#anyways it's been. a day for me. and this did help me get in better spirits

[mv1simp]

That Boy Is Mine ♥️

Max Verstappen x Siren!Reader

that boy is mine, I can’t wait to try him, watch me take me time, boy is divine (that boy is mine)

As a young, beautiful and rich CEO living in Monaco, you have any man you want in the palm of your hand. But a certain handsome Dutchman has caught your eye…there’s just a small problem of his current girlfriend that’s in your way! You’ll just have to prove to Max how much better you could spoil him.

Content Includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, seductress! girlboss! Reader, naive!max, infidelity but Max’s unnamed gf is annoying anyway, size kink, Halloween costume sex lol, seriously explicit cheating don’t read if not ur thing!!!

The thing was, you wouldn’t normally ever go to such lengths for a boy. Why would you? You were a pretty girl in her 20’s living in Monaco, running your own successful public relations management firm. That’s how you’d met Max, through a PR crisis of Redbull that Christian Horner had personally called you to get sorted. Some drama with a defamation lawsuit against their poster boy, Max Verstappen, who you hadn’t paid a second of attention to despite living in Monaco. You were much more likely to get your nails done and enjoy a glass of wine than be following a race weekend.

But after you’d easily sorted the mess out, you’d been suprised to find Max himself patiently waiting in your luxurious office, wanting to thank you with a gift of tasteful French wine. It’s rare for one of your clients to take accountability for their actions instead of letting their managers sort it out for them, after all. You don’t miss the way Max’s pretty blue eyes widened as he took in your appearance, with a tight black dress with lacy sleeves that did wonders to push your tits up temptingly. He’d been expecting some old man, not a beautiful girl his age. He cleared his throat nervously, suddenly finding it hard to maintain contact with your sultry eyes as he stuttered his thank you. Cute, you think with a tilt of your head, enjoying his deep Dutch accent. He’s very different to the arrogant, pompous personality you’d expected from a champion F1 driver. And he was insanely gorgeous too, all 6 foot of thick thighs and broad shoulders. You’ve met many attractive men in Monaco and flirted your way around them, but Max catches your eye with his baby blue eyes and soft blonde locks. So you can’t help gently brushing your manicured hand against his bulging bicep, looking up at him with fluttering lashes to say it’s so sweet of him to go to all the trouble to come downtown, really, you’re happy to help him anytime!

He walks out of your office with your personal phone number for any media emergencies, of course. As well as a blushing face and a semi erection he guiltily tugs at his pants to hide, after looking down to see your plump, soft cleavage when your smaller body pressed up against his.

A quick google stalk of your client leaves you feeling very annoyed when you discover he’s not single like you’d originally hoped. You roll your eyes as you look at the B list model’s Insta he’s dating, spammed full of photos of her with Max’s wins for clout or artificial brand collabs. So tacky and undeserving of someone like Max, you muse later that evening over an espresso martini. You’re too deep in your own thoughts to pay attention to your date with a Monaco hotel chain owner that evening.

When you find a massive bouquet of roses on your desk the next day, you assume your date was being persistent despite your disinterest last night. But when you find VIP tickets to Max’s garage next race and first class flights nestled amongst the red flowers, you’re even more intrigued. You attended, out of curiosity more than anything. You’re not planning on getting involved with an already taken man - far too much drama for the CEO of a media relations company.

But you can’t deny Max knows how to give a girl princess treatment, something which you’d gotten used to providing for yourself since no man had been able too. From the relaxing, personalised flight experience, to the sleek expensive Mercedes he’d had sent to pick you up at the airport, the 5 star suite in a hotel, and to the exciting VIP lounge at his garage filled with interesting people you’d easily networked with. And when you see Max confidently dominate through the track to P1, sounding so sexy over the radio without a hint of shyness, pulling off his helmet afterwards to show off his gorgeous, messy hair as he adorably smiles at you to ask how you’d enjoyed the day, you realized this wasn’t just any man. No, Max was the one, the perfect man to provide you with whatever you asked for and take care of you when you needed him.

Not that you needed him to. After all, you were well known as one of the most successful businesswomen in your country - and you didn’t get that title without a pair of fangs to match. You’d be a true power couple - much better suited than his current subpar girlfriend, who dragged him down in every way.

You’d made up your mind. That boy was destined to be yours, no matter what.

So you began developing your relationship with Max and become frequently seen on the paddock, all under the guise of improving his media image, of course. The handsome blonde had no issues spending time with you, finding you to share his sarcastic sense of humour and in awe of your very keen analytical sense that you easily applied to the racing world as well. He liked how you were unfazed with the media circus that surrounded him, too, not blinking twice when trashy gossip magazines posted suggestive captions about you and Max. And you always seemed to know just how to carefully phrase your words assertively when asked insensitive questions by grid reporters, who were curious about Max’s new PR advisor. It was very different to what he was used to with his girlfriend, who frequently fed into gossip column content with Insta posts and livestreams - which constantly annoyed Max.

Soon you’re a regular amongst his group of friends. You meet his girlfriend, finally, at a dinner one night. She’s taken her hold on Max for granted, barely interested in you as she snaps selfies with the more famous people at the table. You can’t resist the foxy smile on your glossed lips - it’s almost too easy, given how unaware she seems of how discontent Max is with the relationship. You sit next to him all night, laughing and sipping your favourite wine that he now knows by heart and orders for you, the conversation genuine and a bit too flirty for “just friends”. And when your lace minidress rides up, and your soft thighs and crossed ankles brush against his muscular legs, he doesn’t move away, letting you press against him for warmth when he rests his large palm around your thigh. Your panties are soaked through by the time you get home from how often you had to clench your legs, imaging his massive hands drifting just a bit higher…

It’s easy to blame the touchiness on the alcohol the next morning and strictly maintain your professional distance as you hand him paperwork to sign in your office. You smirk when you catch his eyes in a passing mirror, glued to your ass through another tight lace dress as you walk away in Louboutin stilettos. Max was very much an ass man - that is, when he wasn’t being a tits man. You certainly had no qualms showing off your thick curves to him, knowing you had a lot more to offer than his girlfriend. It was impossible to miss the way his blue eyes would drift towards your tempting body whenever he thought no one was looking.

So next weekend, you invite him onto your boat for a day trip. It’s much smaller than his personal multi level yacht, but perfect for what you had planned. It’s a nice touch to have all your coupled up friends with you, who disappear off to various rooms in the boat as the sun gets hotter and they get drunker. You hand Max another strong G&T you’ve mixed yourself, now just alone on the top deck with him. He takes it easily, telling you you’d make a deadly bartender. You hmm, resting a knee on the couch he sits on. It’s a manoeuvre that brings your bouncing tits, barely covered in a white skimpy bikini, right into his eyeline. Max takes one look at your nipples pebbling through the fabric, gulps cutely, and promptly drains the glass in his hand.

You try to contain the smile on your glossed lips as he tries and fails to look away from your tits in his face, stammering out responses to idle chit chat you’re making. It’s adorable how his confident, dominating personality switches so fast off the track with you. At one point you say you’re sorry that his girlfriend couldn’t make it (you aren’t - you’d planned the getaway on a day you knew she had a modelling gig booked, of course, since you’re the one who’d pulled strings to set up the photoshoot). Relaxed with all the G&Ts, Max mentions that actually, his girlfriend had been very persistent in trying to stop him coming today.

Oh? You say with faux innocence, tilting your head and widening your doe eyes with worry. Why? She doesn’t like me? Max rushes to soothe your worries, saying no, no, it was more that - well, I think she’s a bit jealous…you’re very beautiful, after all. I think I might just need to spend more time with her from now on. You laugh at his cute blush, telling him Of course, but she had nothing to worry about, after all she was the model and not you!

You know how to play the game, knew that despite his model girlfriend at his side, you had him practically drooling in your tiny white bikini, contrasting beautifully against your tan skin. But he had to be the one to cross the line first, and think it was all his idea. Especially if his bitchy girlfriend was starting to catch onto your plans and demanding Max stay with her. So you walk away, making sure to sway your hips so he can enjoy the view of your ass as you lay on your tummy to sweetly ask your cute lifeguard if he’d mind putting sunscreen on your back?

Your lifeguard jumps at the chance, having already been checking you out all day. He’s taking the bottle and raking his eyes over your form hungrily - but Max interrupts even sooner than you’d predicted. His love language being physical touch works in your favour. You hide your pleased smile as a deep Dutch voice heatedly says that he can do it, and you turn to see Max glaring at the lifeguard with all the intensity of a lion. Are you sure you don’t mind, Max? You say sweetly, blinking your thick lashes up at him from your compromising position, your head right at the level of his hips. You hope he’s thinking the same naughty thoughts as you when his blue gaze darkens. That it would be so easy to slide his thick fingers past your pouting lips and hold them open as he messily fucks your all too willing mouth. You bite your bottom lip at the filthy idea.

You see him swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing in that huge muscled neck of his. No, it’s okay! That lifeguard…well, I don’t want him putting his hands on you. God, you couldn’t wait to lick hickeys all up and down his broad shoulders before wrapping your thighs around them as he ate you out. But you’re getting ahead of yourself, coming back to the present as you lie down to let Max touch up your sunscreen. His large palms are tentative at first, trying to remain respectful within the boundaries of friendship. But when you’re softly sighing, moaning that it feels so good, Maxie, work has made my back way to tense, could you use one of those massage techniques your physio taught you? it’s impossible for him to not go a little further. Your tiny bikini easily lets him explore your body, his strong hands gripping your plush hips and giving him a naughty mental picture of what you’d look like if he took you from the back. You’re glad your sunglasses are extra dark so you can peek at his trunks, enjoying the rapidly hardening large bulge there, responding to all the cute little moans and gasps you’re letting out as you tremble under his touch.

You decide to tease him a bit more, reaching behind your neck to untie your string bikini, shyly saying you didn’t want to get tan lines…he didn’t mind, right? You can totally go ask the lifeguard to help!

Max’s mouth goes dry at the sight of your bare back as he dazedly shakes his head, huskily saying he was happy to help, you’re his friend after all. All the blood rushed straight from his brain to his cock to make his decision as he feels the lush swell of your tits from the side when they generously slip out. You celebrate your victory internally when he shyly asks if he could take off your bikini bottoms so you didn’t get tan lines there, too?

You hesitate, coquettishly blinking and asking him if his girlfriend would be mad? Max pauses with your reminder, his large hands spread over your juicy asscheeks as he resists the urge to squeeze them. Your plan falls right into place as you cheekily suggest that surely it would be okay if he closed his eyes, just for a second, you really didn’t want tan lines there after all-

That was all Max needed to hear before he eagerly nodded, looking the picture of an overexcited puppy. This time you can’t resist your smirk as your slowly untie your bottoms, jiggling your ass as you slide them down so he catches a glimpse of the tempting flesh before he remembers to close his eyes. His large, calloused palms run down your plump ass, unable to resist squeezing roughly and making you moan sexily. You part your legs invitingly, and when those thick fingers of his brush against your pussy you know he can feel how wet you are for him. So dripping wet, that one of his fingers easily slides against your warm pussy lips. Max, you gasp breathily, your entrance instinctively clenching around the tip of his thick finger. What are you- Oh! Desire rushes straight to his groin as he gets a feel of how tight your sweet cunny would feel squeezing down on something else thick of his and he can’t help but sink his finger all the way in. It takes him longer than it should to come to his senses and move his hand away, stammering out apologies that he hadn’t meant to touch you there, his hand just slipped, could you forgive him?

To his relief, you giggle at his flushed face, turning around to meet his embarrassed gaze. Don’t worry about it, accidents happen! you say playfully, as if you hadn’t planned this, tying your bikini back up slowly. As he watches you strut away confidently in your little heeled sandals, he can’t resist tasting the wetness you’d left all over his fingers. He almost cums in his trunks from how sweet you taste, and hastily returns to his room. You smirk when you press an ear to your bedroom wall, hearing the shower running in Max’s bathroom right next door. Sadly for you, you can’t hear anything over the sound of the shower, leaving you pouting and pussy aching from the memory of Max’s hands on you.

But just on the other side, a certain blonde Dutchman is giving into his growing taboo desires. It’s not the first time he’s jerked off to you - no, with all the frequent teasing glimpses of your plush cleavage or your ass in tight dresses, he’s regularly mentally drooling over you. He knows it’s wrong, and in the beginning he did feel guilty…but now only the thought of your sexy little body that can get him hard like this. Tipping his head back and letting the cool water flow down his abs, Max slowly jerks off his impressive erection as he fantasies about you shaking and cutely moaning underneath him. Your lush tits spilling out from the sides, your wide hips that would be the perfect thing for him to hold tightly as he fucked you in doggystyle, his favourite. And now he knew what your soft tanned skin felt like, how sweet and wet your cunny was for him….well, it’s enough to make him addicted. He’s cumming within seconds, biting his lips and imagining how good it would feel to bury his aching cock inside your cunny instead of his finger next time.

