#Rick finally gave the series a name

[sleepyangelkami]

PERVERTED II c.grimes

 𝜗𝜚 WORD COUNT - 3.5K

CARL GRIMES X FEM!READER

 𝜗𝜚 SUMMARY - carl decides to go through with this weeks saturday sleepover. so far, he's been able to control himself. until, that is, he hears you whimper his name in your sleep.

 𝜗𝜚 WARNINGS - smut, slight angst, somnophilia, thigh riding (kinda), fingering, pussy eating, cum eating, wet dreams, sex dreams, innocence kink, corruption kink, dom!carl, sub!reader, noncon, heavy manipulation, use of y/n, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

series masterlist

"you sure you don't wanna come?" rick questioned as he took a box from his son, landing it inside the back of the truck. "we could use the help."

carl watched his dad place a hand on his hip before shaking his head, hand on his hat. "no, i promised y/n i'd stay over. can't miss saturday sleepover can i?" he'd laughed yet he knew he wouldn't wish to miss it for the world, either. rick gave him a look, lips slightly perking up as if he knew something. "what?"

rick wasn't born yesterday either. he was well aware what it was like to have a silly crush, especially at that age. but this... this was much different. "nothin'" before packing in the last box. "you be good, alright? don't ruin the house while glenn and maggie are gone."

the two were going on the supply run with him, along with many more of the fighters. "bye, dad." watching him get into the rusted car.

and so, the day went on.

by the time lunch rolled around, carl still hadn't seen you. however, he wasn't entirely alone. he soon found ron who decided to help him look for you. in return, you'd also be looking for his also missing girlfriend, enid.

"they're always running off." ron muttered under his breath. he knew enid was close with you, possibly your best friend had carl not been thrown into the mix. enid was always running off with you, slinging you around by the arm. "hey, what's the deal with you two anyway?" carl's head peeked up, brows knitting together. "is she like your girlfriend or something?"

his mind moved like puzzle pieces. girlfriend. carl had never had a girlfriend before but he was pretty sure you had to kiss and all that to actually be in a relationship. then again, you don't touch yourself with your 'friend's panties sitting on your dick. he cleared his throat. "no... no we're not together."

saying you were his friend didn't seem all too right but saying you weren't his girlfriend didn't seem right either. you were something.

but ron didn't look convinced, rolling his eyes with his brows raising slightly. "whatever, dude." was it really all that obvious to everyone aside from you? carl thought that if there was a competition on the most oblivious person alive, you'd win.

but perhaps that was the easier option. would he have preferred you to know? everything seemed so easy with the fact that you were so oblivious. it was like a reminder that he could do anything he wanted right under your nose.

"finally." hearing the mutter from ron, carl looked up. this was when he was met with the sight of you, as pretty as ever, sat next to enid on a bench near the town's pond.

carl could barely look at you. the way you sat with your legs folded, smiling away innocently, completely unaware of what he'd done last night. you wore a pretty skirt, enough to slightly hike up your legs, giving carl a view of the pretty plush of your thighs.

he could only imagine digging his hands around the plush, holding it and kneeding the skin. he could only imagine grasping your thighs, holding them close while he rammed his di―

"there you guys are!" ron exclaimed causing carl to shake his head, ridding himself of the thoughts he'd been having. "carl and i were looking all over for you." he had this voice he used when he spoke to girls, one that carl could guarantee was not the voice he used with him.

enid only rolled her eyes. the sight of her boyfriend and carl was enough to have her smile drop. "well, we weren't looking for you." she mumbled. some may say she didn't like anyone aside from you, not even her own boyfriend. carl didn't think there was much of a point of being with someone that you didn't even like. "hence the getaway pond."

ron must have thought she was joking because he came up to pinch her side and kiss her cheek. the sight alone had carl's stomach turning.

however, the sweet sound of your lulling voice was enough to bring him back. "hi, carl." you beamed at him, smile as wide as ever. he hadn't even registered you moving from the bench to his side. all he remembered was the feeling of you snaking in next to him, your body so close. suddenly, he felt so dirty. "we were feeding the ducks." smiling like a child on christmas. you always smiled like that, like you had a thousand things to be smiling about. it always made carl wonder if you were truly made for this world at all.

when he was around you, he was fighting off his own smile. yours was so contagious. the way his lips curved upwards told you he was happy for you, he always was. "that's great ba― y/n." correcting himself as his expression faltered, smile wavering.

he watched as your entire face fell.

he was unable to bring himself to call you those cute names. baby, sweetheart, like an old couple who'd spent their entire lives together. he couldn't bring himself to say such things after he imagined himself fucking you just the night before. it didn't seem right, not when you were so oblivious to the dirtiness behind his words.

the smile wiped clean from your face, carl was sure you could have cried.

you reminded him somewhat of a kicked puppy.

he'd been the one to kick you.

he never called you y/n, unless speaking to someone else like his father or even ron. this was because they'd hardly understand who you were if he was referring to you as sweetheart.

the point was, he only used your name if it was wholeheartedly necessary.

you wondered what'd changed.

your mind ran back to the night before. when he'd entered your house, looking awfully suspicious and at the sight of you, he practically rushed out the door. had you done something wrong? your heart ached at the idea that you may have upset him. a heart of gold, some people said you had. carl had to beg to differ. the look on your face explained all he needed to know, a heart of mere paper.

he regretted it the moment he said it.

he knew how you got, how all up in your head you could be. he could only imagine how you'd be for the rest of the day, going over every interaction you've ever had with the boy and wondering where everything went wrong, where you messed up.

the moment your name slipped from his lips, he thought it may have been better to call you anything else in the entire world. even if it was laced with the dirty undertone.

he felt your body move slightly away from his, eyes cast down on the ground to avoid any glances. "'m gonna go see aaron." you announced, rather loudly too.

"okay." enid responded, her eyes glancing you over before turning to carl, a slight glare, if you will. she didn't particularly like carl, though carl hadn't the foggiest idea why. perhaps it was because she was so protective of you. carl had to roll his eyes, if anyone knew what was good for you, it was him. "don't stay out too late."

you didn't respond, grasping your bag that sat at the bench before turning onto the footpath.

carl had to purse his lips. "wrong way." he said, just loud enough for you to hear.

with slightly wide eyes, you realised he was right. spinning around on your heel, you began walking left instead of right. "thanks." you mumbled under your breath before continuing your walk to one of your favourite people in the entirety of alexandria.

back at the pond, carl was cursing himself under his breath before turning around to find two accusing pair of eyes sat on the bench. one pair belonged to enid, the other to ron. "what did you do?" was enid's accusing tone, her face hard as stone. carl was on the receiving end of this look very often, he didn't fear it... well, he feared it a little but not as much as before... okay he feared it.

"what do you mean what did i do?" he instantly fell to defending himself. despite the fact that he knew he was the reason for your declining mood. "i didn't do anything."

whether it was to intimidate carl or that she smelled the sort of fish smell of ron that carl had smelt earlier, she perked up on the bench, loosening her boyfriend's arm across her shoulder. "she looks like a deflated balloon." she argued.

"yeah." ron nodded his head. carl couldn't stop the glare he sent his way, what did he know. "everyone knows aaron's like her very own guidance councillor, his boyfriend too." he shrugged his shoulders. "whatever you did, i'd say fix it quick."

the brunette boy only glared at the couple. "thanks guys, for that enlightening advice. but i don't need it, okay? i didn't do anything."

on the contrary, he was well aware that it was his fault. he needed to fix it and he needed to fix it fast but he didn't need enid and ron whispering in his ears. nobody knew you like carl, they didn't know what they were talking about. they hadn't seen you crying over some stupid movie you watched. they didn't see you smiling the way he did, they didn't take notice like him.

they'd never understand what it was like to know you. only carl would. and he'd make sure of that.

the sun was setting by the time carl had made it to your house. you'd opened the door, taking him in with your eyes before allowing him inside. maggie and glenn were on the run so the two of you headed straight towards the bedroom where'd you'd begin the movie night. however, carl was more focused on the fact that you'd spoken barely four words to him tonight rather than which disney movie you'd force him to watch this time.

he knew you were in your head but you wouldn't utter the words because what were you meant to say? hey carl, why didn't you call me baby? something so simple had ruined your entire day.

however, carl couldn't keep it in anymore. "are you okay?" he blurted out after many moments of silence as he sat atop your pink bed sheets.

you, at the foot of the bed pursed your lips. you pressed play on the movie and allowed the credits to begin. you weren't the type of person to insist that you were fine if you weren't. carl liked that about you, he never had to guess. "are you mad at me?" voice meek, like a childs.

the realisation hit carl that despite what he was feeling for you, he'd have to push it down in order to continue your friendship. at least, he couldn't take it out on you. "'course not, baby, c'mere."

the name fell from his lips like sweet relief.

it suddenly occurred to the boy that you needed him. desperately so. something as simple as calling you by your first name had thrown off your entire day. carl should have been worried, concerned even. instead, his heart fluttered a little.

you truly did rely on him.

with a sigh of relief, you found yourself crawling up to the boy. today had been so long with you being in your own head so when you felt the feeling of his hands sneak around your waist, it was like coming home after a long day at work.

you couldn't see his face but if you could, you'd see the sheer nervousness on his face. he needed to control himself but he wasn't sure how that was possible while you cuddled up against him beneath your bed sheets, clad in your pretty pale blue shorts and your white spaghetti strap top.

your knee was bent, extending over the top of his legs. there was a sharp intake of breath as your knee gently bumped against the prominent bulge in his shorts. you hadn't noticed, he knew you hadn't noticed and to make sure you wouldn't notice, he reached over to switch off the light, clearing his throat. "so, uh, what are we watching?"

"the princess frog." you answered, turning your head up to look at his face as he groaned.

a look of displeasment was evident on his face. "it's so boring!" he practically gushed.

offence hit you like a truck. "excuse me!" you battled. "i'd like to see you opening up your own restaurant all by yourself." even carl had to admit, you got him there.

carl never understood why you picked movies that you fell asleep so early during.

he heard your soft snores and your gentle breath hit the crook of his neck within the first half hour of the movie. though he couldn't blame you. truthfully, he could only blame himself in how he had your head messed up, practically knocked off your shoulders for the entire day.

it took until almost a full hour into the movie for you to stur.

at first, carl thought he'd misheard it. a little noise falling from your lips. then, he heard it again.

he held his breath as he heard the whimper leave your lips.

then, he felt it.

the gentle roll of your hips against his thigh had him practically seeing stars. the boy glanced to the tv hoping for some kind of a distraction from his obvious hard on. he couldn't wake you up, not because he actually couldn't. but because he wasn't too sure if he wanted to.

admitting it sounded like nails on a chalkboard but he'd be lying if he said he did want to. the little whimper you let out, sleepily and lowly albeit, into his ear was enough for him to almost completely loose his control.

it was like he was dreaming, it was everything he'd dreamed of, especially the night before.

you sounded even better than he'd thought.

he shouldn't have laid so still. you weren't aware of the way your hips bucked onto his leg, a little whine stretching from your lips. he reminded himself that you were too busy sleeping to understand what was going on. he couldn't engage with you, that'd be wrong.

so... wrong.

then he'd swore he heard it. "carl." a mumble in your sleep, enough for him to not know whether or not you were actually sleeping. he took a glance at your face, eyes screwed shut.

he was imagining things, he had to have been.

you soon rolled over, leaving him laying very stiffly as he tried to wrap his head around what was happening.

you were having a wet dream, obviously. that'd never happened before, at least not while cuddled up against carl. but he could have swore he heard you say his name. he shook his head, knowing he was wrong, he was so caught up in what had happened the night before that he was imagining you breathe his name.

then, he heard it again.

this time it was more stretched out into a whine. due to the movie on in the background, he could vaguely make out the way your cunt rutted onto nothingness, the mattress maybe but it wasn't enough to cause any real friction.

his mind stirred. if you really were having a dream about him, surely it was only his duty to... help?

but it was dirty, downright perverted.

but your noises were growing needier, obviously the bed wasn't enough for you to create real friction from. he had to help you. "poor girl, can't even get herself off." he mumbled under his breath, not enough to wake you up.

if he were to touch you, it wouldn't be for him. no, he was doing this for you.

he knew you well enough to know you wouldn't wake. on the contrary, you'd sleep through an asteroid should it hit your home.

he reached his hand down beneath the covers, holding his breath. he was helping you, he reminded himself, helping you. this was for you, making sure you felt good as your dream continued. your dream of him.

suddenly, he wasn't the all too dirty one. perhaps you were.

his fingers gently felt the core of your shorts, taking an intake of breath upon feeling just how wet you were. it practically seeped onto his fingers, it was a wonder if his sweatpants didn't have a wet stain on them from how you'd been rolling your hips against them.

he breathed in, gently massaging the area you needed him the most, you all but moaned into the pillow, eyes screwed shut.

carl had dreamed of this moment for as long as he lived, he wasn't ready to give it up just yet.

the way your hips jutted into his hand, creating all the friction you needed and you whimpered again, still stuck in slumber, had carl's confidence through the roof.

it was as if saying his name, he realised you wanted it just as much as he did.

how he ended beneath the covers, he wasn't too sure. perhaps it was the newfound confidence he'd gained.

he'd spent too long dreaming of this moment to stop now. he breathed as shallow as a man could before his fingers travelled back to your shorts, gently pulling them away from your aching cunt. that was when he realised you hadn't been wearing panties. did you do that often around him? had you been... expecting something?

nonetheless, carl was more than willing to give it to you.

his breath fanned your pussy, prettier than his sick mind could have ever mustered. the image would be burned into his head, it'd never leave. one thing was for sure, this boy wasn't leaving the next morning without putting his mouth to your cunt.

and that was exactly what he did.

his tongue reached your pussy, licking a long stripe and feeling your thighs jump and your body jolt. obviously, never been touched.

he knew it'd be him who touched you first. now, it was just him making sure of it.

he licked again, your wetness gathering on his tongue. he tried to hold back the groan that spread throughout your entire body. yet, you still lay sleeping. it somehow only egged him on further. he knew you wouldn't wake. to him, your body was his for the taking. and he was going to take it.

his tongue found your cute hole, hands against your thighs, holding them, trapping them down.

tongue dancing across your clit, he heard you moan even louder, still trapped by slumber. his lips curved upwards, tongue circling your clit. he moved one of his hands, using his middle finger to gently slide into your sopping hole. so wet for him, already.

he cursed enid and ron for thinking they knew you. he cursed all of the people who thought they knew you. the truth was, the only person you could ever rely on would be him, he'd make sure that you got what you needed, make sure all your needs were fulfilled at all times. perhaps this was just him making sure of that fact.

his tongue moved away from your clit, moving his other hand to meet it. he saw the way your body writhed against his hands. he couldn't wait to do this when you were awake.

it wasn't until your thighs actually began to shake that he knew what was happening. "s'pretty." he mumbled, dazed as drool practically dripped from his mouth. you truly were, the most beautiful thing he'd ever encountered his entire life.

mouth moving back to your cunt, he moved his tongue back against your clit at an alarming pace. with his now free hand, he held your thighs down, trapping them under him as your body shook against him, jutting your hips back and practically rolling your hips against his face. he relished in it. you were practically getting off to his pretty face which told him all the more just how much you loved this.

he felt your hips force themselves back to the bed, shaking and vibrating until your juices poured out onto his tongue.

you'd came.

he lapped you up without second thought, tongue dancing over your hole and licking the juices off the single finger he'd pushed inside of you.

licking his lips, he finally rose. he watched your face lull in your sleep, obviously content and finally getting your sweet relief. he gently moved your shorts to cover your pussy again, as if nothing had happened at all.

it took mere seconds for you to roll back over and onto him, cuddling against his side. he couldn't help but feel even dirtier.

you'd never even know.

main masterlist/carl's masterlist

[golden-reverie]

Dewey Decimated

Chapter Two

Author’s note: Chapter two of my first series. You can read chapter one here. Still in the midst of setting the scene, but the next chapters will have more substance so stay tuned! And again, thank you all for the support!!

Summary: Mabel, a part-time librarian, finds solace in her carefully constructed routine—that is until Harry, an atypical library patron, unsettles the order she’s worked hard to maintain.

Word count: 4.9k

Warnings: Still nothing quite yet, toxic boss, hints of past dom/sub relationships if you squint, brief mentions of complicated family dynamics (alcoholism and abandonment), and hints at a future dom/sub realtionship (if you really truly squint)

By 10:07 AM, Mabel had already swallowed her frustration twice, forced a polite smile four times, and reminded herself at least a dozen that storming out in a blaze of righteous fury was not, unfortunately, a financially responsible decision.

Rick Alderman, her boss, thrived on power for power’s sake. As a senior executive at Northwind Publishing, he projected an image of authority, but in reality, he was little more than a glorified bottleneck—too obsessed with control to delegate effectively, yet too lazy to do the work himself. His office was a shrine to his own ego, cluttered with awards from decades past and framed photos of handshakes with people who had likely forgotten his name the second they walked away.

For the past week, Mabel had been waiting for a response from him. She’d sent an email requesting a meeting to discuss her future at the company. No response. Three follow-up emails. Nothing. Two polite in-person reminders. More silence.

It wasn’t surprising. Disappointing, yes. Infuriating, absolutely. But surprising? Not even a little.

In the two years she had slogged under Rick’s reign, he had never given her a straight answer about anything that didn’t serve his own interests. Every discussion about her career aspirations vanished into thin air, yet somehow, he always found the time to ask her to book his personal appointments or send her cryptic, one-line emails titled “Fix this”—never accompanied by context, or God forbid, an explanation.

She knew she was wasting away in this role, like a plant starved of sunlight, but quitting wasn’t an option. Not yet. The paycheck was just good enough to keep her tethered—to keep her brothers in school, to keep the rent paid, to make the soul-sucking monotony just bearable.

“Mabel, a word.”

Her shoulders stiffened at the sound of his voice.

She looked up to see Rick standing in his doorway, summoning her inside. She followed, forcing herself into the kind of neutral professionalism she had nearly perfected. He shut the door behind her and leaned against his desk, arms crossed.

