#no matter how well intentioned the person is

[ultraericthered]

OK but if the hero "represents the status quo I hate", then in your personal view, that'd make the "hero" the actual villain, would it not?

Which naturally leads to actively rooting for the villain to accomplish their set objectives regardless of the terrible, harmful acts they take towards getting there, and actively rooting for the heroes to fail to stop them from doing whatever it is they're doing - no matter how disruptive, destructive, and vile - because you really want to see the toxic status quo collapse and the villain to "burn it all down."

Which might well be a willful fundamental misreading of the narrative and the authorial intent, in which the villain, no matter how valid their experience, viewpoint/position, and pain they'd suffered is, in fact, not justified in taking things to the extremes they take them and will do far more harm than good by approaching things in that way, which necessitates the hero stop them for the common good of keeping peace and order and protection to as many lives as possible.

I've said before that heroes who don't seek another way to address the problems that put the villains on their path and might've even driven their actions in the first place aren't very effective heroes. But conversely, a villain whose actions you're entirely behind, whose cause you support, and who you are rooting for to prevail over their opposition 100% of the time is, by definition, not an effective villain. It's OK to understand where a villain comes from. It's OK to identify with the villain more than the hero. It's even OK to root for them when they're impressive and personally likable enough to make you want to root for them. But sincere complete absolution for them? Not OK.

"This villain did nothing wrong" not in a "I do not see my meow-meow's crimes <3" way, but in a, "villains are still frequently coded as marginalized people fighting the system that marginalized them, and I identify more strongly with the villain than the hero that represents the status quo I hate."

[lila-lou]

✨Wound a little tight✨

Summary: Tossing and turning, sleep’s a distant dream with a baby kicking nonstop. But Dean knows exactly how to wear you out—one way or another.

Pairing: Dean x Pregnant Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language

Word Count: 6529

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💙

The bunker was silent, the kind of quiet that made every little sound seem louder than it was. Dean’s arm was slung over your belly as he tried to sleep, his face half-buried in the pillow.

Meanwhile, no matter how much you adjusted, nothing felt comfortable. Your belly seemed to have grown three sizes overnight, and the baby inside had apparently decided to practice for a soccer championship. You shifted again, trying to ease the pressure on your ribs, only to feel Dean’s arm tighten around you. He let out a low groan.

“Y/N”, he mumbled, his voice gravelly from sleep. “What are you doing?”.

“Trying not to lose my mind”, you muttered, stifling a frustrated sigh. “This kid’s got a vendetta against my internal organs”.

Dean cracked one eye open and tilted his head just enough to glare at you playfully. “You know, some of us are trying to sleep. Not all of us are being used as a human punching bag”.

You rolled your eyes, pushing his arm off of you with more force than necessary. “Oh, I’m sorry, Dean. Didn’t mean to interrupt your beauty sleep. Must be exhausting being the one not pregnant”.

He snorted, propping himself up on one elbow and rubbing his face with his free hand. “Yeah, because carrying a kid means you get to keep me up too, huh? Great deal. Love that for me”.

You shot him a look, half-annoyed, half-amused. “Maybe you should try growing a person inside you and see how well you sleep”.

“Hey, I’m already carrying this family with my charm and good looks”, he said, flashing that cocky grin of his that always made you want to simultaneously slap and kiss him. “Don’t need to grow a kid on top of it”.

“Oh, shut up”, you grumbled, flopping onto your side and wincing when the baby delivered another well-aimed kick. “Your kid’s got your attitude, by the way. Thought you should know”.

Dean let out a soft laugh, his hand lazily sliding down to rest on your bump. His fingers brushed over the bare skin where your shirt had ridden up, his touch warm and familiar. "Well, what do you expect?", he said, grinning as he glanced down at your belly. "Kid's a Winchester. Stubbornness is basically a family tradition".

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitched despite yourself. "Yeah, well, maybe he could inherit something useful instead. Like patience. Or the ability to let me sleep".

Dean smirked, leaning closer, his hand still tracing slow, absentminded circles over your stomach. "Patience isn't exactly my strong suit either, sweetheart. You should've known what you were signing up for". He tilted his head, pretending to listen intently. "And judging by these kicks, he´s already gearing up to outdo me. Gotta respect the hustle".

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head at his antics. "Respect it all you want, Dean, but I'm the one getting beat up from the inside. This little ninja clearly takes after you".

"Don't blame me", Dean said, mock offense in his tone. He leaned in, resting his cheek against your belly as if to share a secret with the baby. "Hear that, kid? Your mom's already blaming me for everything. You’d better get used to it".

The baby kicked again, and Dean grinned like a kid on Christmas. "Whoa! Did you feel that? That was a good one. Solid technique. Maybe a linebacker in the making?".

"Or a kickboxer", you muttered, shifting again in an attempt to relieve the pressure. "Either way, I’m doomed".

Dean tilted his head back to look at you, his green eyes gleaming with amusement. "C’mon, admit it. You're impressed. Our kid's already a badass, and he´s not even born yet".

You huffed a laugh, brushing a hand through his messy hair. "I’ll be impressed when he let me sleep through the night".

Dean grinned, pressing a soft kiss to your belly before looking up at you. "You sure you wanna sleep? This is prime bonding time. Me, you, and Baby Winchester—three peas in a pod".

"Yeah, except one of those peas is currently trying to break out of the pod", you shot back, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips.

Dean laughed, his hand still resting protectively over your bump. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll handle him when he´s out. For now, you just gotta hang in there". His tone softened slightly, his eyes meeting yours. "But seriously, you okay? Anything I can do?".

You shook your head, touched by the genuine concern behind the teasing. "Just keep being your annoying, sarcastic self. It helps. Somehow".

Dean smirked, leaning in to kiss your forehead. "That, I can do. Annoying and sarcastic is my specialty".

You shifted closer to Dean, your belly pressing against his side as you tried to find a position that didn’t make you want to scream. The baby kicked again, hard enough that Dean felt it against his ribs. He let out a low grunt, barely opening one eye as his hand lazily slid over to rest on your belly.

“Did that sucker just punch me?”, he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep. His hand moved in slow, absentminded circles over your skin once more, his touch warm and soothing even as he groaned softly.

“Welcome to my life”, you muttered, your voice muffled against his chest as you tucked yourself closer to him. “That’s just one kick. Try feeling that all day long”.

Dean chuckled faintly, his head sinking deeper into the pillow as he tilted a lazy glance at your belly. “Man, Y/N”, he said, his voice thick and sluggish, “this thing’s huge. How are you even carrying it around? You’re like… fun-sized, and then there’s this giant basketball attached to you”.

You groaned, shoving at his chest lightly. “Dean”.

“What? I’m serious”, he muttered, his hand still rubbing your belly in a slow, unhurried rhythm. “It’s impressive, really. How do you not just… tip over?”.

“Dean”, you said again, more forcefully this time, though you couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up. “Do you have any idea how close you are to sleeping on the couch?”.

He gave a soft, lazy snort, clearly unbothered by your threat, his hand still resting heavily on your belly as his thumb lazily brushed over your skin. He tilted his head slightly, cracking one eye open just enough to look at you with that lopsided, cocky smirk you both loved and hated.

“When’s the last time I fucked you?”, he mumbled, his voice so low and gravelly it almost made you miss the words entirely. “You’ve had a bit of an attitude all day long. Starting to think you’re overdue, sweetheart”.

Your jaw dropped, and you swatted his chest hard, making him let out a quiet chuckle. “Dean Winchester!”, you hissed, though you couldn’t keep the heat from rushing to your cheeks—or the hint of a grin from pulling at your lips. “I’m eight months pregnant! You really think that’s what I need right now?”.

Dean shrugged lazily, still smirking as his fingers trailed slow, lazy circles over your bump. “I don’t know. Seems like you’re wound a little tight. Could be worth a shot”.

You let out a groan, equal parts annoyed and embarrassed, as you rolled your eyes at his audacity. “Dean, seriously? I’m huge, uncomfortable, and—”.

But before you could finish, his hand moved with practiced ease, slipping between your legs and under the waistband of your panties. His fingers found you wet, and though his eyes remained closed, his cocky smirk widened. “Mmhm”, he murmured, his voice a lazy drawl that sent a shiver through you. “What’s that, sweetheart? You were saying?”.

Your breath hitched, heat flooding your cheeks and pooling low in your stomach as his fingers brushed over you with maddening slowness. “Dean”, you hissed, swatting weakly at his arm, but there was no real force behind it. “I swear—”.

“You swear, what?”, he interrupted, finally cracking an eye open again to look at you with a sleepy but amused expression. His thumb moved in a slow, deliberate circle, and your protests dissolved into a sharp inhale. “Doesn’t seem like you’re in too much of a hurry to stop me”.

You glared at him, though the effect was ruined by the way your body betrayed you, arching just slightly into his touch. “You’re impossible”.

“And yet”, he drawled lazily, his fingers dipping just enough to tease, “you’re not telling me to stop”.

You wanted to argue, to shove his hand away and remind him that you were eight months pregnant and in no mood for his antics. But the way his fingers moved—the way he knew exactly where to touch—made it impossible to focus on anything other than the heat spreading through you.

Your silence was enough for him, your body arching slightly into his touch, the tension in your breath betraying any remaining protests you might have had. Dean didn’t need any more confirmation—he knew you, knew how to read you like the pages of a favorite book.

Without a word, he shifted, lazily kicking the blanket off his hips and down to his feet. The cool air of the room contrasted with the heat radiating between you, and he didn’t bother wasting any time, pushing his boxers down just enough to free himself. His free hand wrapped around his length, stroking slowly, deliberately, in time with the movements of his other hand still teasing you.

“Look at you”, he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep but laced with a cocky satisfaction. His half-lidded gaze flicked to your face, taking in your parted lips and the faint blush that crept across your cheeks. “All riled up, sweetheart. Guess I really do know what you need, huh?”.

Your only response was a breathy exhale as his fingers pressed just right, drawing a shuddering gasp from you. Dean smirked at your reaction, his movements lazy yet skilled, as if he had all the time in the world to unravel you.

“Eight months pregnant, uncomfortable as hell”, he drawled, his tone teasing but low, almost reverent, “and you still want me. Damn, sweetheart, you sure know how to stroke a guy’s ego”.

You couldn’t help the soft groan that escaped you, half-frustration, half-need, as your hips instinctively tilted toward his touch. “Dean”, you managed to say, your voice breathy and strained.

You let out a frustrated groan, your head tilting back as his fingers teased you with maddening precision. "You're such a dick", you breathed, your words laced with a mix of irritation and undeniable need.

Dean’s grin widened, his eyes still half-lidded and lazy, his expression one of pure, smug satisfaction. "Yeah", he murmured, his voice rough and low, "but I'm your dick. And you love it". Without missing a beat, he shifted beneath you, his movements slow and unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world.

Before you could react, Dean sat up and slid an arm around your waist, pulling you onto his lap like you weighed nothing at all. It didn’t matter that you were eight months pregnant or how big you felt—Dean handled you as effortlessly as always, his strength a constant reminder of just how in control he was.

“Dean—”, you started, but your words cut off as he guided you, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties and pushing them aside. The rough pads of his fingers brushed against you again, making you gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance.

“Shh”, he murmured, the sound barely audible as he shifted his hips beneath you, the heat of him pressing against your center. He guided you just right, teasing you with the barest hint of friction, his other hand steadying you as his thumb traced slow circles against your hip. "Relax, sweetheart. I’ve got you".

You let out a shaky breath, your body reacting to every deliberate movement as he lined himself up with agonizing slowness. He didn’t push forward, though—not yet. Instead, he rocked his hips just enough to tease you, brushing against you in a way that had you biting your lip to keep from crying out.

“You’re so impatient”, Dean teased, his smirk never faltering as he met your gaze, his green eyes dark with amusement and desire. "I barely even touched you, and you're already shaking".

"Dean", you said again, your voice a mix of a plea and a warning, but he didn’t seem to care. If anything, it spurred him on, his hands tightening on your hips as he leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

“Say it”, he murmured, his voice a rough whisper that sent shivers down your spine. “Tell me how much you want it. Tell me how much you need me”.

“You’re—”, you started, but his hips shifted again, the teasing movement stealing the words from your lips. Instead, a breathy moan escaped you, and Dean’s grin deepened, his head tilting back slightly as he drank in the sound.

“That’s what I thought”, he said, his voice low and full of that infuriating confidence. “I’ve got all night, sweetheart. We’ll take our time".

And with that, he continued his slow, deliberate pace, keeping you on edge and making sure every movement left you aching for more.

But you were done with the teasing, your patience worn thinner than ever. You shifted your hips, trying to sink down onto him yourself, but Dean’s grip on your hips tightened, holding you just above him with an infuriating amount of control.

