#this dude got me waxing poetic and it's disgusting | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

moonbeamwritings · 2 years ago

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the friendship bracelet bombshell

wc: 4.5k

enjoy the playlist while you read

no warnings! just some good ol’ idiots to lovers, mutual pining, and the bakusquad being good friends

It all started with a friendship bracelet. This takeout-fueled, video game-interrupting downward spiral has all been caused by weaved bits of string in Denki’s favorite colors. Every time he looks at it, stewing about its implications, he wants to hurl.

He’s had a crush on you for months now, friendship gradually morphing into something more until suddenly his recently played on Spotify is filled with friends to lovers playlists and every meme on his for you page is about being in love with your best friend. And Denki can’t help it, really he can’t. You’re so warm, so kind, that he felt drawn to you from the very beginning. Now he stares at the bracelet on his wrist, a flurry of unanswered questions and what-ifs swirling through his mind. He’s doomed.

“Sero,” Denki whines, head tipped back against the couch and body slumped into the cushions. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

As Denki’s (other) best friend, Sero has heard it all, has been with Denki through every phase of his crush on you. In the mushy stage, Denki couldn’t go two seconds without fixing you with this disgusting, starry-eyed, lovesick look (He still can’t, and Sero doesn’t hesitate to remind him of this fact), complimenting you any chance he got. The pining stage quickly followed. A non-stop thrill ride of yearning and late-night phone calls where Sero endured waxed poetic about how badly Denki wanted to date you or how you’d brushed hands on your walk to the café down the street from your apartment. The final, and most miserable, phase of them all is something Sero lovingly calls the insecurity phase. Any confidence that Sero thought Denki had has disappeared in the wake of the uncertainty and unresolved feelings that crushes often bring. The result has been catastrophic, with Denki second-guessing every smile and every text. Sero firmly believes that this damn friendship bracelet is the beginning of the end. A bomb is about to go off, and he’s sitting at the point of impact, a PlayStation controller in one hand and his phone in the other.

Denki’s in love with you, that much is nauseatingly clear, and if he knew even half the gossip that Mina has so graciously supplied over the last month, he’d know you feel the same. It’s amazing, Sero thinks as he steels his nerves to deal with more of Denki’s whining, how two people can be so utterly clueless.

“What am I supposed to do now? This is the last straw, the final nail in the coffin! I think I might just die.”

Sero stares longingly at the looping menu screen on the TV, desperately wishing they could go back to the game. How did he even end up here? “You know this doesn’t mean they don’t like you, right?”

Denki’s head snaps up from the back of the couch, betrayal setting firmly across his face. “It’s a friendship bracelet, Hanta. It’s in the name!” He emphasizes the word friendship with a flourish of the offending bracelet, waggling it in Sero’s direction.

Despite the annoyance bubbling beneath the surface, Sero knows he needs to approach this situation with the utmost delicacy, lest Denki start to spiral even further. “Denki,” he says calmly, though he can’t stop a sigh from escaping his lips. “Dude, relax. I’ve told you a million times that I think they like you back.”

Sero’s phone buzzes in his hand, and he spares a glance to check the notification.

< mina: these two are idiots 🙄 >

< sero: you’re telling me >

“Well, did they tell you that?”

The question pulls Sero away from his phone. “Huh?” Well, you told Mina and Mina told him, so…. Kind of? Sero can’t tell Denki that, though. “I mean no, but their crush on you is about as obvious as yours is on them.”

“If I mess this up by telling them when I don’t know for sure,” There’s a serious edge to Denki’s tone that makes the other man shudder, “then I can kiss our friendship goodbye.” A beat of silence, and then, “And I’m not willing to do that. I just- I’m just not.”

A train ride away, your night is going much the same way, lamenting over the grave mistake you call a friendship bracelet. The incident with the bracelet has loomed over every conversation Mina has had with you over the last week. She’s heard it all — the worries about punting Denki directly into the friend zone, the plan to give everyone a bracelet to make things less awkward (She shut that down almost as quickly as the words left your mouth). She has one of your hands in her own, trying and failing to paint your nails. You talk with your hands, especially when you’re stressed, and it’s making her job that much harder.

“Mina, what if I just completely friendzoned him? I mean, it’s in the name.”

“Then tell him how you feel! Clear the air, ya know?”

You huff, almost offended. “Well, I can’t do that!”

When your hand comes to rest on the table, much like a tiger awaiting its prey, Mina pounces. She locks your hand in her own, nail polish brush poised in the other. She refuses to tell you the obvious, refuses to just spit out that the poor blonde is disgustingly, embarrassingly down bad for you; that’s for you to find out on your own, but this back and forth game is getting exhausting. What more coaxing could she and Sero possibly do? She wonders, briefly, if you and Denki are simply doomed to be clueless, lovesick morons for the rest of your days, pining after one another until one of you dies (or gets over it, whichever comes first). But, being the hopeless romantic she is, Mina can't resign herself to the fact that maybe it won’t work out after all. She’ll coax and prod until her throat runs dry if she has to. And, if the situation gets truly desperate, she’ll just tell you Denki’s in love with you. Plain and simple. She’d like for that to come from him, though, so for now, she’ll bite her tongue.

Mina swipes the color (a shade of yellow that looks suspiciously like a certain electrified hero’s hair) along your nail. “Why not?”

“I-, I don’t wanna fuck it up, ya know?”

The pink-haired girl nods, listening intently.

“If I tell him, and it goes poorly, then he won’t want to be my friend anymore, and that’s, like, the worst possible outcome.”

Mina blinks at you like she’s in disbelief that someone could be so dumb. “You and Denki are friends, right? Like, good friends?”

You nod hesitantly. The two of you are good friends, best friends even, though the radio silence you’ve endured over the last few days thanks to that bracelet don’t exactly reflect that sentiment. Denki makes you feel heard, seen in ways you’re convinced you’ve never experienced before. He’s a shoulder to cry on, someone to confide in. You think about the late nights spent giggling at your phones in the darkness of your bedroom, about the photos throughout your camera roll of the two of you, smiling or pulling goofy poses or being close, emotionally and physically. Yes, you think as an ache settles in your joints. Good friends.

She stops what she’s doing to pin you beneath her signature judgmental gaze, one you’ve only seen directed at Kirishima for his taste in shoes or Denki for his impulsive decisions. The sight of it fixed on you for once sends a shiver down your spine. “So explain to me why something like this would ever make him not want to be your friend.”

“What if he thinks I’m weird? What if it makes things more awkward than they already are?”

A comment slips past her lips about Denki being the last person allowed to judge anyone else for being weird before her expression softens. “Baby, you know I love you, and I’m only saying this because I do, okay?” She waits for you to nod before adding, “But you’re dense if you think Denki would treat you any differently for that.”

Your friend watches you think over her words, like you’re examining and picking them apart in your brain. You sigh, hand going limp in her hold. “I know.” The apartment stills, silence only filled with the playlist Mina has on shuffle. You refuse to meet her gaze when you tell her, “I’m just... scared.”

Mina frowns. “It’s okay to be scared. Love is kinda scary, but I think you owe it to yourself, and Denki, to do something about it.” She rubs a thumb over your knuckles, and you feel lucky to have such supportive friends. “I hate seeing you upset.”

“Let’s just,” you deflate, focusing on the bottles of nail polish lined up in front of you, “forget about it for tonight, okay?”

She nods, and goes back to painting. When she’s done, and with your nails now dry enough that you can use your hands again, the two of you have a true, veg out sleepover night, watching videos and eating snacks to your hearts’ content. That night, you fall asleep with your head on Mina’s shoulder, some shitty comedy playing out on the TV in front of you.

< mina: we need to do something about this >

Sero’s response is immediate, a text with a photo attached of Denki morosely fiddling with the strings on his guitar.

< sero: agreed. >

“We could…” Mina taps her foot, chin resting in her hand as she thinks over a potential course of action. “lock them in a closet?”

“That’s too close to kidnapping for my taste.” Sero fires back, dunking a fry in some ketchup.

“Ooo,” Kirishima lights up, “we could set up a mistletoe!”

“Mmm, that’s good!”

“It’s not even December.” Sero adds, tone deadpan.

An annoyed groan brings the conversation to a grinding halt. “What does it matter anyway? Let the two idiots pine.”

“But Bakugou,” Mina complains petulantly, “they’re so in love it hurts.”

“That shit’s none of my business.”

“But they’re our friends, remember?”

Kirishima smirks, knowing just how to push the blond’s buttons to get him in on the action. “And if we help them get together, they won’t be annoying about the pining anymore.”

Bakugou scoffs. “Then they’ll just be an annoying couple.”

“Which is worse?”

A hush falls over the table as Bakugou considers his options. The two of you have been so goddamn annoying the past few months, stewing over your crushes and making it everyone else’s problem. But he knows if you get together, the pining will just turn to... mush, and then he’ll have to watch your honeymoon phase in full technicolor. At least, he thinks, the two of you would be happy then.

He throws his hands up, fork clattering across the table with the force of it, a scowl pulling his brows together. “Damn it. Fine, the pining is worse.”

“Okay,” Sero interjects, “so what’s the plan?”

The plan is a simple, and stupid, one. One only a group of desperate friends could come up with.

On Thursday night, the four of them light up the group chat with frantic texts about movie night and pizzas (and brownies, Kirishima adds excitedly) on Saturday. And then they wait. They wait for the two of you to agree, for Denki to offer up his apartment as the hangout spot — he’s the one with the best TV (and the comfiest couch), after all. They wait for the pieces to fall into place, for the two of you to back yourselves into hanging out with the promise of your entire friend group there as a buffer.

And then, as conspiring friends do, they each perfectly craft their excuses to back out.

< sero: oh no i totally forgot i have patrol on saturday >

That afternoon, another text comes in.

< mina: you guyysss i told kyoka and ochako i’d see that new movie with them... i committed weeks ago 😓 >

Then on Saturday, another.

< kirishima: stuck at the agency doing paperwork 😩 >

And Bakugou, ever the wordsmith, puts the final nail in the coffin

< bakugou: I can’t make it. >

You deflate with each text as it comes in, dread seeping in and tainting the excitement that had been buzzing beneath your skin over the last few days. You text Mina, suspecting that this was her doing, that she’d pulled strings and got everyone in on the scheme to make a fool out of you. She assures you, half-heartedly, that she had nothing to do with it. It was all coincidence.

And on Saturday night as you stand in your kitchen, eyeing the freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies cooling on the counter top, you sigh.

< hey! i know everyone bailed, but do you still wanna hang? >

You so desperately want Denki to say no, so you stare at the chat until the three little dots signifying that he’s typing pop up — as if staring will force his refusal into existence. But Denki, poor, sweet, innocent Denki, can never say no to you.

< denki: i’m still down if you are! i’ve got pizza waiting on the counter :-) >

So with a sigh, you allow the cookies to cool before you plop them all in a container and make your way down to the train.

You’ve made the trek to Denki’s apartment so many times that the familiar path sends you into autopilot, allowing you to shut your brain off, if only for a moment. You walk down the street five blocks, take the train three stops, then head up a few blocks from the station and you’re there. Snapping back into reality only when your fist raises to rap against his door, you barely have time to breathe before you see him.

