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daxisyzz · 1 month ago

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As the world caves in

Pairing: Bucky Barnes × Reader

Summary: What was supposed to be a simple mission turns into a nightmare when Bucky and the reader lose contact with their team and find themselves trapped in a collapsing Hydra base. As the world crumbles around them, they cling to each other, holding onto love even in the face of the inevitable.

Word count: 2.2k+

Warnings and tags: Angst, hurt/no comfort, character deaths, feeling hopeless, collapsing buildings, gunfire and blasts, very sad.

Prompt idea goes to @la-gotica-fantasma

Prompt: “When we get home, I’m going to love you so well.” “We aren’t making it out of this alive.” “I can love you in Hell, my love for you is unconditional.”

A/n: Writing this genuinely broke my heart. Idk what to feel anymore 🥲

P.s requests are open. Feel free to send some

The wind howled like a wounded beast as you trudged through the desolate, snow-covered wasteland with Bucky at your side. The sky was a relentless gray, and the falling snow blurred the line between earth and heaven, lending the world an eerie, frozen silence. It was supposed to be a simple mission—a brief extraction of intelligence from a Hydra outpost nestled in the bitter cold—but nothing had ever turned out as planned.

Earlier that day, in a rare moment of calm before the storm of chaos, Bucky had leaned in close, his eyes soft yet resolute, and promised, “When we get home, I’m going to love you so well.”

Those words had been a beacon of hope amid the constant threat of violence and loss. You had believed in the possibility of a future where the battles ended, where quiet mornings and gentle laughter replaced the roar of combat.

Now, as the wind cut through the silence like shards of glass, that promise felt like a distant dream—fragile and almost cruel in its unattainability.

You remembered the plan: infiltrate the outpost swiftly, extract the needed data, and rendezvous with the rest of the Avengers waiting back at base. The mission brief had been confident, almost nonchalant. But as you and Bucky advanced deeper into the icy expanse, every step seemed to echo the growing dread in your hearts.

The communications link, your lifeline to your teammates, went dark almost as soon as you crossed into enemy territory. No reassuring voices, no status updates—only static and the gnawing realization that you were utterly alone.

Then, without warning, the ambush began. Hydra operatives materialized from the swirling snow like specters of death. The first shots rang out, shattering the silence and sending adrenaline surging through your veins.

Bullets and energy blasts whistled past as you dove behind crumbling concrete walls, the world erupting into a chaotic blur of violence and icy wind. Amid the clamor, every instinct told you to fight—to survive. But as you exchanged fire with the enemy, a grim truth began to settle over you both.

Between bursts of combat, you caught sight of Bucky’s face—his eyes narrowed in concentration, his jaw set in determination—but you also saw something else: a deep-seated sorrow, a silent acknowledgment of the danger you both faced.

In a moment of desperate clarity amid the chaos, his gravelly voice cut through the din, heavy with resignation, “We aren’t making it out of this alive.”

The words reverberated in your chest like a death knell, each syllable a painful reminder of your mortality.

In a frantic bid to salvage any hope, you fumbled with the comms device, your trembling fingers desperately trying to re-establish contact with your teammates. “Avengers… come in, do you copy?” you cried out, your voice barely audible over the roar of battle and the relentless howl of the wind. Static was all that answered.

You repeated the call until it became a ragged litany of pleas that dissolved into the indifferent winter. Each failed attempt gnawed at your spirit, the silence a stark testament to the isolation you now faced.

The fight raged on, a brutal ballet of survival amid falling snow and shattered dreams. Hydra soldiers pressed their attack relentlessly. You and Bucky fought side by side, your movements mirroring each other in a desperate dance for life. Every explosion, every ricochet of shrapnel, was punctuated by the sound of your rapid heartbeats—a rhythm that now served as a mournful metronome counting down your final moments.

As the battle wore on, the structure of the Hydra base itself began to betray its strength. Cracks appeared in the walls, and the ground beneath your feet trembled with the violent shudder of collapsing concrete. The once formidable outpost was now crumbling, its defenses disintegrating as if the very building were succumbing to the despair that filled the air.

Debris rained down around you, and in the midst of the falling rubble, Bucky shouted, “Get down!” His tone was urgent, laced with both command and raw fear.

You dove behind a large chunk of concrete, your body slamming into the cold, unyielding surface. The impact stole the air from your lungs, and for a moment, you lay there, the taste of dust and defeat mingling in your mouth. When you looked up, you saw Bucky already moving, guiding you to a small, partially intact alcove—a temporary refuge amidst the chaos. It was cramped and dark, barely enough room for the two of you, but it offered a semblance of shelter from the relentless storm outside.

In that suffocating space, the sounds of the battle raged on outside the thin barrier of the crumbling wall. Your hearts pounded in unison, echoing the rhythm of a shared, desperate hope that somehow, against all odds, you might survive this ordeal. Bucky’s eyes met yours in the dim light, and for a heartbeat, the world fell away, leaving only the two of you suspended in a fragile bubble of intimacy amid the madness.

“Do you think… do you think they’re coming?” you whispered, your voice trembling not only from the cold but from the overwhelming sense of impending doom. It was a question born of both fear and the desperate need for connection—a plea for reassurance in a moment when even the strongest bonds seemed to be unraveling.

Bucky’s response was slow, measured, as he brushed a stray lock of hair from your face. “I tried to reach them,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “Every call… nothing. It’s like we’re lost in a void, cut off from everything we once knew.” His eyes glistened with unshed tears, and for a moment, the hardened warrior you knew softened into a man laid bare by the cruelty of fate.

Silence fell over you both, heavy and suffocating. Outside, the Hydra base shuddered with the force of its impending collapse. The sound of crumbling concrete, the distant echo of explosions, and the relentless whistling of the wind combined into a dirge for the dying hope that you might ever escape this frozen nightmare.

As if sensing the despair in your voice, Bucky pulled you closer. “Remember what I said earlier?” he murmured, his tone both tender and fatalistic. “When we get home, I’m going to love you so well.” It was a promise made in brighter times, a vow that now felt painfully out of reach. But even in the midst of despair, those words carried a weight of truth—a promise that, no matter how bleak the present, the love you shared was real, undeniable.

You nodded, unable to muster any words, your throat tight with emotion. The hope of a future together—of peaceful mornings, shared smiles, and quiet moments of tenderness—had evaporated into the cold, indifferent air around you. All that remained was the brutal reality of the present, a fight for survival against impossible odds.

The Hydra operatives continued their assault, their voices and shouts muffled by the falling snow and the collapsing walls. In a rare lull between attacks, you and Bucky exchanged murmured words—a mix of confessions, regrets, and bittersweet promises. “I’m scared,” you admitted softly, tears freezing on your lashes as they fell silently into the snow. “I don’t want to lose you,” you added, your voice barely more than a whisper in the dark.

Bucky’s hand tightened around yours. “I know,” he replied, his tone laced with sorrow and determination. “Every moment with you is a gift, even if it’s our last.” There was a raw, heartbreaking beauty in his words—a recognition that love could still flourish in the shadow of death, even if only for a fleeting heartbeat.

In that cramped, shadowed corner of the collapsing base, time slowed. Every heartbeat, every ragged breath, felt amplified—a stark reminder that life was slipping away. Outside, the structure continued to crumble, the roar of destruction melding with the persistent, mournful sigh of the wind. The cold had seeped into every crack of your bones, and the promise of rescue or escape had all but vanished into the void.

With trembling fingers, you reached for the comms one last time, your eyes searching the static for any sign of life. “Avengers… please, if anyone can hear us… Steve, Tony, anyone...” your voice trailed off into the oppressive silence. There was no response—only the relentless sound of your own despair mingling with the fading echoes of distant explosions.

Bucky pulled you closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “I can love you even in hell,” he said, the words a defiant stand against the cruel fate that had brought you here. “My love for you is unconditional, doll.” His voice was steady, yet beneath it lay an undercurrent of sorrow that matched your own. In that moment, his words were both a comfort and a lament—a final affirmation of the bond you shared even as everything around you crumbled.

The minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity. Each second was filled with the sound of falling debris, the relentless beating of your hearts, and the unspoken acknowledgment that nothing could change the inevitable. The Hydra base, once a symbol of enemy might, was now nothing more than a tomb—a grave for hopes, dreams, and the promise of a future that would never be.

As the structure groaned and finally began its irrevocable descent into ruin, you and Bucky clung to each other, seeking solace in the familiar warmth of your embrace. Tears mixed with the snow on your cheeks as you whispered your final goodbyes—not to the world, but to the life you had once dared to dream of. The bitterness of regret, the agony of loss, and the deep, aching sorrow of unfulfilled promises coalesced into a single, shattering moment.

“Do you remember,” you asked in a voice choked with emotion, “when we talked about running away, escaping all this madness?” Your question hung in the air, fragile as a snowflake in the storm.

Bucky’s eyes searched yours, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke. Finally, he said, “I do. I dreamed of a life where we wouldn’t have to fight, where the world was kinder, where I could hold you every morning without the fear of losing you.” His admission was raw and honest, a confession of all the hopes that had been built and now lay shattered.

The sound of collapsing walls drew nearer, and the harsh reality that you were nearing the end pressed in like the cold itself. With a shaky laugh that was more a sob than mirth, you murmured, “It feels like even our dreams are falling apart with this place.” Your voice cracked under the weight of truth.

Bucky’s grip tightened, his fingers tracing the line of your tear-streaked face. “Maybe we were foolish to hope,” he replied softly. “But even if this is the end, I wouldn’t trade these moments with you for anything—even if they’re wrapped in sorrow.”

Time itself seemed to slow as you sat huddled together in that dark, cramped corner. The only sounds were the rhythmic beating of your hearts and the soft, sorrowful whispers of the wind outside—a lullaby for the damned. In that final space, you and Bucky clung to each other, sharing a look that spoke of years of love, pain, and the bittersweet beauty of life even in its final throes.

As the final moments approached, Bucky’s voice, barely audible above the collapsing din, broke the heavy silence once more. “I’m sorry,” he said, his tone a fragile mix of regret and love, “that I couldn’t do more. But I promise… I will love you in every possible way, until my very last heartbeat.” His words wrapped around you like a fragile shield against the inevitable, and though there was no rescue, no miraculous escape, there was a profound connection that neither death nor destruction could ever erase.

With the Hydra base collapsing fully around you, the walls and roof caving in with a final, mournful groan, you both closed your eyes and held each other tightly. In those heartbeats, as the echoes of your shared love mingled with the sound of falling debris, you allowed yourselves one last moment of vulnerability—a final embrace where all the pain, hope, and regret converged into a single, unforgettable truth.

There, in the darkness and despair, as the light of day faded beneath a blanket of snow and ruin, you and Bucky found a small, defiant solace. The world was ending around you, but in that fleeting, poignant instant, you had each other. And though rescue was a memory lost in static and hope was buried under endless layers of ice and concrete, the love you shared—raw, unyielding, and achingly human—remained the last, unwavering truth.

