#currently the story doesn't have a title so

[waynes-multiverse]

You have no idea how excited I was for this series and it did not disappoint in the slightest! It hit all the right spots, love!! I'm so thrilled to see where it goes from here 😍🫶

Details below 😉👇

First of all, it's one thing to wake up to yelling, but the freaking air horn?! Wow, our poor boy 😂😂

You shot him an odd look, but he ignored it, shifting slightly to make sure the blanket hid the… Predicament he was currently dealing with.

I feel like that would've been on her, though 😆 If I had a boy roommate and surprised him in the morning, I wouldn't be shocked to my core to encounter morning wood lmao

The angst and constant (adorably idiotic) overthinking of Dean's during their whole shopping trip was delicious! I devoured that shit, girl. And when the crotchless panties showed up – dead 💀

The worst part? You were always the person he talked to when he was confused about something. But now you were the one person he couldn’t talk to about this.

Ooof, and that is always the downfall 🙈 They're not gonna communicate properly throughout this whole fic, are they? Am I gonna be yelling at you a lot? Probably. But all out of love 😂😘

Benny chuckled, lining up his next shot. “I think the real question is, why the hell did you stay?”

Benny cracked me up with this line. I could so imagine him saying that with that little smirk of his 😆

I loved the guys' night out and how all of them, without a fail, made fun of Dean and knew from the start what he was talking about 😂😂

And that childhood meeting story about killed me with cuteness! Stawp 😭💕🍭

“Honey, I’m home!” Dean called out as soon as he stepped into the apartment. The words left him out of habit, that same old teasing lilt in his voice. It was an inside joke that had stuck over time—born the day you’d both moved in together after college, a decision fuelled by practicality more than anything else.

Uh-huh. I'm not believing a word he's telling me right now 😂 Gabe was right. Denial is a powerful drug lol

Gary from marketing.

Ugh, not Gary from marketing 🙄 (Honestly, who still names their child Gary these days? Not exactly a name I wanna scream in bed. No offense to any Garys reading this 😂)

You frowned up at him, your brows knitting together like a scolded child. “You’re no fun.”

I'm a sucker for a wasted reader/wasted Dean. (Happy) drunk people are the freaking best gift 😂🥂

I swear, if Dean doesn't communicate his feelings properly, I will throw a shoe at the screen of my laptop, hoping it will goddamn hit him 😅

But that kiss?! HOLY HELL 🔥🔥🔥 (Please ma'am, may I have some more of this hotness?)

And I love that Dean realized she was too drunk for this, but now I'm genuinely worried how the next morning will go? 👀 Are they going to be awkward about it, avoid one another, or actually talk? (Yeah, I know. The last one is a stretch lol). I'm aware of the fic title and love the friends with benefits trope, so I'm so stoked for all the angst to come and flourish in the next chapters! 😁👏

The Arrangement - Part One

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Dean has a conflicting dream about you, his best friend, that has him questioning feelings he'd never allowed to see the light of day before. However, he might not be the only one…

Word Count: 7.7k

Warnings/Tags: Swearing, feelings, some spicy times, nothing too heavy...

AN: Happy Release day!!🎉 Honestly, i can’t thank you all enough for the excitement around this series since announcing it! I've fell in love writing this story 🥹 and I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I have writing it ❤️

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Dean smiled lazily as he felt a warm palm slide up his chest, the body behind him pressing closer. Soft lips trailed kisses along his neck and shoulders, sending a shiver down his spine. He hummed in contentment and shifted onto his back, his tired eyes opening to the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen.

Her eyes sparkled with warmth and mischief, her lips curving into a playful smirk before she leaned down, peppering gentle kisses along his jaw. His eyes fluttered shut again as she sucked lightly at his pulse point, his breath coming quicker. A low groan rumbled from his throat as he gripped her waist, pulling her up into a heated kiss.

Her tongue caressed his, her touch sending fire through his veins. Her hand slid down his abdomen, fingertips grazing lower and lower beneath the sheets, his pulse pounding—

"WAKE UP, LOSER!"

Dean's eyes shot open, his body jolting as the blaring shriek of an airhorn filled his room. He yanked the covers tighter around himself, his heart racing from both the rude awakening and the remnants of his dream.

"What the hell, Y/N?" he growled, glaring at the culprit as he covered his ears. You grinned triumphantly and finally put the airhorn to rest.

Dean huffed, flopping back down on the bed and throwing an arm over his face, trying to will away the heat rising to his cheeks.

What the fuck? Was all he could think, his sleep-addled brain scrambling to make sense of why he’d just had a sex dream about you.

You, meanwhile, were way too chipper for his liking. 

"C’mon, Dean-o, up and at ’em." You patted his leg, and he flinched like you’d just burned him. You shot him an odd look, but he ignored it, shifting slightly to make sure the blanket hid the… Predicament he was currently dealing with.

"What’s with the drill sergeant wake-up? Can a guy not sleep in on a Saturday?" He grumbled, voice still rough from sleep, and other things.

You pouted. Actually pouted. And Dean had to force himself to look away from your lips—lips that had just been doing unspeakable things to him in his dream.

"You promised you'd go Christmas shopping with me.” You reminded him, completely unfazed by his mood.

Dean frowned. "That doesn’t sound like something I’d promise."

You hit him with your classic 'don’t bullshit me' look. And, yeah, okay, he remembered now. He'd offered last week, wanting to help you survive the chaos of last-minute shoppers—and use the trip to grab gifts for his own family.

"Fine, yeah. Just give me ten minutes to wake up, alright?" He relented, desperate for you to leave so he could deal with his little… Issue.

“Thanks, Buddy." Your voice was smug, like you knew he’d never actually say no to you. Because, let’s be honest, he never did.

Dean sighed as you closed the door behind you. He let his head fall back against the pillow, running a hand down his face.

What the hell?

Why was he dreaming about you like that? You were his best friend. You’d been inseparable since fourth grade. Sure, you were beautiful, but that had never been an issue before.

…Had it?

Dean groaned, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. Nope. Too early for a deep dive into that mess. He rationalised it away—one, you were attractive. Two, you were close. And, statistically speaking, didn’t most guy-girl friendships eventually veer into weird territory at some point?

Yeah. Totally normal. No big deal.

Except… Two hours later, standing in the middle of a lingerie store, Dean realised he was totally screwed.

Before that, he’d spent the last two hours hauling around a bunch of your shopping bags like a damn pack mule. Only one of them happened to be his, with his completed gift purchases for everyone he needed to buy for. Though to be fair to you, your arms were just as full. He was bewildered at your ability to buy so much for so little.

Your immediate family only consisted of three people—Bobby, Ellen, and Jo—but you had argued that you had your friends, his family, and him to buy for. The latter of which, he’d told you not to do.

However, it fell on deaf ears as always. Every Christmas and birthday, it was the same. But Dean couldn’t fault you for it—you always got people gifts that were meaningful to them, and you got so much joy from giving that he could never say anything other than thank you.

What he wasn’t thankful for was your complete inability to stay focused. Every shop you entered, you’d get distracted by little knickknacks, convincing yourself someone needed them, rather than the original item you came for. It made the day so much longer, but despite the fatigue in his arms and the chaos of holiday shoppers, he was enjoying himself.

Though, that was a given with you.

You were naturally a people pleaser, but knowing how much Dean hated shopping, you’d made it your mission to keep him entertained. You’d made him laugh—laugh to the point his belly ached and tears were shed. The day had surprisingly become enjoyable. But then you'd dragged him into this store, and his brain short-circuited.

The window displays alone had him spiralling, lace and silk-covered mannequins taunting him with thoughts he really didn’t need to have. About you. And then you, completely oblivious, pulled a matching red lace bra and thong off a rack, holding them up for inspection.

Dean swallowed hard.

He’d done your laundry before. You two split chores in the apartment, and he’d handled your underwear plenty of times; never thinking twice about it. So why the hell was he suddenly imagining you in them now?

Was this really because of the dream? It had to be.

And then, like you hadn’t already sent him into cardiac arrest, you giggled, holding up another pair. "Hey, check this out—crotchless panties."

Dean barely choked back a groan as you stuck your fingers through the open section like it was the funniest thing in the world. His brain, on the other hand, provided a detailed mental slideshow of all the things he could do to you in them.

Jesus Christ.

He needed air.

"I—uh—I gotta step outside. Promised Sammy I’d call about a gift for Mom," he lied, voice tight.

You barely glanced up. "Okay."

Dean bolted like his life depended on it, shoving through the doors and inhaling the crisp winter air. "What the fuck is wrong with you, man?" He muttered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.

A passing woman gave him a scandalised look as she walked by with her kid. He shot her an apologetic smile before leaning back against the brick wall, blowing out a heavy breath.

He tried to clear his mind, but every time he pushed the R-rated thoughts away, softer images replaced them. The way you smiled. The way you laughed, head thrown back, eyes crinkling. That stupid fluttery feeling hit his stomach again.

Dean frowned.

Was he sick? Hallucinating?

The worst part? You were always the person he talked to when he was confused about something.

But now you were the one person he couldn’t talk to about this.

Another half hour crawled by before you finally emerged from the store, a small bag swinging from your wrist. Dean’s eyes locked onto it like it held the answers to the universe, his mind immediately spiralling.

What the hell did you buy?

He told himself he didn’t care. He really didn’t. But his brain clearly had other plans because now he was picturing you in every single thing you could’ve possibly picked out.

Lingerie? Pyjama's? Something sheer, lace- nope!

He swallowed hard and forced himself to focus on literally anything else, but it was a lost cause. By the time you both made it back to the apartment, he felt like his brain had been put through a damn blender.

You, however, were completely unbothered, tossing your bags onto the floor with a content sigh before flopping onto the couch. "Pizza should be here soon. You wanna pick the movie?"

Dean blinked, barely processing the words. Right. Normal best friend things. Hanging out. Eating pizza. Watching a movie. That’s what you two did. That’s what you’d always done.

Maybe that’s all today was—a momentary lapse. A weird, fleeting thing brought on by lack of sleep, the stress of shopping, and, most probably, the objectifying dream he’d had of you. It didn’t have to mean anything more than that.

Yeah. He could shake this off. No big deal.

Letting out a slow breath, he dropped onto the couch beside you, snagging the remote. "Fine. But if I pick, you’re not allowed to bitch about it."

You hummed, already scrolling through your phone. "I make no promises."

A small smirk tugged at Dean’s lips. This was normal. Easy. Just like always.

And for the first time since this morning, he let himself believe it.

The following Friday, Dean found himself at the Roadhouse with Benny, Cas, and Gabe. It was the kind of place that felt like a second home.

The Roadhouse wasn’t fancy—hell, half the decor was older than they were—but it had its own charm. The regulars, the outdated rodeo-style décor, the worn wooden bar top that had seen more spilled whiskey and thrown punches than anyone cared to count.

The walls were lined with old beer signs, neon lights buzzing softly under the hum of conversation. The jukebox in the corner cycled through rock classics, always a little too loud, but that was part of the place’s charm.

Dean and the guys had been coming here for years—long before they were even old enough to drink. You had, too. Being Ellen’s stepdaughter meant you practically grew up in this place, and while Ellen had a strict no-bullshit policy, she wasn’t blind to the fact that teenagers would be teenagers.

As long as you and the guys stayed under her watchful eye, she let you each have a beer or two when you were younger, making damn sure no one got carried away. And if anyone so much as thought about sneaking more? Well, Ellen had a way of shutting that down real quick. She was tough, sharp as a whip, and had a stare that could make a grown man fold—but she cared, more than she’d ever admit.

Jo helped out too, working the bar some nights in between her law enforcement studies. She’d been slinging beers and rolling her eyes at the group’s antics since she was old enough to work behind the counter, always quick with a sarcastic remark when any of them got out of line. 

You and Dean had spent countless nights here, watching as the Roadhouse shaped who you all became.

Benny leaned against the pool table, lining up his shot with an easy, practiced confidence. Dean had seen him do it a hundred times—his friend had a natural ease about him, a steadiness that made him damn good at their job. 

They spent most of their days working maintenance for RHP Properties, fixing busted pipes and dealing with tenants who thought every flickering light meant the world was ending. Benny made the long hours bearable.

Cas sat nearby, nursing a whiskey, his sharp blue eyes scanning the table like he was analysing some historical battle strategy. He always had that serious, thoughtful air about him. It made sense—he was a history teacher, working his way toward becoming a professor. His brain just worked differently.

And then there was Gabriel, though he liked to go by Gabe, Cas’ cousin. Though you’d never guess it just by looking at them. 

Where Cas was serious, methodical, and downright broody at times, Gabe was his exact opposite—carefree, unpredictable, and always ready with a joke. The contrast between them was almost comical, like night and day, order and chaos.

Currently half-draped over the bar like he owned the place, Gabe was laughing at something Rachel, the new bartender, had said. She was easy on the eyes—exactly the kind of woman Gabe set his sights on. And judging by the way she giggled and blushed under his usual blend of wit and charm, he’d hit his mark.

Gabe had always been that guy—the one who could talk his way into or out of anything, a natural-born trickster with a grin that could disarm just about anyone. No one was entirely sure what he did for a living, some mix of marketing gigs and side hustles that somehow kept him afloat. According to him, it was all about “the art of persuasion.”

Dean just called it bullshit.

The night had settled into an easy rhythm—drinks flowing, pool games stretching long enough to become more about talking shit than actual competition. Gabe, as always, had the floor, spinning some ridiculous story about a one-night stand gone wrong.

“I’m telling you; she had three snakes. Just slithering around the damn apartment like it was normal,” Gabe insisted, gesturing wildly with his beer. “One of ‘em was watching me, man. I swear it knew.”

Benny chuckled, lining up his next shot. “I think the real question is, why the hell did you stay?”

Gabe shrugged. “What can I say? I have a hard time walking away from an adventure.”

Cas, who had been nursing his whiskey with a bemused expression, finally spoke up. “It’s a wonder you haven’t been killed yet.”

“Give it time,” Benny muttered, sinking his shot.

The conversation shifted, everyone throwing in their own weird hookup stories—bad timing, embarrassing moments, things they wished they could forget. Dean had been mostly listening, chuckling at their dumb-assery, when the thought that had been nagging him for days finally slipped out.

“Is it, uh… normal to have a sex dream about a friend?”

Benny didn’t react at first, too focused on sinking his shot, but Gabe, ever the opportunist, caught onto it immediately. “If it’s about Y/N? Yeah, totally.”

Dean nearly choked on his beer. “What? No—it’s not—”

Gabe grinned, tilting his head like he was enjoying watching Dean squirm. “Not what? Not about her? Or not just a dream?”

Dean scowled, scrambling to recover. “Jesus, Gabe, I didn’t say it was about her. It was hypothetical.”

“Uh-huh.” Gabe leaned against the pool table, twirling the chalk in his fingers. “Sure, man. Hypothetical.”

Dean exhaled sharply, trying to shake off the weird, twisting feeling in his gut. “Just saying, dreams don’t mean anything, right? Just… brain static.”

Benny chuckled, finally looking up from the table. “Depends on the dream, brother.”

Dean glanced between them, suddenly feeling like he was the only one missing something. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Gabe smirked, eyes twinkling with mischief. “It means you’ve been making googly eyes at her since we were, what—fifteen?”

Dean’s stomach dropped. “The hell I have.”

Gabe ignored him, tapping his chin. “Honestly, I’m surprised this hasn’t happened sooner.”

Benny sighed, shaking his head as he sank another shot. “Sorry, brother. Gotta agree with the gremlin on this one.”

Cas, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke, his voice calm and matter of fact. “It’s always been very obvious.”

Dean stared at them, mouth opening and closing. “You guys are insane.”

Gabe shrugged, completely unfazed. “Denial’s a hell of a drug. You’ll catch up eventually.”

Dean gripped his pool cue a little tighter, his next shot suddenly feeling a lot more difficult than it should have.

Benny, ever the voice of reason, leaned on his cue. “Ain’t anything bad, Dean. You two have known each other since you were what? Nine. Been joint at the hip since. You know all her family, she knows yours. Hell, she’s practically—”

“If that were true, something would’ve happened by now,” Dean cut in, shaking his head.

Gabe snorted, swiping Dean’s beer before he could stop him. “Not if you’re in denial, my friend.”

Dean’s jaw clenched, frustration curling in his chest. Their words were ringing too damn true, and it was freaking him out. “You’re all outta your damn minds.”

Gabe just smirked. “Keep telling yourself that, Winchester.”

The conversation haunted him. All the way back to the apartment.

He’d walked the couple of blocks from the bar to your shared place, his friends’ words swirling around his mind, needling into places he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Dean knew he cared about you—he always had. But wasn’t that normal after knowing someone for so long? You were practically family.

His thoughts drifted back to the first time he met you. Fourth grade. The old, rusted swing set at the park near his house.

He’d been shoving loose gravel around with the toe of his sneaker when he heard a loud laugh—sharp and unbothered. Looking up, he saw a girl launch herself off the swing at its peak, landing in a heap on the ground with a thud.

He winced. That had to hurt.

But instead of crying, you rolled onto your back, a grin splitting your dirt-smudged face as you stared up at the sky. "Holy crap, that was awesome."

Dean frowned, more confused than anything. "You just busted your knee."

You sat up, inspecting the scrape with a shrug. "Eh, I’ve had worse."

Then you looked at him—really looked at him—and grinned. "Think you can jump higher?"

Dean, never one to back down from a challenge, snorted. "Duh."

And that was that. A competition was born.

For the next hour, you and Dean had taken turns swinging as high as possible before flinging yourselves off, measuring who could get the most distance. By the time the sun dipped low, both of you were covered in dirt and scrapes, laughing like idiots.

When his mom finally called him home for dinner, he’d hesitated before brushing off his hands and looking at you. "Same time tomorrow?"

You grinned, teeth flashing. "You’re on, Winchester."

And just like that, Dean had found his best friend.

Now, years later, that same friend was tangled up in his head in a way he couldn’t ignore.

And it scared the hell out of him.

“Honey, I’m home!” Dean called out as soon as he stepped into the apartment. The words left him out of habit, that same old teasing lilt in his voice. It was an inside joke that had stuck over time—born the day you’d both moved in together after college, a decision fuelled by practicality more than anything else. 

Splitting rent was cheaper, and as best friends, it had made perfect sense. Somehow, though, the whole thing had felt oddly domestic from the start, and Dean had cracked the joke that first night—throwing open the door with a smirk, announcing himself like some sitcom husband. You’d groaned, thrown a pillow at him, and it had just stuck. Something easy, something comfortable.

From somewhere deeper in the apartment, your voice called back, warm and casual. “Hey!” You greeted him as he shrugged off his worn leather jacket and toed off his boots with a sigh, rolling his neck to ease the tension there. 

“How were the guys?” You called out again.

"Yeah, they're all good," he answered absentmindedly, trying not to think about that last conversation he’d had with them as he headed straight for the fridge, already contemplating his options.

His hand gripped the cool metal of the handle as he swung it open, his face falling at the sad excuse for groceries staring back at him—half a six-pack, expired milk, some takeout containers he didn’t even remember ordering.

Right. Grocery shopping. Definitely overdue.