The moment the door opens you’re met with Denki — his hair tousled and eyes a little sleepy. It’s disarmingly cute, and you have to stop yourself from admitting as much. You notice, much to your amusement, that one pant leg sits higher than the other, exposing his mismatched socks. The sleeves of his sweatshirt hang over his fingers. God, you’re fucked.

Unbeknownst to you, Denki is thinking much the same thing. Seeing you, all cuddled up in your comfy clothes, a container of cookies in hand, unlocks something deep in the back of his brain. Something he’s been trying so hard to just ignore. Your cheeks are pink from the cold, hair a little messy from the breeze outside, and when you smile, Denki’s heart stutters in his chest. God, he’s so screwed.

It takes a second for him to find his footing, but when he does, he spits out, “C’mon in! The pizza’s getting cold.” As you toe off your shoes and shrug out of your jacket, he lingers by the door, weight shifting nervously. “It’s um- it’s nice to see you. I feel like we haven’t hung out just the two of us in forever!”

The comment disarms you, and you’re thankful your back is to him. Your heart hammers in your chest. You’ve been avoiding him, and he’s noticed. Sending that text was a mistake. Your voice is bright, airy, as you reply, “I know right!”

As you move into the kitchen, stealing a slice of pizza before collapsing on his couch, he adds, “I was honestly a little surprised you texted. I thought the whole thing was gonna be off.” He chuckles awkwardly when he sinks into the cushions beside you.

You shrug, a smile lifting your lips at the corners without thinking. “Well, I couldn’t miss an opportunity to see you.” You risk a glance in Denki’s direction to find he’s smiling too, his cheeks a pretty pink color. “And besides, who can say no to pizza?”

Around a mouthful of the food in question, he replies, “You know I can’t.”

Conversation flows easily, harmlessly, between you as you eat, and for a moment you trick yourself into thinking everything is normal, that you don’t have an annoyingly big crush on your best friend. That is, until he gingerly takes the plate from your grasp and throws it away for you. He flicks off the kitchen light and the living room falls into darkness.

“Hold on, I’ll-” he turns on the string lights that sit behind the couch. “How’s that?”

The incessant thumping of your heart travels into your ears and your face feels warm as he joins you on the couch again. You’re making it awkward, you know you are. You can feel it in the way your body stiffens when his fingers just barely brush against the outside of your thigh. You’ve been in this exact situation a million times before — on the couch in close proximity to Denki, the room bathed in the soft glow of the lights he’d so meticulously strung up — so why, now, does it all have to be so hard? So overwhelming? In a way, you wish things were different. You don’t want to tell Denki, not really, but the pressure of your unspoken feelings is starting to crush you.

“You okay?”

“Oh yeah!” You force a smile, “All good.”

Denki’s unimpressed. “You know I can tell when you’re lying, right?”

You sigh, defeated. “Yeah.”

“Sooo,” he prompts, bumping his knee into yours. “What’s on your mind?”

“Have you ever liked someone so much you feel like you can’t be normal about it? Like, at all?”

Yes. Fuck yes. About you, Denki thinks. “Yeah,” he responds casually, slinging an arm across the back of the couch. “I think I know what you mean.”

“There’s this guy…” Denki’s heart sinks, but he says nothing. “... and I feel like I really messed up, ya know?”

He hangs onto your every word, nodding along as if he’s hearing a sacred secret. In a way, to him, he is.

“Like, we’re really good friends, and I like him so much, but I just-” Your hand flops helplessly into your lap. “I don’t know what to do.”

Denki speaks before he can tell himself to zip it. “Any guy would be lucky to have you! I mean-” A hand comes up to nervously rub at the nape of his neck. His cheeks flush scarlet. “You’re just… you’re great. And he’d be an idiot if he couldn’t see that.” After a beat of silence and despite the ache in his chest, Denki smiles and forces out, “You should tell him!”

You fiddle with the friendship bracelet on your own wrist, and Denki realizes that the pattern matches his own. He feels like he’s running a marathon with the way his heart thunders against his ribcage, with how much adrenaline pumps through his veins.

“I kind of already did.”

You’re adorably sheepish, and Denki’s mind struggles to catch up. He searches your face for an answer, and when he doesn’t find one, you supply, “Denki, it’s you.”

“Oh. Oh?” His brows furrow in disbelief, and his head tilts to one side. He whispers, “Me?” A finger points at his own chest.

“You.” You tell him resolutely. “It’s been driving me crazy.”

With the sweet, sweet confirmation that Sero has been right all along (Denki does not want to hear him say I told you so), Denki splits into a grin. Firing your own words back at you, he replies, “I haven’t been normal about you in months.”

“Months?”

“The friendship bracelet did me in.” He admits. “I felt like I was making one of those detective boards with all the red strings. I’d liked you for months and then you tied the bracelet on me and all I could think was, ‘Damn, I really hope they didn’t just friend zone me.’”

You open your mouth, both to speak and to gape at him like a fish fighting for air, but he cuts you off.

“Not that being friend zoned is bad or anything. I love being your friend, like, a lot, but like-”

You facepalm. “Denki, I was so thoroughly convinced that you thought that I’d friend zoned you. You should’ve heard my rants to Mina. I thought making everyone a bracelet would’ve made it better.”

Denki shakes his head. “I think that would’ve actually killed me.”

You look at him, really look at him and despite the embarrassment of how long, how drawn out, all of this was, you can’t help but giggle. “We really are the group idiots, huh?”

He sighs, a chuckle of his own ringing through the air to match yours. “I think this proves it.”

Fiddling with the fabric of the cuff of your hoodie, Denki can’t seem to force out the one question that lingers on the tip of his tongue.

“What is it?” You ask affectionately, your hand closing over his. “You look so… pensive all of a sudden.”

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, testing the water. His tone is so unlike him, so quiet and unsure like he’s afraid, after everything, you’ll pull the rug from under him. Like you’ll deny him, even now. “Please?”

And despite the mounting nerves that settle in your lungs and the tingling feeling in the tips of your fingers, you nod. “Yeah.”

Denki’s hands are soft, tentative where they curl around your hip and settle on your jaw. Silence swirls in the air for a heartbeat, and then two, before he’s leaning in. You’re so shocked, so wrapped up in how much has changed in only a few minutes' time, that when his lips finally press to yours, it takes you a moment to react. It’s chaste, a featherlight touch of skin against skin, and when you manage to finally scramble enough brain cells together to kiss back, Denki’s head tilts, he presses closer. He smiles against your lips as the hands on your skin curl tighter, pulling you in. You’re chest to chest, your hands fisted into the plush material of his hoodie, when a moan, light and airy, unceremoniously leaves your mouth. In an instant, embarrassment floods each of your senses, and you’re left with your eyes wide and face feeling too hot. Your lungs heave as you fight the urge to hide your face in your hands.

“Oh my god.” Your heart is hammering as you look at him. “Don’t- I didn’t-” You can’t explain the sound away; you know you can’t. A sound like that can never truly be unheard. God, you want to die. “Pretend you didn’t hear that. Oh my god.”

Denki’s cheeks are pink as his gaze flickers from your eyes to your lips. “I can’t. I won’t. It’s in my brain forever.”

“Well, take it out!”

“I can’t!” He smirks, one hand mindlessly playing with the hair at the nape of your neck, as if to soothe your bruised ego. It’s not working. “Not when I’ve been practically dying to hear a sound like that from you for, like, ever now.”

Your face burns even more at the admission and you groan, shoving your face into the crook of his neck. “Just, please, stop talking. For the sake of my mental health.”

“I didn’t even really do anything,” Denki muses, facial expression dipping into something more pensive as he replays the moment in his brain. Yup, definitely never letting that sound go.

“Denki,” you plead, “cut it out.”

A hand runs down the expanse of your back and up again. Up and down. Up and down. “Fine, fine. I’ll stop.”

You can feel his lips curl against the crown of your head. You know you won’t live this down for a long time, if ever. Your eyes clench shut as you inwardly cringe at the thought. Great. A kiss to your hair distracts you enough to pull your head from his neck, forcing you to look at him fully.

Denki’s grin is boyish, like the cat that got the cream, as he examines you carefully, eyes flickering to each of your features before finally, resolutely, he kisses the tip of your nose. “Is it too early to tell you I love you? Too cheesy?”

You hum, eyes closing as his palm rests against the apple of your cheek. “We’ve been saying we love each other for years.” It’s not a lie, but it’s not the full truth either. Those I love you’s had been laden with unspoken confessions and platonic affection as of late, morphing their meanings into something different, something with more weight.

“Fine,” he relents, kissing your other cheek. “Then can I tell you I’m in love with you? Is that okay?”

You think for a moment. You think about the tender way he holds you, the way he’s always held you. You reflect on the times he’d dried your tears or led you home to safety after a night of drinking, his hand in yours. You think about the sweet, delicate way he says your name, how he looks at you as if you’re the only person in any room.

You think about Denki, everything that he is and everything he will be, and you decide, voice resolute and eyes blinking open to take in the full vision of his face. “Yes,” Your hand comes to rest over his and you squeeze his fingers, “but only if I can say it, too.”

Denki attacks your face in kisses with big, exaggerated smacking sounds, leaving wet kiss marks all over the skin of your forehead, across each of your cheeks. Your giggles fill the room, and they only seem to spur him on, smooching you even more fervently. He guides you back onto the cushions of the couch and when he pulls away, your ribs ache from how much you’ve been laughing. Your cheeks hurt from your splitting grin.

He presses one final kiss to that grin, one of his own tugging at the corners of his lips. He’s barely moved an inch when, for the first time, he mumbles, “I’m in love with you.”

You don’t hesitate to say it back.

And as you finally tuck into the couch, cuddled close together as a couple this time, Denki’s arm curls around your shoulders. When you reach up to hold his hand, you stop to inspect the friendship bracelet that started this whole mess. You trace the pad of your finger over its tiny ridges before you lace your fingers together.

“Should we tell the others?” Denki asks as the movie’s title pops on screen.

“Nah,” you tell him, squishing your cheek into his shoulder. “We can tell ‘em in the morning.”

The next morning, when you venture to the breakfast place down the street, you send a selfie in the group chat. Denki is crowding your space, pressing a wet kiss to your cheek. You’re giggling. It’s clear the air between you has changed. Something has shifted.

< denki: i beat the friend zone allegations once and for all!!!!! >:) >

And with a chorus of finally’s sounding off in the chat, Denki kisses you again, ready to devour some pancakes with his best friend.

#denki kaminari x reader #denki kaminari imagine #denki x reader #denki imagine #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha imagine #mha imagine

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auckie · 3 years ago

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So you know how gay cis dudes on tumblr will just straight up post ball sack and like a pic of their armpit? Why don’t other demographics do that. Trans and cis lesbians and trans gay dudes and bi ppl in general are like. Reblogging images of statues and hands or really horny anime cartoon shit or like memes about wanting to squish boobs together but like I think if you all were really serious about it you would just start talking about like. How you got your wallet stolen at the Park portopotties while cruising or like posting a picture of your disgusting room where there’s clearly someone’s beastly ass visible and hanging out of your bed or like reblogging images of fat old men or banshee like women snd saying shit like ‘Melissa etheridge probably smells like someone pissed into old socks and I LOVE it.’