“Dean”, you growled, glaring down at him as your hands braced against his chest. You were dripping, the slickness making every shift of your body against him all the more agonizing. “Stop messing around”.

He let out a low, lazy chuckle, his head leaning back against the pillow as he looked up at you with that maddeningly smug grin. “What’s the rush, sweetheart?”, he drawled, his thumbs brushing slow circles into your hips. “You’ve got nowhere to be”.

Your frustration boiled over as Dean continued to hold you there, his hands firm on your hips, preventing you from getting what you desperately needed. Every tiny movement sent a jolt of pleasure through you, but it wasn’t enough—nowhere near enough—and the way he looked at you, all smug and unbothered, only made it worse.

“Dean”, you ground out through clenched teeth, trying to push against his grip again. “This isn’t funny”.

“It’s a little funny”, he countered, his voice a lazy drawl as his thumbs pressed lightly into your hips, keeping you hovering just above him. “I mean, look at you. You’re so worked up, sweetheart. Never seen you this impatient before”.

“Because you’re being a—”, you hissed, trying to force yourself down again, only for him to tighten his hold just enough to stop you. You groaned in frustration, glaring at him as heat flushed your cheeks. “Dean, please”.

His grin widened, his green eyes glinting with pure amusement as he watched you. “That desperate, huh?”, he teased, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. “You’re dripping all over me, sweetheart. You sure you don’t wanna keep begging? Kinda like the sound of it”.

You let out a frustrated noise, your hands digging into his chest as you gave up fighting his grip, your body trembling with need.

But before you could snap back at him, he finally loosened his hold, letting you drop just enough to take the tip of him inside. The stretch was immediate, sending a jolt of pleasure and relief through you that had you biting back a moan. But just as quickly as he let you sink, he held you there, keeping you still with an almost infuriating amount of control.

“Easy, sweetheart”, he said, his voice low and soothing, though the teasing lilt was still there. “Don’t wanna rush it, do you? Gotta savor the moment”.

You glared down at him, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you tried to steady yourself. “Dean, if you don’t let me—”.

“Alright, alright”, he said, laughing softly as he finally let his grip relax, his hands guiding you down onto him. The sensation was overwhelming, the way he filled you so completely making your frustration melt into a wave of relief. You couldn’t stop the soft moan that escaped you as you sank down fully, your hands gripping his chest for balance.

“There it is”, Dean said, his voice low and full of satisfaction as he looked up at you, his eyes dark with lust. “Knew you’d feel amazing, sweetheart. Damn it”.

Dean’s hands slid lazily from your thighs back to your hips, his rough palms warm against your skin as he brushed over the curve of your ass, ready to take control again. But you’d had enough. Without hesitation, you slapped his hands away, glaring down at him with a mixture of irritation and determination.

“Hands off”, you snapped, your voice firm despite the breathlessness in it. “I’m done letting you mess with me”.

Dean’s eyebrows shot up, his lips curling into that smug grin you knew all too well. “Oh, is that right?”, he drawled, his hands falling back to rest on the mattress as he gave you an exaggerated look of mock surrender. “Alright, sweetheart. You wanna take the lead? Be my guest”.

You didn’t hesitate, planting your hands on his chest for leverage as you started rolling your hips. It was slower than usual, deliberate, partly because of the weight of your belly and partly because you wanted to prove your point. But the deliberate pace didn’t diminish the sensation; every movement sent a wave of pleasure coursing through you, making your breath hitch and your body shiver.

Dean groaned low in his throat, his hands twitching like he was itching to grab you again but holding himself back.

Dean’s groan turned into a soft chuckle, his hands gripping the sheets as his head tipped back slightly, though his teasing smirk was still firmly in place. He lifted his head just enough to meet your gaze, that cocky glint in his green eyes making your irritation flare again.

“Now, you’re really taking your time there, sweetheart”, he drawled, his voice low and lazy, the gravelly edge making you shiver despite your annoyance. “Not that I’m complainin’, but I thought you were in a hurry”.

You narrowed your eyes at him, rolling your hips deliberately, just a little harder this time, earning another groan from him. “Shut up, Dean”, you muttered, heat rushing to your face as you tried to focus on the pleasure coursing through you instead of his relentless teasing.

But Dean, being Dean, wasn’t about to let it go. “No, seriously”, he said, his grin widening. “You usually go a little faster than this. What’s the matter, sweetheart? Baby Winchester slowing you down?”.

Your jaw clenched, and you gave his chest a sharp push with one hand as you ground down on him again, drawing a deep, shaky breath from him. “Maybe I’m just enjoying myself”, you shot back, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Ever think of that?”.

“Oh, sure”, Dean said, his voice thick with amusement as his hands finally moved to rest on your thighs, his thumbs brushing lightly over your skin. “You’re enjoying yourself, huh? Looks more like you’re trying to figure out how to make it work with all that extra baggage”.

You groaned, half in frustration and half in exasperated laughter, shaking your head as you fought the urge to smack him again.

Dean’s grin only widened as his hands shifted from your thighs to your back. After pulling off your shirt, his fingers made quick work of the clasp of your bra, the straps sliding down your arms as he pulled it away with maddening ease. His eyes didn’t leave yours, the cocky, teasing smirk firmly in place as he tossed it to the side.

“Thought you said hands off”, he murmured, his tone dripping with amusement, his hands returning to the sheets instead of you. “But, you know, figured you might want a little freedom. You’re welcome”.

You rolled your eyes, your breath hitching despite yourself as you felt the cool air brush against your bare skin. “Dean…”.

“What?”, he asked innocently, leaning back against the pillow, the grin tugging at his lips betraying him. “I didn’t touch you. I’m just—”. His gaze flicked down to your chest, lingering for a moment before he met your eyes again, that lazy drawl making you squirm. “Enjoying the view”.

You wanted to stay annoyed, wanted to tell him off, but the way his eyes darkened, his expression shifting just slightly from playful to utterly captivated, sent a wave of heat through you. He wasn’t even touching you, but somehow that look alone had you feeling like you were unraveling under his gaze.

Still, you weren’t going to let him win. “Keep staring”, you muttered, trying to focus on rolling your hips again, though the heat of his attention made it harder to concentrate. “That’s all you’re getting”.

Dean chuckled low in his throat, his voice rough and teasing as he leaned in just slightly, his breath brushing over your skin without making contact. “Sure, sweetheart. I’ll just sit back and watch you”. His grin widened again, and he tilted his head, his eyes dropping back to your chest.

You kept moving, determined to prove a point, but no matter how much you tried, frustration gnawed at you. Every roll of your hips sent sparks of pleasure through you, but it wasn’t enough—not deep enough, not hard enough. And the weight of your belly, the slight ache in your lower back, and your waning stamina weren’t doing you any favors.

Dean, of course, noticed. His smirk only grew as your movements slowed, your breaths coming out in shallow pants. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”, he teased, his voice dripping with faux concern. “Getting a little tired?”.

You shot him a glare, your hands tightening against his chest as you tried to keep going. “I’m fine”, you snapped, though the shakiness in your voice betrayed you. “Just… shut up”.

Dean’s smirk shifted slightly, the amusement in his eyes hardening into something more intent, more commanding. Without saying a word, he grabbed your hips firmly, stilling your movements entirely. You shot him a confused glare, but before you could open your mouth to complain, he moved.

Effortlessly, Dean shifted his weight, gripping you and turning your body with practiced ease. You found yourself on all fours, your belly cushioned by the mattress, and before you could process what was happening, his hands were back on your hips, pulling you back toward him with enough force to leave you breathless.

“Dean—”, you started, but the words dissolved into a loud, broken cry as he thrust into you in one smooth, deep motion. The angle was perfect, hitting spots he hadn’t been able to reach before, and the overwhelming sensation made your arms give out, your face pressing into the pillow as you tried to steady yourself.

“Enough of the attitude”, Dean growled lowly, his voice rough, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he pulled you back against him again

Dean’s pace was relentless, his grip firm on your hips as he pulled you back against him again and again. Each thrust sent a jolt of pleasure through you that made it impossible to form coherent thoughts, let alone words. But Dean? Dean wasn’t about to let you stay quiet.

“You’ve been real sassy lately, sweetheart”, he growled, his voice low and rough as he leaned over you, his chest brushing against your back. “Snapping at me every chance you get, always in a mood”.

You let out a muffled moan, your hands clutching at the sheets as his words pierced through the haze of pleasure clouding your mind. “Dean, I—”.

He cut you off with a sharp thrust, his grip tightening on your hips as he groaned. “Nope. Not done yet”, he said, his tone a mix of frustration and amusement. “You wanna tell me how everything I do pisses you off lately? You’re too hot. I’m too loud. I’m breathing wrong”.

“Dean!”, you protested, though your voice was breathy and strained, completely undermining your attempt at indignation.

He chuckled, the sound low and rough as his fingers dug into your skin. “See? There it is”, he said, his hips snapping forward again, drawing a broken cry from your lips. “You’ve been like this for weeks. Always snapping at me, throwing those little fits”.

“I’m pregnant!”, you managed to gasp, your face pressing further into the pillow as the overwhelming pleasure made your whole body tremble. “You try carrying a baby and see how you feel!”.

Dean let out a low, rough chuckle, his hips snapping forward again as he leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Yeah, I know you’re pregnant”, he murmured, his voice a gravelly mix of teasing and frustration. “That’s the only reason I haven’t flipped you over and spanked that attitude right out of you by now”.

Dean’s grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your skin just enough to make you shiver. His voice stayed low and rough, brushing against your ear as he continued. “You think I haven’t thought about it, sweetheart? The way you’ve been testing me lately, running that mouth of yours every chance you get”.

He thrust forward again, sharp and deep, pulling a choked cry from your lips that made his smirk widen. “But no”, he drawled, his tone laced with mock patience, “I’ve been nice. Real nice. Letting you get away with it because you’ve got our kid in there. But don’t push me too far”.

Your breath hitched, your body trembling beneath him as you tried to muster some kind of retort, but his words kept coming, each one dripping with that infuriating mix of dominance and amusement.

“You wanna know what’s funny?”, he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke. “Half the time, I think you’re trying to piss me off on purpose. Like you want me to snap. Is that it, sweetheart? You trying to see how far you can push me?”.

You managed a shaky breath, your voice muffled by the pillow as you tried to reply. “Dean, I—”.

“Don’t even try it”, he cut you off, his voice dipping lower, more commanding. “I know you. You love to push buttons, get a rise out of me. But you forget, sweetheart—I’m the one who knows exactly how to handle you”.

His hands slid up from your hips, one wrapping around your waist to pull you tighter against him as he thrust again, the force making you cry out. “See?”, he continued, his voice rough and smug. “All it takes is one touch, and you’re not so mouthy anymore, are you?”.

“Dean”, you gasped, your hands clutching at the sheets as his words and movements overwhelmed you, leaving you breathless and trembling.

“What’s that, sweetheart?”, he teased, leaning down to press a kiss to the back of your neck. “Got something to say now?”.

Your silence only seemed to fuel him, his grin audible in his next words. “That’s what I thought”, he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction as he kept his pace steady and deep. “You can sass me all you want, sweetheart, but at the end of the day, I’ll always put you right back where you belong. Every time”.

Dean’s grip on you was unrelenting, his hands guiding your hips back against his as his deep, commanding voice filled the room. He wasn’t just touching you—he was claiming you, reminding you exactly who was in control. And you loved it.

You always loved it when Dean was bossy, and he knew it. But ever since you got pregnant, he’d held back—taking care of you, being gentler, more cautious, treating you like you might break. No rough edges, no dirty talk, no manhandling. It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate his care, but fuck, you missed the way he used to take you. You missed the fire, the way he pushed you to your limits, the way he made you lose yourself completely.

And that frustration, paired with the wild rollercoaster of your hormones, had turned you into a snappy, moody mess. You’d been pushing him for weeks, testing him, snapping at every little thing. You wanted him to break, to stop holding back and give you what you craved. What you needed.

And now, finally, he had.

Dean’s hips snapped forward again, deep and hard, his grip on your waist pulling you flush against him as he buried himself inside you. “Such a little sassy bitch”, he groaned, his voice low and rough, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. The words sent a shockwave through you, your whole body trembling as you gasped for air.

It was enough to tip you over the edge, his deep voice paired with the perfect, relentless rhythm of his thrusts sending you spiraling into bliss. Your body clenched tight around him as you cried out, your fingers clutching at the sheets as the pleasure crashed over you in a powerful wave.

“That’s it”, Dean murmured, his voice thick and dark, his hands tightening on your hips as he kept moving, drawing every ounce of pleasure from you. “That’s what you needed, huh? Just had to push me until I gave it to you”.