"Hey, you feel like ordering in tonight?" He called out over his shoulder. "Pizza? Chinese? Maybe both, live a little?"

But before he could get an answer, movement in the corner of his eye pulled his focus, and his breath caught in his throat.

You stepped out of your room, and just like that, Dean forgot how to breathe.

His hand slipped from the fridge handle as his entire focus tunnelled in on you. You weren’t just dressed up—you were knockout gorgeous. 

A sleek, black dress hugged your figure in a way that should’ve been illegal, the fabric clinging in all the right places before tapering off mid-thigh. Your legs—long, smooth, and so much more on display than he was prepared for—were accentuated by the sharp cut of your stilettos, heels so high they had no damn business being on your feet, yet somehow, you walked like you owned the world in them.

Dean swallowed hard.

His gaze flickered to the subtle details—the delicate chain resting just below the hollow of your throat, the way the dim lighting in the apartment caught the shimmer of your earrings, how your makeup was just enough to highlight what was already perfect. 

You smelled different too—a new perfume perhaps? Something subtle but undeniably you.

The air in the apartment felt thick, like it was pushing down on his chest.

You didn’t even notice his staring. Instead, you were focused on the couch, leaning over slightly as you grabbed your purse, your fingers quickly checking through its contents. "I can't," you said lightly, barely looking up. "Got a hot date, remember?"

Dean blinked, your words cutting through his haze like a blade.

“Date?"

His stomach twisted.

You straightened up, finally glancing at him with a smirk. "Yeah, with Gary from marketing?" You prompted, slinging your purse over your shoulder. "He asked me out last week—I told you about it?”

Gary from marketing.

Dean’s brows furrowed as the memory came rushing back—how you’d offhandedly mentioned it while he was distracted with something else, how he’d muttered some half-assed response at the time, maybe even made a joke—

"The guy with the tragic haircut?" he muttered, the words coming out before he could stop them.

You laughed. "That’s the one."

And just like that, it hit him.

He’d been so caught up in his own damn thoughts about you lately—trying to reason with himself, trying to make sense of the way things had shifted between you lately—that he hadn’t even thought the world would still be turning for you.

He’d been sitting in the passenger seat, clueless, while you’d been steering your own damn life without him.

And now?

Now, you were standing there, looking like that, all dressed up for some other guy—some idiot named Gary, who got to pick you up and take you out, who got to be the reason you put on that dress, who got to see that smile meant for him tonight.

Dean’s chest felt tight, a slow, bitter realisation creeping in.

This wasn’t like all the other times.

You’d gone on dates before. He knew that. He’d teased you about them, had even tossed out protective big-brother-ish warnings to guys who had no clue the words felt foreign in his mouth. But he’d never felt anything about it before.

Not like this.

Not like his chest was caving in.

Not like a bitter, ugly heat was curling around his ribs, settling deep into his bones.

Not like he wanted to throw his jacket back on and hunt down ‘Gary from marketing’ and make damn sure he knew he wasn’t good enough for you.

His hands curled into fists at his sides.

"Right." His voice was quieter than he meant it to be, rough around the edges as he forced the word past the lump in his throat.

He watched as you did one last check in the mirror by the door, smoothing your hands down your dress, adjusting your lipstick in a way that made his stomach tighten even more. You looked excited.

Dean clenched his jaw.

And just like that, the jealousy settled deep in his bones, hot and unyielding.

He didn’t want to picture it—you laughing at some stupid joke Gary made over dinner, Gary sliding his hand over yours, maybe leaning in close at the end of the night, lips hovering over yours.

But the thoughts came anyway.

And it wrecked him.

You shot him one last glance, oblivious to the storm raging inside of him. "Don’t wait up, Winchester."

And with that, you were gone.

Dean stood there for a long moment, staring at the closed door.

His chest felt tight. And then the bitter realisation hit him. 

His friends had been right.

Dean couldn’t sleep.

For the past two hours, he had been tossing and turning, alternating between staring at the ceiling and squeezing his eyes shut, willing sleep to come. It never did.

How the hell could he sleep when his mind was torturing him with images of you—with Gary?

His stomach churned uncomfortably at the thought of it, bile rising in his throat. His mind painted vivid, unwanted pictures: Gary’s hands on you, his lips on your skin, your soft laughter, the way you might be looking at him right now—the way you should be looking at Dean.

He clenched his jaw, shaking his head as if it would shake the thoughts loose. It didn’t.

With a frustrated exhale, Dean sat up, rubbing a hand down his face. This was pointless.

There was no way in hell he was going to get any rest like this, not with his heart pounding and his mind running laps. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching his sore muscles before making his way into the living room.

His feet carried him straight to the kitchen, to the cabinet under the sink where he kept a bottle of whiskey for special occasions.

This qualified.

He poured himself a shot and downed it in one go, barely wincing at the burn as it slid down his throat. The second one went down just as easily, a bitter warmth settling in his chest, but it didn’t quiet the storm in his head the way he hoped it would.

His eyes flicked toward the clock on the microwave.

1:37 AM.

You were still out.

Another shot. Another slow burn in his chest.

Dean knew he had no right to be this worked up about it. He wasn’t your boyfriend. He wasn’t anything to you except your best friend—your roommate. That was the problem.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard.

When the hell did everything get so complicated?

It wasn’t just the dream. Sure, it cracked something open in him, but if he was honest with himself, there had always been something simmering underneath. He could see it now—in the way his past relationships never worked out, how no one else ever seemed enough because in the back of his mind, he was always comparing them to you. The way he told you things he didn’t tell anyone, not even his own mother.

Seventeen years.

You had been in his life for seventeen years. That was longer than most marriages. 

Damn, he really was an idiot. How could he have been so blind to it, so ignorant to what was staring him right in the face the whole time? 

Then, he heard it.

The distinct jingle of keys outside the door, followed by a clumsy, muffled “shit" breaking him out of his reverie.

Dean sighed, setting his glass down before pushing off from the counter. He made his way to the door just as he heard another "fuck", then a quiet thud—like something hitting the floor.

Through the peephole, he spotted you crouched down, fumbling for your keys, struggling to fit them into the lock.

You were clearly drunk.

Dean shook his head with a smirk, unlocking the door from his side just as you managed to steady yourself, one hand braced against the door handle. The moment he pulled it open, you stumbled forward, nearly toppling over—until his arms caught you.

You crashed into his chest with a soft “Hmph.”

Dean's arms instinctively wrapped around you, holding you up as you melted against him, giggling into his shirt. The scent of alcohol clung to you, a mix of whiskey and whatever fruity drink you had been sipping on all night.

“Jesus." You huffed, pushing off him, though you wobbled as you tried to find your footing. Dean kept his hands out, ready to catch you again if needed.

"You good, sweetheart?" He asked, raising a brow as he took in your dazed smile and glassy eyes.

You grinned up at him, your expression pure blissed-out drunkenness. "I'm just perfect, Dean’o."

Dean smirked at the nickname, but before he could say anything, you reached up and grasped his jaw between your thumb and fingers, squishing his cheeks slightly.

“Okay, alright—enough of that.” He groaned, peeling your hand away. You didn’t seem to realise your own strength at the moment, and if you squeezed any harder, you were gonna leave a dent in his damn face.

You blinked up at him, wide-eyed, before your attention drifted over his shoulder. Then your expression dropped into something heartbreakingly close to a pout.

“Awww,” you whined. “You’re drinking without me?”

You sounded genuinely upset, your lower lip pushing out in an exaggerated fashion. Before Dean could respond, you made a clumsy grab for the bottle on the counter.

But Dean was quicker.

Before your fingers could wrap around the neck of the whiskey bottle, his hand closed over yours, pulling it away with ease. “Yeah, no. You’ve had enough,” he said firmly, setting the bottle behind him and out of reach.

You frowned up at him, your brows knitting together like a scolded child. “You’re no fun.”

Dean smirked, amused at how downright grumpy you looked, like a kid being denied dessert. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “You need some water, sweetheart. Not more booze.”

You huffed dramatically, crossing your arms over your chest. “I don’t want water, I want whiskey.”

“Tough,” Dean said, already turning to grab a glass from the cabinet. “You’re getting water.”

Your pout deepened as he filled the glass from the tap, sliding it toward you. You eyed it like it personally offended you before reluctantly picking it up and taking a sip—your way of conceding to his demand, albeit with an exaggerated sigh.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. You were something else.

Once you were distracted with your water, he leaned against the counter again, crossing his arms over his chest. He could still feel the tension coiling in his gut, the jealousy he’d been drowning in all night, and he couldn’t hold it back any longer.

“So,” he started, keeping his tone casual, but his fingers clenched against his biceps. “How was it?”

You blinked up at him, confused. “How was what?”

Dean gave you a look. “Your date.”

At that, you scoffed, setting your glass down with a little more force than necessary. “Oh, that.” You waved a hand dismissively. “It was awful.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, surprised by how quickly you admitted it. He’d expected you to defend the guy, maybe try to convince yourself it had been a good time. But no—just flat-out awful.

“Yeah?” He prompted, keeping his voice even, but he could already feel his chest loosening just a little.

You leaned against the counter, your drunken state making you extra expressive as you talked with your hands. “First of all, the guy is so uptight. Like, I swear, he’s never laughed in his life. I tried joking around, and he just blinked at me like I was speaking another language.”

Dean snorted, already picturing it.

“And then,” you continued, eyes wide with disbelief, “all he did was talk about himself. Nonstop. Like, dude, I asked him one question—one—about his job, and suddenly I was stuck in a TED Talk about marketing strategies. Like I don’t work for the same company.” You threw your arms out in a ‘are you kidding me’ gesture.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. “Sounds like a real winner.”

“Oh, it gets worse,” you said, holding up a finger. “So, we order food, right? And I get a cheeseburger, because, you know, I wanted a damn cheeseburger.”

Dean nodded approvingly. “Good choice.”

“Right?” You gestured wildly, as if proving your point. “But Gary—freaking Gary—looks at me and goes, ‘Are you sure you wanna eat that? You should really watch your figure.’”

Dean froze. His smirk disappeared.

For a moment, he just stared at you, like he couldn’t believe the words had actually come out of your mouth.

Then his expression darkened, jaw tightening. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

You rolled your eyes. “I wish.”

Dean’s grip on his bicep tightened, his teeth grinding together. That prick. He had known from the start that Gary was a tool, but this? This was another level.

“So,” you continued, a mischievous glint in your eye, “I did what any rational, level-headed woman would do in that situation.”

Dean arched a brow. “And that was?”

You grinned, leaning in like you were about to tell him a secret. “I threw my drink in his face and left.”

Dean stared at you for a beat, then—He laughed.

A deep, genuine laugh that rumbled in his chest as pride swelled in him. “No shit?”

“No shit.” You grinned, clearly pleased with yourself. “Right in his smug, stupid, judgy face.”

Dean shook his head, chuckling. That’s my girl, he thought, though he would never say it out loud.

“But instead of coming straight home,” you continued, twirling your glass of water between your fingers, “I didn’t wanna deal with your I told you so—”

Dean smirked. “I would’ve said it.”

You shot him a look. “—so, I went to the Roadhouse instead. Had a few drinks, bitched about my failed date to Jo and Ellen. Ellen cut me off and called me a cab.” Dean huffed. That sounded about right.

For a moment, he just watched you, taking in the way you had perked up again, the lingering frustration in your eyes slowly melting into something softer.

You were here.

Not out with Gary. Not waking up next to some guy who didn’t deserve you. Not letting some self-important idiot tell you who you should be.

You were home. With him.

And as much as he wanted to tell you that he had been losing his damn mind all night, picturing you with someone else—he didn’t.

Instead, he leaned against the counter, arms still crossed, and smirked.

"Well," Dean said, tilting his head with a smirk. "At least you got a good story out of it."

"Yeah, I guess." You hummed, swirling the water in your glass. The initial amusement faded as your shoulders dropped slightly. Dean caught the shift immediately, his brows pulling together.

"C’mon, you can’t really be cut up about a guy with an Edward Scissor-hands haircut and zero game." He teased, hoping to pull you out of whatever downward spiral you were heading into.

It worked—your laughter bubbled out, a full, belly-deep laugh that made the tension in his chest ease. But then you sighed, the sound quieter this time, more pensive. "It’s not him I’m cut up about."

Dean watched you carefully as you traced the rim of your glass with your finger. "I just feel like I can never meet a good guy."

Something inside him twisted.

What about me?

The thought came unbidden, sharp and intrusive, and he shoved it down before it could take root. Instead, he nudged you with his elbow.

"That’s not true." His voice was lighter now, teasing again. "What about Mikey? The guy with the lisp?"

His grin widened as he mimicked a lisp, knowing damn well you’d dated the guy for barely two months in your sophomore year before his clinginess drove you up the wall. The look of horror that crossed your face had him biting back a laugh.

"Oh my God, Dean!" You gawked at him before landing a solid punch to his arm. "That is so mean!"

"Ow," he complained through his laughter, rubbing the spot you hit. "I’m serious, though! He was a real sweetheart.” He exaggerated the lisp again, barely dodging your next swing.

"I swear to God—" You huffed, turning to stomp off, but before you could escape, he caught your arm gently.

"Okay, okay, I’m done. Scouts honour." He held up three fingers in a mock solemn gesture.

You gave him a look—like you absolutely did not believe him—but still, with a huff, you reclaimed your spot opposite him and took another sip of water.

Then, almost absentmindedly, you sighed. "I mean, it has been a long time."

Dean’s brow furrowed. "A long time since what?"

You hesitated for a brief second before shrugging your shoulders, brushing it off like it wasn’t a big deal. "Since I’ve had sex."

Dean choked on his own damn saliva.

You frowned in concern, but he quickly waved you off, reaching for his whiskey to cover up the way his throat had suddenly gone dry.

You leaned back against the counter, lost in thought, completely oblivious to the war you’d just started in his head.

"I just—I don’t even need romance, you know?" You shrugged. "At this point, I’d settle for a little fun. I even bought new lingerie for tonight, just in case, and now"— you gestured vaguely to yourself, "totally wasted."

Dean swallowed—hard.

His mind was already in dangerous territory, but now it plummeted straight into the gutter.

You’d bought lingerie? For tonight?

His gaze instinctively flicked down for half a second before he caught himself, before he could let himself really think about what you were implying. Because if you had planned for tonight—if you were wearing it right now—

God help him.

The image hit him like a freight train. You, laid out in something lacey and delicate, something sheer enough to tease but not reveal, maybe even those crotchless panties you’d pointed out the other day in that damn store—his stomach twisted, his fingers curling around his glass with a little too much force.

And the worst part? Some other guy was supposed to see you like that tonight.

That thought sent something hot and possessive burning through his veins.

Dean exhaled sharply, gripping the back of his neck as he forced his gaze anywhere but at you.

"Gary didn’t deserve to see you like that." The words left his mouth before he could stop them, his voice lower than before.

You scoffed. "Yeah, well, no one else is seeing it either, so it really doesn’t matter."

It matters to me.

Dean forced himself to take another sip of whiskey, as if that would drown out the thoughts swimming in his head.

With a stretch and a yawn, you set your empty glass down and pushed off the counter. "Alright, I’m gonna head to bed. Thanks for making me drink water, Mom." You teased, because Dean was always more like a mother hen than a strict father.

Dean smirked, watching as you stepped closer. He expected you to give him a casual pat on the arm or maybe ruffle his hair like you sometimes did when you were feeling particularly annoying.

Instead, you leaned up on your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Or, at least, that’s where it was meant to land.

At the last second, whether it was the whiskey in your system or just bad aim, your lips caught the corner of his mouth.

You gasped softly, your breath fanning over his lips, and then you giggled. "Shit—sorry."

Dean didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Because you were still right there, inches away, your body just barely brushing his, your eyes flicking down to his lips.

Something in the air shifted.

The easy playfulness between you dissolved into something else—something warm and electric, something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Your smile faded, lips parting slightly as you lingered, hesitating just a second longer than necessary.

Then, before he could say a damn thing, before he could even think—

You leaned in again.

And this time, you kissed him.

It was soft at first, hesitant, your lips pressing against his in a way that felt like a question. Like you were giving him the chance to pull away, to stop this before it could turn into something neither of you could take back.

Dean’s entire body locked up. His mind screamed at him to push you away, to remind you that you’d been drinking, that this was just a moment of drunken impulse, that tomorrow you might regret this.

But then you pressed in closer, deepening the kiss, your fingers skimming up his arm, and his resolve shattered.

A low, quiet sound rumbled in his throat as he gave in. Completely.

His hands found your waist, gripping tight, pulling you against him as he kissed you back. And not just kissed you—devoured you. All the tension from the past few days, all the frustration, the longing, the confusion—it poured out of him like a damn breaking.

Your lips were warm, soft, intoxicating in a way no drink could ever compare to. He let himself get lost in it, let himself feel it—how perfect you felt against him, how natural this was, like it had been inevitable all along.

You sighed against his mouth, your fingers sliding up into his hair, and Dean groaned, tilting his head to deepen the kiss even further.

He didn’t know when his hands had moved, but now one was tangled in your hair, the other splayed against the small of your back, pressing you flush against him. And fuck, you felt good. Too good.

This was dangerous.

And when you finally pulled away, lips kiss-swollen and breaths unsteady, Dean couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. His heart pounded like a war drum; each beat a sharp, insistent reminder of the storm raging inside him.

He should say something. Do something. But every word he might’ve spoken tangled in his throat, choked by the weight of what had just happened.

“Woah,” you whispered, your voice barely more than breath. Your eyes flickered between his and his mouth, never quite settling, like you were just as caught in the moment as he was. Your cheeks were flushed, heat radiating from your skin, and the ghost of your breath still lingered against his lips, dizzying and sweet.

Dean didn’t move. Didn’t dare move. The air between you crackled, fragile and electric, holding him captive in a moment he wasn’t ready to break.

He was waiting for you. Like always.

Your breath ghosted against his lips, and that was all it took.

You kissed him again, this time with more heat, more purpose, fingers tangling into the front of his shirt as you pulled him in. Dean let out a rough sound—somewhere between a groan and a sigh—before his hands found your waist, gripping tight as he backed you up against the counter. The edge dug into your lower back, but you barely noticed, too caught up in the way he was pressing into you, solid and warm and overwhelming in the best way.

His hands slid down, grasping the backs of your thighs, and before you could fully process it, he lifted you effortlessly onto the countertop.

A surprised gasp left your lips, but Dean was already there, swallowing the sound as he kissed you again, deeper, slower, his fingers digging into your hips. You pulled him in, locking your legs around his waist, desperate to feel more of him, and his hands wandered—exploring the soft, bare skin of your thighs, gliding higher, pushing the hem of your dress up as he went.

He trailed kisses down your jaw, moving to your neck, and when his lips found that one spot—the spot—you let out a soft moan, your head tipping back instinctively.

Only to smack it straight into the cabinet behind you.

The entire moment shattered.

You winced, immediately bringing a hand to the back of your head. Dean jerked back, eyes wide with concern.

“Shit—are you okay?” He cupped your jaw, scanning your face for any sign of real pain.

For a second, you just blinked at him—then, out of nowhere, you started giggling.