He still blushes cutely when he sees you next, at a friend’s party, but you’re as nonchalant as ever, greeting him with a sweet kiss on his cheek. He watches you laugh at something one of his guy friends are saying and can’t stop the jealousy swirling in his chest, even when his girlfriend tugs on his arm to get him his attention all night.

Of course, you’re playing the long game. It didn’t matter how many men you flirted with - there was only one who you truly wanted. So for one of the exclusive Halloween parties in Monaco, you discreetly organise one of the big fashion houses you represent to send Max’s girlfriend a haute couture costume. She accepts it, spamming her Insta story with pics of it, just like you’d expected. You’re certain she would show up to the event with a reluctant Max in tow.

And on that night of the Halloween party, you smile as you spot a bored looking Max across the living room of the mansion the party is hosted at. His gorgeous blue eyes widen as he spots you…dressed in the same costume as his girlfriend. But you’d had some customised alterations made, looking ethereal in your white angel costume, tits pushed up with a corset and soft tummy and hips on display in your low waisted miniskirt. Max is far from the only guy who stared at you hungrily as you entered - including your date, some Russian model you’d met at a PR event, dressed just like Max in a tight fitting shirt and a Ghostface mask that hid his identity when on.

Someone might just call your choice of couple’s costume a random coincidence, but you didn’t make mistakes like that. Your date had two jobs tonight - one which he’d already done successfully, as you see Max’s icy blue gaze glaring at the hand around your waist. You whisper in your date’s ear, parting ways for now, because he had another mission to go complete that you’d already asked him to do for you as a favour. Namely, keeping Max’s goldigging girlfriend occupied tonight. And since your date happened to inherit his father’s multimillion manufacturing business, you were sure Max’s girlfriend would be throughly enraptured by him.

You laugh and mingle with friends throughout the night, catching Max’s intense gaze on you a few times but pretending to ignore it. He’s finally had enough of seeing you flirt with other guys when you end up on the dancefloor. You shiver as you feel his strong, muscled body behind you, shielding you from any guy who tries to get close to you. That’s fine with you, because the only one you wanted to grind back against was Max after all. So you toss your hair, getting lost in the music and tipsily giggling, enjoying the low rumble in Max’s chest as your fat ass teases his hardening bulge. His large palms settle possessively over your hips, leaning down to smell your sweet vanilla perfume. He lets you drag him into a quiet, dark corner, giggling and pressing your soft body against his as you whisper he looked so hot tonight, his biceps looked amazing, had he been working out more?

And then your doe eyes, prettily outlined in glittery eyeshadow and eyeliner, look up from his muscular chest to meet his piercing blue eyes as he pulls his mask off. You gasp, widening your eyes in supposed shock as you blush and stammer that you’re so sorry Max, you’d thought he was your date, he’s dressed the same after all…

He’s disappointed, of course, missing the touch of your manicured fingers running up and down his abs. He ends up agreeing to help you find your date again after you look at him pleadingly, although the idea of letting another guy put his hands on you makes him want to unleash Mad Max. But when you two finally find your date, behind a closed bedroom door upstairs, you see he’s been kept very good company by none other than Max’s girlfriend.

Your hands fly to your mouth in pretend shock at the scene of your date with his balls deep inside the gold digging girlfriend, her artificial sounding moans radiating around the room. Your date had exceeded your expectations and kept her very well occupied, it seemed. Max is disgusted with the sight, snarling in anger and moving to block your view of your date cheating on you. He’s so sweet, really, being so protective of you when you’d executed the whole plan to perfection. You hear his girlfriend exclaim in shock, trying to plead that it wasn’t what it looked like…but you’d given the Dutchman the final excuse to call it off. Don’t ever fucking come near me or her again, he growls, his voice radiating confidence and authority in a way which makes you squeal internally.

To your delight, Max insists on taking you home, worried about how you’d feel after finding your date cheating on you…with his backstabbing ex girlfriend, he mutters darkly. He’s fuming at her betrayal, but as you lead him into your cozy apartment you’re already planning your next scheme. When he asks you gently if you’re sure you’re ok, is there anything he could do to help, he’s so sorry that his ex got involved with your personal life like this you sweetly nod and tell him you just wanted to take your mind off it all.

He’s eager to help you, nodding enthusiastically when you ask if he’d help plan your costume for your next Halloween event the following night? Your date would no longer be helping you, after all. Of course, schat, anything you want he says earnestly, pretty blue eyes looking at you with adoration as you pout. Handing him a glass of whiskey to sip on while you guide him to sit on the end of your bed, you sashay into your walk in closet. You make sure to leave the door half open, so Max gets a full view of the red lingerie you’re wearing underneath your costume. You take your time getting ready, bending over to pull on your outfit and shaking your hips enticingly, making sure to give Max a naughty show. And if the angel costume had been sexy, the schoolgirl outfit you put on next is positively scandalous. You shyly walk out in heels and a tiny pleated skirt, skimpy white top tied around your breasts to push them out even more as you twirl for him. What do you think? you ask anxiously when Max just stares without saying anything. It looks bad, doesn’t it-

He hastily denies your words, stumbling out that you looked gorgeous, you always did, you didn’t have anything to worry about.

When you giggle happily and announce that you had a few more to show him, he licks his lips in anticipation and drains more of the whiskey from his glass. You give him another slow striptease through your closet door, this time taking off your bra so he gets a flash of your hard nipples. You see him widen his legs to accomodate the raging erection hanging in between his thick thighs and have to stop yourself drooling at the delicious sight. But Max is the one controlling himself next when you emerge in a cat costume, all black latex booty shorts and tight corset, paired with kitten ears and a tail.

His jaw drops open at the tempting sight, and when you ask him if he thinks it’s cute enough to make your date regret cheating on you he clenches his jaw and growls that the pathetic bastard didn’t deserve the privilege of seeing you all dressed up like this.

You try and fail to hide your coy smile at Max’s jealous words, and then find yourself pulled forward in between his legs as he murmurs that there were plenty of other ways to get back at your date. Oh? You say breathlessly, sinking onto your plush ass to sit in between his spread thighs, resting your cheek against his leg. Like what, Maxie?

He groans at the temptation in front of him, of your glossed pouting lips right next to where he needed you the most. You’re not behaving like a good kitty, he jokes, but his voice is rough as desire swirls in his eyes. You’re teasing me far too much while thinking about some guy nowhere near my level.

You grin like a Cheshire and slowly get on all fours, swaying your ass in the air and nuzzling your face right up against his bulging erection. Am I still a bad girl now? you whisper, flicking your tongue out to lick his zipper sluttily. Shall I make it up to you? Max groans above you, thick neck flexing as he tangles a large palm into your hair. Schatje, he says breathlessly, as you slowly unzip his jeans, squealing in delight as his fat cock emerges to slap against your cheeks. So big, Maxie you croon, going cross eyed as you place kitten licks all along his engorged cockhead. What did I say about teasing me? Max groans above you, applying delicious pressure to the back of your head as he pushes your lips down onto his shaft. Mmfh! Your moans are muffled as he loses control, fucking your mouth without abandon. Pleased moans fill the air as you drool over his length, letting him throat fuck you and use you for his pleasure. Your pink lip gloss is smeared all over his cock as your eyes roll back in your head, one of your hands reaching down to play with your aching cunny as Max leaves bruises in the back of your mouth.

Weeks of sexual tension finally lead to him cumming in your throat, so far down that you swear you can fill him hit your tummy, and you obediently suck up every last drop. He’s so far from done, though. He wants you on your hands and knees, his strong hands ripping a hole into your slutty latex shorts to hungrily taste your sweet pussy again. Soon enough your bedroom is filled with obscene sounds of Max fucking his bare cock into your cunny, pounding into you from behind. It’s even hotter than his dirtiest fantasies, and he’s making you tremble and scream his name as he presses down on your neck, burying your face into the sheets and whispering filthy praise in your ear. You’re so pleased you’d thought to set up a tiny camera by your nightstand, capturing every second of your first fuck with Max so you can enjoy it later. Your pussy squeezes around his length like a vice, and it’s most euphoric feeling he’s experienced in his life. He’s cumming again within minutes, moaning how good you feel, he fucking loves your cunt, loves you and takes you over the edge with him as he gives you an open mouthed kiss.

You smile contentedly against his warm lips, letting him slide his tongue into your mouth. Your red manicured nails tangle possessively in soft blonde locks as you sigh into the passionate make out. Max was exactly where he belonged, finally - in your bed, with you in his arms.

And unlike the silly women who’d taken him for granted, you were never going to let him go.

—————————————————————————

A/N: thank you soooo much for ur patience my dear readers, I fear I was getting a bit of writers block seeing all the photos of max and Kelly in the holiday season 😭😭😭 I hope u guys enjoy this piece!! Send me lots of ur raunchy asks plz I need inspiration ♥️♥️

[mysunshinetemptress]

Insight 4

Smarter universe

A/n: I feel like this one I might edit a bit more so a rerelease might cone idk I don’t really like my writing in this. it’s 1am and I wanted to give you guys another insight as promised. Also thank you to @womenwoso for helping with the logistics of this insight.

Leah hasn’t known what it’s like to not wake up and feel nauseous for the past few days, not since you left, but today it’s worse, today she goes to training and although she hopes you’ll be there in the back of her mind she knows you won’t.

Leah’s slow to get ready, slow to leave and slow to arrive to Sobha Reality training ground, she’s late and her teammates don’t understand why. Leah’s never late, you’re never late.

Leah checks in and trudges her way to the changing room where the rest of the arsenal girls are, slowly Leah pushes the door and walks making a b line for her locker before throwing her bag down and quietly getting ready.

Leah doesn’t miss the way the girls look for you coming in behind her like you usually do, and she definitely doesn’t miss the questioning glances between Steph and Alessia.

“Le where’s Y/n.” Leah shrugs continuing to get ready, her eyes glued to the floor. Steph steps forward “hey mate, where’s Y/n? She didn’t answer the phone to Less or I this morning.” Leah mumbles into her chest “I don’t know.” This only causes more confusion between the pair as Leah continues to put on her training gear.

“What do you mean you don’t know Leah you live together, you’re married to her for godsake” Leah feels her stomach flip “she’s gone-she left.” Alessia steps forward her own stomach dropping, gone, left. Where, why and why didn’t you text them or call it doesn’t make sense. “ She would have said something, why did she leave arsenal.” Leah shakes her head as she feels her emotions start to rise again “not Arsenal, not yet anyway.” Leah pauses tying her shoe “she left me.”

Leah hates that for a slight moment you’re the bad guy and that her friends support her, but it’s all a lie. Steph puts her hand on Leah’s shoulder comforting her “what happened.” Leah shakes her head the tears forming in her eyes as the feeling of getting sick intensifies “I cheated.” She lets out quietly so quietly that Steph is the only one to hear.

Alessia looks confused “what.” As Steph recoils her hand as though she’s just been burned “you did what.” Leah shakes her head ���please Steph.” Steph doesn’t take pity on her instead she shouts “you cheated on your wife, on Y/n.”

The rest of the girls all seem to freeze as they turn to look at their Vice captain “you better be taken the piss.” Katie shouts from across the room.” But Leah’s silence is deafening “Leah.” Kim tries but the defender stays silent.

“She won’t answer our texts, our calls, how-is she safe.” Leah doesn’t answer she can’t answer she doesn’t know where you are, she doesn’t know you’re wrapped up in her bed in her childhood home holding on to her jumper as you sob.

“I don’t know….we…she talked and then she left.” Leah lets out, “who was it Leah.” Leah’s head turns to Lia and the knot in her stomach tightens “I-Lia.” Lia already knows, she wish she didn’t but she does “Leah.” Leah shakes her head “I didn’t-please- it-I don’t know it just-we just…please.” Lia feels sick and the room spins slightly at the thought that she had been introduced to HER months ago when Leah and her met up for coffee and SHE came bouncing over.

Steph has her phone out as she tries you again and again Alessia’s frozen “but what about everything-you guys were supposed to be having a family.” They don’t know Leah thinks of course they don’t know she didn’t know “we are.” The room seems to drop like a led balloon.

Leah’s up against a wall next Katie holding her shirt in her fists “please tell me your wife…who wants nothing more than a family with you…who we have all seen cry day in and day out over not being able to have a baby with you isn’t pregnant because if she is so help me god Leah.”

Again Leah’s silence is all it takes to confirm the team’s worst fears. “I don’t know who else to call.” Steph lets out painfully “everyone else is in this room” Leah gulps, your gone, you’re not answering your phone and Steph right everyone you love…you think of as your friends, family are in this room and once again the knot gets bigger.

