#but never in the face of the action either

[arosebyan0thername]

BTW if someone calls you and says they're so-and-so from a trusted source and that you need to give them ANY personal information at all, let alone things like social security number or bank info, YOU should hang up and call THEIR institution/company/whatever back.

Find the actual number, go into your insurance or bank's app, go to their website, go to the DMV or FBI or whatever's website, and call that number. Tell them you received a call from them asking for your SSN or saying you've committed tax fraud and need to give them your bank account info Right Now or you'll go to jail. Let them know you weren't certain about the legitimacy and wanted to verify.

You will never ever get in trouble with a legitimate organization for telling them "hang on, I'm a little uncertain so I'm going to hang up and call right back," or if you're worried about confrontation, you can even say your phone is dying and you'll have to call from another phone or something. You Will Not get in trouble for that if it's a real call. But generally you'll do that and the legitimate organization will look up your info and say that whatever that caller said is not true and they were a scam.

This is also true at your place of work; if someone says they're calling from corporate and you need to go ring some transactions or load some gift cards or whatever NOW or you'll be fired, 1) that will never under any circumstances actually be legitimate no matter what, but 2) you can say "I'm not comfortable with this. I'm going to call [home office/loss prevention/wherever they said they're calling from] back and start from there."

And then you hang up and either go find that corporate number through your company resources, call them (it'll usually be loss prevention you want to contact) and explain what happened, or, better yet, just immediately notify your manager.

The person on that initial call may try to threaten you, they might tell you that they will take action against you such as cutting your hours, docking your pay, writing you up, or even firing you. Remember, they cannot do any of those things because this will never be a legitimate call, but also if you are still worried, you will have a strong case with either HR, LP, or, if nothing else, an attorney, to get whatever that corrective action was repealed, because you are doing your job to ensure your company is not being scammed.

And this isn't about saving a corporation, this is purely about saving your own ass, because if you do go through with a scam call, then you Will face corrective action.

Something to watch for, which I learned from stage magic but which is extremely relevant to detecting scams as well:

The magician or scammer will *tell you* how he is going to prove his honesty.

The magician rifles through the deck until you say "stop", then he says, "Are you sure? I'll keep going if you want." and asks "Now, you agree that you could have stopped anywhere you wanted, so there's absolutely no way I could know which card you got" and because it's a magic show and you aren't paying close attention you didn't notice he didn't deal a card from where you stopped, he dealt the bottom card of the deck.

The magician doesn't ask you, "What would it take for you to believe this" because you might say, "I'd need you to use a sealed deck" or "I'd have to personally shuffle the deck" or some other proof that would make the trick impossible.

Magicians say "You agree that if I did *this*, it would mean *that*, right?" and you say yes, and it feels like you are the one who got to verify things, but of course the magician is lying and the proof is nothing of the kind.

Scammers do the same thing. A really concrete example is phone scammers pretending to be working for the government will say, "Look, I see you're skeptical if I'm who I say I am, I'm going to hang up and call back, and you'll see on the caller ID it says, 'FBI' and that tells you that I'm really working for the government."

Now, caller ID can be spoofed pretty easily, so it doesn't prove anything at all.

But it *feels* to you like you demanded proof and the scammer was willing to give you the proof.

But you didn't tell the scammer what out would take to prove it to you, the scammer told you what the proof would be.

This is actually like a really basic thing to look for if you want to start decoding magic tricks and scams.

[weirdero]

I want to talk about Helena’s performance as Helly and her deep rooted misunderstanding of who Helly is as a person. And just in general how I think she perceives her especially after yesterday’s episode.

Helena is incredibly attentive, almost to the point of being terrifying. In the short moments she interacts with anyone, everything in her head is already scripted, calculated, and premeditated. She’s also a great method actress, reacting based on the energy around her. It’s like a stand up comic, constantly adjusting their performance to make sure their actions land. If something doesn’t click, she shifts.

Throughout the past couple of episodes, Helena spends most of her time just trying to go with the flow move with the water, trying to fit in without standing out, constantly monitoring the group and their reactions at every turn. And so far, she was good at it. She can play the part, until her own emotions towards helly start to blind her.

In these two pics she does a quick scan of Irving’s and Marks faces trying to analyze their reactions

Helena knows the group loves Helly. She knows Mark loves Helly. And honestly, I’d bet every dollar in my bank account that it genuinely makes her want to kill herself. She has zero respect for Helly, and she doesn’t need to. To Helena, Helly, and by extension, the group, are low value. Insignificant. At her highest, Helly is just a worker, a cheap extension of herself created with the sole purpose of just being a good employee to be displayed to the public as a little shining lumon puppet. But shit, the bitch can’t even do that. She’s done quite the opposite. So yeah, not a person to be respected or valued.

This particular disdain (and fuck it, I’m just gonna say hate) that Helena carries for Helly spills into the bonfire scene with Milchick.

While Milchick is reading the story, enunciating every word like a second grade elementary school teacher, showing pictures like they’re in a reading circle, I kept wondering to myself if Helena ever experienced something similar to this as a child. How many times has she heard this same story? Or hell, any other old Kier mythology? Lumon, Kier, the Eagan legacy, it’s all she’s ever known. This world is nothing new to her.

Even though I believe Helena is a loyal servant, she probably didn’t love all the weird shit she had to put up with in her childhood. The weight of the Egan legacy probably suffocates her. But she accepted it either way because that was the life she was given. Unlike fucking helly. Fucking helly who’s forced her into this situation to begin with. In my opinion, all of these particular feelings make their way into Helena’s reaction to the story as Helly, which could only be described as a middle schooler who suddenly thinks they’re too old for camp.

I saw this post someone made about this scene, and like shit, yeah, that’s probably right. Helena had one chance to shit on the weird religion that’s been shoved down her throat since birth and she took that chance.

Helena, in this moment, settles for crude, mocking jokes. She probably does this partially out of her own selfish need for Mark’s validation, as well as playing her role trying to fit into the group but I also think it’s a great reflection of her own personal feelings toward Helly. Helly, who would’ve never acted that way. Helly, who is many things, but never cruel. Helena doesn’t seem to understand that. For the moment, Helena takes a step back, flanderizes Helly, reducing her to this cheeky, crude, disruptive little jokester. That’s how Helena views her. With no respect. No nuance. Helly has layers Helena does not care to see. Helly doesn’t just break rules; she actively causes chaos, subverting everything around her. She’s purposefully, and happily, malcontent. A bitch, dare I say, an ungrateful bitch, most likely from Helena’s point of view.

Irving, who keeps testing her, makes her slip a little more. I talked about this a little bit in my last post about severance, but Helena doesn’t take well to being disrespected. She shifts from wanting the group’s (and mostly Mark’s) validation to just wanting to put Irving in his fucking place. These people aren’t equal to her in her mind. They aren’t cut from the same cloth probably not even made from the same fabric. There are levels to this shit, and they are not on her level.

She says what she says. It’s cruel. Mostly, it’s stupid on her part.

And just like Irving said later, and what I said earlier Helly was many things, but…

What Helena did at the bonfire was a fuck up. An especially surprising one coming from a woman as controlling and calculated as her. I’m fully convinced all those little mistakes came from a deep frustration within her. Much of that anger, in my opinion, is stewing from the realization that Helly, someone created by her, literally the source of all of Helena’s recent problems, someone who will stop at nothing to take her down, that person, the woman who’s literally locked up inside her, is more free than she will ever be.

Yes, Helena has no respect for Helly. Yes, she most likely hates that bitch. But when she herself is acting as Helly, it gives her the opportunity to almost let go. She gets the chance to essentially kill the bitch that’s been fucking up her life whilst simultaneously getting a chance to talk to this man who cares so deeply for a version of herself she hates, Even if it’s not the most ideal of situations (it’s not), it’s still something. I think, at the bonfire, she reflects on the ridiculous situation she’s found herself. All this shit caused by some other version of herself that she created, that situation plus all the other shit going down at Lumon is probably alot. And it just all bubbles up inside her. And when she’s given even the smallest opportunity to let anything out, she’s going to take it.

Idk it’s therapeutic in a way I guess.

She’s unfiltered, blunt, and almost carefree in a way that’s shocking almost unsettling. It’s clearly how she sees Helly to some degree, but also her own need to scratch an itch she’s never dared to before. And even though it’s an act of “Helly”, it still leaves a clear aftertaste of Helena.

Keep thinking about these two little moments whilst she’s making her jokes she not only keeps checking on mark’s reaction but also seems to laugh at her self in a way that just seems so genuine almost self deprecating. She acknowledges the ridiculousness of her situation and this dumb ass story she’s probably heard a million times

In my last post about Severance, I mentioned that Helena is the master of speaking her truth without outright saying it. She hides behind walls, but as Helly, she’s free to speak without restraint.

(Also her having sex with mark is a clear way of her expressing this new found freedom with in her role as helly but ima talk about that later)

[tapenbreak]

𖦹. “𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐏𝐄.” —(𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐍𝐄𝐘)

𖦹. — 𝐬;𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬. losing a stupidly made bet has its consequences, it seems. oh, what a moron he can be. although, too late to back out now, is it—dearest whitney? a nice , round 5.0k words.

𖦹. — 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞, 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 . . . younger, therefore underclass man whitney who thought it was such a nice idea to suggest a bet, only to lose in the process, ‘first’ kiss, whoever lasts the longest wins, quite tame, actually—in comparison, though it’s mostly unspoken yearning. fat, puppy crush on upperclassman!reader (amab) that may or may not be worse.

𖦹. — 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬, doc? : “I’ve wanted to stretch this on further than intended, but I got something else planned for this fucker, so never mind. I’m not all that fond of this one since it’s quite more heavy on the feelings than actions, but to each their own.”

Alright, so, let’s supposedly say that he’s already somehow impulsively roped himself in an intangible mess due to an irrefutably dumb bet he’s made on the spot with you, none the wiser��of course. Inexplicably caught himself in a sticky, spider web akin to a precarious trap most starving predators would’ve predictably laid bare for their meddling preys to eventually sink into and—would y’a look at that, like the actual dumbass he can seldomly be, he can’t possibly hope to back out now, can he?

No, no, because y’see—if Whitney were to humiliatingly do such an idiotic thing, then surely that’d just be directly admitting to that irritatingly pretty face of yours that you were apparently correct all along. Not that you are, fuck no. Like that’d ever occur in a million goddamn years, you intolerable bastard. God, that being his sole intention from the pure beginning to crudely wipe that frustrating smile plastered upon your. . . ugh, cherry perfect lips whenever the delinquent-in-the-making merely happens to be in your tedious presence.

Or is cruelly teasing him till he’s unabashedly grown hotter in the fullness of his blazing cheeks a conclusive hobby of yours? Probably, considering your blatant sadism when it comes to endlessly poking fun at someone until they’ve inevitably snapped dead in your face before you oh, so innocently claim that it was simply a meaningless joke. Mindlessly shrug the entire ordeal off as if it were meant to be truly nothing more than an obsessive overreaction on his part. Yeah, yeah—motherfucker, well he’s got a precious one-liner for y’a, also.

“Bet I could.” Confidently proclaiming with an overly arrogant tone that you notably took seriously due to the aforementioned circumstances for some unspoken reason. And that, you see—was specifically when the blonde irreversibly dug himself in the depths of a narrow pit which he can’t possibly climb out of now. So, fuck it, alright?? Fuck his sheer idiocy and muddling arrogance that’s shamelessly come forth to screw him over right in the balls for having previously accepted a seemingly doable suggestion.

Uh huh—‘doable’, he said. Cuz’ it’d be so irresistibly, fucking ‘easy’, another moron in his cocky mind chimed along in turn. Speaking of apparently ‘easy’, maybe next time, think twice before actually acting upon your stinging urges to uselessly prove someone else, like your shitty upperclassman, by the way—wrong, huh. Ever thought of that? No, ‘course he truthfully didn’t consider it thoroughly beforehand because it’s Whitney, the stubborn, hard-headed bully of a underclass man we’re namely speaking of here, after all.

Slippery, sliding slope doesn’t truly begin to particularly cut it either, honestly—yeah, he’s gone and undeniably fucked it up, this time for sure. Hasn’t he?

Hence why his clammy palm is currently placed atop your rather. . . uh, firm chest which he’ll never be outwardly uttering out such an exceptionally odd statement unless he inherently wishes to never live it down till the day he literally dies. That is, including this one ceaseless thought incessantly creeping within the remnants of his blurring mind—about how annoyingly nice the dizzying scent exuding from the warmth of your nearby proximity is. Shit, are those your natural pheromones too? Cuz’ he’s already going fuckin’ crazy from a mere unsuspecting whiff like a bitch in heat. Not to mention, the mind-boggling fact of being comfortably perched along the neat spreading of your thighs for his slimmer legs to settle upon, intimately hook themselves around your hips like a delicate lifeline solely intended to be unperturbed for the remainder of this intimate encounter. And no, this isn’t remotely on purpose, goddamn it—get your filthy head out of the gutter, you pervasive freak. It’s not like that, okay? Just. . . give him a moment, pretty please.

