#i love writing & talking about writing choices

[likeumeanit9497]

blue pill | m.s. |

matt sturniolo x fem!reader

summary: alternate outcome of this;)

warnings: unprotected p in v; oral (m/f receiving); fingering; switch!matt; matt the munch (yes pls); dirty talk; use of boner pills; deepthroating; 18+

notes: here u are my matt queens!! if u start reading this and think ummm hello i've read this before????? no u haven't dw this has the exact same beginning as red pill the reader just makes a different choice when things start gettin hot;) if you've read red pill already and don't feel like u need a refresher on the buildup skip to the bolded sentence. i hope y'all enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it!! love u all so so much <333

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

“This is so fucking stupid.” Matt groaned, sitting in between his brothers on the living room couch, holding a single red pill delicately in between two fingers as though it was a toxin. “Bro you’re the one who came up with the idea and bought them.” Chris retorted, inspecting the identical pill in his own hand. “Yeah, and I have no fucking clue why I agreed to this.” Nick chimed in, his voice filled with misery. “Because you can never turn down a competition.” I replied cheekily from my place on the other couch, giggling at the boys’ petty arguing.

Leaning forward, I pulled my phone out of my back pocket — opening up the timer app and hovering my finger over the start button. “Now hurry up and take them dummies, I’ll keep score.” I peered up at them as they gave each other tentative looks, seemingly hoping that one was going to have a change of heart. When nothing but silence followed, they all seemed to unanimously commit, dropping the red pills on their tongues and chasing them down with soda. As soon as they swallowed, I started the timer and sat back; crossing my arms across my chest with a smirk plastered to my face.

After the guys had posted the video at the gas station where Matt was talking about his idea for the sex pills, I had jokingly messaged him saying that I would gladly keep score if they really did it. Taking my message seriously, Matt had secretly gone out and grabbed three pills before inviting me over tonight. Thinking we were all just going to hangout, I was shocked when I showed up to find the pills neatly lined up on the coffee table and the three brothers pacing around the room arguing. After plenty of deliberation, Matt finally convinced Nick and Chris, and now here they were; awkwardly looking between themselves and me.

“How long do these even take to kick in?” Asked Chris, toying with the can of Pepsi in his hand. Grabbing one of the packages from the coffee table, Matt examined it for a moment. “It says thirty minutes.” He replied, sighing and running a hand through his messy hair. “This is ridiculous.” Remarked Nick, shaking his head as though he was disappointed in everyone in the room. Still giggling, I stretched my legs along the couch. “Oh come on,” I whined, “Relax, get comfy, and let the games begin.”

𓆩☆𓆪

“Okay, this isn’t working.” Nick deadpanned, locking his phone and throwing it beside him. “Really?” Asked Chris, turning to face his brother. Dropping his jaw, Nick made a disgusted face. “Is it for you?” Chris smirked bashfully, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m feeling somethin’.” He replied, to which Matt and Nick both groaned. “What about you Matt?” I asked, eyeing his still-relaxed frame leaning against the couch. Jutting out his bottom lip, he shrugged. “No, nothin’.” Chris groaned beside him, and I couldn’t help but notice him adjust himself slightly. “Great, now I feel weird.” He said, grabbing a blanket and swiftly draping it across his lap. I laughed and slowly pulled myself up from the couch.

“Looks like you might end up being the loser.” I teased as I began tidying up the packages strewn around the room. “I will n-” Dropping to my knees, I collected torn up pieces of packaging that had gathered at Chris’s feet. Noticing that Chris’s words had been cut short and now the room had fallen into heavy silence, I glanced up at him through my eyelashes. His eyes — which from up close seemed glassy and dilated — were on me, his mouth open slightly from his disrupted speech, and even his breathing seemed slightly rapid as his chest rose and fell.

Noticing this, Nick threw his hands up in the air exasperatedly. “Chris are you serious? See I knew this was a fucking horrible idea.” His sharp words pulled Chris’s eyes away from me, and he winced at his brother. “I’m sorry,” He replied, his words aimed at both Nick and myself, “I don’t know what the fuck is going on with me.” He added, seeming to grow increasingly uncomfortable. I giggled nervously before pulling myself back up to my feet. “It’s okay.” I reassured him before bringing the packages to the garbage; using the short walk to recover from that oddly intense moment.

As I returned, I suddenly noticed Matt fidgeting in his place on the couch, his brows knit in what seemed to be anguish. With Nick scrolling on his phone and Chris burying his head in his hands, I seemed to be the only one noticing Matt’s sudden discomfort. I chuckled as I slid back into my seat. “You good Matt?” I asked, teasing him. His eyes shot up to mine, and I watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed nervously. “Uh…yeah. All—all good.” He replied, his voice thick and slightly raspy.

Glancing down at my phone, I check the timer. It had been 32 minutes since they took the pills. I smiled gently. “Right on time.” I replied, shooting him a knowing look which just made him grow even more visibly restless. My comment grabbed the attention of Nick and Chris, and they turned to look at their rosy-cheeked brother. “You too?” Nick shouted, jumping up off of the couch. Matt grimaced, shrugging his shoulders again. “It’s not like I can control it.” He replied, letting out an uncomfortable laugh. Sighing, Nick began walking towards the stairs. “Whoa! Where are you going?” Chris asked him. “Nothing is happening to me dumbass! And I will absolutely not be sitting around you two anymore now that you’re both bricked up.” He sassed as he began climbing the stairs. “Good luck Y/n!” He called as he disappeared into his bedroom.

“Looks like we’re in a 1 v 1.” I said, wiggling my eyebrows teasingly. I registered the look of torment on the faces of Matt and Chris, and decided that it would be in my best interest to hold back my laughter. “Let’s see who can make it to an hour.” I added. Chris grunted as he shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “I’ll be lucky if I make it another five minutes.” He replied, his voice also more gruff than usual. “Aww c’mon, you can do it.” I encouraged, moving to place a reassuring hand on his knee but deciding against it. As the room fell back into silence, I could hear Matt’s heavy breathing permeated by the occasional soft whine.

Although I was trying to keep things light-hearted, their overwhelming arousal was growing more and more palpable. My wandering eyes flittered from Matt’s bottom lip pulled in between his teeth to Chris’s temple coated in a sheen of sweat. As I focused on their features, it was as though their chemically-induced lust was contagious. I began to feel my own heart pounding in my chest, and I noticed a dampness in my panties that hadn’t been there before. In that silent room, all of our desires suddenly fell in sync with one another, and it was growing harder and harder to ignore.

“I need to go deal with this.” Chris suddenly blurted out, his voice laced with urgency as his focused eyes stared straight ahead. “You’re throwin’ in the towel?” Asked Matt, his lips curling into a smile infused with what seemed to be an odd combination of arrogance and relief. Chris winced as he tried to lean forward, nodding his head intensely. I watched in painful silence as he folded his hands together and pressed them against his plump lips, deep in thought. Very slowly, his eyes were pulled in my direction.

I froze under his gaze, the look he was giving me was worth a thousand words. My brows furrowed momentarily, instinctually denying what his eyes were asking me, before I felt my body begin to react. Heart pounding in my ears, I leaned back against the couch and crossed my legs; dying for some relief. “Hey—what’s going on?” Matt’s voice infiltrated mine and Chris’s stare-down. Picking up on the shift of air in the room, his eyebrows shot up. “Chris, no! That’s not how this works.” He exclaimed, turning to face his brother. Still looking at me, a smirk pulled at the corner of Chris’s lips. “We never laid down any ground rules kid.” He replied, and I felt my throat go dry.

“Well…” Matt’s exasperated voice trailed off for a moment, “Well, who said you get to fuck her?” The words sat heavy in the air around us, the reality of the situation being verbalized for the first time. I couldn’t manage to get a single word out if I tried, nor did I have the power to pull my eyes from Chris’s heady gaze. Chris chuckled, pulling himself off of the couch before slowly beginning to walk towards me. “No one,” He began, his voice suddenly menacing, “That’s up to her.” He finished just as he stopped in front of me, his frame towering above me with his tantalizing bulge directly in my line of sight.

Very slowly, he leaned down so that we were once again face-to-face. I felt my cheeks burn red from the situation I had suddenly found myself in, and the desire was radiating off of me in pulses. “What do you say?” He asked, his dilated eyes flooded with amusement. I swallowed, trying my best to re-instate my own vocal chords. Just as I was about to squeak out a response, a mindless gasp fell from my lips as Chris ducked his head down; his face buried in my neck.

My eyes fluttered shut momentarily, but once they opened they immediately landed on Matt’s tense figure sitting on the couch. His eyes were wide open, showing me just how badly he was suffering in that moment. The sheer need radiating from his gaze on me was infiltrating my mind, but the feeling of Chris’s warm breath dancing against my neck made it difficult for anything else to matter.

That is, until my eyes trailed down to Matt’s lap.

In between his fidgeting thighs, I saw the perfect outline of his cock. His pitiful arousal was evident in the shaded contours of his length in combination with the dark bead of pre-cum leaking through his grey sweats, letting me know that he had made the unsavoury decision of skipping on boxers. The visual of it — him being so transparently aroused while simultaneously ashamed — caused my mind to wander.

It wandered to the thought of me on my knees, wrapping my lips around his satin-skinned cock while he twitched and moaned out my name; dying to give into a release that was almost too much to handle. It wandered to the feeling of his sharp breath against my skin as he whined into my touch; bucking his hips as I teased his sensitive tip. It wandered to the idea of him taking out his insatiable hunger on my core — now slick with arousal —licking, sucking, groaning against its heat.

My silence flooded the room, and as I fought against the urge to drool at the thoughts swimming through my mind, a look of recognition flashed across Matt’s flushed face. I kept my eyes glued to him as Chris’s mouth traveled across my neck, and watched his heaving chest and white-knuckled fists at his side. His eyes — now four shades darker and twice as droopy as they usually are — were telling me a story. A story of exactly what he wanted to do to me — what he wanted me to do to him. And then — just as Chris nibbled against a particularly sensitive part of my neck and my eyes fluttered shut in pleasure, another soft whine slipped from the lips of the man watching me. The one who so clearly needed my help.

Using all my self restraint, I placed a gentle but firm hand on Chris’s chest. “I’m sorry Chris,” I spoke, feeling bad about my inability to help out both brothers. But, I knew for a fact that Chris had a much longer roster than his triplet brother, and was sure that he would be able to have someone over in less than 10 minutes to help him out. At my words, Chris released a disappointed huff of air against my skin but didn’t fight against my hand. As he stood up, I had to force my eyes away from his own visible arousal that was still within my reach.

“I wouldn’t recommend staying out here, I’m gonna get Marie to come over.” Chris grumbled, his voice still thick with arousal, before shooting his brother the middle finger and heading for the stairs leading to his bedroom. Once we were alone, the weight of the situation seemed to fill the space between us, making it difficult for me to breathe. The intensity of Matt’s gaze, never once leaving me, didn’t make things any easier — his retinas might as well have been screens playing out all of the filthy scenes that were running through both of our minds.

Forcing myself back to reality, I gathered all of my thoughts and nudged my head in the direction of his bedroom down the hall. “Should we go?” My question elicited the harsh bob of his Adam’s apple, and a curt nod of his head. On shaky legs, I stood up. He wrapped an uncertain, hovering arm around my waist and together we began walking towards his bedroom. As we walked, I felt, more than heard, his breathing grow more and more rapid; his pulse radiating from his body into my own.

Just as we passed the kitchen and entered the hallway, Matt stopped in his tracks. “Wait, Y/n,” Gently, he grabbed onto my hips and pressed me against the wall, standing in front of me with concern etched into his face. “Are you sure you’re good with this?” His question a paradox to his obvious desperation to get relief, I stifled a surprised laugh. “Yeah, I’m sure.” I replied, amused. Still not satisfied, he continued. “I just don’t want you to think that you have to do this, I mean I got these pills as a joke and really just invited you to keep score. You’re my friend and I don’t want you to think this was my pl—”

I cut him off with a finger pressed gently to his soft lips. Although his concern was charming and even comforting to me, it was entirely unnecessary. “Matt,” I began, my voice dropped to a low whisper as I looked up at him through my eyelashes, “I’m good with this.” Tracing the tattoos on his arm slowly, I continued, “See for yourself.” His eyes scanned my face for a moment, confused, before a glint of understanding appeared. Very slowly, his eyes dropped to my lower half and wordlessly I encouraged him by widening my stance slightly. One of his hands that had been resting on my hip began toying with the waistband of my shorts, before it creeped down the front of the cotton material blindly.

As soon as his long fingers reached my slippery heat, we both released simultaneous groans. His skin was so cold against my own, and as they gently slid in between my folds it sent a delicious shiver down my spine. “God,” Matt breathed, his eyes glued to my clothed heat as though he had x-ray vision. I bit my lower lip as I fought the urge to moan from the feeling of his exploring fingers, but all restraint disappeared once he reached my throbbing bundle of nerves. As the erotic noise fell from my lips, Matt’s eyes fluttered back up to mine before he pulled my lips into a feverish kiss.

Drawing slow circles against my clit, Matt’s tongue slipped delicately into my mouth with a certain hunger I hadn’t quite experienced before. Even as I relished in the taste of him combined with the exquisite pressure he was using against my nerves, I recognized that he was holding back some of his desperation. “Like that,” I breathed against his lips, panting as he worked me into a frenzy. He released a puff of air through his nostrils in response, shifting on his feet as he struggled to keep his composure.

“S-so wet for you.” I continued egging him on, finding his resistance to let go erotic. “S-so wet.” He parroted, his breathing rapid against my swollen lips before they traveled down my jaw and onto my neck. My eyes fluttered shut as I felt his mouth toy with my delicate skin, though the feeling was cut short as he pulled his head back slightly, his breathing hot against my ear. “D-don’t love that.” He muttered, running his thumb along my neck where I was sure his brother had left dark purple bruises just moments before.

Grabbing his jaw, I gently pulled his face up so that I could lock eyes with him. His fingers were still circling my clit, so through breathy gasps I spoke, “Why don’t you plant your own somewhere else?” I watched as his face suddenly grew overcome with aching fervour, before his hands slid back to my waistband and he sunk to his knees; taking my shorts and thong down to my ankles with him. My gaze followed him to the floor, and with a slacked jaw I watched as Matt took in the sight of me exposed just inches away from him. His hands crawled back up my thighs and his thumbs brushed delicately against the silky smooth skin of my bikini line before he brought his mouth to my pelvis.

His tongue swirled against my skin in a place I was sure had never been kissed before. He groaned, the sound muffled by his suckling lips, and I felt as though I might melt away from how worshipped I felt in that moment. My skin began to grow warm under his nibbling and sucking, and my stomach flipped from the sight of the angry purple bruise he had left once his mouth began moving closer to my aching core.

Just as Matt’s nose brushed against my heat, he pulled back slightly and used his grip on my thighs to pull my legs further apart. With a look of anguished hunger, he pulled his lower lip between his teeth as his thumbs spread apart my folds; granting him an unrestricted view of the arousal dripping from my core. “Jesus,” His singular word held the weight of all of the desire radiating between the two of us, and like the snap of an elastic band, all of his self-restraint dissipated as he impulsively ran his flat tongue along my heat; causing me to cry out in ecstasy as he savoured my sweet arousal against his tastebuds.

As if he was an addict and had just had his first fix, Matt turned into someone unrecognizable with his face buried between my thighs. His fingers wrapped so tightly around my thighs that I was sure he was going to leave a bruise as his tongue flicked deliciously against my swollen bundle of nerves. “Oh god, Matt!” I cried out, lacing my fingers through his hair and pressing my heat against him desperately. He responded to my pathetic moans by throwing one of my legs around his shoulder; granting his tongue a new angle that sent shock waves down my spine.

“So fucking good.” He groaned against my cunt, his voice more hoarse than usual. His tongue slid from my bundle of nerves down to my entrance, which he circled for a moment before plunging the strong muscle into it; lapping up my juices as I struggled to stand upright. He used his tongue to fuck me, his own moans echoing through my walls as his nose simultaneously rubbed my puffy clit, and the short hallway filled with the wet sounds of my needy cunt being worked towards my impending orgasm.

“F-fuck Matt,” I whined, rolling my hips hungrily against his face, “I-I’m gonna-” Without even finishing my words, Matt grunted in approval before fumbling blindly with his sweatpants. Through hooded lids I watched in glory as Matt slipped his pants down just enough to let his veiny cock free. Without removing his working mouth, he slid two fingers in the shape of a V through my folds to collect my juices before bringing his slippery hand to his cock; stroking it in rhythm with his movements against my cunt.

My legs began to shake and my vision grew blurry from my fast-approaching orgasm, though I couldn’t pull my eyes away from Matt as he milked his cock; clearly grown too desperate to wait another moment for relief. Just as he released a throaty moan against my cunt and I felt myself begin to give in to the overwhelming pressure radiating through every nerve in my body, I froze at the sound of the front door opening.

Chris’s lucky roster pick.

Matt and I locked eyes, sharing a look of mutual anguish before he jumped to his feet. Without even bothering to get dressed, I slipped out of my discarded bottoms and silently headed for Matt’s bedroom, the heat of his own brooding frame close behind me. As soon as we were behind the closed door, Matt tried to drop to his knees once again. Although it took nearly all of the self-restraint that I held in my body, I grabbed onto his shoulders to stop him. “Matt, you’re torturing yourself.” I whispered, dropping my eyes to his throbbing cock — bright red and swollen at the tip.