Katie drops Leah back to her feet “Kim.” Kim looks at the Irish girl “you’re suspended”. Kim turns to Leah as the vice captain tries to protest “I don’t want to see you near this place until I say otherwise.” Leah nods packing up and heading out the door.

“Leah.”

Lia chases after her stopping just at the car park “please tell me that it’s not HER.” Leah shakes her head “I…” Leah’s interrupted by a car honking HER car as SHE pulls up beside the duo “Hey baby ready.” Leah turns and looks to Lia “I-i can explain.” Lia shakes her head “don’t bother, you’ve made your bed and clearly you still enjoy sleeping in it.”

[zepskies]

Omg really? Wow, thank you so much. That's honestly amazing to me, considering this was one of the hardest for me to write in Smoke Eater. 💞

(But after reading your wonderful review, thank you for making me cry. 🥹💗💗)

First of all, please don't apologize for the heartfelt thoughts you want to share with me. No matter how long or short, I love hearing what you think about my writing, and this is genuinely one of the best reviews I've ever received, because I can tell it came from the heart.

What's crazy is my mom and I also used to watch Chicago Fire together when she was trying to recover from surgery (where she had terrible complications and wasn't well for a long time). It became her comfort show, and I was happy to introduce it to her/have that bonding time where it kept her from thinking about her pain. But I'm so glad you thought to come here to perk yourself up after a rewatch.

honestly I have so many thoughts for each wonderful chapter but I would feel super guilty for spamming :’) this chapter in particular though, hits me harder than anything i’ve ever read before — not in a bad way!🤍

lol girl that's the best kind of spamming. I'd never be upset with that! 😂 Oh good, I'm glad it doesn't hit in a bad way. I was concerned about that for readers when I was first posting this part of the story. 💙

my mom had epilepsy, and I was her caretaker pretty much my entire life. I connect so much with this story because it, feels like i’m reading a mirror, if that makes any sense at all. with all the doctors and the worrying, it’s written so authentically, which is understandable after reading your author’s note. i’m so sorry you’ve experienced such difficult hardships and losses yourself honey, I offer my sincere condolences. and i’m sending you the biggest hugs 🫂🤍🤍

I'm sending you the biggest hugs right back, friend. I'm so sorry about what your mom went through, and what you went through too. Being a caretaker is not easy. I've seen it enough in my family that that's what I drew from in order to write this, so I'm glad it felt authentic to your experience. 🫂💞

now these lines/parts specifically had me crying like a baby lol. december of 2021, my mom had to have surgery at the start of the month. her recovery was going a little slow, but well. however she passed away overnight, 2 days after christmas, completely unexpected. the day before she had been doing so well too— she had more energy and was more mobile without needing as much assistance. came to find out later that’s something nurses call a surge? :/ either way, those moments in particular really tugged at my heartstrings ❤️‍🩹

I'm so sorry for your loss, my friend. It is blind sighting when it comes so unexpected like that. I haven't shared this publicly, but something similar happened with my grandfather this past December. His health declined suddenly, to the point we had to take him to the hospital. After seeming to get better after a few days, he went downhill even harder, and he passed away in mid-December. It's not the same thing as your situation, but I understand the feeling of "why did this happen like this?" But now he's at peace with my grandma. And your mom is free from her pain and discomfort too. ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

this line too. I felt this way for so long after my mom died. I didn’t get the final cause for a while since she passed at home and not at a hospital, and to this day I wish I could go back. wish I could’ve done something different. but SUDEP (or, sudden unexpected death in epilepsy) is completely unpreventable so far. I just find it so cruel that this illness I spent my whole life helping her with, ended up taking her anyway and nothing I did mattered in the end. so reading that line, how she broke down, and everything she had been holding in, it really made my heart ache but I also felt less alone in a way.

And I'm sure you did everything you possibly could, just like the reader in this story. 💞 I didn't know about SUDEP, but I have a family member who takes medication for his epilepsy, so I'm going to be reading up on that. I'm so glad that this simple line made you feel less alone in any small way -- I also thought when I was writing that it not only fit what the character was going through, but that other people who've been caretakers for a family member like this would be able to identify with this feeling as well.

everything that followed, it’s like reading a reflection. I shutdown and just went through the motions afterwards too, but ohhh how nice it would’ve been to have a dean ❤️ his support, how he takes care of her, it’s so heartwarming. and it’s really comforting to read. <3

It's that awful "autopilot" thing that somehow allows us to get through the aftermath, in a way, right? If only we could all have a Dean to support us in those moments. Somehow, reading hurt/comfort fics help me feel better too though. 💓💓

a lot of my family distanced themselves afterwards which, it is what it is. that being said, the sentiment in this story of family isn’t always blood resonates with me a lot. my support system is really small, but they chose to be there for me unlike my blood relatives so, that theme in this story means so much — the way dean’s chosen family shows up for her as well, it’s so sweet. 💖

Ugh really? I'm sorry to hear that. 💙💙 But thank you for pointing that out -- that is the overarching theme of this story, a la SPN style. 🥹 Your chosen family can be just as powerful, if not more, than your blood family. And in this story, Dean's family is basically "adopting" the reader/you into it. 💕

I guess the gist of what i’m trying to say, is I wholeheartedly adore this series and it truly means so much to me 🤍 I appreciate your work so much, and I love the unique feeling each piece of your writing brings 💗💗 I know I may sound like a broken record but truly I don’t think I can ever put into words how much I love your blog. you are an absolute sweetheart, truly a light peeking out between cloudy skies 💞

Wow, I really did tear up of happiness. Thank you. 🥹🥹 I appreciate you right back for reading this story and connecting with it like you did. And I'm so glad that you enjoy my blog!! I've only been here on Tumblr for about 2 years actively, but connecting with people like you is what's keeping me here, and honestly gives me energy to write and express myself when I'm going through hard times.

This chapter specifically was very difficult for me to write for multiple reasons, as you saw in my AN, but again it makes me all the more grateful that this is the chapter you connect with the most. I'm very sorry for your loss though. I'm really touched that this story can give you some small comfort. 💞

(And no it's not too much. Thank YOU for taking the time to share this with me.)

Smoke Eater - Part 11

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 5,400 Tags/Warnings: Major angst warning. But also major hurt/comfort.

Part 11: “Heart of the Home”

You sat very still.

Your hands were gripped together in your lap when the doctor entered. He was tall and lean and blonde, and he would’ve reminded you of your boss, except this man had a kinder face.

You were sitting on the edge of your grandfather’s bed, hoping the doctor would say the bloodwork and scans came back fine. That they wouldn’t need to admit George into the hospital for further testing. That he could go home in the morning.

But your life had never been quite that easy.

“Okay, George. I’m sorry, but we need to admit you,” said the doctor.

He explained that while the malignant tumor of his cancer had been removed last year, the scans that had been done last month hadn’t been able to detect the bright spots now formed on George’s lungs and lymph nodes.

The oncologist would have to confirm, but you all knew where this was headed. Likely those “bright spots” were tumors.

George nodded slowly at first, taking it all in. He asked what his options were, as far as treatment.

“Your oncologist will go over those options with you,” the doctor replied. “We’re going to move you up to Oncology shortly.”

George thanked him.

And you sat very still. 

A hand fell on your arm, finally earning your gaze. George’s face was oddly calm, though the worry in his eyes was for you. You realized that he’d gently called your name, though you hadn’t heard him. Your ears were ringing.

His mouth parted to tell you something, but nothing came out. So instead, he tugged you into his arms, and he heaved a long sigh.

“I guess we’re here again,” he admitted. He let out a chuckle. “The Lord does like his tests…but maybe that car accident was a blessing in disguise, huh?”

You heard his voice, but your mind was buzzing—mainly with the doctor’s words, and with a bone-deep feeling that threatened to consume you.

Your car, your fault. Options, again. Here again.

Your fault.

When you didn’t answer, George pulled away a bit to give you a questioning look.

“Sweetheart?” he tried. You laid a hand on his arm.

“You still haven’t eaten dinner, have you?” you asked. Neither had you, for that matter. “I’ll get us something that isn’t rubbery turkey.”

George blinked at you, confused, with a growing edge of worry.

“Isn’t Dean getting your meds? Why don’t you wait for him to—”

“I’m fine,” you said, already getting up to grab your purse. “I’ll be back.”

George called your name again, but the ringing in your ears was now pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

You made your way down the hall to the lobby at a brusque clip, even with your neck brace on. You didn’t see Dean, but he certainly saw you as he was walking back into the hospital. Frowning, he followed and called out to you.

You slowed when you saw him, and he soon caught up with you. He rested a hand on your back.

“Hey, where you goin’?" he asked.

“We haven’t eaten in a while. I’m going to the cafeteria,” you said. Though you seemed distracted, your eyes meeting his only briefly. It triggered a small spidey sense running up Dean’s spine.

He gave you your prescription pain medication, which you took with a small “thank you.”

“Everything okay?” he asked. “How’s George doing?”

“Fine. He’s resting,” you said. And by the look of you, that seemed to be true. But he spotted the tremble in your hands when you took the pill bottle package from him. It made him stop you when you tried to keep walking down to the cafeteria.

“Okay, you wanna run that by me again?” Dean asked.

You frowned, and your brows knit together. “What?”

“Is there something going on?” he pressed.

You sighed, but you didn’t answer him. You looked exhausted, and like you’d rather swallow your own tongue than speak. You shook your head and laid a hand on his wrist.

“I’m fine. Dean, thank you for everything you did tonight, but you still have to work tomorrow. Go home, get some rest,” you said.

You turned from him again. That was your first mistake. He reached out and grasped your hand to stop you.

“Hey, wait a minute,” he said.

“What?” you said in irritation. Your second mistake was not being able to look at him.

Dean was frowning in earnest now. Worry clawed in his gut, which was also telling him not to let you walk away from him. His grip shifted to hold both of your arms and move directly in front of you. He dipped his chin, trying to get you to meet his eyes.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said gently. “I need you to talk to me.”

You inhaled a shuddering breath. A wave was rising inside you, threatening to pull you into its undertow. Your eyes burned, red and shining. Dean finally saw it when you raised your head, what little you could. Your mouth began to quiver, looking into his eyes. And it was done.

You could no longer be still.

Dean held you when you fell apart in the hallway.

Dean called out of work the next day to stay with you and George. Gordon would be acting Lieutenant until his next shift, and Dean was sure the man would take full enjoyment out of it.

He couldn’t care about that right now though. He felt that his place was here, being your quiet wall of support while you and George and the oncologist talked about treatment options.

“Normally, at the stage we’re in, I would be recommending chemotherapy,” said Dr. Benton.

“Normally?” you echoed.

“At the rate this is progressing, the treatment would have to be aggressive,” he said. His gaze focused on George. “However, at your age, and the current state of your overall health…at this point, I don’t think the rigors of treatment would be worth diminishing your quality of life.”

“What are you saying?” you asked. Your voice cut like a whip, earning the other men’s gazes.

George was the first one to lay a hand on your arm. “You know what it means, honey…he’s saying it ain’t worth it.”

“Of course, it’s worth it,” you retorted. With your brows furrowed and lips pursed, your eyes went from him to the doctor. “Just because he’s older, we shouldn’t even try? Is that what you’re saying, doctor?”

At that, even Dean drew closer to lay a hand on your back. Meanwhile, George squeezed your arm.

Benton shook his head gravely. “That’s certainly not what I’m saying.”

“How much time would I get, if I started treatment,” George asked, before you could volley further with the doctor.

Benton met the other man’s gaze.

“I’m going to be honest with you, George. You may get a few more weeks, or even a few months. But that is a best-case scenario.”

Dean drove you all home that day, after George decided to formally waive treatment. Both men knew you were angry in your silence, but neither one wanted to press you. Dean was too wary, and George was too tired.

Once he was settled in bed, you hadn’t even left his room yet before you grabbed a notepad off his desk and wandered into the hall. You started to make a list of things you still needed from the grocery store, among other things. Dean took that piece of paper out of your hands.

“Good. I’ll handle this,” he said. “Meanwhile, you can get upstairs, take a shower, take your meds, and get some sleep.” 

You frowned at him. “You haven’t slept either, Dean.”

“I’m used to it,” he said, giving you a wink and a slight smile. Overnight shifts could be a bitch at a firehouse, but Dean was no stranger to having his sleep interrupted.

“Listen to him, honey. He’s speaking sense,” George called from inside his room. The bedroom door was still open. He was settling into his bed while trying to stifle a cough. He sipped at a cup of water you’d brought for him.

Still, you looked reluctant. Dean held your arms and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Come on,” he said. “You were in an accident yesterday. You’ve had one hell of a night. You need your rest, or you’ll be no good to anyone.”