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but gasp and moan as your body trembled beneath him, your mind fogged with the overwhelming release. Dean groaned low in his throat, his own pleasure building as he watched you fall apart under his touch.

Dean’s movements grew more erratic, his grip on your hips tightening as he chased his own release. Each thrust was deep, deliberate, and powerful, dragging out every last tremor of your climax as his low groans filled the room.

“Damn it”, he growled, his voice strained, roughened by the building tension. His fingers dug into your hips as he pulled you back against him one last time, sinking so deep inside you that you felt completely and utterly claimed.

The sound that escaped him then was raw and guttural, his head falling forward as his release hit. You felt the warmth of him spill inside you, hot and sticky, his body shuddering against yours as he came undone. Dean stayed buried deep, holding you close, his breath ragged and heavy in your ear.

“Shit, sweetheart”, he murmured after a moment, his voice low and gravelly as his forehead pressed against the back of your neck. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”.

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, your body still trembling from the intensity of it all. “Takes two, Winchester”, you managed to reply, your voice weak but laced with affection.

Dean lingered for a moment, his body still pressed tightly against yours as his breathing began to steady. You felt the gentle press of his lips against your shoulder, the kiss soft and lingering, a stark contrast to the intensity he’d just unleashed. “Yeah, yeah”, he mumbled, his voice a mix of teasing and tenderness. “You can’t keep pushin’ me like that, sweetheart. Not unless you wanna end up in this position every time”.

You smirked into the pillow, still catching your breath, and turned your head slightly to glance back at him. “Is that supposed to be a threat or a promise?”.

Dean let out a low chuckle, his forehead dropping against your shoulder as he shook his head. “Smartass”, he muttered, though the grin on his face was unmistakable. He pulled back slightly, his hands shifting to slide up your sides, careful and gentle now as he helped ease you into a more comfortable position.

As he settled down beside you, his arm looped around your waist, pulling you close. His other hand brushed over your belly, resting protectively against the curve as if grounding himself there. “You okay?”, he asked, his voice quieter now, more serious as he pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

“Yeah”, you murmured, your body melting into his as the aftershocks of pleasure faded into a warm, satisfied haze. “More than okay”.

Dean let out a soft hum of approval, his hand still resting against your belly as his thumb began tracing small, lazy circles over your skin.

But then, without warning, a sharp kick hit his hand where it rested against your stomach. His eyes snapped open, and he pulled his hand back slightly, blinking down at your belly like it had personally insulted him.

“Seriously?”, he muttered, his voice thick with exhaustion. “I just wore your mom out, and now you’re gonna take a shot at me?”.

You laughed softly, resting your hand over his as it returned to your stomach, his thumb resuming its slow movements. “Guess they didn’t like the way you were talking to me earlier”, you teased, still catching your breath.

Dean huffed, his head sinking back against the pillow as his other arm tightened around your waist. “Great. Already takin’ your side”, he grumbled, his voice muffled as he buried his face in your hair. “Kid’s not even born yet, and I’m outnumbered”.

Dean sighed dramatically, lifting his head slightly to glare at your belly like he was about to give it a piece of his mind. His hand settled back where the baby had kicked, his thumb pausing in its lazy circles as he rubbed gently over the spot.

“Alright, buddy”, he said, his voice low and teasing. “What’s the deal? You mad at me already? Because I gotta tell you, kid, I’ve barely even started embarrassing you”.

You chuckled softly, snuggling closer to him as his tone grew more playful.

Dean leaned in closer to your belly, tilting his head as if the baby could hear him better that way. “I get it, you’re protective of your mom—good. That’s your job. But come on, you don’t gotta start throwin’ punches before you even get out here. Give me a break”.

Another soft kick pushed against his hand, and Dean groaned dramatically, looking up at you with mock exasperation. “See? This kid’s already got your sass. I’m screwed”.

Dean felt the next kick and stilled when you winced slightly, concern flashing across his face. "Alright, listen up, champ”, he said, leaning in again with that cocky, amused tone you knew so well. “You’ve got a lot of time to work on that roundhouse kick. But right now, your mom needs a break. So how about we call it a draw tonight, huh?”.

Another kick followed, not quite as sharp this time but enough to make Dean shake his head, his grin widening. “Oh, yeah, I can already tell”, he muttered, glancing up at you. “This kid’s gonna be trouble. Just like you”.

You smirked, though the soft circles of his thumb against your belly eased the discomfort. “Trouble? He’s gonna be your clone. Loud, bossy, impossible to deal with…”.

Dean raised an eyebrow, a mock-offended expression crossing his face. “Loud? Bossy? Sweetheart, I’m a delight”.

You couldn’t help but laugh, running your fingers lightly through his hair as he leaned down to press another kiss to your belly. “Sure you are”, you teased, shaking your head. “Just wait. He’ll be following you around everywhere, and you’ll be the one teaching him how to be a pain”.

Dean rolled his eyes dramatically, though his smirk didn’t waver as he leaned up from your belly, his green eyes sparkling with a mix of affection and exhaustion. “You’re real funny, you know that?”, he muttered, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face.

Before you could come up with another quip, he pressed a firm kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment. “Alright, enough out of you for one night”, he said, his voice low and teasing, though the warmth in it made your chest tighten. “Catch some sleep, sweetheart. Or so help me, I’ll knock your sassy ass out myself”.

You laughed softly, leaning into his touch as his arm wrapped around your waist again, pulling you close. “Oh, really?”, you teased, tilting your head to look up at him. “You’re gonna knock me out? That’s the best you’ve got?”.

Dean let out a low chuckle, his thumb resuming its slow circles on your belly as he tucked you against his chest. “You wanna keep testing me, Y/N?”, he asked, his tone playful but edged with mock warning. “Because I’ve still got plenty of energy to make sure you can’t walk tomorrow”.

Your cheeks flushed, and you swatted his chest lightly, your laugh turning breathless. “Dean!”.

“Uh-huh", he muttered, smirking down at you as he settled back into the pillows, his grip on you tightening protectively. “That’s what I thought. Now, go to sleep before this little guy starts throwing another round of punches”.

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth of his arm around you and the steady, soothing circles of his hand on your belly made it impossible to stay annoyed. “Fine”, you said softly, letting yourself relax against him. “But only because I’m tired—not because you told me to”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart”, Dean murmured, his voice low and lazy as his eyes began to close, his body relaxing beside yours. “But you’d better get used to listening to me. Gonna need all the rest you can get—this kid’s gonna keep us on our toes”.

You smiled, closing your eyes as you felt his steady breaths against your skin, his hand never leaving your belly. In that moment, surrounded by Dean’s warmth and love, you couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

-

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373 @shanimallina87 @ascarriel @deanwinchesters67impala @thebiggerbear @quietgirll75 @barnes70stark @kellyls04 @spxideyver @ralilda @americanvenom13 @ozwriterchick @lmg14

[sheeezu]

How to shift

(From my point of view, it is a well articulated one I hope it at least gives someone the confidence that you can change realities regardless of mindset or whatnot)

I am of firm belief that you can shift any way you want, you can get ancient scripture from divinity and rehearse them before sleeping to shift, or rawdog it. There is a lot of shifting material on my blog, the community has evolved mainly to promote the idea that shifting is attainable by living in the movement. First of all, yes. This post is a little different because although it follows the structure of how a method would, but, according, to, ⚠️my personal opinion ⚠️ this is how someone shifts.

Background.

This is all depended on letting go (temporarily forgetting) of the previous reality, and completely blending in with your intended reality. The switch, is made to seem natural, and not forced. Why I believe in this? Well. I shifted with doing something similar. (FOREVER GRATEFUL I BOW DOWN)

I still actively support you can shift by plain affirming, regular methods, and while still being aware of the previous reality. But you can use this if you've tired yourself out by other practices and need a definite guide. Rest assured, this is me milking out all my shifting experience and knowledge.

As. @trasecase asked, (I did see your ask, this strangely corresponded to this post I was about to make) yes yes yes, moving doesn't matter while shifting. You can be dancing or swimming in your physical environment, the only hiccup that you can possibly perceive is your mind getting distracted mid change of reality, when you're thinking like your dr self and your thoughts divert to your cr. That's why someone can say to minimise the distractions in your environment, but physical distractions are nothing in comparison to the effect of your own mental space on your reality. (....before someone attacks me, I am talking entirely in the pov of this post, I don't believe in blockages, ty, back to the text)

How to shift

Your environment is unfortunately still at play. But you can shift, sitting up, lying down. (You know this already I won't get into this) just makes sure you have space to think.

Observe. When you lay down, your mind starts to recall either events of today, or what's going on in your conscious/subconscious. Your first realization would be that "I should attempt to shift" you can take a few minutes to set things straight in your mind. When the intention registers, you can start affirming. And don't get pissed off at your mind, or demotivated when the affirmations don't or barely give you symptoms. Your goal is to determine which direction points to your dr. This will release the pressure or responsibility you have with shifting. The more time you spend in this state is better, because your wakefulness will start to dawn; you'll get sleepy. With sleep, you slip out of your mold and the lightness you feel is due to you merging with your true self.... and obviously, shifting is instant in this state. (What? :) it is)

Void. that- that body of yours is stuck like glue and the weird song you've heard from the commercial you've heard is still going on. You can force your thoughts to go blank. For a minute, you can still let the intrusive thoughts pass by, just don't give them importance. This way, this bridge in your river of thoughts is paused for you to jump your attention upon your dr.

dream. When I research shifting, I always look at how dreams work. Why we dream. The surreal nature of them. ...something from my drafts:

"That's why dreams are so comforting. There is no second guess. There's no regret. Everything is a blurry, silly mess of your consciousness. It's an artistic masterpiece. It's a realm centered around you. It is an exploration of the world inside of you. It's free from laws or morals. It doesn't take place in the 3d. While they hold deep meaning, they're always unserious as they play out. That's how your reality is supposed to be. That's how you're supposed to shift or manifest. Dreams are your first introduction to creation.

They pass on a note to you, that you can shape the next moment. You just need to become lucid. Whether in a dream, or right now, when you lay down to shift, you need to be awake to witness and use your own power."

There's this discussion, how you should visualize or imagine during shifting. the superior advice is to barely do so, or that you don't need realism at all. Others say, you should imagine it clean and sharp; I say it should be the quality and alike a dream. Logically and theoretically they are the rehearsal of your consciousness, a blurry and nonsensical mess through which your brain rewinds the reality you're in. It's a remembrance. It's a push. To wake up back in your usual reality. When the picture of your dr that goes by is projected as a normal day to day occurance. While not rejecting the need to imagine your dr, that's your first step to normalising being in your dr! Tldr. Imagine, romanticise, think about your dr.

??? Be there. There's this type of stubborness only someone aware of their own potential and power can possess. It doesn't include the constant asking or checking of "am I there?" It's telling yourself. (If you check your environment due to intrusive thoughts just give yourself the "yes" it's a lonely little world in your mind 😔 until you wake up to your s/o's snoozing face--> back to the text) this is where the "senses shift last" comes in. You should properly trust this beforehand. I believe you'll be in a haze. If you're not, you should stop being hyper aware of everything; symptoms, mainly. There's a way to utilise symptoms as well, you can assume theyre your vibrations raising higher and higher (...if youd like). The hazy mindset means, you'll be relaxed and it wouldn't appear to you that you're trying to shift. Take this thought completely out of your mind, that you're shifting.

Blend in to your dr. Like grass grows out the soil; let your soul blossom naturally. You spend so much time reading posts on tumblr, they all tell you you're in control, you consider and accept their words. But why do you panic while and before shifting? You choose to shift. Either directly or indirectly. Anyways, philosophy aside. You should think like your dr self; or you there. Plan your day. Hear the voices in your dr. Develop the impulses, the reflex actions that usually enable you to sit up on your bed, like in this reality, you have certain actions you replicate each morning. Replicate those for your dr. Train yourself to perform five senses in a trance state. Have long rants about a certain events in your dr self's voice, without calculating or weighing them. You script for so long. You plan your dr self for so long. You can be naturally like your dr self as well. Start your cross over and don't stop. Don't dissolve in the artifical sweetener. And don't force yourself.

Epilogue. You tell me yourself. What's left behind? What's there to return to now. When you've embraced all your dr is, when you yourself bestowed your soul back to your dr, you're there.

This is not at all what I expected it'll turn out to be, disclaimer, the actual method is linked somewhere in the post, you can go see how to practically implement all this... rant ? This might be rushed, because it is. There's another fish to add in my bucket of posts. I felt the need to make a post. Anyways, if any questions then ask away. (Put them in my inbox)

This is probably not the detailed guide I promised in the poll.

[toraona]

gif by @apparently-artless

THE LOVE LANGUAGES OF:

— Trafalgar Law

Acts of Service

Law’s love is quiet. He doesn’t show off, brag, or even tells you he loves you—because he doesn’t need to. You already know and so does he.