And perhaps at best, a generous minute you’d so graciously offer the blonde to discreetly adjust the sweltering heat that’s come forth to prettily stain his face in a similar crimson manner along with its unending path downwards and—well, y’know. . . below, there. Hardening cock certainly stirring with peeked interest at the subtle press of your laidback figure securely held against his own, shit. . . admittedly, smaller one. Sometimes, the considerable size difference shared amongst you two really does get to him in an albeit, fucking degenerative way. Enough so to inwardly curse at how utterly unhelpful that provoking detail was to the pulsing blood swiftly rushing down to his impatient length—hah.

Fuck, there’s no way this is realistically happening, right—but, it is, dammit. All due to prideful banter that may or may not have unreasonably translated to blatant flirting between you both despite his general lack of interest to other surrounding assholes slightly older than him in age.

Listen, you’re just tolerable enough where he doesn’t inevitably blow a sensitive nerve in return to some mild pestering on your end while simultaneously beating his dumb, idiotic self for regarding you in such high esteem—and yeah, that does include the sheer awed admiration visibly apparent in each of his movements. Intricately foolish in every one of his subtle gestures in hopes of successfully imitating your usual mannerisms, coincidentally catch your straying gaze to finally rest upon his uncharacteristically starving own.

Hell, the fucker even went through the irritating trouble of having the delicate muscle of his slippery, pink tongue wholly pierced for the sake of you possibly taking notice of it. Gleaming bud prettily flashing back towards your reflected, half-lidded gaze partially hidden by fluttering lashes, boringly snuffing in light interest at the sudden sight of it all. Taking notice, huh? That, you offhandly did, but merely for a few meddlesome seconds before eventually sinking back into your settled routine, as per usual. Well, said system of vaguely appreciating the sheer extended lengths he pathetically forces himself to endure in an unending pursuit of altering his appearance befitting of the ‘wilder’ types you habitually go for—due to something along the lines of, what’d you say again? Oh yeah, ‘they’re funnier to mess with when they lose their tempers, is all’—sickening asshole that you are, and still, remaining his unchanging crush nonetheless.

Although, whether or not he truthfully vocalizes that childish adoration akin to how a little brother would towards his elder one—is probably not ever fucking happening. As he still retains some semblance of pride to selfishly keep to himself, too. Don’t you forget that either.

Which is reasonably why despite the lurking remnants of embarrassment sourly creeping within the tensed coils of his tummy, a tightly-knitted cousin of shame, mind you. There’s still indisputable trepidation that traverses throughout the length of his shivering, curved spine; deepens his barely concealed smugness at having you like this. Because finally—fucking finally, has your shortly lived attention lastly settled upon the blonde’s awaiting own as purely intended.

‘Course, knowing your blunt self that either chooses not to attentively read the tense atmosphere currently residing within the spacious room or being merely oblivious to it, altogether—you eventually break that pleasurable silence with a singular insistent reminder or rather, a query to snap him out of this shit show. Ah, always the annoyingly persistent one when it comes to waiting for him to defy your set expectations, aren’t ya?

“Something the matter?” Sweetened voice of yours seamlessly passing through the foggy murk of his momentary daze by the slightest tilt of your head in a questioning motion. Still, remaining conscious that there’d be no such thing as worrisome concern on your part considering the utter bastard that you openly are and, yet—the persistent indication that this will be. . . obviously, nothing more than some meaningless wager whose sole intent is to be ultimately fulfilled in the end, leaves an exceptionally sour taste in his closed mouth.

Yeah, something’s the matter, alright—and he’s just about to recklessly give in to that sugary tone lest it weren’t for the automatic switch in your previously gentle inquiry, abruptly interrupting him from slipping out some mumbled confession in turn.

“Say, are you actually chickening out on me now? Is that it, Ney-Ney? Cat got your tongue and you actually can’t do it after all, can you?” Hah—again with that shitty nickname that bears no remote significance besides literally getting on his fucking nerves whenever, which you do impressively possess the sheer knack to repeatedly do so. Uh-huh, he’s gotta hand it to y’a.

It’s like the second you tentatively part your open lips to randomly speak—does his incessant yearning to restlessly press his starving lips against yours immediately shift instead, to this seething urge to meanly tug upon the strands of your hair like an angry kitten scratching at its owner. Oh, way to ruin the goddamn mood, dumbass.

“Will you shut up? I’m tryna concentrate here, but your fuckin’ mouth keeps on talking and talking and—ah, hey! Can you quit it and keep still for just one second or does the thought of sharing spit with your shitty underclassman actually turns you on that much?” Perverted bastard. Blearily aware of his shoddy excuse at some backhanded lie or whatever, as though you wouldn’t easily see through those tactics you’ve come to know of. Particularly becoming defensive once he’s ceremoniously brought back into a difficult corner and shit, you just can’t help but to gleefully tease him for it, can you?

Noooo, of fuckin’ course not! Must be solely imprinted in your bastardized nature to be so thoroughly insufferable at this point, huh? So much so that he’d desire nothing more than to tortuously crane your neck further to then—give forth to a salivating glimpse of your surely vulnerable neck for his glinting fangs to dreadfully sink into, greedily paint its pristine surface a melding velvet instead as pure revenge.

Because that’s entirely what it is, not some other bizarre, obscure fetish of this mean delinquent. Poorly hidden away in the withering depths of his unexplored memories or y’know. . . numerous times he’s come close to almost slobbering all over your veiny dick along with a generous amount of drooling, translucent spit to coat it with. And shit—he’s predictably derailing once more without meaning to.

Judging by the molten pupils that steadily expand in face of this less than desired situation, at most. Evasively trail towards whatever seemingly unimportant spot is etched amongst the boring surface of your bedroom’s blank walls in a futile attempt to soothe the pumping blood presently coursing throughout his thin veins. More or less, yeah. That’s all there is to it, so can you like, eventually cease with the constant staring on your end or something?

“I think you’re lying.” Unexpectedly bringing him out of his overly distracting fantasy for a stuttering second by flashing that signature grin of yours that’s only seeming to be confidently growing by the second, and—double fuck! You’re totally seeing through his barely concealed ploys, aren’t you? “I think you actually can’t do it and you’re just tryna play coy with me right now.”

“Wha—?“ Unsure wether to plainly deny your unjust statement that may or may not unfortunately ring true, regardless of if he painfully insists the opposite or to take actual offense at the likely suggestion that he doesn’t have the fucking balls to go through with it. Sure, sure! He totally can!! Albeit, a minute was all he scarcely asked for—despite it being way more than a single minute having passed, so don’t trample on the boggling nerves occupying the swelling of his drying, bobbing throat.

But before then, your indecently mocking voice somehow slips past the aforementioned comment Whitney was oh, so ready to renounce—because that’s all you ever do, managing to conveniently earn the upper hand in either situation, no matter the contextual circumstances at play. And damn you for it, too.

“See, what I think, honestly—I think you’re nothing more than a pussy who’s all talk and no bite, really. Too fucking dumb to even properly lie to me about it, too. Cuz’ the thing is, you actually haven’t kissed anyone for real yet, have you?” Inwardly flinching at the abrupt scorning on your part since sure, you’re one mean asshole sometimes, specially with others hopelessly clinging to your sides—but, not with him, no. Preferring to play the part of the considerate, older brother figure that’ll happily follow along to his unsatisfied whims.

So, strictly speaking, being unusually harsh on him without any spoken warning shouldn’t be so disgustingly hot to him nor heavily affect the thrumming blood rushing below to his leaking cock. Further dampen the already present, sticky stain against the now tarnished fabric of his trousers, but fucking shit—does it so. Like those untrained masochists, better put freaks, he regularly bullies on the daily, savagely snickers at for squirming beneath the hardened heel of his shoe. Idiots, is what they are.

Yeah. God, it’s so utterly, fucking filthy.

And funnily enough, here he is—shamefully experiencing that same warmth of degeneracy for being caught in his puzzling act, yet simultaneously thrilled at the various consequences that await for doing so.

“I don’t—“ Fuck, fuck, fuuuuckkkk!!! Mere sentences shouldn’t be humiliatingly failing on him now and neither should the withering breath pitifully falling forth from between his lips left agape—be this fucking telling of the unforeseen reality at bay. “. . . —I don’t know what you’re talking about, really—“

“Sure, you don’t. Then, you must also not have a single goddamn clue as to why you’re leaking like a fucking girl all over my lap right now too, huh?” Instinctually knowing better than to wearily spare a glance downwards since, well. . . yeah, about now—your not-so-precious jeans are notably soaked in the melding evidence of his unspoken arousal if nothing else, but did you fuckin’ have to truly word it like that either? Doesn’t necessarily lessen the sheer absurdity of the unbecoming predicament the delinquent practically pranced himself into like he hilariously owned the place or something.

Unfortunately, here’s to learning the harsh narrative that things, when seamlessly played out in the narrow space of your head—don’t invariably turn out the exact same as foreboding reality itself, do they?

Dumbass, he should’ve seen it coming the second he carelessly chose to lie to your face to begin with.

“Fuck, it’s not like tha—“ And there goes his irreparable mistake altogether, knowing fully well that it is indeed like that, if nothing else. Since it’s always been, every single time—without a literal, precious fuckin’ second to scarcely spare—you, you, and you solely. Plus sincerely speaking, he would’ve undeniably chosen for it not to be this way instead, y’know??

Not have his usually unaffected body so effortlessly react in face of your own, whether it’d be the discreet breaths of yours teasingly brushing along the rim of his blazing ears whenever you get the distracting urge to whisper some unimportant gossip during class.

Truly, do you feel the absolute need to remain so unbearably close in his personal space at times? To the point, it has him dizzyingly peering downwards to his clenched fists that greet him in turn. Too goddamn cowardly to steal a glimpse from below lest he realized the shockingly near proximity you’re both collectively sharing, without you bearing the slightest bother, too—and automatically curses as sweating palms land upon your chest and has you barely stumbling back. Cuz’ shit, the blonde’s downright terrified of the increasingly hasty beat of his annoyingly straining heart stuttering against the firmness of his ribbed cage. Fuck. . . it might as well be leaping out at a certain point, although he acknowledges he appears more like some dreadful lunatic if he were to audibly yell at some minor touches.

Reminiscing upon such pointless bullshit won’t necessarily get him anywhere and it’s not like he does it willingly either, no—not when your hand is now currently gripping at the shape of his gaping jaw. Actually, when the hell did you supposedly manage to get ahold of him like this when he wasn’t in the brightest of moments to do so? Momentarily caught off guard by the sudden press of your fingertips digging in the softened surface of his flesh, albeit with no sense of care in the fucking world as you habitually do with the majority of your things. Which, shit—doesn’t mean he’s the equivalent of your outright property since if that were the case, he’d most likely blow an imploding fuse as he knows it, and you certainly do know it, too.

As that was the initial plan presently swirling throughout the mumbling mess of the bully’s mind—only to be swiftly interrupted by a lingering kiss your. . . shit, annoyingly soft lips tenderly placed amongst the crimson hue that is his heated face—too dizzyingly close for his liking, near the mere corner of his pursed mouth. Frankly speaking, he has no clue what to make of this other than the likely scenario that you’re borderline amused by this and fuckin’ toying with him like your other various stress balls, as per usual.

“Earth to Whitney. I’m still tryna’ speak to you, but I guess you’re too far gone thinking about us sucking on each other’s tongues or something like that, am I right?” Drawling out lazily as though, you’d bear no semblance of interest for this little game of cat-and-mouse you collectively play on the daily basis and if not for that slight, adorning glint in your gaze—maybe he would’ve stupidly fallen for that easily concealed facade altogether, too. But no, he does know it’s a selfish thing of yours, or rather. . . some intricate fetish would be a better word to scarcely describe this sheer high you get from witnessing the gritting of his teeth, fluttering eyes narrowing in mere irritation. To say, it’s progressively building into something else until he’s undeniably pissed at your continuous mockery—that being, what others around you call ‘salacious flirting’ or something like that. Sheesh, he holds no importance for random spectators at your school besides you two.

Uh-huh, isn’t that what they refer to it as? ‘The boy likes to tug at the girl’s pigtails to draw her attention, after all!’—yet, he’s no squealing girl swatting at your insistent touches, is he? Fuck no. Truly, it’s nothing like that. However, sometimes with the way you constantly pinch and prod along the bruised surface of his perched figure atop your own, patiently await his expected curses like an anticipating dog wanting to be scolded. . . Well, can’t say it looks like anything else other than apparent sexual tension. Unsure whether or not he should be seldomly pleased at that somewhat late realization or temporarily concerned as to how you treat your usual girlfriends—or boyfriends, sometimes, that come and go like the blowing wind. Not to say, he treats any of his disposable sluts any better, either.

Eh, shit. No time to necessarily delve further in something he isn’t meant to supposedly poke at, is there? Yeah, cuz’ frankly speaking—he’s always been the goddamn impulsive type that’ll do as he pleases, expectant of yours truly to follow along to his baseless whims.

