And Went Completely Unacknowledged And Unaddressed Count: 4

I'm gonna be up front and say that while I really wanted to like this chapter and it has the bones of interesting ideas, so many of the existing issues with the Movie Arc just bring it crashing back down. I probably dislike it more than I necessarily should because knowing that this definitely is the end and seeing concretely in hindsight just how much time was wasted and how much excellent material has been squandered or flat out skipped over entirely just makes me want to put my head through a brick wall. And it just sucks because, like… man, I don't want to dislike Oshi no Ko! I really don't enjoy feeling like I'm just putting negativity out each chapter because when the story hits, it hits so fucking good!! The Movie Arc has been clunky but it's had some truly breathtaking individual moments and character beats that make me remember why I fell in love with the series so deeply but then chapters like this come along and I wonder why I'm even bothering to keep reading.

anyway. Anyway.

To my genuine shock and surprise, the RBHK conversation happens entirely onscreen and isn't needlessly dragged out which I will take as a W at this point. What is less of a W is how just… underwhelming this ended up being? This is Hikaru's first meeting (that we know of) with the child he fathered and then essentially orphaned… at least as far as Ruby is concerned. So her total lack of reaction to him is baffling. The question currently seems to be whether Ruby is only pretending not to recognize him in order to try and pry the answer she's looking for out of him or whether Akasaka really, genuinely wants me to believe that Ruby does not recognize her father, when Akane recognized him on sight, he looks identical to her twin brother she spent 18 years growing up with and she is in the middle of MAKING A MOVIE THAT STARS HIM. If the latter is the intent then all I can say is that I feel genuinely fucking insulted on Ruby's behalf at her being dumbed down this badly and for myself as a reader that Akasaka thinks I'm stupid enough to buy this. So I am very much hoping it's the former.

The talk they go onto have is also………………………….. man. I want to like it. I really want to pull it apart and analyze it because it is fascinating. It's a really important look into Ruby's feelings and I even myself said this was something I really wanted to see Ruby dealing with - being faced with the realization that the person who killed her mother isn't some ephemeral faceless force of uncomplicated evil, but a fucked up human being who was hurt and suffering and who faced horrific and monstrous abuse just like Ai did. The idea of Ruby wrestling with her conflicting feelings of empathy and resentment, similar to Kana trying to reconcile her lingering hurt with her love for Ruby as her friend, is super compelling.

But like… she didn't! Akasaka having Ruby look into the camera and having her say "uhhh i was totally having all these deep and complicated feelings this whole time trust me bro" is the first we have heard Ruby struggle with literally any of this. It's yet another example of what I've been saying this whole time of Akasaka both lacking enough respect for Ruby to seriously interrogate her as a character and rushing her to the endpoint of what should have been long term characterization in lieu of showing us the work it takes to get there. Rather than organically weaving any of this into the prior story and letting us actually see Ruby work through this, she just starts awkwardly monologing about it to a conveniently placed guy who is, depending on your interpretation of the chapter, either some rando with an umbrella or the guy she's pretty sure killed her mom.

There is no reason her struggling to reconcile these contrasting feelings of resentment and empathy couldn't have been explored as the movie was being filmed. There were countless opportunities for this to have come up while the movie was filming the scenes dealing with Hikaru's abuse - we even get this set up in 139 during the filming of their first meeting but it gets derailed by a dumb brocon joke because I guess that was more important to spend pagetime on than the arc Akasaka is trying to suddenly pretend Ruby was having.

And it's not like it even matters! Unless the next arc is also going to be about 15 Year Lie where we interrogate the content of the movie not shown to us, Ruby's struggle here comes to nothing. That overhanging question of "Will Ai('s actress) forgive her killer or not?" is cut short and goes unanswered. So what was the point of this?

I also just really can't get my head around this continued thread of Ruby wanting to be an idol who 'surpasses' Ai. I had a whole rant about it here I ended up deleting lol but the long and the short of it is it feels entirely incongruous with the series' broader portrayal and Ruby's own attitude about chasing Ai's light and what being an idol did to Ai but at this point I've given up.

The exchange with Kamiki that follows is like, the one part of this chapter I think is just uncomplicatedly interesting and worth interrogation. He actually gives Ruby a lot of genuinely good advice here - that she can only find an answer to that question by interrogating it herself and an answer from someone else won't solve the issue. Does she actually want suffering and revenge? Are those really at the core of who she is as a person?

