#one of the all time books for me idk like ....... yeah .......

[littlestl4mb]

you should make a little blurb about jealous lu!

PS: I love your work you are so cutesie

thank you dear anon!!!! i will put this under the cut because i kinda wrote more than i meant to lol oops

okay so i was thinking about this heavily. at first i thought hmmm luigi doesn’t strike me as the jealous type idk… he’s so intelligent and he’s an engineer so like… you know that mf is as logical and solution-oriented as they come. for better or worse. but then... i thought about it again and i went no YEAH lu definitely gets jealous... i think college lu FOR SURE would. and it drives him mad bc he knows his jealousy is stupid. it’s a foolish feeling, he probably thinks. yet one he can’t shake himself free from. especially when you’re first seeing each other but it’s not completely exclusive yet. when things between you are casual because you’re just getting to know each other?? yeahhhh his brain is going wild 24/7. he can’t stop thinking about you. he can’t stomach the idea of you spending your time with another person that isn’t him. he hates it too because he just knows he’s being too obsessive, that he’s being way too much. he has a lot of self awareness— he knows how to rationalize his heart with his head. but… he can’t stop the compulsive bitterness he feels towards anyone that shows you any sign of affection!!! the hormones just go crazy in that man’s head. he tries to keep a cap on most of his feelings, but when it comes to you it’s nearly impossible. and it only drives him more mad because he’s soooo aware of his jealousy and how futile such a feeling is, but he literally cannot save himself from it. 

he sees you walking down the sidewalk with some guy, and he hates the way his stomach drops. he acknowledges the fact that he has no autonomy over who you see or hang out with, and still he can’t stand it. loathes it. feels so powerless to an emotion that is eating him alive inside and out. the worst part is he kind of knows the guy you’re walking with too. not very well but enough. the kid isn’t even that bad— has exchanged some kind words with luigi before in passing. but all it takes is for the guy to be in the place that luigi has self righteously already claimed as his in his head, and now luigi fucking detests the guy. 

he rants about it to his friends the moment he sees them, “i just don’t fucking get it. the guy has no hobbies. he can’t write. have you seen the books he chooses to read around campus? horrible taste. i don’t see what she sees in him.” — and all his friends are telling him he needs to cool it because it’s out of his control. 

don’t worry though, luigi does not believe in cooling it. in fact, he calls you up on the phone and leaves you a 3 minute long voicemail. he’s not afraid to say how he feels so he lets it all out. he’s telling you how “you’re wasting your time with whatever-his-name-is.” says something like, “does he even do anything? i mean it. does he? at least i started the video game development club.” 

luigi is going OFF in his little voicemail. you listen to the full thing when you’re out of class, generally surprised by how out of the blue it is. the thing is, you didn’t even see luigi earlier when he evidently saw you. he must’ve spotted you and then slipped out of sight immediately.

you have another class to attend to, and not enough time to deal with whatever melt down the man is having. so all you can text him is ‘luigi, he was walking out of class with me and we were talking because we just got put together for a group project.’ it’s the truth too, there wasn’t anything nefarious going on between you two. 

of course, luigi calls you right away. you can’t pick up, but that doesn’t stop him from calling about 5 more times. when he finally sees you later, he probably stands by his word. he’s got too much pride to admit his wrong doing. or the fact that he jumped to conclusions so fast. 

…and then i think once you’re in a proper relationship, the way in which luigi gets jealous shifts. it’s not so much over the simple and stupid stuff. not the silly little things that you get jealous of when you’re young and think you’re the center of the world. when you’re finally exclusive with each other, he has no insecurities that you’re all about him. but … he is a taurus man and every taurus man i’ve ever known is jealous in the most covert way. and in my experience it’s in a very specific way too?? which i would call the “i have to know i’m important in your life” kind of way. 

it’s not so much about being jealous of you hanging out with others. no, in fact he likes that you have your own ways about you and you’re independent. but there’s still a part of him that needs the reassurance that he’s very much important to you. i hope this is making sense. like, he wants to know when you think of him, and he wants you to admit when you’ve missed him. he’d straight up tell you this too. “can you just admit when you think of me? i can’t just know it. i have to hear it in person from you.” 

also, i think he’d have this strange kind of possessive jealousy, where he has to know you through and THROUGH. he has a need to know you as much as humanly possible. he needs to be closer to you than anyone else. he gets jealous and bitter at the thought of others knowing you better than he does.

he’s observant, yes, and knows you that way. but he likes hearing you talk about everything and anything too, so that he can understand you more than anyone else ever has. he needs to know the memory you have of being a little girl and walking down the street, and how the people and buildings were just so tall. something so mundane that you never bothered telling anyone else, he has to have that knowledge like it's a drink of water when he's been walking through the desert for months. and i’m telling you right now— that man wants to know the block you grew up on. he wants to go there by himself and walk down it. he tries to see what you saw as a little girl, wants to see things how you saw them when you were young. thinks that if he does that, he can fathom your thoughts a little better. maybe be able to think your own thoughts himself— that he might know you so well that he becomes a part of you. 

[studiogrimm810]

Agitated

pairings/characters: (pining)dean winchester x gn!reader

summary: you know you're outmatched for a hunt so you call up bobby for some help but instead he sends dean. now you're forced to deal with his cocky attitude and still somehow get this hunt done. this man will be the death of you

warnings: bickering and annoyance, some blood and a fight scene, fadeaway to sex but nothing too graphic

word count: 5,121

A/N: this is a request!!! oh my god i could not stop writing this. i really hope i captured the pure annoyance they have for each other and also framed it into some steamy sexual tension,, idk, lmk how feel about this one!! :):)

———————

This is the worst. The absolute worst. You knew better than to try and go at this hunt alone but you seriously think you’d reconsider if you knew this was the outcome. You got here early, getting a motel room for yourself and eating lunch while waiting for him. Ugh. Him.

There was a nest of at least half a dozen vamps camped out nearby that you’ve been tracking for a while but you’re out of your league here so you called Bobby.

Ah, Bobby. How you loved him. He was quite the mentor for you when you lost your mother. He showed you the ropes, gifted you a car he pieced together on his lot, and offered a listening ear when you needed it. So of course, when you need help, you call him.

Except this time he’s busy so he sends, what he calls his ‘second-best’, Dean fucking Winchester.

God. You had asked if there really wasn’t anyone else he could send but he insisted that Dean was the best he could do. Bobby and Sam apparently were deep into some research for whatever apocalypse they’ve got on their plate now and they could spare Dean for the sake of your safety. Dean needed to hunt anyways, he itched to get back into action.

So now, halfway through rage eating your lunch, you hear the familiar rumble of Dean’s trademark gas-guzzler and plant your face in your hands. If you wanted to successfully complete this hunt then you needed to just take a deep breath and shove aside your irritations.

You finish your lunch and wait for the text or call saying that he’s got a room and is ready to regroup. That call came a lot sooner than expected.

