#sam + perfectionism

[shallowseeker]

I actually don’t know the answer to this. I never got big father vibes from Sam tbh. I think he’d have been happy being childless or raising a child within a village structure. He seems very comfortable as a mentor, which is why he’s typically shown mentoring Jack, professor-style, inside the bunker library. (Dean and Cas, on the other hand, tend to meet him in the kitchen or Jack’s bedroom.)

Sam’s certainly A Dad, but hmmm.

He doesn’t seem to settle as easily into boundary-making part of it (with Claire, for example, in Don’t You Forget About Me, she gets irritated with his psycho-analysis, and in Ladies Drink Free, she balks when he switches from giving-a-lot-of-independence mode to rule-making mode). Dean and Cas are way more comfortable being frank with her, and often instinctually move to lay down the line with her, which she responds to because deep-down she appreciates the boundaries and feeling cared about.

Sam values independence so much that sometimes he is hesitant to restrict it, even when it’s parentally necessary to keep the person (or others) safe.

We see that with Jack, too. Sam makes his opinion known, but stands back when Jack is raging and choking a gas-station employee (13x23), whereas Cas immediately moves to full-body-tackle/discipline him. So does Dean, using the gun to get his attention, an “equalizing” force. This is partially how Dean and Cas feel like parents, at least in the day-to-day, despite their flaws.

The one boundary when get from Sam is restricting Jack from unhealthy foods, which…isn’t terribly meaningful in the day-to-day. Jack seems kind of annoyed by it, even.

Don’t get me wrong: Sam does a lot of cool stuff. Sam is willing to sacrifice himself for Jack, in 13x23, which feels like the Sam martyr complex redux, but still hits. He’s holding a firm bedside vigil and considering crossroads dealing to get Jack back in 14x07 & 14x08.

Then, he wobbles with Billie’s plan in season 15, voicing his discomfort with Dean’s revenge and Cas’s destiny talk, but not willing to step up and make a boundary. Then, with the rib-bomb, again he voices that he thinks it’s “wrong,” but he does not lay down any “rule” to Jack for the sake of safety.

Sure, there’s other factors, but at core, Sam sometimes does not take rule-based stands with kids, because he tends to overvalue their independence at the expense of safety. (When he does take actions he’s not happy with, he has a tendency to shift that, I think. It’s why he laments being afraid to lead the hunters in season 12. Because when you make decisions, the mistakes are on you, and taking responsibility terrifies Sam. But then, doesn’t it terrify us all?)

Happy to hear your thoughts!

[andtheirmoonlight]

[dizzybizz]

pls bear with me while i get a bunch of sams out of my system

[puncheur]

.

[wise-writer-girl]

Took this ages ago, forgot my score (Sam Coded Sam OR Cas girl, idk) and decided to take it again right now: Sam-Coded, Sam Girl

X-Coded Y Girl: The Definitive Supernatural Quiz

Here it is. The moment everyone has been waiting for. This is it. This is where it’s all been leading. Billions of years of evolution, thousands of years of literary criticism and psychological thought. It’s all culminated in this. This is my crowning achievement. You’re welcome. This isn’t what the world needs, but it’s what the world deserves. 

Are you Dean-, Sam-, or Cas-coded? Are you a Dean, Sam, or Cas girl? what are you? WHAT are you? what ARE you? what are YOU?

The answers may surprise you. 

[supernaturalfreakout]

Resisting the urge to re-write my past chapters of HOYS instead of working on the new stuff as they do not live up to the standards I hold myself to now. Maybe that's why I've been holding out posting them here.

Or do I just post them anyway?

How do you guys deal with past stuff you've written that you no longer love? I still love the story, but my voice isn't there in the old chapters. Granted, I had no clue what I was doing back then (not that I do now, either).

This pisces perfectionism is a curse sometimes.

[watermelongirl01]

Sweet Rescue - 05

Firefighter!Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: SMUT, Fluff, fluff lots of fluff, and a tiny bit of angst.

A/N: Soo, you're going to need to buckle up cause after this chapter, a lot of your questions are going to be answered.

Sweet Rescue Masterlist

It was past closing time, and you were focused on the bowl in front of you, whipping the mixture with more determination than patience. You were looking for the perfect shade of pink for the final dozen macarons, the same ones you’d nearly forgotten to bake.

Three failed attempts surrounded you. The first batch was too bold, practically neon. The second was far too fuchsia. The third? Technically fine, but your tired eyes didn’t let you see it.

You were so deep in your head that you nearly screamed when you felt two strong arms wrap around your waist from behind.

“It’s me, sweetheart,” Dean’s raspy voice whispered against your ear.

You exhaled hard, a mixture of relief and weariness. You had been dating for six months now, so this kind of late-night or early-morning visit wasn’t unusual. More often than not, after his shift at the firehouse, instead of heading home with Sam, he’d ask his brother to drop him off at your place.

He once told you that falling asleep next to you after a long shift was all he needed. After enough early mornings spent shuffling to the door in pajamas, you gave him a key of his own.

It had surprised both Charlie and Donna when they found out, especially since only four sets of keys existed for the place. Not because they doubted the relationship, but because that key didn’t just unlock your apartment. It opened the bakery, too. No one who wasn’t staff had ever been trusted with it.

That was the moment they realized: Dean wasn’t just passing through your life. He was planted firmly in your heart.

“How late is it?” you murmured, still not turning from the bowl.

“Very,” he said, pressing soft kisses to your shoulders. “It’s 6:30 a.m.”

“Shit,” you groaned. “I lost track of time.”

“Come back to bed. Let’s get a few hours of sleep, huh?”

“I can’t. I need to finish this. I can’t get the pink right.”

Dean gently turned you around, his hands firm but tender. “Sweetheart, you’re not going to get it right like this, not when you're this sleep deprived. Finish it tomorrow.”

You sighed. “Dean…”

He laced his fingers with yours. “Let’s go.”

And just like that, you let him lead you out of the kitchen, the pull of his hand and the warmth of his presence enough to remind you that perfection could wait.

This wasn’t the first time Dean had led you to bed like this. After months together, he’d found you in this state at least four times, exhausted, dusted with flour, lost in your own perfectionism. And every time, he’d scoop you up from your work, guide you to bed, and hold you close until you fall asleep.

But tonight, he paused with a soft chuckle, brushing a stray bit of white powder from your hair.

“Sweetheart, you’ve got flour all over. You need a shower first.”

“It’s almond flour,” you mumbled, rubbing your tired eyes.

“Still flour,” he smiled, brushing a kiss over your temple.

Without another word, he took your hand and led you into the bathroom. There, he gently untied your apron and let it fall to the floor. Then, he peeled away each layer of clothing, his fingers slow and careful, as if undressing you was an act of devotion, not just habit.

You didn’t say a word. You didn’t need to. Your gaze followed his every move, soft and full of trust and love.

Dean turned on the water, one hand hovering under the stream until it was just right. He looked back at you with that boyish grin you’d come to adore.

“Step in, baby.”

You loved it when he called you baby. At first, you weren't so sure about sharing the nickname with his beloved car, but the truth is that you melt every time he calls you that.

You stepped into the warm water, letting it soak through your hair, washing away the tension in your muscles and the weight of another sleepless night. A sigh slipped from your lips.

“Are you joining?” you asked.

His voice was quiet. “If you want me to.”

You reached out, palm open and waiting. He didn’t hesitate. Dean shed his clothes quickly, taking your hand in his, a beautiful contrast of calloused roughness against your softness.

You expected him to adjust the water temperature like he always did, claiming it was “too hot.” But instead, he reached for your favorite shampoo, the one that smelled like wild berries. The one he secretly used sometimes, just to feel close to you.

He squeezed a generous amount into his hand and gently turned you so your back was to him, your face toward the warm stream. Without a word, he lathered your hair, massaging your scalp in slow, soothing circles. His fingers worked tenderly, tangling in your hair, easing the day from your mind. A quiet moan escaped you.

“Dean…”

He hummed in response, soft and content. His hands rinsed through your hair, taking the last traces of flour and fatigue with them. When he was done, he didn’t pull away. Instead, his lips found your shoulder, pressing warm kisses along your damp skin, lingering at the base of your neck.

“Dean…” you breathed again, your voice no louder than the water trickling over you both.

He smiled against your skin and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you gently back into his chest. And for a moment, the world was just this: his touch, your heartbeat, and the steam around your bodies.

You leaned into him, your back pressed against his chest as his arms wrapped around you with quiet strength. The water poured down your bodies, warm and steady, but it was his touch that made your skin shiver.

His lips moved slowly up your neck, to the curve of your jaw, then just below your ear. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, like it was a secret he couldn’t hold in anymore.

You turned in his arms, facing him, your hands resting on the solid line of his chest. His eyes were on you, steady and soft, full of something deeper than desire. But still, the heat in his gaze was unmistakable.

Your lips met his slowly, tenderly, but aching with something simmering just beneath the surface. His hand cupped your cheek as he kissed you like he wanted to memorize the shape of your mouth, the taste of you. Your fingers slipped into his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss as your bodies pressed flush under the cascade of water.

His mouth left yours only to trail lower, kissing a path down your throat, across your collarbone, tasting the droplets that clung to your skin. Your breath hitched when his hands moved, strong and deliberate, sliding along the curve of your waist, down over your hips, then back up again, taking his time as though he had all the time in the world.

“Dean…” You barely got his name out before his lips captured yours again, more urgent now. His hands gripped your thighs, and in one swift, fluid motion, he lifted you, guiding your back against the shower wall. You wrapped your legs around him instinctively, gasping as the heat of his body pressed fully into yours.