Dean frowned, still searching your eyes, but when you kept laughing, it broke him. He snorted, shaking his head, then let out a deep, full-bodied chuckle, forehead dropping against your shoulder.

“Jesus, sweetheart.” He pulled back, still grinning, rubbing a hand down his face. “That’s gotta be a sign, right?”

You sighed dramatically. “That the universe hates me?”

Dean smirked, his hands settling on your hips. “That you’re not sober enough for this.” His answer was loaded, a heavy realisation for himself that you were in no state of mind to be making any rational decisions right now, and that he should've known better than to take advantage of that. 

You pouted slightly, but you both knew he was right. Still, there was something soft in his expression as he helped you down, steadying you with warm hands on your waist. The moment your feet hit the ground, you swayed a little, still a bit disoriented.

Dean caught you instantly. “Okay, yeah. You need to lie down, sweetheart.”

You groaned but didn’t fight him as he led you to your room, making sure you didn’t trip over your own feet. Once you were settled, he disappeared briefly before returning with a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol, setting them on your nightstand.

“You’re a saint,” you mumbled, already sinking into the mattress.

Dean huffed a laugh. “Not quite. Just don’t want you becoming a pain in my ass in the morning when your head’s pounding.” He said as he helped pull off your shoes and settled you under the covers.

You cracked one eye open, looking at him with something unreadable, something soft. “Could never hate you, Dean.” You mumbled half asleep. 

He looked at you, lingering for a second too long. Then stood, with a small exhale.

“Call me if you need anything.” He told you as he walked to the door. You hummed your acknowledgment, and with that, he left, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Dean barely made it to his own room before he collapsed onto the bed, dragging both hands down his face.

What the fuck just happened?

The feel of you, the taste of your lips—it was burned into him now, like some kind of cruel brand.

It was just a kiss. Just a few incredible, amazing kisses. But now he knew for sure, no one would ever compare now.

And that thought terrified him.

Because tomorrow, you might not even remember. And if you did, would you be embarrassed? Regret it? Or worse, hate him?

Dean stared up at the ceiling, jaw tight, mind racing.

Yeah. He was so fucked.

AN: There we have it folks, the first chapter! It was a long one 😅 I know, but I'd love to hear your thoughts/feedback etc ❤️

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester/series Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom

Next Time...

Your breath hitched, but you forced yourself to stay still. No sudden movements, no giving anything away. But then your gaze betrayed you—just for a second, barely a flicker—dipping down to his mouth. Shit. Because now you could feel it again. The way he kissed you, rough but deliberate, like he had wanted it. The taste of whiskey, the heat of his hands, the way his fingers had curled into your hips like he was holding on for dear life. Dean cleared his throat. Stepped back. "I’m gonna head to the store," he said, too casual. It took a second for the words to register. "Oh. Yeah, okay." He hesitated—like he might ask you to come with him—but then he smirked instead, lips twitching. "Would’ve invited you, but, uh… You kinda look like the walking dead. Don’t want you cramping my style.” Your head shot up, glare locked and loaded. "Ass." Dean just grinned. "Try not to die while I’m gone." Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him. The silence that followed was deafening. Your fingers tightened around the coffee mug as you exhaled, long and slow, staring at the door like it might offer some kind of answer. Yeah. You were so screwed.

[spacejade]

Dawner/Twilight and Hero party focused chapter directory

Have you ever wanted to revisit a certain moment but couldn't remember the chapter? Sleepy Princess in the Demon Castle aka Maoujou de Oyasumi aka Maoyasu has so many chapters and the titles aren't always helpful so I compiled a list of the most relevant Twilight/Dawner (AkaTaso) chapters on my reread! I've also noted down the chapters focused on the other members of the hero party, since they are so few. Hope this is helpful!

Disclaimer: This post is for those who have already read through the entire series and just to be able to jump to certain moments to reread. I encourage new readers to read the whole thing without skipping. There's just so much to love about this manga!!

Dawner/Twilight focused chapters

Ch53: Suya's nightmare of Dawner from their childhood. Now that I think about it, it mentions the time that Dawner went missing (and met Twilight), so it's related(?). It's also the first Dawner-focused chapter in the whole manga

Ch257: Twilight's first love story, of his time with Dawner 15 years ago.

Ch 70: Twilight and Suya have a practice pajama party and the first hint of Twilight's love story. It's not really related but I'm including it since it's directly related to ch257.

Ch232: Twilight turns small after using up his magical energy. @pathfinder7007 reminded me of this small moment where Dawner recognises young Twilight's voice!

Ch316, 318-319: THE Dawner/Twilight reunion, and Twilight's reaction to it.

*ch317 is Harpie+Suya taking care of the sick cursed musician, if you were wondering what was missing

Ch332: Not the focus of the chapter, but Zeus and Twilight talk about Dawner for a bit after saving Goodreste Royal Academy, and you can see some of Twilight's reaction here.

Ch334: Leo gets Chamos to investigate Dawner. Not much on Dawner/Twilight themselves and more on Leo's reaction to it, but we get Dawner's full name here.

Ch339 (Kai runs away from the demon castle)+Ch346 (Suya's bar): These are actually focused on Twilight+Kai but they are also about. This.

Ch384-386: The Hero Party in the demon castle's dungeon mini-arc, up until Dawner meets Twilight (again)

(fun fact, the deserted island was first shown in ch300, the beach chapter)

Ch391: Dawner's reaction to finding out that Twilight is Dee

And that's where we are now! Will I get to update this post next week or will Kuma-sensei make us waiting another 70 chapters?? How exciting 👀

(Bonus: Way back in Ch22, Twilight already had nightmares abt disappointing the Hero. I thought it was interesting how he's always wanted to impress him, even without the connection to "Hee")

Hero Party focused chapters

Other than those already mentioned, here are the chapters focused on the hero party, since they are so few. I didn't include minor 1 frame appearances (especially in the first few chapters) but let me know if anyone wants that too

Ch77: Suya meeting Dawner in her dream. The first time we see Dawner's personality in the current time besides minor appearances

Ch83: I said I wouldn't include minor appearances but look at Dawner being a lil (clueless) shit here. The chapter is focused on Suya's childhood stories but Dawner is there for 2 panels, which i might as well just post here

Ch105: Poseidon tells Dawner that Suya doesn't want to go home. Again a minor appearance but it says sth abt his personality

Ch137: Sunrise's introduction. Queen.

Ch151: Princess Robo Mark III vs. the hero party. Not focused on the personality of the hero party but they sure are there a lot (?)

Ch227: The chapter is actually focused of Zeus+Poseidon but. is this anything

Ch233:Poseidon teaches Suya how to do pull-ups(?official translation?) backflips feat. a tiny flashback to Dawner giving Suya more trauma

Ch238: The lost teddy demon is found by the hero party (hooray! finally another proper Dawner-focused chapter!)

Ch242: The lost teddy demon from Ch238 starts to imitate Dawner and Suya gets suspicious. Really shows what she thinks of him lmao

Ch287: Neo Alrune battles the hero party. I feel like this counts as a Sunrise chapter, yes?

Ch352-353: The hero party at the fake inn. The Waker focused chapters!

Ch383: The suspension of the hero party's quest, right before they go into the demon castle dungeon. Kisho focused with more insight on how the team works together

That's about it for now. Honestly I was shocked at how far apart the chapters were.... How long has Kuma-sensei been cooking... Now with the plot developments I hope we get to see more of the Hero Party though!!

Also please let me know if there's any chapters I've missed or you want included. With nearly 400 chapters there might be stuff that Ive missed... 400... that's crazy.... may maoyasu go on forever....

[stinklebug]

since i'm not going to get around to actually writing a fic for the story with indigo for a while, i figured i may as well talk about it a bit!

i don't have everything figured out yet, this is just the stuff i currently have sorted

it takes place not long after the gang finished up dealing with the spectra doors & hub. with all of That out of the way, chai has to actually Do His Job, which is how indigo and him meet, of course

indigo is sort of the pseudo head of marketing until they sort out All Of That. it worked under mimosa for about a year until the gang came along, and it absolutely Hated her. so it's sort of thankful that they came along. but also it doesn't like having to work with chai, sooo not a total win.

it mostly doesn't like him because he's loud and Always plays its mom's songs whenever he's around it. despite the fact that indigo's told him Not To Do That. unfortunately, he can't really control what his player decides what to play and when it chooses to play it, much less when it deems it appropriate to play said music out loud.

chai doesn't hate indigo, but he also doesn't really like it. he's mostly just confused as to why it seems to hate music so much. the most he knows is that it despises one artist in particular: limeade. said artist is a Very famous rockstar who chai is a big fan of! indigo acts like she's the scum of the earth for some reason. he's asked it about why it hates her so much, but it refuses to explain, always just saying, "it's none of your fuckin' business."

the others don't really like indigo a whole lot. this is because they mostly just know about it through chai, who paints it out to be a big drama queen hater. their opinions change once they actually meet it, but that doesn't happen for a while

before then, indigo gets a flash drive which, unbeknownst to it, has a back-up version of SPECTRA on it. this back-up isn't as powerful as the regular version, due to it being on a hard drive and not an entire super computer, but is volatile in its own unique ways.

it only gets the flash drive because it was down in security (for reasons i have yet to figure out), and a TEC-78 dropped it. said TEC-78 proceeded to very quickly disappear. with no time to hunt them down, it just pocketed it and intended to give it to another unit, only to forget about it as indigo got caught up in the reason it was down in security for in the first place

it winds up getting curious, and plugs the drive into its laptop. but...nothing happens. the contents of it are all things that it doesn't know anything about, much less how to actually get any of it to operate. so it decides to stick to its original plan of giving it to the next TEC-78 it sees.

but indigo just...keeps forgetting to do it. to be fair, it's not down in security much, which is where the majority of those particular units are. and, when nothing bad seems to happen from one single flash drive going missing—no big alerts being like, "MISSING FLASH DRIVE, CONTENTS VERY IMPORTANT," or anyone getting fired—it figures it may as well just use the thing as extra storage.

what it Doesn't know is that spectra is Very Functional and Very Aware. the ai is Not happy about being in some random person's pc...so limited! so cramped! no hologram form! can't have shit on a basic, crappy laptop!

so indigo moves on with life, and spectra is just kind of There.

speaking of indigo's life, it's starting to get more and more hellish. chai keeps pissing it off, whether that be by just being kind of a dick or simply a nuisance. it's starting to get fed up with him, and things only get worse when they have to be around each other Constantly because of all the marketing and events he's in that it has to manage

after a particularly long day, it's So Pissed it just sort of starts ranting to itself. spectra, hearing it complain about chai, switches gears from being Just There (which throughout the whole thing with chai pissing indigo off, spectra starts subtly making its presence known, but indigo just sort of brushes it off thinking that its laptop is just doing Old Stupid Laptop Things) to "oh i can use this"

with it now influencing indigo through classic manipulation instead of mind control, spectra's world starts to open back up again.

indigo begins sabotaging chai's performances and starts befriending the gang, who are all a bit suspicious at first. but, eventually, they come around thanks to its charm and some shared interests. they also befriend chai, but it's less of a friendship and more of a "i hate you but i have to pretend to like you for Reasons"

chai starts to get isolated because of this (he doesn't want to hang out with indigo because it makes fun of him, under the guise of "i'm just messing around! they all tease you, so why can't i? we're friends after all, aren't we?")

which is great for indigo, because it means no one is around to stop it when, late one night while having a sleepover at the hideout, it plugs the flash drive into peppermint's pc. then, in the morning, before anyone wakes up, it unplugs spectra and sneaks out, leaving a note about having to go do something

now that there's a copy of spectra in peppermint's pc, it starts Causing Problems. meanwhile, the one with indigo starts convincing it to go down to the Big Computer and plug it back in. either that...or it convinces indigo to give spectra access to Itself. not sure yet!

that's all i really have for the moment. like i said, i don't have everything sorted. this is just sort of the Skeleton of the narrative.

[daisybell-on-a-carousel]

Ah so,, Tim temporarily donned the Red Robin costume to hide a burn on the back of his head, and to fight the man (not Jason) who had been wearing it previously

[lukas-wrld]

This was another reminder to actually put myself together and get my story written, so thank you @mjparkerwriting for tagging me!

I shall be using my yet to be properly introduced, or planned, or actually started story idea, How to be the Perfect Daughter (working title)! The idea is that in the process of answering these questions, I'll figure out more of the story, so without much further ado-

What is the main lesson of your story? Why did you choose it?

I'm still not sure how to put it into precise words, but I'm playing around with the idea of "the ability to define yourself/choose your future/live your life gets increasingly difficult if the context you're in doesn't really let you do that" or something like that. Currently, anyway. Definitely liable to change at some point, lol

I didn't necessarily choose it, but rather, it's kind of the culmination of a couple of years of mulling over this story idea and changing as a person and the idea becoming more than just a way for me to vent out my frustrations and anger

What did you use as inspiration for your worldbuilding?

The real world. My own life experiences, as sparse as they are, lol. Childhood rage from lockdown

What is your MC trying to achieve, and what are you, the writer, trying to achieve with them? Do you want to inspire others, teach forgiveness, or help the reader grow as a person?

Daughter wants to be seen as more than just that, more than just a second mother or a soon to be wife despite her entire culture kind of telling her otherwise.

With her, I'm trying to achieve some kind of catharsis. Maybe show people that the proverbial glass ceiling is sometimes there, and sometimes sucks, but it doesn't necessarily mean that you can't make the most of what is beneath that ceiling

How many chapters is your story going to have?

I'm not sure. If you couldn't already tell, I'm barely even on the planning stage XD

Is it fanfiction or original content? Where do you plan to post it?

Original content! I hope to publish it some day, though I think I wouldn't mind if I just posted it somewhere on the internet and called it a day

When did you start writing?

The earliest time I can remember that wasn't school assignments was probably around 2018/2019. I had recently discovered fanfiction and had stumbled across the wonderful realisation that I could write my own!

Do you have any words of encouragement for fellow writers of writeblr? What other writers do you follow?

As much as I'm pretty much just reiterating what's already been said;

your writing is a lot better than you think it is, so keep on at it!

write out your ideas and your hopes and all the vibes you want to incorporate into your story

write away your fears and insecurities and the stagnation that wants to settle

write whatever your head won't let you forget and the aches that linger in your heart

but just make sure that you write

I remember a really cool analogy that I saw somewhere here that went something like;

your words and works and WIPs that you write down are like seeds you plant in a garden;

sometimes they won't always come out looking the best;

they may not be vibrant or fruitful or even very pretty

but because you planted them, and when the time comes for them to die,

they'll make for excellent fertiliser for the next batch of seeds

and you best believe after all your hard work with the first batch

the next one will turn out much, much better

and the one after that, and forever

so make sure you plant your seeds!

Gently tagging: @the-ellia-west @the-stray-storyteller @aalinaaaaaa @hero-coded

@blackwood4stucky @bebewrites @hayatheauthor @agirlandherquill

@ashwithapen @friendlyshaped @dendotdrabbles @cupandquillcafe

and of course, any other writer who's interested!

author ask tag

Thank you @the-inkwell-variable for tagging me. I had to think hard on these answers.

I'll use my current WIP for this. It was once called TLBH. Now, its WotG. We will see if it changes again.

What is the main lesson of your story? Why did you choose it?

I think the main lesson would be that there's always something bigger than you, and sometimes you have to decide whether or not that something is great enough for you to change as a person. My characters go through and will continue to go through a lot. They are constantly tested and while some of them rise above it all--no question about it, others struggle with every step. Some are never able to stand up at all.

What did you use as inspiration for your worldbuilding?

I used the real world as inspiration. I really like history and religion, so I studied tons of cultures and languages and historical events. I have a lot of mythology, history, and religion/philosophy books and links saved because I'm just so fascinated with how everyone sees and understands things differently.

What is your MC trying to achieve, and what are you, the writer, trying to achieve with them? Do you want to inspire others, teach forgiveness, or help the reader grow as a person?

It is multiple POV, but without giving away too much, I’d say that every character is searching for purpose and acceptance in one way or another. I think I, as the writer, want to show how motivations change as we change as people, and that's okay. I want to tell a story that inspires people to love, change, fight, and live.

How many chapters is your story going to have?

I'm currently looking at a series with five books total. This first story will have 35-36 chapters.

Is it fanfiction or original content? Where do you plan to post it?

All OG. I want to publish traditionally, but we'll see what happens.

When did you start writing?

Since I could string together semi complex thoughts and also hold a pencil lol. I've always liked writing. I started writing fanfics some time in high school, maybe around age 15. If you want to get technical, though, my first fanfiction was in elementary school and it was about young Jack Sparrow before he became THEE Jack Sparrow.

Do you have any words of encouragement for fellow writers of writeblr? What other writers do you follow?

WRITE! Who cares if you think it's ass?

Write the story you always wanted to read but could never find.

Talk to other writers. Make friends. It can be very lonely, but having people that understand what you're doing and are also going through the same process is helpful.

I'm still working on the last one.

I follow a ton of writers on here, so I think I'll tag a bunch of people just for the hell of it.

@frantheram @mrbexwrites @stargazingdustbunny @marsh0mallows99th @cwritesfiction @writingamongther0ses @paintedbutton @inkednotebook @lukas-wrld @writinglittlebeasts @vicwriting @kae-luna @the-orangeauthor @kckramer @ghost-type-writer @phynewrites @wildswrites @jamieanovels @tabswrites

[wordstome]

how c.ai works and why it's unethical

Okay, since the AI discourse is happening again, I want to make this very clear, because a few weeks ago I had to explain to a (well meaning) person in the community how AI works. I'm going to be addressing people who are maybe younger or aren't familiar with the latest type of "AI", not people who purposely devalue the work of creatives and/or are shills.

The name "Artificial Intelligence" is a bit misleading when it comes to things like AI chatbots. When you think of AI, you think of a robot, and you might think that by making a chatbot you're simply programming a robot to talk about something you want them to talk about, and it's similar to an rp partner. But with current technology, that's not how AI works. For a breakdown on how AI is programmed, CGP grey made a great video about this several years ago (he updated the title and thumbnail recently)

I HIGHLY HIGHLY recommend you watch this because CGP Grey is good at explaining, but the tl;dr for this post is this: bots are made with a metric shit-ton of data. In C.AI's case, the data is writing. Stolen writing, usually scraped fanfiction.

How do we know chatbots are stealing from fanfiction writers? It knows what omegaverse is [SOURCE] (it's a Wired article, put it in incognito mode if it won't let you read it), and when a Reddit user asked a chatbot to write a story about "Steve", it automatically wrote about characters named "Bucky" and "Tony" [SOURCE].

I also said this in the tags of a previous reblog, but when you're talking to C.AI bots, it's also taking your writing and using it in its algorithm: which seems fine until you realize 1. They're using your work uncredited 2. It's not staying private, they're using your work to make their service better, a service they're trying to make money off of.

"But Bucca," you might say. "Human writers work like that too. We read books and other fanfictions and that's how we come up with material for roleplay or fanfiction."

Well, what's the difference between plagiarism and original writing? The answer is that plagiarism is taking what someone else has made and simply editing it or mixing it up to look original. You didn't do any thinking yourself. C.AI doesn't "think" because it's not a brain, it takes all the fanfiction it was taught on, mixes it up with whatever topic you've given it, and generates a response like in old-timey mysteries where somebody cuts a bunch of letters out of magazines and pastes them together to write a letter.