Not saying I condone or want to see these things but I do genuinely think that the other letters of the acronym need to step it up. Like drop the weird maid outfit edits and look into finding/developing the woman equivalent of tom of Finland. Let’s discuss some disgusting republican woman as if she’s a feral hog you wanna tame the same way tumblr blogs like maturemenoftvandfilm do. I wanna see old school depravity and unhygienic statements not like. Waxing poetic about hands brushing or cutting each other’s hair. Sorry it’s that brick and garlic I ate earlier idk if I mean this please don’t contact me about it

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shirtlesssammy · 3 years ago

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8x03: Heartache

Then:

It’s tablet time

Now:

A young man runs on an empty trail at night. Another older man runs up beside him for a bit, before taking off. The younger man catches up and congratulates the other dude. The other dude rips out his heart in thanks.

Ah, season 8, unnaturally tan Sam and Dean are at a farmers market, where Sam is eating the most disgusting Red Delicious apple ever, and Dean’s got a case. (And for anyone trying to keep track, the brothers are not fans of each other right now.)

At the cop shop, they learn the local sheriff is a salty dude --and that they didn’t really do their due diligence with the only guy close to the victim that night.

They interview Paul, but he tells them nothing new, just that he passed the victim running that night, never saw him before and never saw him again.

Dean finds another case, just like this one, and they head to Ames, Iowa to talk with the local cops. Same exact thing happened, but no connection to the victims or potential assailants. They interview the suspect, Arthur. He’s got one different colored eyeball, and is muttering something over and over again.

Later that night, Arthur stabs himself with a metal bar. He’s alive --he just removed the eyeball.

The brothers figure this is some kind of donor gone bad situation and head to Boulder, Colorado. Also, Sam had the mayor of Sunnydale look into what Arthur was muttering. (Natasha: Offensive to ME is that Sam’s still communicating with the doctor from the “Amazon case” like that episode didn’t scar me for life. #NeverForget)

While the brothers drive, another murder happens outside a bar. The brothers, though, are busy fighting about what they want in life. Dean then gets a call about the donor organs. They all came for Brick Holmes. The Brick Holmes. I guess he was a famous quarterback that died in a car crash the previous year.

The murderer is now performing some kind of ritual, and eats the ripped out heart for added flair.

A storm dusts up, her heart glows, and then her eyes glow.

Sam and Dean pay their respects to Brick Holmes’ mother. They question her about any sudden interest in the occult. She brushes them off and shoos them out of the door. Dean checks his phone - there’s been another victim in Boulder.

Inside, the woman from before surprises Brick’s mother. She’s the recipient of Brick’s heart, and she insists that she’s essential to his mom’s life now.

Back at Sam and Dean’s motel room, LOOK AT THIS DIVIDER!

For YeeHaw Science:

Sam discovers that the language Arthur was muttering was, in fact, ancient Mayan. It heralded the birth of a god. THAT always goes well on this show. They find another lead - this time in Phoenix. ALSO, Dean also lets on that he’s found an email for Sam from a University regarding admissions. AWKWARD.

Back at Brick’s house, they investigate at night while his mom is away at a memorial ceremony. The house is full of sports memorabilia, including a very old bundle of letters from a long time span (and a number of sports aliases) addressed to a “Betsy.” Sam pulls up photos of four of the prior sports players and discovers that they’re all pictures of Brick - but with different hair styles.

At the motel, Dean connects the dots: the Mayans were heavily into carnage and sports, and their sports heroes would rip the hearts out of the defeated foe. (Side note: a quick web search debunks this as a widely held but likely entirely incorrect theory. SMH) All the recipients of Brick’s ancient organs developed this same proclivity, and reaped the super powers that came with it. Sam discovers one more old photo: a picture of Brick’s mother - who was actually his wife from long ago. They head back to Brick’s (and Betsy’s) house.

Eleanor/Betsy tells the tale: Brick was indeed a Mayan sportsballer who loved to play sports SO MUCH that he brokered a deal with Cacao. If he sacrificed two people every year then he’d stay young and play sports forever. She goes on to describe what female actors go through with roles: she started as Brick’s wife “and then, when I got into my forties, I became Brick's mother.” Oof. She tells them that the heart holds the power, and gives them the location of Brick’s heart - inside Randa’s chest.

At Randa’s club, they haul out the weapons and head inside. Randa talks a big game and as a bonus, she has the other two organ recipients as her minions.

Randa revels in her newfound strength and starts to dig her hand into Dean’s chest. Sam has his back, giving Dean just enough time to ram the weapon into Randa’s chest. Randa and the other two minions flare out dramatically.

Back at Eleanor/Betsy’s house, they finish some tea and bid her farewell. In the car later, Dean waxes poetic about feeling like a warrior. Sam’s not feeling it. He’s ready to retire and live a normal life. (Hiss hisssssssss)

Sam experiences another over-exposed flashback of his time with Amelia. The dog escapes as they’re strolling in a park and he finds that Amelia has laid out a surprise picnic for his birthday. Yes, she DID manage to bring an entire full-sized surprise birthday cake out there, along with an entire picnic. (Cursed thought of the day: blurry wife from the finale is Amelia!)

Quotesball:

What are you thinking about? Organic tomatoes?

When things happen that aren't supposed to happen, they're called accidents

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #dean winchester #sam winchester #spn 8x03 #heartache #supernatural season 8

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rchtoziers · 5 years ago

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fuck it. 37 + reddie. its hella cheesy so u can reword it but i’ll give u my firstborn ty i love u 💓

37. “I tried my best to not feel anything for you. Guess what? I failed.”

this took me one billion years to answer because *jean ralphio vc* i’m the woooooooooooooorst BUT TO MAKE UP FOR IT I MADE THIS EXTRA CHEESY. love u xoxo

Eddie finds him at the Kissing Bridge.

It’s the last place he had expected Richie to wander off to, but he supposes any place is better than the haunted halls of Derry High. None of them had been particularly enthused to return for a reunion commemorating a place that was never really kind to them, but Bill had suggested they give it a chance if for nothing but a chance to all be together again, and when Bill suggests things the others have always fallen into line.

Still, Richie hadn’t lasted very long. His attempts to wallflower himself to the side of the gym were thwarted by people from their graduating class coming up and congratulating him on his big break. Eventually he had excused himself with an awkward pat on Stan’s back, a brief nudge against Eddie’s shoulder, and a halfhearted wave of his carton of cigarettes. Eddie had watched him leave silently, watched as Richie slinked across the floor and fled, frantically, out the gymnasium doors.

Eddie had followed after him without even thinking about it.

The Kissing Bridge isn’t far from the high school; some people say it’s a coincidence. Eddie says that desperate horny teenagers just stumbled across the first place they might have some privacy and called it good. The bridge is covered in carvings and graffiti and the same old garbage bullshit Eddie always remembers there being, but it’s got an extra accessory in the form of Richie Tozier as he leans up against the posts, danging an unlit cigarette from his lips.

“Not to sound like I’m condoning smoking,” Eddie says, “but those things usually work better when they’re lit.”

The corner of Richie’s mouth lifts up into a smile. “Ha, ha,” he says, without removing the cigarette from his mouth. “Maybe I’m finally taking up your advice and quitting.”

“Never thought I’d live to see the day.”

Richie snorts out a laugh. Eddie settles in next to him, leaning his arms against the post and looking out over the creek. It’s dark, the sun long past gone, but the water is illuminated by the lone street light at the beginning of the bridge. It casts a hazy glow over Richie’s face, highlighting the prominency in his cheekbones and the curve of his nose and deepening the shadows under his eyes.

After a while, Richie takes the cigarette out of his mouth and rolls it idly between his fingers. “Why’d you come find me?” he asks finally, voice quiet in a way it rarely is.

There’s something suffocating about being back in Derry that brings out the worst extremes in their personalities; Eddie hates that he feels like Richie is reverting back to the same quiet pensiveness he took on during their last year in high school. It was hard enough watching Richie close in on himself then. Eddie can’t stand the thought of it happening again.

“Someone’s gotta be your babysitter,” Eddie says after a moment. It takes a great deal of strength to look away from Richie’s profile. He counters, “Why’d you run away?”

Richie lets a long sigh. “Something about being back here just reminds me that even though I got the hell outta dodge and moved as far away as fucking possible, I haven’t really changed. I’m still the same person I was when I was here.”

Eddie frowns. “Bullshit,” he says. Richie laughs and rolls his eyes. Eddie knows him well enough to recognize that Richie’s trying to deflect. He presses on. “I’m serious, Rich. You’re not the same person, what the fuck? The kid you left behind in Derry, he wasn’t even funny. I mean, seriously, his jokes sucked. That kid couldn’t have gotten on a TV show. That kid would have been thrown out of Hollywood right onto his ass.”

“Gee, you’re such a supportive friend, Eds, I’m truly lucky to have such a swell dude in my corner,” Richie says dryly.

“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie says. “I’m serious, Richie.”

Richie finally looks at him. There’s something in his eyes that Eddie has never seen before. They’ve known each other for their entire lives; Eddie has catalogued every emotion Richie feels and how it manifests on his face, and he still doesn’t recognize this one. It makes his heart pound in his chest.

“I’m serious, too, Eddie,” Richie insists. “Being back here? Nothing has changed. I’m still that idiot little kid with the feelings he refuses to acknowledge. Still the coward who is too afraid to say anything. I thought moving away meant moving on, but I’m still in the exact place I used to be.”

Eddie blinks, feeling a bit like he’s swimming through molasses as he tries to get to Richie’s point. “Dude, what the fuck are you talking about?”

When Richie laughs again, it sounds hollow. Forced. Sad. “I tried my best to not feel anything for you,” he admits. He puts the cigarette back between his lips and starts digging in his pockets. “Guess what? Failed that one pretty bad.”

“What?”

“Where’s my fucking lighter?” Richie mutters. The cigarette bobs dangerously up and down as he talks. Eddie only notices because he can’t really look away from Richie’s mouth.

Eddie’s own mouth snaps shut. “Richie,” he tries to say. It comes out strangled, inhibited by the fact that Eddie can’t truly wrap his head around the fact that this is actually happening right now.

Richie glances up at him, just for a moment, before his cheeks turn red and he drops his gaze back down to the ground. He starts patting around his pants pockets, still struggling to find his lighter. “Where the fuck?” he hisses.

“Don’t light that cigarette,” Eddie snaps.

“Fucking why?” Richie retorts back. He finally finds his lighter and pulls it out of his pocket with a victorious crow. Eddie lurches forward and covers Richie’s hand with his own before he can flick on the lighter.

“Don’t light the fucking cigarette!” Eddie repeats harshly.

“Why not?” Richie demands. His hand shakes underneath Eddie’s, trembling in fear or anticipation or maybe all of it. Maybe there’s a reason they moved out of this town but maybe this is the reason they had to come back. Maybe everything was leading them here to this shitty bridge in a tucked away corner in their shitty hometown where everything started and where everything would begin. Maybe it would mean something, this time, when they left together. Maybe it would mean what it should have meant the first time they left.

“I’m not kissing you if your mouth is gonna taste like tobacco, jackass!” Eddie says, feeling a little bit frantic and a little bit cranky and a lot like this could be the happiest he’s ever felt.

The lighter slips out of Richie’s hand, tumbling to the ground with a small click as it hits the pavement. Richie blinks in shock. “You want to kiss me?”

