#since i wrote at work

[softyuujis]

I want to put my two cents on a Caleb headcanon cause I saw a few and I don’t like em so here’s mine for the possessive girlies out there.

Caleb is a BIG virgin. Has never looked at anyone who isn’t MC/you. Has never had a thought of another girl or woman who wasn’t you. Never imagined a life with someone else other than you. It’s ALWAYS and will always be you. He wants every first to be special and it’ll only be special if it’s with you. First hug, first hand hold, first kiss, first time intimate; it HAS to be just you, just you and him together.

HOWEVER, he’s not dumb. He knows his first time together with you has to be perfect. He can’t be coming undone in his pants before he’s had a chance to enter you. He can’t get overtly excited touching you resulting in making a fool of himself. So naturally he turns to books. From female anatomy books that explain the clit and where the g-spot is. To romance books to smut books. Anything describing the female pleasure you bet he’s checking it out, reading word for word, 100% taking notes and reading them twice, thrice so it’s imbedded into his head so when the time finally comes he doesn’t fumble.

And while boys and men use porn to get off, Caleb uses it like he’s got a school assignment where has to watch a movie and take notes. From porn on the popular page, to the inexperienced couples making their very first videos, Caleb assesses each and has pen to paper. Scrutinizing each facial movement, determining if the pleasure written is legitimate or amped up for show (he especially hates those). Every touch, every glide, every thrust, he zeros in on it and puts it to paper.

Does he get hard? Originally, no. He sees this as any ordinary assignment. For the sake of your pleasure. But then one girl looks a little like you for a second, and maybe the man beside her from the side looks a little like him. And then his mind drift to you. You in these positions, him right there with you, touching you, making you moan. He never reaches completion if he doesn’t imagine you, you and him, together. After all, all that he’s doing is for you. For your comfort, your pleasure, you moans and shakes underneath him. So he does a good job, so he’s good for you.

And while technically it would be much easier to put what’s he learned to use on someone else, he can’t go through that betrayal. He is after all, all yours. Being touched by another would be a violation of your relationship. Yes, he’ll keep the good guy act in public, smile to everyone, laugh at a few jokes but words and insincere smiles is all anyone else gets. You receive him wholeheartedly. All his jokes, all his touches and brushes of skin. All his thoughts and attention. All you. All of him is yours.

[quadrantadvisor]

DPxDC Danny/Jason Soulmates AU WIP

-

Jason's timer read 044389:21:08, when the display suddenly went dark. 44,389 hours. Five years, 24 days, 13 hours, 21 minutes, and 8 seconds until he was fated to meet his soulmate.

Or not. Because the time stopped.

It wasn’t supposed to happen. He did his research, and with the resources at his disposal (namely, a batcomputer,) he knew for a fact that there should be no way to defy the fate of a timer. People had tried. Avoidance, isolation, putting a hit out on your own suspected soulmate. Nothing worked. Trying to delay the inevitable put you on the path to meet it. Sure, there were people who lamented the unfairness of their own situation, who were devastated they never got time with their soulmate, famous deaths on opposite sides of a battle, etc. But soulmates always, always met eachother, face to face.

Not him, though. His soulmate was dead. Five years early.

Bruce didn’t get it. Dick wouldn’t talk about it. Alfred only looked at him with pity in his eyes.

Jason wasn’t sad that he was the only person on the planet who’d never meet his soulmate. He was fucking angry, because it wasn’t fucking fair. It was another person in his life who was supposed to care about him that he’d never get to have.

So when he found out he had a mom, somewhere out there, who he’d never had the chance to meet… he had to go. How could he not?

-

It was Sam who noticed, when it happened. Danny had just finished a stupid fight with Boxy, and he, Sam, and Tucker were finally ready to call it a night. Danny de-transformed and grinned, shaking the thermos proudly. “Gonna get these guys back into the Ghost Zone,” he said, when suddenly-

“Danny!” Sam yelped, and snatched at his arm.

Danny stumbled, nearly dropping his precious cargo. “Whoa, Sam, what-?’ he stopped, looking as she turned over his arm, baring his wrist.

His timer was dark, like people who’s soulmates were dead. The numbers still showed, faintly, but they were stationary. The countdown had stopped.

Ice spread through Danny’s veins, like the cold that rushed through him when he went ghost, but worse, so much worse.

Danny’s ghost form didn’t have a timer, which honestly freaked him out, but as a human it had always behaved completely normally. When he turned back, it would be there, the time having elapsed just the way it was supposed to. It had been so reassuring. He was alive. He’d make it at least five more years, and be able to meet his soulmate, who would hopefully be able to accept him the way he was. He wanted that so badly. He wanted someone beyond his friends to talk to, to know him as a person and a ghost. He wanted to not be afraid anymore.

He’d just passed the five year mark, not that long ago. He’d been so excited to be that much closer to someone so important.

And now something was horribly wrong.

“Dude, that’s jacked up,” Tucker said, noticing the problem with wide eyes.

“Did anything happen today?” Sam asked, her expression hardened with determination. “Did you notice anything weird while you were transformed?”

