#i’m so sorry that the first thing i post when i get back from an unplanned hiatus is 2al angst | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zepskies · 3 days ago

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Smoke Eater - Part 11

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

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

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

🔥 Series Masterlist

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

Part 11: “Heart of the Home”

You sat very still.

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

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

But your life had never been quite that easy.

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

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

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

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

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

George thanked him.

And you sat very still.

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

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

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

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

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

Your fault.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, where you goin’?" he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is there something going on?” he pressed.

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

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

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

“Hey, wait a minute,” he said.

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

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

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

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

You could no longer be still.

Dean held you when you fell apart in the hallway.

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

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

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

“Normally?” you echoed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Benton met the other man’s gaze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” you breathed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That you do, Lieutenant.”

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

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

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

“Come ‘ere a sec.”

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

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

“You don’t have to,” Dean replied.

George huffed. A smile made his eyes gleam brighter.

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

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

“How’s that?” he asked.

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

Dean’s lips quirked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dean returned the call as he climbed into the Impala.

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

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

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

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

“Is she all right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Will do.”

“Thanks, Cas.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing.”

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Both of you were crying when Andréa left your house.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just some water,” the older man replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me,” he said.

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

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

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

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

He realized that he only had one answer.

“Yes, sir. I am,” said Dean.

George gave a tired smile. “Good man.”

And that night, an agreement was made.

In the morning, your grandfather was gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, I’ll call her,” you said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not leaving you with this.”

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

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

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

He’s not leaving you.

Not like everyone else in your life.

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, baby. It’s not your fault.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he couldn’t leave you.

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

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

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

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

You were still quiet, trying to stifle your crying.

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

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

“That matters to me,” he told you.

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

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

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

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

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

“For what?” he asked.

“For staying.”

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

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

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

Next Time:

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

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

Dean smiled.

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

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

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

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

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

Keep Reading: PART 12

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

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

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

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

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

#genuinely one of the loveliest reviews I've ever recieved 💞💞#reader appreciation #lovely mutuals #smoke eater feedback

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pickyourpoisonandevolve · 1 day ago

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Stars in Her Eyes, Part 2

Part 1 here

*reads old decrepit spell book* “if you write the trauma in the fic, maybe it will fix it in post” hmm yes of course of course.

More of whatever the hell this is turning out to be. I looooove Price and I waaaaaannnttt him to fix me and you and all of us together. The worms in my brain won’t leave until it happens!

—

“Well, you’re cleared for field duty.”

“Hooray.” A listless response.

A huff from the nurse. As she cleaned up, she paused. “I know I’m generally pissing in the wind when I say this, but maybe a woman will believe me this time. Take care of… whatever’s on your mind. The head trauma, the noise, the explosions, it wears you down. You don’t need old demons eating away at what’s left.”

As you got up from the chair you paused. “What do you mean? I’m fine, I’m clear, right?”

“The, wait, shit hold on maybe I’m wrong. You’re the one with the concussion, reports of hallucinations in the field.” She said, flipping through your chart. “Yeah, reported by your captain. May want to ask him about it before you—“ A click of the door closing. “—go back out there. I don’t know why I thought this would go any different.” She muttered to herself, getting ready for the next patient.

—

You thought that was a dream. You were SURE that was a dream. Shit shit shit. No fucking wonder they came to see you so often. Gaz brought flowers from all of them. Soap brought cookies and his loud mouth. Ghost brought complaints from the nurses, saying he “lingered too much” and “wanted reports that didn’t belong to him”. Price however brought nothing. Radio silence there.

You made it back to barracks a little before dinner. A shower and refresh from everything. Sneaking into the shared break room, angling to see if anyone was mad, worried, feeling… wrong about you. You’ll fix it. The last thing you wanted was them thinking you weren’t anything less than capable. Surely you weren’t perfect after this. But capable. That was achievable.

“Oi, look who’s back amongst the livin’!” Soap jumped up first and came to check you out. As rough and tumble as he was, he put the breaks on, opting for grabbing you by the shoulders instead of picking you up. “Thought we scrambled you somethin’ fierce this time.” He said, grabbing your chin and giving you a once over.

Huffing, you slapped arms away and composed yourself. You did offer a smile as you smoothed out your shirt. “Morphine cures all wounds, cognitive and otherwise.”

“So I heard.” Gaz’s voice behind you, alongside Ghost as they entered. His smile could stop traffic you thought to yourself. “Thanks for the flowers.” You said quietly. “Anytime.” He replied, gently rubbing a thumb across your knuckles.

Ghost took a big, typical stoic stance against the counter, arms crossed. Eyes big and soft for you. Oh. He’s worried? That never happens, you thought, a needle of panic through your chest. A big, warm hand on your shoulder. “Price wants you in his office when you can. Glad you’re back.” The tail end was more of a rumble than words.

The panic bloomed as three sets of eyes stayed on you. Too much, you thought. Too much care, too much consideration. You were the one who was supposed to worry, not them. You fussed with your nails, looking down. “Thanks for the help, guys. I’m, I’m sorry.”

“We’re a team, it’s what we do. Now go, he’s waiting.” Ghost demanded.

—

You shook your ankle absentmindedly. Sitting on the couch in his office. The same sick feeling in your throat and nerves as the principals office. He waved you in, cigar in hand, on a phone call with papers and documents strewn around. Life didn’t stop for him, you thought. You took to staring at the back of a framed photo, disassociating about who could be on the other side, listening to the drone of his voice. A loved one? A sibling? No, he never talked about brothers or sisters. It’s warm in here. Smells like him. Maybe you would too when you left. Maybe he—

“Sergeant.”

A gasp left your chest as your eyes refocused. Just silence, now. A cigar now crushed in the ashtray, the last hurrah of smoke and scent and spice wafted in the air. Relatable, you thought.

You cleared your throat. “You wanted to see me, sir.”

His eyes roamed over you. Again. And again. Like he was lost in his own thoughts. “You back with us?” He finally grunted.

“More or less.”

He stood up, a little too quickly. Made your heart beat a little too loudly in your ears. Made you feel like you were in the dark room again. The fear and the unknown smothering everything. “I’m sorry about the mission, it was my fault, I wasn’t there, I wasn’t—“

A raised hand. The rambling died in your throat as he made his way over to you. Two bourbons poured, one placed in your hands. A seat taken next to you. The crystal tumbler cool in your hand. A gift for his 10th year in the SAS. Back to the silence.

You two had always navigated the silence together. Normally it was more comforting than this. A quiet nod of understanding in a debrief. A roll of the eyes in a meeting. Notifying that there were enemies in the area on missions. He always knew you better than you knew yourself it seemed. That’s why he was the captain. He did this for everyone. Didn’t he?

The hassle of talking about it, this, whatever this was, never reared its head. Rules, optics, whatever the excuse was. But he knew. What you were. What he was. A lit candle in your dark room. One you held with both hands when the dark was too much. Whispering and praying it would stay this time. A prayer to a deaf god, you thought.

Maybe not so deaf after all. He swirled his glass in his hands, staring straight ahead. “I didn’t throw you away. I need you to know that. More were coming, I needed you elsewhere.”

A grip in your chest. A swallow of your drink. “I know. I was distracted on the mission, I know that, but I had it handled, I should have been there to have your back.” You rushed out.

You feel a hand in your hairline, and for a moment, you’re back in that room. Half a room. Humming, praying to your deaf God. “I’m sorry about your head.” He rumbled out. “Does it still hurt?”

“Not as much as you leaving.”

A broken sound comes from him as you close your eyes and finish your drink.

A flurry of motion. Your glass taken from your hand, his arms bringing you in, fighting, grunting, till stillness as he pins you on your back, holding your cheek in his palm. It’s been too long since he’s seen your stars.

“Tell me about the song.”

“No.”

“It can be an order if you want.”

“No.”

“… please.” His resolve breaks and you see desperation in his face. “Jesus, let me fucking take care of you like you deserve, tell me about the bloody song.”

“It was someone else’s mom.” You say, returning his gaze, tears flowing freely now. “You read my fucking report. Home was shit. So were the parents. It was another girl, she, she hurt herself playing. Her mom came over and sang the song to her. If, if I hurt myself, I just got another be—“ a hiccup shakes your chest. “I sing it to myself since… no one did it for me.”

Price expected something like this, but his heartbreak took him by surprise. The tear that rolled off of his nose onto your face broke the spell, his hands now wiping away the tears and the pain. And for the first time, you let him. You let him see it all. His candle now a fire in your dark room. With any luck he’ll burn it all fucking down, you hope.

#john price x reader #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #cod #cod modern warfare #my work #angst #more of it this time sorry bestie

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artsyivy · 3 days ago

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So, I’m making my own pj masks au and I have already like a summary of the au so I decided to make some character design/fan art because I can 🐀✨ (I made drawings in my sketchbook🤓)

This au is basiclly like the original show but if instead of the pj getting their powers since they were little they got them in their teen years, I’m so original I know 😛, (It's sarcasm but just let me be happy 🐒).

I don’t want to explain the au right now because I’m tierd and because it’s still is progress but anyway, here I have the first character design of my au and i decided to start with one of my favorite characters… Octobella 🗣️🗣️🗣️ (Just for u to know, my artstyle is a bit messy 🥹)

So this is like her octopus from or how ever u want to call it. I was going for like something similar to her original design and gave her some more jewelry because queen loves crystals!!! Love my sea witch 🐙✨

Next is her human form??? I’m still figuring things out…

Yes I have her headcanons because it would make my life easier. Well, Her name is Isabella because when I was doing reaserch o found out that “Bella” means “beautiful” or something like that and I found it quite fitting for her. Her last name is Havström because I found out that It’s a swedish surname that means “sea current” (please correct me if I’m wrong because I’m not familiar with it) She is swede because aperantly sea witches are very popular in Norse mythology. In the au, Bella comes frome a large line of powerfull sea witches and they are known for their potions and crystals, she can change her appearance at will between her “human form” and octopus form. In short, she is interested in the pj masks because they get their powers from a crystal and she LOVES crystals.