Water rushed around you, your skin slick and glistening, but nothing felt as overwhelming as the way he looked at you, like you were everything. His thumb brushed along your lower lip as he caught his breath.

“You want this, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice rough, his forehead resting against yours. Even now, even here, he wanted to be sure.

You nodded, your voice breathless but steady. “I need you.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time, claiming every sound you made as your hands gripped his shoulders. Your moans echoed off the tiled walls, mixing with the hum of the water and the rhythm of your bodies moving together, every motion soaked in urgency, intimacy, and need.

The second your body touched the mattress, exhaustion swept over you like a wave. Your eyes fluttered shut, heavy and unwilling to stay open.

Dean slipped in beside you, pulling the covers over both of you and wrapping an arm protectively around your waist.

“I love you,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Dean froze.

For a second, he wondered if you were talking in your sleep. But then you shifted closer, pressing your cheek against his chest, your fingers curling gently into the fabric of his shirt.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, so soft it nearly got lost in the quiet. “You don’t have to say it back… just wanted you to know.”

And then you were gone, fully asleep, tucked into him

He swallowed hard, guilt and warmth tangling together in his chest. He wanted to say it. God, he wanted to say it. But something locked him in place, fear, maybe. Of messing it up. Of not being good enough.

So instead, he just held you tighter, resting his cheek against your head and closing his eyes.

And he stayed like that, holding on to you like a lifeline, letting your love settle over him, even if he wasn’t ready to speak it back. Not yet.

————————————————————————

The next morning, Dean was woken up by the sound of your apartment’s door opening. He looked to his side, watching the big 10:00 am on the clock. You were still soundly asleep and snuggled into his chest, and he already had an idea of who that might be.

He carefully exited your embrace, not wanting to wake you up, and walked out of the bedroom to greet the redhead intruder. 

“What a surprise, an almost naked firefighter.” Her hand immediately covered her eyes.

“Oh, what a surprise, a nosy redhead.” 

“I was concerned about my boss.”

“She’s sleeping now, she went to bed a few hours ago.” Dean explained.

Charlie lowered her hand to fully see Dean and narrowed her eyes at him. 

“I’m about to say something, but don’t let this get over your head.” 

Dean's eyebrows lifted while he looked at her expectantly, silently inviting her to continue.

“I’m…” Charlie’s trailed her words so fast that Dean didn’t quite catch what she was saying.

“What was that?” He smirked while holding a hand next to his ear. 

Oh, he did understand what Charlie said, he just wanted to hear it a little more loudly and articulately.

Charlie rolled her eyes. “I’m glad she has you in her life.” But she gave him a sincere smile.

Dean smiled back. “It’s almost like it pains you to say something nice about me.”

“It doesn’t, but you did steal my best friend, so there’s still a little grudge in there.” 

Dean chuckled. “Well, today I'll be the best, best friend you can ever have.” 

Charlie frowned when Dean took her downstairs to the bakery and reached down to the cabinet to grab an apron.

“Oh no.” 

“Yep.” Dean turned to her, wearing a pink apron with the logo of your bakery on it, commonly used by your employees. “I’ll be your boss for this morning.” 

“Nope, I’ll be your boss.” She pointed to herself. “But I appreciate the effort.”

“Fine.” Dean said, holding both of his hands up. 

“And you are banned from the kitchen.”

“That’s just mean.” 

————————————————————————

You woke up around 1:00 PM, the empty, cool sheets beside you triggering a pang of panic. You sat up abruptly, heart racing, as the realization hit, you’d overslept. Horribly.

Where the hell was Dean? And why hadn’t anyone woken you?

You scrambled out of bed, throwing on the first sundress you found and slipping into the heels that were still scattered across the floor from the night before. Your hair went into a messy ponytail as you hurried downstairs, only to pause at the sound of two very familiar voices bickering from the bakery.

“Dean, stop eating the cookies and help the customer!”

“I am helping. The cookies are just... part of the process.”

“You’ve had five, Dean. We’ll be out by the afternoon!”

“It is the afternoon, Charlie. Ever heard of a clock?”

You couldn’t help but smile, the chaos strangely comforting. You leaned on the doorway, watching the playful banter unfold for a moment before speaking up.

“Then I guess I'd better start baking more cookies.”

Charlie practically sagged with relief. “Oh, thank god.”

Dean turned at the sound of your voice and lit up instantly. “Sweetheart, you’re awake.”

He crossed the space to you in seconds, grinning as his eyes trailed over you. “And you look amazing in that apron.” You laughed softly, and Dean swore, just like every other time that your laugh was his favorite sound in the whole damn world.

He cupped your face gently, brushing his thumbs across your cheeks before pressing a tender kiss to your lips. It was brief, but lingering.

When he pulled back, you smiled against his touch. “Well, I’m here now,” you said brightly.

Dean didn’t move away right away. He just watched you, like he still couldn’t believe you were his.

“I missed you,” he said under his breath, just for you to hear.

You nudged his chest playfully. “You saw me this morning.”

“Not the same,” he murmured, pulling you back in for another kiss.

————————————————————————

Thanks to the extra hours of sleep your boyfriend insisted you take, you’d managed to catch up on all your orders just in time, including the cake tasting for an upcoming wedding.

“So?” You smiled, watching the couple in front of you closely. “What do you think?”

“This is so good. I seriously can’t decide,” Meg said, licking a bit of frosting from her thumb.

“I have to say... the carrot cake is my favorite,” Castiel chimed in, smiling softly.

Meg turned to him. “Seriously?”

Dean, mouth full of that very same cake, nodded. “Of course you'd pick that one.”

Cas raised an eyebrow. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Dean shrugged like it was obvious. “You’re an old man, Cas.”

“Carrot cake isn’t just for old people,” Cas huffed, clearly offended.

You grinned. “It’s my favorite, too.”

 “Baby, your favorite band is ABBA, of course, carrot cake is your favorite.”

You gave him a dramatic frown, but then nodded. “Fair.” You chuckled and reached behind the counter. “Last flavor.”

You placed three plates of coconut cake slices in front of them. Meg took a bite, her eyes lighting up instantly. You stiffened for a moment, not sure what the expression meant, until she smiled.

“I think this is it,” she said, looking at Cas, who nodded in agreement.

“It’s perfect,” he said, his voice soft as he looked at her.

They exchanged a quiet knowing look, one of those moments where they could practically see their future. Sharing cake. Dancing. Saying “I do.”

Dean cleared his throat. “I also like it and approve,” he added, finishing his slice.

Meg blinked at him. “Wait, what are you doing here again?”

“I work here,” he said with complete seriousness, gesturing proudly to the flour-dusted apron he was wearing. “Can’t you see the uniform?”

You laughed, reaching for Dean’s hand. “He covered for me today. I was going crazy, and he stepped in.”

“The way you can trust Dean surrounded by all this pie… It’s beyond me,” Cas muttered. “I think I might need to check your head again.”

Dean smirked. “Please, I’m a professional.”

“Professionally stealing samples?” Meg quipped.

“You gotta taste the product to sell the product,” Dean said with a wink.

————————————————————————

Cas and Meg had stayed a few more hours, going over cake decorations and tiny details until they finally left around 8:00 p.m., just in time for you to close the bakery and enjoy the quiet comfort of your place with Dean.

You wandered into the living room where he was sprawled out on the couch, nursing a beer and watching TV with his legs comfortably stretched out.

“I’m gonna cook dinner tonight,” you said, standing in front of him.

Dean looked up at you, brow raised. “But I cook dinner every night. That’s my thing.”

You smiled and stepped a little closer. “You did a lot for me today, baby. Let me return the favor.”

Dean's lips tugged into a small smile. “Well, what can I say? Gotta keep my ‘Boyfriend of the Year’ title.”

You let out a quiet laugh and shook your head. “I’m serious, though. You didn’t have to help like you did, but you did anyway, and it meant the world to me.”

He set his beer down and looked at you with that soft gaze he reserved just for you. “Sweetheart, you bake pie for me every day. And after every crappy shift, you somehow know exactly what I need. Taking over for a few hours? That’s the least I could do.”

You leaned in closer, voice dropping a little. “Still... I’m thinking of a few ways I could say thank you.”

Dean tilted his head. “You really don’t have to.”

“Oh, but I really, really want to.”

Before he could respond, you slid between his legs, your hands resting on his shoulders as you leaned down and kissed him, slow, intentional.

His lips tasted like beer and comfort.

Your tongue teased his, and Dean didn’t hesitate to deepen it, his dominance always familiar. His left hand gripped your waist with a firmness that sent a shiver through you, fingertips digging into your skin. His right hand slid lower, squeezing your ass, pulling you closer into him.

You gasped softly against his lips, and he used the moment to take control again, groaning into your mouth.

“Dinner can wait,” he muttered, voice gravelly, breath hot against your skin.

You grinned. “Good. I was never really planning to cook.”

Your hand traveled between your bodies, trailing down his chest until finding its way to his crotch. You used both of your hands to unbuckle his jeans, granting you access to rub his boner over his boxers.

Your mouth never left his as you pull his underwear down and release his big and hard boner. Your hand immediately took over and started stroking him. Dean’s mouth opened, letting a gentle moan leave, and you used your leverage to dominate the kiss again.

You left a short kiss on Dean's lips and slowly backed down onto your knees. He slightly straightened in his seat while his eyes were fixed on your pretty face.

