#that's why scott matters so much to me
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On Hope
Today's meta, brought to you by a tumblr post:
In case of tl;dr or tumblr not opening links, it boils down to: Hope is a skill you work, not something inherent. I'd like to add (as some people in the tags have, that so is optimism and faith). I personally would tag on kindness as well.
All these traits are seen as soft and naive, but to actually use them and nurture them properly, it takes time and an active involvement. You're not just hopeful, especially in these times. You have to work at it, and it's hard. You're not just kind because you are, you have to actively work to be kind, moreso when the world says you shouldn't.
How does this tie to Teen Wolf?
Obviously, it comes down to Scott.
Many, many multiple complaints about Scott being a boring character or a perfect character or an undeveloped character come from the fact that people (incorrectly) believe that Scott has no flaws. Scott's perfect, they say! He's so boring and Neurotypical! (which is another can of worms to open another day)
Perfection is not possible, much less for a teenage character. We have seen Scott fuck up, multiple times, for several different reasons, most coming down to the fact he's an inexperienced teenage boy thrust into a situation he never wanted to be in the first place. He's afraid, he's experiencing things no one could have braced him for, and further affected by the fact that no one explained anything after the fact either.
Despite being actively tormented by several adults (and some teenagers, lookin' at you, Matt and Jackson), Scott doesn't stop being, at his core, kind. He's hopeful! He has HOPE that Jackson can be cured from the Kanima situation in s2, he has HOPE that they can save Stiles from the Nogitsune in s3B.
Out of everyone in Teen Wolf, given the release date and the sentiment surrounding the world when it first came out, I would have not been surprised if Scott had gone from a bright hopeful kid to a cynical, bitter ~adult~, because that was expected. Cynicism was The Thing, the corruption of the innocence of youth or whatever would have fit well, I'm sure, in this niche MTV was trying to carve out.
That's what made Scott so extraordinary, I think. Despite the punches, despite ever reason he had to be bitter and mean and cruel because the world WAS bitter and mean and cruel to him, Scott continued being good. He had hope for people, and gave countless opportunities that would not have been afforded to him by others, because Scott was able to look at things as they were, and hope for something better.
Did he make mistakes along the way? Sure, as a kid then young adult navigating a whole new world that actively wanted him dead, he made mistakes. But even thinking about his choices now, how painfully difficult must it have been for Scott to look at all these people who hurt him, who hurt his friends and his family and his community, and still look for good? To offer kindness to strangers and enemies alike, to ease their pain and give people who were in the same position he was the opportunity to say 'I can't. This isn't for me.'
How many times did Scott have to fight the pain and injustice and anger that would be more than deserved, and swallowed it down because pain and anger and violence are easy! It's an easy reaction and an easy excuse, and likely people (in show) wouldn't have really blamed him because no one ever blamed Stiles for being angry and lashing out because that's what people /do/.
But Scott didn't. He swallowed all of that (a monumental effort on its own) and he returned kindness. He returned hope and optimism and faith that I know he didn't really feel, but what he really felt doesn't affect his actions because his actions speak much louder.
For a teenager with suicidal ideation, who has been constantly beat down by a life he never chose? Scott has tremendous self control, and an enormous capacity for kindness in his heart. It would have been so easy to make him an asshole, we've seen assholes countless of times in media. But strength of character in the face of all that, to say no to the cycle of violence? That is something that is not innate. Scott had to absolutely fight for that every day, and that alone is so endlessly fascinating.
Scott may be boring if all you look at is the surface, but all it says is that you've felt the struggle of being kind in a world that wants you to be cruel.
#teen wolf#scott mccall#pro scott mccall#scott mccall defense squad#kindness is hard#hope is hard#im projecting again but i was the cynical kid#the world sucks and then you die and what's the point kind of cynicism and that shit is damaging as fuck yo#it took a lot of effort to move away from that#including therapy and meds and help from the people around me and a lot of soul searching and its a struggle every damn day#but i will hold onto that and i will be kind and i will have hope even if it feels like it burns because its worth it#the world is filled with so many assholes already i refuse to be part of the problem#that's why scott matters so much to me#dark scott would have been more interesting to the same assholes who love to watch that hope die out because they love to drag people down#but its so much harder to see that and put good out in the world than it is to shit on everything like everyone else#even if its just a drop in a bucket#it means something to someone#teen wolf meta
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session 5 for both scott and jimmy mirror each other in that they’re dedicated to powering up and preparing. scott gets a full set of protection IV diamond armor together with 30 diamonds in the enderchest to spare. jimmy, however, spends the entire episode trying to get good enchants on his iron set in a way that reminds me of a small bird flying into a window over and over again
#bree barks so fucking loud#im so upset man#I was gonna elaborate on why but this isnt even like. Applicable bc jimmy does have full diamond by the time he dies#but. ohhh scott. why are you keeping so much to yourself#For your own survival yeah? Right. This makes sense#its just. crazy to think that the reason he placed 10th was because he was reckless after jimmys death#all this preparing and yet. tossing jimmy a few more diamonds to bring him up to his level would have been a better investment#again this doesnt even matter. jimmy has full diamond during the battle he dies in but like. But like#this is representative of something. To Me#It’s better if i do conclude that scott gave him a couple for that chestplate but this episode’s disparity is still symptomatic of like#scotts thought process about jimmy#even the protection III villager he lets jimmy use this episode. Scott showed it to him after he already concluded that—#he himself did not have much use for it. He saw his armor already had protection and went ‘it’ll work for jimmy’ in a handwavy way#it’s all just so interesting#deranged.fh.posting
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TUMBLR POST EDITOR WON'T LET ME TITLE THIS POST ANYMORE SO I GUESS THIS IS THE TITLE NOW. WEBBED SITE INNIT
So let's say you grew up in the nineties and that The Lion King was an important movie to you. Let's say that the character of Scar - snarling, ambitious, condescending, effeminate Scar - stirred feelings in you which you had no words for as a child. And then let's say, many years later, you're talking about it with a college friend, and you say something like, "oh man, I think Scar was some sort of gay awakening for me," and she fixes you with this level stare and says, "Scar was a fascist. What's the matter with you?"
The immediate feeling is not unlike missing a step: hang on, what's happening, what did I miss? You knew there were goose-stepping hyenas in "Be Prepared," but you didn't think it mattered that much. He's the bad guy, after all, and the movie's just pointing it out. Your friend says it's more than that: the visuals of the song are directly referencing the Nuremberg rallies. They're practically an homage to Riefenstahl. This was your sexual awakening? Is this why you're so into peaked caps and leather, then? Subliminal nazi kink, perhaps?
And then one of your other friends cuts in. "Hold up," he says, "let's think about what Scar actually did in the movie. He organized a group of racialized outcasts and led them against a predatory monarchy. Why are you so keen to defend their hereditary rule? Scar's the good guy here." The conversation immediately descends into a verbal slap fight about who the real bad guy is, whether Scar's regime was actually responsible for the ecological devastation of the Pride Lands, whether the hyenas actually count as "racialized" because James Earl Jones voiced Mufasa after all. Your Catholic friend starts saying some strange and frankly concerning shit about Natural Law. Someone brings The Lion King 2 into it. You leave the conversation feeling a little bit lost and a little bit anxious. What were we even talking about?
INTRODUCING: THE DITCH
There is a way of reading texts which I'm afraid is pervasive, which has as its most classical expression the smug obsession with trivia and minutiae you find in a certain vein of comic book fan. "Who was the first Green Lantern? What was his weakness? Do you even know the Green Lantern Oath?" It eschews the subjective in favor of definitively knowable fact. You can't argue with this guy that, say, Alan Scott shouldn't really count as the first Green Lantern because his whole deal is so radically different from the Hal Jordan/John Stewart/Guy Gardner Corps-era Lanterns, because this guy will simply say "but he's called Green Lantern. Says so right on the cover. Checkmate." This approach to reading a text is fundamentally 1) emotionally detached (there's a reason the joke goes, oh you like X band? name three of their songs - and not, which of their songs means the most to you? which of them came into your life at exactly the right moment to tell you exactly what you needed to hear just then?) and 2) defensive. It's a stance that is designed not to lose arguments. It says so right on the cover. Checkmate.
And then you get the guys who are like "well obviously Bruce Wayne could do far more as a billionaire to solve societal problems by using his tremendous wealth to address systemic issues instead of dressing up as a bat and punching mental patients in the head," and these guys have half a point but they're basically in the same ditch butting heads with the "well, actually" guys, and can we not simply extricate ourselves from the ditch entirely?
So, okay, let's return to our initial example. Scar is portrayed using Nazi iconography - the goose-stepping, the monumentality, the Nuremberg Lichtdom. He is also flamboyant and effete. He unifies and leads a group of downtrodden exiles to overthrow an absolute monarch. He's also a self-serving despot on whose rule Heaven Itself turns its back. You can't reconcile these things from within the ditch - or if you can, the attempt is likely to be ad-hoc supposition and duct tape.
Instead, let's ask ourselves what perspective The Lion King is coming from. What does it say is true about the world? What are its precepts, its axioms?
There is a natural hierarchical order to the world. This is just and righteous and the way of things, and attempts to overthrow this order will be punished severely by the world itself.
Fascism is what happens when evil men attempt to usurp this natural order with the aid of a group or groups of people who refuse to accept their place in the order.
There exists an alternative to defending and adhering to one's place in the natural order - it consists only of selfish spineless apathy.
Manliness is an essential quality of a just ruler. Unmanliness renders a person unfit for rule, and often resentful and dangerous as well.
And isn't that interesting, laid out like that? It renders the entire argument about the movie irrelevant (except for whatever your Catholic friend was on about, since his understanding of the world seems to line up with the above precepts weirdly well.) It's meaningless to argue about whether Scar was a secret hero or a fascist, when the movie doesn't understand fascism and has a damn-near alien view of what good and evil are.
There's always gonna be someone who, having read this far, wants to reply, "so, what? The Lion King is a bad movie and the people who made it were homophobes and also American monarchists, somehow? And anyone who likes it is also some sort of gay-bashing crypto-authoritarian?" To which I have to reply, man, c'mon, get out of the ditch. You're no good to anyone in there. Take my hand. I'm going to pull on three. One... two...
SO PHYREXIA [PAUSE FOR APPLAUSE, GROANS]
We're talking about everyone's favorite ichor-drooling surgery monsters again because there was a bit in my ~*~seminal~*~ essay Transformation, Horror, Eros, Phyrexia which seemed to give a number of readers quite a bit of trouble: namely, the idea that while Phyrexia is textually fascist, their aesthetic is incompatible with real-world fascism, and further, that this aesthetic incompatibility in some way outweighs the ways in which they act like a fascist nation in terms of how we think of them. I'll take responsibility here: I don't think that point is at all clear or well-argued in that essay. What I was trying to articulate was that the text of Magic: the Gathering very much wants Phyrexia to be supremely evil and dangerous fascists, because that makes for effective antagonists, but in the process of constructing that, it's accidentally encoded a whole bunch of fascinating presuppositions that end up working at cross-purposes with its apparent aim. That's... not that much clearer, is it? Hmm. Why don't I just show you what I mean?
Atraxa, Grand Unifier (art by Marta Nael)
In "Beneath Eyes Unblinking," one of the March of the Machine stories by K. Arsenault Rivera, there's a fascinating and I think revealing passage in which Atraxa (big-deal Phyrexianized angel and Elesh Norn's lieutenant) has a run-in with an art museum in New Capenna. The first thing I want to talk about is that, in this passage, Atraxa has no understanding of the concept of "beauty". A great deal of space in such a rushed storyline is devoted to her trying to puzzle out what beauty means and interrogating the minds of her recently-compleated Capennan aesthetes to try and understand it. In the end, she is unable to conceive of beauty except as "wrongness," as anathema.
So my first question is, why doesn't Atraxa have any idea of beauty? This is nonsense, right? We could point to a previous story, "A Garden of Flesh," by Lora Gray, in which Elesh Norn explicitly thinks in terms of beauty, but that's a little bit ditchbound, isn't it? The better argument is to simply look at Phyrexian bodies, at the Phyrexian landscape, all of which looks the way it does on purpose, all of which has been shaped in accordance with the very real aesthetic preferences of Phyrexians. How you could look at the Fair Basilica and not understand that Phyrexians most definitely have an idea of beauty, even if you personally disagree with it, is baffling. This is a lot like the canonical assertion that Phyrexians lack souls, which is both contradicted elsewhere in canon and essentially meaningless, given Magic's unwillingness or inability to articulate what a soul is in its setting, and as with this, it seems the goal is simply to dehumanize Phyrexians, to render them alien, even at the cost of incoherence or internal contradiction.
Atraxa's progress through the museum is fascinating. It evokes the 1937 Nazi exhibit on "degenerate art" in Munich, but not at all cleanly. The first exhibit, which is of representational art, she angrily destroys for being too individualistic (a point of dissonance with the European fascist movements of the 20th century, which formed in direct antagonism to communism.) The second exhibit, filled with abstract paintings and sculptures, she destroys even more angrily for having no conceivable use (this is much more in line with the Nazi idea of "degenerate art", so well done there.) The third exhibit is filled with war trophies and reconstructions from a failed Phyrexian invasion of Capenna many years prior, which she is angriest of all with (and fair enough, I suppose.) But then, after she's done completely trashing the place, she spots a number of angel statues on the cathedral across the plaza, and she goes apeshit. In a fugue of white-hot rage, she pulverizes the angel heads, and here is where I have to ask my second question:
Why angels? If you are trying to invoke fascist attitudes toward art, big statues of angels are precisely the wrong thing for your fascist analogues to hate. Fascists love monumental, heroic representations of superhuman perfection. It's practically their whole aesthetic deal. I understand that we're foreshadowing the imminent defeat of Phyrexia at the hands of legions of angels and a multiversal proliferation of angel juice, but that just leads to the exact same question: why angels? To the best of my knowledge, the Phyrexian weakness to New Capennan angel juice is something invented for this storyline. They have, after all, been happily compleating angels since 1997. We could talk about the in-universe justification for why Halo specifically is so potent, but I don't remember what that justification is, and also don't care. Let's not jump back in the ditch, please. The point is, someone decided that this time, Phyrexia would be defeated by an angelic host, and what does that mean? What is the text trying to say? What are its precepts and axioms?
Let me ask you a question: how many physically disabled angels are there in Magic: the Gathering? How about transsexual angels? How many angels are there, on all of the cards that have ever been printed for Magic: the Gathering, that are even just a bit ugly? Do you get it yet? Or do you need me to spell it out for you?
SPELLING IT OUT FOR YOU
There is a kind of body which is bad. It is bad because it has been significantly altered from its natural state, and it is bad because it is repellent to our aesthetic sensibilities.
The bad kind of body is contagious. It spreads through contact. Sometimes people we love are infected, and then they become the bad kind of body too.
There is a kind of body which is good. It is good because it is pleasing to our aesthetic sensibilities, and it is good because it is unaltered from its (super)natural state.
A happy ending is when all the good bodies destroy or drive into hiding all of the bad bodies. A happy ending is when the bad bodies of the people we love are forcibly returned to being the good kind of body.
Do you get it now?
ENDNOTES
It's worth noting that the ditch is very similar to the white American Evangelical hermeneutics of "the Bible says it. I believe it. That settles it," the defensive chapter-and-verse-or-it-didn't-happen approach to reading a text, what Fred Clark of slacktivist calls "concordance-ism". I don't think that's accidental. We stand underneath centuries of people reading the Bible very poorly - how could that not affect how we read things today? We are participants in history whether we like it or not.
I sincerely hope I haven't come across as condescending in this essay. Close reading is legitimately difficult! They teach college courses on this stuff! And while it is frustrating to have my close readings interrogated by people who... aren't doing that, like. I do get it. I find myself back in the ditch all the time. This stuff is hard. It is also, sorry, crucial if you intend to say something about a text that's worth saying.
I also hope I've communicated clearly here. Magic story is sufficiently incoherent that trying to develop a thesis about it often feels like trying to nail jello to the wall. If anyone has questions, please ask them! And thank you for reading. Next time, we'll probably do the new Eldraine set.
#phyrexia#not defining the ditch except by implication#thanks to all the very smart vorthoi on the flavor text discord server for helping me work through my thoughts on fascism and phyrexia#this is technically the march of the machine review also#or as much of one as i care to do
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IN RUINS 2
PAIRING: spencer reid x fem reader
SUMMARY: spencer reid has always had something against you. during a particular case, spencer snaps and says something he shouldn’t have said leaving you in ruins. but what happens when your in danger and he still hasn’t explained why he reacted the way he did. will he have the time?
IMPORTANT COMMENT!!!!: hi my pumpkin cupcake stinky wonky pookie bears. IM SO SORRY IVE BEEN A FRAUD! 💔💔 jokes but I’m rlly sorry I haven’t been writing for the past months ive been to the hospital multiple times and also had someone close to me pull a ‘I’m dead’ card on me and then I was oh! BUT I think I’m okay I think I’m better and I’ll start posting more I have a lot of ideas but tbh this one was a draft before allat happened so it’s shit but and I wanted to get rid of it cus it js reminded me of everything that happened before 😭 BUT I’m rlly rlly sorry ITS SO LATE
" why is your mom calling you she hasn't called you in 7 months " scott anderson says rubbing his face repeatedly his fingers shaking, his other hand is in a fist digging his nails in the palm of his hand. he walks away from jj who's tied up on the floor with her feet and hands wrapped in rope. the grip on your phone tightens.
" she's calling me because it was my aunts birthday scott." you say looking at scott in the eyes. he stands up biting his nails. " your lying to me." he says walking to you, his eyes dark. you wish his eyes at-least looked like they had nothing behind them, but his eyes definitely have something behind them.
his eyes look determined. they looked commited. and he’s looking at you. your eyes widen. your hands become sweaty. you take a step back. “ i’m not lying to you scott.” you respond back gently shaking your head. you raise your eyebrows softly smiling at him. “ i wouldn’t lie to you scott.” you say the grip on your hand tightening to the point where your hand is shaking.
his gaze softens for a second, his eyes aren't so dark now. his eyebrows soften. " you wouldn't lie to me y/ n?" he whispers gently walking up to you. you nod gulping, " ¡ wouldn't lie to you scotty" you whisper smiling. he smiles. taking another step towards you. you take a deep breath in.