I made her a short queen in her senior year of high school, (she is older that the pj masks since they are in their junior year). Queen dyies her hair blond 👀.

In my au, Bella is part of a really wealthy family from Sweden but moved to the states arround middle school because her family’s business started growing very well in the states ,(yes, my au is based in the states even though the pj masks is from france but oh well). I imagine that she meet Greg before the other pj masks, they were neighbors in a quite a wealthy neighborhood, Greg went to the same middle school as Amaya and Connor but Bella’s parents hand his parents were friends and they saw each other very often. At one point, Bella and Greg where good friends but when Greg started high school, Bella changed schools to go to the same school as Greg and she made his life miserable when she was a sophomore and he was a freshmen, but when she was in her junior year she went to study abroad and greg was in peace (at least until she came back). There is gonna be an episode arround season 2 that shows when Bella comes back from studying abroad (I want to make her apear untill season 2 so this is like spoiler and I’m sorry 😔, and yes, I’m planning the au as if it was a series ☝️🤓).

And to finish this, u might already have noticed that Dylan (Armadylan) is in the corner with Bella, so in a part of the au they are like a couple but like a toxic kind of one because Dylan genuinely likes Bella but she only uses him, I’m planning that she wants to use him to do some kind of spell that would put Dylan in danger but I can’t say much now ,I don’t want to give a lot of detail because this post is already really long and I’m too tired but I promise that in a future post I will explain about it !!!

This post only had like the main idea of what I want to do with Octobella in the au but in future posts I’ll go with much more detail 😨.

Omg, if ur still here, Tysm!! and I hope u liked it !!!

Why did I made it so long 😭😭😭

🐀✨

Here is the full picture if u were wondering. ✨

#pj masks #pj masks au #artwork #artists on tumblr #traditional art #pj masks octobella #octodylan #justice for armadylan #Pj masks teen au

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rist-ix · 3 days ago

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And here I was expecting to wake up on Christmas with a new chapter posted as a present 😞😞 (jk jk no pressure 😁) Happy Christmas Rist!

*resurfaces from the bottomless bog of capitalism and holiday family visits with a gasp*

hhuuUUUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAGH!

(Happy Christmas to u too. Sorry for the late reply haha)

First things first, I’m really sorry, but I still don’t have the new chapter done. I really wanted to get it done until Christmas too, and I swear I am working on it, but I've since started my mandatory internship, and working full time has REALLY taken it out of me. Not to sound like a wimp, but oh my god. Oh my god, I never knew how much being a lazy uni student was worth before. Jesus. (I’m exaggerating. The work is really fun, I just don’t have a lot of free time any more)

That being said. Can I postpone your disappointment by offering you a little snippet, in these trying times?

In the aftermath of everything she’s lost, there are three things that return to her.

It’s no equal exchange.

It never could be.

But it is an unexpected one, and Bloom of Domino has had a long, long time without surprises that aren’t harrowing.

And the first thing that returns to her, is her magic.

Streaks of bright, fizzling purple whip past her head, narrowly missing her cheek and making her teeth clatter with magical reverb as she dives underneath them. She doesn’t get the chance to summon her shield spells; the next attacks are coming from all sides, swerving in a wide arc to close in on where she stands. She doesn’t even try to block them — there are already too many spells that she can see, there are doubtlessly more in her blindspots — instead she shoots back up into the air just in time. Adrenaline hot in her veins, skin prickling with the weight of the eyes still fixed on her. She hears the spells collide uselessly, just underneath the tip of her boots, feels the blinding bursts of energy feather out around her, but looses no time on feeling smug. Week after week of catching a well-timed curse to the ribs have taught her that openings are rare, and not to be wasted. So before the lilac sparks around her have even started to disperse, she launches herself right through them, fists full of magic and aimed at spot she last saw her opponent at.

The remnants of purple light singe her hair, burn her skin, but her gamble pays off: no one saw this coming.

She can see bright, cunning eyes widen in surprise, fiery red light reflected against them. As if time is slowing down she can watch the realization dawn, as the source of the glow comes closer and closer, her spell-charged fist outstretched and headed straight for her opponent's face. Pupils shrinking into startled pinpoints, racing from one point of interest to the next, Bloom can almost hear the lightning-fast calculations going on in front of her. Feverishly looking for the way to avoid catching a spell to the face — before arriving at the very same conclusion she did.

“I yield, I yield!” Darcy yelps out, stumbling back with her arms raised and her voice having fled an entire octave up.

Bloom comes to a stand with her fist still outstretched, flickering power trailing after it like embers. The edge of its light just millimeters from Darcy’s nose, who wrinkles it in a way that manages to convey discomfort and derision at the very same time.

Bloom smirks.

“Yeah, you better.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Darcy rolls her eyes and combs her hair back into place, casting off the momentary fright for pure, petulant annoyance. “I was much more gracious of a victor when I put you on your ass, last time.”

Bloom's grin doesnt falter in the slightest as she bounces back into the air to keep her wings warm, feigning ignorance as she hovers next to the sulking witch.

“Hm?” she makes innocently, propping up her elbow on Darcy's shoulder. “Sorry, I don’t remember that. Icy, do you recall that ever happening?”

The Witch of Winter is leaning back against the wall, up on the gallery with the others, feigning indifference. And she may hate her guts — though since their last confrontation, she's been oddly civil to her — but her hair is still disheveled from when Darcy had wiped the floor with her, five minutes ago, and Icy is nothing if not petty.

“Nope,” she deadpans without even a moment of hesitation. “Sounds made up to me.”

“Stormy?”

“I've never even met this woman!”

The third Trix doesn’t need a grudge to hold; Stormy would take any opportunity to bully her sisters. She bellows out a laugh, Icy gives a smug little huff.

The third member of their audience says nothing, opting to watch the exchange in silence instead. She pointedly does not look in his direction.

Next to her, Darcy's eye twitches as her sister cackles maniacally, pulling up her sleeves as she stomps towards her

“Oh, but you're going to.”

“Ah-ah-ah!”, Stormy evades the hand reaching to grab her by the scruff, whirling around with a yelp and raising a chiding finger. “Your time's up, Lady! Them's the rules. Get benched, loser!”

Darcy looks like she is seriously reconsidering how many sisters one needs in life, really. But, furious or not, she is the one who came up with the rules in the first place. And when it comes down to it, Darcy will always love having authority over her sisters more than she loves simply punching them — if only by a little.

“Just you wait until next time,” she mutters as she stalks out of the ring, tossing her hair back and brushing the soot off of her shoulder. “Dirty little traitor. We'll see how smug you'll look when you're the one getting backstabbed!”

“Looks like backstabbing is the only way you're ever gonna get me, given that you're behind me on the leaderboard.”

“That's— You— We just started!”

As the witches bicker among themselves, she rolls her shoulders and touches back down on the ground.

He's gonna burn a hole through her back if he keeps watching her like this, she thinks, and pointedly looks out of the window, in the opposite direction of the gallery. No one's making him do this, after all. She had asked him, point blank, to spar with her — weeks ago already. Only for him to deny her, after all his grandiose talk of “You need only ask”. She remembers the insufferably arrogant smirk on his face when he'd told her that she's in no condition yet to fight him, and that he'll entertain the idea once she has recovered enough strength to make it 'worthwhile' again. Asshole.

As if he weren’t the very reason for her lack of magic in the first place.

Granted, part of that might have been referring to her state of health instead — she really did catch a cold, after that encounter at the portal room.

Which would be his fault again, however, so her point still stands.

He can sulk for as long as he likes, while she duels his henchmen instead. Getting stronger, quicker, more cunning each time; testing her powers against everyone but him with far more flourish than necessary. She's made it a point to ask all three of them — even Icy — for a fight, loudly and oh-so-nicely, and can almost hear the scowl deepening on his face every time she passes him by. And now, after weeks of losing every single duel, she's finally managed to best Darcy. Proof that she's fully recovered, her magic returned. Reading herself to fight Stormy.

She tries not to smile to herself, stretches her arms.

He had the chance! She won’t ask again.

“Ready, witch?” she calls over at Stormy, who is bouncing on her toes and snapping lighting into existence around her fingertips.

“I hope you don’t think I'll go easy on you, just because you help me bully Darcy,” the most bloodthirsty Trix of them all snickers. “I will kick your ass.”

Bloom doesn’t bother with any fancy displays of magic - she's had her entire fight with Darcy for that. Instead, she shifts her weight onto her back foot, raises her arm towards her opponent, and smirks.

“You'll try.”

Stormy attacks.

Lightning-fast, deafening in her power. With the booming sound of thunder accompanying her movement, she thrusts her hands forward and sends swarms of crackling electricity racing towards her.

Bloom doesn’t move to block it.

There's a prickling sensation in the mark on her neck. From the corner of her eyes, she can see movement on the gallery.

Her smile widens.

No, she won’t ask again. She doesn’t have to.

With a shuddering hiss, Stormy's lightning is diverted and swallowed by a deep red orb of magic, snuffed out in a single, gloved hand.

The witch's face falls almost comically, as Valtor steps into the ring and in front of her without sparing her even a glance.

Bloom feels a little bad for her.

“You don’t mind if I cut in, do you,” he says over his shoulder, pale eyes still fixed on her.