“Let’s quit with the bullshit already and do it, I don’t got all day to be sitting here on your lap like your prissy bitches.” Yup, yup. Carelessly ignoring the minor and important aspect that he cleared up his busying schedule regardless of his friend’s muttered pleas—going on and on about something at the shady pub that’s down the farthest street in this shit town. Oh right, he didn’t remotely listen to what those fuckers had to honestly say so, here goes that. Discreetly swishing at the messied strands of platinum blonde hair partially obscuring his vision, huffing at its burdensome concealment until he’s face to face with you. Almost clumsily bumping the curvature of your two noses together in an impatient haste to interlock each other’s lips in a. . . what others call it, huh; shitty, goddamn kiss.

However, rather uncharacteristically—he silently waits instead, hazy pupils traversing lower to where your curled up lips are solely a melding breath away from his dumbly hanging own. Maintaining eye contact like this. . . till your foreheads are nearly pressed along one another like this, inwardly shuddering at your unwavering focus upon his straying eyes. Gosh, do you seriously wanna fuckin’ do this with your eyes open or something, like a freak would??

“If you say so, Ney-Ney. I’m sure you wouldn’t wanna be kissing a boy either, huh. I’ll try to make it nice for you as best I can.” Ever the oh, so charming type that tries to accommodate to the blonde’s ill tempered tantrums, aren’t ya? Uttering so forth in an unspoken promise even if actually, he wouldn’t wanna be sharing spit with anyone else other than you. Whether he ever eventually admits it or not is an entirely different story, though.

Wordlessly so, he lets you do as you joyously please, at your own steady pace—‘course, which is to trace the softened pad of your cushiony fingertip along the sharp line of his tightening jaw. For it to ultimately land to where his chin awaits your yearning touches, brief moments of lingering contact to subconsciously gawk at in desolate secrecy. Y’know, how a drooling puppy would when awaiting its sweet treat; which he’s not, at all—no. Especially not your questionable pokes as you childishly peer to the side, rub soothing circles across the nape of his tensed neck as if to ease him into this, all the while idly playing with the shortened strands of hair settled there.

“Slacken your jaw for me, will you?” You gently order in a. . . shit, soft lull and he doesn’t like to be commanded around neither, but he calmly does so regardless. Solely to get it over with, nothing else extra that’s simmering deeply in the background. Especially not the unspoken crush he withholds for you whether you’re both mutually conscious of it or not, well—regarding how exceptionally cunning you tend to be that you can seamlessly read through him like a tattered heap of pages thrown atop your lap—yeah, maybe it’d be arrogantly dumb of him to assume otherwise, huh.

Plus it’s not like the delinquent here, is particularly used to his usually pursed lips wholly parting in an expectant nature for yours to plant featherlight kisses against. Since they’re generally brought up in a dismissive scowl for all to wearily witness—either when passing him in the hallways as his snarky laughter resounds with each echoed step, or the occasional glimpse of his shadowed figure sneaking between deserted alleyways, is seen.

Which, he would’ve indeed protested in stingy opposition at your insistent need to meticulously comb through the glistening locks of his hair. Sure, if it didn’t feel so damn good. . . to have your cupping palm carefully easing him into this, gradually melting in the imprinted shape of your entangled limbs settled together, atop this pillowed bed. One used thumb lightly nudging across the pouty flesh of his bottom lip in a silent gesture of the familiarity both shared between the two of you as your face nears closer to his. Intimately inspecting at the accumulated saliva that drips forth from the other’s open maw, nearly suckling at the intruding digit that is the continuous rub of your curled finger pressed across his drooling tongue. ‘Course, you gotta get a whole mouthfeel of its heated sensation before ultimately—diving in, don’t you?

“Yeah, there we go. . . You’ll be a good boy for me, won’t you—pretty boy?” It’s meant to have him inwardly seething towards this blatantly obvious taunt of yours, openly scorn at the unwanted nickname he’d like to jab at until that irritating grin of yours disappears altogether.

And shit, did he really want to—nothing more than that, honestly. But, he’s immediately interrupted from doing so once you’re ceremoniously covering the cushiony surface of untouched lips with yours, instead. Utterly pissed at himself with how easily it eases up from the experienced brush of your tongue inviting itself in its warmth depths. Those same arms that’d stubbornly stick to his sides like it’d never leave such a place either; now finding themselves to be clutching at the wrinkled fabric of your shirt draped along your reassuring back. Instinctually arching in your enclosed ones in return, loosely held around the width of his waist to absently pinch at in humming thought.

Fuck, fuck. . . fucking shiiittt. Was a kiss always supposed to be this mind-numbingly good that he’s out here losing all utter senses besides taste and touch? Neither struggling against the sudden weight of his eyelids shutting themselves in favour of greeting pitch darkness—goddamn it, not if it’s your mouth is perfectly made for his to mold against.

Even more so as an unwanted keen resembling that of a trembling prey, just about ready to be wholly devoured by the predator looming above its eventual demise—slips past previously sealed lips. Ugh, dammit. . . and here he is, upper lip wobbling in response to the added stimulation of your slippery tongue sliding against his own. Nearly wavering over the tempting option to hurriedly scratch along the delicate skin of your neck and—ah, speaking of, he’s gotta have a fixation with that bobbing throat of yours or something, shit. In some vain attempt to signal the sheer suffocation overtaking him from having his mouth crudely stuffed in repeated fucks of your impatient own, practically devouring his breathy moans in musing delight.

Accompanied by shuddering breaths collectively intermingling into one steady beat that’s bound to hurriedly quicken if he somehow keeps this one up, stretches it any further lest he doesn’t obviously get it over with soon. Which is the actual prime objective here! Don’t get him wrong! The sole plan, here—he’s intricately envisioned in the deep receding of his mind is to prove you wrong of his so-called loss, either way.

Quite literally, if it weren’t for the intolerable amount of pride residing within the swelling of his heaving chest—caught up against your own effortlessly casing over him; he’d have already done so, by now, without the slightest trace of hesitation.

But, y’know. . . It’s proving to be quite difficult for no reason whatsoever to necessarily pull away as he’s originally intended to do so. Partially disgusted by his own weakness when it comes to you and ‘course, it has to be solely you to wholly encase him like this. Whether or not it’s through plain obliviousness of his muddled protests swiftly concealed by your lips covering his own—or maybe, the sheer stubbornness of the mere possibility of letting him out of your sight. Either way, the numerous kitten scratches he’s subconsciously leaving along your treaded skin isn’t letting up itself.

Because even as he somehow manages to draw further backwards, your mouth instinctually follows his in return. As though the absurd thought of him teetering away from your emboldened grasp isn’t one to remotely ponder upon due to its ridiculousness, and neither is the way you both ultimately fall onto the bouncing mattress in a heaping mess with a resounding oomph! Although, he’s suspecting it was his quick-witted gesture of dragging you downwards—to where he’s predictably atop of, that landed you two in this precarious position.

“M-Motherfucker, you didn’t even give me a chance to catch my breath.” It’s rather an uncharacteristically petulant complaint than it is a fitting scolding on his part. Peering from underneath messied hangs that do oh, so well to conceal those narrowing eyes of his when he desires to. Yeah, they’re especially useful when it comes to evading your zeroing gaze hovering right above his own—like you’re actually surprised he hasn’t attempted a punch in your stirring guts for suddenly taking the lead like that.

“Hmm, was the kiss that unpleasant for you?” Pouting sorrowfully in response to the aforementioned statement like such a thing would potentially hurt your veiled sentiments, altogether. ‘Course, he knows better than to ceremoniously cave in to that pitiful nuzzle you offer along the crook of his neck since the thing is, your amusement of things comes first and foremost.

“Eh, don’t know. Why don’t y’a take another try at it and I’ll tell you how much you suck at it then.” It’s a tainted falsehood, at most—however, for the sly grin of pearly teeth flashing in your direction and the renewed sense of competition that swells within your chest at the provoking taunt. Well, he supposes that it’ll be worth the excuse so that his tongue better remembers the melding taste of your own upon one another.

And maybe, he’ll garner a measly chance to actually win this time. Rarely catch you off guard during one of those make-out sessions that are bound to grow more frequent, one way or another.

Though, it’s unlikely. Huh. You never do give him the chance to do so when it comes to your bets, do you?

Fucking prick.

[lilyprettyremy]

Forget the Hype: Growth Doesn’t Care About Your Calendar

Okay, babes, let’s be real—by February, the sparkle of New Year’s resolutions has totally fizzled. Gyms are empty, planners are abandoned, and that "New Year, New Me" vibe? A distant memory. But here’s the tea: growth was NEVER about January 1st, and it’s definitely not about February 1st either. You don’t need a calendar to glow up. You just need YOU. Any day, any time.

Why the Calendar Mindset Is Overrated

Tying your glow-up to a date? Overhyped. Thinking one magical day will flip your life upside down sets you up for disappointment. Real change isn’t some midnight makeover; it’s built on tiny, fierce choices you make every single day. No glitter, no countdown required.

Focus on Small, Sustainable Habits

Forget giant, dramatic resolutions. The real magic? Small, cute habits that stick. Sip an extra glass of water, read a juicy chapter, strut on a quick walk. It’s giving consistent queen energy. Little actions, done daily, turn into BIG wins.

Plan for Setbacks—Because Life Happens

Let’s face it: life doesn’t care about your vibe check. Some days will be a whole mess. That’s not failure, honey, that’s just life doing its thing. A bad week doesn’t erase your boss moves from the past month. Setbacks? Just cute little pauses. The glow-up continues.

Build Systems, Not Just Goals

Goals? Cute. Systems? ICONIC. Want to read more? Don’t just aim to finish 12 books—create a cozy habit like reading one chapter before bed, blanket burrito style. Systems keep the momentum going when motivation dips.

Accountability? Yes, Please

Spill your goals to your bestie, join a squad with the same vibes, or track your progress like the confident queen you are. It’s not pressure—it’s your cheer squad, hyping you up every step of the way.

Growth Can Start Anytime

Waiting for Monday? Next month? Girl, that’s just fancy procrastination. Your glow-up can start on a random Tuesday at 3 PM or a cozy Sunday morning with coffee in hand. The best time to start? Yesterday. The second-best time? Right now.

Be Kind to Yourself

Self-improvement isn’t some straight path. Some days you’ll feel like THE moment, others you’ll want to hide under the covers. Both are valid. Celebrate your wins, learn from the oopsies, and remember: one off day doesn’t define you. It’s all about progress, not perfection.

You don’t need a fresh month or a new year to shine. You just need today. Go get it, gorgeous.

[muxshwriting]

a movie i’ve seen before

Jake Seresin x reader

summary: the impending doom of the end that you can’t avoid and can’t ignore, it’ll always be looming over you || warnings: angst, happy ending, break up, sadness, hints of depression (but not really) || word count: 1689 || masterlist

There was always going to be a time limit on love, you knew that. A small part of you dreamed you’d be able to avoid it. When you met Jake Seresin, everything seemed to slot into place for you. The constant ache in your bones, the tiredness of your mind. All of it was lifted when he would take you in his arms and kiss you sweetly. You were his, wholly and completely.

But he could not be entirely yours.

Jake’s soul was tied to the sky, to the planes he flew. There was no replacing that for him, nothing that could fill the hole that would leave.

You’d graduated from college, set to start your new job that September, leaving you with the summer to enjoy your last months of freedom. You’d travelled up and down the coast, spending your days on secluded beaches and simply enjoying glorious weather.

Jake, newly stationed at Miramar, caught your eye from across the bar one evening and simply couldn’t stay away.

“I’m Jake Seresin. You must be Belle, right?”

“Belle? You must be mistaken, I’m Y/N.” You laughed him off, assuming he had you confused with a friend of his.

“Y/N? It’s only that you’re so beautiful, I assumed you had a name to match. But I must say, yours suits you much better.”

A light blush covers your face as you duck your head to hide it. A few stray hairs slip from behind your ears and Jake gently reaches forward to tuck them back.

“Jake Seresin…” You say his name, mulling it over and meeting his piercing gaze.

He smiles, an honest one, not cocky or flirtatious. “You can wear it out however you like.” He whispers, his voice low as you lean into him.

“You better buy me a drink before any of that, like a gentleman would.”

You had plans to keep travelling but something in Miramar compelled you to stay, or rather someone.

Jake was the very picture of a gentleman, picking you up for dates and driving you home every time. He would cradle your hand with his, unable to hide his grin as he did. The next five weeks flew like the jets Jake loved. You spent every moment you could by his side, entwined with him.

Your souls would dance in the pale moonlight of the nights you lay twisted in sheets and tangled with limbs. But you could sense the impending wrenching of your hearts apart when you had to leave. And as the deadline approached, that feeling only grew.

“Jake…” You had whispered it into the morning air, almost afraid to speak and break the silence.

“Yeah?” He hadn’t even opened his eyes.

A pang of guilt hit your chest as you spoke the words, “I leave in two days.”

Still sleepy, Jake didn’t even comprehend what you were saying. “What?”

“In two days, I’m leaving. There’s a job, in New York, that’s been lined up for me since May. I’m leaving in two days.”

“…What?” He’s blinking away sleep as he sits up in bed and turns to face you. “You’re… leaving?” The pain seeps into his voice before he can stop it.

“Jake-“

Almost as quickly as it had appeared, the pain vanished. “That’s fine.” The coldness had never been directed at you before and it hurt. It hurt like a stab to the heart. He simply turned over in bed, facing away. “Do you need help packing?”