“Hey, Dean,” you greet indifferently.

“Heya, sweetheart,” you can hear his sarcastic smirk and it makes you roll your eyes, “listen, I’ve kinda got a problem here.”

“What?” You try, but fail, to keep the bite out of your voice.

“Motel’s all booked up and the only other one is across town, looks like I’ll have to bunk with you.” God- of course.

“You’re kidding,” you internally groan, biting your tongue.

“Wish I was, sweetheart,” you can hear his own stifled sigh.

“Don’t call me that,” you scold, standing to go to the door and properly greet him. You open the door and he’s leaning against the hood of his car, pocketing his phone and plastering a fake smirk. You’ve noticed he knows how to make you tick. It usually starts as a feigned sweetness but soon sours as you aren’t receptive. He claims he’s trying to keep the peace between you two but you claim he’s full of shit.

“Whatever, princess,” he uses more sarcastically, as if it’s such a high request to ask to be addressed by your own name. “Hope you’ve got the room ‘cause I’m not sleeping on any floors,” Dean states, rounding his car to get his bags out of the trunk.

Fuck. You could shoot yourself if you had the fucking gun.

“Yeah, about that,” you fold your arms over your chest, squinting from the blinding sunlight you’re forced to face to keep looking at him as he moves. Fucking dick.

“No,” Dean demands, his shoulders slacking from lack of effort to keep his bags held. Yep, he’s pissed.

“I never have to share a motel, Dean!” You shrug with an annoyed bitchface. “I’m not all ‘buddy-buddy’ like you and Sam are. I like my privacy.” You squint at him like that’s a dig and not really a chip at your own lonely ego.

“Well I call the bed sweetheart, you can take the couch,” Dean grumbles, scrunching his nose in a mocking manner as he walks past you and into the motel.

Regardless, this was the last room the motel had so it’s not your fault there’s just one bed.

———

“So, you think they’re camped out here?” Dean asks, looking at the map with his arms crossed over his chest. You nod, nibbling on the end of a pen.

“I’ve been tracking them for a while- it’s their kinda hideout,” you add, thinking of different ways to approach this. Dean turns back as if to say something but rolls his eyes at you.

“That’s disgusting,” he points loosely like the oral act isn’t even worth the energy to spotlight.

“Good thing it’s not your pen,” you retort, looking back down at your laptop and refreshing the local news. Dean just scoffs, walking over to the small fridge provided by the motel.

“No beer?” He baffles.

“I’m not an enabler,” you sass, finding it your current life’s mission to kick him at any turn. God, the nerve to come into your room, make his snippy comments at your fidgets, and bash you for not keeping beer on tap like a fucking bartender. You couldn’t wait for this to be over.

“And I’m not an alcoholic.”

Ha, yeah okay.

You scroll around the 3D map on your laptop, looking for different access points of the rundown building but the shitty satellite rendering is too blurry and bubbly to really make anything out.

“Seriously? That’s what you’ve been wasting your time with?” Dean raises a brow.

“I’m checking my bases, Dean, back off,” you groan, leaning back in your chair and rubbing a hand down your face.

“Just sayin’, you’ll get more info first hand, princess, may as well just get on with it,” Dean insists, “not like we have any way to pass the time,” he’s not letting this beer thing go.

“Fine! Let’s just go, guns blazing,” you sit up, scooting back your chair with the force of which you popped up. You go to ruffle through your bag, grabbing a long sleeve shirt to slip over your tank top.

“You’re gonna be cold,” Dean says plainly.

“Shut up,” you shoulder-check him on the way out.

———

The sun is starting to set, casting a beautiful golden haze across the horizon. You two are headed north so thankfully the sun isn’t blinding your peripheral but instead Dean’s.

The drive is quiet other than the hum of some 80s band, or whatever it is Dean is obsessed with, on the radio. It’s weird, you don’t know why your hatred for Dean blossomed so naturally but it just did. Since the second you were disappointed to find that that is who was the sweet Sam Winchesters brother you’ve been irked by just the reminder of his presence.

He probably started it anyway.

The Impala starts to slow as you two come up to the hidden gravel drive for the abandoned building on Dean’s GPS. The rumble of gravel crunching under the tires is a satisfying dig in your ears.

Dean parks the Impala so you two can go the rest of the way on foot. You both gear up and sneak along the tree line until the building is in sight. It’s an old rangers station- blanketed with moss and vines, shards of glass poking out of crunched window frames, entrance doors missing- it looked completely vacant.

“I’m gonna take a wild guess and say your hunch was wrong,” Dean straightens out of his pre-fight stance. You don’t offer him a response, you just step past him to the entrance to see if there’s even a hint of this being the right place.

There’s nothing.

God, how could you be so stupid? You felt a pit of embarrassment swirl its way around your insides. You couldn’t confront Dean right now. You couldn’t deal with his sarcastic quips.

You have to though, you have to face him to get back to the Impala and back to your shared room. This was torture.

What if more people get hurt because you didn’t find the right spot? The longer you sit and stew the more likely that is to be true. You have to just keep your head on straight and find the next lead.

So with that, you spin on your heel and head back to the Impala. “I don’t wanna hear it,” you mumble as you pass him, this time shifting your shoulder out of the way so you don’t bump into him.

You miss the way Dean’s features soften with understanding and guilt and he decides to keep his mouth shut.

The drive back for you was thick with tension. Your mind ran with how to go about the situation next. What lead to follow and what instincts to trust because apparently this one was wrong.

The drive back for Dean, however, was different. He kept the music to a volume he knew wouldn’t bother you as much and he drummed along to the beat on his steering wheel with his fingers casually, hoping the common habit of his will show that he’s not angry and how you shouldn’t blame yourself so much. That even if it feels as detrimental as it does that in reality it’s not a big deal but just a failed lead.

He doesn’t use his words though. He’s offering common decency and not pleasantries.

You’re quick to duck into the motel as soon as the car is in park and recenter yourself at the drawing board.

Dean hesitates, finding it annoying how much you’re beating yourself up over this. He doesn’t know why it bothers him so much. Maybe it’s because he understands the guilt of not being good enough. Maybe it’s because he just doesn’t want to be around some mopey child. Maybe he doesn’t have to know.

“There have been a few disappearances- the last location they were all seen is this bar. Maybe we could start there,” you’re starting to doubt yourself.

“I agree,” Dean nods from behind you. You turn to look at him, a little taken back by his compliance. No shoving and no pushback.

“Really?” You cock a brow, still finding it odd that he hasn’t bashed you more for your screw up earlier.

“Yeah, I think that’s the next step,” Dean repeats, the annoyance of having to do so showing in his tone. You squint slightly as if waiting for him to say something else but he doesn’t.

“Fine, let’s go,” you walk right back out of the room and to the Impala, not bothering with your jacket or keys.

Dean snatches your keys from the kitchen table and locks up the room. You could thank him but why thank him for locking a door? It’s not like he did anything special.