It's not really a question.

Stormy throws up her hands.

“No!” she whines, “No, no, no, it’s my turn, you— you cheater!”

Somewhere beyond her field of vision, she can feel Darcy smirk in vindication.

“It was your turn,” Valtor brushes her off, entirely indifferent. “And now you’re done.”

“You always do this! Darcy, he always does this!”

“Then you should be used to it by now,” her sister yells back, audibly suppressing a gleeful burst of laughter. “Don’t whine to me for support, you know I don’t care.”

Stormy kicks a stray shard of ice against the wall, left-over from her sisters' duel, and growls out her frustration as she stomps off towards the gallery once more.

“You are all insufferable, and I hate you!”

Neither her nor Valtor watch her leave. Instead, he watches her fail to hide the smug, self-satisfied smirk on her lips, and she watches the irritated furrow in his brow twitch.

She can imagine why. He doesn’t like to fall for the same lure twice — but his hunger for a good fight has always trumped his caution, in the end.

“Tired of watching?” she asks innocently, and pulls her shoulder back to adopt another fighting stance.

His gaze, following the movement, is decidedly less innocent.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

#asks #fic: to be hunted to be haunted

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themostlesbianever · 4 hours ago

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College AU Sevika x reader

A/N: I havent posted a new chapter since last year hihihi. Sorry I had to make that joke

In all seriousness, sorry for making yall wait for so long, ive been doing a bit shit.

One last thing, Im very scared of mischaracterising my girl Sevika so please let me know if i write her in a way that does not seem right🙏

this chapter has a reference to reader having long hair.

(only semi-proofread)

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You’re abruptly awoken by Sevikas alarm going off, you hear her groan before hearing some rustling. You’re just about to get up to turn the alarm off yourself but then it stops ringing. The bed creaks and Sevika groans again, then yawns.

You turn in your bed, facing her now instead of the wall. You crack one eye open slightly, trying to savor the sleepiness you were still feeling. “Morning” you say, voice just above a whisper. “Morning” she replies, voice gravelly yet soft. “I’m sorry did I wake you?” she asks.

You shrug your shoulders. “Why are you up so early Sev?”

You had given her the nickname ‘Sev’ a little over a week ago and she hasn’t told you to stop yet, so you were going to keep calling her that until she did.

“It’s really not that early,” she says. “but I wanted to go to the gym before class.”

“Oh yeah, forgot you’re a gym bro,” you joke. She rolls her eyes but a small chuckle escapes her lips. “Also waking up early is good for you.”

You roll your eyes at her. “Sure” you say before turning back around to catch a little more sleep. You listen to the subtle sounds of her getting ready for the gym before drifting back into a comfortable sleep.

You’re once again woken up against your will, this time by Sevika opening the door and entering the room. “Are you still asleep?” Are the first words that come out of her mouth. You open your eyes and are met with a shirtless Sevika. She's wearing a simple black sports bra and black sweatpants. The t-shirt she was wearing earlier is now draped off her waist, one end of it tucked into the front of her waistband, the rest hanging loose.

Her giant arms and impressive abs are on full display and you can’t help but admire them. She starts making her way over to her closet. “As a matter of fact, I was just about to get up” you lie. You sit up and the blanket falls off of you, the cold air of the room suddenly hitting you. You shiver, quickly pulling the blankets up to your chin.

“Sev, could you grab me a hoodie from my closet please, it’s freezing in here.” you ask her. She turns towards you. “Dude you’re so dramatic, it’s not that cold” she says, walking to your closet anyway and grabbing a plain dark green hoodie. She throws it to you and you thank her.

“I’m gonna go shower quickly, do you wanna get breakfast together?” She asks, once again rummaging around in her closet, presumably looking for something to wear. “Yeah sure” you reply. “I’ve gotta call my grandma in a bit though, she’s very serious about our weekly calls, especially now that I'm at college and can’t visit her as often,” you add.

“You’re really close to your grandma right?” she asks. You simply nod.

You’ve been really close to your grandma for as long as you can remember. When you were very little you were over at your grandmas all the time, when your mum was at work, shopping, going out with friends. And both you and your grandma absolutely loved it.

As you got older you just got closer and closer, coming over for a cup of tea, baking cookies together, preparing Christmas dinner and all sorts of other fun activities. You told her everything. So she was naturally sad to see you leave for college. You had promised to call her at least once a week, if not more.

She had also said she’d come ‘break you out of that joint’ if it ever got too much. She’s the sweetest old lady and you love her to death, and so does your mother. Sometimes when you call her you’ll hear your mother coming in to visit grandma, so you stay a little longer, gossiping with both of them and telling them how much you miss them.

“That’s cute” she says, you think you hear a slight hint of sadness or disappointment in her voice but you shrug it off. She grabs all of her shower stuff and heads out the door. You get up out of bed and stretch your arms out over your head. You grab your phone from your nightstand and go to your grandma's contact, clicking the little phone button and calling her.

The harsh beeptone starts playing, indicating that you were, in fact, calling your grandma. After it goes off a few times she picks up. “Good morning darling, how are you?” a slightly scratchy voice sounds from the phone. “Hello grandma, I’m doing alright, how about you?”

“I’m doing alright darling, how's college? Are you and your roommate getting along?” She asks, “Yeah, she’s really nice, and a good roommate too. She cleans up after herself, isn't too loud. And another bonus, she doesn’t mind my endless yapping.” You say, finishing with a small chuckle. “I told you you’d be alright, how’s that boy of yours, Ekko?” She asks.

Ekko has been around your grandma's house many times as well while you two were growing up.

“Yeah he's good too grandma, and he's not my boy” you say sternly. “That's good to hear darling, I’ve always liked that boy. When you two were little you were attached at the hip.” She says with a little laugh, remembering all the shenanigans you and ekko got up to back in the day.

“Yeah, I’d say we still are” You laugh. You put the phone back down on your nightstand, and tap the speaker button. Sevika never takes very long to get ready, so you want to be close to ready when she returns, so you can leave for breakfast quickly.

You open one of the drawers under your bed, the one with all of your pants in it, and happily chat away with your grandma while trying to find the right pair of jeans for the day. She talks about some of the neighborhood gossip. Your grandma seems to know everyone in town and also everything about everyone, so gossip sessions are always fun with her.

You pick out baggy light wash denim jeans to wear for today, also grabbing a black belt from the drawer. You close the drawer and lay the pants and belt down on your bed. You then open the second clothes drawer and grab a tight, black, long sleeve shirt. You also lay this down on the bed, then make your way over to the closet. You grab a dirty grey colored jacket and also lay that down on the bed.

You get dressed, tucking the long sleeve into your jeans and throwing on the jacket, zipping it up about halfway. You're still on the phone with your grandma while doing your hair, you let out a few frustrated grunts. “What's wrong dear?” She questions

“My hair is being SO annoying right now, I just want to wear a high ponytail but there's bumps every time I put the elastic in.” You groan. “Just wear your hair down,” she replies, probably with a shrug. “No I can do it,” you say. Trying one last time to put your hair up, you brush it all back and grab it with one hand, plucking out two little strands of hair to frame your face. You slide the elastic off your wrist, twisting it around the ponytail. You almost cheer when you see you finally succeeded.

You sit down on your bed and just as you do, Sevika walks in. “Hi, I’m still on the phone with my grandma if you wanna say hi.” you say. “Hi miss y/l/n” she says. “Hello dear”

“I’m assuming that means you have to hang up then?” She asks, clearly a little disappointed. “Yeah sorry grandma” you reply. Sevika had started getting ready almost as soon as she had gotten back from her shower, and somehow she was almost done already.

“I will talk to you later grandma, have a good day” you tell her, she tells you to have a good day too and you hang up. Putting on your jewelry as a finishing touch before heading out to grab breakfast with Sevika.

--------------------------------------------------------If you would like to be tagged, please let me know

Tag list: @0eatmysoulll0-blog @misswynters @vikaswife @ladycupa0-0 @d3adbrainer @vintage-karma @gravegoer

#arcane #arcane fanfic #sevika #sevika fanfic #sevika x reader #college au #writing #fanfic #my post #text post

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h3r4life · 22 hours ago

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ADDRESSING THE CLAIMS MADE.

Alright, let’s dive into this because I’m done with all the shade and the half-truths. I want to address every single claim that’s been thrown my way and clear my name once and for all. It’s honestly exhausting, but I’m not gonna sit back and let this slide without setting the record straight.

First things first: “the format. the exact. same. format. i’m talking down to the sparkle gif divider i put in all my posts.” Really? The format is the same? Okay, let’s get this straight. I took inspo from her page theme, yes, but I did not copy her writing. I’m 110% sure she used AI just like I did (Oh, and just so we’re clear, I even ran some of her content through an AI detector to make sure I wasn’t making baseless claims. And guess what? The same content she used as “proof” during this whole “clap back”? Yeah, it came up as AI-generated too and will be at the end of the thread. So, if we’re gonna throw stones, let’s not forget about the glass house.) That’s fine, but if she’s mad because we both got the same suggestions, that’s on the AI, not me. I adjusted what the AI gave me to fit my style and beliefs, and guess what? That’s MY version. But if the AI generates similar outputs for both of us, that’s not my fault. I adjusted it, made it my own, added my personal flair to it and adjusted based on my beliefs. The fact that we’re both getting similar results from an AI tool is honestly just how it works. Don’t get mad at me because we used the same resource. If you’re gonna use AI and get mad when it spits out the same ideas for both of us, please, that’s on you. We both used a tool to get a similar outcome. If it bothers her so much, maybe STOP using the same damn AI.