“Are you fucking stupid?” Eddie snaps. “Get with the fucking program, asshole! Of course I want to kiss you! You just—you dropped this huge confession on me but you didn’t even give me a chance to respond to it, which was fucking rude, so I was just gonna kiss you to get you to shut up, but I can’t very well kiss you if you have a fucking cigarette in your mouth and I’m not kissing you after you’ve smoked because that’s fucking disgusting, but Jesus fucking Christ I’ve wanted to kiss you since we were kids, you idiot! How fucking dumb are—”

In one fluid movement, Richie reaches up and yanks the cigarette from his mouth, throwing it unceremoniously over the edge of the bridge, before his hand cups Eddie’s jaw and tugs him forward and then finally, finally, he kisses Eddie square on the mouth.

Eddie reaches up, grabbing a fistful of Richie’s jacket and tugging him closer, closer, kissing him the way he’s dreamed of since he was old enough to understand what it meant. It’s messy and it’s just a bit desperate and it’s awkward when their noses bump into each other the wrong way and when Richie’s glasses bump against Eddie’s cheekbone but it’s also the most perfect Eddie has ever felt.

Seconds or hours or years might pass and Eddie feels so cliche he could drown in it, but Richie breaks away with a laugh and Eddie is left chasing it. He’s left with the dawning realization that he’s going to spend the rest of his life chasing it, no matter what.

“So,” Richie drawls. The grin on his face should be obnoxious, splitting from ear to ear, but Richie looks so shocked and pleased and warm that it just makes Eddie warm, too. There’s nothing cocky about this. Nothing teasing, even if that’s what Richie’s tone suggests. It’s just them. Richie and Eddie. Going, inevitably, where they were always meant to go. “You’ve wanted to kiss me since we were kids.”

Eddie’s grip tightens on Richie’s jacket. “If you’re looking for an idiotic childhood confession, it’s about three feet down the bridge where I carved your initial in a heart.”

Richie’s face goes slack. “No.”

“Yes,” Eddie mimics.

“Eds, that’s so embarrassing.”

Eddie refuses to be embarrassed by it. “You’re the one who dramatically came out to the Kissing Bridge to wax poetic to the night sky about how you still had feelings for your childhood crush, I don’t think you have any ground to tell me what I should or shouldn’t be embarrassed about.”

“No, no,” Richie laughs. With the hand still on Eddie’s jaw, he tilts Eddie’s face down towards the section of the post they had previously been leaning against. Their initials are carved there, too. Eddie’s face feels like it must be on fire. “I can say it’s embarrassing, because that right there is embarrassing, and that’s something I did. We were just a bunch of idiot teenagers with secret gay boners for each other and we literally carved our own names into the same general area of space.”

Eddie groans. “I fucking hate you, could you have phrased that any other way?”

“Truthfully? No,” Richie says. His tone is smug but he’s still gone that love-drunk look on his face. Eddie presses up on his toes until he’s almost kissing Richie again.

“Truthfully?” Eddie repeats. Richie swallows thickly. “I don’t hate you.”

Richie’s gaze darts back down to the bridge. “Think that much is obvious, Eddie my love,” he teases.

Eddie shuts him up with a kiss, and then another, and then another.

#hyruling #answered #reddie #richie #eddie #my writing #wish i knew word count control.#1760 words for THIS #anyway #don't know ?? how i feel abt this ?? ???? ? ?? ?#but #cait i hope u like it angel i love u i tried my best for you xoxo #i hope it is the right amount of cheesy

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hobrerek · 6 years ago

Text

Realizations: Writing Prompt

“Brotherly love between Derek and Scott!! Always upset me we never got to see more of them... 😫” - @veseyz

Here you go my dear, Derek and Scott brotherly love as requested! This story took a bit of a turn from where I had originally started with it, but hopefully you enjoy all 2.4K of it all the same. Let me know what you think!

Much love, Jessa

Realizations

Scott was sure in this moment, that if it came down to it, he may actually murder Stiles in cold blood if he didn't stop talking.

"Can werewolves menstruate?" Stiles was asking as he angled his body back towards the screen, typing in almost the exact phrase. "I mean, obviously there's not going to be an exact hit or anything like that, duh, but maybe we can learn something from a history book or like...a fanfiction or something that gives us an idea, you know? Scott? Buddy?"

"I swear to God," Scott muttered under his breath as he walked down the street, ignoring Stiles' shouts from the window behind him when he clued in that his best friend had slipped out, gliding down the street quietly as he cracked his neck in irritation.

Scott was...itchy. Not physically, not as in something he could scratch, but his insides felt itchy, like his body couldn't decide if it was supposed to be human or werewolf and kept slipping back and forth between the two causing an incessant 'feeling,' like a source of friction that was driving Scott absolutely mad. Originally Scott had gone to Stiles to see if he had ever read anything about this sort of issue in werewolves, but when his best friend diverted into theories about werewolf mating rituals, Scott had decided he should probably find his answers elsewhere.

Without realizing or really intending for it, Scott found himself in front of a familiar beaten-up door, raising his hand with a sigh before letting his knuckles rap across the wooden surface, hearing no motion inside indicating someone was home, though he could also tell that Derek was standing directly on the other side of the door and was pretending to not be doing so.

"I feel like you are forgetting something," Scott said with a huff into the cold air, watching the condensed air that slipped from his lips drift away into little wisps, still sensing no movement from within. "As in the 'I am also a werewolf and know you are on the other side of the door' kind of something, Derek. It's weird, stop lurking."

"I wasn't lurking," Derek said with a grimace as he pulled the door open to reveal himself standing in dark jeans and a well worn henley. "I was waiting."

"Behind the door? While you held your breath?" Scott asked incredulously, raising a brow in judgement as he stepped into Derek's home. "You have a functioning door now. That's new."

"Mmm," Derek grunted in acknowledgement, walking back into the house and through the long hallway with the multiple offshoots, entering into the kitchen with Scott close behind him, the latter having followed the smells emanating from the large pot on the stove.

"You can cook?" Scott spoke in surprise, phrasing his words as both a statement and a question simultaneously. "I assumed you lived on rabbits."

"Why on Earth would I eat rabbits, Scott?" Derek asked in annoyance, visibly scowling and drawing attention to his own bunny teeth which Scott could just 'hear' Stiles making fun of in his head. "Oh shut up, not you too."

"You have to admit," Scott said with a laugh as he made himself at home at Derek's dinner table (also new) and eyed the delicious smelling pot on the stove, "that for a werewolf, your teeth are decidedly bunny like."

Casting him a sharp look that Scott was accustomed to and ignoring the younger man's comment, Derek reached up into his cupboard (new shelves I see, thought Scott) and pulled out two bowls, keeping the most recent one in his hand as he pulled off the top of the pot and ladled a few scoops of the stew into a bowl, before repeating the motions with the other one as Scott watched on intently.

"Dude, that smells fucking delicious," Scott said excitedly as he salivated, missing the look from Derek as he shook his head at the younger man.

"Dude," Derek retorted, grabbing his own bowl and sinking down before tilting his head with a frown when he realized he had forgotten the bread on the counter for dunking.

"Bread," Derek motioned, tilting his head back towards the offending item across the kitchen and staring Scott down until he relented, standing from his seat to bring it over, though he stopped to grab the butter on the way.

"Is there a reason you are in my house eating my food?" Derek asked after some time had passed and both men were well on their way to finishing their second bowl of stew.

"How do you know I didn't just come for a visit?" Scott rebutted, though he at least had the foresight to look down into his bowl instead of making eye contact, knowing full well what Derek was about to say.

"Hm, not sure," Derek hummed, tone dripping in sarcasm. "Maybe all the times you told me you hated me, preferred if I didn't exist or asked me to leave. And to think, somehow you managed to get that all into one sentence last time you said it."

"I'm sorry, okay?" Scott replied, clenching his eyes shut as his mouth formed into a straight line. "I was in a weird place last time."

"And the times before that?"

"I'm pretty sure that was just me being an asshole."

Derek didn't respond to Scott's latest statement, Scott more than aware that meant that the older man was agreeing without having to directly vocalize his thoughts, though frankly he had to admit that he had been pretty harsh on Derek last time, especially since he had actually been the one to save the day in place of Scott.

"You are decidedly less hostile lately," Derek tacked on after a few more moments of silence had passed, though the quiet wasn't uncomfortable. A moment later, as Scott finished his own bowl, he realized that Derek had left the question hanging in the air for him to grab onto.

"I may or may not have had some sense knocked into me recently?" Scott stated slowly, choosing his words carefully, brows furrowing as he recalled the conversation in question. "There was some other stuff mentioned too, but it got weird at that point so I tuned it out."

"What kind of weird? Stiles I am presuming?"

"Of course," Scott replied with a roll of his eyes, much to the amusement of Derek who barely kept a grin from spreading across his features. The general annoyance that was Stiles Stilinski was something everyone could agree on, regardless of their differences.

"What did he say?" Derek pushed, his gaze focusing and for the first time in as long as Scott had known him, he could see right through the older man.

"Oh ew," Scott said with genuine disgust, as Derek looked around trying to gauge what Scott's words had been in reaction to, coming up blank, eyebrow raised in a silent question. "You like him."

"Like who?" Derek questioned, though Scott could see his cheeks colouring and could smell the change in the older werewolf's hormones which only caused his disgust to deepen.

"Ew, you like Stiles," Scott said with a grimace, nose scrunched up as he suddenly got a very detailed mental image of Stiles and Derek kissing. "Jesus, please don't tell me you plan on waxing poetic about him too, I already get it enough from him."

"I, no, erm, I mean, I wouldn't, because you see, I mean, with you and him, and you know, it's just, the timing and, it's um, wait what?" Derek finally settled on asking, eyes scrunching together in confusion. "Say that again."

"You like him," Scott repeated, smiling to himself at the look of contempt Derek shot his way.

"Not what I meant," Derek grumbled, though he apparently decided not to push Scott further.

"Look," Scott said with another grimace, still trying to scrub out the mental image of Stiles and Derek making out from inside his brain, but knowing he had a real opportunity to do his best friend a solid after all the years of the roles being reversed. "I'm just saying, you should probably talk to Stiles sometime soon, like...just the two of you. If you know what I mean."

"Oh," Derek said simply, eyes blown wide leaving his face looking incredibly vulnerable as he digested Scott's words, clearing his throat awkwardly after a moment and trying to rearrange his facial features. "Good to know."

"Also, please don't make out in front of me," Scott added on after a moment, getting another flash of the pair locked in a heated embrace and willing himself to think of Kira's breasts or the way she had kissed him when he had left the night before or anything that wasn't his best friend and older brother making out.

"Oh, huh," Scott said aloud, tone coloured with surprise. "That's interesting."

"I'm really not following," Derek said with only a hint of exasperation in his tone, feeling like he was pulling teeth as he 'patiently' waited for Scott to tell him what the hell was going on in his head.

"Sorry," Scott started, still mulling something over in his head. "Stiles was just saying to me the other day that I needed to be nicer to you because you were all I had of my kind and I thought that was dumb since I knew he just wanted to make out with you and have me be okay with it."

Looking up, Scott rolled his eyes once more when he noted the pleased expression that had crossed Derek's face before he continued.