"y-your doing a great job y/n" spencer's shaky voice speaks into the phone. it's the only thing keeping you sane right now. he sounds nervous. you can hear him gulp repeatedly. he's stuttering a lot right now. he's probably blinking a lot. a habit he has when he's nervous. a habit you've absorbed from afar. " your doing a really really great job y/n. i'm so proud of you." no he shouldn't have said that. he should not have said that. he shouldn't have said that. you tear up. why are you tearing up? you can't tear up right now. not right now. please not right now.
your throat feels heavy. your heart feels heavy. a part of you feels funny. your ears feel funny, never having heard those words before. your brain is trying to process the words. it can't process them. it's funny though. no matter how much insane messed up stuff you've heard on the job none of it really ever seemed to take a toll on you. but hearing those 5 words. it's taking a toll on you. and it's not the right time. why are they so triggering. what are they triggering? the inner child inside of you who never got to hear those words? the teen inside of you who never got to hear those words? or is it adult you who still hadn't heard those words up until now? it's too much. why are you tearing up?
“ why are you crying.” scott says. something in his eyes has changed. oh god. his eyes darken. his eyebrows tighten. he’s shaking his head smiling. “ what is your mom saying? why is she making you cry? do you want me to kill her?” he says with pleading eyes smiling. he’s taking a step towards you. “ or are you not talking to your mom right now…” he mumbles. your eyes widen. you shake your head. “ or…your not calling your mom you bitch!” he shouts taking another step towards you. you don’t have time to react. he grabs you by the neck slamming you against the wall. his hand tightens around your neck.
you choke on your words. the tears that gathered up finally start to fall. your free hand wraps around scott's arm thats choking you. you repeatedly hit his arm. " please stop." you plead shaking your head. his grip tightens on your neck. " your a liar. your just like him." he spits his gaze darkening. he grabs your phone throwing it across the room. it knocks over a glass vase.
"¡'m not like him." you choke out shaking your head. " shut up! yes you are!" he shouts in your voice, spit getting on your face.
" let her go!" ji shouts from the floor. her voice cracks mid sentence. probably due to fear. watching you struggle is affecting her. just watching you struggle makes her feel as though she is the one struggling.
scott turns his head around. " what did you just say?" he says slowly releasing you. you take a deep breath in. you look at scott. another wave of fear hits you. what's he gonna say to jj? what's he gonna do to jj? she shouldn't have said anything. she should've kept quiet. he can't hurt her. you have to do something.
" i said let her go. you can't hurt her. she's what you want right? you can't hurt her. why would you hurt someone you love?" jj says her eyes darting between you and scott. to scott she looks desperate, to you. you know what jj's trying to say with her eyes.' we will be fine. seeing ji look at you like that. a rush of adrenaline hit you. you have got to do something. why are your hands so weak. why do you feel as though you don't have control of your body. why do you feel as though you can't control anything. damn it.
" you show love by hurting the ones you love." he whispers. you slowly reach for the gun in your pocket, trying not to alert him. and god is it hard " y/ n would know." he says chuckling. your so close to the gun. " isn't that right y/n?" he turns around to look at you. he sees your hand. he sees the hand thats reaching for the gun. he grabs your gun. your hand immediately forms into a fist, you punch him in the jaw. he falls back. holding his jaw. " you bitch!" he shouts.
you run to jj. you drop down to your knees. your shaky hands immediately start to undo the knots of the rope. "jj you need to get out." you say out of breathe. your trembling hands making it harder to undo the rope quickly. " no- what. y/n dont. i'm not leaving without you. the team is coming t-they're on their way y/n. ji says shaking her head in denial. her hands are untied. " god jj! i always follow your orders! just follow mine! just this once." you snap back moving onto her legs. you untie her. " get out of here now jj! he wont hurt me jj. hes obsessed with me he wont. trust me." you say nodding.
jj hasn't been a profiler for a long time. anyone else on the team would've called you out for your bullshit right now. if he wanted to hurt you. he definitely would. he would do anything to get you to be obedient. he could probably kill you if he wanted to. but jj doesn't know that. she thinks he's just a stalker who's obsessed with you and probably wouldn't seriously harm you. but you know unsubs like him all too well.
ji stands up running to the door. she opens the door. she turns to look at you again. you look at her and smile. " just go." you mouth. she quickly nods running out and closing the door. a wave of relief washes over you. jj is fine. jj is okay. jj is safe. he can't hurt jj anymore.
your not fine. your not okay. your not safe. he can keep hurting you. you turn around. he's standing right behind you. he's looking down at you. he's standing tall. his eyes are on you. his expression is dark. his eyes are empty. not a single thought behind his eyes. you were wrong. his eyes without a single thought behind them is scarier. because now you know, there's nothing really stopping him. there's no determination. there's no commitment. there's absolutely nothing behind those eyes. those eyes that are just about to do you harm.
“ me looking down on you…does this remind you of anything?” he says tilting his head to the side smiling. you shake your head. but oh boy do you know exactly what he’s talking about. your dad. “ oh right sorry. let me do something that will surely make you remember.” he says chuckling. he crouches down. he punches you right in the eye, your left eye. the one with the healed over stitches. you stiffen at his touch. not just because your scared of him. yeah of course your scared of him. but also because you’ve never had someone touch you in such an intimate place. you’ve never had someone grab your cheek and gently caress your scars.
he starts laughing. " oh my god let me see that" he gently grabs your cheek. tilting your head up towards him. he runs his finger on the scar. " he did that didnt he?" he whispers gently rubbing the scar. " he gave you this scar didnt he? i read it.. in one of your hospital records. he gave you this 2 weeks before he left right?" he whispers gently caressing the scar. your shaky hands reaches for his cheek.
he stiffens at your touch. he's just like you. " he gave this to you..right?" you whisper, gently caressing the cut on his lips. scott nods. " you and me.we are the same y/n. we both grew up in the same households. we both put up the same abuse. we..we are meant for each other y/n. your meant for me. and i'm meant for you." he whispers caressing your cheek gently. you nod.
" yeah.yeah we belong together." you mumble nodding gently.
i thought so too..until i saw a picture of you and your co worker spencer reid together." he whispers softly still smiling. your eyes widen. " w-what." you mumble. he chuckles, " yeah.i saw a picture of you two together. it was when you and your team were working that case in chicago." he whispers tightening his grip on your cheek. you shake your head.
" s-spencer? spencer reid? he-he means absolutely nothing to me." you say gently reaching for his hand. " don't lie to me." he whispers tearing up. " i'm not lying to you scott." you whisper rubbing your thumb gently against his arm. " your lying to
me. all you do is lie. your just like him." he whispers tears rolling down his cheeks. " i'm not like him scott." you whisper shaking your head, trying to calm him.
" your just like him.you lying bitch." he shakes his head standing up, forcefully pulling you up with him. his fingers dig deeply into your cheeks, surely 100% going to leave a mark. but who cares at this point.
" scott just listen to me-' he cuts your desperate cries with a punch to the mouth. you fall down to the floor, on purpose however. you want him to think your weak. your worn out. he can easily control you. he can easily throw you around like a rag doll. so he can feel some sense of confidence and have a sense of control. something he probably never experienced.
"i'm not listening to you. now you listen to me. you... you listen to me y/n. we are both the same person. we deserve absolutely nothing. we deserve everything our fathers did to us-"
" you know that's not true scott." someone speaks up from behind scott. their voice is strong and stern. it brings you comfort. never would you have thought, laying on the floor with blood dripping down your chin that the sound of someone's voice would bring you comfort. your heart feels warm. you can feel the familiarity of having control over your body come back. you smile. how could you be smiling at a time like this? your smiling. really hard while looking down at the floor. you refused to look up at scott. you refuse to do so.
because deep down you know you would be staring at the version of yourself that's buried deep inside you. that part inside you that keeps you wondering everyday, if you didn't take the path you took would you be like that. would you have done the same thing he had done? what makes him so different from you. just because you carry an id that gives you power over any normal civilian and a gun that's supposed to protect you and others. that doesn't make you any different though. because even though you have those things, you still think like scott. what if you truly don't deserve anyone in this world that would treat you with respect? what if you truly deserve someone as messed up as fucked up ad you are? because then they wouldn't understand right? they wouldn't understand how your mind works. but..like scott said. you probably deserve someone like scott, someone so sick and twisted-
why are you like this. why are you taking his words to heart. are you really that desperate and pathetic that you start taking an unsubs words to heart just because he shared an intimate moment with you. why? is it because you never in your life had experienced something like that and now you yearn for it? you start to believe every word he's said. your so naive. and your so vain. how can you be so gullible. why are you the way that you are. none of what scott said is true. none of it, absolutely none of it.
your too preoccupied with your brain breaking you down too notice two people coming over to you. your zoning out. your thinking hard. really hard. something like this requires a lot of thinking. but it shouldn't though. your supposed to just shrug off his words. not pay any mind to them. he's a mentally ill unsub who's murdered 5 women. nothing he says should make you reason with his thinking. there's nothing to reason with. he's insane. your not insane. your not insane. your just a girl who's seen some insane things.
" hey. your okay. i got you." morgan says gently grabbing you by the arms. "i got you y/n." he whispers picking you up gently. you stand up looking at the wall infront of you still zoned out. " hey y/n." emily pats your shoulder gently tilting her head to the side looking at you with such pain. you shake your head and look at both of them. " hi emily." you respond looking at emily blinking repeatedly. " hey you." she says smiling. " we've gotta get you to the ambulance come on y/n." morgan says wrapping his arms around you, pushing you into him.
" j-i don't need medical care morgan." you say trying to push your heavy head away but finding it way too hard. he feels too comfortable. too comforting. he feels too nice. his cologne smells masculine. really masculine. why is it comforting? why does it bring you comfort? you close your tired eyes for a second. " hey hey don't close your eyes on me I/n." morgan says tilting his head around to take a look at you, you shake your head softly. " i'm not dying morgan." you groan.
emily chuckles. " morgan's probably enjoying this." emily says wrapping up arm around her shoulder helping you walk, " cant have derek enjoying himself too much we all know how cocky he'll get and how high his ego will sky rocket." emily adds on looking at you smiling. her words make you chuckle. a painful chuckle. when your lips curve to let out a laugh a wave of pain washes over your face. "ow ow." you chuckle closing your eyes. morgan shakes his head,
"yeah you wish you can have a bit of this ego." morgan replies.
rossi opens the house door. his eyes immediately look to you. " it's alright i've got her." he says running to you. " derek go take care of reid he's in the ambulance." rossi says putting his gun away. morgan slowly and gently lets you go. rossi quickly replaces morgan. your head immediately shoots up. that hurt. you didn't even know you could do that. why did your head shoot up so quickly? just a second ago you were leaning into morgan for support because you couldn't bare to hold your head up and now suddenly you have all the energy in the world to shoot your head up.
"w-wait whys reid in the ambulance?" you ask your eyes wide, your pretty sure your eyes are half closed though. you can't bare to hold them open. you can already feel your left eye bruising. you can taste blood in your mouth. and you know there's blood dripping down from your eyebrows, from the healed over stitch. rossi and emily push you forward helping you walk. why aren't they answering you? what happened to reid? whys he in an ambulance? is he injured? what's wrong with spencer? what happened to spence? " i think that's a question he should answer." rossi says. what does that mean?
your quickly brought out of the house, thank god. you feel like if you spent another second in there you would go ballistic and break down crying. your heads down, your too tired. you see a pair of shoes infront of you. who's shoes are those? who is that? and why did they stop right infront of you? it's not spencer. spence would never wear those shoes. he was wearing converse earlier. dark blue converse. why do you remember all of this? don't you have some sort of concussion? how do you remember what pair of shoes spencer wore? god...
you feel emily and rossi's grip weaken around you. the unfamiliar person infront of you reaches forward and takes you. they lead you away from rossi and emily. your too tired to even care. they lean you against them. " where's...what's wrong with dr spencer reid?" you mumble stumbling in their hood barely having the energy to hold yourself up. " it's alright i°ve got you. here." they sit you down on something. there's bright red lights flashing around you. an ambulance.
" ma'am i'm gonna get an IV bag started is that alright with you?" the medic asks opening a cabinet. you nod your head hazily. you lean your head against the walls of the ambulance. he takes your arm rolling your sleeve up. you feel the soft pinch. your thankful for it though. it's stopping you from dissociating and falling asleep. you don't wanna fall asleep until someone tells you why spencer is in an ambulance. why do you care for him? why do you care for him after everything's he said- oh right. after what he's said. why do you care for him after he just publicly embarrassed you? that's so stupid. why are you so pathetic and desperate. did he publicly embarrass you? half of the team probably already knew. it's not that hard to figure out. it’s probably why you are the way that you are. they’re profilers. of course they would figure that out. what he said was true. they all probably agree. oh god..
" let me go! let me go! i don't need medical attention she needs it more than me! let me see her!" you hear a voice shout from the distance, you recognise it. your heartbeat quickens. not like earlier though. not in the way your heartbeat quickened earlier. that was in fear. no. this. this is in relief. your stomach starts to stir. in nervousness. your still leaning your head against the wall, but your looking down. your hair covering your face. you stop hearing his voice.
" ma'am i need you to lift your head up." the medic says gently placing a tray next to you, a tray your guessing is full of medical supplies and alcohol. you softly nod your head sitting up. the medic grabs one of the medical instrument opening the wrapping. he moves to the side to quickly put on gloves.
“ oh my god y/n..” you hear him say your name, in so so much pain. he sounds so upset. is he in pain? why does he sound so upset. what happened to him. is he okay. you look up. you see him. you look into his eyes. and suddenly all the words he’s said earlier rush buck into your clouded messy mind. but they don’t hurt as much. your so used to men blurting out hurtful words to you and you having to get over them, what else do you do? ask them to apologise? expect them to apologise?
no. they don’t do that. they’ve never done that. best thing to do is just get over it, because you probably deserve it right? that’s what you were taught.
he looks tired. his eye bags look darker than what they usually would look like. his hair is messier then usual. the two buttons on his dark blue vest are unbuttoned. he’s wearing his fbi vest. his dark blue pants have wet stains on the side of them. your guessing because he would repeatedly wipe his sweaty hands on them. a habit he has when he’s nervous.
he looks into your eyes. he sees the bruise that's already forming in your eye. the trail of blood rolling down your eyebrow from what he can see, that scar you have. you have blood rolling down the side of your face. your neck is red. an imprint of a hand already appearing. his heart hurts. it hurts so much. seeing you like this. but how dare he right?
how dare he feel pain in his heart? the pain your feeling physically and mentally is probably 10x worse than what he’s feeling. he wishes he was feeling it though, he wishes that right in this second all your pain would be transferred to him. add it on to his pain. he feels so guilty. you don’t deserve this. this is his fault. this is his fault. this is all his fault. your never gonna look him in the eye again. whenever you do your gonna remember this day. and how much pain he put you through. he hates it. he hates it so much. he hates himself so much.
"y-y/n." he's out of breath. he doesn't know where to start. he didn't have time to think of an apology, spending the entire car ride panicking nervous about you and wether you were safe or not. but now he can't think of anything.
he can't think of anything when looking into your eyes, the only thing he's thinking of is how badly he wishes he can go back in time and prevent all of this from happening. or make all of this happen but only put himself in your shoes. make him go through all this pain instead of you. You don't deserve this. you don't deserve him. you don't deserve his stupid apology that's about to come, that is if he can even muster up an apology right now. you deserve so much better than him.
"y/n i'm so sorry." spencer starts shaking his head his eyes wide. he can't think of anything. his iq of 187 has suddenly dropped down to 20. spencer who seemed to never stop his rambling suddenly can't think of a single thing to ramble on. you just made him stupid. and not in the way it's supposed to be. you make him stupid when you smile at him. not like this. he can't think of anything. he doesn't know where to start. he shakes his head.
" god can't you do your job!" spencer snaps grabbing a medical wipe and pouring saline solution on it. he stands infront of you. his angry demeanour quickly vanishes once his infront of you. something just hit him. he freezes infront of you. it's like all the color, the little color he already had in his face has drained.
you look at him in confusion. all though your upset at him it doesn't stop you from caring and growing concerned. " w-what?" you say blinking repeatedly looking at him. hes still looking at you. his lips part. he blinks repeatedly. he shakes his head.
"i-i'm just..i got scared." he stutters his voice cracking. " why?" you ask tilting your head to the side. " i'm scared your gonna flinch once i touch you." he replies quickly. really quickly. any normal person wouldn't catch it. but you did. vou've learnt to keep up with spencer's quick rambling. oh. oh. whys he so considerate? y/n stop. you can think that. you look down at your thighs. unable to think of anything to say. if he did touch you. would you have flinched? would you have reacted? you don't know. but spencer's not him. right?
" i'm not gonna flinch spencer." you say looking up at him. he nods his head gulping, "a-alright." he says. he lifts his shaky hand up. he gently dabs the medical wipe on your cut. disinfecting it. ouch it burns. your nails dig into the palm of your hand. his eyes are stuck on the cut. the scar. he knows where it's from. he might've been with garcia when she did her usual background snooping on new members of the team 2 years ago. he remembers how guilty he felt after it. finding out about such a dark part of your life without your knowledge or permission.
but that guilt doesn't compare to the guilt he's feeling right now. he feels tremendously guilty, he caused the scar to re open. all because of his foolishness. if he just shut his mouth earlier and wasn't such a smart ass. if he maybe was the one to go with you to scott anderson's house and not jj he would've been able to protect you. he probably would've shot scott anderson the second he would've laid his hands on vou.
he doesn't trust himself aorund vou. atleast not from the harm of unsubs and has the need to shoot any of them if they ever did you harm. he would probably lose his job. if he was there he probably would've lost his job. but he doesn't care. for your safety. he doesn't care.
" i'm so sorry y/n-" you can feel the medical wipe shake on your eyebrow, from spencer's shaky hands.
" it's fine spencer." you mumble looking into his eyes. is it fine though? is it really fine? whys he apologising? he's not supposed to be apologising right? this is new. this is so very new. they never apologise after hurting you. this is so unfamiliar? how are you supposed to react? do you tell them how you really feel? do you immediately accept their apology? they never apologised to you when they hurt you. whys spencers apologising? what do you say?
" it's not fine y/n. i-i hurt you. i c-caused this." he says spitting his words out in a shaky manner. what do you say or do? you've never made it this far whenever something similar to this happened in the past.
" spencer it's fine. i shouldn't have egged you on earlier anyways-" why are you taking the blame. y/ n stop. it's not your fault. it never is your fault when something like this happens. y/n please. it's not your fault. stop taking the blame. his heart aches even more. his throat feels heavy. who hurt you like this? who broke your heart like this? who messed up your image of love like this? who hurt you this bad. he hates them. he hates them for making you like this.