In the dying echoes of that crumbling Hydra base, your final moments were marked by tears that froze on your cheeks, by whispered apologies and desperate confessions, and by the unbreakable bond of two souls intertwined even as the world fell apart. There were no heroes emerging from the wreckage that day, no triumphant survival. There was only the haunting beauty of a love that dared to shine, even in the coldest, darkest of nights—a love that, despite everything, burned fiercely until its very end.

And as the snow continued to fall, blanketing the ruins in silence, your hearts beat together in a final, sorrowful cadence—a cadence that, even in the face of oblivion, whispered of promises kept, of lives entwined, and of a love that would echo long after the storm had passed.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #sebastian stan x reader #bucky x reader #james buchanan barnes #marvel fanfiction #avengers #angst #avengers fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #angst with a sad ending #hurt/no comfort

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ieetbeez · 3 months ago

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Small Rant About RE

Hello gang... This has been on my mind for awhile. Today we're talking about Resident Evil and particularly Leon stans. Now I'm gonna come out and say I am one of them! I love that silly little blonde man and he's like number 1 on my favorite capcom white boy tier list next to Cody from Final Fight/SF.

tw: mentions of rape, pedophilia, incest, abuse, and my opinion

Let me make it clear, I'm not kink shaming, I'm not advocating for censorship. Art and literature shouldn't be censored. Sex is cool. Kink is cool (when safe and consensual).

I'm gonna be one of those fans real quick and say, I've been an RE fan since I was like 7. That doesn't really mean much since I can't drink legally but I've been in love with Leon since elementary school. I watched my Dad and brother play RE6 co-op and man... Aka I've been in the fandom for a fat minute. Before the RE2 remake came out I'd see the occasional Dead Dove fic but that's whatever. But I have never seen this much dark romance about Leon of all people!

Like. Call it the T-Virus the way it's everywhere I swear I can't scroll down the damn tag without getting hit with a sexual crime. And let me say, I'm not new to fandom culture. I take don't like don't read to heart (I'm super picky LMAO). And I understand that, that's just how big fandoms are, more people, more bad eggs. I'm sure the majority of y'all are sweet people.

BUT I feel like I shouldn't have to say that romanticizing things like pedophilia, rape, abuse, and incest is disgusting in the big year 2025 but here we are. Honestly, I feel this way about a lot of the fics of other fandoms I'm in. I feel crazy seeing it everywhere and it makes me feel like some sort of sexual puritan. Am I insane for wanting freaky smut and not ...freaky smut??

There for sure is a bigger conversation here about how easily accessible porn is and how quick people to fall into these pipelines. Or how booktok caused a rise in the normalization of dark romance troupes and just pure porn writing (I still hate icebreaker). Or how quick form constant content is slowly leaking it's way into everything. But we’d be here for forever…

And like, it's just completely out of character?? Like if you're gonna write about that can it at least be in character? Wesker fits the dark romance thing LEAGUES better. But LEON?? THE POLICE OFFICER?? Did you even watch a walkthrough? Leon is a sweet upstanding guy with lots of trauma, that is the last thing he'd do to ANYONE! Not saying fics have to be completely accurate all the time but there's literally nothing fun about "Omg what if Leon RAPED you!?" HES NOT THE EVIL RESIDENT HERE GUYS! At some point it's not even about Leon (or whoever the fic is about) anymore, it's just someone wanting to share their sexual fantasies online.

These topics are almost never written with any care and are insanely insensitive to the survivors of these acts. I don't know, sexual crimes are literally some of the most deplorable acts of hatred and depravity someone can do onto another person. I can't imagine getting off to the suffering of others (in a heinous crime way not BDSM way) (BDSM is cool). Have some fucking empathy and stop thinking with your goon wad guys <3

Like at least take it to AO3 so that I can filter it out or smth...

Edit: I just woke up and remembered what else I was gonna say.

You can tell a lot about a person by how they treat their fictional characters. Another thing I don’t like are the Gooner mods for the games. Like they’re fun every once in a while and like if it’s a capcom game you have to expect it. At some point though, it just stops being sexy and feels gross or uncomfortable.

Idk maybe I’m in the minority here but there has never been a single time where I was playing any RE game and thought to myself, “man… I wish I could see Leon’s end rod whipping in the wind rn…” Obviously, I wanna see that man oiled up butt booty naked doing jumping jacks like as most normal people do but… zawg…

That’s also like an actual person?? At least for the remakes. Maybe this just isn’t my dove to eat but the treat Leon like some sort doll. I know it’s kinda weak to be like this for a fictional person but yeah </3

#resident evil 2 remake #resident evil 2 #resident evil #re2 remake #RE #RE2 #re2 leon #re4 remake #re4 leon #re4 #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #FREELEON2025

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fortheharbingers · 19 days ago

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— truth or dare gone wrong

notes: idk… don’t look at me. multiple bllk characters x f!reader— but Kaiser focused, Shidou implied to be your best friend ig, idk how clear it is but that “voice” by the end belongs to Sae (these r all the specified characters I can think of rn)

warnings: implied dubcon, alcohol mention, fingering, voyuerism and exhibitionism. Minors do not interact. Lmk if I’m missing any tags!

An impromtu night in with bllk boys- that somehow ends up with someone’s genius idea to play shitty high school games, everyone’s too buzzed to refuse or even fully register so it starts with the classic truth or dare

You feel a little too bold- and clearly forgotten about tour unspoken rule for this game, and pick “dare” for your first.

Your dearest friend Shidou dares you to sit on Kaiser’s lap without missing a beat. And when you try and protest, you’re hushed with a finger pressing to your lips, now now, you chose dare, no? So be nice and play along.

The night only goes downhill from the on for you. With Kaiser being touchy but remaining somewhat cold and more and more questions being targeted at you, you’re certain they’re spinning the bottle in a way that’ll end up pointing at you always.

“So, what color is your underwear?” Oliver says, and you whip your head to hide your face- sadly the only way to do so is Kaiser’s neck so you take all you can find but feel a finger by the band of your bottoms, pulling the band to take a peak and answer on your behalf “blue, lace too.”

You can hear a whistle from somewhere, and Oliver following up with a why. “You got your answer so shut it” you retort and can hear several laughs raising in the room. A little too late the seriousness of your situation sits in- it’s a den of wolves and you’re thrown in the center to be their latest victim.

You try to move and get away as much as you can from Kaiser— at least to not feel his breath down your neck, his lips ghosting the skin there, but with strong hands pinning you down to his lap, he sneers at you, “I’d suggest you keep the squirming down a little. Unless you’re offering to help out later.”

Giving him a puzzled look at his words, he relaxes his hold on you only to press you down again, slowly grinding you against him— it’s impossible not to feel his hardened length against you and only then his words sink in, something akin to fear taking over your features and making him grin.

When the bottle spins and finds you two once more, slightly tilted towards Kaiser but you aren’t sure, you cannot trust your senses any more, you try and protest only for the hand stroking your leg to squeeze and make you shut. “Fine, we will play as two and answer in turns.”

And much to your dismay, he always, always picks dare. One wants a peak at the lace, one says you look like you’re begging to have a couple fingers inside, so Kaiser follows suit. Always with a shrug, saying he’s simply following suit of the game. Long, agitating hours of his fingers inside of you, his thumb occasionally massaging your clit and drawing small mewls out of you— with how you’re, you bury your face to the crook of his neck, mouth gaping slightly, overheating all over your body, it feels too much, he feels too much.

Then you hear someone, you think Karasu but you’re not sure, asking if it’ll always be limited to two.

When he inserts a third finger, you cannot hold your gasp anymore, clutching at Kaiser’s shoulders.

Shidou only makes the matters worse— you don’t know when he switched places but every once in a while he leans in and suggests Kaiser where else should he touch to drive you a little more crazy, a little more stupid. The blond is not the least bit of happy regarding this but Shidou only offers a smile that unsettles you and says it’s all just things you told him willingly on another night drunk off your minds, talking about pleasure and whatnot.

As the game reaches its high and the bottle long forgotten now, another dare is thrown into the mix, to put on a little show, to allow them all an audience.

Nudging your legs to the side, Kaiser increases his pressure on your poor clit, nibbling on your ear, he whispers to only you that if you do this final thing, he will reward you— this only makes you clench around his fingers more, already aware despite your drunken state that he means to fuck you stupid properly and for only him to see.

You think you feel more hands on you, you’re unsure, with desperate to hide your face and bite onto Kaiser’s shoulder every time it feels too much, you don’t have the heart to look at any of them.

You feel someone blowing on your ear at last, telling you to let go and not contract your body like that. Have mercy on your body and stop holding back. The voice sounds like it wants the best for you, like this is the most logical way to go, that it’s pointless to resist. So you nod weakly and feeling you relax in his hold, still pressed against him, Kaiser chuckles at your admitted defeat.

Knuckles deep inside of you, he increases his pace, his thumb toying with your clit and his other hand roaming your body. Pushing your legs further apart to settle his leg inbetween, his hand sneaks under your shirt and finds your breasts. Kneading the tender flesh there, you begin your body to jolt slightly, mumbling to no one in particular pleas of nothing, trying to squeeze your legs shut and hips meeting the pace Kaiser has set with his fingers.

With a snap, you feel yourself shake and body going limp, no more strength left in you to try and shy away push your legs together. Barely meeting the rhythm of his finger still inside of you.

When Kaiser pulls away, you cannot help but whine at the sudden feeling of emptiness. Raising his cum soaked fingers, he seems to demonstrate for a while, turning his hand to inspect for himself and brings the digits to your lips.

Without a word, you feel something pushing against your lips and open, licking clean whatever you’re being dared to do so now. Sucking on Kaiser’s fingers, you let go with a slow pop.

Bringing his other hand to your cheek, he makes you face him and seems to give it some thought. Swiftly, he places the hand under your knees and gets up, picking you up in the process and walks to where he knows is the bedroom, ignoring the protests of the men left behind in the living room.

#nova writes<3 #IDK MAN IDK ANYMORE #bye #bllk smut #bllk x reader smut #blue lock smut #kaiser x reader smut #Shidou x reader smut #sae x reader smut

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caemidraws · 10 months ago

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M A S T E R P O S T

[General Tags]

₊˚.⋆ #dnd related art

₊˚.⋆ #comics and other funny things

₊˚.⋆ #tarots, full deck in progress

₊˚.⋆ #pettirossi content*, from full illustrations to session notes

₊˚.⋆ #marsilio (computer, show me pictures of the blorbo)

(*more links for the comic under the cut)

[Useful Links]

The other social

About me

Previous Asks

[Comic (TBA) - Prologue]

Cover | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

[How to Support]

RB shop

Comms (CLOSED)

:･⚔ ||| P E T T I R O S S I ||| ⚔･:

[fantasy/horror webcomic written by @jonesylium, illustrated by me]

Inspired by our dnd campaign, the comic follows the events that brought a group of unfortunate characters together, in a city ruled by factions and tall towers, scarred by night runners and obscure legends.