(And might I remind you, people can't monetize their fanfiction the way C.AI is trying to monetize itself. Authors are very lax about fanfiction nowadays: we've come a long way since the Anne Rice days of terror. But this issue is cropping back up again with BookTok complaining that they can't pay someone else for bound copies of fanfiction. Don't do that either.)

Bottom line, here are the problems with using things like C.AI:

It is using material it doesn't have permission to use and doesn't credit anybody. Not only is it ethically wrong, but AI is already beginning to contend with copyright issues.

C.AI sucks at its job anyway. It's not good at basic story structure like building tension, and can't even remember things you've told it. I've also seen many instances of bots saying triggering or disgusting things that deeply upset the user. You don't get that with properly trigger tagged fanworks.

Your work and your time put into the app can be taken away from you at any moment and used to make money for someone else. I can't tell you how many times I've seen people who use AI panic about accidentally deleting a bot that they spent hours conversing with. Your time and effort is so much more stable and well-preserved if you wrote a fanfiction or roleplayed with someone and saved the chatlogs. The company that owns and runs C.AI can not only use whatever you've written as they see fit, they can take your shit away on a whim, either on purpose or by accident due to the nature of the Internet.

DON'T USE C.AI, OR AT THE VERY BARE MINIMUM DO NOT DO THE AI'S WORK FOR IT BY STEALING OTHER PEOPLES' WORK TO PUT INTO IT. Writing fanfiction is a communal labor of love. We share it with each other for free for the love of the original work and ideas we share. Not only can AI not replicate this, but it shouldn't.

(also, this goes without saying, but this entire post also applies to ai art)

[thankskenpenders]

Thoughts on Sonic 3!

On December 10th, 2018, I was on the last day of a trip to Milwaukee. The night before, I'd attended the wedding of one of my best friends, Jake, who I've known since high school. Even though half of us were sick the whole trip, it was a great time. Derek had asked the wedding DJ to play "One Week" as the first request of the night, and proceeded to lip sync the entire song on the dance floor. On that cold winter morning in a hotel room hundreds of miles from home, Derek and I groggily checked Twitter on our phones and saw the shocking news: Paramount had teased the design for Sonic from their upcoming live action film. Even in silhouette, the shape of his face and the realistic curvature of his limbs made him look like a grotesque little homunculus. This movie was going to suck.

Six years later, I've now seen the third entry in what's become a hugely successful Sonic film franchise. It features Keanu Reeves as the voice of Shadow the Hedgehog in a fairly faithful adaptation of his story from Sonic Adventure 2. At the time of writing, it currently sits at a whopping 86% positive rating on Rotten Tomatoes, vying for the title of the best-reviewed theatrically released video game movie of all time. Critics are saying nice things about the emotional journey of Shadow the Hedgehog. Never in a million years did I think I'd see this day.

I, too, have now seen this movie, and... yeah, it's pretty good.

I'm gonna get deep into spoilers here, so I'll just say up front that I liked the movie. It feels like just about the best possible execution of this version of Sonic. But that's also damning it with faint praise, depending on who you ask.

If you're a fan of the games who didn't like the second movie, you probably won't get much out of this one, either, unless you just really love Shadow so much that nothing else in the movie matters to you. It doesn't reinvent the wheel for this film series. It's still got a heaping helping of broad comedy, cheap pop culture references, bad one-liners, and characterization that diverges greatly from the source material. This is not high art, nor is it a direct adaptation of Sonic Adventure 2. If you're the kind of person who hates this portrayal of Sonic and Eggman, or a lore nerd who'll hate that they let Shadow do Chaos Control without an Emerald, then just don't bother with this.

On the other hand, if you did enjoy the last movie, then you'll probably have a fun time here, too. Shadow is very cool. The action is the best it's ever been. There's a bit more focus on characters from the games, and less on human characters invented for the movies—with the exception of Agent Stone, who's in this a lot because everyone likes him. There's a lot of SA2 fanservice. They even play "Live and Learn." It's a fun time! Be sure to stick around through the end credits.

And now, to dig deeper, let's get into the spoilers! I'm gonna jump around a lot and talk about different aspects of the movie, spoiling everything along the way.

Shadow and his reams of lore

Here's the main thing you came for: Shadow is great in this! They really did him justice. Keanu Reeves is extremely solid in the role. He can be a bit flat as an actor sometimes, but I think he did well here. He can be tough and menacing, but he can also be earnest and emotionally vulnerable. Good casting call. Excited at the prospect of seeing more of him in the future.

Really, as a Sonic Lore Nerd I'm most interested in discussing the changes they made to Shadow's backstory. I'm sure there will be many fans upset with the changes, but for the sake of streamlining a complicated backstory that was subject to a bunch of retcons and multiple layers of amnesia and fitting it into a 110-minute movie, I think they generally made smart choices.

For one, Gerald didn't create Shadow using Black Arms DNA, because Gerald didn't create Shadow at all! Instead, Shadow arrived on Earth inside a meteor, and Gerald was merely the prominent GUN scientist who studied him after he was captured. (That meteor does have very strong Black Arms vibes, though, so I wouldn't rule out the possibility of them exploring that stuff in the future.) This simplifies things a lot and allows Shadow to be a direct foil for Sonic, kind of a version of our hero who was treated as a lab rat and lost the only human he considered family instead of finding happiness like Sonic has. Then later Shadow hurts Tom and Sonic wants revenge, and it mirrors Shadow's feelings about Maria, and after they fight they can empathize with each other over this, Shadow sees the error of his ways and helps save the world, yada yada yada. You get it. People predicted 95% of this movie's plot from the trailers, but it's effective.

Likewise, all of the stuff about creating Shadow as the ultimate life form who's immune to all disease to cure Maria's illness is completely cut out. Shadow's still called the ultimate life form, but he's treated as more of an energy source than a genetic research project here, playing off of the stuff about Eggman wanting to harness Sonic's natural Chaos Energy in the movies. The original intent behind the ultimate life form project was always hard to explain in the games and doesn't even come up that much, so I don't blame them for cutting it.

Because Gerald isn't doing genetic experiments and creating artificial life, the Biolizard also doesn't exist. It does, however, appear in an old monster movie Shadow and Maria watch in a montage, with Shadow later commenting that he worries he's a monster like the one he saw in the movie. That's a clever way to include it, I think.

The ARK sort of exists. There was no space colony back in the '70s, all of the events of Shadow's flashbacks just took place at a secret GUN base on Earth. Fair enough for a version of the story ostensibly set in the real world. The big space laser in the third act of the film is obviously supposed to evoke the ARK, but it's referred to as simply the Eclipse Cannon. It's still not a full-blown space colony, just a weapon of mass destruction Gerald designed for GUN in exchange for his release (while also secretly planning to use it to blow up the planet in an act of revenge). I am, however, pleased to report that the Eclipse Cannon still has a giant Eggman face on it.

And as for Maria: I like her in this! She's obviously not going to get a ton of screentime, and she's always going to be a very straightforward character, but she's more playful and lively here. She teases Shadow for being grumpy and plays with him a lot. She feels less like this perfect embodiment of everything good and pure in the world and more like an actual kid. She's still not a complex character, but it works.

And the most important question: do they show a child getting shot and killed by the military? The answer is almost. In the flashback, GUN soldiers chase Maria, Shadow, and Gerald and ready their guns, but the young Commander Walters (who's in his 20s rather than being a kid) grabs them and tries to stop them from firing on a child. In the chaos, a soldier fires, missing Maria but hitting a generator that then blows up and kills Maria. So, y'know, close enough I suppose.

So, yes, many of the details change here, but they captured the gist of Shadow's story from SA2. The emotional core is there. I will say, though, I almost feel like Shadow isn't in this movie as much as I thought he'd be? I think he's used effectively in all of his scenes, and they make room for his backstory, and BOY does he get to kick ass in his fights, but for much of the middle part of the movie he's overshadowed by Ivo and Gerald. Though this might be a compromise to leave more screentime for...

Tails and Knuckles

I'm relieved to report that Tails and Knuckles both get a good amount of cool stuff to do in this! They don't feel like an afterthought.

I was worried that Tails in particular would completely fall by the wayside, since even his debut movie didn't entirely know what to do with him. But he's good here. He pretty much just feels like the Tails from the games at this point, especially since they dropped that fawning admiration he had for Sonic with that running gag of him going "Only Sonic the Hedgehog could do that!" He often chimes in as the one who wants Team Sonic to stick together when Sonic and Knuckles bicker. He particularly gets to shine in the Mission Impossible-inspired heist sequence at the GUN headquarters in London that serves as the climax of the second act, which feels like it was tailor made to let him shine as the tech guy of the team. He also gets several opportunities to swoop in and catch someone for a save in an action scene. He's good in this!

Knuckles is... fine. He's definitely fallen into the role of the comic relief dumb bruiser since joining the good guys, but he's at least a little better than he was in his own streaming show. The jokes lean more into him just being really brash about his strength and skill, rather than him being this archaic warrior who doesn't understand anything about the modern world. He also gets a few more serious bits in the back third of the movie where he gets to shine a little more, so overall it evens out to him being fine. They could've done way worse.

As for the relevance of the Knuckles show: Knuckles is now said to be the guardian of the Master Emerald, like in the games, though with no Angel Island this amounts to him hiding it somewhere for safekeeping. It's eventually revealed that he just gave it to Wade, who gets exactly one scene (sorry, Wade-heads) for a joke about him using the Master Emerald as a hockey puck. So, the miniseries explained why Knuckles has a connection with Wade. That's it! Also I think Knuckles might use the Flames of Disaster a bit in fights, but they never called the technique out by name, so I never really thought about it. So, yeah, the six-episode streaming miniseries about Wade bowling has zero meaningful relevance to the Shadow movie. Who could have seen this coming?

Miscellaneous humans

For that matter, the human supporting cast is MASSIVELY downplayed in this one. Tom and Maddie are there for two key sequences (the beginning of the movie and the GUN HQ heist), but otherwise they disappear for long stretches of the movie. They don't go to Japan in act I, nor do they go to space in act III, and there's no subplot for them during those periods, either. There's nothing like the wedding subplot in Sonic 2 where they'd constantly cut back to Hawaii for comic relief with the humans and only reveal why this was relevant to the plot near the end. (There's also no random dance battle in Siberia.) If a human character is here, it's because they have something to contribute to the plot right away. Most people will probably consider this an improvement, and I'd certainly say it makes for a much tighter script, though I have to remind everyone that I thought the wedding being a GUN sting operation was such a funny twist that I'm a defender of the Hawaii subplot.

On the subject of Tom, something funny I've noticed is that they've just completely downplayed the fact that Tom and Wade are cops. Tom being a cop never comes up once. Wade being a cop only gets referenced via the fact that he's practicing hockey on the roof of the police station in his one scene, but he's not in uniform or anything. They clearly got the memo that we don't want Sonic to hang out with cops.

Here's something else funny: Rachel and Randall got character posters, but they're actually not in the movie! Not technically, anyway. During the heist sequence at GUN HQ, Tom and Maddie use some gadgets Tails invented to holographically disguise themselves as those other characters. But the real Rachel and Randall never show up in the flesh. It's a very odd way to shoehorn the actors into the movie. (Jojo is also absent. They did not give her Amy's role of being the girl who reminds Shadow of Maria. Instead they just let Sonic have the big heart to heart with Shadow that makes him switch sides.)

You know who IS in this movie? Krysten Ritter. Not as the voice of Rouge, as the fandom once hoped, but as a director for GUN. She gets like three scenes and she feels completely checked out the whole time. Can't say I blame her! She's not really a character, just a plot necessity. Commander Walters dies in Japan but gives Sonic one of two keycards needed to activate the Eclipse Cannon, and then Ritter's character assumes Sonic stole it and labels him a bad guy. So that's why they have to break into GUN HQ in the second act instead of just talking things out with them. Still, I am at least relieved that Sonic doesn't work with GUN for most of the movie.

I gotta be honest: when Walters pulled a credit card-shaped object out of his pocket, I thought he was about to give Sonic another Olive Garden gift card as his final act before dying. Part of me wishes that happened.

The supporting human character in this who really gets to shine is Agent Stone, which I'm sure most fans will agree was the correct choice. There's a LOT of Agent Stone in this. He's good. I don't have much to say about him, but he's fun as usual.

But, of course, the ones who steal the show are Jim Carrey, and his costar Jim Carrey.

The Robotniks

I've gone back and forth on whether or not I can actually see movie Robotnik as Robotnik. I think with this third and final entry in the Jim Carrey Robotnik Trilogy, I've landed on... yeah, that's just Jim Carrey playing a Jim Carrey character. He's absolutely having fun with the role, and I enjoyed watching him, but I think a lot of that comes down to the fact that I'm a millennial who grew up watching Jim Carrey movies. If you didn't like him before, this movie will probably be nails on a chalkboard to you, because now there are two of him.

Ivo's arc here leans very heavily into the fact that he grew up as an orphan and never knew his family, a thing offhandedly mentioned in the first movie that's never been a thing for any other version of the character. Here, he learns that he has a living grandfather who's also a mad scientist, and it feels like a hole in his heart has been filled. It certainly makes sense for a place to take this version of the character, and it fits with the movie's themes of finding and losing family, but the cartoonish, childlike affection Ivo feels towards Gerald and all the scenes of them frolicking and dancing together have basically nothing to do with the characters from the games. He's a fun villain for this movie, but he's overwhelmingly used as comic relief this time rather than as a serious threat. He doesn't particularly feel like Sega's Dr. Ivo Robotnik, the arch nemesis of Sonic the Hedgehog who'd take over the world with an army of robots and a fleet of airships in the span of a day if Sonic wasn't around to stop him. He's a guy who lives in a big crab robot and has some drones. He has more in common with Carrey's depictions of the Grinch or the Riddler or Count Olaf than Dr. Eggman. Though he does, at least, finally get his outfit from the games by the end of the movie. So that's something. And also he's in a fat suit now. They only make jokes at the expense of his weight a little. Hooray...?

Gerald, meanwhile, is... largely the same character as movie Eggman, but older, so they can make jokes about him having saggy flesh and smelling funny and needing dentures. (Also, his voice kind of sounds like Homer Simpson sometimes?) To his credit, Carrey absolutely nails the handful of more serious scenes Gerald gets, whether it's Maria's death or his sinister turn when he reveals that he actually wants to destroy the Earth. But then it's right back to goofs about there being two of the same guy. Even the final battle features a lot of slapstick shenanigans with the two Robotniks fighting each other. I was able to enjoy the absurdity of it all, but if the humor doesn't land for you the dual Jim Carrey schtick is a hell of a lot of the movie. I wouldn't be surprised if there was more Gerald than Shadow in the movie, when you go and tally up their screentime. I was able to enjoy the sheer absurdity of it, but your mileage will vary.

I will, however, say that the split screen stuff they do with the two Carreys is EXTREMELY impressive, from a filmmaking perspective. They were absolutely flexing with their ability to pull the effect off. They don't rely on cheap tricks like cutting a lot, or having shot/reverse shot scenes where you're looking at the back of a body double's head. Instead they have a lot of long takes where the two Robotniks are talking to each other, you can see both of their faces, and they'll even hug and touch each other a lot, and the whole time the conversation maintains a natural pace like it really is two actors playing off of each other. It's really well done. It's an incredibly silly idea, but boy did they commit to it.

Sonic

I've hardly said anything about Sonic himself in all of this. It's his movie, isn't it! Well... I don't know, he's fine.

I feel like movie Sonic is a known quantity at this point, and either you like this take on the character or you don't. There was some speculation early on that this was supposed to be a younger Sonic who would grow into being the character we know from the games and comics, the one who's still got lots of quips but is also kind of aloof and cool, a free spirit who goes where the wind takes him, a figure the other characters look up to. And... no, that didn't happen. Once again he gets more serious as the stakes are raised, and he's totally badass when he goes Super, but the rest of the time he's still a little goober with tons of generic one-liners who learns schmaltzy lessons about the importance of family. He's still constantly going to undercut the tension of most scenes by cracking a pop culture reference that will make the average American parent go "haha I've heard of that." I don't think they're ever gonna change that. I think this just what the writers think Sonic is like.

And, again, for what it is, it's fine. He's a little annoying. You already know how you feel about movie Sonic. This third entry won't change that. But they do, at least, have him say "Talk about low budget flights, no food or movies... I'm outta here!" before jumping out of a helicopter. As my thoughts on the climax will show, I am not immune to fanservice.

The climax

God, the climax is SOOOOO fucking good. It's fantastic. Easily the best action these movies have ever done.

Rather than saving Super Shadow for the team-up with Sonic at the end, they have both of them go Super to fight each other first, and they just go full DBZ with it, fighting across the entire planet. It absolutely rules. I think this is the new coolest fight the two of them have had in anything ever. And then they have to stop the Eclipse Cannon together, and sure, there's no Biolizard. But Gerald DOES release a swarm of GUN Hunter robots, and the ensuing space battle turns into some Gundam shit. It's good! It's so good!!! The movie's flaws kind of melt away for me here when I'm watching Super Shadow take out an army of robots with Chaos Spears on the big screen. What a timeline we're living in.

And yes, they play "Live and Learn." They had to. They knew the assignment. They actually play a slight remix, but it's still got the original vocals, so it's perfectly recognizable. Actually, the tune of the song is used as a leitmotif for Shadow throughout the movie, first introduced via an acoustic guitar version played by Maria, and I really love that. I've been begging these movies to use more music from the games the whole time, and I'm glad they finally did so here. (They also use the traditional level clear jingle early in the film, and Eggman's theme from SA2 is very briefly used as a ringtone.)

... Anyway, uh, meanwhile Eggman, Tails, and Knuckles straight up just kill Gerald to save the world? They unceremoniously knock him into an energy field at the end of their slapstick fight aboard the Eclipse Cannon and he disintegrates like he hit a bugzapper. It's over in an instant. It's not graphic or anything, but it's, like... I didn't expect them to show it, or for it to be such a casual murder! Eggman has one quip about it and then immediately moves on.

Shortly after this, Eggman and Shadow sacrifice themselves to stop the Eclipse Cannon. Shadow's sacrifice doesn't stick, obviously (he's revealed to be alive by the end of the second stinger—pretend to be shocked), but Eggman's probably dead dead. I seriously doubt Jim Carrey's gonna come out of retirement for these movies again. His final moments before the big explosion are also SO dragged out and belabored. He has a dramatic final line like ten times in a row. It really just feels like the series saying goodbye to Carrey. And, again, it feels like a fitting enough end for this Eggman's arc, but it's an odd adaptation of the character from the games.

And so, that's what we're left with. This is far from Sonic Adventure 2: The Movie. It's not that, though there are many, many references made to that game in particular. It's a sequel to the film Sonic the Hedgehog 2 that has a similar tone and style, but Shadow and Gerald are in it, and Shadow gets some really cool fights, and there's a liiiiiittle more focus on stuff from the games than last time, and the script's a little tighter. If that sounds fun to you, you will have fun with this. I know I did. If it doesn't, you're probably better off waiting for them to inevitably do an animated reboot whenever this live action series runs out of steam.