Instead of saying it, he’d show it through simple actions, such as organizing your files and folders without being asked, bringing you tea on ordinary afternoons, or massage your tense muscles.

At first, it felt strange to experience love like this. Law focused more on his actions than words. But as time passed, you learned that he did it with a soft look—his facial features were less tense, a look he only saved for you. His voice was firm, yet carried a gentleness when it was just the two of you.

“Your back sore? Turn around, show me where it’s tender.”

“I cleaned your desk again. You’re welcome.”

Gift Giving

Law isn’t a gifting type of person. The most he’d do was buy you your favorite snack from a vendor in a village or buy you a set of quills and ink or a pouch of pens to keep up with your writing. He doesn’t bother wrapping it or keeping it as a surprise for later. Once he buys it, he automatically gives it to you when he sees you next.

Quality Time

Being a captain, managing the crew, alliances, missions, and training left Law with a limited time to spend time with you. But despite that, he always blocked out a couple hours just for you.

You’re the main person in the crew able to ground him when chaos overpowered calm. You became one of his favorite comforts, and when he needed to unwind he didn’t need words or distractions. He just needed you close.

Quiet moments with you are his favorite ones. You two exist for each other, and that’s all that matters.

Touch

Law isn’t a fan of public displays of affection. It isn’t that he’s shy, he simply doesn’t see the point of flaunting his feelings for you. What matters to him are your feelings for each other and because of that you two have nothing to prove.

Still, when he wants to offer you reassurance or senses tension in your body, he finds quiet ways to reach out: brushing his fingers against yours, or subtly linking your pinky with his.

Behind closed doors is where you’re the only one who gets to see the captain of the Heart Pirates unravel.

Law’s touches in bed are slow, sensual, and intentional. He is a gentle lover, and takes in every moment with you as if it’s your last.

“Let me take my time with you.”

“Kiss me.”

“Let me touch you the way no one else can.”

And every time you say yes, it is unraveled him even more.

Words of Affirmation

Law doesn’t speak much, only unless what he says is practical, helpful, and important. So when he started complimenting you, or praising you for a job well done, you were thrilled.

“You did great out there. Keep it up.”

“Your onigiri is my favorite.”

“Don’t burn yourself out. I need you.”

You felt seen and valued.

What he hasn’t told you yet was how much you mean to him, how much you’ve helped him grow into a man who knows he’s allowed to be cared for and loved.

He’ll tell you eventually, just not now.

BONUS ✨

Keeping You Warm

On cold days and nights, Law would wordlessly give you his coat, or wraps it around you when he sees you shivering.

“You can’t get sick.”

“Next time bring a thicker jacket.”

“This is an excuse to use mine.”

However, in private, that’s when he’d pull you into a warm embrace and wrap his arms around you, his head either resting on yours or if you’re in bed sleeping he’d hold you close, your back against his chest while he had his arms around you as he quietly whispers in your ear:

“I love you.”

Venting to You

When Law started talking to you about his problems, feelings, and concerns, that’s when you knew it was serious between you two.

He had always kept everyone at arm’s length, unwilling to let anyone in. But hearing him speak to you with no filter, with no fear of judgment made you feel closer to him than ever before.

You were someone he trusted with his thoughts and concerns, someone who took the time to truly hear him out which was something he hadn’t experienced for a long time.

“Thank you for listening.”

“Sorry if I said too much.”

To you, there was no such thing as Law telling you too much. Everything he shared mattered. If it was important to him, you always promised him it’s important to you.

[cruel-hiraeth]

BETWEEN YOU AND ME (AND THE SEA) RORONOA ZORO X READER

warnings ⟢ suggestive content (i.e. glorified pillow talk). established relationship. slight angst that ends in comfort. mentions of violence. love as religion/love as worship. allusions to buddhism. gn reader.

the word “bokken” denotes a wooden practice sword.

word count ⟢ 1143

notes ⟢ if this looks familiar, it’s because i reworked my old fic! it’s still embarrassingly sappy + full of my personal hcs about zoro’s childhood. please let me know what you think! <3

“I would die for you.”

Your words caress the swordsman’s heaving chest, his tawny skin dewy from exertion, glistening under the pearly moonlight. The wind listens with bated breath, air at a standstill in the crow’s nest; the only sound to disturb the lulling midnight is the gentle lap of the wine-dark sea.

It takes Zoro several moments to process your statement, his senses still hazy and pleasure-drunk from the events of your shared watch. One wide palm rests on the soft curve of your lower back—an anchor. The other absentmindedly strokes the arch of your neck.

“Hm?” Zoro belatedly grunts, brows knitting together in confusion.

You raise your head to meet your lover’s steel gaze. The fierceness in your eyes—Zoro knows it well. Beneath the heady cloud of contentment is the crazed glint of worship, shining like an unclaimed blade: honed by another’s will, difficult (if not impossible) to master. It’s a look that both terrifies him in its depth and comforts him in its earnestness.

Will I ever be worthy of your devotion?

“I’m not particularly brave or strong,” you start, a fingertip etching love into his flesh as you trace the jagged edges of the scar that slashes across his torso—the ghost of an injury that almost took him from you.

“But I would do anything for you, Zo. I would die for you. And it should scare me, that I feel so deeply…” Your finger stills, hovering above his heart, beat steadfast as the foamy tide. Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub. “But when it comes to you? I lose all my inhibitions. I would die for you in an instant.”

Even in the dusky quiet, Zoro’s hands are broad, as warm and reassuring as the sun on a blustery day aboard Sunny. They may be extension of his weapons, instruments of death. Yet he cradles your cheeks with devastating care as he pulls your face to his. When you’re this close, you can map his every feature, from his puckered left eye to the crooked cant of his nose to his barely-there freckles. His jaw flexes resolutely as he grits out, “Don’t say shit like that. Y’know I hate it.”

Draping your hands over his, you rub his rough, calloused skin, murmuring, “Not saying it doesn’t make it any less true.”

Few things scare Zoro. He recognizes Death’s face, having brushed shoulders with the endless ether more times than he cares to admit. On the rare, starless nights when he dreams, he wades through a river of ichor as an asura, violence incarnate. At an early age, he learned that the price of greatness is at the expense of one’s soul. But he continues to shoulder the burden of existence alone, intent on seeing his—Kuina’s—dream to fruition, no matter how foul-tasting the fruit.

Your vulnerability, however, frightens him—how you lay your heart bare and expect nothing in return. The way you live goes against everything Zoro has ever known, against his basest instincts to keep his emotions under lock and key, to fight the inevitability of suffering with blood in his maw, to survive at any cost.

(It’s a bitter January evening. Snow flurries paint the eaves of the run-down dojo white—a portrait of tranquility.

Inside, a boy’s stomach growls, hunger gnawing at his intestines. His young, scrawny limbs ache with overuse. The room is frigid, his feet frozen as they step and slide across the tatami mats. His simple robe does nothing to keep the color in his cheeks.

This dreaded overnight practice is punishment for pilfering onigiri from the kitchen several days prior. Hunger is but a distraction for the weak. He must repent for his wrongdoing with fasting, meditation, and grueling endurance drills. But in the middle of an overhead swing, he loses feeling in his arms; the bokken clatters to his feet.

His sensei tsks in disappointment. “The way of the sword is absolute, Roronoa. You eat and sleep and breathe by the blade. The second you lose focus—the moment you lose sight of your calling—you will cease to be a swordsman.”

Tears of frustration prick Zoro’s eyes, but he bites his tongue, picking up the bokken without sound or complaint. He doesn’t realize that his palms are cracked and that the wooden hilt is stained sanguine. He continues training until dawn.)

“Tch.” He wets his chapped lips, a flash of slick pink. His tongue is always loose when it’s just the two of you and the sea. “I’m not worth it.”

A frown pinches your features. Adorable, he would say if you were talking about anything else in the Grand Line. You wrap your arms around his neck with a huff.

“What makes you think your life is worth any less than Luffy’s? Than Chopper’s? Than mine?”

Zoro assesses you for a moment, feline eye unreadable, then sighs. He measures his words with unusual care. “My role is to protect. It was—it is—the vow I made to our captain.”

Threading your fingers through his mint tresses, you tug, concern rolling off of you in waves. “Then who’s left to protect you, Zo?”

The answer springs to his mind without hesitation: No one.

(The little boy with the bloodstained bokken weeps.)

“Let me protect you,” you entreat, lips grazing his. Your touch is charged yet tender; something within him yields, if only a centimeter.

The Fates, in their divine and impartial wisdom, must have made a grave error: spinning the claret thread of your fate, meting it out, and mistakenly intertwining it with his own. Zoro is certain that it’s a miscarriage of justice—not that the gods have ever been preoccupied with fairness.

Did I do something in a past life to earn your reverence?

“I can’t,” his voice cracks. But his iron resolve is rusting. Fissures compromise the once-gleaming surface, threatening to crumble the pride he has worn as a shield for as long as he can remember.

“You can.”

Zoro has never considered himself to be a good man. Selfless to a fault, you are eager to give. And, for once in his life, he wants nothing more than to take advantage of you—to receive. He allows himself this greed.

Drinking in your affection like a man who has never quenched his thirst, he doesn’t notice how his lone eye burns when he claims your lips with his own, heartfelt I love yous swapped between spit and teeth and tongue.

The tears are silent as they dribble down his feverish cheeks; you chase each of them away with a flick of your thumb, dotting kisses across his salty flesh. Zoro has half a mind to be embarrassed. (Swordsmen don’t cry.)

But if there is one absolute truth in this cursed world, it’s this: his heart is safe with you, and you alone.

[yallemagne]

I’m thinking. A dangerous pastime, I know, but I’ve been reminded yet again at how fandom “fixes” characters to fit into their own sensibilities, and I realized a parallel. 

DISCLAIMER: this is not an academic paper, I wrote this in one sitting after a day of eating nothing but cookies. Too long to read? The gist is that society is very fucking uncomfortable with accepting people for how they actually are outside of predetermined roles, and so they try to rework people’s images to be more palatable at the expense of authenticity... and this applies to how we treat characters in fandom.

I will never stop being upset at fandom for girlbossifying Mina Harker: for denying her flaws, values, weaknesses, and even some of her strengths because they don’t identify with those, and they have to rework her in order to even halfway tolerate her as a character. AND THEN THEY CLAIM TO LOVE HER. And it just made me think “how can they claim to love her if they hate everything about her?” And I realized that a lot of the people who talk up Mina and build her up as a paragon of girlbossery ignore and/or devalue her words while mythologizing her actions. Like “this is the woman who did this this and this, she’s a girlboss feminist queen” while conveniently leaving out her perspective on the matter. 

So many people like to reframe her tangent about how silly and gauche she views New Women as her being sarcastic or ironic. “It’s just a joke! She actually thinks feminism is great!” they say. But she is not a sarcastic or ironic person. She’s very witty, but she’s not snarky or irreverent. This is a case of people projecting traits onto her that they like while erasing the ones she actually displays. They like their women to be disingenuous and wisecracking because insincerity is a way of taking control, but Mina is earnest and honest about her beliefs and feelings, and they don’t like that because honesty is a form of emotional vulnerability, and a woman being emotionally vulnerable is “playing into the stereotypes”. 

Now, what’s the parallel? 

It made me think of how Seward views Jonathan after reading his journal in the novel. Jonathan was so honest about his fear and uncertainty in his journal that a wide-sweeping interpretation of that part of the novel in academic spaces is that Jonathan was just a yellow-bellied coward. Seward does not have this interpretation at all, in fact, he is shocked to meet Jonathan because he had been picturing a mythic figure of perfect chiselled masculinity like Hercules! And instead he is met with a quiet, mild-mannered solicitor?

Why does Seward make this mistake? We all joke that it’s because he’s not incredibly bright, which he isn’t, and he’s super gay, which he is — but the crux of it is that he is not receptive to the idea of people who don’t fit into his worldview. He is very particular about how he believes men and women behave. Men are rock solid and strong both physically and mentally whereas women are as delicate as cotton candy. He meets Mina and decides that she must be the ideal woman. So, he simply ignores all the ways her husband doesn’t conform with his ideal man. Jonathan being bedridden from mental trauma he faced in the castle? Psh. Might as well have never happened. But we all know that, had he met Jonathan before his recovery, his impression would have been way less charitable. Why? Because we all know that, as Mina gets sick and Seward is primed by an authority figure to distrust her intentions, things he admired about her (like her acts of service) get reframed as potentially nefarious. 

It is so easy to ignore everything that is true about a person and frame your perception of them in a completely dishonest way because that’s just the most comfortable option! 