Dean’s head instantly was thrown back on the sofa’s backrest when he felt the warmth of your mouth surrounding him. 

“Oh fuck.” He whispered, placing his hands on the back of your head. “So fucking good, baby.”

You sped up your movements, bopping your head up and down.

“You’re doing so well, baby.” He mumbled as his fingers ran through your hair.

You took more and more of his length while your hand kept stroking what you couldn’t reach yet.

“I’m close, baby.” He whispered, and his legs began to tense up. 

His hands slightly pulled your hair to warn you, but you groaned, dismissing him. Dean’s eyes closed as he reached his orgasm, and you felt content as you took him in your mouth and swallowed.

“You are so good to me, sweetheart.” 

After that, Dean couldn’t just leave it like that. You were so good to him, and he rewarded you at least four times that night. It was slow this time, no rush, no urgency. Just hands and mouths and the messy moans that slipped from your lips.

The next morning, although you woke up with an empty bed, knowing Dean was already on shift, your kitchen table awaited you with a plate of pancakes and a note.

“Good morning, sweetheart 

See you tomorrow.

Can't wait to kiss you later.”

-Boyfriend of the year. 

You smiled to yourself as you ate the breakfast he left for you and started your day with a perky attitude.

————————————————————————

The bakery bustled with its usual morning chaos, customers grabbing coffee to fuel their day, donuts to lift the mood at morning meetings, and cupcakes for a last-minute peace offerings. A few moms rushed in to pick up full-size cakes, clearly forgetting about their child’s school bake sale until the last second.

There was always something for everyone, sweetness tailored to every mood, every moment, every person who walked through the door.

But that morning, someone stepped in with an energy that didn’t match the rest.

“Welcome! What can I get you?” Charlie greeted cheerfully as you focused on sealing up the morning’s delivery pink box labeled “Fire Station 67” in your handwriting.

“I’m looking for an apple pie for my husband,” the woman said, her tone light, but sharp in a way you couldn’t quite place. “I just got back into town and want to surprise him.”

“Oh, you’re in luck,” Charlie began, then paused. “Actually… not quite. They're still in the oven.”

You turned from the counter to glance at the customer and offered a polite, apologetic smile. “They’ll be ready soon, though. We can have one aside or delivered if you’d like.”

The woman tilted her head, eyeing you with a smirk that didn’t reach her eyes. “You do deliveries?”

You nodded and slid a form across the counter. “Just write down your name and address. We’ll make sure it gets to you fresh.”

She took the form and pen with slow, deliberate movements. “Lucky me.” Her gaze flicked toward the box you’d just finished labeling. “Fire Station 67?” she asked, a hint of curiosity or maybe amusement in her voice. “What a coincidence. My husband works there.”

Your fingers stilled on the ribbon you were about to tie.

Charlie, ever friendly, chimed in before you could respond. “Yeah! They saved my boss.” She pointed at you with a proud smile. “So now we spoil them in return.”

“If you want me to, I can deliver it for you guys, I’m heading there anyway.” She handed you back the form.

The woman’s gaze landed on you again, heavy, like she was watching for a reaction. She handed the form back across the counter.

Something in her tone made your fingers hesitate as you reached for the paper. That smile again, cool, unreadable, like she knew a secret you didn’t know yet.

“Oh, we already have a regular arrangement,” Charlie said easily. “Dean comes by to pick them up most mornings.”

“Dean Winchester?” the woman repeated, her gaze locked on you now, unreadable.

You felt your stomach dip.

“Yes, the very same,” Charlie replied, her voice losing a bit of its cheer.

Your eyes drifted to the form in your hand and froze.

Amara Winchester.

Your chest tightened. The name echoed in your head like a warning bell. You barely heard her next words over the thundering of your heart.

She chuckled, “Isn’t destiny big, and this city small?” 

Charlie looked at you, sensing something had shifted. Her eyes flicked between you and the woman as a heavy silence fell between the three of you.

You looked up, and her eyes were already looking at you, locking on like a predator sizing up its prey. 

Then came the smile. It didn’t reach her eyes, it wasn’t warm or polite. It was knowing. And a little cruel. She leaned in and looked directly at you, never blinking.

“I’m Dean Winchester's wife.” 

She said it as if she were claiming something, not just stating a fact, but planting a flag. And she wanted you to see it. She wanted you to feel it.

Charlie’s brows pulled together sharply, her body shifting closer to you. She glanced between you and the stranger with a quiet wariness.

But you couldn’t move.

PLEASE, Pleaseee let me know if you already saw this coming, I want to know your reactions.

Taglist: @aylacavebear @deans-baby-momma @ladysparkles78 @spxideyver @lunaleah @muhahaha303 @charismatic-writer @deansimpalababy @spnaquakindgdom @globetrotter28 @vsplanet

@narcissustulip @formulas-bitch @mandee7 @bollzinurmouth @screaming-les-bean @stoneyggirl2

[rainingcatsandjune]

the sleepy bbs :3 sam sleeping with a shifted darlin :3

at this point i feel like i should just tag her SHES BEEN GIVING ME ALL THE IDEAS RAHHFJKSDFHGKJF thank you @nicnebula for indoctrinating introducing me to redactedverse my motivation to draw has gone through the roof AND THANK FOR THIS IDEA ITS SO SWEET AAAAAAAAAAAA

bit messier but i gotta fix my perfectionism somehow so here you go :0

[graysoncritic]

A (Negative) Analysis of Tom Taylor's Nightwing Run - Who is Dick Grayson?

Introduction Who is Dick Grayson? What Went Wrong? Dick's Characterization What Went Wrong? Barbara Gordon What Went Wrong? Bludhaven (Part 1, Part 2) What Went Wrong? Melinda Lin Grayson What Went Wrong? Bea Bennett What Went Wrong? Villains Conclusion Bibliography

When asked to describe Dick Grayson’s character, many will say he is good. He is Bruce Wayne’s light, the person he could have been had someone offered Bruce understanding and guidance after his trauma. Dick is a leader. A big brother. A mentor. He is someone people can look up to, someone others can trust. He is “The Heart of the DCU.”

(Williamson, Joshua, writer. Sampere, Daniel; Herbert, Jack; Camuncoli, Giuseppe; Sandoval, Rafa, illustrators. Dawn of the DCU. Dark Crisis on Infinite Earth no. 7, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2022. pp. 28)

Characters, much like real people, are more than just a trait. Jason Todd is more than “angry.” Bruce Wayne is more than just “brooding.” Tim Drake is more than just “smart.” Characters are multidimensional. They have multiple facets, some of which may contradict one another because characters, just like people, are not created out of mathematical equations where two plus two always equals four. Humans are emotional. Their being is informed by past experiences, biology, culture. The intricate combination of these vastly different factors leads to inconsistency in rationality that may not always be logical. Dick being “good” does not mean that Dick can’t be angry, that he can’t make mistakes, or that he can’t lash out or be unreasonable, especially when stressed. Dick being “good” does not mean he can’t brood, does not mean he can’t be suspicious, nor does it mean he will always like everyone. Dick being “good” does not mean he can’t be his own worst enemy, that he can’t be calculative and strategic, that he always needs to be upbeat, or that he can’t be the most intelligent person in the room.

(Grayson, Devin, writer. Zircher, Patch, illustrator. Slow Burn. Nightwing no 93, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2004. pp. 10-11)

Sam Humphries also demonstrated this during his brilliant story, The Untouchable. There, Dick’s relentless determination to save people from the Judge’s machinations grows so intense that it becomes self-destructive. The story demonstrates how Dick’s “goodness” comes from a form of toxic perfectionism that has been with him since he was a child — a perfectionism born of a low self-worth that eats at him from the inside out

(Humphries, Sam, writer. Janson, Klaus; Campbell, Jamal, illustrators. Ruthless. Nightwing: Rebirth no. 37, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2018. pp. 08)

Even the 2003 animated series Teen Titans understood that in trying to catch the bad guy — almost always Slade Wilson in the case of that show — Dick could sometimes go too far.

Dick’s goodness causes him to see himself as a danger to not just his loved ones, but everyone who stands near him. He carries the world on his shoulders, taking the blame for every tragedy and seeing every death as a personal failure. When pushed to its worst, Dick’s goodness becomes an obsession which pushes others away, leading to isolation as Dick’s entire existence narrows down to accomplishing one specific goal. 

It is this reductive characterization of Dick – the idea that his one defining trait is that he is “good” – that leads many to misunderstand the appeal of his character. As I mentioned above, characters are multi-facet, and Dick is no exception. However, the ways in which Dick is multi-facet are very different from the ways in which most characters are multi-facet.

Please do not mistake what I am about to say by claiming these other characters are not complex. Or even that some of them might not subvert popular tropes. What I mean saying is that Dick’s complexity is demonstrated differently than what I believe most people are accustomed to.

For example, everyone knows Bruce Wayne keeps his feelings locked up inside. He compartmentalizes his emotions and his trauma in order to solve the puzzle put ahead of him. But everyone – characters and readers alike – understands Bruce is doing this. Everyone can tell that he is hiding something from others and keeping them at a distance. The reader is always aware of how Bruce’s trauma informs his actions, his interactions, and his thought process. 