He pouted, running a gentle hand through my hair. “But you taste so fuckin’ good.” He breathed out just before engulfing my lips with his own; allowing me to taste my own sweetness against his slick tongue. His hands toyed with the bottom of my shirt, tugging it gently as though asking for permission. I pulled away from his mouth, drunk from the way I tasted on him, and allowed him to slip my shirt over my head. His pleading eyes dropped to my tits, and he ran the pad of his thumb along my pebbled nipple before dropping it back down to the bundle of nerves between my legs.

“You were so close to cumming,” He added. His voice was deep yet laced with the whine of a man who needed something bad, and it numbed my mind for a second. He pressed his thumb against my clit, slowly adding more and more pressure as I bit my bottom lip. “We can cum together.” I offered, looking up at him through droopy eyelids as my stomach flipped from the thought of him inside of me at last.

That thought seemed to have been mirrored in Matt’s mind as well, because his blown out eyes grew hazy and his brows knit together in wistful lust. Taking his expression as my answer, I gestured toward his bed behind him. With a curious smirk, Matt slipped off his t-shirt and began walking backwards towards his bed; using his grip on my hips to pull me with him. As his heels reached the frame, I gently pushed him down so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed. Although a part of me wanted to straddle his lap and sink down onto his gorgeous cock immediately, instead of following him onto the bed I dropped onto my knees before him.

His eyes glimmered for a moment. “What are you doing?” He asked, the mild concern on his face worked paradoxically with his hands gathering my hair into a make-shift ponytail. I snaked my hands up his legs, letting them rest just centimetres away from his cock; the nearly-there contact making it jump. “Just wanna taste you too,” My seductive words caused his hands to subconsciously tighten in my hair just as I wrapped my lips around his spongey tip.

His savoury pre-cum on my tastebuds intoxicated me, and I lapped it up hungrily before bobbing my head in a rapid, but steady, rhythm. A whiney groan fell from his lips, his thighs twitched under my hands as I let his cock reach the back of my throat; swallowing around it and relishing in his needy reaction. “Mmm Y/n,” He groaned, his breath rapid as he struggled to keep his composure, “F-feels so good,” His grip in my hair was firm, as though that was what was holding him steady, but I felt his thumbs gently brush my neck in a way that was comforting to both of us.

Relaxing my throat, I pushed myself all the way down his long cock so that my nose pressed against his flexed stomach. A sharp whimper filled the room as I gargled his entire length until tears began streaming down my face, and already I felt his cock begin to swell in my throat. “Oh god baby, not g-gonna la-ast — s-so clos-se.” His words were choppy, punctuated by his rapid breathing as his body grew red from the hot arousal. Panties flooding, I took his words as motivation and swallowed his cock fervently; knowing that he had to be close to pain by how hard he was.

A chorus of sharp, rapid whines began slipping from Matt’s lips, and I felt his body begin to tremble under my touch as his balls tightened against my chin. His hips lifted from the bed in uncontrollable pleasure, and after a final, exquisite moan, I felt the warmth of his cum as his powerful orgasm washed over him. I fought the urge to gasp at the sheer amount of fluid that filled my mouth, but was pulled back by the addicting taste of him on my tongue. Greedily, I swallowed everything that he had before continuing to slowly bob my head.

Matt’s body writhed under my warm mouth, and only once he released a pathetic moan from my tongue swirling around the crest of his head did I pull back; releasing his still-hard cock with a pop. My vision was blurry from my tears, but I still managed to pull my eyes from the string of saliva dangling from his leaking cock back to his flushed face; gazing down at me in shock. “I…I’ve never finished that fast in my fucking life.” His words were laced with genuine astonishment, causing me to laugh in amusement.

“We can blame the pill,” I replied, pulling myself off of the floor and climbing on top of him on the bed. As soon as my core was level with his lap, his hands gripped firmly onto the flesh of my ass and his cock flexed against the pressure of my body. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I laughed before subtly pushing him back so that he was laying flat on the bed. “Doesn’t matter anyways, looks like you still got more in you.”

My words seemed to awaken something within him, because as soon as they left my mouth Matt flipped us over so that it was now me who was laying flat against the bed. His mouth consumed my own once again, the taste of both of our arousal now floating between our tongues. My head spun from the glorious feeling of being underneath Matt, feeling somehow so powerless yet so in tune with my own body. A gasp slipped from my lips as I felt his cock brush against my heat, the urge to be filled now growing void of any ignorance.

“You still wet?” Matt breathed against my lips, using a hand to spread my legs apart before bringing it to my sensitive core. A satisfied hum fell from his lips as he felt the warm juices of my arousal not only pooled in between my legs, but smeared all down my inner thighs from the pleasure of having him fall apart in my mouth. “Oh you’re fuckin soaked baby,” He cooed, his voice gentle against my parted lips. I writhed against his investigative fingers, needing more contact than what he was granting me by admiring just how turned on I had grown.

Growing impatient, I reached down and grabbed his sticky cock, eliciting a hiss from him as I guided it towards my needy entrance. “Jesus,” Matt groaned, overwhelmed by the confirmation of my insatiable need for him, before allowing himself to be guided by my hand. Just as I felt the head of his cock sink into the crest of my aching pussy, I let go of his shaft and relied on the fervour warmth of my walls to swallow his length.

He slid into me slowly, with anguish, and once he bottomed out guttural moans fell from both of our lips. He filled me so intensely that I felt feverish, delirious with desire. My walls welcomed him graciously, though they enveloped him so tightly I was worried he may not be able to move. Just as that thought crossed my mind, Matt pulled himself almost entirely out of me before driving his cock back down to the hilt. A gasp fell from my lips as my arms wrapped around his neck, overcome with the relief that his movements granted me.

“Holy fuck,” Matt grunted, and as I looked up at him I recognized the look of strain on his face and throughout his muscles. “You’re s-so tight.” The tensity of his voice drew a soft moan from me, and by wrapping my legs around his waist I urged him to keep moving. Recognizing my silent request, he began pumping himself into me. He started slow, though on each thrust it was as if my cunt began to stretch more and more for him until it moulded to fit him perfectly, to which he responded by going harder and faster.

The squelching sound of our bodies as they joined together provided a perfect harmony to the slurry of moans that fell from both of our lips. Matt snaked a hand around my lower back, adding a new level of pressure as he held me tight against him. I cried out as he wrapped his warm mouth against a hardened nipple, swirling his tongue around the dark pink, sensitive bud as he snapped his hips into me. “Feels…so…good…” Matt’s words were punctuated by his thrusts, and his breath tickled against my skin as he spoke into my plush breast. I mewled in response, nails turning into claws against the tense skin of his back.

“N-eeded this s-so fucking b-bad. T-thank you,” Solace was already evident in his voice, and his gratitude was enough to make my head spin. He lifted his head from my chest and placed his open mouth against my own with the intention of kissing me, but we were both so caught up in the mutual pleasure radiating through our bodies that the most we could do was breathe against one another; matching the tempos of our beating hearts. Matt’s thrusts began to grow sloppier, his breath more ragged, and the heat of our bodies came crashing down on me.

“N-need you to cum baby,” Matt groaned, slight panic and desperation laced through his tone. I released a pathetic moan, knowing I was close but could sense from his words that he was closer. “P-please Y/n, I’m — so c-close,” The trepidation was evident in his voice now, and I whined as I fought to stay on track chasing my own high. “K-keep going, just l-like that,” I purred, closing my eyes as I focused on my impending orgasm.

Matt’s hand traveled down my body in between my legs, where his thumb went to work vigorously swirling against my overstimulated bundle of nerves. Immediately, I felt myself inch closer and closer to the high I had been dying for. “F-fuck!” I cried out, my body beginning to tremble from the intensity of the oncoming waves of pleasure. “Please—Please—Please,” Matt grunted with each weakened thrust, his voice thick with untethered need as I felt his cock begin to swell inside of me; ready to erupt any minute.

Finally, after another desperate swirl along my clit in sync with a quick snap of his hips, Matt drew a long string of moans from my lips and pushed me over the edge of my teetering orgasm. Upon the first erratic pulse of my spongey walls, Matt released his own guttural moan and cried out my name before I felt his warm seed spill deep into my core. Although his body seemed to want to give in to the waves of pleasure it was experiencing, he forced his hips to continue to drive into me; helping me ride out my high as my clammy back arched off of the mattress and my legs constricted his waist. I felt the indescribable release of pressure as I squirted all along his throbbing cock and lower stomach, earning a satisfied moan from Matt as he let his eyes drop to admire the sight.

Only once our bodies began to relax and we came down from our highs did Matt halt his movements; crashing his exhausted body onto mine and burying his face in my neck. I let myself sink into the soft mattress under his comforting weight, focusing on my decreasing heart rate and the feeling of Matt’s hand running up and down my side. My eyes fluttered shut, the physical exertion draining me of all energy, and I felt us simultaneously fall into a peaceful lull as our breathing steadied.

After what could have been hours, Matt lifted his head from my neck and shot me a bashful smile. “I’m never taking one of those fucking pills again.” Laughing, I propped myself up on my elbows and smiled down at him. “So what I’m hearing is that was horrible and you hate me.” Matt scoffed, jokingly rolling his eyes. “Obviously not, Y/n. The issue is that was way too fucking good. And we’re friends. Friends can’t be dogging each other like that.” Matt ran a hand through his hair, a sign that behind his joking tone he was genuinely stressing out over what we had done.

I grabbed his tattooed arm gently, getting his attention. “Hey crazy, don’t worry. It was a one time thing caused by your little boner pill. It won’t happen again.” He sighed, rolling off of me and draping his body along the bed beside me. “Won’t happen again.” He repeated softly, staring up at the ceiling with concern still etched in his face. “Hey,” I looked down at him in amusement, “At least you feel better though, right?” Slowly, Matt turned to face me with that same flushed look he had on the couch an hour ago. Wincing, he let his gaze drop to his dick — still standing straight up in the air; red and swollen at the tip.

“One more time?”

“One more time.”

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

[pomegranatelifethis]

Hello so i saw where your post about taking requests, I really entertained by your story which Star in the shadows(if I write the title right) that's just fantastic, so my request are can you make neglected reader where at beginning she's really had bubbly, happy and loud personality, like she really trying to bond with Batfam but then they just brush her off (y'know basic beginning in a lof of Neglected reader fanfic) but then there's at one time where reader get tired and then enter a point, a tragedy(this part is up to you) that turn her into emotionless being like a porcelain doll, she barely talk and expressed herself until it made some member of Batfam felt eerie around her(reader's gender is up to you, I used she because it's more easy to me to write since English isn't my native language)

Porcelain Doll

*I love the idea, you can think of it as a draft, will continue it*

(A Neglected!Reader x Batfam Story)

In the beginning, most of the laughter echoing through Wayne Manor belonged to her. She was once cheerful, lively, and full of love. Every morning at breakfast, she would greet everyone with the brightest smile, sneak sugar into Tim’s coffee, try to talk to Damian about kittens, joke around with Dick, and tease Jason about his book choices. She even tried to hug Bruce, though she usually had to settle for a light touch on his shoulder.

But what did she get in return?

Being ignored.

At first, she thought she just needed to try harder. Maybe, if she put in enough effort, she could make them laugh, become a part of them, feel like a "family."

But every "we'll talk later" turned into words that were never spoken.

Every "I'm busy right now" faded into endless silence.

Every turned back, every unheard word, every avoided glance… At some point, all of it stopped hurting.

Because she had stopped feeling.

And then, tragedy struck.

No one knew what she had been through. Where she had gone, what she had done. The last flicker of light in her eyes, like a candle flame, wavered and died the night she left. When she returned in the morning, she was still the same person—yet completely different.

From that day on, her words became scarce. Her smiles disappeared.

Sometimes, when Dick spoke to her, she would just stare blankly. When Jason made a joke, she wouldn’t react at all. When Tim watched her for hours, she felt nothing. Even when Damian snapped at her, she wouldn’t lift her head to look at him.

And Bruce… Even he realized something was wrong, but by then, it was too late.

No one could reach her anymore.

She had become like a fragile porcelain doll. Cold, silent, and emotionless.

** English is not my native language **

[alaia777]

CONGRATULATIONS FOR 200 FOLLOWERS!!! <333 IM SO HAPPY FOR YOU AND THANK YOU FOR THIS EVENT 🙏😈

id appreciate if you could do one with Rin and the prompt being:

⊹ i love your attention, but i love peace and quiet more—so hush.

Please make it fluff🙏🙏😭 (you can ignore this if you want but I'd appreciate it if you could add a little scene where Rin kisses the reader to shut them up 🤭)

thank you so so much. this was so fun to write, i hope you like it !!!! 🩷🩷🩷

it was the first time in months that you woke up before rin, and for some reason, today felt different. maybe it was the rare burst of energy that had you up at 6 a.m., already done with your routine, stretching like one of those influencers who post their “productive morning” videos. maybe it was the quiet stillness of the morning, the kind that made you want to savor it.

by the time the city started to wake, you’d already been out—grabbing coffee and pastries from the shop that opened early, spending some time at the park near your apartment, even feeding the pigeons like an old soul with too much free time. and yet, when you stepped back inside, your boyfriend was still exactly where you left him—fast asleep, completely undisturbed.

not that you blamed him. waking up too early, coming home too late—rin had been running on empty for weeks. you figured it had finally caught up to him.

so by 7:30, with nothing else to do, you settled onto the couch, coffee in hand, scrolling through your phone, catching up on the latest influencer drama like it was the morning news.

when you heard the duvet rustling in your shared bedroom, you were already on your feet, making your way over before rin could even sit up. he was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes when you jumped onto the bed, grinning.

“good morning, baby cakes.” even with his hand over his face, you could tell he was rolling his eyes.

“why are you up so early?” he muttered, his voice still rough from sleep.

“because the early bird catches the worm, and i caught us some warm, delicious pastries.” you paused, then sighed. “well, they were warm.”

“but that doesn’t matter. you know that drama about that woman on the internet i told you about? yeah, there’s more.”

without waiting for a response, you launched into the latest updates, detailing every twist and turn—what she did, the backlash, the people involved, and why the internet was in chaos over it. rin, still half-asleep, stared at you with a blank expression, his eyes barely open as he listened in silence.

“but wait—there’s more,” you added dramatically, climbing into his lap and cupping his face between your hands, determined to make sure he was paying attention.

he let out a slow exhale, clearly questioning all of his life choices. “i love your attention, but i love peace and quiet more—so hush.” his hand came up, covering your face as if that would be enough to stop you.

you audibly gasped, prying his hand away. “first of all, rude. second of all—” you sat up straighter, regaining your composure. “as i was saying, she was bragging about her designer bags while her kids don’t even have beds—”

you didn’t even get to finish, because rin’s hands were on your cheeks, pulling you in, cutting you off with a kiss—not to be sweet, not to be romantic, but purely to get you to stop talking.

your brain stalled for a second, words failing you as you processed what just happened, and when you finally snapped out of it, you caught the slightest smirk tugging at his lips. that little shit.

“rin, you need to brush your teeth.”

his smirk instantly dropped as he rolled his eyes, shoving you off him with zero hesitation before dragging himself out of bed and heading for the bathroom. you barely had time to laugh before the sound of the door closing echoed through the room, leaving you alone, victorious.

[sincerelybubbles]

oooo shybau and hoth first kiss!!!

and I do mean you

warnings: lots of kissing, references to christianity, loss of faith, all of the lovely things I selfishly pour into everything I write pairing: hotch x shy!bau!reader

I took far too long with this because it felt like their first actual kiss needed to be so them and I didn't know how to do that until I suddenly did.

||

The night is quiet, the kind of quiet that settles deep in the bones, the kind that makes everything feel a little softer, a little more sacred. You don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until the lock on your front door clicks shut behind you, muffling the world outside.

Aaron lingers in your entryway, hands resting lightly on his hips, exhaling like he’s letting go of something heavy. The case had been a brutal one. It wasn’t the worst you’d seen, but something about it had weighed on him. He hadn't said much on the plane home, but then again, he never really had to—not with you.

Now, in the hush of your apartment, that quiet between you stretches like a held note. The exhaustion clings to you both, but neither of you moves to part ways.

“You should get some rest,” he says finally, voice low and steady.

You nod, though you make no effort to leave, and he doesn’t step away. Instead, he watches you the way he always does—attentively, patiently, like he’s waiting for something you don’t yet have the words for.

Maybe it’s the hours of close proximity, the way his shoulder brushed against yours on the plane, the way he had glanced over at you every so often as if checking to make sure you were still there. Maybe it’s the way your body still hums with adrenaline, or maybe it’s simply because you want to.

But whatever it is, you move before you can talk yourself out of it.

It’s barely anything—a shift forward, your fingers brushing against his wrist. His breath catches. Just for a second. But you hear it.

And when you tilt your chin up, meeting his gaze, there’s something in his eyes—something searching, something unsure but steady all the same. He doesn’t move away. He doesn’t pull you in. He just watches, like he’s memorizing the moment before it happens, as if he wants to be sure.

As if he’s willing to wait as long as it takes.

You swallow, heart fluttering wildly in your chest. "Aaron..."

It’s nothing more than his name, barely a whisper, but it undoes something in him. His hands come up—gentle, grounding—one settling at your waist, the other skimming up, up, until his knuckles ghost over your jaw, tilting your face just so.

He leans in, so close you can feel the warmth of his breath, but he doesn’t close the distance just yet. He gives you that space, that choice, because that’s what he does.

And you—shy, quiet, observant you—you make the choice.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, and you close the space between you.

It’s barely a kiss at first. Just the press of your lips against his, testing, tentative, reverent. He exhales sharply through his nose, like he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath either. Then his hand at your waist tightens ever so slightly, his other tilting your chin just enough to angle you to him.

