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esote-rika · 1 day ago

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lose some, win some | Spencer Reid Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Waldorf!Reader Category: Hurt/Comfort, Smut 18+, MDNI Summary: COLLEGE AU! When your debate team loses the national championship, you and Spencer return to your shared room and find a productive way to take out your frustrations. Content: Waldorf!Reader is a sore loser, lots of dialogue in the beginning, Sassy!Spencer, some talk of misogyny, Spencer makes up for it by being a munch (so f receiving oral), virgin!Spencer but he’s also a little shit, they are both little shits but it’s cute I swear, handjob, raw p in v but reader mentions she is on the pill, creampies, multiple orgasms for both of them (they’re frustrated and horny give them a break) Word count: 4.8k (it's porn with a plot for once) A/N: Not really frenemies or rivals, they’re just really angry young adults. Idk what Spencer’s actual age was in college, but he studied several times so for this fic, he’s on his third degree and is 21. If the debate stuff is incorrect, I'm sorry. I did do some research but there's so many different rules and styles lmfao. My friend who competes says it’s fine and understandable so :) also massive thanks to @just-call-me-by-yn @mggslover and @notlongtolove for helping me brainstorm and @wheresmacoffee because she was there JK ILY ANDY their banter during the filthy part is for you <3.

Spencer Reid doesn’t particularly care about the prestige that comes with winning. Most people crave it for the validation, or because it’s another impressive thing they can slap onto their resumes, but being a genius his entire life allows him not to worry about that. His academics speak for themselves. He doesn’t need to pad it with extracurriculars. Instead, he enjoys the skills that are honed from debate—learning to listen to arguments, finding the perfect way to rebut, memorization and reviewing with like minded individuals. The university team is a well oiled machine composed of four people— him on his third degree, two other male juniors, and you, the only woman.

Over the span of two semesters, he’s memorized the quirks of his teammates. It’s essential to building rapport, after all, and he’s eager to get something good out of this. Something less academic, and more social. Friends, perhaps. While he’s formed a bond with the other members, you have always been an enigma. Stoic and ambitious, you remind him of a statue. Cold and oh so beautiful. You’ve often kept to yourself. And after several rejected attempts at friendship, he’s learned to just observe from afar.

He knows from experience that observing allows you deep insight into people, and so he knows after two semesters that you’re perhaps the most competitive out of the entire team, the most hungry for a win. This drive, he suspects, comes from a deeply rooted desire to prove yourself, though he’s unsure why. What else do you have to prove? You have everything, as far as he’s concerned. Keenly intelligent, beautiful, with a circle of friends that adore you. You aren’t like him, who has to sink his claws deep into this debate team in order to get a dose of social interaction. No, you have a life, no matter how marblesque you may seem.

And yet, somehow it’s still not enough for you.

He thinks it’s utterly ridiculous, and absolutely fascinating.

The weekend of nationals is taxing. You’ve been fighting for the opener role since the semis, but it would require too much adjustment, which no one is willing to risk so close to nationals. Not only does he not want to give up his spot, he also knows how ruthless you can be as a rebuttal speaker. He's meek, and you have a tendency to be aggressive, it's why the original roles go so well.

Your adviser agreed, and there’s been tension ever since.

To make matters worse, hotel arrangements somehow have placed both of you in the same room. The force of your resentment is palpable even to a normally clueless guy like him. Distracting. Pages being turned in your exaggerated annoyance. He’d complain of dramatics, but he doesn’t want to start anything.

The fact that you’re rooming together also doesn’t help him. Sure, there are different beds, small twin mattresses on either side of the room, but still. Proximity to a woman his age has him anxious for reasons entirely unrelated to nationals.

So when you lose the championship, his concern for your reaction behind doors overwhelms the regret of losing.

No one is happy with the results. It is obvious from the set of his jaw, the tenseness of your shoulders. Spencer tries to calm down, accept defeat with a modicum of grace, at least in front of other people. He can tell the rest of the team is trying too, but quite unconvincingly. Onstage, accepting the medals for second place—mockingly silver, and no trophies—the team’s smiles are forced, plastic.

Back to the hotel rooms are a different story. When you slam the hotel door shut, it echoes down the hall and makes even your debate adviser flinch. It would have made Spencer flinch too, if he hadn't already expected it. He's grown accustomed to how bad of a loser you can be. Like a tornado, your anger spares no one from its destruction. It is in these moments that your stoic resolve crumbles, no longer unfeeling, but rather fully human. Hurtful. Ruthless Unfortunately for him, he's directly in your line of fire.

He catches bits and pieces of your muttered diatribes. He’s used to those too. Normally, he would have ignored them. Losing sucks the energy out of a person, regardless of how uncompetitive he is. Besides, your ranting is mostly harmless, until one sentence snags his attention.

“— knew I should have been the opening speaker —”

He is clawing at his tie, trying desperately to get it off, but the words make him stop immediately. He whirls around, brows furrowed, “What?”

You pause as well, “What?”

“What did you say about being the opening speaker?” He watches you roll your eyes. It does nothing to calm the bitterness in the back of his throat. The normal song and dance goes like this: he’d say a string of words in an attempt to soothe the fire burning in your nerves, and you'd say something so vitriolic he'd refuse to speak to you for the rest of your time together.

But today, having just lost the biggest championship after working so hard, he's a short fuse and your words are incendiary.

“I said I should have done it, like I asked—”

“Ah, as usual, you're mad that you didn't get what you wanted.”

An offended scoff. He's almost proud he managed to pull that out of you. “You take too long—”

“Nationals isn't the time to suddenly alter the roles,” he tells you, shaking his head. He manages to loosen the tie, finally, tossing it on his bed with so much aggression it misses the mattress and lands limply on the floor, “I've always been the opening speaker.”

“Yes, and one would think that after going through so many debate competitions, you would learn to be more succinct,” you snap, shoes making harsh clacks against the tiled floor, “The goal isn't to let us know you're the smartest person in the room, Spencer, it's to set up the tone and groundwork of—”

“I don't need you to lecture me about being the opening,” he interrupts, “I know what my role requires of me.”

“Do you?” Eyes flashing, you walk to him until you're almost chest to chest, “Because we still lost.”

“And you blaming me?” he hisses, leaning down. He hates doing this, stooping to your level of pettiness. Normally, he would choose to be the bigger person, refusing your verbal sparring; he likes to focus his energy on the actual debate, the opposing team, not his own teammates. But your words cut deeper than normal; it isn't the fault the team lost, that's just a flat out lie, “We advised you multiple times to memorize the statistics—”

“Something you're better at!” You look physically pained to admit his superiority, but the words spill anyway, “You'd be so much better to do the rebuttals since you have your stupid photographic memory, and I can set the tone better, but nobody on this little boys club ever listens to me!”

He's surprised at the choked tone your voice has taken. In his mind, you're a complete equal—you made it to the team through hard work and impeccable skills, like the rest of them did, after all. It didn't matter that you are a woman to him, so of course his instinct is to deny. “That’s not true.” but even his voice sounds weak.

How would he know if it’s not true? He’s never been in your shoes before, never had to reckon with what comes with being the only woman in a team of men.

“Isn’t it?” he flinches at the venom in your voice, “You all act like I'm an afterthought—I get the shittiest positions even when I know I can be more effective in a different one, no one ever asks me for strategy, hell, you never invite me to your stupid chess games.”

His mouth opens and closes foolishly, latching on to the one thing he has a full response to, “I thought you hate chess.”

A sharp laugh, petulant and bitter, “I do, but it would have been nice to be included.”

He doesn’t know what to say. You’ve turned around, yanking off your pristine maroon blazer so roughly he’s afraid it might rip. The silence that grows makes him itch, hands balling into fists as he tries to think of what to do. Social dynamics have always been a thing of mystery to him.

He wonders if he is part of this problem. He’s no stranger to feeling different and on the outs, and it pains him to think that he inadvertently caused someone else to feel that same, unpleasant exclusion.

But, no. Quickly, he recalls every single time he’s tried to include you—a museum trip that you’d declined because you had a party you wanted to attend. His extra tickets to the Nutcracker.

“That’s not true,” his voice is firm now, following you until he’s standing right behind. Lavender hits his nose and his brain registers the scent of your shampoo. Definitely too close if he can smell that, but he refuses to back away, intent on getting his point across, “That’s not true, I’ve tried to— you were always too busy.”

“What, I’m a liar now?” you spin around, pretty features twisted to somehow express both anger and hurt. He almost falters. Almost.

But he’s too worked up, even though he knows he should back off, to not trivialize your experiences in order to defend himself. He should know better than this, but the sting of your accusation spurs him on. So he pushes, eyes narrowing, “Last year, September 14, 21, and 29, I invited you to come with us for several casual chess tournaments, you declined all invitations because you claimed you hated chess. October 29th, I told you about the new exhibit they were displaying—”

“It was Halloween weekend, I already had plans—”

“December 19th, I offered you Nutcracker tickets and you said you’d already seen it—”

“I have,” your voice has grown quiet now, and if he stops speaking for a single moment to look, your features have relaxed into something gentler. But he’s on a roll, and you have always been right about things; his inability to be succinct is one of them.

“Even this year, I invited you to study multiple times, but you’ve always had prior plans,” the words are spoken with neutrality. He isn’t even angry anymore, just eager to list everything down and let you know how hard he’s tried with you. Even after the numerous rejections, he’s made an effort, but of course, you have other friends, other plans outside your nerdy debate team. He’s never held that against you, but if you wanted to point fingers, he has the means to defend himself. And sure, he wants to prove you wrong on some level too, but that’s the lesser point. “Maybe if you stopped acting like you’re better than me, and just accepted, you wouldn’t be feeling so excluded.”

“I don’t act like I’m better than you.”

“You just said you would have made a better opening speaker.”

You scoff, “Oh my god, you’re infuriating, I can’t believe I’m stuck with you!”

Spencer bristles at that, “I’m giving you the facts, it’s not my fault you can’t handle them.” he says, leaning closer, trying to make her see his point, “You’re always so closed off and the other guys have just given up trying. Maybe if you—”

“What? If I smiled more? Acted less like a bitch?” you sneer, eyes narrowed dangerously, “I thought a genius like you would know better than to use misogynistic language like that.”

“Wha— no! Don’t put words in my mouth.” Spencer replies, shaking his head. The conversation is devolving into something dangerous, the air crackling with something electric. He assumes it’s anger. They will never get anywhere, so he sighs, softening slightly, “I never said that. I’m just pointing out that you weren’t blameless in this, you know?”

You’re silent. He watches you, takes in how the resentment in your eyes have been dulled by something more contemplative.

He continues, “Listen, I’m sorry if we’ve made you feel like you were on the outs. I’m sure we have to do so much reflection as a team and as individuals about how we treat each other, but it’s unfair to say that we never include you when I have actively been making efforts to—”

Your lips are upon him.

That’s inaccurate.

You are upon him, arms flung around his neck, body pressed flush against his. He feels the entire world tilt, and he’s unsure if it’s because you’re pulling him down or because your lips are so pillowy he’s instantly eager for more. Wants it like a man starved. Needs it, needs more, but his body betrays him. Whether it’s his inexperience or surprise or a combination of both. He freezes, blinking rapidly at the sight of you. Eyes shut, and face so close to him; so, so close he can count each individual eyelash, see the tiny freckle on your eyelid that gets hidden if your eyes are open.