(Grayson, Devin; Barr, Mike W., writers. Davis, Alan; Robinson, Roger, illustrator. Procedure. Batman: Gotham Knights  no. 25, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2002. pp. 20)

Take, for instance, Part One of Murderer/Fugitive. Although a major source of tension from the story surrounds the question of Bruce’s innocence, there’s never any question in the minds of the reader and the character that Bruce is hiding something. Tim Drake questions whether Bruce truly did kill Vesper Child and is hiding his motive, while Dick is certain of Bruce’s innocence and instead believes Bruce is hiding his alibi or the clues that would help them find the real murderer. Barbara Gordon, for her part, wavers between the two, but like Tim, Dick, and the reader, she is certain of one thing: Bruce Wayne is hiding something from her, from them… From us.

Similarly, Jason Todd’s anger comes from a place of hurt and a place of love, from insecurities and a need to prove himself. But like Bruce, all of that is clear to see. His anger and his hurt are simple to understand. Please, do not mistake this for me claiming that Jason is not a complex character — instead, I’m stating that his temperament, his trauma, and his actions are so interlinked that they are clear for the reader to see. His character, while rich, is more accessible. It does not take a lot of effort to know that Jason is angry because of what was done to him. It is easy to see that he is hurt because he equates Bruce’s love to the Joker’s death, and therefore sees Bruce’s failure to avenge him “proof” that Bruce does not love him as a son. 

(Winick, Judd, writer. Battle, Eric, illustrator. All They Do is Watch Us Kill: Part 3: It Only Hurts When I Laugh. Batman no. 650, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2006. pp. 13) Dick, on the other hand, does not wear his emotions, his motivations, or his goals on his sleeve. Dick keeps his secrets not by constructing an impenetrable wall like Bruce, but through misdirection. This is why those who are unfamiliar with Dick misinterpret him so much. They take what is on the surface at face value because they do not have the character history to serve as context to understand what lies beneath As a Dick Grayson fan (From this moment forward will be referred to as Dick Grayson Fan A) said “good Dick writers teach readers how to read him and bad Dick writers just have that surface level interpretation.” (I was actually talking to her about this idea and how I’m presenting it in this essay. The example I gave was one she suggested after I asked if she could think of good moments that exemplified this idea.)

As an example, we can look at this moment from Grayson, in which Dick sucks a lollipop while receiving a mission assignment. Someone who is not familiar with Dick and is looking at Dick and Helena’s interaction might be easily fooled into thinking that Dick is the pretty, strong, but annoyingly childish and slightly dumb male character who contrasts the serious, intelligent, and highly competent woman. The characters’ expressions, actions, and the onomatopoeias are certainly leaning into that familiar trope.

(King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Janin, Mikel, illustrator. The Raid. Grayson no. 04, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014. pp. 02) However, Dick Grayson fans know that when it comes to the mission, Dick is as serious as Batman himself. Highly intelligent, Dick is considered to by many the world’s second greatest detective (there are many instances in canon when he is referred to as such), making him more than just a pretty face who knows how to fight (It should be noted that in this tweet, writer Tom King also ranks Dick as the second best fighter in the Bat Family). Furthermore, context matters. Dick is deep undercover throughout the duration of Grayson, and this scene is set shortly after the death of one of the agents of the organization Dick has infiltrated. In other words, Dick is in a highly stressful situation without allies to provide him with back-up or emotional support. 

His posturing in this scene, then, can be seen as an attempt to misguide and misdirect. He does not wish to let those around him – people he is not sure yet if he can trust – know the full extent of his capabilities or perceive any potential weaknesses in his value of human life. Positioning himself as the annoying and childish pretty boy who does not pay much attention to serious matters is a strategic choice that his fans readily pick up on.  

That is not to say that Dick’s smiles are all lies. Rather, Dick’s upbeat nature is a natural aspect of his personality that he will exaggerate depending on the setting in order to keep his privacy. He is a natural performer, a showman, and so he utilizes misdirection to his advantage. 

A classic example of Dick’s misdirection and how he is misinterpreted by others is how some would characterize him as an “attention seeker.” However, the term “attention seeker” has negative connotations as it implies someone who seeks the spotlight at the expense of others. 

That is the opposite of who Dick is. But that’s not Dick is. As a mentor, a leader, and an older brother, Dick will often invite others to join the conversation. He pays attention to what they say, he strategizes based on their needs. 

(Johns, Geoff; Wolfman, Marv, writers. Nauck, Todd, illustrator.  The Brave and the Bold. Teen Titans no. 33, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2006. pp. 15)

Simply put, Dick is incredibly empathetic and always in tune with those around him. This is why he works so well as both a Bat and a Titan, and why his personality in each team is so distinct. As a Bat, Dick is often portrayed as cheerful, his bad puns are meant to cut the tension, the is the shoulder for his family to cry one; as a Titan, Dick is a leader, he is a strategist, he demands others take things seriously and will not tolerate slacking off, he is trying to instill good work ethics and ensure that the team dynamic stays in top shape. 

As JL Bell writes in their essay Success in Stasis: Dick Grayson’s Thirty Years as a Boy Wonder for the book Dick Grayson, Boy Wonder: Scholars and Creators on 75 years of Robin, Nightwing, and Batman explains, “in contrast to how Robin behaved with Batman. [Dick] is usually [the Titans’] serious leader.” (Bells, JL “Success in Stasis: Dick Grayson’s Thirty Years as a Boy Wonder.”Dick Grayson, Boy Wonder: Scholars and Creators on 75 years of Robin, Nightwing, and Batman edited by Kristen L. Geaman, McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers, 2015, pp. 22)

That is because Dick knows that when he is with his family, he needs to play one role, and when he is with his friends, he needs to play another. The Bats have their strengths, so Dick adjusts himself to play up on those strengths while also making up for its weakness. Same thing with the Titans. 

Mark Waid perfectly exemplifies Dick’s adaptability when portraying him in his World’s Finest (2022) and World’s Finest: Teen Titans (2023). There, Dick brings levity to his work with Batman and Superman, keeping an upbeat attitude while still taking the job seriously.

(Waid, Mark, writer. Mora, Dan, illustrator. Manhunt. Batman/Superman: World’s Finest no. 14, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2023. pp. 07)

Yet, when he is with the Titans and feels the weight of leadership on his shoulders, he is more serious, being the one to get the Titans to focus on their objective, getting them to look at the big picture, while also making the most of their abilities as individuals and as a team.

(Waid, Mark, writer. Mora, Dan, illustrator. Team Spirit. Batman/Superman: World’s Finest no. 08, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2022. pp. 05)

So yes, Dick is a performer, a showman, but he is not “attention seeking.” In fact, his use of misdirection illustrates that Dick is a very private person. And how could he not be? While it is true that Dick grew up in the circus, after his parents’ death, he went to live with Bruce, and in doing so, was put into an intense amount of public scrutiny. The murders of John and Mary Grayson happened on a literal stage with dozens of people watching. As a result, Dick’s very private tragedy became a spectacle.

After the death of Dick’s parents, Dick isn’t allowed to disappear into anonymity. He is not afforded privacy to grieve. He is taken in by Bruce Wayne, Gotham’s most famous playboy, billionaire, philanthropic who is also a bit of a selfish airhead (at least, that is how the public perceives him), and as a result, Dick is subjected to an immense amount of public scrutiny, not just from the media, but also from Gotham’s elites, and even his peers at school. Not only that, as Robin, the Boy Wonder and the first ever sidekick, Dick also is put on the spotlight while also being aware of the necessity of keeping secrets. 

As a result of having his tragedy broadcasted and having a new mission that requires secrecy, Dick becomes a very private person. He is not an open book; instead, he is meticulous about what he shares and he prevents people from looking at what is not of their business by using his showmanship.

Furthermore, Dick’s role as a performer who, as Joshua R Pangborn describes in his essay about the Robin costume, “experiences […] the full spectrum of emotions, each and every night, for the catharsis of others,” transforms him into a literal vehicle for emotional catharsis and empathy. (Pangborn, Joshua R “Fashioning Himself a Hero: Robin’s Costume and its Role in Shaping His Identity”Dick Grayson, Boy Wonder: Scholars and Creators on 75 years of Robin, Nightwing, and Batman edited by Kristen L. Geaman, McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers, 2015, pp. 42) In their essay, Bell argues that while Bruce Wayne embodied “the mid-century ideal of the American male,” who is always “in control of his feelings, not letting them overcome his judgment nor displaying them broadly,” Dick Grayson “can express deep emotions, not only his own but Bruce’s.” As such, Dick often acts as a sounding board for his family, friends, team, and romantic partners. As a performer, Dick embodies whatever persona is necessary to create a safe environment where others can process their emotions and achieve catharsis. (Bells, JL “Success in Stasis: Dick Grayson’s Thirty Years as a Boy Wonder.”Dick Grayson, Boy Wonder: Scholars and Creators on 75 years of Robin, Nightwing, and Batman edited by Kristen L. Geaman, McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers, 2015, pp. 12)

Dick's performance, then, comes not just from a desire for privacy but also from a deep place of empathy. It comes from a desire to help others work through their own stories. This is why he can step into other's narratives without overshadowing them. In fact, he’ll often elevate those characters by complimenting them and creating the circumstances needed for them to shine. As a performer, Dick is naturally adaptable and always willing to fill the role necessary to create the space required for others to work through their emotional needs.

But, as with everything, Dick’s performance is also a result of his destructive perfectionism. Dick equates “good” to “perfect.” He believes that he can only be wanted by Bruce if he is the perfect Robin, he can only be wanted by his friends if he is the perfect leader, he can only be wanted by his siblings if he is the perfect older brother, he can only be wanted by his partners if he is the perfect boyfriend. As Humphries’s The Untouchable demonstrates, because Dick was raised in an environment where failure could be fatal, he internalized these stakes to every aspect of his life. 