Danny shook his head. “No, no it- it was running while we were at school, and we’ve been fighting ghosts since then. I don’t know when it would’ve…” Danny could barely make himself speak. “Is it my fault?” he said, almost to himself. “Did I spend too much time as a ghost and it just-”

Sam gripped at his hand. “No, Danny, it isn’t your fault. Whatever the problem is, we’re going to figure it out, okay?”

“Yeah man,” Tucker added, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, maybe your parents can actually help this time? Weird magic science is kinda their thing, right?”

Sam looked less sure, but nodded all the same. “You’re going to meet your soulmate. Okay?”

“Okay,” Danny said, quiet, looking down at the stopped numbers on his wrist.

-

Edit: Added a readmore

[saltedbiscuiit]

doodles, wips and unfinished things from October 2024 up until yesterday? I just wanted to post something because it's been a long time since I posted anything and realized that I didn't finish much or post anything in months!

[puppyinpink]

A co-sleep momma waking up to her little sugar wiggling all around in the bed, just about to tell her to go back to sleep when she realizes what exactly her little girl is doing. Shes deep asleep, humping her little dog plushie. Momma is shocked at first- doesn’t know what to do. But her little bug is making such sweet noises and its going straight to mommas pussy. Momma reaches a hand down into her baby girls panties, quickly finding her little clit. She rubs enthusiasticly, her girls moans getting more frequent until suddenly shes cumming all over mommas fingers.

[aquanutart]

[ephie-om]

The Scheme

“This is stupid, even for you.”

“Shut up. It'll work.”

“It's not gonna work.”

“Well if you keep talking, it definitely won't.” 

Belphegor laughs softly and curls up on the floor of Lucifer's dark closet. Satan shoots him a glare from above, peeking through the crack in the door. 

“Just admit you made this one too complicated,” the youngest says quietly. 

“It is not too complicated. It's inventive, not that I would expect you to understand.”

“Okay, let's go over this ‘inventive’ plan of yours then. Step one: Lucifer walks in the front door and crosses the foyer, which arms the teleportation circle. He then walks down the hall to his room, assuming he doesn't go literally anywhere else first, and he takes exactly seventeen seconds to do so.”

“He always takes seventeen seconds. I've timed him.” 

“Then, when he reaches his door, he realizes we've been in here because the door is closed. He gets a fire spell ready in his hand, because apparently he wants to kill us-”

“We've done a lot before. He'll be prepared.”

“And the fire sets off the canister of methane that's been slowly dissipating into the air for exactly enough time to create the correct gas-to-air ratio for an explosion, also triggered by the sigil in the foyer.”

“I double-checked the math.”

“He stumbles into his room, disoriented, and triggers the teleportation circle which delivers him into the middle of the Shadow Forest. He has to fight for his life against assorted monsters for exactly five minutes, at which point the return spell will trigger and put him right back where he was standing. We sneak out of the closet just before that to… do what again?” 

“To scare him.”

“What, we're just supposed to go ‘boo’?”

Satan shrugs. “If you want. It's not really important.”

“That's what you didn't plan out? Really?”

“It’s not that hard. Just scare him.” 

Belphie scoffs. “How long do we have before he gets here?”

“I gave us about an hour to get into position and make any last-minute adjustments.”

“An HOUR?” 

Satan shushes him with a disapproving look, but the youngest is incorrigible. “Why are we staying quiet if he doesn't get home for an hour? This is insane.” 

“It was just a precaution. I had to make sure- tell me you're not going to sleep right now.” 

Belphie huffs up at him. “I would go to sleep if we had ten minutes.” The youngest tugs a shirt down from a hanger and balls it into a pillow. “Wake me up when he gets home.”

Satan sighs, resigned to keeping watch. Belphie's breathing slows after only a minute or two, and Satan finds himself soothed by the quiet rhythm. An hour really was too much time, wasn't it? As if Lucifer was ever unpredictable. Satan's eyes close, and he decides that his sharp ears will alert him when he needs to wake up. A quick nap wouldn't hurt. He leans back against the opposite wall and settles in.

Lucifer hides a yawn behind a gloved hand as he pushes open the front door to the House of Lamentation. It’s been a stressful day, and he’s greatly looking forward to the idea of a warm bath. His keen nose catches the scent of magical chalk in the air, and he glances around until he spots the telltale glint of magical runes written on the floor. He would have to remind Satan to clean that later; he isn’t keen to find out what that spell does. He carefully sidesteps the mess and continues up to his room.

He finds the door to his bedroom latched shut, which gives him pause. He’s completely sure he left it open this morning, and something tells him this was a result of one of Satan and Belphie’s pranks. He mutters an incantation, bringing a flickering flame to life in the palm of his hand. He’s learned it’s best not to take chances with these two. He pushes open the door slowly, all senses on alert. But the only thing his ears catch is soft breathing inside his room. Walking in carefully, he looks around until he locates the source. 