The bar was in the middle of town so the drive consisted of a lot of turns but was still rather swift. You reach for the door knob but Dean stops you.

“What?” You ask defensively.

“That look normal to you?” Dean points, not matching your tone. What is up with him?

You follow his point, finding a couple making out against the side of the brick building. They look drunk and disoriented but nothing too out of the ordinary for a Friday night outside of a bar.

“He’s faking,” Dean adds, keeping his eyes on the couple but taking your silence as confusion. “He’s not drunk.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Watch,” he leans in a little closer to see them from your angle. “When she kisses his neck he loses his ‘daze’. You can see him scan-, there!” He cuts himself off as the man across the parking lot does exactly what Dean is describing. You look a little closer now, seeing a slimy smirk lift the man’s lips as he grabs the woman with a bit more force.

“Dammit,” you mumble, straightening up in your seat a bit. Before either of you can get out of the car in time, the woman is shoved into a nearby truck and the man climbs in after. Dean fires up the engine and follows the truck from a safe distance.

You beat yourself down a bit, wondering how you managed to miss something so clear. You would’ve overlooked them without a second thought and they turned out to be your next lead. Were you really this bad of a hunter? Maybe Dean was right to have such little trust in you.

“How damn cold do you keep this car?” You hound, wrapping your arms over your chest to try and churn some warmth over yourself.

“I told you you’d be cold,” you could hear the eye-roll without even looking at him. You stare out the window, Dean still staying on the truck's tail.

A few moments pass and you continue to ignore him. “God, if you’re gonna pout about it,” he adjusts, grabbing a spare flannel of his from the back seat, “here.”

“I’m not pouting,” you scoff.

“Sure you’re not. Just take it,” he shoves it in your lap and you hesitate to touch it. “I’m not diseased, princess, you can borrow my clothes. Won’t kill ya’.”

“Whatever,” you mumble, grabbing the flannel and slipping it over your arms. The cloth settles over your skin like a warm blanket and you have to force yourself to ignore how much it smells like him. You feel a need to thank him again but seriously, was it really that special or was he just doing the bare minimum? Or perhaps you were too embarrassed to thank him because doing so would admit that you didn’t entirely dread his presence.

Dean glances over to make sure you actually put it on and hasn't discarded one of his favorite flannels- which he would take as an act of war quite frankly- but is a little stunned to see how homey it makes you look. You're practically drowning in the tarp of cloth, but the way it melts with your skin catches his eyes for a bit too long. To see your hair settle over the pattern like a claim makes him want to never look away.

But he has to because he’s driving and just nicked the rumble strips.

“Driving at night is hard, huh?” You tease, “heard it gets that way with old age.”

“Hey! I’m not that much older than you,” he defends, forcing his eyes in the road ahead and the truck to follow. He can’t let himself wonder why you caught his attention so intensely or why he’s itching to look back for another peek.

Finally, after what felt like years to Dean, the truck turns off into a driveway of an older farm house. Dean drives past and parks off the side of the road around a turn where they won’t be spotted.

Now it’s time to really gear up, but this time it’s a little different. Dean finds himself wanting to make extra sure that you’re set and that you have any possible weapon you might need.

“Stay close, don’t split up under any circumstance,” Dean instructs. He hadn’t done that last time and you want to combat him because who is he to tell you what to do? But the wind brushing over you too carries his scent past your nose again and it’s almost like it shuts you up completely. You just nod in response.

The night sky rained over you two, soft pelts of misty rain dampening your clothes and you’re now really starting to feel thankful for the offered flannel, maybe you should’ve said something. But as you near the home, you reckon it’s not the right time to mention a lousy ‘thanks’ for such a simple offer.

Dean picks the lock of the back door and you follow him in, machete in hand. You can hear voices and laughter flowing from what you guess to be the main room. Dean halts right along the door frame, ducking in to count what they’re up against, he holds up 3 fingers to you and you nod.

On his signal, you both pounce.

The fight is brutal on your muscles since you often forget just how strong vamp’s are. The one you’re up against is at least a foot taller than you and is bulkier than is really fair, but you use the advantage of being smaller to slip out of his grasp and decapitate him from behind.

Dean is next to take care of his opponent and now it’s two against one. The vamp comes after you first, probably thinking you’re a quicker target, but Dean intercepts and slams the vamp

against a wall. You take this opportunity to go to the woman from earlier who is huddled in a corner, watching in horror as this happens.

Thankfully, she is physically unharmed and the adrenaline of the situation has burned through the alcohol she had ingested.

“Hey, I’m not gonna hurt you,” you shake your head with arms braced to show you aren’t a threat. “Can you walk?” You ask. She nods. “Good, okay,” you reach over to the pocket of one of the vamps, seeing a set of keys hooked to his belt loop, and hand the keys to her. “The truck outside. Take it and go- now.”

She snatched the keys and bolts. You breathe a breath of relief at how easy it was to get her out of here. You turn to see that Dean is still fighting the creature and you jump to your feet, approaching them. You bring up your weapon but the vamp sees you in time and shoves you hard. You stumble into a dusty china cabinet and hear Dean call your name. The impact rattles through your body but you have to help. You have to.

Getting to your feet takes a moment, but a pained gasp sets you with a fresh rush of adrenaline. The vamp has latched its teeth into Dean’s neck. He’s paralyzed with pain, raspy breaths barely escaping his gaped lips. That’s all the fucking power you need. You ram into the vamp, getting him to unhook his jaw and throwing him to the ground. In the blood drunken haze, you’re able to rid of its head with a quick swipe of your machete.

Dean groans, sliding against the wall and you drop your weapon, running to him.

“Hey-, you’re okay,” you speak before you have enough evidence to believe it. “You with me?”

“Y-Yeah,” he pants, his head going slack on the side he wasn’t bitten. It’s deep.

“Okay, hold on,” you say, reaching down to rip off a good portion of your shirt to cover the bleeding. He reaches out to stop you. “Don’t worry, it’s not your precious flannel I’m tearing up,” you actually joke. Not as a mock or tease but as an actual joke that you smile for to show your lightheartedness.

“With you? I’d never know what to believe,” he comes back. He doesn’t seem to have enough energy to smile but you can tell the initial joke was receptive.

He hisses as you press the cloth against his wound, your other hand cupping his cheek to keep him in place. His intense screw of pain seems to melt a bit under your touch.

“We gotta get you outta here, big guy,” you pat his cheek lightly, trying to keep him present. “How dizzy you are, can you walk?” You ask, unsure of how much blood he’s lost.

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry ‘bout me, sweetheart,” he slurs. Dumbass.

“You’re so fucking stubborn,” you huff, removing your free hand to grab his own hand. You swear he whined when you did so, but it was so quiet and could’ve been excused as a draw of pain. “Hold tight, okay?” You instruct. You knew if he had enough energy he would be batting you away and demanding he knew how to handle a wound like this and it almost worries you that he’s not. “C’mon,” you snake your arm around his back, lifting him the best you can and thankfully he works with you. You’re really gonna have to start saying your thanks out loud.