" y/n i know you have the personal need to justify everything i've said but y/n stop, just stop. i hurt you okay. and even though saying that out loud and accepting the fact that i said that it thr worst thing i've ever done in my entire life it's nothing compared to what you felt when i said that. i don't wanna be like him y/n. i don't wanna be him. i don't want you to think i can be him. i don't want you to see him everytime you see me y/n. because that would kill me even more. y-you don't have to talk to me anymore y/n i just don't want you to flinch or have this horrible feeling of rememberence whenever you see me. please just.. just don't take the blame for this because it's my fault. this entire thing was my fault and i put you through this y/n. you don't deserve this. i'm really sorry.”
spencer rambles. trying to push the heavy feeling in his throat away. he can't cry. he doesn't deserve to cry right now. he's nervous though. he's nervous about what your gonna say. he doesn’t have the right to feel nervous though. he should accept whatever it is. he did this to himself. whatever the outcome is. he just hopes you don’t have a sense of fear wash over you whenever you look at him and get memories of this day. that is if you ever look at him after this day.
no one's ever said that to you. you feel your tired eyes tear up. your about to cry. oh no. spencer panics. does he comfort you? do you even want his comfort? he doesn't deserve to touch you, he thinks. he drops the medical wipe.
" n-no please don't cry. ill go call
over emily or jj or morgan or hotch just p-please dont cry. i'll go-" it physically aches him to leave you like this. but he has to. he doesn't want you to feel uncomfortable. he just made you cry. you must really hate him. he understands though. he just wishes you understand how sorry he is. but you probably will never know. because you probably don't expect him to feel sorry, you probably think he's faking it. he just needs you to understand that he's not him. he's not your dad. spencer actually feels sorry. he feels so so sorry for everything he's done and said. but you had to put up with years of your dad taking apologises you probably don't believe his. he hates himself.
you stand up. you barely have room to think clearly before a tear rolls down your cheek. spencer immediately removes his fbi vest, you bury your head against spencer's chest. you wrap your hands against his chest. he doesn't wrap his hands around you though. he's scared to touch you. your not sobbing. your too tired to sob. you just let tears slowly roll down your cheeks. " your not him spencer." you say out loud. spencer's heart skips a beat. he slowly wraps his hands around you. " i'm still mad at you. you shouldn't have said that earlier. b-but i forgive you spence." you mumble against his chest. he shakes his head, " you shouldn't forgive me y/n. your supposed to be mad at me. your supposed to be yelling at me. or-or hitting me." he says.
" i am mad at you spencer." you say pulling your head away wiping the tears.
"alright. good." he says
looking down at you. " oh god- im sorry that was stupid i shouldn't have hugged you-" you immediately start apologising shaking your head. you immediately sit back down. oh god your so stupid. why did you just hug him? your so embarrasing oh god. did you feel the need to hug spencer because you just needed to make sure that spencer wasn't him.
not that you would know what your dads embrace would feel like. but you just needed to make sure.
" no please don't apologise. d-do you mind if i sit next to you?" spencer asks pointing at the space next to you. you look at him and slowly nod your heart. he sits next to you. " once ive healed i'm yelling at you spencer." you say looking down at your legs, your tired eyes aching. " alright." spencer says nodding. you should yell at him. and you will. he had no right. but your too tired right now. you just hope. you really really hope that spencer doesn't spiral once your back in quantico and probably will forcefully be taken into the hospital by emily and jj. you really hope he doesn't drown himself in guilt and spiral. why are you so caring? does spencer care about you the way you care about him? that's foolish right? he wouldn't right? does he feel his heart quicken when he sees you? does he care the way you care? that's stupid god y/n you probably have a concussion just shut up.
yeah how stupid y/n. because if you knew the way spencer cared about you or the way his heart quickens when he sees you. you wouldn't believe it. it will take time though. it will take time for you to believe it. he's willing to work hard during that time. he just hopes you know even the slightest bit. but he wont say anything right now. you've already been through enough. he wont say anything for a while. though when the time is right. maybe you'll finally know how much he cares about you. for now, he'll settle for this just for now. until he can gain your trust back and make his feelings known. he'll settle for this. because just being next to you makes him happy.
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#fanfiction#imagines#criminal minds x y/n#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds#criminal minds smut#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds fanfiction#spencer reid x fanfiction#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid angst#spencer reid smut#spencer reid criminal minds#spencer reid#aaron hotch x you#aaron hotch fic#aaron hotch fluff#aaron hotchner#aaron hotch x reader#fanfic#imagine#smut#angst#derek morgan#emily prentiss#emily prentiss x reader#emily prentiss x you#daddy issues
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I can't sleep so Star Trek TOS/SNW dashboard simulator
🪆 chekovsgunman Follow
to this day I can't understand why they're called the Three Musketeers if there's FOUR of them? Did Dumas just forget his own main character???
🪴 plantdad Follow
You've got to be kidding me
🪆 chekovsgunman Follow
I know right? A mistake like this would never happen in Russian literature!
5,324 notes
🩺 therealmccoy Follow
After months of taking care of everyone else on this giant tin can I really earned this shore leave. Now I get to drink, relax, flirt with some lovely ladies and sleep until noon 😎 Just what the the doctor ordered!
🩺 therealmccoy Follow
Update: A fucking purple tree ate five crewmen. Again.
955 notes
🖖 iamspock Follow
Despite being among humans for close to a decade, I still find their tendency to overcomplicate and avoid aspects of social situations to be confusing at best and infuriating at worst. So much time is wasted on tedious matters such as who gets to 'make the first move' or 'not come off too strong'.
For example, everyone aboard my vessel is keenly aware of Lt. Uhura and Engineer Scott's 'budding romance'. But their need to extend their oddly avoidant courtship ritual, rather than outright state their interest in one another, is pointless, as well as frustrating to witness.
Why do they do this? Why not 'get it over with', as they say?
I encourage answers from all cultures, human or otherwise.
💅 janicethemenace Follow
I'm sorry Scotty and Nyota are WHAT
💉 xtinechapel Follow
DELETE THIS
💖 ofmanytongues Follow
SPOCK NOOO HE DOESN'T THINK OF ME LIKE THAT 😭
🔧 scott-free Follow
But I do! I thought you knew and were just being nice about it!
💖 ofmanytongues Follow
DMing you rn 😳
🖖 iamspock Follow
You're welcome.
24,103 notes
🌟 j_tiberius_k Follow
PSA: If you visit Antares VII, stay clear of any yellow plants, their pollen can have some...inconvenient effects on the biology of humanoid peoples.
My XO and I suffered through troubling symptoms until it was almost too late. Thankfully, we figured out a cure in time.
🪴 plantdad Follow
I can only find info on the symptoms. What was the cure? 👀
🌟 j_tiberius_k Follow
Do I really have to say it?
6,322 notes
💊 mmmbenga Follow
The galaxy if Klingons didn't exist
⚔️ glorytotheempire Follow
Wow. Humans are openly advocating for our disappearance yet Klingons are the bad guys? I thought your federation stood for peace.
💊 mmmbenga Follow
Cry harder you genocidal wrinkly-faced bitch I hope your planet gets sucked into a black hole
#If you think a joke is on par with what they do then book an MRI because you might have brain damage #fuck Klingons and anyone that sympathizes with them
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😎 ortegaaaas Follow
So I can either skim through this asteroid belt on Warp 2 for 3 hrs or on Warp 5 for 15 mins
🚀 mitchiemitch Follow
Erica no! That's not how navigation works!
😎 ortegaaaas Follow
FLOOR IT???
🚀 mitchiemitch Follow
ERICA NO
😎 ortegaaaas Follow
HOW ABOUT WARP 7 FOR 15 SECONDS?
💖 ofmanytongues Follow
ERICA YOU'RE GOING TO CRASH THE SHIP
😎 ortegaaaas Follow
I AM GOING TO HARNESS LIGHT-SPEED TO ZIGZAG THROUGH THE VOID
🚀 mitchiemitch
ERICA P L E A S E
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🐴 sirsilverfox Follow
I know some species are very private, but you'd think they'd share the important stuff, esp when we should trust each other by now.
How are we supposed to enjoy my weekly dinners if you all don't tell me what to watch out for :/ This is the third time this happens to the same person and I had to get the answer why from our CMO
💫 numerouna Follow
Wait what did I miss while I was gone
🐴 sirsilverfox Follow
Spock got wasted on my chocolate fudge cake and hit his head on the counter ://///
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#star trek#Star Trek tos#Star Trek snw#James kirk#Jim kirk#spock#Leonard mccoy#nyota uhura#spirk#una chin riley#montgomery scott#uhotty#Chris pike#joseph m'benga#Star Trek aos#pavel chekov#Hikaru sulu#erica ortegas#christine chapel#bones mccoy#Tumblr dashboard simulator#Star Trek meme#Star Trek strange new worlds#Star Trek the original series
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"You know," says Jimmy smugly, "I think second is the best spot to die in, actually."
"Really," says Mumbo, exasperated.
"Yes, I don't know what you're so happy about," says Lizzie. "You barely lasted ten minutes more than me."
"Doesn't matter. Not out first, baby!" He crows, triumphant, to the neverending void.
"And you killed me last session!"
"...Yes, I, uh, I'm sorry about that one. Sort of. Mostly," he says, momentarily cowed.
"I can't believe you people," says Lizzie. "They didn't have a funeral for me. I died first, and you got one, and they didn't even have a funeral for me!" She sounds indignant, but a look of genuine hurt crosses her face for a moment.
"I'm going to be honest, Lizzie," says Mumbo awkwardly. "I think they had bigger things to worry about. I- I think Joel was quite sad about it, though. If that helps?"
"I suppose it's better than nothing." She crosses her arms.
"But- wait, hang on. Jimmy?" says Mumbo abruptly. "Did you say you wanted to go out second?"
"No!" Jimmy protests. "I just think if you have to go out, then second is sort of ideal, really, if you think about it!"
"No!" says Mumbo, indignant. "No, surely third is better, actually! And to extend that logic, fourth would be better as well, and fifth, and- well, you get the idea. Anyway, my point is that I did better than both of you!"
"Hey, don't bring me into this!" says Lizzie.
"Anyway, you're wrong," says Jimmy, back to being smug again.
There is a short silence.
"You, uh. You gonna elaborate on that one, buddy?" asks Mumbo.
"Well," says Jimmy. "Obviously going out first is terrible. Would not recommend. I don't know why anyone would do it, honestly, I know I would never-"
"You're going on my list," says Lizzie, cheerfully.
"Wait wait wait, no, I didn't mean it, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I really am!"
"Hmm." Lizzie narrows her eyes. "Acceptable. For now."
A few moments pass.
"You may continue," she says.
"Right," says Jimmy. "What was I saying?"
"You were being wrong about how the ranking in this game works," offers Mumbo.
"No I wasn't!" says Jimmy. "Just, let me explain. Now, you obviously don't want to go out first, sorry Lizzie, but it's true."
"I will concede that point," says Lizzie. "It wasn't great."
"But—have you seen how they get?"
"How they... get?" Mumbo frowns. "What do you mean?"
"The people who don't die."
"I- now, I don't know if you remember this," says Mumbo, "But third is a new record for me, so I really don't know how you expect me to know that."
"Anyway," interjects Lizzie, "Mumbo and I have only done this once before. I mean, I guess people started losing it a bit once you two died, but it wasn't that much different to how it already had been. Although I wasn't around for that long at that point."
"Yes, but, it-" Jimmy frowns. "I haven't seen much of it either. But there's something- I don't know how to explain what I mean. Maybe you haven't noticed, but there's stuff with Grian, Scott, Pearl."
He stops, sighs. Looks at the ground.
"Martyn's going to be alone, now," he says.
"Well," says Lizzie, a little acerbic. "You don't have to have people die for that to happen, you know."
Jimmy gives her a look that is a combination of sheepishness and genuine regret. "Ah. Yeah. I guess not."
"So you're right," says Lizzie. "I don't know what you mean."
"...I did feel bad," says Jimmy, quietly.
"You... did?" asks Lizzie. "What about?"
Jimmy looks at her, then off to the side. "...When I killed you."
"Oh."
"I really didn't mean to," he says. "I felt bad. It wasn't satisfying. It was just... a person I cared about. Dead. Because of me. Because I acted without thinking, because I wasn't paying attention."
"...Oh." says Lizzie, softly.
"And that was when I knew you would come back," says Jimmy.
Lizzie and Mumbo exchange glances, unsure.
"I'm good with second," says Jimmy. "I think it's the closest you can get to winning, actually."
They stand there, silent, for some time.
"Well," says Mumbo eventually. "I still feel like third is a bit better, though."
"Mumbo!" cries Jimmy.
"Mumbo, come on, we were just having a moment!" says Lizzie.
"Yes well, look, I really need this, guys," says Mumbo, shifting his weight from side to side. "I don't know if you know this, but I've had a really bad day. It was just terrible!"
"I think we've all had pretty bad days, Mumbo!" says Lizzie, raising an eyebrow. "I don't know if you've noticed, but we all died!"
"Yes, I- I had picked up on that, actually."
"I don't know," says Jimmy. "My day was great!"
They keep talking, and bickering, and the emptiness stretches off into the distance.
It's nice, not to have to be there alone.
#secret life spoilers#secret life smp#jimmy solidarity#i think it's really interesting how both lizzie and mumbo have only been in one other season and died quite early on#I've just been thinking about those three#together after the end.#my writing
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A small teen wolf thought I had
I’m really missing season 1 Stiles, so let’s imagine him having a crush on reader😍
We all know how Stiles had an enormous crush on Lydia, it was absolutely devastating tbh. Like this dude was lowkey devoted to her💀💀
So what if a new student (reader) moved into town and it’s love at first sight for him. He’d bump into you after rambling to Scott about whatever was on his mind and knocks your binder and books to the ground.
Helping you pick up your stuff, right when he’s giving you your notebook, he’d look up and just. Stare. Cuz ZOOWEEMAMA YOURE ABSOLUTELY STUNNING IN HIS EYES
You’re busy thanking him and apologizing for the collision, waiting for him to let go of the notebook, voice slowly fading out when you notice him just staring at you with his mouth slightly open.
“Thanks for helping me. Can I have my book?”
“Uh huh.”
“…”
“…”
“Stiles, you know you have to let go of the notebook.” Scott is trying his best not to slam his head in a locker when his friend still doesn’t let go LMAO
Your chuckle snaps him out of whatever daze he was in, causing him to blush and apologize awkwardly. You’d smile at him and in good nature, joke about it and walk away, leaving him in awe.
Most people would normally give him the stink eye, but seeing how you joked about it made his heart flutter a bit.
Everything is HISTORY after that. If you have any classes with Stiles, you already KNOW he’s gonna try and sit as close to you as possible. Teacher assigns partner or group projects? He’s springing out of his seat and going to you first. You both have the same lunch period? He’s inviting you to sit with him and his friends. You’re having trouble with a certain class? Man, he’s already offering to help you after school, you’ll nail that test with flying colors!
You just get him! You like his sarcasm and MIRACULOUSLY understand his random references from movies and video games! With all the time you guys spend together, his crush on you grows more and more.
You appreciate how Stiles is so interested in the things you like and dislike. You love how he asks why you enjoy a certain movie despite the terrible reviews it got. Why you dislike an artist he just began listening to. You both love the same things, but have different opinions on everything, every conversation flows so naturally with him that you can’t help but develop a crush on him too.
You’ve never met anyone as eccentric and energetic as him, he never fails to bring a smile to your face teehee
Stiles is the type to remember every little, seemingly insignificant, thing about his crush. When your birthday rolls around, this dude has so many gifts ready😭 a warm feeling fills you when you open one gift to see it’s an item you’ve mentioned in a passing convo yall had MONTHS ago
He’s so sweet and kind with you too like don’t get me started. Stiles just enjoys being around you and seeing you happy makes him happy. SEASON 1 STILES IS THE DEFINITION OF PUPPY LOVE LIKE UGGHH
Takes you out on late night drives, barges into your room through the window with any takeout food you’ve been craving. Hed even take you out on a mini ‘date’ to the local arcade!!! his dad sees how much you mean to his son and is super happy that Stiles is happy. Loves when you come over to study with him, he’s always telling you stories about when stiles was younger (he would definitely cover your ears with his hands and speak loudly over his dad LMAO)
I’m telling y’all, stiles having a crush on you is the cutest thing ever, especially if you reciprocate his feelings!!!When you guys get together, cuz it’s not a matter of if with his friends, you’re the ultimate duo.
He’d confess his feelings for you in the most cheesiest way ever, probably during or after a school dance cuz why not.
UGH I NEED TO WRITE MORE STILES STUFF I LIVE HIM SM‼️ HE WAS NEVER THE SAME AFTER SEASON 3😭😭😭
#teen wolf x reader#stiles x reader#stiles stilinski x reader#stiles teen wolf#stiles teen wolf x reader#teen wolf#teen wolf stiles#teen wolf imagine#x reader#imagine#stiles stilinski
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she’s driving me crazy
description. STILES STILINSKI finally gets another chance with you, and he won’t take it for granted
includes. SMUT 18+, riding, car sex, fem!reader, protective p n v, lots of making out, loser!stiles, awkward stiles, bi!stiles, exes getting back together, slightly manipulative reader, reader has easily malleable hair, reader wears makeup, drinking (but no drunk intercourse), bickering, scott guest appearance
wc. 6k+
a/n: long awaited stiles fic. bestie boo this one's for u. title from confidence by ocean alley. art credits unknown.
Stiles knows he fucked up.
He had you, after almost a full year of tortuous pining, and he let you slip through his hands. All of it, your relationship with Stiles, really didn’t last more than two months. Two months where date nights were rain checked and eventually canceled. Sleepovers were lackluster, and nothing more than a movie playing in the back while Stiles worked over something that wouldn’t rest in his brain, leaving you alone in the center of his unmade bed. Promises were made, and never kept. It was a mess, a horrible, murky mess of Stiles’ own creation.
He knows this. But he still allows himself to mourn what could have been. He grieves what was. All while nursing a warm beer that doesn’t sit well in his stomach, mostly because of the sight he has been doomed to acknowledge—also his own doing as he could definitely turn his gaze elsewhere.
You’re tucked under the arm of some guy who looks nothing like Stiles, and he doesn’t know if that makes him feel better or worse. Is that your dream guy? Or are you forcing yourself to branch out and try something that wasn’t him? He tries to resist the spiral that sends him on, and is only able to start crawling out of the self-deprecating and insecurity tunnel through Scott’s voice beside him.
“What’re you staring at?”
Scott reeks of alcohol and fruit-flavored syrup. If he wasn’t a werewolf, Stiles knows his best friend would be unable to stand straight by now. But Scott stands like his usual self next to Stiles, a big grin on his face probably from the attention he’s been getting from Kira. (It was sickening for Stiles to watch but he forced himself to be happy for the strong relationship his best friend has.)
Stiles’ immediate instinct is to lie. “Nothing.” He says it a little too fast. He tries to cover his slip up by taking a sip of his beer, but the flavor is unappealing to the point where the face of disgust he presents makes him look more guilty than he really is.