(Humphries, Sam, writer. Janson, Klaus; Campbell, Jamal, illustrators. Ruthless. Nightwing: Rebirth no. 37, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2018.pp 20

And it doesn’t help that all of the people in Dick’s life do prove that assertion right. Everyone holds “the Heart of the DCU” to an impossible standard that, when Dick fails to live up to it, he is crucified and punished for it. If he tries to be perfect, he's told off for being the Golden Boy, but if he fails to be the Golden Boy, then he is told off because he let people down when they were relying on him. Ironically, this is done by characters in-universe real-world fans. As Dick Grayson Fan A pointed out in a discussion about depiction of Batman Family members killing their antagonists, “there's always this pressure to have Dick ~fall from grace~ and I do lowkey resent that. Dick should be allowed to be good, not punished for it.”  

This creates an environment where Dick constantly needs to maintain perfection in order to be in everyone’s good graces. Failure is not met with understanding and comfort, but with punishment. No one expects him to fail, no one likes when he fails, no one forgives him when he fails. That also means that Dick doesn’t feel safe opening up about his insecurities because to do so would mean “proving” he cannot stay on the pedestal he’s been put on. And so, he is forced to perform the role of a “perfect good guy” by using misdirection so people won’t abandon him for being human (this was said during a very interesting discussion and addressed both canon and fanfic writers. There’s a lot that can be said about Dick’s parentification and how that is viewed in the context of fandom. This is not the essay for it, and, to be perfectly honest, I’m not entirely sure I’m the best person to open said discussion).

Taylor does not portray Dick as someone with this many layers. Taylor’s Dick is perfect simply because he is good. He is the perfect friend, who is always happy to support others. He is Barbara Gordon’s perfect boyfriend. Dick is the perfect older brother, the perfect son, perfect model citizen. 

But by equating being “good” with being “perfect” without exploring the negative consequences that come from such pressures, Taylor robs Dick of the emotions that humanize him. In Taylor’s run, a good person will not be angry at their friends, will not be frustrated with their siblings, will never disagree with their romantic partner. This strips Dick of all of his nuances, and instead reduces him to a non-descriptive “everyman hero” with a limited emotional range whose only narrative purpose is to serve as a blank canvas for readers to project themselves into. 

Simply put, Taylor is uninterested in writing Dick as a character because he does not see value in Dick for who he is. Nightwing #105, which removes Dick from its story in order to allow its readers to “be Nightwing” illustrates how Taylor and DC at large only value Dick his connections, not for who he is.   

(Chen, Jess [jesswchen]. “Tweet Message.” 18 March 2023, https://twitter.com/jesswchen/status/1636971185782259716?s=20.)

Be Dick, and you can be good friends with Superman! You can be Batman’s son! You can be Batgirl’s boyfriend! Robin’s big brother! Flash’s best friend! 

As a Dick Grayson fan, this feels insulting. I’m not saying Dick needs to be anyone’s favorite character, or that anyone even needs to like him. I’m not interested in dictating anyone’s taste. But to someone who loves Dick Grayson, it is insulting to think that those responsible for his stories fail to see his value. To Taylor, the person who, as the writer for both Nightwing and Titans, has the most control over Dick’s portrayal, Dick is nothing but a tool that will soon wear off its use. 

In treating Dick as such, Taylor and DC send a clear message to those of who love Dick, and that message is that the things that make Dick special, the things that made us love him, do not matter. 

For his near century long existence, Dick served as a stand in for those who feel othered in society. While I do not have the time to go into a gender studies and queer reading of Dick, it is notable that his character often spoke to many people who felt different. As Mary Borsellino’s 2006 essay “A lot like Robin if you close your eyes” Displacement of meaning in the Post-Modern Age explains:

The things which a Robin-like figure can contain, but which are cut off from being embodied by Robin himself, lose none of their importance simply because they are rejected by a restrictive, corporate-controlled status quo […] It's worth inspecting what was excised from Robin, and charting where these elements instead found articulation: in those from lower socioeconomic backgrounds; non-White people; young single parents; and HIV positive people. And, especially, girls and women (Borsellino, Mary “‘A lot like Robin if you close your eyes.’ Displacement of meaning in the Post-Modern Age,  2006)

While Borsellio’s essay focuses on the Robin mantle, as the creator of said mantle, such assertions can also be applied to Dick. In fact, Bell concurs with the idea that those who were othered have always took a preference to Dick when stating that “Robin’s status as the littlest guy in the fight increases the character’s appeal for some children, especially the ‘youngest and weakest.’” In other words, it is crucial to Dick’s character that he is not an “everyman hero.” He is not the hero of or beloved by the average individual, but rather by those who were ostracized by society.

Taylor’s writing exemplifies the “restrictive, corporate-controlled status quo” imposed by DC that Borsellino speaks of. His characterization is the manufactured image that removes Dick’s “socially deviant/rejected” qualities his fans loved about him so that he can be palatable to a more mainstream audience.  (Bells, JL “Success in Stasis: Dick Grayson’s Thirty Years as a Boy Wonder.”Dick Grayson, Boy Wonder: Scholars and Creators on 75 years of Robin, Nightwing, and Batman edited by Kristen L. Geaman, McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers, 2015, pp. 11)

This, of course, is not necessarily new. As Mason Downey argues in their 2015 essay In Defense of Dick Grayson: Objectification, Sexuality, and Subtext, DC has often struggled between leaning into the audience Dick has and wanting to erase any “othering” elements from his character. As they point out:

The more sexual and idealized Dick was allowed to become, the more attention he got from female and queer fans, the more the industry had to work to combat the past anxieties revolving around the character. This resulted in more and more heteronormative romances for Dick on the page. We can’t grant Wertham’s fears any legitimacy, we can’t make these stories “for girls.” Writers did so in a few ways, some obvious, some less so. On the page, we had Dick’s deflection of female sexuality that he was not in control of, and we had a level of emotional posturing with relationships he was in control of. We had moments where we saw him manipulating with or being manipulated by sex. There were editorial pushes to lean into Dick’s popularity with women and queer men coupled with the simultaneous desire to not acknowledge or grant legitimacy to the fanbase he found in those demographics. This translated to more sexualized poses. More pin-up style spreads. Multiple bait-and-switch wedding, marriage, and relationship teases which turned out to be fakeouts or got written out. Long strings of female side characters were introduced exclusively to be love interests. Off the page, we had more concrete examples. We saw a lack of merchandise and lack of representation of him in other forms of media. There was a pervasive hesitancy in broaching his existence outside of the spheres of already established fans. For example, Nolan’s The Dark Knight Rises featured Joseph Gordon-Levitt playing a character literally named Robin, who was invented for the film franchise rather than allowing Dick himself to exist in that cinematic universe. Dick Grayson is a character built upon one repeated mantra aimed at what eventually become two of his largest demographics, “Remember, this is not for you.”

(Downey, Mason “In Defense of Dick Grayson: Objectification, Sexuality, and Subtext” Women Write About Comics. December 2015)

What makes Taylor’s run unique is that in trying to have Dick tackle social issues such as homelessness and in trying to create a class commentary, Taylor attempts to create a progressive, albeit simplistic, veneer while erasing the important and “other-ing” aspects of Dick’s character that was so beloved by his fans. 

This, I believe, is one of the many explanations why many of those who praise Taylor run claim that this is the first Nightwing run they ever enjoyed, while many (though admittedly, not all) those who have been longtime Dick Grayson fans feel betrayed and frustrated by the way their beloved character is being handled. Dick is currently being appropriated into a more mainstream, palatable hero. He is being taken from those who loved him and being scrubbed clean to be suitable for an audience who could not appreciate him for what he was, only for how his connections could give them a wish fulfillment fantasy. As another Dick Grayson fan expressed:

I see no heart in [Taylor’s] work, only soulless marketing. He sells himself as something good and work on his perfect public image and everyone who disagrees is wrong and it gets on my nerves like nothing else. […] I wouldn't be as salt[y] if Taylor was genuinely trying to writing something good. I don't have the heart to [be salty] at someone working with passion, even if I don't like it.

(Henceforth referred to as Dick Grayson Fan B... This was actually said during a discussion in which we expressed how we wish we could be as excited about Taylor’s run as many others are.)

[shallowseeker]

Okay, so because of this ask, I've been thinking about the Musca stuff from Optimism again.

In the episode, Sam struggles to express his feelings directly. Instead of just telling AU Charlie, "I want you here because you remind me of someone I loved," he frames it through the case of the week, telling her that, actually, she is the one that needs community. His indirect approach highlights how hard it is for him to be open about his emotions or what he really needs. Even his initial emotional plea to AU Charlie is cloaked through old Charlie's connection to Dean:

CHARLIE: He'll be fine. Your brother, I mean. He's got other friends, right? SAM: Plenty. Uhm, he used to have a pretty damn good wingman. CHARLIE: So call that guy to check on him. SAM: That guy was you. CHARLIE: No, it wasn't. SAM: Right, I, uh, sorry. I didn't mean that.

Framing the Musca’s situation as AU Charlie’s (or even Cas’s, who is a more obvious comparison) is a red herring—because at its core, the episode is about Sam’s communication issues. It isn’t even about going off or not going off. It’s about simpler issues: like picking up the phone, like talking. Like saying what you mean:

SAM: Got to say, I do feel kind of bad for the Musca. I mean, he could have been happy if he'd stayed with his people. Didn't have to go off on his own just because.. CHARLIE: Okay, I get it. I am just like the bug and I shouldn't go out on my own. But your nifty metaphor has holes. I wasn't looking for love. I found it and I lost it. And I didn't kill people and literally nest in their body parts so...(Scene cuts to other Musca removing the body of the dead one) SAM: Okay, yeah I know, I know, How about this? Don't leave.