A small metal canister lies in the center of the room, and Lucifer tosses the entire thing out the window, not willing to assume it’s nonlethal. The breathing seems to be coming from his closet. Did they put some kind of beast inside it? It sounds like it’s sleeping, but he doesn’t want to assume anything. With fire in hand, he opens the door slowly. 

The forms of two sleeping demons greet him. As he thought, Satan and Belphie were involved. Somehow, he must have entirely countered their plan. Their sleeping faces look relaxed and peaceful, rare for Satan especially. Lucifer stands over them for a moment, considering. The sweet big brother in him wants to let them sleep and assume their plan had worked. But another part of him sings a different tune. How many times had they caught him off guard, humiliated him? He thinks back on how many pictures he’s had to bribe either of them to delete, and gets an idea that makes him grin.

“Asmo! Asmo, come here.” Asmodeus turns around slowly, one eyebrow cocked. Lucifer stands at the bottom of the stairs with a giddy look in his eyes. “I need your help with something.” “Are you drunk?”

“What? No, I’m not drunk. Why would you think that?”

“You’ve got that smile. What do you need my help with?”

“I just need you to document something. And send it to the household group chat afterwards, of course.”

Asmo thinks it over for a moment. “What kind of something?”

Lucifer grins. “Follow me.”

The two demons make their way up the stairs, and Lucifer presses a finger to his lips before opening his bedroom door. In the faint glow from the hallway, Asmo can see his two brothers in the closet. He stifles the giggle that bubbles up, seeing two of his most intimidating brothers curled up on the floor. Almost on instinct, he grabs for his phone and starts to snap photos. Lucifer stands back and lets him work for a moment. He makes sure to get pictures from all angles, close enough to catch Satan beginning to drool.

Asmo sits back for a moment, thinking. “I have an idea,” he whispers with a mischievous grin. “Be right back.” Lucifer sits at his desk waiting, chuckling to himself every time he looks over to the open closet door. Asmo comes back with a plush makeup bag filled with squat bottles of nail polish. “How do you feel about a little competition? You get Belphie and I get Satan. Whoever can balance the most on them at a time wins. Oh, and if they wake up, you’re disqualified.”

Lucifer’s ruby eyes shine bright with mirth. “Challenge accepted.”

Asmo and Lucifer fit themselves in the doorway as best as they can and start stacking. Asmo gets to three bottles on Satan’s forehead before his brow scrunches in his sleep and the bottles nearly fall onto his face. Asmo just barely catches them and curses under his breath, starting over on Satan’s knee instead. Lucifer has gotten to four on Belphie’s shoulder consistently, but the youngest’s arm is a bit too unstable a foundation. After the third fall, he opts to try the side of his head instead, which works out much better. At least Lucifer doesn’t have to worry about Belphie waking up, while Asmo pauses after every bottle to make sure his brother is still fast asleep.

After several minutes of work, both brothers end up at five bottles. Lucifer tries to add a sixth, which makes his whole tower wobble, and he quickly removes it. Asmo has been nudging bottles here and there, trying to reinforce the structure enough to add another. Lucifer sits back, pleased with his work. Asmo sticks his tongue out as he tries to place one more bottle, but it slips right off. He huffs and glances at Lucifer, who smirks. “A tie, then?”

Asmo pouts. “I guess. Oh! I almost forgot.” He pulls out his phone again and shoos Lucifer out of frame, getting several more shots of his brothers. He sits in the center of Lucifer’s room to edit the pictures properly, adjusting the contrast here and there to make up for the dim lighting. Lucifer sneakily snaps a picture of his own, then sets about the task of removing the nail polish from his brothers. As soon as he zips up Asmo’s bag, his phone pings. Asmo grins at him. “I only sent the best ones.” Lucifer chuckles and pushes the closet door until it’s only open a crack, and the two head downstairs.

Inside the closet, Belphie yawns and rolls over. He thought they were never going to leave.

Everyone inside the House of Lamentation knows exactly when Satan wakes up, or at least when he checks his phone. His roar echoes through the house, rattling the windows in Lucifer’s room. Asmo takes that as a sign to barricade himself in his room, and Belphie relocates to the attic and locks the door. They could try a prank another day; for now, he just wants to finish his nap.

[twilightakiishi]

WHEN THE PHOENIX SLEEPS — C. TAKIISHI

cw: fluff. gn! reader. no pronouns or physical descriptions used for reader. mentions of pee but not at all in a sexual context, lol. lightly edited. wc: 0.9k

Takiishi is….different in the morning.

He’ll never admit that, especially not once he’s fully awake.

On the rare occasions that you aren’t going to bed alone, he’s on the opposite side of the bed, leaving you wondering how he doesn’t roll over and fall off in the dead of night. Your attempts to cuddle are often refused, whether he’s conscious or not. 

It always goes like this; his petulant huff you hear every night as he flings his body away from yours at the suggestion of touch. If he isn’t already capricious as it is, at least you can rely on one constant: Takiishi is a grump past 10 o’clock.

Waking up to a tousled ball of flaming hair nestled beneath your arm makes up for it. 

You’re not even sure how he breathes with the tip of his nose pressed into your ribcage and warm, steady, shallow breaths falling past his parted lips. He keeps you pinned with a lithe arm and leg haphazardly thrown over you. 