"And I was just thinking how fucking weird it is to think of you and Stiles kissing. Not like, cause you're gay or anything."

"Bisexual," Derek interrupted, waving Scott's protests away and motioning for him to continue, cheeks having gone a darker colour when he realized his words.

"But like, that's my best friend. And you're my like, Derek."

"I'm your like Derek?" the older man replied sarcastically, hands spread as he waited for Scott to explain. "Meaning?"

"I d-don't know," Scott stammered, still trying to make sense of his thoughts. "It's just like, you're not so bad anymore you know? And you help a lot with the pack and answering questions and things. And you don't try and boss me around as much anymore and you're good in fights which is handy, especially the other night."

Both men stopped briefly as they considered the wounded werewolf they had encountered on the outskirts of their territory a few nights previous, the feral nature of the wound having taken over not long after they had found the young woman.

"And like," Scott continued, shaking off the images from that night and plowing forward. "You put up with Stiles. And that's not easy. And you're friends with the Sheriff and he's like my dad so I love him, but that's also not easy. And you get all weird around Stiles and say embarrassing stuff and I've literally just realized you like him and oh my god, would you stop making out with him in my head?!"

"I-" Derek started to speak, mouth closing with an audible click as he stared on at Scott as if he had two heads growing from his neck. "Are you okay?"

"Dude, you're like a big brother figure in my life," Scott said in shock, finally coming to a conclusion in his head as Derek looked on with wide eyes and a thoughtful expression. "Dude, when the fuck did that happen?"

"I-"

"I need to go tell Stiles!" Scott cut off, standing abruptly and turning towards the door, stopping after a few steps to look back at Derek and humming aloud to himself. "You're okay with that, right?"

"Erm, sure?" Derek replied, his voice suggesting otherwise, though it was apparently enough for Scott who nodded happily to himself and continued down the hall, Derek leaning back in his chair so he could watch as the younger man got further and further away.

"Thanks Derek!" Scott shouted as he opened the door, pushing his feet into his shoes and twisting until they slipped in. "This helped a lot!"

"I-" Derek started yet again, looking back at the two empty bowls and crumbs strewn across the table as the door closed behind the younger man. "What the fuck just happened?"

"Stiles!" Scott shouted as he climbed through his best friends window some 25 minutes later. "I figured out what was wrong!"

"Hello to you too, Scott. Thank you for knocking and not just sliding through my window and scaring the living shit out of me," Stiles responded with a hand clutched over his heart from the floor as he flailed dramatically out of his bed. "Nice of you to return."

"Yeah, yeah," Scott waved off absentmindedly, going to sit at the head of Stiles' bed. "So I went to talk to Derek."

"Willingly?" Stiles asked, face frowning as he looked on at Scott questioningly. "Literally like ten minutes before you left you were going on about how annoying he was."

"Yes, but I realized that wasn't the problem!" Scott replied happily, missing the 'what the fuck' expression that Stiles was continuously shooting his way. "I was feeling all weird BECAUSE of Derek, but not BY Derek, you see?"

"Nope," Stiles said with a little head shake and with pursed lips. "I really don't see Scott, since that wasn't even English and you usually hate Derek."

"But that's the thing!" Scott exclaimed, turning to look at Stiles directly. "I don't hate him, I just realized that I'm not actually competing with him anymore because he's like an older brother right? Like, we are going to fight and stuff and he's annoying, but like, he's still family, you know?"

"That's awfully big of you," Stiles said cautiously after a long moment, eyes widening in a calculated manner as he stared curiously at his best friend. "Any particular reason why all of a sudden you don't hate the big mean bad wolf you always complain about?"

"I told him you liked him and he started blushing and then I realized that he'll probably be around a lot more if you two start dating and then I realized that he's actually not so bad when I was trying to avoid thinking of the two of you kissing and now that I realized that I thought I should come and tell you that he's not so bad," Scott replied simply, totally oblivious to the flailing and increasingly concerning colour of purple that Stiles was turning beside him on the bed. "Cool, huh?"

"YOU TOLD HIM WHAT?!"

#Scott McCall #Stiles Stilinski #Derek Hale #Sterek #Brother Relationship #Realizations #Teen Wolf #Scott McCall being...Scott McCall #Writing Prompt #Teen Wolf Prompt #Teen Wolf Imagine #Send me more prompts #See original post #Multi-Fandom Writing #Enjoying Writing Again

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piduai · 4 years ago

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Yakuza!

Favorite character: ryuji <3

Least Favorite character: nishiki no particular reason i see him i see red. die

5 Favorite ships (canon or non-canon): i’m a kazumaji truther forever and always and don’t care about anything else but whatever canon simp canon gay mine and his bestie daigo had going on was cute

Character I find most attractive: saejima’s sis is generally my type not going to lie also this is a very incriminating piece of info but i could see myself hitting up kana from the cabaret game in kiwami 2 i think... she cute

Character I would marry: no thanks i don’t have a savior complex

Character I would be best friends with: kiryu!!!! god i love kiryu, i wish i could befriend him. mostly because he’s stupid and would let me scam him out of his money and wouldn’t get mad even after he’d notice <3 kabukicho is expensive!! he’s stupid and handsome and strong and so so exploitable. also yuki because she’s so so so funny.

a random thought: whenever i see people waxing poetic about the plot in these games and how it’s actually deep and not garbage i chuckle but GOD are they funny as all fuck. i love this brand of comedy it’s so stupid and ridiculous and entertaining. also the “lesbian” cabaret girl from kiwami 1 quest line gave me considerable psychic damage.

An unpopular opinion: i don’t like 0jima at all. everything from his rat ponytail he styles with car grease to his brooding tragique sadsona, majima is a fun and chaotic motherfucker and i don’t care about what’s under the mask. what next, tragic hisoka backstory? please. let him be a sewer rat who thirsts for mc’s fat tits. his dagger and break dancing and bat styles are super fun tho! also 0jima is one of the rare instances when a character looks so much worse with long hair to me lmao

my canon OTP: meh

Non-canon OTP: kazumaji love and peace

most badass character: ryuji he is swag as hell, remember when he was 12 and tried bullying majima into taking off his pants

pairing I am not a fan of: n*shiki/kiryu and sagawa/majima, disgusting

character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another): the whole female population of japan deserves monetary recompense as reparations for the way women as a whole are treated in this game, but poor haruka getting knocked up at like 17 and then sent into a coma head first must take the cake. also majima’s ex wife. marrying a 28+ yo dude at EIGHTEEN and having him beat you because you got an abortion since you didn’t want to compromise your career and then divorce you but STILL die because of him a fuckton of years later. iconic

favourite friendship: haruka and majima because she told him he looks like he eats his rice raw. haruka just roasts majima so hard each time he visits he has to excuse himself to the bathroom every 15 minutes to cry for a bit i just know it

character I want to adopt or be adopted by: no thanks

#anon #thank you <3

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1x20 · 8 years ago

Note

Yo, what if artist! Stiles couldn't stop drawing a hot stranger in his college class who looks really hot with glasses (aka Derek). And then he gets dared to actually sit next to him in class and then the Hot Stranger, and accidentally leaves his drawings of Hot Stranger behind as he leaves and hot stranger just wants to give them back and ask Stiles out because Stiles is his Hot Stranger.

Hello I am back with another prompt fill!!! This is semi-nerd!Derek, I hope y'all aren’t too disappointed with me…

Thanks to @sterek for looking over this for me!!!

Also on AO3

Title: Picture Us Together

Stiles remembers the start of this year clear as day.He’d been sitting next to Scott, both of them equal parts terrified andexhilarated, and Stiles had just been complaining about how he was goingto focus on his studies instead of finding a significant other — stop laughing,Scott — and that’s when he walked in.

He being Derek Hale: two hundredpounds of muscle wrapped in a package of adorableness, bunny teeth andthick-rimmed glasses. Stiles isn’t ashamed he fell in love at first sight.Well, it was more like lust at first sight. The love came when Stilesdiscovered he and Derek were in the same History class and Derek always,without fault, knew all of the answers to everything and handed his assignmentsin three weeks before the deadline.

Scott, the traitor, had told Kira, who’d told Allison,who’d told Lydia, without letting Stiles know, and Stiles is left trying tofigure out how the hell this situation got so out of hand.

“What the hell are you all doing here?” he hisses,pushing them away from the window.

“I just wanted to see if your new… infatuationlived up to me, and I must say you have an excellent taste in people,” Lydiasays, a smirk on her face as she eyes Derek up and down and honestly? Stilescan’t blame her. He’s done his fair share of ogling himself — maybe more thanfair, actually — and although he feels really creepy doing it, he can’t stop.

He looks over his shoulder, back at Derek — becauseLydia can be subtle, but right now she really, really isn’t — only to findDerek staring back at them, eyebrow raised and shit.

“Get out!” Stiles whisper-screams at them, becauseDerek saw them staring and he’s going to die.

“Aw come on, Stiles, why don’t you introduce us?”Scott asks, eyes pleading. Normally Stiles would agree to anything Scott askswhile he looks like that — something which Scott knows and abuses endlessly —but this is different. This isn’t some stupid prank. This is Derek freakingHale.

“Dude,” Stiles says, leaning back against the windowso they can’t look through it anymore. “I’m not even sure if Derek knows who Iam, and I’m not just going to introduce a bunch of strangers to him.” Lydiapurses her lips, ready to go on the offence, but Stiles continues before shecan even start. “Besides, my class will start again soon. I have to be backlike, right now. So go eat lunch or something and I’ll catch up with you later.Bye!”

He flees back into the classroom, slamming the doorbehind him and resisting the urge to lock it. He wouldn’t be allowed to anyway,but it’d make him feel a hell of a lot better. What he is allowed to do,however, is close the blinds in front of the windows, which he doesimmediately, pretending he doesn’t hear his friends — ex-friends — loudcomplaints.

The professor clears his throat, looking pointedlyfrom Stiles to Stiles’ seat. Stiles blushes, shooting him a sheepish smilebefore sitting down. Class starts as soon as his ass touches the seat. Stilessighs. It’s still as boring as ever: the professor’s monotone voice droning onabout stuff he already knows, the classroom dark and warm.

He opens up his drawing pad and starts sketchingeverything he can see, trying to make it look like he’s actually payingattention and making notes. He sketches the desk, the windows, the clock, theceiling lamp, before he grows bored of inanimate objects and starts to look forother subjects. Most of the students look as bored as he feels, and they’re dullanyway. He’s about to give up when his eyes land on Derek and — and oh.

Derek’s actually focused on the professor, adetermined glint in his eyes as he nods along with the things that are said,occasionally looking down to make some notes. His hair keeps falling into hiseyes, soft curls sliding forward until he pushes them back with his fingers,fingers that mould into broad palms and strong wrists, the tendons moving underthe thin skin —

Stiles sets his pencil against the paper and starts todraw.

—

Like he promised, he does meet up with his friendsafter class for lunch. They’ve already started without him, of course, soStiles is the only one stuffing his face with food and probably making adisgusting mess of himself. Usually he has Scott, who also turns into adisgusting mess when he eats, for Bro Solidarity, but Scott is too busy makingeyes at Kira to notice Stiles’ glare.