Scott stares at Stiles, waiting. Stiles knows he won’t lie to Scott, not about something this small anyway, and it is only a matter of a few seconds before Stiles sighs.
“Look,” he points at you and your suitor. “Don’t you think he’s making her uncomfortable? Look at that. He’s all over her. Probably reeks of Axe body spray.”
It’s then that the guy cracks another joke, your head throwing back in laughter just before you rest your ear against his chest. It’s so affectionate. As if you’ve known this guy for years, and not just mere minutes.
Stiles flicks his eyes over to Scott, expecting to see his best friend analyzing the situation with at least a small amount of attention that Stiles is. Instead, Scott is looking over at Stiles, wearing what Stiles can only describe as a knowing smirk on his lips.
Stiles steps back, a little bewildered. “What?”
Scott, annoyingly, shrugs. He sips his drink, one he has solely for taste as Stiles knows, and only responds once he’s taken a long, slow swallow.
“She seems fine to me. I thought you guys were broken up anyway.”
“We are!”
“Then why do you care so much?”
Stiles can’t help but petulantly roll his eyes. He turns to face you and your human shaped bag of bricks once again, gesturing for Scott to do the same. His mouth opens, lips parted and tongue ready to spew out the analytics he’d been gathering this entire time in lieu of an excuse.
Then Scott interrupts.
“Do you want me to see what’s going on?” Scott throws a finger up towards his ear, one eyebrow lifted as he waits for Stiles to gather the implications and then make a decision.
It takes Stiles longer to complete the latter than the former.
He waits, thinks, looks at you and the guy. And then remembers the strict ‘no listening’ rule you all have set in place, the one he most definitely won’t betray in the name of jealousy, even if you aren’t particularly aware of all of the intricacies.
When he sighs, it’s defeated and with his entire body. He knows he’s pouting, he assumes he resembles his teenage self—mopey and brooding. He doesn’t mean to speak through gritted teeth, but he ends up doing it anyway.
“No. She’s probably … fine. I guess.” It hurts to admit, deep in Stiles' jealousy-filled gut. Scott’s way of comforting him is by clapping a hand on his shoulder, and telling him that you’re a grown adult who is allowed to make her own decisions, the same as him.
Scott’s intentions aren’t understood until he points at someone in the opposite direction of you. A guy who, from the looks of it, has been eyeing Stiles for a while. He’s Stiles’ type. Exactly his type, actually, and Scott knows this.
“Instead of sulking around …” Scott doesn’t need to finish his sentence in order for Stiles to understand. He only lingers for a few seconds, and then is pulled back towards the larger group by Kira’s eyes and grin.
The guy on the other side of the bar is still watching Stiles. He’s smiling a small but confident smile, like he knows Stiles wants him as much as he wants Stiles. He tilts his head in a beckon, and Stiles is close to letting the guy pull him over there. Until he sees you step away from the man, smile dismissively up to him, and start towards Stiles instead.
Instantly, it’s like a flip has been switched.
He starts to feel the effects of the alcohol, even though he’d been nursing the same bottle the entire night. Still, he chooses to attribute the buzz flowing throughout his body to the overpriced beer and not excitement of finally having your attention.
He watches your path, trying not to feel too disappointed as he takes notice of the way you’re struggling to walk in a straight line.
You fall into his arms in a fit of giggles. Your head resting on his chest, your hands circling around his back.
“Stiles,” you sing, long and drawn out and definitely drunk.
He repeats your name in the same tune, placing his drink onto a tabletop next to him and abandoning it for good. Keeping you away from self destruction is his new main priority.
You slump against him even more, turning yourself around and leaning back against his body. Your position leaves Stiles with nothing else to do other than stand stiffly. He knows that if you were sober, you wouldn’t be nearly as affectionate as you are now. He ignores the way your ass brushes against his crotch. He ignores the smell of your perfume wafting up to him, a scent he had the privilege of seeing you apply a few times before when you were dating. (The image of you getting ready for the day, lathering yourself in the oils and lotions and scents that worked to create your unique scent will never leave his brain, for better or for worse.)
He does his best to remain unaffected, but then you tilt your head up, the crown of your hair rubbing against Stiles’ shirt as you look at him. As soon as he glances down, he sees you pouting, clearly over exaggerated but it’s a look he, pathetically, will never be able to resist.
“Why won’t you touch me?” You manage to sound pitiful, as if you had lost every single thing you hold dear to your heart in the last couple of minutes.
In his response, he tries to remain neutral. Drunk or not, you know the game you’re playing, and Stiles foolishly believes that his knowledge of the ploy makes him insusceptible.
“Because you’re drunk,” he platonically rests his hands on your shoulders and encourages you off of him. “And we aren’t together anymore.”
You turn around to face him, grinning up at him like the cat with the canary as you tell him, “it didn’t stop us last time, right?”
That, and the way you almost throw yourself at some guy walking past, is enough reason for Stiles to link his hand in yours and pull you towards the others. Scott stares down at your interlinked palms for only a moment before Stiles explains his plan, which entails getting you back to your apartment before you do something you could regret.
This isn’t an excuse for Stiles to continue hanging out with you. He makes sure he clarifies that to himself and his best friend before he’s pulling you out of the bar and towards his Jeep.
You’re both less than ten steps away from the entrance to the bar when you suddenly have your lips pressed to Stiles’.
There is a moment where Stiles fails to resist. Where he reciprocates quicker than his brain can realize, acting on pure instinct and muscle memory instead of logic. He is unable to stop himself from getting comfortable, from linking this kiss to the last one he’d received from you. Hotter and messier than this one. (Lost in his appreciation to finally be kissing you again, Stiles fails to notice how you don’t taste like alcohol at all)
Only a few more seconds pass before Stiles reminds himself that you’re drunk, and that this is wrong. When he pulls away from your lips—regretfully, that is—he’s tempted into staying by the slight stickiness of your lipgloss and the almost-disgusting string of saliva that briefly keeps you two sewn together.
You try to lean back in, but Stiles stops you with his hands on your shoulders.
“You’re drunk,” he reminds you.
You’re fixing him with a look, one that feels strong and weirdly sober. His suspicions have more proof to back them up when you say his name with the same matter-of-fact tone he had just used on you.
“I’m not drunk.”
He scrunches his eyebrows together, the muscles in his face mimicking the movement as well. His lips part as he nonverbally exclaims his confusion. He lifts one of his hands from your shoulder to hook his thumb towards the bar entrance. He looks around, for nothing or no one in particular, but as if the night will have an explanation that you would surely be willing to provide if he asks.
He didn’t even need to ask before you provide an explanation. It’s cut and dry, matter-of-fact, spoken like it is the most casual thing in the world.
“I faked being drunk so you could take me home.”
Stiles knows what you mean. He’s not dumb. But he surely does feel it when he says, “If you didn’t feel well you could’ve just told Lydia. She would’ve taken you back to yours.”
You roll your eyes. “If you don’t wanna sleep with me, that’s fine. Just let me know before I waste my time.”
Stiles should stand up for himself. He should reprimand your attitude, and exclaim how unnecessary it was. Instead, he flounders and almost falls to your feet with the speed he clarifies himself.
“No. I do wanna sleep with you. Like, really bad. But … um … well,” you lift your eyebrows and Stiles clears his throat. “How many fingers am I holding up.”
“Jesus, fuck, Stiles.” He continues holding up his first three fingers on his right hand until you answer. “Three.”
You lean in but Stiles takes a step back. And then another. And then another, until he’s standing against the wall of the bar and you’re standing at the edge of the sidewalk.
“Walk in a straight line towards me.”
You don’t seem happy about it, but you place one foot in front of the other over and over again until you’re in front of Stiles. Nothing more has to be said before Stiles places his hands on your hips, pulls you flush to him, and finally allows himself to kiss you.
It’s been a while since Stiles had the privilege of kissing you. The last time, just a month ago, didn’t count in his mind. Sure, he remembered nearly every detail, but your shared inebriated state at the time overruled any legitimacy the encounter could have held. Now, it only acts as a reminder and motivator for Stiles to enjoy every moment of this that he can.
Eventually, it would be smart, and preferable, to leave the outside of the bar and actually take you home where you two could be alone. But for now, Stiles presses his hands into the middle of your back as a way to pull you as close to him as possible. He has his legs spread, creating space for your limbs to stagger. Your hands rest on his shoulders, then at the back of his neck, then in his hair. Both of you are attempting to get as close to the other as possible, all while engaging in the sloppiest kiss you’ve ever had. You both kissed cleaner when you were drunk.
Now, outside this bar with your closest friends inside, and with nothing but the night (and the bouncer) as witness, you submit to the other. There is a level of appreciation in the way your lips slide together. There is a level of gratitude in the presses of your tongues against each other. There is an exorbitant amount of longing that is solved each time you jerk your hips into Stiles and each time he reciprocates.
You thread your hands through Stiles’ hair the same time that he slides his hands down to your ass and squeezes, pulling you as close to him as possible and rubbing his thigh against the center seam of your jeans. You both groan into each other's mouths—Stiles from the way you tug just right on his hair, and you from the feeling of his leg between yours.
Sensing—knowing that he did something right, something good, Stiles does it again. And again. And again. The steady slide of his thigh between your legs does the job. You let your head fall, leaning the top of it against Stiles’ chest just right under his sternum.
The sound of you moaning Stiles’ name goes straight to his dick, with a few remnants traveling to his head, leaving him dizzy and with a steady growing semi. His actions make you grip his hair stronger. His actions indirectly cause pleasure for him, too.
It all disappears when the sound of spitting—loud and boisterous, almost cartoonish—breaks up the moment. Stiles stops his movements. He lays his hands flat on the back pockets of your jeans as he turns his head to the side.
The eyes of the bouncer meet Stiles and Stiles’ ears burn.
While the bouncer doesn’t say anything to him, Stiles knows the message he’s trying to communicate.
Get the fuck out of here.
Stiles is forced to push you back by hooking his fingers in your belt loops. He’s still touching you, at least an extension of you, but then your hands drop to your sides and Stiles can feel his body crying out for you. The same way his body calls out for vital needs—food, water, sleep, entertainment. He squashes his emotions for a second, plasters on a—truthfully sympathetic—face, one that comes off more as a tight lipped smile than anything else.
“Sorry, man. You — uh. You have a goodnight.” He throws a hand up to the bouncer, hoping it is received as friendly. When the bouncer returns the gesture, still with that same look in his eyes, Stiles heads down the street and pulls you with him.
The walk to the car is tortuous. His boner keeps rubbing against his jeans, leaving him to stop every few paces, face away from the street, and try to adjust himself. After the third time, you were voicing your frustration, claiming that it was taking forever to reach the car because of Stiles’ worry about who could see his erection. He tries things your way, ignoring the way his dick calls for his attention and instead focusing all of his attention on you.
The way your hips sway in your tight jeans. The way the wind blows your perfume to him and lifts the edge of your shirt in one, giving Stiles a peek of your skin. It’s such a small look, nothing more than a glimpse, and Stiles feels like a Victorian man the way he’s having to bite his fist at the next crosswalk to avoid groaning. The street lights illuminate your face in just the right ways, highlighting your makeup in an unnaturally ethereal way. Everything about you is driving Stiles crazy. There’s no way he’s going to make it to your house. If he doesn’t get to his car soon, he might pull you into the next bar bathroom that he could find just for a semblance of privacy.
If he could just get to his Jeep.
It’s then that Stiles realizes he’s been walking for far too long. He stops in the center of the sidewalk. You stop right beside him.
Stiles doesn’t say anything as he turns around and leads you three blocks down the street, one street over, and then into the parking garage elevator.
The way you’re grinning at him alerts Stiles of the words soon to come out of your mouth, definitely words that would be at his expense. He stops you while you’re ahead.
It’s nice to have the position switched. Your back against the wall instead of his. His hands are still on your hips, but he uses them to push you into the metal instead of pulling you into him. You have that part covered, your arms once more thrown over his shoulders, pressed into the back of his neck and head, drawing him in until the pressure of his lips against yours is a little painful.
In the rush neither of you have pushed the button, leaving the elevator stagnant on the ground floor. Stiles notices at the same time that you scratch his scalp. He moans, he really can’t help it. His mouth opens as you purse your lips again, and he feels a little bad but you aren’t deterred. In fact, you do it again, your nails scratching in just the right spot and Stiles feels like an animal the way he shudders and keens.
He’s more human when he admits, “Missed this.” He presses his lips to yours again, pulling back with a smack. “Missed you.”
Your lips slide against his with what Stiles can only describe as desperation. Pure, unadulterated desperation and desire. You’re breathing a little heavy, deep exhales through your nose and inhales in the in between moments, and it doesn’t turn Stiles off at all. He wants more of you. He takes more of you.
He doesn’t know how long you two are in there, but it is eventually you who pulls back first, your lips visibly swollen and lacking any of the makeup that was previously on it.
“Has the elevator been moving at all?” You could check for yourself. Just one look over Stiles’ shoulder and you could see that the small screen still displayed a digital ‘1’. Yet, you’re looking up at him instead. Like Stiles is the most important thing in the elevator. Like he’s the most important thing in the world to you. (Maybe it’s Stiles’ delusion talking, but he chooses to believe it either way)
Still, Stiles looks over his shoulder, confirms that he hadn’t hit the button at all, and leans back to correct his mistakes.
The elevator beeps twice, bringing you both to the third floor, and as much as Stiles’ wants to continue standing there and just admire you, he can hear the door daring to slide close. Again, he pulls you out behind him.
As soon as he turns the corner, Stiles is immediately made aware of the lack of other cars on the level. It’s a little eerie, and if he wasn’t about to get his dick wet he would possibly be on the lookout for potential threats that could turn one of the best moments of his life into another inconvenience.
Your hands are on his shoulders, his back, his arms, as you hold onto him.
“Why did you park all alone? Did you plan this? Were you trying to get in my pants all night?”
Stiles digs into the front pocket of his jeans and searches for his keys. “No. There were other people parked here earlier. They’re just all gone now.”
You hum unconvincingly. “Uh-huh. Whatever you say, Stiles.”
As soon as Stiles has the passenger door unlocked, he holds the door open for you and stares, hoping the annoyance is overpowering every other feeling he’s currently having towards you.
“In the back,” he tells you. You smile up at him, big and entertained, and then do as he says.
He climbs in right behind you. At this point in the night, there was no point in attempting to get back to your apartment or his. Stiles couldn’t wait much longer, and you two are no stranger to the back of his Jeep. You’ve been in this situation before.
It’s all completely effortless. You’re already in the process of slipping your jeans off whenever Stiles has the door closed. He mourns for just a second, pouting to himself over not being the one to take those sinful jeans off of you. But then you climb over his lap, situating yourself to hover just a bit above him.
Stiles plants his hands on your hips, just like he did before, and pulls you to sit right over him, just like you have before. He knows that the status of your relationship has changed since the last time he had the privilege of being in this space with you like this, but that doesn’t mean the way you do things has to change, too.
You were never shy before. You would always be quick to attach yourself to Stiles in whatever ways you could, just like you had been doing just a little earlier into the night. But that’s gone now. Now, you’re staring at him, your teeth pressed into your bottom lip.
Before you were together for a short time, Stiles had spent months pining. Months analyzing whatever he could about you. Months mentally cataloging your tells. And now, he calls on that information to declare that you’re hesitant. You’re nervous. No, not just nervous. You’re worried. Almost regretful.
He tilts his head. “What’s wrong?”
You shrug but Stiles knows you’re aware of what has you like this. He just gives you the time to voice it.
Eventually, you say: “Will this change anything between us?”
It’s his turn to shrug. “I dunno. Do you want anything to change?”
You shrug again.
“Well … do you want to keep going? And we decide that afterwards?” Stiles really wants to fuck you, but deep down he knows that if you stopped and got up off of him in this moment, he would be okay with it. Well, he would be okay with it after a few days. Maybe a week or two.
A little part in him swells, jumps, and clicks its heels when you nod.
“Yeah. That sounds good.” You press your lips to his once.
“You just tell me when you decide, okay? I’m cool with whatever you’re cool with.” And Stiles means that. If he gets just one more time with you, if this is his final time with you, he would cut his losses and be grateful for the time that he was allowed. What else was he supposed to do? He would never dream of doing anything that could jeopardize his spot in your life.
Stiles can feel the warmth of your center is his hand when he trails his touch down. He cups your mound and his eyes flutter shut. He feels like a pervert for only a second before you start to work your lips down his neck and rock your hips into his hand. The way your mouth suctions around his favorite spot almost has him distracted enough to not notice your hands working on his pants. Almost.
He can’t really tell in the dark, but he can slightly feel your once confident movements start to falter. You stop on his neck, keeping your lips as nothing but a pucker against his skin before you pull away completely to look down between the two of you.
“When the fuck did you start wearing a belt?”
Stiles doesn’t want to tell you the truth, he feels like it would be too embarrassing. Really, he knows it wouldn’t, but something about having to tell you that he decided to wear a belt because you always said he should makes him feel a little meek. So instead of filling the silence with the truth, he fills the silence with the clinks of his belt buckle as he undos it himself.
“Recently,” is all he tells you when you’re still staring at him for a response. Somehow, it’s enough for you and your hands are back on his waistband.
In record speed, your hands are down the elastic of his boxers and wrapping around Stiles’ cock. He doesn’t hiss, but he does shudder. He tries to hide it by pretending that the car is cold, which it was beforehand, but now it’s warm. It becomes warmer when you spit in your hand, wrap it around Stiles’ cock and pump him a few times, and then push your underwear to the side and hover above him.
It really pains Stiles to stop you, but he does. He asks if you have a condom, then he asks if you want to use a condom, and the entire time he’s kicking himself. Because he can feel the warmth radiating. He has his tip already nudged between your folds, and just this small touch is already making him lose it. His nails are digging into your hips, he’s breathing harder than he was before, and he has to blink a few times to really focus on you.
It feels like Stiles blinks and suddenly you’re tearing the foil packet open and slipping the condom over him. He watches it go down as best as he can, and the light doesn’t reveal much. Just the bottom of you and the tip of him is visible, the rest Stiles is forced to make out through squints and memorization.
He’s just briefly dejected about the lack of visuals, but then your hands rest on his shoulders and he hears you take a breath and he knows it’s time.
Stiles rests his hands on your side and looks up at you.
You go down slowly. Softly. It allows Stiles to feel each delicious inch as they go by, revealing more and more of the inside of you as time passes. He battles between watching your face and simply basking in it. Eventually, he settles on the former.
Your eyebrows are tightened just enough to show your discomfort. You have your lips parted, long breaths leaving them every so often, usually right before you sink down again. And Stiles has seen you take him before. He knows that you have been able to take him faster than this before. And then he wonders: is this your first time doing this, with anyone, in a while? Have you been as lost without him as he has been without you? Have you even attempted to fill that hole, and was your stunt earlier tonight just that: a stunt?