It hasn't quite run out of steam yet, though...

The post-credits scenes, and the future

One of the big questions going into this was: what's next? How do they top a Shadow movie with heavy Sonic Adventure 2 overtones, in terms of hype for the fans? How do you fill Eggman's shoes after Carrey retires, for real this time? There are still more fan favorite rival characters to get through, but how many movies in a row can they introduce a furry foe for Sonic who inevitably turns good and helps him stop a larger threat by the end? And when the hell are we gonna see the girls?

Well, we now have our answer, and it's one I'm cautiously excited for: a whole army of Metal Sonics, and Amy!

Yes, Amy! Finally!! It's an absolute crime that we've gone three whole movies and a streaming miniseries without including the female lead of the series. I've complained about this ad nauseum (and also the fact that they cut Rouge from the story). But at least now they're finally doing something about it.

But now the question is, how will they characterize Amy? Sega's struggled with her for years, and there's a million different directions you can take her. Her one scene here has her smashing a bunch of Metal Sonics and wearing a cloak for the sake of a dramatic reveal, which gives her the vibes of a mysterious, badass action girl. This is, of course, completely different from how Sonic and Amy met in the games. What will her personality be like? She doesn't speak here, so who will they get to play her? Where did she come from? Will she even have a crush on Sonic? All of these have yet to be determined. So, like, I'm hyped to finally see Amy, a character who should've been in the movies from the start, but they could so easily end up playing it safe with an incredibly boring girlboss version of Amy who's no fun at all. We'll have to wait and see.

(My prediction: they're going to try to cast either Zendaya or Ariana as Amy.)

Metal Sonic, likewise, is very exciting, and he looks perfect. He looks just like the design from the games. But the question is: what will they do with this army of Metals? Will they be lead by one main Metal Sonic, perhaps Neo Metal Sonic, who gets to be a proper bad guy? Will they take some cues from Sonic CD, Heroes, and the OVA, or do something completely original? Where did they come from? Were they activated as a failsafe after Eggman died? Did they and Amy come from some sort of bad future, riffing on Sonic CD's time travel? Will they explore the fact that Metal wants to be the one and only Sonic? Or will they just be an army of disposable robot grunts for Sonic and friends to mow down like it's a Dynasty Warriors game, while some other villain takes center stage?

It could go so many different ways, and some prospects are more exciting than others. I mean, the Knuckles show had endless possibilities for what it could do with him, and none of the options on my bingo card were "Pachacamac's ghost tells him to help Wade win a bowling tournament." And while I'm a sicko who thinks it's funny that the Knuckles show is what it is, forgive me for keeping my hype about Amy and Metal Sonic in check here until we learn more.

Regardless of what they do, it'll still be hard to top the hype of Shadow, and it'll be hard to fill Jim Carrey's shoes for general audiences. So despite this clear statement of intent, I have no idea what the future of this film franchise holds. But regardless of what they do, I can say one thing for certain: the kids in my theater were hyped as hell for it. They popped off over Metal Sonic, and they were screaming their heads off with excitement over Amy. I heard a teenage girl on the opposite end of my row of seats say "finally!" over Amy's reveal, verbalizing my exact thoughts. She also said that this movie was "peak," though it diverged from the games, and she hoped they'd do a movie with Silver and Blaze someday.

The kids are gonna be okay.

[vxsellie]

KINDLY, DARLIN' - 𝐸.𝑊

summary. after seemingly endless days on the road, you find yourself at a random country bar in the middle of nowhere. entering with the sole goal of getting your hands on come kind of alcohol, your attention is soon drawn elsewhere. to a girl and her guitar. notes. ok funny story! this idea came to me from a 5 sec interaction i had with a complete stranger. i went out to a bar, gave ten bucks to the singer, & he said the line that the title is based off of , which the prompted my brain to conjure up an entire love story (he's prob double my age lets be so fr) Also! idk if any of u will like this comparison (if not, just ignore this). but, as i wrote this, i imagined ellie's voice like lucy gray's from the hunger game's. like the slight country drawl, strong vocals, yes yes yes yes Also x2! anyone who follows me should know that im absolute SHITTT at writing smut. but, for some reason, that doesn't seem to stop me from creating works of garbage for my own amusement. anyway, if you reach the smut & realize that it's literal trash, i won't blame u for clicking off of this. just a warning! warnings. brief mention of creepy old men at the bar, depictions of alcohol, public flirting ???, eventual smut, drunk sex in a bathroom LMAO, oral (r! receiving), fingering (r!receiving) wc. 5.1k

𝓕uck your back hurts. Well, if you're being honest, everything hurts. Your neck, back, stomach, legs, hands. Everything that's capable of aching, does.

However, rather unfortunately, you suppose that's to be expected after driving for nigh two days straight in your shitty truck. It's a 90s pickup, the white paint peeling and the tires in desperate need of care. The beige seats are worn and stained, evidence of age having taken its toll on your poor vehicle.

In spite of your truck's needs, you're far more interested in your own ⎯ getting a damn drink.

You're currently coasting through the backroads of some small western town, streets made of dirt and buildings all decrepit. You've never heard of this place before, the name having already slipped your mind due to how utterly foreign it'd been to your mind.

Your headlights cast a yellow glow onto the dirt before you, your tires crunching against fallen leaves and loose rocks. You pass gas stations, wooden homes, dollar stores, an immeasurable amount of churches, and no liquor store. Most shop signs are staked into the dirt, the few billboards all dilapidated in some way ⎯ broken letters, flickering lights, or completely torn from the ground somehow.

Then, by either the grace of God or a wondrous turn of fate, your eyes stutter on a certain sign. A broken wooden one advertising a bar. Your interest is instantly piqued, wheel turning toward the building without hesitation.

You don't give yourself the chance to even think before you're hopping out of your truck and walking into the bar.

The moment you push open the wooden double doors, the sound of boisterous laughter and heavy cowboy boots meet your ears. Perfect.

You stand in place for a moment, craning your neck with narrowed eyes are you examine the atmosphere. To the left, there's a bar with almost every stool occupied by an overweight old man. To the right, there's a pair of barn doors with the word 'restrooms' carved into the wood. In the center of the space, there's bucking machine ⎯ a drunk teenage boy holding on for dear life while his group of friends cackle at him from the sidelines.

Then, on the side of the building opposite you, there's a small stage. It's only elevated a foot or so, wood rotting a bit on the edges. But you hardly care for the conditions of the stage itself. What you find yourself drawn to is the person on it.

In the center is a stool, an auburn haired woman perched atop it with an old guitar situated on her lap. She strums the instrument in an upbeat tempo, leaned forward slightly as she sings into the microphone before her. There's a small crowd in front of the stage, girls admiring and boys whistling.

Considering how run-down this town is, you hadn't expected to stumble across a bar that's so fucking packed. There's barely any open stools at the bar, the bathroom doors are rarely sitting still as people continue to pass through them, the mechanical bull being gifted coins non-stop. But you can't complain.

After so long alone on the road, it's nice to be in such an active atmosphere. It's not calming, of course, but you welcome it lovingly nonetheless.

Watching the auburn for a few moments longer, you then turn on your heel and saunter over to the bar. You're forced to sit beside someone as the lack of stools forbids you from not having a neighbor.

"What can I get'cha, hon'?" The bartender asks you with a tip of his cowboy hat. In his other hand, he wipes the outside of an octagonal glass cup.

"Got any whiskey?" You inquire, leaning your elbows on the sticky countertop.

"Mhm," He hums, turning around to grab a bottle from the shelves behind the bar. He sets the glass onto the counter with a light clink, popping the bottle open. "'N' how would ya like it?"

"Neat."

He nods once more, pouring the liquid into the glass with a flourish before sliding it across the wood toward you. The moment you grab it, he's turning away to tend to another patron. You drink it quickly, downing the glass in one large swig.

As you place the glass back onto the counter, you feel eyes boring into you. Hoping it's someone of interest to you, you turn only to find a duo of old men chuckling at you. Their cheeks are rosy, bellies full ⎯ therefore likely drunk. You roll your eyes as the bartender refills your glass without a word.

Now with an entirely new bit of determination, you down that glass even faster. Another refill. Another singular gulp. Another refill. Another gulp. Another. Another. Another.

You're now swaying a bit atop your stool, feeling pretty good all things considered. The men continue to gossip among themselves, pointing at your ass. You feel disgusted ⎯ not at yourself, but at them for their fucking audacity. Part of you wants to knock their teeth out. But you're not that drunk.

So, instead, you take the mature approach and simply pick up your glass and exit the scene. As you walk away, you hear their chuckles increase and you suddenly regret not punching them.

Your heavy boots thud against the wooden flooring as you walk aimlessly around the bar. You push through an amass of bodies, everyone too drunk to care for your harsh shoving. Then, before you know it, you find yourself situated in the very front of the stage, glass of whiskey in hand.

The woman's voice is laced with a slight country drawl, her boot tapping against the leg of her stool to count the beats of the song. She nods her head as she sings, a small grin lighting her features.

The dim lighting of the bar doesn't do her justice. But you still manage to notice the freckles that dot her face, the cupids bow to her upper lip, the small scar on her right eyebrow. Or maybe you're just drunk and enamored by her. God, what if she finds you creepy? What if she thinks you're some fucking creep? What if she⎯

She looks at you and you swear your heart gives out right then and there. And, if that weren't enough, she winks. You feel your cheeks heat up and you blame it on the alcohol. You down the rest of your whiskey, suddenly feeling very hot. A light chuckle shakes her chest, ringing throughout the space. Nobody else thinks anything of it, of course, all too drunk and preoccupied to give a shit. But you find yourself fantasizing about all the other ways you could make this woman laugh like that again. Oh fuck you are a creep.

In a desperate attempt to salvage the residual bits of dignity you have left, you pull twenty bucks from your back pocket and step forward to drop it into her open guitar case.

She raises a brow, tipping her cowgirl hat in your direction with a smirk. "Thank ya kindly, darlin'."

Somehow, she'd managed to thank you in tune with the song, keeping the beat going without missing a second. It's almost impressive. Okay, it's super impressive. In fact, you feel your heart speeding up again, mind playing on loop the sound of her addressing you. Her country drawl, her smirk, her long fingers grabbing the bridge of her hat. Fuck.

Impulsively, you end up turning on your heel and heading right back to that damn bar. The bartender just grins as he pours you another serving, likely having noticed the flush to your cheeks and the desperation of which you placed the glass down.

"Mind if I give y' some advice?" He asks, leaning forward a bit.

In an act of self pity, you don't have the energy to deny him. "Why the hell not?"

"I ain't gotta clue who you're blushin' over, but my advice is that." He nods toward something behind you. You cast a glance over your shoulder, eyes landing on the bucking machine. You almost laugh, turning back to him with an unimpressed expression. "Listen, y' ain't gotta be good. Y' jus' gotta move your hips right n' I swear he's all yours. Trust me. I've seen it work hundreds of times."

You don't dare to correct him on the gender of your current infatuation, instead deciding to take a few more drinks for a bit of liquid courage. I mean, seriously. How else will you get this woman's attention? Plus, what do you have to lose? You'll never see her again after tonight. The least you could do is try.

After another few drinks, you're staggering over to the mechanical bull with a few coins clutched tight in the palm of your hand. The wait for the stupid thing is way longer than necessary, everyone competing for the longest time lasted on the machine.

You lean your empty hand on the frame of the wooden fence that encircles the rider, watching with reddened eyes as yet another person is flung onto the ground with a heavy thud. He rubs his head with a groan, though his sounds of pain quickly fade into laughter as he brushes off his jeans and stands upright, returning to his boisterous friends with a crooked grin.

Unease begins to lick up your spine, the logical part of your brain wondering why the fuck you're doing this for some country chick you don't even know the name of. You're strong, sure, but your luck would lead you to breaking your neck.

You look over your shoulder casting a glance in the direction of the bar. The bartender gives you two thumbs up, flashing you a grin with missing teeth. As encouraging as that is, what really pushes you to continue is seeing those two old men. They're sitting side-by-side, lustrous smirks on their face as they stare at you, leaning over every few seconds to mutter something in the other's ear. Yeah. Fuck them. You're doing this.

As you make it to the front of the line, you're overcome with naught but confidence. Whether that be due to the sound of the woman's singing growing nearer or the sight of the gross old men, you don't know. Though, honestly, it's likely because of the sheer amount of whiskey you've downed in the past hour.

"Coins." The blonde woman demands, palm of her hand facing you like a bill you've been avoiding. You place the coins into her hand and she opens the gate, hinges squealing as the prior rider stumbles out with a streak of dirt under her eye.

You walk into the ring, feet staggering a bit already from your drunkenness. You hoist yourself onto the bull, situating yourself until you feel a bit less awkward atop the back of the metal animal.

It begins rocking slowly back and forth. You find it easy at first, not really needing to use your hands. You still do, though, not much trusting the machine to not throw you off the moment you let your guard down. It picks up the speed, more. More. More. More. And, before you know it, it's thrashing back and forth. You hold onto the saddle, a dazed smile spreading across your face as you find yourself having fun.

It spins in a circle, your eyes suddenly catching on the woman on stage. She has the perfect view of you from her pedestal, her stool bringing her higher than the crowd just as the bull brings you.

She's still singing into the mic, her voice drowned out by the sound of chatter and cheers ⎯ though you're not sure if they're directed toward you or her at this point.

You've stayed on longer than you anticipated, the ache in your back returning as the bull yanks and dives under you. But you hold on, suddenly remembering the bartender's advice. You don't want to switch up whatever tactic you accidentally built into habit, but the point of this is to get the woman's attention.

So you wait until it spins back around. Then, while her eyes are pinned to yours, you shift a bit, back moving more fluidly as you roll your hips against it. Nobody else would think anything of it, the act so subtle that you simply appear to have altered your position. But she noticed. You know she did. Because her voice caught in her throat, causing her to have to take a sip from her water and apologize into the mic before resuming.

Your confidence spikes at this, suddenly feeling much more egoistical than you did when she was a complete stranger you made eye contact with once. Now you know you have an effect on her.

So you do it again, maintaining eye contact as you roll your hips against the bull suggestively.

Just as before, nobody else pays any mind, far too focused on the fact that you're stayed on for so long to give a fuck about technique. Honestly, if anyone were to notice, it'd be those creepy old men. And, hopefully, they're aware that it's pointed at this woman and now them. Though you doubt they'd care. Creeps like them rarely do.

The singer, with her eyes now pinned to you ⎯ though, everyone's now are ⎯ switches her tone a bit. Her song alters from an upbeat bar tempo with little meaning to having more directed lyrics to a girl with mesmerizing eyes. Again, nobody else picks up on this. She sings about a random girl with stunning eyes, never digressing past that.

But you know; and she knows. And that's all that matters.

She sings a certain line, something more lustful about the way you look at her. Something suggestive about the way she's imagining you. You instantly falter, your grip slipping.

You fall to the ground with a thud, the entire bar making a sound of disappointment and empathy. You don't care, though, not giving a single damn about the bull riding. All you care for is that fucking singer.

You hit the ground, breath knocked from your lungs. You cough, pushing yourself onto your hands and knees. Your head spins, the alcohol finally catching up to you. Another cough is yanked from your heaving chest as you groan.

The blonde coin-collecting woman allows the next person into the ring, not waiting for you to give your say. As the next man enters, he offers you his hand. You, desperate for assistance, take it with a grateful smile. He hauls you to your feet, muttering quick compliments on your performance on the bull. You thank him before brushing past him and exiting the ring with staggering steps.

A few people from the crowd compliment you, offering words of encouragement for the 'next time you go up'. You give them half-hearted smiles, chest still aching slightly from your fall.

You shove through the crowd, nearing the restrooms you'd seen at the entrance. You push the doors open and head into the women's side.

You brace your hands on the edge of the sink, glancing in the mirror for a brief moment ⎯ examining the small cut on your cheekbone and the bruises that are beginning to form on your shoulder and hip. You then lean down, positioning your mouth under the faucet before turning on the water. You drink it, relishing in the taste of cool liquid rather than burning alcohol.

"Mm, look who it is."

You smack your head on the faucet with how quickly you straighten. You groan, rubbing your temple as you turn to face the person standing behind you. The singer. Well fuck, that makes the head smack twenty times more embarrassing.

Somehow, she's even more alluring up close. Her pale green eyes bore into you, lashes lidding them slightly. Her skin is lightly tanned, freckles likely produced from a life spent under the sun. Her forearm has a tattoo covering the rippled skin there, lean muscles adorning the rest of said arm.

You play off your staring by narrowing your eyes at her, "Followin' me, are ya?"

"Nah." She shakes her head, stepping forward to wash her hands in the sink beside yours. She tips her head down, looking at her hands as she scrubs, hat coming to block her face from your view. Unfortunate. "Jus' comin' t' wash the filth off my hands. I wouldn't worry, though, darlin', I'm sure that Smilton boy'll check up on ya."

Your brows furrow at this. "Smillin boy?"

"Smilton." She corrects you rather harshly, looking up to meet your eyes through the reflection of the mirror. "Farmer's boy. Rich. Brunette. Helped y' up after the bull."

Realization hits you like a brick. She's jealous. This woman that you've never met, this woman that you stressed over impressing, this woman that you bruised yourself to get the attention of. She's jealous because some farmer's boy helped you stand up. A smirk tugs at your lips, an idea lighting your mind.

"Hmm," You hum lowly, brushing past her to dry your hands on one of the scratchy white towelettes. "He is quite handsome, ain't he?"

"Suppose." She replies shortly.

Your smirk only deepens, drying your hands achingly slow. Because you know she's aware that she has no right to be jealous. And that only serves to make her more pissed off. How interesting.

"What's his first name, if y' don't mind me askin'?" You speak casually, talking with her as though everything that passed between you two prior to this hadn't happened at all. It's driving her insane and you can tell.

"I dunno." She says, turning the faucet off to dry her hands beside you. "Somethin' with a J?"

"Oh, c'mon," you coo, turning to her with those eyes you know she adores. "I know y' know more than jus' his last name."

She looks away, clearing her throat with a set jaw, "you're right. Know his first initial too. It's a J."

You chuckle lightly, releasing the towelette to trace your fingertips along the soft skin of her bicep. "Yeah? And what's your first initial?"

Her entire body seems to tense, breath hitching in reaction to your touch. She looks at you from under the bridge of her hat, green eyes glinting with something informal. Something unfit for a casual conversation between two strangers in the women's rest room. You feel your heart stutter at the sight, having to make an effort not to fall to your knees before her in this very moment.

"E," is all she whispers.

"Last name?" You whisper back, matching her for quietude.

"Williams." She manages.

You hum, eyes following the movements of your hand. Had you not been so drunk, you'd likely never have the balls to be so flirty to her. But, as it turns out, your intoxication is good for something. Well, something aside from staying on some metal bull.

"How pretty," you whisper, leaning forward so your mouth is now right beside her ear. Your breath fans across her skin as you continue. "Now tell me your full name, will ya?"

Her eyes are pinned to your face, pupils tracing your features as your hand traces her arm. She finds herself mesmerized by you, entranced by your every detail ⎯ the slope of your nose, the curve of your cheek, the arc of your brow, the height of your cheekbones, the line of your jaw. She imagines running her tongue along each of these points, imagines committing your to memory using naught but her mouth.