“How long have you worked here?”

Her pulse kicked up a notch.

Was this it? Was it finally happening? Was he actually going to acknowledge her work? To offer her the promotion she deserved? The faintest ember of hope flickered in her chest despite her better judgment.

She straightened her posture. “About two years now, Mr. Alderman.”

She was ready. She had rehearsed this moment a hundred times in her head, ready to enumerate her achievements, her innovative ideas, and the ways she could help propel the company forward. She would make a case so strong he couldn’t possibly—

“I see.” He nodded, then sighed. “Two years, and you still can’t remember that I prefer my documents single-sided, not double.”

It was like the air had been sucked from the room.

Of course. How could she have been so stupid as to think, even for a second, that this was going to be different? That he would ever change?

Mabel swallowed down the sting of disappointment and forced a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll make a note of that.”

Rick gave her a menacing smile, as if he relished the power he wielded over her. “That’ll be all,” he said.

She turned to leave, jaw clenched, but before she reached the door, his voice cut through the silence again. “Oh and while you reprint these, you can entertain yourself by thinking of a spot to pick up my lunch. I’m in the mood for French.”

She clenched her fists and forced a fake smile. “Will do, Mr. Alderman.”

***

That evening, the familiar hush of the library was a balm to her frayed nerves. Mabel exhaled slowly, willing herself to forget about eco-unfriendly documents, insufferable bosses, and overpriced French cuisine. But as she approached the front desk, something caught her eye.

Her book—the one she had been reading the night before—sat exactly where she had left it. But something was off.

The spine was slightly shifted, the pages bent in a way they hadn’t been when she last held it.

She frowned, picking it up, flipping through until—

A small slip of paper fluttered onto the desk.

Mabel stared at it for a moment before unfolding it, her pulse quickening.

Not practical enough for me, huh? Figured I’d see for myself. Can we discuss over coffee tomorrow? —H

She swallowed.

The elegant script taunted her with its casual confidence. The way he signed it “H,” as if he knew he didn’t need to clarify.

Her fingers traced the edge of the note, her emotions a tangled mix of curiosity and caution.

It was just coffee, she told herself. A simple, harmless meeting over caffeine. Nothing more.

But she couldn’t shake the feeling that agreeing to this might unravel the tightly woven threads of her life. Coffee could lead to conversation. Conversation could lead to…

She shook her head, willing herself to focus on the present.

Slipping the note back into the book, she returned to her tasks. But throughout the evening, her thoughts kept drifting back to the note, the words circling in her mind like a melody she couldn’t shake.

As closing time approached, Mabel found herself drawn back to the front desk, the book now a silent testament to her inner turmoil. She traced the spine with her fingers, contemplating.

Her sensible side screamed for her to retreat, clinging to the safety of routine. Yet a quieter, more daring inner voice urged her to seize the chance—a chance to see the man behind the enigmatic “H,” to let the idealized image she’d built up crumble, and then she could go back to enjoying her library shifts in peace.

With a resolute breath, Mabel made her decision. She reached for the stamp on the desk—the one reserved for marking returns—and, with a small, defiant smile, stamped “APPROVED” in bold green letters across the note.

Then, with quick, decisive strokes, she scribbled a reply beneath it, proposing a time and place.

Her heart thudded as she slid the note back into the book and tucked it onto the hold shelf under his name.

As she tidied up the desk, Mabel couldn't help but wonder what she'd just set in motion. She hoped she wasn't making a mistake, but as she locked up for the night, she couldn't rid herself of the feeling that something had shifted—like the first ripple on an otherwise still surface.

***

The next day, as she went about her routine at Northwind, Mabel found herself glancing at the clock more often than usual, her focus slipping despite her best efforts. The hours crawled at a torturous pace, each tick of the second hand stretching longer than it should. She had promised herself she wouldn’t overthink it—it’s just coffee, a casual meeting—but the thought clung stubbornly to her mind.

Rick, as predictable as ever, was too absorbed in his self-importance to notice her distracted state. He spent most of the afternoon micromanaging a project he had only half-understood, making sweeping declarations and then leaving her and the rest of the team to clean up the inconsistencies. It was just another day trapped in corporate purgatory, though today her impatience to escape was palpable.

As the workday waned, she practically counted down the minutes, willing the hands of the clock to move faster. But, in true Rick fashion, just as she was slipping her coat over her shoulders, he called out from his office.

“Mabel, hold on a second.”

She froze, mentally cursing every higher power in existence. With measured calm, she turned back, schooling her expression into polite indifference. “Yes, Mr. Alderman?”

Without lifting his gaze from the screen, he intoned, “I need you to fix the formatting on the Johnson proposal. The alignment is off.”

She blinked, incredulous. “The one I sent this morning? I followed the—”

“I need 1.27 margins,” he interjected with a dismissive wave, “not whatever this is.”

It had 2.54 margins, the company standard—a detail Rick always managed to forget, despite endless reminders from compliance that his revisions were “not in brand.” Mabel had explained it to him more times than she cared to count, but today she lacked the energy for another lesson. Instead, she bit her cheek to stifle a retort and nodded stiffly. “Of course.”

By the time she reworked the document, painstakingly scrutinizing every possible nitpick and resending it, she was already fifteen minutes behind schedule. A hasty email later, she shut down her computer, and practically sprinted out of the office, weaving through the rush-hour crowd like a fugitive on the run.

***

She reached the café breathless, running a hand through her hair in a futile attempt to compose herself before stepping inside. The scent of roasted espresso and warm vanilla curled around her as she scanned the room.

Almost instantly, her eyes fell on him.

In the far corner, Harry sat with one leg casually crossed over the other, his fingers loosely curled around a coffee cup. There was no sign of impatience—no furtive glances at his watch, no restless shifting in his seat. Instead, he seemed content to wait, his calm focus unbroken as he typed away on his phone. Then, as if in response to her presence, he looked up. His gaze wandered over the room for a heartbeat before settling on her.

Mabel’s heart quickened as she forced herself forward.

“Sorry I’m late,” she murmured with a tentative smile, drawing closer. “Work… my boss… well, he’s—”

“A prick?” Harry finished smoothly, a flicker of amusement passing through his green eyes.

A startled laugh bubbled up before she could stop it. “That’s putting it mildly.”

For a brief second, something unreadable passed over his face—something that almost looked like protectiveness, but before she could overanalyze it, he gestured toward the seat across from him.

“Sit,” he said, his voice low, effortless. “I ordered for you. Hope I guessed right.”

Mabel hesitated briefly before easing into the chair, her eyes drawn to the cup that awaited her. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” she said as she took a cautious sip, warmth settling over her tongue.

A vanilla cappuccino. How did he—

“I’ve seen it written on your cup at the library,” he said, answering her unspoken question. “And don’t worry about it—I’m well acquainted with difficult bosses.”

She set the cup down, narrowing her eyes slightly. “Is that because you have one or because you are one?”

The words left her mouth before she could stop them. She instantly regretted it.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“Probably because I am one,” he said, cutting off her backtrack with a smirk that made something flicker low in her stomach. “What gave me away?”

Mabel exhaled, forcing herself to relax, to match his ease.

“Well,” she said, leaning back slightly, “the suits for one. Successful businessmen aren’t exactly the library’s core demographic—more of an order-it-off-Amazon crowd.”

She let the words hang for a beat before tilting her head. “That, and your reading material. Pretty sure you’re single-handedly keeping our Business & Economics section in circulation.”

Harry smirked, raising his cup in a half-toast. “Knowledge is power.”

Mabel raised an eyebrow. “Spoken like a true man in charge.”

His gaze flickered over hers—sharp, assessing, intrigued. Something heavy settled in the air between them, like he had caught onto something she hadn’t meant to reveal. The corner of his mouth twitched, but he said nothing.

He cleared his throat. “And what about you?” He asked, breaking the moment just before it lingered too long. “What do you do when you’re not critiquing your library patrons’ choice of books?”

Mabel let out a quiet laugh. “Plot their literary redemption arcs.”

Harry chuckled. “That sounds serious.”

“Oh, it is,” she said, lifting her cup to her lips. “One tragic book choice at a time.” She set it down. “And I work in publishing. Northwind Publishing.”

He let out a low hum. “Publishing. That tracks.”

She tilted her head slightly. “Tracks how?”

“You have the precision of someone who deals with words all day,” he responded casually. “The way you correct yourself, structure your thoughts before you speak.”

Mabel frowned, “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or concerned by how much you notice.”

Harry chuckled, his green eyes glinting. “I’m just observant.”

She didn’t quite believe that was all it was, but she let it go.

“And you?” she asked. “What kind of boss are you?”

His lips twitched. “I run a firm. Investments, acquisitions—things most people find dull.”

She let out a small laugh. “So you’re admitting you have a boring job?”

“I’m admitting most people think it’s boring,” he corrected. “I happen to enjoy it.”

There was something in the way he spoke—an assured, measured cadence—that made her want to trust every word he said.

Before she could press, he leaned back and fixed her with a thoughtful look. “So, what did the prick do this time?”

Mabel blinked. She hadn’t expected that.

In her experience, most men loved to talk about themselves. She had been on enough coffee dates where she barely had to speak, yet somehow still endured the inevitable, clueless "This was fun, we should do it again sometime."

Even with Matt—the only one who had lasted long enough to earn the title of boyfriend—conversations about work had always been unwelcome. He’d roll his eyes whenever she vented, chastising her for complaining about a paying job, as if having an income absolved her of any legitimate frustration.

But Harry wasn’t waiting for his turn to dominate the conversation. He’d deftly steered it back to her, expecting an answer.

Mabel hesitated, her grip tightening around her cup before she exhaled. “Oh, the usual. Death by a thousand pointless tasks. My boss has this uncanny ability to make a simple request sound like the fate of the company depends on it.”

Harry tilted his head, watching her. “And yet, you’re still there.” His tone wasn’t judgmental���just curious.

She shrugged, lifting her cup again and muttering the only response she had been conditioned to believe was acceptable. “It pays the bills.”

“That’s not an answer,” he replied, his tone smooth and insistent.

Her fingers tightened slightly around the ceramic, her instinct telling her to deflect. Change the subject. Redirect the focus back onto him like she always did.

But for some reason, she didn’t. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the way Harry was looking at her—really looking at her—like he saw more than she was saying. Like he wasn’t just filling space with conversation, but memorizing every syllable.

She lowered her cup, and along with it, the defenses she’d so carefully constructed—just slightly. “I have two younger brothers in college,” she said finally. “Charlie and Peter. They’re twins. I help cover their tuition. It’s not exactly my dream to work as an executive assistant, but… it’s necessary for now.”

Harry didn’t look surprised. If anything, something in his expression shifted—something quiet and contemplative.

“That’s a lot to carry,” he said after a beat, his voice steady.

Mabel shrugged, “I have strong shoulders.”

His gaze didn’t waver, sharp yet unreadable, like he was cataloging her words and filing them away. She opened her mouth to redirect the conversation—turn it back to him, to his work, to anything that didn’t feel quite so exposed—but he was quicker.

“So, you have Charlie and Peter. What about the rest of your family? Did you grow up in Seattle?”

She hesitated for half a second.

Mabel hadn’t been asked about her childhood in a long time. Not by someone who actually seemed to care about the answer. The words tasted unfamiliar, rusty from disuse—“I grew up in Lake Stevens. About 35 miles north of here. But we moved to Ellensburg when I was in middle school.”

She left it at that, deliberately sidestepping the real question, hoping he wouldn’t press.

Her hopes were short-lived.

A thoughtful hum escaped him as he trailed a thumb along the rim of his cup. “Why did you move?”

Judging by his accent, she had assumed he had little knowledge of Washington’s geography—certainly not enough to question why a family would leave safe, suburban Lake Stevens for somewhere like Ellensburg. But something about the way he asked made her think otherwise.

Well, here goes nothing.

“Cliché story, really,” she said, trying to shrug the weight of it off. “My father left when I was fourteen. My mother lost her job shortly after. We couldn’t afford to stay in Lake Stevens, so we moved somewhere more… manageable.”

She kept her tone even, casual. Like it was just another fact about her life, no different from saying she worked at a library or that vanilla cappuccinos were her drink of choice.

But Harry wasn’t fooled.

His expression didn’t change, but his posture did—just a fraction, like he was absorbing the weight of her words. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower, softer.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Mabel.” He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like at that age. Not young enough to be oblivious, but old enough to shoulder more than you should’ve had to.”

She saw genuine empathy in his gaze.

This was a first.

Most people either pitied her or tried to reframe it into some kind of inspiring resilience story. Poor girl. You’re so strong. Everything happens for a reason. But Harry… he simply acknowledged it.

She hadn’t realized how much she needed that. How much she had needed someone to recognize that there was no silver lining, no moral takeaway. That some things just… were.

Harry watched her patiently, like he could sense her thoughts tumbling over one another and was giving her space to process.

She gave him a small smile. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “It definitely wasn’t easy. My mother, she’s...” pausing, she let her words drop off. “Well, I did what I could to to make a future for myself. For my brothers.”

Granting her some reprieve, Harry didn’t pry any further. But she could tell— by the way his gaze sharpened—that his interest was genuine.

He exhaled slowly, then leaned forward, resting his forearms against the table. His voice was more deliberate now, like he was at the helm of some metaphorical ship, steering their conversation into uncharted waters.

“So, you’re putting your brothers through college, you’re at the beck and call of the prick Monday through Friday...” His gaze flickered over her, like he was fitting puzzle pieces together. “And I’m guessing there’s more to the story with your mother, which we’ll get to eventually.”

The certainty in his voice caught her off guard. Like he knew she wouldn’t tell him everything tonight, but he was willing to wait.

Then, he leaned in slightly, his voice low.

“Is there anyone who takes care of you, Mabel?”

The words hit like her like a thunderclap, low and resounding.

Mabel’s expression faltered. It was a simple question.

Everyone had someone who took care of them—a parent, a partner, a person who made life feel a little lighter. Didn’t they?

She had her brothers, and in some ways, they took care of her. They gave her purpose, made her laugh when she needed it most. She had Mrs. Whitmore to offer her reassuring words every now and then. But she knew that wasn’t what Harry meant.

She let out a small, slow breath. “I—” She stopped, realizing she didn’t actually know what to say.

Her first instinct was to brush it off with some quip about being perfectly capable of taking care of herself, but if there’s one thing she’s learned, it’s that capability and need were two different things—and something told her Harry knew that too. All her usual excuses suddenly felt thin under the weight of his gaze.

She managed a wry smile, “I guess I haven’t really thought about it.”

Harry’s lips pressed together slightly. “That’s not a yes,” he noted.

Her throat tightened. “It’s not a no, either.”

His fingers tapped against the table, slow and deliberate. The space between them felt charged, both physically small and emotionally expansive.

“No one should have to deal with that all alone,” he said gently.

She let out a shaky laugh, half-mocking, half-sincere. “That’s what people say right before they remind you that, at the end of the day, you do, actually.”

As the words left her mouth, she suddenly felt like crying, but she held it in.

For an instant, his expression shifted—a fleeting tightening around his eyes betrayed his concern at her reaction.

For a moment, the cafe seemed to hold its breath.

“Maybe most people,” he allowed. “That doesn’t mean everyone.”

That quiet confidence again. Like a promise, one she wasn’t sure what to do with.

Mabel felt her pulse quicken, but she wasn’t sure if it was from his words or the way he looked at her when he said them. Like he wasn’t just making an observation, but an offer.

No no no. This is exactly the territory she didn’t want to breach. She needed to break the moment before she slipped too far into it.

“Well,” she said lightly, “I’ll be sure to let you know if I ever need a businessman-slash-library-patron to step in.”

Sensing her walls starting to climb around her again, Harry didn’t press the issue further. Instead, he offered her a knowing expression and nodded.

“Please do.”

Mabel let the words settle between them, rolling them over in her mind as she studied the man across from her. When she agreed to coffee, she had framed it in her mind as a professional courtesy—her civic duty as a librarian, a steward of knowledge, a public servant of sorts. She was simply being accessible to discuss literature, facilitating intellectual curiosity like any librarian should.

That had been the plan, at least.

And yet, here she was—sitting across from Harry, a man she had known for barely more than a handful of library visits—letting him see the parts of her she usually kept tucked away, behind polished smiles and convenient deflections.

In an attempt to hold onto some semblance of her original intentions—she nodded towards the copy of The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet laying on the table between them.

“So, what did you think?” She asked.

Harry’s lips twitched, as if he knew exactly what she was doing but was willing to play along. “Certainly not a business book,” he said through an exhale.

“Very astute observation,” she replied with a playful glint in her eye.

“But I can see why you like it,” he added softly.

“Oh? And why’s that?” she queried, curiosity mingling with caution.

“It’s a character study—about relationships, about finding where you belong. About knowing when to lead, when to follow... when to let people in,” he said, his voice a hushed murmur that made her heart flutter.

She drew a breath, swallowing the sudden dryness in her throat. “That’s a very emotionally insightful response for someone who checked out a book on strategic acquisitions last week.”

Harry’s eyes gleamed with mirth. “I contain multitudes.”

Mabel let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head. “That might be the first time I’ve heard a finance guy quote Walt Whitman.”

“I doubt it’ll be the last,” he murmured, and there it was again—the expectation that this wouldn’t be the last time they sat across from each other like this.

Mabel was dumbfounded as to how something could feel so safe and so dangerous at the same time.

But here that something was—sitting across from her, making her stomach tighten in ways she wasn’t sure she wanted to analyze.

And for the first time in a long time, she let herself stay in it, let the conversation stretch and unfold in a way that felt natural—like slipping into a current instead of fighting against it. They drifted back to books—her recommending novels with actual plots, him trying to argue that business books had their own kind of narrative. He told her about his mother and sister, who still lived back in England. She learned that he studied finance at Imperial College in London, an education that set him up to launch his own firm in America by the age of twenty-six.

“Did you always know you wanted to do that?” she asked, grasping her drink, long forgotten.