And if you pushed yourself much more, he worried that he’d have to take you right back to the hospital. Dean would rather not have that scare so close to the last one.

He brushed your cheek with gentle fingers. With the limited mobility your neck brace provided, you did your best to look up at him. Your eyes were softer.

“Okay,” you breathed.

“Okay? All right, good,” Dean said. You held onto his jacket for a moment, leaning against him.

“Thank you,” you whispered. You felt the burn of tears behind your closed eyelids. A few of them squeezed past and slipped down your cheeks. Dean held your face, brushing the tears away with his thumbs.

“Hey, I’m here, all right? Just let me help you,” he said. “You can lean on me when you need to.”

“I haven’t had that in a long time,” you admitted. “Part of me doesn’t know how to lean.”

“I get that,” Dean said. But you both knew that there was a long and difficult road ahead. He knew he didn’t have to remind you of it. “Whatever you need, you just tell me, okay? If nothing else, I’ve got a strong pair of shoulders.”

Somehow, you smiled. You pressed your forehead against his chest and inhaled deeply, to steady yourself.

“That you do, Lieutenant.”

You left for your room soon after, but not before you brought him down to you for one more tearful kiss.

Dean then watched you climb up the stairs to your room and nearly went up to help you, but he heard George call his name. Dean ventured back into George’s room and heeded his beckoning hand.

“You hungry? I can scramble some eggs or something before I hit the store. I think I saw two more left in the carton,” Dean said. George shook his head.

“Come ‘ere a sec.”

Dean took the hint and sat on the edge of the bed.

“I just wanna thank you for everything you did yesterday. Everything you’re still doing for us,” George said. He looked exhausted, but whatever he wanted to say was important enough to fight off sleep. He clasped a hand on Dean’s arm.

“You don’t have to,” Dean replied.

George huffed. A smile made his eyes gleam brighter.

“I knew you were a special one, Dean Winchester. Knew it the night I met ya, on your very first date with her.”

Dean blinked, but his pause drifted into a reserved smile.

“How’s that?” he asked.

“Well, I’ll be honest. When I heard that black Chevy rumble like hell’s wheels onto the driveway, I thought I might have to worry about you,” George chuckled.

Dean’s lips quirked.

“But no, it wasn’t that. It wasn’t the pretty flowers, or our mutual love of killer sharks,” George quipped, making Dean’s smile more genuine. “It isn’t your job either, or the fact that you saved her. I just believe that you can see a man’s mettle in his eyes…and I saw it in you when I shook your hand that night.”

Dean took that in for a moment. His hand flexed over his knee. Then he met George’s gaze, though he didn’t know what to say. Sometimes though, honestly was the best bet.

“I’m sorry for what you’re going through,” he said at last. “I can’t imagine…”

George let out a breath through his nose. “I’ll tell you a secret.”

He pointed to a picture frame on his bedside. It was of him and his wife, Sophie, when they were around your age and Dean’s. The couple were sitting on a pier that hung over the edge of the lake in their hometown.

She held him from behind, with her arms wrapped around his neck. Her long hair was being carried by the wind, getting swept into George’s eyes. He was smiling too hard to care.

“I’m ready to smile like that again,” he said. He had tears in his eyes, but he was already lighter at the thought. “I know it’s selfish…but I think I’ve missed her long enough.”

Dean paused. Then he cleared his throat past a small well of something he couldn’t name. He wondered if his dad ever had thoughts like that.

“Well, I’ll let you get your rest,” he said. “I’ll be back.”

George nodded and gave Dean’s arm a squeeze. “All right. Drive safe. Don’t hit any goddamn trees.”

He shot Dean a knowing wink, and it almost had the younger man laughing. George’s sense of humor was something else.

Dean then left George to rest. He made sure he had his wallet, keys, and your grocery list before he left your house and went back to the car. He checked his phone and saw a missed call…from Cas.

Dean was reminded again about Azazel, the kingpin who might’ve ordered a hit on his family. Along with the recent murders and arsons, and the connection from one of the victims to your company, Savage & Co.

Dean returned the call as he climbed into the Impala.

“Dean. Everything all right?” Cas asked. “Sam filled me in about the accident.”

“Yeah, everyone’s okay…well, not really. I’ll explain later,” Dean replied. “Listen, about what we talked about at the bar.”

“Yes.” Cas said gravely. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go to your father about this yet.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing.” Dean sighed. “My girl just got some real bad news. I know you gotta keep digging into Savage & Co., but can you keep her out of it?”

“Is she all right?”

“Yeah, more or less…it’s her grandfather.”

“Ah, I see,” Cas said. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks, man. I’d rather her just focus on what she needs to do right now, you know?”

“I get it. And believe me, we’re keeping the investigation of Nick Savage quiet for now,” Cas said. “But if we find something, or worse, if I can’t…I’ll likely need to question her. She works directly with Savage, and from what I can tell, she’s instrumental in bringing in and maintaining several of his major accounts.”

Dean stopped at a red light and took a moment to rub a hand over his tired face, rubbing his eyes. “You don’t really think she’s got any idea of what that asshole’s into.”

“I’m not saying she does. But in working so closely with him, perhaps she’s noticed things about her boss, and the company. Things she’s kept to herself, out of self-preservation.”

Dean frowned. He didn’t want to think about shit like that. It made his stomach churn at the thought of you working for someone who might be doing business with a crime lord, let alone Azazel.

“Well, when that day comes, give me a heads up, okay?”

“Will do.”

“Thanks, Cas.”

Dean offered to take another day off to help you, but you wouldn’t let him. He needed to go back to work, and you were able to arrange working from home for the next few weeks.

Even Nick couldn’t refuse to accommodate you in a situation like this. He knew very well that if he pushed you too hard, you’d go directly to HR.

So he backed off, and told you to take as much time at home as you needed. It allowed you to put him, and that afternoon in his office, away from your mind to focus on taking care of your grandfather.

Though you called your best friend the day you got home from the hospital, Andréa didn’t come by your house to see you and George until the end of the week. She cited mounting projects at work and some kind of tiff with her cousin Meg, but it all sounded like excuses to you.

However, she was gracious enough to bring dinner for the three of you on a Friday night. She cut up with George like normal, and even got him laughing, until a coughing fit forced him to stop. It also took most of the joy out of the rest of the evening.

While George went up to his room to rest, Andréa later joined you in the kitchen. You were washing the dishes, trying to focus on what you were doing. But your mind was buzzing continuously with future tasks and worries. Always, tasks and worries.

“How are you holding up?” Andréa asked. She rubbed your back, and you gave her a slight smile.

“All I can do is make him comfortable, for as long as possible,” you replied. There were tears in your friend’s eyes, but she dabbed them away with the back of her hand.

“What do you need? Anything, you just tell me,” she said.

It was a little easier for you to contemplate leaning on Andréa. You had been friends with her for years, and she was like another daughter to George.

On the other hand, asking Dean for help always made you hesitate. What you two had was still so new. You worried that this was too much for your relationship, too fast. 

“Well,” you sighed as you wiped your hands dry on a kitchen towel. You didn’t exactly want to talk about it, but there were things you had to start planning, even if you didn’t know the exact timeframe.

However, as soon as you opened your mouth to reply, Andréa’s cell phone rang. She held up a finger to you and checked it. To your surprise, she actually answered it.

“Hey, babe,” she replied with a smile. You heard Benny’s deep voice on the line, asking a question. “Yeah, I’m still here. I’m probably leaving soon though.”

She continued her conversation for a few more minutes, but you didn’t hear anything after that. A tension headache was sharp behind your eyes, while anger (yes, anger) rolled hot under your skin. Your lips pursed. You busied yourself with straightening up the kitchen until she continued her call for another few minutes.

“Sorry about that,” she said, finally turning her attention back to you. “So what do you need?”

You put away the last dry dish and turned to her coolly.

“Nothing.”

Andréa frowned. She knew there was something off with you, but her furrowed brows betrayed her confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” you repeated. “Don’t you need to head out, anyway?”

“No, I was just…what’s up with you?” she asked.

“What’s up with me is my grandfather’s dying!” you snapped. You left her in the kitchen, precisely so that she’d follow you out. You grabbed her purse for her and went to the front door, where you stepped out.

Andréa was dismayed and confused as she followed you out onto the porch. She raised her brows at you when you shut the door and crossed your arms at her.

“I know you, and this isn’t just about that. What’s the problem?” she asked.

“You can’t seem to detach from your boyfriend for more than five minutes to just be my friend. That’s the problem,” you replied. “But why should I be surprised? Like always, you’re too wrapped up in yourself to consider anyone else.”

Her brows knitted together; she looked hurt by your words, but also defensive.

“How can you say that when you’ve been exactly the same way?” she accused. “Since you met Dean, I’d be lucky to see you once a week—”

“I call you every week,” you began, counting the list with your fingers. “You’re always busy, but you never give me a day that works for you. And when we do make plans, you usually cancel. Why? Because you’re going sailing with Benny. You’re going to a restaurant, hours away, just to try the new sushi bar beer garden, or whatever the hell. Or you’re going on an impromptu road trip, or you’re planning a summer trip to Greece. Give me fucking break, Dre.”

By now she was frowning angrily, her arms crossed. “You’re mad at me because I have a life?”

“No. I’m happy for you that you found someone. I really am,” you said. “But we clearly live in two different versions of reality. I just don’t have the time or the energy to entertain yours.”

You knew you were being too harsh. You felt incredible guilt as soon as it all left your mouth…but part of you also felt like a weight had been lifted off your chest. The problem was, you still felt heavy. Just in a different way.

Both of you were crying when Andréa left your house.

All too soon, a week became a month. In that time, Dean called you every day to check on you. He spent most of his evenings with you and George when he wasn’t on shift. And when he was, sometimes Meg would drop in.

She understood your argument with Andréa, and she respected you for taking a stand when you needed to. She even confided you that she’d had similar frustrations with her cousin lately.

But Meg wasn’t your only visitor. Ellen had come a few times to bring you lunch and dinner, even breakfast, though you hadn’t asked her to. You realized then how close Dean must be to his friends at the firehouse, along with the Harvelles; Ellen also refused to take any money from you for the food.

By the end of the month, George mainly spent his days sleeping. Pain medication made his days nearly painless, but not without struggle. You were doing your best to care for him while continuing to work full-time from home. You were also exhausted, though you refused to admit it.

Today was a better day, however, because George was awake. He was also more aware of his surroundings than usual.

He stopped you from adjusting his pillow so you would sit down on the edge of his bed. He took your hand in his, brushing a thumb over the back of it.

“I’m okay with this, you know,” he said. You pursed your lips, but he stopped you from whatever you were going to say. “I don’t want to leave you. You know that…but I’m so damn proud of you. Your Gram was, and still is…”

Your lower lip wobbled as you tried and failed to keep your tears at bay. They stung in your eyes and slipped past your defenses, down your face.

“The house is yours. But if that’s too hard for you, just sell it,” he said, heaving a deep breath. “It’s just the bones. You’re the heart. And you always have been.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but not a sound would come out. You held his hand with both of yours and stared down at them. Until his voice once again commanded your attention.

“I always thought…moving to the city ruined my daughter. That we should’ve stayed in Lebanon. That maybe I gave her too much freedom, and I failed her somehow along the way,” George said. His eyes were heavy with old heartache. And yet, they soon began to lighten.

“But the day we lost a daughter, we gained one too,” he said. Then, he chuckled a little. “And I know I never failed with you, sweetheart.”

That proved to be too much for you. He pulled you into his arms like you were still a child, and he held you for a long time while you cried yourself out.

Though he eventually spotted Dean hesitating in the doorway. He’d probably let himself in with the spare key you’d given him.

George raised a hand from your back and silently beckoned Dean inside his room. He was getting tired, drifting off thanks to the morphine.

“Hey, lookie there. The boyfriend’s here,” George whispered with a bit of cheek. You sucked in a breath and raised your head, wiping at your eyes before you turned around. Dean met you with an attempt at a smile and a gentle hand on your back.

“Just got out of work?” you asked. He’d been on a 24-hour shift, and you’d missed him. You stood and stepped into his welcoming embrace. He dropped a kiss on your forehead.

“Yeah. I’ve got the next couple of days off,” Dean said. He greeted George next and asked him if he needed anything.

“Just some water,” the older man replied.

“I’ll get it,” you said with a sniff. “Need to start dinner too.”

“I already brought some food. You like Italian, right?” Dean said, with a subtle smile. It earned your sigh and a grateful smile. He knew very well that it was now one of your favorites. Italian meatballs always reminded you both of your first date.

“Thank you,” you said, grasping his hand. He squeezed yours with a nod, before he let you go.