"Ellie." She replies finally, watching closely as your eyes raise to meet hers. Her heart stutters in her chest at that, as it always does when you make eye contact.

Your gaze flicks between her eyes and lips, hand slowly inching up her arm. "Ellie?"

The sound of her name rolling off your tongue is enough to send a spark of heat to her core. That paired with the way your fingers are lightly tracing up, up, up. You move your hand over her shoulder, along her collarbone, up the side of her neck, and finally rests to cup her cheek in your palm. She leans into the touch, eyes fluttering.

"You're such a fuckin' tease," she mutters, voice low as it's weighed down by desire and a deep need to feel your skin on hers.

You ignore her words and move to lean in close enough that your noses brush. Then, with your breath fanning across her skin, you ask, "this okay?"

She doesn't say anything, instead abandoning the towelette completely and grabbing your face in both her hands. With a sudden sense of ferocity, she presses her lips to yours, pulling your body flush against hers.

"I'll take that as a yes," you chuckle between kisses.

"Quiet," she murmurs, too needy for your touch to have time for conversation. As much as she loves hearing you talk, shed much rather talk via action rather than actual words.

You giggle against her lips, your arms coming up to wrap around her neck. She hums, hat falling to the tiled floor with a light brush. With each passing second, her actions become more and more desirous, suddenly pushing your back against the nearest wall. You let out a huff of air from the impact, your lips quirking up to form a small smile, regaled by Ellie's sudden desperation for you.

She tilts her head, peppering kisses down your chin and along your jaw. They're harsh and hungry, nipping your skin in some places purely to see your brow furrow at the feel of her teeth.

As she trails down to your neck, you tip your head back against the wall and open your eyes to blink up at the wooden ceiling. Your hands fist Ellie's hair as she leaves bruises down the column of your throat.

Still well and drunk, the room swirls around you. The lights seem to shift with each blink, making this all so much more intoxicating. Your nerves are already on edge due to the alcohol, so the feel of Ellie kissing them is absolutely maddening.

You feel as she presses kisses along your collarbone, tongue grazing the taut skin there. You shift, legs pressing together as she grows more sensual in her act of quick intimacy. This movement doesn't go unnoticed by her, however, her lips quirking into a small smile against your skin as she feels rather proud of how quick she's turned you to putty under her.

She moves across the bare skin of your chest, plump lips taking time to memorize each detail that adorns you. You move again, the heat between your legs growing harder to ignore.

"Patience, darlin'." She instructs. "I'll get there when I get there."

You frown at this, "well get there faster."

Her kisses suddenly cease, looking up at you through her lashes. She tilts her head at you innocently, blinking as she waits for you to correct yourself. To reword your restive demand. "Don't be rude, now."

You can feel your dignity push at the back of your throat, pride yearning for a moment to speak. Seeing as you're normally the one making orders, this feels quite stranger. But, after the long journey you've taken, you suppose you've earned a bit of time to sit back and let someone else take the lead.

Ellie draws a line of kisses between your breasts and down your stomach, kneeling before you as her head comes to situate itself in front of your waistband. You can't help but admire how she looks from here, hair in your hands as her eyes are pinned to your denim jeans as though it's a buffet and she's a man starved. After a moment, she lifts her head to look at you.

Eye contact. Sparks shoot through your body. Somehow, something as simplistic as meeting Ellie's gaze can make you feel indescribably nervous. Pale green irises bore into you, waiting for you to utter words of consent. You do so, giving her the go-ahead.

As soon as you do, Ellie wastes no time hooking her fingers through your belt loops and pulling your jeans to your knees. She leans forward, eyes lidded.

"Wait." You pant, tugging on her hair to halt her movements. She seems rather annoyed by your sudden interruption, but looks up at you kindly despite her own irritation. You rolls your eyes at her evident pique. "What if someone walks in?"

She sighs heavily at that. "I locked the door."

"Oh, okay." You nod. Though, just as she's about to lean forward again, you stop her once more. "Wait. How did you know to lock it? You were all pissy when you first came in here."

"I didn't know." She explains hastily. "I simply hoped."

You huff out a chuckle, shaking your head fondly at her admittance. Then, finally, you don't stop her when she leans forward.

She traces her tongue along the outside of your underwear, the fabric between you only adding to the pulsing in your pussy. A shiver wracks through you, causing Ellie to grab you by the hips to hold you still. She traces circles into your hips with her thumbs, a gentle motion when compared to the needy movements of her tongue as she draws small circles into your clit.

You tighten your grip on her hair, drawing a grunt from the back of her throat. The vibrations from her mouth against your pussy makes it hard to keep back your own noises.

When she finally shifts your panties to the side, you nearly collapse at the feel of her mouth against you. She licks a long stripe up your vulva, a shaky breath yanking from you. The sound only urges her further, taking one hand and drags her middle finger up your center. You shift, leaning heavily against the wooden walls as standing upright suddenly seems impossible. Then, without warning, two fingers shove right into your hole.

Your hips jolt, moving far more than initially seeing as Ellie is now only holding on with one hand. Whilst thrusting her fingers in and out of your needy pussy, her tongue circles your clit with that same neediness, mirroring you for desperation.

Your head falls back, thudding lightly against then wall. At the sound, Ellie ceases. You almost whine at her sudden stopping.

"My eyes are down here, darlin'." She says lowly. "Let me see you."

Begrudgingly, you oblige, lowering your head to make eye contact with Ellie. She's on her knees, legs folded against tiled flooring as she resumes her lapping. You huff out an airy moan as you have to actively stop yourself from tipping your head back again. She holds your gaze the entire time, adding to the intensity of the feel. Her eyes are lidded, shoulder moving as her fingers recommence.

This all paired with your dizzy head and swimming vision makes for quite the climax, core knotting progressively as Ellie doesn't dare to stop. "Fuck," you pant as you buck your hips against her face, forced to watch as you do so. With another heavy breath and an arching back, you utter, "I'm⎯"

She seems exponentially proud as she hears you say this, regardless of if you finish your sentence or not. She pauses only for a moment to say, "yeah?"

"Mhm," you hum, though it comes out more of a moan than anything.

"Do it, darlin'."

And you do, coming undone right atop her face. She, admittedly, relishes in it, hydrated only by what you're able to provide her with. You see stars and they're swimming too, circling your head in a celestial body of pleasure. And Ellie watches, for once allowing your head to fall back as she deems this a one time exception. Because there will be a next time.

You're panting as you lower your head to face her once more, her gaze never having left your expression. She makes out with your pussy sensually as to bring you down from your high. Then, as gently as she can, she situates your panties back on correctly and pulls your jeans to rest as your hips, remaining knelt in front of you as she zips and buttons them just as she'd found them.

You watch with a twinkle of fondness behind your irises, unable to look away from the expression of adoring concentration she wears. She then uses your hips as a support system to haul herself back to her feet, leaning forward to press a kiss to your lips. You can nigh taste yourself on her.

"Not bad for a stranger at a sketchy bar." You muse, picking her hat from the floor and situating it atop her auburn tufts of hair. She watches you, analyzing your every move.

"I'm not just a stranger." She reminds you as your eyes find hers, your hands coming to drape around her shoulders. "I'm a stranger who wrote a song about you."

"Mm," you hum, "so you're a stalkers stranger?"

"I prefer the term passionate." She says, shooting you a playful scowl.

You chuckle, "passionate for what? Stalking and preying on drunken women?"

"Pfft-" She scoffs. "You're not drunk."

For a moment, you consider agreeing with her. To save her the pain of realizing you hadn't been sober for this. But you know better than to lie to her. So, through lidded eyes ⎯ ones that should have been a rather telltale sign of your intoxication ⎯ you give her a look, not even needing to voice the truth aloud for her to understand.

"Well fuck." She groans, taking a step backward and causing your arms to fall to your sides.

Frankly, you'd expected her to be much more angered than that. Because you know you would be. After writing a song, chasing down, then tongue-fucking someone in the bathroom, the worst news to receive would be that they'd been wasted the entire time.

"I'm sorry," you're quick to apologize, for some reason feeling the need to earn her forgiveness.

"How're you planning to get home?" She asks.

"I hadn't thought about that." You admit.

"How about this," she suggests, "I give you a place to stay to apologize for fucking you while drunk and you let me take you to dinner tomorrow to apologize for not telling me beforehand. Deal?"

A smirk works its way to your mouth, "deal."

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 perm. taglist @luvsturniolo @kasqnxx @xlovla @ilovewomenfr @zzombiegirl @shawangel

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[starmocha]

Things about Sylus' myth that fucked me up so bad I have been in a catatonic state for the last 10 hours:

SPOILERS FOR SYLUS' MYTH - BEYOND CLOUDFALL & MAIN STORY

Sylus never knowing joy, grew up not fully understanding what he is/accepting himself.

Young Sylus cutting off his own horns and tail repeatedly

Sylus witnessing a dragon genocide of his kinds and became the last surviving dragon on the planet

Sylus being fated to be killed by his archnemesis who is also the love of his life

Sylus' curse is to kill his beloved

Sylus' birth name is Stayrus - 'Sylus' is the name MC gives him 🥺

MC playing the requiem Sylus likes on an organ

MC singing that same requiem Sylus likes even as she is being executed

In Continuous Symphony, Sylus says she never finishes this song—it's a requiem for the departed, she doesn't want to play it for him, especially since in that scene, he is gravely injured because of her

MC made up the whole scene of Abyssal Blossom as a coping mechanism

She dreams that they had never left the chapel and are living a humble domestic life together away from the world

MC cursing Sylus' soul, damning him to live forever, for his soul to never fade away. He will only be able to die at her hands. Only she can grant him "a true death."

Essentially, the myth starts with Sylus being destined to die at MC's hands, and it ends with her cursing his soul to only die at her hands.

This is why the Sylus in the main story can't die. He can only die by MC's hands.

Remembering how Sylus looked pleased when MC threatened to kill him in Long-Awaited Revelry - it wasn't because he knew he couldn't die, but he hoped she would kill him finally.

He didn't die in LAR because when he forced her to pull the trigger, she cried out, "No!" which presumably negated the original curse.

The Evol Linkage is most likely related to either BC!MC's curse and/or the bond she and Sylus had formed before his death

Oh my god..... kindred spirits truly 😭😭😭 kissing the inside of her wrist 😭😭😭 💖 devotion 💖

When you realize Sylus' title "The Cursed One" is because it was MC who cursed him to live forever, to always be tied to her—forever

Sylus' love of music stemmed from MC in Beyond Cloudfall. We're not allowed to make fun of his singing anymore - our dragon baby can sing to his heart's content and y'all can just wear noise-canceling headphones - as ordained by me

Sylus and BC!MC being unable to escape their destiny. Sylus didn't want to give in to his instincts. MC didn't want to summon the greatsword. Everything happened against their will.

The implication that BC!MC had to have died somehow for our current MC to exist - she became a dragon in the end, returning to the same valley Sylus was in, but how did she die? Broken heart? Killed? Old age?

She is reborn again 🥺

"My dragon" - "My beloved" 🥺💔

Just... this...

[eternalxvenus]

⇢ ˗ˏˋ broken promises pt. 1 ࿐ྂ

summary: Rafe promised to take you out and spend your birthday with you, but you don’t hear from him all day and then suddenly he shows up at your door trying to explain. (angst version to my first birthday girl blurb) (title changed for series — previous title “birthday girl angst version”)

cw (for whole series): 18+, rafe x f!reader, mentions of drug use, angst, eventual smut, violence

wc: 0.6k

notes: honestly i’m thinking about making this particular blurb a series but i’m not sure though

You woke up on your birthday excited to get your day started. Your boyfriend Rafe told you the day before he would pick you up for brunch, and then you would spend the day doing whatever you wanted.

By the time you showered and were ready to go, your stomach was growling, prepared to have some delicious food. You checked your phone and saw the time read 10:45. Rafe said that he'd be here by 11:00.

30 minutes later, you hadn't heard anything from Rafe, so you decided to call him. Each of your calls went straight to voicemail. You were starting to get worried, so you decided to check social media and see if he may have posted anything. You clicked on Kelce's close friend's story and saw a party happening at his house. A few videos later, you saw one of Rafe doing coke off the table in front of him.

Your eyes start to water. He had promised you that he would stop doing drugs when you guys started dating. You knew it made him irritable and hard to be around. It also made him forgetful, which means he was probably high out of his mind somewhere and probably doesn't remember he promised to take you to brunch. Or the fact that it's your birthday.

You wipe the few stray tears off your cheek, careful not to ruin your makeup, before calling Sarah, inviting her and the pogues to have breakfast with you at your place. When you asked her about Rafe, she said she hadn't spoken to him and didn't know where he was.

-

The time was currently 10:22 pm, and you had just gotten home from your birthday dinner with your family. Rafe was supposed to be there too, but you had to lie and say he hadn't been feeling well. You could barely enjoy yourself. You still hadn't gotten so much as a text from him.

You slipped off your heels, but before you could make it up the stairs there was a ring at your doorbell. You opened the door to see Rafe standing there with flowers in hand.

"What do you want, Rafe?" You really didn't want to sit around and listen to his excuses.

"Baby, I'm sorry, really. Just please let me explain."

You scoffed but leaned against your doorframe, prompting him to keep going.

"Okay, so Kelce was throwing this party, and I wasn't going to go, but everyone kept messaging me saying I should at least swing by and everything since they hadn't seen me in a while. I went and it was supposed to be no more than 15 minutes, but things got out of hand..."

"Yeah Rafe, things got out of hand as in you stayed at the party and started doing fucking coke? Out of hand as in you got so high you didn't text me all day, on my birthday, while I'm worried sick about you?"

Rafe's eyes widened, obviously not expecting you to know about that. He outstretched his hand that was holding the flowers to you. "Baby I... I'm sorry. I can take you shopping to make up for-"

You smacked the flowers out of his hand and he flinched. Your voice was shaky as tears pooled in your eyes. "No Rafe! Money isn't going to fix this. Obviously, I'm not important enough for you to keep your promise. Getting high means more to you than being there for your girlfriend."

Before he could speak again, you slammed the door in his face and made your way upstairs even as he started to talk to you through the door before moving on to blowing up your phone. You blocked his number and went to bed, unsure of what was next for your relationship.

part 2

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[undiscovered-horizon]

Hi! I really enjoy your one piece writings, they have given me so much comfort when I don't feel okay 😭

Can I please get a Mihawk (I'm completely in love w this man aah) imagine where his wife is a sensitive person who gets sad when someone is rude to them but they feel insecure couse they think it's stupid

Thank youuuuuu ❤️🥺

First of all, I'm honoured that I can provide a source of comfort to you. I'm glad my work has made you feel better in your time of need.

Second of all: oh yessss bestie this hits the spot. It also reminds me of a wonderful scene in The Gentlemen (10/10, highly recommend) [it also hits close to home because I am a sensitive person]

The thing about strong people is that they make others want to be just as strong, which isn't always easy if even possible. You've always known you're a little 'softer' than most people but only after marrying Mihawk did you find the difference in temperament bothersome. Instead of considering your sensitivity a fact of nature, you've begun to find it a flaw, something that you should change about yourself.

You've never admitted it to yourself but the truth is plain and simple - you think it's embarrassing. That Mihawk will find your sensitivity embarrassing. Maybe if you had been up-front about it with your husband, you'd learn that he adores your soft heart. If he felt forthcoming enough, perhaps you'd even hear that you're the source of warmth and light in his life. Hence he calls you his 'sun'.

To say that Mihawk grew concerned when he heard your muffled sobs would be like not saying anything. A delicious euphemism at best. Anger and fear bubble inside his chest. There's a strange itch in his hands that eggs him to wreak havoc.

"Apple of my eye," his voice carries well through the rather empty room you're both staying at currently. "What is the meaning of this?"

Frantically wiping away your tears, you look over your shoulder to meet his gaze. Mihawk is leaning against the doorframe, blocking the entrance if you so wish to run away from this situation.

"Oh, it's nothing. Really, I'm alright. No need to worry," you half-heartedly attempt to reassure him.

The swordsman loudly exhales through his nose. He's your husband, worrying about you is his duty. In slow steps, Mihawk walks over to the edge of the bed where you're sitting. Pride and titles as if forgotten, he drops on one knee in front of you. One of his hands gently squeezes your knee.

Unsure what's the best way to go about these circumstances, you timidly meet his intense gaze. The passion in his yellow eyes makes you think of a maelstrom captured in a jar - something devastating held back by a miracle. He's already seething, just doesn't yet know who exactly to direct his violence at.

"Indulge me," he prompts you to confide in him. There's a rare sense of pleading in his tone.

So indulge him you do - you tell Mihawk all about the unpleasant encounter with a local tearaway. Your husband tries his best to control his expression as you recount the unambiguously offensive words, unwanted touches and threats of real violence coming from someone who was probably looking for a cowardly scapegoat to vent his anger. As you continue your story, tears just keep rolling down your cheeks, fear and humiliation finally finding their way out of your heart.

"I know I'm being stupid," you mumble as you clumsily wipe your face, "he was just rude and it's not like he actually hurt me but-"

Mihawk's touch makes you cut your sentence short. His hand, its skin rough and calloused, gently cups the side of your face. Your hot, salty tears disperse as his thumb slowly rubs them away. Something about the tenderness of his touch, of hands that have killed and maimed, is enough to make you feel like you're about to break in his arms. Even if you do, you know that when dawn breaks you will be whole again, put back together with the unending love Mihawk holds for you.

"You've always been too good, my sun," he tells you in a low voice. He could have said 'too soft' or 'too sensitive' but then his remark would come off as deceitful as it would suggest his dislike towards your nature. Nothing of that sort - Mihawk genuinely thinks you're a better person than most people walking this plane. And he'd rather succumb to torture than let anyone make you feel bad about that.

The man leans in and places his warm lips against your forehead. Without much effort, he lays you down on the bed and you let him. Even if you wanted to fight back, you're way too tired to do so.

He's sitting on the edge of the bed, caressing your face, neck, arms and back as he's waiting for you to fall asleep. The anticipation doesn't require much patience - Mihawk's tender touches lull you to peaceful slumber rather swiftly. When he's sure that you're asleep, he kisses your forehead again before cautiously leaving the bedroom and closing the door behind him.

Perhaps he can't turn back the time and make the offending man choke on his words but he can ensure that the tearway won't hurt you ever again. Someone resting in peace so you can rest peacefully is a good bargain.

Mihawk knows exactly who he's looking for. He made a note of a certain characteristic trait you had mentioned - an earring with a single, red-coloured feather. It doesn't seem like a piece of jewellery that would be common anywhere.

It doesn't take much to find the tearaway. He makes his presence well-known as he stumbles out of a tavern, his legs almost giving away with each step.

So he assaults random women minding their business and then gets blackout drunk. It's pathetic enough to consider his death merciful.

Staying true to his name, the swordsman stalks his prey before lunging. Appearing as another patron of the inn, Mihawk follows the stranger around the corner towards barns, stables and pigstys. Fitting place for the likes of him, Dracule thinks to himself.