“I knew I wanted control over my own success,” he answered, voice calm, resolute. “I don’t do well with other people dictating my decisions.”

A faint blush warmed her cheeks—a reaction he noted with a small, amused smile. “Yeah,” she cleared her throat, “I can see how that might be the case.”

Their conversation flowed on—shifting from hobbies they enjoyed to anecdotes from their college days to their favorite foods and go-to spots in Seattle. They debated the merits of slow-burn character dramas versus high-stakes action films. Mabel learned he had a fondness for old thrillers, and Harry learned she had a deep love for Pride and Prejudice adaptations—especially the Colin Firth version.

It was... comfortable. Terrifying, yes, but easy in a way she couldn’t explain.

Eventually, the evening wound down. Harry pulled out his phone and slid it across the table. “If I’m going to be expanding my literary horizons, I’ll need a direct source for recommendations.”

Mabel smirked, picking it up, she entered her number and texted herself an “H.”

When they stepped outside, the air was cool and crisp against her skin.

“I’ll drive you home,” he said, easy, assured—like it wasn’t a question.

Harry had a way of doing that—saying things that made them feel like natural conclusions rather than mere suggestions. If it were anyone else, Mabel probably would have rolled her eyes. Yet, there was something about Harry's approach that she found settling and... safe.

Still, she shook her head gently. “Thank you, but I have my car.”

Harry nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Text me when you get home then, yeah?”

It wasn’t a request.

Mabel huffed out a quiet laugh and conceded, “Okay.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Goodnight, Mabel.”

She turned, walking toward her car, feeling his eyes on her until she was out of sight.

By the time she stepped into her apartment, she was exhausted. She shut the door behind her and reached for her phone.

Made it home. Thanks again for the coffee. -Mabel

She barely had time to set her bag down before her screen lit up.

Good. I had a wonderful time with you, Mabel.

And then another.

Get some sleep. H.

Mabel stared at the messages for a moment longer than necessary, her fingers hovering over the keyboard before she finally locked her phone and set it aside.

She got ready for bed—washing her face, changing into an oversized T-shirt, brushing her hair into a loose knot—but her mind was still at that coffee shop, replaying the evening in fragments.

His voice. His eyes. The way he listened.

The way he spoke.

There was quiet dominance woven into every part of him—his presence filled the space without ever suffocating it. His words didn’t demand but still expected. Sitting across from him, she felt both exposed yet safe, like he was peeling back her layers with gentle precision.

Men who carried themselves the way Harry did—men with power, with control—they were usually the ones who took. Who assumed. Who wore authority and entitlement like a badge—one they never actually earned.

But Harry was different.

Yes, he had an undeniable presence—the kind that made people instinctively take him seriously. But it was also the kind that didn’t require raised voices or unnecessary force to yield.

And he listened. Really listened. He had taken in her words and held them like they mattered. Like she mattered.

She never talked about her past—not with people she knew and certainly not with people she barely knew.

And the worst part? She felt something when those parts of him surfaced—when he told her to text him, when he told her to get some sleep, when he ordered water for them both without asking, as if it was all second nature to him. To anyone else, they might have seemed like nothing, just small inconsequential gestures.

But each time she replayed them in her mind, something stirred deep in her core—a pull, a recognition of a need she had had told herself she had long since buried.

She exhaled, flopping onto her bed, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes.

Enough, Mabel. She pleaded with herself. You don’t even know what this is.

And yet—

Lying there in the dim glow of her bedroom, staring at the ceiling, she couldn’t shake the feeling that they both knew exactly what it was—an unspoken understanding woven into every glance, every carefully placed word.

And that they were both standing at the edge of it.

Something that, once crossed, would never be undone.

***

More to come very soon! Thank you for reading :)

Read chapter one here.

[layniapetrovnaaa]

Rick Sanchez x Reader

I really want to make this a series but we all know how I do with those so for now it will remain a single fic sadly. also I need to stop making edits when I’m high cause I’m making inconsistencies lmaooo lemme just sit on my hands fr

Warnings: muchhh older man/younger woman, language, drugs, alcohol, underage substance abuse, flirting? Idk if I missed any lmk

Word count: 2.2k

***

It had been a warm fall day when the sun was shining earlier. The kind of day that makes you dread the start of school and appreciate the beauty of summer transforming into autumn. Only a few short hours later, as the sun was already starting to set much sooner, the stars had come out and the warm day turned into a brisk night. The cool and zipping breeze was just a little too much for your bare arms and legs as you cruised casually down the bumpy street on your bike. Headphones in, off in outer space, the street lights flashing over your head along with the beat. It lulls you further into your daydreams and anxieties until you reach your destination: Summer Smith's end-of-summer house party. Should be a blast. You couldn't say the party scene wasn't your thing– cause it definitely is– but you weren't one to go dancing on tables and taking your top off (at least not at this sorta thing). Parties like these were for you to sell and do free drugs, maybe occasionally getting some head. The latter had not been the case lately and for the past month you had been celibate, a bit unlike you. Not one to give up the cookie too easily, you liked to have your partner work for it. Rather nothing than let some dumb teenage boy try to have his way with you.

You fix your hair up a little from the wind and take out your headphones after you dismount the red bicycle and hide it as best you can in the bushes on the side of the house. You would have heard the music bumping two doors down had you not been in the moment with your own playlist. To your pleasant surprise, the music booming from the house wasn't terrible. It gave you a little hope this party wouldn't be as shitty as you thought. If the music's good it's difficult for you to have a bad time. Mix it with a lot of vodka, a lot of weed, and something to snort– that's a party.

The front door is already open when you make your way over so you head to the kitchen to pour yourself a drink.

You hear someone call your name and turn to see Morty pushing his way over to you.

“H-hey! How’s uhh how’s it goin?” he finally gets out and smiles sincerely at you. It was no secret that Morty had a small crush on you, but it was also no secret that he felt that way about all of Summer's friends, so it didn't phase you.

“Heyyy. What's up, Morty?” you lazily smile back, your muscles relaxed from the weed. You had eaten a few edibles earlier in the night and they hadn't started to kick in until you were riding over.

“O-oh, you know, j-just tryna enjoy the party…I guess.” he chuckles nervously and rubs his neck.

“Whattt? You're not having fun?”

“What?! NO– I mean yeah of course I'm having fun, I just, I don't know. Parties make me nervous sometimes I guess.” He chuckles awkwardly again.

“Go smoke a joint and feel better, man.” you pat his shoulder and walk away. Normally you liked chatting with Morty but he was kinda bummin you out and you just got there. Maybe later he could cry on your shoulder. You did feel a little bad brushing him off like that but the kid needed to learn to live a little.

After two drinks you decide it's time to roll up and while you are, someone offers you a line, which you gladly take.

“You wanna do some real shit?” Summer leans in and whispers to you, and you can't help but return the shit-eating grin she has on her face.

She leads you to the garage and the thumping music softens only to be replaced by the sound of summer rummaging through cabinets and storage bins and a victorious “AH-HA” once she finds whatever it is she's looking for. She holds the two radiant fuchsia crystals up to you and you give her a suspicious look. Your brow not falling until she proclaims with a smirk.

“Alien drugs, bitch. It's called k-lax and it's gonna rock your world.”

“At least I hope it does.” She adds dubiously and begins turning the crystals into powder.

“How did you even get alien drugs anyways?” you ask as she starts forming two lines of the brightly colored powder. Your eyes scan the garage and notice it's filled with what looks like more alien stuff and different gadgets. Maybe that was a dumb question.

“My grampas like-” she does her line and sniffs a little. “-like a biggg space nerd or whatever with crazyyy substance issues.”

You nod and switch spots with her, your turn, and damn did that shit burn. This better be worth it, you rub your nose a few times.

You had seen Summers' grandpa a few times when you were back in school. He'd come to pick them up multiple times in the very way he was currently entering the room. Crazy things had happened in the last few years, you'd quickly made your piece with otherworldly shit long ago, a green blob was nothing. That's not to say when it did just loudly and brightly appear behind you that you weren't a little startled.

“Oh shit.” Summer states flatly as a result of her drunkenness.

“Is that my fuckin k-lax, Summer?!” he roars, both feet not even past the green. You feel your body start to get tingly and you're almost certain it's the crystal at work. The portal that let in the old man begins to swirl around him, seeming to permeate the air and turn into a fog. The high was taking over and everything else became void. You reach out to touch the gas and as you do it starts to change color. The two others in the room were forgotten. An argument (if you could call it that) is raging next to you and poor summer is barely hanging on. Her high ruined by that spikey-haired asshole. Fuuuck I need to paint this briefly flashed in your brain but the sensation was too overwhelming. Each spot you touched was a new color and each color felt different.

The tingling sensation had heightened and felt like a nicotine buzz on steroids. To be quite frank it was close to orgasmic. But the colorsss. Did they each smell different? Taste different? You had to know. You had to be in it. You could somehow feel your soul in those colors. So incredibly lost in the way they twisted and turned and blended into each other. The fog was almost more smokey now. You take a deep breath in and it smells almost sweet but earthy, not floral. It's an odd mix, completely unfamiliar but not unlikeable. You feel the tingles start to leave with your breath as you exhale. Rapidly declining with each breath you take. The smoke– or fog disappearing with it.

“God, I neeed to do that again.” you slowly turn to look at summer. Your head, eyes, arms, and backpack all felt so heavy.

“It’s Rick, actually, and that’ll be at leeeast 50 flurbos.”

Were you still high? You blink a few times and look up at your friend's grandpa.

The old man eyes you up and down, lingering around your chest. Normally, you would have some quick-witted response to his somewhat pervy gaze and dick-ish response but the combination of substances was mixing just as you had planned. Everything had become deliciously fuzzy. “Shut up!” you blurt out. It seemed that a glance and your dimwitted response were all he needed.

“Get this bitch out of my garage. Now, Summer!” He growls the last part and goes over to the workbench, plopping himself down on the chair and swiping a finger over the crystal residue. His eyes close and he hums quietly when he brings the finger to his tongue. “Good shit.” He says under his breath but quickly after swiveling the chair around to look at Summer.

“You OWE me.” he shoots and swivels back, immediately tinkering with something on the desk.

You finally stop staring at the older man (which you didn't even realize you were doing) and turn to Summer silently asking if you two were going to listen to him. She groans loudly and starts to exit the garage back into the teen-infested kitchen. Taking one last look back into the garage, you follow her and slam the door behind you– which you really didn't mean to do– but you also couldn't be paid to care.

Your night carries on. You take a few more shots, hit your pen a few times, and soon enough your body is taking control and letting your brain take the back seat. You danced around a little, drank some more, and made out with a black-haired beauty. Before you knew it you had crashed and fell asleep on the small and kind of uncomfortable patio furniture outside.

When you awoke it was with a chill, the temperatures had dropped to the low 50s that night and all you had on was a hoodie you stole from summer's room. The cold was not what had woken you up, however, and it was the second time you had been started by the green portal. You sit up, keeping an eye on the portal and the man who is now coming through it while also feeling around the bench for your pack of cigarettes and your lighter. His eyes set on you.

“Are you the bitch that stole my k-lax with Summer last night?” You perk up and focus your attention on just the old man who is now right in front of you, partially only because you had already found the cigarettes.

“Yeah and stop calling me a bitch.”

“Well, when you're worthy of another title I'll change it.”

You roll your eyes and ignore him, telling him your name and he gives his back.

“I thought it was god?” you say in a mock tone, still searching for your lighter.

"Surprised you can even remember that."

He fishes in his pocket and pulls one out for you as he sits next to you on the bench, sliding his thumb over the spark wheel to ignite the flame and holding it to the end of your cig. Mumbling a thank you, you offer him one and he takes it and lights it. The bit of tension that you felt between the two of you had dissipated, at least on your end. I mean you were the one with the real transgression, but something tells you that the scientist wouldn't have accepted the smoke if he was that upset with you and/or his granddaughter. You can feel him watching you as you both take a drag and you want to turn to him and ask what about you is so fascinating to him but you don't. You keep staring straight ahead and it's silent and awkward for a minute but then he speaks up.

“How old are you?” he flicks the butt of the cig to make the ashes fall, sniffles a little, and looks back at you. You take another drag before doing the same.

“I’m 19. My birthday was last week.”

You see something in his eyes change as you turn to look at him and say your age. It's almost an icky feeling but more so it makes you curious and so of course you quickly turn away to look back at the grass.

“The fuck you doin' at a high school party then? Shouldn't you be in college?”

“It’s still summer.” You defend.

“Fair enough.” He takes a drag.

“I but I dunno. I started late I guess? I just graduated this past June.” You shrug. “These kinda things aren't really my usual gig I’ll admit that but these kids are dumb and will buy pot for way too much money.” You take a final hit from the cigarette and drop it on the pavement, squishing it under your sneaker.

“These kids? You just graduated.” He deadpans and you can't help but chuckle a little, understanding how that probably does sound kind of ridiculous coming from your mouth.

“I just mean I come to these things to stay caught up, maybe distract myself a little but mostly to take advantage of rich kids.”

“Sounds kinda shady.” He burps and pulls a flask from his jacket pocket, taking a sip, but keeping the metal container in his hand he starts again. “I mean no judgment, I do the same thing just, you know, higher scale.” He offers you the flask and you take it.

“Well shit, I'd love to go with you sometime.” you take a sip from the flask and you weren't entirely sure what you were expecting but it wasn't that. You cough and sputter and try to regain some composure so as to not make a fool of yourself but it seems it's too late.

“Oh my god, what was that?! Everclear?!” you continue to wheeze and Rick looks too amused. You start to finally get yourself together and he stands.

“Maybe don't get too ahead of yourself, sweetcheeks.” Your ears perk up at the new nickname.

“What happened to bitch?” you smirk.

“I can easily change it back, don't get used to it.”

He walks towards the sliding doors and pulls it open, heading inside and leaving you out there again. Alone.

[deanwritings]

The Guest House - Chapter 10

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Series Summary: Dean Winchester is going through a nasty divorce. He doesn't have much left to his name, but what he does have is his house. Leave it to his soon-to-be ex wife to find a way to even ruin that for him. Enter Y/N, who is looking to get away from life for a bit, and stumbles right into the middle of it all.

The Guest House Master List

Word Count: 3,180

A/N: Know it's been a while and appreciate everyone's patience!

It takes a little over an hour for Dean to finish up the two cars. Having been taught your lesson, you handed Dean the correct tools he requested, though he did remember to say “please” each time he asked. 

From time to time he would explain what he was working on, not that it meant much to you, but you were starting to pick up on a few things, which you were hoping to take home with you so you wouldn’t feel so helpless the next time you went to get an oil change.

“So how did you even meet Rick?” You lean against a pillar as Dean rolls out from the Stingray, shutting off his head lamp as he stands. He lets out a chuckle at your question. 

“I’ve actually known him most of my life.” Dean gently rests against the hood, crossing his arms. 

You just raise your eyebrows, hoping he’ll elaborate. 

“My dad used to come here all the time growing up, and so did Rick.” He continues. “They were around the same age and they kept in touch as they got older. My dad used to bring us up here when we were kids. I loved it, but Sam and my mom would spend our visits up here swimming at the lake, but my dad and I would be sitting in those bleachers.” He points out the windowed garage door to the grand stands.

“It would be July and it could be 120 degrees between the heat and the cars, but there was nowhere else we’d rather be.” He reminisces with a smile but he keeps his eyes on his oil-stained boots. 

“Rick is cut from the same cloth. He stopped coming around as I got older, got busy with his fancy life in the city, but when he ended up buying this place, he reached out to my dad and I, would get us in the ‘VIP’ suite, which were just his seats. He was excited when he found out I started working in Bobby’s shop, and then a couple years later he called me up to take a look at a vintage car he was going to buy. Said he had hired a guy but didn’t trust his report, so needed someone he could count on. I was just twenty-one, but he trusted every word I said, and I’ve been working for him ever since.”

You smile across at Dean, not that he sees it. Whether intentionally or not, Dean was opening up to you, more of him becoming unraveled. And there’s one question you’ve been wanting to ask him for weeks now, and you finally felt comfortable enough with him to post it.

“And what’s the deal with you and Nick?” You ask quietly, nervous that you may be overstepping, but hell, he brought you to a weekend away at his mom’s house. You were well past acquaintance status. 

You think back to that night at Max’s, your first week here, when you had gotten cozy with the blonde-haired beau before Dean had stepped in. Before Dean gave a shit about you, he did that night. And you always wondered why.

Dean takes in a deep breath, keeping his eyes downcast. 

“It started back in high school. It was just teenage stuff; he was the football star, I played basketball. We were both really competitive and it was just a lot of stupid ego stuff. But when Sammy started high school my senior year, Nick took an interest in him, and decided to make Sam’s life hell because of me. He bullied the poor kid almost every day. So I took it upon myself to make sure he never bothered Sam again.” A smirk slowly begins to rise. “Got suspended for a week because of it and almost wasn’t allowed to walk graduation, but it was worth it.”

“And what exactly did you do?” His eyes flash up to you, a devilish gleam in them. 

“I may or may not have rigged his airbags to go off when he turned the radio on one day after school.”

You blanch.

“You can do that?” Dean nods.

“But how did they know that was you? Even if he suspected you, there would have been no way to prove it.”

“Because I was waiting for him in the parking lot and after they went off, I pulled him out of the car and told him if he ever bothered Sammy again I would cut his brakes and make it look like an accident.” Dean doesn’t flinch at the threat, and neither do you. You had two younger siblings, both brothers. You understood. Being the older sibling also meant being the protector, and you had stepped in from time to time when your brothers needed it. 

Dean looks back to you.

“That was the end of it though. Never bothered me or Sam again.” He wipes his hands against each other before shoving them in the pockets of his coveralls. 

“Well I guess I really do owe you for saving me from ‘the town’s biggest asshole’ then.” You smile at him, using his own words from that night. Words you had thrown back at him in rash rage. 

“I would say so.” He agrees, pushing off the car and closing the gap between you. Your eyes stalk the movement, not missing a step until he stops an arm’s length from you. His eyes have that devilish sparkle that twists your stomach in the best way.