“So, Stiles,” Lydia says, her lips curled in a smirkand Stiles feels his stomach drop. Nothing good comes out of Lydia looking likethat, twisting a strand of her hair around her finger. “When are you goingto ask Derek out?”

Stiles chokes on the sandwich, coughing harshly andswallowing water until he can breathe again, tears squeezing from the cornersof his eyes. He glares at Lydia, but he probably doesn’t look all thatintimidating with his face as red as a tomato.

“Excuse you,” he says, voice hoarse, and takes anothersip of his water. “What gave you the impression I’d ask him out, like, ever?”

Lydia rolls her eyes, tilting her body towards him,legs crossed and leaning forward. Stiles swallows. He’s about to get it.

“I don’t know, actually? Maybe it’s the way you lookat him, or the way you wax poetic about his eyes—”

Scott pipes up with a, “Don’t forget his hair, hisglasses, his nose, his mouth, his co—”

“Yes, thank you, Scott,” Lydia continues, cutting himoff. Stiles would be grateful, he really would be, but Lydia’s talking abouthim asking Derek out. Stiles. Asking out Derek Hale. “As I wassaying, there’s plenty of evidence that points to you asking him out somewherein the near future. Also, I might’ve taken a look at your drawing pad while youwere buying lunch.”

Fuck. Today wasn’t even the firsttime Stiles had drawn Derek — he’s about three-quarters through his sketchpadand he’s sure at least half of those pages are devoted to Derek’s, well,everything.

“Lydia!” he yells, hugging his bag to his chest andglaring at her. “That’s invasion of privacy!”

Lydia rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her water,lipstick leaving a small stain on the rim of her glass, long nails clickingimpatiently against the side. Stiles would say he hates her, but that’d be alie. His sketchpad, though, is his. His and no one else’s.

“It’s all for the greater good, I promise.”

Stiles huffs. What greater good, killing him byhumiliation? Just thinking about going up to Derek and introducing himselfmakes him want to jump out a window, let alone asking him out on a date. Yeah,no, Stiles is going to stick to pining from afar and stay alive, thank you verymuch.

“Come on, Stiles,” Kira says, sending him a sweetsmile. Stiles feels himself melt a little — there’s just no way to hate Kira. “Youcan at least sit next to him right? Introduce yourself? It’s not that weird.”

Shit, he thought Kira was supposed to be the rationalone. Is everyone really going to betray him like this? Stiles slumps down intohis own seat, pretending he’s not pouting. “You’re supposed to be on my side!”

“She’s my girlfriend,” Scott says, pulling hertighter against him and shooting Stiles a glare. Again, Stiles wonders wherethe Bro Solidarity has gone.

Stiles shrugs, taking a bite out of his sandwich andsaying, “Well, she’s the most reasonable of all of you.”

“Stiles,” Lydia says, her nose wrinkling indisgust as she stares at his mouth. Stiles promptly shuts it. “Kira’s right.You can just sit next to him during class. You’re making this harder than ithas to be.”

“Something’s hard alright,” he mumbles, swallowing thebite. Lydia kicks him in the shin, and Stiles shoots a betrayed glare at herbecause really, Lydia? Stiles really is going to dump, like, all of themASAP.

“Come on, don’t be a chicken, Stiles,” Lydia saysagain, her eyebrows raised and Stiles feels his heart sink. There’s no way thisis going to end well for him, not if she’s looking at him like that. Heglances over at Scott to see if Scott will help him, but the small smile onScott’s face doesn’t predict anything good either. Fuck.

“Yeah, if you don’t sit next to Derek the next classyou two have together, you’ll,” Scott pauses, quickly trying to think of someincentive. If it was anyone else, Stiles might get away from this bet, but Scotthas always known what he liked and has never once resisted the urge to egg himon. “You’ll owe me three bags of Doritos.”

Fuck, the Doritos. Scott’s serious about thisthen, if he’s bringing Doritos into this. Stiles leans forward, eyes narrowedas he stares at Scott, hoping Scott will back down, but Scott just smiles backat him, innocent like he doesn’t what he’s doing. Bullshit, Stiles knows,because Scott is sometimes smarter than people give him credit for.

“Doritos, huh?” Stiles says, and Scott immediatelynods, smile growing bigger until his dimples come out. Shit, Scott has him.Stiles has taken the bait, he’s gone and done it. “Well, I hope you have 911 onspeed dial just in case I get a heart attack because Derek looks at me.”

“Deal,” Scott says, holding out his hand for Stiles toshake, and Stiles clasps it in his own.

“Boys,” Lydia sighs, shaking her head.

Stiles really, really, really hates hisfriends.

—

The next time he and Derek are in the same classroomturns out to be two days later, on a Thursday, and Stiles is both grateful andpissed off by this little break. Grateful, because it gave him some time tomentally prepare himself for the eventual disaster, and pissed off because hisfriends won’t stop bothering him about it.

But, he thinks, that might be his own fault,considering he won’t stop bothering them about Derek either. It’s not like hedoes it on purpose though, sometimes he’s merrily just going about his day whenBAM, there Derek’s face is in his mind’s eye in all its gorgeous glory. It’srude, that’s what it is.

What’s even more rude is Derek’s actual, real-lifeface. Derek’s not even looking his way, but Stiles already feels hisheartbeat speed up at the sight of that dark hair and those cute little ears.

Stiles is so fucking fucked.

He breathes in, out, again, until the urge to throw uphas left him, and scans the rest of the classroom for an available seat beforehe realizes that oh, yeah, he has to sit next to Derek doesn’t he.

The chair left to Derek’s is empty, and he slowlywalks over to it, trying his best to delay the inevitable.

“Uh, hey?” he says, waving his hand awkwardly. Derekturns around to look at him, his eyes a mishmash of colors beneath his glasses.Stiles doesn’t realize he’s staring until Derek raises his eyebrows. “Is thisseat, uh, free?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, nodding and motioning to seat,looking Stiles over. He’s probably thinking about how inadequate Stiles is incomparison him. “Go ahead.”

Stiles sends him a smile, one he hopes isn’t tooexcited, and tries to calm his racing heart, sitting down in the seat. Dereksmiles back, eyes crinkling at the corners and bunny teeth visible. He quicklyputs his bag on the ground, looking away from Derek and grabbing his notebook.

He doesn’t look up until he has to leave and hopesDerek at least finds him acceptable.

—

“Shit,” he mumbles, running his hands through hishair, throwing his notebooks on the ground, resisting the urge to screambecause he can’t find his fucking drawing pad and everything’s on there, hiscommissions, his projects, his — Derek. “Shit, shit shit… Scott?! Scott,do you know where my drawing pad is?!”

“Nah, I haven’t seen it since this morning,” Scottsays, stretching his arms above his head to wake himself up from his nap.Stiles is this close to murdering him. “You okay?”

“No,” Stiles says, running his hands over his head.“No, Scott. I’m not okay. Do you know why I’m not okay? Because I can’t find myfreaking sketchpad.”

Scott frowns, lying back down on the couch andscratching his head. Stiles doesn’t get how Scott can be so chill about thisbecause nothing is chill, everything’s going wrong, what if Derek hashis drawing pad what if he sees those drawings what if —

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“But I sat next to Derek yesterday because of thatstupid fucking dare and what if he has it, Scott, what if Derek has my drawingpad and sees the drawings I made of him and think I’m a creep, he’ll never goout with me then —”

Scott hand lands on his shoulder, squeezing softly,warm through the fabric of Stiles’ shirt. Stiles clenches his hands into fists,scraping his nails over his scalp until his breathing has calmed down a little.

“Look man,” Scott says softly, carefully. “You can’tdo anything about it now. You can go search for it tomorrow, but right now youneed to focus on something else, okay?”

Stiles can do nothing but nod, his throat dry andfingers shaking. Fuck, he’s so fucking tired and he has a headache. Scott’shand squeezes another time, and then he says, “Should we watch something? StarTrek?”

Stiles nods again, and settles back into the couch asScott goes to the kitchen for a glass of water. He sighs — he may complain alot about his friends, but for all his complaining, he does love them.

—

Stiles has calmed back down again by the time thedoorbell rings through their apartment, but the shrill sound has his heart rateincreasing again. He presses a few buttons on the remote to distract himselffrom the possibility that the person standing at the door might be Derek.

“Stiles!” Scott yells from the hallway. “It might bebetter if you take this one.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, there’s no way that isn’t Derek.Right. Stiles can do this. Maybe Derek just found his sketch pad and didn’tlook inside it. That’s probably what happened. Stiles is going to be fine.

“Right,” Stiles mumbles as he passes Scott. Scottsqueezes his shoulder and mouths talk to him. “Right, I can do this.”

The door takes an eternity to open, every muscle inStiles’ body tensed to get the fuck out of there. He peeks around the corner,only to find Derek on the other side, no glasses on and eyebrows raised. Stilesquickly opens the door and pretends he wasn’t acting weirdly, and Derek shootshim a tight smile. If you love me, God, please kill me, Stiles thinks,but it doesn’t work.

“Uh, hi,” Derek says, hands hanging next to his sides,fingers curled around — oh god — Stiles’ drawing pad. “I think this is yours?”

“Yeah, that’s —” Stiles clears his throat, prayingthat Derek can’t see how red his cheeks are. “That’s mine. Thanks for bringingit back.”

“I just, uh. I wanted to ask you about this?” Dereksays, opening the sketch pad to Stiles’ most frequented page, the one where he drewDerek’s profile and managed to capture the slope of his cheekbone and the curveof his nose perfectly. Fuck. Fuck shit this is totally heading in the wrongdirection.

Derek thumbs through a few drawings, smudging a few ofthe pencil lines and Stiles can’t even be met if he wants his face erased fromStiles’ sketch pad, because he’s such a fucking creep, what was he thinking?

“It’s fine if you want to draw,” Derek says, still notlooking at Stiles. “I think being creative is very cool, but there are a lot ofother good-looking people in class and —”

“Yeah, but they’re not you,” Stiles says, quickly,rushing it because he needs Derek to understand how much Stiles lo — howbig Stiles’ crush on him is, because Derek is so gorgeous and nice and hedeserves so much and oh god.

Derek’s just standing there, blinking at him, eyes wide and eyebrowsraised. Stiles’ heart is fucking pounding out of his chest, oh jeez, he’s goingto throw up, someone get him a trashcan.

“Oh,” Derek says. Stiles doesn’t know what to say tothat, but he should say something because this silence is awkward and somethingneeds to happen. He clenches and unclenches his hands rhythmically, trying todistract himself from the current situation. It doesn’t work. “Oh,”Derek repeats and Stiles is dead, goodbye cruel word.

“I, uh,” Derek continues, his hand folded in the crookof his elbow. There’s a light flush on his cheeks, coloring the skin a softpink and Stiles is torn between wanting to sink into the ground, wanting to hughim and wanting to fuck him into the door. “I was actually wondering if you’dbe willing to get coffee some time? With me?”

Wait. Wait. What? Did Stiles hear thatcorrectly? Did Derek Hale — Derek freaking Hale, Derek nerdy andfucking gorgeous and probably the love of Stiles’ life Hale — ask him out.On, like, a date? Did Stiles die and go to fucking heaven?

“You — you want to have coffee,” Stiles says dumbly,pointing from Derek to himself and back again. His pulse is through the fuckingroof right now. “With me.”