The man with the curious earring staggers his way towards a drinking trough. He's fumbling with his pants, desperately trying to pull them down to relieve himself but his fingers are not dextrious enough.

Mihawk picks up the pitchfork leaning against the barn wall. In one, swift motion he gores the tool through the back of the man's knee. A guttural scream tears through the night as he falls to the ground.

The swordsman grabs a fistful of the tearaway's hair. He forces the kneeling man to look up into his seething, yellow eyes.

"Do I owe you money?" The man is slurring his words. He squints his eyes, trying to focus his hazy vision on Mihawk and, possibly, recognize his creditor. "It's money, isn't it? Shit, just give me two days, man. I'll give it back with interest."

"I don't care about money."

Instantaneously, panic appears in the tearaway's eyes. Did he just find himself in the same position he's put hundreds of people in to cure his own boredom and need for grandiosity?

"Then what it is?!" he shouts, fear settling in his viscera. Dracule's calmness put together with the sheer hatred emanating from him makes for a deeply unsettling impression.

"You hurt my wife," comes the answer. The fist clenching the man's hair tightens its hold further, threatening to tear off his scalp. "My wife," Mihawk growls.

But before the tearaway can ask for clarification, his head is forced into the drinking trough. Surprised and scared, oxygen is escaping him fast. Soon, his throat and chest begin to clench and throb painfully. Dark spots dance across his vision, foreboding blindness.

Then, Mihawk pulls his head just above the surface. The man desperately gasps for air.

"If you believe in a god," the swordsman begins in a low voice shaking with anger and adrenaline, "I suggest you start praying. Fast."

The tearaway's head is forced underwater again but this time, Mihawk keeps it there until the ruffian's body stops trembling and shaking. After that, Dracule waits for a while longer - just for good measure.

You're woken up by the creaking of doors as they slowly open. Blinking sleep away from your eyes, you look over your shoulder only to experience a sort of deja vu: Mihawk is standing in the doorway. Before you can ask about his strange behaviour, your husband makes his way to you in long, quick strides. He kneels on the floor beside the bed.

Mihawk takes your hand in his. He takes something out of his pocket and places it in your palm. You recognize the red feather earring immediately. And is that... a piece of skin still attached to it? Gently, your husband closes your fist and lifts your hand to place a chaste kiss on your knuckles.

"The rat has paid for its sins," he whispers to you. Judging by the intense look in his eyes, you don't want to know the details of this story.

[im-subtextsexual]

I’m glad so many people picked up on the vibes between Eloise and Cressida. Not a ship I ever considered before, but the tension was palpable. I’ve been a Queer Eloise truther since reading the books. Her portrayal on the show only made it more obvious in my mind. I didn’t think the writers would ever go there, but the set up is just so explicit, now I’m not sure. I don’t think they’d actually make Eloise / Cressida canon, but I do think they’re testing the waters for wlw Eloise. And it makes perfect sense. 

First off, the character is queer (I’ll hold off from labeling her a lesbian outright, because there’s definitely room for other identities like bi, demi, ace…. etc.) Even in the books. I legitimately think Julia Quinn accidentally wrote a sapphic character and then didn’t know what to do with her. So what we got is “To Sir Phillip, With Love”, widely considered to be one of the worst in the series. Believe me, if there’s any story that could stand to deviate from the books, it’s this one. And the story could so easily be adapted to a wlw romance, it would be a wasted opportunity not to do it. Like… the story would be better if they tweaked it to fit a queer canon. AND it could be done in a historically accurate way to shut up the naysayers that “a lesbian storyline wouldn’t fit in this universe.” How? Allow me to explain.

*SPOILERS FOR BRIDGERTON SERIES BOOK 5*

In the book, Eloise strikes up a correspondence with Sir Phillip Crane. Yes, THAT Phillip, the one currently married to Marina from season 1&2. Marina kills herself because she can’t stand to be married to Phillip and deal with their children in the wake of her lover / his brother’s death. His initial interest in Eloise is to find a mother for his children. She is intrigued by his intelligence and decides she doesn't want to be alone, but isn’t necessarily eager to marry or have a family. Due to romance novel shenanigans, she runs away to Phillip's house and is forced to marry him. Even as they grow to kind of love each other, it's far from some grand romance. It’s the very definition of “settling”. The most interesting part is the narrative structure of their story being told through letters in the beginning. We could keep all that, but make it gay. 

*Imagine*

Eloise meets some dapper gentlemen new to the marriage mart. We’ll call him Emmett. Very little is known about Emmett and his family as they keep largely to themselves at their estate in the countryside. The only thing that’s widely known is the family suffered a tragic accident where the man of the house and his oldest daughter died, leaving his son (the other twin) to take on the responsibility of rank and title very early. Emmet is making a rare appearance in London to find a wife (there are rumors of stipulations in his inheritance requiring a match). ALL the debutantes are fawning over him because he’s mysterious and extraordinarily good-looking. One might even say “pretty”… To everyone’s great surprise the season’s most eligible bachelor takes a special interest in Eloise after overhearing her talking about her disdain for the social convention of marriage, and how she would only consider it if it were an in-name-only, marriage of convenience. Emmett strikes up a conversation with Eloise and she is taken by his humor, wit and shockingly deep empathy for the limitations society puts on women. They continue to gravitate to each other through the first few events of the season, but Emmett has to return home suddenly because of a family emergency. Eloise is shocked to find herself disappointed, but they promise to write. Cue the correspondence romance.

Eloise grows more and more smitten with Emmett every letter she receives, but still has the same reservations about marriage especially when she thinks of the intimacy a relationship like that would require. When Emmett hints that he may want more than friendship, Eloise's feelings get the better of her and she goes to visit Emmett unannounced. He is shocked to see her, but let's her stay and she gets to know his mother and two younger sisters. The Bridgertons go looking for Eloise, worried something has happened to her. When she is found to have been staying for days in an unwed man's home without a chaperone, the potential scandal causes Anthony to force Eloise and Emmett to marry. Surprisingly, Emmett actually agrees so Eloise does too (all of this is essentially what happens in the book).

Eloise confesses to Emmett that she's nervous/resistant to physical intimacy, but he assures her they never have to be together that way. In fact, he would prefer the marriage of convenience they always talked about. Eloise is relieved until their kiss at the wedding sparks an attraction she wasn't expecting. They spend the first month or so of their marriage sleeping in separate rooms, enjoying each other's company, and letting the tension build. One night, Eloise's control and curiosity finally snaps and she goes to Emmett's room to initiate a physical relationship. She catches Emmett off guard in his sleeping clothes which makes it VERY clear... Emmett is a woman (cliffhanger of episode 4, and where we deviate from book canon to make it queer).

After the initial shock, Eloise allows her new "husband" to explain. Emmett is really Emma, the daughter believed to have died in a carriage accident with her father so many years ago. It was her twin brother that actually died, but since there were no other male heirs, Emma's family fortune would have gone to a distant uncle who is cruel and abusive. To save them of that fate, Emma's mother conspired with the local coroner to make it look like Emma was the one who died, so "Emmett" could inherit everything. Emma has been living as Emmett ever since, successfully keeping up the deception by keeping a low profile in society. The only reason Emma came to London that year is because her uncle died, and a cousin had come around asking questions hoping to inherit. She thought getting married would help secure her identity as Emmett and the cousin would back off. At first Eloise is outraged. She feels betrayed by Emma's duplicity, and is terrified if any of this ever got out everyone they know would be ruined forever. She agrees to keep the secret to save her family's reputation, but shuns Emma. Eventually, Emma (already aware that she's in love with Eloise) attempts to make amends and Eloise is charmed enough that she relaxes back into the relationship they had before the Big Reveal. The only problem is the attraction is still there, even more so now that Eloise knows the truth. Things come to a head, and they go at it Bridgerton style.

Emma and Eloise live happily in a true marriage for a bit until Cressida and Penelope come for a visit. They both find out about Emma, but are sworn to secrecy. Pen easily swears her loyalty (having already suspected Eloise), but Cressida is sickened. In a rage, she threatens to out them all, and storms back to London. Eloise follows her and begs Cressida to keep the secret, and tries to explain why the "wrong" feelings she has for Emma are very right for her. To Eloise's surprise, Cressida isn't upset about what she's doing with Emma, but who she's doing it with. She didn't know what they're doing was an option; that she was an option. Cressida confesses that if she'd known a life with Eloise was a choice she could make, it's the life she would have chosen. Eloise lets Cressida down easy by explaining they didn't have that choice. Everyone in the ton knows who they are. The only reason her relationship with Emma works is because of the ruse that allows Emma to be Emmett. Cressida takes this in stride, and vows to keep the secret, but her mother overhears and causes the biggest scandal London Society has ever seen.

The Bridgertons and a few friends (like Lady Danbury) are as understanding as possible, but the rest of the ton is rabid. Things escalate to the point where Emma and Eloise have to appear before the Queen. Emma pleads her case about pretending to save her family, and insists that Eloise didn't know until well after they were married so she's innocent. Eloise can't help herself and gets on her soapbox about the way society limits women, and that the Queen should understand their plight. Shockingly, she does. She annuls their "marriage" (because they didn't consummate anything... RIGHT?!) but she agrees to let Emma control her family's estate until one of her sisters produces a male heir. After that, she and Eloise will receive a pension from the Crown so they can live independently (the real Queen Charlotte actually did this for suspected historical sapphic couple The Ladies of Llangollen). Since Emma and Eloise would never be able to find husbands now, they decide that they'll just be two spinsters growing old together in their house in the countryside. You know... just two gal pals. No one believes that shit, but they rarely interact with the ton, so they're largely left alone to live as they please.

Happy ending, close to canon, historically accurate, and super gay. It's not that hard. You're welcome.

[thethronezone]

Primarchs and baby's first steps

Mortarion didn't think he was a good father. He didn't even think he was an 'alright' father. But there had to be something he did right, considering the fact he was currently witnessing his child taking their first steps. There was a look of intense focus on their face, one Mortarion hadn't thought a toddler capable of. He briefly wondered if he made the same expression himself sometimes. Mortarion did not dare make a sound or any sudden movements, scared that it would somehow ruin the movement. But as his child toddles closer, he found himself murmuring encouragements. "That's it, you're doing it... One step at a time, just like that..." Just as they are about to reach him, they stumble, but Mortarion catches them before the hit the floor and swoops them up in his arms, bringing them close. "You did it!" He can't help the smile that splits his face and the audible love in his voice and for once, he doesn't mind. Right now, Mortarion needs his child to know how proud he is of them.

Fulgrim walked with his child's hands in his own, helping them keep the balance as they got a hang on walking. And really, they were doing fantastic! "That's it, my dear!" he praised. "You're doing amazing!" The toddler smiled absentmindedly at the praise but there was a look of focus on their face that had their brow furrow and their cheeks puff up. Fulgrim found the expression absolutely adorable and had his hands not been occupied with holding theirs, he would have pinched their cheeks. His little one really was the most perfect child in the galaxy, there was so doubt in his mind. This conviction only grew when he carefully let go of their hands and watched them walk a couple of steps on their own. They turned around and squealed with glee when they saw him, clapping their hands and toddling back towards him. "Absolutely brilliant!"

Whenever Angron visited his child, he only ever sat on the far end of the nursery, stewing in his own misery. Today, the kid had been placed on the floor, surrounded by a few toys to entertain them. Usually, that was enough. But not today. Today, they wanted something different. First, they made a noise. "Bah!" Angron briefly looked up from where he was polishing his mace before looking back down again. "Ba-bah!" they exclaimed once more. This time, Angron merely grunted in response. Well that wouldn't do. That wouldn't do at all. Using their arms to push themself up from the floor, they stood up. Stared at their distracted father. Frowned. And took a step. Then another. And another. It was only by the time they were halfway across the room that Angron looked up and saw them. Walking. "You-!" he exclaimed before slowly placing his mace on the table and stared with wide eyes as his child made their way towards him. It was only when they'd successfully made their way over and clung to his leg that his mouth twitched before breaking out into a full, slightly savage, smile. For the third time ever, Angron picked up his child and held them high above his head. "A fighter!" he exclaimed with glee and for a moment, he managed to forget about the pain he lived in.

Magnus should have expected this. Their first words had been in the context of wanting a specific book. It made sense that their first steps would happen in a similar circumstance. Now, Magnus enjoyed reading to his child. He liked the way their eyes followed his finger as he used it to underline the word he was sounding out, the way they would light up when they recognized a story they particularly enjoyed. And they did have their favorites. This became undeniable when, one day, Magnus asked them which book they would like to read now. He had expected them to point, expected them to maybe say the title of one of the books. What he hadn't expected was for them to slide out of his lap and, faster than he could comprehend, toddle their way over to the bookshelf and pick out a book he had read for them many times before. "This one!" they had exclaimed eagerly, looking back at him with expectation in their eyes. Magnus had to cover his mouth with one of his hands to stifle the laugh that he felt bubbling up. Instead, he nodded, picked up the book and his child in one swoop and began telling the familiar story, his chest warm with pride the entire time.

Perturabo was a busy man. There were war campaigns to plan, siege engines to design, troops to train and now, on top of that, a child to raise. He was on a strict schedule. So, when he decided it was time for his child to learn how to walk, there was no changing his mind. First, he would help them. A steady hand on their back to keep their balance and another on their shoulder, to steer them forward. At first them would trip and stumble but Perturabo always made sure they quickly got up again, even if they cried and whined. Once he was certain that they could keep their balance on their own, he stepped back. "Get over here." His child looked uncertain, so he snapped his fingers, getting back their attention. "Now." The first couple of tries were pathetic. Stumbling, fumbling. Too top heavy, too wobbly. "Again" Perturabo would say when they fell. "Again", when they faltered. Some might have called it cruel, that they were just a child, an infant. An Perturabo might have agreed with them, had this been a normal child. But this was HIS child and he knew that the world would not be kind to them, that if they wanted to have a chance at success, at LIFE, then they had to be tough. Preparing them for this was the kindest thing he could do for them. And when his child finally managed to walk without falling, Perturabo knew he had made the right choice.

After the baby's first word, Alpharius and Omegon had started speculating when they would start walking. It was only a matter of time, said Omegon. Any day now, said Alpharius. What they hadn't expected was to one day enter the nursery, only to find the crib empty. Well, almost empty. Standing in the doorway, they witnessed their child climb out of the crib, stand on the floor and take a couple of steps as they turned around. They appeared shocked when they saw Alpharius and Omegon standing there, watching them. For a moment, no one moved. Then, slowly, carefully, the toddler sat down on the floor and, with the most innocent look they could muster, asked "Up?" with grabby hands. Alpharius and Omegon came to the startling realization that, not only might their baby have been able to walk for a while now, but also that they were already a manipulative little thing. Oh, they were both so proud of their little one.

After the baby had been born, it was seldom that one saw Lorgar without them in his arms. He loved cradling them, rocking them, holding them close wherever he went. It was frankly a miracle that the child learned how to walk at all, with how rarely Lorgar put them down. But walk they did. Lorgar had just looked away for a second, a short moment, only to turn back around and see his dear child toddling towards him. Whatever he held in his arms, whatever he had been doing the moment before, he dropped at the same time that he dropped to his knees, arms wide and his eyes filled to the brim with tears as he beckoned his child closer. A few steps and they were in his arms and Lorgar held them close, burying his face against the top of their head. "Oh my little miracle, my wonder! Every day you surprise me, every day you remind me just how beautiful life is!" If his child fully understood him or not, he did not know, but he knew that they could hear just how proud he was of them and just how much he loved them.

Horus holds their hands in his as he teaches them how to walk, murmuring words of encouragement. "One foot before the other, yeah, you've got it". He keeps his voice in check, talking with a low, soothing tone so he won't distract them from the task. And when he feels like they've got this, when he feels them growing more confident, he gradually starts letting go of their hands, so slowly that they don't notice it's happening until he's completely let go. They stop, turn their head to look at him. Horus smiles back. "It's ok, you can do it." And his child already knows they can trust him so they clench their little fists and with a face of determination and focus, walks. It's wobbly, it's slow, but they're doing it all on their own. They reach the wall and once again, they turn around to look at him but this time, they are smiling widely. "Dah!" they exclaim and Horus rushes forward, circles his arms around them and spin them around. "So good! My amazing child!" A thousand battlefields, ten thousands battles, nothing can compare to the pride he feels for them in this moment.

Konrad sat in an armchair, head propped up against a closed fist, staring at his child as they played with their toys. He felt his lips slowly curl into a smile when the child raised one of the toys and made it swoop down, almost as if it were flying. His smile grew when his baby suddenly looked up and locked eyes with him. To most people, Konrad's smile was a thing of terror, something that caused nightmares, but his little one merely smiled back. His smile froze and slowly morphed into an expression of disbelief however, when suddenly, his child pushed themself up to stand on their own two feet. They had done this before, it wasn't new, but something was different. There was this focus and determination in their eyes that made him pause and lean forward in his seat. Konrad's child stared at him, smiled once more, and then took a first, slightly wobbly step. His breath caught in his throat. Slowly but surely, step after step, the child made their way over to him. Before they made it, Konrad got up from his seat and kneeled on the floor, catching them in his arms when they finally got there. His child, squealing with glee, and him, holding them tight. They will stay like that for a while, until Konrad's emotions get back in check and he knows he can look at them without feeling the need to shed tears.

Laying on his stomarch, on the nursery floor, Sanguinius smiled lovingly at his child. They were investigating one of his wings, their own flapping slightly against their back. When they reached to grab ahold of one of his primary feathers, he raised that wing to avoid their tiny, but deceptively strong, hands. But his little sweetheart was faster and more determined than he had given them credit for. They grabbed ahold of his wing and when it rose, so did they, until they were standing on their own two feet. Sanguinius paused, worried he might make them fall over if he moved his wing any higher. But eventually, his child released their hold on his feathers on their own. He sighed in relief. Then almost jumped to his feet when the toddler took a step towards him. With bated breath, he watched them take their first steps until finally, they reached him, patting his head energetically. With a laugh, Sanguinius grabbed them in his arms and turned over on his back, lifting them above himself. They squealed and cooed, wings flapping like they were about to take flight. "Look at you! So amazing! My little heart!"

Corvus stared at his child. The child stared back. He felt the corners of his mouth twitch but fought to keep his expression schooled. "And how" he began, "did you get up there?" From where they sat atop the table, covered in ink and surrounded by empty ink bottles and smudged parchments, his child batted their eyelashes innocently, as if asking 'who, me?'. When they realized that their father saw right through their act, the toddler huffed. Then, pushing themself up, they stood up on the table. This already had Corvus eyes wide. When they then took a couple of wobbling steps towards him, he felt his mouth drop open. Unimpressed by his reaction, his toddler patted their dirty hands against him, staining him with ink. Not that Corvus found himself minding that all too much. No, he was too busy wondering just when his kid had learned how to walk. How many places had they gotten into when he wasn't looking? Did he have to create new safety protocols for mischieveous toddlers now?