Seward fails to acknowledge the ways that Jonathan subverts his expectations because the people who don’t fit into his expectations are, to him, the dregs of society: people who belong in his asylum or in the ground. So, he juices up Jonathan. He’s like “he must be the most ripped flawless guy ever” because his brain doesn’t have much room for nuance. He’s uncomfortable with accepting that the men in his life who he idolizes aren’t paragons. He’s stiff and awkward while comforting his dear friend who just suffered the deaths of his father, his would-be mother-in-law, and his fiancée in such a short amount of time, only offering a stiff embrace with a couple back-pats and some words of affirmation thrown in and justifying that with “that’s all the comfort a man needs”. And hey, it’s not like he despises his friend for being able to cry, it’s that men have never really been taught how to reckon with their emotions. They see a woman being emotional, and shrug it off and say “psh typical hysterical woman”, but they see their fellow man struggling, and the only response they have is “hey… stop that. You clearly aren’t having a good time, and I don’t enjoy this either, so you should just… stop feeling and save us the trouble?” 

Likewise, people don’t want to acknowledge Mina’s internalized misogyny and deep self-hatred because they’re not comfortable with women having flaws. And hey, this is a VERY complex issue. It’s uncharitable to say it’s simply woman-hating. For women who have this way of treating female characters, it’s born from their identity as women and how they are expected to navigate the world. They see a woman who is anything less than a pure goddess and get upset because she’s supposedly making a fool of herself and bringing dishonour to them by association. “You’re setting a bad example for the rest of us! There is limited space for women in fiction/the workplace/the public eye, and you’re taking up space and fucking it up! Now everyone will think that women are emotional/stupid/slutty!” And for the men… they’re literally just the Van Helsings and the Sewards of the world. Either a woman is the perfect wife or she’s a voluptuous she-beast, and whichever one she is justifies how they treat her, and that solidifies their place in the world as men. 

My ultimate point is that we all acknowledge how silly it was when Seward got it in his head that Jonathan had to be a jock to have survived the things he did, and yet we let fandom treat Mina the exact same way?

[sometimesoliloquy]

Ultimately the right question is: How is it a crime that Nick isn't a Mayday agent? (In the show because he is in the book) That doesn't make him a guy who doesn't fight because he condones what's going on in Gilead.

Exactly right. How is this the thing that makes Nick a bad guy? At this point June taking several years to realize that Nick's not some sort of revolutionary freedom fighter really seems like her issue, not his. We know he's not. But he's also not an agent for Gilead. He's always been in the middle, playing within the system but using it to protect those he cares about, and enact change where he can, to make things better. He's allowed Gilead to "win this battle" so to speak, but it's so clear it's because he was painted into a corner, not because he wants Gilead to win. He's not on their side. Even without knowing all the facts here, June should know this given their entire history.

No, he's never been a Mayday agent but he's also worked against Gilead's rules, or rather worked within Gilead's rules against Gilead. Working as an Eye to get some of the worst commanders out of the way (self-serving at times but also doing what's right). Doing little things he can, like smuggling the handmaids' letters to Canada. And he's not a Mayday agent but we know he's worked with them (which I still maintain that by Lily's definition in 5x03 means he is Mayday). Probably most explicitly at the start of s2 trying to get June out of Gilead. It's stated that he's working with Mayday here but implied perhaps for the first time, or at least in this capacity (smuggling people out). "I don't know, I've never done this before". But he certainly knew how to get in contact with them, and fast, whether because he had worked in smaller capacity with them before or just knowing from being an Eye, we don't know. 

And here's something that hadn't really occurred to me before recently, on my last rewatch--I really think that Nick would have had to call in a big favor--or be beholden to a fair amount of continued assistance/intel to Mayday--for them to agree to helping June escape in the first place. Especially if he hadn't worked with them before. Because as we learn in another episode, as a rule Mayday generally won't touch handmaids (let along a pregnant handmaid!). They're too valuable to Gilead and therefore too high profile, and too dangerous to get involved with. Do we really think Nick could have just run to them and they'd be like sure ok np, we'll just risk our entire operation to move a pregnant handmaid of a powerful commander without some sort of collateral from him(that we of course never see)?

And I think this is also an important reminder that, while they are fighting the good fight, Mayday also has their own priorities, their own code of what they'll do and what risks they consider too great to jeopardize the larger operation, no matter how good the cause or how vulnerable the people needing help. They don't just help anyone who needs it at any time no matter what. They exercise deliberate caution (well, this current s6 Mayday cell maybe not quite as much!) and they are aware of and willing to accept the unfortunate possibility of collateral damage. Which is exactly the kind of calculation that we've seen Nick operate with, the twist being that his motivations are largely very personal--surviving, protecting June and Holly--where Mayday's are largely strategic--striking against Gilead (and we know he's always been most reckless and ready to risk when it comes to June).

I think we should also not forget here the actions--or at least intentions--of other characters that in essence are not that different from what Nick did: Moira smuggling June on the NGO boat in s4, putting everyone involved in danger and the entire future of the humanitarian operations at risk. For personal reasons, for the one person she just couldn't stand to leave behind again. And June, ready to rashly do pretty much the exact same thing in 6x05 asking Janine to leave with them that night, which likely would have scrapped the whole Mayday plan AND put the rest of the women at Jezebels in danger (the two things she's ostensibly mad at Nick for). Both characters were rightfully scolded for their actions but it was portrayed as understandable, the human need to put those you love first (I won't even get into all June's actions that have put others in danger trying to get to Hannah or make Gilead hurt after Hannah is put out of reach). 

So why is it that Nick seems to be the only one who doesn't get grace for this? The only real difference as I see it is that he operates in Gilead, within a place of relative power. But as we've seen, power is often an illusion in Gilead, where you can gain or lose it in an instant, and there is always another man around the corner ready to put a noose around your neck or a bullet in your brain (or shackle you with a child bride, or a trip to the war front) if you get in their way. Nick knows this all too well, having been on both sides of the equation! But this is the thing that allows people to say what he did is so wrong, is so much worse than the others, because of this illusion of power, and the illusion of choice we also know exists in Gilead. Elizabeth Moss can say "but there's always a choice, isn't there" and yeah sure that's true, but in this case the other choice was likely for Nick to die, or be jailed and sentenced to death, and June stuck in NB with his vindictive father-in-law on the warpath. And how is that the best choice?

I've got to think that June is gonna realize this after she's had time to calm down and process, but emotions have been high and she's a very reactive person, a lasher-outer, so it's likely not going to be pretty in the immediate future. She's going to have to come to a reckoning and I think it's also going to be a good opportunity for her character to do some self-reflection on herself and the selfishness several characters have been calling her out on lately. If they don't go that direction they'll not only be doing Nick dirty but also do a disservice to the larger character development of June.

[uwouldthink]

@jack-of-heartstrings

I could end this here, because the core of my argument is ultimately about the writing. But since your arguments treat Marinette like a real person, let me switch from doylist arguments to watsonian arguments from here on out.

If we want to judge Marinette as a real person, then I'm sorry to tell you, but she's still pretty toxic.

Like you said, the world isn't black and white and split between "evil villains" and "poor beans".

She's a stressed out 14 years old girl with anxiety and minimal resillience in the face of discomfort and she's faced with a decision that requires her to be able to deal with the discomfort of reality and she's simply unable to do it because she doesn't have the emotional maturity.

Which, y'know, is hardly an irredeemable trait in a 14 years old who overall has good intentions, even if her low empathy means those good intentions are not always translated to helpful actions (see: her behaviour in guilttrip). She's willing to learn and change on a surface level, but struggles with actually internalizing those lessons into meaningful change. But that's something which is pretty difficult, so again, not proof she's evil.

She's very much like Chloe in that regard. Despite the show insisting Chloe is irredeemable and the actual devil that's worse than the magical terrorist, she's also a 14 years old who's stuck in circumctances that enable her worst behaviour but still has the ability to grow and change for the better (before the show kicked her to the curb, but that's a different matter).

But no matter how sympathetic she is and how good her intentions, it doesn't change that she's still causing harm. Everything I listed before doesn't take away from the way she's hurting Adrien (as well as Paris to a lesser extent).

I wouldn't go as far as to say she's Adrien's abuser, but Adrien is definitely Marinette's victim. Alongside being Natalie and Felix' victim.

You can say "it's a bad situation for everyone" as much as you want but how bad the situation is for Marinette and how bad the situation is for Adrien are absolutely not equvilant.

The worst case scenario for Marinette is that everyone is mad at Ladybug and her boyfriend breaks up with her. She would still have her loving and supportive parents even if all her friends cut her off. Nobody knows she's Ladybug so if she gives up the earrings she doesn't have to deal with the backlash. If the memories and stress of the situation are too bad she can give up the guardian role, forget the last year and go on to live her life.

Because ultimetately, the situation doen't concern her at all. The only consequences she would suffer are for her own actions and she has ways she can step away from them.

Meanwhile, Adrien is the one who's dealing with all the consequences and fallout of Marinette's decision because this is his life we're talking about. Literally his life too.

Adrien's worst case scenario isn't even getting lynched by Paris in the case Lila leaks out the truth and twists it in the worst possible way. His worst case scenario is handing over his amok to someone with malicious intents (as he already did in werepapas!!) or outright dying.

Do you see how those two are not equvilant?

But even if we step away from all the ways in which it could blow up, the current state of events is still worse for Adrien than Marinette.

Marinette, frankly speaking, is in a hell of her own making. She didn't have to lie, she could've stepped aside and let Natalie expose everything on her own. She can put a stop to all the guilt and stress by asking Natalie to tell Adrien the truth, or if Natalie refuses and Marinette absolutely can't handle that conversation, she can let him read Gabriel's letter, alongside a letter of her own explaining the situation. That would be an incredibly shitty way to break the news out to Adrien, but hey, so long as Marinette doesn't have to deal with her boyfriend having uncomfortable emotions and reactions it's all good, right?

She has full agency over the situation. She can keep or stop the lie as she wishes. Any consequences that she would experience now, are ones that could've been avoided if she told the truth from the start.

Adrien has absolutely no agency in any of this, and Marinette's lie robbed him of what little agency the show allowed him to have.

Pre-s5 finale, he called out Gabriel on all the ways he was shitty towards Adrien specifically. He could see the abuse and see how he was treated was wrong even if he didn't know to call it abuse.

Post-s5 finale Adrien is idolizing Gabriel and is constantly bombarded with everyone telling him his father was a hero. He's essentially gaslighted about the kind of person his father was, even if nobody means to do it. When Ivan says Gabriel was a hero we can see Adrien has a lot of conflicting feelings that he's unable to voice.

Marinette, for all her good intentions and ignorance, decided for Adrien how he should feel about his father and by extension the abuse he suffered all his life. She scolded Gabriel for making decisions about Adrien's life without his input before turning around and doing the same thing.

She decided that his happiness in ignorance is more important than his physical safety and the safety of his agency. Both by not telling him he's a senti and by doubling down on it in werepapas when she chose to break the rings rather than get anyone else involved despite five lucky charms telling her to go get help.

No matter what's the fallout of Marinette's lie going to be, Adrien is the one who's going to bear the burnt of it, not her.

Whatever the public reaction will be, it's one he'll have to deal with for the rest of his life. Whatever his opinion of Gabriel, it's one he'll struggle and have to form. Whatever happens with the rings, he'll have to deal with it because it's his amok.

All of that without getting into the trust issues that would develop from discovering most people in his life lied to him about very important things about himself.

The sweeter Adrientte is right now, the harsher that betreyal of trust would be.

So yeah, it's a bad situation for everyone, but the scale of "bad" here are so different it's ridiculous. It's like saying "everyone is in pain" when one person stepped on a lego they left scattered around and the other lost their leg.

Funny how Maripologists only talk about how "all the kids were traumatized by Gabriel" in order to minimize Adrien's trauma/re-center Marinette.

Because if we're going with "all the kids were traumatized" then the logical conclusion is that they ALL deserve to be angry at Marinette for lying to them about the guy that brainwashed them. 😤

[lightlycareless]

warnings: another domestic fluff piece. u.u does it reflect my solace? lmao. you're pregnant and happy but insecure and naoya tries his best but maybe that's not enough? we'll see.

Once Naoya miraculously manages to get some time off from his work, he doesn’t hesitate to spend it with you—his 8-month pregnant wife.

He promised to do so, after all. Wanting to complete all pending preparations for the arrival of his baby, as well as make up for the lost time he should’ve been spending with you instead of his boring, dull job. Sure, they pay the bill and he enjoys it…

But he’d rather be with you and his unborn child! A much pleasant company.

And of course, you’re ecstatic to have your husband all for yourself for the following weeks (hopefully months). There was so much you wanted to do, so much to talk about. Now that he’s here, the sky’s the limit!

However, just because you had an endless check list to go through, and his disposition to please you in every way possible, didn’t mean he’d actually let you do whatever you wanted.