You’re never sure when exactly it happens, but you’ve come to realize you don’t care to know the details. All that matters is that you stay perfectly still, or else—

Jolt. Blink.

And just like that, a half asleep Chika has scooped you up and flipped the positions, forcibly nuzzling you into his side as he rests comfortably on his back, eyelids open just enough for the whites to be weirdly, eerily visible. He’s always got to be just a little unsettling– regardless of if he’s aware of it.

It’s just like any other morning spent with him, basking in a few moments of affection— perhaps the only affection guaranteed for the day. His soft breaths and gentle rain pattering against the window could lull you back to sleep, if not for the ever-present concern of a full bladder.

He’s a light sleeper, cracking an eye open at the first shift of your leg off his, and roughly pulling it back on top of him. You sigh. The cycle begins.

Takiishi would rather kill than give up his early morning, all-in-one human furnace and weighted blanket. Sleep is more of a hard reset for him than for anyone you’ve ever known, taking his body temperature down so low you’re surprised his hair doesn’t turn blue. Not to mention the abrupt change in personality– clinginess and a need for affection that could rival Endo’s. 

You fiddle with his fingers that hold onto your leg in an attempt to pry them off you, jumping when he speaks up.

“Stop.”

“Chika, I need to pee.”

“Hold it.”

“That’s not good for you!”

“Go back to sleep.” Easy for you to say.

“I can’t.”

Silence, followed by shallow breaths. You pull your head up this time, only for him to push it right back down. You huff.

“Chika, I’ll come right back. Let go.”

“No.” His brows furrow for a split second, eyes still shut. 

“I will pee right now. I am not joking.”

No you won’t, and yes you are, he thinks.

“If I get a UTI because of you I will never let it go. You won’t hear the end of it.”

Silence. 

“I’ll start sleeping on the couch, even.”

Silence. He knows you’re bluffing. His eye twitches anyway.

“Endo lets me get up when I need to…maybe I’ll go to his place tonight instead.”

That’s because Endo is a pushover, he thinks. Wait. What did you just say?

One amber eye cracks open again to peer down at you. Your gaze meets his even with his hand pressed to the top of your head, eyes laced with determination and just a hint of desperation that he may or may not pick up on, depending on how groggy he is. He watches you strain against his grip a bit longer before letting go, shivering at the loss of contact when you jolt up. 

Pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek and pulling the comforter up to cover his head, you run off to the bathroom, hissing at the contact of the cold floor beneath your feet.

At this point, he’s spoken to you, so you know your sweet, drowsy Chika isn’t going to last much longer. The more awake he becomes, the less affectionate. With this in mind, you move as fast as you can, hoping that when you turn the corner to enter the bedroom he’ll still be a lump under the covers.

To your absolute delight, he is, rustling under them in an attempt to get warm. You poke at the lump to announce your arrival, giggling when he goes still for a split second. Before you know it, one arm reaches out to loop around your waist, sweeping you under the covers in an instant. 

You land on top of him with an oof, giggling as he pulls the covers over you wordlessly. Engulfed in darkness, warmth steadily returning to your bodies, you let out a sigh of relief. Maybe now you can fall back asleep.

“...I’m awake.”

Oh, right. You tense in preparation for him to toss the covers off, but the warmth only intensifies as he pulls you up to rest your head in the crook of his neck. Shocked, you blink, lashes tickling him and making him jerk away for a moment.

“Quit.”

“Sorry, wasn’t on purpose. Uh...do you wanna get up?”

“No. It’s warm.”

You smile, melting against him. “Mmkay.”

Takiishi is an enigma, an ever changing puzzle you have to fight to figure out. At the same time, he’s simple; fueled by his own desires and acting on them without thought. 

You hope the winter lasts just a bit longer this year.

[arsenicflame]

It's a time-honoured tradition- every time Sam comes across Izzy (and Ed) in their travels, he asks Izzy to marry him. And every time, Izzy turns him down.

At this point, Sam is asking more for the sake of it than any belief Izzy will ever say yes, a remnant of childhood dedication touched with 30 years of heartbreak and regret- though even now, a small part of him still holds out hope. Sam's promises have only got more extravagant over the years, from a job as his first mate, to a captaincy, a fleet at his command, a whole fucking island if that's what Izzy wants- but he knows it isn't though, not really. If Izzy was ever going to agree to marry him, to leave his life and go with Sam, it wouldn't be for anything Sam could offer him. Izzy never did care for flashy shows of wealth, for a ship or to be captain. The only thing that ever mattered to him was loyalty given, and loyalty shown in return. 

It all comes to a head after Stede left and came back, after Izzy lost a toe, lost his leg. Sam hasn't seen him since before things with Ed started to really slide off the rails, before stress permanently set into the lines of Izzy’s face. So, when he sees a dishevelled man with a hoof for a leg in a no-name port, he doesn't even consider the idea that he might know him. It's only when he turns towards him, and Sam catches a glance at those oh too familiar tattoos, he realises this is Izzy, his Izzy, that stands before him.