When you were out of earshot, George cleared his throat past a wet cough. Dean reached over and grabbed him a tissue. George took it with a nod. Again, he encouraged Dean to come closer.

“I’m not worried,” George said, between deep breaths. “You know why?”

Dean just stared back for a moment. He genuinely had no idea what the man might say next.

“Tell me,” he said.

“My granddaughter’s strong. Always has been, because she had to be,” said George. “But you’re gonna be there when she’s not.”

Dean considered the weight of that charge. The anxiety in his chest felt familiar; like the day he got his badge at the Fire Academy, knowing then the responsibility he held in his hands.

That’s a lot to put on just three months of knowing this girl, came a more selfish thought. It sounded a lot like the guy he used to be, not too long before he met you.

But when Dean thought about you, and what you’d begun to mean to him…

He realized that he only had one answer.

“Yes, sir. I am,” said Dean.

George gave a tired smile. “Good man.”

And that night, an agreement was made. 

In the morning, your grandfather was gone.

Dean held you through what he thought was the worst of your heartbreak. But after that dour morning, it was like a switch flipped inside you.

In the days after George’s death, your shutters came up. You threw yourself into checklists and task after task—in funeral arrangements and planning and contacting distant relatives and friends.

This was your failsafe. Your version of “autopilot.” And these things needed to get done, after all.

But Dean worried when he no longer saw the softer side of you. Like your heart had been wrung dry. 

He inevitably had to go back to work, but in between the demanding hours of his schedule, he tried to get you to slow down. He saw the warning signs of you running yourself into the ground. He just didn’t know how to help you land.

So Dean picked up slack where he saw it, often without you asking him to. He began fixing the house, one section at a time. He enlisted Benny’s help, since he actually had a small construction business. Dean even paid for the materials himself without you knowing.

And one sunny afternoon, he took a break from repaving part of the cracked and uneven driveway to grab a beer inside. You were sitting at the kitchen table with stacks of papers all around you, your cellphone on speaker as some kind of elevator music continued to ring on a loop.

“Can you believe I’ve been on hold with the funeral director for 20 minutes?” you told him in irritation. But you didn’t truly take sight of him until he came back from the kitchen.

He wore a familiar ensemble of jeans and black undershirt with a plaid shirt, rolled up to his elbows. He was covered in a fine layer of sweat, and his hands were dusty and stained from his work on the driveway. Dean looked tired, and that made you feel guilty.

Meanwhile, he frowned and popped open a beer. “You want one of these? Looks like you could use one.”

You shook your head. With a sigh, you hung up the phone. You’d try calling again later. Instead, you focused on the next item of your checklist for today.

“Food. Because we’re gonna need to eat after the service,” you inclined your head. “Okay, still need to come up with a list of caterers, because I don’t think I can cook for that many people.”

Dean nodded at that. “Let me talk to Ellen. She’ll give you a good price, and her food is good.”

You looked up from your notepad and considered him thoughtfully. You wouldn’t have thought to cater from a bar, but he was right. Ellen had great food at the Roadhouse.

“Okay, I’ll call her,” you said.

“No, I’ll call her,” Dean insisted. He set down the beer on the table and leaned his palms flat on its surface. “Sweetheart, I told you I’d help you with all this. You don’t have to do it by yourself.”

“Dean, you’ve done enough,” you replied. Your brows drew together stubbornly. “You’re paving my driveway right now, for God’s sake! This is my responsibility, not yours.”

Dean frowned, making you sigh. You leaned back in your seat and crossed your arms.

“Look, we’ve only been dating for three months,” you said. And in your mind, a good chunk of that time had been spent in the worst hell of your life. “This right here? It’s a lot. I’m not expecting you to deal with all this…”

You bit your lip, and your gaze fell away from his as your insecurities took hold. The thoughts that had been plaguing you every night since this all began, on the night of the car accident.

“And…if you’d rather take a break from us for a while, I’d understand,” you said.

Your voice was more collected than you felt. But that didn’t make it any easier when Dean stared back at you, mostly incredulous. You even thought you saw a thread of hurt there, and it made your heartache worsen.

Dean came around to your side of the table. He dragged a chair back and sunk into it, facing you directly.

“You think that’s the kind of guy I am?” he asked.

You immediately shook your head. You weren’t trying to upset him, or imply that he wasn’t reliable, or trustworthy, or whatever was running through his head. You were just trying to be realistic.

You’re so pragmatic it hurts, as Andréa had often told you.

“Dean, it’s not that…” you began, a bit helplessly. “I just—”

“Just, nothin’.” His chair scraped toward you as he reached out for your hand. He made sure you looked him in the eyes when he said this next part. 

“I’m not leaving you with this.”

Your gaze met his, though you desperately tried to keep your heart from rising into your throat. 

“I’m not leaving you,” Dean said. His tone, his eyes, his hold on your hand was firm.

For a moment, you stared at him, unblinking, even as tears swam in your eyes. 

He’s not leaving you. 

Not like everyone else in your life.

You were grateful. Too grateful, even, for words.

When you finally broke down into tears, Dean realized what an idiot he’d been. Your wall of stoicism had been just that—a flimsy wall. Now it was shattered, and so were you.

It scared him just how much, as he gathered you onto his lap and into his arms. You didn’t seem to care that he was dirty and covered with sweat. You clung to him strong, and he held you back just as tightly.

“No matter what I did, it wasn’t enough,” you confessed. “You save people all the time. I couldn’t save anyone in my life.”

Dean frowned. He cupped the back of your head, and he felt your tears sliding down his neck. His voice was thick with emotion when he was able to reply.

“Oh, baby. It’s not your fault.”

“I can’t…I can’t do anything. Anything that matters.” Your voice was a broken whisper. It damn near broke his heart. 

“Now you know that’s not true,” he said. “I’m not gonna let you lie to yourself like that.”

You trembled and heaved with sobs, and he continued to hold you.

Just be there, Sam had told him, when Dean had called him from the hospital. Sam reminded him again last week, when George finally passed.

Is that all I’m supposed to do? Dean thought. His brows furrowed, but he tried to hide his frustration.

He was used to people depending on him. He led a team. Before then, he’d looked out for Sam all his life. Dean had never had to help someone get through this kind of grief though. He just wanted to help you, in whatever way he could.

Because he was worrying, just like you. That whatever he did, it wouldn’t be enough.

But he couldn’t leave you. 

I can’t, and I won’t, he thought. So he took a breath, and he said the first true thing that came to mind.

“You’re the strongest woman I know, you know that?” Dean said. He spoke low and steady, but with the conviction he felt. “And that’s a tall order, considering some of the badass ladies I’ve got in my life.”

A smile tugged at his lips when he considered people like Ellen and Jo, Jody and Donna. He might’ve lost his mom, but he and Sam hadn’t lacked when it came to influential women in their lives.

“But I saw it the day we met. I see it every time we’re together,” he continued. “You work hard as hell. You take care of everyone around you…”

You were still quiet, trying to stifle your crying.

Dean let out a breath. “Man, if you only knew how much you’ve been helping me. Keeping my damn feet on the ground with this whole…arsonist mess my dad’s been investigating. Digging up the past, my mom, the whole damn thing.”

With a sniffle, you uncurled from him, just enough to reveal your face. Your grip on his shirt loosened, your palm flattening on his chest. He held your hand there and turned his lips to your forehead. He sensed that you were calming down. That you were listening.

“That matters to me,” he told you.

You nodded and tightened your hand on his. “Me too.”

Your voice was still shaky, but it sounded a little stronger.

“See? You might as well face it.” Dean grinned. “You’re a badass chick with a big heart.”

You snorted in response. Your lips even twitched at a smile. He spied it when he looked down at you. And you rested easier against him as your tears subsided.

“Thank you,” you whispered. He dried your cheek with a brush of his hand. 

“For what?” he asked.

“For staying.”

AN: So first off, I'm sorry for the gritty "reality" of this one. It's just where the story took me, though it serves a purpose narratively and for both the reader and Dean's character development.

But also, I think this has just been on my mind, since both my grandmother and great uncle (brother and sister) died within a year of one another due to different forms of cancer. My great uncle passed in May of this year, and my grandmother two years this past October.

Again, I'm sorry if this one was too heavy, but art does imitate life and this was probably my brain trying to express those emotions I couldn't fully make sense of at the time. George will be missed, but will still be felt in the rest of this story, as I'm sure any of you who've lost close family members will understand. 💙

Next Time:

The identity of Azazel will finally be revealed in Part 12. But first...

You nodded. “By the way, it was nice of Sam and Eileen to come. And Meg and Cas.” 

Dean smiled.

“They can be your people too,” he said. “If you want ‘em to be.”

You couldn’t help it. Your tears brewed and bubbled over. And you moved slowly across the couch to twine your arms around his neck. Dean’s lips tugged at a smile, and he welcomed you with an arm wrapping around your waist.

Both of you were still wearing the same clothes you’d been wearing all day; you in your black dress and Dean in his slacks and white buttoned-down shirt, though by now without the jacket, and the shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

You were infinitely exhausted. But one thing had become clear to you over the past few weeks.

“Thank you. Thank you for today, and for every day since we met,” you said shakily.

Keep Reading: PART 12

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb

@vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @katherineann814 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

[grimsonandclover]

Write write write

filthier the better

Sending all the love 🫶🍑

What He's Made For

Sub!Patrick Zweig x Dom!Fem!Reader

Eeuuuhhhhhh I'm sorry, just been thinking a LOT about just having enough of Patrick's shit and taking it out on him. Turns out, it's exactly what he was aiming for.

I'm writing this in a horny, ovulation-fueled daze so it's not going to be great or even good but its what I need. not proofread at alllll

consider this a foreplay part one since it ends abruptly because i need to post this before i pass out (im so tired). i need the horny freaks of this fandom to let me know if a part two is desired because I WILL write it

MDNI

1.1k words

This is entirely self serving and I'm opening up to you guys. This is me sharing. No more 600 word angst and fluff it's time for PERSONAL FANTASIES. kind of a 180 after i JUST posted that little la chimera fic lmao

You're fighting, you don't even know what for. Patrick's been pushing your buttons, getting on your nerves, and testing your limits all night. God, fuck, he won't stop. Every little word from him, all day and now night, is spoken with the pure intention of pissing you off.

"Did you really ask him about the weather?" He'd scoff on the drive home from a party. "You're miserable at small talk. Really, it's embarrassing."

The walk to the apartment elevator: "And those shoes. You've been whining all night like a fucking baby. I told you not to wear them, but you'd rather be a prissy little princess than listen to me." You're silent, breaths quickening as your fist clench around your apartment keys in the elevator, watching the floor numbers tick up. "They're ugly, anyway. I don't really get why you insist on wearing them."

Unlocking the front door, fumbling and struggling because it's hard to see through the boiling water behind your eyes. "Do you need help with that? You had, like, what- one shot of tequila the entire party? Didn't think you were such a lightweight, can't even open a door. God, you're a mess."

Once the door is open, and a sickly smug smirk is plastered on that stupid face of his, you shove him in. The action is abrupt and unexpected, Patrick stumbling back and catching himself on the entryway wall. You almost miss the smirk returning to his lips. Who cares, it's time to speak your peace.

His back is on the wall and he stays where you threw him as you rip off your coat. "What the fuck is your problem, huh?" The coat is thrown to the floor and he blinks as you fist the collar of his stupid button up. Since when does he wear these, anyway? "All fucking night, you're in my ear like a bitch. Do you need a leash?"

He's been playing with fire so far. "Woof." Patrick grins.

The taunt makes your eyes narrow and glare harden. "You think it's funny? I've got a migrain because of it. I'd be in the middle of talking to someone and you'd start your shit again. That's what's embarrassing, not my small talk."

"You're like a child, how you beg for my attention. A dog. Is that what you are, Patrick?" You tug his collar and his breath catches. Drool pools in his mouth and he swallows, eyes zeroed in on his mouth while he still smirks. "Are you a misbehaving dog?"

He doesn't answer you, just giggles. In a sudden move, your hands are on his shoulders and you're pushing him forcefully to his knees. It's only because he doesn't anticipate it that it works. In a flash, your hand is gripping a fistful of curls at the back of Patrick's head, yanking it to make him look up at you. His mouth falls open, a soft gasp escaping from it. Yes. Finally.

"Are you," The words are spoken through your teeth, and this time he really is on the brink of drooling. "A fucking dog? Or are you going to start behaving like a man?"

His grin spreads again from ear to ear as Patrick slowly shakes his head. "Uh-uh."

Oh, that does it.

Your fingers tug his head further back and he gasps again at the slight sting of his scalp. Your other hand comes up, and before he can blink, a crack is heard through the entryway.

Patrick's cheek is red and stings so badly he can't feel the pain on his scalp anymore. It's so delicious he moans. He never knew until this exact moment that he liked to be slapped, lucky you.