The framing here is obviously and overtly sinister and suspicious and we're pretty clearly supposed to think he was about to shove Ruby down the stairs, but a few things jumped out to me. The first is that if you pay attention to the backgrounds, they seem to have actually already been close to if not at ground level by the time Akane caught up to them, so… what exactly was a push from that height going to do if he did, in fact, push her?

Not only that but uh… holy shit! His white hoshigan!!!!

Like, am I misremembering, or is this not the one and only time we have ever seen adult Hikaru - maybe even the real Hikaru full stop - without black hoshigans??? Given what we've seen of him so far and how the black hoshigans have been used as a symbol, if he really was about to kill Ruby… where did THAT come from?

Added together with the deeply sympathetic portrayal of his younger self in the movie, it continues to raise a lot of questions for me as to exactly what we're supposed to be thinking of Hikaru and how we're supposed to feel about him that I am finding very compelling. ambiguity enjoyers when the

NINO IS HERE!!!! MISS NINO I'M FREE THURSDAY NIGHT IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO HANG OUT

Joking aside, I'm really glad Nino is here because it implies her whatever the fuck is going on situationship with Kamiki is going to continue into the final arc(s?) of the series and that we'll get to see more of her as a result. Nino's been one of my favourite OnK characters since I first read 45510 so any more content of her in the main story is a treat.

Kamiki's words about the movie killing him via public opinion also lines up with what I was expecting to happen more or less… I'm curious to see how this is all going to play out and what this means for Aqua given that, if last chapter is anything to go by, he's still very much struggling with suicidal ideation. can someone PLEASE give my son a bone crushing hug.

akane stalking kamiki is up there as one of the funniest things ever in this manga btw. what is wrong w her <3

This is unfortunately where me having nice things to say about this chapter ends because the chapter - and therefore the Movie Arc as a whole - ends with this transparently rushed sequence absolutely mach speech blasting through the remaining material of the movie in one and a half's pages worth of silent single panels. Honestly, I really can't properly articulate how mad and frustrated I am about this lmao. It really just feels like Akasaka admitting to the reader that he's stopped giving a shit about what the movie was supposed to be about. The HKAI breakup that was given a huge amount of setup and weight at the start of filming? Ai's pregnancy? AI'S DEATH???? It's all skipped over and brushed aside as if it never mattered in the first place. Never mind any of the interesting characterization we could've gotten out of it. Never mind that the Movie Arc was promised to be about Ai and untangling her past. Never fucking mind Ruby having literally any interiority about having to act out the death of her beloved mother and reliving the event that destroyed her and her brother's lives. If Akasaka doesn't care, why should I?

It feels like a slap in the face for getting invested in the story's promises and trying to engage with it. But of course, I'm going to be back like a clown doing just that when the next chapter drops anyway.

at least we're finally moving on to a new arc but by god. at what fucking cost.

break next week……………………………………………..

#oshi no ko #oshi no posting #onk spoilers #chapter reviews

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weirdly-specific-but-ok · 3 days

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twilight for the uninitiated

HEYLO BABYGIRLS, BITCHBOYS, AND BOYCOTTERS OF THE BINARY! It's your favourite (and I should hope only) Good Omens Mascot and Maggot Prince here. Yesterday (earlier today? idk I sleep in naps) way over on the maggots server some of y'all were insulting Twilight. Which I am 100% supportive of, but for Bildaddy's sake, you need to insult it CORRECTLY.

But should you have to hate-watch or hate-read it? Nah, you've got me. In middle school I got late to school because I was reading the books in the bathroom instead of getting ready. I'VE GOT YOU! Gonna mix up the book and movie for optimum enjoyment.

Dramatis Personae: Edward Cullen, aka Sparkles the Vampire. Bella Swan, aka Bella Sue. Jacob Black, aka Wolfy Eggfucker. Charlie Swan, aka Gunboy ACAB. And Dr Carlisle Cullen, aka Zaddy. @orpiknight taught me that word.

ALRIGHT! So Bella Sue's mum and dad are divorced and she lives with her mum. But her mum's like lmao fuck you when she gets a touring boyfriend and tosses Bella Sue to Forks, where it rains a lot, and where her dad Gunboy lives.