Now, she’s saying, “when i called it out…WITHOUT EVEN TAGGING her…she BLOCKED me…hello? what????” Here’s the truth: She NEVER communicated with me directly. She didn’t tag me. She didn’t come to me with any questions. She blocked me immediately, and then, when I saw that, I blocked her back. I’m sorry, but I’m not about to beg someone for a conversation after they’ve already cut me off. When you block someone, you’re pretty much telling them you don’t want to talk. So that’s exactly what I did. It’s not about being petty—it’s about respecting the boundaries she set by blocking me first. She didn’t give me a chance to explain, and honestly? Why would I disrespect her boundaries and keep trying to converse when she blocked me? guess what? I WILL NOT 💀. Like, she made it pretty clear she didn’t want to talk—so what am I supposed to do, chase her down and beg? Absolutely not. I’m not about to run after someone who clearly doesn’t want any part of it. That’s just not the vibe I’m on. She blocked me, I blocked her back. Simple as that. Respect her space? Absolutely. Do I need to grovel for a conversation? No.

She claims everything is the same: “everything is the same. like, everything.” But again, we’re dealing with AI-generated content here. If the same themes and formats show up, it’s because AI is doing its job and generating suggestions based on common topics. It doesn’t mean I’m copying. It means we’re both using the same tool and getting similar results. AI is an incredibly helpful tool, and I used it to create something that spoke to me personally. She’s the one getting upset because we have similar outcomes. Like, what are you supposed to do? Stop using AI because it’s giving the same suggestions to multiple people? Doesn’t make sense. If it bothers her that much, she could always stop using it. Simple fix.

Then, she says: “why write about ‘parallel selves’ and just regurgitate what i wrote about parallel selves.” I’m gonna address this right now. The idea of parallel selves is not exclusive to her. It’s a concept that many people talk about, and if I came across the same ideas, it’s because they’re common themes in discussions about reality, identity, and multiple selves. She didn’t invent the concept of parallel selves, and the fact that she thinks she can claim ownership over that is pretty wild. Literally, parallel selves are a core concept in multiverse theory, which the majority of the shifting community believes in—like, hello??! I didn’t copy her thoughts, I expanded on a well-known concept that’s been discussed by many. If she wants to act like she invented it, fine, but she’s not the only one writing about it.

And her little passive-aggressive comment: “I could go onto this blog and think it was my posts. i did think it was my posts for a second there.” Oh, so now you’re flattered that my content looks like yours? Well, that’s funny because I didn’t steal your writing. I simply took inspiration from your page theme. But to act like I completely copied your posts? That’s a stretch. I’ve got my own thoughts, my own style. But you’re mad because you think I’m stealing your thunder? Sorry, but you can’t own topics. Everyone talks about similar things. Get over it.

Her next point, “if you’re gonna copy, just put an ‘IB.’” Girl, I didn’t copy. I took inspiration from your page theme—not your content. If I had copied, I would’ve credited you, but I didn’t steal your words. That’s not how this works. And if you can’t understand the difference between “taking inspo” and “copying,” that’s on you. Don’t try to flip this around like I’m the one in the wrong when I clearly didn’t steal your work. If you want to see real copying, look at how you’re calling out other people who do the exact same thing to you. You’ve done the same thing to others, and yet here you are, acting like you’re above it. Hypocrisy much?

She says: “i was fully prepared to just let it go. i saw the block and thought, fine, bury yourself in my copycat corner alongside with the other gals in there.” She’s acting like I care that she blocked me, but it’s her actions that are the problem. I wasn’t trying to start drama, but the fact that she decided to block me without communicating is what led to all this. And then she acts like I’m the one who’s in the wrong? No, sweetie, that’s on you. You blocked me without talking to me, and now you’re complaining because I didn’t care.

And her final line: “If you’re gonna copy, just put an ‘IB.’ it’s not hard. people do it with my posts all the time.” Well, guess what? I didn’t copy. I took inspo from a page theme. There’s a difference. So maybe instead of focusing on me, she should focus on the people who actually copy and paste her posts without crediting. I didn’t do that. I adjusted it to my own voice, and if that’s a problem for her, then maybe she should stop being so territorial over themes and start looking at the bigger picture: you use AI—what do you expect? AI is going to generate similar outputs for different people, especially when we’re all using similar prompts. It’s not some big mystery. I used AI to generate my own version, just like you did. It’s all about adjusting to make it your own, which is exactly what I did. So, let’s not pretend like I’m out here stealing your work.

Also, not to be disrespectful, but she doesn’t have anything pinned about not taking inspo from her theme? Like, how was I supposed to know? Genuinely, if she never expressed that on her page, I don’t see why I should’ve assumed it was off-limits. But for future reference, I’ll 100% be asking creators before using similar themes.

I’ve actually been doing beauty scripting on my TikTok since 2023, and I brought it over here because, well, TikTok might be banned in the US soon! So yeah, I’ve always been into beauty scripting content. The proof will be down below, and if it comes to it, I can link my TikTok page for proof. It’s something I’ve been doing for a while now. It gained a lot of attention, and I started getting tons of requests, so I kept going with it because people were really enjoying it. When I heard about the TikTok ban, I created a backup for my followers and continued posting the same content here on Tumblr for them.

Also It’s funny that you say this, especially when I see comments like, “I’m not asking for much!!!!!!!!! just a crumb of originality. a flicker of creativity that isn’t my own being paraded around in a bad disguise.” But, I’m curious… if you’re asking for originality, why is it that you rely on AI for your work? Seems like a bit of a contradiction, don’t you think?

In conclusion, I took inspo from her page theme, I tried to credit, but she blocked me before I had a chance to. So, I blocked her back. I’m not going to beg someone to talk to me after they’ve blocked me. And honestly, this whole thing is ridiculous. AI gave similar outputs, and we’re both working with the same tool. If that’s an issue for her, then maybe she should rethink how she’s using it. But please, don’t act like I’m the one in the wrong when I didn’t even steal her writing. It’s AI, the same concept, and if she’s upset by it, that’s her problem, not mine.

This is the last time I’m addressing this, and after this, I’m done. So keep that same energy, and move on. @hrrtshape. This is how you @ someone and make it clear if you didn’t know. You could’ve just said something directly instead of letting things spiral, but I get it. Some people like to throw shade instead of communicating. Anyway, we’re done here. Carry on.

SOME QUOTES I WANTED TO ADDRESS:

HER QUOTE. “i was fully prepared to just let it go. i saw the block and thought, fine, bury yourself in my copycat corner alongside with the other gals in there. i was ready to let her simmer in her little lurker shame. not my monkeys not my circus.”

MY RESPONSE. YOU blocked ME. You buried yourself in a block corner first, and then you want to talk about shame? You couldn’t even communicate before you went for the block button. If you were truly prepared to let it go, why even throw shade in the first place? We both know your energy didn’t match your words. Also, I don’t know what kind of circus you think you’re running, but it’s clearly full of miscommunication and assumptions.

Now, about the “copycat” claim. You want me to credit you for what? You’re out here using AI yourself. That’s not exactly original either, is it? If you’re going to get upset about similar outcomes, maybe step away from the AI for a bit—because, spoiler alert, it’s going to give similar outputs. That’s how it works, babe.

HER QUOTE. “I’m NOT asking for much!!!!!!!!! just a crumb of originality. a flicker of creativity that isn’t my own being paraded around in a bad disguise.”

Let’s talk about this real quick. You want creativity? Where was that originality when you let the machine / AI do all the work for you? The irony is off the charts. You want a “crumb of originality”? How about you start by not relying on AI to spit out the same ideas it gives to everyone else? It’s wild how you can demand creativity when you don’t even create from scratch. If you want something entirely unique, maybe focus on creating it completely on your own instead of expecting everyone else to somehow avoid overlapping themes. Just a thought.

HER QUOTE. “and if you can’t bring yourself to credit me, maybe go make your own ideas? wild thought, i know.”

MY RESPONSE. Girl… I’ve been making my own ideas, but let’s not act like you’re above it all. You use AI too, so the hypocrisy is wild. It’s not bad to use it, but if you’re gonna be mad about overlap, maybe don’t rely on the same tech that gives similar outputs to everyone. If you want everything to be completely original, start creating from scratch. Simple.

HER QUOTE. “when i called it out…..WITHOUT EVEN TAGGING her….she BLOCKED me.…hello? what???? you weren’t even following me, so why are you lurking so hard. the math isn’t mathing and it’s not just because i’m failing it. i’m flattered. in a ‘please don’t’ kind of way”

MY RESPONSE. First of all, when did this “call-out” happen? Because we’ve never even had a conversation, so what’s this about? You’re sitting here saying I blocked you after you called me out, but where’s the proof? When did that even happen? I didn’t get tagged, no messages, nothing. You’re lying, and it’s really giving “trying to make up a story” vibes. Maybe instead of lying, you should just learn to communicate with people before jumping to conclusions.

If that’s not true, please send me the evidence of you expressing your boundaries to me or even saying anything to me before I supposedly blocked you first. Because, as far as I’m concerned, we’ve never even had a conversation. I’m waiting. Seriously. Where’s the proof of me blocking you after you supposedly called me out? Because I’m not seeing it, and if you’re going to make these claims, at least back them up with something other than a made-up story. Maybe try communicating next time before jumping to conclusions.

And for the record, if you saw my posts, it’s probably because you were stalking my feed, not the other way around. Don’t flip the script and act like I’m the one who wasn’t communicating when you were the one who blocked me first. Like……

EVIDENCE FOR YOU ALL.