You lead him out the front door and curse as the rain has picked up. You can’t walk him through this- between the blood loss and getting wet, he’ll freeze. You set him in a semi-stable looking chair and use your hands to steady his face. The reaction he gives you when your skin lands on his stirs a curiosity in you.

“Wait here, keep applying pressure, I’m gonna get the car,” you enunciate so he can really hear you.

“Ain’t no way in hell I’m letting you drive my baby,” he slurs but you're already fishing through his leather jacket pockets.

“Try and stop me, pretty boy,” you say it as a tease- reprimand for the nicknames he’s bugged you with- but it rolls off your tongue with more meaning than you intended.

He doesn’t fight you as you head off to the hidden location of the Impala. The rain drenched you quickly but you don’t let that slow you down. Dean needs you.

Dean would fight more- he really would. If this were a situation where you needed him or Sammy needed him, he could fight past the haze of blood loss. He could drive his own damn car to safety. If he really needed to, he’s sure his body could supply enough adrenaline to power him through his own petty pain. But that’s just it. He doesn’t need to, and in all reality he can’t but it’s just that if he convinces himself that he’s choosing to let you take care of him then that’s less embarrassing then failing you.

He forces on his consciousness, waiting for the familiar growl of his precious Baby. His chariot to take him far from here and to shelter him in times of need.

And there it is.

He peels his eyes open enough to see you emerge for his car and goddamn. Your clothes are wet and stuck against your skin- his flannel hugging your torso like he should be. To see you in his clothes and in the driver's seat of his car is enough to feel his heart stutter.

“Let’s get you situated,” you announce, slipping your arm to its previous hold around his body. He stands with more strength now and you feel your worry dampen. Dean doesn’t argue and doesn’t make a comment about you driving his car again but he does mumble something about you letting him get in the car by himself so you can get out of the rain. You don’t listen and it ignites the familiar burn of anger in his chest that he’s actually used to with you.

After making sure he’s settled, you close his door and round back to the driver's side, pulling out of the driveway and carefully navigating through the foggy rain and back to the motel.

Light conversation buzzes between you in a primary attempt to keep him awake but also a secondary want to continue to just chat. You’ve never really just talked with him like this before. When you first met, he was quick to flirt and when you weren’t receptive you assumed he took it to heart and turned cold on you. You don’t recognize that Dean right now in the slightest.

He’s able to walk by himself by the time you make it back to the motel. He stumbles out of the car in a stubborn attempt to prove such but you remind him that just because he technically can doesn’t mean he should be expected to. He doesn’t mention how much your statement actually resonates with him.

“Sit,” you instruct, placing him on the king bed that reminds you of your sleeping arrangements. It’s a subtle irk but not enough for you to dwell on again, you have bigger problems to deal with at present. You grab your first aid kit and shuffle through the items and get to work.

The heat is blasting and you managed to get a towel to wrap around his damp frame to keep him from shivering but he’s also got enough energy to combat you, so now you’ve ended up with the towel around your shoulders.

“How’re you feeling?” You ask as you pour the disinfectant over the wound. He hisses but answers the distraction in the form of a question.

“Fine, sweetheart, don’t worry about me,” he says in his usual gruff. No longer slurring. Progress.

“Too late,” you murmur, cleaning the stained blood.

“Awe, someone starting to care? Who gave you a heart?” Dean smirks. You don’t entertain the usual banter.

“You could’ve died,” the words pass your lips with a slight waver. You dry the wound, starting to dress it.

“But I didn’t,” Dean reminds, his eyes watching yours for any hint as to why you got so freaked.

“Yeah,” you say out of obligation and not belief.

“Hey,” he reaches up to stop your working hands and when you don’t meet his gaze and calls your name. “I’m okay,” he repeats once your eyes meet his- you couldn’t help yourself with the way your name sounded on his tongue. “I’ve survived a lot worse.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“It’s meant to.”

You sigh, looking down at his hands around your own now idle ones.

“Okay,” you finally agree, hoping the false belief will settle your nerves enough.

“It’s gonna take a lot more than that to get rid of me,” he jokes with a smirk, “you know how persistent I can be,” he winks and you roll your eyes even if his wink bubbles something in you that’s never been effected by him like that before.

“Shut up and let me finish this,” you push aside his hold and secure the bandage to his skin. After packing back up the kit you start to stand but Dean stops you. His hand grips your wrist gently but the gravity of something not physical pulls you against your will. His lips part like he wants to say something but he doesn’t. He almost looks ashamed as he drops his hold on you like it’s burned him.

“What?” you ask, your voice a whisper.

“Nothin’, sorry,” he shakes his head, averting his gaze.

“You can tell me,” it’s not something you’d ever expect to offer but you can quite help yourself when he looks so pathetic.

“We should get into some dry clothes.”

“Yeah, sure,” you agree, knowing that’s not what he was talking about but accepting it as it is. You grab your bag and get out some comfortable clothes for sleep. You excuse yourself to the bathroom but curse at the broken latch.

“No peeking,” you warn after alerting Dean to the issue and he just scoffs a smirk.

“No promises.” And fuck, he’s glad he didn’t make it because through the crack he catches a glimpse of your shimmering skin as you dry off and replace your outfit with a pair of sleep shorts and a way too big shirt. He admires the cozy feel your clothes give you. As you exit the bathroom he clears his throat and busies himself with getting his bed ready on the couch.

“What’re you doing?” You ask as he lays a blanket over the couch.

“Getting ready for bed,” he says as if it’s a stupid question.

“We can share a bed, Dean, it won’t kill ya,” you use his own remark from earlier against him. You don’t know why he’s suddenly so docile. You worry maybe the injury burned him of his usual spark. “Seriously, don’t make me watch you sleep crunched up on that couch,” you insist.

“Fine,” he subsides, making his way back over to you and the bed. You start to crawl under the covers, sticking to your side but the radiating heat of how close he is makes you want to scooch closer.

“Night, Dean,” you say as he flicks the lamp off but he’s quiet and unmoving, like he has some sort of unfinished business. You push yourself up on your elbow and look back at him sitting on the edge of the bed. “Okay seriously, what’s up with you?”

No response.

“Dean?”

He sighs, turning to look back at you as well. His profile is illuminated by the moonlight pouring in from a split in the curtains.

“Thank you,” his voice is small like you’ve never expected he was capable of. You sit up fully, turning to him with your legs folded.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you shake your head, a small smile pulling up your lips. He doesn’t return the expression.

“You’re a good hunter, yaknow,” he compliments like he won’t get another chance to tell you so. You smile a bit bigger.

“Dean Winchester, did you just flatter me?” You tease.