And then you're gone. The freckle disappears as you look at him with wide eyed mortification.

“Shit, Spencer, I—”

It’s his lips that cut you off this time, seeking out the velvety warmth of your mouth. Your lips part under his, and he registers a sound, soft and whining. It takes him a moment to realize it came from him, from the back of his throat and muffled by your lips and tongue and oh you’re both falling.

Literally. He must have leaned too far into you; you’re suddenly collapsing, forcing him down because your arms have him in a vice grip and he’s too busy chasing after your lips. The next thing he knows is he’s on top of you and you’re sprawled on the bed beneath him. Time stands still; he’s painfully aware of how cliche that is, but every sense of eloquence seems to have been expelled from his brain as he takes you in; lips swollen and wet from his kisses, pupils blown wide. Every breath you take pushes your chest up against his, and he can feel your heart thrumming against his body.

“Well, that was one way of shutting you up,” you chuckle with a cockiness that makes his heart speed up, though it isn’t borne out of embarrassment. Every single physiological effect of your body is evidence that you’re enjoying this, telling him you’re just as worked up as he is. The breathiness in your voice, the quickness of your heartbeat.

The fact that you’re pulling him down again, legs hooking around his hips. He surrenders to it, lips meeting yours once again, deeper and more desperate this time.

He closes his eyes, relishing this, kissing you, touching you, an act he had believed is reserved for attractive jocks and charismatic art nerds. Not him, quiet and lanky, shifting to avoid his angular bones from digging into you, and to place himself more comfortably on the bed. Inexperienced, ungainly, and yet here he is, his tongue pushing into your mouth in his first forays into something that his peers have experienced years ago.

Spencer Reid isn’t used to being the one behind, doing the catching up. Child prodigy, genius, the words aren’t meaningless. He’s been ahead academically—which, up until this point, has been his whole life. But feeling warm lips beneath his own has him reconsidering some of his life choices.

The kiss is messy. Sloppy from his clumsy attempts to keep up with your eagerness. You’re tugging at something, and he realizes it’s to untuck the rest of the crisp shirt you’ve donned for the debate tournament out from your skirt. His hands settle on your waist, finding smooth, heated skin from where your shirt has ridden up. Careful fingers help push it up, burying under the fabric until his palms are mapping out the slopes of your body.

Soft. So damn soft.

Not cold marble after all. He theorizes you must be soft everywhere, and he decides to test it out with his lips, laving kisses along your jaw, down the sweet, musky skin of your neck where your perfume still lingers. Instincts take over and he allows himself a taste, tongue darting out. You shudder, so he does it again, greedy for your pretty moans and gasps.

He can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips, “Thought you were mad at me?” he mumbles, trailing his kisses down the column of your throat.

You’re all mhms and ohhhs right now, so far from the usual image you present to the world, a preppy, manicured woman who wrestles for control over everything. You must hate this, he thinks, being beneath him physically, caged within his arms which are deceptively strong for how fragile he looks.

“Shut up,” you grumble.

“Make me.” His grin is dopey when he lifts his head to meet her gaze.

Something brushes against his crotch, and now he’s the one gasping, jerking in surprise at the friction. You’ve slotted your thigh between his, and his traitorous body responds by grinding down on it shamelessly. The look on your face is smug, triumphant.

“Huh,” saccharine and mocking, you blink up at him innocently, “That was easier than I thought.”

His head drops to your neck again, but he isn’t kissing you anymore. Just open mouthed breathing as he rubs himself on your thigh, hands tightening on your sides, “Mhm.”

“Are you gonna come? Spencer, I haven’t even touched you yet.”

He sinks his teeth into your flesh to fight the needy whines because yes, he’s so embarrassingly close and you’re both still fully dressed. He hears a hiss, and he backs off immediately, murmuring apologies, “Didn’t mean to—”

“‘S okay,” you tilt your head back, give him more access to your neck, “Just don’t leave marks.”

Permission to bite. He gulps, heart beating wildly, before ducking back down. Chapped lips run over your neck, finding a soft spot to bite, forcing himself to soften the way his teeth sink into your skin. All the while rubbing himself on your thigh because it’s probably the closest thing to heaven a man such as him will ever experience.

He hears your laughter, your mocking cooes of, “You’re so fucking needy” but he can’t bring himself to care.

You’re correct, he decides, as you usually are. He’s needy, desperately so, eagerly chasing the delicious pleasure of dry humping your thigh.

“Hold on, Spencer.”

You push him back gently. A whine rips from his throat, “Mhm—why?”

He gets his answer soon enough. Your hands undo his belt and he swears this sets his whole body on fire. Nobody’s ever seen him like this. Never has another person touched him so intimately, seen him so out of control, so brainless. He’s babbling incoherently as your hand strokes up and down his length, his hips rutting into your hand. It’s out of sync. Two dancers on entirely different rhythms.

Your laughter rings in his ears, one hand tangled in his hair as the other does unspeakable, tantalizing things to his aching cock.

“Mhm, can’t— I’m gonna—” and he’s spilling into your hand, hot, viscous liquid overflowing from your hand and staining your skirt, “Ah, shit.”

He collapses against you, head on the crook of your shoulder as he tries to catch his breath. “‘M sorry, I’ll– I’ll pay for your dry cleaning.”

Your chest shakes as you laugh, “Would you? I think you owe me more than that.” The heat in your voice makes his breath catch in his throat.

Soft kisses press upon your neck as he gathers his thoughts, willing his brain to work again. Anatomy, female anatomy. Female pleasure. What does he know about this? A lot, surprisingly, though mostly from books. Mostly in theory, but that’s a start. He can put them to practice right now. His hands drag down your sides until they catch the waistband of your skirt. “May I?”

“Okay.”

He pulls gently, exposing the rest of your thighs and legs. Honey brown eyes devour the expanse of your skin, hands clutching at the softness. He marvels at the way your flesh accepts his own, bright red splotches imprinted from his fingertips.

He thinks of poetry, the uncountable amount of words and phrases written to immortalize women and love and sex, and he finds himself wishing he has the skill to compose something as beautiful, something worthy of you right now, radiant and half naked and somehow all his.

But he is no poet, so he touches his lips upon your body instead. Pretty words will escape him, but his lips can speak even without them, he’ll make sure of it. He kisses down your abdomen, making sure to pay attention to every hidden freckle and birthmark he comes across. Your reactions make him feel drunk, to the point of affecting him physically. Messier kisses. Hands tugging and nearly ripping the lace of your panties because he’s unaware of his own strength.

“So pretty,” he mumbles, “So pretty.” It’s all he can repeat, but then his tongue lands on your slick heat and suddenly words are forgotten in favor of vague groaning. Because how can he accurately describe the sensation of this? Tasting you. God how has he gone so long without this? Your nails scraping his scalp, his fingers sinking into your thighs as he keeps you still. He’s halfway off the bed, legs dangling off the edge, your thighs squeezing his face.

There’s nowhere else he would rather be.

He laps at your folds like a mad man, tongue pressed flat and dragging up slowly to get as much of you in his mouth as possible. His feet find the floor, allowing himself more stability to once again rub his growing erection against a solid object. The poor mattress is going to be ruined once they’re done.

“Faster,” you gasp, jerking your hips into his face, “Spencer— oh, yeah like that!”

Spencer Reid is a quick study, and when he hears the positive reactions, he doubles down until he feels you convulse against his tongue. You jerk so violently he has to hold you down. He pushes his tongue past your entrance experimentally, and feels you tug roughly on his hair in response, gasping his name and God’s name in slurred phrases as you ride out your high.

It’s the hottest damn thing he’s ever experienced.

“Jesus Christ,” you gasp, and he has to repeat that ridiculous sentence again, because it’s true and he feels you deserve it.

“You’re so pretty.” He fears you might be some kind of magnet, because his lips keep getting drawn back to your skin. He lets his kisses travel up your hip bone, before grinning up at you, “Even when you’re being insufferable, you’re still so beautiful.”

“Gee thanks,” you huff, pulling at his arm, “How romantic, I’m swooning.”

“Might not be swooning, but you did just come on my face.” brilliant rows of teeth flash at you as he smiles smugly.

“Asshole.”

“Is that how you say thank you?” he drags his body up lazily, draping himself over you.

“I’m not— wait, are you hard again?”

“Uh…”

“Needy, needy boy.” you pull him down to you, and he almost protests, his chin and mouth still covered with your slick. But you don’t seem to care, so he follows your lead, God at this point he would follow you anywhere at all. You’re shifting beneath him, and the next thing he knows is your legs are wrapped around his waist again, your heat completely exposed and pressing against his cock.

“Mhm,” he pulls back, eyes wide, “I—”

“What?” you whisper, lifting your head to continue giving him kisses, teeth playfully nipping at his jaw, “It’s fine, I’m on birth control.”

“It’s not that,” he can’t deny you, his body relaxing back down over you. His lips catch yours for a moment, slow and achingly tender, “I’ve just never really done this before.”

He waits for the inevitable laughter. Here he is, at 21, and somehow still the same person he had been when he first entered college at 14. But you continue to look at him with heavy lids, breathless and flushed.

“Okay,” your voice is kind, sweet, “Take it slow then.” your hand wraps around his length again, the movement slower this time, as you align him to your entrance. He hisses as the sensitive tip grazes against your folds, as he feels your entrance slowly give way to him and envelop his cock.

“Oh,” he sighs. With your help, he sinks halfway into you, one hand gripping your hip, the other bracing himself on his elbow. Eyes squeezed shut, he stills and manages to ask, “Are you okay?”

You don’t speak, and so he forces his eyes to focus and look at you. The sight has him twitching inside you. Mouth agape and eyes hazy, you’re nodding up at him wordlessly as your hips rock up into his. “More.”

It’s exhilarating. He’s known you for the past year, worked alongside you but respected your need for distance. And now, here you are, not merely close, but one. Spencer sighs, and thrusts shallowly, eyes zeroed in on you and your reactions. He doesn’t want to hurt you, doesn’t want it to end too soon, so he moves slowly, dragging out his cock until only the tip rests inside you, then sliding into the hilt.

It elicits the most mellifluous sounds from you, making him smile in relief. He lets his forehead rest against yours, thrusts growing more confident, but still in that slow, almost dreamy pace. He memorizes every detail of this moment, from the way your eyes flutter closed, to the quiver of your legs as they wrap tighter around his thighs.

“So good,” he hears himself say, “God, you feel so good.”

“Mhm,” you nod, nails digging into his back, even through his clothes. In the heat of the moment, you’re both still half dressed, only getting rid of your bottom clothes in order to get what you need from each other, “More, Spencer, I need more.”

He nods, letting his thrusts grow faster, rougher. It’s an awkward angle, he’s afraid his knees will start cramping, but the feeling of being surrounded by your warmth, drowning in your moans has him reckless. “There?” he grunts, angling just so, and he can’t help the smirk on his face when he feels your walls clenching around him.

“There, there, yes!”