AI GENERATED CONTENT:

(These are just the ones I’ve checked so far, but if y’all want me to, I can check more of her posts, and I’m willing to bet they’ll come back with the same result. Again, I’m not saying using AI is bad, but when it generates similar ideas to others, you can’t just get angry about it. If that’s a problem, maybe try making your content from scratch instead of relying on AI for the same output. Just a thought.)

HER BLOCKED ACCOUNT:

(Also, here’s some proof. I just unblocked her and still can’t see her account. We’ve never even conversed at ALL before. How was I supposed to know I upset her or even communicate with her? Like, if you’re going to do a “clap back,” don’t be shy—@ me and stand on what you’re saying. It’s wild to me that she’s coming for me, but doesn’t even have the guts to face me directly. And honestly, that weird shit is what started all of this. Instead of coming to me with a real conversation, she blocked me then got upset when I did not care 💀, it’s just petty, passive-aggressive energy. If you’re mad, then say it. Don’t dance around it, because that just makes the whole thing look childish. If you wanna call me out, do it like an adult, not hiding behind your screen and acting like you’ve got all the answers.)

(I took inspo from your page theme, and I do apologize for that. Though, I think that apology isn’t really necessary on my part, considering how you handled this entire situation. The bottom line is, I didn’t know it upset you, and you didn’t communicate that to me. If you had, maybe this could’ve been handled better. But instead, you went straight for the block button without saying a word. So now here we are, and I’m just saying: clear communication goes both ways.)

HER ABOUT ME POST (TO SPECIFIC):

(I see that you’re serious about originality and no copycats, but I never crossed the line of copying your writing. I took inspiration from your page aesthetic, which I didn’t think was an issue since you didn’t specifically mention that in your “About Me” post. So, I didn’t know it upset you. And again, clear communication goes both ways. I think we could’ve avoided all this if you’d just said something instead of blocking me without any heads up)

BEAUTY SCRIPTING VIDEOS PROOF:

(This is my first beauty scripting post I ever posted, along with a few more receipts to verify. If this is not enough, I can 100% link my TikTok to back up what I’m saying. I never copied any of your writing, and I’ll stand on that. Let’s get this straight: I’m not out here stealing anyone’s writing or ideas. I’ve been doing this for years, and if you feel some type of way about it, that’s on you. At the end of the day, I’m doing my thing, and you’re the one mad about it. Keep the same energy. I’m not going to back down, and I’m not going to let anyone try to rewrite this narrative.)

(Also, I didn’t include all the slides of my first beauty scripting post because there’s a limit to how many photos you can add on Tumblr. I can either make a separate post or just link my TikTok if you’d like to see them for more evidence.)

#reality shifting #shiftblr #shifters #shifting antis dni #shifting blog #shifting community #shifting realities #shifting #shifttok

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911coded · 2 days ago

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I’m about 1/2 to 2/3 of the way through my bucktommy goes to the Pegasus Galaxy fic. The plan right now, if the characters don’t run away with it, is to get these crazy kids to Atlantis and back together. I will be leaving it open ended to continue with them living and working on Atlantis but right now I have no idea what that looks like. Ideas are welcome! I want to just post chapters here until I finish writing, then I will post the whole thing on AO3.

Chapter 1: My Lover’s Gone

[email protected]

To: [email protected]

Dave,

This is going to sound crazy but I just found out that Tommy has taken an assignment to Antarctica for the next six months! Antarctica, David! I can’t let him just leave, right? Fuck. I think I understand now why he ran but I’m at the end of my patience here now and I need to chase him before he somehow figures out how to leave the planet! Lol 😆

The LAFD bulletin says he’s stationed at McMurdo. Isn’t that where you and Lorne were based when we met in Mancora? Are you still in contact with someone there? I know you can’t say much, believe me, I understand classified, but I’m desperate man! I just need a contact in SAR and I’m sure with my certs and experience I can convince them I’d be an asset. I’ve been keeping up with all my training just in case so all I need to do is rent out my loft and I’m all set to go. Anyway, hopefully you’ll have some news for me in thurdays email. 🙏🏻

P.S. Sorry this is not like our usual emails, my head’s just a mess as you can probably tell. 😳

Talk soon,

Buck

David Parrish pushed his desk chair back and turned to the wall of windows and the sea glittering in the sun while trying to decide how he wanted to handle this situation. He smirked as he imagined the chaos Buck would bring to Atlantis. And maybe another pilot for Sheppard to play with. Of course, that’s a big if, it’s getting less and less common to find someone with the gene the last few years and Carson has been scratching his head over the why of it. With a sigh, he got to his feet and waved their suite door open. “Now to find someone with some actual authority,” he muttered to himself as he turned the corner to the nearest transporter.

He emerged in the main SCIENCE! corridor, almost positive he would find Major General John Sheppard hiding in Dr. Rodney McKay’s lab. Sure enough, when he entered the main lab, John was sprawled in an oversized chair, engaged in their version of flirting which consisted of snark and Rodney calling John, Colonel, instead of General, while they also solved complex math problems for fun. Weirdos. Dave plopped into a nearby chair and observed the chaos while he debated who to approach first.

“I got some news from my friend in Los Angeles,” he stated, when he noticed John looking at him. “Oh, yeah?” John prodded.

“Remember the ex-boyfriend that we advised to give him a little time, then go full Buck on him?” Dave asked.

“Is this the firefighter friend that makes ancient tech sit up and beg?” Rodney asked, smirking at John. John rolled his eyes at Rodney then nudged Dave’s arm, “What happened?”

“The ex-boyfriend ran away to McMurdo for six months. Buck wants to chase after him, he asked for my help with an introduction to someone in SAR down there,” Dave shared.

John’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Are you going to lure him into the program?” he asked. “Thinking about it,” Dave responded with a smirk.

Tommy was running through his preflight checks when he flinched reaching for the clipboard. Pathetic. Multiple memories of Evan grinning mischievously with a clipboard in hand ran through his mind. He shakes his head sharply and stuffed the thoughts and pain back in the steel chest in the back of his brain. He was here to work where no one knew him, where he could just breathe without someone tiptoeing around his feelings, and where he could hopefully learn how to let go of the pain of his imploded relationship. Maybe if he hadn’t done the imploding himself, it would be easier but of course he panicked and the next thing he knew, he was walking out of Evan’s loft having destroyed everything. Before Evan could ruin him. Jokes on Tommy though, turns out he can ruin himself without any help. With a deep breath, Tommy shoves the self-loathing aside and returns to his checklist with a huff.

He was running the last checks when he heard the crunch of boots on the frosted pavement, his VIP passenger was right on time.

[email protected]

To: [email protected]

Buck,

I have to tell you, my friend, you have some of my coworkers fascinated. 😂 With a bug from me in the right ear, it looks like a bored retired general should be on his way to meet your Tommy. Things are moving surprisingly quickly (well I say surprising, but most of us are out of field work and missing excitement in our lives). I heard that there was a fight between 2 generals about who got to scope out your pilot. Jack claimed that his “great age” and free time due to retirement meant that he was the obvious choice. Somewhere on my base, John is pouting and complaining to his scientist that no one lets him have fun anymore. You have already caused chaos without even being here! If nothing else, I’ll have a report on his state of mind for you by our next email. OR. If you are feeling adventurous and can get to Colorado Springs tout de suite, I have another bored general who has heard from Lorne about your uncanny bartender abilities. There may or may not be a betting pool. 😇

In all seriousness, I can get you a job without a problem, Tommy too. You both have the skills that our program can use. Here is where you have to make a decision, Buck. Classified. Our program can change your whole life, expand it and toss it on its ear. His too. Are you ready to fall down this rabbit hole? Think about it. Let me know.

Dave

Buck put his laptop on the coffee table and sat staring blankly at the wall, his mind racing in a million different directions at all the possibilities. Did he want to explore this opportunity that is now much more than SAR in Antarctica for a few months? Not only for him, but is it fair that he dragged Tommy into this? What if Tommy hates him for indirectly bringing him to the attention of these people? At this point, Buck is pacing the floor of his kitchen. Is he ready to leave his life here in LA for what could be a life-changing new job? Eddie was leaving next week to be with Christopher. Maddie, Chim, Hen, and Karen are settled in their families and happy. Bobby and Athena have both mentioned thoughts of retirement as a not so far into the future potential. What does he want next? What does he want? He wants a life with Tommy. He wants to help people. He wants to make a difference. He needs to talk this out. He needs some clarity. Buck jumps to his feet and grabs his keys and phone. He's out the door and in the elevator with the phone to his ear in a matter of moments.

#bucktommy goes to the pegasus galaxy fic #911 abc #bucktommy #tevan #tommy kinard #evan buckley #911 fic #bucktommy fic #writing #stargate sg 1 #stargate atlantis

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thatguythatdrawsalot · 2 days ago

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Blake - Menagerie Design Critique.

Hiatus is over and I fricking missed making posts about RWBY’s outfits along with redesigning them so let’s hop to it! We’re coming back to talk about Blake this time around which is good since the last post about her had no redesign at all which was odd even for me, it was one of the worst outfits and I completely chose to talk bad about it than to try redesigning it.

Don’t worry I don’t like Blake’s Menagerie outfit either and there’s a redesign that I hope will suffice.

RWBY Archives

In my last post about Blake I did briefly talk about her Menagerie design as it was the basis of her Atlas design which was the topic at the time. I still stand by what I said, it was clever for the designer to hide Blake’s signature color of black with other secondary colors to represent her hiding herself. It’s not uncommon for characters who desire to not be recognized do everything in their power to hide the things that make them iconic and recognizable.