“And what exactly do you have in mind?” You challenge, standing up straighter even though your knees feel weak. 

“How about dinner?” His voice is low, shared only between the two of you even though there’s no one else around. 

Your eyes widen.

“You’re asking me out?” You gawk, practically breathless. His lips slowly curve up and he doesn’t break your gaze.

“I’m saying you can make it up to me by taking me out to dinner.” Your face and stomach drop, irritation rising like bile up your throat.

“Are you serious?” You cross your arm and drop your hip. 

“Sure am, sweetheart.” He purrs. You respond with a heavy breath out of your nose.

“I literally just bought you lunch the other day.” You snap. “Explain to me why it’s my responsibility to keep feeding you?” You bite, ignoring the fact that you had bought him lunch the other day as a thank you for taking you hiking. But he didn’t need to be reminded of that. 

Instead of waiting for an answer, you side step from him and walk towards the exit.

“Where are you going?” Dean calls from behind you. You turn on your heel and stare him down.

“Aren’t you done?” You huff, crossing your arms again. “I was headed back to the car.” You throw your thumb over your shoulder.

Dean just annoyingly smiles back at you.

“We’re not taking the truck.” You raise your eyebrows.

“What are we going to walk back?” You retort. 

Dean turns on his heel in response and walks further into the garage.

You wait a second, then two, to see if he’s going to turn around, but he doesn’t. You tap your foot, but Dean still doesn’t turn back.

You drop your arms with a heavy breath and start after him, following him a few stalls down until you see him leaning into the open door of a shining black car, the body sleek and clearly not from this century.

“Is this another one of Rick’s?” You step up to the hood, tempted to reach out and run your fingers down the polished onyx. 

“Nope,” Dean’s voice is muffled through the windshield as he rummages around inside.

“Can you answer a question that doesn’t require me to continue asking you questions?” You scowl, starting to have enough of this little game of his. 

His laugh just echoes as he pushes out of the car and rests on the open door.

“Remember I told you about my baby?” You squint your eyes, the conversation ringing a vague bell. 

You suck in a breath. 

“Your car.” You snap your finger then point it at him and it comes back to you, remembering how absurd you thought it was when Dean shared he called his prized car “baby.” 

Dean raises his eyebrows with a smile, opening his arms wide.

“Y/N, meet Baby. Baby, meet Y/N.” You frown at his exaggerated antics.

“Please don’t make me say “hi” to the car.” You groan, wondering exactly how much Dean loves this car. 

Dean pats the hood and leans in.

“Don’t worry, Baby. She can be nice when she wants to be.” He coos. Your eyes bulge and mouth gapes. 

“Should I be concerned about you? Is this what happens when you spend your life around car fumes?” You cross your arms, half kidding. 

Dean just looks back at you with a grin. 

“Get in the car will ya?” He orders before he dips down and plops into the driver’s seat and closes his car.

You stare at him for a moment through the windshield as he fiddles with something. 

Aunt Rose, help me. You say up a silent prayer before you walk around the car and take a seat onto the white leather bench. 

The inside is immaculate; conditioned, tan upholstery, a shining steering wheel, and a dashboard expertly restored to its former glory.

You run a hand along the felt ceiling, the fibers tickling your fingertips. 

“You really built this car?” You ask in awe as you continue to take in the refurbished wonder. 

Dean presses a button on a clicker attached to his visor, and the garage door in front of you begins to rise, sun chasing in through the windshield. 

“Sure did,” Dean turns the key in the engine, the car roaring to life before Dean flicks down the gear shift into drive. “Got her in a scrap yard for a couple hundred bucks, then would use my paychecks from the shop to buy her new parts. Took me over three years. Which is why I keep her here.” Dean slowly pulls out of the garage, waiting for the car to clear before he hits the clicker again, shutting the door behind us.  

You smile out the window as you slowly make your way down the empty race track towards the exit.

“If you love her that much why not just drive her all the time?” You play with the leather armrest that connects to the door. “Seems like a waste to just leave it in a garage all the time.” You muse.

You don't have many mantras in life, but one you strongly believed in not waiting to enjoy something. Your parents had saved an expensive bottle of champagne for you as a graduation present. They had won it in an auction years before and never had a good reason to open it and figured celebrating your matriculation would be the right time to finally pop it open. By the time they did, it had gone bad and your dad shook his head as he poured it down the drain. 

“Cause I ain’t risking a dent or scratch in her after all the time I put into fixing her up.” Dean waves at the gate agent as you pass through the exit, and you give him a smile as well.

“I’m just saying. What’s the point of having a beautiful car like this if you’re just going to keep her hidden away? You’re like an overprotective father.” You chuckle as you look back out the window at the passing scenery of bare trees and dead grass. March truly was an ugly month. 

You look over to Dean, catching his gaze for a moment before it returns to the road, a smirk his only answer. 

Without a word, Dean leans his foot heavily onto the gas pedal, the needle on the speedometer quickly climbing as the outdoor world begins to blur by.  

His heart jumps into his throat and his smile grows as the car continues to pick up speed. He wants to glance at Y/N, see her reaction, but he’s not reckless, not enough to take his eyes off the straightaway as the Impala ticks past 80 MPH.

He hears you take in a breath, but it’s not a gasp, doesn't sound scared or shocked, and he’s hoping you’re feeling the same excitement that he is as he shoots down the street, the engine rumbling through the front seat as he darts down his own personal racetrack that he’s driven down more times than he can count. 

Which is why he takes his foot off the gas, letting the needle fall before they come up to the bend that takes them back into town. 

It was only a few seconds, mere heartbeats, but it always makes Dean feel alive. 

Once the car is at a manageable speed, he peeks over to you – your hand is braced against the door, but your smile is wide in a silent laugh. He swallows at the sight, a lump growing in his throat before he looks back to the road, taking the turn at an easy speed.

“I know it doesn’t quite compare after Rick took you through the racetrack today, but every time I take Baby out of the garage, I’ve gotta run her.” He beams, triumph heavy in his chest as he shows off his pride and joy, feeling a pure sense of excitement that he truly hasn’t felt in years. 

Dean looks back over to you, your hair swishing as you shake your head. 

“No,” you breathe out with a smile. “That was great.” 

Dean releases a deep breath through his nose he didn’t realize he was holding. Almost like he was worried about your answer.

“Still think you should take her out more.” 

Dean just smirks, revving the engine again and letting the car fly. 

After Dean brings them to a roadside burger stand for lunch, they’re back at Mary’s house. Y/N had excused herself for a shower, and Mary and Dean lounge in the living room, the sun setting behind the windows, while Dean scrolls through social media on his phone. 

“Nice day out?” Mary asks from the couch across from him, a book in her lap.

Dean takes a breath and puts his phone down, hearing her tone. The same tone she had in the kitchen this morning when she was inquiring more about the woman he brought home.

Not taking the bait, he simply replies, “Good. Managed to get all of Rick’s cars done in just about two hours. He’s all ready for tomorrow.” Mary just rolls her chartreuse eyes. 

“And Y/N?” She asks bluntly. “How was your day with her?” 

He knows what his mother is fishing for. Outside of the odd high school fling, Lisa was the only woman he had ever brought home. And here he was, with Y/N, some random girl he met only a few weeks ago, brought here by his ex, showering just upstairs.

The thought lights something in his eyes as his gaze leaves the living room, thinking of the blue and white bathroom he was so familiar with, the lengthy standup shower, enough room for two, where Y/N was probably lathering soap all over —-

“Dean.” Mary chirps, almost like she can see her son’s thoughts on his face. 

“What?” He snaps, heat flushing his neck and cheeks, feeling like a caught child. 

Mary just sighs and moves her book aside, leaning forward and resting her arms on her jean-clad knees. 

“Don’t even start, mom.” He can see the conversation she wants to have. 

“You’re the one who brought her here.” She counters. He rubs a hand down his face and leans back against the cushion.

“Look, I’m just trying to be friendly. She and I started off on a really bad foot, and I’m stuck with her for the month. Also, when I invited her, I never thought she’d actually say yes. I was more being polite.” Which was true, but doesn’t change the fact that when he got her text that she was going to join him for the weekend, his stomach flipped. 

“She just quit her job and lost her aunt.” He continues on thoughtlessly. “She’s spending a month in a place where she knows no one. I’m just trying to be nice.” He sighs, crossing his arms across his chest. 

A soft, but sad smile graces Mary’s lips, and she leans back.

“Well then, I’m very proud of you.” Dean starts to smile, but it doesn’t fully form. He looks across at his mother. “What?” She offers him back a similar smile.

“Just sounds like the two of you may have come together at the right time is all.” Dean frowns as he hears the telltale creak of pipes as the water upstairs shuts off.  

“What does that mean?” He huffs. 

“Well it sounds like she’s going through some big life changes, and so are you.” She offers gently. 

“Oh here we go.” Dean rolls his eyes, his fists tightening.

“Huff and pout all you want, Dean.” Mary chastises her oldest son, who was always the most stubborn of her two boys. “But I think it’s nice that you two found each other when you're both going through a difficult time.” Dean fights the urge to roll his eyes again, knowing if he does, it will draw another chide from his mother. 

“Fine,” he concedes. “It’s nice.” He placates his mother, hoping to end the conversation.

He’s not a charity case. He’s going through a divorce, just like 50% of married people. He’s not the first and he’s certainly not the last. He doesn’t need her pity. Or yours. Not that you’ve offered it. 

Soft footsteps echo overhead, Y/N likely padding down the hallway back to her room. Probably in nothing but a towel. 

“It’s just nice to see you happy again, Dean. Been a while since I’ve seen it.” Dean unfurls at her words, his body slumping with a sigh. 

He’s being a dick. To his mother. 

What an asshole.

He runs his hand down his face again. 

Mary stands and steps around the coffee table, stopping in front of her sullen son. She rests a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“Don’t fight something nice just because you don’t think you deserve it.” She gives him a squeeze. After a moment, she steps away with a pat to his shoulder before she goes.

“I’m going to run to the store and pick up dinner. Any requests?” Dean opens his mouth. “Besides pie.” Mary beats him to it. 

“All good.” Mary nods her head.

“I’ll be back in a little bit.” This time, Dean nods, quietly listening as Mary grabs her keys from the kitchen before stepping out the front door. 

He hears Y/N move about upstairs again as Mary’s car comes to life in the driveway.

But Dean just relaxes on the couch, rests his head back, and closes his eyes.

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[whateverisbeautiful]

♥️Reveling in Richonne - TOWL

#7: The Choice (1.01)

gif cred: @machonnes

Ok so apart from a certain dream that comes up later in the premiere, this is my favorite scene of episode one. Andy did a phenomenal job as always and this was when we got to see some signature Rick 'Ain’t Nothing to Play With' Grimes. Craig Tate also was incredible in this scene. And even after already hearing that one line in the trailer so much because I replayed it 1000x leading up to TOWL, hearing it during this premiere was even better...

So they set the tone of this scene right from the jump with dramatic music as Rick unleashes the weapon from his prosthetic fist. He quietly approaches a sleeping Okafor, putting the blade to his neck as he tells him to “Wake up.”

Okafor wakes up calmer than some people do from a morning alarm and just says, “You forgot to salute, soldier.” Rick isn’t here for games so he gets straight into it asking Okafor, “What the hell do you know about me?” And that’s all Okafor has to hear to know exactly what Rick’s talking about.

Okafor starts to quote Rick’s letter saying, “'I think of the dead all the time.'” And hearing him quote that I was like like now I know he didn’t violate Rick’s privacy and read his personal letters to Michonne. 😑 Okafor, sir...

They then show clips of Rick from the TWD series finale when he places a love letter to Michonne in a bottle and throws it in the river like the true loverboy he is. Okafor casually lists out more info he has stating, “Her name, back of the note, your message in a bottle from escape number three.”

Okafor says he found the bottle and also the phones saying, “That was her on the phones, right? Yeah, I looked through those too. The child though - that was your daughter, right?” And Rick has crazy eyes as he hears this.

Aside from the portraitist and maybe Jadis reluctantly, this is probably Rick's first time ever even talking this directly about Michonne and Judith with anyone in years and now he has to talk about his girls with someone who is willing to take them out if need be. 😞

gif cred: @vidco

Another thought I had while watching the TOWL premiere is that Judith appears to be an especially sensitive subject for Rick. I think why he might mention her less than Michonne in episode one is because for a parent to have to just not know if their kid is alive is too much to bear. And so I think Rick is a lot more hesitant to let thoughts about Judith's status even take up his mind because it’s too painful wondering if she’s not alive whereas he knows Michonne is likely alive.

Hearing Okafor say he knows all about Michonne and Judith has Rick ready to throw hands and so he yanks Okafor out of the bed and demands to know who else knows about his family. 

gif cred: @riickgrimes

I love Tate’s delivery as Okafor says, “'Michonne' is an unusual name. Not many people out there” (baby, she’s one-of-a-kind 💅🏽).

gif cred: @nerd4music

He continues, “But if you start the search around where we picked you up…that’s potent information.” To me, Okafor calling this 'potent information' implies that he always intended to hold onto what he knew about Rick's wife and daughter so that he could use it as a trump card if ever he needed to get Rick back under control like he's doing right now.

And again, I have to applaud Tate’s performance in this scene because the brand of menacing he chooses is super compelling. It’s understated but still so chillingly in control and he’s a great foil to Rick.

gif cred: @nerd4music

I love how Rick's relationship with and love for Michonne is driving the plot and the stakes in this scene. TWD didn't fully explore Negan picking up on the fact that Rick had a wife, but this exchange between Okafor and Rick in TOWL gave us some insight into exactly how Rick would be if someone learned about his true love and tried to use it against him. 

gif cred: @nerd4music

Rick takes a page from the Will Smith handbook when he slaps Okafor’s neck and pushes him to the ground to let him know he needs to keep his wife’s name out of his mouth. Rick is really ready to scrap knowing Okafor knows about Michonne. 🥊

gif cred: @nerd4music

Okafor keeps talking and Rick punches him in the face so Okafor lets Rick know, “They would have sent me to find you, clean up my mess, and finally erase you. You are my charge.” Even using a term as cold as 'erase you' shows that there’s a lack of humanness in how Okafor views things.

gif cred: @riickgrimes

And then Rick proves it's possible to look extremely hot and like a raging madman all at the same time, as he listens to this with a nod and crazed eyes.

gif cred: @richardgrimes

Okafor says, “I’m the one who’d have to kill you and Michonne and anyone else you ran to out there. Just knowing about this—" and y’all, that was Okafor’s death sentence right there.

Telling Rick Grimes you’d have to kill Michonne...oh that’s when I knew Okafor wasn’t gonna make it out of TOWL alive. No one threatens Michonne and lives.

And Rick puts some extra oomph when he kicks Okafor in the face for the mere suggestion. Like please, the golden rule is you don’t come for a Grimes in front of another Grimes and here Okafor got to learn the golden rule by threatening Michonne Grimes like that. 

gif cred: @andy-clutterbuck

Then it’s Rick's turn to weigh in, in that black jacket that really flatters him, when he tells Okafor he doesn’t care why he’s covered in blood and why the bombs go out and don’t come back. (Even tho low key he should care because little does he know those bombs nearly lost him his wife. 😣)

Okafor says Rick does care because he’s convinced any A would be eager to save the world. But Rick has always been a guy whose goal in life is not to be some superhero leader. He wants his world back most of all. And we know who his world consists of.

Rick says, “This isn’t my city. Those aren’t my people.” It’s interesting because in TWD Rick was a leader who treated his group like they were genuinely his people and family, but here with the CRM he's avoided establishing any allegiance to these people whatsoever.

Okafor says everyone in the world is his people, everyone alive, and Rick raises his voice to say, “This isn’t everything!”

I know Rick is fed up because he feels like he found his everything long ago, so to suggest that anything other than his family is more important will just never sit well with him.

He feels this mission and this city is not a paradise for everyone because for him the only heaven he has on earth will ever be Michonne and their kids. 

Rick continues, passionately saying, “You don��t get to choose for the world! You don’t get to choose for me.” I love the delivery of that. Rick already chose what and who is everything to him.

Okafor just casually says, “I don’t. You did. You made the choice.” And first of all, Rick didn’t choose to be here at all so really he’s just had to work with the cards he’s been dealt.

Second of all, he only made the choice to join the CRM because it was a way to get back to the people who are his actual choice --- and who are those people some might ask? Rick will tell you. 😊

Hearing Okafor say this, Rick is like lemme make something as clear as day to you as he says with all the conviction in the world,

“My wife is my choice.”

gif cred: @riickgrimes

And now y’all excuse me a minute because the happy dance spirit is going to take over my being every time I hear that line.

Ain’t that line the best thing ever. 🤩 I loved hearing Rick say this and say it so powerfully. It was a great first time hearing Rick refer to Michonne as his wife. And I adore that he says she’s his choice. 🥹

So much to gush over about this one line alone. Rick calling Michonne his wife was big on my TOWL wishlist and this was such a perfect way to hear him say it.

I love that while he was taken before they could marry on the bridge like he wanted, Rick still knows what he and Michonne had was a beautiful love between a husband and wife. Just like Michonne knew it too so she wore a wedding ring around her neck all these years.

When I see Rick say this line to Okafor I like to think about how somewhere on this same night Michonne was in bed alone and little did she know Rick was out here throwing high-ranking soldiers around to let them know that she is always and forever his ultimate choice. Their love is just something else, I adore it.

Also, this line made me think about another time someone Rick had a conflict with brought up Michonne. In s3, the Governor wanted to make a deal with Rick regarding Michonne - infamously asking if one woman is worth it.

gif cred: @chonesmint

And man has that one woman been more than worth it to the point that now when someone speaks on Michonne, Rick can look at them with all the intensity and certainty in the world and say that she is his wife and she is his choice.