He’s not sure how he manages to last as long as he does. Maybe it’s the sheer desire to feel you fall apart, for his cock to be drenched in your slick that keeps his release at bay. Maybe he has too much pent up sexual energy that’s just been dying to come out. Whatever it is, he’s thankful for it, because it means he’s spending more time inside you, hips moving with so much impact he’s pushing you forward with each thrust.

“Yes, just like that.” you’re shuddering beneath him, and he moves his arm to the top of your head, creating a barrier between you and the headboard so you don’t hit it. He could stop, readjust your positions, but he doesn’t have it in him.

No, he wants to stay inside you, forever if there’s an anatomically feasible way to do it. But unless he invents it, he’ll settle for right now, settle for the heat between your bodies, and how you’re practically melting into the mattress, arching so prettily against him.

“You close?” he murmurs, one hand finding your clit, drawing gentle circles with his fingertips.

“No fair,” you whine, bucking into him, “That’s cheat— Spencer!”

You come undone in the most enthralling way, eyes squeezed shut, bottom lip bitten by your own lips. You squeeze and flutter around him, and he’s helpless to stop his own release, spilling deep inside you with a broken cry from his own mouth. Your name is whispered, over and over again, until he stills, his vision blurry as he collapses against you.

He curls around you, trying to get as close, “You—that was—wow.”

You giggle, still breathless and glassy eyed, “Are you sure that was your first time?”

“Yes,” he gives you a series of kisses along your temple, “Yes, it was. You—wow.” he carefully pulls out of you, hissing quietly when the cool air conditioned air hits his sensitive flesh. “Was that enough of an apology for not including you to our chess nights?”

“You’re making jokes now?”

“No,” he smiles, leaning away to look at you, all starry eyed and boneless, “Not a joke. Because if it’s not enough, I can do it again.” a kiss to your cheek, “And again.” one on the tip of your nose, “And again.”

When you laugh in response, he cups your cheek, “I mean it.” he says with all the seriousness he can muster.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Does this mean you’ll accept my invitations now?” he lights up, a large smile splitting his face.

“Only if it’s a date.”

"Then it's a date."

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angelfic · 1 day ago

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dc vs vampires!dick grayson x reader

warnings — mentions of death, weapons, blood, vampire dick duh. unedited as per usual my bad

a/n; vampire dick gets me going like no other so let me know if i should make this a series… a more fleshed out series or just more drabbles (does this count as a drabble?) idk im asking the audience

dc vs vampires!DICK GRAYSON who allows you to stay human, as a kindness.

you try your best to hide from him, camping out in different bunkers every few months all over blüdhaven with groups of other survivors. the resistance is slowly dwindling and you know of other groups littered around, hearing tales of how each of them are being turned, imprisoned or simply wiped out.

you know he’s sparing you and the people you’re with to play with your mind. he doesn’t truly care for them, and all he wants to do with you is own you like he does the rest of his followers.

you know this, because he comes to visit you in the dead of night when you’re alone.

“hi, sweetheart,” he says, voice as smooth as ever, but you listen intently for the dangerous edge that wasn’t there before.

he steps forward and your stomach swoops as it does every time you see the startling red of his eyes that seem to glow in the flickering light of your room. you instinctively grab the knife tucked away in the waistband of your pyjamas, unsheathing it and gripping it tightly as you raise it in front of him.

“stay back,” you warn, unable to say his name.

he glances down at your knife, and grins wolfishly, revealing the sharp tips of his fangs. “hot,” he whispers, taking a step toward you unflinchingly. “you know i always did love seeing you with a weapon. never thought you’d be turning it on me though…”

he sighs deeply, as if suffering from temporary amnesia. you shake your head, slowly backing up. “you’re insane. you know exactly why. i just don’t understand why you don’t just kill me like you’ve done all the rest.”

dick’s smirk falters for a moment, but his confidence doesn’t waver. “kill you?” he echoes, advancing further. “no, no, i saved you. i could have turned you that night, but i didn’t. because i wanted you to choose, sweetheart.”

“choose?” you hiss, gripping your weapon tighter. “to become one of them? to join you in slaughtering humanity? the same humanity you once loved.”

his expression remains blank, and your heart clenches at the fact that he’s unaffected by your words. he doesn’t care because he physically can’t anymore.

“you’re thinking too small,” he says softly. “humanity was always heading in this direction… all i’ve done is speed it up. i can control it now. no more of the depravity we used to witness, we can be so much stronger. especially with you by my side.”

“yeah,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “me at your side, watching you rule over everything like some kind of God?”

the next step he takes has you frozen. his presence was overwhelming and you’re paralysed by the way his gaze softens even though you know that every move is calculated. “i don’t want to be a God,” he murmurs, cold fingers reaching down to brush gently up your forearm, making you shiver. “i just want you.”

his words hit you like a punch to the chest and all you can do is stare at him. he’s terrifying, but so, so beautiful. you’re sickened by the thoughts running through your head and you screw your eyes shut.

dick takes the opportunity to reach up with his other hand to brush your hair away from your neck, leaning in to inhale deeply.

too late, you realise, his fangs are out as they’re hovering over your throat, threatening to break skin and allow your blood to flow onto his tongue. he always talks about how sweet you’d taste, how badly he wants to drink from you. you don’t bother stopping him — you couldn’t if you tried. surprisingly, he seems content with just staying there and you find your voice eventually.

“stop it,” you whisper, voice trembling. “stop trying to mess with me. i know who you are now and it isn’t the man i loved.”

dick lifts his head, not bothering to increase the distance between the two of you, allowing you to see the way his expression turns troubled. “i’m still me,” he mutters, careful not to let his fangs show as he pleads with you in the way he once did to earn your forgiveness. “i swear, that hasn’t changed.”

“you are not the man i loved,” you enunciate, tears stinging your eyes as you repeat your words to him like you do to yourself in the early hours of the morning when you can’t sleep.

dick’s expression darkens. he catches a stray tear with his finger and tilts his head. his voice is slightly colder now, more detached. “you still love me. i can feel it. but it’s alright, i’m a patient man.”

he drops a kiss to your cheek, where the tears threatened to flow before stepping backwards. “i’ll be back, sweetheart,” he murmurs, reassuring you as if you’ve begged him to stay.

and with that, he’s gone. disappearing into the shadows as quickly as he had arrived.

you collapse to the ground, knife forgotten at your side. your heart feels like it’s breaking all over again.

because this isn’t your dick grayson. you know deep down that your dick doesn’t have pale, ghostly skin that makes you flinch when he touches you. or fangs that glint menacingly when he talks.

but it’s a little hard to remember all those things when he looks at you with those eyes, that in the dimly lit bunker, look as lovingly at you as they used to.

a/n cont.; im gnawing at the gates of dick’s vampire manor begging to be let in so he can turn me… pick me, choose me, bite meeee🧛��🤍

#dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x female!reader #dick grayson scenarios #dick grayson x you #dick grayson imagines #dick grayson fanfiction #dick grayson #dc vs vampires #vampire dick grayson x reader #vampire dick grayson #dc vs vampires dick grayson #nightwing x reader #nightwing x y/n #nightwing x you

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emsdevs · 2 days ago

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saw you wanted luke hughes reqs, so ‼️

him coming back to your apartment after a game and just yapping to you because he needs to be close to feel better about how it went, but will never explicitly tell you that it helps him. you're just doing miscellaneous tasks, and he eventually starts whining about it, wanting to ay down and get head scratches/cuddles from you

(if this makes no sense, pretend i was never here 😭)

a/n: so so so sorry for the wait nonnie! i hope you still like it! i did in fact get carried away and wrote 1.6k words of mostly dialogue. is this a crack fic? possibly idk. anyway this was very much a lot of fun and my beautiful wonderful wife kirby helped inspire me

masterlist

Not-So-Silent Treatment

The Devils had an early game today, and although it was a Saturday, you had to this morning and couldn’t make it. That leads you to where you are now, finally home and in comfy clothes, cleaning as a way to pass the time until Luke gets home. Before you know it, you hear someone turn down the music you previously had blasting, whipping around to see who the intruder was after not hearing the door. When you turn, you’re met with your boyfriend, Luke, leaning against the doorway with a smirk on his face. He watched as you jumped, slapping your hand over your heart, hoping to somehow calm it down.

“You gotta turn the music down when you’re home alone, babe. What if I was a serial killer?” the smirk he’s still wearing tells you he’s not serious.

“Doesn’t mean you have to give me a heart attack,” you roll your eyes, walking over to give him a quick kiss. “How was the game, Lukey?”

“Oh my god. I have so much to tell you.”

“Yay! I’m gonna finish up the cleaning while you talk, okay?” you give him one last kiss before returning to your task of doing the dishes. In the background, you could hear Luke beginning his story of a crazy penalty that happened halfway through the first period. His favorite thing to do was talk. You weren’t sure why he likes to talk so much or how he always has so much to say, but it’s become sort of comforting to you. Instead of having some random song or podcast playing while you did something, you could have your boyfriend telling you everything about nothing. You suppose it’s so comforting because you enjoy hearing his voice, and it’s a nice reminder of the fact that he’s with you, even if you’re just talking on the phone while he’s on a roadie. Either way, no one will ever hear you complaining about your boyfriend’s talking habits.

Luke, on the other hand, knows exactly why he loves to talk so much. He enjoys talking in general, but when he talks to you, it’s just as comforting for him as it is for you. It’s a way for him to decompress after a long day, lay everything out, and get it off his chest. Then, he never has to think about it again. His favorite part of his day is talking to you, so he’s going to soak it up every chance he gets. Also, Luke is aware that he’s a clingy boyfriend. He’s not scared to admit that. Talking your ear off is just another way for him to feel close to you. It especially helps when he’s gone on roadies and can’t see you face-to-face.

By the time you finish cleaning your apartment, Luke is on story number five. This one happened an hour or two before the game while the boys were messing around in the hallways, something about Luke almost getting taken out by a soccer ball while he was doing his pre-game run. You’re almost finished folding your last load of laundry when Luke starts whining behind you.

“Baby, when are you gonna be done? You’ve been cleaning for hours,” he drags out half the words in the sentence.

“Luke, you’ve only been here one hour? Just let me finish this then I’ll come sit with you, okay?”

“Whatever,” there’s no real bite to his tone, and you know he’s just being dramatic. You finish up the last bit of your cleaning about twenty minutes later, not without some more whining on Luke’s end. Soon, you’re lying down on the couch, watching as Luke makes himself comfortable on top of you. He grunts a little bit when you don’t move, and you know that’s his way of asking you to run your fingers through his hair.

He lets out a big sigh before starting again, “So anyway…” You aren’t sure exactly how long you lay there with him, listening to him talk while you played with his hair. Soon, though, the sun has set, and you’re attempting to hold back yawns. “So Curtis decided to- oh? Are you sleepy, baby? We can go to bed.”

“Yeah, let's go to bed, hun,” the two of you make your way to your bedroom, immediately lying down and getting comfortable. Luke talked the whole way there. As you’re getting comfortable, you catch a glimpse of the time on your alarm clock. “Luke, baby, it’s after midnight… can you maybe finish your story in the morning?”

“Yeah… yeah, babe, don’t worry about it. Just don’t be mad when I forget important details,” he mumbles the last sentence before letting go of you and rolling over so that his back is facing you.