There isn’t time for him to ponder over his questions like he would have wanted to whenever you bottom out. It’s with a sigh, the back of your thighs meeting the top of his just briefly.
You rest your forehead against his, and you both breathe together. Or, it’s more so you breathing and Stiles matching the pattern.
You lean up, you move your hair out of your face, and you tell him, “Don’t remember it being this hard.”
Slightly cocky, Stiles tilts his head. At first he doesn’t say anything. He smiles, his eyes are heavy when they look you up and down, and then he rubs your back. “Take your time.”
You take the time you need and then you start moving. Up and down. Up and down. Agonizingly slowly at first, and then faster when you get more comfortable.
This is what Stiles has needed. This is what he has been missing in his life. You’re like a drug for him, and one hit seems like enough at the time, but by the time this is all over he knows he’s going to be searching for more. He’ll do anything he has to, so long as it gets him in a spot similar to this again.
He searches for your hand, refusing to look away from the way your body moves atop of him for even a second. You help him out, bringing your hand to his, pressing the fingertips together, leaving Stiles to interlock them. He lifts your hands, looking at them in the white light that enters the foggy window. Somehow, this image is even more captivating. There is a more pornographic way the two of you are connected, one that demands Stiles’ attention. There is something about the innocence of this. He’s doing nothing but holding your hand, and Stiles feels like he might either lose his mind, or cum too quickly.
He might do both. One after the other.
You sink down on him again, a little awkwardly this time, but it does it for you. You hit a spot that makes your mouth widen and your eyes flutter shut. You search for it, and find it miraculously. Your head throws back as you hit that spot over and over again, pleasing yourself on Stiles’ dick. The image is heavenly for him. It’s euphoric.
He lets his eyes wander down your neck, along your clavicle, and your shirt reveals just a bit of your bust but it’s not enough. With his free hand, he pulls the rest of the fabric down, and when he sees that you’re not wearing a bra, he almost cums into the condom then and there. He doesn’t wonder how he hadn’t noticed, he doesn't consider how he hadn’t taken into account the natural shape of your breasts pushing through the fabric, almost reaching out to him. Instead, he leans forward, presses his hand into the curve of your back, and attaches his mouth to the untouched skin.
Your free hand sinks into Stiles’ hair. Your fingers weave through the back of his hair first, and then you make your way up to the front, pushing back his bangs blindly.
Stiles peers up at you from his spot around your nipples. You’re still in ecstasy—your head now level once more, but your mouth still open and your eyes still closed.
He detaches from your nipple to tell you: “Look at me.”
It fuels Stiles’ ego when you do as told quickly.
You’re looking at him on his command yet Stiles feels like he’s the one entranced. Because of your eyes. Fuck, your eyes. Watery, lazy, but your pupils are dilated. Your mascara has transferred to under your eyes by now, and it’s smudged a bit, making you look completely fucked out. Stiles thinks some of your makeup along your face has disappeared too, but it allows for a fresh skinned appearance instead.
Really, there is nothing else for him to do except kiss you. It’s so messy but so good. You flatter in your movements on his cock, but Stiles feels absolutely no remorse when he takes over.
He unlocks your hands and plants them both on your hips again. This time, he uses the leverage to pull you down on him again and again. He lets you lead the kiss, while he leads this.
Your hands land on the leather of the seat behind Stiles' back and the foggy glass pane of the window. He hears your fingertips glide down the surface as he starts to fuck you harder, and then the sound is combined with your moans when your lips separate from Stiles’.
You call his name, low and breathy.
He hums.
“‘m so close. Keep going. Just like that.” He nods. Then you add, “Little faster.” And he does as told.
Your forehead pressed against his, the sweat on both of your skin making your heads glide more than anticipated. It doesn’t deter either of you. When your nose bumps against Stiles’, he kisses you again. When your head becomes too heavy for you to hold it up, he presses his thumb under your jaw, rests his fingers on the side of your neck, and holds the weight for you.
“You’re so pretty,” he tells you, adding your name at the end to seal the deal. “Baby,” he says, and his heart swells when you hum in response. So he says it again. “Baby, you feel so good. Feel so good, babe.”
He doesn’t know what more he says. He can vaguely recognize his lips forming the words and his own voice in his ears calling you the prettiest girl ever, telling you that he could never get this anywhere else, telling you he never wanted to get this from anywhere else.
“Needed this so bad. I needed you so bad. I’ve missed you.” And just as his words finish, yours begin.
“Stiles, Stiles. Right there. ‘m … I’m…!”
He singles two fingers out, slips them between your thighs, and rubs along your clit until you’re shaking above him and holding onto his wrist between your bodies. He doesn’t know if you’re trying to pull him closer or push him away, but watching you cum is too gorgeous for him to ever dream of making it stop.
So he doesn’t.
Not even when your eyes start to leak and your lips start to plead and you contract around him.
“One more,” he asks. “I just need to see it one more time. Please.”
The sound of him moving in and out of you is loud. He drifts his eyes down to watch it happen, groaning when he just barely sees a broken ring of white glinting in the fluorescents from the parking garage.
It feels a little romantic when you cum and then Stiles follows right after.
The Jeep is warm, the windows are foggy, and there’s an ache in Stiles’ thighs. He knows for every one of his aches, you have three. The condom has been removed, tied, and disposed of in an old paper bag Stiles had sitting on the floor of his car. His pants are pulled back up, but his belt is still undone. His shirt sticks to his skin and he really needs greasy food and a shower.
But if that means leaving this moment, and never returning to it, he could put off his needs and wants for an eternity.
You’re sitting next to him, redressed with the button of your jeans still undone. You’re staring straight ahead, trying to catch your breath as you rub the muscles in your thighs.
Stiles doesn’t know what to say, so he licks his lips and he says, “Uh … do you … um. Would you like some … ice or something? For your legs?”
You smile ahead, turn to face him, and shake your head. “It’ll be fine. Nothing a shower and good sleep won’t fix.” You pause. “And maybe some food.”
Which is how Stiles ends up sitting in your bed, sipping the remnants of his Dr. Pepper as he watches you lather lotion on your legs with your towel still hanging off of your body.
“Your food’s cold,” he tells you. He doesn’t tell you about the handful of fries he stole earlier, but he knows you’ll notice it and hold the grudge for later.
Later. Will there be a ‘later’?
“Be there in a second.” You start to walk back to the bathroom. “Should we go to that place in the morning? Or …” you look at your clock and wince at the time. “Later. The one with the really good pancakes?”
Stiles is quick to agree. He would love to do something with you later.
#stilesworld!#stiles stilinski x reader#stiles stilinski x you#stiles stilinski smut#celeste writes misc
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It frustrates me how many people misunderstand my girl
While I’ve definitely seen it more on TikTok and not so much Tumblr it is still quite prominent. All of the “Gambit girls 😜🤞” (Gambit is literally my favorite character but just those new fans who like him because of the crop top) are coming out and saying that Rogue is to be blamed for Gambits feelings being hurt but what they don’t realize is how much both of them were hurting. We see Gambits pretty clearly but guessss Rogues we’re a little harder to catch even though I think it’s pretty obvious
What I feel like a lot of people don’t realize is how much suffering she was going through because of her feelings for Gambit. He would tease her and flirt with her yet for her it was just a constant reminder that she can’t touch him. His whole existence is just a constant reminder of what she can’t do. She thinks that because she can’t touch him she could never make either of them fully happy in a relationship
Plus that makes perfect sense because the closest romantic relationship she has to her are Jean and Scott who constantly love and kiss each other. We see her multiple times in the original just stare at them as they touch, just another reminder of what she can’t have
On top of that her literal first experience with her powers was with a person she had feelings for. She has been obsessing over the ability to touch since she was thirteen years old. People get mad at her for not realizing that she valued her feelings over the ability to touch sooner but that is literally everything she can think about. To her a happy relationship ‘needs’ intimacy so she thought that the only way she could be in a happy relationship was with Erik
That’s why the dance is so important because she finally got that intimacy she has been looking for. She put off the fact that she didn’t have feelings for Erik and thought that she would be alright plus if it means helping Genosha
I mean she’s just weighing out feelings and intimacy and since she’s been idolizing the ability to touch since she has been thirteen years old that’s obviously what she’s going to choose. Then of course she was faced with grave disappointment when that thing she has been searching for her whole life wasn’t enough
I know a lot of the Gambit and Rogue shippers felt relief because she realized she valued feelings over touch but I just can’t get over the amount of disappointment she probably felt in that moment. She finally got what she had been searching for, what she thought would be enough for any relationship, but she still wasn’t happy because she didn’t have feelings for him
I would also like to mention her relationship with Erik before because that is probably the biggest comparison to her of all. She had both feelings (no matter how healthy or unhealthy they were) and intimacy with him so in her head if he didn’t have those struggles that would be the perfect relationship. It’s also likeee the only happy relationship she had had intimacy but that was also only because she thought that a relationship needed intimacy… if that makes sense
Anywaysss I know I kinda rambled off but it’s important to understand how much she has been idolizing the ability to touch someone and how complicated her feelings were after the dance because realized that intimacy is not even good if it’s with someone you don’t love
#rogue#anna marie lebeau#rogue x gambit#gambit x rogue#erik lehnsherr#rogue xmen#xmen#x men 97#x men#x men the animated series
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“Why did you ask me that?”
“Huh? What's that, big guy?” Stiles mumbles, answering the query with one of his own without looking away from Derek's laptop screen. The laptop Derek kind of bought for Stiles for when Stiles is at the loft.
Whatever.
There's a ballpoint pen shoved in the kid's mouth—God, that mouth—and another slid behind an ear, the latter ready and waiting for Stiles to click to death in the In Between Typing Times.
The others dispersed a couple of minutes ago. Apart from Derek and Stiles, only Lydia and Deaton now remain at the loft and they're deep in conversation about the preliminary theory of who or what is killing the humans of Beacon Hills this week and are standing at the opposite side of the open-plan space, making more coffee. Scott and Malia left to rally the other ʼwolves (not answering their phones as they're at a cinema screening) plus find and talk to Argent to arrange a pack meeting proper about the situation, so they can all work on devising a plan. Granted, there is Peter to consider—who's probably still lurking somewhere, what with lurking being one of his favourite pastimes—who can obviously hear any and all conversations that are, or could be happening inside of the building. Sadly, though, Derek has never been able to hide much of anything from his uncle.
So.
He thinks about elaborating on the question he asked Stiles, but can't.
He tries not to stare at Stiles, and fails.
Stiles is squinting at the screen with intent and looking like he has forgotten Derek said anything at all. Or that Derek is still hovering close by. Or that Derek, you know, exists.
Derek is just standing there, all difficult and awkward in his own fucking home and his own fucking body, looming over Stiles like a creeper as Stiles taps away furiously at the keyboard and violently zig-zags a fingertip across the mousepad like an actual lunatic.
Derek almost laughs at that.
The Boy Who Runs With Wolves.
“Why wouldn't I?” Stiles now asks, still mumbling around the chewed ballpoint Derek is trying not to be jealous of.
“I—what?” Caught off guard, always and only by Stiles.
Stiles doesn't skip a beat, unlike Derek's heart. “Why wouldn't I ask?” he adds.
Oh, right.
“I, uh, I don't... ” Derek trails off pathetically, swallowing any confidence he had previously mustered and looking away from Stiles, even though those big, brown devastating eyes aren't actually looking at Derek because they are, of course, still zoomed-in on whichever web page is currently yielding the most information.
Dusk is quickly closing in and all around them and the light filtering through the loft's huge window has begun to dim somewhat, so that the glow of the computer screen is now filling Stiles' eyes with bright, dancing sparks and arrhythmic shapes as they flicker like lightning from one tab to another, then another, then another. And as mesmerising as it is to watch—Stiles looks as though he is brimming with magic—the sight becomes too much for Derek, and looking away feels like his only option.
It doesn't last.
Stiles' long, large-knuckled fingers still their rapid movement just as Derek's eyes find their way back.
Derek watches the kid some more, like a lifeline.
An anchor.
Then, Stiles is taking the pen from those perfect lips as sneaker-toes slowly spin the swivel chair around so that Stiles is now facing Derek where he stands with arms crossed reactively over his chest.
His heart.
“I asked because I wanted to know if you were okay, man," Stiles divulges, as if that's nothing at all. As if it's something Derek hears often. He tilts his head to catch Derek's eye. Which works, of course—because it always works, no matter the nature of the moment they're caught up in. "Like, I was concerned, y`know?”
Derek feels guilty just for looking. And not only because he wants to touch but because he wants to let Stiles care.
“I care, dude,” Stiles says on cue and Derek tries to self-implode while Stiles waits, probably for Derek to look at him and say don't call me dude and maybe hoping not to have his head bitten off or his throat ripped out.
Derek does look again, just not for long. Barely a glance. He can't afford himself too much Stiles, not when Stiles is looking directly back at him. It's safer that way; self-preservation and all.
“You do know that, right?” Stiles tries again. “That I care.”
Derek wants to ask Stiles if they can talk, if Derek can tell Stiles things. Derek wants to ask Stiles if he'll stay and if he'll let Derek spill his secrets, tell Stiles everything, like Derek never does with anyone these days, and if Stiles will hold Derek's hand when Derek cries about it, like Derek doesn’t allow himself to anymore. Derek wants to ask Stiles if Derek can touch him and hold him and if Stiles would hold him back, if Stiles would ever want that, if Stiles could ever be his.
“Don't call me dude,” is what he actually says because he can't not. But then he steals himself, head staticky and heart thumping as he dares himself to add (after what is undeniably too-long a pause), “And yeah. Maybe I do.”
Then they look at each other. They just—look.
Look and look and look.
And they each keep looking at the other for a very long time. Definitely too long for two people supposedly not much more than acquaintances. Allies, maybe. Comrades at tenuous best.
Then they look for longer. Look for more. Look until it starts to feel as if they are the only two people in the room, in the building, in the world.
Whatever happened to self-preservation?
Something is happening and Derek is pretty sure it's not just happening to him, and he finds he is equally stunned as he is thrilled as he is completely fucking terrified about that.
Eventually, Stiles says, “Derek, we're friends.” Then he's licking his lips and looking Derek up and down, shameless, and adding with a shrug of one shoulder, “Till we're not.”
The latter part is spoken like a dark secret, but one without the slightest hint of malice—that's not how he means it. It's more of a promise than a threat, if Derek is remembering correctly what genuine affirmations sound like (it's been a while).
The sparks from Stiles' eyes are then flashing blue in Derek's, and Derek could swear he hears every one of his neurons firing inside of himself, all at once as each of his mutated cells flare into overdrive, nail beds and gums tingling, the short hairs on the back of his neck and arms and hands standing up on end.
He feels utterly alive.
It's honestly a struggle not to whine like a pup and Derek has truly never been more happy of the fact that Stiles is unable to scent chemo-signals because, oh, Derek would be so fucked right now.
He has a reply for Stiles but it's caught in his throat, the sentence forming then solidifying, fast as a quick-drying glue.
Derek is just—standing there. Statuesque. Alternating between trying to swallow his words down and attempting to speak them, like a first class dipshit, and just looking and looking and looking at Stiles.
In an entirely mortifying turn of events, it is actually the sound of Peter's low, mocking chuckle from some tucked-away shadowy place in the loft that is the thing that forces Derek unstuck, and it takes all Derek has to not roll his eyes to the back of his skull and growl out I'm going to kill you again now, Uncle.
He takes a breath, un-clenches his fists and tries for a smile—or at least a hint of one. He doesn't want to freak the kid out.
Derek then manages to repeat Stiles's words back at him, no more than a whisper. “Till we're not.”
Stiles is just looking and looking and looking at Derek before he's asking, “Can I stay for the evening? You can talk to me while I research. I always work better with noise. It'll be soothing,” like he's ordering pizza instead of answering all of Derek's prayers.
Derek notes how the kid's usually erratic eye-contact is weirdly as unwavering as his usually erratic heartbeat, which is now weirdly steady as a metronome.
That's a lot of weird.
Derek fights the urge to bite into his lip with his fangs. He wants to draw blood, and to taste it.
He embarrassingly feels his eye twitch and his breath hitch as he dares himself to do this.
He sputters, “What do you want me to talk about?”
Stiles slowly swivels back towards the light of the laptop—ethereal milky skin and dark moles once again luminous in its white-blue glow—at the very same time as the evening's first moonshine peeks through clouds and seeps in through the loft's huge skylight.
Derek is memorised.
Stiles starts annoyingly clicking away at the Clicking Pen, while shoving the other back between those beautiful lips of his, now mumbling his words around the thing once more and speaking them as if they are the most obvious thing in the universe.
“Everything, Der.”
.
for @poebin for asking <3 (unedited, soz)
#with love <3#sterek#sterek ficlet#sterek fic#derek hale#stiles stilinski#teen wolf#teen wolf fic#fic#fanfic#fanfiction#eternal sterek#sterek is eternal#everything der#for poe#peter hale#tcats writes#teencopandthesourwolf
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The thing about morality is that it only matters when it's real. Discussions of rules or norms for what is right or wrong are almost always, at some level, illusions, approximating reality and guiding decisions in an uncertain world - which does not make them useless, just contextual. Profaning god in your bedroom can never be “wrong” - there is no one to hear you, no one to be hurt by it. You can only show something is really wrong from the intentions of the actions and their results.
So with that out of the way, lets talk about Knives Chau - and specifically, how the comic vs the anime handled that part of the story.
Scott Pilgrim vs The Reification of Dating a High Schooler
There is an extremely pervasive meme in Scott Pilgrim discourse that our titular Scott is a scumbag. Our returning whipping boy the Kotaku article loves this idea, describing Scott’s “detestable behavior” and wondering “was it too subtle the first time about Scott being an absolute shitbag?”. There is this viral headline screenshot from an interview floating around right now riding that same line:
Which is, of course, pretty much false. Its up to you in the end, “shitbag” is a subjective description, but the story just isn’t about events that would be described that way. Its the story of a guy getting over an awful ex, hurting some people, then meeting a new person, and realizing step-by-step what it takes to be their partner and levelling up as a person each time he does. He starts off broken, and Ramona of course is just as broken - getting better is their mutual arc. And its fundamentally about relationship drama - those stakes don’t make you a scumbag lol, just clueless, unless you are terminally online and don’t know what real stakes are.
I will let O’Malley get the last word in with his quote the writer of that interview is hilariously trying to torture into his headline:
There's a bit of, like, young people see Scott Pilgrim a certain way, and, you know, there's a lot of, like, 18-19-year-old fans that are really judgmental of the character. They're like, "Oh, he's a bad person. I would never do that." But I always tell them, like, get back to me when you're 25 or 30, tell me how your 20s went. Were you a bad person? Everyone has to make choices and do things in life that maybe they're not going to be proud of later.