You blinked back tears at his care despite his hurt. “No.” You whisper. “Everything’s set up for me.” You confess. “Jake-“

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

You’d essentially betrayed him, too afraid to tell him the truth in the beginning at risk of losing him despite the fact that you would lose him either way. If you had just been transparent, perhaps there would be a hope for you in the future, but your actions has made that impossible now.

The next two days passed in awkward encounters as the distance between you only grew. Jake could barely even look at you and you couldn’t keep his gaze when he did. Jake could barely even look at you and you couldn’t keep his gaze when he did. You barely spoke. It was as if everything you’d shared disappeared overnight.

The pain in your chest returned with every moment you shared with him but were distant. Perhaps you should have just lied and stayed here, where you were actually happy instead of carting yourself off to New York for a cushy corporate job.

You cornered him the morning you had to leave, a suitcase packed with all your things waiting at the door.

“Jake!” You were practically begging him. “Please just listen to me for two minutes.”

Jake bit back something, his jaw tightening. “Two minutes.”

“I’m sorry. I should have told you before but I was afraid of ruining what we had. And then I ended up ruining it all anyone. I won’t ask for your forgiveness because I don’t deserve it. I just don’t want you to completely hate me?”

Jake takes a sharp breath in. “I could never hate you. I actually loved you, maybe I still do. But it’s too late for us now, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Goodbye Jake Seresin.”

“Bye.”

New York held no happiness for you. The days blurred together and you were begging for something to break the monotony. There was no purpose her, no motivation to do anything beyond the minimum. Months rolled past without so much as a highlight and it was only when snow fell halfway through December did you shake yourself out of your misery.

In your silent evenings, alone in your apartment, you’d cast your mind back to him unconsciously. He was the blinding light in a world of darkness and you had purposely snuffed him out.

Part of you was begging for a call or text from him. Part of you knew that would be the push you needed to abandon everything you’d been working towards for years. This life should be your dream; a job you can enjoy, a community you could grow with, a place where you could find someone to love. You didn’t have the courage to text him first, knowing if he even read your message you would take it as a sign and travel across the country back to him.

Wherever he is is where you want to be. But you can’t. Because you tossed it all away.

Christmas approaches and your work party is uneventful beyond some part games and a few questions tossed around the group.

“If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go? No money constraints, no time to waste.”

Your colleagues all gave their answers and you answered something about Europe half-heartedly, knowing you would want to be next to him. You supposed Jake was in Texas at this time of year, with his family. But you couldn’t even send him a Merry Christmas text because you were too afraid.

Christmas Day was a bustling day in the Seresin household. Jake was banned from the kitchen, his mother almost throwing veg at him just to get him to leave. He’s been put on babysitting his nephews and nieces while his sisters finished decorating and helping their mother.

Everyone was happy. Jake could distract himself all he wanted, tell himself he didn’t care. But his mind would always wander back to the summer, the perfect summer that would never extend past that. Part of him still blamed you and part of him understood your actions to an extent.

He wished you had told him sooner, just so he could prepare himself for the heartbreak you had brought him. But then he wouldn’t have the precious memories that inhabit his free time. He wouldn’t still hear the echoes of your laughter in his small house in Miramar.

The doorbell rang, not unexpected as a few extended family members were due to drop in at some point and Jake let his legs carry him to the door. He pulled it open, a smile plastered on his face.

But it wasn’t family standing there, it was you. With a small wrapped present in your hands, you stood with your eyes brows knitted together with worry and garaging his reaction.

“Merry Christmas.”

Jake stuttered as he spoke, “What- What are you doing here? You? You’re in Texas? Why are you in Texas?” He stepped out into the chilled air and closed the door behind him.

“I was a fool.” You tell him, “I loved you- I love you. And I threw it all away for a stupid reason and I regret everything.”

Jake didn’t let you mumble and trip over a response any more. You loved him, still. You were here. You took the time to travel from New York to Texas to see him on Christmas and tell him that you loved him even though he might not say it back. You had done what Jake was too angry to do for the last four months.

He surged forward, kissing you with a ferocity that made the world stop spinning. His hands called you with the care you had been absent of for so long and you never wanted to let go.

”I never stopped loving you.“ He said once he pulled back, breathless. “What happened to New York?”

”It doesn’t feel like home and I’m not sure it ever will. I’m applying for a virtual position so I can work and travel or something. From anywhere.” You don’t know if he’ll take you back but you need him to know that you can he his again, who only and completely. You want to be his again.

“You could visit Miramar.”

”I could.”

”Will you?”

Slowly, you nod. “As long as you’re there. I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”

”Would you travel to Texas when my deployment’s done?”

You reach for his hand, the present for him lying on the ground, long forgotten. “I’d travel anywhere if it meant I could spend time with you.“

[vmiina]

threesome with ruby and dean :(!!

your thighs are wrapped around dean’s head as he sucks on your clit, like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. his toned arms wrap around your thighs, pulling you closer to him so he could get more of you. his green irises gleaming as he stares into your eyes through his thick eyelashes, his pupils blown wide. his eyes shift to your side, the soft gleam in them disappearing almost immediately as he sees ruby.

if looks could kill ruby would be dead by now, dean narrows his eyes, like he’s trying to see right past her. but you didn’t notice that. too busy focusing on the feeling of ruby’s lips against your own, the kiss was full of need, pent-up frustration and pure sin. it wasn’t gentle either, it was full of possessive force, all of it coming from ruby. her tongue claims more territory as she deepens the kiss, the heat of everything almost too overwhelming. both dean and ruby devouring you with their tongues.

no matter how many times you three did this together, no matter how many times he was around you and ruby, you were the only one of those two that he softened for. he’s always thought of ruby as nothing but a manipulative demon, always getting in his way. he never liked her, but since you always insisted on having her there too he couldn’t say no, right? and besides he enjoyed the way she always had you like a whimpering mess, wrapped around her finger.

your soft gasps and moans are muffled by ruby’s lips, which is honestly good since noises you’re making would definitely be heard to the room next door. the motel walls aren’t that thick, dean had said many times, from experience. you couldn’t breathe, feeling overstimulated all over, but you couldn’t pull away from either ruby or dean. ruby’s lips too intoxicating on yours, and dean’s grip on your thighs nearly bruising. ruby brushes your hair out of your face softly, her nails tangling with your locs as she caresses your hair.

ruby eventually breaks the kiss, letting out a soft sigh at the loss of your lips. as soon as the kiss broke you let out a soft cry, finally letting dean hear how good he’s making you feel, and if that didn’t make his already high-confidence even higher he doesn’t know what. “baby you gotta be quiet, don’t want the people next door t’hear you.” dean coos against your inner thigh, halting his actions for a moment, making you let out a soft whine. he presses a soft kiss to your inner thigh before he gently bites on it, sucking on the bite mark after, creating a faint red bruise there. it has you tugging on his hair, your nails scraping against his scalp.

“you heard him.” ruby coos, as if she’s mocking you for the noises you’re making. it has dean rolling his eyes, he didn’t need her confirming his words. dean removes his other hand from your thigh, bringing it between your legs as he teases your entrance with his fingers. pushing the his ring finger inside your pussy, watching you closely to observe your reaction. your warm gummy walls immediately clench around his finger, sucking it right in. it has dean grinning, like he’s proud of himself for getting you this riled up and needy.

it doesn’t take long for dean to find your g-spot, it’s like he knows your body better than you do. his fingers curl against the spongy spot inside you, it has your back arching off of the dingy motel bed. both dean and ruby seem extremely turned on by your responsiveness, with dean finally taking his other hand off your thigh to palm himself through his boxers. ruby on the other hand just observes mostly, her gaze full of lust, even she couldn’t deny that she really enjoyed the view. she squeezes her thighs together firmly, trying to ease some of the need coiling in her lower abdomen.

“that’s the spot ain’t it?” dean teases, his husky tone accompanied with a grunt. he rolls his hips into his palm, pressing a soft kiss to your aching clit. his hot breath fanning over the sensitive bud as his fingers work on you, adding onto the the pleasure. your hand reach towards ruby, grabbing the bedsheets a couple of times in the process until you actually manage to grip onto her hand, squeezing it in a way that’s almost painful, nails digging into her burning hot skin. “fuck— dean—“ you moan out, all whilst ruby cups your face, rubbing her thumb softly against your cheek, in a way that’s almost domestic.

dean slowly slips his middle finger inside you too, stretching you out. you didn’t even register the pain at first, only paying attention to the delicious feeling of his fingers fucking into you. your brows furrow, mouth agape as soft whimpers pour out in an unbroken rhythm, just a bit too loudly. “shut the fuck up.” ruby commands in a harsh tone, she really doesn’t want anyone to hear what you’re up to. for a moment you’re quiet, not wanting to disobey her, knowing what it could cause. but it doesn’t take long until you’re nothing but a moaning and a whimpering mess.

ruby sticks her fingers in your mouth, deep enough to elicit a gag reflex. she makes you suck on her fingers, in order to keep you quiet. you look at her, seeing smug grin on her lips. “jesus dean, don’t let her come too soon.” ruby orders, making you let out a strangled ‘no’ against her fingers, making her press your tongue down, making it impossible for you to protest. that’s one of the only thing ruby has said that dean can agree on, he shifts his gaze from you to her. “wasn’t plannin’ on it.” he says as he pulls his fingers completely out of your pussy, leaving you feeling empty, clenching around nothing.

dean scoots up, removing himself from between your legs where he had been nestled for what felt like an eternity. now straddling your hips but not daring to put his full weight on you, his boxer-clad hard on against your stomach. he brushes your hair out of your face before he presses a couple of gentle kisses all over your face, his cheek brushing lightly against ruby’s palm. “you think you’re ready to take me?” he purrs against your neck as he shifts down your body slowly, pressing kisses on each part. ruby takes her fingers out of your mouth, finally letting you breathe and speak properly. her fingers coated with your spit. “yes— please dean. i need you—“ you cry out, hips arching off the bed.

dean grabs you by your waist, flipping you around so you’re laying on your stomach. your face hovering inches over ruby’s pussy, covered by her lace panties, you could see a wet patch there and it turned you on even more. you’re too busy focusing on that so you don’t even realize that dean’s gripping you by your hips, lifting them so that your ass is in the air, so he can fuck you properly. ruby’s delicate fingers hover over the hem of her panties, slipping beneath them so she can pull them off.

dean’s boxers are long gone, he had thrown them somewhere across the motel room. he spits on his hand, bringing it down to stroke himself a couple times before he aligns himself with your entrance. the pink tip of his cock nearly red, coated with the precum oozing out. he grips the base of his length firmly, brushing it against your folds a couple times before he slides into you in one smooth move. filling you up in a way that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. ruby cups your cheek, relishing in the way you already look so fucked-out. she slaps your cheek a couple times, not hard enough to hurt but enough to sting in a way that gets you back to your senses.

“get your mouth on me, whore.” ruby demands as she grabs your hair, tugging it so that your mouth is hovering over her glistening cunt. dean pulls out completely, only to thrust all the way back in, throwing his head back. dean’s action made your head bump to ruby’s inner thigh, making you let out a soft whine. “c’mon, be good.” ruby says as she inches closer, making your lips connect with her clit. you wrap your trembling hands around her thighs, overwhelmed with pleasure. ruby’s just trying to get your attention off dean, to get all the attention to herself.

dean finds a steady pace, his hips pistoning against your ass, the filthy sounds of skin slapping filling the small motel room, bouncing off the walls. dean keeps his gaze locked on you between ruby’s legs, that sight could make him cum right there and then. and it nearly does, but only nearly. he has to squeeze his eyes shut, take a deep breath but the sight in front of him is burnt deep into his retinas. “you feel so good— shit baby.” dean practically whimpers out as he grips onto your hips tightly. you let out breathy moans against ruby’s aching pussy, her body trembling with each of your gentle licks.

“good fuckin’ girl.” ruby rasps out, even she lets a soft moan escape through her lips, her hands gripping your locs like a lifeline, pushing your head even closer to her heat. each flick of your tongue sending shock through her. “you like how he’s fuckin’ you huh? you feel good?” ruby taunts you softly, as you lap up at her juices. letting out a incoherent answer, scratching at her thighs, leaving red marks behind. “already fucked dumb, didn’t take much.” dean scoffs as he presses a gentle kiss to your back, lips tracing your spine.

you start to suck on ruby’s clit, even biting down on it a couple times. it has ruby’s hips shuddering as she nears her climax, it doesn’t take much, she’s so goddamn pent up. she grinds her cunt against your face, wanting you to devour every inch of her. “pleaseugh—“ you beg, not even sure for what. dean’s thrusts becoming sloppy, your walls gripping onto him in a way that makes it almost impossible to plunge out of you. “ease up.” dean grunts as he lands a harsh smack on your ass, leaving his handprint on the skin there.

after a while ruby finally comes with a cry, making you devour every single drip of her fluids. as she pulls back, you bury your arousal-coated face in the sheets, gripping them so hard your knuckles turn white. dean keeps going at a bruising pace, but you can tell how close he is by his shaky breath, the movement of his hips faltering for a moment as he releases inside you with a loud whine. coating your insides white, with you leaving a creamy ring around the base of his cock “you’re so goddamn good, a fuckin’ gem.” dean husks as he pulls out, letting you collapse to the bed.

saw a tiktok that said something like “imagine having a boyfriend and a girlfriend who hate each other” and that kinda inspired this. literally my sweet babies ugh i love them so much ☹️☹️.