Knowing Izzy's discomfort with pity, he doesn't treat him any differently than he would in years gone by, positioning himself in Izzy's line of sight before approaching and sweeping him up into a bone crushing hug. 

“Israel-goddamn-Hands!” he exclaims, as Izzy grumbles back a begrudging “Samuel-fucking-Bellamy”, a tradition almost as old as their friendship itself. Izzy might not hug him back, but he can’t keep the corner of his mouth from twitching, just for a second.

(If Sam holds Izzy a little tighter and a little longer than usual, well. That's his business)

By the time Sam lets go, most of the crew has appeared in the town square, drawn in by the commotion. They may have given Izzy his leg and welcomed him as one of them, but still there’s an underlying tension, with nobody quite ready to set aside everything that happened before the Kraken. Seeing him cosying up to an unknown man sets everyone on edge, unsure whether to come to their first mate’s aid, or to assume that they've been betrayed once again.

When Ed sees that the yelling was Sam, his hand goes tense where it's held in Stede's. He knows the routine, has seen it more times than he can count, but as he watches them part he realises that this is the first time in a long time he's unsure of what Izzy's response will be.

Knowing that something’s different, knowing that Izzy's feeling vulnerable already, Sam doesn't go for the same flashy proposal he’s been giving for years. He doesn't promise Izzy the world, he doesn't cause a scene (or, any more of a scene than he already has, anyway). He looks at the fractured man in front of him, takes his face in his hands, and says the exact same thing to him he said when they were little more than boys. “Israel, I have to ask you. I know what you'll say, but I have to try. Come with me. Marry me and sail away with me. I'll keep you safe”

And Izzy… hesitates. He glances over at Ed, at Stede, and says to Sam “...We’re staying in port for a week. Ask me again then”

That's the moment Sam knows there is something deeply, horribly, wrong. He's not just looking at an Izzy who got seriously injured in a fight and is struggling to cope, this is something so much bigger than that- and that Ed has something to do with it. Izzy wouldn't even be considering leaving if he didn't. Whether it was negligence or something more sinister, Sam doesn't yet know, but he intends to find out.

[ballwizard]

can i be real with you guys i fucking hate the "HOW HIGH WERE U WRITING THIS XD CARBON MONOXIDE DETECTOR!!! LOL WHAT!! UR A CRAZY PSYCHO FOR WRITING YHIS" schtick that I've been seeing around recently . it's like. Not funny at best and really rude and annoying at worst

[aru-art]

happy 2nd anniversary to what continues to be the game of all time!! 🪐

[peanutbutterandbananasandwichs]

A tale of two wrecked Impalas . . . .

2x01 vs 7x01

So, I want to talk about two superficially similar scenes that are actually very different in terms of what they say about Sam and Dean's relative agency and autonomy.

Let's start with how they are, on the surface, similar. Both scenes occur during season openers in which the Impala had been heavily damaged to the point of being almost beyond repair in the season finale of the proceeding season. In parallel with the Impala in both cases, one of the brothers has suffered some kind of life threatening situation. Both scenes feature a conversation between one of the boys and Bobby about the state of the car. In both cases, the state of the car is explicitly being used as a means of talking about the state of the other brother and a desire for them to recover. The scene in 2x01 is particularly interesting to me because it is one of the only times in which the Impala acts as a mirror/stand in for Dean. As is pretty well discussed on Samblr at this point, often throughout the series, the Impala serves as a mirror to Sam and to his place within The Roles (x, x). "Looks like Dean's taken care of this old beast. Seems like he's taken good care of you too." As Lucifer (as John) says, calling back to John's S1 line "I wouldn't have given you the damn thing if I thought you were going to ruin it." These lines reflect the idea of the Impala, and by implication, Sam being passed down from John to Dean as a possession. The possession aspect is amplified in these lines in particular to me because of the notable lack of female pronouns used in reference to it "the damn thing" "ruin it" "the old beast", all of these serve to strip Sam of his personhood, dehumanising him. Dean's place in the position of power within his and Sam's relationship is reflected here.

Whilst the scene in 7x07 does use female pronouns (and that they are female pronouns is important) for the Impala, it still tacity treats Sam as an extension of the Impala (an extension of Dean) - "we'll glue him back together too" - both the Impala and Sam are objects, with the illusion of personhood, but who ultimately belong to Dean. The scene demonstrates Dean's sense of entitlement and ownership over Sam's agency, his body, his autonomy. "No matter what shape he's in. . ." It doesn't matter what is done to Sam as long as "Sammy" is preserved in some form. By contrast, the scene in 2x01 begins with "[Dean] is gonna wanna fix this" - immediately, this embodies the agency with Dean, if the Impala in this scene is acting as a mirror to Dean then it is saying that the ultimate agency over his own body here belongs to Dean. "If there's only one working part, that's enough" whilst, again, similar sounding to "No matter what shape he's in", I think does have fundamental underlying differences in intension and tone. Sam's line, especially in combination with the first line, suggests that he will look for a working piece, and if he can find it they can help to rebuild the Impala (Dean) around it, and ultimately, Dean will be the one to conduct the final repair. Despite the comparison to the object of the Imapala, I find Sam's approach here to be humanising of Dean. "Working" is I think, especially relevant here when drawing a comparison to 7x01. Dean's line doesn't care whether the parts of Sam they "glue back together" are "working" or not, and there is certainly no indication here that Sam would be involved in the process. Dean will shove parts of Sam back together whether he likes it or not. The 2x01 scene also reflects the relative balance of power in their relationship, Sam as neither the intention, or the power to claim ownership of the Impala and by proxy Dean, the way Dean does over the Impala and Sam in 7x01.