Simply because…

“—You can’t do that. Do I have to remind you you’re pregnant?”

You frown.

“I’m pregnant, not useless.” You respond. “Other mothers do it, why can’t I?”

“Because it’s toxic, for you and the baby. As a matter of fact, you should be stressing even less now that you’re just a few weeks away from giving birth.”

“I doubt painting a nursery will do much damage!” you respond, looking away with a pout. “It’s not fair, I’ve been waiting for you to do this together and now you’re saying I can’t?!”

“Yes, because I didn’t see the contents of the painting beforehand; either way we can just hire someone to do it, and move on—”

But you don’t want that. It was never in your vision to have some random person come into your home to paint your baby’s room.

It was something meant for the parents to complete. A symbolic way of pouring out their endless love for their upcoming bundle of joy; through small affirmations scattered across the walls, decorated with cute animals that would comfort her or him through the stillness of the night, just enough before they’re scooped up into their parents’ warmth.

Things that no stranger will be able to achieve, no matter how determined their good intentions are…

Which is why you’re disappointed to see that Naoya didn’t understand such details; that much was clear when you simply turned around and walked away.

“Hey, wait, Y/N—!” Naoya gasps, attempting to take ahold of you; but even in your fragile state, you prove much quicker. Not for much when he eventually corners you just around the corner. “Seriously? Are you really planning to ignore me for the rest of the day now that I finally got time to spend with you??”

“…Maybe.” You say, barely managing to control the embarrassment his words provided you. Quite unfair, isn’t it? Not as much as his unreasonable solution. “What does it matter anyway…”

“A lot. It matters a lot to me!” He insists. “I don’t see any reason to get all heated about a simple mural, our child won’t even acknowledge it!”

Call it a consequence of your always fluctuating hormones, or maybe your discontent at his response of what you thought highly important in this part of both your lives, and your unborn child’s… alongside a secret burden you’ve been carrying along for quite a while now…

You can’t help but weep.

And weep, and weep—letting out everything that you’ve been unconsciously bottling up these past few weeks; things that you furtively hoped would disappear now that Naoya was around.

But it only seemed to worsen, as if his presence was silently judging you for being a failure of a mother. A failure of a wife. If you can’t complete such feeble thing, what hope is there for you to raise a child? His successor, ultimately?

Was all this a mistake?

Your reaction is not one that Naoya allows to continue much longer.

“Wa—wait, Y/N—! What—What’s wrong?!” He gasps, attempting to get a better look of your face (though it greatly hurt him to do so) and discern if you were in pain and proceed accordingly. “Y/N… why are you crying? Do I need to call the doctor??”

“What? No!”

“Then why are you crying?”

“I—I don’t know—because I’m—I’m—angry!” you reply, but after all these years together, Naoya knows well it’s more than that. Far more.

“With me?” He murmurs.

…

“No, with myself.”

“Why? Why would you ever feel that way about yourself?” Naoya frets. “You’re—”

Perfect.

“No, I’m not. I’m a failure.”

“Huh?? What?????” It’s utter nonsense for you to exclaim such things when you’ve been nothing but attentive, dedicated, and selfless at everything relating to the baby and him—Naoya has even felt undeserving of it! Did you forget how much of a prick he was at the beginning of this relationship? And yet, you stayed! Changed him for the better!

If anything, this label was far more fitting on him thanks to his stupidly prolonged absence.

…Not you, whom he knew would be perfect as a mother already.

No one is more deserving of all the happiness in the world than you, it’s simply a miracle that he was able to share these blessings with you.

“What are you even talking about…?” Naoya murmurs, his voice denoting pain. Can he even offer you reassurance at this point?

“I just—I just feel like… I’m—I’m supposed to do certain things, right? Now that we’re going to be parents—there’s… there’s expectations I have to fulfill! But I can’t even paint a goddamn nursery, what makes me think I can be a good mother?!”

“If those are the metrics for comparison, I am delighted to say you’ve passed with flying colors.” Naoya says, hoping to lighten part of the weight on your heart… to no avail. “…A nursery shouldn’t be something to stress about, my love. We can always hire someone to—”

“It’s supposed to be us! Don’t you get it?!” you cry. “We have to be there for our baby, because no one else will if we don’t!”

Naoya already knew that. From the moment he got with you, to when he finally began to daydream about the family he’d like to have with you, simply an extension of his unconditional devotion towards you.

And yet, as obvious as they were… when you pronounced these facts, it’s as if he heard them for the first time.

Or perhaps truly understood the depths of his new responsibilities. Just how much both your and his life were to change the moment his baby is born.

Most of his life, he always depended on others to do the things he didn’t want to, or didn’t know how to. It was just as easy as flaunting his name, and whatever perturbed him was no longer an issue.

And it seemed to work with you too, though you weren’t too optimistic about it in the beginning, even tried reasoning with him, explain that it was a bit too dramatic.

But Naoya simply didn’t want you to struggle, if you were to be his woman, then you couldn’t entertain such trivialities when you could be focusing on him (or so he tries to justify, he simply enjoys spoiling you). So, eventually, you agreed.

But when it comes to his child, it’s a whole different world. One that still as him giving her all that she wants… while getting recognition for it.

To be admired by his starry-eyed baby, known in her mind as the greatest papa ever.

Not an ounce of her attention would be relayed to others, outside of you, of course. Naturally. Why did he even consider bringing in a stranger to finish something so significative to the three?

Only you and Naoya know just how long both have been waiting to finally have her in your arms. To see if they’d look like him, you… or even a combination of the two. Though he hoped she’d take after you.

Much was expected from someone as devoted, and possessive protective like Naoya, it’s only a shame it took your tears for him to realize.

“You’ve been undeservingly patient with me, my love.” He says, slowly wiping away the tears sliding down your cheeks. “I didn’t mean to appear insensitive to your… our concerns.”

You don’t respond, unable to go beyond a few sobs and whimpers, still trying to process your emotions. Not that you needed to say much, Naoya already got your message loud and clear.

“I… I guess it’s time I put my other talents to use.” He adds, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. “It’s been a while since I’ve done anything, but I’d like to think I still know how to hold a pencil. Or a brush for that matter.”

“…But what—what about…? You said—” you breathe.

“This is the reason why I got time off, princess. To be with you, and our baby. If not, why did I even bother?” He reassures, gently placing his hand over your stomach. His little princess must be asleep, for she always responds to his touch with a kick. “I’ve done worse, after all. Surely a few drawings on a bunch of walls can’t be too intimidating.”

You let out a breathy chuckle in between sniffles, before moping once again.

“But I won’t be able to do much…”

“You’re right. You’d be crazy to think I’d let you anywhere near toxic paint. But, you can still help me sketch… or at least decide what’s going on the nursery, I don’t know much about what kids like these days.”

“A Gengar would be nice.” You murmur. “It’d be a way to pass on my legacy!”

“I’ve never judged your tastes, because clearly I’m one of them.” He smirks, you roll your eyes. “But don’t you think that might be a bit… much for our child? Scary, I mean?”

“…I guess so.” You frown, going back into deep thought. “Something generic might do it, then. Like Snoopy! Everyone likes Snoopy, right?”

“Perhaps. What’s that other one? That really popular cat we’ve seen everywhere it’s almost nauseating?”

“Oh, Hello Kitty?” Naoya nods. “That one’s cute too! Waybe we can go with My Melody instead? Or Pochacco! We still don’t know if they’re going to be a boy or a girl, but I doubt it’d matter much early on.”

“Let’s just start with that one for now. When our baby grows and her preferences become more sophisticated, we can adapt. Naturally my daughter won’t settle for anything less than what she deserves.”

“There you go again, how can you be so sure our baby is going to be a girl?” you frown.

“Must be something to do with my impressive lineage.” He shrugs.

“You better not be cheating!”

“Me? Cheating? Impossible.” He laughs, you playfully smack his shoulder.

“…I wonder what character’s our baby will end up liking. Will they like anime like you? Or maybe even videogames, like me!” you swoon, eager to have your child in your arms already. There’s so much you wished to share with them… can’t they hurry?

“Could be both. Or none.” Naoya responds. “Not that it’d matter much, I’ll spoiler her anyways.”

“Even if it’s Hello Kitty? The character you’re sick of seeing everywhere?” you tease, he chuckles.el

“As if that were to happen. I told you, our child will grow to have sophisticated tastes like us.”

“We ought to make a bet.” You say. “If I’m right… you’ll buy me all the sushi I’ve been craving these past few months! No matter where or when, you’ll comply!”

“Alright, and what if I win?” Your husband smirks. “What do I get?”

You blush.

“Seems more like another reward for you, but it’s still an arrangement I can get behind.” He accepts. “Not that I needed much convincing, I know what’s going to happen anyways.”

“Yeah right, what now? You can see the future?” you jest.

Obviously not. But even if he could, it wouldn’t mean much with the lesson he’s learned that day; the importance of doing things yourself. That a simple act made through one’s hands could be far more valuable than the most expensive things in the world.

The importance it’ll have when his child eventually comes along and realizes all that their parents have done for them, simply because they’re so loved.

…

…

…

And of course, to not make bets on future variables less he wishes to be reminded of such mistake every time he ends up seeing that damned character popping up in her daughter’s newest belongings.

… Not that he ever genuinely disliked such famed white cat. How could he? For whenever he sees it, it only reminds him of the little bundle of joy he has waiting at home.

you and naoya were like: ah well, we can always change the nursery later on, right? it's not like naomi is going to obsess about hello kitty.

right????

also for the first time in his life naoya wanted to learn how to do things instead of having someone else do it for him because he wants his baby to admire him is so aghhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! now, don't get me wrong, he still skips certain things but he's trying TT_TT fatherhood scared him until naomi came along 🥺

[mdhwrites]

Anaxa: More a Genius Than a Mundanite

So I've been seeing a bit of a push and pull happening with Anaxa since he came out of people characterizing him as either a dedicated teacher who loves his students or someone who wouldn't care about them at all, both fueled by the SAME piece of promotional material. I think the truth lies somewhere inbetween, though you can probably already guess where I lie by just the title.

But also... Either version people are pushing for Anaxa are far more boring than any of the scientists/professors we have currently.

Ratio is a man who will do anything to enlighten others, going to extreme lengths to bring people to what knowledge they can have despite being pushed down by being a mundanite. Despite knowing all too well his limitations but also understanding that those limitations are what make him a person. What makes him actually care about the little guy more than-

Herta is someone who will never be satisfied. Any strides she makes for the galaxy are second to having quelled a curiosity for her. She sees her Aeon as another fascination, another thing to challenge her intellect against and something to quell her curiosity with. She is not entirely without care for human life but enlightening others is a tedium best left to others because she has better things to do with her life. Bigger things. She never actively seeks harm on others unless harm is required for those goals.

Anaxa is kind of what you get (I'm not calling him derivative though) if you take much of that thirst for knowledge, a need to be smarter than others and ruthlessness in that pursuit from Herta but give it to a man who must actually work within the systems he is a part of like Ratio. He does not have unlimited allowance to do as he pleases, though definitely would like that. By his own admission in the promotional material, his goals if he ever got the answers he wanted would be to teach... Without him being there. Tools that catch his interest to make as side projects that would indeed make others smarter but he has NO interest in teaching as his main profession.

Except.

This is where we get into the fact that Anaxa LOVES attention. So much of what people accuse Aglaea of in game is factually TRUE about Anaxa. He wants to be seen as better than others. He has desires for godhood. For complex reasons but still, that is a genuine desire of his. He loves proving other people wrong. Not elevating them, but just proving them wrong as part of proving himself right. This is why he is the Great Performer. Not just because he has to take the stage but because he delights in it. Ratio would not waste that effort with someone because he does not think so highly of himself as to want that role and this is a man who makes literal statues of himself.

And this is without getting into his methods. Now, NONE of the intellectuals in Star Rail save Screwllum are ethical people. They all fuck around with human life to one degree or another. This even extends to characters like Jade or Aglaea. This is not a contest though. What matters here is who he fucks with and how and what that says about his methodology.

We all remember how aghast Hyacine was at Anaxa's secret experiment, right? Even his trusted assistant suddenly had it revealed to her that she was a part of his experiments. That all of the Chrysos Heirs that were his students were being experimented and examined by him to further his own goals. He did not work with them. Never even gave them a clue to his intentions. Never did anything to bring them in on the fact that they were guinea pigs.

That to me is what makes him not interested in being a professor. Ratio can put down his experiments for the sake of trying to make people be less of fools. Anaxa can't. His experiments will ALWAYS come before those he is charged with taking care of and teaching. Reminder: When the Grove was under attack, he opted for getting to the Coreflame and trying to finish his experiment, because he might otherwise lose the chance, than prioritizing saving lives. He regretted those lives that were lost, he avoids harm when it is possible (much like what I said about Herta before) but that doesn't change that he still chose his experiments over those lives.