And Aaron Hotchner—who is always so careful, always so controlled—melts into you like he’s been waiting for this.

Like he’s home.

His lips are warm against yours, steady but unhurried. The weight of his hand at your waist keeps you grounded, keeps you from floating away entirely, because that’s what this feels like—like weightlessness, like the moment before freefall.

Your fingers tighten in the fabric of his shirt, and he responds in kind, the press of his mouth growing just the slightest bit firmer. He’s still careful, still giving you time to pull away if you want to, but you don’t. You couldn’t if you tried.

The world outside is silent, the only sound between you the quiet hitch of breath when he shifts, tilting his head to deepen the kiss—just a little, just enough. His thumb ghosts along your jaw, the touch featherlight, reverent.

Aaron Hotchner, composed and measured, is kissing you like he’s afraid you might disappear.

It sends something warm curling through your chest, something that chases away any last shred of hesitation. You lift onto your toes, pressing closer, and that’s all it takes for him to let go of whatever restraint he’d been holding onto.

He exhales sharply, his hand sliding from your waist to splay against your lower back, pulling you flush against him. It’s still soft, still achingly tender, but there’s more now—more intent, more certainty.

You feel it in the way he holds you, in the way his fingers press into your skin like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you, in the way he lets out a breath when you tilt your head and let yourself melt into him completely.

It would be so easy to get lost in this moment, to let time slip away entirely. But then he stills, just slightly, just enough for you to feel it.

He lingers, his lips barely brushing yours, and when he finally pulls back, he does it slowly, like he doesn’t really want to.

His forehead rests against yours, his breath warm and uneven. For a moment, neither of you speak.

Then, softly, his thumb traces along your cheekbone. “Are you okay?”

You blink up at him, dazed, the weight of his question sinking in. He’s not asking if the kiss was okay. He’s asking about all of it—about the fact that he’s your boss, about the way this changes things, about whether or not you regret it.

And maybe you should. Maybe you should be afraid of what this means, what it could mean for the two of you, for the job, for everything.

But you’re not.

Because right now, with his hands still holding you close, with his lips still tingling against yours, there’s no space for regret. There’s only this.

You swallow, searching his face, the faint crease in his brow, the way his dark eyes trace over yours, studying, waiting.

And then, finally, you answer.

“I’m good.”

The relief in his eyes is subtle, but you catch it. His lips twitch like he’s fighting the urge to smile.

And for the first time in a long time, Aaron Hotchner lets himself believe that something good—something soft, something steady—might finally be his to keep.

Aaron doesn’t let go of you. His hands stay where they are—one pressed warm and steady against your lower back, the other cradling your face with a kind of reverence that makes your breath catch.

His thumb brushes over your cheekbone again, and there’s something searching in his gaze, like he’s looking for hesitation, for regret. But you don’t give him any.

Instead, you lean in first this time.

It’s tentative, your fingers tightening in the front of his shirt as you tilt your chin up. You feel his breath hitch just before he meets you halfway.

The second kiss is different from the first.

It’s slower but deeper, less of a question and more of an answer. Where the first had been cautious, this one lingers, his lips parting just slightly against yours, pulling you closer, tilting his head to fit against you more perfectly.

He tastes like coffee and something distinctly him, something warm and grounding, something you think you could get lost in if you let yourself.

And it’s clear now—he’s letting himself fall.

The hand at your back slides higher, fingers skimming along the line of your spine, anchoring you to him. Your heart is hammering, but it’s not fear, not nerves—it’s just him. The way he’s kissing you like he can’t help himself, like he’s memorizing the shape of you, the feel of you, the way you sigh softly into his mouth when he angles himself just right.

There’s nothing hurried about it, nothing rushed or frantic. It’s deliberate, patient, like he’s savoring the moment, like he’s been waiting for this longer than he’d ever admit.

And then—he slows.

It’s barely noticeable at first, but you feel it in the way his lips linger just a second longer before pulling back, in the way his fingers tighten against your back like he’s reluctant to let go.

When he does finally pull away, he doesn’t go far.

His forehead rests against yours, breaths uneven, warm between you. Neither of you speak right away.

Your eyes flutter open, and he’s already looking at you.

His expression is unreadable at first—something caught between awe and disbelief. Like he can’t quite wrap his head around this, around you.

Then, finally, after a long moment, he exhales, voice rough at the edges.

“I’m not sure I know how to stop.”

Your breath catches.

Because he’s not just talking about the kiss.

He’s talking about the way he feels about you, the way you’ve slowly unraveled him without even trying.

And God, you don’t want him to stop.

So you tighten your grip on his shirt, tilting your head just slightly, lips brushing against his once more in quiet invitation.

“You don’t have to.”

And with that, Aaron Hotchner—always measured, always careful—lets himself fall just a little bit further.

His presence is steady, grounding, and yet, your heart is anything but steady. It’s quick, uneven, rattling against your ribs with a nervous kind of energy you don’t know how to contain.

You step further into the apartment, away from him, before you can stop yourself, motioning vaguely toward the couch. “You can sit—if you want, I mean—you don’t have to.”

The words tumble out too fast, unfiltered, rushed in a way that makes your face heat. You don’t usually speak without thinking. You’re careful. Measured. But right now, with him standing so close in the quiet of your home, you feel stripped bare.

Aaron doesn’t move to sit. Instead, he studies you with that quiet intensity of his, head tilting slightly, gaze flickering over your face like he’s cataloging every thought you’re trying to bury.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. “I’m not nervous because of you.” The words come quicker than you mean them to, and you rush to clarify, stepping forward again. “I don’t want you to think that. I trust you, Aaron. Completely.”

His brow creases slightly, lips parting like he’s about to speak, but you don’t let him—not yet.

“It’s me,” you admit, voice softer now, almost hesitant. “I don’t trust myself.”

His expression shifts, something deeper settling in his gaze.

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “Not in the way you think. I just—I don’t want to mess this up. I don’t want to—” You falter, pressing your lips together. “I don’t want to give you everything and then—lose you.”

The words feel small. Too vulnerable.

Aaron doesn’t hesitate.

His hands find yours, wrapping around them with steady warmth, grounding you in a way you didn’t know you needed.

“You won’t,” he says, voice firm but gentle. “I’m here.”

Your breath catches.

Because that’s the thing, isn’t it? He is here. With you. Always.

And yet, there’s still that voice in the back of your mind whispering that nothing this good ever lasts. That he’s lost before, and losing you might be easier than letting himself risk that pain again.

But then he’s tugging you closer, tilting your chin up with the lightest touch, and suddenly, none of that matters.

Because when he kisses you, slow and deliberate, he doesn’t leave any room for hesitation.

He’s telling you something without words.

That he sees you.

That he’s choosing you.

That he’s not going anywhere.

And for now, that’s enough.

||||

Aaron follows you into the kitchen without a word, his presence close but unintrusive. He lingers near the doorway, watching as you move—still a little careful, still a little hesitant, but steadier than before.

You open the fridge, the cold air a sharp contrast to the warmth settling in your chest. “Are you hungry?” you ask, glancing at him over your shoulder. Your voice is softer than you mean it to be, but the question is genuine. You need something to do, something to tether yourself back into the tangible, something to dilute the thick tension that still lingers between you.

Aaron exhales, the ghost of a chuckle beneath his breath. “I could eat.”

It’s such a simple answer, but it makes you smile. A quiet, grateful thing.

You busy yourself gathering ingredients, pulling out what you can with deliberate focus. Bread. Cheese. Something easy, something mindless. You’ve done this a hundred times—after late cases, when your body is too tired for anything elaborate but your mind is too wired to sleep.

Aaron watches, but not in a way that unsettles you. His gaze is steady, patient, like he’s waiting for you to dictate the rhythm of whatever this is.

“You don’t have to stand there,” you murmur, glancing at him as you set a pan on the stove.

He hums, stepping forward until he’s close enough that you can feel the warmth of him at your side. “What are we making?”

“We?” You raise an eyebrow at him.

His lips twitch, not quite a smile, but something close. “I assumed this was a team effort.”

You shake your head, focusing back on the pan as butter melts in the center. “It’s just a grilled cheese, Hotch.”

“Then I’m sure I can help.”

You don’t argue, though there’s something about the image of Aaron Hotchner making a grilled cheese sandwich that nearly makes you laugh. Instead, you hand him a slice of bread and let him take over, watching as he works in comfortable silence.

It’s easy, standing here with him like this.

And for the first time tonight, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—this could be simple, too.

The sizzle of butter against the pan fills the quiet space between you, but your thoughts are elsewhere—circling the weight of this moment, the quiet divinity of it.

Aaron stands close, sleeves rolled up, the golden glow of your kitchen light catching the slight furrow in his brow as he carefully presses the sandwich into the pan. He treats it with the same precision he gives everything—handling something as simple as this with the same care as he does a gun, or a case file, or a person he’s sworn to protect.

It shouldn’t feel sacred, but it does.

There is something terrifying in the ease of it—in the quiet devotion of sharing a kitchen, in watching his hands work, in the way he glances at you as if to ensure you are still here, still real. There is something terrifying about being witnessedlike this, wholly and without demand.

It reminds you of stories you read as a child, of devotion poured from one vessel into another. Of sacrifice and faith, of saints and sinners alike giving themselves over to something greater than themselves. All in. No half-measures.

The idea of giving yourself over to someone—to be known like this, in every small and unnoticed moment—burns at the edges of your mind.

Because you see him, too.

You see the way his brows pinch in focus as he lifts the sandwich to check the color, the way he frowns when it’s not quite right. The way he tilts his head slightly, listening for the sound of the crust crisping beneath the weight of his spatula. The way his shoulders settle, not tense but aware of you. Always aware.

It is so easy to fall into this—into him. The ease of this moment is a quiet betrayal of the fear still curling in your ribs.

Because you want this. Him.

And wanting something this much, something that feels so wholly right, is the most terrifying thing of all.

Aaron must sense something in you—some quiet turmoil you haven’t named—because he turns, meeting your gaze with something unbearably gentle. “You okay?”

Your throat tightens. You nod.

And when he hands you half of the sandwich, the warm press of his fingers against yours feels like an unspoken vow.

The sandwich is warm in your hands, but you barely taste it. Your mind is elsewhere, spinning itself into delicate knots you’re not sure you can untangle.

You watch Aaron, the quiet way he eats, the way his fingers curl around the napkin he doesn’t quite use. The way he always chews a little slower than necessary, like he’s learned to be mindful of the smallest things, like he knows the weight of savoring something—how rare it is to be given something simple and good.

He looks at you between bites, not with expectation, not waiting for you to speak, but just looking. Present. Steady.

You wonder what it would be like to let him see all of you.

Not just the quiet, competent agent he trusts in the field. Not just the awkward, hesitant thing you become under the weight of his attention.

But all of it.

The things you keep tucked away, the things you don’t like to look at too closely. The weak, the ugly, the unpolished. The parts of you you’ve hidden behind layers of self-preservation, behind careful smiles and quiet nods and an unwavering dedication to keeping yourself small.

You’ve spent so long convincing yourself that your careful restraint is a kindness—that keeping yourself contained, giving only the good and holding back the rest, is the best way to keep the people you love close.

But Aaron doesn’t take pieces of you. He doesn’t pry, doesn’t dig his fingers into the edges of you looking for something to unfold. He simply waits.

And somehow, that makes you want to give.

To crack yourself open like the fragile thing you are, to pour yourself into his hands and say, Here. Here I am, for better or worse. Do you still want me now?

Would he take the raw, unfiltered version of you? The parts that make no sense, the thoughts that spiral too fast, the fears you can’t name? Would he hold them the way he holds everything—with quiet reverence, with the same careful patience he’s giving this moment now?

Would he love you, if you let him?

And more terrifying still—

Could you let him?

Faith has always been a foreign thing to you—something you were taught to have, something you were told to nurture, but never something you truly felt.

You tried. God, you tried. You folded your hands in prayer as a child, whispered words into the dark, but they never felt like yours. You sat in the pews, still and small, let sermons wash over you like baptismal water, but you never came out clean.

The weight of it—the expectation of belief, the demand for devotion without proof—left you hollow. They told you faith was certainty in the unseen, but you could never find comfort in blind trust.

So, you let it go.

Not in one grand act of defiance, not in a moment of clarity, but in slow, crumbling pieces. You stopped asking for signs. Stopped waiting for answers. Stopped pretending to believe in something that never made itself real to you.

You are not a woman of faith.

And yet.

You believe in Aaron.

It’s a quiet, creeping thing—not the overwhelming, all-consuming devotion you were told faith should be. Not something demanded, not something you owe, but something freely given. Something that grows.

It’s in the way he looks at you now—calm, steady, expectant, but never forceful. The way he waits for you to be ready, to be certain. He asks nothing of you. He doesn’t need your belief, doesn’t press you for assurances you can’t yet give.

And maybe that’s why you want to give them.

The feeling unfurls slow and careful inside you. Not holy, not sacred, but real.

You don’t know what tomorrow looks like. You don’t know if you’ll ever be able to lay your whole self bare, to place your fragile, beating heart in his hands and trust him not to break it.

But you believe he wouldn’t.

You believe in this, whatever it is, wherever it leads.

And for the first time, faith doesn’t feel like a burden.

It feels like hope.

"You're staring at the bread like it personally offended you."

Aaron’s voice breaks through the thick fog of your thoughts, dragging you back to the present. You blink, refocusing on the cutting board in front of you—half a loaf of sourdough, a butter knife hovering uselessly in your hand.

You must have been standing there for a while because Aaron is leaning against the counter now, arms crossed, watching you with the same mix of patience and quiet amusement he always seems to have reserved just for you.

Heat prickles up the back of your neck. "I—" You clear your throat, forcing yourself to move, to slice the bread like a normal person and not a woman on the verge of an existential crisis. "I was just thinking."

"About?"

About faith. About belief. About giving myself to you in ways I never could with God.

You spread butter onto the slice with too much focus, too much force. "Nothing important."

Aaron makes a quiet sound—something like a hum, something like a laugh. "It looked important."

You chance a glance up at him. He’s still watching you, still waiting, but there’s no pressure there, no push. Just quiet patience.

Your chest tightens.

You nudge a plate toward him instead, deflecting. "Eat your bread, Hotchner."

He takes it without argument, but the way he’s still looking at you makes you think he’s not letting this go.

Aaron takes a slow, deliberate bite of his sandwich, watching you over the rim of his plate. "You know," he muses, "for someone who insists on feeding me, you didn’t exactly make a balanced meal. Where are the vegetables?"

You scoff, setting your own sandwich down. "You're welcome to dig through my fridge and find a carrot stick, but good luck. I think there's a single wilted bag of spinach in there that I bought optimistically and then ignored."

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. "That sounds about right."

"You’re welcome to bring me groceries next time if you’re so concerned," you add, flashing him a small, teasing smile before taking another bite.

Aaron lifts a brow, clearly pleased by your rare willingness to push back. "So you’re already inviting me over again?"

You roll your eyes. "I’m just saying, if you’re going to judge my meal prep—"

"I wasn’t judging," he interrupts smoothly, voice warm with amusement. "Just… observing."

You narrow your eyes at him, mock-suspicious. "Observing, huh?"

"Mm-hmm," he hums, finishing the last of his sandwich. He wipes his fingers on a napkin, then leans slightly toward you, elbows resting on the counter. His voice drops just enough to be dangerous when he adds, "Like how you’re getting better at teasing me back."

You freeze mid-chew, suddenly regretting every word you just said. You force yourself to swallow, trying to maintain your composure. "Well, someone has to keep you humble."

"Is that what you were doing earlier?" He tilts his head, faux-curious. "When you kissed me?"

Your entire body tenses.

The playfulness fizzles out of you so quickly it’s almost embarrassing. Your mouth opens, then shuts again, warmth flooding every inch of your skin as you suddenly become hyperaware of everything—of the way he’s watching you, of the ghost of his lips still lingering on yours, of the way your hands twitch in your lap like they don’t know what to do.

Aaron doesn’t push. He just waits, looking far too pleased with himself.

You let out a weak, breathless laugh and immediately break eye contact, staring hard at the counter. "I hate you," you mutter.

"You don’t," he replies, and damn him, he's right.

Aaron doesn’t let up. He leans in just a little closer, just enough to make you squirm. His voice dips lower, deliberate and slow.

"You know," he murmurs, "for someone who kisses like that, I wouldn’t have expected you to get this shy about it afterward."

Your spine straightens like he’s just yanked you upright with an invisible string. "I—"

But you don’t know what to say. You don’t even know how to breathe properly under the weight of his gaze, like he’s cataloging every tiny twitch of your expression, every little way you crumble under the heat of his attention.

Aaron, to his credit, looks like he’s enjoying every second of it. His mouth tugs at the corners, his amusement restrained but not hidden.

"That was a compliment, by the way," he adds, as if that makes it better. As if it won’t set you even more on fire.

You cover your face with one hand, willing yourself not to combust. "You’re being mean."

He lets out a quiet chuckle. "I’m being honest."

"You’re enjoying this," you accuse, peeking at him through your fingers.

His silence is answer enough.

You groan, tilting your head back as if pleading with the ceiling to strike you down. "I was having such a nice time eating my sandwich."

Aaron nods, completely unrepentant. "And now you’re having a nice time blushing in your own kitchen."

"I take it back. I do hate you."

"You don’t," he counters smoothly, just like before. Then, after a beat, he adds, "But I do love watching you get all flustered."

You drop your hand from your face just to glare at him properly, but it only makes his smirk deepen, his eyes crinkling with quiet delight.

It’s almost unfair how much of an upper hand he has—how easily he can undo you with just a few well-placed words. And worse, he knows it. He’s reveling in it.