⬇ ⬇ ⬇ Find out more on our comic here ⬇ ⬇ ⬇

Serious business aside...if you ever wondered what's going on in my art or who are the characters I keep drawing without providing any context - you're going to find out (some) more!

⚠️DISCLAIMER⚠️

This is our first experience in the field, as it's the first comic (of more of 3 pages) we've worked on together,,, We just really wanted to make a media with our characters, and while we know it's a wonky attempt, the dnd urge to share blorbos is strong--

(TW list in the FAQ section)

[ ₊˚.⋆ Comic Pages ⋆⁺. ]

Cover | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | E1 | E2 | E3

[ ₊˚.⋆ Session Notes and More ⋆⁺. ]

⚠️⬇ Spoilers Below ⬇⚠️

Misc | Side Tales | Colors | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30

[ ₊˚.⋆ Lore / Asks ⋆⁺. ]

⚠️⬇ Spoilers Below ⬇⚠️

Random Infos 1 | Random Infos 2 | Asks (WIP)

[ FAQ ]

☆ When are we getting new pages?

On every Thursday, at Midnight (Central European Time).

☆ Any trigger warning?

I'll be updating the tw list on here as the comic proceeds.

First chapter: blood, death, scars, burns, gang violence.

☆ Where should we send our asks?

You can send asks to me, @jonesylium or @pettirossiofficial! I'll do my best to reply any question concerning the comic but it'll may take some time in case I need to doodle something or need to wander the woods for 3 days to think about a good reply idk

☆ Who does what????

@jonesylium: writing and lettering (typos)

me: sketching, inking, coloring, crying

☆ Who are the characters???

Andrea [he/him]

Mars [he/him]

Misericordia [they/she]

the Twins (coming soon) [he and she]

Quarzaldo (best name btw) [he/him]

Solvi [she/her]

Toloc [he/him]

Ultima [she/her]

Will [he/him]

⚠️SHORT REF SHEETS COMING SOON⚠️

Special thanks ₊˚.⋆ to who's playing Everyone Else, aka @shaykan

☆ What is a pettirossi? Is it something you can eat or what

It's a pun about petti-rossi translating to red chests (red=rossi, chests=petti) and the italian name for robin (the bird!!!). We needed a gang name that sounded bloody and cool but not edgy.....

☆ Do you take requests?

You can hope to 'lady macbeth' me enough to make me think it was my own idea to draw something

☆ Why haven't you replied to my ask? :(

I either forgor OR your ask had a compliment in it and I'm safekeeping it in my askbox so that I have something nice to look at when I get sad

There are chances I go back to older asks so don't lose hope.....

#masterpost #art #FAQ #dnd #dungeons and dragons #pinned post #will be updated

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jedi-enthusiasm-blog · 4 months ago

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Listen maybe the jedi couldn't end slavery on tattooine in their lifetime with just the numbers they had, sure. But they could've gone back for anakin's mom, like the one woman who is clearly a sore spot for him, I get it, not attachments and all, but he's far more likely to not make a sudden, angry, rash decision and slaughter not just the men, but the women and the children as well if she's not in danger of being kidnapped and murdered right?

Beautiful comment left by a dear in my post about the Jedi's limited numbers. At least it wasn't an essay in the reblogs, unlike the last… seven or eight I think. Idk, I lost count after three people dropped anti-Jedi essays I definitely didn't ask for in less than an hour in a clearly tagged post that wasn't even meant to be serious.

Now for the response because why the heck not?:

1) Sorry to break it to you buddy but she could still be kidnaped tortured and murdered on Couruscant.

2) They should have gone back to free one slave and risk war with the Hutts since Watto has connections with them? Really? It sounds really fucking risky. Plus, when freeing slaves, slaves are hostages, freeing them is dangerous for both the slave, the person/people freeing them and whoever is in the blast radious since, y'know, there's a fucking bomb inside them.

3) They did free her in Legends, or at least had a part in her winning her freedom.

4) It's not the Jedi's job to placate a fucking genocidal child murderer, it's ANAKIN'S job to keep his shit together and not murder people.

5) Why does Shmi deserve freedom more urgently than any other slave? Because she's nice? Because she's Anakin's mom? Newflash mate, freedom is a right and even the rudest slave who has no family or friends deserves it. What you say is ATTACHMENT, it's the Dark Side. You'd be saving Shmi because of who she is in relationship to someone else or because she's "earned" it, not because she's a fucking person and deserves her basic human rights. Arguably, if you flip this you could just as easily say that a rude person with no friends and family deserves slavery, or at the very least shouldn't be a priority when freeing slaves.

6) George Lucas is more metaphorical than literal, and the PT suffered for it (it does have some holes).

7) How do you know the Jedi didn't try to free her but couldn't for X reason? That headcanon is just as valid as saying they never tried (actually more, since Qui-Gon did try).

8) It bears repeating: it's ANAKIN'S responsability to keep his shit together and not. murder. people. I don't give a fuck that his mom died, it's no excuse to MURDER FUCKING CHILDREN. Shmi didn't deserve to be kidnaped, tortured and murdered, but the Tuskens (the children most of all) didn't deserve to be slaughtered like animals either.

9) I'm gonna say it again because this is serious: Anakin shouldn't be coddled by the fans, he was above the IRL age of majority in most countries, twelve year olds spent their whole lives in PRISON for far less and he got married literally one day after. He. Was. An. Adult.

I apologize for the essay because it does seem disproportionate in hindsight. But after months of having nearly every single one of my posts infested with anti-Jedi people dropping essays I have clearly stated I don't want, after years of not being able to enjoy the content I like without looking at comments and reblogs and seeing vitrol towards not just the fictional characters I love but towards me and other real people, I'm at the end of my patience.

I won't tag you in the end, commenter, because I don't want to give any incentives for harassment or make you or anybody who sees Star Wars like you to feel upset by reading this. You are entitled to your opinions as much as I am to mine. If you see this post, you know who you are.

#star wars #pro jedi #in defense of the jedi #anti jedi bashing #responding to a comment

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coldwayhome · 10 months ago

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Hi could you do an apollo x reader doesn’t matter what it’s about. Thank youu!! I really love your writing!!

love songs on the radio ☀️

synopsis: domesticity with apollo (and some reflection)

tags: blurb i am sorry. reader has no gender (apollo’s pov, usage of ‘you’ instead of ‘me’ or ‘they’.. sorry), idk what else to tag it’s pretty lowkey!

notes: so i may have went a little overboard.. i hope this is okay 🤍 i love apollo’s character in the rrverse but i mayyy have overdone it. please send feedback this is new ! (also, so sorry it’s short!! i wanted to get it done before my inspiration died.. i will try to continue if you like it!)

he prays this isn’t a dream, for a blessing has been bestowed upon him through early morning bird songs and harmonic sunrise musings. he thanked every god he’d ever done right for the scene playing out in your shared kitchen. the sun-bleached & salt-stained windowsill rested the speaker that was playing soft music (the music you were swaying to; the swaying which caused him to grin).

the sound of his bare feet patting on the wooden floor alerted you of his presence behind you. chirping a morning greeting, you continue your place at the countertop. apollo couldn’t get a good glance at what you were working on from his position in the hallway, but he had a clear view of the baking being done when he sat at the counter stool. even if he couldn’t see, though, his nose still worked. your wildflower and honey-filled pancakes could wake him up out of a dead sleep.

conversation was passed, and apollo felt himself becoming drowsy (despite waking up ten minutes prior). the whistling of the tea kettle and the sun rays weaving through the sheer curtains seemed to encourage him to rest again.

heavy-eyed as he was, his battering heart, syncopated and burning gold, could not stop his wandering mind. he had sworn countless times before that he wouldn’t listen to the voice within, but it tended to steal his attention at times.

during these times, apollo tended to think cynically. (it’s just where is mind takes him, he’s sure you’d understand). what if, in another life, you had taken another lover? or what if, in another life, you had never met him? and when the fates finally give up on him, where would you go? he’s sure he’d chase after you in every lifetime. but, there will always be a grave in the garden, and he will crumble without your roothold on him.

one look at your tranquil appearance, lips chapped and hands busy, was enough to push the notion away. words fell flat on his tongue as you looked back with a beam, seemingly beckoning him closer to you. how could he refuse?

as he resumed his spot behind you, bronzed and hardened arms around your waist, he knew that this love will never falter.

#starrie night #written in the starrs #heroes of olympus #percy jackson #heroes of olympus x reader #anon #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #apollo #trials of apollo #apollo x reader #lester papadopoulos #lester papadopoulos x reader

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meanbossart · 1 year ago

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in the least confrontational way possible…what’s up with you shipping durge and orin? is it just another aspect of u liking fucked up dark dynamics in media? personally its not for me at all, but i’m curious why you like them together and how her dynamic is with ur durge

[CONTENT WARNING for mentions of inter generational incest and grooming below, nothing explicit.] Hm. You know, it's a little unfortunate that we have reduced every depiction of characters having a relationship that is at all romantic or sexual in nature (not even, really, I've only ever drawn them hugging LOL) as "shipping". I don't "like" them together in the way I like DU drow and Astarion together, for example, and they never really were together. I made up a story that I find interesting, because I find Orin interesting and wanted to explore her themes more, and liked the idea that hers and Durge's relationship wasn't always "bad".

I really enjoy writing for DU drow, I put a lot of effort into making his story feel fleshed out and suited for the in-game universe. It's a little disheartening that some people may harp on this without considering that there is a wider context beyond it just tickling me, somehow. These are two characters who've never even had sex, in which one of them (Orin) isn't even interested in romance or "mating", and the other one has no concept of healthy relationships, familial or otherwise and just desperately grasps at the one thing he feels a kinship to: to the eventual disintegration of the one relationship he had that approached anything to mutual understanding and relatability.

Theirs isn't a love story, it's a story about isolation and grooming that led to total dependency. If you've been told your whole life that everyone and everything is fated to die at your hand, that your kind is meant to be contained within a genetical crockpot, that debauchery is normalcy and everyone else is the enemy, it is no huge stretch that you would dump all expectations of companionship onto your one, supposed equal - friend, sister, mate, should-be-lover. And then, if you're a bad person on top of that, you won't take no for an answer.

Add to that that your grandfather (Sarevok) is apparently in total agreement and a practicant of the idea of inbreeding for weird purity purposes and you have yourself an environment where an obsession like such can be born - one that Orin wants nothing to do with, because unlike DU drow, she doesn't become distracted by matters of the heart - and hence we have conflict, and we have reason for resentment to brew over time. At some point in the past, they had a "good" (within the bhaalist concept) relationship, and there was nothing sexual or romantic about it. DU drow crushed that. And then he got a worm in his brain for it.