BUT.

This does not make him a bad character. In fact, it's what makes him interesting. An altruistic teacher who cares for his students? That's fine. A madman scientist who will do anything for his experiments? That's entertaining but can easily become shallow, like if Anaxa just looked down on every member of the Grove who didn't believe in the same things he did. The fact that this debate can be held at all, that he has moments like pushing Phainon to be his best self, is what makes Anaxa interesting. What makes him complex. Almost everyone I've mentioned in this blog has similar elements to them and yet he still feels distinct because of how he wades through this moral morass. His rough edges, his unlikability, is part of what makes him a good character.

If you don't like him though, and I'm not the biggest Anaxa fan, you're likely to not want to give him credit. I've heard someone back to back go "Ruan Mei is a boring, unlikable, one note monster" and then turn around and go "Ratio is great and gets a pass for what he does because he's charismatic," because if you like a character, you are going to give them more credit. You are going to allow their nuances to actually matter. Because if you don't like a character, you're probably not going to want to think about them that hard. You're just gonna want to say they're an unlikable dick.

And there is PLENTY of reasons to call Anaxa an unlikable dick. But he's more than that because HSR has good writing. See you next tale.

======+++++======

It was only putting in the tags that I realized Anaxa's name starts with the same three letters as analysis. smacks self

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

[1intrusivethoughts1]

Fate and all that Jazz

Link to list

Tendou Satori x photographer!reader

chapter info: enemies to lovers, time skip where Tendou is a chocolatier, descriptions of chocolate (I got hungry so it’s a warning), reader is a photographer, gender neutral

Chapter 1

WC: 2.6 k

“Over here, over here!” the bride said excitedly, leading you towards a table.

“Here is where the food and desert are going to be. Feel free to eat, I know some people don’t let the photographers eat, but I do!” she grinned, placing her laced gloved hands together. 

“I appreciate it.” you smiled softly, before her friends came to steal her away. She smiled apologetically before waving at you.

You waved her off and turned towards the table. It was beautiful. The set up and display was carefully thought and planned out, resulting in you raising your camera. The chocolate table was your best interest, it was the best wedding food display you had seen in your career. You shifted your footing, attempting to find the best position. There. That was perfect.

“Uhm, excuse me?” a voice called from behind you, disrupting the perfect shot. You frowned, letting out a sigh as you turned around. Your eyes met a tall man, who sported a red buzz cut. Very interesting…

“Yes?” you responded, not sounding very happy. You let go of your camera to hang from your neck, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I haven’t finished setting up the display yet.” he smiled, holding his plate of chocolates higher to your view. Eyeing the plate for a few seconds, you said a quick apology and stepped away. Your eyes remained on him, traveling to the gloved hand that delicately placed chocolates on the plates. Well, that was a bit embarrassing. Your tone was a bit too harsh for your liking, but it didn’t matter in the end.

He glanced over at you, catching your eye and smiling once you looked away. He placed the last few chocolates and stepped back a bit.

“Impressive, aren’t I?” he said proudly, placing his gloved hands on his hips. Isn’t that a bit unsanitary?

“The display is nice.” you hummed in return, which caused him to grin at you, placing a hand on his chest.

“Only the display? Not the one who made it?”

Although it was a bit embarrassing at first when you totally disregarded the fact that he could’ve been the one making the display, you decided to keep up with it. He was a bit annoying, so it’d only be fair to sass this man back.

“Are you fishing for compliments or something…?” you raised a brow, your lips pressed into a thin line.

He, the ever dramatic person, placed his gloved hand against his heart. Also unsanitary…

“Wow, that hurt! I just want recognition for my greatness.” he frowned, acting like you’d wounded him or something.

“Well, yes the display is great. You do know how to show.” you admitted, fiddling with your camera as you met his eyes. “It might taste terrible, usually if it looks good it tastes mediocre. Just how chocolate is.” you spoke as though you yourself were a chocolatier. You took this moment to raise the camera to eye level, taking a few shots. He’s finished after all.

“Oh, I see~ Is this a challenge? Don’t worry your pretty little head, I have some samples!” he responded with a smirk, triumphantly pulling out a small box, he opened it and motioned it towards you. “Pick one, they’re all good.” he shrugged, trying to hide his buzzing energy.

You looked at him with a judgey look, before dropping your camera to hand around your neck, and grab one with a sigh. If he stops pestering you, then you’ll totally eat one. He watched intently as you popped the mini chocolate into your mouth. You tried to keep your expression emotionless, but honestly it was one of the best chocolates you’ve had The outer shell was just the right amount of bitterness, and inside, was filled with a silky smooth texture, the sweetness perfectly balancing out the bitter outside. Your eyes were slightly wide as you ate it, no longer aware of his prying eyes, smirking slyly as you enjoyed the chocolate.

“Sooooo, how’s my rating? Five star review?” he hummed, removing you from your trance. You hummed, finishing the chocolate before shrugging.

“It was decent, i’ve had better. I’d say a 6/10.” you pursed your lips together, putting on a neutral face. That was one of the fattest lies you’ve ever told someone.

“Liar, that was the face of someone thoroughly enjoying my chocolates.” he pouted, furrowing his brows as he looked down at you, taking a step closer. His voice lowered, almost like he was telling you a secret.

“I’ll just have to bring you some better chocolates next time!” he hummed, dusting off his gloved hands, as if he had finished a hard task. He grinned—he loved a challenge.

Your eyes were mid-roll when something about his expression made you pause. You turned, brows furrowed, as Tendou simply grinned. 

“Next time?” you spoke, your voice holding more bad than good. 

He smiled, man you must really hate him! He laughed softly, bending down a bit.

“Yes, I do believe that we’ll cross paths again. Y’know, fate and all that Jazz.” Tendou grinned, tucking the little box back into one of his pockets. You rolled your eyes at him, taking a step back.

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” you spoke plainly before glancing around, and smiling sweetly.  “Looks like i’ve gotta go, nice seeing you.” you spoke before rushing off, leaving him at the table.

He stood up, placing a hand on his hip as he watched you leave. Oh, he was definitely intrigued, and he was definitely enjoying this. He had that stupid smirk on his face, as he watched you leave, before turning back to rearrange his chocolates. Maybe you’d come back and take more pictures.

You walked around the venue, appreciating how beautiful it was. They were definitely rich, but it made taking pictures easier. The more decorations, the more shots you could take that were satisfactory. You walked alongside the garden, catching a glimpse of the dance beginning. Perfect! Shots of the groom and bride dancing were always gushed at, and motion shots were your speciality.

You smiled as you settled around, moving every now and then to readjust the shot. You found some pretty good shots, and as you zoomed in a bit to the bride, your lips curled into a smile. Perfect. You took a small breath, clicking a few shots. You smiled eagerly, glancing at the photos.

The bride was laughing, bringing out her beautiful smile, and the groom stared lovingly into her eyes. It was so adorable, you smiled as you glanced at the shot. It was perfect.

“That one’s really good.” a voice, no, an annoying voice said from close behind you. You glanced up, and to your dismay you saw that stupid smirk and red buzz cut.

“Shouldn’t you be attending your chocolates?” you asked, not trying to hide the annoyance in your voice. He placed a hand in his chin, as if he was thinking.

“Nahhh, I finished! Done until they start getting empty. Might wanna take pictures before people start eating them.” he suggested with his hands on his hips, and honestly he was right. It wasn’t lunch yet, and once everyone went inside, the beautiful display of chocolates would be ruined. You sighed and shrugged.

“Yeah, I guess.” you hummed, not wanting to give him acknowledgment, or the fact that he was right. After you took a few more pictures of people dancing, you walked toward the building which held all the food. 

What bothered you was that Tendou was following you. Great. This random dude won’t leave you alone, and he’s weird. You tried to ignore him, and once you reached the table you were reminded how nice it looked. You began taking pictures, moving in various positions to create the perfect shot. He simply watched you, not seeming to be bothered when you’d catch his stare. Once you finished you sighed and looked at him.

“Is there a reason you keep hovering over me like a stupid puppy?” you asked, and he laughed at your words. You didn’t think it was funny.

“Not at all, just wanted to see your pictures.” he smiled, eyes studying you. You rolled your eyes, and he seemed to be amused by your attitude. You removed the strap that hung around your neck, and flipped through the images of the chocolate with Tendou watching. He hummed as you got to a certain one, and spoke.

“That one’s really good.” he complimented, you nodded in response, it was the best one in the bunch. You feel him glancing at you, so you met his eyes, raising a brow.

“I just realized, I forgot to ask for your name,  photographer-chan.” he looked at you expectantly.

You couldn’t decide what was worse, him calling you “photographer-chan” or actually telling him your real name. You grimaced at the nickname, and he grinned at your reaction.

“Don’t call me that, it’s stupid.” you huffed, avoiding the question. You pointed your camera elsewhere, strapping it back around your neck and raising it towards your face. You refocused some shots before he continued to talk. 

“I’m Satori Tendou, you should come over to my shop.” he paused, as if he was eyeing you again.

“I’d rather not.” you spoke, your eyes away from him, and focused on the camera. He persisted, and kept talking as if he didn’t even pick up the signals that you were not interested. Can he even take a hint?

“Tell you what, if you take some shots of my shop for some new advertisement, i’ll pay you with some chocolates!” he spoke with a grin, leaning a bit forward next to you. You sighed, putting the camera down and glancing at him. He was stupidly close to your face and you shifted away from him. Jeez, does this dude even know the concept of personal space? It’s like he doesn’t even care.

“Not happening, plus…your chocolates aren’t even good.” you lied, almost smiling in amusement as he placed a hand against his heart, a dramatic look in his face.

“You wound my fragile heart with your words!” he pouted, and you remained indifferent. You glanced at him, placing a hand on your hip. This guy…

“Oh my gosh you’re so annoying.” you mumbled under your breath, averting your eyes from him. Anywhere but him. It’s almost like his actions were embarrassing. He definitely was funny…that’s it though.

You sighed before glancing at him, narrowing your eyes slightly as you pointed a finger at his chest.

“Look, I have a job to do here, and so do you. I don’t want to get a bad rep cause of some random guy.” you huffed, and he seemed to shut up. He looked…intrigued though. Great. So this guy likes getting bashed on? Freaky. He grinned at your words, leaning in. Your finger made contact with his chest from how close he leaned in. Again, no awareness of personal space. Jeez. As he leaned in, you caught a small hint of cocoa. It was strangely addicting, with the combined smell of other flavors like caramel or coffee. You quickly snapped out of those thoughts, his next words bringing you back to reality.

“Where’s the fun in that? Cmon, being boring won’t give you a good reputation either.” he said, almost teasingly. He looked at you like this was fun to him. Grinning with a glint in his eyes you couldn’t quite out your finger on. You moved your hand away, placing a hand on your hip.

“Don’t really care.” you hummed, shrugging. Your eyes found a decent setting for photoshoot, and you left. No goodbye, cause let’s be real, he’ll come back anyway.

Eventually, people started to pile in for food. The food looked incredibly delicious, and by the amount and variety there was, you were sure that these people were filthy rich. Man, you’d probably marry for money too if you got stuff like this! Kidding…mostly. The food consisted of mainly appetizers, but it was insane. There were so many, and the variety was what made it amazing! It ranged from savory appetizers like onigiri, quiches and mini sandwiches to deserts like fruits, chocolate and puddings. It was a great opportunity for pictures. Especially when the food looked great!

Over the few minutes of peace you got, you were able to get some decent shots. The line died down after a grueling 30 minutes, and you were finally able to sit down and eat yourself. The food looked amazing! A voice that called you rather enthusiastically was less amazing. You sighed, turning your head to find someone walking up to you.

Tendou waved his hand at you with a grin, smoothly pulled a chair out to take a seat next to you. Of course he had food. Oh no. Was he expecting to sit next to…you?

“Sorry, the seats taken…” you smiled softly at him, and he shrugged.

“It’s fine, i’ll just warm it up for them while they’re gone. No biggie, I know i’m nice.” he grinned, eating some of his food. His eyes missed the annoyed expression, and glided down to your plate. His grin widened as his eyes met none other than his delicious chocolates. Slowly, his eyes crawled back up to you with a despicable grin.

“Someone liked my chocolates, hm~?” he hummed, leaning against the palm of his hand. You slid your place away, like it’d somehow make the chocolates disappear.

“I’m just hungry.” you half assed an excuse and he just laughed, shaking his head. “Why are you sitting here anyway? There’s so many seats.” you protested, turning your gaze to him.

He simply shrugged, taking another bite of his food which delayed his response. After the comically long pause, he spoke “well, you looked lonely.” Thats it? This guy is driving you insane.