Scott is a scumbag the way everyone is - you yourself will likely commit similar sins; that at least seems to be the authorial intent, and I agree with it.
So how does dating Knives Chau slot into this?
Despite the memes, age, in fact, is just a number - two consenting people dating does not a sin make. The reason dating underage people is bad is because of its consequences, not the categorical imperative. So what are the consequences of dating Knives Chau in the comic?
Knives is, as a consequence of dating a guy who is simply via his age able to appear so much cooler than her peers to her, absolutely obsessed with Scott. She worships his band:
She starts aping his taste in music and interests; she slots herself into his circle of friends, who don’t relate to her, even after their breakup (often drinking her way through it):
She totally spirals after he cheats on her and leaves her, blaming everyone but him; she is wounded and hurt for months, a year, over a relationship that lasted weeks:
Knives Chau is a literal poster child for why you should not date a high schooler. She is, at every turn, emotionally not ready to date someone who is not at her own level of social development, and is deeply affected by it. It is, sometimes, played for laughs - that is the nature of the comic, everything is played for laughs, but I would have given it a bit more dramatic space myself - but over the course of the story Scott himself realizes how much of an ass he was to her, and how he didn’t take what happened seriously.
The reason I view this with charity is what Scott did to lead to this - he met a cute girl on the bus! He was deeply hurt and kind of numb in life, and found someone who was safe and easy to talk to. He never attempts to kiss her (she starts trying to kiss him which he repeatedly rejects) they don’t even hold hands, and it lasted a few weeks. He knew deep down, pretty much immediately, it was fake:
Then he met an actual person he liked, and with some browbeating from Wallace agreed to break up with her, but chickened out for a day. Then the next day he decides to break up with her, and she drops the L bomb before he can, so he instantly ends it. It is really awkward for everyone involved.
Pushing off an awkward and uncomfortable conversation resulting from a dumb decision you made on a whim for a week - god I relate to that, that’s everyone! If you think it isn’t you I think you're lying. Its why this relationship is so interesting in the comic - Scott is always one step removed from it, putting it at abeyance, and the fact that something so minor to him is so destructive to her is a really good portrait of how these kinds of things happen. Its so easy to hurt someone when you don’t even know what the stakes are, and when its coming not from malice, but from weakness. Its a very good portrayal of a bad relationship because its bad in a relatable way, even if as a story is a bit more dramatic than is typical. And its a great portrayal of how fraught age gaps can be - this bad relationship is part of what makes the comic a good story.
But its 2023, we don’t give a shit about any of that anymore!
O’Malley in the same interview discusses the cultural shift around these kind of relationships:
I felt like in this day and age, I had to provide clarity on that [relationship]. Because when I wrote the first books, I took it for granted that people would understand that dating a high schooler was a bad thing. But on the internet, in this day and age, people are like, "He's dating a high schooler. That's terrible!" Like, that's pretty much what I say on page 1 of the book. But I try to spell it out a little bit more this time.
He isn’t telling the full story though - it was bad in 2004, but not bad the way it is today. Its dubiousness was mitigated by its frequency; people were doing this kind of shit all the time. Scott Pilgrim is a bass guitarist in an indie band; fucking groupies is like built into the cover charge. Half the problem Scott has in dating Knives is that she is the wrong kind of 17-year-old - had Scott met her at 1 am in the aftermath of a Born Ruffian’s concert at the Whippet Lounge knocking down shots off the back of her fake ID, no one would have even noticed. Hell, no one does notice; there is someone who actually makes out with a drunk 17-year-old Knives Chau in the comic Scott Pilgrim, and isn’t Scott Pilgrim:
No one cares about Kim’s inebriated petting session here; that is 10% because she is a Girl and Girls Can’t Be Predators, 40% because she isn’t the main character, and 50% because Kim Pine’s dating history is not a useful proxy battleground for GamerGate-adjacent nerd culture wars in ~2014; but that is road that goes directly to hell, so let's veer back.
The point, of course, is that in 2004 this is a crime flecked with normality, something your friend would do and you would maybe just cock an eyebrow at:
Its not that in discourse today - it is radically more condemned. It is not a contextual sin, but an original sin. It underwent a process I am calling reification - where it goes from being just a shifting descriptor of reality, to a thing in itself, with a defined (reified) meaning. And to be clear, that is in a lot ways on net a good thing? The reality is that, despite everyone’s protestations, there are today thousands of 17-year-olds taking the L line out to a gig at the Brooklyn Steel and going down on a 25-year-old guy they just met in a back alley off Frost St who swears he’s a “drummer in a sick new band” that played here “just last week”, he promises, and she is having a great time, bragging to her friends about how hot his tattoo was, and then shipping herself off to Cornell next year to start on her pre-med track with barely a memory. But for every dozen of those, there is at least one person who is deeply, deeply hurt, a Knives Chau who never deserved this. The rest can have a slightly worse time, its probably worth it.
That does not make it a categorical imperative, though - the reification has masked that truth. The crime comes from the context - those other girls aren’t victims, they would laugh at you for suggesting they were. But in 2023, Scott Pilgrim Takes Off is no longer concerned with context. It is telling you, right to your face, that Scott is a bad dude. Over and over and over - jokes from the Evil League about “wow, I thought we were evil”, its not subtle.
Yet meanwhile, Knives Chau is, like, fine? She dates Scott, is totally into him, and then literally in the middle of his funeral forgets about him for Envy crashing it:
Picks up the bass and has yuri-inflected playtime with Kim the literal next day:
And less than a week later is pitching an off-broadway musical adaption of Scott’s life to a billionaire Matthew Patel - I can’t explain that okay, I’m as confused as you are.
She is mad at Scott, sure, but she is over it in a matter of days. Hell, notice how she was already a fan of the Clash at Demonhead now? There is no scene of Scott introducing her to his kind of music. He didn’t change her. By the end she is a member of his band and they are totally chill:
This is, again, about a week or two later.
Knives is not an important character in this show, way less than in the original, this is no grand sin. But I still find it very interesting: O’Malley is wrong. He “spells it out” way less in this version when it comes to the actual consequences of Scott’s actions. Everyone’s verbal condemnations are substitutes to replace the real damage his actions dealt in the comic. Scott is a better person this time, in a world that has universally agreed he is worse (still not a good move ofc). Even Scott’s moment of apology to Knives about their dating is so tepid its almost Straussian:
Its ‘frowned upon’…which is not the same thing as saying it was wrong! I don’t think this is intentional, its just funny, but its a nice capstone nevertheless.
And it had to be this way, not just for media in general, but for Scott Pilgrim in particular. Not only are sexual crimes far more reified today, but Scott Pilgrim’s sin of dating a high schooler is reified as well - its the first piece of discourse everyone encounters about it. Its the ur-debate of the franchise. The idea of actively engaging on this point, and digging deeper into it…its too hot, too controversial. Way better to shy away from it, disown it. The discourse wrote this part of the script over the course of a decade; its not something the creatives had any say in.
Honestly they should have just gone all the way - just make Knives 19. Then how tepid it is wouldn’t be a distraction anymore. Scott can just be an asshole for cheating on her, that would work fine. If you aren’t going to commit to the reality of these things, you shouldn’t bother with it at all.
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Misunderstanding
I received a note from someone who was upset I “failed to cite Scott McCloud’s Understanding Comics” in my research for my work on Neil Gaiman's Chivalry and the essays I wrote about it.
I really appreciate that people want to make sure credit goes where it's due, and I have a lot of respect for Scott McCloud's accomplishment with his wonderful book.
I haven't read it myself in some years, and didn't cite it in my articles because I didn't reference it. I don't even know where my copy is so I don't know what McCloud referenced, either.
The information in my articles re: illuminated manuscripts and the Bayeux Tapestry, as well as other theories about the development of sequential art from prehistory, not only predate McCloud's work (and in fact, predate McCloud's birth,) but they are so common and so well known in comics circles that asking me to cite them seems as weird to me as asking me to cite the information that George Washington was the first President of the United States.
A part of me wonders if someone is trying to play, "Let's you and him fight."
No.
But I’m happy to bring to your attention some reading material.
Stephen Becker in his 1959 work Comic Art in America: A Social History of the Funnies, the Political Cartoons, Magazine Humor, Sporting Cartoons, and Animated Cartoons was among the first to discuss the Bayeux Tapestry as comic art. I read that book sometime in the 1980’s. I think a lot of people assume the Bayeux tapestry as comic art was McCloud’s idea, but we don’t all walk around with a reference library in our heads, so there you go. I can’t find my copy of Becker’s work to quote, but I did find an article by Arthur Asa Berger with a mention of the Bayeux Tapestry as comic art in the summer 1978 issue of The Wilson Quarterly.
My first exposure to the idea of comics as descendant of fine art was Maurice Horn’s 1976 The World Encyclopedia of Comics which was my first read re: comics history. I still have my tattered 1976 edition.
While Horn scorned the idea that tapestries and manuscripts could be comic art (see, it was a matter of discussion way back then, so much so that authors were writing snarky asides to one another about it,) he believed the origin of sequential art was in the Renaissance sketches of Leonardo da Vinci - which I think everyone now agrees is kind of a bonkers idea.
I think Horn was just intent on elevating the comic art form by hooking up with da Vinci.
You go, boi.
Comics as descendant of art on scrolls is a very common theory, the easiest to trace being in Manga! Manga! The World of Japanese Comics by Fred Schodt published in 1983 when I was still a teenager. I can't find my copy to show examples, but this text is still in print and you can go read it for yourself.
I was introduced to manga by cartoonist Leslie Sternbergh and bought Schodt’s book at Books Kinokuniya on (I think) a trip to New York around the time of first publication of Schodt’s work. And years later took a trip to Japan with Fred Schodt and a group of cartoonists including Jeff Smith and Jules Fieffer, Nicole Hollander, and Denys Cowan as the guests of Tezuka Productions.
Here we all are.
So, I’m familiar with manga, see.
As for comics as descendant of cave paintings, hieroglyphics and ancient art in general, Will Eisner’s 1985 Comics and Sequential Art not only made all of those points, but made those points with comic art examples. Like these.
And this.
And this.
And more than a few words on this:
I find it amusing that someone is questioning why I didn’t cite McCloud when what you should probably be questioning is why more people don’t cite Eisner who produced his book eight years before McCloud published his and who is well known to have influenced McCloud.
Whatever. My book's autographed.
I also danced with Eisner. Eat your heart out.
Understanding Comics is a terrific work with huge advantages over every book (that I know of) about comics that came before: it taught comics entirely in the language of comics.
But the discussion in it about the origins of comics and my work especially re: illuminated manuscripts/tapestries, did not originate with McCloud. I research illuminated manuscripts because it’s my hobby and it informs my art.
I encourage everyone to read Understanding Comics because it is an outstanding work.
But it’s not the book that introduced me to the concepts of the development of comic art. It’s not even the point of origin of those concepts. So, there is no reason to cite it.
Also, shocking as it may seem, I occasionally come up with ideas on my own. While I'm younger than McCloud, I've actually been a comics pro longer than he has. So I've had plenty of opportunity to, you know, read things and toss things around, and decide for myself.
When I first read Chivalry and first begged Neil Gaiman to let me adapt it, my head full of the work of Alberto Sangorski and his art for Tennyson’s Le Morte D’Arthur, Understanding Comics hadn’t been published yet.
It's been a good twelve years since I last read McCloud's work, and I don't think I've spoken to him five times in the last three decades. But I'm pretty sure he never mentioned Sangorski.
I hope that clears everything up, and maybe introduces some of you to some works you might not be aware of.
Have a great day.
#understanding comics#comics history#neil gaiman#scott mccloud#chivalry#jules fieffer#tezuka productions#manga#will eisner
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Tell Me What You Want
pairing - scott monroe, sam monroe 🍒
summary - sam and scott are twins, both have a crush on you.
The day started with you waking up at 9am on weekend. Its summer, your favorite time of year because your parents always go for a vacation the whole 3 months, leaving you all alone since you're old enough to take care of yourself.. kinda. Your older brother is there, too, but most of the time he's hanging out with Sam Monroe. You lay in your bed for a while more, thinking about anything you want to do today. Maybe visit the old woman next door to help her out? Go shopping? Walk around? You thought of so many possible things except for visiting Scott, your next door neighbor. You two have been friends for so long, but you still get shy about knocking on the Monroe's door even though they made it very sure that they're there for you to come to anytime. You think about it for a while before making up your mind and bring yourself to do it.
Now that you've made up your mind, you decide to make yourself some breakfast. Going down the stairs, you're greeted by your annoying big brother. “You're up early,” He says while eating a piece of toast with nutella spread over it. “I'm always up this early. You're just never here to witness it cause you're always free-loading at Sam's house.” You replied on your way to the kitchen which he so happened to follow you to. “It's not free-loading if his parents dont mind me over.” He shrugged, taking another bite of his toast. “Plus, I'm not always there. Sometimes I bring Sam over instead.”
“Yeah, and he's the only person you bring over. Could consider him as your little boyfriend or something.” You insulted him while giggling and opening the fridge to get the orange juice. “Oh, you wanna talk about boyfriends? How about Scott, he has like a huge crush on you, and you definitely like him back. ‘S not hard to notice all that tension going on between you two.” He shot right back, making a fair point..
You closed the fridge door, blushing and walked over to one of the cabinets that hold the cups. “I don't know what you're talking about, Chris.” You replied to your brother who laughed and left right after, leaving you alone to go to his room. Of course you really knew what he was talking about. Scott himself confessed his feelings to you a while back and seemed pretty chill when you told him you weren't ready for a relationship. “Well, as long as we can still be friends, I'm okay with that.” He told you softly with a little smirk tugging his lip. Oh, that smirk of his. It was so cute. Let's be real, you liked him back, but the real reason you held yourself back is because you kinda liked Sam, too, even though he didn't talk to you much. When he did talk to you, he was pretty nice. Usually calling you by the nickname “princess.” Jeez he made you so wet with just that. Scott had his own name, too. It was “Angel.” That one made you feel things too.
Let's not even talk about the time you made out with Scott once and he said “You're so pretty, Angel.” Against your lips before going in for another kiss. He would wonder why you even made out with him that night and then say you don't wanna date him. It hurt his feelings. He felt a little used, but it was kinda his fault for starting the whole moment. Either way—you two stayed friends and that's what mattered to him.
You had waffles with orange juice for your breakfast. After you finished, you went back into your room and decided to take a shower before getting yourself all pretty. Sure, you basically rejected Scott, but you still wanted to look pretty for him. It was weird but you didn't think much of it. An hour passed by while you showered, and once you were finished and opened the curtain there was a bunch of steam around the bathroom and covering your mirror. Oops.
You put on a cute outfit, do your hair, skin care, and however much makeup you thought was appropriate for today. It was 12 by the time you finished, so you headed next door, knocking on the door. Sam answered it since he thought it was Chris, but it was you. God, Sam looked so good right now. He was hot with his eyeliner, sure, but seeing him without it was probably even better. His pretty blue eyes were more noticeable without the eye makeup taking away the attention. His messy, dyed hair was so cute and the way his pjs clung onto his hips was so.. ohmy
“Hey, princess. What're you doin’ here so early? Thought you were Chris.” He speaks to you. “Um, I came to visit Scott.” You answer him after checking him out for a split second. Sam chuckled at that. “What about me? Not even gonna say hi?” He complained playfully. “Hi, Sammy.” You reply with a chuckle and a friendly hug which he returns.
“Hi,” He gave a half smile and let you come in. “Scotty’s in his room. Caught him at a good time, too. He just finished cleaning his room and showering.” He says while leading you upstairs to his brother. You smile at what Sam said and continue the conversation until you reach Scott’s door. “See you later, Sammy.” You tell him and open the door. Sam nods his head and stays there until you close the door after you disappeared into it.
“Lucky bastard.” He mumbled, getting a little jealous that you chose Scott over him. But that's his own fault. It's not like he talks to you enough to really hangout.
Scott looked over to you after you entered. “What’re you doing here?” He asked with a small smile tugging at his lips. No nickname? What the fuck? You thought. It'd be too good a day if you had that interaction with Sam and Scott calling you by “Angel” not even 5 seconds into seeing him. “Was bored. Wanted to see you today.” You explain, walking over to his nicely done bed and sitting on it. “Aw, Angel. That's sweet. Missed me?” Nevermind, there's that nickname! Hallelujah!
“You can put it that way, I guess.” You rolled your eyes playfully and he swoops in for a tight hug. You didn't stop him, though. His hugs were always so comforting. “Missed you too.” It made sense since you went to different schools. “So what do you wanna do?” He asked, letting you go. “Wanna go for a walk?” You suggest. He agreed and yay! you guys went. You walked the neighborhood at first, laughing and telling each other about stuff going on at school, but then you wandered off and started walking around other neighborhoods as well.
Returning to his house around 2, you both went back to his room where your conversations continued. “Yeah, and so she's pregnant now and he wants nothing to do with her, I guess.” Scott shrugged, telling you about one of his bestfriends’ scandalous life. “And that's all you have to say?! ‘I guess’” You mocked his tone. “Well, it sucks, but, like, s’not my problem..” He responded, picking at his fingers.
“So if I wind up p-”“That's different.” He cut you off, quickly. He seemed a little mad, too. “That's my best friend's girlfriend. I don't talk to her. You're my best friend who lives next door and who I've known for years. If some guy knocked you up and tried to leave you, I'd kick his ass.” He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.
Him cutting you off to say all that was real sweet but kinda intimidating since his whole demeanor changed so quickly. “Oh, okay..” you replied, not knowing what else to say. It stayed quiet for a few minutes before Sam opened the door. “Dad wants everyone outside, he's making barbecue.” He said and left right away like he always did. You looked over to Scott. He still looked really mad. Why, though? You thought. It was just a dumb question. But you didn't wanna bother him, you already knew how he got when you tried to talk to him while he's mad.
When you closed the door behind you, he groaned and rubbed his eyes. The thought of you with someone else really set him off. So, you can probably imagine how mad he is now that you put the thought of you getting pregnant by some loser in his head.While he was in his room, Sam, Chris, Mr. & Mrs. Monroe kept you company. Robin, Sam's mom was distracting you while the 3 other boys talked about whatever. Suddenly, Scott came down, still looking a little mad but not as bad as earlier. He joined in on the conversation with you and his mom, occasionally switching to the other guys.