"I’m never kissing you again," you grumble, mostly as a defense mechanism.

Aaron exhales a soft laugh, then tilts his head, considering you for a long, knowing moment. "I don’t believe that," he says simply.

You don’t either.

Aaron leans back in his chair, completely at ease, completely insufferable, and looking so pleased with himself that you kind of want to shove him. Gently. Maybe.

"I don’t believe that," he repeats, smug and steady, like he’s saying something as simple as the sky is blue or I know exactly how to make you melt.

You cross your arms over your chest, mustering up every ounce of composure you have left. "You don’t know that."

He just lifts an eyebrow. "Oh? You’re really never going to kiss me again?"

"Never," you declare, pretending your cheeks aren’t burning. "Not once. Not ever."

Aaron hums, nodding along, though there’s a spark of mischief in his eyes. "That’s a shame," he muses, "because I was going to say that I think we should practice more."

You choke on air.

"Practice?"

"Mhm," he says, and then—because he’s the worst—he takes another casual bite of his sandwich, like this is just some regular, normal conversation.

Like he hasn’t just suggested practicing kissing. With him.

You press your hands to your face again. "I hate you so much."

Aaron laughs, soft and warm, and suddenly there’s a gentle touch at your wrist, coaxing your hands away. You let him, mostly because you think you might actually pass out if you try to hide behind them any longer.

"Let me see you," he murmurs, and just like that, his teasing fades into something softer, something that has your stomach flipping for an entirely different reason.

You lower your hands.

He smiles—small, but real. "There you are."

Your heart does something absolutely ridiculous in your chest.

"You are so unfair," you whisper, shaking your head.

Aaron just tilts his head slightly, his expression all warmth and quiet amusement. "I don’t know what you mean. I’m just sitting here, enjoying my sandwich."

"You weaponized a sandwich," you accuse, pointing at him, and he actually chuckles, shaking his head.

"I did not—"

"You did. You used the sandwich as a distraction while you flirted with me!"

He lets out a dramatic sigh. "Alright, you got me. I was flirting with you. And it was very successful, I might add."

You groan, dropping your head to the table. "I am so done with you."

Aaron smirks. "No, you’re not."

You peek up at him. "How do you know?"

"Because you’re going to stay, and we’re going to keep doing this—me making you blush, you pretending you hate it"—and one day, when you’re ready, you’re going to kiss me first."

You gape at him. "Absolutely not."

His smirk deepens. "We’ll see."

You lift your head and squint at him, trying to determine whether he’s a mind reader, a wizard, or just too good at reading you. Probably all three.

Aaron leans forward slightly, lowering his voice to something unbearably fond. "I like you," he says, like it’s the simplest truth in the world.

Your stomach swoops.

"You—" You cut yourself off, floundering. "I—I like you, too."

"I know."

You huff, rolling your eyes, but you can’t fight the smile pulling at your lips.

Aaron grins. "See? We should practice."

You swat at him, and he catches your hand, laughing, laughing like you’re something light in his chest, like you are something warm and easy and good.

You think you might let him keep you.

You try to glare at him, but it’s useless—he’s already got that insufferable grin on his face, and the warmth in his eyes makes it impossible to hold onto any semblance of frustration.

Aaron still has your hand, his thumb brushing idly along your knuckles like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Or maybe he does. Maybe he’s just that unfair.

"You’re too smug for your own good," you grumble, though your voice lacks any real bite.

He tilts his head, considering. "I don’t think that’s true," he says, the teasing still evident, but softer now. He tugs lightly on your hand, coaxing you closer. "You just make it easy."

You scoff, but you don’t resist when he pulls you in. "I make it easy?"

He nods, all confidence, all ease, like this is the most natural thing in the world. Like you are.

You should say something clever. You should push back. You should do something.

But then he’s leaning in, and his hand comes up to cradle your cheek, and every thought you’ve ever had vanishes into nothing.

You mean to pull away, to protest but he presses a featherlight kiss to the corner of your mouth, and the words dissolve on your tongue.

"That doesn’t count," you whisper, your breath mingling with his.

Aaron hums, his thumb skimming over your cheekbone. "No?"

You shake your head, though you’re not sure who you’re trying to convince.

"Hmm." He leans in again, and this time he does kiss you—properly, fully, but still playful, still teasing, still drawing you in like he knows exactly how to unravel you.

You do pull away then, just for a second, just long enough to narrow your eyes at him. "You're enjoying this way too much."

He smirks. "Undeniably."

You huff, rolling your eyes, and then you’re the one grabbing him—fisting the front of his shirt and pulling him down into another kiss before he can say something else smug.

This time, there’s nothing playful about it.

He makes a low sound in his throat—surprised, pleased, needy—and his hands are on you, warm and steady, one at the nape of your neck, the other settling firm at your waist. You shudder at the feel of his fingers splaying across your skin, like he’s grounding you, like he’s holding on just as much as you are.

You let him pull you closer, let yourself sink into him, into the heat of his mouth, the gentle insistence of his touch. He tastes like peanut butter and something deeper, something heady, something that makes your stomach swoop.

By the time you part, you’re breathless, your fingers still curled into his shirt like you’re afraid to let go.

Aaron studies you, his gaze flickering over your face, searching. And then—so quietly, so earnestly—

"I would never leave you."

The words hit something deep, something tender, something you’ve tried so hard to keep hidden.

Your throat tightens.

He must see it, because his hand moves, his thumb brushing gently along your jaw. "Never," he repeats, his voice steady.

You believe him.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s not so terrifying after all.

[waifuoftomonori]

Okay, I’ve answered most of these in other posts already, but I’ll go ahead and answer the ones I haven’t. (I’m not sure if this is the usual way to do this, but I doubt anyone’s gonna send me asks and I want to answer the questions anyway.) 1. N/A - no other fictional character brings me nearly as much joy, comfort, or lust as Tomonori of Scarlet Fate

2. Well, when I was a kid, I had a major crush on Farid from Inkheart, if that counts. I haven’t read those books in ages, so he is no longer a blorbo for me, and considering he’s a kid, I don’t know if he would still be if I reread those books. I feel like I might sympathize more with the author, or maybe even get a crush on— what was his name, Dustfinger?— the grown-up thief. …Anyway, due to that combined with the portrayal of certain characters in The Thief Lord, I blame Cornelia Funke for my lifelong obsession with rogues.

3. see my post about the moment of blorbo-ization

4. I have to pick just one? Oh, man. Okay, as impressive and sexy as Tomonori’s composure in the face of various threats is, from a snarling beefy monk to various gods/demons who want to end the world, my favorite thing about him has to be the world-altering potential of his unspoken but deeply passionate love for Shiki. This man was equally willing to cause the apocalypse or save the world for her. That is a choice he canonically laid at her feet. I’ve seen “I’ll end the world in your name / out of love for you” a few times before, and I’ve seen “I’ll save the world for you / because you’re in it” a few times, but this might be the first and only time I’ve seen a character who’s absolutely willing to do either. Who puts his personal opinion of whether the world should continue or end secondary to the opinion of the person he loves, even when he has the power to do either, and gives her that choice instead. That might be the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen a character do in fiction.

5. Do I dislike anything about him? Other than things the writers didn’t fully explain, like whoever decided the role he should play in Gentoka’s route, no. It’s not that I think he’s flawless, but his pettiness and stubbornness and (only sometimes necessary) secretive tendencies and all of that are endearing to me.

6. Uh, I don’t know. The writer in me would be dying to show him my fanfiction and ask, “How would you act if you were in this situation?” or “Is this something you think you would say? How would you change it?” about a million places in the work, but as a person I think that might make him uncomfortable, especially if it came out of nowhere. I do “talk to him” a lot in my journals, and my version of him answers back. We’ve had whole conversations. He can’t seem to stop calling me “Shiki” though; it feels incredibly awkward to have him use my real name for some reason.

7. There’s a fandom other than me? Like, a fandom with collective opinions and stuff? I had no idea.

8. Introvert who’s learned how to read people and interact with them in formal contexts out of necessity. He’ll paste on a smile and say all the right things in public, but if given the choice he’d rather be at home reading.

9. calm, devious, romantic

10. If he’s trying to protect me, yes, absolutely. If that’s not a guarantee and Shiki and Akifusa also exist in this world (mostly Shiki, he’s not quite as protective of Akifusa, who to be fair doesn’t need it from physical threats as much), then I’ll trust him to protect me as long as it doesn’t interfere with their lives or safety.

11. Yup. So many fanfics. Still writing them, in fact.

12. Yeah, my mom, dad, and stepdad all know about him and the extent of my obsession with him. I’d probably gush about him to my brothers more if they were home more often or showed even a trace of interest.

13. Anything I could feasibly see him doing? No. But then I guess if he committed an act that would severely change my opinion of him, he wouldn’t be the same character, would he? So maybe that’s the whole point of the question. …Uh, sorry for clarifying all that. I guess if he raped someone, that would change things.

14. Again: there’s a fandom? Never had that problem. But even if I did, I don’t think I would distance myself from the character, just from the other people. Or if I’d grown close with them, I’d just ask them to stop talking about the character with me, and I’d do the same with them. We’re allowed to have different opinions, but I shouldn’t have to hear them dissing my favorite character if I don’t want to, and I’d hope they would respect that as my friends.

15. Big fandom problems, not mine.

16. Define “canonically”.

17. Hell no. Look, not all writers are sadists who want to see characters suffer. When I do make him suffer, it’s because the story compels me to, or else there wouldn’t be interesting conflict for him (and usually Shiki and/or Akifusa as well) to eventually overcome.

18. Yes. With Shiki and Akifusa, as is doubtless abundantly clear by this point.

19. Short, smartass, scheming, morally complex men who are passionately in love with one woman for the vast majority of their lives. (Or man; I wouldn’t mind reading a gay version of this, I just haven’t found one yet.) Alternate type: thieves, rogues, bandits, cutpurses, pickpockets, footpads, maybe assassins in extreme cases. If the two “types” are combined in one character, so much the better. Also, on a list of fictional characters I find attractive, 4 of the… 20-ish have red eyes, and two of those four are ostensibly human.

20. N/A. …Or, I guess, no. Depending on how one defines “blorbo”. I have favorite characters (and ships) from other works of media, characters and ships of whom I prefer to read fanfiction over fanfiction of any other characters or ships, but I don’t get excited about them the same way I do about Tomonori.

21. N/A

22. I don’t know. I want to say yes, but if he were real I’d feel uncomfortable writing fanfiction about him, since I don’t do RPF. And although I adored him as a character in canon, I think it was through the fanfiction I wrote after that I grew to love him and all his many facets on a deeper level. But I guess if he were real, he’d be dead since he lived in the Heian era, so maybe I wouldn’t have that problem. But I dunno, then I’d have to do even more historical research, and that’s just a pain in the ass. I’d probably still admire him, though.

23. He’s a victim of 1. Gentoka’s route; 2. not appearing in the CD Drama official art that showed the 5 “main” love interests shirtless but apparently Tomonori didn’t matter enough to the writers for that; 3. not getting a nice yukata in the summer festival stories despite the fact that fuckin’ Akifusa got one and from goddess lady’s perspective I would think Tomonori would seem more important and thus more deserving of one, but again, apparently the writers and/or artists didn’t care enough about Tomonori for that; 4. not getting any additional “autumn” stories; and 5. not getting a sequel story. …If anyone does happen to have information that the people in charge of Scarlet Fate released extra bonus stories and/or official art of him wearing anything other than that kimono (or the school uniform for the high school AU CD Drama, but that doesn’t count because it’s not canon and they did it wrong anyway, Shiki should obviously have been childhood friends with Akifusa and Tomonori too, not just some rando girl they instantly crushed on at first sight— leave that to the other love interests)— please let me know, and let me know where I can read or see it.

24. hmmm. I don’t want to change anything. But if I had to? Let’s make him even shorter. Like, 5’0” or something. Even shorter than Shiki.

25. I’m pretty sure they used him in the Scarlet Fate+ app to introduce the player to the game, but of course at that time I didn’t realize who he was. How did I first discover that app? I was playing a bunch of similar otome at the time— well, similar in the sense that you’d spend some version of stamina to read stories for free 5 times a day, or you could pay once to gain access to the full story. I think I gave up on Scarlet Fate+ because it’s really not the kind of story that’s ideally read in small fragments like that, but later I returned to the paid version, bought it, and thoroughly enjoyed Akifusa’s route. (After reading Gentoka’s, which was kinda meh— and I have the problem with it I mentioned above, although I didn’t have that problem at the time because Gentoka’s route is lacking in Tomonori lore so I didn’t have the full context— but helped me realize Shiki’s a badass, and I liked it enough that I wanted to read about other characters. …Anyway, I read Akifusa’s next because Akifusa made me laugh, and I’ve found that’s usually a good sign I’ll enjoy an otome character’s route. Often that character will end up being my favorite. In this case, I fell in love with his best friend instead. Sorry, Akifusa. Look on the bright side, you’re one of the characters I ship with him.) 26. Definitely not. This sounds terrible to admit now, but at the time I thought he was just a tutorial character who they only included because he had a pretty face. Even after you get to see little hints of his personality in the game, I still had no clue. I think the first premonition I had that he might be a more interesting character than I gave him credit for was how he dealt with the “trolley problem” in Akifusa’s route. Possibly.

27. Of course I want more people to know about him. It’s tiring having to explain who he is every time. I joked about making an informational PowerPoint once, but I might seriously consider doing that.

28. Yes. Not for any reason to do with Tomonori specifically, but I have been attacked online for the mere fact that he is a fictional character and I’m obsessing over him. I think I made a post about that too.

29. I’m the only creator of fanfics about him that I know. No, my own fanfiction has not made me cry. It has moved me emotionally on occasion, but not to the point of tears.

30. It’s been six years so far. What’s another three? Sure.

BLORBO ASKS GAME

reblog if you’d like people to send you asks about your Blorbo

who’s the Blorbo that you’ve never posted about on your blog?

who was your first ever Blorbo, who was your childhood Blorbo, and are they still your Blorbo?

was there any specific point / any specific moment that suddenly made this character your Blorbo, or did you slowly grow to love them more and more until they became a Blorbo to you?

what’s the thing you love the most about your Blorbo?

what’s the thing you dislike the most about your Blorbo?

if you could talk to your Blorbo, what would you say to them?

what’s the one thing the fandom gets wrong about your Blorbo?

is your Blorbo an introvert or extrovert?

describe your Blorbo in 3 words

if your Blorbo were real, would you trust them with your life?

have you ever written a fanfic about your Blorbo?

do you talk to your family or in-real-life friends about your Blorbo?

is there any crime, any wrongdoing your Blorbo could commit that would make you stop loving them and remove them from your hyperfixation entirely?

have you ever distanced yourself from your Blorbo / have you ever left a fandom because people in the fandom were being too toxic?

have you ever gotten involved in ship wars?

is your Blorbo canonically alive?

do you like seeing your Blorbo suffer?

do you ship your Blorbo with any character?

when it comes to Blorbos, do you have a type?

if you have more than one Blorbo, do you love them all equally?

if your Blorbo is from a live-action media, are you also a fan of the actor who plays them?

would you still love your Blorbo if they were real?

is your Blorbo a victim of badly written script / bad plot / character assassination in the hands of canon?

if you could change one canonical thing about your Blorbo, what would it be?

how did you first discover your Blorbo?

when you first discovered your Blorbo, did you realize from that moment that they would become your Blorbo?

do you gatekeep your Blorbo? / would you want more people to know about your Blorbo?

have you ever been attacked online just because you liked your Blorbo?

has a fanfic about your Blorbo ever made you cry?

do you think this character will still be your Blorbo three years from now on?

[starlight-bread-blog]

Okay I'm gonna go full conspiracy, but some of y'all are way worse so I'm doing this. Listen up. Will Byers and Mike Wheeler are fictional characters. Meaning, that everything they do, everything they think and yes, everything they feel has a purpose. So let's look at the facts as they are. Mike couldn't tell El that he loves her, and Will is in love with Mike. Right off the bat, with Will, this fact could lead to two things:

Mike is also in love with Will, and there will be a love triangle with Mike in the middle.

Mike is not in love with Will, and Will will either end up alone, or die, or find another queer boy to love.

With scenario 1, everything is fine. But although on paper, scenario 2 makes sense, we should take into account that everything that Will feels is a carefully thought out decision.

Let's remember the themes and the message of Stranger Things. This show is about the freaks of society, the losers, the outcasts. How people may l give them the side eye, but they have each other. And they'll stand by each other no matter what. So, how does this relate to Will and Mike? Will is a gay boy in the 80s, which not only makes him an outcast, but an outright freak in the eyes of the public. It would go against Stranger Things' message to write a freak trying to find love in his best friend, the one who's supposed to be by his side forever, and having him rejected. In real life, this would not be a problem. If someone is straight, they're straight. But in fiction, the sexuality and or love interest of a character is again, a choice with ramification on the quality of the story. And writing Will, a "freak", having his heart broken by someone who he considered another freak, when you're telling a story about how freaks empower each other by sticking together, is not a smart writing decision.

(There is also the matter of the van scene, where Will's supposedly unrequited feelings are being used to repair El and Mike's relationship, as Will cries over not being able to be with Mike. In other words, if Mike isn't in love with Will, the outcast's suffering is used to fix what's more socially acceptable. Do you see the problem? I don't know how many times I'm going to repeat myself in this post, and I hope it's not getting annoying, but I need to make this as crystal clear as possible: Fiction is not real life. In real life, a gay boy could use some words of affirmation regardless of how they feel, it's just being nice. But in fiction, you have a job to do. You have a story to tell. You have a message you want to put out into the world. And this scene is not compatible with the message).