"Wrong answer." He shivers at your tone, the blood in his body rushing to his cheek and to his dick. "Are you going to behave?"

"No." He whispers, eyes fluttering as he anticipates the next stri-

Oh, fuck. Patrick can feel a wet patch form in his boxers when you do it again-- he hasn't cum in five days, and Patrick's hyper aware of it now. The sound that comes from his mouth is almost pornographic and anyone else listening would swear that he must be at least getting his dick sucked and not just slapped around. The hand that slaps him moves to his mouth, index and middle finger shoved forcefully until you hit the back of his tongue. He wants to suck them, so he does, but then you shove them even further back until he gags a little. This isn't for him to enjoy (though he is anyway).

"Shut the fuck up." You sneer, fingers in his throat and hair, taking back the power he's had over you all night. They way he looks on his knees, peering up at you like you're his god with tears in his waterline and-- shit, that smile is still there. "I'll make you behave, then."

The hand in his hair lets go, pushing him back by the forehead till he hits the wall with a thunk. "Look at me."

He already was, but Patrick angles his head again, this time on his own, to better suit your needs-- especially when you tell him to open his mouth and you have a grip on his cheeks. You lean down the tiniest bit for better aim before collecting spit in your mouth, then spitting it into his. "My fucking mouth. Don't ruin it with all that cheap talk, acting like you don't know who owns it.

"Who owns it."

Patrick's got stars in his eyes as he swallows, so lost in you he forgets to answer-

A smack across his cheek again, another filthy moan. "You- you own it."

"Own what?"

"Me-- my mouth, my body, fucking all of it. It's yours."

"It's mine." You nod, gripping his cheeks again until his lips pucker. Patrick's drooling. "Mine. Don't use it against me, or I won't be so nice."

If this is you being nice, Patrick doesn't know what he'd be willing to do for mean. Every word you say, every tug, your spit in his mouth-- it all sends shivers of pleasure down his spine and through to his dick, aching and tenting in the shorts he wore to practice and then to a party. He truly is as filthy as you make him out to be.

You grab his hair again just to shove him in between your thighs, the material of your jeans rubbing harshly against his face and the irritated skin of his cheek. Patrick can smell you through it. He feels punch-drunk. This is what he was made for. This is his true purpose, not tennis.

His large palms slide up and down your thighs, hungry fingers begging at the button of your jeans. Off. He needs them off.

You let him peel them off you, not for him but for yourself. You need him to show you what he's actually good for. Why you keep him around.

[powdcr]

it'll only hurt for a second

୨୧ jinx x transmasc!reader

୨୧ summary: jinx helps you do your testosterone shot

୨୧ word count: 1.4k

୨୧ tw: needles, injections, medical stuff

୭ ୨♡୧ ৎ

Ever since you came out as transgender, Jinx had been nothing but supportive. She had seen the signs ever since she’d known you and had secretly suspected that you felt this way. You never seemed to fit in with feminine terms or as being described as a woman. Over the past few years, she had started referring to you with gender neutral terms and pronouns as this seemed to calm your discomfort. She figured that if you were struggling with your gender, and wanted her to know, that you would tell her when you were ready. That day came and went, and she never saw you any differently for it. You would always belong to her, and that’s all that really mattered to the blue-haired girl.

One day, you met with Jinx in her base. She was tinkering at her desk, working on a blueprint for a new gun that she had wanted to construct. You came in with a satchel thrown over your shoulder. Taking notice of the music being blasted, you smiled to yourself. That’s my girl. You sauntered over to her, trying to call out over the music.

“Jinx! Baby!”

No response could be heard as she kept hard at work, leaning onto the desk to get a better look at whatever it was that she was drawing. You sighed, shaking your head before tapping her on the shoulder.

“Oh, shoots!” She called out, startled, almost falling off of her chair. She turned the stereo off before turning around to see you. She laughed in relief, pulling a loose strand of hair back. “You scared me, space boy.” A blush covered her face as she looked you up and down. You were wearing a more masculine outfit than the ones you had been wearing up until now.

“Sorry, babe. I tried calling out over the music. You always have it so loud. Do you ever think about your hearing when you put it that high?” you asked in a soft tone, genuinely caring about your girlfriend’s health.

Jinx stuttered for once, not taking in the question that you had just asked her. “I- um, no… not really, but wow, you look… good. Handsome. You look handsome.” She gestured with her pointer finger to your outfit and stature, followed by a clearing of her throat.

You cracked a smile, looking down at your feet. You let out a small, “thanks,” before pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Anyway, I wanted to talk with you about something.”

Jinx’s eyebrows raised at your comment. “What’s up, buttercup?” Her tone returned to its normal cheery state as she fell back onto her desk chair. “Hit me with it.”

“Well, I… I don’t know how you’ll feel about this, but…” you stuttered as you opened up the satchel that hung by your hip bone. “I picked up this medication. I got it from someone that has connections over at the Piltover apothecary. If I pay him then he gets it for me, but I wanted to talk with you about it before I did my first dose.”

Jinx’s eyes narrowed. “Okay…” She bit the inside of her cheek as she sat up from her chair to look inside the bag.

The satchel contained needles as well as vials and alcohol wipes. It also had a small container that held syringes. She picked up a vial that had a see-through liquid within it, shaking it gently to watch as the liquid moved side to side.

“So… what is it exactly?”

“Well, you take shimmer, right? It makes you feel stronger, more confident, and it gives you energy. This… It’s supposed to do that for me. Except, it’ll make me look more masculine. I’ll look more like a man than I do now.”

Jinx inspected it further, holding the vial between her painted fingernails. “It’ll make you look more masculine?”

“Yeah! I might get facial hair, gain more muscle, and my voice would definitely get deeper.”

She smiled at your response. “So, correct me if I’m wrong, but… it’ll make you look more like you.”

“Yeah.” The corners of your lips upturned.

“I’m surprised something like this even exists, but then again, I heard there are some topsiders that are trying to create magic, so who knows at this point,” she said, rolling her eyes at the thought of the Pilties. “You want me to inject it for you?”

Your eyes lit up at Jinx’s question. “I mean, if you- yeah, if you’re comfortable. You don’t have to, of course, I wouldn’t wanna-”

“I’ll do it,” she said confidently, cutting you off with a smirk. Jinx motioned for you to hand the satchel over, which you did so obediently.

Jinx took the supplies out of the bag, assembling them all together as you instructed her to. She knelt down on the floor in front of you and had you lift up your shirt for her. Biting her bottom lip in a deep focus, she wiped a part of your stomach with an alcohol swab before pinching the skin in between her fingers.

“You ready, Mr?” Jinx asked in a playful tone to distract you from the situation. You always had had a fear of needles. The idea of them in general absolutely terrified you. That’s why she was so surprised at first that you were willing to do this.

You nodded nervously, holding your eyes closed as you braced for the pain.

“Don’t worry, it’ll only hurt for a second,” she said before sticking you with the needle, “See, it’s already in. You’re doing great, toots. In fact, you’re doing better than Silco does. He’s a real baby about his shimmer injections.”

You winced, but the pain really wasn’t as bad as you thought it was going to be. You laughed a little at Jinx’s comment about Silco. “Is that so?”

“Yep, he makes me do it every day for him at the same time, but he always procrastinates for like fifteen minutes beforehand. Sometimes he even paces,” she said with a giggle. “It’s really silly, honestly. I figure the faster you get it over and done with, the faster it’s, ya know, over. Makes sense to me.” She pulled out the needle as soon as she was done injecting the testosterone, placing a kiss to your stomach. “All done!”

“Really?” You asked, shocked that it happened so fast, before looking down at your blue-haired girlfriend.

“Yep,” she said with a wide grin, pulling your shirt back down for you, “so when does it start working?”

“Well, it’s something that builds up in your system, but technically I should see slight changes as early as the end of this week. I’m supposed to do it weekly, that’s why.”

“Nuh uh,” Jinx retorted.

Your eyebrows raised.

“I’ll be doing it for you weekly,” she said proudly, crossing her arms in front of her. “I might as well be a doctor at this point. I do your injections, mine, and Silco’s.”

You both laugh.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Don’t get all mushy-gushy with me. I know you’d do the same for me,” Jinx replied, trying to not get too sappy with you. “Anyway, I’m excited to see what you’ll look like… finally being you. You’re already you, but… ya know what I mean.”

“I do.”

“You never did tell me… Do you want me to start calling you something else? Maybe there’s a name that you feel suits you more?” Jinx asked, placing her hands on your chest affectionately. She was a mere centimeters from you now, looking into your eyes with her own doe-y, pink ones.

“[Y/N],” you replied. It was obvious that you had thought about it prior to this conversation, but you just didn’t know how to bring it up until now.

She smirked before going in to kiss you. Your lips pressed against her velvety ones. Electricity shot through you as butterflies erupted in your stomach. She tasted like blue raspberry and smoke. It made you feel high just being near her, but kissing her was different. It made you feel crazy.

“I love you, [Y/N],” Jinx replied in a softer tone than the one she had held throughout the rest of your interaction. It was gentle, welcoming, and made you feel safe. It was a voice that you had imagined her having before she had become ‘Jinx.’ She played with the collar of your shirt. “It’s a nice name. It suits you.”

“I love you too, Jinx,” you replied in an equally as soft tone, “I love you so much.”

[onbanksofadragonriver]

Hey, so I was thinking about this, and then this post crossed my dash again and — bloody hell, Solas, a spirit of pride, ex-wisdom, the guy who refuses to LIE and approves of people looking for TRUTH, called the GOD OF LIES?

* Disclaimer here — I haven't played the game myself, and I can only operate with what information I see on tumblr or youtube so take all this with a grain of salt.

It doesn't make any sense to me, why Solas, the professional rebel leader and trickster (but not exactly a liar!), who had been leading people against the evanuris for centuries, who had elves flocking to him at the end of Trespasser, is suddenly alone. I imagine that whatever the devs tell themselves happened to make Solas alone maybe also kinda broke his dedication to truthfulness, so in Veilguard he's angrily decided to, fine, he'll be the villain, he'll be the liar.

Anger and despair is a disastrous basis for any decision, but, coupled with the fragile state of the Veil and the enormous, debilitating sense of sunken costs, it could narratively explain the change in Solas. Like, he believes he's done such terrible things, he's caused so much pain and misery, he's (potentially) rejected his one chance at personal happiness, he's betrayed and killed his (toxically beloved) friend/mentor/lover? Mythal, so fuck it, why not become the liar and traitor they all expect him to be, as long as it gets the job done.

Rook talking to him, trying to help untangle that huge mess of guilt and despair would have been SO ON POINT in a game that takes its time off from saving the world to sort out the companions' personal issues. In case of Neve they make sense because making sure at least one part of the world is as safe as can be ties in with the larger objective, but picnics in the woods? Dinner with Taash's mum? Standard grave upkeep rituals that, for some reason, haven't been delegated to someone else while Emmrich is away? Not sure.

In DAI random fetch quests or even going out of your way for companion personal quests made more sense, because there's an entire army, a network of agents, a ton of correspondence with nobles doing the work of saving the world in the background, plus, Corypheus is, for long periods of time, working behind the scenes, instead of actively corrupting entire cities with Blight. But Rook has only themselves, and their companions to stop Ghilan'nain and Elgar'nan. Everyone else is largely fending for themselves, or their immediate areas. Every day counts!

But they do. The entire message of the game seems to be: the past is the past; what matters is who we are here and now.

So why not LISTEN to Solas? On the one hand, there are Solas' memories and the possibility to get Morrigan's or Mythal's input on why Solas is doing what he does but there is precious little in-depth interaction and actual listening to Solas himself. Finding out what happened, why is he alone, where did all the agents go? Why is no one helping him? What exactly was the plan? What went wrong in the first place, because Mythal didn't want him to put up the Veil, it was a mistake, it was not meant to happen. (I also have a question, who the hell were the Evanuri's fighting and why have the devs forgotten the Forgotten Ones; did their prison in the Void hold better than the one Fen'Harel made for the Evanuris??)

Anyway, imagine if the good and kind person Rook is kinda forced to be due to the game dialogue and choices — someone who didn't know Solas before, someone who knows from the start who Solas is and what he has done; someone who was only meant to stop him, based on Varric's stories and extended friendship — this person STILL listens. This person STILL considers his side of the story. (and maybe then stabs him in the back but - it has been an informed decision, Solas should approve)

I think there are certain parallels with Anders, who tried everything he could to improve the situation of mages, before he ran out of options and blew up the Chantry. So did Solas fight the Evanuris for centuries, before he came to the conclusion that only a Fade prison would stop them. Anders didn't want to get Hawke involved, and Solas didn't want to involve the Inquisitor. The difference is that DA2 clearly showed how the Templars and the Chantry abuse the mages, Kirkwall was a brutal game in that regard, even if it still pretended to play with the idea that maybe Templars/Circles/Chantry are right. The result was the same regardless of how the player went about it and what he believed in — Anders blew up the Chantry and Hawke was banished from Kirkwall.