An hour and a half passed by, and the food was done. Everyone chatted with each other. Sam even spoke to you a couple of times! Poor you, fantasizing about him when he wouldn't speak to you. Your eyes were on his fingers for a few seconds, and were cautious to not stare for so long because you did not need anyone noticing that. Scott finally came around and had a conversation with you about random things Everyone finished eating, so the twins’ parents cleaned up and sent everyone off to inside the house. Sam and your brother go to his room, you and Scott go to his. He closed the door behind you two and sighed. “Angel, ‘m sorry about earlier.” He started off softly while you lay on his bed, listening. “Just got a little mad.. and kinda jealous, I guess.” Ugh, there was that thing he always says that always bothered you. “I guess” make up your mind! but you stayed quiet.
“Look, I understand that we're just friends, but you have to understand I still have feelings for you. And when you put stuff like that into my head—like, about getting pregnant by some guy and then he leaves you, it just pisses me off.” He explained how he felt earlier while walking towards you to sit next to you. “You just.. you don't deserve that, Angel. You deserve a guy that'll never ever do you like that.” He sighed.Him explaining this to you made you feel warm inside. Wow. This guy really does like you. He's so sweet.. and you rejected him?! girl! you're so stupid!You hold his hand, looking at his pretty face. “Scotty, I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd take it so seriously. Won't do it again, I promise.” He looked at you, with those cute doe eyes of his. “Thanks,” He mumbled, looking at your conjoined hands.
“You're really sweet, Scott. Seriously.” You continue, standing up and settling yourself to stand in between his legs. This action makes him look down to his legs that separated when you stood between them—and to be completely honest, it kinda turned him on. “Oh—um..” He blushed, settling his hands down on the sheets, not knowing what to do with them since he didn't wanna make you uncomfortable. “It's nothing if you really think about it..” He looked away. You did something real bold. You grabbed his face, making him face you. This made him blush even worse.. and harder.“Scott, seriously. Not many guys would say that.” You replied to his shy demeanor, coming closer to his face. This made him a little nervous. Scared, even. He was thinking that you were just teasing him.“Angel, stop.. let me go if you're not gonna do anything else. Don't get my hopes up.” He swallowed. This makes you smirk, now knowing how much power you really have over him. How weak in the knees you make him. “Anything else? Like what?”
“Y/n.”
You chuckle at his state of nervousness. “No, I'm not playin’ with you, pretty.” You say and lean in more to kiss his neck softly. Scott jolted a little at this, but didnt stop you. “Fuck, angel..” He mumbled with his hand sliding up your back. You sucked on his smooth neck, making sure to leave a dark hickey. Well, you ended up leaving a couple before moving to his lips and making out with him. Just like last time.
His hand moved down to your ass, pushing you on top of him. He took control of the kiss, making you really wet. He made it slow and sensual.. really passionate and romantic. Letting out a couple of soft moans while kissing you which turned you on. You never heard him make any noise before. Not even the last time you made out. He was so hard by now. He was so horny.
So bad that he started rubbing his bulge up into you. It made your pussy throb. Jeez, you never imagined how hot Scott is when he's horny.. He had to break the kiss a couple times just to let out those pretty moans. He even whimpered. Just once, but it was so hot. Most of the noises he made were moans and groans.
To tease him, you rolled your hips deliciously onto him, earning another moan. “Angel, stop.. My door isn't locked. What someone walks in..” He softly whined.“No one's gonna walk in.” You told him, hoping he'd believe you. “Please, baby..” oh. my. god. that really sets you off. your pussy was even wetter now that he was practically begging for you to stop. but you didn't want to, so you stayed quiet. He seemed to forget all about the open door when you didn't respond for the next couple of minutes.
“Fuck, angel. Keep doin’ that and i'm gonna cum in my boxers..” he said in that whiny tone of his. It sounded even better when he was close. He knew he was hopelessly in love with you when you stopped to tease him.
“Gotta jerk yourself off to cum, then, I guess.” You tell him, and he groans. That somehow was really attractive to him. He didnt even know he was into orgasm denial. You got off of him and kissed his cheek.
“Where are you going?” He asked, still sounding super whiny. You look at his boner that showed through his jeans, then back up to his eyes. “Home,” You replied like you had just done nothing. “Wh—??” He didnt even finish the whole word because he was so confused. And with that, you left for your house.
When his door closed, he lay on his elbows and threw his head back, groaning. He still wanted to cum so bad.. so he got up from his position to lock his door and close the blinds on his window, along with the light. He went to his bathroom to brush his teeth and change into some blue and black checkered pjs that hung off his hips, just like Sams’ would. He wore no shirt since he was just so eager to rub one out right now.
He lay in his bed and took his still erect cock, twitching at just the slightest touch to the base. He then got an idea. He reached for his phone, opening up the camera to hit record after turning the flash on. He recorded himself masturbating, pretending it was you jerking him off and fucking him. The video was 4 and a half minutes long, filled with pathetic, soft whimpers and moans.. you could hear the wet noises. Once he came, he stopped recording and lay the phone on his chest, away from the sticky mess left on his abdomen. It took him a couple minutes to pull himself back together, but once he did, he unlocked his phone and sent you the video. Then he put his phone on to not disturb after that, scared of the risk he just took. He cleaned himself after that and went to sleep.
ping! “Scotty” sent 1 attachment.
You open the video and the first thing you saw was his dick. You've never seen his dick before, but if you were being honest with yourself.. it was definitely the prettiest one you've ever seen. It looked about 6 inches in his jeans, but damn. Was he really big when he was hard? A whole 7 inches. You watch for 4 seconds before you hear a whimper and feel yourself blush, looking for your headphones and connecting them, hearing his cute noises and the wet sounds his fist made when it hit the base of his cock.
Yeah, this is definitely something you're keeping for when you masturbate. His whimpers and moans were just too cute not to pleasure yourself to!
You react to his message with a heart and send him a photo of your tits. Not without your bra, though. Lets see what he responds with in the morning.
-
YAYYAYA DONE! PLS LMK UR THOUGHTS ON THIS AND LMK IF YOU WANNA START BEING TAGGED IN THIS FIC 🍒💞
#sam monroe x you#sam monroe fanfiction#sam monroe smut#sam monroe x reader#sam monroe imagine#life as a house#scott barringer x you#scott barringer smut#scott barringer imagine#scott barringer x reader#higher ground#hayden christensen x reader#hayden christensen smut#hayden christensen#attack of the clones#aotc#star wars#revenge of the sith#rots#anakin imagine#fanfic
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II Most Wanted Pt. 2: Pedal so heavy
Pairing: Syverson x OFC Reader "Buttercup" (w/ Betty Bronco)
Summary: The feelings are getting real as you make a decision about giving Jake Syverson the time of day (or night, rather) at your 20 year reunion.
Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. RPF. S MUT, Angst, pining, fluff. Flashbacks, horny teenagers being horny (over 18 tho). Prom night, early 2000's music, mentions of sex acts, "Captain" kink, mentions of teenage pregnancy, divorce, breakups. The Powerpuff Girls, old automobiles, 20 year high school reunion, drinking, swearing. Reckless driving?
Read at your own risk. Not Beta’d. All errors my own.
A/N: This is the second installment of II Most Wanted. I'm in love with these two; they are bringing my writer heart back to life. If you like it, please reblog and comment.
I don't have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘
I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.
Previous part here
-----------------
May 2024
“Well, now Buttercup, that’s a long story. I know you want to hang with your friends. And I don’t know what you’re doin’ later tonight, but I would like to go somewhere quiet and talk about it.”
When you heard that, you went into fight or flight mode. Rage, regret, and sadness all flooded your body at once, and Sy’s eyes flicked down to your dominant hand which was curling into a fist. A wry smile started on his lips, and then he straightened up and looked you in the eye as he started to speak again.
“Butter-”
You shook your head, which silenced him. Then you raised your chin, released your fist, and turned your back, walking toward your friends.
—---
Get out (LEAVE!)
Right now
It’s the end of you and me
It’s too late (NOW!)
And I can’t wait
For you to be gone…
Carla and Tiffani followed as you fled to the restroom.
“Why did you even tell him I liked him? I blame both of you.”
You were hurt, so you brought up a 20 year old slight and lashed out weakly at your friends. You were trying to ascribe meaning to your emotions.
How could everything still hurt this much?
Carla wasn’t having it.
“Unh unh. No. Nope. We were sick of you running your mouth all the time about how cute he was. And Jakey boy had heart eyes for you since the day you walked into school, despite Becca the Bitch. After they broke up, we had to put you both out of your misery. It had to be done.”
Tiffani was nodding her head in agreement.
You sighed.
“‘M sorry guys,” you sat on the bathroom vanity and smiled to yourself about your Powerpuff councils in the 3rd floor Central High bathroom all those years ago. Then you grimaced when you thought of Sy.
“I just… Can’t…”
“So what just happened?”
Despite your surliness, Carla was ready to go to war for you.
“He wants me to go talk with him, ‘someplace quiet.’”
“Wow. Your air quotes are kind of aggressive.”
Sweet Tiffani was also calling you out.
“Maybe you do need to talk to him. I heard what happened, and it’s kind of a lot. A hell of a story.”
“Tiff has a point. You forbid us to say his name after you two broke up…”
You interrupted Carla.
“After he found out Becca was pregnant, you mean..”
“...That is a part of the story you need to hear. She did him dirty. They split when he finished his first tour. He asked about you, but you were already engaged to Scott…”
You’d heard that Sy enlisted instead of going to State for football like he planned when Becca fell pregnant, but the bit about the split hit you like a ton of bricks.
But why? And what did it matter now?
“Sy spent the better part of the last 20 years in Afghanistan, and I think it’s because…But that’s not our story to tell. You really ought to talk to him.”
“I don’t have to do-”
Your voice was a little shrill and you closed your mouth when you heard yourself. You stood in the bathroom awkwardly until the familiar beginning of a song wafted into the room:
“Teen drinking is very bad.”
Carla and Tiff started screaming the next line:
“Yo, I got a fake ID tho.”
The beat dropped and they pulled you out of the bathroom onto the dance floor.
One, here comes the two to the three to the four
Everybody drunk out on the dance floor
Baby girl ass jiggle like she want more
Like she a groupie and I aint even on tour...
…..Everybody in this bitch getting Tipsy.
This was your thot song, and after a minute of standing there, fake offended by their dancing, soon you were shaking your ass with your lifelong friends.
—-----
Sy knew how much he was trying it when he asked you to talk, but he had been waiting 20 years for this chance.
Tonight was the night.
And he wasn’t going to let the night pass without shooting his shot. But the truth needed to be told first. He hoped that you still cared enough to let it happen.
When you stared at him blankly, he started to sweat. He knew you lived your life since then. He feared that any feelings you may have had for him were over and done with. But then he saw your hand balled into a fist, and hope entered his heart.
Sy never shrank from a fight; hell, he’d started too many, but he never wished for someone to sock him in the mouth as much as you.
He wanted to fight with you.
And he wanted to make it up to you.
His heart dropped when you walked away, but he decided to let it ride and give you some space. After you disappeared into the bathroom with Carla and Tiffani, Sy ventured into the venue, ready to interact with others now that he had laid down the challenge with you.
—---
You were having a ball dancing with the girls until that song came on. You stopped moving, the hair raised on the back of your neck. When you turned you found Sy staring right at you. You’d managed to ignore him the entire night, but this song and his blue eyes were wearing you down.
I'd sure hate to break down here
Nothin' up ahead or in the rear view mirror
Out in the middle of nowhere, knowin'
I'm in trouble if these wheels stop rollin'
So, God help me, keep me movin' somehow
Don't let me start wishin' I was with him now
You walked toward Sy, drawn to him as if on a string. You had that feeling in the small of your back as you stood before him, the one that you hadn’t felt in ages, and suddenly everything felt inevitable.
Just like it did 20 years earlier.
—---
May 2004
On Prom night, you came out of your bedroom and Sy’s mouth dropped open. His eyes never strayed from your face as he murmured,
“You look amazing.”
You blushed and smiled while your mom ‘awwwed’ and went to get her camera. You approached your boyfriend and he took your hand to twirl you around as he appraised the rest of you in your sleek emerald green dress. When you faced him again, he was licking his lips, trying to make the look on his face respectable. You smiled because you could read his mind.
Sy didn’t flinch as your mom called him “Jacob,” and you didn’t have it in you to be annoyed as she took a couple of pictures. Sy’s hand on your waist and his thumb gently stroking the exposed skin at the opening on the side of your dress made you shiver in anticipation.
You were caught up.
Soon, Sy was loading your bag into the back of Betty, and pulling off, your mom having accepted your explanation of staying over Tiffani’s after going bowling with the group after the prom.
In reality, a bunch of the crew were renting a huge chalet in the mountains, 45 minutes away. You and Sy had your own room, and you were ready to give him everything that night. You were distracted, imagining having your way with him that night.
And Sy was right there with you.
“Y’know, Buttercup, we can just head on up to the chalet.”
He cut his eyes over to you to watch your reaction. When you didn’t answer and just bit your lip, that’s when he knew.
“Our suite has its own bathroom with a shower in it. We’re definitely using that this weekend. Can’t wait to see you all soapy and wet. ‘S all I could think about in the shower tonight. Almost jerked off to the image, but I decided to save it all for later…”
Sy knew you too well, and had keyed into how you responded when he talked dirty to you. He was priming the pump for later.
You pictured Sy in the shower, his lithe muscles clenched as he fisted himself, made you suddenly need a drink of water. You cleared your throat and found your voice.
“We have to go, Sy. I spent so much time getting ready. And you look so handsome in this tux….”
You skimmed your hand down his lapel, down his torso to his thigh, and you quickly ascertained his situation. He grinned at you.
“You’re right.”
Sy winked, smiled and concentrated on the road while you tried not to be a slut in the passenger seat. By the time you reached the venue, you had yourself under control. He parked, then turned toward you.
“Let’s have a good time tonight, Buttercup. Think you can keep your hands offa me for a couple of hours?”
You scoffed, and Sy took your hand and kissed the back of it, then turned it over and kissed your palm, smoothing the joke away because in reality, It was him who couldn’t help touching you.
“Don’t want to mess up your makeup right now… might ruin it later tho.”
You whimpered in his grip as he kissed up your arm and you tucked a long errant curl behind his ear.
Sy’s eyes went soft and he held your hands in your lap.
“Y’know, we don’t have to do anything tonight. We can dance all night if you want to. Bowl the blue balls away.”
You laughed and Sy fell in love even more. You were so beautiful.
“I love you, Buttercup, and us having sex or not won’t change that, not one bit.”
You melted as you stared at your handsome fella. He was fiddling with your hand, and then you felt something cold on your finger. You pulled your hand back and saw the delicate white gold ring with a tiny perfect diamond in the center that had been his grandmother’s.
You gasped.
“Sy!”
You looked from him to his grandmother’s ring. You’d come across it the first time you were over his house, ‘studying’ in his room on a chilly November night after football practice. You were being nosy and looking at everything you could touch as he went to get some snacks.
Sy was embarrassed when he came back and saw you with it. You thought he was mad at you for snooping, but he wasn’t. He’d told you that it was just a ‘tiny little ol’ ring, not worth anything,’ and that no one would want it, but that his Gran had left it for him to give to his future wife.
“But, I’ll propose to someone with a bigger ring than this.”
Sy’s denim blue eyes held yours for a beat. Your heart flipped. You didn’t know why, because you’d only been talking for a couple of weeks and this was the first time you were alone together.
You didn’t know that Sy was repeating something Becca had told him when she turned her nose up at the antique when she happened to see it, and you didn’t care as you took the black box and sat down on his bed. You stared at the ring inside like it was the crown jewels, and after about 5 minutes of studying it, you looked up at him.
“Well. I think this ring is beautiful and precious. The detail is stunning. Your future wife would be lucky to get it.”
That was exactly when Sy realized that he was in love with you.
Back in the Bronco outside of the prom, you were in disbelief.
“What are you doing Sy….?”
All of a sudden, you felt too young for this moment. But after only six short months together, Sy knew exactly what you were thinking.
“Calm down, Buttercup, this is just a promise ring.”
He kissed your hand again.
“I know we're jumpin' the gun, and we're both still young.”
Those eyes held you in a trance.
“But one day, we won't be.”
“Oh, Sy…”
“It’s my promise to you, Buttercup. I will love you ‘til the day I die.”
And it seemed kinda crazy. But you believed him.
—-
May 2024
I made it this far without cryin' a single tear
An' I'd sure hate to break down here
Oh, no
It was either the music, the dancing, or the alcohol, or all three that made your mind up, but you were ready to listen to what Sy had to say.
Stephanie Prince, the class president, was calling the Homecoming court up to the stage, and Sy looked that way. Anger bloomed again inside you.
Damnit, Sy needed to choose you this time.
“You still wanna talk, Sy?”
Your body language that screamed aggression: the cocked hip, the crossed arms that pushed up your tits, the tapping foot in those heels, all made Sy soft on the inside and hard on the outside for you. When he answered you, his voice broke.
“Ye– yeah.”
Christ, you had him weak. But he made a decision, found his strength, and grabbed your hand, pulling you out of the Marriott.
You followed him obediently, and that set him on fire. He stopped and turned around when he reached the Bronco.
But he didn’t let go of your hand.
You two stared at each other in the late spring night air, stars winking down on you two.
“So where we goin’, Sy?”
Being this close to him again, and the feeling of his touch made all those 20 year old pheromones perk up again. Damn, this man.
This huge, handsome, hairy man.
“Where do you wanna go, Buttercup?”
What your brain was doing was insane, so you just kept silent.
Becoming mute was one of your tells. Sy was elated that maybe you wanted him, at least physically. He was so thirsty for you.
“Hm.”
Sy grunted, straightened up, loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt, all while still holding your hand. It was like he didn’t want to let you go.
And he didn’t.
“Tell you what. Let’s take a spin in Betty. See what’s up in the ol’ town.”
Your eyes flicked toward the truck, and you knew it was dangerous.
But you were grown now.
And so was Sy.
Sy led you around to the passenger side door to help you up into the high profile vehicle, leaning over you to buckle you in, only releasing you to put his hand on the door.
“I can’t believe you still have her,” you whispered, indicating the Bronco. “How is she still the exact same condition?”
“She’s been in storage for the better part of 20 years. Thought about her everyday though.”
Sy was looking at your lips, and the memories came flooding back.
“I bet she missed you.”
Sy cocked his head and his tongue darted out to moisten his lips. His voice came out gruff and he had to clear his throat again.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, Sy.”
Any smooth line was lost as his brain short circuited with the concentration it took to not kiss you right now.
“Well, we’re about to have some fun together again, you, me, and Betty. Sit tight, pretty lady.”
Your cheeks heated at the compliment.
“Ok, Captain.”
Sy actually blushed, shook his head and closed the door, leaving you to breathe in the old leather smell of the Bronco with your eyes closed, conveniently leaving him to pump his fist behind the car unseen by you.