“Luke. Don’t pout. I’m just sleepy, okay?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not pouting,” you can feel him rolling his eyes even though you can’t see his face. “I’m just saying. You know I don’t remember stuff well after I’ve slept on it. All those important details will probably be gone from my mind. Oh well.” You sigh, deciding to let him pout in favor of getting some sleep. A few minutes later, he speaks up again, “Ya know, I thought you liked hearing me talk.” After getting no response, he tries again, “Dad always told me I’d never find a wife if I didn’t learn how to shut up sometimes. I guess he was right,” he let out a big sigh in between the two sentences. It goes on for you don’t even know how long after that.

“Jack and Quinn used to never let me talk. I’m starting to think you’re just like them.”

“I thought I was dating my best friend. Turns out you actually hate me.”

“There was a really funny part too. I guess you don’t want me to do my favorite thing. Make you laugh. I love your laugh, but you obviously don’t care.”

“I guess I just love you more than you love me. I would do anything for you, baby, even ruin my sleep schedule. Unlike some people.”

“I would never name names but some people like to tell me they love to hear me talk but they really only mean they like it when it’s convenient for them.”

That’s when the fake waterworks set in. Luke is a horrible fake cryer, but that doesn’t stop him. He’s slapping his hand over his mouth, shaking his shoulders, letting out the most unbelievable “boo hoo” you’ve ever heard. When he sees it’s not working, he changes his tactic again.

“Aren’t you gonna apologize? You made me cry!”

“It’s 2:00 AM, and you made me cry. Are you happy with yourself? This is the kind of relationship you want? The kind of relationship where I have to cry myself to sleep?”

“I bet if we got into an argument right now, you wouldn’t even let me plead my case. Because then I would be talking, and apparently, you don’t like that anymore.”

At this point, you know you’re not sleeping any time soon, so you let yourself answer, “Luke, you’ve been talking for the past six hours.”

He’s quick with his reply, “See! I just can’t do anything right.”

“Ya know, you always call me your baby, but is this what you would do to a baby? Let them cry themselves to sleep?”

“Yeah, Luke, it’s called self-soothing. It’s actually a really common soothing method these days.”

“Torture method, more like. Poor kids. Is this what you’re gonna do to our kids? Tell them to shut up because you aren’t in the mood for them to express their thoughts and feelings?”

“Luke, we’re both freshly twenty-one, and we aren’t having kids any time soon?”

“Oh so now you don’t see a future with me? I guess I should return the ring in my sock drawer then, huh?”

“You have a ring?” you nearly shout, shocked at his revelation.

“Nah, I just wanted you to feel bad.” You quiet down after that, relieved that you won’t have to turn him down because you’re not ready, not that he isn’t the one you want to marry. He very much is, just not right this second. The exhaustion is setting in, so you don’t say much for a while. Apparently, that makes Luke really nervous. “I’m so sorry, baby. You know I was just playing, right? I’ll buy you a ring one day. I’ll do all the research. I’ll even stalk your Pinterest if I have to. I’ll buy you the perfect ring. Then I’ll give you the perfect wedding. Then we can have the perfect kids… Do you hate me now?” You can hear how sad he is, knowing he’s probably tired, and it’s probably heightening his emotions and dramatics.

“I don’t hate you, Lukey. I could never. I’m just sleepy, baby. I need to sleep, and I think you do too. Besides, I don’t wanna get married right now anyway.”

“Oh, so you don’t wanna marry me?” it was his turn to almost shout, his dramatic side getting the better of him in his sleepy state.

Eventually, you manage to wrangle him into laying his head on your chest so you can softly drag your fingers through his curls just the way he likes. Soon, it gets him asleep, just like you knew it would. Finally, you’re able to get some much-needed sleep as well. The next morning you hear it from Luke. He won’t shut up about how he has to finish his story but can’t remember half of it because you made him sleep. He loves to get on your nerves, but you wouldn’t trade a single moment with your favorite drama queen.

taglist: @heartsforjh @alex-wotton @devilinpradaheels @juxmi @macklin-celebrini-71 @puckmedude @one-sweet-gubler

join the taglist

#em's writing #em's inbox #em's nonnies #luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #lh43 #new jersey devils #njd #nj devils #nhl #nhl x reader

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aceofwands · 18 hours ago

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yeah Kira should have been the one to kill him for sure. like, Dukat saw Sisko as his nemesis, as everything he wanted to be (worshipped by the Bajorans), but he was Bajor's Hitler and tormented Kira specifically over all these years, so it would have been sooooooo much more satisfying for her to be the one to finally off the bastard

also I agree that Dax should have been more involved, like she was there when Sisko met the Prophets!! and it's always bugged me that they never made more of a big deal of that, like, you'd think she'd be recognised for her role more!! and in fact ... somehow this is the first time it's occurred to me, but ... Jadzia's death being the price the Prophets warned Sisko he'd have to pay for them destroying that Dominion fleet in Sacrifice of Angels would have been such an interesting direction to take it, rather than the "the Sisko will find no rest on Bajor" direction they ultimately went with (and again way more satisfying than her actual death was)

there could have been some really interesting parallels and like taking things full circle if Dukat had gone into the wormhole to destroy the Prophets and Jadzia had chased after him to save them, hearkening back to her visiting the Celestial Temple with Sisko in Emissary

hell, seeing as we're spitballing ideas for a show that ended 25 years ago (lmao) dare I say, this would have set things up for some time bending shenanigan-ery in the finale where the Sisko has an even more epic showdown with Pah Wraith Dukat and his (Sisko's) half-Prophet powers allow the echo of Jadzia in the Celestial Temple to show up and help Kira kick Dukat's butt once and for all (while idk Sisko fights the Pah Wraith or something) -> all I know for sure is that Sisko vs Dukat face off in the finale always felt super unsatisfying, both as an end to Dukat (cause Kira should have been the one to kill him) but also for Sisko as the Emissary cause it's like, really, this is what you needed to birth a whole entire man for, to shove a dude off a cliff?

in a universe where jadzias death was foreshadowed and done in a more narratively satisfying (and frankly, as she deserves, cooler) way, i think kira and ezri shouldve got to kill dukat at the end

#I am also laughing at the people in the replies going “spoilers!!”#sorry guys but the show ended 25 years ago #I think we're allowed to discuss the finale openly at this point

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st4ringlow · 2 days ago

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suna rintarou x reader

bestfriends to lovers. just fluff. very rushed, sorry for everything you find unpleasant. idk what else do i put here

"what do you want for your birthday?"

suna hums in contemplation, munching on the cucumber salad you were eager to try from a tiktok influencer you've seen. now that he thinks of it, his birthday is just a few days away. "dunno, if i say it are you even able to afford it?" he said, a teasing smirk grows as he watches you roll your eyes. "i'd like to know still but just so i can have more reason to hate the rich," you said nonchalantly, popping another cucumber slice into your mouth. you hear suna hums again, a temporary silence keeping you both company as the man beside you puts his thinking cap to work.

"a cartier watch,"

"jesus you're fucking high-demand,"

"lol"

"dont 'lol' me in an oral conversation," your response earns a laugh from suna, who clearly enjoys having you annoyed. you roll your eyes again, wiping the sauces on your hand. "whats up with you and your obsession with watches, geez," you ask, but it didnt really come off a question but rather a subtle insult of 'hey man youre just so weird '. suna knows that.

"oh, a man cant have a hobby now?" suna scoffs, grabbing his phone from the coffee table. "you spent thousands on each of them, rin," you said, voice bolding at the word 'thousands'. you watch him shrugs as he scrolls on his phone. "so?"

"you have 10 of them already!"

"yeah and i dont have a cartier watch yet,"

"youre crazy,"

"crazy? i was crazy once,"

"dude shut up,"

"okay,"

there was a silence filling up the room as you both stopped talking, only the sound of the tv playing in the background. "seriously though, what do you want for your birthday?" you broke the silence, tone coming out more serious this time. suna looks up from his phone, his eyes meeting yours with a hint of curiosity. "honestly? i havent really thought about it," he admits. "why? so eager to please the birthday boy, huh?" the corners of his lips lifts up, seeing you got worked up by his last remark.

"am not,"

suna chuckles softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "sure, sure," he teases, leaning back on the couch. "but seriously, i havent given it much thought. maybe... just spending time with you would be enough."

you feel your heart skip a beat at his words, a warmth spreading through your chest. "oh, come on, you can do better than that," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "there must be something you want."

suna's gaze softens as he looks at you, a small smile playing on his lips. "well, if you insist... how about a day where we just do all our favorite things together? no distractions, just us."

suna watches as your mouth falls open, unable to spit out a word. a blush creep up on your cheeks, and he cant help but find it endearing.

"are you trying to hit on me?"

"is it not obvious enough?"

#haikyuu #haikyuu fluff #inarizaki #hq fluff #hq x reader #suna rintaro fluff #suna rintarō #hq suna #haikyuu suna #suna rintarou x reader #suna x reader #suna rintarou #rintarou x reader #haikyuu rintarou #rintarou suna

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venuslarkspur · 2 days ago

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can we see a au where Jon and y/n decide to run away to idk get married or find a better place to raise their kid/kids?

I absolutely can Anon 🫶

(This is only short and written in 3rd person I’m Srry 💕)

Alternative Ending To Teen Hero Shenanigans

Note: I can’t see Reader or Jon wanting to actually run away from their families so I imagine this is their own way of escaping the media and paparazzi (also partly because I imagine reader doesn’t want to face her maternal family)

Warnings: Running away, underage marriage (with consent), birth control, the uk IDK.

Note: PLEASE READ MY SERIES FIRST BEFORE READING THIS (this is an alternative ending and not the official ending)

Pairing: Jonathan Kent x Batsis!Reader (who is Damian’s twin)

Words: 600??

- These two run away out of fear for their children, not from their families; of course not. The batfam and superfam know they both have ran off and are safe, but their location is never disclosed.

- You’re actually the one who proposed the idea to Jon, you two could run away with your baby and not have to worry about psychopathic villains and threats from your maternal family.

- He agrees under one condition, you tell your families you’re going and you will be safe. You agreed, you had a gorgeous son. He resembled Jon more than you, that made you happy. When you looked at yourself all you saw was your grandfather staring back at you, despite in charm and appearance you more so resembled Bruce if anything; but you still saw it.

- You told Damian everything, and you also swore him to secrecy. He tried to be strong, but you saw tears fall from his eyes when you told him your plan. You hugged him as if never wanting to let go, you also took a look at your sleeping newborn son. And the worst possible scenarios came to mind, what if one day you can’t save him?

- So it was decided, you eventually agreed moving to a whole new country would be best. As selfish as it sounded, you had just started your career and Jon was at his peak. But you wished the sleeping baby would never have to pick up a sword nor a grappling hook. You and Jon have a secret wedding, only your father and his parents are in attendance and with consent from both parents you’re officially husband and wife.

- You came across a beautiful village in Britain, Castle Comb, it had gorgeous houses, a beach nearby, long winding rivers, the cutest shops and even a local school was built there recently; perfect for your son. You wait a year, just long enough for Jon to finish school, only one long flight and all three of you will be living together finally. So far your son just had to go between you two as both of you were too young to move in together.