Ultimately, whilst these scenes may appear similar, they are profoundly affected by the relative positions of power Sam and Dean inhabit within the bounds of The Roles, and the effect this has on their relative agencies.

[strryhaze]

persuasion, jane austen / simone de beauvoir / dirge without music, edna st. vincent millay .

[starzwithapen]

⭑˚₊‧° ♢ 𓆩♡𓆪 ♢ °‧₊˚⭑

JOHN DORY / READER ☆ DUET?

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈��� ｡ﾟ

☆summary: Brozone happens to play on the radio, and JD's appalled to find out you're not a fan

☆content: reader is not a pop-troll, reader is gender neutral, lowkey crackfic lmao, established relationship

☆a/n: Silver wrote this one!! And okay we KNOW realistically JD would tell his partner about being in brozone but for the sake of the comedic factor in the fic he's hiding it shshsshshhsbshshsh

⭑˚₊‧° ♢ 𓆩♡𓆪 ♢ °‧₊˚⭑

You'd been sitting in the driver's seat, driving Rhonda around [a rare occurrence, but JD indulged you just this once] while John Dory stirred his sugar into his mug, handing you yours with a kiss to your cheek. You nod at him gratefully, looking down at the buttons spread across in front of you, one of them particularly sticking out to you.

“Woah, wait, I didn't know Rhonda had a radio.”

John Dory leans against the back of your seat, arms wrapped around you from behind, “ehh, I don't use it often in case it scares off all the animals.”

He pokes your arm playfully, eyes glancing out the window, “we're pretty far out, though, should be fine to listen to some tunes.”

You insert a random channel number, turning the volume upwards. This one seems to be a host speaking about the weather, so you switch to the next- sounds like a cheesy pop song of some kind, probably a boy band. You snort at the lyrics- you didn't know anyone could fit that many synonyms of “girl” into one song.

You switch onto the next channel without catching John Dory's wide, shit-eating grin, and the immediate way his face practically crumples apart, “wuh- hey, what's wrong with that last song? It was really good.”

“Okay, I know you're a pop-troll,” you start, trying to find a channel with your preferred music, “but you have to remember I'm not. That stuff hurts my ears.”

John Dory leans backwards, arms crossing around his chest, “Okay, yeah, you don't like pop music, but why that song specifically? I was really jamming out to it, y'know.” He makes that smug smile of his that normally has your cheeks heating, “guy's a lyrical genius if you ask me.”

You stare at him, unimpressed, because he's got to be joking if he thinks that song has deep lyrics.

“JD, he just rhymed baby with baby. Three times in a row. Within the same chorus.”

“Hey, it's hard to think of rhymes that don't throw off the choreo, okay?” He points an accusing finger in your direction before pausing, forcing a nonchalant pose and pursing his lips, “Or- uh, or so I've heard.”

“Yeah, yeah, that's what you pop-trolls always say. I think that guy just needs to pick up a dictionary every once in a while.”

You don't actually care about the song that much, but seeing John Dory get this riled up over it is funny enough for you to go further,

“I bet you I could write a better song by the end of the week than that guy has his whole career.”

John Dory's grin turns wolfish, and oh boy, you should've known better than to try and challenge him, even jokingly,

“Oh you bet, do you? We'll see about that.”

—-------------------

This whole thing was going. Uh. Badly.

Your conversation had escalated into another one of your bets, which you surprisingly lose more often than not, most likely because you bite off more than you can chew. John Dory's unfortunately very aware of this, and throws you bait whenever he can. This time was no different. Winner gets one request for the loser.

You are not a song-writer by any means. You're a troll, yes, trolls sing and dance! But you don't write songs! The most experience you have with rhyming is a shitty poem you made as a teenager that never saw the light of day.

You'd started with listening to more of Brozone's music, and okay, you have to admit, some of their songs were actually really good okay. You'd caught yourself humming them more than once throughout the day, and John Dory always gives you that smug look from your peripherals before leaning in to kiss you senseless. He knew you were coming around to them and it was humiliating, and he was also concerningly elated by it.

While listening you've come to realise the lead singer sounds oddly similar to John Dory, just with a higher pitch and none of that raspiness. Like, freakishly similar. It's had you thinking John Dory's calling for you when he's just sound asleep, and the fact you misheard Brozone's “baby” or “honey” as JD is frankly embarrassing.