“You’re strong and resilient,” he continues and your smile falters a bit due to your confusion. “Stubborn and a pain in my ass,” his expression remains a softened yearn. “I never knew why you got to me so damn  bad. You’re smart and funny and captivating,” he snaps his jaw like he crossed a line and his cheeks flush. “I- I think I know now,” he finishes after a beat.

“Know what?” You ask, your heart puttering in your chest.

“Why I can’t get you off my mind,” his eyes dip down to your lips, “why, no matter what I do, I can’t forget you,” he looks so pained. So conflicted.

It hits. It all hits. His helpful offerings, your banter, the way he responded to your touch, and the way you felt yourself reciprocating his apparent feelings.

You lean in, you can’t help it, he’s so beautiful in this light- the way his eyes sparkle under it- but he tenses as you get too close so you halt.

“What are you afraid of?” You ask with a simple head tilt.

“I uh-, haven’t got that one worked out just yet,” he scoffs simply and his smile forces a small one of your own.

“Then just shut up for a minute,” you shake your head, leaning in and placing a soft kiss against his lips. It’s almost a ghost of a kiss but you can feel the emotion he funnels into it. He’s soft and gentle at first but his desperation takes over, leading the kiss through a dizzying spiral as he guides you into the mattress, hovering over you and encapsulating you with his radiating heat.

He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stop kissing you until you’re unsure where your clothes have ended up. He doesn’t stop kissing you until you forget your own name. He doesn’t stop kissing you until your breathless pants slow from your high.

And when all is said and done, he doesn’t stop holding you through the night until the warmth of the sun blesses your exposed skin.

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

>tags: @blossomingorchids @areswasneverhere

[satyricplotter]

kori x reader x dick 🤨🤨???!!!!!!!!? 🤲🤲🤲🤲 pls give it to me

here u go boss 🫡🫡

pairing: dick grayson x koriand'r x reader word count: 3k wtf rating: explicit warnings and tags: mentioned human trafficking ring + sleazy men involved appear briefly, misogyny from said men, drugs mentioned, reader is kept gender neutral but they have a pussy and i mention a chest spilling over, kori tops reader 👍, implied established polyamorous relationship notes: this got out of my hands like five times and if i didn't cut it there idk where it would've ended up. i also wrote a whole backstory for kori and reader that didnt make the cut jfshafdjs

Dick comes home late that night from work.

A hard day at work, if he does say so himself, though pushing around papers is hardly what anyone at the tower would call difficult. No, what's hard is all the posturing, the pretending Dick has to do in order not to blow his cover. He and his team have spent the last month infiltrating a company seemingly involved in a human trafficking ring, trying to dig up evidence on the men financing it. Dick's background means he's gotten stuck playing the part of young master trying his hand at accruing his own wealth through fast, if unsavory, methods, which means he's the one dealing most closely with the possible culprits. They seem to like him so far (eugh), and they're not shy about their exploits, which means the team's on the right track. But it also means that every night he clocks out, when the smoke of the cigars burns his throat and their booming laughter grates in his ears so badly he can feel it in his teeth, he can't help but wish someone had invented decontamination showers for after wading through moral filth.

They hoot and laugh when he gives his excuses, holler about him being pussy-whipped and won't he let them take that little foreign model of his for a ride, and Dick has to throw his head back and laugh instead of crushing their windpipe in his hand. He imagines it vividly, however, and that makes his fake glee a little sharper. Perhaps this is what does it.

"As if I'd ever let you lay a hand on my woman, Stevie," he snorts, and for once he means something he says within these walls. "I can tell you've got a heavy one."

"Damn right he does!" Someone laughs.

"I wouldn't do that with yours," Stevie insists, a little too brightly. Whatever they'd been snorting in the bathroom earlier is running his course through him. "I can tell she's good quality—a real T10. Not like the others."

Dick tilts his head, seemingly confused. T10—that's code. Tier 10s are the people they sell at the closed auctions for the elite. The man next to Stevie shoves him at the shoulder, displeased, and Stevie half sobers. Dick raises an eyebrow at the man—Fred is his name, he thinks.

"You know Stevie," Fred says, winding an arm around Stevie's neck and pressing his face to his shoulder. Stevie coughs, but if the mild asphyxiation bothers him, he doesn't make any other sound. The atmosphere's a little gelid now. "Can't trust what he says."

"Mm. That's still my wife he's going off about," Dick says coldly. That seems like the move. Fred's sizing him up.

"Of course." Fred smiles widely. His teeth are perfect. He grabs the back of Stevie's head and pulls it up so he's looking up at Dick, pupils blown wide. Dick can only hope he doesn't pee his pants. The day's been long enough. "You wanna say sorry, Steve?"

"S'rry," Stevie slurs.

Dick rolls his eyes. "Whatever. Keep him in check."

He turns to leave, not hiding this time how miffed he is as he gathers his jacket from the valet, and has almost given up on this interaction when Fred calls his name. Dick looks over his shoulder, impatient.

"You should stick around after work tomorrow," Fred says pleasantly. Eyes carefully bland. "Stevie and I will show you a little something to make up for today, yeah?"

Gotcha.

Dick shrugs, appeased. "Sure thing," he says, and books it back home.

Doing undercover work has a few upsides. The first of which is he doesn't run into anybody as he makes his way to the high rise apartment he's been leasing for him and Kori. The penthouse takes the whole floor, and nobody stays there past six on Dick's orders, so he doesn't have to worry about dropping his suit jacket on the floor, hanging his tie from a sconce as he goes. His dress shoes end up somewhere behind him, each in different places, and he's rolling up his sleeves, unbuttoning his shirt as he rounds the corner to the kitchen. Hanging out with these dudes always makes him feel filthy, and he can't wait to make use of the massive bathtub in the master bathroom. Second upside.

Here's the third:

Kori looks up at him, a beautiful, broad smile breaking on her face. "Hi, baby!"

She's dressed very prettily today. Her thick mane of fiery hair is gathered high in a pony, the visor she'd been wearing earlier in the morning nowhere to be seen. She'd switched the polo for a tank top that Dick eyes appreciatively for how low it sits on her chest, but she'd kept her tennis skirt and high socks on. The skirt, a beautiful baby pink, is pulled up enough by the movement of her hips that Dick can see the the straps of her harness peeking under the fabric. Pink to match.

You, in contrast, are wearing nothing. Bent over the kitchen island, hands clawing at the other edge, your face contorts in a dry sob as Kori drives her hips into yours, relentless. Dick can tell you've been at this for a while. Kori smooths a hand over your lower back, happily loving, and you make the weak effort to pull yourself to your elbows. This regales Dick with a glimpse of your chest, spilling over the marble and covered in little bruises. Experience means he can picture Kori pressing her glossy mouth to your skin, your brows knotting as she sucks, how you cradle her head in your arms like she's something precious. He imagines you held her there against you, trying to keep her entertained until Kori's patience ran out and she abandoned diner for a bite of you.