And then Rick lets Okafor know Judith is very much included in this as he says, “My daughter. My life is my choice.” Now that’s an A. Saying I’ve made my choice and no one is taking that from me. 👏🏽

gif cred: @riickgrimes

Seeing Rick still be so connected to his wife and daughter, still choosing them above all else, warms my heart. It’s great. 🥹 All these years later he still fights so hard for these two. 🥲

And in declaring his wife and his daughter are his choice it's also Rick revealing to Okafor that they are the only reason he 'chose' to join the CRM and play along. He was never actually bought into any program like Okafor or the CRM might've thought.

Then, Andy just knocks it out of the park even more as he says, “You think I went what I went through, did what I did, to let anyone choose anything for me?” The emotion in those lines was so good and palpable. 👏🏽

gif cred: @msanonships

I just felt everything we’ve ever seen Rick go through all these years flash through his head as he lets Okafor know he’s been through way too much to let someone else start calling the shots on his life. That power is reserved for him and Michonne alone (who Rick happily chooses to let choose things for him 😇).

gif cred: @msanonships

Okafor firmly tells Rick he made the choice and then Rick wants to start throwing shade and calling Okafor out when he says that Okafor lives for the people in the city because he has nothing else but his duty.

Rick's basically saying 'look, you don't have a goddess at home like me so...

Rick calls Okafor a good soldier with nothing and Okafor doesn't take kindly to being read for filth so he hits Rick and tags him to the ground. Okafor gets the upper hand and yells about how he lost everything and how he was the one to bomb Atlanta, which was interesting to learn he was one of the people behind the Atlanta bombing in early TWD.

Okafor reveals he too had a wife named Estelle who was a marine and how she and he didn’t want to keep killing people for nothing. Okafor says he had power and he had a choice and the choice he made was to...kill his wife. 👀 That was a wild confession.

And Rick’s response says he too thinks this is a wild confession especially because he would never do that to Michonne, regardless of a greater good.

However, while Rick would never do that, he does eventually in a way try to kill the relationship with his wife for the sake of protecting Michonne going forward. 

gif cred: @riickgrimes

I like how Okafor has to sorta pause before saying “I killed my wife” and even his cadence is a bit different when he does speak on taking out his wife. It seems to be the one thing he still has at least a little bit of emotion over. Like he says it in a detached way but that pause beforehand lets you know somewhere deep inside the act of killing his wife and thousands of others still stirs him.

It just goes to show when you find a real love there will always be a part of you that feels something for them no matter how detached you become from things.

But then Okafor credits his wife’s choice as one that saved even more people and maybe even the whole world which is clearly how he justifies the act. He’s a mirror for Rick to see what he could become if he officially loses his love - becoming a man who just lives for some greater cause of saving the world even if it means being broken and shut down because you’ve lost the one woman who saves your world. 

Okafor says, “I tried with you, Rick. I tried.” And Rick quietly says “I’m sorry,” cuz even in a fight Rick can still have empathy. Okafor asks what he’s apologizing for and Rick slashes him trying to get the upper hand but Okafor punches him and pulls a gun on him. 

gif cred: @nerd4music

Realizing he’s at a disadvantage, Rick says, “Just let me go” but Okafor says no because Rick is an asset to his plan.

I saw some debate on whether Okafor was ultimately a friend of Rick and I honestly think no. Rick was an asset to his plan and, in a way, Okafor seemed to feel like he owned Rick, even hanging the threat of killing his family over him to keep him on board. So while they may have got to a point of complicated comradery, I think first and foremost Okafor was just a different type of captor of Rick.

When Okafor denies his request to be let go, Rick then puts Okafor’s weapon to his head and begs him to end it. Which is super painful to see. 😢

It also is a very clear depiction of how he and Michonne cannot in fact lose each other and be fine because as Rick realizes in this gut-wrenching scene he now can’t go home to her - not because he wouldn't be willing to keep trying to escape but because he can put his girls in danger if he does - he really just wants to be done with life.

gif cred: @rcsitastark

Rick says, “Do it. Please” and he’s so clearly in despair and agony. 🥺 But Okafor says he won’t grant that death wish. He tells Rick, “They’re still with you. But you fight here now. You fight for them. You already made the choice.” And that part is true - his family is still with him, even tho I know Rick doesn't fully feel like it's true rn, having already lost the memory of Carl and been away from his wife and daughter for years.

It’s devastating seeing a light turn off with Rick in this moment as he realizes he can’t go home to his wife and daughter. You just see his mind and body succumb to defeat. And I found the CRM folk continuously telling Rick that he made the choice to be a cruel act of manipulation.

gif cred: @taiturner

So Rick just stands there with his head hung low as Okafor moves on from Rick's despair and just goes over the next steps regarding the Summit. And again you can see Rick becoming lifeless.

Okafor says this is the start of Rick’s path to the upper echelons of power and Rick tells him what’s always been true when he says, “I don’t want power.” He really never has.

Honestly, in s8 during the Savior War, it was clear Rick was ready to retire even back then. I’m reminded of Danai’s impactful and spot-on words when she described Rick as not needing leadership to be a man but rather being a good man burdened with leadership. It’s never been about titles and wielding authority for him. 

Even in Say Yes, there’s a reason he tells Michonne he wouldn’t want to be the leader of the next world. He doesn’t want power. Really what he most wants for his life is her and their family. 

gif cred: @ex0rin

But it’s fitting that Okafor responds saying, “That’s the thing. You already have it.”

While Rick, as he says several times in TWD, didn’t ask to be a leader, he is a natural one and so whether he wants it or not he does have power and he is someone who can make a difference. Basically, he’s just destined to be Him. Even tho right now he feels cursed to be that guy. 

And while Okafor says Rick has power, Rick is clearly feeling at his absolute lowest and most powerless in this moment, which will now lead to this episode's most heartbreaking scenes and a beautiful but painful last letter. 😔👌🏽

[mostlyinthemorning]

Around Schitt's Creek in 80 Days 1.01

Ten years ago today (ten whole years, David!) Schitt's Creek made its series debut on CBC and PopTV. To celebrate, I've pulled together links, photos, videos and other content for a whirlwind tour of every Schitt's Creek episode - one episode per day for the next 80 days.

Extra thanks to @carolrain for being my co-conspirator on this and helping to get things organized!

1.01 Our Cup Runneth Over

After losing everything, the Roses are forced to move to their only remaining asset, the town of Schitt's Creek.

IMDB Rating: 7.0 (why isn't this ranked higher? it should totally be higher than this)

Best line: You get murdered first for once / No, you get murdered first!

Behind the Scenes:

David's Sweater and Leather Jacket are both by Rick Owens:

Moira doesn't wear a wig in the first episode, but she does cuddle them lovingly (if somewhat hysterically):

Alexis hints at her adventurous past:

"He’s broken up with me five times already. Like there was that time that he never met me in Rio. And remember that time when he gave me his ex-wife’s engagement ring? And then there was that time last summer when he left his molly in my glove compartment and then I got arrested."

Celebrity name drops: Mary-Kate Olsen, Martha Stewart, and Diddy 😬

Playlist: Schitt's Creek theme

This fun video extra welcomed everyone to Schitt's Creek:

Other videos: First Look on the Set of Schitt's Creek

Step inside the Rose family mansion:

We've also selected a fic to accompany each episode. (Please note, the fics aren't episode specific, because how could we choose between 80+ night-at-Stevie's fics?)

Fic Rec: yes, there is a chain and no, you're not on it by strictlybecca

Patrick and Stevie's text chain.

Finally, to close out each episode, we have a fun poll:

See you tomorrow!

[cooliestghouliest]

LOVE ME TWO TIMES, ch. one

(chapter one) (chapter two)

PAIRING: eventual Mungrove x Reader

SUMMARY: Struggling to come to terms with the abrupt abandonment of your father, you’re left with two options – attend an “all girls’ therapeutic boarding academy” that’s really more Bedlam Insane Asylum than trusty reformative school, or move half-way across the country to a small town in Indiana to live with your older brother, Rick. The upheaval of your life in Fresno might just end up being a little star-crossed and a whole lot serendipitous.

WORD COUNT: 3.5k+

SERIES TAGS: angst. some pretty heavy topics in later chapters. just enough fluff to hopefully balance it all out. eventual smut (18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI). eventual love triangle. neurodiversity. dom/sub undertones (dom!Billy, switch!Eddie, switch!Reader), also bi!Eddie and bi!Reader but confused!Billy. drugs and drug addiction. no use of Y/N (but much use of nicknames and pet names). Reefer Rick is Matthew Lillard circa Senseless. more TBA as the story progresses.

CHAPTER TAGS: absent dads and mean moms. brief mention of self-destructive tendencies (way more about that later). your brother's a total cockblock. long-winded parental background information. this is really just some stage setting before we get into the nitty gritty.

A/N: this is my favorite fic i've ever written, and now it's coming at you re-edited. it's my verbose word child, sprinkled with a few What The Fuck and Holy Shit moments, dolled up with some silly humor and a dose of hot (and often borderline depraved) smut. a lot's already planned for this, so i hope you enjoy. :-)

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chapter title: O Brother, Where Art Thou?

You weren’t expecting the high pitch of the doorbell that sounded throughout your colonial-style home, and proof of that was now spilled all over the kitchen floor.

Tiny green buds were sprinkled across the white-and-black linoleum tile, some scattered in the blonde mess of curls that belonged to the boy kneeling before you, his mouth busy between your legs.

You’d been attempting to multitask, rolling a joint while twisted awkwardly at the dining table, the quarterback’s head shrouded by your bare thighs, lapping noisily at your wet center.

You huffed out a frustrated sigh at the spillage, but it quickly turned into a moan when goldilocks gave a particularly harsh suck on your clit.

“You needa get that?” he mumbled against your folds, tongue halting its assault only to speak before diving back in, showing no intention of stopping.

You shook your head, one hand moving to tangle in the his hair, the other crumbling up the now empty and useless rolling paper. “Uh-uh… prob’ly just some Mormons,” you answer, beginning to rock your hips up into the warm mouth covering your cunt. “I don’t wanna be saved.”

Chris… or Carl… or Craig… whatever his name was, laughed, the sound vibrating nicely against your heat. Your toes curled at the sensation, thighs wrapping tight around his ears.

He moaned appreciatively at your movement, running his tongue flat against the length of your opening. Maybe you could keep this one around. He liked New Kids on the Block unironically, but holy shit, he knew what to do with his mouth.

The bell rang again.

And then again, and again, and again.

“Oh, little seeeee-eeee-ster!” came a familiar male voice from the other side of the front door. “I know you’re in there, Bean. I can see your shadow in the kitchen!”

You shot up straight, aligning your posture and pulling Chris Carl Craig from between your legs by the grip you had in his hair. He gave an unappealing whine, his fingers moving up to console his scalp.

Standing quickly, you adjusted your pleated skirt so it fell normal again, just above your knees. “Up, up, up,” you impatiently urged the jock still kneeling on the ground, smoothing your clothing and hair to make sure nothing looked too out of place.

“Who is that?” the blonde asked, finally following you into a standing position, large hand still cradling his head. “Still the Mormons?”

“It was never Mormons, Chet,” you said, hoping your shot-in-the-dark guess at his name was right.

It wasn’t.

“It’s Chad,” he said, eyes beginning to narrow. Whether it was in suspicion, confusion, annoyance, or a combination of all three, you didn’t know. And it didn’t matter. You needed to get him out of here without your new visitor catching sight of him, or else you knew you’d never hear the end of it. Chad was still intent on conversing, though. “We’ve literally been in the same school district since, like, kindergarten.”

You bit your lower lip, offering a sheepish smile. “Right,” you said. “I know that.” You didn’t. “Sorry. Head’s a little loopy right now. Your tongue could win awards.”

With Chad’s newfound cocky grin, you knew the flattery angle had worked out. It usually did. Boys were such suckers for some ego stroking.

“Oh, fuckin’ right!” you heard from the front door, the visitor’s voice now cheerful. The door handle began to jangle, and you heard the sound of a key in the lock.

He must have found the spare. Of course he had. He’d only lived here his entire childhood, just like you.

The key had been in the same place it always had been since moving to Fresno -- under the coir doormat that read Definitely Not a Trap Door, courtesy of your father. He’d made it for the family after moving from Chicago to California for his new teaching position at CSU in ‘70. Your mom still hadn't gotten around to throwing it out, even though she’d managed to get rid of almost everything else inside the home that reminded her of her ex-husband.

The door swung open and there stood your older brother in all his punk rock, Fuck-the-Bourgeoisie glory. Short bleached blonde hair, numerous facial piercings, ripped Dead Kennedys t-shirt, tight red tartan pants, muddy black Doc Martens. He was smiling wide, dopey.

Fuckin' Rick.

You started to match his expression, unable to resist your brother’s effortless and childlike charm, but your smile fell flat when Rick’s now disapproving gaze landed on the blonde still standing at your side.

“A Letterman, Bean? Really?” Rick asked you incredulously, having spotted Chad’s football jacket as the jock in question slid it from its place on the kitchen chair to rest over his broad shoulder.

“What?” you asked Rick coyly, quickly eyeing Chad. “You know I don’t discriminate. I’m a true equal opportunist.”

Chad seemed oblivious to the underlying context of the conversation between the pair of siblings. He was watching the two of you interact with seemingly nothing behind his eyes.

God, so cute but so totally stupid.

You closed the distance between the two of you, Chad looking hopeful he was going to be kissed or something, but you instead reached your hand out to pluck a few pieces of weed from his hair. “You can go now,” you told him, finger tapping his nose lightly.

Chad’s face scrunched at your touch but he then shrugged it off, picking his backpack up off the kitchen floor before making his way to the front door. “See ya at school,” he said to you over his shoulder. Stopping briefly next to your brother, Chad assessed him before saying, “Um, bye, whoever you are.”

Rick pulled his lips into a tight line, raising his brows in amusement. He clapped his hand hard on Chad’s back a few times before pushing the footballer out the door. “Later, loverboy.”

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

An hour and a half later, you and Rick were seated on opposite ends of the tufted tuxedo sofa in the living room. A box of half-eaten extra cheese pizza laid open in between the two of you.

Some low budget horror VHS was playing on the TV across from the couch, the volume low. You thought it was called Ghoulies. You kept catching glances of tiny, ugly wet looking monsters scurrying on the screen out of your peripheral.

You’d been talking to Rick about senior year at Fresno Central High (you said you were doing great, straight A’s across the board, but in reality, you were failing everything but English and Music).

You'd been talking about work at Spins and Needles, the record store you’d been employed at for a little over two years now (you told him you’d gotten promoted to Assistant Manager, which was true, but you left out the fact that you were on Strike Two of Three for blowing off shifts to get high with some goth kids that routinely came in a few hours before closing).

And you'd been talking about your mom (this you were honest about – “She’s still a huge bitch, Rick, that hasn’t changed”).

But then he tried to bring up your dad, asking in an obnoxiously forced nonchalant tone if you’d heard from him lately.

But then he tried to bring up your dad, asking in an obnoxiously forced nonchalant tone if you’d heard from him lately.

That’s where you stopped him.

You were not going to talk about your dad.

Flipping the pizza box lid shut harshly, you sat up straight and faced him.

“Why are you really here?” you demanded.

Rick sighed, defeated.

He knew you’d catch on soon enough that this supposed innocent visit was actually a planned mission. He’d just been hoping maybe you’d be the one to breach the topic of going back to Indiana with him. Maybe you wanted out of this Californian hellhole. A chance at a fresh start, hundreds of miles away.

But he knew you recently had developed a penchant for self-destruction and self-catastrophizing, which meant getting you to see the bright side and the positives of his request was going to be near impossible.

Still, he had to try.

“Mom called me,” he admitted, which earned him a dramatic eye roll from you. “I know you’re failing your classes. I know your boss has been blowing up the landline wondering why you keep closing up shop so early. And I know mom’s a bitch. I’m trying to save you from her. She said she’s thinking of enrolling you into St. Mary’s.” Rick wasn’t surprised at the bewildered scoff you gave to that, St. Mary’s being Indiana’s notorious Catholic boarding school for wayward girls. He’d finally gotten to the point, the real reason he was there: “Come stay with me in Hawkins, Bean.”

“Wow, Rick, so noble. It only took you, what, ten years to come back for me?”

Rick couldn’t help but flinch, your wounding words accusing. And accurate.

It was true.

Rick, at twenty, had left Fresno in an old RV he’d bought for dirt cheap, with plans to travel the country and get the fuck away from his parents, Ronald and Maureen Lipton.

Or, away from his mother, really.

Ron Lipton was generally fine -- until a certain point in his life. To outsiders, the man seemed to be very happy and very put-together, successfully established in both his home life and his career.

Ron and Maureen had gotten married just a few short months following their high school graduation, after finding out Maureen was pregnant with Rick.

With the draft ever present, Ron enlisted in the army, while Maureen enlisted the help of her mother-in-law to take care of Rick (and eventually you, once you were born, conceived on one of Ron’s short stints back home), so she could work on her doctorate in psychiatry.

After being honorably discharged a handful of years later, Ron had gotten his Master’s degree in education and creative writing.

To the public, Ronald and Maureen Lipton were fantastic at keeping up the facade of Perfect Suburban Family.

In private, however, the Lipton household was like living in a layer of Hell.

Where Ron was imaginative and endlessly inquisitive, instilling a love of storytelling and curiosity in his children, Maureen was passive aggressive and judgemental, harboring jealousy for the relationship her children had with her husband. This eventually festered a spiteful dynamic between her and Ron, and between her and her offspring as well.

When the two of you were younger, Rick in his late teens and you in your last years of elementary school, one of your favorite backyard games was to wonder aloud to each other how and why your parents had ever even gotten together in the first place.

You were both sure that it must have been an arranged marriage of some sorts.

Rick thought maybe your grandparents had made a deal with the devil, and to ensure the safety of the family, Ronald and Maureen were forced to be betrothed for life.

You thought maybe Maureen was an evil sorceress who had cast a spell on your father, trapping him in a loveless marriage that he was an unsuspecting victim in.

The truth was not stranger than fiction.

The reason behind their nuptials was simple, really: Ronald was raised to believe he needed to provide for his family, and after having knocked Maureen up not only once but twice, he was resigned to the fact that this was his path in life.