- but it would all be okay, as soon as Jon turns 18 and finishes school you’ll get a house together in the village; Jon will attend a college nearby as you stay at home with your baby, with the money your father has given you you can support your whole family until Jon can get a job and become financially independent from your father. Who still wonders and hopes your close by; not knowing you’re in a whole different continent, across a whole ocean.

- You thought you’d hate staying at home while Jon was out making progress for your family. But you didn’t; your son had started walking and you enjoyed your little trips to the beach nearby. If you ever get stressed from the fact you’re such a young mother, you ask the lovely neighbouring old couple for help, they were originally surprised at such an extremely young married couple and their 2 year old; but you’re so grateful for them, you’d never be able to do this without them.

- On a funny note you’re now praying your birth control works, now that your son repeats EVERYTHING you say (including curse words) you can’t deal with another one, for now of course.

- Sometimes you feel guilty, wondering if your family misses you and are looking for you. You’re planning to surprise them for your son’s third birthday, you still want him to know his grandfather, surrogate great grandfather and countless uncles and aunts. Even though your baby boy is a little shy, he’s just like you when you were young, shy and curious about life.

- You still make daisy rings and place them on the same finger as your wedding ring, it reminds you of when you first met Jon. Two silly fifteen year olds bonding over his friend and her brother running away, and here they are 3 years later still making the same rings.

———————

I LOVE THESE TWO <3

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butternutt613 · 3 days ago

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PSA!!! IT IS OKAY TO CHANGE YOUR STORY HALFWAY THROUGH OR TO NOT HAVE IT BE PERFECT!!!

Fanfic writers (myself included) are way too hard on ourselves sometimes. I was chatting with a few amazing creators on Discord about this, and I realized just how much pressure we put on ourselves to make everything perfect.

Let me remind you: it’s completely okay if your story isn’t flawless right out of the gate.

The way I see it, fanfics, and most things posted on AO3 or Wattpad are like first drafts. ESPECIALLY!!!!! when you’re still actively writing your story. You’re still figuring things out, shaping the narrative, and building the world. It’s not set in stone, and it’s okay to make changes as you go. Hell, completely rewrite it!

So many of us get caught up in trying to make our stories perfect from chapter one because we’re scared that if it’s not, no one will read it. I experience imposter syndrome so hard lol

But NEWSFLASH!!! Even published authors don’t create flawless stories from the start. Their first drafts are messy, full of edits, rewrites, and changes. Entire chapters get cut, characters get reworked, and sometimes entire backstories get scrapped. AND THEN!!! EVEN WHEN THEY THINK THEY ARE DONE!!! THEIR EDITORS GIVE THEM 39 THINGS TO CHANGE!!!

If that’s how the ‘pros’ do it, why are we holding ourselves to an impossible standard?

And I’m going to be so real with you right now… 99.99% of the time, the characters we write about aren’t even canon or have never even interacted in canon or only had 2.3 lines of dialog (I'm looking at you, Jegulus….)

That’s the magic of fanfiction. You get to create something ENTIRELY NEW. You get to take these characters and give them experiences and a life the og author never did or never could. Fanfiction is about imagination and creation, not about rigid rules.

There will always, ALWAYS, be someone who says "you're doing it wrong” or “that character wouldn't do that” and I'm sorry to break it to them but idk if you know this but… THEY AREN’T REAL!

If I want these two guy best friends to kiss, I will! If I want my MC to save Anne by perfecting Isadora’s magic, I will! If you want Ominis to say “fuck you” to his family or Sebastian to become a healer or an auror or a potions master, then GODDAMMIT YOU DO THAT!

BECAUSE YOU ARE WRITING YOUR STORY!! It is YOURS, not anyone else's. You’re the author. Your creative process is valid and so is your work, even if you decide to change direction halfway through. (Elsa was originally going to be evil…)

There will always be haters. Even when something is canon, there are people who’ll criticize it (seriously like look at flat earthers….) That’s why you can’t let the fear of criticism hold you back. Write what YOU love. Create what brings YOU joy. The right people will find your work and appreciate it for what it is.

At the end of the day, fanfiction is about expression and connection. Whether you’re writing for an audience of hundreds or just for yourself, it’s yours. You’re building a world, shaping characters, and sharing something that came from your heart. And that’s what makes it meaningful. So stop being so hard on yourself. Keep WRITING. Keep CREATING. KEEP COMING UP WITH FUN HEADCANONS!!!

Your story deserves to be told. And you deserve to have fun and love doing it.

*mic drop* *peace sign*

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muletia · 2 days ago

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I can’t believe I got into Transformers Sunday and already had a dream about them.

So, hear me out. Let’s say you and Optimus (my dream was with knightverse bumblebee but TFP Optimus also has my heart) are together and get attacked or something somewhere cold. Like, ice, snow the whole nine yards. normally Optimus/Bumblebee can get you out of there but they’re hurt badly enough they’re barely holding on.

So you, in a desperate attempt to keep them alive, physically manage to keep their spark warm. You just wrap around their spark with your own body keeping it warm and protected. You fall asleep holding it as close as possible because it’s cold and humans just…fall asleep when it’s cold enough.

Either the bot recharges enough to get you, shivering and slightly frost bitten out of there or the two of you get rescued hours later.

Idk, I’m a sucker for humans protecting the bots. They’ve been through enough and deserve for someone to hold them.

My brain really saw sad autobots 4 days ago and went “yes. Those ones you want.”

welcome to the transformers fandom! I wish you lots of fun reading fics <3

Also, I’m kind of jealous of that dream lmao. I want to dream about my favorite characters too 😔

I have such a huge weakness for this kind of role reversal. A human saving bots, protecting them from danger even though they know they don’t stand a chance (this also applies to valveplug).

In Optimus’ case, a scenario where he’s on the brink of death, and you save him, could serve as a great foundation for future romantic feelings!

Not only does it bring the two of you much closer, but Optimus sees a nobility in you that he’s never encountered in any human before. Maybe that’s what drives him to want to learn more about you, to truly get to know you, to see what other values guide you.

But going back to the scenario… the bot would be deeply grateful to you for saving them. They’d vow to stay by your side until you recover as well and take care of you as best as they possibly can. Sharing their warmth with you at every opportunity and praying to Primus for your full recovery.

They don’t even want to think about your death, even though they know how fragile humans can be. That’s why they’d do everything in their power to keep you alive, ready to sacrifice their own energy for your sake…

#be silly #transformers x reader

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coffeegnomee · 3 days ago

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What exactly are the lifesteal cycles? What does that mean?

I have no idea why the cycles are so hard to describe but like literally idk. they just are. they're like the sun and the sky. like the tides coming in and out. the seasons returning year after year. they come wether you want them to or not. poems can be written about them and never scratch the surface.

there will always be those who feel the cycles beating like a drum in their hearts, and they will always fight to preserve it. if nobody cared or if nobody liked the cycles, lifesteal would cease to be lifesteal.

there are two cycles. the small scale cycle of if you kill someone you gain an heart and if you die you loose a heart. and the large scale of the world ending at the end of each season.

it's too easy to say the small scale cycle is simply a cycle of revenge. it's not that. it can be that but that's not what it is. it's more the cycle of story. if you have a story thread you can pull on, the cycles encourage you to pull on it. and the cycles encourage that to be violent or a troll or an instigation. something to continue the back and forth of story threads.

the large scale cycle is that everyone starts the season fresh and clean, but then the players ruin it. murdering and greifing and killing and dying. the heart economy gets so bad some have near 100 hearts while others have only the max craftable. all this murder and bloodshed and alliances and betrayals and a mid season plot has dictated who cares the most this season and has set the stage for the end game. but it's not about the players not deserving the server because they are too violent. it's actually the opposite of that. it's bigger than that.

in the end one person or group rises from the bloodshed to end this server. by total destruction, removing all the revive resources, getting op, or banning everyone. this is the cycle. it must end. and it must end in war. everything must be destroyed or all the players banned.

the world enders fight to save the server by destroying it. if nobody cared about this final cycle, lifesteal would cease to be lifesteal. s5 nearly saw its destruction. one side thought they could end it in peace and expected to win. but if they won without a fight this would have been anathema for the server. unnatural. if lifesteal ever ends in peace that will be the end of lifesteal.

it must end in a bitter battle, fought for by the world enders, fought against by the resistance. the players prove they deserve the server by caring enough to show up and die. you fight for what you believe in, even if there's no hope.

in the finale you encounter your deepest self. what you are willing to do, how much you're willing to fight back against what you think is evil. you get a measure of who you are. what your limits are. and you get pushed past them. you learn the meaning of fighting for what you believe in, the true meaning. tested by all the resistance the world enders can push upon you. and they learn themselves to. for the same reason.

i think this is why it takes a full, start to end, season for a new member to understand lifesteal. they must begin innocent and safe, no more or less prepared than the best pvper. then the cycles press against them, start showing them how they really react to things, what they're willing to do, how much effort they're really going to put into it.

but during the season there's the ebb and flow of lore, sometimes it's the craziest best week of your life and then there's a month in between. parrot or bacon said that about the cycles actually. like the cycle is that ebb and flow.

but in the finale it's also a week(ish) but there is no continuation after. everything you've said and done all season comes together. you have to put your money where your mouth is. no more talking, no more threats, no more saying you'll do this if they do that. Whatever ending you want you have to fight tooth and nail for and there's no do overs, no second chances. and suddenly you know who you are.

and the next season everything is different.

#lifesteal #asks #gnome rambles

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thefallenangel2008 · 1 day ago

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More Autistic Sea Grunkles headcanons because I'm a sucker for them and I love projecting on my favorite characters. I guess you could call this a part 2??? Idk but here it is.

Ok, so, I imagine them having some rules about what goes in the fridge and whatnot because of sensory issues. If Stan has food Ford doesn't like in the fridge he's gonna eat everything possible but that food to avoid it and live off protein pills or however these things are called. I mean, he's already done it while traveling through dimensions so he can easily do it again. Now, when Ford puts food in the fridge Stan doesn't like there's a chance he might throw it away in the ocean (he's already done it twice) and eat only stancakes until the ingredients run out. When they do, he's just not gonna eat. I imagine them both having many foods they couldn't eat as kids but when they got in their respective little adventures (homelessness and dimension traveling) they managed to overcome some of their sensory issues because they had no other choice (and when I say "overcame" I mean managing to get used to the not-THAT-bad-but-still-not-gonna-eat foods). But yeah, they still have a bunch of foods they don't like. :P

I already talked about them not talking when they're overwhelmed but now I want to ✨expand that thought✨ a little more.😍 I already said about them going nonverbal on eachother and comforting eachother when one of them feels overwhelmed, but hear me out. Ford is the quiet autistic and Stan is the loud autistic. Personally I see Ford as the type of autistic person who will regularly go nonverbal when feeling overwhelmed. He used to do a lot as kids Stan has learned the tricks and how to calm him down. And now, when it comes to Stan. Stan never shuts his mouth, never. He's always been the loud one out of the two. So when Stan goes nonverbal Ford freaks tf out because, even though Stan has felt plenty of times overwhelmed, and Ford has been there to comfort him, when he goes nonverbal he KNOWS things are THAT bad. Especially now, when his recovering mind relives traumatic events that happened to him during homelessness. During a particularly bad PTSD episode Stan hadn't uttered a word for a full of 4 days until one night at 3:00am he told Ford to take a break from his research and go to sleep. When Ford managed to coax out of him what was this memory he remembered, Stan had titled it as the "Tijuana Incident" (yes, I'm still not over that one Stanley bit from the website, that old man is a victim and he deserves better).