We had Violet from Arcane in season 2 drenched in black than her signature colors of red/violet because she doesn’t want to be recognized, there was also Korra from LoK where she cuts her hair very short and wears Earthbending clothes when on the run in Book 4 to not be recognized as the Avatar. I appreciate them wanting to do something like that with Blake but the way they did it was goofy. A huge white coat on a tropical island would make anyone raise an eyebrow at her, make the excuse that aura regulates body temperatures all you want, it still looks silly. It’s not as silly as a giant purple fur coat like Ghira’s but a white jacket with large coattails is close.

We had more background characters and actual named characters that look way more appropriate for the island than Blake did.

Hair

The switch to Maya was a change I didn’t mind, I’m aware of the animation software doing phenomenal work, it improved background sets and some of the character models for RWBY… some of the characters.

They changed Blake’s hair a lot, she no longer has black hair, it's just completely dark gray, her hair also seems a lot more… brushed? I don’t know how to describe it but it just looks smoother than wild wisps like in her Volume 1 version. I also do not like how Blake’s cat ears are animated, I preferred if they just slapped Kali’s ears onto Blake as it looks way more realistic.

The hair was really the first sign of Blake ditching black and being swallowed up in purple’s.

Primary Color - Black?

Blake fails in representing her color of Black simply because she’s not wearing any black at all. I extracted the colors of Blake’s model in completely flat lighting and it is solely “not dark-enough Indigo” on her. I can’t vibe with the concept anymore of Blake wearing white and purples to hide her signature color which in turn means hiding her true self anymore because she’s not wearing her true color to begin with! She doesn’t even wear her true color at all in the next volume when her running and hiding arc is over!

As she fails to represent black she also fails in honoring Yang’s color, the gold of the look is just so miniscule and it doesn’t help that it’s surrounded by purple rather than black, I felt as though it would have made the color pop. In my recolor version I don’t think I did it justice, the outfit is just that bad that not even color placement could fix it, but I am a little happy that yellow is more visible as it can look good when standing next to Sun or Yang.

Positives?

Yeah, here’s a positive, Blake without a giant stupid coat on her is chef’s kiss. The giant coat gets in her way of combat, I’m sorry but that coat is bad, not as bad as Blake’s Atlas coat but still BAD. When it’s finally gone the ‘not dark-enough Indigo” that looks like black truly pushes the concept of her no longer hiding herself. I cheered when it was gone because this was such good symbolism to show through her outfit, I just wished it was actually black than “not dark-enough Indigo” because it truly could’ve been a good outfit with that very small tweak!

Redesign

When I do my redesigns you guys know I try not to rewrite them, all I want to do is give a character a new outfit, not a complete rewrite of their story. I get Blake is on the run but there was no way for me to think of anything that can hide Blake’s true colors on a tropical island. Not to mention she does a bad job at hiding her true self as she's quick to go to her family’s mansion and right away expose her cat ears and herself to Corsac and Fennec. So, screw it, ditch the concept and let Blake wear black again. It’s not exactly combat ready, but practical enough to fight in if she either wanted a comfortable life in Menagerie to not look for trouble or to do a quick battle against a Grimm or something.

The ponytail is something I always wanted for Blake, I think it would’ve been a neat detail in paralleling her and Yang if they both wore ponytails through their Volume 4-5 journey. You can probably tell the tank top and shorts along with long boots were really meant for Blake taking inspiration from Yang as she misses her and whatnot.

Do I think it’s too much black? Yeah, I do, I think more yellow/gold or white can help Blake not be a black blob as I don’t want her to fall into the same trap Cinder’s Atlas outfit does. I’m also reluctant if purple should have been added… I do love Blake’s color palette when it’s solely black, white, and gold but maybe I should have experimented more on color placement for this. I might do it in the future-

Conclusion

Blake’s outfit literally feels like an itch that needs to be scratched, I’ve praised the coatless version of the look when she got to Argus but the with-coat version when on the island and in Mistral looks ridiculous. I think it really could have worked if there was the slightest bit of tweaks to it. If the coat was perhaps sleeveless with no huge coattails along with actually having black than a “not dark-enough Indigo” I may have actually loved it or at the very least not mind it.

As it stands it’s just an outfit that has no black at all, isn’t practical for combat, and just a good example of what not to wear on a trip to Hawaii.

But of course it’s just my opinion. If you love this design or hate the design, please share your opinion. I’d love to hear it! :D

#rwby #ruby rose #weiss schnee #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #rwby redesign #rwde

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thimbell · 2 years ago

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I am once again returning from a long unplanned hiatus. Thank you for waiting.

El’s au hurt me and now i gotta do angsty fanart of their bois and goopy guy. Is it el’s au canon compliant? who knows! not me because i still gotta catch up, but here’s the INTRO to some bad times ahead hee hee hee >:) I’ll post the updates throughout the week along with a bunch of other stuff i’ve been working on while away!

#rottmnt #2al fanart #ell come get your juice #i’m so sorry that the first thing i post when i get back from an unplanned hiatus is 2al angst #i got other stuff that i’ll slowly post over the next couple days #also might open commissions soon #it’s busy #rottmnt fanart #I’M STILL NOT CAUGHT UP ON 2AL BUT I KNOW THE GOOP MAN #no spoilers pls #doodles

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lionblaze03-2 · 11 months ago

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mousefur and longtail are both asexual aromantic in some sort of qpr relationship with one another. Do you get it do you see my vision

#They’re life partners. One does not want to be without the other. But romantic and. The other kind of feeling are totally void from it #Is it still a queer platonic relationship if it’s a man and a woman that are ace/aro? I THINK so because the ace aro is the queer part #So that’s what I’m calling it!#when I was a kid I saw them as a romantic couple because I was very. Dense and basic on my views of things #(Ie I didn’t know gay people existed until I saw it in Undertale)#BUT. Mousefur is very obviously ace aro. And longtail also never takes a mate or has any romantic involvements or kits #So as an informed adult™️ I think this fits much better #Also I had forgotten about the fact mousefur was the one who first mentioned wasting prey. And that’s what made longtail go back #And get crushed by the falling tree. FUCK dude that’s so heavy #Imagine accidentally killing ur life partner because you said out loud you didn’t want to waste food #All this over a shrew? Was it worth it? I miss you. I’m so sorry.#HHHHHHHH #AND they’re both vaguely xenophobic! Made for each other 😔💖#I can’t remember if longtail gets better or not post. Getting his shit kicked in by baby firestar #About like. OTHER kittypets. But I KNOW Mousefur doesn’t #Is it still asexual awareness week? It is right?? Happy week aces!! I bring you… qpr cats #warriors #warrior cats #mousefur #longtail

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itspileofgoodthings · 12 days ago

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#kind of hate when students come back and they’re like ‘sorry I was sooooooooooooo bad in your class’#obviously I hate it if it’s just sort of a chance for them to just yap about how bad they were/glorify their bad behavior #but sometimes I hate it even when they’re sincere sksskjsjsjsj #like I know it’s a good thing and I should be glad but I’m not glad #I’m just like ‘fuck off’ (I do not say that. EVER)#but it’s just. ughhhhhhh #so much of the job is ignoring their bad behavior as much as you can #not like. not having good classroom management but just. in your own mind!!!! don’t give it all this power!!!!!!#I hate those posts that are like ‘why did my grown ass teacher have beef with a 12 year old’ because my loyalty is to the teacher #and it’s like. well middle school classrooms are war zones sometimes so give the teacher a break. but there’s a certain truth to that!!!!!#you can’t take the behavior seriously in your own mind. I think that’s it #so when they come back and they’re like ‘I was terrible for you I regret my immaturity’#I know it’s a good thing for them and probably inevitable for most of them (the being teenagers of it all) and I’m sure ultimately #that it’s a testimony to my class. but it makes me wince so much. because I set the tone so decisively and part of how you do it is just by #like. believing everyone’s having a great time. and kids being like ‘I was a monster from #the deeps of hell’ seems to contradict that #and always drives me to question myself even though I probably shouldn’t and i need to just chill #some of it is just my own vulnerability or insecurity #I’m hoping it lessens with time? because my first couple of classes of course that’s what was happening #because they WERE bad. and they were worse than they usually were cause they wanted to see if they could get away with it #and did they? I mean yeah probably a lot more than they should have bc I was brand new!#anyways I’m just rambling. but yeah I don’t like it.#like please just leave me alone.#(I hate most kinds of intake tbh. because I always have to do something with all of it—intellectually emotionally)#(I can never just rest. the mind is sorting and processing) it’s like when it comes to teaching #the more things I can shut my eyes to the better #I’ve come a long way with knowing what of the things my students say to ignore than I used to #bc actually they’re innocent babies who are just yapping! Cause they don’t know what else to do yet.