Dick admires the vision the two of you make, watching Kori bend over your body to press a kiss to your shoulder and then bite down over the same spot. The jostling must make the strap go deeper because you keen and kick your legs a little. Kori laughs, pets your hair, turns her face to Dick with a mischievous grin in her face. Dick's heart flutters a storm.

"Pretty, right?" She says proudly.

"Kori," you gasp, bending your arm back to grab at her. Kori grips your hand in hers, presses a kiss against it. "Ko—ah! Kori!"

Kori nuzzles against your neck. "More?"

Dick thinks it's quite the opposite—you look so spent—but then, like always, you go against his expectations. You nod, once, twice, in quick succession, altogether too desperately for someone who Dick is sure has to have come at least three times so far tonight. His mouth feels dry. Kori smiles again, and straightens up. She grips your hips, lithe fingers digging into the fat at your sides, and pulls out almost entirely. The strap is big, Starfire purple glossy with your slick. Kori smirks down at your lower back and slams back in. You cry out, head lolling down. Dick wants—wants to be there, to bite the flesh that spills over between them, wants to kiss Kori's knuckles, wants to join the both of you.

So he does. That's the easy thing about this. After all the hardship, he gets to join you.

He finishes unbuttoning his shirt but doesn't remove it. You like to take it off yourself, he remembers, though he doubts you'll have the strength. He walks over to Kori's side, heat simmering low in his belly. She perks up when she sees him approach, already leaning over you when he gets to her. Dick grins into the welcome kiss, taking Kori's face in his and licking into her mouth. Kori's response is immediate and enthusiastic, almost forceful—happy to see him. Happy to be with him. Dick's heart hammers in his chest. She makes him feel like a boy.

He tilts Kori's head back, fingers slotting under her jaw. Kori opens up with little resistance, going easy and pliant. Long gone is the taste of her lipstick, and instead all that remains is the familiar taste of Kori, a drink he would walk a desert for, and underneath, just a little bit of you. Dick chases the fading hint of your presence, the salt of your skin, the sweetness of your mouth, not to replace it with his own but to greet it. He is, perhaps, a little too forceful, but Kori moans when a hint of teeth makes its presence, and Dick likes the sound so much he feels his control slipping, trying desperately to be close, closer—

You whine beneath them. Kori hasn't exactly stopped, but the pace's all over the place and you clearly resent it. Dick breaks the kiss, forehead against Kori's, and they both chuckle. Glancing down, he sees you try to fuck yourself back onto the strap.

"That's hot," he says, voice thick.

Kori laughs, slaps him on the shoulder. "You're being a distraction."

"Sorry," he says, charming smile dancing in his face. "Let me watch?"

This close, the view is certainly engaging. Kori puts in a bit of flair for his benefit, drawing back a little so he can see the way her strap splits you apart. Dick holds up her skirt, peers down as she rocks into you in shallow, quick bursts. You're obscenely wet, folds glistening and fluttering around her. You hang your head down, a litany of Kori, Kori spilling out your mouth. The sticky film of your release webs over the strap as she pulls out and Dick knows Kori hasn't pulled out entirely since she first slid into you. If she didn't start fucking you here, then she must've carried you over here, the one place in the whole apartment where she could bend you over and have you teetering on your tiptoes. The strain on your legs means he'll have to massage them later and he feels himself throb with the thought of his hands on you.

Watching is a treat. Listening is almost better. You're never loud, at the beginning. All this began in shadowed corners and far off alcoves, hiding first from each other and then from everyone else. You're accustomed to reeling it in, not showing a reaction—the first few months of your relationship consisted of heated glances, passing brushes, and wandering hands under tables. Perhaps Dick and Kori did you a disservice, pulling you against shelves and pressing a hand over your mouth, enjoying far too much the way your eyes rolled back when your moans melted against their skin.

But if they work you enough, you stop caring. You let out your voice like you're doing now, a litany of delirious thought broken by choked moaning. He likes this about you, the way you always want to respond, to show that you're present. You fight so hard to be here with them. Kori shuffles on her feet, thinks better of it, and reaches down to grab one of your calves and fold your leg over the counter. You're halfway to falling, knuckles tight gripping onto the edge, and this new angle opens you up marvelously. Dick is hard as a rock and has to palm himself over his slacks not to lose it. He wants to taste. He wants to be inside you. He can barely form a thought.

You sob. It's real tears now. He feels lightheaded.

Kori presses deep and then goes almost all the way out, teasing. The flesh of your ass bounces when she thrusts back in, chasing you off the counter. Dick watches it jiggle, throbs in his pants. He reaches out, big hand splayed over a cheek, careful that his watch doesn't nick at your skin. Hm. Spreads you open a little more. His thumb rubs a little at your entrance, but Kori growls at him for butting in, and Dick moves his finger upward, to the little pucker there. You don't do this often, preferring to take them by turns, but he thinks…

He circles the rim, and then presses in. Just a little.

"Ah—!" You gasp, head thrown back. "Wait—ah!"

Mm. Dick thinks, throat thick with hunger. Maybe later.

"You said you were only going to watch," Kori chides. Might as well have told him to wait his turn.

Dick rolls his eyes, but acquiesces. Removes his thumb from your ass, not without a little squeeze, kisses Kori in the cheek and rounds the corner to the other side of the island.

You're holding on for dear life. Someone had the sense to take the spoon jar out of the way, but with the kitchen island empty, you have very little in which to find purchase. Dick approaches you slowly, carefully, so as not to spook you. He knows you're probably not all there right now. He settles in front of you, a move he imagines only seems to you as a shadow falling over you. You lift your head up, blinking out tears. This close he can see how wrecked you are. He moves into your space, cradling your face in his hands.

"Dick?" You croak. Your eyelashes stick together. Your cheeks are hot under his hands.

"Hello, sweetheart," he says.

"You're home," you say, moving as if to reach for him, but afraid to fall.

"I am," he hums. A wave of overwhelming affection passes over him. "Do you want a kiss?"

You nod obediently. Dick moves to kiss you, sweet and languid. You open up to him just as easily as Kori did, and Dick wonders at his luck, but he doesn't push you. He pulls back, strokes his thumbs over your cheeks. You close your eyes, and he presses a kiss to your eyelids, to your forehead, tilts your face and another to your cheek. You take his sweetness with a little gasp, and then return to search for his mouth.

The kiss lasts only a little, as you slip and have to grab onto his shoulders not to crash against the marble. Dick settles you against his chest, angles you so Kori can ram into you the way she likes it. Kori's really into it now, eyes closed, brows knotted. You grasp onto the front of his shirt, hide your face in the juncture of his neck. My sweet angel, he thinks, and kisses the top of your hair.

"You like it when Kori fucks you?" He asks, a whisper at your ear. Kori can probably hear, but he keeps his voice low anyway. You whine into his neck. Dick smooths a hand over the back of your hair. "You like it?"