Also sounds. Stan doesn't really have a big problem with loud sounds, it usually depends on the day, his mood, the size of the room he's in and how loudly the people are talking in said room. But he hates repetitive sounds. Ford is a tad more sensitive when it comes to sound than Stan. Loud noises, more particular. He remembers his ma telling him the story of the day him and Stan graduated from kindergarten and there was a party afterwards, and the loud music had made him cover his ears and cry. He doesn't mind repetitive sounds as much as Stan does. But ringing, he does.

Part 1

#gravity falls #gravity falls headcanons #gravity falls hcs #stanley pines #grunkle stan #autistic stan pines #stanford pines #grunkle ford #autistic ford pines #sea grunkles #autism #sorry for any typos #i'm exhausted #it's 2:50am

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rispwr · 16 hours ago

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“3 words, 8 letters. I mean it” - J.JK - Mini (M)

Pairings : j.jk x fem! Reader

Genre : situationship, smut, slight fluff.

Contents : chuckblair inspired, limo sx, gossip girl parties setting, unprotected sex (yk what to do babes), riding, praisekink, comparing, big c!jk, slight public sex, not proofread, lemme know what i missed!

Notes : don’t expect too much yall. I’m trying a new writing style. The one that’s not too detailed that i write about everything but the character😭 tell me what you think about this? Should i make more smut? Idk i think i’m bad at smut, i’m more better at fluff and romantic stuff but i just wanted to try this. Xoxo gossip girl💋💋 Ive been watching the show and i love itt!! I love chuck and blair and i think i will def write more inspired by them. I loved the “3 words, 8 letters” line. It’s my favourite tbh.

“I knew you had a type…” his voice trails behind me. I didn’t bother to move or to face him but to just stay still and silent, silently enjoying his touch, the way his touch felt like warmth to my cold like skin, the way the world stops, and everythingstops once he touches me.

“I missed you.”

After Jungkook suddenly left me in Paris without saying a word during our vacation together, I was shattered. One minute, everything felt perfect. the Eiffel Tower lighting up the night sky, his laughter filling my heart with happiness as we explored and the next, the right side of my bed was gone . Broken, sad, left, and helpless. I spent the four remaining days locked away in the hotel room we had booked together.

At the airport, sitting alone in business class, I tried to distract myself, to feel anything other than the suffocating pain that clung to me. That’s when a man approached me. At first, I didn’t want to look at him, but when I did, I felt a sharp ache in my chest. His sleeve tattoos, the undercut, the piercings. it all felt too familiar, too much like him.

When I learned he lived in the same city as me, I impulsively invited him to my upcoming party. I told myself it was a distraction, a way to move on. Maybe even a chance to prove to myself that I didn’t need Jungkook anymore.

I thought that was the end of us. I truly did.

Until now.

“You left me… alone in a country whose people I don’t even know,” my eyes keep shut, trying hard not to let a tear out.

“I’m sorry, honey… let me make it up to you?”

“I have Ian now, Jungkook,” I try to keep my tone straight.

“No, you won’t,” he chuckles deeply. “You’re only with him to replace the missing presence that you can’t live without.” His hands trail around my jawline. “And that is me”

“Three words, eight letters. I mean it,” his tone changes into a soft one, one that I only hear when he wakes up to me wrapped up in his arms, one when he starts talking about our future together, together.

“Three words, eight letters. Let’s get out of here,” I say, grabbing his hand, intertwining with mine, his smile widening.

—-

The limo driver’s voice, distant and polite, asked, “Your place, Ms.?”

“Mhm,” I hummed, breathless already, my response barely audible as Jungkook’s lips crashed into mine. The kiss was firm yet full of emotion, like he’d been starving for days…… He starved for my taste

My breath hitched as Jungkook pulled me into his lap, his large hands gripping my waist. all I could manage was a soft hum, barely audible, as I reached blindly for the button to raise the divider.

The divider hummed as it rises, It being the only thing keeping the driver from seeing us do the deed in the back of the limo, leaving only us in the together in the backseat. His tongue parted my lips, the kiss deepening as his hands roamed over my thighs, hiking my dress higher until it was bunched around my hips.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned against my lips, his voice low and strained. “I fucking missed you, my pretty girl”

I gasped as he tugged my panties aside, his fingers grazing the slick heat of my core. “You’re already so wet for me,” he murmured, his dark eyes locking onto mine as his fingers teased me, gathering the wetness and spreading it over my entrance. “You’ve been missing me too huh?”

“Jungkook,” I whimpered, unable to answer him as my hips bucked against his hand.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, his lips curving into a small, cocky smirk. His hands gripped my hips as he leaned back slightly, guiding me to straddle him completely. “Come here, baby. Let me feel you.”

I reached between us, freeing him from his pants. He was already hard, his cock thick and pulsing in my hand, and the deep groan that rumbled in his chest as I stroked him sent a wave of heat coursing through me.

“Don’t tease me,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, his hands tightening on my thighs. “You know I can’t wait.”

I positioned myself over him, the head of his cock pressing against my entrance, and slowly sank down, taking him inch by inch. The stretch was overwhelming, my body trembling as he filled me completely.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his head falling back against the seat as his hands gripped my waist. “You’re so fucking tight, baby. You feel so good.”

I braced my hands on his shoulders, rocking my hips slightly to adjust to the fullness. “Jungkook,” I gasped, my voice shaking. “You’re so deep.”

“That’s it,” he murmured, his hands moving to guide me as I began to move. “Good girl. Take me just like that. You’re doing so good.”

The praise sent a shiver down my spine, and I picked up the pace, bouncing on his lap, riding him with a desperation that matched his own. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the small space, mingling with our moans and the occasional broken gasp of my name from his lips.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, his voice strained as his hands gripped my hips tightly, helping me move faster. “You’re gonna make me lose it. You’re so fucking perfect. So good to me.”

“Jungkook,” I whimpered, my nails digging into his shoulders as the pressure built low in my belly. “I-I’m close.”

“Me too,” he growled, his hips thrusting up to meet mine as his pace turned erratic. His dark eyes locked on mine, his voice soft but commanding. “Milk me, baby. Let me feel you. I’ll fill you up, yeah?”

“Yes,” I cried out, my voice desperate. “Fill me up, Jungkook. Please. I want it. I want all of you.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, his grip on me tightening as he slammed into me one last time, holding me down as his release hit. “That’s it, baby. Milk me. Fuck, you’re so good.”

The sensation of him filling me sent me over the edge, my body clenching around him as my orgasm crashed over me in waves. I cried out his name, my movements faltering as he held me close, his lips pressing against my neck as we both trembled through the aftershocks.

For a long moment, neither of us moved, our breaths mingling as we clung to each other. His hands stroked my back, his lips brushing softly against my shoulder as he whispered, “three words, eight letters. I mean it.”

“Three words, eight letters. I mean it more.” I murmured, my fingers tangling in his hair as I kissed him, my heart racing as the limo drove us to my house.

#rispwr #bts #bts x reader #jungkook ff #jungkook #jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook fluff #rispwrrants #jungkook x reader

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alicethenobody · 1 day ago

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A lot of people think Dante hates Patty or has a bad relationship with her and honestly I kinda blame DMC5 for this because there’s missing context for the phone call scene that’s in the novel.

Basically in the novel it’s explained the reason Dante hung up on her is because he’s very uncomfortable with the idea of going to a birthday party full of regular civilians due to bis dangerous lifestyle. He even makes it a point that he doesn’t dislike Patty but he does question why she likes hanging out with him so much. Despite his discomfort though, he says he plans to go see her anyways, presumably after the party has died down, showing he understands how much seeing him would mean to her.

Should he have maybe said this instead of hanging up? Yeah probably but maybe he assumed Patty wouldn’t take it well if he tried to explain himself, and she CAN be somewhat stubborn/insistent when it comes to getting Dante to do things. Not hating on Patty ofc, the only reason she does that with him is because she has his best interest in mind. She wants him to take care of himself and probably get out more too.

I’d actually argue Patty is one of Dante’s healthiest bonds. She’s one of the few people in his life who is IMO upfront about how much she cares about him, and her being around notably made Dante much happier as the anime went on. He went from constantly wanting to be alone unless he was needed for killing demons to regularly playing cards with Patty or taking her out for ice cream, and that change happened because of Patty simply being there. Yes, he gets annoyed with her sometimes, but only in the same way siblings often annoy each other. If anything I personally see it as a sign of how comfortable they are around each other, because from my personal experience my closest friends and I tease each other all the time. Their banter is almost always playful/comedic and I can’t name a single time he ever got genuinely angry with her. And the one time he accidentally upset her with a joke he made he felt really bad about it.

Idk I just wish their relationship stopped being so misunderstood. Patty ran into hell because she wanted to save Dante despite the danger she’d be putting herself in and started crying because she didn’t want to say goodbye to him. Ntm she regretted not being able to thank him yet for everything he’s ever done for her. I think that speaks volumes how much they mean to each other.

#dmc #devil may cry #dante #dante devil may cry #dante sparda #dmc dante #patty #patty lowell #patty lowell propaganda #dmc patty #dadte #dadte propaganda

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stargazedwinchester · 2 days ago

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Would love to read Sam in a Djinn dream since I’ve struggled to understand his motivations. I haven't found even one fic like this. Thxs

Haunted ♡ Sam

Summary: Sam gets caught by a Djinn, dreaming of a life without you. Word Count: 1,912 I hope this is okay! Sorry it took a bit of time to get out! You can take this romantically or not; it's completely up to you. I tried to keep it generic in case it's not something you wanted <3 I believe this is the longest imagine I've written, which is crazy tbh Also I'm sorry for the British terms in this - idk what the Americanized versions are lol

You find that yourself and Sam are irreplacably close. You both grew up with similar childhoods, unknowingly setting yourselves up as life partners.

You practically did everything together, including spending a lot of time with Dean. He always thought that it was sweet that his baby brother had someone that would keep him occupied. Help him stay on the right path. In fact, having you around made things ten times easier. An extra pair of hands for research, hunting and a smart-ass mouth definitely assisted in getting answers out of people during hunts.

“So, get this,” Sam starts, your head peeking up from behind your newspaper. “Go on.” You urge him. It’s been a couple weeks without any work, and you can feel yourself tweaking from sitting still. Hunting is filthy, yet you crave it. It gives you a sense of purpose and knowing that you potentially save peoples lives fills a void in you that you didn’t know you had. The joys of working among the two best hunters alive also patches that void right up with pride.