You groan and slump against the couch, the pen tumbling out your hand and clattering onto the ground below. Okay, you had to admit, this was really difficult. You were suddenly gaining so much more respect for boy bands.

You'd wanted to use this ridiculous bet as an opportunity to show off, or…even bring you and JD closer together- you know how important music is to him, so getting to write him a love song under the guise of a bet? It's a perfect chance handed to you on a silver platter!

But you just can't seem to think of the words- it's already been a week and so far you've written, what? 4 verses? And they all sucked. You wanted it to mean something- you wanted it to sound poetic and elegant and meaningful all at once, unlike those silly songs on the radio, but it just wouldn't work out!

You muffle a frustrated shout into your hands, pulling them away from your face when you hear footsteps, looking up to see John Dory towering over you.

“You give up yet?” His smile is adorable infuriating to look at, so you cast your gaze aside, huffing and grabbing your pen off the floor.

“No, ‘course not.”

He hums, patient for you to admit defeat, trying to take a peek at your notebook from up above, though you're not too worried since he can't read upside down [or at all, you've come to suspect].

“Okay, fine, I give up. You win.”

John Dory lets out a ‘whoop!’ and throws a fist upwards in celebration, smile so wide you're afraid he'll split his face apart.

You sigh, “Okay, hit me with it, I'm doing the dishes for a full week? Scrubbing Rhonda's windows?”

“Sing a duet with me.”

“This is so unfair, you know I hate doing the dishes- wait- huh?”

John Dory looks at you with a hopeful gleam in his eyes, holding his palm out for you to take, “Sing a duet with me. C'mon, don't think I haven't seen you swaying to my- uh, ahem, Brozone's music the past few days.”

He recovers quickly from his slip-up, tugging you upwards once you take his hand. He carefully starts up his record player, and you're surprised to find you recognise the song immediately, since it'd become a favourite of yours this past week.

“You know this one?” JD grins in your direction, one hand on your waist and the other on your shoulder, his touch gentle yet firm, “think I've heard you hum it a few too many times during breakfast.”

The song starts off slow, as does your dancing, the both of you simply swaying together- you don't exactly…dance often, so your movements are clumsy while his are self-assured.

The lyrics are cheesy, all about young teenage love, but…they make you feel giddy, your steps becoming lighter, your heart fluttering about. And, well, the song may not have deep mind-blowing lyrics, but you think that's the point of it. It's just meant to be fun, have your blood pumping and your heart soaring.

“We're grown adults, this song is for highschoolers.” You say, though your smile is fonder this time. John Dory chuckles and spins you around in his arms, making your head spin in more ways than one, your feet tripping up over his, “C’mon, live a little! Who says we can't be young and free in our mid-thirties?”

You stumble in place, trying to blink the dizziness out your eyes.

“JD, I'm gonna knock you out.” You try your best to grumble, but it only comes out flustered with how hot your cheeks are.

He smirks, twirling you around, “You've already knocked me-” his foot slides under yours, and you fall down into his arms with a yelp as he catches you in a perfect dip- “off my feet.”

Just before you can spew another insult at him for catching you off-gaurd like this, he leans in to kiss you, lips melding against yours sweetly. You melt into it, his arms secured around you so you don't fall, the music fading into background noise in your mind. You know your voice will be hoarse from singing and your muscles sore from dancing by the end of the night, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

⭑˚₊‧° ♢ 𓆩♡𓆪 ♢ °‧₊˚⭑

Would be superr cool if you left feedback if you enjoyed it's super helpful and much appreciated ! this guy is so cringefail I NEED HIM. -silver

[bitchfitch]

I'm pissed at a fic author rn. They abandoned a fic two years ago and this is where they left it:

"Why is that upsetting you?" Link furrowed his brow. His own self disgust, as vague as it was, didn't feel at all related to this. This just felt natural and right. Unless... "Is it because I'm not zora that it's wrong?"

"No! No. Please don't worry at all, my friend," he was a little too quick to the defense, "It has nothing to do with you being hylian. Or, what it does have to do with it doesn't matter in the slightest."

"Then what does it have to do with?"

"I'm not sure you would want to hear-"

"I won't be mad, just tell me."

Sidon's mouth moves, but his voice catches in his throat as he again has to stop to pick his words carefully, "I'm going to miss you when you go home," he huffs something bittersweet, "I'm going to miss you when I go home. I- I miss you everyday even when I've only just left."

"That wasn't what you were going to say," Link would swear his heart had stopped.

"It wasn't, but I don't think it would be right for me to say what I was going to."

A moment passes between them. The confession left crammed into all the empty spaces of it own implication. Another moment, and then Link's hands are moving.

"It wouldn't be right for me to say it either then."

That bittersweet huff came again and then bloomed into a quiet laugh as Sidon let his head fall forward, his crest bumping the front of Link's shoulder.

"I'll miss you," he almost didn't lift his head again, not knowing if he could bare to see what Link had to say next.

"I'll miss you, too,"

And the primary reason I'm mad is because its my fic and I completely forgot I left it there so it's my responsibility to actually keep telling the story. Wahgh Misery increasing forever and ever.