[umathurwin]

Omg hi! I feel like I’m the only sofia hater out there bc all i see are people loving her character is so boring to me and her and rafe relationship seems so forced to me like she is supposed to help him reconcile with his sister but instead, she spent all season doing nothing apart from the hollis plot

being called a sofia hater cracks me up because i feel like i never talk about her, in fact i usually forget she exists 😭 but i’ll accept it, because i really do hate the way her character (which had a great premise) was totally wasted

a youtuber i really love once described pansy parkinson from harry potter as “an original character wearing the skin of a minor character” and i think that perfectly encapsulates sofia. they make these moodboards, these stories, these elaborate headcanons about a character we know little to nothing about. do i respect it? hell yes. it takes a lot of work. but to have these intense convictions and arguments about a 0.5-dimensional character… WHY?

i went and rewatched every scene in s4 where she even just appears and wrote down my thoughts on them (despite how tedious this was… the action really does rely on the pogues) and like… wow. where do i start

her s4 introduction is the scene where rafe scatters ward’s ashes on the boat, and it’s awkward but in a fair way. i wouldn’t really know what to do either. in the same episode, she’s at the enduro cheering for rafe, but she is inexplicably standing TOTALLY by herself. i still have no idea if this was just filmed oddly or if it was deliberate but this photo kills me… girl why are you alone? at no other point is she physically excluded from the kooks like this. wtf

and after that? nearly every single moment she and rafe share the screen? he’s awful to her. he verbally mocks her in the bar when she tries to calm him down. he flirts with hollis right in sofia’s face and abases her for feeling hurt. he dismisses her every time she tries to express her opinion. rafe does not respect his girlfriend, nor does he care about her thoughts and values. how do i know?

because she knows. how exactly did she convince him to take the deal, again? well, first she says she thinks it’s a good idea, which merely amuses him. then, she makes up a lie about other club members denigrating rafe and how this deal could improve his social status—i believe this to be a fabrication because it easily could’ve and should’ve been explicit on screen if true— and this causes him make up his mind. she knows rafe’s insecurities. she knows what does and doesn’t entice him. and yeah, i’ll be honest, sometimes it makes me sick to think about how deeply she knows this man, and how little he knows/cares about her

rafe brings up marriage, living together, a future with sofia. but do you notice anything about his big grand speeches? ever notice how, when he’s describing his fantasy, it revolves around material things he can own and show off— and sofia has always been one of them? rafe never has anything to say about what she specifically does for him, what he likes about her. bc… what does he like about her? rafe is unfortunately, at the end of the day, selfish. he focuses on what he’ll be able to give her, and what having a pretty wife says about him. the occupant of that role is, well, interchangeable

when rafe “proposed” to her and she did not confess the scam, i knew it was over. this is rafe cameron we’re talking about, a man who values loyalty more than anything in the world, and that was her last shot at coming clean before it was too late. committing a betrayal (well…in the eyes of the narrative…more on that in a sec) and hiding it from him? guys there was zero chance of him learning the truth and forgiving her. i watched the premier with my mother and i even turned to her and said we just watched the final nail go into the coffin. and it did!

(also, not to beat a dead horse, but even after he gives her the ring and he leaves to morocco, he dismissively excludes her again! “i have to go” “what are you doing?” “don’t worry about it, bye!” and she just takes it?! STAND UP!)

fundamentally, sofia’s “betrayal” plotline was weak or, at the very least, not very well thought-out. it’s like the idea of sofia going behind rafe’s back was pitched, but they were unsure how to integrate that into the season. the explosive reaction that rafe had when groff revealed the plot seemed contrived, like the show wanted to put more of the blame on sofia than was warranted. rafe had all but made up his mind by the time sofia had been paid off; to claim that she was the big catalyst in his decision is unfair and literally just wrong. sure, he liked her giving her blessing (because he already wanted to say yes), but i have a really, really genuine question for all of you.

if she had said no, would he have called off the deal?

(spoiler, no. because when she changed her mind after learning of the scam, he dismissed her yet again. the show has countless opportunities for rafe to just care about his girlfriend, and he never takes them!)

while i’m nitpicking, she also never learns any information via her own efforts. every single time she uncovers a new detail, it’s because she’s working around a loud-mouth kook who coincidentally says the right thing at the right moment as she refills their ewers. fuck, can we give her a CRUMB of agency? please?

and yeah, i don’t even engage in any theory that sofia helped rafe reunite with his family. did she ever give any meaningful advice to him? she didn’t even have context—was he ever planning on telling her exactly what he’d done to sarah and her friends? could sarah even pick this girl out of a lineup?! ya, she really is the glue in the cameron dynamic. lol

counter arguments i’m ready to address:

“he takes the deal for her!” funny because,,, he really doesn’t. we even watch the reason he takes the deal— his family. rafe likes the opportunity from the jump but is hesitant because of the investment, and a dreamy montage of him, ward, and sarah is what cements his decision. sofia canonically had nothing to do with it

“but he says he’s taking the deal for him and sofia when he’s alone with hollis!” correct! but you’ll notice he literally only brings her up when hollis starts hitting on him. he’s not attracted to hollis, and her advances make him visibly uncomfortable. bringing up sofia was a way to shut down hollis without explicitly telling a business partner to get off his ass

“rafe brings up sofia’s opinion of the deal with groff!” true, but i actually see this as a display of rafe’s tact and emotional intelligence. rafe is suspicious that he’s been scammed, but it’s genuinely not wise to barge into the office of the man who has $400k of your money and your testicles in his fist to start threatening him— even when he’s not a murderer. “hey… so my gf thinks you’re scamming me… thoughts?” he’s being coy. he’s being smart. he’s not bringing up sofia in a loverboy context. cmon

***

deep inhale. okay, i’m done. i’m sorry i always forget about her. but it’s so much better than the alternative

[infiniteeight8]

Stephen is desperate for Tony to love him back, to the point that he uses his knowledge of Tony to manipulate him into a relationship. (Potentially manipulates things so Tony and Pepper break up? Or this could be after that?) After all, he knows he'll treat Tony right, what does it matter how they get to this point. The ends justify the means, right?

I love this prompt so much. 😃 So much potential here. *rubs hands together*

This is a “they won on Titan” AU. So Pepper and Tony are, prior to this fic, engaged. I did a google for how long Pepper has known Tony and landed on almost 20 years, since she says she’s been curating his art collection for ten years in Iron Man 2 (2010) and Infinity War happens in 2018.

-

Stephen knows the instant Tony lands on the Sanctum’s doorstep. By the time the armor is retracted and the Sanctum’s doors have swung open for him, Stephen is already halfway down the stairs. Tony stalks into the foyer and the doors quickly close behind him. A protective gesture, Stephen’s connection to the Sanctum tells him. “Tony. Is everything okay?”

“The wedding’s off,” Tony says shortly. He starts pacing.

Stephen’s heart lifts. “I’m sorry,” he says carefully. 

Tony snorts. “Don’t be. I’m the one who called it off. Pepper’s probably still trying to call me.”

“What happened?” Stephen positions himself so that Tony will pass close to him on his traverses of the foyer, but doesn’t try to stop him.

“I took your advice,” Tony says, “and talked to Pepper about DUM-E and U. About what they would need if something happened to me.”

“I take it that didn’t go well.” It never had in any of the futures Stephen had seen. 

“Understatement of the year.” Tony raises his hands and scrubs them through his hair. “Pepper has known me for nearly twenty years. She was around when DUM-E literally saved my life! She’s known him and U almost as long. How can she not get it? How did I not realize that she doesn’t get it?”

“If you explained—”

“No,” Tony cuts him off, as Stephen knew he would. There’s a line to tread here; Stephen can’t risk making Tony feel defensive of Pepper. “If she doesn’t get it after all this time, she never will. And frankly, after what she said, I’m not interested in giving her the chance.”

Stephen winces. “That bad?”

Tony stops pacing and turns to face Stephen. “She said, and I quote, “Tony, I know you’re attached to these things, but this is really too far. They’re machines, not children.’”

Stephen lets himself look as appalled as he feels. That was one of the more extreme options. “She called them things?”

Tony barks a harsh laugh. “Yeah. And when I told her that I made them and they have thoughts and personalities of their own and that as far as I’m concerned that does make them my kids, she asked if I’d thought about having real kids. Like we weren’t even talking about the bots anymore, like that conversation was over.”

“I’m sorry, Tony,” Stephen says gently. “I can’t imagine how anyone could meet either DUM-E or U and not understand that they’re people.”

“Me neither,” Tony deflates. “But I’m starting to think that you and I are two of a kind there. I mean, did the other wizards recognize Levi?” Tony waggles his fingers in belated greeting and Levi waved a corner at him. 

“The Ancient One once called Levi ‘fickle’,” Stephen says dryly.

“Yeah, no, she clearly didn’t understand them at all,” Tony agrees. He sighs and takes a heavy seat on the Sanctum’s steps. “I thought I was finally going to get my happily ever after, you know?”

Stephen sits beside him. “Would the kind of white picket fence life that Pepper wanted really have made you happy?” he asks. It actually had, in some of those futures. But Tony could be just as happy, often happier, living a different life with Stephen.

“I don’t know,” Tony says. “But I was willing to try.”

Levi flares out and wraps around Tony’s shoulders, giving him a kind of hug where Stephen can’t, not quite yet. And if the action pulls Tony against Stephen for a moment or two, well, so much the better. Levi has been on board with Stephen’s plan from the beginning.

Tony laughs and pats the fold of cloak curled around him. “Thanks, Levi.” He turns to Stephen, almost close enough to kiss. They aren’t there yet, but Stephen can’t help thinking about it. Tony goes on, oblivious. “Want to come hang out with the bots with me? I’m feeling the need for some quality time.”

Stephen smiles. “I’d love to.” 

Everything is going exactly as planned.

[bellesdreamyprofile]

“My Buckling” - Major Gale Cleven

summary: you were in charge of coffee, donuts and bright smiles around the base. your friend, bucky, is keen on you meeting his best friend buck. neither one of them is aware of the crush they already have on each other ; 2k words

There were other things in your horizon other than handing coffee, whiskey or donuts to American pilots. You loved art, books and children and you found comfort in your dream of becoming a teacher at some point after the war. Though the looks that these broken men had on their faces was enough to push you on your feet every morning, looking forward to making them the best damn coffee they had ever had.

You always made sure that your hair was styled nicely, that your makeup was impeccable and that a bright smile adorned your face. You couldn't even imagine what it was like to be up in the air and watch friends die before your eyes. If you could make them feel even just a tiny little better by smiling brightly at them and looking pretty, then your mission was accomplished.

"Ah, there she is. My favorite coffee lady.", you turned around with a playful smile, recognizing the voice in an instant.

"Hey Bucky.", he didn't waste any time to grab the coffee cup from your hands. "Did you sleep well?", you asked, watching him sip on the hot beverage.

He nodded, his eyes wandering around the hall. "Yeah, I slept alright, thanks. You?", you nodded and handed another pilot his coffee. "Anyways, you know there's that party tomorrow."

You let out a sigh at his words, knowing where they were going to lead. "John, you know that's not really my scene."

Bucky hummed and sneakily wrapped an arm around your shoulder. "You know, you all dolled up could be the last thing these pilots see in their lives.", you immediately slapped his arm, glaring at him. "Alright, alright, too far. But there is someone I'd like you to meet, though."

You moved away from his embrace and handed more coffees to the men. "Who's that?", you asked disinterested.

"My buddy Buck."

"Duck?"

The Major laughed, throwing his head back so abruptly that he almost spilled his coffee. "I gotta tell him.", he commented, amusement flickering over his features. "No, his name is Buck, with a B."

Your cheeks warmed up as you sighed, ignoring his gaze. "That's his name? Buck?", you turned his way with confusion written all over your face.

John shook his head and clicked his tongue. "Gale.", at the sound of his name, you felt your heart in your throat.

"Major Gale Cleven?, you asked carefully and grabbed his empty coffee cup.

He nodded and pointed a finger behind you. "Yeah, that guy over there—", your eyes widened at his actions and immediately grabbed his hand, lowering it.

"Bucky!", by now your cheeks were flaming red, the pilot only laughing at your expense. "Just... Go and have some breakfast, Major.", he saluted you mockingly and leaned down to place a kiss on your cheek.

"I'll see ya tomorrow, Y/N.", still flustered, you nodded, your eyes closing briefly.

Major Gale Cleven. Of course she was no stranger to that name. The man was respected not only for his good work, but also for his reputation. You knew that you couldn't possibly judge any man in this base that sought relief and freedom in their own way. But Major Cleven had never been caught doing anything you would reckon inappropriate or wild. The parties you attended with some of your friends were generally loud, your eyes would wander around, catching glimpse of a drunk Bucky singing his heart out. One man stood out to you and that was the blonde Major. He would always either lean against a wall or be comfortable in a chair, waiting for the return of his friend as his own eyes inspected the hall.