Aside/// Cas is literally a defector from the angels, and he’s living in someone else’s body. But while he does struggle at times with longing to be a stand-in for Jimmy, his guilt doesn’t stop him from forming his own bonds. Even his connection with Claire is messy, honest, and uniquely his. It's mired in guilt, not fear. (It can be argued that Cas maybe too fearlessly tries to interact, including giving her a silly gift.)

He's a bit like how Charlie views herself:

CHARLIE: But your nifty metaphor has holes. I wasn't looking for love. I found it and I lost it. 

Sam is like that too ofc. He found love and he lost it. The Musca is like Sam in that both feel out of place. The Musca is an outcast, struggling to fit in, just like Sam struggles with with feeling like a freak and with making new connections. I wonder if Sam often feels like "he failed to fly?”

Because of what happened at Stanford (and maybe even with Ruby), maybe Sam doesn’t feel comfortable building relationships on his own anymore. (Bc of his experiences, he also views many of Dean’s friends with cold, logical, uncharitable-but-semireasonable suspicion.)

But overall, it feels like he tends to embed himself into relationships that have already been formed by those he’s close to, like Dean or Mary (BMoL, AU hunters). It’s as if he’s more comfy stepping into pre-existing circles, often finding himself within Dean’s orbit or tied to Cas's extended family (Kelly, Jack, Claire), and even Jody and the girls & the AU hunters.

Sam's past betrayals, especially with Brady and losing Jess, make it hard for him to open up to people outside his family. He’s more comfortable in relationships that are already established by people he trusts, like Dean. This makes them inherently safer. I think work relationships have a similar function in that it creates a bubble of safety around other people's trustworthiness.

In a way, Sam tends to "nest" through the pre-set relationships of others.

[appendectomy]

people talk a lot on here about wilson accepting house in his whole messed up neurotic entirety but not enough people talk about the inverse. wilson is an incredibly neurotic personality, and although house jibes him constantly for it, in practice he is actually very touchingly accepting and accomodating. i just watched 6x19 which is the episode house tries to break up sam and wilson by doing all of wilson's pet-peeves like stacking dishes in the dishwasher wrong so he'll blame sam and resent her. which yeah is hilariously possessive on the surface. but it also implies that 1. house is aware enough of wilson's eccentricities that he can immediately spot when something is going to irritate him, such as the whole milk-in-the-fridge-door thing, and 2. that house is not only reflexively aware of these eccentricities, but also that he accomodates them enough in their everyday lives that a re-emergence of these annoyances is noticeable to wilson. to the point he correalates it with sam re-entering his life instead of house meddling. and also maybe 3. that house is aware enough of wilson's behaviour and body language that he picks up on what annoys wilson without wilson having to tell him, because wilson hates doing that, or that wilson is comfortable enough around house that he doesn't mind sharing these pet-peeves with him even though he doesn't like sharing them with his romantic partners.

house hates things he veiws as illogical or pointless, he rags on wilson for his obsessiveness about health and appearances, but he also cares enough about wilson to actively change his behaviours to accomodate the things that irritate him. he puts the milk in the body of the fridge instead of the door, not because it's suggested he cares at all about prolonging its shelf life, but because he knows wilson cares. sam balks at wilson and disdainfully suggests he has ocd (which i consider a win for my personal projection onto wilson, but that's besides the point) when wilson brings up his own perfectionism. but house accepts wilson in his neurotic entirety, and accomodates him so that they can live together relatively happily. to me, that suggests that house understands wilson's obsessive tendencies better than most 'regular' people, probably because of his own obsessive tendencies, which makes them complement eachother quite well. wilson is the exception for house, house would give up his crusade against pointlessness and his desire to push people's buttons if it meant keeping wilson around. he'd do it all the while complaining, but he'd still do it. this is the kind of thing that really strikes me bc it shows how comfortable and routine house's love for wilson is. it's domestic, it's relenting, it's just who they are. house's love for wilson is lived-in.

[adragonprinceswhore]

The Way I Feel Under Your Command

Chapter IV: The Way I Feel When I’m in Your Hands I Prev I Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Reader (she/her pronouns)

Summary: Yesterday's tryst lingers in Aemond's mind, refusing to let him rest.

Warnings: 18+, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, allusions to smut (oral f. receiving), perfectionism, self-doubt

Word count: 2700

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to my darling @randomdragonfires for being this fic's number one fan. ILY Sam 🩵

He still tastes it.

Her.

Tangy and wanting and addictive. 

The rush Aemond felt from being with her still bubbles inside his veins as he laces up his running shoes. Not even a night's sleep has helped his inner craving for more. 

More of her. 

After their tryst last night, when he couldn't contain his want for her, and when she came twice on his tongue, he’d been so dumbfounded as the reality of what they'd done settled in, he left wordlessly while she was still panting, slumped against the grimy wall of the boathouse with her shirt ripped open and skirt hiked up around her waist. 

She must despise him now, leaving her yet again. 

If she only knew of the panic swirling inside of him. The conflicting feelings of wanting to run away from her and needing to feel her close, just for a little longer. 

Maybe it’s for the best. 

Nothing can come of this anyway; it’s a relationship doomed from the start. 

Like everything belonging to summer, it flourishes now, only to slowly decay and rot away as the dreamy shimmer over Red Lake dulls out.

Autumn, and the promise of an ending, lurks around the corner.  

This morning, Aemond doesn’t bother with stretching, eager to just run, until his legs give in and his lungs hurt. He needs that soothing numbness that comes after a good workout; the kind that kills the rowdy demons in his head and allows him to just exist; just be, even if only for a few hours. 

Mindlessly, he sets sight on the path that twists around the small hills and trees outlining the resort. There’s no thought behind his direction, he doesn't need one. He knows the ruins of House Crane as well as he knows the spiralling cobblestone streets of Oldtown, and the skyscrapers towering over King’s Landing. 

Every well-trimmed tree and carefully groomed bush he passes is familiar. He’s watched them stay the same his entire life. Just like Red Lake, they never seem to age, never grow outdated. 

There’s an eternal charm to the resort, in the way it stays the same. 

It must’ve looked like this when mum was a kid as well. 

Like most mornings, Daeron had asked him if he wanted to join his daily outing. 

Today was something about mountain biking close to Goldengrove, a two-hours drive away. For a moment, Aemond had considered taking his younger brother up on his offer. Seemingly the perfect escape; a nice, physical activity with just the right amount of recklessness to keep him alert, without any real risk of permanent brain damage. But there was this voice in the back of his head that told him to stay. 

A barely-there, low hum that kept him tethered to the resort. 

That voice whispered about her, urging Aemond to seek her out. For what reason, he’s not sure. He can’t imagine that she wants to talk to him. She might even be looking for a new dance partner right at this moment, given how yesterday’s session ended. 

By the time his legs ache and lungs fight for oxygen, he finds himself back by the Targaryen villa. And just like the other day, accompanying the familiar scent of roses, is the sight of her. 

The fierce pounding of his heart has nothing to do with the run anymore.

There is something that stings in his chest when he sees her, a stab that isn’t entirely uncomfortable, more like the chilling rush he felt when he was with her last time. Addictive and terrifying.

She wears the same radiant smile as always, teaching a small group consisting of mostly men, eager to pull her into their arms as she teaches them a slow-paced couples dance. 

But something about her seems different. It’s all a bit too perfect, too polished, like a performance she’s trying too hard to pull off. 

And now he sees it. Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

Unsure of whether he should approach her or just leave, Aemond hovers at a distance, temporarily mesmerised by the gentle way she moves, a gracious contrast to the fumbling geezers trying to keep up with her. 

Her voice is soft but commanding as she corrects their postures. Despite her overly cheery smile, there’s something magnetic about it. It’s a mask, he knows that much. And yet, he feels her draw him in. 

Her hair catches in the sunlight, glinting with each turn, and his gaze follows her almost without realising it.

Aemond leans against a nearby fence, the morning breeze cooling the sweat that clings to his skin. 

There’s a tightness in his chest. Not the physical ache from his run, but something else, something deeper. 

As she demonstrates proper hand-placement, he can’t help but admire the ease with which she moves, the fluidity in her steps. It’s as if she was made to do this; to dance. To exist in a world of grace and movement.

Still, the memory of yesterday plagues him. The way he left, abrupt and thoughtless, gnaws at him. She doesn’t know how often his mind has returned to her in the hours since, or how he can’t seem to sort his otherwise cooperative mind out. 

He told himself he wouldn’t seek her out again. What happened between them was a mistake better left forgotten. 

But now, watching her, he feels that same familiar pull. It’s not just the desire simmering beneath his skin. No, something else hides there, a strange sense of regret and the faintest whisper of something more severe. 

Something he’s not ready to acknowledge.

She catches him off guard when her eyes flicker toward him, her smile faltering for just a fraction of a second before she recovers. Her mask slips back into place, but in that brief moment, he sees it; the hurt she’s hiding behind the façade.

Aemond pushes off the fence, guilt, embarrassment and longing fighting within him. He takes a deep breath and forces himself to move toward her, determined to say something, anything, to fix what he’d broken.

But even as he walks toward her, the unease in his gut tells him that it’s already too late. 

“Can we talk?” 