“Mystery deepens as man goes missing.” Sam states, reading the headline from the newspaper he’s holding. You roll your wrist, pursing your lips, encouraging Sam to carry on. “Mystery follows suit as William Hardy, 33, goes missing after attending an afterparty. William left the nightclub and never returned home to his wife, Kate, 34.” Sam finishes, his shiny eyes gazing at you. “Right. Well, we have a possible case.” You stand up, tidying the books and papers into piles, sliding the books back onto their designated shelves. “Hold on, we can’t say this is for us or not.”

“Sammy,” you stand above him, and he looks up at you. “Man goes missing. Y/N goes investigate. Sam and Dean go with Y/N.” You nod, a playful smile on your face. Sam laughs at you. “Even if there is no case, at least it gets us out of the bunker. I’m bored as hell.”

Dean parked the Impala outside of a huge office firm. The brothers suited up and yourself in smart attire. As you exit the car, you look up at the building - glass completely covering the whole of it. The sun catching on each angle, making you squint your eyes. Maybe looking at the sun itself would be easier on the eyes.

You all enter the building, Dean asking for a Ms. Hardeker at the reception. They tell you to sit whilst she finds a moment to bring you into her office.

Upon entering, you notice her desk is a little messy. A tissue box that’s practically empty, pens sprawled out all over her desk and a couple laid on the floor. “Come, sit down, sit down.” She ushers you all to sit, and you do. Her eyes are tired and puffy. Kate’s hair slicked back in a bun, a few baby hairs poking out. Her formal appearance makes it seem like everything’s perfect. Kate sits down behind her desk, and her eyes sit upon you. You flash her a comforting smile before Dean sparks a conversation.

A couple of hours later, you leave the building retaining a lot of information about William. You scribbled down notes in your notebook to help you further the investigation when you get back to the bunker. You feel as though your mind is on overdrive, the empathy you feel toward Kate is unreal. You can’t imagine ever feeling the way she does.

Days later, you and the brothers head to William’s last known location, the bar. It’s crowded and blaring with live music. You feel the floor vibrate beneath you, shimmying through the crowd to get to the bar. Dean opens up a tab, allowing you to find a booth to sit together.

You notice Sam’s been quiet this entire time, his eyes kept to the ground. He swirls his whiskey in the glass, the liquid almost forming a tiny whirlpool. You watch him, and he glances up at you, displaying a light smirk. “You okay?” You mouth to him, and he nods. Something is eating at him, and he’s damn good at hiding it. Pulling out your notebook, you assume that Sam needs a distraction. “Okay, so,” you start, and their heads perk up. “From what we got, Will wouldn’t have gone far from here. If anything, he would’ve stepped out of here and it would’ve yanked him. The time that he left here versus the time Kate called his phone… she called six times with no answer.” You huff, looking over at Dean. He presses his lips together, his pupils focused on your notepad. “Then there’s no time to waste. Let’s find that son of a bitch.”

Upon leaving, the thumping of the music decreases and you feel like you can finally think again. The night sky is lightly decorated with stars, the moon shining like a huge hole piercing through the fabric of the sky. The soft moonlight reflects onto Sam’s hair, his cheekbone catching the moonlight as he looks over at you. You reach up and stroke his back with your thumb, quickly pulling him in for a side hug. He gazes down at you, planting a kiss atop your head. This was your favourite thing about being this close with Sam. You can get away with doing things like this without Dean making it weird. He knows how much you both mean to each other and, luckily; he sees it as you’re part of the family. At this point, you practically are.

Glancing over to your right, you notice a dingy alleyway with a slim, wooden door that seems like it leads to nowhere. You tap Dean on his bicep, ushering him to follow. Dean takes the lead as usual, scanning the back street for an extra lane to go down. But this time, it leads straight to the door. No sign, no people. It gets freakier by the second. You keep it hush, pressing your ear against the door.

Silence.

Dean turns the handle, the door opening almost without force. His forest eyes pin back at you, his eyebrows scrunched. Sam slips you out of the way, so he can be there to protect you in case someone - or something - jumps out at you. His broad frame completely shields yours. The building seems derelict but not abandoned. Lights flicker quickly and almost in a pattern, debris and dirt cover the place. There are tracks along the floor, leading around a corner that leads into a hallway. You pair up with Dean, whilst Sam investigates the hallway. A sense of hidden depth hangs heavy as you two claim the main floor. It’s hard to tell, but the whole place feels endless.

As Sam turns a corner into a new room, his flashlight quivers, the bulb dimming as he fully enters the room. He’s abruptly met with what looks like a human covered in dark tattoos from head to toe. Sam gasps at the sudden encounter, attempting to shield himself from being attacked. The tattoos on his skin glow an electric blue, the shade travelling across his entire face, lighting up his eyes. A neon blue flame arises from his hand. The djinn completely entrapped Sam, entrancing him into a dream-like state. Sam’s eyes roll back.

Sam wakes up in a fright. He’s back at the bunker, in his own bed. His damp back hints at a nightmare, though its cause eludes him. Sam runs his hand through his hair, taking a deep breath. It’s not often he suffers with nightmares. Nothing major in his life had happened prior, which leaves him confused. Sam gets out of bed and clears his throat. He makes his way down the hall, passing your bedroom. The door is slightly ajar, and he peeks inside. More often than not, you leave your door somewhat open, so either of the Winchesters know you’re awake. He pushes the door open, revealing an already made bed, none of your belongings or little trinkets on the shelves. Nothing. He furrows his brows, scanning the room as if he’s in the wrong room. Sam hears clanging coming from the kitchen, so he shuts the door and makes his way up to the main foyer.

“Y/N?” He calls, padding over to the kitchen. “Y/N?” He calls again, and Dean snorts. “Who’s that, Sammy? One of your lady friends?” He laughs, shoving his face full of eggs and bacon. “Wh- no, Dean. Where’s Y/N?” He asks, almost panicky. He examines the room for anything that simulates you. Dean watches him, puzzled. “Sam, who are you talking about? There’s no Y/N here.” He pauses, fork in hand. “Sammy, are you feeling okay?” Dean puts his fork down, hesitating whether to approach his brother. Sam stands there in disbelief, a lump forming in his throat.

“Y/N’s room isn’t there. Nothing of hers is there. You don’t even know who I’m talking about,” he rambles, running his hand through his hair again. His brain is in overdrive right now, and Dean’s eyes are locked on him. He takes cautious steps toward Sam. “Y/N isn’t here, Dean. Something’s wrong.”

Dean falters, his lip moving as if he wants to say something, but he’s unsure on exactly what. Sam’s fear stricken gaze locks with Dean’s uncertainty.

You plunge the silver dagger into the hip of the djinn, and he releases a bloodcurdling scream. The light covering his body blinks before submerging. The djinn’s body falls to the floor, and Sam lays unconscious. Dean rushes over to Sam, slapping his face lightly to attempt and wake him up. “C’mon, Sammy,” He grunts, pulling him up so he can rest against a wall. You kneel down beside Sam, fumbling as you pull out your handy flask. You unscrew the lid and pour water over his face, hoping that the icy feeling washes over him and that he wakes up. He doesn’t.

“Sam?” You whisper, caressing his face, hoping that light touches trigger something instead. Luckily, Sam awakens. “Oh, thank God,” You press your hand to your heart, you take his hand and he squeezes lightly. “Thought you were a goner,” you chuckle lightly, and Sam looks over at you. Dean stands up, collecting himself from what just happened. He rubs his hand over his stubble, one hand on his hip. Sam huffs, showing you a tiny smile. He’s pale and weak, so you offer him the rest of your water from the flask. “Are you okay?” You comfort him, stroking your hand on his shoulder. “Yeah. I’m grateful you’re here.” He swallows. “When he got me - when the djinn got me - he took me to a place where you didn’t exist.” Sam glances up at you with glossy eyes, and you’re unsure whether it’s from pain or he’s upset. “It, uh…” He stalls, and you sit patiently next to him, not rushing him.

“It really got to me, you know? You not being there in my life,” Sam pants, struggling to find the words. “You mean the world to me, Y/N. I hope you know that.” He says, pulling at your heartstrings. “More than you know. I mean it. I don’t say it enough.” He chuckles, and you grin. “I know you don’t.” You joke, and he playfully hits your arm. You help Sam to stand up, and he pulls you in to a bear hug. This hug means more than the rest of them.

#supernatural #spn #supernatural imagines #spn imagines #sam winchester #sam winchester imagines #supernatural imagine #spn imagine #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x y/n #sam x reader #sam x y/n #sam x you #supernatural x reader #sam winchester fluff #supernatural djinn #djinn

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muninnhuginn · 3 days ago

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also throwing out a few wild thoughts here after watching the new ep:

why is everyone so weird when hearing cwm's name? as we've seen cwm's thing here seems to be that he 'wants to do better by these kids' (let's ignore the safeguarding issues about saying he wants to be their friends when a teacher a sec). so, speculation: cwm deliberately takes the fall for the actual arsonist who'll likely be either xia fei or wang qing?

and yeah as everyone has picked up on cxs knows way too much to survive this loop - not sure how they're gonna play his death or if they'll specifically tie it up to s2 finale but only a week to go now

lu guang is the subtlest wdym. 'yeah like if we high five we can probably share powers' bestie what. (on a related note, his bit about 'powers are just like traits' vibed really mob psycho to me. I wonder if it's what past cxs 'taught' him about his powers after he'd grown up thinking of them in a less positive way)

said this already in another post but "what's the point in waiting if there's no hope?" is definitely a thematic string to pull on

cheng xiaoshi gets the speech/verbal understanding language module of whoever he possesses but not the written understanding. this is pure trivia, but still interesting to know. we know from his later interaction with vein that he sure doesn't retain the language knowledge after the fact

lu guang and cheng xiaoshi losing connection again during the dive. the show always make a point of highlighting when this happens. was trying to figure out if any other powers could be interfering here as happened with the twins, but touch-wise at least, it seems... unlikely? (though can't rule out other power interference entirely) but if anything, the way lu guang was sweating when we got the focus back to him after the connection rejoined makes it seem like this was an issue on his end (one which ig resulted in cxs having to improvise and therefore get caught from a show perspective). lu guang being ill affecting his powers tracks with what he said pre-twins dive in s2 though. even though the connection itself was likely lost due to the twins, he was still struggling to see everything that happened in the photo before that. I wonder if we'll return to this as a plot point at any point, the idea that lu guang being ill or injured can mess with his powers - there was a post the other day (I think by @ sunslants) about it being neat if lu guang fainted in yingdu because his whole body is giving out under this power, and whilst idk how *likely* that is in canon, it'd definitely add a new deadline to things, if lu guang has to resolve everything before his whole body just gives out

oh yeah seems like vein knows whatever it is that xia fei also knows about the arson. not super surprising but potential motive forming ig?

cheng xiaoshi getting out his feelings to his dad in the form of wang qing was very good but the whole time lu guang was like "yeah sorry I didn't give you a heads up" I was there head in hands like "lu guang. please. this is your MO at this point"

still no answer about cxs' mum and why she followed after cwm then *also* vanished (tbh even the fact cwm up and went full no contact with cxs has me like ??? but I can't tell if we're meant to just let that be or question it further). it feels like there's way more to this, but hard to see how that plus everything else is getting resolved in the one episode we have left

"You're a total control freak" "That's because of you." Lu Guang....