But let's look at Mike. In season 4, El confronts Mike about him not telling her that he loves her. And throughout that whole scene, not even once, does he just say that he loves her. In the end he does, but the reason as to why he stopped saying it, or why he didn't say it when she confronted him, is never explained. In real life, it's okay if Mike wants to deal with whatever he feels and the reasons behind it with himself. But this is not real life, this was deliberately written to be understood by an audience. It was written to serve a purpose. Mike not being able to tell El that he loves her was a serious conflict in season 4, and the cause behind it is left unknown. This is bad writing, plain and simple. Unless, there is some other factor we are not yet aware of. Unless, he could possibly have feelings for someone else. Maybe that someone is Will.

With that theory in mind, remember when Will and Mike met after a long time of not seeing each other? Will was gonna hug Mike, but Mike just went for a fist bump. There was a very awkward atmosphere in that moment. Why would there be? Once again, I'm not talking about real life. In real life, it could just be awkward because they haven't talked to each other in a while and Mike needs time to adjust. But this is fiction. Every emotion has a purpose, every bit leads to something. And so far, it led to nothing. There was just one awkward moment, with no explanation, and it's never brought up again. There is no reason for it to be there. It's common knowledge that unnecessary story bits shouldn't make it to the final cut. If this wouldn't be expanded upon in some way, it'd be bad writing. It wouldn't be the worst thing to ever happen, but combined with him not being able to tell El that he loves her, it's all very confusing to say the least. But the story is not over, and maybe, all will be explained. And just maybe, that awkwardness could be described as tension between the two. Maybe Mike is in love with Will. That would be the most logical explanation.

[iiheartarc]

MY TAKE ON THE CAITVI DISCOURSE

total wordcount: 1591

I will say that I've briefly commented on their dynamic in the past, but it was worded really badly so I feel like I need to defend my writing skills a little bit as well with this, but that's just a sidenote. 💀

I think what a lot of people are missing when people do criticise CaitVi is that they aren't necessarily hating on the ship, it's what writing choices have done to it.

I'm not even going to even say I'm a CaitVi hater, I'm not (S1 CaitVi my beloved, you deserved better), but I do think the choices that writers made this season heavily effected how audiences portrayed the ship, even including myself.

Idk I hope this insight might give some people more perspective on why CaitVi became so hated in this season, people rlly need to start looking at both sides and not taking criticism as a personal attack. It really could've been avoided too if the writers had added more time or extended the series onto a third season, but that's another issue on its own.

1. Caitlyn hits Vi

I really don't get why people are so quick to defend Caitlyn on this one, especially considering the amount of hate Vi got when she hit Powder. Are both inexcusable? Yes. But I do think that the situation is a little different when it's a fifteen year old child who had just witnessed the death of her entire family and a twenty something year old woman who took out her anger and grief on the woman she loved because she blocked her shot.

I do think that people also do ignore the immense amount of trauma that Caitlyn suffered at the hand of Jinx, but unlike when Vi 'abandoned' Powder, (again, that's a whole other conversation, we know she was not abandoned), Vi was not that direct source of anguish to Caitlyn the way Powder was to Vi. (Pls lmk if you want me to expand further on this)

Again, not excusing Vi hitting Powder, I'm pointing out the differences.

It's then also incredibly tone deaf when Caitlyn hits her on two more occasions with the same gun, the third time being played off as a joke. It really doesn't come off well, especially when Vi had been a victim of police-brutality even before the abuse she faced at the hands of the enforcers in Stillwater.

And then, even after all this, it's never addressed. It's brushed over, like Vi's entire trauma in the show, the most we get is Caitlyn brushing her hand over Vi's abdomen in the cell scene. Again, can be taken as an apology, but I think that for some very specific things (like hitting your romantic partner), verbal apologies do need to be made in order to communicate healthily and somewhat build a healthier relationship.

I don't really want to talk about the abusive implications of this, because I don't think I'm someone who can talk about it with a full understanding because that's something I've fortunately never been through, but the blatant disregard and shunning of abuse survivors when they pull up the red flags raised because of this is disgusting. In real life, or if it had even been someone else in the show, if the ship had been a heterosexual relationship, people would call Caitlyn an abuser and would be outraged that Vi had been paired with her in the end. But I digress.

1. The cell sex scene

Initially I hadn't been too bothered about this when I had first watched the episode, but when you really think about it, it shouldn't have happened. Hell, they could've had sex in Caitlyn's office and half of the criticism wouldn't have happened, the ship wouldn't be so hated and the fandom wouldn't be half as divided as it is now (from what I've seen).

First and foremost, the cell.

All I can say is wtf. It was such a poor choice it's actually unfathomable to me now. I don't know why the writers thought that it'd be a good idea for Caitlyn and Vi to have their first time in a jail cell, not only the one Jinx had been locked in, but the one Vi had herself been locked in for what we can assume to be hours. The place of her abuse should not be somewhere where the writers could possibly think would be a suitable for a victim to have such an intimate moment with her partner.

Then there's the fact that Vi had looked to have had some sort of breakdown, we see she's sh and there are literal crates in the wall from where she punched it as well as her knuckles bleeding. As soon as she sees Caitlyn, there's a parallel to when they first met, to when Vi is quite literally caged. She's clearly not in the right state of mind, and so when the scene eventually happens it inevitably comes off as wrong because Vi is incredibly emotionally vulnerable in that moment.

"But Vi initiated it!" That still doesn't make it okay. I do think that this also came with an issue of timing, but then again, as I mentioned earlier, it literally could've been in the office as they argued and it would've been recieved so much better then the cell scene was. Vi wasn't breaking down, she wasn't locked in a reminder of the abuse she faced and her sister hadn't just ran off to do goodness knows what (in Vi's POV, us as the audience know exactly what she's about to do). They could've even have it fade to black and cut to the next scene tangled in bed doing whatever they would've been doing in the cell, Vi would assumably have had time to calm down, would be having sex in a warm and safe environment, and guess what? The audience would've been even happier.

Sure there would've been criticism, but Vi could literally save a thousand babies and adopt them all and still face hate, because a lot of the hate is being directed to Vi too because of the situation with Jinx. That, again, is a whole other situation.

3. "Dirt Under Your Nails"

Again, for the love of god, there can be so many takeaways from this sentence but do not be surprised that people didn't like it. I didn't, it made me cringe horribly.

And before people throw 'media literacy is dead', this whole post (practically essay), is analysing a piece of media that I love. To be literate, you can draw different interpretations and conclusions and that's exactly what I'm doing. It's like saying literacy is dead if two people were to disagree on what the meaning of Macbeth's quote 'I am in blood' meant.

I digress.

I think the main issue here is the class difference between Vi and Cait. Caitlyn is from the aristocracy, a direct heir to a position of power in Piltover, while Vi is lower class, effected indefinitely by growing up in poverty. Even though she grew up as Vander's kid, they were still 'scraping for scraps'. The wealth margin between the two is almost immeasurable, and with the difference in money comes a difference in experiences, as we - the audiences - know.

It especially comes off wrong considering the class tensions and political themes heavily focussed on within the first season. The conflict between Piltover and Zaun, the abuse of power and exploitation of Zaunites by both topside and the chembarons, the prevalence of police brutality on the streets of the Undercity. Again, Vi is someone who is directly effected by this, while Caitlyn came into this blissfully naïve. She did learn yes, and in s1 she was so determined to help, but when then this progress reverts into her calling zaunites 'animals' and using the grey as a weapon, it again makes Vi's words feel uncomfortable.

Again, I think this was a massive timing issue, I would've love to see Caitlyn succumb fully to a villain arc. It would've been so interesting to delve into.

I think Vi has always had the image of herself that she'll always be viewed as less by Piltover, that she herself views herself as less. She says it herself to Vander in s1 ep2 while they're on the bridge, "I grew up knowing I'm less than them." So when she then says as her final words in the show, "I'm the dirt under your nails" obviously, that's going to come across as tacky.

People are free to think of romantic connotations for this, I won't stop you, but when you think about how the show was so focussed on class tensions, police brutality, oppression and exploitation, it doesn't come off right. Idk, that's what got me so interested with the show in the first place, the way these themes were explored so deeply but subtly in a way that didn't feel forced, so Vi's words really rubbed me the wrong way.

Conclusion

So I hope everyone that read somewhat gets where I'm coming from, this was my attempt to try and explain what I think needed to be, badly. Again, you can like the ship, I'm not saying I don't, but it also needs to be acknowledged that there is so many things that could've been worked on properly, done properly or addressed properly, and ignoring criticism won't help these issues to be fixed in the future.

Feel free to ask any questions and thanks for reading this long ass rant :)

[utilitycaster]

I love the current discourse because a "woman with a crippling traumatic pasts, gets help of her party to heal from it and spends the rest of her life living a simple quiet life with her lesbian partner" is not the problem, and it has been done before in CR, it's Yasha

If you think about it, Laudna and Yasha's characters mirror each other in more ways than just a monochromatic palette, but one wound up being more interesting and earned her epilogue better and it's not the one that was present for all 100+ episodes of her respective campaign

Yeah; this has come up a TON but like. I have watched/listened to all or part of the following actual play series:

Critical Role (almost everything barring a few one shots, mostly from C1-era)

TAZ (afaik everything except a couple of the most recent episodes)

NADDPod (everything)

RQG (only main campaign and main-campaign canon sidequests, not one-shots, but I listened to all of that)

Relics and Rarities (all)

D20 (most)

Desiquest (first 2 episodes)

Into the Motherlands (first 2 seasons)

Burnt Cookbook Party (haven't listened the last few months for life reasons but intend to catch up, was otherwise caught up)

WBN (first 3 arcs, intend to catch up)

I also am a regular listener to NADDPod and Critical Role's talkback shows. I've been a regular DM since 2020 and had DM-ed one shots prior; I've been playing D&D and occasional other TTRPGs since 2016. I've read a number of articles on the topics of actual play as a form and TTRPGs and discuss it with friends. I'm saying all of this to make it clear: people can tell themselves that I'm stupid and uninformed and don't know what I'm talking about, and I think we all know they're just mad I disagree with them and am a better and more convincing writer to boot, and they're entitled losers who want me to write posts that make them feel good solely through what I'd call bullying but really it's more like if someone tried to shove me in a locker and accidentally gave themselves a concussion running headfirst into a locker, and I filmed it.

ANYWAY getting to the point yeah Yasha tells a story that hits the same core beats while also being a superior character on every level. She also had a difficult and abusive childhood (starting from a younger age) and experienced great loss and injustice, and also committed great harm. In her grief she was taken advantage of by sinister forces that sought to use and control her, and while she was able to escape with assistance, the bindings followed her. She continued to experience loss, and despite fighting back succumbed to her past controllers until her friends - not some stranger, but the people she'd met, coupled with her own abilities - broke her free, and she was able to meaningfully and rewardingly end her servitude. She messily worked through her feelings and in the process found love, and, having been forced to be a weapon and killer, made a choice to set that aside and find her own identity.

Any claim that Laudna's story manages to touch in a meaningful way on the same notes, when she never takes charge of her own destiny and simply drifts and flops about through various paths of least resistance until settling back in a rut, is a desperate and sad lie told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

I say this as someone who thinks that Critical Role campaign 2 is the best longform campaign of D&D I've seen, and that Candela Obscura Circle of Needle and Thread, Moonward, and EXU Calamity are all some of the best shortform campaigns of actual play: there is nothing I can think of that Campaign 3 does, across the board, that something else in actual play (ie, in this improvised format) doesn't do in a far superior fashion. That's really it. It's mediocre at best. None of these were the casts' strongest character nor relationship and it's certainly Matt's weakest plotting. If you liked it, that's great, but yeah there's nothing special about it.

[chimuelo2005-blog]

More yapping about Jayce and his relationship with Viktor and Mel cause why not?

One of the most interesting things about Jayce’s character arc is how Mel and Viktor act as these two opposing forces in his life; both guiding him, both shaping him, but in very different ways. Mel represents power, ambition, legacy, the political weight of Hextech and everything it could be. Viktor represents innovation, raw intellect, and the heart of why Hextech even exists in the first place. Jayce is caught between them, constantly being pulled in two directions.

Mel teaches Jayce how to navigate Piltover, how to gain and control his power instead of letting it control him. She gives him the tools to actually use Hextech as more than just an invention— turn it into something that changes the world. Without her, he never would’ve made it onto the council, never would’ve learned how to play politics, never would’ve become the leader Piltover needed. But at the end of the day? Jayce was never truly Mel’s.

Because no matter how much Mel shapes him, no matter how much power she hands him, Jayce’s first and strongest connection is always Viktor. His first choice is always Viktor. Viktor is the reason Hextech exists. Viktor is the reason Jayce even believes in progress in the first place. And you see it in the way Jayce prioritizes him over and over again.

Mel offers Jayce power, and yeah, he takes it—but he hesitates. He falters. With Viktor? There’s no hesitation. Jayce is willing to risk everything for Viktor in a way he never does for Mel. Like, when Viktor starts slipping away, Jayce drops everything. He stops caring about politics, about his reputation, about the carefully constructed path Mel laid out for him. The second Viktor needs him, that’s it. He’s done playing the game. He’s ready to throw away everything if it means saving him. Mel is an influence in his life. Viktor is his foundation.

And what’s really sad about all of this is that Mel knows. She sees it. She knows that at the end of the day, she’s teaching Jayce how to be powerful, but Viktor is the one who actually owns his heart. She sees how quickly Jayce pulls away from her when Viktor starts getting worse, how his priorities shift without a second thought. She spent the entire second part of the show shaping Jayce into a leader, a politician, a visionary—but the second Viktor is in danger, Jayce doesn’t care about any of that. He only cares about him.

Mel may have given Jayce power, but Viktor is the only person he was ever willing to lose that power for. Mel was the one who taught Jayce how to build an empire. But Viktor? Viktor is the one thing that could make him burn it all down.

And that says everything about Jayce.

I've seen some people in the reblogs make good points I missed while making the post, so I'll add them here.

This post is about jayce's perception or what I think his perception is based on his actions. Once said that: No, Mel is not the black girlfriend, that's a huge disrespect of her character, she's a powerful, intelligent woman with complexities and flaws that go far beyond some guy.

I agree that Jayce loved Mel, to a certain point. His favoritism towards Viktor is not even conscious most of the time. He obviously loved and cared for her, if he didn't they wouldn't have been together. My point is that he loved her in a way that would never be matched to the way he loves Viktor, and that's ok. They are two separate people, it's obvious Jayce won't love them the same.

While writing the script, I believe the writers made their relationship to put Jayce between a rock and a hard place at times. Mel is progress, she's powerful, beautiful, kind, She symbolizes everything Jayce wants to achieve (talking about her symbolism in jayce's character, not her own character) . Viktor is his foundation, he's beginning, he's the constant in his life even before he knew it. That's what I mean by saying Jayce was never fully Mel's.

I agree that as a fandom we don't talk enough about characters individually, but I firmly believe that there are characters that you need to talk about while talking about others. You cannot really talk deeply about Mel without talking about her mom, her brother and so on.

I love my girl Mel and I will yap about her soon because she's just too pretty and interesting not to.

[offensiunculaee]

Even When I'm Not With You

Chapter Two: Six Months Later

modern!Eddie Munson x AFAB!reader, college AU, strangers to friends to lovers

Summary: the new semester is starting and you meet a lot of new faces, plus a very familiar one

content warnings: none, at least not that I can find!

word count: 5.8k

authors note: thank you so much for the love on my first chapter, this one is a little lighter ❤️ thanks again to @corroded-hellfire and @munson-blurbs. At the time this is being posted I'm either mentally preparing to meet Joseph Quinn again or I've already met him and hopefully haven't thrown up on him.

divider by @saradika

The last five months had been nothing short of torture for you. You never realized how much you took in-person classes for granted. You missed the lively group discussions, walking around your campus with friends, breakfast with your roommate. Your D&D group tried playing together over Discord but you all agreed it didn’t feel the same so you just stopped playing altogether. The worst day was when you had to go pack up your dorm room and say goodbye to your roommate. Elena was the first person you made friends with in college and she was graduating this year with plans to move to Massachusetts and get her masters degree. You two hugged and cried and didn’t want to let each other go. 

You also never forgot about Eddie. Some days as you’d wait for your classes to start you’d wonder if Eddie was in class today and wondering how he was faring. Was he staying safe? How were his friends doing? 

Would you ever see him again?

Did he even remember you?

Your anthropology professor was very reluctant to use technology. She used an old school projector and would write out her tests then copy them. It was a miracle whenever she managed to use the computer for something without help from the IT department or one of her students. Needless to say, you weren’t surprised when your professor decided to just assign weekly readings or videos and then give you a multiple choice  quiz at the end of the week. No discussion boards, no presentations, and no zoom classes. This was the final nail in the coffin that made you realize you’d truly never see Eddie again. When you met him, you were hopeful  and believed you might be able to call him your boyfriend one day. That dream was crushed within three weeks. 

Summer went by in the blink of an eye and you were more than ready to get back to school. The school’s administration made the decision to reopen campus with all classes offering a hybrid option for those  who chose not to return to in-person learning. You chose to move back into the dorms as most of your friends were doing the same and you also needed to have your own space again. You went with the same room layout as last year, two small bedrooms connected by a small “common area”, basically a hallway with a sink and a small bathroom on the other side of it. You didn’t decorate the common area too much, just adding a rug in front of the door to the hallways and plugging your shared mini-fridge and microwave in near the entrance so you both could use it. There was one last minute addition that you hadn’t told your roommate about, a little dry erase board that hung on the wall between your room and hers.