Aemond’s voice is low, almost drowned out by the chatter of her elderly students. 

She turns to him, still smiling, but there’s a coolness there now. A distance. 

“Talk about what?” she asks, tone light but guarded.

“About… yesterday”

For a brief second, something shifts in her eyes. But she blinks it away, that fake smile widening.

“It is what it is, Aemond. Don’t worry about it. It won’t happen again”

Her nonchalance stings. He thought he’d feel relief hearing her dismiss his worries, but there’s a tightness in his chest, a sharp stabbing he can’t quite identify. It feels too much like the rush he’d felt when they were together; frightening in the most compelling way. 

He forces himself to nod,

“Right. It won’t happen again”

Without another word, she turns and leaves him standing there, a hollow sense of regret the only remainder of their interaction. 

An entire day goes by, yet Aemond can’t shake the lingering feeling she has instilled in him. 

He barely talks during dinner, even quieter than usual. By the time dessert is served, some white chocolate treat he won’t bother reaching for, Helaena lays a comforting hand on his restlessly tapping fingers and asks in a whisper,

“You okay, Aemond?”

“Mm”

Not long after, he excuses himself, and heads up to his room. 

The restless energy that had driven him to run this morning has returned, creeping beneath his skin like an impending catastrophe he can’t outrun. 

He knows he won’t be able to sleep, or even rest, in this state, and mindlessly grabs his pack of cigs before heading out the door again, moving carefully and with light steps so his family doesn’t notice his departure. 

He needs time to think and sort out his feelings, and listening to his brother's endless yapping, or his sister’s concern, won’t help. 

He rounds the back of the villa, and walks aimlessly around the abundantly green landscape of Red Lake resort, hoping that the cool night air will settle his nerves.

His mood causes agitation to fume inside him, clouding his own self-hatred and uneasy state. 

Why did this bother him so much? Why does he give a single fuck about what a dance instructor at a dusty old resort thinks about him? She can stay disappointed with him until he dies, and it won’t affect his life in the slightest. 

As his mind spirals, for the second time today, he is forcefully confronted with the woman that won’t leave his mind. 

She’s alone, moving in the dim light of the evening, her figure illuminated by the soft glow of the nearby lanterns. 

Aemond watches her body twists and turns in graceful arcs, fluid yet tense, like she’s lost in her own world. The movements don’t have the same seamless elegance he’s used to seeing from her. 

There's an edge to them, a sharpness that betrays frustration.

Her arms cut through the air, precise but forceful, as if she’s trying to carve space around her, or push something away. 

Her feet slide across the grass, fast, then hesitant, as though she’s caught in an unspoken argument with herself, torn between surrender and resistance. 

Every step is deliberate, but there’s a tension in the way she moves, a stiffness that shouldn't be there. She’s fighting the rhythm instead of flowing with it.

Aemond stops in his tracks, hiding in the shadow of a tree, not wanting to disturb her. 

Something in the way she dances, so fervent and desperate, tells him to not interrupt. 

It’s not the same careful grace she shows when she teaches or performs in front of others. This is personal. She moves as if the dance is both liberating  and restricting; a place where she can express what words can’t, but also where she’s trapped, unable to find peace.

Every sharp turn of her body is a silent shout of frustration. Each spin is a desperate attempt to reclaim control. 

There’s an anger in her movements, the kind that comes when someone has been pushed too far, and Aemond recognizes it. He’s felt it before; the need to throw yourself into something, anything, to drown out the chaos in your mind.

To Aemond, there’s a beauty hidden in the way she’s unravelling. 

It’s the rawness of someone who’s vulnerable, unguarded, and for a moment, he feels an unexpected pull in his chest. A need to reach out and stop her from pushing herself too hard. 

But something keeps him rooted in place. 

Maybe it’s the knowledge that she wouldn’t want his help anyway. 

Still, he can't tear his gaze away. She’s captivating, even in her frustration, maybe especially so. 

The fierce determination in her eyes, the way her body refuses to give in, even as her movements falter, reminds him of himself. It’s both mesmerising and heartbreaking to watch.

He’s so used to her being in control. 

Always composed. 

Always effortlessly graceful. 

He watches the tension settle in the arch of her back, the clench of her jaw, the way she bites her lip when she stumbles again, refusing to acknowledge her misstep.

Cautiously, he moves out of his hiding spot, 

“Why didn’t you tell me we were practising?”

Her head aggressively snaps to the side at his voice, 

“I’m not practising. I need to figure this out on my own”

She sounds as irritated as the tension in her body displays. Aemond watches her for a moment, recognizing the passion and determination etched in her features. It reminds him of his own relentless drive when it comes to perfecting his skills. 

Never good enough. 

Never satisfied.

“You’re overworking yourself,” he says, tone softer this time, “Take a break” 

She sighs heavily, exasperated, but after a beat of contemplation, she nods, 

“Maybe you’re right”

She moves away from the grass, and from him, slowly walking towards the nearby dock, feet dragging behind her in a silent invitation for him to follow.

She sits down on the edge of the dock, her legs dangling over the water. Aemond, who’d heeded her wordless instructions and followed her, remains upright, shifting his weight from one foot to another, unsure of whether he should stay or leave her alone. 

A suffocating silence hangs in the air. He observes her, but she doesn’t look up to meet his gaze. 

Her eyes are trained on her legs, a frown forming between her brows as she digs her thumbs into the muscles of her thighs. She winches and bites her lip to prevent a whimper from escaping, but still continues to amateurishly press into her flesh. 

By the sound of a third thinly concealed groan leaving her, Aemond kneels next to where she sits and grabs her leg in a firm hold, steering it so that it rests on his lap. 

His touch is firm but gentle as he works his fingers into the tight muscles of her legs, easing the tension that’s built up from her relentless practice. He focuses on her calves first, then moves up to her thighs, covertly enjoying the soft heat of her skin a bit more than he’d admit. 

She closes her eyes, leans back slightly, and hums in satisfaction as his hands continue their careful work.

“That feels really good”, she murmurs after a while. 

Aemond’s heart beats a little faster at the sound of her voice, so content and inviting. The irritation from before has been swept away by the light breeze of the lake, and he can feel her slowly relaxing under his touch, her body accepting the comfort he’s offering.

“It’s something I picked up back when I did weekly competitions. Your legs need rest” 

When he finally pulls his hands away, she glances at him, intrigued in a way Aemond can’t really decipher.

There’s a vulnerability in her eyes now; a crevice in the walls she’s built around herself. 

It mirrors the way he feels; scared shitless that the warmth spreading in his chest is anything more than shallow desire. 

He moves to sit next to her, careful so his long legs don’t touch the water beneath them. They both observe the lake shimmering in the moonlight, so tranquil and peaceful. 

The silence persists between them. 

It doesn’t feel natural, not when his mind is swirling with things he’d like to ask her.  

Have you thought about me all day too?

Do you ever think about me? 

Do you regret what happened yesterday? 

Aemond Targaryen wouldn’t call himself a coward. He’s always been fearless, always been eager to prove himself. Never backing down from a challenge, no matter how strenuous. And yet, here he sits, glued to his spot, unable to break the silence suffocating them. 

A few more moments go by with his eyes locked on the dark glitter dancing on the surface of the water. Then, the familiar warmth of her fingertips tickles the back of his hand, and he realises that she’s far braver than he’ll ever be. 

She moves closer and rests her head on his shoulder, eyes still admiring the beautiful allure of Red Lake. 

Aemond flips his hand, and lets her fingers run over his palm. 

He gently grabs her hand and lets his thumb run over the thin skin over her knuckles, 

“I don’t regret what happened yesterday” 

“Me neither”, she replies. 

“Good”

The suffocating air between them clouds his senses, and without thinking too much about it, Aemond shifts to the side. He carefully cups her cheek and steers her away from his shoulder and towards his lips.  

There is a vibration within him that only starts to buzz when he touches her. Perhaps it’s his greediness; his wish to take all she has, indulge in her touch until he grows tired of it. 

He doesn’t think he ever will. 

A/N: Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this, please consider leaving a comment or reblog, it would mean a lot. Kisses!

[drdemonprince]

Do you have any favourite scary movies?

I love the ambiguity and grief of The Orphanage, and the main character's emotional journey is absolutely gutting.

The Strangers has some of the most subtle, dread-inducing scares of any horror film of its era; if you liked the hidden ghosts in Mike Flanagan's Haunting of Hill House, it owes some inspiration to this film, I think. It truly gave me nightmares.

The newer Suspiria has really stayed with me, and I loved Flawed Peacock's analysis of the film on Youtube as well. I watched both this and the original back-to-back a few months ago, and they're both great in different ways, but nothing tops the haunting, sickening beauty of the end of this one.

28 Days Later is the only zombie movie for me, and yes part of that is because Cillian Murphy was so fuckable in it. I'll never forget the quiet, contemplative air of this movie, which is rivaled only by The Last of Us games. The zombie genre is bloated with derivative crap, but this movie rang in a whole new generation, and did it so well you don't need most of the rest.

The original Saw is a hell of a stage-play-slash-bottle-episode, and it's far more sophisticated in its writing than any of the rest in the series. It really holds up in my opinion.

The Cell isn't really that scary, to me, but it's fucking cunty as hell with incredible costumes and set pieces, and I enjoyed every minute of it. Bonus points for having a minor corruption/hypnosis aspect really tickled my imagination. I just wish that element had lasted for longer.