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villainsidestep · 9 months ago

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oh survivor!fawn we are really in it now

#gideon shut the hell up challenge #people keep saying they’re sorry for your loss. Your Loss. that is how they refer to your brothers. how they refer to you.#you have always been one of three. part of the pack. and that has always been fine but now you are alone and you are not You but your loss.#julia says sorry for your loss. ricardo says sorry for your loss. you yell that it should be their loss too. it is everyone’s loss.#they have lost your brothers and now they have lost you too. (fate works in funny ways you think)#at the funeral people offer apologies. offer you flowers. offer you baked goods and stories of how [your loss] saved them or their mom or #their dad’s uncle’s wife’s coworker’s daughter’s friend from childhood or someone else equally unimportant. someone alive.#[I’m sorry for your loss] they all say and you do not say thank you. there is no being thankful for [your loss].#[I’m sorry] says ricardo. you stop listening. [I’m sorry] says julia. you wonder if she said it to the man she punched.#you do not apologize back. you do not let it be [their loss]. it is yours. they have always been yours.#[I’m sorry] says chen . for river and cyrus. the first to use their names with you. to acknowledge them as your brothers. to make them more #than just the pieces of you that have been broken. and you thank him.#we like writing in tags sorry !!!! also at some point the original idea was that any parts of ‘I’m sorry for your loss’#would start distorting and then get blacked out to show like. when u hear smth so much and esp w grief that u just block it out #anyway. survivor!fawn but still factoring in that chen is not afraid to just. Say Things.#esp in v3 I think the ortegas would be even more cautious w fawn out of wanting to not upset them and meanwhile chen is like yeah I’m gonna #just straight up acknowledge ur brothers for u bc I can tell that’s what u need #we are also thinking abt v3!au and fawn being heartbreak but. that’s not for this post obvs #verse: you are the survivor; you carry the guilt

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rosicheeks · 10 months ago

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Unfortunately relatable. I grew up in the church and have a lot of Christian trauma from that. I show up for special occasions for my parents… sometimes. But it’s uncomfortable from the moment I step through the door. Bigoted pastor, the self-righteousness disguising the prejudice, the political comments from the altar. Shots at young people left right and center as if the hell on earth wasn’t caused by the same older generation 90% of the congregation belongs to..

I miss being young in the choir and the youth groups and not struggling with it. It’s wild to look back at the younger version of me who was unshakeable in his faith and honestly just saddening.

I was texting my sister today about it and she said

“I 100% think ALL of us have a ton of religious trauma and everyone else in the family just doesn’t realize it cause they’re still drinking the kool-aid.”

I ran out of tag room and didn’t want to delete any 😭 seriously not lying I could write a book about all my thoughts and experiences

#I relate to all of this so much #and it’s so sad how many people truly have religious trauma #I still find myself lucky and privileged cause I know there are stories MUCH worse than mine #it’s really hard cause my parents still think I’m a Christian #honestly at this point I have no clue what i am #even if I end up still being a Christian that doesn’t help or heal all of the years of church trauma #but the hard part is still acting the part for my parents #growing up I always tried to fit into the good Christian girl mold #cause I know that’s what my parents wanted and I didn’t want to disappoint them #but once I started smoking weed and they found out? it went all downhill from there #their perfect angel fell from heaven #and I feel like ever since I haven’t been really their daughter…. I’ve just been living on the outside looking in to everything #it hurts looking back at all the years I spent brainwashed into believing that was the ONLY faith #it genuinely makes me sick to my stomach thinking about the fact that I went to a pro life rally #the thing I was talking to my sister about was how mental health was never talked about in the church #when I started dealing with it and went to my parents or the pastors or any adult really and told them what I was dealing with #wanna know what the first thing they would ALWAYS say? well have you prayed about it? the way they treated mental illness was that it was #YOUR fault cause God is punishing you for something…. that you need to pray or go to church so then God will eventually take it away #and the thing is I don’t necessarily blame my parents (which kinda sucks cause I want to blame someone)#but honestly it’s just the environment they grew up in too… like I’m 99% sure my dad has dealt with depression his entire life #but won’t get diagnosed or anything cause they always believe faith has something to do with it #which makes me incredibly sad cause I just think about how much my dad has suffered and how he didn’t need to #^^ I was typing this out when I was late to my family gathering hahaha but then I think my sister called or something so I had to stop #sorry this post is all over the place - I swear I could write a book about religious trauma #yesterday went ok surprisingly but today? TODAY is going to be so much worse #sure I’ll make a post about it later but I guessssss I should go to bed now? it’s 2am and I have to get up at 5:45 🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃#and I have a fuuuuull day of fun Christian festivities while I’m dealing with all of this bottled up and unresolved crap from my past #please don’t get me wrong I love my parents and like I said I don’t blame them - they did their best #it just really sucks wondering what my life would have been like if I didn’t grow up in the church or in a super religious family #I wonder if when I told my parents I was depressed if they would have instantly brought me in to get help

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intomybubble · 3 months ago

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I’m still playing Sims 4 and so I made a household with a Sim of myself so I can try doing a bunch of different careers (for the items lol)

I ended up romancing Don Lothario and accidentally had his kid after downloading and trying out the WW mod (we had 1 date prior, and I asked for him to live in with me afterwards).

I wasn’t paying too much attention to his name (since this was my first time playing Sims 4 since mid 2010s and I don’t know characters or lore), and used the random name generator and named our daughter, Dawn. I did not realize I basically named her after him lol.

As things are now

We’re partners and “soulmates”

I go out to work (currently doing the spy career), while he’s basically my househusband

He was a creative freelancer when he was added to my household so he makes A LOT from paintings, and sometimes music

I gave him an variation of his default everyday outfit to give him glasses (bc I’m into glasses, but “lorewise” he spends more time at a screen for work so he started to need them)

I used a mod to change his “non-committal” trait into being a family man, and bc he’d still get tense from being “non-committal” (despite trying to get rid of it) I got a “carefree” potion from the rewards store RIP

I don’t 100% remember before changing it, but he was a decent dad beforehand. Now, its super cute seeing him chat and play with our daughter

My Sim wants to marry him, but I’ve been worried about him potentially refusing so I’ve just stuck with being “partners”

I did do a wedding on a different household (OC marrying Liberty) and that was a mess especially since I have no idea what I’m doing

I do now have actual venues to use in the future instead of the ugly base game park 👍

I did give my Sim the same necklace that he wears as a sorta “promise ring” in her outfits (I think its cute lol)

Bc I’m stuck on leveling stats, we don’t leave the house that often. But the WW mod has kept things… spicy without actual dates lmao

I think I’m going to try proposing and just having an incredibly long engagement soon…

#desiree talks #desiree plays #i would like to ignore any of the lore he actually has bc he’s mine now lol #also these are definitely not his kids but Katrina Caliente had two kids?#they’re both black so I’m certain that it was an auto generated NPC before I cleaned up the households #aka moving families back in their home finding stuff in the gallery to upgrade their homes etc #and editing the stories mode settings so they stay and stop having babies #and deleting auto generated sims that were ugly or had too many bad traits #so RIP i won’t know who the dad is and same for Dina and her kid looks asian #our daughter dawn isn’t undeniably cute (she got her eyes and looks like she has no lashes so it’s a bit weird #HIS EYES not mine #im so sorry sweetheart i love you and i’ll max your stats again before making you a teen #like i want to age her but i also want to buy dlc (when on sale) so we can make more memories aka the growing together dlc #also another thing about the WW mod i have to test it so NPCs don’t be doing the nasty in public #i saw one of my OC sims getting railed at the bookstore i placed and I was traumatized #like i have to triple check and test my settings #i also feel like a degen for having the mod and using it a ton on my sim and don but i dont hate it lol #like don is hot af after the design refresh #he got the best of it in comparison to the caliente girls #i saw his early sims 4 design and he looks like barely 20 with a incel podcast or just a listener #and his designs from past games make him look like a 40 year old divorcee #currently he looks like he’s around 30 and I’m getting closer to that age anyway #there are some cute animations either from WW or kawaii’s SoL mod (idr but its probably WW) and they’re really cute #god i want an actual relationship but i need a job and some personal security first before i feel comfortable putting myself out there #i tried the mod with my ocs and it felt more wrong than it being a sim of myself and my basically husband #hang on this is going in an actual post

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lilreidgirl · 1 month ago

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Do I wanna know?

Summary: You and Drew are best friends, but you want more. What happens when you get invited to a day out on Drew’s friend’s yacht and get more?

Warnings: MDNI(18+), fem!reader, thigh riding, daddy kink, nicknames used (princess, baby, little lady, good girl…), kissing, alcohol (beer), swearing, no use of (y/n), reader wears a skirt, shy!reader, pining amongst friends, English is not my first language, if I forgot anything; please let me know!!

WC: ~2.4k (no idea how that happened)

A/N: I got inspired by this photo so I wrote this at like 2 am and I’m posting it now at 5 am, this is a mess, gn my loves (NOT PROOF READ, SORRY) (also this is my first fic about Drew so yeah)

When your best friend, Drew Starkey, invited you to a small get together on his friend’s yacht, you were more than willing to go. You and him had been friends since years, getting to know each other through mutual friends and suddenly you were eating take out with a b-list celebrity every other night.

You twirled around in front of your full body sized mirror, watching with amusement as your skirt twirls with you, the ruffles bouncing as they fluttered in the wind.

“Wow. Really doesn’t take much to get a smile on that pretty little face of yours, huh?” Drew chuckled as he watched you spin around.

Startled by his voice you stopped your little turns, looking at him with a small playful glare when the dizzy fog finally cleared from your vision.

“I’m just a happy person. You should try it sometime” you shot back, but you knew it was no use. Drew was great at talking, arguing, whatever. He was great with people in a way you just couldn’t figure out for yourself.

But honestly? You were fine just standing on the sidelines watching him do his thing, waiting for him to abandon that and come talk to you for a bit.

You had been fine with it.

Lately every time he laughed and grinned at one of your sarcastic comments and every time he stared at you like he was a theoretical physicist and you had the answers to string theory, you couldn’t help but want more. Couldn’t help but want that “best friend” status to be upgraded to “girlfriend”. Hell, you even dreamt of being called his wife.

For now though, you were just going to try and enjoy the day on a luxurious boat.

Soon you found yourselves in the car. You clicked on random songs on your phone and sand along to the “wait, this is the best part, shut up”’s before yet again changing the song as Drew drove to the harbour, admiring the way you seemed so enthralled by the different songs and music.

“Would love to continue listening to your big world tour concert, little lady, but we’re here,” he announced once he’d gotten the car carefully parked.