You didn’t get the chance to talk to your roommate that much since room assignments only went out a week ago. All you really knew was her name was Robin and that she lived a few towns over in Hawkins. She was a creative writing major and was probably the funniest person you had ever met. You offered to help her move in the next day but she politely declined, saying she had friends who had also moved in and were going to help her with everything. There wasn’t much to do the next day - classes didn’t start for another few days and all your friends that were returning to campus hadn’t moved in yet. That morning you decided to grab a quick breakfast from the dining hall and add the finishing touches to your room. You had a Fall Out Boy poster from years ago that you happily hung above your bed as well as a Ghost poster that your friend had bought for you for Christmas last year. There were also a few postcards with ancient art that you put right at your desk. Once everything was up, you opened up your window that had a view of the campus walkways and took out a book. You had a pretty good idea of what readings would be assigned to your classes (you asked the professor before the last semester ended) and figured you’d get a head start on it since you had nothing better to do. 

The late summer breeze filled your room as you began pulling out your notebook and pens to start taking notes down. It was just warm enough to still be wearing a tank top so you chose one in your favorite color and a basic pair of shorts. The tank top showed just enough cleavage to make you feel good about yourself but not enough that you’d consider it to be too revealing. The next two hours went by relatively quickly. The texts in question were new to you, but you had a general idea of what was going on so things didn’t get too confusing.

Sometime later, your focus is broken by the muffled sound of voices coming from outside your dorm room. You notice the telltale rolling of a moving bin moving closer, chatter, then a moment of silence until you hear, “Ow!”

Out of curiosity, you got up from your seat and approached your dorm door to open it and stick your head out. Outside in the brightly colored carpeted hallway was Robin along with a man. Robin was carrying a laundry basket with what you assumed to be her bed sheets inside of it. The first thing you noticed were her earrings with worms on strings. The guy with her had perfectly styled chestnut hair, large wire-rimmed glasses, and a Hawkins Basketball shirt on. You kept silent and watched them bicker like siblings.

“Hey dingus, that's my FOOT you just ran over!” 

The man takes a step back from the bin with his hands up. “You stopped right in front of me!”

“Of course I stopped right here, this is my room!”

“How the hell am I supposed to know that?!”

A laugh is threatening to escape as you watch the two argue. There are other residents moving in that say nothing as they simply push past them, everyone completely used to the chaos of college move-in day. 

Robin turns around, about to motion to the summer-themed name tags taped to the door but instead she sees you watching everything unfold. Thankfully, she’s amused at how you caught her and her friend bickering and sputters out a laugh, which then spreads to her friend and over to you. 

The three of you hear another moving bin rolling through the carpeted halls and you all look over to see who it is, and you’re pretty sure you’re imagining things when you realize who it is.

It’s Eddie.

The last time you saw him - and the only time you saw him - was during the winter when he was wearing a hoodie so you didn’t get a good look at his tattoos, and you’re now learning just how many he has. One arm has a few tattoos - the most notable on his  right arm are the bats on his forearm and a wyvern , with a snake that winds its way up his arm. The left arm only has one tattoo and it's the one you saw the day you first met him, the goat skull on his hand. There are at least two tattoos on his chest, that you can tell from the stretched out muscle tank he was wearing, but again you wouldn’t be able to see exactly what they were until he got closer - or if he just took off his shirt. His hair was up in a high bun, most likely styled that way to help with the summer heat.

You’re staring at him as he continues down the hallway with the bin, and you notice just how much stuff is in it. The lighter haired man had the lighter load, it seemed, only containing two large sterilite containers full of clothing and a rug. Eddie had what looked like shelving, a TV, room decor, and one sterilite bin with shoes in it.  He’s not really looking at where he’s going, instead looking around at the bulletin boards on the wall and the name tags on every door. The entire hall had an overall summer theme to it. The RA’s put a lot of work into decorating when they were going to be changing it in a month. 

Eddie sees his friends out of the corner of his eye so he slows down before he hits the other man, and that’s when he looks up and finally sees you. He stares for a moment in disbelief before breaking out into a big, toothy smile. He’s got a smile that would light up an entire room. All you’re able to do in that moment is give him a smile and a little wave, mouthing ‘hi’ to him. Robin turns around and sees Eddie, saying, “Oh hey, you’re here!” She turns back to you and begins introducing the two guys to you. “This dingus –” she motions over to the first man you met and he nods to you with a wave“– is Steve, we worked at this ice cream place at the mall together and now he’s my best friend.” Robin then turns to Eddie, who stands up a little straighter now that all the attention is on him. He’s trying to make himself look a little more presentable, tucking some strands of hair that were sticking to his face away behind his ear as he’s introduced to you. “This is dingus number two, Eddie. He’s really obnoxious and brash, like dingus over here, so I call him bingus. Y’know, like the cat. They’re living together in the apartments across campus.”

You try to hold back a laugh at Eddie’s nickname but it doesn’t work. All you can picture is a sphynx cat with a head of curly hair. Eddie is enjoying every second of this, even if Robin is poking fun at him. He couldn’t get enough of your laugh the first time you two met and he’s just now realizing that he might get the chance to hear it more often. Once you calm yourself down, you chime in saying, “Actually, I already knew Eddie. We were in the same anthropology class last semester, albeit for like one class before break but it was fun.”

Eddie could have sworn he heard Steve’s neck crack from how fast he turned to look at him. He’s looking back at his roommate in shock. Steve mouth, ‘Is that her? The girl?’ and Eddie nods with a smile before looking back at you in adoration while you’re chatting away with Robin.

After some more small talk about moving day, complaining about how hard it was to get on campus despite the low number of residents this year, you two decide you’ve had enough of standing in the cold hallway and go inside. You hold your dorm door open so everyone can go through. Robin and Steve thank you as they go inside and you can hear Robin digging in her tote bag before finding her room key and unlocking it. Eddie comes in a few seconds later with his bin, flashing you another beautiful smile before he abandons the bin in front of Robin’s room. The small size of the bedrooms combined with the furniture only allows room for one bin at a time so he just leaves it for them to grab when the first bin is empty. You move to close the heavy door behind you and squeeze between the bin and a wall to get over to your room. Eddie watches and follows you, casually leaning against the metal door frame when you hop up onto your bed. He’s fiddling with his rings as he looks at you, specifically your legs. He has never really been into legs, Eddie has always been more of a boob guy if he’s being honest, but in that moment he realized how good yours looked and wanted nothing more than to have them around his waist, over his shoulders…

He catches himself before his thoughts become clouded with his growing number of fantasies about you, and before his pants start to get uncomfortably tight. Instead, he tries to play catch up.

“So, I really didn’t think I’d ever see you again… how did that campaign with your friends go? Did you save that Barnes guy or did he eventually become goblin lunch?”

You’re shocked that Eddie remembered your D&D campaign. The pessimistic part of you assumed he quickly forgot about you since there were more important events going on at the time but he seemed to remember you just as you remembered him. A small smile grows on your face at the thought. You grab a pillow off your bed and put it in your lap to pull at the loose strings on it as Eddie removes himself from the doorframe and takes a seat in your desk chair. He’s sitting casually, opting to sit in it backwards with his arms on top of the backrest. He’s making himself comfortable and acting like he comes in here all the time. You wouldn’t mind if he did come here all the time. You’re unsure if its the warm air coming in through the window or the way that Eddie is looking at you, but you’re starting to feel flush and a little giddy. Usually people would become disinterested when you begin talking about your interests but he seems to want to learn more, so you begin to retell the story.

“We saved him from the goblins but then we were ambushed by a band of mercenaries on the way out of the forest. They were hiding in the trees and Barnes was low on HP so uh… he never made it back to town.” You wipe a fake tear from your eye as you continue on. “And his wife was expecting too. He never got to meet his little boy…” Eddie’s genuine shocked expression makes you laugh. The world that you and your friends had only begun creating felt so silly to you but Eddie was captivated by just one session’s worth of storytelling. He was so captivated that he somehow forgot that the desk chairs provided by the university were rocking chairs so he felt himself fall forward once he put too much of his weight on the back of the chair. Eddie could have sworn he saw his life flash before his eyes in that moment as he felt the chair tip over. He still had so much to do in his life. Eddie dreamt of being the first in his family to graduate from college. He wanted to make something of his life to show everyone back in Hawkins that he wasn’t just another failure like his father. He wanted to see Metallica again, maybe go to Europe. Hell, he wanted to try and find love and he’s pretty sure he found it  but he can’t be with you if he cracks his skull open on your dorm floor.

You reach out to grab Eddie as soon as you realize that he’s about to fall and you end up grabbing onto his bicep. He looks up at you once he realizes that he’s no longer falling and your faces are three inches away from each other. Neither of you are saying anything and just looking into each other’s eyes. The only sounds you two hear are Steve and Robin struggling to hang string lights up on Robin’s walls and the traffic from outside your open window. 

You realize a few things during those few seconds. Number one, Eddie’s eyes look even more beautiful up close, especially with how the light is hitting them. Number two, he has faint freckles dotted across his nose, most likely from being outside during the summer. Number three, you’re definitely in love with Eddie. You barely knew him still but the more you were around him, the more infatuated you were with him. Also, he looked really lanky the first time you met him, but now that you’ve seen him up close and touched his arm you know he must be working out.

Eddie is just happy that you’re this close to him. He could finally kiss you after all these months of longing, but he has to restrain himself lest he ruin your blossoming friendship.

The moment is interrupted by yelling and cars honking outside from the street below. You both  process what has just happened and neither of you are able to contain the giggles that ensue. To Eddie’s disappointment, you pull your hand away and instead clutch your stomach. Eddie now has his head on the backrest of the chair as the two of you try to calm yourselves down.

On the other side of the wall, Robin is standing atop her desk with string lights in hand, almost done hanging them all up. Steve is busy trying to detangle all the wires for her TV when they hear a thud from next door followed by your muffled laughter. Confused, Robin looks down at Steve and they exchange looks of confusion. Carefully, Robin steps down from her desk, onto her desk chair, and then on solid ground. Without speaking a word to her friend, she tiptoes out of the room and peeks her head into your room. From where she’s standing, all she can see is one of her best friends hanging out with her roommate as they try to speak without erupting into laughter again.

“Oh my god, you should have seen your face! It was hilarious!” 

“Oh be quiet, like you haven’t done that before!”

“We’ve all leaned too far back! I’ve never seen someone fall forward in these death traps! Besides, these chairs are made to tip like that! Have you never used them before??”

Having seen enough, Robin turns around and steps back into her room. Steve is still sitting there cross-legged on the floor with the wires in his lap and raises a questioning brow. All she can do is shrug and say, “They seem to be getting along” before going back to work on the lights.

Eddie has a routine when prepping for Hellfire. Yes, he would take time after each session to tweak next week’s plans according to the players actions, but he also had an entire day centered around planning. 

Ever since he started college, Eddie would always make Wednesday his planning day. He made sure that he wasn’t scheduled for a shift down at Moe’s Motors, the auto shop that both he and his Uncle Wayne worked at. He also tried to have as few classes as possible that day. Luckily for him, he didn’t have any classes on Wednesday this semester so he decided early on that he’d dedicate his entire day to his campaigns. If he stayed consistent with his routine, each session would be fully fleshed out roughly one month in advance. 

He found it easiest to work in the comfort of his dorm room. It was a quiet, controlled environment where Eddie could take up as much space as he wanted and nobody would ever bother him. Steve learned pretty quickly that if Eddie’s door was shut on Wednesday then it was best to not bother him. 

Steve was expecting to see Eddie’s door shut when he got back from the gym, so he was surprised to walk into their apartment and see his door wide open and his room empty. He got up to go to the gym at around 7am before Eddie woke up and knew he was there based on the snoring that he heard through the door. The only sign that Eddie was even in there today was his unmade bed with gray plaid bedding and his phone wasn’t charging on his desk. His backpack was missing too. Confused and a little worried, Steve dug out his phone and scrolled through his contacts before he found Eddie’s name and clicked on it. His contact picture was from a past Christmas party where Jonathan had managed to convince Eddie to wear reindeer antlers the entire night and Steve managed to sneak one photo in before he got caught. 

Steve hits the facetime button and waits for Eddie to answer. Something important must be happening for Eddie to disrupt his routine like this. The metalhead answers after a few rings. His hair is tied into a low bun with earbuds in and chewing some gum. He’s answering the call from his phone propped up on something, probably his laptop. Steve can see one of Eddie’s many D&D books in front of him, proving that he just went somewhere else to do his work, but where? Eddie is definitely inside, that he can tell. He’s in front of some windows and there’s a lot of background noise. Eddie is sitting there casually and pops a pretzel into his mouth and goes, “Hey, what’s up?”

Steve, confused, asks, “Where the hell are you? Why aren’t you working in your room?” He’s looking around at the background to try and decipher where on Earth Eddie could be. He can hear the campus bell ringing since it’s the top of the hour, but all that tells him is that Eddie is still on campus. The students walking outside the window are another clue. 

Eddie keeps looking down to his books and then back up like he’s looking for someone. “Oh, I decided to try a change of scenery. That’s all.” Steve is still suspicious about all this and quickly changes out of his sweaty gym clothes and into something clean. He’s looking more at the background and is able to read one of the signs in the background. He’s beating himself up because he should have recognized that building immediately. That’s the back of the nursing building, meaning Eddie had to be in one of the study areas in the biggest academic building on campus. Everyone had classes there at one point, so maybe Eddie decided to try working there? 

Steve hangs up on Eddie without another word and makes his way outside to take the crowded shuttle bus to the main area of campus. The late-August heat was relentless so everyone was trying to spend as little time as possible outside, leaving Steve standing on the bus as it slowly sputtered up the hills to the school. The bus stops right next to the building he suspects Eddie is in so he runs through the entrance to the study area. It’s all wood and tile with a small coffee shop next to the rows of tables and chairs. The area is pretty full so Steve had to look around a bit before he spots his roommate. He’s wearing a green flannel with a black shirt underneath and a pair of sweatpants, probably dressed for the AC blasting in the building rather than the torturous heat.. On the table he has all his usual D&D materials spread out with an open can of Monster next to him. He weaves through the tables of people to get to Eddie and is amazed how his roommate, who always needed absolute silence and zero distractions, was working in such a loud and crowded space. Without a word, he grabs a chair from the table Eddie is sitting at and sits down next to him. 

Eddie sees the movement out of the corner of his eye and looks over to Steve, surprised, and pulls his earbud out of his ear to pause the Gojira song he was just listening to greet him with a confused, “Uh, hey. What are you doing here?” 

Steve leans back in the chair, tipping it back and crosses his arms. He’s looking over in the direction Eddie seemed to be looking during their brief facetime call. He was looking over into one of the main hallways with classes on either side. Steve then looks back to him and replies, “I wanted to see why you weren’t in your room. You always do your Hellfire prep in there and I had to see what made you want to work here…” Steve looks around, noting the smell of burnt coffee and music blaring from people’s phones and laptops. There’s also a group of students having a loud, heated discussion two tables away. 

Eddie hesitates as he’s looking around and trying to come up with a good excuse. No amount of music can help him focus here, but he’d rather give his friend a shitty excuse than tell the truth. “I wanted to try something new?”

Before Steve can respond, Eddie looks up towards those hallways again and smiles. Steve looks in that direction and finally realizes what was going on. He sees you exiting a classroom with an older lady with a messy gray bun and tiny glasses, almost the same size as her eyes. You two are talking passionately about something, just going by your erratic hand movements and how much you two are smiling. The two of you part ways with a wave and “I’ll email you some other ideas I’ve had!” as the hallway ends and opens up to the lobby and study area. You look over to the study area, thinking about doing some research on one of the worn couches near the entrance, before you and Eddie lock eyes with each other. Eddie reaches over to the empty chair next to him and across from Steve and pulls it out for you. Steve slowly turns to Eddie and raises a brow at him. He leans in to Eddie who is watching you hurry over and whispers,

“Were you waiting out here for her?”

Eddie doesn’t answer him, just whacking his shoulder and says “Shut up…” as gets up to greet you, moving some of his books over to behind his laptop and moving his half-empty Monster to the other side of his laptop. When you take the seat and sit down, Eddie excitedly asks, “ Hey sweetheart, how are you?” as you set your bag down under the table. Once you’ve sat down, Eddie casually puts his arm around the back of your chair, his thumb barely grazing your shoulder. The sun wasn’t hitting this part of the building yet, but you swore you felt your body heat up at that moment. The new nickname certainly wasn’t helping. Surely he must be like this with all his friends, always touchy,  giving them his undivided attention, the pet names. You couldn’t fathom anything else. The way he looked at you made you feel too special and that made you a little nervous. Steve greets you with a friendly smile and nod, trying hard to hold back a remark on how convenient that Eddie was sitting right here as you were leaving that classroom. He’d mock Eddie and talk about how weird it was later. Besides, judging on how Eddie was looking at you, he seemed a bit busy with other things.

Unlike Eddie who was donning layers to keep from getting cold inside, you were dressed appropriately for the reason with a pair of well-fitting dolphin shorts and a faded Fall Out Boy shirt that was tied in the front, revealing just a little bit of your belly and your stretch marks. It wasn’t what you originally planned on wearing today, but you were running out of clean clothes and needed to get your laundry done soon. You were a little insecure about the outfit at first, but Robin gave you a boost in confidence when she stepped into the common area of your dorm room as you were brushing your teeth and asked, “Why do you have to look so hot at 8 in the morning??”