So I wonder what deliciously disastrous emotional fallout we were robbed of — if Rook could listen to Solas, if they were given an in-game opportunity to believe in his cause, take his side in bringing down the Veil. And THEN (for sake of future games' continuity) Rook finds out the 'safe plan' is not gonna work after all and has the option to either talk down or betray Solas :)))

Something something. Making Solas a liar in Veilguard actively brings back a problem they fixed working on Inquisition.

On December 20 2019 VGS posted an interview with Trick Weekes about their work on Solas. This whole sentence is a link so its large enough for mobile but also disclaimer this is before they changed their name so deadname warning.

Here's a transcription I found here which is where i took the screenshots above. Since I know not everyone has 40 minutes to listen to an online radio interview.

I however highlighted the main point since most of you are not reading the screenshots anyway but skimming through. Rant under Read-more. Also bc i try to not be too negative on people's dashs but also i wanna ramble some more.

"But he lied a lot more. And it really weakened his character."

You can tell this happened during the game. Solas lies only once within Inquisition. He says something he can't be vague about and you push him so he lies, badly. He usually tells the truth vaguely. Typically Solas lies no more than Blackwall.

I fully believe that if in Inquisition your inquisitor figured out that Solas was Fen’harel and asked him bluntly to his face he'd confess. He might even be impressed. But why would you ever start to think that. No one assumes that their coworker is actually Poseidon regardless of how much they love the beach and ocean.

He hides in your expectations.

You can't ask him about being an ancient elf or being Fen'harel of myth because those aren't very probable. They're astronomically low to be truth within that universe. And outside, no one finished DA2 and went i wonder if one of our next companions is the Dread Wolf. Sera said, impossible things can't be surprises. He doesn't have to lie so when the truth comes out it's becomes obvious on a second playthrough.

They then actively bring back a problem they fixed in Inquisitions development. That they were open about fixing. That having a character that outright lies to you makes you have no intention of even hearing out the character. It retroactively undercuts Inquisition bc i see people trying to find Solas' lies in it when they aren't going to find any beyond the court intrigue.

It undercuts any lore we do get from Solas bc people dismiss it outright as being a lie from Mr "I abhor blood magic". I feel like shaking people's shoulders like no, dont do it.

They retconned him guys i have proof from 2019.

And its like if you hate Solas is this even satisfying? Like that's not Solas. His motivations are gone (that's a whole other post) and so is his core personality trait. It's like they went here's the Dreadwolf but during the ten years they replaced the smug asshole who was insufferably right with a 20 yo senior chihuahua that doesnt have any teeth.

My favorite villains are those that tell the truth. Because nothing hurts more than the truth. Can you imagine if he told you the truth. If he told you horrible things that you dismissed as lies to only be true. Wouldn't Varric’s death have more weight if he told you Varric was dead only for you - for everyone - to see him in the Lighthouse. If it was a spirit who took his shape to help you or even because it saw something worth reflecting in your memories.

So you dismiss him until it's revealed near the end oh he was telling the truth and you have an oh shit maybe he was right about other things but its too late to try and stop any of the truths he told you which could be from allies/companions betraying to stuff about Ghilan'nain and Elgarnan.

Like the only way to redeem Solas was to listen to him and by going out of your way to address problems he sees and you can find the alternative to tearing down the Veil by a series a little puzzle pieces throughout the game.

Have it be he will only listen to you if you listen to him. That he'll reject your other solution bc why the hell would he trust you if you couldnt extend the same.

Like Solas couldve been a great villian and he should've been great for both the haters and those that liked him. Not only the romance but for those who became his friend. Like i keep coming back to if i hated Solas would i be satisfied with Veilguard.

And the answer is no because that isnt Solas.

Tricking him has no weight bc he's an idiot in Veilguard like not even in the ending bc doesn't notice you switch the dagger around like right in front of him but none of his actions make sense. Ppl have mentioned the regret prison makes no sense for Elgarnan and Ghilan'nain bc they don't have regrets.

Attacking Solas has no weight because he literally needs the shit kicked out of him by a dragon for it to even begin to work. They literally need him to be at deaths door before its realistic that Rook could take him in a fight.

Redeem has no weight bc of the massive retcons to his motivations. They had to retcon the post credits scene bc even if Flemythal went hey i don't want you to do this Dai Solas wouldve went okay but that doesnt solve my other problems with the veil including the corruption of spirits and the fact its in literal shambles so i guess is still coming down.

I'm just disappointed. By the end of Trespasser they had a great villian and they just tossed it to the side and reverted him and people are arguing about a character who's sole defining trait in Veilguard is a problem they solved before Inquisition launched.

Basically we can sum it up with a screenshot.

[my-my-my]

hiiii can i request a scenario for shinji hirako with an s/o who is usually not physically affectionate but really loves listening to his heartbeat when feeling stressed or overwhelmed?

Oh this is sweet! I think this would be my first Shinji fic. Thank you for requesting it. I'm going to put it with post-TYBW Shinji.

Summary: Work sucks most days, but getting yelled at for something that's not even your fault? That's even worse. Thankfully Shinji knows just what you need.

TW: This is SFW. Workplace abuse, verbal harassment, mentions of stress and incompetence.

“Are you that much of an idiot to not understand where vents should go!?” Yelled Captain Kurotsuchi at you. You flinched as he ranted on about your work in redesigning the Squad 12 barracks.

You and your team were leading the redesign and renovations of various barracks across the Gotei 13 after the war with the Quincies. And you had received the ire of Captain Kurotsuchi. You knew he would be difficult, which is why your superior assigned you as the leader of the small team working with Squad 12. You would be able to handle it. You were focused, diligent and attentive. Any details and requests, no matter how miniscule, would be overseen by you.

Which is why you were exhausted hearing Captain Kurotsuchi rant for umpteenth time today. You looked around apprehensively for Lieutenant Akon. It was much easier to deal with him than the captain, but he was nowhere in sight.

And your colleagues ran off to hide, even though it was their mistake to begin with putting the vent over his computer (and in what world did that make sense anyways!? You wanted to yell at them.)

But no, instead you were being yelled at as you tried your best to apologize for the error. Another colleague ran to remove the ventilation item, but it was too late.

It didn’t help that the rest of Squad 12 looked at you like some kind of idiot, being scolded by the teacher. You hated feeling so small.

So powerless.

You tried biting your lip, squeezing your fists as Captain Kurotsuchi waved you off, muttering how useless you were.

As he walked away, so did you, into another room to calm down. Your colleagues swarmed you, after scurrying away from Captain Kurotsuchi’s fury. It was humiliating, hearing their fake apologies.

“Leave me be, please.” You muttered to them, as they tried consoling you. You couldn’t register what they were saying, but one of them managed to find Lieutenant Akon.

But you were too exhausted and overwhelmed. You had spent over 14 hours doing renovations.

“I’m sorry for this Lieutenant Akon, but I’ll have to resume the renovations tomorrow.” You bowed your head apologetically. “My colleagues here will clean up.” You said, giving them a glare as they sheepishly agreed.

“Thank you for your work today.” Lieutenant Akon said, giving you a wry smile. “I got the gist of what happened. Don’t worry about today. You and your team have done an excellent job so far.” He smiled, “I’ll let the captain know tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” You sighed, bowing your head again.

“And I’ll be around tomorrow. So you can come to me with any questions.” The lieutenant explained, hoping that would make you feel better.

You gave him a soft smile, but left the barracks exhausted. You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry. Renovations were already hard work, and to have someone call you an idiot and every other related word at you, for more than 10 hours?

You didn’t realize, but you were shaking in fury.

“Hey, doll. What’s with the frown?” You knew that voice from anywhere.

And after the day you’ve had, it was a voice you needed to hear.

Without even thinking, you wrapped your arms around Captain Hirako. He immediately tensed at the sudden motion, but relaxed as he wrapped your arms back. Shinji frowned slightly, noticing the shakes your body was making.

“Why don’tcha come back to my office?” He held you closer, stroking your back. “I’ll play your favourite record and we can open those snacks we’ve been savin’ for, ok?” You nodded your head in his chest, as he held your hand, walking towards the Squad 5 barracks.

It wasn’t Shinji’s favourite genre of music, but it helped you relax. The two of you were lounging in the loveseat couch in his office, your body on top of his, laying peacefully as the music filled the room.

Your shaking stopped, thankfully. Shinji looked down as he stroked your hair. It wasn’t often you would want physical affection, so Shinji savoured the moments when they came.

He just hated how it would come to be. What sort of anger, frustration and ineptitudes you must have faced to lead you to this state. You had fallen asleep in his arms, as you cried into his chest about the awful day you had.

Shinji wanted to go down to the Squad 12 barracks and yell at Kurotsuchi on your behalf, but you would have been more upset. Instead, playing a record that soothed you, having your favourite snacks on hand, and of course his presence, was enough to calm you down.

It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep in his arms either. The lull of Shinji’s heartbeat, the warmth of his embrace, and his long, thin fingers, stroking your hair and body, put you in a daze. You murmured to him, with sleep lacing your voice, of what happened. Shinji would squeeze your arm in reassurance, hold you closer to him as he kissed your forehead.

Whatever had happened before, whatever will happen later, will never matter, you thought to yourself. Unconsciously you snuggled closer into Shinji’s chest.

The tenderness of Shinji’s love for you was enough to persevere – tomorrow will just be another day.

Thank you for requesting this, anon! I hope this is what you had in mind.

This is the song I was listening to, that would also play in the final scene. Home - Resonance

[flowersforthemachines]

Wip Wednesday (featuring post-canon Rookanis divorcees)

Recently got into thinking about all the ways Rook and Lucanis could burn and crash post-canon. And also of Lucanis's banter about putting Wardens out of their misery at the end of their Calling at their requests. And so the idea of him agreeing to do the same for Rook despite them not seeing each other for a while was born.

(Bellara is there because I have a headcanon of blighted!Bellara joining the Wardens after the events of the game. if you get it you get it)

“How did you know I was there?” he asked. “In the Eluvian room.” “Oh, I didn't know it was you, precisely," Bellara replied. "But I felt the Eluvian’s magic so I knew there'd have to be someone. Like a guest.” “Or an assassin.”  “We haven't had those in a few years,” she laughed. “Which is good. I don't miss almost getting stabbed. Or poisoned.” Lucanis, if I can have one last request: please make our break-up at least somewhat public among the Crows. I've had too many dealings with assassins who want to get at the First Talon through me.  “And they kept spooking the griffons.” Bellara scoffed.  “How are the griffons these days, by the way?” he asked.  Why. Won't you. Ask about. Rook?  “Good. Better. Bigger. You can't believe how big they can grow until you see it. I'm not sure if even I believe that, and I've been here the entire time.” He couldn't pay any mind to the halls they walked through — his concentration worked only to keep himself together. All he could do was walk forward. It felt like the tiniest slip could be his undoing.   “And how are the Crows?” Bellara asked in a way that begged to fill the silence.  “Betrayal, succession feuds, assassination. You know, the usual.” “I don't think it's usual,” she mused. “Not for most of the world anyway.” Ask. Her. About— “How’s Rook?” The words burst out of him like a dog breaking off a leash.  Bellara stopped.  “Bad.” Back turned towards him, she continued, “I almost said that you can imagine, but you can't, I guess. Not like I can. The Blight, it's… It's a lot. Too much by now. When it's over, it's… It will be a relief. For her.” She let out a shaky breath and turned around. “So thank you. For coming.” We. Will. Help.  “Death is my calling, after all,” he said. “It’s what I do best.”

[hinamie]

mentor

[antivanlights]

I have WRITTEN MORE about this concept. It's like 1k words so I'm adding a cut on this one too... Oh, Illario.

Alright, so I’m thinking that in this scenario Illario would obviously go through a rollercoaster of emotions. At first, he could just play it cool, flirty and stupid casual. Their “thing” happened like 8 years ago (I picture my Rook to be around 30), so they’re basically total strangers now anyway, right? Their interactions are brief and they dance around each other with ease. He doesn’t particularly care about Rook, nor their plans immediately. Figures they won’t get very far, certainly not with his possessed, traumatized disaster of a cousin tagging along. Fighting against gods? He’s giving the group a month or two, tops.