"I— nhg—do," you struggle.

"It's good?" He strokes your temple. "Kori's cock is good, huh?"

You nod. "S'good." Your brow furrows, but there's a worrisome quality to it.

"Yeah?" Dick prompts.

"You—fuck, nh—you wanna…?" You trail off, but it's clear you're offering him to go next with Kori. Dick smiles, almost giggles. It's so like you to offer.

"I wanna see you cum," he says. The way you shiver against him tells him not only how you feel about that, but also that you're close. He rests his hand at your nape, holds you in place. "Want you in my arms, wanna feel you spasm against me. You look so good like this, do you know? I bet you feel amazing. Can't wait to be inside you."

"Want you too," you pant, legs spreading open just a little more. Like you'd take him too if he wanted to slip it in. Dick manages not to hump the island, but it's a very near thing. He has to kiss you, though. It's a sloppy kiss, a wet slide of mouths that turns into Dick swallowing the pretty sounds you make.

"You're gonna cum for me, right?" He says, petting your hair. He feels you tense in his arms, sees Kori piston into you in response. "You're gonna cum for me so I can taste it?"

"Dick, Dick—," you gasp, digging your nails into his shoulders. "I'm gonna—Kori, I'm—"

You come with a little whimper, a garbled mix of both their names in your mouth. Kori fucks you through it, while Dick smooths a hand down your back and presses kisses against your forehead. Enviable teamwork. Slowly, he feels your breath even out, and you pull yourself up and off him just a little. Coming back to yourself. Dick still hovers. You almost slump back against him when Kori finally, finally slips out of you.

"Good?" He says, stroking your shoulder. You nod. He smirks as he helps you cross your legs over to this side of the island. "Started early today, huh?"

"You were late," you say peevishly, taking care not to fall. "Are you gonna take a bath now?"

"What a polite way to say I smell."

"You do," Kori says, bouncing over to your side. You open your arms automatically, and she nuzzles against you like a happy kitten.

She hasn't taken the harness off, so it's a little funny. The hem of her skirt is wet with your release, which is a little less funny. In fact, seeing the two of you kiss, so sweet and pretty, the less funny it all feels. He's still so fucking hard in his pants he's a little surprised there isn't a wet spot through his boxers. He sticks to your other side, trades a few kisses with you and Kori and you again.

When his hand sneaks towards your clit, you part with Kori and smack his hand in irritation. "Let me catch my breath, won't you?"

"You said you'd let me taste you," he complains.

"You can have a taste," Kori says, pointing down at the strap hanging from her harness, still covered in your cum. The three of you share a look.

You cross your legs expectantly. Dick swallows.

"Guess the bath will take a little longer."

He sinks to his knees.

[lastofthewardens]

i know i should respect other people’s opinions but

probably (but unconfirmed) spoilers for born again below

i get so tired of hearing some of these stupid arguments about what this new show is doing to foggy.

“it’s never happened before, that makes it interesting!”

“where are the stakes in a fake death? if he dies he should stay dead.”

“they had to build stakes!”

“it’ll be interesting for matt’s character.”

“he died in the comics so it’s fine!”

like none of these people make any sense to me. just because it’s something ‘new’ doesn’t make it good. foggy being dead, EVER but especially in episode one, isn’t a good thing for the show. none of the other characters are or should be interchangeable with foggy nelson. by having him immediately gone, the show loses a dynamic it can never replicate, the show loses a bunch of stories they could’ve adapted, matt loses a relationship that can’t be filled by any of the other characters, one that makes the daredevil world much richer by being there. the “who cares if they kill foggy as long as the story is good” people drive me fucking crazy man. i’d never agree with that anyway because almost any daredevil story would be objectively worse without him but they’re also not thinking long term at all. this decision already sucks, but long term, this decision sucks even more.

and the stakes stuff is like.. i’m pretty sure most of the people who fought for this show to come back did not want it like this. why should foggy nelson, the most important side character in daredevil history, die on the altar of building stakes anyway? are they such horrible writers that the only way to build stakes is killing a main character? i even saw one of these ‘stakes’ people saying that the original show could’ve killed him too, they thought he was going to die multiple times in season 3 apparently, and it’s like … okay??? so you’re admitting the original show created stakes without killing off either foggy or karen? wow it’s almost like good writers can create stakes without losing lore important characters! i don’t believe the original show would’ve killed foggy ever. but also despite what has been said, this show isn’t even one that needed to come back with a big death to get people talking. this show would’ve been wildly successful just by existing off the original show’s reputation.

and then the whole thing about dying in the comics. these people definitely haven’t picked up a comic book in their life lol. they’re always referring to zd*rsky, and they always dishonestly leave out the fact that it was obviously not going to stick and it didn’t. like really? yeah foggy was totally going to be left in hell, for sure. not to mention that by the time you find out he died this gets resolved by him being saved from hell by matt literally i think five issues later??? in wildly dramatic fashion. so foggy ‘dying in the comics’ is just a completely dishonest framing of events. because it’s like yes but also basically no.

also like.. sure it might be interesting to see a matt who thinks foggy is dead. you can do that without ACTUAL DEATH???? the idea that it has to be real to be interesting is stupid. brubaker did this super well without permanent loss. i don’t know why we need it to be worse than that for it to be interesting.

idk maybe i’m crazy, but i’m so tired of these types of comments. matt is my favorite character, it’s his show, but he isn’t the only character that matters, and matt as a character needs foggy anyway. not any other character in his place. foggy nelson.

whatever. people watching this show seem to care way too much about the wrong things.

[youdontknowhowtodiequietly]

@aurisartblog (it won't let me tag you??? for some reason???) i saw you asking for elaboration in the comments but idk how long my response would be and i despise typing under comments (it's just so squished - don't ask) so here ya go!

TW! Spoilers for TGR (I will only be talking about things I picked up in this book because I did not annotate TSC), mentions of SA, because, of course there is, it's these two.

To start off with: Jean is so aggressively loyal.

BUT

His aggression and violence is controlled. Idk if you saw the post someone made about Andrew never being out of control, even when others think he is, and I 100% stand by that and it's the same thing with Jean. We all saw how controlled he has been with everything - the game, practices, when ppl piss him off in general - but when it comes time where that aggression is needed to protect his people, it comes out in a measured dose that doesn't intend to seriously harm, but to get someone to back down. Like how a dog will give you a nip, or a cat will swat at you, to get you to back off? Yeah, like that.

Which leads me onto the dog thing.

Now, we're all aware of how Andrew is referred to as Kevin's guard dog, or something of the likes, with the leash and other metaphors. Well, Jean's is not so outwardly named, but he does display dog-like behaviours - especially an obedient one, even if that obedience has been abused into him.