Is that shipping? 🤷 idk

If you go onto my blog's archive and look up the "orin the red" tag you can find more asks where I discuss them and their relationship.

#if *i* sound confrontational its because i'm a little tired of this line of inquiry #apologies LOL #ask

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hughiecampbelle · 5 months ago

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Autopsy (Will Graham Oneshot)

Character/s: Will, Hannibal mention

Word Count: 1,363

Tag List: @locke-writes

A/N: Heavily inspired by the freezing temperatures that have come on suddenly :) I just love the winter and the snow. Something about it makes me feel alive lol. Anyways, I am having so much fun with these fics!!! I was really afraid I wouldn't be able to stick with it, and ik it's only the second day, but I have a good feeling. I have a lot more to watch lol bc I want to write for Hannibal too, I just feel like I can write Will better, if that makes sense? I know him better. Idk lol. I hope you enjoy! Feedback is always appreciated!! ❤❤❤❤❤❤

WRITING EVENT 🔪🩸

I still think of you. The words come to his mind as they have constantly, consistently, since the day you died. Not dead, he corrects, but murdered. The day you were murdered. Taken from him with violence, with cruelty, without remorse. Small things. Big things, too. Reminders. Lately, the change of the season, autumn to winter. The long, dark nights he searches in the linen closet for an extra blanket. The way the stars seem a little brighter. How the leaves, what remains of them, shudder in the wind. The hot water he shivers under, trying to warm himself up. The air is sharp, nipping and biting at his skin as he stands in the yard, in the road, in the woods. Shivering. The frost in the grass, on the pavement, sparkles, threatening to melt in the sunlight. The apples of his cheeks growing rosy, his face shielded by the collar of his coat, by the frame of his glasses, by the knit hat he wears that belonged to you.

I still think of you, he chants. A quiet, naive, foolish part of him hopes you know. I Hope you can see him, feel him. He doesn’t bow to a higher being. He does not break his back and contort his spine in a manner of prayer. He does not step forward between the doors of a church, a temple, a house of holiness. This is as close as he’ll get to believing, to worshipping. Standing here, the temperatures dropping, the sky a watercolor painting of pinks and oranges, purples and blues, trying to stop his teeth from chattering. He can crawl into the minds of killers, of degenerates, of the insane. That is easy. The crime scenes spell it out for him in a language no one else seems to speak, to read, to understand. He can watch as they stab and slice and suffocate without flinching. A witness to the filth of humanity. What he cannot do, what he cannot understand, is your perspective. He has studied the autopsy reports. He has memorized every inflicted wound, every mark of self-defense. He has touched the objects, the weapons, that were used against you. But when he tries to get into your head, your mindset, there is a blankness that mimics untouched snow.

Were you scared? Did you beg for your life? Did the infinity that is death creep up on you while you slipped away or was it thrust upon you like a white hot pain? Did you cry? Call out for your mother, your father, for him? They found you in the snow. A shallow grave dug before a storm, a blizzard. It made things harder. Slowed decomposition. You were missing for two weeks. That’s all. Fourteen days. He smiles despite himself. The absurdity of it all. He should have fought harder. He should have threatened until he got his way. Of course he had a bad feeling. They all did. But he wasn’t prepared for this. You didn’t come home. Your side of the bed sat empty, undisturbed. Your boots, your coat and hat and gloves hung with care by the front door, left on the mat so you wouldn’t track in slush and snow. The books you were reading, the case files you were analyzing, all waited on the coffee table, expecting you home at any time. Even the dogs, unaware of the situation, slept soundly. They knew where you lived. They stalked you for weeks on end. It was their pattern, their modus operandi. They wanted you. They loved you. And that is why they had to kill you.

Killed because of him. His therapist disagrees. It wasn’t anything he did. It wasn’t anything he could have prevented. That’s a lie, he thinks, but doesn’t vocalize. A nervous habit: bringing your engagement ring to his lips, holding it there, before dropping it back on the chain around his neck. He waited a long time to get it back. Finally, Jack agreed. He hasn’t taken it off since. He tucks it under his shirt, the cold of the ring against his skin. You haven’t been sleeping, Hannibal states, and Will has no choice but to agree. Bruise-like circles painted beneath his eyes. How can he? How can he when the bed is so large and there is a gaping wound where you used to lie? How can he rest when he knows how you’ve suffered? The instruments used to hurt, to kill. He ends up downstairs, on the couch, his eyelids heavy. The image of your body on that metal slab. You must’ve been cold, that much he knows. You ran out without shoes, your socks, mismatched with silly patterns, thick with frozen mud. Without your jacket, without insulation, your thin shirt torn and ripped. Cut open. They were in your house. They watched you. How can he sleep when he sees a pair of eyes, bright in the dark, staring him down. Watching him. Waiting.

It should have been me. The thought never leaves him. He can shun it away for a few fleeting moments. Between sips of coffee, tea. Before and after he spits his toothpaste in the sink. As he cleans his glasses on the hem of his shirt. Should, Hannibal points out, is a dangerous word. He nods, but does not comprehend, does not care for. The killer learned your routines. They knew when he would be out, when you were alone, when you were at your most vulnerable. He never should have. But how could? Don’t. This is my fault. The idea is sickening and, strangely, comforting. He ruminates. He sits for hours in the morning, at night, in the time between lectures and crime scenes. He goes over what he could put together. The house, your home, littered with investigators, with yellow tape and analysts. Collecting hair, fur, fingerprints. He has nowhere to go. Him and the dogs staying with Hannibal. Just until they’re done, he assured him, but he didn’t mind. When the time came to unlock the front door, to walk through and re-enter the life he’d put on hold, he couldn’t do it. Backed away from it like it was wielding a knife. Just recently has he been able to face it. It was as if nothing had ever happened. Your things right where you left them. Even the dishes, a glass, a mug, a plate, exactly as before, nestled in the sink. Dirty. Unwashed. Begging to be scrubbed clean. They wouldn’t come after him, that he was painfully aware of. They got what they wanted. He was of no use to them. Not anymore. He could bloody his hands and knees, begging and pleading, but they are gone. Looking for their next victim. Their prey. If they’re not going to hurt him, hunt him down as they had done to you, he will punish himself instead. He will stand in the cold, the frozen temperatures, and wait. He will watch his own breath until it’s too dark, until the night takes over and the sky, inky black, mocks him. Another day you have not seen, experienced, lived. He will shed everything until the thinnest layer. He will put himself in your place, laying in the snow, waiting for his skin to grow numb. If he could he would bury himself. Dig his own grave. But the ground is too thick, too hard, and so he must wait. He must imagine. He must be patient. When it’s become too much, when he is sure he can no longer feel his limbs, he will drag himself back to the house, the dogs, the lonely bed. And he will try again the next night, thankful the winter lasts as long as she does. Dreading the days the sun waits to set and the snow melts, when the wildflowers bloom and the cold dissipates. It’s only been a year and yet, it’s felt like a lifetime. How much longer can he carry on without you? How much longer can he live this life where he cannot sleep, he cannot eat, he cannot find your killer? I don’t know, he shrugs. I don’t know.

#writing #writing event #will graham #will graham drabble #will graham oneshot #will graham x reader #hannibal #hannibal drabble #hannibal oneshot #hannibal x reader

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kaq3yma · 8 months ago

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐉𝐔𝐃𝐆𝐄𝐑 ft yamato endo

syn: could he a be a good judge of character after all?

⸻ contains: slight yandere tendencies, reader is mentioned to be a cashier, and languages.

qeena's brief note: yippieeeee finally wrapped up my endo fic AND slightly yandere endo (๑-﹏-๑) wowzwowzzz but honestly idk how i feel about this um whether i like it or not BUT i dont hate it rofl anyway no long note this time, im keeping it "brief" (๑>؂•̀๑) so lemme know what you guys think of this, thank you, i love you, reblogs and comments are very much appreciated and happy reading xoxo 🩷💚

It's that one time, that one time he walk around amidst of the night trying to find an open store to buy fireworks for Takiishi. He stop in his trance, gaze swept away by a solitary store stood out among the dimly light streets. His feet brought him almost leisurely to the front door and that's when he saw you, working through the racks to fill up stocks.

When he pushes the door open, the automatic bell chime and you turn around "Welcome..." The corner of his eyes crease as he smile at you "Hey, do you guys have any fireworks in 'ere?" Yeah, it's not everyday a weird looking guy with weird tattoos litter across his body come in the middle of the night asking for fireworks "Yeah, sure..." He follows you to the farthest corner of the store where you kept them "Is there anything else?" The man turn to you, shaking his head "That'll be all,"

You rushes back to the counter, patiently waiting for him to come back and pay "Y/n..." Your eyes widen, and as you look up, you're surprised to see him leaning down to your face very closely. His eyes concentrated on your tag. You ring every bit of his items as quickly as you could "That'll be 507¥." He huff, taking the bag from you and leave.

You really thought it'll be the last time you see him...

But no, the weird man keep coming back, not to buy fireworks or anything, just to loiter around and pester you with your works and because it's in the middle of the night, there's barely any customers in the store which leave you not to only listen to his constant yapping but to reluctantly accompany him as well "Don't you have anything else to do?" He point at the cup of noodle he site on the table "Besides eating?" You groaned, shaking your head "No. Besides bothering me." He snickers, taking a noisy slurp of his noodle "I do. Following Takiishi around."

You look at him, confused but you dismissed the thought straight away "Whatever, I'm going back to work, if you're finish eating, leave." He pout, putting down the utensils he's using "You're mean. I'm a customer, y'know?" You sway your head at him "You make me pay for you everytime, you fool." He breaks into a fit of laughter, watching you mad is so hilarious.

The next night, he strides to the familiar route of your shop, face bruised and nose trickled with stained blood. The prior incident flashes in his mind once again.

He was with Takiishi like usual, tailing behind the poker-faced male wherever he go without question. The duo browse a town with its street swarming with delinquents and thugs. Endo didn't mind and he's sure as hell Takiishi didn't mind it either but when one of the men purposefully pick a fight with Takiishi, Endo decided to step up for him instead and he got a harsh blow from Takiishi "Don't intervene." Another blow, his face spotted with sheepish smile and blood smearing out every cuts as Takiishi continue to beat the tattooed male.

"Why am I going to her, anyway?" He didn't understand why his feet brought him to you. He knew what you're like, indiffirent and without a doubt, he can guarantee you couldn't care less about the bruises on his face, so why is he here? In front of your work place, damaged face grinning without a thought. He opens the door, greeting you with that same crazed smile.