Devoted father, loving husband.

While he couldn’t stand his wife, her harshness and indignation usurping any positive characteristics she may have once had, Ron did love his children. Dearly.

Rick was his wild child; his rebellious, rambunctious trouble maker.

Ron would sit on the front porch late at night, waiting for Rick to get home and tell him all about his latest escapades. What parties he’d gone to, what girls he’d kissed, whether he preferred the high from acid or mushrooms more. Ron lived vicariously through his son, encouraging the boy to play hard, but to play hard responsibly.

You were Ron’s Little Leia of Alderaan; his opinionated, open-minded warrior, brave enough to stand up to any bully who’d dare to make fun of you or your friends. You were Ron’s daydreamer, his whimsical muse, his daily reminder that there was still innocent softness in this cruel world.

You would have Daddy Daughter Dates twice a week, where you’d do things like go to the roller rink or have picnics in the park, and they always ended with a two scoop mint chocolate chip ice cream cone shared between the both of you.

But Ron’s love for his life dwindled the second he stepped foot inside his house -- where he was forced to occupy space with his resentful excuse of a wife, a woman who would never miss a beat to berate him for every choice he’d ever made in his life.

With your older brother gone, the squabbles between Ron and Maureen got worse.

Rick had been able to placate his father and put himself in the line of Maureen’s fire, taking her verbal hits so his father didn’t have to. You, being only ten when Rick had left, didn’t have much ground to stand on with your parents arguing, and trying to step in as Rick had would usually only make things escalate.

Ron fantasized about leaving, starting over anew. The immediate and resounding “no” that his subconscious always answered himself with, thinking of the kids, dwindled down over time, until all of his fantasizing led him to making actual plans of departure.

Last year, right before summer break was set to start, Ron finally left.

Having taken PTO from the campus, he’d waited that morning for Maureen to leave for work and for you to be on the bus to school. Alone, he took the time to pack all of his belongings, leaving only a few things behind, all with you in mind -- things to remind you of him in his absence. He’d intended on coming back for you as soon as possible, wanting to settle in somewhere before dragging his daughter into his uprooted life.

But it was over a year now that Ron had been gone, and you could count on one hand the amount of times he’d reached out to you.

You could count them on two fingers, actually.

The first time was the night after he’d left, when he’d tried explaining to you his reasoning, which you weren’t at all interested in hearing. You were beside yourself that he’d left you, just like Rick had, except Rick was your brother and that was normal, but Ron was your daddy and he was supposed to always be there.

Your mother, in anger that Ron would attempt to talk to you and not her, had disconnected the call, and while you waited by the phone all night for him to call back, he never did.

The second and last time he reached out was a few months ago, via letter for your 18th birthday. It was postmarked with an address in Fort Worth, Texas. When you’d tried writing back, you'd found the letter you'd sent in your mailbox a week later, marked Return to Sender.

It was mid-November now, and you hadn’t heard from him since.

At least Rick had kept in touch after he’d left.

He’d sent you care packages every month since arriving to Indiana in '81. They were full of sci-fi and horror books he’d found at the local Goodwill or Salvation Army, newspaper clippings for outlandish Classified segments, scribbled notes on stained notebook paper detailing concerts he’d gone to and new bands he thought you should check out.

Remembering this, you softened quickly after accusing Rick of abandoning, your biting comment causing guilt to swirl in your stomach.

Rick had his reasons to leave, you understood that. He was allowed to live his life. And even though he’d done just that, left and lived his life, he still always managed to keep tabs on you. The two of you hadn’t gone more than a few weeks without letters sent or parcels mailed back and forth since he’d first left home.

Never there, but never gone. Not really.

That was more than you could say for your father.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that,” you admitted, even though the hurt words you spoke did hold some kernel of truth. “It’s just… I don’t wanna have to start all over somewhere else.”

“It’ll be good for you,” Rick promised, choosing to let the accusation of his abandonment slide. He was sure you'd both get into it more later, considering it was a conversation that was long overdue. “The house is too big for just me anyway, and you know I’m fuckin’ shit at decorating. I’ve basically just been using beer cans for bookends and stuff like that – you could make it look way cozier.”

You laughed, sure your brother wasn’t exaggerating.

Rick was about as anti-capitalist as you could get, and that included being a minimalist when it came to possessions. Give the man a hand-me-down couch, a little TV, some weed, his cassettes, and a subscription to Playboy, and he’d be content for the rest of his life.

You were the opposite.

You loved things.

You had many different collections you’d amassed over the years -- your vast assortment of books had spilled from the two bookshelves in your room to several stacks littered throughout the house, much to your mother's annoyance; your vinyls were shoved into four big storage bins stacked under your octagonal bedroom window, which you draped a blanket over and used as a makeshift window seat nook; your cliques of creepy looking dolls you’d collected from estate sales and antique shops crowded your bed, your vanity, the storage shelf in your closet; the bug assemblages you’d been adding to since your childhood had their own corner of your room, little homes full of ladybugs, ants, and deathwatch beetles.

The idea that you could expand your knack for interior embellishing (hoarding, really) further than the confines of one room was one thing that made you start to consider taking Rick’s offer seriously.

That, and the realization that finally getting the fuck out of Fresno might not be such a bad idea.

Because what did you have there anymore, anyway? Shit grades? A handful of mean exes? A dead-end job?

Was any of that worth staying for?

You thought of your dad trying to reach out to you via telephone, imagined your mother answering and telling him you’d moved away and no longer lived there.

If it were only a few months since Ron had left, you didn’t think you would have gone with Rick back to Hawkins. You would have stayed just for the mere possibility that your dad would show up on the doorstep one day, begging for your forgiveness for leaving you alone with your coldhearted mother.

However, it was over a year now that he’d been gone. One year, four months, and fifteen days... if anyone was counting.

You’d never verbally admit it, but you still were.

There was a page hidden in the back of your diary where you kept track.

Your hopefulness was starting to make you sick.

Maybe a change wouldn’t be so bad.

Going back to Hawkins with Rick sure beat being forced to attend an all girls’ reformatory school, one with a reputation that claimed the headmaster performed shock therapy on students in lieu of giving them detentions.

You were sure that was just a rumor, but still. You didn’t want to take any chances.

“Bean, let me be there for you,” Rick said, reaching over to grasp your hand with his fingers. You noted his nails were painted a lime green. “It’ll be just like when we were kids, except now you’re older and actually cool so I won’t be embarrassed to introduce you to all my friends.” Dipping his head to the side, he wiggled his pierced brows, a grin toying on his lips as he added, “And we can smoke weed in the house.”

Pretending as if that alone was what sealed the deal, you stood swiftly. “Say less. You really should’ve started with that, Richard.” You headed off in the direction of the stairs that led up to your room, glancing over your shoulder at your brother who was staring off after you with a relieved countenance on his face. “Gimme an hour and then we can go?”

Rick answered with two thumbs up before grabbing a slice of pizza, shoving as much as he could of it into his mouth as you disappeared up the spiral staircase.

[wanderingmind867]

Gaea has been defeated by the seven. And Iapetus gave up his life fighting Tartarus. But the web of fate is not done with him yet. Oh, no. The web of fate is just getting started…

Kind of like in the Trials of Apollo, Iapetus reincarnates as a mortal. A mortals named Bob, naturally. Little Bob is still alive and with him, though. Mostly just because they're too cute to kill off. But anyway, Iapetus is back. He doesn't know why, but as the book goes along we all begin to learn precisely why. Unlike the Trials of Apollo, which downgraded us from Gaea (mother earth herself!) to some boring roman emperors which history can't even certifiably prove were evil, the Trials of Iapetus will have a big villian. It's Ouranous/Uranus.

You see, Gaea's defeat sent shockwaves through the cosmos. A primordial deity defeated!? It's unheard of! But she was defeated . And so was Tartarus, her vile second husband. Two primordial beings were defeated in one quest. It unbalanced the cosmos. With them defeated, strange things began happening. And one of those strange things involved Ouranous. After millenia in a death like state, he has begun reforming.

And make no mistake, he is angry. His wife killed him, and all of his sons (with the exception of Oceanus) helped chop him into little pieces. These demigods have denied him his revenge (Kronos and Gaea and Tartarus have all already faced punishment), but Ouranous requires vengeance! He has lost his sanity, and he is a being who lives only for revenge now. He cares nothing for dying again. If he dies destroying earth, he will be happy. He will crush Gaea, consequences be damned!

And nothing can stand up to Ouranous but the combined might of everything. Mortals, Gods, Titans and Primordials. And it is now Iapetus's burden to bear. This book series would show us Iapetus reuniting with his wife and four kids, Iapetus reuniting with Nico and Percy and all the other demigods who showed him kindness, and Iapetus walking amongst mortals (all of whom carry his spark within them).

The Trials of Iapetus would present a clear, happy and definitive end to Rick Riordan's world of greek mythology. But it would also show us as many gods and titans and primordials as possible within a five book span. The big one who i'd save for the final book in the series would be Chaos. Chaos, the first being to ever exist. The essence of nothingness. Before light, before dark, before earth and before sky, there was chaos. His form is unknowable even to the Titans and the Gods. None may gaze upon Chaos without losing their sense of self. But he is the oldest thing in existence, and an appeal to him may be the last chance anyone has for defeating Ouranous…

But to get a being like Chaos's attention, you'd need to wake him. Before him, nothing existed. He is literally the oldest being ever. He was last awake when the first titans were born. Confident in his children's capabilities, Chaos let himself drift into sleep. It's been millenia since then, and he has never once woken up. To wake up him now would require a summons from everyone on the planet; be they god, mortal, primordial or titan. So the main goal of the Trials of Iapetus is to wake Chaos from his slumber. And in so doing, perhaps a lasting peace can finally be reached between the gods and the titans.

[mrcrawly]

my actual genuine critiques of The Walking Dead

hey im about to watch TWD series finale and had some things i wanted to talk about here! also disclaimer, i think TWD is a fantastic show. there's not many shows i can say ive avidly watched for eleven straight seasons and not been bored by (i abandoned Supernatural after season 7). it's one of the most famous shows in cable history for a reason! but there are some things i thought were weird or just...? never brought up again? also, i have not watched ANY of the spinoffs yet, so if any of these are addressed in another series, lmk!

idk if ill get flamed for this but i did not like how Michonne was written. this is NOT me saying i didn't like Michonne, i adore her and she's a good character. but i don't feel that they developed who she was prior to the apocalypse enough. what details were given felt thrown-in and weren't very fleshed out. a lot of her significance is entirely tied to Rick and their relationship. i don't even remember if they gave her a last name. this is excusable for some characters who are mostly supporting cast members, but Michonne is a MAIN character. like guys. idk maybe some things just got lost in translation?

im not super critical of this one, but i wish they had fleshed out the significance of Daryl and Leah's relationship a little more. it felt like he moved on from that a little fast. like that is the ONLY real romantic relationship he's ever had and once he killed her it was just... done. idk it felt a little one-and-done to me

i just generally want to see more of RJ? why does no one ever talk about RJ? his momma disappeared and they just stopped caring about him like guys Where Is He

again, im not very critical of this one because Annie was introduced in the last half of the last season, so that's not a lot of time for... anything, but like, i didn't fully understand where she came from or when Negan met her. it's possible that i just got confused because of all the time skips that happened in s11 but . when did you meet her and how did you get married and pregnant this fast. but maybe a detail got lost in translation for me?

PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD WHY DID DARYL DANCE AROUND CONNIE like i just DO NOT understand what the purpose of EXPLICITLY stating that Daryl wanted her just for Nothing to happen. like im not sure what the point was. and why not? the ONE healthy relationship that he's been offered this whole time? like Hello?

i AM critical of this one: WHY did nobody mourn Tara?? or Enid? like the only person who mourned Enid was Alden and then he fucking Died? like i understand the big thing was Henry and yes that one hit me the hardest, but we moved on from Tara's death REALLY REALLY fast. like insanely fast. what are we talking about.

more minor thing but i wish Daryl and Carl had more screentime together when Carl was still alive ☹️

i never got the chance to care about Siddiq. like i was excited to get a new character and the fact that Carl had sacrificed SO much to help him (literally his own life) but genuinely he lasted what? a season and a half if that? yes he was the doctor and Rosita's baby daddy but. he was just the doctor and Rosita's baby daddy. and then he DIED and we moved on really fast! why??

ok that's all i got for you!! if any of this is just because I missed some major details somehow then tell me, maybe i need to rewatch?? idk

[alyssaforevermore]

Unearthed ↦ Daryl Dixon season one, part three

Synopsis: Based on the events of The Walking Dead television series, Y/N Grimes, younger sister of Rick Grimes, attempts to survive in a world now inhabited by walkers. Family has always meant everything to her, but in this new world, can she keep her family safe and together?

Show: The Walking Dead (S1-S11)

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader

Warnings: coarse language, violence, character deaths, drug and alcohol references, series spoilers and general The Walking Dead content warnings!

Tags: @1ivinqdeadqir1 @callmeyn @thegeorgiahuntsman @mellxander1993 @bigbaldheadname @cjmonsterwolf @abbi23323 @actuallyklee @lanxsee @livingdeadblondequeen @medeima @spectacular-skywalker (last two pls reach out to me if your names are incorrect so we can fix it)

Masterlist

You sat by Dale’s RV, silently stewing in your anger. No matter how much thought you gave it, you couldn’t think of a way to convince Rick to stay back at camp. Ultimately, you know it was fruitless. If Lori couldn’t convince him, you certainly couldn’t.

Rick exited the tent, now wearing his old Sheriff's uniform. As if on cue, Shane and Yourself matched over to him.

“So that’s it, huh?” Shane asked. “You’re just gonna walk off? To hell with everyone else?”

“I’m not saying to hell with anybody.” Rick sighed. “Not you, Shane. Least of all Lori, Carl and Y/N.”

Shane pointed to where Lori sat. “Tell her that.”

Rick turned around, tilting his head. “She knows.” He responded, turning back around and continuing towards the cars.

“Well, we don’t.” You argued. “Can you just explain it to us?”

“Why would you risk your life for a douchebag like Merle Dixon?” Shane questioned.

“Hey,” Daryl called out. “Choose your words more carefully.”

“No, I did. Douchebag is what I meant.”

“Shane-”

“Merle Dixon—” Shane continued. “The guy wouldn’t give you a glass of water if you were dying of thirst.”

“What he would or wouldn’t do doesn’t interest me. I can’t let a man die of thirst—me. Thirst and exposure. We left him like an animal in a trap. That’s no way for anything to die, let alone a human being.”

Lori joined the conversation, her hands folded across her chest. “So you and Daryl, that’s your big plan?”

Rick turned, looking at Glenn. “Oh, come on.” The man responded.

“You know the way.” Rick pleaded. “You’ve been there before. In and out, no problem. You said so yourself. It’s not fair of me to ask, I know that, but I’d feel a lot better with you there. I know she would too.” His eyes landed on Lori.

Glenn eyed the woman for a moment, contemplating if he really even had a choice at this point.

“That’s just great,” Shane responded. “Now you’re gonna risk three men, huh?”

T-Dog raised his hand. “Four.”

You took a deep breath, raising your hand as well. “Make that five.”

Rick turned to you, his eyes narrowed. “I’d much rather you stay here.”

“If you think for a second that I’m letting you run off to the dead city without me, after we just got you back, then you don’t know me as well as I thought.”

Rick eyed you for a moment, before finally letting out a sigh and nodding. He knew you were too stubborn to argue with; something that seemed to run in the family.

“My day just gets better and better, don’t it?” Daryl huffed.

“Do you see anyone else stepping up?” T-Dog asked.

“Why you?”

“You wouldn’t even begin to understand. You don’t speak my language.”

Dale let out a heavy sigh. “That’s five then.”

“It’s not just five. You’re putting every single one of us at risk. Just know that, Rick.” Shane responded. “Come on, you saw that walker. It was here. It was in camp. They’re moving out of the cities and if they come back, we need every able body we got.”

“Sounds to me like what you really need are more guns.”

Glenn smiled. “Right, the guns.”

“What guns?” You asked.

“Six shotguns, two high-powered rifles, over a dozen handguns. I cleaned out the cage back at the station before I left.” Rick explained. “I dropped the bag in Atlanta when I got swarmed. It’s just sitting there on the street, waiting to be picked up.”

“If we don’t do this, then we’re just sitting ducks.” You pointed out. “I needs to be done, whether we like it or not.”

“How much ammo is in that bag?” Shane asked.

“Seven hundred rounds, assorted.”

“You went through Hell to find us.” Lori spoke. “You just got here and you’re gonna turn around and leave?”

Carl stepped forward, looking up at Rick. “Dad, I don’t want you to go.”

“To Hell with the guns, Shane is right. Merle Dixon? He’s not worth one of your lives, even with guns thrown in.” Lori stepped closer to her husband. “Tell me. Make me understand.”

“I owe a debt to a man I met and his little boy.” Rick sighed. “Lori, if they hadn’t taken me in, I’d have died. It’s because of them that I made it back to you at all. They said they’d follow me to Atlanta. They’ll walk into the same trap I did if I don’t warn him.”

“What’s stopping you?” You asked.

“The walkie-talkie, the one in the bag I dropped. He’s got the other one. Our plan was to connect when they got closer.”

“Our walkie-talkies?” Shane inquired.

Rick nodded. 

“So use the C.B., what’s wrong with that?” Andrea joined the conversation.

Shane rubbed his head. “The C.B.’s fine. It’s the walkies that suck to crap. Date back to the seventies, don’t match any other bandwidth, not even the scanners in our cars.”

Rick nodded. “I need that bag.”

…

As the crew began loading the box van for the trip, you approached Lori who stared longingly at your brother.

“Are you really okay with this?” You asked quietly.

“If I’m being honest, not really.” Lori looked at you for a moment, before looking back at her husband. “The only solace I have is knowing you’ll be there to watch over him; to bring him back here.”