For example, on page 13/14 (Kindle): "As usual, Jean finished first and went to wait on the bench near Jeremy’s locker." Tell me that is not a dog waiting obediently for its "owner" (not saying at all that Jeremy owns him, he does not, but Kevin did not own Andrew, so...) And going back to the whole control thing? If Jeremy said "bite", Jean would. It is Jeremy (and Rhemann, and his contract, but mainly Jeremy and Jean's fear of disappointing him) that keeps Jean at bay (most of the time - technically with Bryson Jeremy didn't say "go" but he also didn't put up much of a protest. I'm sure if Jeremy had been more confident and less afraid of his brother, he could have stopped Jean. But also, sometimes a guard dog will bite even if it isn't told to if it's owner(s) are in danger, and Jeremy and Laila were).

Another quote, which kind of made me really think "hmm, this guy is kind of a parallel to Andrew!" is one quote on page 335: "It makes you more interesting" after Jeremy insults the Bobcats. And quote on page 226 "Stop looking at me like that." (though I didn't realise how Andrew-like it was until I started writing this) are both almost exact copies of what Andrew has said - I think Andrew says "Interesting" to Neil once in the first trilogy? But I haven't read the books in yonks.

Also, just, the poker faces (though Jean's is less "I'm bored" and more, "I could not care less about anything going on"), how they're both so accepting yet filled with rage at what has happened to them (e.g., page 350 "I don’t care. It doesn’t matter. Then why did he want to scream until his throat bled?").

The fact that they are both victims of rape, yet believe that they would never get a true prosecution for their abusers (I'm sure that's why Andrew never spoke out, not just because he was trying to move on, but he knows how low the rates are of rapists getting prosecuted for women, and he no doubt made the connection that it would be even less between two men, even if it was CSA), and Jean doesn't really express this but I'm sure it's a thought.

And I don't doubt Andrew struggled to come to terms with his sexuality after everything that happened to him, and though it isn't the same as what happened to Jean, his struggle with his own attraction is similar.

If we were to get a POV of Andrew, and I were to read TSC again, I would probably be able to make more comparisons.

I hope you enjoyed anyways, and feel free to add to this if you wanna (anyone, btw, not just the person I tagged and am replying to) and sorry if it's a little incoherent, most of my posts usually are lmao.

everyone talks about the parallels between jean and neil, the misplaced forever partners, but no one talks about the parallels between jean and andrew

[egophiliac]

don't think I'm not still obsessing over 7-12

[welcometogrouchland]

my Stephanie Brown hot take is that she should get mad bitches now that she's single in comics. Yes yes shipping BUT the one time she had sex she was punished by the narrative via teen pregnancy. I think she should be allowed to have as much sex as she wants with zero consequences. Could be a lot of sex, could be a little. Point is she should get to do it without getting narratively baby trapped this time. she should get them pregnant, actually.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

cant stop thinkin bout charles and erik readin together on the couch but instead of reading with him charles is listening to eriks thoughts while he reads. Live mind commentary ……..

[itspileofgoodthings]

ALSO I am learning how to teach very introverted students, something my natural skillset as a teacher does not help me with.

[dcminions]

SEVEN DAYS IN JUNE   ,  TIA WILLIAMS  .

[batsplat]

casey is obvs funny with this rivalry stuff because on the one hand he's very 'well I don't care who I beat' (lie) and 'I don't motivate myself using my rivals' (also a lie) and then he's also repeatedly emphasising that valentino was ONE of his biggest rivals and he only competed against him a few years... like a lil side quest in the story of his career. Those Few Years where valentino was his big rival. whereas dani and jorge were his cohort so he did compete with them for a greater span of time... and this is technically true and does MATTER but it is also extremely noticeable in his output which rivalry he has the most thoughts about. and yes casey would say that this is because everyone ELSE cares the most about That One Rivalry the most and also his opponent being an annoying dickhead means it's the one he has the most complaints about... but at a certain point, it doesn't really matter, because there's still one rivalry you're talking about way more than any other. you can tell that he's at least given jorge's interiority a bit of thought, kinda went 'well he was arrogant but also Learnt From The Error Of His Ways and was maybe misunderstood so' -- but also he's not going beyond that, he's not examining jorge's soul, and he's not even doing any of that with dani. it's very much a rhetorical commitment to those other two rivalries. ultimately the point is that he's doing what he can to not talk up his biggest rivalry TOO much, because, you see. he Did Not Care That Much. (lie.) now objectively speaking this kind of framing literally does not matter, who cares which one of these was the most meaningful rivalry, but it's interesting that it matters to him!! casey's problem is that he is extremely sensitive and cares deeply about what other people say about him, but one of the things he's most sensitive about is the idea that he could let himself be mentally affected by ANYTHING, worst of all his rivals. they cannot be granted that much power over him. and all of this has kinda funny consequences in that he has pretty rigid patterns in how he talks about this stuff that are at times quite convoluted because he has to simultaneously emphasise that a) none of his rivals massively mattered to him, b) That Rival didn't matter more than the others, c) what That Rival did to him was completely beyond the pale, and d) none of that affected him mentally whatsoever. at most one of these is true. there are so many things casey wants so badly not to care about but it keeps spilling out of him anyway, this oozing sludge of resentment and repressed hopes and desires and frustration and longing and bitterness. he keeps giving himself away... he cares so much and he can't stand it

[themyscirah]

Ok game time which 3 series would you just DIE to get a run on ? I'm talking full creative control, can be as a writer or an artist + plotter if that suits your vibe best

My 3 are

Suicide Squad

Wonder Woman

Green Lantern Corps/Green Lanterns

(in that order)

[sskk-manifesto]

(｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

[frobby]

i love madoka magica however i dont think we as a fandom talk enough about how tragic madoka herself is. probably because the narrative itself steers you away from thinking about her personally. shes not a character shes a desire that homura has, shes a force of good, shes homura's foil. but those are all madoka's narrative roles but madoka herself as a person is not really looked at because we are viewing this world from an unreliable narrator(homura) who only sees madoka as those things. The best thing homura could have done for madoka was give up on her, to let her go. because every time we go back in time the image of madoka is distorted, she loses more of herself every regression of homura's as she tries harder and harder to save her. We don't even know what madoka originally wished for to become a magical girl in the original timeline. and she actually acts quite differently than the madoka we meet. shes a lot more honest and caring and bold. by the time homura's has reached the actual anime madoka has been reduced by the sands of time to a figment of herself. she has no wants or desires of her own beyond wanting to do good and help her friends and when all her humanity is stripped away is when she finally acends to godhood because thats all thats left of her. an ideal and a faith in her. madoka kaname died a long time ago and all that is left is her ghost.

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

Raven Stratagem + Revenant Gun

books 2 & 3 in a military-political sci-fi trilogy

space empire setting where reality & technology relies on an enforced cultural belief and calendar system

the ghost general taken over Cheris’ body and gone rogue, the rest of the hexarcate is trying to assassinate them while they try to change the oppressive systems of the hexarchate

I don’t know how else to explain things in here without spoilers (if I even could explain..)