"I wish he'd dance.", one of your friends said dreamily, her chin supported by her chin.

"I wish he'd talk more.", said another, making the group chuckle.

Yet you didn't mind his quiet and reserved self - in fact he was even more intriguing. His hands lowering to pet the newest member of the crew - Meatball - and how a genuine smile always seemed to brighten up his face. You loved stealing glances at him, the thought of seeing him possibly for the last time always haunting you during the day. The thought alone moved you out of the comfort of your bed and you immediately started getting ready.

A blue, flowy dress adorned your body and little matching heels found your feet. You let the girls know about Bucky's invitation, to which they secretly giggled, feeling obviously flattered by it. There was no way you would've told them the truth, so you smiled a little and intertwined your arms together, finding the familiar hall.

The vibration from the loud music made you smile instantly and for a moment, you were just a girl that wanted to have some fun. The girl that handed coffees to broken men was going to be hidden tonight.

"My favorite coffee lady.", your immediate reaction was to roll your eyes and you swore you caught one of your friends swooning from the corner of your eye. Bucky grabbed your hand and made you twirl once, the fabric of your dress expanding, grazing his legs. "Pretty dress."

You nodded at him, feeling the familiar warmth stain your cheeks. "Thank you, John.", you thanked him with a small smile. You cleared your throat and introduced Bucky to your friends. They were a giggly mess, which you found rather amusing.

"Nice to meet you, ladies.", he nodded at them and locked eyes with Margaret, your closest friend. "Especially you.", his hand found hers as he brought it to his lips, eyes still locked with hers. A big smile tried to break on your face at the two, but you couldn't let them know.

"I, uh, I'll go grab a drink, okay?", you weren't sure if any of them heard you as you made your way to the bar area. Your smile was still intact as you ordered a fizzy drink for yourself, your eyes wandering round like they always did.

"Miss?", you turned around and barely caught yourself as you almost bumped into none other than Major Cleven. Your lips parted at the beauty before you.

"Major Cleven, hello.", you greeted him with a sweet smile, desperately trying to control your heartbeat. Gale smiled, nodding at you.

"You must be Bucky's good friend, Y/N.", the way your name rolled off his tongue made your knees weak. You leaned against the counter and found your drink.

"Yeah, I, uh, hand coffees, donuts... You name it.", you let out a little laugh and took a sip of your coke. Major Cleven moved to stand beside you, his gaze turning to yours once again.

"I know."

You stilled, the liquid still very much brushing your lips. You swallowed, turning his way, but he briefly turned to the bartender, asking for a ginger ale. He whisked the drink from the counter and looked at his usual spot in the back. Your eyes followed his gaze and you grimaced.

"God, Bucky.", you muttered, the sight of him making out with Margaret enough to make you want to vomit. Buck laughed from beside you, making you notice that it was your first time seeing him less closed off.

"Would you...", he started slowly, his gaze slowly raising back to meet yours. "Would you wanna go outside? It's not that cold and there's a bench...", your eyes remained on his, absolutely mesmerized by the way his blue eyes complimented his blonde hair.

"It's okay if you don't want to—"

Back to reality, you shook your head, a reassuring hand on his arm. "No, no, I'd love to Major.", you hadn't even realized your own actions. Buck felt a blush creeping in at your touch. He cleared his throat and took a step forward, silently holding his arm out for you.

You took his arm, your eyes low on the ground. You were in disbelief and only if you had paid more attention to the man beside you, you would've noticed that he was equally surprised. His breaths were short and his eyes searched every signal of possible discomfort radiating from you.

But you just kept smiling, your cheeks matching the color of your lipstick. Was it all because of him? It couldn't be, right? Buck didn't let his thoughts lead him to impossible destinations - he couldn't. It was true that Gale preferred his peace and quiet, which just meant that he had a lot of time to absorb every detail of his surroundings. You would never know, but he was actually the one that pushed Bucky to talk to you.

"C'mon, Buck.", Bucky slammed a weak fist against his friend's arm. "You can't be scared of talking to a girl. You flew in German territory a hundred times and you're scared of talking to Miss Coffee over there."

Buck shook his head, frustrated that his friend wasn't getting him. "Her name's Y/N."

Major Egan smirked and leaned against the back of his chair, having the perfect view of you handing coffees to pilots. "Y/N.", he said, the tone in his voice almost mocking. Gale glanced at him and clenched his jaw.

"Will you just introduce yourself to her? Once you're friends, you'll introduce me.", the plan was perfect, according to Major Cleven. But Bucky couldn't genuinely understand what was so difficult about talking to a girl. A girl that was all smiles anyways.

"Alright, alright.", Bucky slapped his thighs and stood up. "As you wish, Major."

Buck watched his friend walk up to you and was immediately jealous of his communications skills and most importantly, the smile you sent his way.

Major Egan showed you his empty coffee cup and made a dumb joke out of the situation, making you laugh a little. What a sight. You turned around and grabbed him a fresh cup of coffee, taking away his empty one.

"So?", Buck asked once his friend was sat down.

Bucky smiled at his coffee and looked up in realization. "Oh, yeah got more coffee. This is some good stuff—"

"John."

The Major sighed. "Ah, Gale, she's truly the easiest person to talk to. You crack a joke, you smile a little and there you have it."

Buck looked down, his expression bitter, angry with himself. He could fly B-17s yet he couldn't talk to a girl.

The night didn't start as he had planned. Bucky was supposed to introduce them and then after some small talk, he would've found his entertainment elsewhere, leaving you two alone. But no, Major Egan decided to do it his own way, almost purposely so that it was Buck approaching you first.

"I know that this is gonna sound stupid, but...", you started with a small laugh. You were both sat on a bench by a barrack, the sky bright with shiny stars. "Bucky said I was gonna meet a Buck."

The Major couldn't help but laugh, remembering his conversation with his friend. "Yeah and, uh, you understood Duck?"

Your laughter continued at the words. "Yes! And oh my god, I can't believe he told you!"

Gale shrugged, feeling immediately at ease once he heard your laughter. The laughter he only seemed to hear from far away.

"A duckling.", your words made his head snap to yours. A playful smile on his lips.

"A duckling?", he asked in amusement.

"If you were a Duck.", you said, barely noticing how much you were smiling around this man. "But since you are a Buck, then that makes you a Buckling."

His lips parted, his eyes stuck on you and the silly beauty of your words. You shook your head, swiftly apologizing, the foolishness of your language creeping in.

But Buck smiled and took hold of your hand, his heart racing. "I don't mind it. Only if it's from you."

You glanced at the hands between you - hands that belonged to you and Major Cleven. The girls' words still loud and clear in your head - he doesn't talk, he doesn't interact, he's a ghost of a man. Oh, how wrong they were. If they only had the chance to talk to Mr Prince Charming himself, they would understand

A smile was exchanged between the two of you, neither of you looking away.

"My Buckling?", you asked as the familiar blush stained your cheeks.

"Your Buckling.", he confirmed.

A/N: one of my favorite characters austin has done - literally couldn't wait to write about major cleven 😫💋 let me know what you thought

MASTERLIST buck cleven masterlist

austin 2025 digital calendar 🎀 austin phone case💋

[marginofthought]

Sam and dean newly in a relationship and didn’t have sex yet cause every time they reach to that point they fight about who will top . Sam insist that he should being taller and all and the fact that he never bottomed before but Dean knows his baby brother is a perfect bottom so he wouldn’t budge and he slowly but surely with actions , domineering position slide it in sam subconscious (he jerks him while he pins him facing the wall , tease sam to the point of break the order him to hump his thigh if he wants to cum cause that’ the only way he’s gonna let him cum ….. ) and sam crack gradually until dean take him and it feels so good he never wants to do it other way again

I hope I understood you correctly anon, please correct me if you meant it differently. 

I feel like especially if we’re thinking early seasons Sam would argue just because he knows it eggs Dean on, just to annoy his brother and be bratty. And if we’re talking early seasons I feel like Dean would play along, let Sam think he might budge just this time, tease him and get him to the edge before telling Sam he can choose: either he let’s Dean fuck him or he can hump Dean/get himself off - no matter what, he has to choose one of Dean’s options. Sam chooses the latter a few times but then one time he just gives in, sick of having to get himself off when Dean is right there and it’s not like he hasn’t thought about it before. So he lets Dean manhandle him and acts like he doesn’t feel Dean’s fingers in his crack until he is face down and barely has room to wiggle.

And yeah, okay, whatever Sam thought it might feel like it wasn’t this, because this is amazing even if he’s reluctant to tell Dean because he can picture the smug grin and Dean doesn’t need the ego boost.

(Dean still makes Sam ride him until he comes - why should Dean do more work if Sammy has just learned how to submit to him?)

[uranometrias]

an ode to fake hatred — dean winchester

→ premise: the one where sam notices the exact moment dean starts to view you as someone more than just a third party on their mission to locate john winchester!

→ pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader

→ warnings: crack <3 , very short, mostly in sam's pov. takes place sometime during s1. reader is described to have lost a significant other <3

→ a/n: this is actually an excerpt from my dean x female! oc fic that i published on wattpad, but i thought it'd be cute to publish as a short little imagine too! <3

You had never felt like much more than a weapon to be wielded. Something to smite, to kill, and to be used. Never destined to be more than the thing forged to bring someone else to their destiny. Sitting in the Impala though, brought you a happy exception.

You never felt like anything outside of normal sitting inside that car.

You lets your toes wiggle as they sit up on the dashboard, knowing full well that the moment Dean catches you, he'll have your head. But, you'd filled a lot of your time with the Winchesters by getting under the skin of the eldest. He had not been happy about the fact that Sam had asked you to come along, but apparently some nightmare had him convinced you weren't safe if you were on your own.

Dean hadn't been as keen on the plan, but over time he'd warmed up to you in his own Dean-like way. You weren't sure exactly why Sam had even let you sit up front, you'd become quite accustomed to sitting in the back, familiar with every divot, every nook, cranny, and percy magazine Dean had hidden under the seats.

You'd even found having to lean in between driver and passenger seat to feel like part of the conversation between Sam and Dean, an expected part of your day-to-day schedule. Not today though, your muddied shoes had become decoration for the floor, and Sam's snorting as he takes in your polka-dotted socks.

A little childish, sure. But, they were also exceptionally comfy. Especially when she was forced to wear boots and sneakers most times of the day. You offer sam your middle finger in response to his snort, and that serves to make him chuckle. The sound helps to ease some of the tension you felt. Without meaning to, your eyes scan the outside of the car, and you hate the way your eyes light up of their at the sight of Dean finally coming out of the gas station.

His hands are full of all sorts of junk, and his smiling like the cat that ate the canary. You know nothing good could come out of it. You smack your teeth the second Dean's opening the passenger door, poking his head in, and chucking the entire pile right at you. Snacks smack your face, raining down like a junk-food shower. It makes you swing at him, just barely missing his face as he jerks away, shutting the car door behind him.

You find your lips curving up into a small fond smile when you hear the way your retaliatory actions make him chuckle. Sam is watching you closely, eyes jumping from you and then to his brother as Dean stands outside and pumps the gas. You're so caught up in watching Dean that you don't even notice the way Sam is reading you like a book.

He was no dummy, and he thanked his lucky stars that as the days began to roll together the arguments that used to fill up the time between you and Dean had started becoming far and few in between. It was precisely why he was sitting in the back, he had a bit of a hypothesis he was testing out. He'd never push a grieving person back into the dating fray, Lord knows he wasn't ever going to be over Jess.

But... there was something oddly poetic about the way you and Dean, two people who were a lot more alike than either dared to admit seemed to have found this new rhythm.

There was a quiet push and pull, both of you tiptoeing closer and closer to some massive fork in the road that would spin you down a different path forever.

Sam wasn't sure which way you two were headed though, not completely. Especially because tender looks when the other wasn't looking was not quite enough to prove anything. If it were all of Dean's taunts about you and Sam being in love would have a bit more merit.

Sam leans back, caught off guard when Dean returns, sliding into the car, and digging through the pile you'd let partially spill onto the floor, before finally offering him his own assortment of junk to quiet the grumbling of his stomach.

He hates the way you all live sometimes, but he knows your profession makes it hard to be too picky. As the impala comes back to life, Sam is looking between Dean and you again.

You're kicking your feet happily, mouth full of what looked like your favorite gas-station snacks, as well as something else that looked more like Dean's favorite. It was small things like that, that you did deliberately to garner a reaction from Dean.

The two Winchesters catch eyes in the mirror, and Sam is certain he looks smug as he stares down his obvious older brother. His eyebrow then quirks at the way Dean suddenly seems to take in the way you're eating his food, before his eyes jump to your feet perched up on the dashboard.

Sam chokes on a laugh the second Dean's hand flies out and swats at your feet. You let out a shocked gasp, glare pinned straight on the oldest. "What the hell's your problem?" you seethe as Dean's eyes roll.

"Get your damn feet down." he demands, swatting at your foot again.

It makes you smack your teeth, popping his hand as a small tussle ensues with Dean trying his hardest to remove your foot from off the dash. "You're lucky enough to be sitting in the front, and you wanna go 'head and mess it up." he scolds. Sam's stifling a snort, watching as you lean over the center console to flick his ear.