He got back in the car, jacket off. And he leaned near you to place it on the back seat, you got a whiff of him, the familiar cologne adding another dimension to your roiling senses.
When you opened your eyes, you witnessed him rolling his shirtsleeves up his forearms. He caught you ogling him and you gulped and crossed your own arms and legs, angling yourself to look out of the open window.
Sy looked over at you closing yourself off from him, then smashed the gas to make sure that you'd squeal and grab his arm like the good ol’ days as he peeled out of the parking lot, pedal so heavy like you were the two most wanted criminals in town.
—---
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𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐝 | 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐭𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫
pairing: scott barringer x ditzy!fem!reader
summary: Scott proves you he’s not so bad, soft of.
c/w: sfw, fluffy, a small awkward moment, Scott has a crush, a little bit of angst.
discord - twitter: anakinsdove
𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧! ｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡
ﾟ。Love you
𝘄/𝗰 - 1,345
Scott is not that bad right? That’s a question that has been in your mind for too long, every other kid in the camp say he’s an asshole, arrogant and too much of a jerk, that he should get his head out of his butt. All of them are right.
It’s unfair… you’re supposed to be crushing on him, not the other way around, you’re supposed to stutter, not him! It’s driving him insane, that stupid smile of yours and your honey covered voice, he hates that he always has to catch you when you trip, how clumsy you are, he hates that he finds it endearing… you’re supposed to be annoying, not cute.
It’s getting harder and harder and harder to deny it every second however, the thing that he hates the most is how unaware you are of other people flirting with you!
I mean have you noticed at all how Auggie looks at you? How Ezra literally hits on you? No of course not, only he has.
“Dammnit!” he looks up from his magazine to see you holding your elbow in pain “What’s the matter?” He asks “I wasn’t looking” “You’re never aware of your surroundings…” “Hey! I was distracted… didn’t mean to” your voice gets smaller as you finish your sentence. “Oh no…” you say as you notice that your elbow is actually bleeding… it’s nothing bad, as bad a paper cut can be, but Scott wants to make a big deal out of it, looking for an excuse to touch you.
“You’re bleeding” “here” he says taking a band-aid out of his backpack “thanks” you hold out your hand to take it but he retreats “let me… you’re probably not smart enough to do it yourself” “sure…” you say confused.
Scott placed the band-aid over the non-existent wound and you smile muttering a small “thanks” he nodds. “What happened here?” Scott touches your cheekbone lightly with his fingers “Shelby opened the door… I was behind it” Scott can’t help it but laugh at this “And here?” He bops your nose “huh?”
“Why are you being nice?” You ask, it comes boldly, not the way you meant to say it “I’m not being nice, I’m being polite” Scott shrugs at this… “You’re being nice” “Whatever” “it’s nice” “Yeah but I’m not being nice I’m-“ “What’s that stuff in your hair?” You interrupt him…
“Huh? What?” Scott is taken aback when you touch his hair softly, pulling some dry leaf stuck in there, Scott realizes what you’re doing and grabs your wrist gently “I got into a fight” “With the ground?” He chuckles “Yeah…. Something like that” “You’re all disgusting” you say without any bad intention behind your words, his clothes are covered in dirt “thanks” you nod.
“When I played football… I got more bruises than when getting into fights” “I thought they give you protection for that” “Yeah well, not always works” “You should probably walk with an armor by the way… It’s the only way you won’t get hurt” “They’re just accidents” you say. “Small… meaningless accidents”
“This…” Scott starts, he was about to make a comment of the bruise on your cheekbone “This is- this…” he can’t finish the sentence he started, his blue eyes look intensely into your own, he swallows… he can’t help it but look at your lips..“what?-“
Then he kisses you, Scott kisses you, your stare is interrupted by the feeling of his lips on yours, he cups your cheek and leans in before you can react, he closes his eyes and enjoys this moment while it lasts… Scott can’t feel your lips moving or doing anything at all, he feels you push on his chest lightly, you’re not kissing him back.
He backs up slightly and looks at you, noticing that you look displeased by the kiss. “What's wrong?" He asked with concern as he lets go of you, worried that he may have crossed a line. “No kiss” you say with a small voice.
"Oh, I'm sorry" he says, backing up again "I, uh, got the wrong idea." He seems embarrassed that you didn't like the kiss "I, uh, I should probably leave" he mutters nervously.. Scott has never been rejected by a girl before…. He was really shocked by your reaction, he couldn't believe that you rejected his kiss. It was his arrogance taking control of his thoughts but, he just couldn’t understand, you must not feel the same way that he does. He can't believe that he read the situation wrong, and that you don’t like him like that. "Alright, I'll just go then" he mutters nervously as he backs away further, looking down at the ground embarrassed
You stand there in shock of what just happened… you like Scott, no- you don’t like Scott, he’s mean and arrogant and he said you were pathetic once, you’ve seen the way Shelby looks at him and Juliet and well every other girl in the world, you don’t like him, definitely, he stole your first kiss because his arrogance and ego got the best of him….
Then why do you want to run after him?
Scott walks to the bonfire, he’s pissesd… pissed at himself for misreading the situation, for liking you, because he had humiliated himself, because he likes you and you don’t like him back… he looks at the ground and behind that anger there’s sadness too…
Your legs move in automatic running to your door, you sprint in direction of the kitchen, tripping at least 3 or 4 times, bumping into Shelby, she gives you an angry look “Scott” you say breathlessly, “I’m Shelby, what do I look like him?” She says with her usual snarky tone you’re unable to catch “Yeah a little bit” you say…. she rolls her eyes and continues stirring the pizza dough, you make a quick mental note it’s pizza for dinner. “Wait Shelby, where’s Scott?” You try again. “I haven’t seen him” you leave disappointment written all over your features, leaning against the door and sighing… until you spot golden curly locks, again your legs take you to him before you can stop it.
“Scott!” He looks up from his already burnt marshmallow, he wants to be indifferent but he can’t, he’s hurt and mutter a quiet “Yeah?” You sit next to him and the look in his face switches from confusion to curiosity…
“It was my first kiss” your sudden blurt out catches him off guard, “I’m sorry” he says, “It’s just… I wasn’t expecting it” he looks down again. “Why did you kiss me?” He’s honestly surprised you had the audacity to ask, he’s not really good with words, that why he’s impulsive rather than not to. "Well" he said nervously, he didn't really know what to say exactly, "I uh-" Scott paused for a minute, and felt his cheeks get red as he thought about the true answer to your question, "I guess I just..." Your pretty eyes look up expectantly at him, waiting for an answer. “I guess I just felt something and I I got carried away” and impulse…. That’s it, there’s nothing benhind it but pure hormones.
“So you don’t like me then?” Now it’s his turn to look up at you, he’s flushed, and he’s so pretty up close, he has pouty lips, it makes sense, his lashes are long, his blue eyes look unfamiliar now, it’s because his staring is soft instead of the usual frown he has… “Why does it matter?”
“It’s important, please” he wants to look away but you hold his face and unconsciously nuzzles against your touch.. your gaze switches between his eyes and lips “I want to kiss you, but I don’t know how” you confess… Scott wastes no time in closing the gap between your lips, he holds your arm gently to keep you in place, his lips move softly against yours, it last no more than 5 seconds but it’s enough to leave you breathless
“Alright I do like you” he confesses
“No way!” You say sarcastically.
masterlist 𝗮𝗻𝗮𝗸𝗶𝗻𝘀𝗱𝗼𝘃𝗲 © --- all rights reserved. no reposting/ translating/ copying will be tolerated.
dividers - @i92-93
#scott barringer x reader#scott barringer angst#scott barringer imagines#scott barringer higher ground#scott barringer x you#scott barringer fanfiction#scott barringer imagine#scott barringer#Scott barringer Hayden Christensen#hayden christensen#Hayden Christensen characters
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𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐓
✰ PAIRING — fem!reader x quinn hughes
✰ SUMMARY — in which Quinn returns home to Michigan for christmas and runs into his old girlfriend! this takes place christmas ‘23!!
✰ CONTENT — nothing I can think of? potential spelling mistakes bc no matter how much I check I still find them days later
✰ WC — 2.54K
✰ NOTE — inspired by phoebe bridgers’ scott street!! as always I love writing Quinny and I hope you enjoy it!! I don’t like this but … here we are. please do tell me what you thought about it…I’m always curious what you guys think!!
Michagan has always been special. No matter where life took you, returning to Michigan and visiting the city you grew up in, always felt like coming home. Even three years after graduating from university and moving away, nothing compared to the feeling of driving the streets where you had your first fall and scraped your knee open, the streets where you learned to drive for the first time, the park where you had your first kiss. Michigan will always be special and it will always be home but coming back always leaves you with the biggest ache in your chest.
There’s a reason you haven’t been back to Ann Arbor since you graduated. This place held too many memories. Too many “what ifs” or “what could’ve beens” It was like one big memory box, every corner you turned reminded you of something, someone. And while usually you weren’t opposed to taking a stroll down memory lane and being reminiscent about past years, somehow it always led to one year, one summer, one moment, one person. Quinn Hughes.
You met him your freshman year at Michigan, both of you in the same class. You were late to class the first day, uncharacteristic of you and a result of a missed alarm that morning, and you got stuck sitting in the only open seat left, the one next to Quinn. You’re sure it would have been sat in earlier if it wasn’t for the bag he put on it. You still get the urge to laugh when you remember the expression on his face when you approached that very seat. As if he was actually considering having you sit on the floor just so he didn’t have to share his space. Knowing everything you do now, you had no doubt that he had a mental image of Ellen scolding him for his bad manners and that’s the only reason he scrambled to accommodate you.
Somehow as luck would have it you were partnered up for a big project and spent a lot of time together. And Quinn Hughes went from a reluctant seat partner to your closest friend, to the man who you were hopelessly in love with and was lucky enough to call your own. The next two years you had been glued to his side and wherever he went, everyone knew you weren’t far behind.
Perhaps that’s why everyone had a shock when you didn’t follow him to Vancouver when he left after two years. You had many nights that summer where you had debated it, the decision to move to a new country for a guy you had been dating for less than two years. The fact that you even considered it at all should have already been an indication of how much you loved him. But when he did eventually ask if you’d do it, you knew that you couldn’t and turned him down. You had dreams and goals and plans of your own and none of those consisted of moving to Vancouver.
The idea of moving to a new country, in the middle of your degree, where you didn’t know anything or anyone didn’t particularly sound like a joyful experience, no matter how much you loved Quinn. But you also didn’t expect the two years after Quinn left to be as hard as they were. Somehow you had gotten so wrapped up in your relationship that every aspect of your life revolved around him. Where you hung out, who you were friends with, what routes you drive to school. You felt alone when he left, you felt isolated, you felt misunderstood. Because the only way you fit into that life you had built for yourself was if Quinn was next to you, and he wasn’t anymore.
Quinn made it big and moved on to bigger and better things and you were just the girl he left behind that was stupid enough to turn him down when he begged you to go with him. And so the last two years of what was supposed to be the best years of your life turned into one big pity party thrown by everyone you met. People who once envied you for getting to be with him, now pitied you for losing out on him.
You’d only been with him two years and yet he destroyed the memories of the place you called home for the 18 years prior to that. And it wasn’t those last two years and the pitying looks that ruined Michigan for you, it was the fact that they were right. The fact that you still thought about him and those two years you got to have him. The fact that you’ve compared every guy you’ve met and been with to him and none of them have ever measured up. The fact that staying in Michigan only resulted in awkward social situations, a piece of paper stating your degree that you could’ve gotten at any institute, and regrets. Lots of regrets. The fact that every time you come to Michigan, it’s all that you can think about. It haunts you.
And because you like to torture yourself, this year on your annual visit home, you somehow ended up at his favourite cafe. You had spent more time here than anywhere else when you were dating. It was the place you had your first study session, your first date, your first “I love you”, and also your last goodbye.
As fate would have it your first time seeing him since you guys broke up would also be at this café, because as you entered the relatively empty room, it’s as if your whole body could sense him, your eyes shooting to where he was sitting in the corner of the room, a coffee and a bagel in front of him, folding the napkin in front of him as many times as he could until is was small enough to push in between the salt and pepper that was on the table.
You always wondered what it would be like to see him again. What your response would be to those fight, flight or freeze instincts. You briefly considered it…fleeing. But as soon as you laid your eyes on him, you couldn’t do anything but stare. Observe. Admire. You always knew Quinn was going to be handsome once he matured a little bit. Got out of the teen-early adult phase. And while you had seen him on social media occasionally, seeing him over a screen didn’t do him any justice. Nor did it have the same effect on you it’s currently having. Your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest and walk over to Quinn. As if it recognized that it was the same guy that cherished, loved and swore to protect it all those years ago.
When his gaze shoots up to meet yours, that pounding in your chest ceases completely, leaving you to put your palm over your heart, just to ensure that it was still beating, and to soothe the ache that seeing those green eyes unexpectedly caused. The ache only worsens when his lips tip up into a friendly, familiar smile. His head tilting slightly as he sits back, as if he was beckoning you over and before you had even registered what was happening, your feet began moving in his direction.
“Hey,” you say softly when you reach his table and his lips quirk, obviously amused that after all this time that’s how you decide to greet him.
“Hey. Sit please,” Quinn says, gesturing to the chair across from him and you take a seat
“Didn’t expect to see you here. What are the odds…” you say. It was a few days before Christmas, and you knew that the Canucks had a few days off before then so maybe you shouldn’t be as surprised that Quinn decided to come home early for a few days. You paid a little too much attention to the Canadian team than you would like to admit.
“Yeah, it’s an unexpected surprise for sure. A good one though. I came home for Christmas for a few days, decided to stop by here. I haven’t been here in a while,” Quinn says and you nod.
“Well how are you? How are things? Hockey? The family?” you ask, rambling a bit and Quinn chuckles fondly, he knew it was a nervous habit of yours.
“I’m good. Really good. Hockey is good. The team’s heading in the right direction, better than last season that’s for sure. The family is good. Busier than ever but all happy and healthy,” Quinn replies
“That’s good. Yeah I can imagine. Jack’s breaking records left and right and it’s Lukey’s rookie season. And you’re captain now. Big things happening in the Hughes family,” you say and Quinn nods. If he’s surprised that you know that much about him and his brother’s careers he doesn’t let it show. You briefly wonder if he kept tabs on you too. Wondered what you were doing with your life. Career. Dating.
You then come to the conclusion that he’d probably have a harder time trying to figure out details of your life since it isn’t broadcasted like his are. You were snapped out of your thoughts when the server asks you your order and your cheeks tint a little when you realise you walked through the door and straight over to Quinn without even placing an order. To the server it probably looked like you were meeting him for lunch, so some of the embarrassment fades a little and after you place your order, you turn your attention back to Quinn.
“Congratulations on being named captain by the way. It’s a huge achievement Quinn, and I don’t think it’s any surprise that Vancouver is having the year they’re having after naming you captain,” you say and his cheeks redden slightly, fingers tightening against the coffee cup.
“Thank you. I mean there’s a lot of things going into it. The coaching change, the new additions to the team, new playing structures, I don’t think it’s me necessarily…” Quinn says, smiling sheepishly when he sees the expression on your face. He was never good at taking compliments.
“What about you? I heard you opened your own marketing agency? That’s huge, congratulations.” Quinn says and you can’t keep the smile from spreading across your face
“Thank you. And you heard? From who?” you ask teasingly
“Your mom and my mom still talk. She always asks about you, and reports back to me. I still talk to your brother too so…” Quinn trails off and you gape at him
“You still talk to my brother?” you ask incredulously
“Yeah, not often but we catch up every now and then,” he says and you don’t know if you find it sweet that he still kept in contact with your little brother who looked up to him so much or if you felt a little bitter that he could keep in touch with your brother but not you. If only you knew that most of their conversations were about you anyway.
“What about Josh? Brady? You keep in contact with them right…how are they?” you ask and Quinn smiles. Josh was at Michigan with both of you and you and him still followed each other on social media. You guys were friends, you just understandably drifted a little when you and Quinn broke up. You met Brady one summer at the lake house and you had instantly taken a liking to him.
“Josh is good. See him all the time when I come home in the summer. Brady got married. That’s still so weird to say,” Quinn says with a shake of his head and you laugh.
“I saw! Who would’ve thought he’d be the first one to get married. He looks really happy though. Good for him,” you say and both you and Quinn go quiet for a moment after that. There was a time everyone had thought the two of you would be the first ones to get married. You wonder if Quinn’s mind wandered to the same place yours did. To those 2AM conversations you had about your future, what type of house you want, a dog, how many kids. Your relationship with Quinn had always progressed fast, and you had no doubt that if you did follow him to Vancouver, you would have ended up engaged a summer or two after, and probably got married by now. Your heart stings thinking about it.
Thinking about how if you made one or two choices differently you could’ve been married to the man sitting across from you. You could have kissed his bruises after a game, nursed his injuries instead of checking for updates on when he was set to return because you were worried and too scared to reach out and ask him how he was doing. You could have been there to celebrate his milestones with him instead of slyly liking the posts on social media and hoping he would see it and know how proud you were of him. You could have had a lot of things…in another life. If you had done things differently.
Your thoughts get interrupted by the server placing your cup of coffee on the table and you take that as an opportunity to escape. There was no use in sitting here and torturing yourself by daydreaming about all the things you could’ve done differently. You couldn’t change them. You just had to move on and live with them.
“I should get going. This was a pit stop on the way to meeting a friend, and I’m running a bit late. It was nice seeing you, Quinn. Don’t be a stranger,” you say, standing up and grabbing your coffee, knowing this was likely the last time you were going to see him in who knows how long? Another five years? Maybe forever…
“Yeah, you too. Happy holidays and tell your parents I say hi,” Quinn says and you nod, grabbing your cup and practically sprinting out of the café
When you get to your car, you take a moment to collect yourself, clenching the steering wheel tight and taking a shaky breath. You hesitate for a moment before switching on the car and driving away from the cafe. Away from him. And the more distance gets put between you and him, the more you wonder about the next time you return to Michigan. And the time after that. You wonder if you’ll always have a heavy heart when coming home. If you’ll always have a hole in your heart that Quinn used to occupy. If you’ll always think about all the things you wish you could go back and change. Things you wish you could do differently.
And you wonder if this exchange will be the little cherry on top of the “regretting my life choices” cake. If you’ll come back next Christmas and think about how you just had a chance to fix all the mistakes you made. Had a chance to reconnect with the one you let slip away. Had a chance to rectify all those regrets that always plague your mind and you just…didn't.
#quinn hughes x y/n#quinn hughes oneshot#quinn hughes fic#quinn hughes fluff#quinn hughes fanfiction#quinn hughes x reader#quinn hughes blurb#quinn hughes imagine#nhl x reader#Spotify
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