So Bella Sue grabs a cactus because that represents Arizona and hauls ass, and Gunboy makes awkward comments about her hair. Bonding! But then he gets her a pickup truck, which is wild-o.

First day of school and Bella Sue is very popular because Small Town and the boys are very tingly in the ballsacks if you catch my drift. Anna Kendrick asks her why she's white (YOU CAN'T JUST ASK PEOPLE WHY THEY'RE WHITE, KAREN!) and then promptly forgets she was in the movie.

INTRODUCING THE VAMPIRES! This is a vampire story, by the way. There's Himbo, Blonde Murderer, and they're dating/married. There's Bi Awakening and some constipated looking dude from the Confederate army, and they're dating/married (don't worry about it). There's Sparkles, of course, and they all walk into the cafeteria being Hot apparently. Sparkles stares at Bella Sue. This is to be a common theme.

Sparkles thinks Bella Sue stinks. No, like, literally, she stinks coz he wants to eat her and food smells etc. Bella Sue also has magic powers and Sparkles can't read her mind. He's like >:(=. Those are his fangs, btw. But then he goes away with his family to hunt animals and drink blood and comes back like :)=.

Bella Sue almost gets hit by a car but then Sparkles jumps in and pushes it away. He then gaslight gatekeeps girlbosses her, and googles adrenaline rush to explain it to her. AND GUESS WHO HEALS HER? IT'S SPARKLES'S DAD, AND MY ZADDY. He walks into the ER all blonde and gentle and competent. Oh and he's a vampire too and so is his wife but like his magic power is compassion and also he's learned to regulate himself around blood. And he's pretty. Zaddy.

He's so fucking pretty but then we have to go back to the Plot and some humans are being killed or whatever and Gunboy is takin' charge yo. Sparkles keep chasing after Bella Sue to tell her to stay away from him and finding her randomly to remind her to ABSOLUTELY STAY AWAY and then he stalks her in the night and has dinner with her after saving her from a gang to tell her to ABSOLUTELY STAY AWAY. Also, he's like 110 years old. Whatever.

Oh and Sparkles breaks into her room to watch her sleep at night. It's super duper romantic. (No, trust me, once you see Wolfy in the later books, this will be super duper romantic). Then he takes her to abandoned clearings in woods to threaten to kill her and he tells her to SAY WHAT HE IS and she's like MOSQUITE LEECH VAMPIRE.

AND THEN HE SPARKLES! A LOT! And they go to the Cullens house and play baseball and Zaddy is looking absolutely lovely and welcomes them and even stands off some random vampires that show up. But one of them likey-likey's Bella Sue's blood.

Bella Sue is like lmao fuck you you're not a good dad to Gunboy to keep him safe or whatever and runs away with the Cullens to keep herself safe or whatever. Idk man Zaddy is just very pretty throughout.

And then there's a ballet place and Bella Sue goes there to get murdered coz she doesn't want to be a burden to the Cullens (homegirl never been so real). The Cullens get there and kill the vampire but then she's vampiring so Sparkles sucks the venom out and Zaddy heals her. Looking pretty. Blonde hair, golden eyes, etc.

And then Gunboy and Bella Sue's mum show up and she goes home and she's like SPARKLES TURN ME INTO A VAMPIRE TOO and he's like yo wtf no you'll be a monster (I think he's just pissed he sucked that venom out for nothing) and she's like SPARKLES PLEASE UWU and he's like UGH WE'LL SEE and they dance at prom but anyway there it ends. It should have ended with a shot of Zaddy but anyway.

*influence voice* Like and subscribe Like and reblog for a part II coz there are three more books/four more movies. Gotta get that education. Now I have the urge to make a youtube video. Garn. ANYWAY LOVE YOU ALL BYE MAGGOTS.

#weirdly specific but ok #twilight #twilight saga #the twilight saga #the cullens #charlie swan #carlisle cullen #daddy cullen #asmi #good omens mascot #maggots #twilight summary #twilight books #would this have been shorter if i hadn't been thirsty for carlisle #maybe but romeo and juliet would have been shorter without juliet ok #hamlet would be shorter without hamlet #you see my point?

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happy74827 · 1 day

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The Demon With A Heart

[Crowley x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: When Crowley saves your life, you can't help but think it was a little more than self-interest.