Derek nods, slowly, the tips of his ears red, hairspread around it in little curls, and Stiles is dying oh my god. “Nopressure, I mean, if you don’t want to…”

“I want to!” Stiles says quickly, reflexively taking astep forward and oh, Derek looks even more beautiful up close oh god. “Alot, actually, if the drawings didn’t tip you off…”

“Ah, they did. That’s kind of why I’m here.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Stiles snorts, hand hoveringawkwardly in the space between their chests. Derek looks down at it, then tohis face and back down again, like he can’t believe they’re actually thisclose, that this is actually happening. Stiles almost wants to crybecause he feels the exact same fucking way and so much of this melodramacould’ve just been avoided if Stiles had opened his big mouth like he usuallydoes.

“So… coffee?” Derek asks, clasping Stiles’ hand in hisand shaking it awkwardly. Stiles would laugh at the situation, would probablylaugh if he saw this from someone else’s point of view, but Derek is touchinghis hand, their skin is touching, Derek is voluntarily touching him —

Derek pulls his hand away, blushing and refusing tolook Stiles in the eye. Stiles coughs and scratches the back of his neck.“Coffee, yeah. Just let me grab my stuff?”

“Sure,” Derek says, broad shoulder shrugging. Stilesimmediately runs back into their apartment, grabbing his phone and wallet and acoat and quickly putting them on, his hands trembling with adrenaline andexcitement and good things.

“Scott, cancel the movie ‘cause I have a date!”

Scott whoops from the couch, immediately grabbing hisphone to call Kira and gloat about it probably. Stiles would be mad at it forhim but he also wants to gloat because he’s going on a date with Derekfucking Hale.

Stiles loves his friends.

A/N:

Aaaah thanks for reading this lil thing! I hope you liked it ^^ Please lemme know if you did because I am struggling with writer’s block at the moment so I feel like this might be kindy shitty I don’t know aaah…

My writing tag | My fic page | My AO3

#isaac writes sterek #eternalsterek #eternal sterek #sterek #sterek fic #anon #answered

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dachi-chan25 · 7 years ago

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Game of Thrones Season 7 Episode 6 Recap Pt. 1

Oh boy… I need to vent again, I’m sorry, but thanks to everyone reading this, it’s a cathartic experience if anything.

WARNINGS: SPOILERS; Not a D@€ny fan, but if you follow me you already know that and if you don’t no problem that’s why I always warn you about it; Jonsa shipper and still growing strong ( I always loved the Tyrell OK???)

Before diving into the recap:

1.- The toughts, tinfoily wishy washy stuff, analysis, random stuff that I write are my own only, and in no form or way am I trying to convince you that I am right and every body else is wrong, I have been wrong about fandom stuff a LOT, and really it’s just fun for me to do this, anyway I am open to debate if you want just be respectful. Feel free to correct me if you notice I have some facts I present wrong, I will never get mad about it and will even thank you for your insight.

2.- The analysis/opinions I express of certain ships/characters are just my opinion as an audience, if you like the ship/characters good! That’s what makes the fandom experience such a diverse thing, and I have nothing against you. Keep on loving the thing you love!

3.- The Salt Throne and I are one entity of pure undiluted Salt and bitterness,if you don’t wish to subject yourself to reading my salty fangirl rants I completely understand.

—————

1.- We start on that table-map, helI feel I condemned myself saying I didn’t wanted no more close-ups of the thing, anyway so it’s just a pretty shot to get to where the story (plot? What plot?) really pick’s up: Eastwatch by the sea.

We are with the suicide squad on this show’s dumbest mission, but then again this season a lot of dumb things happened so I am resigned. Yeah so Jon and Tormund are talking about how dumb this mission is (got is breaking the fourth wall now???) while Gendry is freezing, Tormund is happy to be back North of the Wall cuz the air in the south is shit, Jon is like bih you never went south but really is agreeing actually Jon seems much more himself now that he is in the North again. Tormund and Jon tease Gendry about making do with him cuz there are no ladies here (ahaha joking about experiencing homosexual sex but no homo bro it’s just because we have no ladies amirite? Am I watching got or the big b4ng th€or¥?) and you know what else they don’t have?? Horses, and food, and those pesky dragonglass weapons, and a raven to send for help should anything happen… But no ladies are the priority. (*sigh* this show is so painfully obviously written by man) Gendry apparently believes them and goes away, Tormund comments he isn’t very bright, he needn’t be says Jon cuz they need the brawn and not the brains right? No this stupid ass mission could have seriously used some brains.

Anyway this next convo of conversations was very intresting to hear, not because they add anything to the plot (if such a thing exists anymore in this show) but I think they are important in understanding the theme they have in common and the relevance I think they have in the final scenes of the episode.

First we have a Tormund/Jon convo, our funny redhead asks about the Dragon Queen, and I expected they would use this chance to make some crude remark about her beauty or her body (dude not a second ago they were joking about bedding Gendry!!) but no, the conversation never goes in the direction that could further the idea of Jon’s attraction to D, Jon trusts Tormund and it would be normal for bros to discuss this stuff (remember how Jon giggled about Tormund mentioning Brienne last episode), instead a very weary and frustrated Jon states she (D) wouldn’t help unless he bends the knee, Tormund says that won’t happen cuz Jon spent so much time with the Wildings to be a kneeler again, but then he moves on to talk about Mance Ryder (dude this Jon/Mance parallels are hitting me in the face like a cold fish, I know D&D I noticed! You haven’t been subtle about this!!! You used the same FUCKING dialogue) and how the dude could have saved a lot of lives if he just had let go of his pride and knelt (so Tormund is our Jon in this parallel ain’t he?) it just made me laugh that Tormund, a wildling cuz they are still Free Folk and rule themselves even if they have an alliance with the KitN, is the one to suggests kneeling, but then I realized how big of a fucken deal that is, Mance could have saved those lives yes (and that’s mere speculation honestly cuz Stannis and his army could have also died at Hardhome #just saying) but he decided keeping his people’s will was more important, Jon respected that to the point he defyied Stannis (they needed his help and dude had just saved them) openly by killing Mance, and now Tormund who is kind of the new Free Folk king/leader is saying it would have been OK if he knelt to save everyone’s lives in front of Jon whom is in a very similar situation.

Then we get a Jorah/Jon convo, again perfect oportunity to show them as D’s love interests and rivals, or for Jorah to wax poetic about Khaliiisi and Jon being jealous or some shit. Some serious talk, if we had time in this compact season for Jon to threaten (or pardon) every man who ever crossed paths with Sansa, why Gendry or the Hound haven’t mentioned Arya at all, if logic states that she is someone this people have in common and should talk about? (like Theon asking about Sansa, or Tyrion) Why Jorah doesn’t talk about D if Jon is her new love interest and it would be a nice and neat contrast between the two of them? Instead they disscus another people they have in common, ex-Lord Commander Jeor Mormont and Ned Stark, oh yes they talk about their dads, Jon says how wonderful was Jorah’s dad and how awful was his death, while Jorah said it must have been heartbreaking for his dad whose entire life was the NW and Jon talks about Ned “the goodest most honorable man ever” dying like a traitor for his honor and pride (like I sense a pattern, can you tell? Gods D&D are too subtle guys) and goes as far as to say he is glad his dad didn’t kill Jorah (you know making him pay for his crime in a just honorable way). Honestly what was the point of this conversation if not that survival is most important than honor? The writers (through Jon) are celebrating that Jorah survived even if he has done sketchy awful things (among them he conspired to have D and her baby killed so he would be allowed to go back to Westeros).

Right we get an intresting end to this convo, Jon offers Jorah Longclaw (why would he give him the sword if he is gonna need it right now in the stupid ass Wight hunt? Why didn’t he gave it to Lady Lyanna Mormont, she has presumably begun training cuz she said to Lord Glover she wasn’t gonna sit by the fire while the man defended the North??? Why would he give it to someone if Jeor gave it to him cuz he didn’t wanted Jorah to have it???) but the point of the conversation it’s not the sword, because Jorah rejects it, it’s about planting the possibility of children in Jon’s future. people have been screaming Targ baby to the heavens and back, and if that is what you chose to belive alright, but I think not, if that was the case wouldn’t it be appropiate to have the Targ theme or the J/D song in the background and transition to DS where D talks about children with Tyrion like she does in a future scene? I would have believed it then. But instead we have the Stark theme and the scene transitioning to Arya and SANSA, call me delusional if you want but for me this is another check in the ‘targcest is building up tarbowl’ column.

Summarizing this we get the very bright neón message of Honor=Death. Which I’ll bring back later.

2.- Y'all remember those good times when the WF storyline was the only thing getting me through all the bullshit I was being fed by D&D? Well they’re over. As I said in point 1 we get a transition of Arya and Sansa looking down at the courtyard while Arya talks about how Ned watched the boys training and tries to diminish Sansa’s connection to her family by stating she was surely too busy sewing to know that (have fun freezing your limbs off darling!!! Sewing and Knitting and all those “delicate female” activities you sniff at are the reason you have clothes miss, really I can’t with this where is the Arya that thought woman to be of equal importance than man?) Sansa is having none of that and says she remembers, we get a cute memory of Arya practicing archery in secret and Ned approving (we get again nods to the patriarchy is wrong! But this is sloppy as fuck if D&D make Arya feel superior to non-warrior inclined girls, like that is also misogynistic) Sansa is smiling fondly (she at this point is more of a feminist icon than any other girl in this show, make no mistake she is not upset or resentful of warrior girls, she approved with a smile when Lyanna said girls on Bear Island were going to be trained too, and she smiles at the memory Arya is sharing with her of defying the rules and practicing archery cuz that made her happy) but then things take a turn for worse when Arya said that Ned is dead cuz Sansa helped the Lannisters. I never asked for this bullshit!!! Not even Ned blamed Sansa for anything, even if Sansa hadn’t alerted her Cersei was gonna kill Robert to protect herself and her children, Ned died for Joffrey’s cruelty (he wasn’t even supposed to die, he was to be sent to the Wall) and yes Sansa had a role to play in the chain of events that led to that, but Sansa had no way of knowing that, she only tried to save her family! The smile gets wiped from my girl’s face she is completely at loss. Arya takes out the letter and starts reading it out, even when Sansa asks her to stop cuz she already knows what does the letter say (wow I can’t belive D&D keep on triggering Sansa through her siblings, FUCKING disgusting) Arya is being unnecessary cruel, blaming Sansa for being powerless to stop their father’s death when she herself was equally powerless, like????? D&D are pushing this Starkbowl bs cuz this is got and nothing can be nice for 2 sec. But really this shit has no basis, you have Wight Hunt Team people who have literally killed each other or tried to working together and joking and then have two sisters who went through hell and back fighting cuz one of them thinks the other survived KL by being a princess in a tower??? Like how is this logical? Even if this is a cleverly crafted Arya plot (I think there is some logic to this) to kill LF is not fair for Sansa, god can’t she have good things on her life? D&D took away the safety of her home by marrying her off to Ramsey and have him rape her in her HOME, and now they make her family treat her one like a stranger and the other like shit???? I’m not asking for Arya to thank Sansa on her knees like she suggested (if anything Sansa was super brave standing her ground and defending her possition and everything she did to retake their home) I don’t want everyone to worship her as they do certain someone all I am asking for is respect and safety for someone who deserves it! Really and Arya suggesting Lyanna Mormont would go for Sansa’s throat why yes she is a child, one that has lost a lot with all this fucking wars but still a child that lacks the knowledge of the true game of thrones and what it takes to survive it, like you Arya (doesn’t she remembers she was cupbearer to Tywin who literally was responsible for the murder of her brother and mother? This is actually what leads me to think this is a ploy cuz Arya is not a hypocrite as far as we’ve seen) still this was painful to watch if you love the Starks.