[sadlynotthevoid]

I love Nirei because he may not be physically strong, but he's the funniest mf out there.

A step between "and how does that make you feel?" and "wait for real?!". Nirei please. Sugishita is trying really hard to work on his feelings, stop making me laugh. I feel like I'm laughing at him but I'm not. I'm laughing at you.

His face— Again, Nirei, not the moment.

This chapter should had been called "Sugishita vs therapy". Yes vs not and because he's making it really hard for Sugishita not to beat him.

His face again. Nirei, don't smile like that when your friend (?) tells you about his emotional struggles, please. I'm begging you.

Now you care about that?

[princessofghosts-posts]

Another day another morning where I hyperfixate on Nico and his powers. Today we are going to have another episode of: "Riordan trying to not make the audience realize how much Nico is OP by writing off something and never talking about it again". (There are a lot of those moments unfortunately).

We are going to talk about a specific moment in SoN. This from XIV Percy PoVs (pag 105-106):

“You mean the Doors of Death,” Reyna said, ignoring Octavian. “They are mentioned in the Prophecy of Seven,which sent the first expedition to Alaska—”

Cato the ghost snorted. “We all know how that turned out! We Lares remember!” The other ghosts grumbled in agreement. Nico put his finger to his lips. Suddenly all the Lares went silent. Some looked alarmed, like their mouths had been glued together. Percy wished he had that power over certain living people…like Octavian,for instance.

This also isn't the first time Nico showed to have control over them,since during the dinner in a couple of chapters before he did the same thing.

For understanding the real picture of this,we need to actually talk about what Lares are in mythology.

Lares were guardian deities in Ancient Rome. They were believed to: observe,protect,and influence everything that happens within the boundaries of their location or function. The statues of domestic Lares were placed at the table during family meals because their presence,cult,and blessing were required in important family events.

Romans writers sometimes identify or conflate them with ancestor-deities,and because of this,Lares are sometimes categorised as household gods,but some had much broader domains: roadways,seaways,agriculture,livestock,towns,cities (like New Rome at CJ),the state,and its military (the cohorts) were all under the protection of their particular Lar or Lares.

Compared to Rome's major deities,Lares had limited scope and potency,but archaeological and literary evidence attests to their central role in Roman identity and religious life.

So,while in Camp Jupiter they are treated a bit like trash,together with their fauns,in Ancient Rome they were extremely important. They were like minor gods that protected you,your family,your whole city and military force. And that's something big especially for the Roman Empire because they were literally everywhere during their golden years.

Nico has the ability to literally controll minor romans deities (that works as protective domestic gods) with just one of his fingers. And they listen to him because he has the power to do so.

Of course Lares in HoO have a totally different role from the one in roman mythology. But they are ghosts right? So it doesn't matter what status they have,they will always be under Nico control no matter what,because they are portrayed as ghosts even with their larger role. Because Nico is the Ghost King and every ghost is under him.

Crazy right?

Well,HoH kinda fucked that up with the fact that the roman skeletons/ghosts weren't attacking under his command and Frank had to step up as a leader role.

I'm going to be honest here,I don't like how Riordan gave the children of Mars and Ares control over the dead soldiers that were killed/died in wars/conflict. It's too much and it doesn't really rappresent their nature. I liked how Frank finally grow up in his own role and he got rid of his insecurities,but the fact that it happened in that way wasn't really something I appreciated. I liked more when he had to cleanse Venice from all the monsters to have Nico and Hazel back (even tho I didn't liked his attitude towards Nico during that mission).

Nico showed he could have control over the dead from the Roman Pantheon part,since in SoN he made every ghost shut up with just a movement of his hand and they were hopeless to him. They couldn't go against his order. And now in HoH,in the place where he and Hazel should be the strongest of the group (even with the fact he is half dying already),you are telling me that the deads won't listen to him because he isn't roman? Where is the logic at??

When they were trapped in the palace of the God Notus he was literally training with the scepter,to make sure it was in tune with his powers,for when they reached the his dad temple. That's something both him and Jason talked about before Nico got angry at him (valid),and he even said he got the good hand of it. So yes,he already used it once and the dead responded to his summoning without a problem. The scepter itself should act as a sort of amplifier to strengthen Nico's powers.

And then you want me to believe that the dead took one look at Nico and decided he was too greek for them? When a couple of chapters before they responded to his command and at the start of the serie Nico literally made roman's dieties shut up?

Riordan need to stop adding powers to Nico if he realized they are too much for him to write,or because he don't want someone esle to overshadow his favorite MC. He put himself in deep trenches when he stated that Percy was the most powerful demigod of this century,when there are characters that are his equals (all the Big 3 kids) by just their parentage. And of course,there are also character more powerful than him too,be it demigods or gods,monsters,primordials,titans and the list goes on.

And if he want to add more powers,then he don't have the right take them away with stupid reasoning,or just completely forgot about it after 2 lines (like Nico's sword). A side character can still be stronger than the MC without overshadowing him,you just need to balance them well. Which it's something he never did because Nico is clearly nerfed in everything.

This is not how it work.