WC: 1858

Category: 99.9% Sexual Tension (lmfao), 0.01% Fluff + Angst? {TW: Mentions of Demons (obvi), Murder}

Crowley is too iconic not to have fics. I said what I said.

『••✎••』

You didn’t know how to react. It was as if your tongue was taken away, and you couldn’t talk, no matter how much you wanted to thank the man.

No, the demon.

You stood there with wide eyes, staring at the King of Hell, Crowley. He looked the same as before: a clean suit, a snarky comment, and a look of disgust on his face. But, instead of being on the opposite side, he was wiping the blood off of the angel blade he used to kill the angel that jumped you.

He just saved you—The King of Hell.

The very man who told Sam and Dean countless times that he doesn't do anything for free and doesn’t help people without getting something out of it. Yet, here he was, standing in front of you, not asking for a single thing.

The thought was a bit unsettling.

"Purely out of self-interest, darling," He says, breaking the silence and putting the stolen blade into his jacket. "Call it a favor that I plan to collect in the future."

He was about to leave, but you couldn’t let him go. Not without a thank you, at least. You didn't want him to think you didn’t appreciate what he did.

"Crowley."

The man turns back around, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable.

"Thank you"

The corner of his mouth turned upward, forming a small smirk. He didn’t say anything but rather kept his eyes on you for a second longer. He then disappeared, leaving you in the dark.

And it did leave you in the dark. For days, weeks, months. He never came for that favor, and he never brought up what happened. In fact, he barely talked to you at all. It was always towards the Winchesters.

You began to believe it was nothing but a dream. That Crowley somehow didn't save you. The angel was a fake, and this was all some sick joke. It felt like gaslighting.

But you knew what happened was real. You remembered the blood splatter and the dead corpse. The way his face contorted when he pierced the angel's heart.

It was all too real.

So, why was he ignoring you? Why did he pretend that it never happened? Was he going to hold it over your head? Or was it just the fact that the King of Hell did something nice for a human?

Was it because he… cared?

One night, you got your answer. It was a quiet night filled with books, tea, and soft music. At least, it was before those idiotic brothers decided to tear down the bunker in search of some book.

You couldn’t remember the exact reason they needed it, but you were too tired to argue. So, you stayed in your room and tried to fall asleep.

That is until the lights went out and the emergency lights kicked on. Okay, now you were annoyed. You got up, slipped on your shoes and a coat, and walked out of your room.

"Alright, what did you two-"

You paused mid-sentence, eyes falling onto the figure in the library. The man was facing the opposite way, but you knew exactly who it was. The familiar black suit and hair gave it away.

"Crowley…"

"Hello, Darling,” he replied, turning around and smiling at you. It was almost unnerving. He didn’t have a malicious aura or even an evil one. Just... a smile.

You looked behind him and noticed… well, nothing. You were expecting the Winchesters to be with him, and yet, it was just him.

"Where are the boys?"

"Moose and Squirrel? Ah, they're off somewhere, doing... well, you know. Something heroic, I suppose. Figured I’d stick around… enjoy the scenery."

That’s when you looked up and understood what he meant. He was stuck, quite literally. Those devil traps they put everywhere finally did something good.

You half-expected him to bring up that 'favor' he was talking about or maybe even just demand to get out of there, but he did neither. Instead, he looked at the ground and sighed.

At the moment, the King of Hell looked just like a caged puppy, sad and alone. If he wasn’t such a… demon, you might have even felt bad for him.

But, you left him in there, strolling along to the kitchen to find some kind of light. You were not giving up your two hours of reading due to power loss.

As you shuffled through the cabinets, looking for any form of match or lighter, the lights flickered back on.

So that’s where the Winchesters were.

You shrugged and turned back to your room but stopped at the entrance to the library. Crowley was still there, but this time, his face was twisted. He was clearly pissed.

"Why did you do it?" The burning question you wanted answered for months finally came out. Crowley stopped his little fit and turned towards you, a confused expression on his face.

He looked like he had no idea what you were talking about.

"I do a lot of things, Chipmunk. You'll have to be more specific."

You walked towards him, resting down the candles and book on a nearby table. You didn’t know why, but the need to confront him was growing.

"Save me all those months ago."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

You were getting closer, now only a few feet from him. Crowley, however, didn’t back away. Instead, he watched as you moved, his expression unchanging.

"That angel could’ve killed me, yet you came out of nowhere and stabbed him. I know you don't do anything out of kindness, so why did you do it? What do I offer that no one else does?"