You don't move your feet, in fact you let your body slump until your feet were near touching the windshield, and Sam's eyes are back on Dean, almost wondering what he'll do next. "Oh, nice. That's real mature." Dean grumbles, but there's no real bite behind the words, and you seem to know as much. What with the way you smile up at him in a way that makes your eyes close, and exposes all your teeth.

"I don't get paid to be mature." you retort. "It's actually my life's mission to piss you off, Deano. Deal with it." you mutter with a shrug.

Sam notes the moment Dean's eyes seem to soften as he stares at your side profile. You're looking ahead though, no longer giving him your attention. "Well trust me, you're doing a damn good job." Dean's sarcasm makes Sam huff out a laugh, the quiet nose ignored by you and Dean once more. It was always like that with you two. Easy to get lost in the moment and forget who else could possibly be around.

"Good, I'll be here all week."

"Someone kill me now." Dean grumbles, and this makes you turn your head, jaw dropped as you gasp dramatically.

"Take that back." you demand as Dean's eyes roll at your dramatics. "You love me, and you know it." you accuse, finger pointing right at him as it jabs into his cheek, pushing his head away from the road. A nuisance, that's what you were, the kind that lingered under his skin, and all in his mind. He hated you most times, liked you a lot more than normal at other times. It was a nauseating experience.

It wasn't like you were unattractive, you were just annoyingly sweet towards Sam, oftentimes getting him in a way Dean didn't. If he was honest, it was the most annoying part of your whole arrangement, feeling like the stranger with his own brother.

You called him Sammy like it was the name he'd been birthed with, and he never had any quips or qualms about it. And you'd tug at his arm like a silent shadow, saying everything with your eyes when he'd look at her. No matter how tired, or exhausted he might have been, he always, always understood exactly what you were trying to convey.

And when he'd fall asleep in the front seat of the impala, you'd slip multi-colored scrunchies from off your wrists and make ponytails in the shaggy mop of hair he'd sported, and never once received more than a playful eye roll. He laughed at all your jokes, laughed until he couldn't breathe. He smiled, and let it reach his eyes.

He listened to every incessant ramble of yours. Never complaining, never telling you to shut up, only listening devotedly. And you talked, a lot. Talked about anything and nothing at all.

You were annoying, Dean knew that from the very first night you'd met. You grated on every single last nerve he had, and seemed so oblivious to just how unwanted your presence was. You laughed too loud, ate too slow, asked too many questions.

You forced yourself into conversations that didn't concern you, and made every motel room, every space they stepped into your own. Even now, your perfume filled the impala, making it smell much to sweet for the job you did, for the sort of life you lived. You were just wildly out of place, and Dean hated you for it.

Still, he turns his head back towards you, taking you in as you continued to gawk at him like he'd really wounded you, and he smirks. Mostly because he knew you were only playing up your dramatics to fill the empty spaces of the road trip. "Do I know that?" he queries, and it makes your eyes narrow. "Believe me, sweetheart. The only thing keeping you from becoming a hitchhiker is Sam's dumb little crush on you." he says firmly, and you snort.

Sam scoffs, because he doesn't have a crush on you. Not really.

"That was almost convincing." you reply. "But, your heart's just not in it." and with that, you're effectively shutting him up. You kick your feet some more, ultimately getting bored of the action, and deciding to sit up straight. Your feet though, don't touch the ground, instead you sit criss cross applesauce, and go back to eating your 'breakfast'

"Shut up." he gripes back, and you go through the motions of pretending to zip your lips. Your eyes wander, a devilish grin wiggling onto your face as you take in the radio. You're trying your best to get your hand on the dial, gasping when Dean's hand whips out and stops you. ''Would you just sit still?" he demands, and you want to scream. Mostly because road trips with the Winchesters could go on for hours, and what did you have if not your ability to piss him off?

"Would you just sit still!" you mock him, voice dropping a few octaves. "It won't kill you to listen to something outside of -" and you turn to look back at Sam. "What did you call it? Mullet Rock's greatest hits?" you call back to your very first hunt partnered up with the boys. "I happen to know that if you just flip your dumb cassette over, you'll like what you hear." you say, and Dean's shaking his head at you.

"My car, my rules, princess."

"You're the princess." you shoot back gruffly.

"You two are unbelievable." Sam comments, and that shuts you and Dean up instantly. Dean's grip on the wheel is tightening just slightly, all traces of humor escaping him for the moment, as you pivot your entire body, facing the window as you go back to quietly eating chips. Sam's not sure what's gotten into the both of you, if it had something to do with the fact that you weren't alone and were behaving as such, or if you both had just realized just how obvious you were being with your interest.

There's a brief moment where none of you are talking, only the quiet thrum of whatever was playing from the radio filling the space. That is until Dean's hands, quick as lightning are crossing the car to snatch the bag of chips from your grasp. You gasp exaggeratedly, and Sam's stifling another laugh, because Dean's pretending to be so unbothered. Grumbling something about spending extra money on snacks for you when you spent all your time eating his shit anyway.

Sam witnesses the second Dean sets the bag in a space that's perfectly accessible to the both of you. Cutting eyes at you, as you narrow your eyes at him, before slyly letting your hand move to the bag. Sam supposed this could serve as the answer he needed for his hypothesis, his eyes catching Dean's again in the mirror. Though, there's no smirk on his face this time, in fact, no smugness in his eyes at all instead... he finds that he's happy for his brother.

Even if the idiot didn't know why yet.

[vindicated-truth]

Genderbent Han Joowon and / or Lee Dongsik is such a fascinating concept to tackle because if you keep all of their characterizations, personalities, and dynamics intact, save for the fact that one or both of them is a woman—it dramatically and drastically changes how their interactions are viewed by the audience.

Especially the female audience.

There will be fear over Han Joowon's behalf as a woman, as well as simultaneous commendation for being extra brave and frustration at being extra reckless, for going against Lee Dongsik as a man. All of those accusations and confrontations Joowon made against Dongsik will be seen as incredibly dangerous, considering Dongsik as a man is at first seen as a serial killer, and the victims were all women.

At the same time, there will also be additional sympathy and outrage on Joowon's behalf as a daughter neglected and abused by a father, and to be left alone in a foreign land as a young girl living alone is significantly more dangerous compared to being a boy.

Joowon as a woman would've faced more hardships at work too, considering even now women are rarely given significant positions at work, and would be questioned even more because the only leeway at work she'd ever have is because she's her father's daughter, and even that would be used against her.

There will also be significantly more outrage on Lee Dongsik's behalf as a woman who lost her twin, the only one who could ever fully be on her side and truly the other half of her soul, as now a lone daughter forced to make her way through society without the only other woman she could ever rely on—and without the significant safety nets of a supportive family a daughter would've needed more in order to function in society, compared to a son.

This gives Dongsik incredible similarity to Jaeyi too, and gives their dynamic even more nuance and strength, because even though Jaeyi can never replace Yuyeon, both of them can go through life with an incredible understanding of each other's situation, and makes Jaeyi's initial frosty reception of Joowon more understandable as women who distrust men for a reason.

We would also be significantly be more outraged by the police brutality Dongsik would have suffered as a woman at the hands of Nam Sangbae, and as the audience we would not have been so forgiving of Nam Sangbae after that.

Han Joowon as a man continuously confronting Lee Dongsik as a woman be seen as incredibly abusive, a blatant abuse of power both as police officer and as a man, and we would have been incredibly fearful for Dongsik as a woman because regardless of how good a person Joowon is eventually revealed to be, there is always the instinctual fear of violence of a man towards a woman in any confrontation.

Both Dongsik and Joowon being women leave us with two outcasts, two victims of society, a woman wrongly accused who has no hope of ever rising in society, and a woman who will always be targeted by the people in power because of her gender. We see them in an even more helpless, desperate situation, and their interactions would be seen not as fascinating clashes of power dynamics, but as two women who have nothing left to lose in trusting each other.

What's fascinating to think about the current dynamics of Joowon and Dongsik as they are is that part of the reason they're seen as equal partners is because they're both men. Either one of them being a woman would've significantly given more power to the other as a man, and the balance in their dynamic would be broken.

And the saddening, angering truth is, if both of them had been women, they wouldn't have been able to do any of the actions they needed to do to compel the case forward because they would have faced significantly more hurdles as women, versus being men.

Mostly because society would have believed them even less, let alone listen to them.

The female victims in the show clearly had already been enough evidence of that.

[solentient]

In another life. A danon story

Synopsis: A knight and princess should never be together. Nor should two women. And their fate is proof of that.

Pairing: Manon and Daniela

TW: Death, Mentions of heaven & Hell, Homophobia, Foul words, Lk rushed so like ignore the bad writing & design LMAO

Enjoy:)

In a distant land, beyond the reach of time and memory, lay the kingdom of Meret. It was a land of grandeur and power, ruled by King Aldric and Queen Lysandra. Their daughter, Princess Meret Manon, was the kingdom’s future, the sole heir to the throne. But despite the riches and prestige that came with being royalty, Manon found her happiness not in luxury but in the presence of one person—Daniela.

Daniela was Meret’s most formidable warrior, her name spread with admiration across the land. She was fierce, fearless, and unwavering in her duty. But to Manon, she was more than just a warrior. Daniela was her protector, her confidante, her only friend.

But, above all, she was the love of Manon’s life.

However, nothing seems to last.

For when King Aldric discovered the truth, his blood boiled. A princess should not love a mere warrior—especially a woman. It was an abomination in his eyes, a stain upon the royal bloodline. He forbade Manon from seeing Daniela ever again, his decree absolute.

“You are the heir of our kingdom! And you want me to accept the fact that you’re marrying a knight? A woman nonetheless.” Her father shouted. Furious about his daughter’s actions, He barged inside her room.

“So what?! It’s my life! I can spend it however I want.” Manon replies, standing her ground against her father, for once.

“I will not allow my daughter to be a spawn of the devil and be tempted to commit a sin. Either you break it up, or I will have her beheaded.”

Manon begged, pleaded, but her father’s will was iron. In the end, with the weight of the kingdom pressing upon her shoulders, she did the only thing she could do. She looked into Daniela’s eyes, those warm brown eyes that had always shielded her from the world, and whispered the cruelest lie she had ever spoken.

“I don’t love you anymore.”

“W-what?” Daniela’s breath hitched. She had faced countless enemies, walked through battlefields drenched in blood, but never had she felt a pain as deep as this.

“A princess and a mere knight should never be together. This was just all a stupid mistake on my part, Please stay away from me from now on. His highness should be appointing a new guard soon.”

And so, with nothing left to hold on to, she walked away.

Days passed. Weeks. The distance between them became a wound that time could never heal.

Then, one fateful night, the kingdom was attacked. Meret’s enemy, the ruthless kingdom of Rhdalvania, launched a brutal assault. Their goal? The princess.

Manon stood frozen in the chaos, her heart pounding as an archer took aim. The arrow shot forward, death fast approaching—

Until Daniela was there.

She shoved Manon aside, her own body taking the blow. The arrow lodged deep into her chest. Blood spilled, staining the ground.

Manon caught her before she collapsed, her trembling hands pressing against the wound as if sheer desperation could undo fate.

“Stay with me,” she begged, her tears falling onto Daniela’s pale face. “Please.” Daniela tried to speak, but no words came. A faint, smile touched her lips before the light in her eyes faded. “I’m so sorry. I love you so much, Manz.”

And Manon shattered.

The kingdom celebrated Daniela as a hero, but to Manon, there was no glory in her death. Only emptiness. Only grief.

Three days after Daniela’s funeral, Manon made her choice. Standing at the castle’s tallest tower, she whispered to the wind, “Maybe in another life, we can be together.”

Then she stepped forward. Taking her own life.

In a new world, Daniela lived once more. Yet, deep in her heart, an ache remained—one she could never understand, a longing for someone she had never met.

Then, one day, she did meet her.

A girl named Manon.

But this Manon was different.

She was dying.

And Daniela, now bound to another, could do nothing but watch as history repeated itself. “Maybe, we really weren’t meant for each other.”

“Please don’t give up on us, I’ll wait for you, however many lives it will take.” For fate, it seemed, had always been cruel.

Daniela, having died with courage and sacrifice, was granted a new life. A blessed existence where she was cherished, loved, destined for happiness.

Manon, who had died by her own hand, was denied the same mercy. She was cast into the void, unable to return.

They were never meant to meet again for Daniela did an act of good, and Manon did an act of evil.

A gift for @hwonnrinji nd @cinnamanz 💞🩷 rly bad writing guys bare w me

[noblest-roman-of-them-all]

You're Not Broken

Janus ends up injured in a bit of a freak accident and Thomas can't help but wonder about the subconscious implications.

This does make reference to Too Soon, which is the conversation that Janus and Thomas had prior to thus incident, but can be read on it's own.

Thomas froze mid step as he trudged down the stairs, staring in fond confusion at Janus, who was lying peacefully asleep, across the top of the blinds.

How Janus had even gotten up there, he'd never know, but it did help narrow down what type of snake he was at least. Vaguely, Thomas wondered if perhaps he had ended up there on accident.