 Eddie didn’t know what part of you to look at first. His eyes were instantly drawn to your legs again, but now he gets to see how your thighs look in those tight shorts. Then there’s your midriff - he wanted nothing more than to get you all alone and get his hands on you, to knead at your skin and learn what kinds of sounds you’d make when his hands inevitably moved underneath your shorts and into your panties.

Again, he had to catch himself before his thoughts became too explicit and tried to focus on what you’re saying as the three of you get into a heated discussion about horrible classmates, initiated by you complaining about a guy in your class who went on so many tangents during the class discussion that he wasted maybe twenty minutes of class time. Eventually, the conversation dies down and Eddie switches the topic to you.

“So, uh, how was class? Do anything interesting?”

“I, well -” you look down at your lap and your shoulders droop- “I wouldn’t say it was interesting, but I was talking to my advisor about my senior thesis. I had an idea over the summer and she really likes it so I’m gonna get started on that soon. We’re translating sections of the Odyssey and I wanted to discuss the sounds that the spirits make and then try to draw some connections to the spirits in other pieces of Homeric legend.. I’m excited for it. We also talked a little about grad school and it’s kind of nerve wracking…” Eddie hummed in approval and watched your expression as you explained your options. He may not have known you for very long, but he could tell there were some mixed feelings about this. He takes the hand that's on your chair and moves it in order to reassuringly rub at your shoulder. 

Eddie’s voice softens when he speaks up, “Hey, don’t worry about all that. Like, the idea that you’re even thinking about grad school screams ‘genius’ to me. You’ll do great no matter where you go. Any school would be lucky to have you.” His little pep talk eased your anxiety for the most part, but you decided to quickly change the subject before you began to worry again. You look up at both him and Steve, who you notice didn’t bring anything with him apart from his phone and a half-empty bottle of water. 

“What are you guys up to? Is Steve helping you with your campaign planning?” 

Steve shakes his head, looking at Eddie out of the corner of his eye. Eddie is looking back at him and silently pleading for him to not tell you the truth, that he’s only here because he knew you’d be here. Thankfully, Steve isn’t cruel and replies, “Nah, I could never get into Dungeons & Dragons. The most I’ll ever do is give him feedback when he needs it. You play, right? I think I overheard you guys talking about it on move-in day.” 

Much to your enjoyment, Eddie’s hand never left your shoulder as the three of you talked. You explained how you and your friends had finished your first campaign in May but it didn’t feel the same playing over Discord. “I never realized how important it was to be in the same room when you’re playing. We all live in different parts of the state so we couldn’t meet up anywhere. Also there were technical issues which made things difficult. Honestly, I’d love to play again. Maybe I’ll see if there are any groups on campus that are accepting new members.”

You pull one of Eddie’s books toward you and open up to a bookmarked page out of curiosity. It's cover was partially held together by tape and its pages were either dog-eared or filled with post-it notes. While you’re distracted, Steve kicks Eddie under the table and mouths, “You should ask her” before getting up. You barely register his departure as you flip through the pages. Eddie found it cute how interested you were in the book, laughing to himself when you make a look of disgust after flipping to a page with a Beholder, a fleshy orb with one giant eye and multiple eyestalks sticking out of it. “Eugh… I can never get used to him.”

Eddie clears his throat to get your attention, having already taken his hand away from your shoulder and once again tapping his pen against the table. “You know, we’re actually down two members right now. We usually have seven people but one of our members transferred and one graduated so we have some seats open… if you’re interested, of course.” He’s trying to read your face right now. You seemed excited but he wasn’t completely sure and once he starts talking about Dungeons & Dragons he can’t seem to stop. “We’re almost done with our introduction campaign since we’ve got three new members and if I can get everything done in time then we’ll start up again in…  mid-October, maybe?” 

You begin to smile as he’s explaining everything, and that’s more than enough proof that you’re interested in joining. Either that or you like how much he’s rambling. You’re nearly bouncing out of excitement and get up to hug him when he finishes speaking. Both men are shocked by your reaction, but Steve is more entertained by how stunned Eddie looks. His eyes look like they’re bulging out of his skull and his hands are hovering over your back, scared to touch you as if any movement would cause you to pull away. He’s struggling to even get any words out.

“I… so that’s a yes?”

You nod, still holding onto him and reply, “Of course it’s a yes!” 

Eddie felt so relieved and just basked in the moment, finally wrapping his arms around you to return the hug. He’s taking advantage of the hug to take in your scent, immediately obsessed with the coconut scent he’s picking up in your shampoo. It’s so… so you, and he loves it.

You glance over to Eddie’s laptop, curious to see what he was working on - and to possibly get some hints on his future campaign that you’ll be involved in - but the first thing you notice is the time. You had work in an hour and had to get across campus to change and hopefully get there without any traffic. You pull away from him, much to his dismay and go, “Shit–”, and grab your bag before turning to Steve and Eddie, “–I have to get ready for work, I’m sorry. I should have been keeping track of time.” 

Eddie is saddened by this but lets you go anyway, placing his hands on the table and instinctively grabbing a pen to fidget with. Steve gets up with you, stating, “Yeah I actually have to go meet some guys from class to study for an exam so I’m gonna get going too.” 

Before you head out, you turn to Eddie and say, “I’ll send you my character sheet during my lunch break later and you can look it over for me?” and Eddie nods. You’re anxious to get going, still haunted by the amount of time it took you to get home that fateful February day, so you say your goodbyes and head out.

[nabi-unveiled]

The People on the Periphery

Just like everything else, When It Rains, It Pours has been very intentional about its use of characters. Every person that has been mentioned or shown has served some type of narrative purpose.

The coworker? She was a trigger for the conversation about dividing people into categories AND foreshadowed what was to come.

The other coworkers? They clued us in on Hagiwara's competency in work and his genial nature. They also served to contrast how Hagiwara LOOKS at Sei versus the other people around him.

The party people? They showed us more information about Hagiwara's relationship with Kaori and how Hagiwara has been repressing his inner thoughts. It also shows that Kaori has been controlling Hagiwara's narrative just like Fujisawa controls Sei's.

Hiraiwa? He contrasted Hagiwara with how he handled the LINE exchange. But he ALSO cemented that Sei had once been more social and gave blatant cues about Fujisawa's controlling nature.

Ayako was a mirror for Hagiwara's relationship and she spilt the tea.

The point is...every person has served a narrative purpose. Most of the time, they've served more than one.

This brings us to our people on the periphery: Fujisawa's editor and Kaori's parents.

What's THEIR purpose in this story? There's a few options.

Option #1: They serve no purpose.

There's always the possibility that they serve no purpose and are mere conversational fodder. I would be disappointed if this is the case as nothing in this show has been without purpose, and I'd make up a purpose for them just to please myself.

Option #2: Fujisawa/Kaori are also having a physical affair.

After all, lying to meet your lover has been established.

However, as much as I would LOVE for Fujisawa's secret to be the editor, I just don't think it is the case. After all, Fujisawa and Kaori BOTH have a very strong emotional response to finding out about the affair. Their behavior doesn't align. This option would also cheapen some narrative aspects if the partners had been cheating all along.

Option #3: The parents/editor demonstrate Fujisawa/Kaori seeking and having emotional comfort outside of their relationship.

It's possible that the editor/parents are meant to serve as a contrast between Fujisawa/Kaori and Hagiwara/Sei.

Fujisawa's having interesting conversations with his editor. Even though he would never want Sei to talk to a coworker.

Kaori's going to her parents when she's bored. Even though she doesn't like it if Hagiwara stays out late himself.

Fujisawa/Kaori had already went outside of the relationship to find connection and comfort, and they have the personal freedom to do so. But Hagiwara and Sei? They didn't have these people in their life. They were LONELY.

The editor and parents don't have to be shown on screen to serve this purpose. It's consistent with the show's writing. The customer with the broken nail stayed off screen but gave us the segue into all of the broken nail analogies.

However, I keep wondering if there will be more to it. After all, Ayako was mentioned several times in casual conversation before her full narrative purpose was revealed.

Option #4: They become important during Fujisawa/Kaori's spiral.

Technically, this idea builds on the previous interpretation. IF these people are Kaori/Fujisawa's emotional support, then it makes sense that they would play a role in mediating the spiral. Either getting Fujisawa/Kaori to calm down, realize the deeper problems in the relationship, or let go of Hagiwara/Sei. That said, I don't see this happening on screen. If Sei/Hagiwara are not in the scene for some reason, they aren't getting screentime. I also feel like this option isn't in line with the narrative choices thus far either. The narrative has focused on the actions and choices of our leads. It's focused on them wrestling with their decisions and inner turmoil. And I don't see the show taking a sudden detour from that. I don't really want it to.

Option #5: ??? I have no idea.

I have been wracking my brain for a stronger narrative purpose for these people if it's NOT a physical affair/cover up, but I just don't know. I give up.

So for now, Option #3 paralleling Fujisawa/Kaori and Hagiwara/Sei is where I'll settle. It demonstrates Hagiwara/Sei's loneliness, Fujisawa/Kaori's personal freedom, and emphasizes yet again that NONE of them are really getting what they need out of these relationships.

Anybody have thoughts? I'd love to hear them.

3 Day Later....

The editor is a control tactic. Pretty sure about that one now. Sei mentions the party, and Fujisawa IMMEDIATELY brings up the editor as a way to try to keep Sei from going to the party. Still not confident about the parents.

[deliajackson]

There are a few things that I disagree here:

"Riordan’s telling isn’t more or less valid than anyone else’s. And his version of the story doesn’t invalidate anyone else’s. If anything, Riordan fits perfectly into the millennia long tradition of remixing and adapting old myths into something new. He’s doing the exact same thing as Hesiod, Homer, and countless other forgotten storytellers of yore, who wove fantastic tales about heroes and gods (and often added their own spin). In this way, Riordan is authentically within the ancient tradition. His take isn't wrong—it's just different, and adapted to a modern, young audience."

Riordan is not a writer of Greek Mythology (an epic poem, nor a ancient play). Riordan is a writer of a children book based on a real culture. His version of the story is not as valid as the ones wrote by Sophocles, Euripedes, nor Homer. The tales of Old, are deeply coonected with the ancient philosophy and cultural roots of Greece, not only that, but with the religious practices they were connected.

Of course, you have satires like "The Dialogue of the Gods" that shouldnt be read as myth, or a dramaturgy like Aristophanes. But even Aristophanes is based on the customs and beliefs of ancient Hellas.

So yes. His version is invalid and shouldnt be a source of mythology. This kinda reminds me of Miller apologism for TSOA and Circe.

The same way people can be pissed about not having their cultural properly respected, greek people and people who enjoys the classics have the right to criticize Rick for his choice.

Even Kane Chronicles was a nightmare on itself for what I have seen from the criticism, making Isis be british and the only egytian person be ignorant from the modern world when she lived in modern Cairo.

"So, this is the first major misconception addressed—that there is no canon, no correct version of the myths, and that storytellers were not only allowed to add their own spin, but expected. None of Rick’s changed would have been perceived as abnormal, incorrect, or in any way inappropriate. He is perfectly within the poetic tradition."

As long as we are talking about ancient greek poets, who lived millenia ago, yes, there is no real valid version.

You cant say that Homer is the right version of the Odyssey because you dont like the Apollodoros or Hesiods version of it. Both are part of ancient tales, that many historians and Archeologists worked hard to rescue and study.

On the other hand, you can not say that Riordan/Miller/Jessie Burton/Natalie Heynes between other are as valid as the ancient sources. There is no deeper resource, the entire story is changed to fit an American view of the ancient gods, and were written by american people.

There is no deeper phylophical take on that other than "the gods are bad" or "the gods are only people with too much power."

Is not liked to religious practices

Was written in the XXI century

It is not a part of the greek culture.

It is a fanfiction. That is what it is. You can enjoy it and love it, but still respect that is not a myth and that it isnt valid as such. If everyone could write a story of the greek pantheon and call it as something as valid as any other version of myths and call it a day, "the greek mythology" wouldnt have been the basis of entire religious practices in the first place. The myths have purposes, even if they differed in Ancient times, their purposes remains the same: explain the Cosmos and natural law. The punishment for hybris/hubris and why is that bad. The good life for a human is being part of a society and helping it to envolve. The Black death. The search for glory. Between many other aspects that were important back then.

I am studying that for a few months now, but I believe @katerinaaqu can make a better answer to that.

HOW RICK PORTRAYED THE GREEK GODS AND WHY IT WAS SO IMPORTANT

So people are going to notice that a lot of my complaints aren't just in PJO but extend to media portraying Greek Myths in general. But I want to focus on Percy Jackson and not other media, so I'm going to focus on Percy Jackson and not other media.

Starting off.................

The way Rick portrayed the Greek Gods was important because PJO was the most read book series that heavily centered around Greek Mythology he pretty much destroyed their images at the time.

There's an entire anti Percy Jackson tag as well as an anti PJO tag for you to scroll through to see how Rick Riordan portrayal of the Greek Gods was terrible. Be my guest and treat yourself to it. Search it up.

There are also people like @alatismeni-theitsa, @margaretkart and @katerinaaqu to ask for correct information on Greek Mythology. So be their guest too.

Today, we have PJO fans running around having incorrect perceptions of the gods and flinging hate and abuse at the real Greek Gods while Greeks and Hellenistic Pagans have to suffer through all this bullshit.

The torture is REAL. Just ask them.

I mean, you have people claiming that they are the CHILDREN of VIRGIN GODDESSES.

Artemis, Athena, Hera and Hestia don't have any demigod children.

If you really want to, call yourself their chosen champion. Not their child. It's disrespectful to Greek culture and religion to do otherwise.

Rick Riordan read about and taught Greek Myths in school, so he must have read the actual versions of the myths.

And knowing these, he decided to twist them into his terrible, inferior, crappy versions.

That man literally wrote Hephaestus, a rapist, as a poor guy trying to get a girl, oh, he's so sad and pathetic, and Athena's such a mean bitch for not accepting his advances even if she doesn't want it!

I'm not joking.................and I don't have words for this. I just don't.

Riordan doesn't really have any tact, does he? None at all.

And no, Greek people and Hellenistic Pagans cannot get away from these horrible portrayals, because there are too many Percy Jackson fans clogging up the Greek God tags with their Rick Riordan written PJO versions of the gods, which is kind of terrible for the Hellenistics who just want to be able to read devotional things about their gods and other people who just want to read about real Greek Mythology, not Percy Jackson. And this happens in real life, too. I mean, people using PJO as a substitute for real Greek Mythology.

Pro tip for PJO tumblr users: if you're typing about a god, use the Greek God PJO tag, like PJO Apollo or PJO Aphrodite, not just Apollo or Aphrodite, ok? Thanks for reading this.

There are many common misconceptions about Greek Mythology due to Percy Jackson. So, if you're not sure about something, please search it up on verified academic websites or ask real people-you can do this online too.

Now I am aware that Rick has the creative license to portray Greek Gods however he wants-

but let us as educated people all be aware of the fact that we should not always take portrayals of the Greek Gods in modern media depicting them seriously and if you want to read up on the actual gods, then read the myths and the Odyssey, Iliad etc.

Now, to name another shockingly appalling writing choice-

In the very first book, WW2 is atrociously used as a plot point

Yes, that's right-Rick Riordan, beloved author of a bestselling franchise for children and adults alike, reduces WW2, one of the most bloody and complex conflicts in history with a multitude of a reasons for its existence, to a fight between fictional demigods of the Big Three simply to have a reason for the Big 3 not to have children.

Do you know how serious this is? Do you actually know how bad this is, though?

Millions of people even today are affected by the WW2 due to generational trauma and abusive parents. WW2 killed millions of soldiers and civilians alike, and the Holocaust was so horrible that some people would faint just reading about what happened.

I will not go into the bloody, gory details here, but if you still don't believe this, go search up WW2 and Holocaust torture and treatment of Jews and other minorities as well.

Jews today still have gaping holes in their family trees because of it. And to have Rick Riordan portray it in such a callous way, to make a literal Greek God sire war criminals in modern history, when there were other methods he could have used to intertwine the mythological world and demigods and history.........it makes you wonder what was running through his mind at the time.

There were so many other ways he could have portrayed the prophecy-make it so that Big 3 children were constantly causing natural disasters and fictional wars in the mythological world, not the real world, and constantly dividing the cabins at CHB. Maybe they had their own war parallel to WW2. There were so many ways to do this- and none of them had to do what was ultimately done.

PJO WWII IS THE ULTIMATE INSULT TO THE GREEKS

What makes this even WORSE is that during World War II, the Greeks were in fact part of the ALLIES.

The Allies were fighting against the Axis powers, the latter of which contained Nazi Germany, Fascist Italy and Japan.

When the Nazis invaded Greece-well, it's never a good thing for a country to be invaded by enemies during a time of war.

At least 250,000 people died during the Axis occupation and its Jewish community was pretty much killed off. And the country's economy and infrastructure were ruined quite horribly.

And generations of Greeks are traumatised because of this, even today. Not just Greeks-thousands of people. Millions of people all over the globe are still traumatized from this war, be it direct experience or generational trauma.

And to make ANCIENT GREEK GODS responsible for WWII is simply, totally and absolutely unforgivable on Rick Riordan's part.

To make the Greeks' enemies the sons of their ancient gods........no. Just no.

And yes, Hitler is a son of Hades in canon. Rick later changed it because of the backlash. He's absolutely disgusting.

WHY THE HELL ARE THE GREEK GODS IN AMERICA?

Now.........the Greek Gods are in the USA!

But..........they're Greek, right, which means that they should be in Greece! So why now are they in the USA?

Well.........here's Rick's explanation for it.

Apparently, the Greek Gods started with the fire of the Western Civilisation and then moved onto other places.