Crowley stayed silent for a while, not giving any indication of answering your questions.

You thought it was just a lost cause until his expression changed. It was subtle, but you caught it. The corner of his mouth turned down, and his eyes widened, then narrowed.

He almost looked ashamed.

"It's just like I said. Self-interest." He spat out, his voice sounding like venom. You almost took a step back. It still sounded like the same old Crowley, but his tone was different.

You decided to call his bluff.

"I don't believe you."

Crowley raised an eyebrow, a smirk coming across his face. He was amused by the sudden attitude, but it didn’t last long.

"And what makes you say that?"

"I saw the way you looked at me after you saved me. Hesitancy, almost. Like you were unsure. As if..."

The King of Hell stared at you, waiting for the last part of your statement. He was eager but not for the answer. No, he knew what you were going to say.

He was just waiting to hear it come out of your mouth.

"You care."

Those words hung in the air, both of you processing it. Crowley continued to stare at you, the smirk disappearing, leaving his face neutral. He had a blank expression.

A silence grew, the atmosphere turning awkward. It wasn't until the demon let out a loud sigh and looked to the side that it was broken.

"You’re really pulling on the heartstrings, Chipmunk,” he muttered, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "If I had one, I'd say it was aching."

"Do you?"

You knew what you were implying. Crowley was the King of Hell, the ruler of the damned. He was the furthest thing from human, yet he could walk among them and, sometimes, be mistaken for one.

Was it possible for him to be human or even have emotions?

Crowley looked at you and frowned, clearly not liking the topic. But he didn't deny it. It was a strange sight—the King of Hell, frowning and silent.

It was almost adorable.

"I'm not asking for anything. I just… want an honest answer."

"Well, I am a demon, love,” He stated, his tone changing to a more playful one. “Honesty isn’t quite in the job description."

"Crowley"

You were starting to get impatient, and it showed. Your voice was firm, and your posture was tense. You wanted an answer, and you were determined to get it.

The demon in question let out another sigh and looked at the ceiling as if praying for a quick escape.

"You're a pain, you know that? It's exhausting." He grumbled, rolling his eyes. "But, I suppose, since you asked nicely..."

The man looked at you, his lips pursed. He was still hesitating, which only made you more curious.

"Yes, I care. About you. Happy?"

You blinked a few times, processing the information. Did the King of Hell, the person known for not giving a shit, just admit he cares?

"I-" You started, not knowing what to say. It was a surprise but not an unwelcome one. Crowley wasn't exactly a bad guy, well, a demon.

"Do you actually mean that?"

"Now that…" Crowley started, his voice low and deep. He leaned towards you, making you back up, but the wall soon prevented you from going any further.

He was inches away, his breath hitting your face. You could see his eyes staring into yours—a pretty brown, like a mocha latte.

"…Is the kind of question that will get you in trouble, love."

You weren’t sure what he was planning, but you didn't care. The way his eyes were looking at you, the smirk on his face, the closeness...

He was probably expecting you to back away, but he was wrong. You were an avid reader, obsessive even. This scene wasn't new, nor was it shocking.

The only shocking part was the fact that you were the one in it. And, well, the fact that you didn’t mind it.

"Unlike you,” you whispered, a small smirk on your face. "I don’t care."

Your response made him pause for a moment, squinting his eyes and giving you a confused look. It only lasted a few seconds, though. Soon, he understood, and a chuckle escaped his lips.

"Touché"

You truly believed you were about to lose your chance with the man upstairs, but loud footsteps interrupted you.

"Crowley, you slimy son of a bitch! If you’re not here, we are going to-"

Dean stopped talking as he rounded the corner, seeing you and Crowley close. His expression was shocked, almost comical.

"The hell is going on here?"

You and Crowley both turned to look at Dean, a look of annoyance on the King of Hell's face. Sam came around the corner as well, sharing the same look of confusion.

Crowley gave you one last glance, a bit of disappointment in his eyes, before taking a step back. His attention moved on to the two hunters, his usual smile returning.

And despite the annoyance in the air and the confusion, the only thing that came across your mind was another question that you were sure would take control of your sleep schedule once again.

"Hello, boys," He purred, his arms moving to his side. He was back to his old self, not showing a single sign of what happened moments ago.

Had the beauty thawed the beast?

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