MEANWHILE: Imagine how Rook would feel by falling for a Dellamorte again. I’m sure they wanted to bash their head in against the fish tank in their room upon realizing how totally smitten they were. Perhaps the first few flirts were playful - just a Crow following the script. But as they continued to get to know Lucanis, Rook realized how different he is - how lovely. He’s funny, he’s sweet, he fights really cool doing all sorts of stabby flips... but he’s also hurting and he needs support and Rook wants to do everything, anything they can to help and AARRGH! Now all the flirts are real and Rook can imagine a life with Lucanis while Viago’s familiar voice is echoing in their head: Idiot!

Back in Treviso Illario is actually smug, entertained even when he discovers that Rook and Lucanis have something going on. “Ah, my cousin seems to have taken a liking to my leftovers.” On top of that, a part of him is making it all about himself. Is Rook entertaining Lucanis to get back at me? How fun.

But unfortunately for Illario, the bond between his cousin and Rook is very much real and he is NOT a part of the equation in any shape or form. Rook’s team keeps securing victory after victory, and his cousin is looking more alive than ever. Demon aside (Why isn’t anyone complaining more about the demon? Hello?), Lucanis is now surrounded by friends, regarded as a funny and generous companion (What?), and he and Rook keep giving each other these looks. So now he’s feeling jealous. And a tiny part of him is terrified of the thought that all this happiness and glory could have been his. What if he hadn’t toyed around with Rook? What if things had somehow worked out and he had been the one to join Rook’s team? Would he be smiling like Lucanis? Would he be on a completely different path? A better one?

He catches Lucanis glaring daggers at him from the distance one day. Does he know? He probably knows. (I picture Rook telling him about the disaster with Illario, and Lucanis telling them about the embarrassing thing with Viago in return one evening over wine and snacks.)

So when his schemes fail and he falls to his knees, bloody and disgraced in front of his cousin, he accepts Rook’s disdain. And yet…

SCENE!

Rook entered the heavily guarded wing of the Dellamorte villa, nodding at the guards as they made their way to Illario’s room. He was being kept at the villa for questioning, but Rook figured that this was also another way of protecting him. That said, they were keenly aware of the magical wards set at every door and window – most likely set to incapacitate or eliminate Illario if he tried something.

Pushing open the door to his room, Rook stepped inside. Illario was sitting at the edge of his bed, just staring out towards the balcony he could not step out into. Upon hearing the door and the accompanying steps, he turned to watch as Rook casually made their way inside. Rook closed the door behind them and leaned against it. Rook spoke first, arms crossed against their chest.

“Won’t lie, what you did was horrific and they should’ve probably cut you down on the spot.”

Illario threw himself back, laying on the bed while his feet dangled off the edge. “Ugh, is that all you came here to say?”

The was a brief pause before Rook let out a breath. “Nah. What I wanted to say is that as horrific as it was, you were exactly who we were trained to be. I get it, I guess…” Rook turned their face to look towards the balcony before they continued. “My point is… You can make a choice now.”

Illario audibly scoffed, propping himself up on elbows to look at Rook. “Are you suggesting I can still be redeemed, Rook?”

Rook shrugged but did not meet his gaze. “You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

Illario opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. Rook met his gaze and they remained like that for a few seconds.

“I’ll get going now, have a meeting. I’m usually around if you need someone to talk to. As a friend. Just let your guards know and they’ll find me.” Rook quickly turned around and exited to room, the door shutting gently behind them.

Illario lay there, half-stunned as he stared at the door. “Friend?”

END SCENE!

So after that I feel like Rook, Lucanis, Viago and Teia will continue their work to reform the Crows into something less… exploitative? They’re an assassin’s guild, sure, but the constant infighting, cruelty, and awful training/recruiting tactics made for a terrible business model in long need of change.

At some point, they’ll likely let Illario out of his containment unit and just tell him to help out with a ton of things (under careful supervision). I’d like to think that at this point, he’d start to come in regular contact with all the companions and members from their allied factions. Eventually, he’d have the opportunity to forge genuine friendships. Maybe one day he’ll pull through a tough situation and save everyone’s asses.

Later on, he’d be able to make a choice for himself, for his future - be it within or out of the Crows. Though he’d probably have to fake his own death and forge a new identity to get away from it all. But I’m sure the team would help.

Alright that’s all I got this time. Thanks for joining me in this pit of lunacy.

Imagine how wild it’d be if Illario were Crow Rook’s ex. I know it’s crazy but listen: the drama of it.

Full conspiracy-theory level rambling under the cut.

Imagine Rook, long before they got their nickname, working their way through their training, a proud new member of House de Riva. They’re talented, but reckless and naïve. Viago does what he can to instill discipline and wisdom on his charge, but he’s not a miracle worker.

At the same time, Illario is perfecting his skills, mapping out his ambitions. They meet out of pure coincidence, but Illario’s attention immediately clings to them – what a pretty, new toy he has found. His charms work and a young Rook is dazzled. Perhaps its their naïveté, perhaps they’re still trying to find some good in the dark alleys of Treviso. Unfortunately for them, it’s over as soon as it starts.

Rook is promptly left alone to their thoughts – heart broken and personality hardened. “I have better things to do. Bigger plans to follow.” Illario will say as he walks out on them, content with having gotten to play with the pretty toy, content with having broken it. “We have never met. You understand, right?” With that, he will leave, never waiting for a response.

Now, Viago won’t know the full picture, but he will understand that something happened. He’s no stranger to situationships and he will feel that this one was bad. From there on, he will make sure that his protégé’s business never crosses paths with that of the Dellamorte’s. Rook’s career in the Crows will continue with them never coming into contact with anyone from the House – for better or worse.

Years later, Rook is in front of Caterina Dellamorte. Rook and Illario play their parts: they have never met. Viago will play along. It’s none of my business, he’ll think.

But now imagine, Lucanis is alive and well - he's even reached an understanding with his demon. He has found true companionship and love with Rook – and its real. By the Maker, it’s real. Illario can see how they look at each other, how they fight together. Their smiles, their discrete touches. By the end of their adventures, Lucanis has also gone and freed their home, saved the world and secured the seat of First Talon.

Meanwhile, Illario sits alone in a room on the far edge of the villa. Marked as a traitor, completely disgraced. All his plans failed. He’s angry and he’s jealous and he can remember how Rook feels under his touch.

And all this misery? It was dealt by his own hand.

[deoidesign]

.

[deus-ex-mona]

when the slowburn makes the ship extra cute~~~

[the-oracle-of-the-lost]

okok i finished Joy to the World here are my thoughts (spoilers under the cute)

i will admit to be being biased towards liking Moffat's style of writing, particularly his Christmas specials which are almost all dear episodes to me in one way or another so as much as i think dw desperately needs new writers, i was excited he was writing this vs RTD.

and i wasn't let down! it was a good episode and had all the great marks of a Christmas special being a little cheesy & over-sentimental while still maintaining a plot with the Time Hotel being a super cool setting that definitely should be used in the future

turning That Weird Hotel Door into an episode plot is the most Doctor Who plot we've had in a longgggg time.

something i've been a little critical of dw in recent years has been how it's dealt with one-off characters and how it either seems like one-off characters get ALL the focus of an episode (and almost none on the main characters) or one-off characters only exist to give some expository dialogue and then stand around like cardboard cut-outs and i'm so pleased that this episode had three new one-off characters (Joy, Trev, & Anita) who were all memorable (i mean seriously. i remembered their names without even trying which i almost never do) and had clear arcs while the Doctor also had some very strong & clear characterization regarding his loneliness carrying on from last season.

speaking of the Doctor – that scene with the two Doctors getting stuck in the loop and the young Doctor taking out their frustrations on their older self was so good in terms of writing and acting. plus seeing it from both the younger & older Doctor's perspective.... ouch. Ncuti Gatwa you deserve the world.

there was an excellent mix of comedy and drama. a few moments (jokes and drama) fell a little flat for me but there was plenty of good stuff to make up for it.

the whole scene with the Doctor trying to make Joy angry to break the briefcase's control was predictable but still a classic. her getting angry about her mom dying on Christmas during covid when she couldn't even visit and the hypocrisy of the government for partygate was great tbh. i've been quite passively interested with how recent media has or hasn't been incorporating the pandemic into the world and i thought this was quite a good way to do it for Doctor Who with someone expressing rightful grief and anger over something so many people prefer not to even talk about. (on a personal note – i was watching the episode with my mom who worked on covid units during 2020 and saw a lot of her patients die alone and have last conversations through ipads and the grief that caused and she at least was quite affected and touched by the episode including that. okay sorry for the downer, back to fun stuff.)

the Doctor buying TARDIS merch online to decorate his room was such a fun little way to add to the fourth wall arc of the last season. i'm still a little unsure of where it's going and if the ending will deliver but the gags do please me.

the running theme with Villengard has me kinda 50-50. on one hand i love to expressly make weapons manufacturers into clear villains! on the other, i feel like the episode never really got into how Villengard wasn't going to exploit the Joy-Star as was their original plan (and really what their original plan was about other than a vague "creating infinite energy"). but as this is the second time Villengard has popped up as the villain behind an episode, i feel hopeful that we'll explore more of their villainy in the future.

that said.... creating a new star for infinite energy.... you mean like Gallifrey.... you mean like the Eye of Harmony right. (i don't really have anything to talk about but just rotating the parallels to the EU idea of one of Gallifrey's suns being artificially constructed.)

i'm also kinda eh on the last stinger of the Joy-Star being at Jesus's birth. it wasn't explicit (just a location & time stamp at the end) so i think i'm good with it and it's kind of a funny bit, but i am always a bit wary of weaving in aspects of actual religions to Doctor Who & shows like it because it can often be handled poorly. that said i'm not religious in the slightest so i don't really think i can be the one to judge that.

the one thing i didn't love so much about the episode, and i think i noticed it more because i did a double feature watch with The Church on Ruby Road but... there's something in the way other characters interact with the Doctor that just feels a bit same-y. like with Trev, Joy, and Anita (and Ruby in The Church on Ruby Road) – they all never really questioned the Doctor (particularly Anita. and like. i do love characters who simply Roll With It but this was a little too much) and all had the "wow this is the most wonderful man i've ever met" expression on their face after 5 minutes of knowing this guy. and. i get it. that's part and parcel with most of new who and it's wonderful that Ncuti Gatwa, a Black man, can have those moments of being the cool amazing hero that everyone loves but... eh i personally prefer Doctors who can take awhile to warm up to and the constant "i've known this guy for 10 seconds and i'm going to risk my life for him" can be a bit grating for me. but again it's nothing that wasn't constantly done during Ten's era so it's not the worst thing, just not my personal tastes.

the ending was too cheesy for me i'm sorry. i like the bittersweetness of Joy dying to turn into a star but the over-emotional goodbye with her floating up into the sky without really having a solid plot reason for what's happening. i thought the Earth was going to explode and then 30 seconds later, Joy basically says "oh don't worry, i took care of it" like??? sorry i know this is extremely soft scifi but i need a little more explanation. her pointing out the Doctor's loneliness was welcome as was the montage of people looking at her star but. i need a little more.

um. i'm probably forgetting some other stuff but this is already so long at this point that i'm going to stop and watch Husbands of River Song and cry.

all in all – nice episode! definitely one of the better Fifteen episodes for me. a few moments i thought were a little too cheesy or annoying but plenty of great stuff in between. i'd give it an 8/10.

[batfossil-fr]

I’ve been really thinking of reopening my art shop soon… I’ve been taking some practice doodles (hence all the posting lately) while I shake off my rust and I’m finding things I enjoy working on again. I miss trying my hand at more dragons/OCs and colors. my shop’s so broken rn lmao but that’s a problem for a later date it’s just nice getting back into art

[girlivealwaysbean]

i think growing up is just life repeatedly sucker punching you and saying bitch you thought things were gonna better lmao no you're so naive and stupid for having hope in 20 years the world will be flaming bag of garbage and no matter how hard you work you'll get eliminated at some point

[shirogane-oushirou]

no promises anymoooooreeeee i'll appear online when i appear online 😭 every time i say "ooh i think life is almost done being overwhelming!" it. becomes even more overwhelming in the dumbest ways. all i can manage rn when i'm not stressing myself into a shut-down state is staring at the wall while listening to youtube essays + mindlessly crocheting.

i might queue up ppls art and fics w/o commentary in the tags... i want other ppl to see what all of my cool friends have made, but i genuinely can't think right now with this monstrous brain fog. i'm really sorry, just. yeah. maybe i'll think of some way to make it up later!!! once the dust has settled!!!! but until then i wuv u and miss u. smiles.

[venting in tags including familial manipulation and ableism. i. didn't mean to write all of that, thiss was originally going to be a main blog post but. aaaaaAAAAAA!!!!!

also no need for replies or anything, i'd turn them off for just the one post if i could kjsndkn, i just needed to get things out and go eep jsjndsfdn ok bye bye bye bye!!!!]