"Welcome...!" Your eyes widen upon seeing the state he's in "What the fuck happened to you?" He chortle, bringing one hand to touch a singular cut on his face which causes him to wince terribly "... That hurts." He couldn't properly registered what was happening until you pull him to a nearby table and sat him down "Of course, it hurts, you prick. You leave the wounds untended!" He watch you move around the store, going to the back room and came back with a first aid kit "You're so careless..." You sighed, lift the lid of the box and start tending him.

A deep gash across his cheek, several cuts and scratches covering his forehead and temple, nose trickled in crimson and eyes almost swollen "Just what the hell did you get yourself into..." You graze alcoholic pad across the wound to clean it, damping ointment gently over the cuts and scratches and finally, you put one last bandaid below his eye, on the apple of his cheek "All done."

Your eyes flutter forward to him, only then did you realized just how close you both are. Your eyes expanded and you almost fall back in shock but he caught you, rolling into laughter "Why are you red?" There's that, that hint of mockery lacing in his undertone "Shut up, asshole. You didn't even thank me for stitching you up." You look away from him, well, he wanted to tease you some more by how red and incredibly cute you look at this moment but uncharacteristically, he stayed quiet.

"Thanks," You look up, awkwardly coughed out fake coughs "D-Don't mention it, just buy me something next time." You pick up the first aid kit and leave back to the cashier.

He leave the store, heart pounding within its cage, he can feel himself shuddering to the bone at the slightest remembrance of you. Yes, he likes you, he think he wants to make you his, he think you are so perfect... Don't tell Takiishi but, now, you're his number one.

And yes, he indeed still is a bad judge of character.

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lizdenys · 19 days ago

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Outer Wilds (Video Game) AO3 Tags appreciation post

Of course, no one cares about spoilers quite like Outer Wilds fans care about spoilers:

major outer wilds spoilers

Slight game spoilers

DLC Spoilers / Echoes of The Eye spoilers

art book spoilers

allusions to the dlc but nothing in depth

spoilers for a small but important part of the story

don't read it unless you've played it

as in plot and quite literally a solution to a puzzle, so don't read if you want to solve them all yourself

DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN'T PLAYED ECHOES OF THE EYE OR FINISHED THE MAIN GAME

all the spoilers ever for everything outer wilds you have been warned

idk what else to tag pretty much everything is a spoiler

I can't even write tags without spoiling

DO NOT SPOIL YOURSELF MY GOD

I'm a little afraid of posting this because it might spoil something inadvertantly

Spoilers!, but this is outer wilds, you probably know the drill

so don't spoil yourself!!

So here's the requisite Outer Wilds "There will be spoilers!" warning because there will be spoilers throughout this post from this point on, okay?

Now that we've gotten that out of the way, let's start this off like every run, with a cozy campfire, shall we?

Campfires

Campfire stories

there will be mallow roasting over a campfire

Marshmallows

S'mores (OMG how much I wish someone - anyone - got to make a s'more.)

And Riebeck is a big marshmallow

Implied/Referenced Drug Use

just two high buddies chillin and talking about stuff

Now that we're all enjoying perfectly-roasted marshmallows, let's get to it:

breaking spacetime in pursuit of science

they/them pronouns

it is more difficult than I thought to avoid gendered words

Based on my friend's inability to fly and ability to land anywhere

feldspar is a newbie to anxiety

Dark Bramble scary

Third wheeling except your crush is in love with the entirety of space

quantum tomfoolery

the tyranny of linear time

Something about the horror of eternity

the fabric of spacetime is hanging on by a thread

infinite possibilities brain go brrrrrrr

impulsive feelings about chert today

the hatchling just wants to share their findings they're so excited

little tiny bit of cosmic horror

this was written in about 20 minutes (I really need to know if this "about 20 minutes" was, in fact, 22 minutes.)

they're gonna be fine in 22 minutes just

this heist could have been a meeting

Hornfels needs an advil

somebody go save hatchling im begging get this kid a marshmallow

they can have one happily ever after as a treat

Feldspar and I both have no idea how to raise a baby in general

there is so much trauma in this owl

this literally came to me in a dream

Gabbro is depressed in this one because you can't convince me being so blase about losing their ship, and being able to meditate through a supernova is the hallmark of someone mentally well

gabbro is also doing so fine and normal and also does not have any hearing problems (lie)

They all need a hug, Except the anglers

Someone invent therapy for these three, They're going to need it so badly

Spacetime needs therapy after this

Anyway let's go die horrifically in space! ::D

trauma bonds

also i totally stole the main premise for this fic from a mod

when gossan goes low slate goes lower

hatchling was not supposed to be a kazoo player but they're really stubborn

i just think the player should be allowed to play an instrument (Me, too.)

Quartz-Typical Disregard for Ethics

canon typical disregard for affliction

There is an eject button for a reason

does it count as major character death if they come back?

Is it still considered the end of the world if its the entire universe thats dying?

the possibly applicable archive warning is major character death, but you knew that already didn't you?

the many deaths of you

Canon-Typical Suicide, thats an insane tag but its Outer Wilds sooooo

Five Stages of Grief, with a 6th secret stage (Can we call this "the sixth location of grief" please?)

i really tried not to make it sad at the end but the loops are tragic man

I Made Myself Cry

Okay, let's wrap up with all the varied "not beta read" tags this exquisite game lends itself to, nay, demands:

No beta we die like REDACTED

no beta we die like. well. you know

No beta we die every loop

no beta we die like the hatchling

no beta we die like hatchling (horrifically)

no beta we die like gabbro, chill and overstressed

No beta we die like real hearthians

no beta we die like everyone in outer wild does

No beta we die like the sun

no beta we die like the sun every 22 minutes

NO BETA READERS WE DIE LIKE THE STARS

no beta we die like the universe

No beta we die like any time-looper worth their salt

No beta we die like the homeworld

NO BETA WE DIE LIKE NOMAI

No beta we die like 5/6ths of best girl (I teared up reading this tag.)

no beta we die like the prisoner (I nearly sobbed reading this tag.)

No Beta We Just Cry

No beta we die like the fish (Not gonna lie, this one is my personal fave.)

#ao3 #ao3 tags #ao3 tags appreciation #outer wilds #outer wilds spoilers #echoes of the eye #echoes of the eye spoilers #no one cares about spoilers quite like Outer Wilds fans care about spoilers #I personally don't care about spoilers generally #I also personally don't care about spoilers specifically even in Outer Wilds #even though I don't care about spoilers the way most Outer Wilds fans care about spoilers I respect the way they care about spoilers #parts of Outer Wilds were spoiled for me and honestly it was truly completely fine and I still had the full emotional discovery experience #just had to get that off my chest

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kikiwooo · 9 months ago

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i’m the anon that asked about xavier and fredrinn tag teaming me and i haven’t been brainrotting about fredrinn lately but i’ve been thinking about xavier as a camboy alot 😭 idk the idea just appeals to me. and i’ve been trying to think of other characters that would fit this trope, like i could totally see lancelot, yin and gusion as camboys HAHAHA

MANNN GODDAM Y'ALL HAVE SOME QUITE INTERESTING FANTASIES 💀😭 I kinda didn't liked what I wrote and some parts might be short because I died

notes; gn! reader, camboy! mlbb boys

Gusion

lmao gus after his brother didn't give him enough money or overall he doesn't have enough money for himself, quite pitiful indeed. Let's jump straight into it cuz if I ever go into detail that would be an essay +he's paxley so probably there's like lot who knows him and his ego just wouldn't allow him

He probably does challenges about how big and deep he can take in and people just following cuz he's not only a new face but a pretty one too+he's also stubborn. He reads every donation out loud, also those shitty and troll ones too, he's that gullible but he learns it after it happens a few times. his eyes does go wide and his system stops for a few seconds after receiving big ass donation (while having a big ass dildo up his ass, his challenge not mine) will also smirk if the person who donated him challenge to another thing and says they'll pay him even more if he does this and that, Gus will do it no matter how impossible it is. (is that dragon di-

Will frequently invite you to his streams or videos if you guys are in relationship irl, but if you only watch and donate and maybe sing in membership(he has the silliest emotions of himself) he'll favor that one person(it's you)

Yin

INEXPERIENCEDDD I TELL YOU, but somewhat he's pretty good with those dildos, bro's born for it. Lieh is tired of hearing Yin's sloppy whimpers and half moans which he tries so hard to hide.( They're twins) most of the people favor him and only him cuz he's cute.

He recording videos cuz he heard it from Lieh that one makes so much money from it and only it. Yin was insecure at first so he first talked it with one of his very very close friend(you), but like super duper close, he can't handle anyone else other than you so you're his go to. He's pretty vanilla but from time to time he doesn't skip to try new things (𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂), also somehow gets lots of donations even if he does literally nothing and just sits in front of the camera (you know the deal shh)

But if you're one of his viewers, and probably the nicer one than those of the perverts and just keep him in his ground and offer him to do new things to not lose the attention+also keeping him updated about literally everything going around, somehow Yin even offered you a private video just for you- or just a simple invite (lieh didn't liked that)

Lancelot

ALRIGHTTT, lance is experienced and probably has been in this camboy things for years, he's pretty proud of his own body and shamelessly shows it into the camera without any hesitation maybe that's why he's so popular.

Though he's open to the camera, you can never get anything from him real life, he shuts the topic really fast that you can't even argue back. If you're one of his viewers+have membership probably the earliest one, yeah lance over here has a VIP room for y'all like the first seats of the cinema. Lance cares about what his viewers want because that's where the money comes from, no?

Lancelot is actually fond of tight clothes/gears?? Like how they squeeze is skin so deliciously(he knows his chat loves it, he also himself likes them so win?)

Everyone's literally there for his girly moans what are you talking about.

Xavier

Y'all how we got him on here, 's like we won the lottery???? despite being quiet both irl and in front of the camera, we can hear soft grunts and gasps whilst he's taking it hard(I'm not the one salivating no it's you) AHHHH HE'S JUST, PERFECT??? the way his waist and they way he turns around to check, the way his muscles mmhmmmmhmhmhm. Though he likes you interrupting his streams when you come behind him to tease, he scolds you from after the stream (damn). if one of his viewers with membership, he quietly thanks those people (he whispers, asmr fr) at the beginning of the video/stream, doesn't show much of a reaction at the donates, he's doing it for it anyway, but his eyes will visibly widen whenever reaching such lot donations with cute messages(his fandom is 🎀yes both genders),

He's always sore after the streams and videos, no matter how he took it from low, he always ends up sore which he complains about it, but does he make money? yes so so much and he doesn't thinking about giving it up any time soon.

#mlbb #mlbb x reader #mobile legends #mobile legends bang bang #mobile legends bang bang x reader #mobile legends x reader #gn reader #gusion #gusion x reader #yin #yin x reader #lancelot #lancelot x reader #xavier #xavier x reader

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moonpie016 · 3 months ago

Text

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This song just fits this.