Anyway leaving my frustration with this cheap drama aside, did anyone notice the parallels between the Arya and Sansa confrontation and the Jon/Tormund and Jon/Jorah conversations? The Wight Hunt Team was talking about great honorable man whose honor and moral code brought their downfall and in the Sansa and Arya, the youngest sister was blaming the eldest for having no honor and surviving (she goes as far as to say she would have rather died than betray her family) while Sansa defends what she did and shows how far she has come from paying the game.

Again this thing is not subtle at all.

———

This is too long so Part 2 is coming!

#Game of Thrones #jonsa #season 7 #7x06 recap #part 1 #dachi rambles #anti daenerys #anti jonerys #just to be safe

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shirtlesssammy · 8 years ago

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Hollywood Babylon: 2x18 Recap

On a dark and unstormy night, at a cabin in the woods, a porch swing creaks ominously. With flashlight in hand, a woman walks around yelling for her friends. Nerves increasingly frayed, she hears a rustling from the woods. “Hello? Hello?!” Suddenly a hand grabs her from behind. She screams and turns to find her friend, Brody.

Panicked, he screams that Ashley and Todd are dead! The woman, Wendy, tells Brody to pull it together. They have to leave! Brody takes off. Wendy hears more rustling and the camera suddenly chases up behind her. She turns and garbles out a pitiful scream.

CUT!

Whew, it’s all just a movie, guys! The director comes out to talk to Wendy/Tara. Tara’s having a hard time finding her fright acting opposite a tennis ball. During the ten minute break Tara overhears one of the stagehands talking about strange things happening on the set-- it’s haunted! Later, Tara heads to a quiet corner of the stage to practice her scream. She hears a noise, walks a bit to some scaffolding, and finds the bloodied corpse of the stagehand! Cue REAL SCREAM!

The Winchester Boys are on vacation! They’re taking a tour of the Warner Brother’s backlot, and Dean couldn’t be happier. (It’s cool, Dean. I remember touring Universal and nerding out as well.)

During the tour they see the set of Gilmore Girls. (They might even see one of the stars, if they’re lucky! --did not get that the first time I watched it. Jared’s scared face is gold.)

Sam insists they bail on the tour so they take off and start wandering the backlot alone. Dean sees Matt Damon! (what a bean) It seems that Sam has a case but Dean just wants to enjoy a vacation. He also wants to help Sam take his mind off of Madison (whaa, that just happened in the previous episode. Sammy!) A Winchester is a Winchester though, and he wants to work to take his mind off of things.

Sam tells Dean about the possibly haunted set and dead crew member. Dean wonders if it’s like Poltergeist --and is severely offended when Sam doesn’t get that reference. Dean wonders about the victim, aside from his name -Frank Jaffey- Sam doesn’t have much. He does know that the actress, Tara Benchley, who found him, saw a vanishing figure. Dean is now 100% on board --he’s fan of her work (much like Dr. Sexy and Suzy, right Dean?)

They sneak on set to find one of the studio execs giving helpful tips to the director.

Bill Lumbergh Brad Redding calls Dean over, mistaking him for a PA. Dean’s confused at first and Sam covers for him. Dean catches on and is soon checking out the set while handing out smoothies from craft. Filming starts while he checks out the scaffolding for any EMF. He gets no readings. Sam and him reconvene next to craft services and while Dean has nothing to report on the case, he can’t stop waxing poetic about the plethora of food (it’s so funny, but then I’m reminded of the kid that often went without food so his little brother could eat --not the time, Boris!) Sam discovered that four people have died on the set over the years. Dean discovers an unoccupied Tara Benchley. He’s his awkward self at first but quickly turns on the confident charm. He asks her about the victim, she tells him about what happened, and then shows him a photo of the man. “Son of a bitch.” Dean recognizes the man!

Yep, Frank Jaffey isn’t real, and the man, hired for the day to stir up the fright levels on set, is a character actor that Dean knew from another film. They track him down. He spills everything.

Back to filming on set, one of the crew hears feedback with the sound. Brad continues to give his unsolicited advice about the film. “If the ghosts are in hell, how do they hear the chanting? I mean, what do they have, super-hearing?” he scoffs. He’s distracted with a call though and wanders off to take it. Once alone, he’s greeted by a woman that’s all black and white --with severe neck wounds. He doesn’t think they’ll read on camera though. She undresses -why?- and climbs the scaffolding --he follows. And ends up on the wrong end of a rope.

They keep filming! In their defense, they did have a moment of silence for him at breakfast. Dean has also fully embraced his new job, mic headset and all. Tara’s having a hard time accepting the premise of the movie. As the crew bickers about the absurdity of what ghosts would be afraid of, one of the crew, Walter, storms off in a huff. Sam checks in and gets PA!Dean, not hunter!Dean. Dean feels like part of the team (crying noise, crying noise). Sam converses with Dean while Dean converses with someone on his headset -GOLD. Dean has something to show Sam.

Dean and Sam head to a trailer to watch dailies (which he got from Cindy who has this on and off thing going on with Drew and oh my god Dean is adorable in this episode). They watch the video of the studio executive's death and Sam notices the ghost standing on the side of the room. “It’s like Three Men and a Baby all over again,” mutters Dean. He then has to fill Sam in on the whole urban legend he’s referencing. Sam mostly ignores Dean’s discussion of spirit photography in favor of squinting at the ghost on the screen. He’s seen her before.

The Winchesters resettle on set. Sam tries to drop his latest factoid about the latest ghost but keeps getting interrupted by happy PA Dean, the most adorable PA in all the land. The ghost was ‘30’s starlet Elise Drummond who got screwed over by studio brass and hung herself. Time to salt and burn, baby! The production wraps for the day so Sam and Dean head out in the misty graveyard. Dean bought a $5 map of famous graves and it was TOTALLY WORTH IT.

They dig up her grave to a montage. As always they are utter sticklers for digging perfectly rectangular graves. Salt. Lighter fluid. Book of matches. PHWOOMPH.

At the studio the producer chats on his cell phone when all the lights go out. He wanders through the fake woods of the set when he spots a creepy dude in the trees. The guy turns and his head is completely chopped up and bloody. A huge fan turns on and the producer is drawn inexorably into it. This can only end in one way: the blood cannon.

With the unfortunate producer a pile of chopped liver and spattered blood, we cut to a preview teaser for the movie, Hell Hazers II: the reckoning.

“From the producers of Cornfield Massacre, Monster Truck, and the director of Charlie’s Angels, Charlie’s Angels Full Throttle, and Hell Hazers…” “We must have brought them back. Back from Hell. Again.”

Sam ties the death-by-fan to the death of an electrician in the sixties. “These things don’t usually tag team,” Dean says.

“Maybe the spirits are trying to shut down the movie ‘cause they think it sucks,” Sam ponders later while lounging on a couch in one of the trailers watching dailies. In the film the actress begins to recite the summoning ritual from the book and Sam sits up and listens to the words. She’s reading a real necronomicon-level summoning ritual!

The Winchesters head to Marty’s office. They tell him that they read the script and they are just HUGE fans of it. They gush over the summoning rituals and authentic Enochian… “What, you mean that latin crap?” Ugh, Marty had nothing to do with that. It was Walter-the-PA who wrote all of that (who is, in fact, just the original writer who is contractually allowed to hang around set). Walter’s screenplay was all “wackadoo exposition” with no love interest so Marty had to hack it apart to get it to a usable state for the movie.

Cut to Dean and Sam reading Walter’s original script. It’s good, reports our dear, devoted reader Dean! “And it reads like a how-to manual on conjuration,” Sam says. It shows “motive and means” for Walter to be the one in control of the recent infestation of killer ghosts.

Walter meets up with Marty in the creepy woods of the set. Walter complains about the loss of his original script. “It was real,” he said. (You know. Truth. TRUTH.)

“We’re talking about ghosts, Walter. There’s no such thing.” Marty returns. Walter holds up a mysterious amulet and begins to chant. Choppy fan ghost shows up and begins to drag Marty towards the fan. Suddenly a shotgun roars out and fan ghost disappears.

“You are one hell of a PA,” Walter says.

Sam tells Walter that the jig is up. Bringing ghosts into the world to wreak bloody vengeance can backfire. Walter summons another ghost anyway, though. The room goes all Ghostbusters: Revenge of the Ghosts and they’re suddenly faced with three ghosts approaching menacingly. Sam, Dean, and Marty barricade themselves in the cabin.

“I can’t believe that ghosts are real,” Marty says breathlessly.

“What makes you say that?” Dean asks while loading his shotgun. Lol, Dean. Sam figures out that the talisman is controlling the ghosts and heads off to confront Walter. Dean and Marty hunker in the cabin, Marty holding up a phone to track for ghosts while Dean takes them out like targets at a carnival booth.

Sam confronts Walter, who dashes the talisman to the floor, breaking it. Sam warns him that he just freed the ghosts and they are gonna be pissed off at Walter! Walter is entirely unconcerned until he’s ripped down to the floor and torn into bloody shreds.

Back with the movie production, they’re hunting ghosts. With a shotgun. And a cell phone. Narrative exposition has been added to the movie to explain things like, why can you see ghosts in a phone? (Me: cry laughs this is the best.) Sam looks upon the production with disgust and heads off the set into the lot where Tara’s trailer is, uh, a-rockin’. Dean leaves Tara’s trailer with a satisfied grin.

“You’re one hell of a P.A.,” she says as she bids him farewell, wrapped only in a robe. Yeah, he is.

Boris: This episode is special to me because it was the first one that I remember thinking that this special little show isn’t just an X-Files redux. (Wow, it took me awhile to get into this show!) Dean was on vacation --and it shows. He is so (pre-hell) cocky and joyous about being on a film set. I feel like, when we discuss performing!Dean and how he has had to bury his true self for so long, it amazes me how close to the surface his true self is.

In Hollywood, Quotes Come True:

Now to the right here is Stars Hollow. It’s the setting for the television series Gilmore Girls. And if we’re lucky we might even catch one of the show’s stars.

Does this seem like swimming pool weather to you, Dean? I mean, it’s practically Canadian.

Who says horror has to be dark?

“What’s a PA?” “I think they’re kinda like slaves.”

What was it like working with Richard Moll?

If the ghosts are in hell, how do they hear the chanting? I mean, what do they have, super-hearing?

Why would a ghost be afraid of salt?

We all know what Jay and Brad wanted more than anything. And that was to see Hell Hazers II The Reckoning on screen in theaters all across America.

Dude, are you serious? ‘Cause I’m serious.

There’s an afterlife, alright. But mostly it’s a pain in the ass.

#spn recap #spn rewatch #hollywood babylon #spn 2x18 #dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural season 2

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