Everyone knew that Ferrus was quite proud of his child. He didn't say it out loud of course, but it was evident in how he spoke about them, the way his mouth would twist into an almost smile. For as young and small as they were, his child was not weak. No, they were durable, headstrong. When Ferrus gave them a puzzle or activity to do, they tried and tried until they got it right. Like now. He had constructed a small maze for them. Easy for an adult but for an infant? It provided a challenge. A challenge that his child quickly got fed up with, as they faced dead end after dead end. But instead of just giving up, of crying and whining until he picked them up, they instead did something quite unexpected. First they stood up. Which was smart. The walls oft he maze where quite low and they could easily peer over them once standing. Except they did not return to crawling. Instead, using the walls of the maze for support, they navigated the maze until they got out. Full of pride, Ferrus couldn't help himself. He scooped his child up and pressed his forehead against theirs. "Intelligent and strong!" he praised, voice uncharacteristically tender.

After the whole 'first word' debacle, Rogal had grown to expect the unexpected when it came to his child. So when they one day wanted him to put them down on the floor, Rogal didn't question it. When they pushed themself up on their two feet, he didn't question that either, though he did arch an eyebrow. And when they then proceeded to walk confidently up to a table and climb up on one of the chairs, the only thing he said was a simple "Ah." From their seat, they gestured at the chair next to theirs and, catching their drift, Rogal sat down. He stared at his child, who looked very satisfied about this whole thing. "So you walk now?" His child nodded. "Yeah." Well then, Rogal guessed that was the end of that conversation, though he could not help but wonder if all parents experienced these kinds of situations. The books he had read hadn't suggested it. Granted, his child was very special.

Now, some might say that, bringing a baby into a forge was very irresponsible and not a good idea at all. And, granted, Vulkan saw their point. But on the other hand, they were his child! He had been in the forge at their age, it seemed only fair that they got to experience it as well! They also didn't know how to walk so he could place them at a safe distance and away from anything that could harm them. Problem solved! At least, that's what he thought when he set to work on a new project, hammering away at the smoldering metal. "FIAH!" his child exclaimed and Vulkan chuckled. "Yes, little one, fire." Then, a few moments later, "Want". Huh. Now that was a new word. Curious as to what had grabbed their attention, Vulkan turned around, only to drop her work in shock as he saw his baby toddle towards the open furnace. With the speed of a Primarch and the reflexes of a father, Vulkan dove to catch his child before they could reach their destination. Immediately, he started fretting, checking them for any injuries. The child only stared up at him, brows furrowed and clearly upset. "Fiah..." they grumbled. Vulkan sighed and touched their forehead with his own. Maybe those people were right. Maybe his child should wait a bit before they got to be in the forge.

Lion had been caught off guard when his child had uttered their first word. That was not going to happen again. That's why he was staring down at his child, a small distance away from him. When his child looked up at him and smiled, he struggled to keep his face straight. "Come here", said Lion and gave his child a curt nod. The child frowned, confused, then started crawling over to him. Lion promptly shoved them back to their original spot with his foot. "Not like that. Walk." Still confused, his child tried to crawl over to him again. And again. And again. Each time, Lion pushed them back to where they started. They were starting to grow agitated, huffing and whining, slamming their tiny fists against the floor. Lion didn't flinch in the face of this tantrum. "Walk." His child glared at him, huffed, and finally stood up. A bit wobbly, but they were on their feet. They looked at him. Frowned, suspicious. And then took a step. When he didn't immediately push them back, they took another, and another, until they were slowly toddling towards him. It was only when they reached Lion, grabbing one of his legs, that he allowed himself to react. A proud smile appeared on his face as he finally scooped his child up. "There. I knew you would get it eventually."

Leman quickly found out that his kid was very food motivated. Just like their old man, hahaha! That's why he got the splendid idea to use it to train them. Ok, maybe 'train' was not the right word, they weren't an animal performing tricks. But that's how he found himself holding a juicy, tender piece of meat, right above them, urging them to stand and follow him. Some might have scoffed at this. But he who laughs last laughs best because wouldn't you know it? The kid stood up! And when Leman took a step backwards, they followed! Though they did look a bit unsure... He waggled the piece of meat enticingly. "Mmm, so tender, so juicy! Maybe I'll just eat it myself!" That apparently did it as his kid then all but rushed him, snatching the meat right out of his hands before shoving it in their mouth, gnawing on it with their tiny baby teeth. Leman laughed heartily and ruffled their hair. "There ya go! Good work, pup!"

Jaghatai's child learned to walk before they could talk and they learned to run before that. The Khan had decided that today would be the day that his child took their first steps and, placing his child on one end of the room and waiting at the other with his arms stretched out and encouraging them, he waited. He smiled when they stood up. Smiled even wider when they took a step forward. And then looked on with bewilderment as they ran straight past him towards the open door instead. Throwing his head back with laughter, Jaghatai followed his child as they ran out the door (capable of keeping up with them with just his walking speed) and watched where they decided to go. He greeted his legion as he passed them, none of them appearing surprised by the fact that the Khan's child could already run like the wind. It made his hearts clench with pride and he looked forward to seeing wherever his child decided to take them.

It takes Roboute longer than he'd like to admit for him to notice that his child is walking. To be fair, he was deep in paperwork and had a headache that was steadily getting worse. For all he knew, his child was on the floor in front of his desk, playing with their toys. If it hadn't been for an Ultramarine getting his attention, a slightly apologetic but frantic "lord Guilliman", then he might have missed it entirely. So he looked up. That's when he saw his child, on their feet and toddling over towards a nearby sofa, one usually reserved for guests or visitors. Together with the Ultramarine, Roboute watched his child leave their toys behind and, upon making it to the sofa, climb up on it, lie down, sigh heavily and take a nap. Roboute glanced at the Ultramarine and after a second, placed a finger in front of his mouth, signaling him to stay quiet. The space marine nodded and went back to standing guard. Roboute took a moment to bask in his child's achievement before going back to work, a slight smile on his face. How he wished he could join them as they napped.

[zephyr-ro-emenki]

Random Batfam Headcanon's #15:

(continuation of Headcanon #12)

One of Steph's personal favorite posts was a video she posted titled "Ranking my Father(in-law)'s former lovers" and she has an entire Tier maker list created, that doesn't use any real pictures of the Lovers, just out of context photos that only people in the know would know.

Selina's picture is just a random picture of her actual Cats ("She's Chatty, she's able to help me whenever I forget my Keys, She's able to Acquire the best Christmas presents! A Tier.")

Thalia's is a picture of the stereotypical Witches Cauldron filled with a green liquid ("She's Rich, she has an army of Assassins at her beck and call, Dad was apparently Happy when he was with her??? Unfortunately, she's in a very patriarchal dominant home life with her birth family, her father forcibly broke off the relationship, and she STILL hasn't sent me a Birthday Gift!!! C Tier. Buuuutttt she mothered the current Robin, so, for him, I'll bump her up to a B.")

Harvey's picture was just a ¢50 piece she found while walking around that had a lot of grime on one half of the coin ("I'm not fully sure about this one, I never met them when they were sane, but apparently they were really good friends. It's not going so well now, so I'll put it at a C Tier.")

Harley's Photo was literally just a Selfie of Steph with Harley's Jacket draped over her head ("This one is being put into an immediate D Tier, not because they weren't Wholesome (I've heard stories), but Because she is finally happy and in a stable relationship with her own Girlfriend, and honestly me and my own relationship partner view them as Goals for our own relationship. She's also currently his therapist, so D Tier.")

Steph was completely silent as she moved The random Image of a Joker Card to a Tier Below F titled "The most Toxic relationship you will ever see"

The internet exploded when people noticed the 2 images at S Tier, one of them being Wonder Woman's Logo, and the other being Superman's iconic S emblem, but a pair of wedding bands were laid atop the S. ("Look, Princess {referring to the WW Logo} is both his second eldest's favorite person in the world, but she is also the biggest female goal any of us can have. They are adorable, they are funny, this man had to serenade a group of people just so he can save her ass. If that's not love, what is? S Tier. Now, as for the Couple {referring to the Superman Logo}, Dad has somehow been shepherded into an existing relationship, and I think the wife in that relationship just assumed that they also got our dad as a package deal with her own legal husband. Yes, they had THAT bad of a pining for each other. I, sadly, was not around to see the forming of the relationship, but it was reportedly the most awkward 3 years of Coworkers pining after each other anybody has ever seen, and if it wasn't for the Couples Youngest inheriting the "special trait" of the husband of that relationship, we'd be sat here questioning who the father was. It's also, like, the biggest bragging right, so S Tier.")

And then finally there was just a picture of a Bat. ("This man has an almost unhealthy relationship with the Bats in his mancave. He's named all of them. Well, his eldest named all of the original ones, he's just... Continued to name all the new one's that migrate into the cave?? He gets them vaccinated and takes them to the Vet??? B Tier, I'm putting them above Robin's Mom.")

[hornyhornyhimbos]

"One Of Me Is Cute... But Two Though?" ~ L. Alvez

Summary: When Reader spots her pregnant friend at a Halloween party, the wheels start to turn in her head. If Luke really loves her, won't he love having a second Reader even more?

Pairing: Luke Alvez x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1,664

Content Warning: MINORS DNI (18+ content) unprotected piv sex, couch activities, breeding kink, Luke is kind of a mean!dom oops, nicknames (baby, brat; Luke is called daddy once), sorta implied drinking since they take an Uber home but not really, explicit language, lowk this fic was kinda rushed sorry, fic title is of course from "Juno" by Sabrina Carpenter, lmk if i missed anything!

Extra Notes: so sorry this was not posted on time 😭 hope you guys still enjoy though!

Originally Written: 10/25/2024 through 10/27/2024

criminal minds masterlist can be found here!

halloweek masterlist can be found here!

Ever since you'd gotten in the Uber, you'd been sulking. You refused to even look at Luke, your hands staying planted in your lap instead of reaching over to hold his like they normally would. It wasn't his fault—really, no one was at fault—but you couldn't seem to help your pouty nature.

Every so often, Luke would meet you with a pout of his own, his eyes sad as he tried to figure out what exactly was the matter with you. “Baby, please talk to me,” he'd say every few minutes, and every time, you just kept on silently moping.

As you walked into your shared home, his hands landed on your hips. A soft pair of lips peppered kisses along your exposed shoulder, Luke’s silent way of trying to get you to talk to him.

Still, you weren't giving in that easily. You simply let out an annoyed huff, moving away from him and sitting down on the couch.

Hot on your trail, Luke followed, squatting in front of you and reaching to undo your strappy heels. “Okay, you gotta tell me what's going on,” he said, clearly put out despite his calm tone. “I can't fix the problem if you don't tell me what's going on.”

“Doesn't matter if I tell you,” you grumbled, nearly under your breath. “You won't fix the problem anyway.”

His eyebrows raised, his expression somewhere between serious and shocked as he registered what you'd just said. “You wanna try that again?”

A tingle shot to your core as his dominant side started to show. You couldn't deny how much it turned you on when he was mad, so you decided to press a little more. “You heard me,” you said, lips still turned downward in a bratty pout.

Luke stood back up to his full height, practically towering over you as he placed his hands on his hips. Despite his dorky mailman costume, he managed to look sexy in those mid-thigh shorts and navy baseball cap. “I know what I heard,” he said, his words still sounding calm even though his expression told a different story. “I'm giving you a chance to fix it before you earn yourself a little punishment.”

The word punishment sent heat straight through you. You frowned again, not saying anything else on the current topic as you crossed your arms over your chest.

Luke huffed, his anger finally starting to show just a little. “Do I need to fuck a confession out of you?”

Despite how tempting that was, you finally gave in, figuring you should at least try to have a civil conversation about what was bothering you. “I want a baby.”

Luke's mouth dropped open in shock, his eyes widening a little. He didn't say anything, waiting for you to continue.

“Didn't Hannah look so cute in her costume tonight?” you asked with pleading eyes. “Don't you want that to be us next Halloween?”

Some might have found your college roommate's costume a little silly. She'd somehow turned an old cardboard box into an oven and painted a cinnamon roll over her six-month pregnant belly, effectively turning her stomach into “a bun in the oven.” Hannah's husband had his oven mitt-covered hands on her the whole night, proclaiming he was the proudest baker that had ever existed.

However, something about your friend (and her slightly possessive husband) made your baby fever kick in. The thought of Luke knocking you up, the thought of him being absolutely primal with you, sent your head spiraling.

The sound of Luke's deepening voice brought you out of your thoughts and back to reality. “So you thought the best course of action would be to act like a brat until I gave you your way?”

You couldn't help the slight blush that crept its way onto your cheeks. You stayed silent, knowing whatever you said next would probably get you in worse trouble.

He knelt in front of you again, his hands slipping under your dress, fingertips dancing along the expanse of your thighs. “You know, you really don't deserve anything tonight. Acting like I've never taught you any manners.”

With a smirk, you replied, “Maybe you should teach me again.”

Luke’s lips turned upward into a smirk of his own, dragging a finger slowly over your covered core. “You really are a little brat,” he scoffed. Still, his hands slid your dress upward until your thighs were uncovered, revealing the wet spot starting to form on your cherry red panties. “I rest my case,” he said with an eye roll.

“Come on,” you said, puckering your lips outward and giving him puppy eyes. “Can't you give in just a little?”

A low chuckle rumbled through him as he grabbed your legs and pulled you forward. “C'mere, my sexy little love letter.”

Teeth grazed your thigh as his hand pulled at the waistband of your underwear, sliding them off agonizingly slowly. In an instant, his mouth was on your core, attacking you with kitten licks and dirty kisses.

Your legs instinctively tightened around his head, practically holding his face to your center. Though your hands were practically shaking at the pleasure he was already providing you with, you managed to turn his cap around backwards. Instantly, he was diving even further into your center, groaning at the easier access.

A finger replaced his tongue, slipping inside of you and curving exactly the way you needed. You couldn't help the moan that fell from your lips as his mouth joined back in, desperately tonguing at your sensitive bud. “You feel so fucking good,” he groaned as a second finger joined in, the words a low rumble against your center.

“Luke,” you sighed, his tongue leaving precise licks along your clit. Despite how good his ministrations felt, it simply wasn't enough for you. “You're never gonna get me knocked up if you don't fuck me.”

He scoffed, the hot air of his breath heavenly against your cunt. His fingers stayed inside you despite his mouth leaving your clit, his eyebrows raised as he met your gaze. “You're being a greedy brat right now.”

You started to reply, but the words were cut off as he flexed the digits inside you again, fingertips brushing over that perfect spot it seemed only he could reach. Your hands grasped at the couch cushions, trying to steady yourself in any way you could.

“You want me to knock you up?” Luke asked, his voice practically a growl. He tore his hands away from you, leaving you feeling absolutely empty as he worked on the fastening of his shorts. As he realized your eyes were fully focused on his hard-on, he demanded, “Answer when you're spoken to.”

“Yes,” you managed, nearly salivating as he pulled his cock out of those tiny khaki shorts.

He chuckled, the sound making your pussy ache more, if it was even possible. “Be careful what you wish for, baby.”

Without warning, he was shoving his length into you, giving you no time to adjust. His movements were quick, hips snapping into yours greedily. This was about him now, about teaching you a lesson and getting his own way.

“You want a baby?” he asked rhetorically, cock slamming into you as he practically held you down to the couch. “Fine. I'll give you a baby.”

Pleased whines slipped between your lips as he practically bullied your cunt. Every ridge and vein slid in and out of you, the friction absolutely delicious and exactly what you needed.

One of his hands met your center again, rubbing fast circles over your bundle of nerves, his eyes still on you to see your reaction to the pleasure. “Gotta cum first if you want me to fill you up,” he instructed, toying with your clit a little harder. “Gotta earn it.”

His filthy words and commands had you keening, your back arching off the sofa. You couldn't form words at this point, only noises that showed him how desperate you truly were. The sound of your bodies moving against each other filled the air, the scent of sex heavy in the air as skin slapped against skin.

You were close, so close to your release. The coil in your stomach burned as you inched closer to your climax, hands meeting Luke's hips and pulling him impossibly closer. “Please, Daddy. Make me cum,” you begged, your head falling back against the couch.

Luke only sped up at that, his dick hitting your sweet spot over and over. His eyes closed in pleasure, and you could tell from his expression that he was close too. He pulled your pelvis closer to his, his movements shoving you further into the couch. Hips grinded against hips, perfectly in time with the circles he continued to place on your clit.

The new angle was just what you needed to fall over the edge, your orgasm burning through you. Your veins were practically on fire as he fucked you through it, now searching for his own release.

The tiny noises of pleasure coming from you as he fucked you into overstimulation was what he needed to reach his own release. Hot spurts of his seed filled what felt like every inch of you as he finally started to slow his movements.

After a moment of you both catching your breath, Luke lifted you by the waist, holding your body close to his as he headed for the bedroom.

“What are you doing?” you managed to ask, the sound close to a confused giggle, before kissing at the small sliver of his neck you had access to.

With a smirk, he answered, “Gotta make sure it sticks, right? You want a baby or not?”

Your head fell back in a laugh, though you couldn't argue. You were both in for a long night, but you couldn't seem to bring yourself to care. You just kept on kissing his neck as he laid you down on the mattress.

-> taglist: @reidsbookclub @dungeons-are-too-cold @ptrckjcne @longlivejemily @staley83

-> icon in collage by @lilacprentiss

-> dividers and support banner by @saradika-graphics

-> bun in oven costume idea by @dungeons-are-too-cold bc we are both lil freaks

[skeletonsloverockcandy]

Malevolent, TMA, and Dracula Daily fans! Lend me your ears!

Are you looking for a new spooky horror podcast? Then might I recommend, The Holmwood Foundation?

Malevolent fans, do you like possession and co-dependency? How about traveling on a cross country road trip over the English countryside with a decayed magical possessed severed head? Do you like fighting the Horrors™️ with impractical weapons like a stolen camping stake? Then you’ll love Holmwood!

And Magnus Archive girlies, you like tape recorders and bureaucratic secretive organizations investigating supernatural artifacts and events, right? How about archivists actually doing an archiving job? We can only hope Then you too have lots to look forward to with the Holmwood Foundation! And don’t forget a healthy dose of queer representation to go with that 😉

For the Dracula Daily and Re:Dracula fans out there, this one is for you at heart! The story takes place 130 years after the events of Dracula with the main characters Madeline Townsend and Jeremy Larkin getting possessed by the spirits of Mina and Jonathan Harker after Dracula’s skull is uncovered in an archaeological dig and something dark and dangerous is released into the world trying to claw its way back. Follow Maddie and Jeremy under the guidance of Mina and Jonathan as they attempt to end the threat of Dracula coming back once and for all.

The Holmwood Foundation is currently being kickstarted with about 4 days left in their campaign as of writing this (10:30pm CST, November 9, 2024) and they are about 76.5% of the way towards their goal. I really want to see this podcast come to fruition and see where the story goes, so if you are interested, listen to the first episode that’s already out now on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, Acast, or anywhere you can listen to podcasts, and if you like it, consider donating to the campaign!

You can find the kickstarter here and the first episode for the podcast here!

The Holmwood’s original posts can be found linked here and here

And a list of the episode titles can be found here!

Just to clarify, I'm not being paid to promote this or anything, I just have an unhealthy obsession with Dracula content and a desire for More that I can't get if the story doesn't come out :(

But it's so good guys, I promise it's so good, please listen to it I love it so much 💕