My goodness, they're simpler in design.

Good!

.....And so the rambling begins.

Which I would consider this a oc rambling, I don't know what these dudes are anymore. Except for Myst. But fun.

Though I already explained stuff here.

(If ya wanna read or re-read.)

The wall of words underneath.

⬇️

💛

Soooo.

Illy (she/her)

~~~~~~~~~~~~

First one up. Not much has changed honestly. Still trying to have some calculated way of thinking about things, either logically or critically. It's a struggle for her.

But likes using whatever knowledge she has to idk, rant? Spout random facts?

She's just minding her own business unless it IS her business. (Or nosy).

She has glasses now. Yay! Great! She can read without straining her eyes!

~~~~~~~~~~~~

💛

---

💜

Waxing (he/they)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I kinda stole the name Waxing from an old oc of mine, sooo that's his name now. Old oc has no name now. :]

A new thing (other than the headphones) is that the center of his hoodie can basically become or resemble a pit.

Because that's how any strong emotion feels. Usually negative ones. He hates it, Illy tries to make Wax calm down with reasons he shouldn't be anxious, but falls out the window.

It only works if he's not too worked up. Man's eyesight is....ok. Not the best, because unlike his other part, he has to squint at most things. Like words on signs and stuff. Why doesn't he just copy his other half? Idk. He's stubborn. And character design reasons.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

💜

---

❤️

Seeds (She/he/they)

Myst (she/her)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Imma just put Seeds and Myst together here.

Because they're basically one in the same. Yes, Seeds' jacket has stuff on it, I probably will draw something with more stuff on the jacket. (Because I didn't know what else to think of.)

The one side of his face is more expressive than the other. Mostly because each one of these guys looks upset every waking moment.

(They're not, they just look like that.)

But I guess it's to show being more comfortable in being expressive and just not feeling comfortable and trying to... understand the room. Confusion.

Is their goal the same as the album? No. They're all technically "whole", but don't understand anything about this life stuff. It's weird, tricky, and overall odd.

Living in a nice relaxing Void™ is all they know. But taking a step into unknown territory is the what they want, an adventure.

(Depending on whatever adventure really means to them. Or me.) Breaking out of this weird shaped shell. Because the world is scary.

Too much scary stuff that makes Wax retreat to his safe space, and essentially brings his other counterparts with him.

Myst doesn't like this because she knows that this isn't ok. But the others, especially Seeds and Wax just... don't do anything.

But, she and Illy continue to try and strive for new things. Even when the other two challenge them.

She's more honest and blunt about everything. Even when she's trying not to be. Her cold face, her voice. Always been how she's characterized in my head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🩵

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Ok, I think I've ramble enough again.

I really need to update tags on certain stuff.

But hope you enjoyed this... random redesign/ LORE (not really lore.). :3

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theconstantsidekick · 10 months ago

Text

Lit Cigarettes (Part 2)

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader, Sam Winchester x BestFriend!Reader, Damon Salvatore x Stefan Salvatore x Sister!Reader (these are the main ones, there are too many others to tag) Genre: Fluffy angst

Summary: While Sam berates Dean for his choice of very pathetic reply, Y/n tells her brothers about said pathetic reply.

(Set after the events of Supernatural season 4 and yes, Y/n's dated a bunch of TVD characters.)

a/n: The two conversations are happening parallel-y, hope that makes sense?

Warnings: Smoking, mentions of smoking, more romanticisation of smoking, a lot of that yes, sorry. Don't smoke kids. Semi-explicit content? IDK, there's kissing.

Part 1 is here.

It’s only when they’ve crossed the Mystic Falls border does the silence in the Impala break.

“You’re an idiot,” Sam tells him.

The car stops abruptly. “How long have you been awake?” Dean asks, taken completely off guard.

“Long enough to call you an idiot,” Sam answers before he opens the door to the back seat, exiting the vehicle. Dean takes a second to realize that Sam’s making the walk towards the passenger seat.

Dean pokes his head out of the window just to be petulant and screams, “THAT WAS A PRIVATE CONVERSATION, you sneaky son of a bitch!”

Rolling his eyes, Sam opens the passenger seat door and gets inside., “You really think I didn’t know about it?.”

“Know about what?” Dean asks as the dumbest dumb person to ever exist as he starts the car back up again.

Sam looks towards him, and his eyes are louder than any words can ever be. His eyes are screaming at him, calling him the dumbest guy to have ever walked the earth. But then he says, “She’s been in love with you for 15 years, and I’ve been her best friend for 14 of them. You really think I’d need to eavesdrop on your conversation to figure it out?”

Dean opens his mouth to say something but thinks better of it and instead asks, “14?” He’s facing the road now, too embarrassed to face his brother.

“The first year was rough, we got off on the wrong foot,” Sam explains. “I think I was mostly just pissed at her for fawning over you like you hung the moon. Not the point. The point is, I don’t need to overhear a conversation to know that she loves you. Everyone and their mother knows that she’s in love with you.”

Dean stays silent for a second, because he doesn’t know what to say. What the fuck is he supposed to say to that? He… He doesn’t know what to say to that.

“It was still rude, bitch,” Dean says lamely, because like he said, he doesn’t know what the fuck else to say.

Sam just laughs, without any humor but all the passive aggression in the world. “What was rude was saying—”

“He’ll pick you up on tuesday!?” Damon yells, mouth agape, hands covered in flour and sugar.

“And what did you say to that?!” Stefan asks from where he sits on the kitchen counter, watching his brother and his adopted sister try (and fail) baking a cake for his birthday.

“I said I’ll see him Tuesday,” Y/n answers with a magnificent amount of shame. She can see both her brothers are about to launch into an all out assault of questions, but she is categorically not in the mood. She cuts them off before they can even start. “He didn’t really give me a chance to say anything else, he just got in the car and drove off, okay?”

“Honestly, I don’t even think I can blame him,” Damon retorts, urging a cocked eyebrow from the other two Salvatores. “I blame you,” he says pointing his goop drenched whisk at her. “It’s your fault for falling in love with a NSYC reject.”

She just rolls her eyes and goes back to cleaning up the mess Damon’s creating at every step of his cake making process. “Do you really think you should be saying that? When you look like you could enter a Gerard Way Look-Alike Contest and win?”

While Damon makes the most absurd voices known to mankind (and vampire kind), Stefan just lets out a soft chuckle. “Okay, okay,” Stefan tries to calm them down. “Let’s just go over the events of the night again, shall we?”

“Can we please not?” She pleads.

Stefan carries on unfettered. “So you told Dean Winchester, the man of your dreams that you love him and he said he’ll see you Tuesday?”

She exhales audibly, “Yes… more or less. Yes. That’s how it went.”

“The fucker doesn’t deserve an announcement of love, if you ask me,” Damon counters, hands back at work, mixing the goopy and frankly probably unsalvagable cake mixture.

“That’s probably why no one asked you!” She throws back, throwing away the paper towel in the dustbin. “AAH! I just needed to say it, okay? Fifteen years is a very fucking long time to keep something like this to yourself. I needed him to know.”

“But you’d told him already, didn’t you?” Stefan counters. “Before he got dragged to hell?” She flinches at the mention of the incident—the memories are far from pleasant—but nods in agreement. “What did he say back then?”

“I know,” she tells them.

“You know what?” Damon asks, face souring at the sludge in his hands. Then he sneakily (not sneakily at all) grabs a bottle of Bourbon and empties almost half of it into the cake batter, mixing in the liquid.

“No, he said that,” she replies.

“Said what?” Stefan questions.

“He said, ‘I know’!”

A look passes between Stefan and Damon and then Damon does the honors, “If nothing else, you gotta hand it to that Timberlake-wannabe, he’s got a great track record of having the shittiest responses to someone professing their love to him.”

“What the fuck else was I supposed to say?! I was about to be dragged to Hell!” Dean defends. “It’s not like I had the ability to focus on anything else.” He’s a fucking liar—his focus was definitely not on being dragged to hell when she said what she did. But Sam doesn’t have to know that.

“Anything, man! Literally anything else!” Sam countered, frustration evident in every single inch of his movement. And it’s always times like these, when Dean begins to think if Sam would side with him if he were to actually have a fight with her. Would Sam keep hunting with him if she decided to part way? “You are such a fucking dick!” Sam remarks. So no, probably not. He’d pick her over his brother for sure.

Dean can’t help but cower a bit at the strength of Sam’s annoyance. “I wasn’t trying to be,” he tries. “I just thought… when in doubt, Han Solo that shit, you know?”

And that apparently is the worst thing to say. “What is wrong with you, Dean? You know, you really are Dad’s son! ‘Cause my God. There’s only one other man who is so incapable of handling their emotions, and somehow, you’re even worse than him.”

Dean doesn’t appreciate the insult to their father but he lets it slide on account of Sam being really fucking angry. “Fine! If you’re so great at this chick-flick shit then tell me what should I say to her. You tell me and I’ll say it to her on Tuesday?”

“Tues—seriously?!” Sam’s veins are about to pop out, Dean thinks. The man is so fucking angry with Dean right now that he’s genuinely worried that he;s about to bust the vein on his temple.

“What?” Dean throws back, cause actually he has no other fucking response.

“You know, I don’t even get what she sees in you. She’s crazy smart, and talented and funny. She’s so freakin’ funny!” Sam says, and Dean has to agree with all that. She really is. “There’s so many amazing people who’re just dying to get even one shot with her, and yet, she’s stuck on you!”

Dean’s jaw clenches. “Then why doesn’t she go after one of those amazing people?”

“I don’t have a single clue,” Sam answers.

“What do you mean? She did give it a shot with one of them, didn’t she? Derek What's His Face?” Hale. Derek Hale. Dean knows his name by heart.

“Derek Hale. Yeah, Derek was pretty great,” Sam agrees, leaning back on his seat.

“Then what happened?” Dean is trying not to sound too curious about it. And if his grip tightens on the wheel, enough for his knuckles to go white, no one has to know about it.

“I’m not sure. I thought it was going great with him but she broke it off with him when we were at Stanford,” Sam tells him, eyes out on the barren road, looking so puzzled, you’d think he was talking about the mysterious phenomenon of raining toads.

“When she dragged you to Stanford,” Dean corrects him, because as much as he'd like to know, the topic is so not his favorite. Neither is this one but it’s… It’s older and the wounds have since healed, become scars.

At his words, Sam’s confusion is gone in an instant. He sits up straighter—as straight as a giant can in a ‘67 chevy Impala. He turns to Dean with something like defense burning in his eyes. “She didn’t drag me to Stanford, Dean!”

“Yeah, right,” Dean brushes it off. “You and I both know, that’s some horseshit. She went there and you wanted to follow her, like you always did.”