Excitedly, you jumped out of Drew’s car, watching as he did the same before you both made your way closer to the water where many ships floated atop the sea.

At the same time, you both spotted Drew’s group of friends, waving at them as they saw you two as well.

You’d gotten to know them a bit but the amount of group hangouts you attended, didn’t really allow you to form a strong bond to any of Drew’s friends.

What can you say?

You’re just not a people person.

You’re a person person.

A Drew person.

You squashed the ridiculous thought, giggling it off before you checked that your outfit was neatly in order.

Upon seeing you inspecting your clothes, Drew leaned down and whispered in your ear, his breath tantalizingly brushed against your ear and neck as he spoke, “You look amazing, baby, don’t worry.”

As you reached the boat, the smile you had shared for a few enchanting seconds came to a sudden end.

“Hey, Drew!” Various different voices greeted the both of you and you both returned the favour with just as much enthusiasm.

One of the guys, the one whose yacht it was presumably, invited everyone aboard.

Your eyes flitted to everything around you, spotting a few seats, some complicated looking boat equipment and random day-to-day fun stuff lying around.

The smell of fish and sea breeze filled the air and your nostrils, but that scent quickly evaporated when Drew stepped next to you, finally finished with catching up with his friend and was now holding out a beer bottle for you to take. His cologne took over, overwhelming your senses. Something you were definitely not complaining about.

You accepted the beer from him, taking a sip before handing it back to him and watching as he repeated your action of drinking from the bottle.

Your gaze drifted to his Adam’s apple as it bobs when he took gulps of the alcoholic drink. He lowered the glass container from his lips, putting his strong bicep right in your line of sight.

As embarrassing as it is to admit you could have almost moaned from just looking at his muscly arm.

He must have taken off his shirt sometime between helping you up the steps on the side of the ship, his hand securely wrapped around your thigh to keep you from falling, and when he seemingly appeared behind you as you admired your surroundings.

Then your eyes found his chest, strong pecs priding over his abs that seemed carved from the very marble that Michelangelo had used to sculpt David, each muscle defined with an almost perfect precision to it.

Just before you could take a good look at his black swim shorts hanging off his hips and hugging his beefy thighs, his voice called your name.

“Hey, come on, picture time,” he reiterated what he had said when you were still zoned out.

“Oh. Okay,” Throwing your thoughts back into reality, you watched as everyone made their way over to the discussed upon place where the photo would be taken.

“Who wants to set the timer?” A girl, who you’d forgotten the name of, asked.

Something with an F? L? A? Who cares.

“Not it!” Was called by everyone but you, your face quickly morphing from a surprised look of “who the hell still uses ‘not it’?” to an accepting face that you were in fact “it”.

The girls and boys all took their places on the netting of the boat. The 5 people in front of you got ready to pose for the group photo.

Efficiently, you adjusted the tripod so that the camera of the phone pointed perfectly towards the centre of everyone.

You bent down, looking at the screen of the mobile. You saw Drew depicted by many pixels, your thighs clenching when he moved his hips up to readjust his position on the midnight blue blanket that lay sprawled over the rough nylon net.

Fuck, he was perfect.

Of course, you fixed your hair one last time before pressing the white button on the right side of the device, starting the 10 second countdown until the picture.

Swiftly, you made your way around the tripod, and plopped down onto the free space between a dark haired guy, you’ve come to know as Matthew, and Drew. You smiled sweetly at the round circles on the back of the phone as Drew slung an arm around your shoulders.

Once the photo was taken, everyone scattered and the usual chatter was back. You ran up to the phone and you looked at the image.

Well fuck.

Drew looked absolutely freaking ethereal.

His sitting in a reclined position with one leg bent and the other stretched out, manspreading, almost made you go feral. He was smiling widely toward the camera, his impossibly bright grin attracting all the attention in the photo.

His body looked like a dream. For a moment, you thought maybe you were dreaming, if you were you would hold onto the memory of the photo, even if it was just a dream, for the rest of your life.

God, pining for your hot best friend made you sound so so pathetic.

The thought that what you were experiencing was just a dream was snapped in two like a twig when Drew came up from behind you and flicked your bare back.

“Ouch!” You exclaimed, a frown forming on your face.

“‘M sorry, princess,” he swung his arms over your shoulders, holding on to you from behind like a koala would his mother, peering at the screen in your hands.

“Did it turn out good?” He asked casually, acting as if he didn’t see how your face was blushing an awfully deep shade of red and don’t even start to think that he missed the way you were obviously turned on.

“Yup,” you answered curtly, ducking down to be released of any physical contact with him, because you felt as if you would melt if he touched you a second longer.

“I’m um… gonna go below deck. The sun uh- it’s hitting me pretty hard right now. I have a headache,” you lied, coming up with some excuse to just get yourself somewhere where you can have your alone time.

“O…kay…” He didn’t seem convinced but that wasn’t for you to deal with in that moment. You made your way down the stairs leading below the deck of the ship, the room was nice and cozy.

With a sigh of relief you sat down on a wooden bench near the kitchen and slipped your phone out of your purse.

After a few minutes of mindlessly scrolling through various social media apps you heard footsteps nearing you, causing you to look up.

Your eyes met none other than Drew Starkey himself.

“On your phone when you have a headache? Really?” He asked unamused. “You lyin’ about the headache or you just stupid?”

“Stupid…?” you offered in a quiet meek voice.

“C’mon, sweetheart, what’s the problem, huh? You don’t like my friends or something?” He questioned as he sat himself down next to you on the oak plank.

“No, no, they’re great, I just…” You really should have been able to come up with something to say but the way his forearm was flexing as it rested on his thigh distracted you.

A smirk grew on Drew’s face. “No yeah, I uh-“ he chucked as he shook his head in what looked like slight disbelief, “I know.”

Unsure of the true meaning behind his comment you averted your eyes to the floor, focusing on the swaying of the boat on the water instead of Drew’s piercing blue eyes staring intently at you.

He leaned back with a sigh, his legs spreading wider and his arm sneaking behind your back and around your waist. “You’re kind of ridiculous, you know that?”

All you could do was nod which earned you yet another laugh from Drew.

Just as you were about to persuade yourself to actually speak, you were pulled onto Drew’s lap by his arm, his hands quickly settling you on his thighs.

“Wha-“

“I know, princess,” he cooed.

You know you should have felt at least slightly degraded or mad because of his tone but the only thing it did, was make you want to clench your thighs together. Which of course wasn’t possible because each of your legs rested on different sides of Drew.

“You look so pretty today, baby,” he said, tucking some loose strands of hair behind your ear before moving his face down to your neck and pressing soft, fleeting, sensational kisses to the side of your collar.

Your breathing became panted and you unintentionally slowly rubbed your core along the material of his pitch black swim trunks.

“Not even a thank you?” He murmured teasingly as his kisses walked over to the area right under your ear and his large hands gripped your hips harshly, stopping you from any further movement.

“Th- thank you…” You whispered, your tone dipped and coated in your lust and arousal.

You felt a small nip on your throat that made you let out a small “Ah-!”

“Thank you…?” He muttered expectantly.

“Sir?” You tried, getting your confirmation of that being the wrong answer when a more harsh bite was left just under your jawline.

“Daddy..” you practically moaned out, the small pleasure that you got from the bites making you rut against Drew’s strong hold on your body.

“Good girl…” he praised, his face finally coming up to meet yours, kissing you softly but also at the same time with an unforeseeable force.

His fingers stopped drilling into the skin over your hipbones, letting you push your aching core down onto his covered thigh.

He broke the kiss, his plump lips and hot breath trailing over your cheek as you both gasped from air.

His hand roughly grabbed the back of your head, wrapping his fingers around your messy hair, holding you tight against him.

Immediately after, his other hand took hold of your hip again, helping you grind down on his swim pants.

“That’s right, baby, use daddy’s leg,” he breathed out heavily.

“Such,” he pressed a sloppy kiss to your jawline, “a,” another kiss was placed on the corner of your mouth, “good,” he said before pecking your lips, “girl,” he murmured into your mouth before shoving his tongue down your throat.

The press of his thigh onto your bikini bottom made a perfect friction emerge against your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through you.

“What about-“ you started.

“I locked the door, sweetheart, no worries.”

The way he basically read your mind made you feel even more turned on.

Your folds rubbed back and forth in your

soaking wet swim bottoms as you gripped Drew’s shoulders tightly, eyes squeezed shut as he continued to spew out praise after praise to you.

Suddenly a knock resounded throughout the room, a sudden halt coming to your despicable actions.

“Hello? Anyone in here? Why is the door locked?” A female voice asked from the other side of the door.

“One second!” Drew called before returning his attention to you.

“We’ll finish this later, yeah?” All you could do was nod, still completely dazed.

He picked you up off his lap, helping you settle back into a standing position and smoothing out both of your guys’ clothes.

With a casual smile on his face he unlocked and opened the door, spouting out some excuse for the door being locked before leading you upstairs with him.

For the rest of the afternoon, you sat, with a drink in hand, watching Drew talk amongst his friends, his eyes flicking to you every once in a short while.

Once other people started leaving and the sun started setting, he walked up to you.

“Ready to leave, princess?”

“Uh-huh,” you uttered out, standing up and saying your goodbyes to everyone that still found themselves on the yacht.

As you walked down the dock, admiring the sunset, you gripped onto Drew’s arm.

“Everything okay?” He asked.

You looked up at him with an “Are you serious?” face, annoyed at his nonchalant antics.

“Gee, sorry, okay?” He chuckled.

“I’ll make you feel good soon. Don’t worry, little lady.”

@emma-e-a

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