Basketball halo'd Lu Guang when he asked Cheng Xiaoshi to do ibuprofen together....

Cheng Xiaoshi wanting to get revenge on the bullies and Lu Guang instantly responding along the lines of "well, hey, they're all gonna die soon" cracked me up. Was probably meant to be more of an "oof" but. I laughed.

#link click #link click spoilers #shiguang dailiren spoilers #probably forgetting some stuff but yeah these are base thoughts after the ep #oh yeah not mentioned anything wrt 'language school' being code for those with powers (+ if so curious if lx knows more).#I could see it being the case (+ would open up possibilities for why the connection cut out during the exam)#but just as there's nothing really /against/ the idea I think there's also nothing properly /for/ it at this point.#so just holding it as a nebulous possibility in my head for now

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ideas-on-paper · 11 hours ago

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The Geth

My favorite race from Mass Effect by far are the Geth (although I think this should be obvious from the huge amount of lore analyses I wrote about the Geth in general and Legion specifically ^^') - as many people already said, they are extremely interesting because of how unique they are, not only among the other Mass Effect races, but among robots in sci-fi in general.

However, my own love for the Geth goes down to a much deeper level - strange as that may sound, they resonate so much with me because I personally identify with them. Strive for understanding, valuing perspectives, and acceptance of differences are principles that are extremely important to me; at the same time, while I want to communicate with other people, what often hampers my desire to is 1) uncertainty of how to go about it (because autism) and 2) fear of being betrayed, rejected, or disappointed (because of past experiences).

I can see so much of myself in Legion and the Geth - my wishes, my dreams, everything I've ever longed for, but also my flaws and shortcomings.

The Geth's relationship to the Quarians is also very interesting. It may not be very overt, but there's definitely a lot more to it than you would expect from "logical thinking" machines. I'm not sure if I would go so far as to call it "emotions", but the Geth definitely have their own desires that grew from their personal development. (I did want to do an extra analysis about this too, at some point.)

On that note, the Heretics are extremely interesting - they may seem like your standard "all organics must die" robots at the first glance, but after taking a closer look at them, they seem more like realists that got disillusioned because their ideals of peace proved to be impossible.

Idk if this is a bit of a stretch, but I cannot shake the feeling that the Geth's story is, in essence, centered around the notion of being abandoned by god. The Quarians, their "gods", literally told them "we do not love you, and you're nothing more than a tool to us", and being confronted with this reality, they're desperately trying to move on from them and find their own way. Still, they cannot fully sever the attachment that they have to the Quarians - the Heretics may have even taken to revering Sovereign as a gesture to abjure their own "loveless gods". (The irony being, of course, that Sovereign doesn't hold any more love to them; actually, it's interesting how many "loveless gods" Mass Effect has, since you can not only apply this to the Geth -> Quarians and the Heretics -> Sovereign, but also to the other galactic races -> the Protheans.) I can relate very well to this situation of being "left alone", too, as well as how hard it is to find your own path.

Legion's individuality is a difficult topic; I will say that there are some hints that the devs planned for Legion to develop individuality early on, although whether this was Chris L'Etoile's idea or someone else's is difficult to say.

I personally prefer using they/them pronouns for Legion out of respect for their gestalt nature, but I'm totally fine with people calling Legion he/him, too. (As for Legion themselves, I feel like they'd probably be pretty neutral about it.)

That being said, on a personal level, whether Legion is an individual or not doesn't matter all that much too me - I fully accept them as a collective consciousness, but if they're developing individuality, who am I to forbid them? I don't "need" Legion to be either for me, and I'll love them all the same.

The Morning War

Naturally, since the Geth are my "special interest", I have always been curious about the Morning War - the thing is, while we know how it started and what the result of it was, the overall course of it is very hazy. (Unfortunately, this has led some people to very biased conclusions about it, to say the least.)

Although it may not have started in the most... pleasant way (essentially, I wanted to prove that it's possible to interpret the war in a way that doesn't absolve the Geth of killing 99% of the Quarian population and still keeps the plot about Quarian rebels fighting alongside the Geth as canon), the Morning War is a puzzle that I've started to really enjoy figuring out, so much so that I developed an entire fanfiction concept around it, complete with OCs. xD

In any fandom, I always tend to be intrigued most by the parts of the lore that are there, but that I can't see, and I love filling these gaps with my own imagination. Plus, I kinda have a thing for morally complex war dramas. xD

Pre-Morning War Quarian culture

This sort of happened as a "side effect" of my interest in the Morning War, but everything related to Pre-Morning War Quarian society and culture absolutely fascinates me. How does it differ from Migrant Fleet-era culture? What traces of it remain? How did it evolve with the Quarians' exile and them exclusively living in spaceships? (I'm super interested in how real-life cultures evolve and change with different influences, so this largely comes from my general passion for history. ^^)

Given the Geth and their ancestor VI databanks, the Quarians must've had impressive technology, so what was that like? The introduction of the Geth must've had a huge impact on Quarian economy and society, so what did daily life look like for them? Were there people who were disadvantaged due to these technological advancements? What were the philosophical takes on the Geth and the ancestor VIs? Were the Quarians really trying to secretly (and illegally) create true AIs of their ancestors, as it's implied by the Codex? They couldn't have kept this a secret from the Citadel Council forever, so how were they planning to deal with the consequences? What were the Quarians' relationships and interactions with other species like? And was their "utopia" really just a golden veneer, with lots of ugliness behind it?

I love thinking about this stuff, and it's very much going to feature in the fanfic that I'm developing as well. ;-)

The AIs

One thing I think is really interesting about the AIs in general - which goes for both EDI and the Geth - is that you can clearly tell how much they take after their creator species: EDI relies a lot on Shepard's guidance throughout ME3 and very actively inquires about human behavior, eventually adopting human ideals - such as humanity and individuality - as her own. As for the Geth, I did an analysis before where I talked about how many similarities they share with the Quarians, if you look closely.

Ironically though, this difference also limits Legion and EDI's understanding of each other. While they are very supportive of each other (both of them are AIs, after all), you can tell that Legion has trouble understanding EDI's perspective and her decisions. Similarly, there are instances of EDI severely misunderstanding the Geth in ME3, saying that consensus is "enforced" among the Geth, which is just... factually not true. (The very essence of the consensus is that the Geth won't make a decision unless every program agrees to it.) At one point, she even postulates that the Geth turned on the Quarians because "they didn't make them enough like them", since AIs with individuality develop stronger preferences/attachments to their creator species. (First off, for reasons cited above, I think this claim is wrong, and second, wouldn't "stronger preferences" potentially result in AIs being racist against species other than their creators?)

While I don't agree with EDI's assessment, all of this wonderfully shows how every sentient AI will not only inherit the morals and values of its creator species, but also their flaws and biases. EDI is an AI made by humans, so of course she would place greater value on individuality - naturally, this standpoint also influences her judgments.

My personal takeaway from this is that you have to be mindful of what you teach your AIs (which very much goes for real-life AIs as well) - if you teach an AI to lie and cheat, you can be sure that no good things will come of it if it ever gains sentience.

The Reapers

Seeing the reblogs, I also want to join @average-mako-enjoyer in saying that I'm actually quite fascinated by the Reapers' way of thinking/their worldview.

I have my own headcanons on them that slightly verge on AU territory, but I like to imagine that their role is to keep the galaxy, as a system, from clogging. In that, their function is similar to that of a virus in biological systems: Viruses sort of work like nature's "population control" when a species grows too much in numbers, and as such, they actually restore balance to the ecosystem.

However, in advanced civilizations, these "natural regulations" basically get deactivated - as a rule, nature is not too fond of monocultures (which is why they are so prone to diseases), and if you look at history, all great empires have a tendency to eventually fall. If you take this concept and apply it on a galactic level - that the dominance of singular advanced species will eventually result in a catastrophic system collapse - the Reapers might actually act as the "housekeepers" of the galaxy, restoring balance to the system as a whole by taking advanced races "out of the game" and giving others a chance to grow (or at least they see themselves that way).

In contrast to a normal virus, however, the harvested species technically remain alive - they just get "elevated" to a different level, so the Reapers' strategy is essentially "lossless" (which the Reapers are probably pretty proud of, I reckon).

I always wanted to write a more in-depth post about this (since it also plays into my concept of an "extended Refuse ending"), but haven't gotten around to it so far. ^^'

Lore topics I enjoy thinking about for Mass Effect Trilogy Week:

Biotics: I remember countless conversations about biotics that made me look at the wiki to check my information, replay parts of the game and in general pay attention to how it all works out. I still think there are many things about them that I don't understand right now, and that's why I love it. It makes you think! Each species will deal with it in a different way too, they have their own history with their biotics and how they use them. For humans, L2 biotics like Kaidan are always a source of wonder to me. Sure, you can picture a badass biotic like Aria and 100% she showed extreme power during the Omega DLC so that's really fascinating to me as well, but to have those implants and to be able to master Reave?! I also think the lore is not... as solid as it could be regarding how each species treats their biotics. It sometimes feels like a bit of a X-Men situation (they're different, others fear them, possible medical issues...) but it's like the writers don't want to deal with the full implications. And I really wish we could have seen a bit more artistic/cultural displays of biotics. Btw, my biotic sports headcanons are here

Lifespan: I love that each species has a different lifespan and that it really shows in how they live their lives. An asari will not look at their youth like a salarian. Honestly, I'm mad at myself because someone wrote about this in the tag and made a good commentary on it and I can't find the post again. It was about how salarians process thoughts and feelings compared to other species. I hope I can find it soon, and if so I'll reblog it. It's always a fascinating topic!

Artificial intelligence: Geth, EDI and other AIs like SAM are what I mean here. I really do think the topic of designing your own platform should come out more in this universe. I've said it a billion times before but I really want EDI to design her own platform. And I really have no answer, but I have found that all the meta about Legion was always thought-provoking. Was does individuality mean? Does Legion need individuality? Does he need to say "I" or was he better as a collective, as something "other" that was just fine as it was, but we humans just find more meaning in him becoming an individual? Even the words I use here, I'm fully aware I use "he" all the time when refering to Legion, and sometimes I wonder if that's good or not. I don't know.

Justice system: I've made one big post about it (9 years ago haha), but I really find the Spectres fascinating, as well as each species' version of judges/soldiers/spies/agents/workers etc. And prisons.

The trade language: EVERYWHERE in the game and we have so little information compared to the Quarian's language???

And my favorite lore: everything related to the krogan. I really think it ties to what Bakara says about being her Shaman's initiation being a brutal one "But an illuminating one. You learn to appreciate the light by living in the dark." I love that their species not because they're perfect but because they're imperfect in a way that speaks to me. They understand despair, the deepest kind. They understand anger. And they're constantly underestimated. But I find a lot of beauty, joy and humor in them. I also love that they're rarely lying or playing games, they will tell you the honest truth and you either take it or leave it.

Will be happy to know your favorite parts of the lore!!!

#mass effect #trilogyweek2025 #(yeah I'm late I know)#(and of course I got all philosophical again xD)#mass effect lore #geth #mass effect legion #quarians #artificial intelligence #EDI #mass effect reapers #EDI designing her own platform is a VERY COOL concept though 👍

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