“No. Dean,” Sam calls his name in a way that urges him to turn. Once he does, Sam continues, “I didn’t follow her to Stanford. I—I didn’t go to Stanford for her, she went to Stanford for me!”

“What?”

“Dude, she was the valedictorian. She got into 20 different Pre-Med programs, and at least 12 of them were better than Stanford. She just went there cause she knew I wanted to go,” Sam word hit Dean like a tonne of bricks. “And well,” Sam turns back to look at the road again. “She also kinda went there for you.”

“For me?” The fuck is that supposed to mean?

Sam sighs before he says, “She thought that maybe if she were there it would be easier on you cause you’d know that she was there to look out for me.” He smiles then, a small sweet thing. “She went there for you.” What the actual fucking fuck?

Sam turns to him again, and somehow “Don’t get me wrong, she went there for me, but she went there for you too. Everything she does, she does for you.”

“That is—and I say this with all the love I have ‘cause you’re the only Salvatore left other than that dick over there—that is the most pathetic thing I’ve ever heard,” Damon comments.

She pushes a buttered up cake tin towards him and says, “Must be a genetic trait then, passed down from generations. Seeing as the only other Salvatores I know are still, to this day, hopelessly chasing after a girl who looks exactly like one Katherine Pierce.”

“ELENA IS NOTHING LIKE KATHERINE!” Both her brothers shout out in unison.

She has to smile at that. “Not even the—” she points at her own face as a demonstration.

Both of them just pass her a look filled with ire. She smiles wider.

“At least we have hope,” Damon defends, pouring the ungodly mixture into the cake tin. “What’s your fucking excuse?”

“I don’t have one!” She really doesn’t. “I just—I just feel the way I do, I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Move on!” Damon tells her.

“For once I agree with him,” Stefan says from the counter behind them. His words are softer than Damon’s, they always are. Stefan’s always understood her dilemma just a little bit better than Damon. She thinks it might just be because Stefan understands the feeling of helplessness a little bit better than their brother ever can. “You really should move on.”

“I want to,” she tells him, with all honesty. “I really, really want to. Don’t you think I’ve tried? I tried! With Derek, with Alaric… and it was working. It really was, until he rejected me.”

“Rejected you?” Damon mocks. “I think it was barely 4 months ago that Alaric died in your arms confessing his undying love for you.”

“Damon,” Stefan reprimands.

“What?” Damon counters, clearly annoyed as he turns to look at Stefan. Stefan, however, just shakes his head, telling him in his small gesture to stop it. The wound is still too fresh, don’t touch it yet. And that’s exactly why despite being fond of Damon a little bit more, Stefan will always be her favorite brother.

“I am not ready to touch that topic with a ten-foot pole so I’ll side step that and tell you that I have tried, extremely hard to move on, and if I could do it. I would. It’s not like any of this is fun for me,” she tries to make them understand.

“It’s not as hard as you make it out to be either,” Damon comments and his voice is somehow softer than before because this isn’t a jab. This is more wishful thinking, she thinks. Damon, for all his nonchalance, hates seeing her pining for Dean. Not just because he doesn’t like Dean but also because he’s seen the most of it. He has always been her drinking companion on endless nights. Pouring her one drink after the other, knowing no other way to sooth the pain on her features. He loves her differently than Stefan does. He would’ve killed Dean by now if he thought that could be a legitimate solution. He’s way more violent in his protection of her than anyone else.

Taking the cake tin from Damon, she opens the oven and shoves it in. She sighs audibly before she says, “Look, I have made my distaste for the Elena situation quite clear already—”

“And it’s still fucking unreasonable,” Damon retorts.

“You’re making me agree with him twice on the night before my birthday, now you’re just being rude,” Stefan chides, smiling.

“She pulls you both in opposite directions, which leaves me in the middle where I’m stuck and neglected!” She can see that both the boys are ready to fight her off on the matter all night but she doesn’t want to. “BUT that’s not the point I’m trying to make here. What I am trying to say is that, with Elena, you both feel what you feel. It’s undeniable and inescapable. You could let go of it even if you tried. You both know what it feels like to be hopelessly in love with someone with your entire being.” When both men stay silent, she knows they agree. So she continues, “Can you at least both do me the courtesy to try to understand that that’s how I feel about Dean? That maybe—”

“—She doesn’t know how not to be in love with you, you know?” Sam says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Like he isn’t breaking Dean’s world apart in half. “I mean, it’s definitely not easy for her.”

“Watching him flirt with a girl at the bar while I sit in a shady corner, drowning myself in Bourbon,” she says.

“Watching you come back to the motel, covered in hickeys, and sometimes watching you not come back at all,” Sam says with so much pain, Dean thinks maybe he sat with her on those nights. And then it clicks for Dean why he’d see his brother with bags under his eyes in the mornings after.

Her jaw clenches, she fidgets with the “It's always someone else. Either it’s a cheerleader or—”

“—A receptionist at a motel or anything with a pulse at a bar,” Sam says.

“It’s always someone else and it’s never me,” she notes solemnly.

“And it is so fucking painful to watch,” Sam notes.

“It feels like someone’s tearing my heart out and stabbing it in front of me with a fork just to play with it.” She can’t help but smile sadly at the accuracy of that description. “He smiles those smiles that charms the pants off of everyone. And I have to see it, because try as I might, I can never look away. I can never look away from the way he touches them because I can’t help but imagine how it would feel like to be touched like that… touched like that by him. I can never look away when he smiles like that. Which just ends up hurting a little bit more.”

“I’ve had to watch it over and over again for a decade and if it hurts me this much I can’t even imagine how much it hurts her,” Sam tsks so simply. As if he isn’t burning Dean from the inside out.

“I just wish he—”

“Weren’t so loud about it. If you weren’t so loud about it I think it would be easier maybe?” Sam muses. “But then again, maybe it wouldn’t be. Not that she’d ask that of you, she knows it’s not fair to you so she would never ask you to be any other way than you…” And then he sits up again, facing Dean, and Dean has to try his best to keep his poker face intact, “But I can! So, I’ll do it for her—Dean, please can you be just a little less loud about it?” Dean turns to Sam at that and somehow the action is mistaken by Sam as an offended one. “I’m not asking you to change, just… I don’t know, just don’t do it in front of her. Don’t flirt with the cheerleaders while she’s sitting right next to you, you know?”

And man, Dean might be the one whose vein is about to pop now. “What is up with this cheerleader bullshit? She said it too? I wasn’t that fucking back in high-school!”

Sam just sighs in annoyance, “You ignored her Dean.” Dean’s about to protest, but Sam cuts him off. “And I don’t think it was intentional on your part. It was the first time you weren’t an outcast and it was so much fun to fit in, I felt that way too. But she… She was two years ahead of people her age. And that really doesn’t fly well in a small town like Mystic Falls, you know that. I mean, you were in her class, man! You know that the only person who ever talked to her was you but then you got so lost in the high-school of it all that you just ignored her.” Sam shakes his head. “It wasn’t your fault, you were young but it really wasn’t fun to watch either.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Dean defends very very lamely. “I never meant to hurt her, ever.”

“That’s what sucks about all of this. I know he never does any of it to hurt me, but…”

“But it still hurts anyway?” Damon provides, comforting and gentle.

She nods with a sad broken smile as she says, "To be in love—”

“—And to be hurt, is to be made perfect,” Sam quotes.

“Shakespear, As You Like It,” Dean notes, to Sam’s utter surprise. Which, wow! He reads! And besides, it’s… it’s Y/n’s favorite of the Shakespear plays. Of course, he knows what it’s from.

“Sucks that it has to be this way,” Sam notes calmly, now looking out the window at the passing trees. “I know it’s not your fault, I really do. I also know you really care about her. I know that too. But I just wish I didn’t have to watch my best friend be in love with someone who doesn’t love her back.”

Dean’s had enough. He sees red. “WHO THE FUCK SAID THAT?”

“What?” Sam almost balks at Dean’s sudden outburst.

“You and Y/n keep saying that, again and again, and for all that is un-fucking-holy, I can’t fucking figure out who the fuck said that? Who in the name of fuck told you that?”

“Dean—Dude! What are you talking about?” Sam’s eyes are wide and confused.

Goddamn it, Dean thinks. “Who the fuck told you, EITHER OF YOU, that I don’t feel the same way?”

There is silence then.

It stretches on for a minute but it feels like an hour to Dean.

“Are—are you serious?” Sam finally questions.

Dean clenches his jaw. “You don’t think I have better things to lie about than this?” He’s being snarky but he can’t help it. It’s been a long fucking drive.

“Then—” Suddenly Sam’s excitement level shoot the fuck up. “THEN WHAT THE FUCK ARE WE DOING DRIVING AWAY FROM MYSTIC FALLS?”

There are reasons. Dean knows that there are. There was a solid reason why Dean decided to drive away after dropping her off without saying a (meaningful) word. But try as he might, Dean Winchester, cannot for the life of him remember what the fuck it was.

He clicks his tongue, “Good question,” Dean comments before his hand finds the gear shift, and he swerves the car around.

“I am just saying that you cannot ignore it. It’s not a fictional concept. There have been countless tests on the subject matter,” Y/n argues. They’re at the Salvatore Boarding House and the party is in full swing. She’s got a glass of Bourbon in one hand and an unlit cigarette on the other.

“On rats,” Bonnie throws back, smiling.

“Dogs too,” Matt adds from behind her. She smiles at him for the support.

“That doesn’t mean it works on humans,” Tyler cuts in from the couch.

“Of course it does. It’s not a baseless theory. It’s the core facet of every training, ever. You do something good, you’re rewarded, you do something bad, you’re punished,” she explains. “Some people even go as far as to call it parenting.”

Everyone lets out a soft laugh.

“But it doesn’t stick, not always at least,” Caroline counters.

Y/n nods, “Fair enough, it doesn’t. But doesn’t negate the fact that the pavlovian response is quite a real phenomenon. I mean, it’s well known. It’s quite literally used in conversion camps—mind you I do not approve of the abhorrent abuse of it—but that’s what they do. They show you something very straight, that according to their disturbing homophobic beliefs should make you feel aroused and don’t shock you. Then they show you something very gay, that makes you feel aroused and then they shock you. It tells your brain that somehow feeling aroused at this particular thing is dangerous. Then they do it again and again and eventually the entire process just trains your brain to be scared shitless of even thinking of being aroused, because well if you do, you’ll get—”

“Electrocuted,” Elena finishes.

Y/n clicks her finger and points at her. “Doesn’t work though,” she states, as someone plucks the cigarette out of her hand but her point is almost at the end of being made. “Doesn’t stop you from being queer, nothing ever can stop you from being queer.” The cigarette is placed back into her hands. “Queer is who you are, and queer is who you fucking should be.”

She takes a drag.

“Amen.”

Y/n turns instantly at the sound of that voice.

“Dean,” she breathes out.