You smiled to yourself, appreciating Lori’s faith in you. The two of you had your issues in the past, not always seeing eye to eye, but the last few months had brought you together. If it wasn’t for her and Carl, you really doubted if you’d still be alive. If you’d have wanted to be.

Daryl began honking the horn of the van, Glenn sitting in the seat next to him. You headed on over, standing beside Rick and Shane.

“Last time we were on the gun range, I’m sure I wound up with a few loose rounds of yours.” Shane spoke, rummaging through his bag.

Rick smiled. “You and that bag—like the bottom of an old lady’s purse.”

Shane let out a sigh. “I hate that you’re doing this, man. I think that it’s foolish and reckless but if you’re gonna go, you’re taking bullets.”

“I’m not sure I’d want to fire a shot in the city. Not after what happened last time.”

“That’s up to you.” He spoke, finally pulling out some bullets from his bag. “Well…five people, five rounds. What are the odds, huh?”

You felt a chill run down your spine.

“Let’s just hope five is my lucky number.” Rick responded, taking the bullets and loading them into his gun. “Thank you.”

Shane nodded.

You looked back at Lori, giving her a reassuring nod. This was going to be the riskiest thing you’d done so far, and you just hoped it would be worth it.

…

The five of you had arrived just outside the city, parking the van near some railroad tracks before going on foot. When you finally arrived at the building Merle had been left at, Daryl wasted no time shoving T-Dog along to show him the way up to the roof. You followed close behind, barely having a moment to think about if the dead had seen you.

At the top of the stairs, T-Dog cut the chain to the door. Daryl pushed past him, throwing the door open and running onto the roof.

“Merle! Merle!” Daryl called out, looking around.

You followed the men who came to an abrupt stop.

“Oh my god.” You mumbled, covering your mouth with your hand.

Daryl rushed over, finally seeing exactly what you all had. “No!”

He began pacing back and forth, tears welling in his eyes as he continued to scream out. Everyone remained silent, not knowing exactly what to say; if there was anything to say.

Your eyes lingered on the ground, Merle’s severed hand sitting next to a hacksaw. Semi-dried blood was pooled around it, droplets leading away from the scene. Yet, there was no sign of Merle at all.

That crazy son of a bitch.

----

AN: Thank you for reading this chapter!! I really hope you all enjoyed it. This one was a bit shorter as I wanted to line up the chapters and episodes. Next one should cover all of episode four. Also, a big thank you for all of the love I've gotten on this series so far; it's really inspired me to keep going! If you'd like to request to be tagged in future chapters, you can do so here. Please be sure to like and reblog <3

[lilgoblinbitch]

when i read in the opening that danai wrote the episode i was shook, but i wasn’t expecting it to be THIS good! 🫠

like, the way she managed to capture michonne, to not only write the inner conflict she is going through, but to also to display it so well - oh my god. QUEEN the talent she has >>

the episode was peak, some call it boring but this is what i was looking for, rick and michonne having to find themselves again, to deal with their trauma and to reunite - we finally got into those deep feelings.

i also loved rick in that episode so, so much, his writing was perfect, their dynamic was just so good i can’t okay? 🥲

danai is undoubtedly a genuis when it comes to playwright, acting, and developing her own character. this woman is my favorite. favorite everything idc you name it. this episode was immaculate, words cannot simply describe how this episode made me feel. i mean the way she was able to perfectly capture michonne’s motherly-wife FEMALE RAGE while also making it 100% reasonable and 100% relatable to the audience. i felt every single one of her emotions; it was really an amazing experience. she captured the ‘fed-up middle-aged mother of two kids with a mentally lost military husband’ beautifully. danai straight up deserves an award. so the fuck does andrew lincoln. this show and the walking dead in general was carried by both michonne and rick in my opinion. the show was certainly not the same after they left. now that we have andy and danai together on this show, in which they are BOTH executive producers…. this is them spoiling us. i am so grateful for these two amazing himan beings.

also, i can’t believe people called this episode boring??? um…your head must have SEVERAL. screws loose. i don’t have time for a richonne hater’s bullshit. sit tf down and shut your damn mouth. go watch dead city if you think this is boring LMAO GOODBYE. because this episode ALONE captured everything that rick and michonne are — everything they went through, their chemistry, their relationship— the angst and the romance drips out from the screen and onto each of us viewers. i became so engrossed in this series because of the way it is written.

i digress. danai and andy are truly remarkable. this episode was my absolute favorite out of the series so far. i fully agree with you. thank you for sending me this because it gave me a reason to rant and spill my feelings and thoughts about my all time favorite tv couple (even though i do this every single day because my life revolves around them I CANT HELP IT).

[shinonome-akito-vbs]

hey there you’re getting ethan nakamura lore from percy jackson and the olympians hot book series written by rick riordan because i need to cope and i have autism and my hyperfixations are so CR詠ZY that once i’m obsessed over something i will be obsessed until i turn thirtyseven years old and also because i quite like you and ethan nakamura and i would very much like it if my favorite pjsk character knew about my favorite percy jackson character

so where do i start. okay. let’s start on ethan nakamura right guys? yeah. so i have been hyperfixating on this stupid guy for years. it started when i was like nine or ten. when i read the first book he appeared in (the battle of the labyrinth fyi.) i was like “wow, what a silly dude. i quite like him.” boy oh boy was that just the beginning. hot diggity dog have i become an ethan nakamura superfan. keep in mind this boy had like atleast thirteen mentions in the series, tops. i was living off CRUMBS.

ethan first came to camp half-blood (the place where demigods [half god half human] go to train) with a satyr, those ugly half goat half human things. except grover. he’s not ugly. he was left unclaimed, meaning his godly parent, nemesis (goddess of retribution), did not claim him as her son. ethan felt like he was being ignored, and felt irritated because of this. this was what fueled him to join the titan army, aka kronos’ army (kronos is the evil titan dude who wants to kill the greek gods.) one day, ethan met his mother nemesis, who told him that in exchange for his left eye, he would some day balance the world’s power. ethan willingly gave her his left eye and covered it up with a black eyepatch.

!!!spoilers after this part perchance….!!!

ethan first appears in the battle of the labyrinth, the fourth book. percy (main character obviously), annabeth (percy’s stupid girlfriend i love her), grover, and tyson all travelled to the labyrinth (the labyrinth is a maze if you can remember) with a mortal girl named rachel elizabeth dare who could see through the mist (a spell thing that makes it so that humans are unable to see what demigods can see; monsters, swords, etc.) rachel accidentally leads the four into antaeus’ arena, where percy was forced to fight a dracaena. after defeating it, he then moved on to fight ethan nakamura. this is when he is first introduced. who cheered. i did. i cheered. ethan, despite lacking a left eye, had good swordsmanship and was able to attack well. however, his heavy greek armor tired him out quickly, and percy ended up defeating him. though, he spares his life. okay blah blah blah percy fights antaeus then percy, rachel, annabeth, grover, tyson, and ethan run away from the arena. ethan refuses their help like the boyboss he is and returns to the arena, where the titan army was. in a later chapter, ethan is seen resurrecting the titan lord, kronos. percy thinks of ethan as a traitor because of this. during the fifth and final book, the last olympian, ethan on the princess andromeda, a ship where the titan army stays. percy, accompanied by charles beckendorf (a hephaestus kid [greek god of fire and inventing.] y’know rui kamishiro would totally be a hephaestus son), board the ship and set off bombs in an attempt to temporarily set back the army. they both get captured, but charles sacrifices himself by detonating the bombs whilst percy jumps off board. i miss charles, but that’s another lore dump for another day. did you know…. ethan nakamura survives the explosion…. no? yeah, he did!!!!!!!!! who cheered!!! i did!!! ethan is then seen again when manhattan (new york, olympus is located in the empire state building in the book) is under attack by kronos’ army and the demigods are left to defend the camp. at the time, percy had bathed in the river styx, the same river that achilles bathed in to gain his strength, but percy’s weak spot was his lower back. ethan had somehow known percy’s weak spot and attempted to stab him there, but PERCY’S STUPID GIRLFRIEND ANNABETH decided to block it and take the strike herself. later on, when kronos was destroying the olympian throne room, percy begged ethan to change ways and proved that kronos was evil. in a moment of reflection, ethan rebelled against kronos and attempted to stab him with his blade. however, the knife shatters against kronos and a piece of the blade cuts through ethan’s stomach, making him the last person kronos killed. before his death, he told percy that the minor gods such as his mother nemesis needed to be respected and needed a throne as well, because they were thought of lowly. percy made a shrine for ethan after the battle and chose to remember him by his good deeds instead of his bad ones.

not spoilers! ethan is of half-greek and half-japanese descent, being the son of nemesis and another unspoken father figure who was never mentioned in the books. he is impulsive and very brave, and according to percy, was a very skilled fighter. he is driven towards his goals and determined to achieve them, despite the consequences such as betrayal. since his mother was quite literally the goddess of retribution, he always had a strong sense of balancing things, and eventually repaid the favor of percy saving him. like most demigods, he was born with adhd, which gave him the ability to last long in battle, and dyslexia, which allows him to read ancient greek rather than regular english.

ethan nakamura is my favorite character in the entire percy jackson series. thalia might be a close favorite BUT THAT’S NOT THE POINT, ETHAN NAKAMURA IS THE MAIN FOCUS HERE!!! okay. so i’ve seen a lot of people legitimately hate or dislike ethan nakamura, which really makes me mad. like what did this boy do to you. what could this silly guy have possibly done to make you dislike him. not every titan army member is bad! except luke, i hate luke. back to our lord and savior ethan nakamura! he actually wasn’t that bad, but a lot of you HATERS are not ready for this conversation… he had a reason to join the titan army. he was ignored by his godly parent for, like, EVER. most demigods would’ve been claimed by now. this man is probably in the underworld  watching the kids in the other cabins sleep on beds while he had to sleep on the wooden floor of the packed hermes cabin. and that cabin probably smelled like body odor or something. okay, anyways. nemesis, his mom, ignored him for ages until she randomly pulls up, saying he’ll balance the worlds power. and since the gods are like the most powerful and he saw them AS powerful, he thought that maybe y’know…. getting rid of the gods would work. maybe that would balance the worlds power and make his mom finally give him some recognition. SEE HERE. CHARACTER DETAILS!! HE DID IT FOR RETRIBUTION!!! HE DID IT IN THE NAME OF HIS MOM!!! HE WANTED RECOGNITION!!! i cannot stress this enough. ethan wanted to be acknowledged by his mom. that was all he wanted. i don’t even KNOW if he got that in the end. he also had his character development. he tried to stab kronos, but that stupid blade shattered and straight up stabs him in the stomach. he dies!!! he sacrifices himself. and guess what!!!!! nemesis!!! is!!! associated!!! with!!! SACRIFICE!!! he died in his mom’s name! wowza!!!!!! no idea if his mom even cared, but wow i’d be really proud of my son if he died trying to save the world y’know… and in MY name too. if that’s not enough to satisfy nemesis, then i don’t know what is. then again, she’s a greek god. greek gods treat their children like crap. so i can’t really expect anything from them, much less nemesis. okay hi thank you for coming to be ted talk all my opps hate ethan nakamura

guess my favorite percy jackson character mode: impossible!!!

thats

a lot

of text

I did actually read the lightning thief several years ago

[joes-sha-la-la-la-girl]

When Love and Hate Collide: Chapter 3

Series Masterlist

Y/N found herself holding her breath yet again as she stood in the awkward silence. In order to avoid eye-contact she looked at her feet and waited for the lift to finally stop. There wasn’t any talk between the two but Y/N could feel Joe’s eyes on her. Part of her wanted to talk to him and ask him why he disliked her so much. But the other part of her couldn’t muster the courage to make a sound. 

After what felt like a year, the lift came to a stop in the lobby and Y/N waited for Joe to leave. As soon as he did, Y/N felt the tension roll away. Walking out before the doors closed again, Y/N made her way to the front entrance. 

She had to pass the group heading to soundcheck on her way. As she did she heard them all say goodbye to her. Waving at them all she walked up to Malvin and asked if there was anything else he needed her to do. After getting the all clear she went on her way.

*

Finally she finished shopping. Making her way back to the bus, Y/N quickly unpacked everything as they would be staying on the bus that night and went inside the venue. She was very pleased that everything was within walking distance and she didn't have to go too far. 

As she went inside she could hear all sorts of sounds as various roadies were doing the final preparations for the show. Y/N spotted Malvin quite quickly, making her way over to him.

“Y/N, I’m glad you’re here. Do you mind going backstage and making sure the boys have everything they need? Joe will need a few water bottles especially for his voice and the others may need one or two.” Malvin told her before pointing her in the right direction and walking away again. 

Y/N put on a brave face and made her way backstage. It didn’t take too long to find the dressing rooms. They all had individual ones but there was a main green room as well. Knowing better than to just walk in, Y/N knocked on the door and waited to be let in.

It was only a few seconds before she heard Sav’s voice shouting permission for her to enter. She did so slowly. Once she was inside she shut the door again, noticing that there were four smiles in her direction.

Phil and Viv had their guitars on their laps, whilst Sav held his bass and Rick had a drumstick in his hand. It didn’t take too much for Y/N to realise that she had interrupted a rehearsal. 

“Malvin just sent me back here to see if you guys needed anything before I get your water ready for the show.” She looked around at the boys, all but one gave her their full attention. The boys all shook their heads apart from Joe. Realising she would have to ask him separately, Y/N took a deep breath. Something she had been doing a lot around him.

“Joe?” She asked him. Much like that morning at breakfast, he lifted his head up at his name but refused to make eye contact. He just shook his head and went back to ignoring her. Nodding her head slightly, she informed them all that she would be back with their water for the show. She dreaded the next few hours where she would have to sit with them all in case they needed anything. She loved their company but with Joe there, there was always an air of tension, making everyone uncomfortable.

Y/N went to the store room that the venue had put aside for things to be held for the band and retrieved water for all the guys. Carrying them back in a crate, Y/N didn’t see someone walking towards her until the last minute. Bumping into them, Y/N started to apologise again, still not seeing who it was. All the bottles had fallen to the floor and she quickly crouched down to pick them up. The person in front of her hesitated before kneeling down to help her. 

Sending them her thanks, Y/N looked up to see the one and only Joe Elliott. Internally face palming for bumping into him yet again, She apologised again before getting cut off.

“It’s fine.” Joe mumbled, “Let me just help you take these to the dressing room.” Although he offered, Y/N got from the tone of his voice that it was the last thing he wanted to be doing. Y/N just let him help her, not wanting to upset him anymore than she already seemed to. After they got all the bottles in the crate, Y/N went to pick them up but was stopped by Joe doing so. 

“It’s obvious that if you carry these you’ll bump into someone again, so just let me.” Joe snapped at her. Having enough of his attitude towards her over the last two days, Y/N started talking before she could stop herself.

“Why do you hate me?” She asked him. Instantly regretting saying anything when she saw him roll his eyes. 

“Not everyone always gets along, Little Miss Perfect.” Joe told her sharply. Ignoring the name calling, Y/N decided to push it further. If she was going to spend the next year with this man, then she at least needed to know why he was acting like this towards her.

“I know that” Y/N spoke trying to keep her voice calm, not showing him how nervous he was making her, “But I haven’t, to my knowledge, actually done anything to you to warrant this hostility.” 

“Maybe not. I know what you are doing and I’m not going to let you do it.”

Y/N looked at him quizzically, “What am I doing?” She asked him.

“Don’t take me for a fool Miss Y/L/N. This must be great for you, travelling with rockstars, spending every minute with them. Just know that I’m never going to let you get too close.” Joe clenched his fists around the crate. Walking on ahead, leaving Y/N more confused than before.

Reluctantly, Y/N follows him to the dressing room. Their argument, if she could even call it that, had left her feeling sick almost, it was one thing not to like her, but another to accuse her of something, not telling her what it was. 

The rest of the band could feel the thick air as the two walked back into the dressing room. Joe walked back out again, mumbling something about ‘finally going to the bathroom’ and Sav looked at Y/N for answers.

“Everything alright?” He asked her softly. He couldn’t and quite frankly didn’t want to, believe that his best friend could treat someone this way. Nodding her head, Y/N told him not to worry about it. Wanting him to just focus on their first show of the tour. Sav took this as an answer for now, knowing that he would have to find out more at some point for the sake of everybody on the tour. 

*

The show went great, like always. Y/N went and watched from the side. This was her first Def Leppard show and she could only imagine if it was this great from backstage, then it must have been fantastic for the fans, surrounded by the atmosphere of the rest of the audience. She held the water on the side for all five of them, Joe coming to her twice for some water. Both times he nodded in thanks and left again straight after. 

Y/N congratulated all of them as they finally left the stage after their encore. Joe walked straight past her but Sav and Viv gave her a sweaty hug and Phil and Rick walked with her as they went back to their dressing room. There was a set of showers down the corridor so all five went off to shower and Y/N waited for them before she would help escort them to the hotel. By help she meant, walk with them and try not to get trampled by fans.

*

Going back to the hotel had been a task but the band went to the hotel bar to celebrate. Not necessarily with alcohol but to unwind after the show. They had a few days before the next show, so one late night wouldn’t matter. Tomorrow the band will make their way to the next hotel and rest. Y/N let them all have time as a band, refusing Viv’s offer to join them and went upstairs to her room for an early night. 

However, that didn’t quite go to plan. She couldn’t settle and decided that she would go for a short walk instead. She had a few hours before the hotel locked up for the night. Going downstairs, she hadn’t realised how stressed out she looked. The disagreement with Joe running through her head. As she left the lift, she saw Sav about to get in. When he saw her appearance however, he stopped her.

“Where’re you going?” He asked her, putting his hand on her arm in an attempt to comfort her.

“Just for a walk. I won’t be long.” She smiled at him.

“Mind if I join?” Sav knew there was something bothering her but didn’t know what. He also knew that LA wasn’t the safest alone at night and wanted to make sure she was alright. Y/N nodded at him and allowed him to walk alongside her. Not noticing a pair of eyes watching them leave.