If Janus was indeed arboreal then perhaps in his room somewhere he had a perch he slept on, and had risen up into the living room in his sleep. Kind of like sleep walking but for more or less teleportation. Either way he seemed comfy enough up there, and Thomas's only real concern, as he quietly slipped into the kitchen to make coffe, was if Janus was staying warm enough.

Sure, heat rose, but the ac was on to keep things a little cooler for his own human needs. He did recall something about Janus's day wear being heat reflective so as to help him retain body heat once he was warm and dressed, but he wasn't sure the same could be said of his pajamas. After all, snakes tended to need things cooler to be able to sleep.

He glanced through the little window and out into the living room where Janus was perched. Maybe that had been the reason for the shift? Teleporting in his sleep to find a cooler place to rest? He turned back to his coffee with a thoughtful frown. It didn't matter exactly, he supposed, Janus was resting and that was what was important. It was honestly kind of endearing-

A snap! brought him out of his ponderings and in an instant Janus was on the ground, curling around his arm with a shocked and strangled scream.

Thomas swore under his breath and darted to Janus's side. "It's okay, I'm here," he tried to assure. "Lie back for me, bud, let me see you." The sharp angle his wrist was bent at was enough to make Thomas dizzy.

Janus glanced up through his tears at the blurry figure above him as he was gently pushed onto his back. "What's happening?" he breathed.

"You fell off the blinds," Thomas told him, gently stroking the scales at his temple. "I- I'm pretty sure your wrist is broken. Let me get Logan-"

"Remus!" Janus shouted instead.

The Duke appeared, clearly pulled directly out of bed, and shook his head, trying to reorient himself. "Where's the fire?" he complained, scrubbing his eyes.

"Janus is hurt," Thomas told him.

Remus snapped into action, rushing forward, bodily shoving Thomas out the way to kneel at Janus's side.

"He fell off the blinds," Thomas told him as he picked himself up off the floor.

Remus nodded, taking in Janus's condition in a glance. "Help me get him up," he ordered. "I'll hold his arm still, you get him up and let him lean on you." He gently took Janus's wounded arm in his hand, drawing a sharp gasp from him, and slipped his other under his body, while Thomas did the same. They moved in unison to push Janus into a sitting position and Thomas wrapped his arms around Janus, trying to offer some comfort.

Janus dropped his head back on Thomas's shoulder and gripped his arm with his good hand. Thomas glanced down at the hand on his arm, the strange texture of the skin momentarily distracting him. Wider scales seemed to cover the palm of Janus's hand, while patches of scales like on his face covered the back of his hand. This close he could see the same wider scales covering his throat and going down his chest.

"It's alright," he said softly, leaning his head against Janus's, snapped back to attention by a soft whine. "We gotcha, buddy, it's okay."

Thomas glanced over to find Remus had conjured a first aid kit and a pair of scissors. He watched at Remus carefully cut open the seam of Janus’s sleeve and peeled it back to revealed a deep purple and red mottled bruise that wrapped around his wrist like a bracelet.

Janus whined, fingers biting into Thomas's arm as Remus carefully probed the injury.

"Okay," Remus nodded. "Deep breath for me, Jan-Jan. I'll try to make it quick."

Janus wet his lips and nodded. He closed his eyes and let out a slow deep breath. Thomas ran his thumb back and forth on his chest and rested his other hand over Janus's to try to soothe him.

Janus still screamed, digging his heels into the floor, when Remus set his arm.

"All done," Remus promised. "Worst part is over. Just hold still so I can wrap it up."

Thomas started singing softly when he felt Janus's tears against his jaw, unsure of what else to do to help.

"All done," Remus said again and gently rested Janus's arm in his lap. "You okay?" he asked in a gentle tone that took Thomas by surprise. Even more surprising was the way Remus gently thumbed away his tears. It was a stark contrast to beating Roman over the head and ripping out Logan's teeth.

Janus nodded and leaned into Remus’s hand as he stroked his temple. "Thank you," he sighed. "Both of you."

"Let's get you to bed so you can rest." Remus wormed his arm between Thomas and Janus and tucked the other under his knees then pulled him carefully into his arms and dipped from the room.

Thomas sat on his knees, now stiff beneath him, for a long moment after the pair had disappeared.

"Kiddo?" Patton's soft voice broke the heavy silenced he'd been left in. "You okay?" he asked and knelt at Thomas's side with a hand on his shoulder.

Thomas shook his head. "Y-yeah, I'm- I'm fine."

Patton tucked an arm around his back and helped him to his feet. "What were you doing on the floor?"

"Janus fell off the blinds this morning. I was helping Remus with his arm. It looked like it was broken."

Patton frowned. "I didn't think we could get hurt after…after all that stuff Remus did to Logan."

"I didn't think so either, but…maybe it's different because he just fell and it wasn't something that someone else did to him? I-I dunno. Remus was able to set it and get it wrapped at least, so he'll be okay. I just…I didn't even know that could happen. I, um, I'm gonna check on him later. Let him get some rest for now."

—

Janus sighed at the light tapping on the door. "Come in," he called softly.

"Brought you some hot chocolate," Thomas said as he pushed up the door. "Wanted to see how you were doing after earlier."

"I'm alright." He groaned a little trying to get himself upright and Thomas rushed to his side to help, quickly putting down the mug and tucking an arm around his back.

"Take it easy," Thomas ordered gently. He passed Janus the mug once he was sure he was settled.

"Thanks."

"Did Remus do that?" Thomas asked gesturing to the bright yellow hard cast that now encased Janus scaled wrist.

Janus nodded. "The plus of his fascination with body horror, it makes him excellent at anatomy." He held up the cast. "It was a clean break at least."

Thomas stared at the cast a moment. "How did it happen? I mean, I know it happened, I saw that, but… I mean, Remus hit Logan with that throwing star and it just disappeared and he was fine. I guess I just don't get why your arm didn't heal as fast."

"I don't fully understand it myself, and even if I did it doesn't mean that I would be able to explain it. Suffice to say, Logan's role as Logic does play into it. Think about it, Roman was affected more severely by Remus’s action. Really it wasn't even so much the morning star that did it, it was Remus flicking him during his song, during an imaginative sequence, something that fell directly under both their roles as Creativity. Stories require logic, but logic doesn't inherently require stories, so when injured by Creativity, Logic sees no reason to abide by those rules and so remains largely uninjured."

"…I do get what you're saying and that does make sense, but it doesn't exactly answer my question."

"I don't particularly have an answer. It just is. Even if I did have a real answer chances are that I couldn't explain it or that you'd remember if I could."

"Why wouldn't I remember?" Thomas frowned.

"For the same reason you don't remember the conversation we had a few days ago," Janus told him. "You're not actually ready to accept the information I gave you. Virgil's right, you are the boss and you can know what you want, but I am still directly a part of your subconscious. You can say you want to know something, but if you don't truly want to know then I physically won't be able to tell you. I didn't silence Logan for fun, I silenced him because you needed a push to be truly ready to accept my existence. Because in that moment you weren't ready to hear it. Sometimes I'm silenced myself because you don't want to know things, and sometimes you push things out that you're not actually ready to accept after you've been told."

"I don't think I like the idea of not remembering an entire conversation from just a few days ago," Thomas muttered.

Janus gave a soft look ands set aside his mug to pat his bed. "Sit with me." Thomas complied with a sigh and Janus continued. "Even if you had been open to accepting all the information I gave you then, chances are you still wouldn't remember all of it because it was very late and you were exhausted. Not to mention you can't remember everything and beyond that you can't know everything. No one can know everything about themselves, can know everything in their subconscious. It'd be overwhelming to have all that information in your conscious mind. That's why information is either shut out or processed unconsciously in the first place."

"I mean…I guess that makes sense," Thomas admitted a bit glumly, drawing a smile from Janus, who patted his hand.

"I know it's upsetting, but it does keep you functional, which is, in fact, a large part of my function."

"Is it like…an analogy then or something?"

Janus frowned. "Is what an analogy?"

"Your arm," Thomas answered. "If you're…part of my subconscious…is something...broken about me?"

"Oh, sweetie, no," Janus assured softly. "There are…aspects of myself that are more reflective of you as our whole, but not this. You're not broken, sweetheart."

Thomas nodded, uncertainty making his chest ache a little. "Are you lying because I'm not ready to actually face it?"

"There are things that…need a bit of attention. There are things I can't outright tell you, but that doesn't make you broken. Wounded in some ways, yes, but not broken. I don't necessarily think there's a real reason for this-" he raised his casted hand "- but I suppose if you really wanted one, perhaps it was to get you to see Remus in a different light, or perhaps myself even. You're still getting to know us, still getting used to us." He shrugged. "Who knows? Don't go beating yourself up over it though, alright? You're not broken and this isn't your fault."

Thomas nodded. "Thank, Janus. Are you okay? Do you…need me to bring you anything else?"

"I'll be alright," Janus shook his head. "He's an absolute menace, but Remus actually does do a very good job of taking care of me. He is part of the same person as Patton after all," he winked. "Go on. I know you have things to do today. You can check on me later."

"Alright," Thomas relented. "Let me know if you need anything, though. I'll check on you later."

"I look forward to it," Janus answered with a smile.

[transfemme-shelterdog]

Ah and here's where you bend over backwards DARVOing for it, in order to save face for your little Men's Rights But Make It Woke ideology

I shouldn't be surprised but here we are

Please elaborate on how I did DARVO?

I admitted that the accusations hold weight, and said I'd maintain distance from it and it's posts. Not sure what else you want me to do.

Never blamed the victim either? I said that the actions it allegedly did were abusive. Never victim blamed.

[inseparabiles]

I think Geta's thought process, or lack thereof, is two-fold here. When he gives the initial command for Lucius to kill Acacius, and Lucius doesn't, he doesn't know what to do with that. Which honestly, wow Geta, yeah, the guy who never once did what you told him to refused once again, shocker. You weren't prepared for this because you're my favourite moron I guess. But it's a really important shot when he's shown to hesitate after - what's he going to do about this? Nothing him and his brother are saying is having an effect. And the people aren't exactly roaring for this either, are they? There's a lot of spare him going on out there. Not all of it is just that, but he's hearing it and it's confusing him.

So he looks to Macrinus: Macrinus, in turn, tells him what the fuck are you waiting for? He's a slave and you're the Emperor. This is spared even in the final version, though it's a blink and you'll miss it nonverbal moment: Geta literally just throws his head back to look at Macrinus, and Macrinus makes the most impatient face known to mankind at him, which has to be incredibly humiliating to Geta who wants to come across competent and in control.

In the script:

None of this is said out loud in the final cut (a LOT of this scene got thrown around), but it's plain as day in the shot anyway. Fuck Macrinus, by the way.

But Geta trusts him, because Macrinus has shown them care, he's shown them not the kind of cowering deference all the other people around them do, but the kind of guidance that you'd get from a father, which Geta never got to have - so of course Macrinus will know best again. Macrinus is an immensely succesful manager of multiple fields: he does business, he deals with the military, he manages a ludus, he dabbles in politics, and he's failing at none of it. This is a man who really seems to know what he's all about, and he's telling Geta to give the order, so he does, because this was Macrinus's idea from the beginning and of course he wants it to go smoothly and he knows what he's doing. And he cares about them. He's shown it: he saved their lives, and asked for nothing in return.

And Caracalla, Geta's other measure for how things are going, obviously loves this. Goes from foaming at the mouth mad to... whatever that is. So at this point, Geta has to think he's resolved the situation: the audience is getting really loud but the one person whom he trusts to know how to handle this kind of thing told him it was the right thing to do and Caracalla's already basking in it, so everything's fine, take it in.

I don't think he has time to really analyse that moment. He's just caught up between the pressure to make the right call quickly before things escalate, his trust that Macrinus wants the best for them, and the expected reaction to the action: noise, commotion.

And I think the shock on his face is much less for the audience's reaction as it is for how they ended up in that situation. He can't fathom Macrinus making the wrong call. It doesn't make sense. And it doesn't because he didn't but Geta's too fucking naïve to understand why this exact reaction is the one that Macrinus was always aiming for. He's too vulnerable to realise it was on purpose. The rest of his life is spent in that refusal to consider that maybe what Macrinus did and said wasn't an honest miscalculation from a man whom he's known to have everything under control until that point, because if he'd allow himself to consider that, he'd break. The one time he should have been paranoid and wasn't, because accepting that the man he'd come to view as something like a father to him hated him just as much as his real father had just... wasn't an option.

Okay I am possibly getting annoying with how much I'm posting gladiator posts one after the other rn thanks to rewatching it but

Maybe I haven't been paying enough attention but I feel like i haven't seen ppl talk about that look on Geta's face like *right* after the Lucius vs Acacius battle.

Like, how he goes from standing there arms out and still, idk 'basking' (???) And then as soon as macrinus says smth (I think) he like slowly starts lowering his arm and when you see his face it's like he's snapped out of whatever feelings he was experiencing when Acacius finally died and is now registering that "oh, people are upset. People are very VERY upset- *fuck*"

Like, maybe I'm misreading it, but for a second, he looks borderline shocked before everything seemingly registers - which just makes me wonder - what was his thought process? Was he genuinley just so caught up in the moment? Was it something else completely that I probably didn't think of?

Have other ppl written about this that I haven't seen or didn't understand properly? Guess I'll find out