Dean Winchester and her lit fucking cigarettes.

It’ll be the death of her.

“I thought you had a quota of like 5 cuss words a day,” Dean says with a smirk. Somewhere behind him she can see Sam but her world doesn’t really know how to focus on anyone else when Dean is standing so close to her—barely a couple inches between the two. “I thought you would’ve used them all up… after the conversation in the car.”

“It’s past 12,” she tells him dumbly. She can’t be blamed. WHY IS DEAN BACK HERE? It’s not Tuesday, is it?

There’s a few seconds there, which are just silent. He’s looking at her and she’s looking at him and it’s just silent. Sure, there must be a party in the background but she doesn’t really remember it. His eyes are so beautifully green, she can’t think of anything but The Great Gatsby. She can’t think of anything but the green light at the end of Daisy Buchanan's dock across the bay from Gatsby's mansion. The green light which represented Gatsby's hopes and dreams, particularly his longing for a future with Daisy.

“What are you—” she begins at the same time as he says, “I wanted to—”

Their words get jumbled up.

“You go first,” Dean suggests.

She gulps, quite noticeably apparently because Dean follows the motion of her throat with his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

He smiles then, unabashed and wide. “I should have gone first. Would have saved us time. I was gonna say that I wanted to talk to you…” he answers her question.

“Oh,” is all she can muster.

“Can we do that somewhere… not here?” He nods over to the audience they have gathered.

She wants to look at what he’s motioning towards but she can’t really pull her eyes off of him right now. Instead she just says, “Yes… The courtyard.”

Dean nods and looks at her waiting.

What’s he waiting for?

Until Dean just raises his brows with a soft smile and then she remembers.

“Oh yes, courtyard, let’s go,” she says. And she’s about to grab his arm to drag him off but realizes that both of them are full. She looks from the cigarette to the beer. Thinks for a second—decision made, she downs the beer and places the bottle on the closest flat surface.

“What are you doing here?” She asks again once they’re at the courtyard. They are face to face again, but she has actively decided to put a couple of steps worth of distance between herself and the man of her dreams. For precaution.

“I had to see you,” Dean replies.

“Thought you were gonna see me Tuesday,” she chastises with very little heat, taking a drag of her cigarette.

But apparently Dean takes it to heart. “That—yes! That’s what I am here for. That is the stupidest thing I have ever said. Actually, no scratch that, that’s the second dumbest thing I’ve ever said, ‘I know’ is first.” Confused, she scrunches her forehead. So he explains, “When I was being dragged to hell?”

“Oh,” makes sense, she muses. She shrugs then another puff before she says, “When in doubt, go with Han Solo.”

Dean shakes his head but he’s wearing a smile which she can’t really place. “Yes but it—it was dumb, and I’m sorry.”

“No, no, Dean. No. I am sorry. I put you in a very weird position at a very, very wrong time. It was my fault,” she tells him, and she means it. “Even today, I dropped a whole freakin’ bomb on you without any preamble. Your response made sense considering the condition. I’m sorry to have put you in that position to begin with.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Dean says and his words carry so much determination it makes her shiver.

She waves it off or well, tries to. She has to take a couple steps back, pulling her arms across her chest, she leans on the steps just behind her. She takes a long drag before she asks, “Is that what you were here to do? Say sorry for your response?”

Dean nods. “Yes, and to ask you,” he takes a few steps towards her, “I had to ask you…”

“Ask me?” She urges.

“Did you mean it?”

And she has to roll her eyes at that, drawing on her cigarette again. “What kinda question is that?”

“A serious one,” Dean says evenly.

“Fine, yes. Of course, I meant it.”

“You don’t regret it?” Dean questions.

“What?! No!” The idea seems so silly to her she can’t even come up with a sarcastic remark for it.

“And you still feel that way?” Dean asks, with a hint of… is that fear in his voice? “Do you still…?”

The night is quite forgiving to them. The moon is out but not in full force, otherwise there would be one less party guest and one extra dog in the boarding house. Her birthday party fell on a full moon night, sadly the patent group werewolf, Tyler, had to skip that one.

But tonight’s not a full moon, it’s a crescent moon. Shining quite bright, bathing Dean in its light. That along with the warm yellow of the garden lights makes him look ethereal, she thinks.

“15 years I’ve loved you, you think I’ll be able to get over it in three hours?” She throws back.

“A yes or no would do,” Dean rebukes.

“Yes,” she says, sighing. “I still feel that way… but…”

“But?”

“But I think… I think I’ll try to move on…” she acquiesces, a long inhale of smoke, a shorter exhale of the same.

“Why?” Dean bites.

She pulls back a bit before answering, “I understand that the position I put you in isn’t entirely fair. And well, it isn’t great for me either, is it? It would be better for both of us if I just tried to move on… for good this time.”

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t move on, damn it!”

And that just pisses her off, she throws the cigarette on the ground, butts it with all her fury. “What? Is this some sort of fucking ego trip for you? Look at the hopeless girl in love with me?”

“2 out of 5 cuss words already used. The day’s barely started and you’re left with only 3,” Dean comments with a smile that makes her want to punch his lights out.

“Quit it!” She yells. “You just making fun of me now? That’s just fucking cruel, Dean.”

“2 left,” Dean states but at her glare he takes another step towards her. “I don’t want you to move on.”

“Why the fuck not?!” She’ll probably punch this guy very soon.

“Cause I don’t want you to.”

“Why not? You just want me to stay madly in love with you, keep watching you chase after girls at bars and keep letting my heart break? You want me to keep dying bit by bit, is that it?” Her voice breaks a little at the end.

“No. Of course not! But if you moved on, it would kill me, so I can’t let you do that, Y/n. I can’t.” Dean tells her.

She doesn’t understand any of this. What even is happening.

“I think you’ve finally lost your mind. Hell has clearly gotten to you. You’ve gone mad! What do you want me to do, keep falling deeper and deeper in love with you, torment myself day in and day out when I know that you will never love me back. What is wrong with you, Dean? What the f—”

“Listen to me,” he cuts her off. “You really need to listen to me cause you’ve got just one cuss word left for the day and what I’m gonna say you might need it for that.” He breathes in, slow and deep. “I never said that.”

“Never said what?”

“I never said that I didn’t love you back.”

She… What?

Wait what?

“What do you mea—?”

He cuts her off again. “I saw you 15 minutes before you saw me.” She’s so confused she thinks she might just cry. And it’s all made worse because Dean takes a few steps closer to her. The gap is nowhere near as secure as it was when this conversation began. “I was getting out of the car and you were…” He smiles, so beautifully that her heart aches. “You were smoking, of all things. At the ripe old age of 13, by the way.”

“My parents had just died like, 6 months ago,” she defends like it matters at all.

Dean smiles all the same. “Smoking your first cigarette. That’s how I saw you, and you were—you were smoking that like a champ, honestly. I think you took four drags, before you decided it was too much and then butt the entire thing. You then began your mission to hide it like they were porno mags under your bed that Stefan and Damon could discover any moment.”

“Porno mags would’ve caused less trouble,” she comments absentmindedly.

He smiles wider then. “Fair enough.” He nods almost to himself. “But yeah. I saw you 15 minutes before you ever saw me. So, I’ve been in love with you 15 minutes longer than your 15 years.”

She doesn’t think she remembers how breathing works.

“I have been in love with you since the moment I saw you. And every single day I wake up and I think I could not love you more but then something happens, you laugh at some joke or you talk about how democracy is a concept built on the idea of inequality, or you sing karaoke at some bar or you just are, you just be and I just… I fall harder in love with you. Every moment I spend with you, is another moment where I find out that I can love you more than I already did.” Dean laughs then. “I was stupid, I was so stupid. I kept thinking that I couldn’t have you. I kept thinking that I shouldn’t even try because what would be the point? I was never gonna quit hunting and this life—it’s filled with so much shit. I thought there was something really bad around the corner, so how could I drag you into that mess with me? So I just—I never thought that I could have you but then I died! I fucking died, Y/n. And now apparently there is a goddamn apocalypse around the corner so clearly bad things will happen no matter what! Then why the fuck should I have to go through all of that alone? Why should I have to go through that without you? I can’t do it. I don’t fucking want to.”

He doesn’t want to.

She’s dreaming, isn’t she?

“I didn’t know, though,” Dean says sheepishly, with apologies all over his face. “I never fucking knew how you felt. Of course I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have—All the girls, all the bars, they were just—I didn’t think I could have you, I didn’t think you’d ever want someone like me so I wanted to numb the pain, I never thought I was hurting you in return. I wouldn’t have—”

She takes a step towards him. They are now standing too close, chest pressed into chest. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Dean argues, still feeling so guilty that it’s almost painful to watch.

“It’s okay now,” she clarifies. “Do I get to have you now?”

“Obviously! Of course! I’m yours. I’ve always been yours, Y/n. Only yours—”

She cuts him off by pressing her lips on his. It’s a small, tentative thing, mostly to try it out, but also to shut him up. And shut up, he does.

She pulls away, not too far, never too far, just enough to look up at him.

Then Dean Winchester smiles. Wide, and cocky, and flirty and beautiful.

He pulls her back in, hands on caressing her jaw so gently that a part of her thinks maybe she was made of porcelain all along and everyone forgot to inform her. Because he is being so soft with her, his lips on hers are tender but there is so much love in every movement that she can taste it.

Her hands find his hair, and she plays with the soft spikes, pulling him closer, and perhaps it’s her hunger for him or maybe his for her, but tenderness gives way to passion. They are all hands and lips and desperation. He’s grabbing onto her for dear life, pulling her closer and closer as he wants her whole and maybe he does. She understands though, because she’s holding onto his leather jacket like if she lets go he’ll vanish and urging him closer too. It’s mindless and mindful at once.

Lips slotted together seaking out all that they’d been wanting for, for the last 15 years.

Dean’s hand travels down to her thighs and instinctively she knows to jump up. He grabs her easily as she wraps her legs around him. It’s hungry now, they are so very hungry now. It makes her moan, Dean, ever the man of opportunity, takes that moment to slip his tongue in. Their tongues dance together in a heated embrace. She can’t help herself, she’s seeking some release from the tension building inside her, so she grinds against him, only for both of them to pull away, moaning in sickening pleasure.

And she can’t help it, she laughs. “Fuck.”

Dean laughs too. Pressing his forehead to hers. “That’s all of them, sweetheart. You’re out of cuss words for today.”

“That might be a problem considering the state you’re in,” she grinds against him again, to tease him, to feel him, to have him, cause she can now.

Dean groans before smiling again. “Fuck me, sweetheart. I can cuss all I want, you’re the one who’ll be in trouble.”

“Maybe I want that?” She smiles.

Dean laughs again. “God, I love you so fucking much.”

She kisses him again, it’s a sweet, loving little thing. “I love you too, Dean.

Find Part 1 here.

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