Speaking of movies that are actually plays -- there's no better Stephen King adaptation than Misery. Kathy Bates absolutely crushes in a nauseating, confining performance here, and the hobbling scene is one you just never forget. To me it's a perfectly paced film, and it holds up shockingly well in the era of stans and superfandoms.

Ghost Ship is my favorite bad stupid horror movie. The opening scene is enough creative nonsense carnage to justify its existence, but stick around through the end for a very weird trip-hop montage.

Dead Silence is another goofy one that gets really inventive with its gore. I love horror movies that do just downright disrespectful, creepy shit with corpses, and that's what this one is all about.

The Boy is a fucking laugh riot to me. The entire premise is so transparent from the very beginning and the thrills are so awkward and tame that it's a great Halloween party movie. If you're anything like me, you and your friends will walk around the house talking about the Boy for days afterward. Brahms is an age regressor king

Some people find Aronofsky's movies to be too over-the-top to connect with, but I think he nailed the internal horror of perfectionism, codependency, sexual repression, and eating disorders with Black Swan. Barbara Hershey's character is so perfectly unsettling that it sets all my people-pleasing, abandonment-fearing issues alight every time. Everything about this movie is confining and distorting, which is exactly how it feels inside when you narrow your entire life to a singular pursuit and are governed by impossible rules.

The Others has exactly what I need for a horror movie to have good replay value: just like The Orphanage, it's final reveal is more depressing and unsettling than it is pure scary, which makes it cut deeper, and it recontexualizes the whole rest of the film. The interiors and aesthetics are great.

Possession is easily the most disturbing movie on this list. This one cuts deep in a confusing, unmooring way -- it makes you feel sick in your soul, hopeless, and put off from relationships. Filming it reportedly ruined Sam Neil & Isabelle Adjani's lives for a good while, and you can see why. This film is the psychological reality of divorce in its unabashed form. To really leave behind a life you once committed yourself to, you have to become almost unrecognizable to yourself, and do great violence to both your former self, and the ones you love. This film gets that, and it's painful. It makes you feel disgusting for wanting things or for staying in a place where you're unhappy.

Happy watching!

[spnwin-reader]

I love 1x12 Everybody Loves a Clown almost as much as 1x06 The Art of Dying.

DISAGREEMENTS & "OH NO! YOU ARE NOT JUST LIKE ME"

John and Mary are actively, gloriously disagreeing.

Mary has a lot of good points, but don’t be fooled—John’s points are just as on the money here. (And as an aside// Mary’s pushing him relentlessly, much like Sam would, refusing to back down or give an inch where her own discomforts are involved. She's losing herself in hunting just as much as John is, delaying decision-making on purpose.

John’s way of dealing isn’t exactly like hers, and she’s a bit of a control freak, so she's being forced to confront a tough truth in Real Relationships: You are not just like me.

//

WHO'S IN A BETTER HEADSPACE, TRULY?

Despite Mary’s anxiety over how John is reacting to trauma, and with Carlos gently reminding her that "everyone processes trauma differently," it’s John who’s actually in a healthier headspace than she is!

Truth is... They're both losing themselves in hunting, and they're both angry. (But Mary trusts her own violence more than John's, of course.) She falls prey to limbo quite easily, in part because, as a leader, she has intense decision-making fatigue. It's nice not to make decisions... even for a little while.

But John's instinct is to cover his eyes, feeling his way around for Mary, because he wants to LEAVE Limbo.

JOHN: We have to get out of here. We'll break our way outta this maze if we have to. [...] Mary, there's a world out there we have to save. MARY: All you have to do is look in the mirror behind me.

This is the lure of the rearview mirror. And John says no. (He's been slowly making peace with Henry’s abandonment; this was the thing he struggled to process.) While John often runs too fast toward the future to escape the past, Mary is caught in a strange limbo—deeply entrenched in the past while pretending to look ahead. She digs her heels into what was, not processing her disappointment and fear, imagining a simple, uncomplicated future instead.

He has to get tricked into staying there.

LIMBO: A bit of misdirection. I'm sorry to have to trick you, John. But I guess the joke's on you. Now, put a smile on that face.

He even CRIES when he realizes he's been trapped!

//

FROM LIMERANCE TO GROWNUP RELATIONSHIP

Fundamentally, though, their disagreements represent that crucial point where their connection shifts from the initial spark of limerence—where everything is intense but ultimately surface-level—into something more real. It's a much deeper stage of love.

They're at that crossroads where they have to decide if they’re willing to face uncomfortable truths about each other and see one another as individuals, not just as reflections of their own immature needs—or as all-or-nothing figments of apple pie and white picket fences.

This is Dean's cosmic wisdom about romance and relationships. And it's wisdom that he wants to share with them.

(SEE 1x13 SPNprime: "Well, usually things get worked out. When you really want them to. / No more excuses, okay?")

Dean wants them to see each other and understand: They’re people who can and will let each other down. After all, Mary’s all-or-nothing, black-and-white perfectionism is something Dean knows all too well.

MARY: We can be together where there aren’t any problems, and we never have to fight again.

Limbo is the immature illusion of the nursery, the always-and-never. Limbo himself is a clown dressed in black and white, and Mary and John, in their own ways, are clowns trapped in that same black-and-white world. (Interestingly, in the next episode, they'll be wrapped in color.)

//

TOWARDS THE FUTURE

Staying together means they're going to disagree with and frustrate one another. This is the moment their relationship stops being about idealized versions of each other and begins navigating toward the future, armed with the knowledge of the complexities of who they really are—flaws, differences, and all.

It's working through those conflicts that builds something real. When they start disagreeing, it shows that they’re no longer in the honeymoon phase and are either choosing to grow together or face the fact that they might not be compatible in the long term. The "Adios."

I just LOVE when characters have to decide whether to embrace the messiness of a real, grown-up relationship—one that integrates with and balances the complexities of the real world, their families, and their obligations/responsibilities—or if it’s easier to settle for a goodbye that ultimately doesn’t challenge them, because it's something they don’t truly need.

MARY (honestly, painfully about Limbo): Actually, it was kinda nice.

It's no wonder that everyone looks at her with just a bit of fear, because this is the specter of a troubled psyche, that pseudo-suicidal thinking and the nihilism of checking out of life.

(Interesting, though, that Carlos looks more aligned with Mary, almost like he kind of "gets it.")

While Lata and John struggle with "anger mode," Carlos and Mary tend to more often be in "running mode."

//

In the end, John and Mary talk and tacitly choose to face it: all the anger, escapism, and hypocrisy while acknowledging the pains that Limbo woke up in each of them.

John is very open here, and he takes the first step in apologizing WITHOUT pressing on the wound of Mary's hypocrisy.

JOHN (understandingly): So do you really mean that? MARY: Didn't it feel good to you, not having to worry about our problems for a second, not having to worry about us? JOHN (gently): Maybe. But it also made me realize that you were right. I have been ignoring things because it's easier than facing the truth. I'm sorry for that. I am also sorry for being so angry with you. MARY (realizing): I guess I got kind of angry myself... you calling me a hypocrite and all. (scoffing, then laughing) But you were right, too. Thinking about the future is scary. JOHN: So we good? MARY: ...

It's scary to care about each other!

But also, Mary is realizing. She may not know what she wants, but it's NOT college. She won't tell John that because she still needs time to figure it all out.

It makes me think of Dean's words in 15x08, where he's talking about Michael but also... himself:

DEAN: I mean, he's been in lockdown for quite a while, you know? Maybe you just, uh, went too fast.

Because of how she was raised, Mary's been in emotional "lockdown" for a long time, too.

[lazuli-starlight]

LAES Earth Appreciation Post!

[This is something I wrote in the tsbs discord like back in october. But, I think nows a good time to share what I said on the tumblrs]

I love Earth shes awesome. Compassionate and humble but not a pushover or doormat. Feminine and emotional but not portrayed as weak. Not only is she one of the physically strongest characters in all of TSBS (barring the astrals and robots made of adaptium), but allowing herself to openly display and feel her emotions allows her to have a great deal of emotional resilience. Sun has broken, Moon has broken, Lunar has broken, Nex broke x 50. But while she has been upset and needed time to process bad things happening to her, Earth has not broken. And loosing her innocence and naivete did not make her lose her kindness. She just learnt to place value on herself.

And quite often despite being very openly emotional Earth is probably a lot more rational about things (generally) than her brothers (apart from Solar) tend to be.

And I love that there is a feminie character being portrayed as being strong both physically and mentally without it detracting from her femininity or portraying her as cold and stoic. We need more characters like that. ------

To add on to what I wrote back then: Earth is not perfect. She makes mistakes. She has unlikable characteristics. She sometimes has unhealthy dimensions to her relationships. She can even be annoying or make dumb decisions. Just like all the other characters in the show! Because if you haven't noticed, everyone in sams, laes and eaps is a freaking mess of a person! They all have things about them that suck and that is part of why we love them!

I love Earth, because she carries some of the flaws I sometimes find myself struggling with. Like placing overly high expectations on oneself, of perfectionism, of letting my emotions at times get in the way of when I need to be objective, of apologizing too much, of taking responsibility at times for choices and emotions that are not mine, of insecurity in if I'm "good enough" or "kind enough" or "trying hard enough", and of placing too much of my identity and validation in the hands of others at times.

Earth is awesome. and imperfect. and that is why I love her character.

[sootnuki]

how do you draw Sam so smoothly? I just want to admire your artwork and show it to the whole world it's so beautiful and shaped

tbh it’s a mixture of practice and perfectionism. i have my own ways of making sam easier for myself (see below) but also. if i don’t get him right i’ll blow up