You didn’t protest further. Partially because you didn’t have enough energy, and because you didn’t despise his presence. After dinner, you met up with the brides parents to discuss the photos, because the bride left to their honeymoon. They loved the few photos you showed them, and discussed payment. 

“Thank you so much, it was honestly a pleasure to be here. Have a good night!” you thanked the parents and waved them off before heading back to your car. Tendou was still there, loading up his truck. He shoved the last box in, wiped his hands on his apron, and gave you an obnoxiously big wave. You gave a half-hearted one back, hoping he couldn’t see the ghost of a smile tugging at your lips. He just had to leave the same time as you. It made sense, but you just wanted to be mad at him. Annoyingly persistent till the very end. 

You popped your trunk and started loading your gear, glancing once more at the venue. It had been beautiful—the kind of gig that reminded you why you loved your job. You slung your camera bag over your shoulder, thinking briefly about those photos. The chocolate table. The garden shots. That one candid of the bride laughing like she’d never been happier.

You sat in the driver’s seat, flipping through the camera roll. Your best shot, hands down, was the one with Tendou’s display. Naturally. Of course he would be part of your portfolio now. You sighed, biting your thumbnail as you drafted the email to your boss, attaching the best shots. You’d send that email once you got home, but for now… Your eyes drifted to his truck, his logo on display. Maybe you could search his ship…

For a second, just a second, your fingers hovered over the search button, debating if you should search his shop. Just to, you know, see what it looked like. You rolled your eyes at yourself.

“Absolutely not,” you muttered, shutting your laptop. You’d rather not see him again.

...At least not so soon.

[featherlight-touches]

Still a little Wisp

Zhongli/Venti/Xiao

a/n: I wrote some more wisp venti because the idea wouldn't leave my head and it's fun to write this dynamic - enjoy! 💚

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

Venti, in his wisp form, was a menace.

Zhongli was no stranger to the bard’s antics and carefree personality, but this only seemed to increase when he was such a small creature.

A missing spoon, Venti.

A pen moved, Venti.

The disruption of Zhongli’s peaceful retirement, Venti.

Though despite it all, Zhongli couldn’t seem to send the wisp on his way, to deal with the large world alone. Venti was an old friend, after all. He knew as well, that if the roles were reversed, and Zhongli was in a lesser form, Venti would offer the same help to him.

One evening, Zhongli returned to his abode after a long day’s work and was curious to see how his temporary houseguest had spent the day, praying silently that Venti had decided to not fill his home with treacherous hurricanes.

When walking through the door, instead of destroyed furniture, he was greeted with the sight of the wisp perched upon Adeptus Xiao’s shoulder, munching away at what he could only assume was part of the apple that Xiao held in his ungloved hand.

Xiao’s attention snapped to the open door, and he bowed his head in respect. “Welcome home, Zhongli.”

“Thank you, Xiao. How nice of you to visit again so soon,” Zhongli removed his jacket to place upon the hook situated by the front door. “My thanks to you for keeping Venti company, as well.”

Venti bounced up and down upon Xiao’s shoulder, creating a small jingle sound as his happy chirps greeted Zhongli before he used his tiny hand to gently pull at a strand of Xiao’s hair, indicating that he is ready for another apple slice.  

“It’s hardly anything worthy of your gratitude,” Xiao cut off another tiny piece of apple using a knife and gently held it up to the wisp, who took a huge bite out of it. Xiao had already scolded the little guy for trying to eat a whole slice before, so it explained why the Yaksha watched him intently while he chewed.

“Well, regardless, it’s still appreciated,” Zhongli concluded, checking the house over for any notable damage but was thrilled to find that the house was just how he left it, minus a few objects moved around. “Any insights for this transformation? I have had no luck in deciphering it myself.”

Xiao shook his head, watching Venti happily munch on his apple slice. There were no clear indications as to why Venti chose this form as of late, but this was something they would patiently await the explanation for.  

“No matter, I’m sure the time will come when he is feeling more like himself again.” Zhongli reached out a finger to gently pat the small head, though to Venti, it felt like he was getting smacked with a rock over and over.

He made small chirps of protest and bit down on the imposing finger. Of course, this created no pain whatsoever for Zhongli, but it did stun him for a moment as he stared at this small act of aggression.

Xiao too found himself raising his brows at the sight, watching the wisp hang from Zhongli’s gloved finger by his little mouth latched on to it, emitting some small growls.

“Won’t you join us for dinner, Xiao?” Zhongli asked, having decided that this little tantrum had received enough attention.

“Huh?” Xiao was pulled out of his observation. “Oh. There’s no need to trouble yourself, M- Zhongli.”

“It’s no trouble at all. Why, I even have the ingredients to prepare some Almond Tofu should you wish to have it.”

Xiao found it impossible to refuse and gave a nod of his head. “Then I shall. Thank you.”

“Splendid,” Zhongli smiled which morphed into an amused expression once he looked back down to his hand. “Are you quite finished?”

Venti continued to growl around Zhongli’s finger.

“This is the gratitude I am given for my assistance,” Zhongli sighed, trying to wiggle out of the wisp’s grasp, but it seemed like Venti didn’t plan on letting go. “Come now, Venti.”  

Zhongli lifted his finger upwards, then to the side, then the other side, but Venti seemed to just dangle no matter which way he was held up. He was certain he heard Xiao huff a small laugh at the scene.

“The Anemo Archon,” Zhongli scoffed, though a simple jest as he used his other hand to gently grab onto the wisp, pulling him away. Though Venti seemed to still be latched to the glove, which he started to glide off Zhongli’s finger the more he was pulled away. “Barbatos. Let go.”

The use of his Archon name only increased the tantrum it seemed, as Venti began snarling and rapidly shaking as if fighting with the glove.

“Oh, come now, really?”

Xiao watched intently before balling his ungloved fist around Venti, trapping him in his palm and with a squeeze of his hand around the wisp, Zhongli felt the glove release from Venti’s grasp and managed to pull away at last.

“Thank you.”

“It’s – Ack!”

Zhongli startled at Xiao’s sudden outburst. “Is something the matter?”

“N-No, he…” Xiao cleared his throat, but it was mixed with a breath of laughter as he opened his palm once again. Venti, who wore a mischievously happy grin, had started to wiggle his tiny hands against Xiao’s palm, tickling the Yaksha.

Zhongli blinked at the sudden discovery. Xiao had ticklish palms? How unusual. Though it did bring a small smile to the Geo Archon’s face.

“E-Enough!” Xiao tried to shake Venti away, but he was just as stubbornly attached to Xiao’s hand as he was to Zhongli’s. The wisp made little happy chirps as Xiao began to let out some more quiet laughs.

“What are we going to do with you, Barbatos?” Zhongli sighed, crossing him arms across his chest as he watched the scene unfold. Thankfully, Venti took the bait and stopped to glare his tiny eyes up at Zhongli for using the wrong name again.

Xiao took this opportunity to get revenge on the little wisp and used a finger to tickle at Venti’s tiny body. His happy chirps of laughter rang out as he wiggled around in Xiao’s hand, he hovered upwards and try to fly away but Xiao was quick to give chase.

“Try not to make a mess,” Zhongli chided, heading towards his kitchen area. “I’ll get started on dinner.”

[magiclwritings]

The smile on his lips couldn't be helped. If anything it was because he'd never considered how he would describe what he does for work. Settling down hadn't occurred to him either. Well, not in a truly permeant sense. With another person that was. He had the family home back in the Louisiana and the fishing shack somewhere in the bayou if it hadn't fallen victim to the last hurricane or friendly neighborhood gator. But to truly say out loud what he was, his intentions and truth; that wasn't something he was quite sure he was ready to share. No matter how pretty the blonde.

"I wouldn't worry too much if I were you." He told him rather matter of factly. Because the truth of the matter was, unless you pissed them off there wasn't much need aside from the feed. Occasionally there was a rogue one here or there that needed to actually be slain in the truest sense of the word. It'd been far too long since Flynn had had a kill that satisfying. All he could hope for was that the streak was on it's way to a swift end in the coming weeks. "They don't like to upset the balance of where they're currently shacking up." Flynn gave him a once over, satisficed with the tape and setting of the bandage.

"You'll have to make sure you keep it clean." He told him, gesturing towards it for good measure. His hands balled up the trash left over and he squeezed it all tightly in his hands. Flynn placed his elbows on his knees and leaned in towards Dodger, still inspecting him as if some sort of clue may jump out at him as to the mystery of the hoard of this place but he was either really just that clueless or he was leading him right in to the den with open arms. Both were horrific and nauseating thoughts but somehow still seemed too crazy for a meeting like this upon his arrival but weirder things had happened before.

"If it would make you feel better ..." The words were out before he could stop himself and instead he took to digging those chompers into his lower lip. He'd already started and against his better judgement continued to offer himself to help this man. The weakness for blondes was going to get him killed one day. Perhaps even soon but he had to admit, getting to see this one actually throw a proper punch might do all the right things for him. "I'd be willing to show you a few moves to help protect yourself." He should have added that most of what Flynn could and would teach him, wouldn't really matter in the end. A human without proper training and weapons was no match for a vampire. Especially the ones here if they're as well fed as the one he saw tonight. There was going to be a hell of report for Central after this night. "Maybe not tonight but after you've healed up. Flynn motioned towards his own neck and smiled softly. "Believe it or not, blood is not actually something I am gung ho to see all the time."

Flynn tending to his wounds didn’t hurt. Dodger could only feel the heat of the slayer’s fingers as they brushed against his skin. However, he made sure to wince and close his eyes occasionally, hissing in pain when appropriate. Sometimes, it was hard to remember how to play human. He didn’t technically have to hide who he was unless he was on an assignment like this one. Darian had most of the city council members and police officers paid off, and they left anyone under his rule alone. However, Dodger worked with many humans, so their mannerisms were easy to pick up when he needed them. “I think I’ll go with an overly excited puppy,” Dodger whispered, his head tilted to the side, allowing Flynn easy access to his wound. His eyes quickly found the slayer’s, dipping down to his lips, then back to meet his gaze. “I’m more of a cat person anyways.” 

It was hard not to be mesmerized by the slayer’s movements and his caring nature, which Dodger now saw. No one had ever handled him with such care before, not in his human life, not as a vampire. He wasn’t something fragile, requiring careful hands and longing glances. Every hand laid on him had been born from violence. Sometimes, he feared it was all he had ever known, and maybe that was why Darian had changed him. He saw that in Dodger, recognized it, and needed someone with that nature at his side. Perhaps that was why he had grown so quickly into what he was. 

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” Dodger bit his lip, watching Flynn rip the tape with his teeth. He wanted to feel those teeth on his skin; even more, he wanted to sink his fangs into Flynn. The time for that would come; Dodger had to be patient. He would be patient. There were more pressing things to discuss first. 

“No idea,” He said, brushing his fingers lightly across the bandage covering his neck. “Now that I know, everything makes a lot more sense.” He brought his legs up to his chest, hugging his arms around his calves. Dodger leaned the side of his head against the back of the couch. “So that’s the real reason you’re here? You fight vampires for a living? Is that something someone chooses or…?” Dodger closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. “Sorry, I’m trying not to bombard you, but the only thing I know about vampires is from Twilight, the movies, not the books, and after seeing that guy tonight, I feel I’m not completely up to date on my vampire mythology. I’m trying not to lose my mind, but I don’t even think I could walk down the street anymore and feel safe in this town. I don’t know what to expect. I’ve lived in this town my whole life and don’t know anything about it anymore. I, um,” Dodger bit his lip, willing his eyes to well up with unshed tears. “I’m scared. I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

[cent-scratchnsniff]

something bad did indeed happen to that man. spent abt 25 minutes trying to find a better picture of that one (1) offical piece with his eyes open that wasnt compressed or tiny

[dykedvonte]

I beg people in the MW to think very carefully when they talk about mental illness and physical disability cause it’s not as straight forward and easy to diagnose/depict as you think…

[uncanny-tranny]

The most infuriating form of sanism is this idea that mentally ill people/people with mental disorders are just too stupid or too unenlightened to know how to be a proper, well-adjusted person

So many therapists have ignored signs of my unwellness simply because they assumed I was just... being stupid, and I just needed educating about why I'm acting disordered (apparently, mental disorders stop disordering you once you are condescendingly told why you're just disordered and dumb, who knew (sarcasm)).

Like, I could tell them that I knew my behaviour wasn't "rational," wasn't "reasonable" to do or believe and I'd still be treated like I was so dumb I needed hand-holding and scolding about why I'm acting disordered.

I truly wish that people would be able to take the idea of guidance and stop twisting it into "I am superior and enlightened and the people I am trying to help are stupid and wrong and beneath me!"