'Flame of the West' crap my ass. Search it up-there's this great article called the Whitening Thief. Read that.

What's meant by Chiron's explanation is that apparently Greece is too bad for Greek Gods now, which is terrible, because that's literally where they originated. And their explanation for leaving it and coming to America is extremely half-baked and just reeks of white American superiority.

@margaretkart

@alatismeni-theitsa

@katerinaaqu

These are all good blogs to disillusion yourself with Percy Jackson and learn about what really happened in Greek Mythology.

And I just want to say-Percy Jackson is an ok start for venturing into Greek Mythology as long as you've read up some basic background beforehand, but-

But-

Do NOT, under ANY circumstances whatsoever, take RICK RIORDAN'S portrayal of the Greek Gods as the REAL Greek Gods.

Never do that. That is the one thing that must not be done.

Hera doesn't just love perfect families. She literally lives in the most dysfunctional family to ever exist. And she loves you if you try. She really does.

Hades would not threaten to eternally torture literal children just because of what their parents did to him. His literal job is to uphold justice in the underworld, and sending a child to Tartarus just because her father angered him and he couldn't punish the father isn't justice now, is it?

Ares loves his children and as for why Rick made him hate them-

Rick has a hate boner against the war god, that I will swear on. Read this post and the explanation for why Rick shouldn't have done it.

And the gods are actively depicted as cruel, neglectful, abusive parents, when in the myths they are quite the opposite.

Real Aphrodite loves her son Aeneas and frequently comes to his aid on the battlefield. She also tells him to not marry a woman (TO GIVE UP LOVE, HER LITERAL DOMAIN) so that he can fulfil his destiny of becoming a king.

Real Ares loves all his children. He tries to avenge his son Cycnus when Heracles kills him with good reason for being a cruel tyrant-and they were even riding chariots together when Heracles came across them. He avenged his daughter even at the cost of being punished by Poseidon and Zeus, neither of whom liked him.

Now, what I want to tell you is that the PJO Greek Gods are Rick's interpretation of them.

An interpretation of a Greek God by a modern author (who isn't Greek, by the way, please take note) is not the same as the real Greek God. Please understand this and accordingly adjust your views.

This also goes for Madeline Miller, Rachel Smythe, etc.

And lastly, one of the most ironic things is that though Richard uses the Greek Gods in his books, he has never ever added a single Greek character in it.

I'm talking about a modern Greek demigod who comes from Greece. Imagine them teaching the other demigods Modern Greek and Greek culture, language and traditions!

It's very ironic that he includes Chinese, African and Native American culture in his works and then turns around and pretend that Greek culture doesn't exist.

The demigods are in Athens, but for how much time before they go back to America? Barely any at all. And nothing learnt about culture while they're there.

(No hate to his already shitty representation. I'm merely making a point that there should have been a Greek character in a book that heavily centers on Greek Gods and their children, even if it's in America.)

RICK DOESN'T USE GREEK CULTURE OR RELIGION AND IN FACT INSULTS GREECE IN HIS WORKS

So, if you've read the title, let me tell you something-

Do you know that Greek Gods are still worshipped?

Some of you do, some of you don't, but let me tell you, they are still worshipped.

And accordingly, you must respect them and their worshippers, just like you would do for Christians. You cannot maliciously ridicule and condemn Hellenistic Pagans and Greek Gods just because they are a minority.

And if you've read the myths and think that the Greek Gods being cruel......

They're not, actually. I mean, yes, you think they're cruel, but most of the myths aren't taken literally by Hellenistic Pagans.

What the Greek Gods do is supposed to be symbolic.

Hades kidnapping Persephone symbolises death ripping children from their grieving parents' arms. It's an explanation for the seasons and it finally represents the fact that daughters could be given away by their fathers with the mother having no say in it whatsoever.

Demeter's grief and her actually being able to do something about her daughter's marriage and Persephone being returned to her is supposed to be a comforting tale for grieving mothers who have lost their daughter.

Artemis' cruelty towards certain people? It represents the cruelty of nature towards humans and what it will do to humans if they provoke it.

Zeus' infidelity and abuse of his power? Well, it represents what kings do. Zeus represented the kings of Ancient Greece, and kings abused their power and had many mistresses besides having a wife.

Many Greek kings also claimed to sons of Zeus or descendants of the gods, so it the idea that Zeus had many affairs with ladies and princesses of royal lineages was conceived.

The link above provides many good reasons for why the Greeks wrote Zeus having many affairs with mortal women, so check it out.

Also, Zeus is symbolic of storms. Storms are volatile and raging, and so was Zeus at times. He was a god of storms and as such symbolised them.

Hera punishing the mistresses and children in a jealous rage to bother Zeus? That's what queens did back in the day since they couldn't directly punish their husbands.

Dionysus being charming and fun but also being mad and wild? Well, he represents breaking away from social norms and going fully wild. Also, wine can make people fun and charming, but at the same time, it can turn people into mad, raging creatures.

The point is, most of what the Greek Gods did was symbolic to their domains. And no, contrary to popular thought, Greeks did not live in fear of their Gods striking them down every moment. In fact, many of them genuinely devotionally loved their gods.

And Greek Gods themselves are very kind and benevolent to their devotees, even today, as long as you don't provoke or seriously insult them. Just ask Hellenistic Pagans and you'll be surprised at the results. I'm serious.

The problem here is that we're trying to moralize divinity.

According to the Greeks, gods weren't humans. They were modelled after humans, but they were above humans and human flaws.

And the Abrahamic gods do terrible things too, but do we mock them? No, we don't, because their worshippers say that they are above humans and human flaws, so similarly, the Greek Gods are above humans and our flaws.

CONCLUSION

And no one cares about the fact that a guy is objectifying and making money off a culture all the while removing its significance and turning it into a joke.

Even though Greeks have a millennia old and rich culture, people are always bastardizing it. Non-Greeks really must stop doing this. It's very culturally disrespectful.

I've also seen grown adults saying that the Greek Gods are American so they're allowed to do what they want with them now, and that's absolutely disgusting. It's cultural appropriation, that's what it is. Do not condone it.

Ah, sorry, not conclusion-let me add one last thing here.

Rick Riordan has a series called Trials of Apollo in which Apollo is cast down to Earth as a human for the third time to defeat Python.

What I want to talk about here is Apollo's human name-Lester Papadopoulos.

Papadopoulos is a common Greek Christian surname that means 'son of a priest'. One of Apollo's domains in prophecy and he has many priests, so maybe this is a reference to that.

But what is most upsetting is that this name is used for comedy.

It's belittled, laughed at and ridiculed for its longevity and hard pronunciation when it is in fact a very normal Greek surname. Even if it's not an American surname, even if it doesn't sound normal and sounds ridiculous to you, it's not ridiculous to others and you should respect it.

Can you imagine how Greek people with that last name read the books and felt bad about their last name? Or felt furious. I know that I would be FURIOUS if my last name was used like that.

And the fact is that Papadopoulos isn't even that hard to pronounce! It's literally just 5 syllables that you can repeat a few times until it doesn't twist your tongue.

And if you can't repeat this simple name, then you need to go back to kindergarten. Hell, go back to preschool even.

And there are people who have the audacity to say that the Greek Gods belong to America and are American. Grown adults, actually, on Twitter, no less. Tweeting it for the whole world to see their absolute foolishness and audacity.

They're pretty tactless, huh?

The Greek Gods were and always will be GREEK. Foreigners are not their rightful descendants-the Greeks are (Greek immigrants included). I mean...........this is bizzarre.

To conclude, (really conclude this time) though it's a series heavily entwined with Greek Gods, the only Greek thing about the series is the Gods. There's no Greek culture, religion or language, and even the Greek Gods are heavily Americanised, which is pretty disappointing. I hope that other authors will do better handling the Greek Gods than Rick Riordan.

(Side note: If you think anything I've said is wrong, tell me. I'll correct it immediately.)

@fandomloverangel

[charmwasjess]

AHEM. Dooku for 2/3 and 18, 25? Or dealer's choice? Anything you like 👀👀👀👀👀

OH HEY FRIEND :D Thank you so much!!! I answered the first two here <3 <3 but I kind of went wide with 25 so I pulled in some dealer's choice. :D Couldn't resist.

18 How about a relationship they have in canon with another character that you admire?

It was so tempting to write you a Sifo-Dyas essay here. Please accept this coupon for one unhinged Sifo-Dyas manifesto, to be redeemed at a time of your choosing. <3

But today, I’m thinking about Mace and Dooku. God, there’s a part in that Shatterpoint novel where Mace obsesses over the fact that he could have killed Dooku on Geonosis - he could have gone for Dooku’s head instead of Jango’s, and how much death and suffering would he have saved? And the fact that he didn’t, he went after Jango, not because he didn’t realize the importance of that decision, but for the plain fact that he didn’t want to kill Dooku.

I think two things are so interesting here - of course, I love the way that Mace vouches so hard for Dooku in AotC, and I love all that implies about the personal relationship and respect as colleagues between them. All that it hints about Dooku's post-exit relationship with the Jedi Order.

I also think it’s interesting that the questions doesn't seem to be if Mace could kill Dooku. 

Here’s the part where I just pornographically imagine the duel between Mace’s Vaapad and Dooku’s Makashi and make uncomfortable noises. Arguably the two most aggressive forms, I think that fight would be insane. Mace is 6’2/1.88m, while Dooku has a few inches on him, Mace is younger and very powerfully built, so Dooku isn’t going to get his usual default “I can just reach further than you” advantages. Also, the way Mace dominates the terrain - I’m thinking of his duel in Sidious’s office - is going to be a big problem for our Count, who thrives on space in a fight and carefully balancing Makashi’s more delicate aspects with his ability to control the environment via the Force - ie, drop pieces of the architecture on his opponents heads. Cool fucking fight, cooler what-if. 

What does the Separatist movement he just started look like if Dooku is captive or martyred?

 25? What was your first impression of [Dooku]? How about now?

Well, my VERY first impression of this character was quite negative. Like many fans, I was enraged to find that we were getting this character and not Sith lady concept art (who would turn out to be future Asajj). Old man Sith?! Who used to be a Jedi? NO WE HAVE OLD MAN SITH WHO USED TO BE A JEDI AT HOME. 

But when I first became a Dooku maniac, I spent a lot of time working backwards trying to find the actual good person the monster used to be. What was the dramatic tipping point, how much was Qui-Gon’s death a factor, how could Dooku’s fall have been stopped or redeemed? 

Now the more fascinating part to me is how an actually good person becomes a monster. To me, that’s actually started to be more interesting than my old fascination with finding some big reason. I love the almost ordinary factors in his slide toward darkness - loneliness, depression, helplessness, the unwanted child compulsive urge to impress the wrong people, plain old sunk cost fallacy. He can be a surprisingly uncommitted Sith. He chains himself to Sidious. 

Someone once summed up my one true fix-it fic, “Five Days to Murder Sifo-Dyas,” as “Sifo-Dyas saves Dooku using only the power of his dick,” and while that's funny, they’re right. I really think any very simple change in Dooku’s story could have got him back on track. The fascinating fact is, it didn’t. Dooku's missed connection with his own humanity and goodness.  

Talking further about impressions of the character, although maybe this gets into 6. What's something you have in common with this character? territory, is that I’ve grown up with Dooku. Getting into Dooku when I was a kid and now liking the character as an adult, I realize I relate to him fundamentally differently now vs then.

Dooku and I don’t share a lot of personality traits, and I’m nowhere near his age in the films, but now I’ve been a teacher, I know how that rewires your brain. I know what it’s like to be a whole ass adult, but still meaningfully reckoning with your own ugly origin story. And god, am I fucking worried about the end of the world. His problems feel so much more real to me now.

I think both he and Sifo-Dyas have a core trait of “oh my god, what’s happening, why doesn’t everyone else SEE this, I have to do SOMETHING” driving their characters’ actions. And while I obviously don’t agree with either of their actions, I think that’s never been more relatable to me than now in 2025.

[pritong-baboy]

I freaking love your evil dad shockwave au. Chefs kiss ✨ didn’t know how much I needed this genre until I read the Ao3 fics

I know we’ve talked about Bumblebee holding on strong if Shockwave manages to get off planet with him, but what about the eventuality, the long term?

Like Shockwave eventually realizing that his sparkling only accepts comfort on a surface level. He’s obsessed over that fact and he wants Bumblebee to accept in his spark that he’s his dad. That Bumblebee has to acknowledge their familial ties and forget about all the other bots on his life especially the Autobots.

How long can Bumblebee hold off for before Stockholm Syndrome starts to occur? How long before Shockwave starts a manipulation tactic to make Bumblebee see his way?

Poor Bumblebee, even the strongest warriors can crumble after a long period of time.

oh yeah, i'm not planning to write shockwave and bumblebee's dynamic being entirely one-sided. i dipped a bit into bee's thinking of things too.

but basically, he hates everything that shockwave did, he utterly despises that one of his main comforts was just a lie to infiltrate the elite guard. BUTTT, bumblebee is still super attached to the idea of who longarm had been for him, and he kind of still searches for that same comfort he got from longarm IN shockwave despite knowing that it can't exist.

i dont want to spoil too much on the fanfic im writing, but there are instances where bumblebee has no choice but to depend on shockwave because he's surrounded by others that won't care for him.

[themareverine]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ From Mare, with Love 💌💌💌

Mare's 14 for February! Fourteen Hugh asks for February's love day. 💌💌💌

◞♡ ⃗ single? in a mingle? or totally taken? well, any way you swing, it's that time of year! 💗 love is in the air this 2/14, and I couldn't possibly be more thrilled to announce that I'm doing a mini celebration to commemorate one of my favorite holidays.

I'm taking the first 14 (or however many if not 14!) asks in my inbox and writing (going to try HARD!) 1400 words or less of xReader drabbles! this will certainly be a challenge, and i can't wait to stretch my writing legs. ❥

so let's get this party started, yeah? flood my inbox! ♡ : ̗̀➛

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ to add: i do have go/no go writing subjects, but i've lost the post i had written them all in! as i rebuild that, please note that if i'm uncomfortable with a certain request, i'll message you directly!

♡ Pick a Hugh—

1. Logan Howlett (any variant!) 2. Charlie Kenton 3. Eddie Alden 4. Stan Jobson 5. Van Helsing 6. Jack Willis 7. Nick Bannister 8. Wyatt Bose 9. Drover 10. Leopold Mountbatten

♡ Decide if it's PG-13 or fluffy —

as we all know, this blog is a PG-13 zone, so be mindful of that. I also only write female!reader, that's important to know. and I reserve the right to take some creative liberty with my asks, but always try to accomplish the need/want/ask.

♡ and then, send me a request —

I'm really leaving this open ended! come up with something specific and shoot it over or just pick a character and let me go ham, the choice is yours.

₊˚⊹౨ৎ ‧₊˚ I don't see nearly enough of these anymore, so let's have some fun and spread some love on our favorite mannnn! if you don't see the Hugh character, feel free to ask or DM me, I may have forgotten or we can talk about it!

💌 tagging:

@sidkneeeee

@thevoicefromanotherworld

@misscrissfemmefatale

@eternallyfrustratedwriter

@permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

@laaadygisbooornex3

@itsafullmoon

@kmc1989

@steviebbboi

@matronmothercrone

@bpmiranda

[sanguinesky-if]

Hello you wonderful author you!

Have you made a poll on the popularity of the ROs? I have difficulty deciding my favorite and it seems to change every playthrough I read. 😅

That said, I do have a preference for the gentle and kind, so L and I are probably the most attractive to me. I feel I is probably the least talked about, and often on your Patreon they are the last in the votes for content (Still waiting for their NSFW-alphabet!) Do you expect them to rise in popularity after we learn about them? I feel they are the most mysterious RO at the moment in that they seem se reserved and seem to fall to the sidelines with the more extreme personalities like the condecending and rude R, or the flamboyant T. L has the friends to lovers trope going for them, S is the flirt with the no-strings-attached and K a prickly boss with a vurneable and a soft core. I was wondering if I has a sort of "trope" for them?

Hope you have a wonderful day! ❤️

Have you made a poll on the popularity of the ROs?

Hello! No, I haven't, and I'm not sure I want to make one, since all the ROs share the top spot for me.

Plus, the Patreon polls give me enough insight into which ROs are currently the most popular.

Do you expect them to rise in popularity after we learn about them?

I'm not sure. Every time I expect the RO to disappoint some readers after some of their more questionable traits are revealed, it somehow has the opposite effect, so it seems like my compass in this regard is a bit broken. 😅

To answer specifically about I's alphabet, I can tell that it will definitely fall into the "it's easier to understand them a little better by having sex than a conversation" category before they actually open up.

To give the most honest answer, I don't expect I to be the first or even the second choice for most readers. But for those who do choose them, I intend to make their route worth patience and will work hard on my writing for it to feel truly rewarding in every possible sense of the word.

they seem se reserved and seem to fall to the sidelines with the more extreme personalities like the condecending and rude R, or the flamboyant T.

I'm glad if it feels this way, and I is comfortable with that role and often uses it to their advantage very effectively.

I've also noticed that some readers [especially those who are suspicious of everything] immediately single I out among the other ROs for that reason, which I find very... interesting.

But it also makes me happy because I love when readers question everything [and they are right to do so].

I was wondering if I has a sort of "trope" for them?

I've never thought of any of the ROs as tropes when I created them or when I write moments with them [even if some can be classified as one], because the layers they each have make me think of them and feel them as real people, so my answer is no.

Thank you for the interesting questions! I hope my answers make sense, and I wish you a wonderful day as well! 🥰