[aoyagi-vbs]

hey there you’re getting ethan nakamura lore from percy jackson and the olympians hit book series written by rick riordan because i need to cope and i have autism and my hyperfixations are so CR詠ZY that once i’m obsessed over something i will be obsessed until i turn thirtyseven years old and also because i quite like you and ethan nakamura and i would very much like it if one of my favorite pjsk character knew about my favorite percy jackson character

so where do i start. okay. let’s start on ethan nakamura right guys? yeah. so i have been hyperfixating on this stupid guy for years. it started when i was like nine or ten. when i read the first book he appeared in (the battle of the labyrinth fyi.) i was like “wow, what a silly dude. i quite like him.” boy oh boy was that just the beginning. hot diggity dog have i become an ethan nakamura superfan. keep in mind this boy had like atleast thirteen mentions in the series, tops. i was living off CRUMBS.

ethan first came to camp half-blood (the place where demigods [half god half human] go to train) with a satyr, those ugly half goat half human things. except grover. he’s not ugly. he was left unclaimed, meaning his godly parent, nemesis (goddess of retribution), did not claim him as her son. ethan felt like he was being ignored, and felt irritated because of this. this was what fueled him to join the titan army, aka kronos’ army (kronos is the evil titan dude who wants to kill the greek gods.) one day, ethan met his mother nemesis, who told him that in exchange for his left eye, he would some day balance the world’s power. ethan willingly gave her his left eye and covered it up with a black eyepatch.

!!!spoilers after this part perchance….!!!

ethan first appears in the battle of the labyrinth, the fourth book. percy (main character obviously), annabeth (percy’s stupid girlfriend i love her), grover, and tyson all travelled to the labyrinth (the labyrinth is a maze if you can remember) with a mortal girl named rachel elizabeth dare who could see through the mist (a spell thing that makes it so that humans are unable to see what demigods can see; monsters, swords, etc.) rachel accidentally leads the four into antaeus’ arena, where percy was forced to fight a dracaena. after defeating it, he then moved on to fight ethan nakamura. this is when he is first introduced. who cheered. i did. i cheered. ethan, despite lacking a left eye, had good swordsmanship and was able to attack well. however, his heavy greek armor tired him out quickly, and percy ended up defeating him. though, he spares his life. okay blah blah blah percy fights antaeus then percy, rachel, annabeth, grover, tyson, and ethan run away from the arena. ethan refuses their help like the boyboss he is and returns to the arena, where the titan army was. in a later chapter, ethan is seen resurrecting the titan lord, kronos. percy thinks of ethan as a traitor because of this. during the fifth and final book, the last olympian, ethan on the princess andromeda, a ship where the titan army stays. percy, accompanied by charles beckendorf (a hephaestus kid [greek god of fire and inventing.] y’know rui kamishiro would totally be a hephaestus son), board the ship and set off bombs in an attempt to temporarily set back the army. they both get captured, but charles sacrifices himself by detonating the bombs whilst percy jumps off board. i miss charles, but that’s another lore dump for another day. did you know…. ethan nakamura survives the explosion…. no? yeah, he did!!!!!!!!! who cheered!!! i did!!! ethan is then seen again when manhattan (new york, olympus is located in the empire state building in the book) is under attack by kronos’ army and the demigods are left to defend the camp. at the time, percy had bathed in the river styx, the same river that achilles bathed in to gain his strength, but percy’s weak spot was his lower back. ethan had somehow known percy’s weak spot and attempted to stab him there, but PERCY’S STUPID GIRLFRIEND ANNABETH decided to block it and take the strike herself. later on, when kronos was destroying the olympian throne room, percy begged ethan to change ways and proved that kronos was evil. in a moment of reflection, ethan rebelled against kronos and attempted to stab him with his blade. however, the knife shatters against kronos and a piece of the blade cuts through ethan’s stomach, making him the last person kronos killed. before his death, he told percy that the minor gods such as his mother nemesis needed to be respected and needed a throne as well, because they were thought of lowly. percy made a shrine for ethan after the battle and chose to remember him by his good deeds instead of his bad ones.

not spoilers! ethan is of half-greek and half-japanese descent, being the son of nemesis and another unspoken father figure who was never mentioned in the books. he is impulsive and very brave, and according to percy, was a very skilled fighter. he is driven towards his goals and determined to achieve them, despite the consequences such as betrayal. since his mother was quite literally the goddess of retribution, he always had a strong sense of balancing things, and eventually repaid the favor of percy saving him. like most demigods, he was born with adhd, which gave him the ability to last long in battle, and dyslexia, which allows him to read ancient greek rather than regular english.

ethan nakamura is my favorite character in the entire percy jackson series. thalia might be a close favorite BUT THAT’S NOT THE POINT, ETHAN NAKAMURA IS THE MAIN FOCUS HERE!!! okay. so i’ve seen a lot of people legitimately hate or dislike ethan nakamura, which really makes me mad. like what did this boy do to you. what could this silly guy have possibly done to make you dislike him. not every titan army member is bad! except luke, i hate luke. back to our lord and savior ethan nakamura! he actually wasn’t that bad, but a lot of you HATERS are not ready for this conversation… he had a reason to join the titan army. he was ignored by his godly parent for, like, EVER. most demigods would’ve been claimed by now. this man is probably in the underworld  watching the kids in the other cabins sleep on beds while he had to sleep on the wooden floor of the packed hermes cabin. and that cabin probably smelled like body odor or something. okay, anyways. nemesis, his mom, ignored him for ages until she randomly pulls up, saying he’ll balance the worlds power. and since the gods are like the most powerful and he saw them AS powerful, he thought that maybe y’know…. getting rid of the gods would work. maybe that would balance the worlds power and make his mom finally give him some recognition. SEE HERE. CHARACTER DETAILS!! HE DID IT FOR RETRIBUTION!!! HE DID IT IN THE NAME OF HIS MOM!!! HE WANTED RECOGNITION!!! i cannot stress this enough. ethan wanted to be acknowledged by his mom. that was all he wanted. i don’t even KNOW if he got that in the end. he also had his character development. he tried to stab kronos, but that stupid blade shattered and straight up stabs him in the stomach. he dies!!! he sacrifices himself. and guess what!!!!! nemesis!!! is!!! associated!!! with!!! SACRIFICE!!! he died in his mom’s name! wowza!!!!!! no idea if his mom even cared, but wow i’d be really proud of my son if he died trying to save the world y’know… and in MY name too. if that’s not enough to satisfy nemesis, then i don’t know what is. then again, she’s a greek god. greek gods treat their children like crap. so i can’t really expect anything from them, much less nemesis. okay hi thank you for coming to my ted talk all my opps hate ethan nakamura

The tidbits of general lore here are....a wild ride, as someone who hasn't associated with Percy Jackson in general.

(See: "Like most demigods, he was born with ADHD," or, "Greek gods treat their children badly," and especially, "Olympus is located in the empire state building in the book,")

Nakamura himself has solid motivations, even if his initial alliances were questionable. I don't understand why some people bother spend their energy bashing characters for doing bad things, primarily when they're written to be antagonistic in order to drive the plot forward. It irks me in cases where the characters' reasons are explained and understandable (even if their actions are not), yet people choose to ignore them still.

Ah, he ended up acting in the name of redemption. Good for him, good for him.

[chernobog13]

Batman and Manhunter (Paul Kirk) by Walt Simonson.

This version of Manhunter has a rather confusing history. Originally, Paul Kirk was a private investigator, created by Ed Moore, who starred in his own serial in Adventure Comics (vol. 1) starting with issue #58 (January, 1941). The feature was titled Paul Kirk, Manhunter, but that was just a description of the job he did, not a nickname he used, nor was he ever called that.

The Paul Kirk, Manhunter feature ended in issue #72.

The final appearance of Paul Kirk, Manhunter, from Adventure Comics #72.

Adventure Comics #73, April 1942)* saw the debut of a new, costumed Manhunter feature by Joe Simon and Jack Kirby.

The new Manhunter was Rick Nelson (no, not Ozzie and Harriet's kid), a former big game hunter who decided he should put his skills to use hunting down criminals. He donned a costume and began his career as a crimefighter.

The cover of Adventure Comics #73, the new Manhunter's first appearance, and page 8 from his initial story. Obviously, no one at DC editorial knew that Manhunter had a blue face mask, which is why the colorist went out of his way to create a mask for the character.

Adventure Comics #75, wherein everyone is finally on the same page about the mask, except now his ear is blue as well.

As you can tell from these images, the new Manhunter definitely was in no way related to the previous feature with Paul Kirk.

Except by his second appearance in Adventure Comics #74 the character's name was changed from Rick Nelson to Paul Kirk. I don't know why made that decision, although many sources point the finger at DC's editorial staff. Anyhow, that led to the original Paul Kirk getting completely retconned out of DC continuity.

Simon and Kirby left the Manhunter feature after Adventure Comics #80 (November, 1942), although they were still doing the Sandman feature in that book. Manhunter's final appearance was in Adventure Comics #92 (June, 1944).

Writer/editor Archie Goodwin and artist Walt Simonson revived the Manhunter character for a series of 8-page back-up stories in Detective Comics (vol. 1) #473 (November, 1973).

The new Manhunter by Walt Simonson. The figure is from a DC house ad.

This new Manhunter was a revived and revised Paul Kirk. Kirk had given up the costumed crimefighter gig and returned to big game hunting. He was mortally wounded during a hunt, and that would have been the end of him. But an organization called the Council found him, used their super-science to heal him, and gave him a genetic enhancement that gave him advanced healing. They also cloned him enough times to create a small army, of which Kirk was leader.

Goodwin and Simonson were going to make their Manhunter a completely original character. However, they used Simon and Kirby's version of Paul Kirk so that they did not have to spend their limited comic book pages to create a back story for their hero.

Kirk eventually realized the Council was up to no good and began working to take the organization down. He gained some allies along the way, including Batman. Together they brought an end to the Council, although Kirk lost his life - for good this time - when he caused the Council's HQ to explode.

Jack Kirby tried to revive his Joe Simon's version of Manhunter in 1st Issue Special #5 (August, 1975).

The main character was Mark Shaw, not Paul Kirk, but the costumes were very similar. Jack also established an ancient organization that picked worthy individuals to act as a Manhunter to take down the criminals and gangs that the police could not - or would not - touch.

Unfortunately, Jack never got to finish that story. Instead, Steve Englehart took the concept and ran with it in a totally different direction during his brief tenure as the writer on Justice League of America.

That was not the end of the Manhunter character, of course, which has been revived several more times (including twice by surviving clones of Kirk). But that's a post for another day.

(* In March, 1942, one month before Simon and Kirby's Manhunter debuted, Quality Comics introduced their own Manhunter in Police Comics #8.

This guy was Dan Richards, a police rookie who graduated at the bottom of his academy class. A friend of his got framed, so Richards donned a rather dull costume (sometimes without pants, and the footprint chest emblem didn't last long) to fight crime. He was assisted by his faithful dog, Thor.

This Manhunter outlasted DC's version by a good stretch, until August, 1950's Police Comics #101.

Shortly thereafter, DC bought all of Quality's characters. Eventually all of them were incorporated into the DC Universe. The two different Manhunters finally met, post-Crisis On Infinite Earths, in All-Star Squadron #31.)

[popculturebuffet]

Finally on Adult Swim originals, favorite character from the originals from 2019 - onward era (notably, live action slowed down at this point and shows reduced to just 1-2 premiering per year now): Tigtone, Lazor Wulf, Momma Named Me Sheriff, Beef House, Three Busy Debras, YOLO, Birdgirl, Tuca & Bertie, Teenage Euthanasia, Smiling Friends, Royal Crackers, Rick & Morty the Anime, and Invincible Super Girl (okay, it just came out but still)? Skipping Primal, Unicorns Warriors Eternal, and JJ Villard's Fairy Tales since the CN Studios miscellanous ask covers them. Also skipped My Adventures with Superman since WB Animation ask covered it. I know this is a lot but I'm positive you haven't seen a good amount of those so I got more comfortable just lumping all of 2019 onward in one era.

Also noticing by 2023, Adult Swim got more preferred between Cartoon Network losing their primetime hours of 5-8 PM to Adult Swim that year (meaning there's more Adult Swim hours than Cartoon Network hours now), stuff intended for Cartoon Network moving to Adult Swim such as My Adventures with Superman, Unicorns Warriors Eternal, and Invincible Super Girl, and even the nostagic blocks such as Checkered Past (showcasting the big CN originals from the Cartoon Cartoons era) and Toonami Rewind (throwback to the original Toonami from 1997-2008 with Sailor Moon, Dragon Ball Z Kai, and Naruto on the block) landing on Adult Swim over Cartoon Network.

ON the latter thing, yeah. I think Adult Swim is slowly eating CN, airing content that's fine for kids too, simply because WBD is carring less and less about cartoon network and children's cartoons in general. So it makes more sense to pivot to something that in their greasy eyes is making money. It's not all bad as checkered past and the shows mentioned are still fine for kids, but it is noticable.

Just going with what I did last time and wish I'd done sooner: If I don't mention something, I didn't see it. ALONSY!

Beef House: I loved this one. Genuinely loved it. I don't have a faviorite character as it's been a while but Tim and Eric parodying a stock sitcom with a WACCKKKKYYYY premise is perfect. IT's a real shame this didn't get a season 2. It was funny, offputting and just my kind of nonsense.

Three Busy Debras: I like what i've seen, a bizzare series about three women all named debra and a stepford suburb. It's bizzarely perfect. I need to see more.

YOLO: YOLO is great, and it's not a huge suprise given it comes from smiling friends co creator micheal cusak. Season 1 is decent and it has this weirdly specific feel that makes for the best adult swim shows: it fits in well with weird cahos for the sake of it and what not, but is distinctly australian, and uses it's ugly animation perfectly. Like Smiling Friends after/alongside it, it LOOKS like it was made cheap but is actually incredibly intricately crafted. It's good fun.

Birdgirl: Was a disappointment. Paget Brewster was already having a hell ofa day voice acting wise with Ducktales, so having her return to this early role was a great idea in theory. In concept.. it didn't really work. Trying to do a sequel to harvey birdman but throwing all it's hannah barbera characters out was a mistake. Judy is more likeable here as she had about two gags in the original, but the show itself never really seems to come together all that well from the few eps i've seen. I just could not get into it.

Tuca and Bertie: Speckle. He's the best boy.

Tuca and Bertie is sadly done, but it remains one of adult swims best shows ever. I might have to list my faviorites when this is over. While WBD didn't keep it going as long as they should have, unlike a LOT of shows under their tyranny they at least gave it the second chance it deserved after Netflix cancelled it in less than a month, a trend that's continued and continues to make no sense.

So as a result of this monumentally dumb decision Adult Swim picked the show up and thus one of the best shows of the decade got a proper run. What we got was fantastic, a show that's creative and adult, but in a nuanced way tackling issues like sexual assault and workplace abuse with grace. The show feels like the warmer compliment to Bojack, the series sister show thanks to both having designs by LIsa Hanawalt.

While Bojack focuses on a more broken world with a seriously flawed main character, Tuca and Bertie is more optimistic. It won't hestitate to punch you in the gut repeatedly, but ther'es a light at the end of the tunnel. Things CAN get better. And given the truly awful shit that just happened, it's a message we need: things can suck: breakups happen, abuse happens, your world can be dark.. but you are loved and we can get through it together. It's also really fucking funny and has creative worldbuilding, taking the simple design choice of having plant people and playing around with as they go to the point Tuca is eventaully vociing a tree voiced by Matthew Rhys.. which is distracting and was for @jess-the-vampire as he uses the same voice for both characters. It's diffrent enough to still be good voice acting, but it's weird hearing that voice as a supportive loving boyfriend with a drinking problem.

Teenage Euthnasia; I could not get into this one.

Smiling Friends: Whenever I see your smiling face, I have to smile myself because I love youuuuu... yes I do. Alan, though Jombo is a close second

Smiling Friends is a masterpiece. I'm still mildly sore about this season due to the doug walker cameo as.. come on guys. Come the fuck on. You know what he's done. Come on. Come onn. But otherwise this season just made a great show greater and both seasons are some of adult swims best.

Smiling Friends was helpful in my growth as an animation fan as it showed things like how to use animation frames to make characters feel just slightly off, and is a wonderful blend of styles. Like I said witH YOLO the show looks like a cheap adult cartoon, and budget isn't everything as a lot of adult swims earliest shows were made on a paperclip an da piece of string and still are amazing, but uses every inch of it's budget in creative ways. It's weird as hell and you never know what to expect with an episode. The two leads are perfectly fleshed out: Pim being optimstic and naive, CHarlie being a mess with a messier extended family and a drinking problem, and the cast is perfectly supported by Alan and Mr Boss (And Glep but he's more of an accsorry), an uptight unplesant but hilarious type a asshole, and a weird goof.

The show is a near perfect string of jokes, creative concepts and punches to the face of black comedy and real genuine depth. It also gave us this gag

Which is so sadly relevant and useful and comes off twice as great coming from the same company that does this the worst and i'm damn certain Cusak and Hadel know that. A masterpiece I only hope gets better... just keep doug walker out of it.

Rick and Morty the Anime: I tried the first ep, didn't really gel with it and have too much piled up to really be intrested in going back

INvincible Fight Girl: I've only seen an episode and a half of this but DAMN do I love it. A wonderful tribute to shonen anime and wrestling, two things I dearly love perfectly smushed together. It fills the void in my heart left by OK KO , having that same nice mix of genine characters and a batshit insane world. I mean I already heaar ther'es a character named MBrandon. It presents this weird hyper world in it's own way, taking it, like ok ko did for the most part, earnestly, whcih adds to the comedy and allows us to feel for andy as she goes on her journey. This one has all the makings of a true classic

Overally I think the networks in a good place: it';s got some stacked shows, is doing renewals and like the dc sid eof things seems to be better than anything should be under WBD's thumb. There's still some bullshit like the uzumaki fiasco, but so far adult swim seems far safer than it has any right to be in this horrifying climate for animation and I welcome that and pray to god it dosen't change.